#THAT LITTLE TONGUE MR SHEEN I SEE IT

[hyperfocusthusly]

This time we’re done for

#hello and welcome to my early morning brain rot #but when u get that creative you just gotta go #THAT LITTLE TONGUE MR SHEEN I SEE IT #the look up and down #while his boy is being clever #like actually kill me #good omens #good omens season 2 #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable idiots #ineffable husbands #song edit #the amazing devil #TAD #wild blue yonder #my fave band and my fave show #my gif #my post

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Max wanting to have sex on Rocky after the gala is over and before Rocky is put away

The Real Prize - Rocky || MV1

Pre-Gala || The Real Prize || Jealousy || Panties || Captivity || Rocky || Escaping || Thighs || Consequences || A Mile High

The storage containers behind the stage were dimly lit, but the shining moment had and gone for the machines that had made history and now they were being tucked away in the dark. Somehow Max knew where his car was before you could even see it, his sure steps guiding you safely between the rest until his livery appeared.

Max tugged you closer and crushed his lips to yours. “Been needing another taste of you,” he hummed as he drew your dress up higher. “Been wanting to do this all year.”

He guided you onto the body of the race car and you leaned back on the halo as he lifted your legs, settling your heels onto the side pod.

“So beautiful…” he mused as he spread your legs wider. He pushed his trousers down enough to free the erection he had been battling since he stole your panties and watched you bite your lip as he buried himself inside you. “Hmm, fits me perfectly.”

“Me or the car, because I’m getting a little jealous here.” Though you were joking, he took it upon himself to clarify as he fucked you in a way he had only imagined.

“You, schatje, always you,” he promised quietly between the gentle kisses he left along your neck. “This is what you do to me, I can’t think clearly when I see you, so beautiful it hurts. You were made for me, look how perfect we are.”

He pulled back enough to look down and see his cock filling you with each stroke, the sight of your union over the red bull livery was almost enough to tip him over, but he was a gentleman, he wouldn’t come until you did.

“We could go to jail for this,” you whispered as you tried to keep from moaning too loudly. “If we get caught.”

“So we don’t get caught,” he stated, reaching into his pocket and fisting your panties. He ran his thumb over your lips and smirked when they parted for him. “This will keep you quiet.”

The scent and taste drove you wild. You could taste Max’s come on the lace and your body burned to have more from him as you gripped the halo tighter and rocked your hips, meeting him stroke for stroke. Your screams certainly would have given you away if it weren’t for the material Max had stuffed in your mouth, muffling them to muted cries.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he rasped as he tugged at his bow, the clothing suddenly all too constricting and hot. “I just want to stay buried here forever.”

You wiped the sheen of sweat on his forehead, brushing it back into his hair and you tugged the dirty blond strands as your pleasure mounted. One heel slipped and you wrapped your leg around his hip instead, driving him deeper. Your hold on the halo faltered as your pussy clenched and it was only Max’s strength that kept you in place as you rode your orgasm out in his arms.

You gasped a deep breath as the lace was ripped out of your mouth and Max sealed his lips over yours to silence it, his tongue dancing with yours. He held off as long as he could, relishing the feel of your walls coating him in your release before he gave into his.

“Hello, is anyone in there?” A voice came from the dark.

Max moved instantly, placing you on your feet and pulling your dress down before he sorted himself out. He combed a hand through his damp hair and turned to face the security man who heard something inside.

“Oh, sorry Mr Verstappen, I didn’t realise it was you.”

“That’s okay, we were just leaving.” Max’s arm curled around your waist and helped with your unsteady steps, guiding back towards the lights.

“Mr Verstappen, wait, sir,” the man rushed to follow and Max gave him an inpatient look as the speakers returned to life and asked everyone to return to their seats. “You forget this.”

You barely stifled your laugh as he was handed his trophy for a third time that evening.

“There’s one other thing, did you notice the large scratch earlier?” He clicked his torch on and shone it at the side pod. The bull had a jagged cut right through the vinyl and your eyes widened.

“No,” Max said with a squeeze to your hip. “But I wouldn’t worry, they will put a new wrap on before it is displayed.”

“Are you sure?” you whispered as you chewed your lip.

“You know, there’s only one person that can get away with scratching the RB19,” he teased as you left the storage area. “You are lucky I love you, schatje.”

“Technically that is your fault,” you defended.

“Was I wearing stilettos?”

“If you weren’t so sexy in that suit I could have resisted you.”

Max smirked as he looked down at you, his hand coming to rest on your cheek as he slowly dipped his head down. Your lips parted eagerly for the kiss but his lips merely hovered above yours until you whined. His smirk grew and his eyes saw the truth as he chuckled. “No you couldn’t.”

#ollie answers #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fic #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction

[masonmtxo]

Gif credit @masonreds

I cant stop thinking about coming home and walking into your bedroom to see him sitting at the end of your bed in his boxers waiting for the shower to heat up after he has been for a run. You can see from the doorway his skin is damp from sweat and before you have time to scold him for sitting on the duvet, you’re distracted by the sight of his body. His abs look even more pronounced covered in a sheen of sweat, his thigh muscles think and bulging, but most importantly, the way his dark green boxers cling to his crotch. You can see the familiar outline of his cock and balls, the boxers doing very little to disguise what he was packing beneath them. There was something about the softness of his body contrasting with the sexiness of seeing him so exposed to you that had your stomach fluttering in an instant, feeling yourself start to soak your panties.

He greeted you with his usual, “hi baby,” gesturing for you to make your way over to him to stand between his legs for a kiss.

His face changed to one of confusion as you pulled away from the kiss quickly, instantly dropping to your knees, hands gripping his thighs and slowly creeping up to slip over the legs of his boxers, nails gently scratching the skin and you maintained eye contact. Mason’s darkened automatically, clocking onto the sort of mood you were in in an instant.

Without words you broke away from his gaze, fixating on the sight in front of you. You grinned to yourself as you leant it, placing a kiss to his sternum before trailing a string of pecks until you met his nipple, teasingly nibbling as he let out a deep groan, hand coming to meet the back of your head and grip your hair. Without pausing, your loving continued, giving his over nipple the same treatment before making your way down his abs, sucking, kissing and biting his skin as you went, making a quite diversion to place a loving peck to the mole on his belly you adored so much. As you reached the waistband of his boxers your heard him whimper your name, pulling at your hair in a silent request. You ignoring his pleas, lips trailing over the top of the waistband, his cock now hard and twitching beneath the layer than separated you from direct contact with his skin. You used your lips to guide you to his tip, grinning to yourself when you found the damp spot created by his precum, instantly darting your tongue out to find the familiar but muted taste, only making you more desperate for the real thing. You kissed over his tip lightly, tonguing at it through his boxers until he was a whimpering mess.

You pulled off him in an instant when you felt the hand from the back of you head release you, inside driving into his boxers and attempting to pull himself from the confinements.

“Na ah Mr, not yet” you drawled, tucking him back into his boxers and snapping the waistband as you did, his entire body twitching as the elastic pinged against the head of his dick, so hard from the teasing it was barely confined by the material, “first, you need to get your sweaty ass off my nice clean duvet.”

#idk wtf just came over me help #this isnt proof read or anything #i just wrote posted and ran #mason mount

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Oh Rollo, you may think Raven is naive in her thinking, but I believe it takes a strong heart to be willing to see all sides of a person as a writer looks at the different facets of a character. Perhaps you should go out and have lunch with her, have a chat about your opinion on heroes and villains in stories. Should be enlightening to you.

[Referencing this post!]

Will Today be the Day?

"I refuse to dine in the cafeteria."

Rollo had made it clear where he stood on the matter as soon as lunch hour came around. He cited a great many things to support his decision: the noise, the number of bodies crammed into one room, his stomach's delicate constitution.

Raven raised an eyebrow at his claims, but tactfully avoided questioning them. This was as polite as Rollo was going to get about wanting a moment of peace and quiet away from the mages he so despised—she had to cherish it.

"You can't tour the campus on foot and skip a meal in the middle of it. It's not healthy," she had told him. "If you won't eat in the cafeteria, then stay here. I'll fetch you something that's hopefully palatable."

He'd been waiting on a bench for a little over 20 minutes now, eating up almost half of the allotted time for lunch.

What is taking her so long? Rollo expelled a sigh into his handkerchief. Perhaps he had overestimated one simple-minded bird's abilities to gather food. If I wanted it done properly, I would have done it myself.

As the remnants of that thought fizzled out, it was replaced by the awareness of approaching foot steps. Quick-footed but light, as if their soles were barely touching the ground. Almost flighty in quality.

Rollo looked up—and there she was, Raven jogging at him with a paper bag overflowing with breads. A light sheen of sweat crowned her brow, and her cheeks were colored apple blossom pink from exertion.

She halted before him, bent over with one hand on her knee to collect her breath.

“Rollo-senpai!! Thank you for waiting,” Raven gasped out. “It was a war zone in the cafeteria today, everyone clamoring for the best food items…! But fortunately for me, the ghost chefs gifted me with whatever they couldn’t sell and yesterday’s leftovers. They’re a little stale, but still perfectly good!”

She thrust out the paper bag. Loaves and rolls of varying shapes, sizes, and textures peered out from it.

Rollo slowly nodded in approval. “I see. How prudent of you to save bread that would have otherwise gone to waste.”

He reached for a croissant—and at the same time, Raven plucked a sesame seed studded bun and tore it in half, then into even smaller bits. Rollo stared. She scattered the crumbs at her feet, paying him no mind.

“… What are you doing?”

The girl smiled softly. "It's everyone's lunch time.”

Then, turning away, Raven cupped a hand to her mouth and released a trilling song. It was a wordless tune, just a few cheery, rising notes.

The eager flapping of many pairs of wings filled the air. Moments later, a plethora of birds descended from the skies. They spread out—at Raven’s feet, on her arms, in her hair.

Rollo almost choked on day-old croissant.

“Wh-What in the world…?!”

Some birds started pecking at the crumbs. Others—mainly the ones nesting on Raven—twittered in greeting. She giggled and twittered back, her tongue twisting into forms Rollo couldn’t comprehend.

"You're proficient in animal languages,” he said faintly.

“Just the avian ones,” Raven clarified. “… Oh, and they say hello. Mr. Pigeon mentioned you seem irritable.”

Rollo frowned—not taking well to the comments. Instead of returning the greeting, he asked, “Why are you supplying the local vermin with food? You feed pests and they’ll return for more, be it rats, raccoons, stray dogs or cats, or… birds.”

There was a collective gasp from the flock, even the ones with their beaks crammed with crumbs.

“Shhh, don’t listen to him. He’s just a little crabby today,” Raven cooed to them. “He’s not usually like this.”

They stared back doubtfully.

“… Okay, he’s usually worse.”

“You shouldn’t enable them,” Rollo continued sternly. “Whatever it is you’re telling them, it must be something foolishly naive.”

“Nest in his hat,” a blue jay declared, “or in his ugly hair. That’ll teach him.”

“No, no, poop on his shoes. Humans hate that,” a dove suggested.

“Want us to peck his eyes out?” a robin offered.

“I’ll eat his liver,” a canary said sweetly, “like the eagle did in the tale of the Fire Thief.”

Raven shook her head at the needlessly aggressive birds. She knelt, letting the birds on her flutter or climb down to join the others, then took a seat herself beside Rollo. A moment of silence elapsed before she spoke again.

“If I recall correctly, the people in the City of Flowers look after community goats. The stories say that goats will come to help you in your time of need—and that’s where the tradition comes from.”

Rollo snorted. “You think songbirds will come to your aid?”

“I’m not being nice to them expecting something in return. I think… with the passage of time, something that started off with a reason behind it just becomes natural and routine. Something genuine.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“Not everything has an answer,” she replied mysteriously. “… In any case, this is our lunch period so we should unwind rather than spending it worrying over the details.”

“Your feathered friends look like they want to commit murder,” he commented stiffly.

“Maybe they wouldn’t look like that if you hadn’t insulted them to their faces?”

“The offer’s still on the table,” the peck-happy robin piped up.

“Hmph. I don’t understand why you indulge these pitiful creatures as you do. There is nothing to be gained from associating with them.”

“Maybe you see it that way, but I don’t.” Raven folded her arms and tilted her head to one side. “I like to think of it like this: every living being is the protagonist of its own story—but because of that, it also makes them a supporting character in other peoples’ stories. No one is a hero or a villain by default, they only become that through the lenses of other’s stories and interpretations. That’s why I try to give the benefit of the doubt and second chances.”

She waved a hand at the feasting cluster of birds. “Animals too, are protagonists and supporting characters. They lead their own lives, tell their own stories, and uphold our own as well. They deserve to be treated with the same dignity as you or I.”

Rollo grimaced. He could no longer get his croissant down—not comfortably, at least.

“… You may see yourself as a savior, but others may think differently.” Raven placed a hand on her chest. “But redemption is not yet out of reach. Even villains can have happily ever afters, and not necessarily at the cost of ‘turning good’. Fairy tales have evolved beyond the black and white binary.”

Rollo eyed her warily. The birds all seemed to be holding their breath in anticipation for his response.

“… You speak like the heroes with bleeding hearts from those very same stories,” he said at last. “You think yourself superior?”

“Not at all. I’m simply an outside observer. I can have faith and make wishes upon stars because I can see the potential overflowing from each and every character.

“What a childish way of viewing the world. It’s a fool’s dream.”

“But a dream nevertheless—and if it can be dreamed, then it’s a very real possibility.”

“Hmph. Has anyone ever told you that you have the imagination of a child?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Rollo-senpai."

“Of course you would.”

"You have a strong imagination yourself." Granted, it typically involves mages being extinguished in a blazing hellfire but that’s neither here nor there.

Raven shrugged and stuck her hand into the bread bag and rummaged around in it. She retrieved a slice of milk bread and chomped down.

“… Are you really going to spend your entire lunch griping? Let’s enjoy this moment. It’s not everyday when we have such good weather and unique company.”

Rollo said nothing more—the strained conversation was over. Pointless and unfruitful, as he had suspected it to be from the very beginning.

Sitting side by side, they munched on bread and avoided eye contact for the remainder of the period. Bird watching and drinking in the day together.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Rollo Flamme #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #Raven Crowley #disney twisted wonderland #Rollo at the Writing Desk #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions

[acapelladitty]

27. “Do you think you deserve this?”

Still twitching from the come down of his release, Waylon's thick arms are snugly pressing against your back - his massive strength pinning you to him with no hope of escape as you offer him up the unspoken intimacy which you know he craves.

It was a craving that saw his post-coital routine typically taking longer than the sex itself. Not that you were complaining. To be so needed, to have someone that desperate for reassurance that their actions were good was something you didn't think would ever fail to make your heart rate quicken.

For a guy who had suffered such cruelty, you savoured that sweet side of him like a fine wine. A secret which played at the corner of your lips every time your eyes caught his.

The heat that is blossoming from your thighs is distracting, the skin there bordering on irritated as it started to recover from the animalistic thrusting which had taken place between them.

Still too big for you to take fully, the discovery that, at this angle, he could fuck between your thighs in a way which allowed his thick length to brush your clit and folds was an absolute revolution. A game that you had both spent many hours perfecting between other sessions of fooling around to give your abused skin time to rest.

"Hey, my thighs are in bits, mister. Do you think you deserve this?" You ask, the lilt in your voice tinged with humour as you tap his broad chest and listen to the thrum of his heart beneath your cheek.

"No." Comes the growled reply, the edges of the rough speech smoothed out by a soft quietness. "But I always like it."

"I know you do." Your hand reaches up to stroke down a scaled cheek and a purr alights in the chest to rumble through your cheek.

Waylon, his breathing still heavy, adjusts you gently as he curls a hand between your legs to allow his cool digits to soothe your sensitive thighs.

"Hmm," you mutter, "would you like to know a secret, Mr. Jones?"

The formal yet teasing tone causes the end of his snout to twitch as he huffs out an acknowledgement, encouraging you on with whatever silly he game he can see you playing.

Shuffling your body up his, the smoother skin of his gut feels wonderfully chill against your own heated frame and you press your lips to his ear.

"I like it too. Especially when you give in and let the animal out."

A reptilian snarl escapes his lungs as he flips you over quickly, those crocodile reflexes in full throttle as he spins his willing prey. It's enough to pull a throaty giggle from you as you find your body caged once more, his forearms pressing against the floor to prevent his weight from crushing you fully.

"Ready to go again then?" He asks, eyes slitted and ready to devour in a moments notice. "Just say it."

"Might need to wait for a round two like that again," you cup his cheek as you speak with only a little regret, "but if you have something else you want to do then I'd love to hear it."

If you though he looked predatory before then the look which crosses his expression is downright dangerous as his wide tongue flicks out to lick at your cheek before pulling away. The pressure of his body lift for a moment as he shifts down your frame, his tongue slithering a wicked path through the slight sheen of sweat which coats your skin.

Reaching his goal, his claws are firm but non-threatning against your hips as he licks a stripe across your wettened core; his textured tongue immediately firing off such an intense wave of pleasure that you can't help but dig your nails into his scaled head.

"Oh, fuck."

#dealers choice means i choose the crocodile man #waylon jones #killer croc #killer croc x reader #waylon jones x reader #dc comics #gotham rogues

[teaspoonnebula]

And the Snake was OK, Crooked Man edition.

Mr and Mrs Wood were perhaps the oddest newly-weds that Sir Gordon Pickering-Leigh had ever encountered, but he expected no less from folk who were sent his way by Mr Sherlock Holmes.

She was a mature society beauty with regal poise, he was perpetually hunched over due to some great injury, yet Mr Wood’s new bride looked at him as though he were an Adonis. He in turn looked upon her as though she were Aphrodite. A couple half their age in the first throws of romance could not have exchanged more shy smiles.Their hands remained firmly clasped together, even as they sat on Pickering-Leigh’s settee and accepted tea from his butler. 

“It’s a cobra, you see,” Mr Wood had explained, handing over a slightly dirty wicker basket. Pickering-Leigh took a cursory glance inside at his new acquisition and sighed. 

“Defanged?”

“Yes, that’s the way with these things. I used her as part of my act, you see. I’d set her loose and my mongoose would catch her.”

It took considerable effort for Pickering-Leigh not to let the anger show on his face. Had never known poverty or hunger, and so he felt he should not judge too harshly those who resorted to using the pain of animals to put bread in their mouths.  He still felt for their suffering. Many snakes got infections. Some had their mouths sewn shut, or were purposefully starved or dehydrated. Deprived of their fangs, many would cease to eat and die within a few months. Fortunately this one seemed lively and well cared for. It still had a glossy, golden sheen as it peeked up at him and flicked out its tongue to taste the air. Clearly Mr Wood had done his best for it, despite the circumstances. 

“Do you still have the mongoose, Mr Wood?”

“Yes,” he chucked, “I couldn’t be parted with old Teddy. The both of us are enjoying our retirement. I let him out in our little walled garden most days, and I think he wonders if he’s found his way to paradise. Perhaps he has.”

Pickering-Lee nodded, closing the lid of of the snake’s basket.  He could not help every animal that had been similarly used, but he could help this one to share in its master’s fortune and enjoy a little happiness in the twilight of its life.

#letters from watson #sherlock holmes #improbably saving all the snakes through fanfics #with my OC who solely exists to rehabilitate animals abused in the canon #the crooked man #CROO

[angellayercake]

Sam and the Series of Disastrous Dates

Sam has watched her new best friend fall in love with the man of her dreams but when will it be her turn? For OC kiss week 2023 we will follow Sam from the Pastimes for a Retired Papa series on some of her dating adventures and see if she will ever meet her dream man.

Original Female Character x Original Male Character

AO3

Day 1 - Dancing 

She plucked at the leotard she was wearing as she prayed for the floor to open and swallow her. A dance class was what she had been told she was attending. Her so-called friend had a lot to answer for. She spared one last glance for the text message that had ruined her evening.

‘Sorry Sammy, a little white lie! It’s Salsa Speed Dating. Can’t wait to hear about Mr Right! X’

A couple of the guys were looking in her direction with what she assumed was a leer. She had thought she was attending a fitness class, hence the now somewhat ridiculous outfit. Looking around at the other women in attendance she felt her stomach churning in embarrassment. Flowy dresses, perfect hair, make up! And there she was in a subtly sweat-stained leotard, she had added a wrap skirt from her little foray into ballet class so that was something, and trainers. No make up obviously and scraped back hair possibly a few days passed needing a wash. She was seconds away from turning and leaving when the host entered, clapping her hands above her head to get everyone's attention.

‘Welcome, welcome!  All of you are here to find love through the passion of salsa!’ Sam cringed to herself, the woman was waving her hands along with her shouting and spoke with a gratingly fake Spanish accent, made worse by the fact salsa dancing didn’t even originate from Spain. ‘You will have a song to learn all you need about your potential partner then we will change. Please get into position in order of your badges and then we will begin!’ She clapped her hands once again, stamping her feet like she was doing the flamenco.

She takes a deep breath, last chance to escape but no, she is here now and she can do this. She looks down at the already peeling sticker stuck to her checking her number, four, and makes her way to the slowly forming line. She looked up and her heart sank. Either the universe had a sense of humour or the organisers had taken one look at them and decided that they were meant for each other.

He was wearing a full ballroom dancer's outfit. The whole thing was made of awful stretchy polyester and although it looked like separate pieces it was, in fact, an all in one. The shirt which was open to far too low on his shaved, and judging by the sheen, oiled chest could only be described as bedazzled. Rows and rows of plastic diamantes fanned out across the shoulders, although the longer Sam looked the more she noticed were missing. The shirt was then sewn into a heavily ruched cummerbund that did nothing to hide his protruding stomach which was also attached to ill fitting flared trousers.

Looking back up at his face she noticed him smirking at her. Oh she hoped he didn’t think she was checking him out. She smiled at him awkwardly in a bid to be polite, she did have to dance with the man for the next five minutes.

‘The person opposite you is your partner for the first dance. Take up your positions and let’s salsa!’ She winced, who thought it was a good idea to give her a microphone. She stepped forward, offering him one hand and placing the other on his shoulder.

‘And what is your name senorita?’ She bit the inside of her cheek in an effort not to cringe his northern accent, not making the term of endearment roll off the tongue. She opened her mouth to reply and almost choked on the taste of his cheap aftershave. She was really regretting not running away when she had the chance.

‘It’s Sam.’ She smiled and hoped it didn’t look as strained as it felt. He didn’t seem to notice.

‘A lovely name for a lovely lady. Every Samantha I have met was a beauty.’ He looked pleased with himself for that comment but she had to repress a shiver of disgust.

‘Uh thanks, but it is Sam.’ She looked down before remembering her manners. She might never want to see him again already but she didn’t want to be rude. ‘What's your name?’

‘I’m Clive so you better remember it for when you tick the yes box later.’ He winked and she managed to choke out something that could be called a laugh.

‘Well I haven't seen your dancing skills yet.’ The music hadn’t started yet, why hadn’t it started yet.

‘Oh you will not be disappointed, I can tell you that for nothing.’ She just nodded once before breaking the unsettling eye contact he was trying to maintain. Finally the first song kicked in and he didn’t hesitate to lead her through the first few steps. He was a surprisingly competent dancer although it didn’t seem like a natural talent, his rhythm being slightly off and his brow furrowed in deep concentration.

‘You aren’t so bad yourself,’ he said after she spun back to him after a series of twirls and spins had kept them apart. Sweat was starting to bead on his upper lip and she wasn’t sure how he was going to last the night. ‘I should have known you would be as good as me.’ She knew he didn’t mean it as an insult but it felt like a jab all the same. ‘You and me are the only ones dressed properly for the occasion.’ She spared a glance for some of the other couples around them wearing normal date attire and tried not to think about how ridiculous they must look.

‘Yeah we are a right pair,’ she laughed along but upon catching his eyes she thought she may have said the wrong thing. There is a glint in his eye she doesn’t like the look of. As the dance progresses he gets too out of breath to carry a conversation so while she doesn’t really appreciate his heavy beer tinged breathing directly in her face at least she is spared that.

As the music reaches a climax he swings her into a dip, her only option to cling onto him to avoid collapsing to the floor. He looks into her eyes in what she assumes is supposed to be a seductive manner but it misses the mark but a lot. His sweaty red face is not doing anything to help him. She breaks the awkward eye contact looking up at the ceiling, waiting for him to let her up but he just keeps staring.

‘I think we would make a great pair Samantha.’ He closes his eyes and moves his face closer.

‘It’s Sam,’ she starts to say before she is silenced by his slippery puckered lips. She freezes not knowing what to do, maybe falling to the floor would have been better. She feels his sweat dripping onto her face as he keeps his lips pressed firmly to hers. The only saving grace is that he doesn’t try to deepen the kiss.

‘It seems the passion of salsa has overtaken one couple already, but don’t make your minds up too quickly! There are many salsa partners to sample tonight!’ She is still in shock as he brings her back upright, overbalancing slightly and clinging to her to steady himself.

‘You won’t be forgetting me in a hurry will you Samantha.’ He has the audacity to wink at her and she can only grimace back as she tries to surreptitiously wipe his sweat off her face.

‘You are quite right about that,’ she says before muttering to herself. ‘But not for the reasons you think.’

‘What was that?’ He asks as he leans towards her to try and catch what she said but she is quite literally saved by the bell signalling the change of partners.

‘Oh look, time to change partners. See ya.’ Then she quite literally runs for it. She grabs her things, managing to slip away in the buzz of the other attendees swapping around, already trying to order a taxi and get as far away from this place as possible. As soon as she has confirmation she switches to her messaging app typing away furiously. Oh god she is going to kill her for this. She really needs new friends!

#ockiss23 #pastimes for a retired papa #eventual #the band ghost fic #my writing #Sam is finally getting some love #ockissweek

[dddragoni-drabbles]

(Content warnings: Torture)

Jared Rolston awoke to the sensation of cold water being splashed on his face. He jolted forward with a start- or at least he would have if he could. He was sitting in some sort of chair, metal by the feel of it, with leather straps pulled so tight around his wrists, ankles, chest, and forehead that he couldn't move. He was naked, the clothes he'd been wearing when he fell asleep nowhere to be seen, and the single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling didn't provide enough light to make out much of his surroundings.

"Good morning, Mr. Rolston. Did you sleep well? I hope so. Because it's the last chance you'll get for a good long while."

The voice came from behind Rolston- he strained against the restraints, trying to see who it was, but they were too tight. He spoke in a smooth, measured manner, a slight accent undercutting his words.

"No, no, don't get up on my account," the voice continued. "You're my guest, after all. And you and I? We've got to have a little talk."

The speaker walked around the chair to the other side of the room, a barely distinguishable silhouette.

"You see, Mr. Rolston, a man in my position, he cannot abide any sort of transgressions against him. It makes him look weak. And if he looks weak, then people, they start to get ideas." The man picked something up off a table in front of him that glinted with a metallic sheen in the faint light. "Nasty ideas."

Rolston's eyes flicked around the chamber. As his vision adjusted, he started to make out faint shapes in the shadows- shapes that his brain was all too keen to imagine as terrible, terrible things.

"Now, if you'd merely disrespected me, I could have just had you beaten." The man set the implement aside and picked up a different pair of items. "Stolen from me, I would have just killed you." He flicked open a lighter and lit the cigar in his other hand. "But you, Mr. Rolston, you took something very precious from me. " He turned around, and in the faint light from the cigar, Rolston could make out a familar, scarred visage- that of Don Vito Tiero, a man he'd prayed he would never see again.

"And for that, I'm going to make you wish you were dead."

Rolston opened his mouth to beg, plead, confess, anything that would het him out of this, but to his horror, realized he couldn't. Because his tongue had been removed.

So when Don Tiero picked up a knife and walked towards him, all Rolston could do was scream.

#microfiction #Jared Rolston #Vito Tiero #crime stories #original writing #tw tongue trauma #tw torture

[shipaholic]

Episode 2: “The Clue” / “A Companion To Owls”

Good Omens 2 Episode 2 liveblog! Beware spoilers!!

- Crowley is such a troll in this opening scene. I've come around on the beard/glasses combo. He looks like a wisecracking talking Disney goat.

---

- Jon Hamm’s impression of Buddy Holly is amazing. “Ah-hey, ah-hey-hey” yes give me those weird, grandpa-like hiccups.

---

- I can hear a fly during the zoom in on sleeping Crowley in the Bentley... does Beez have one spy in the bookshop and one on Crowley at all times?

- Hmmm, Shax tells Crowley right away about Heaven detecting the miracle. That could be evidence for my Beelzebub theory, I guess...? Beez wants Crowley kept informed about the danger, so that he’ll continue to keep Gabriel safe, but they get to keep up plausible deniability with Shax and the other demons that they’re only threatening Crowley.

- Poor Shax. Crowley’s bullying her.

- LOL are all the other demons afraid of driving at high speeds? (See: Hastur.) All he had to do to get rid of Shax was rev the engine.

---

- I like Maggie, but she’s a little clingy with Aziraphale. You’d think the euphoria of having 8 months of overdue rent forgiven would have lasted longer than 24 hours. On the other hand, her encyclopaedic knowledge of music history is really cool.

- Aziraphale conducting every time he sings Everyday is the cutest thing ever.

---

- Crowley orders Talisker! I assume John Finnemore insisted.

- OMG, Mr. Brown is holding a newspaper with THEE headline in it about the Nebraska woman who taught her duck to play the accordion.

- “Get humans wet, and staring into each others’ eyes. Vavoom.” I. I don’t think Crowley knows where babies come from either.

- THAT JANE AUSTEN LORE. AND CROWLEY DISAPPROVES?? SHE SOUNDS AWESOME

---

- Aziraphale is so hesitant when he says he doesn’t think God wants to kill Job’s children, and so utterly certain when he says he knows Crowley doesn’t want to. He already has more faith in Crowley’s mercy than God’s. 😭

- THE UNBELIEVABLE LEVELS OF SASS

- OK Ty Tennant is very funny

- Both the older kids treating Aziraphale like a waiter is hilarious actually, as is Jemima wanting to be a blue lizard and Crowley obliging

- I’ve been jossed a bunch already this season, but the biggest shock to my system by far is Crowley tempting Aziraphale into enjoying human food. I genuinely assumed Aziraphale has been nibbling on whatever was around to nibble on since he was first deployed on Earth. It took him a millennia and a half to try barbeque?? Poor deprived bb

- Whoever wrote that post about Aziraphale discovering honey and tearing into a beehive like an especially feral Winnie The Pooh, I hope they’re patting themself on the back right now.

- I am more into the sight of Michael Sheen falling onto an entire ox corpse like a starving werewolf than I am comfortable with, but fine, I guess this is who I am now.

- ALL I’M SAYING IS, Crowley and Aziraphale’s first kiss had better go EXACTLY like this.

---

- I’m here for hungover Crowley wobbling across the sand.

- I suspect this minisode is difficult to follow for any viewers who didn’t swot up on the Book of Job a fortnight or so ago, like I assume we all did.

- Michael is the only angel in this scene who possesses more than a single braincell, but they’re all clearly thick as can be. The only people thicker than them are Job and Ennon, who are somehow even worse at lying than Aziraphale and Crowley.

- Crowley has such immense fucking panache this entire episode. I do love him and his terrible beard.

---

- That little tongue in cheek thing Aziraphale does on “investigation” - he cannot get any cuter now. it’s literally impossible. please.

- Crowley slapped his hand omg

---

- Oh god, the conversation on the bench... Aziraphale is in actual tears, and Crowley is so wry and gentle and reassuring, even while delivering words that are, taken on their own, a stark form of comfort. He’s just a calm presence while Aziraphale experiences shrimp emotions on the other side of the bench. I can’t even speak about Aziraphale, honestly, but I’ll give it a shot... he is so brave and scared 😭😭😭 Hell?? He really thought he belonged in Hell? Crowley was absolutely right to gently laugh at a notion that ridiculous (and awful) (and then again, Crowley also used to be a sweet little curly-headed bunny of an angel, and look at the unspeakable thing that happened to him). There’s that little moment where Crowley says he’s not going to tell anyone, and asks Aziraphale if he’s going to tell anyone, and Aziraphale gives this little ashamed headshake, like he’s realising for the first time that he’s not, he’s willing to lie (by omission) about this too. And then he glances at the sky, as if verifying that God isn’t going to send down a thunderbolt, and realises that he’s actually safe. There aren’t going to be any consequences; he’s going to get away with it. And that’s almost worse, the idea that he doesn’t live in a world with clearly defined rules, and he truly can’t predict what God thinks, or what she is going to do. She spoke directly to Job, but she’s a closed book to Aziraphale.

---

- The ending credits are on fire so far this season.

---

Right, um, next up, an episode I haven’t already seen. asdhkagsd.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens 2 spoilers #good omens 2 liveblog #good omens s2e2 #The Clue #A Companion To Owls

[leiakenobi]

another request..

“if we get caught kissing we’re dead but let’s risk it” with Francis and Martha omg

(this is a prompt from approx. a month ago for my 1.5k follower celebration; still have two left unwritten)

Looklooklook I am such a sucker for this bonkers movie and love an excuse to write any Sam Rockwell character, besides, so here is 595 words of Francis/Martha from Mr. Right (2015). Slight content warning for vague but arguably excessive discussion of violence lmao.

——

Martha’s become kinda fond of the taste of her own blood.

Not in, like, a cannibalism sort of way, obviously. Maybe her moral compass points a little off-kilter – in a way that she never quite understood until Francis came along and showed her what it’s like to be on the same page as someone so completely – but eating people is on another level that she’ll never understand.

That said.

She doesn’t get hit very often, not least of which because she’s a fucking great shot and things rarely come to blows. So when it comes down to it – when a few stray hits make contact with her nose, her jaw – maybe she gets a bit of a kick out of the whole thing. Martha’s blood dribbles down her cheek and past her parted lips as she doubles down and regains the high ground, and it feels like the mark of a fight hard-won.

“You look hot, baby.”

Alright—maybe she likes that he likes her a little bloody, too.

Martha grins and slams the door shut behind her, leaning against it as she holds Francis’s gaze. “You look hot.”

Francis waves this away vaguely with a pistol. “Nah, you’re just saying that. I’m a mess, just look at me.”

Oh, she is—his hair is mussed, there’s a sheen of sweat across his brow, and he, too, is something of a bloodied mess, but she doesn’t spot a single bullet wound on him, so it looks like they’re in good shape to regroup here before confronting the next wave of guards. Or to take a second to themselves, as awful as that idea might be.

“Wanna bet?” she asks.

Because, after all, Martha has always liked bad ideas.

Francis raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth to ask her to elaborate. He doesn’t have time to speak, though, because Martha has moved across the room quickly. Francis reacts purely on instinct, his hands settling at her waist at the same time she clutches his shoulders and pulls him close.

His mouth tastes like blood, too, and Martha has no clue whose is whose, but she couldn’t care less. She couldn’t care less about the distant sound of gunfire, either, the shouting voices instructing to search this hallway and the footsteps coming closer.

And when she leans away slightly, Francis nips at her lower lip before muttering, “I still don’t believe you.”

“No?” Martha leans back in his arms, narrowing her eyes when she sees how innocently he’s blinking at her. “I want you to marry me, nerd. D’you believe me now?”

In an instant, Francis’s trained expression falters, revealing a hint of earnest surprise.

That’s another thing Martha’s become fond of—surprising someone who’s long been convinced that he can no longer be surprised.

But he composes himself quickly and nods, his brow furrowed and serious. “You’re right, you’re too shallow to marry me for my personality.”

“You’re the worst,” Martha mutters against his lips. She’s not sure she could say which one of them leaned in first this time, they moved so fluidly—probably one of the spookiest things about this whole Matrix thing they do.

Distantly, she hears the door click open, and both she and Francis are fast. His tongue swipes across the corner of her mouth to lick away a lingering hint of blood before the two of them spring apart, a bullet streaking through the air precisely where they’d just been locking lips.

“Hey, stop shooting at my fiancée!” Francis calls.

Martha smiles wide.

She likes the sound of that.

#marvelousmermaid #fanfic #my fic #created

[dirty-jammies]

An Inappropriate Use of Technology (Jayce x Fem!Reader x Viktor)

(Warnings: vouyerism)

Back at it again. As always, I hope you all enjoy! My inbox is still open for suggestions if you have any requests!

(Part 2 link: Here )

~❤️📷❤️~

Jayce rotated the small device in his fingers, smiling at the flawless metal sheen on its body, "Looks good to me. Ready for the first official test of the Hexbug!"

Viktor grumbled and adjusted the height on the table-mounted visor, "I still don't feel comfortable with this project. Spying on the public? This isn't why we developed Hextech." he leaned forward and peered through the visor, now looking at himself from behind through the mechanical insect's eyes.

Jayce turned the insect's blue glass eyes to look at his own and stuck his tongue out so he knew Viktor could see it, "It's just an experimental prototype, anyway. Does the picture look okay?"

"Yes," Viktor chuckled, "I can see your silly face perfectly. Let us test the remote control function." Viktor tapped a clear area on his desk and Jayce came around to gently set the mechanical beetle on the desk. Viktor flexed a hand around a joystick connected to the camera visor and the beetle whirred to life as it began crawling around.

Jayce grinned, "Look at it go!" the Hexbug effortlessly turned on a dime and was even able to crawl up and over books and pencils Viktor guided it towards. He marked down notes on a nearby clipboard.

"Hm. If we were able to make it larger, this technology could be used to investigate areas too dangerous for people to go, like the Fissures." There was a smile in Viktor's voice, "Now, let's see if it can fly..."

A button on top of the joystick was pressed, and tiny, clear blue wings popped out of the Hexbug's back, quickly vibrating until the beetle lifted into the air, hovering.

Jayce tapped Viktor's shoulder with the clipboard, "My turn!" The younger man quickly slid into his seat as Viktor got up with a laugh, already grabbing a pencil to correct Jayce's notes. Jayce peered into the visor and began steering the Hexbug through the air, making it buzz around the lab, "This is amazing!" Jayce exclaimed, being able to see clearly through the insect's eyes. He maneuvered it to fly by their lab's window, above the Hexcore, even flying close to the ground to zoom under the couch.

Jayce laughed and pulled away from the visor to look up at Viktor, "This is way too fun."

Viktor smiled and gently tapped Jayce over the head with his clipboard, "It is not a toy, Mr. Talis, this is a tool." he chided playfully.

Jayce laughed and rubbed the back of his head, feigning hurt, "Sorry, professor..." he teased right back. An idea came into the younger scientist's head and he gasped, looking at the hovering insect behind him, "Hey! We should test the range of control of this little guy, right?"

Viktor rolled his eyes, "Please do not refer to our latest Hextech marvel as a 'little guy'... but yes. What do you suggest?" he marked more notes down on the clipboard before setting it aside.

Jayce got up and crossed the lab in a few strides, opening the door, "Let's fly the Hexbug down to (Y/N)'s lab! I bet she'd love to see it!"

Viktor hummed in thought, it would be a good way to test the range of control the insect had, and he knew you wouldn't attempt to harm it (as a botany researcher, you welcomed any natural pollinators that found their way into your lab). Viktor pulled out a secondary visor and plugged it into the joystick unit, "I wonder if the signal will really reach as far as the biology lab..." Viktor pulled up a seat next to the secondary visor and gave a thumbs-up as he could see out of the insect's eyes perfectly.

"Only one way to test it!" Jayce grinned and sat down next to Viktor, settling into his own visor as the older man steered the Hexbug to fly down the academy halls. Viktor flew it expertly, soaring above the heads of teachers and students walking in the hallways, down a flight of stairs, and into the Biology Wing. The insect hovered outside of your botany lab, reading your nameplate on the door. Luckily, Viktor noticed there was a gap under the door just big enough for the insect to crawl under. Jayce laughed victoriously as the insect made its way into your lab.

"The range is incredible!" Viktor remarked, once more making the Hexbug fly, "I wonder where she is..." he murmured, as if to himself. He flew the insect around your laboratory, looking at all the unique plants you were studying.

"What's her field of research called again?" Jayce asked; he had always fumbled the name.

Viktor smiled, "Phytoremediation. She's hybridizing plants specifically to detoxify contaminated soil and water." His heart swelled, cheeks colouring red, at how deeply you cared for the people of Zaun, just like him. You had confided in him your plan to clear up pollution in the undercity enough so they could grow their own food, no longer having to import everything from Piltover.

Jayce pulled back from the visor to look at Viktor, smiling knowingly at his blush. He knew Viktor was crazy about you. It almost made him forget his own feelings... he shook the thought from his head and looked back through the insect's eyes. You were nowhere to be found, but your uniform jacket and bag hanging on the coatrack in the corner made it clear you were somewhere nearby.

"Make a note that we should add an audio implement." Jayce murmured, "If the Hexbug could listen to its surroundings, it could be more helpful for reconnaissance."

Viktor hummed in agreement and pulled away from his visor to mark the note down. Jayce gently took the joystick from him, brushing Viktor's long fingers aside. He furrowed his brow as he looked around for any sign of you. He made a small noise when he noticed white fumes coming from behind a door in the corner. Smoke!?

Jayce quickly flew the insect through a crack in the door, and sighed in relief as he saw no flames, only steam rising from behind a shower curtain. Botany was a dirty job, so you had a personal en suite bathroom added to your lab.

Jayce blushed and gulped as he saw your silhouette behind the shower curtain. He glanced over to see Viktor still taking notes, then smiled to himself and flew the Hexbug up to perch on a high shelf overlooking the shower. Just one little peek... His breathing hitched as he saw your naked form from behind, blissfully unaware of the spying eyes on you. Jayce's face turned hot as he saw you wash your hair, rivulets of bubbles and water running down your lovely curves and ass.

"JAYCE!"

Jayce nearly fell out of his chair at Viktor's shout. He turned to see his partner standing above him, face completely red and fuming.

"This is completely inappropriate! How dare you spy on (Y/N) like that!?" Viktor snapped, sitting back down, "We have to remove the Hexbug at once, before she sees." He held back a noise at the sight of you rinsing your silky hair, grabbed the joystick and attempted to make the Hexbug move. It didn't. Viktor's breath hitched as you turned around, giving him an eyeful of your breasts and... pelvis... Viktor attempted to move the insect again, but it wouldn't move, wouldn't take off... oh gods, you were reaching for a bottle of body wash now.

Jayce's voice was teasing, but also too breathy to ignore, "I thought this was inappropriate, Vik." He felt himself grow hard in his pants as he watched you pour creamy white soap into your hand.

"It's stuck!" Viktor rasped, "The steam must have made the mechanisms lock up!" As awful as he felt about it, Viktor couldn't bring himself to look away, not now, not when you were massaging your own body, getting yourself lathered in milky soap. For a moment, your gaze flicked up and Viktor worried you might see the spy bug, but your gaze lowered back to washing yourself, hands moving over your slippery body the way Viktor wanted to do himself. Viktor felt his pants grow far too tight, and he pressed a palm to his erection, trying to make it go down. "Stop. We have to stop watching this now."

Jayce knew it was wrong, too, but he's been wanting you so badly for so long this was like a dream come true, he too couldn't pull away from the visor. He let out a rough chuckle, "As if you don't want to see this. I've seen the way you look at her."

"It's the same way you do," Viktor fired back, letting out a hiss as his attempts to push his erection down only succeeded in making him harder, especially as you ran your hands over your soft-looking breasts, "Fuck..." you playfully pinched your own nipples, making them hard. Were you doing this on purpose!? Viktor began panting as he started stroking the bulge in his pants.

Jayce groaned and began palming himself through his tight uniform pants; somehow, knowing Viktor was touching himself to the same sight turned him on even more. He cursed under his breath and unzipped his pants, the pressure too much to bear. He watched you rinse off the soap, your naked body glistening with water. Jayce saw you slowly trail a hand down your body, and lean against the tiled wall of the shower. He and Viktor gasped at the same time as you spread your legs, biting your lip as you began to play your fingers over your pussy.

"What are you two doing?"

Jayce and Viktor both shouted in surprise as a small voice came from the lab doorway, left open when Jayce let the Hexbug out. The two scientists looked over their shoulders as Heimerdinger tilted his head curiously.

"We were," Jayce cleared his throat, his voice coming out tougher than usual, "We were testing our new surveillance bug, but-"

"It got stuck somewhere." Viktor cut in, looking away from the Dean to hide his red face, "I am attempting to guide it back to the lab."

"Ah, that's the way, gentlemen!" The yordle praised, "always be persistent when you encounter a problem! Keep up the hard work!" He pumped his small fist encouragingly and moved to leave.

"Eh, could you close the door, sir?" Viktor called, still not looking back. The answering click coming from behind them was enough to make them sigh in relief and relax their shoulders, "That was too close."

"We... should stop." Jayce traced his finger around the eyepiece of the visor, imagining the show he was missing.

"We should." Viktor agreed, but his cock was still straining in his pants, "...however..."

"What kind of scientists would we be to abandon our project in the field like this?" Jayce grinned and looked at Viktor, who matched his smile, though with a large amount of embarrassment on his face.

"You're terrible." Viktor chuckled breathlessly and looked back into his visor, groaning out loud at the sight, "Gods, look at her..."

Jayce was. He saw you with your head tipped back, one hand groping one of your breast, the other tracing circles over your clit. He couldn't take it anymore, with a quick shift of his hands, he pulled his cock out of his pants. Hearing another shift of fabric beside him, Jayce peeked over to see Viktor had also pulled out his erection, and Jayce bit his lip as he watched his partner's long fingers tease up and down his large cock. Damn, he looked good like that...

Turning his attention back through the visor, Jayce groaned as he saw you were now pumping two fingers in and out of you, head tipped back in pleasure, your mouth open.

"We really needed to attach a microphone," Viktor whispered from beside him, "I wonder what she sounds like..."

Jayce let out a huff of laughter, "Bet she sounds as good as she feels. I wish I could touch her like that." He teased around his own cock head, smearing around the precum that was leaking from the tip.

Viktor chanced a look away from the glorious sight of you masturbating to look at Jayce. He was overcome with the desire to help him out, as any good partner should. He chuckled at Jayce's gasp as his free hand gently wrapped around Jayce's thick member. "Hm, you're very warm... is this okay?"

Jayce nodded tightly and smiled over at Viktor, "Could I...?"

Viktor's eyes were once more pressed into his visor, "If you wish." He cursed under his breath when he felt an equally warm hand wrap around his cock and start stroking the full length of it. He didn't know how the first test of the Hexbug had turned into a joint jerk-off session, but he was not complaining. The sensation of a foreign hand getting him off coupled with the sight of you humping your hand and groping your own tits was pushing him embarrassingly close to the edge.

Not as close as Jayce, apparently, because as Viktor's grip on Jayce tightened just a bit more and the younger man played his thumb around the tip of his cock, Viktor was graced with deep, rumbling moans of strained words.

"Gods, fuck, V-Viktor, I'm gonna-!"

Viktor moaned in tandem, Jayce's hand moving faster and with more jerky motions as a torrent of hot cum coated his hand. Viktor's lust-blown eyes widened behind the visor as you looked nearly dead-on into the camera and came with an erotic, full-bodied shudder. Viktor bit his lip harshly, tasting blood as he finished in Jayce's grip, his cum spurting out and coating the underside of the table before dripping down to fall on his trousers.

Jayce and Viktor slumped in their seats, watching you come down off your own orgasm through their visors. They saw you raise your two fingers to your lips and suck them clean, making the two boys let out tired moans. You turned off the water and exited the shower, also leaving the Hexbug's line of sight. Jayce leaned back in his chair, back hurting from being bent over the desk for suck a long time. He rolled his head over to look at Viktor, letting out a strained noise as he saw the older man was sucking Jayce's cum off of his fingers.

"Fuck, stop," he laughed breathlessly, "You're gonna get me hard again."

Viktor huffed out a laugh as well, "Eh, needless to say, this doesn't leave this laboratory. Agreed?" He put his softening cock away and fastened his pants.

"Agreed," Jayce promised, finding a cloth on the table to wipe his own hands off before tucking his own cock away, "I'll go down to (Y/N)'s lab to get the Hexbug back later today."

Viktor winced as he stood up with the help of his crutch, back aching more than usual, and he sighed, "If you are able to look (Y/N) in the eye after what happened today, you are a stronger man than I, Mr. Talis." There was a teasing sparkle in his amber eyes that made Jayce give a smile in return, though it seemed a bit forlorn.

"I... I really do like her, Vik," He confessed, "and I know you do too. But I don't want her to come between our partnership."

Jayce's honest words surprised Viktor, and the older man blushed at the confession. He gave a somewhat shy smile and looked away from Jayce, "That means a lot, Jayce. I do care for her deeply, but, and if you'll entertain a fantasy of mine for a moment?" Jayce's face flushed once more as Viktor pressed a warm kiss to his sweat-beaded forehead, "I've always thought... perhaps we could share?"

Jayce's face split into a flustered grin, "Both of us, huh?" Viktor let out a surprised laugh as he was pulled to sit on Jayce's lap, "Yeah, if (Y/N)'s into it too, that's definitely something I could do." His large hands rubbed circles over Viktor's hips.

Viktor hummed to himself, a thoughtful look clouding his glee. He pursed his lips and looked back to the sets of visors, Jayce's attention being drawn there as well, "I can't be sure, but... I believe I saw her look at the Hexbug. Do you think she noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

Jayce and Viktor whipped their heads around as their lab door swung open, revealing your smiling face. You were dressed in your usual attire of your academy uniform and lab coat, but your hair was still a little damp. And... you were carrying a tiny, blue and gold mechanical beetle in your hand.

#jayce x reader #Viktor x reader #jayvik x reader #Jayvik #Jayce x reader x Viktor #Viktor x reader x Jayce #smut #vouyerism #the botany student studying phytoremediation is my S/I indulgence so I forced it in here lmao #arcane smut #Pajama writes

[queenshelby]

The Secretary

31 Days of Kink: Day 12

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Smut, Dom/Sub

Words: 1567

Imagine working for Thomas Shelby and…well guess!

***

‘Come in and sit down’ Tommy instructed as he indicated towards one of the armchairs in front of his large oak desk.

You complied with his request but couldn’t help but worry. Your performance has been rather bad over the past two weeks as you and your boyfriend were fighting once again.

‘Have I done something wrong Mr Shelby?’ you asked.

Tommy settled himself in the chair opposite you, long limbs clad in his dark suit. He loosened his grey tie and took it off, placing it on the desk next to him, as he spoke to you.

‘Today? No’ he chuckled. ‘But I am wondering what a young woman like you is doing in the office on the weekend’ he added.

‘Just…I don’t know’ you said. The truth was that you didn’t want to be at home with your boyfriend.

‘Don’t you have a man?’ Tommy asked.

‘I do’ you responded with a faint pink sheen painting your cheeks.

‘You do?’ Tommy smirked. ‘Is he not treating you well that you have to hang out here?’ he then went on to ask.

‘No’ you barely managed to say as a true blush suffused your skin and you looked away from Tommy.

‘Why are you with him then, eh?’ Tommy asked as he looked at you searchingly but you didn’t respond to is question.

‘Either he is rich or the sex must be pretty good if you stick around for a man who treats you badly’ he chuckled.

You shook your head shyly in response to Tommy’s comment and Tommy’s eyes widened.

‘So, he isn’t rich and the sex isn’t good…I see’ Tommy chuckled just as he stood up and took off his black suit jacket. He then rolled up his sleeves, revealing the light hair on his forearms on his pale but beautiful skin all the while he could feel you watching him.

Tommy knew that he should really should leave you alone. But your whole manner was as if you were waving a red flag and he was the bull. He could not resist any longer.

He leaned over you, hands resting on either side of your armchair. Your breath sped up and your pupils were dilated.

‘Maybe the right man hasn't come along yet, eh’ Tommy smirked as he lowered his face to yours.

Just as you were about to say something, Tommy tilted your head up and claimed your lips. But, it wasn't a romantic kiss. It was a sexually dominant one. He licked and suckled and lightly bit your lips, before invading you with his tongue. Your muffled protests instantly became aroused moans and Tommy could feel you surrender to him.

He withdrew from you, maintaining his grip. You were flushed, your lips swollen, eyes closed your breathing fast.

‘Stand up Love’ Tommy said. His tone was commanding and you didn’t dare to argue and complied with his request.

‘Good girl’ Tommy said before he resumed kissing you, then trailed kisses down your jaw and then your neck, which where he bit you ever so gently. You moaned and melted into him. He had you by the neck and your body understood, even if your mind didn't.

Eventually Tommy lifted you up and turned, placing you on to the desk. He then nudged your legs apart and resumed kissing you, bringing your body flush with his, pressing your breasts against his hard chest and pressing his hard cock against your mound through your clothing.

You were moaning and trembling and he pulled back a little and you let out a little automatic protesting mewl. He slid his hand under your skirt to feel you through your panties.

‘You're soaked already, Love’ Tommy grinned and your eyes snapped open, looking at him dazed, a little pained "Oh!' torn from your lips.

He withdrew his hand, then encircled your waist and glided both hands down your hips. ‘Do you want me to fuck you?’ Tommy grinned.

You moaned and tried to squeeze your legs back together, remembering your boyfriend at home. But, Tommy kept them open, his hands gripping your thighs.

‘Answer me Love’ Tommy asked as his grip tightened. He already knew the answer but he needed to hear it from you.

‘I have someone…’ you said. Your tone was breathless, lacking conviction.

‘I don't think you get this wet for your man now do you, eh?’ Tommy grinned.

‘No Mr Shelby’ you said. You closed your eyes, a shamed blush painting your cheeks.

‘So, I ask again. Do you want me to fuck you?’ Tommy asked, his fingers tracing over your mound.

‘Yes’ you nodded shyly in between moans.

‘Well then’ Tommy responded before pushing you down on to the desk and pinning your arms above your head. He glared down at you. ‘Are you going to behave and be good for me, Y/N?’ he then went on to ask.

‘Yes Mr Shelby’ you moaned as Tommy brought your wrists together and secured them with one large hand, then used the other to pull down your grey skirt and white panties.

Without warning, Tommy inserted a finger into your wet entrance.

‘So fucking wet’ Tommy groaned as his finger slipped into you with ease.

You moaned loudly in response and Tommy soon added another finger before finding your G-spot. While his fingers thrusted in and out of you, he circled his thumb around your entrance to take some of your wetness and used it to play with your clit. He watched you carefully, learning you, taking pleasure from you. You were arching into his fingers, wanting more and he took away his grip on your wrists and kneaded one of your breasts, pinching a nipple as he went.

‘Oh god’ you moaned as you responded to Tommy’s actions with pleasured gasps and began to tremble. You arched, muscles tightening, trembling, holding your breath, then you let out adorable undignified sounds as you came all over his hand.

‘That's it Love’ Tommy groaned as he withdrew his hand from you and tasted you on his fingers.

You opened your eyes dazedly, not seeming quite aware of where you were just as Tommy pushed his fingers at your mouth.

‘Taste yourself’ he said impatiently and you felt compelled to obey him. You licked his fingers and then, without further instruction, sucked him of all of your juices.

‘That looks delightful Y/N. I wonder how you'd do with my cock in your mouth…Let's find out, eh’ Tommy grinned as he came away from you on the desk and unzipped his trousers, untucking his shirt and freeing his cock.

You pushed herself up slowly before dropping to your knees in front of Tommy.

‘Open’ Tommy instructed as he guided his cock into your mouth. He was pretty big and you were unsure what to do exactly as this wasn’t something your boyfriend made you do.

You bobbed your head up and down Tommy’s hard shaft several times until Tommy took hold of the back of your head, wanting you to take him in further.

Just as Tommy guided himself into your throat, you couldn’t help but gag.

Tommy sighed, taking you by the ponytail with one strong hand to pull you away and letting go again.

‘There is enthusiasm, and you are obviously trainable. But let us work on that later’ he chuckled.

You withdrew, looking at him with a slightly hurt gaze and stood up in an ungainly way.

‘Now Love, let’s make you come again eh’ Tommy smirked as he grabbed your arms and turned you around before pushing you down on his desk.

He kept you down with his hands, gripping your hips, as he slowly lined his cock up with your entrance.

Slowly, he inserted his cock into you, inch by inch stretching your tight walls as he went. You were wet and open to him and there was no special resistance to his penetration. He lost himself in how hot and tight and wonderful you felt and the half-pained half-pleasure noises you were making for him.

Tommy began to thrust slowly then fucked you harder and harder, pausing occasionally to prolong the pleasure for both of you. You were trembling and moaning and then he sensed you tightening around his cock.

‘That’s it Love, come all over my cock’ he grunted as your legs began to shake.

‘Oh god fuck yes’ you moaned as your second orgasm washed over you.

After your high subsided, Tommy finally pulled out of you and made you drop onto your knees again.

You instinctively opened your mouth as you watched Tommy stroke his cock.

‘I expect you to swallow’ Tommy said sharply just before, with one loud groan, he filled your mouth with several spurts of his warm and sweet cum.

You complied with his request and, after you let him fill your mouth, you swallowed, not spilling a single drop.

‘Right, I've got some work to be getting on with’ Tommy said as soon as he came down from his high and zipped up his pants.

You quickly got dressed and turned to go, still dazed, and you were nearly at the door before he spoke again.

‘Y/N’ Tommy said and you turned back to look at him.

‘Break up with your man and come back into the office tomorrow. This time, don’t bother wearing panties, eh’ Tommy smirked.

‘Yes Mr Shelby’ you said disconcerted and wide eyed.

Tag List (Cillian):

@lilymurphy03  @deefigs @theflamecrystal   @desperate-and-broken  @weepingstudentfishhorse   @livinginfantaxy  @rosey1981  @atomicsoulcollecto  @peakyboyslover  @nerdy4itall  @elenavampire21  @hanster1998  @mariapaiva13  @fairypitou  @harry-is-my-sunflower  @zozeebo  @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa  @littlewierdalien  @sad-huffle-nerd  @theflamecrystal   @peakymalfoyscullymulder  @themissthang  @0ghostwriter0  @stylescanbeatmyback  @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni  @momoneymolife  @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03  @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder  @otterly-fey @janelongxox  @uchihacumdump @basiclassy  @being-worthy  @chaotic-bean-of-smolness  @margoo0 @chocolatehalo​  @vhscillian​  @ysmmsy​  @littlewierdalien​

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee  @daydreamingnymph  @fookingshelby

#Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby imagine #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine

[dreams-of-yunho]

summer strawberries

yunho x y/n

rating: m

genre: smut with a dash of fluff

wc: 2.4k

warnings: steamy shower sex!!!! oral (f r), kinda hand job idk if it counts, light praising, mentions of melted ice cream :o

summary: the hot summer sun is horribly unforgiving. and what's better on a hot summer day but a cool shower? or, even better, a cool shower with mr. jeong yunho? <3

______________________________________________________________

It was hot. Unberably, ridiculously, stupid, dumb hot. The kind of heat where nail polish becomes sticky and ink won’t dry. Brain melting hot. At least there was a breeze; wind riffled through leaves causing storms of maple tree seeds to fall to the sun torchered ground. Birds cried harshly as winds jostled their homes. Small creatures kept to the shadows: rabbits, squirrels, and chipmunks skirting the sickening heat. Delicate and dainty flower petals wilted tragically.

And what were you to do? It was too miserable to even lift a finger. You were surprised your body was still functioning, believing your heart should burst and your blood boil. Simply miserably miserable you positioned yourself upon the sofa in the living room, the shades drawn so as to not let the fires of hell enter the home. If it weren’t for his promise of ice cream in the next ten minutes, you would have removed all the food from the freezer and shut yourself in, even if it meant asphyxiation, you could not have cared less at this point. If the universe wanted you to melt so badly, why didn’t it just get it over with, the sadist?

Eleven minutes, you thought to yourself, if he takes eleven minutes, we’re through. The prospect of ice cream was not taken lightly in your family. Ice cream was a happy escape for you. A brief moment of release from the trials and tribulations of everyday life. In reality, it wasn’t that great a deal but, today, as the sea of flames spilled through the glass window panes, ice cream was life or death and you would kill for it. You would kill anyone.

As minute ten neared and beads of sweat ran down your back, the door opened and in walked your Knight in Shining Armour, Jeong Yunho.

You watched Yunho as he stood, pantting, in the entryway. You knew the heat was real because of the way he was dressed; he wore a simple white tank top and camouflage cargo shorts. His lightly curled, night black hair was concealed by a ballcap. He removed his sandals and walked towards the living room, barefeet softly padding across the hardwood.

“Okay,” he started. You stared up at him from your place on the couch as he stood in front of you. His cheeks were flushed and his face glistened with a sheen of sweat. “We have choices:” a drop of clear liquid emerged from his hat-covered hairline and dripped to his eyebrow. “Chocolate crunch,” he pulled an ice cream bar from his left hip pocket. “Strawberry and orange cream,” he held two bars previously in his right hip pocket. “And,” he pulled a final bar from his bottom left pocket, “brown sugar boba.”

You carefully observed the selections he held before you. You would take anything frozen, even black cherry walnut.

“But, the thing is,” his tone dropped. “They’re melted.” He shook the bags and you could hear liquid sloshing around.

A quiet rage filled your chest, burning through your lungs. “Yunho!” He lowered his head and dropped his shoulders. “Why did you put them in your pockets?”

“I thought it would protect them from the sun but, I think it acted as a sort of convection  oven and escalated the melting process… don’t be mad at me.” He looked down at you through large, heart crushing, puppy dog eyes.

“Hmmmmmmmm,” you whined, destroyed by the lack of immediate ice cream. “We can put them in the fridge I guess. But, that’ll take forever, ugh.” You slowly dragged your hands across your face, collecting far more sweat than you could have imagined. “Ew,” you cringed, looking at your silken hands. “I guess I can shower while they’re in the freezer.”

“Wait,” Yunho called from the kitchen. “I need to shower first; I am drenched.”

“No, me first.”

“You’re not even off the couch,” he shut the freezer door. “How are you going to beat me to the bathroom?” A cocky smile spread on his rose petal lips.

“I’ll beat you.” You made an attempt to stand but your legs felt like jello-twigs and they collapsed under you. “Fine,” you sighed. “I’ll drown in my own sweat. Tell me you love me before it’s too late.”

It was impossible but you could hear him smiling from where he stood.

“y/n, my love,” his footsteps neared. “There is room for more than one in the shower.” Yunho extended a hand.

“Carry me.”

“Hmm,” he pretended to contemplate. “Fine.”

His actions were swift; strong hands reached under your legs and back, pulling you off the couch and to his chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck. He was sweaty but you didn’t mind.

Your feet met the cold, stone floor as he set you down in the bathroom. He moved to turn on the shower and you faced the mirror. Your hair was terribly frizzy (on account of the humidity) and fell this way and that, sticking to your damp forehead. Your face was puffy and your cheeks awfully rosy. You wore, it could barely be called, a tank top and no bra.

“Yunho,” you called gently. “I don’t think I want to do anything. I don’t feel very sexy right now.” You watched as he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

His hot breath stuck to your skin. “You’re hotter than this weather, darling.”

You laughed. “Cheesy.”

“Yet, completely true.” he set his chin on the top of your head and looked at you through the mirror. “Just a shower,” he promised. “Nothing more.”

Chilly water met your shoulders sending a shiver up your spine. But it felt nice. Water trickled over your face, down your neck and back, dragging the sweat and hardships of that day down the drain. Delicately scented, strawberry soap bubbled as you lathered it over your collar bones. “Let me get your back,” he said. Strong hands met your shoulder blades; massaging with his fingertips. Hands worked down your sides, gripping your hips and pulling back to rub the soap into your lower back.

“Mhm,” you moaned out as his fingers worked through the knots and tension.

“Does it feel good, sweetheart?” his hands ghosted lower.

“Hey,” you turned to face him. “You said just a shower.” He stood in front of you: tall and broad; godlike. The water was cold yet, blue veins pressed against the skin of his arms and hands. His dark hair was slicked back, accentuating the perfect bone structure of his face.

“Don’t you want a relaxing shower?”

You eyed his lush lips which were slightly parted in a gentle smile. Your gaze traveled his strong features and came to rest on his eyes. Those beautiful eyes; the eyes you fell for. The eyes that could never hide his feelings; eyes that told everything. There were little droplets of water caught on his eyelashes and he blinked them away.

You felt the urge to kiss him; setting your hands on either cheeks. You stood high on your tippy toes but he was still out of reach and was unwilling to help. “Yunho,” you gripped his face tighter. “Come here. I want to kiss you-”

He put a finger to your lips. “Just. a. Shower.”

“One kiss,” you whispered over the stream of the shower.

“One kiss,” he agreed.

You closed your eyes, waiting, expecting his lips upon yours. Instead, you felt his hands graze down your sides and hips, resting on the tops of your thighs. You opened your eyes to see Yunho drag the tip of his nose down your stomach. His warm breath hovered just in front of your sex. “Yunho, that’s not what I meant.” You put your hands on his chin, trying to pull his lips back to yours.

He only gripped your thighs harder. “You asked for a kiss,” he breathed. “I’m going to give you a kiss, my love.”

Every hair stood on end as his nose ran over your clit. He tilted his head back to lick a wet stripe against your sensitive nerves. You whined as his tongue landed directly on it, circling again and again. You could only whine as his lips enclosed you and your legs became wobbly.

“Y-yunho,” you moaned as he sucked. “I’m going to fall.” You tried to balance yourself against the wall and he wrapped his arms around your back, trying to stabilize you as he continued to suck and lick relentlessly. “Ah,” you could feel that familiar knot twist in your stomach as he began to kiss you harder. And, when that knot was at the verge of snapping, he removed his lips with a wet smack.

He groaned as he stood and met your eyes, watching you as you breathed haggardly, mouth gaping. A hand fell to your shoulder, moving a wet strand of hair back. “I’m a good kisser, huh?”

“Mhm,” you nodded.

“Yeah,” he hummed, running his hands up and down your back. “Would you like to kiss again?”

“Ha,” you scoffed and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. It was heavenly as your bodies collided; your hands tugging at his silky hair, tits against his abs, his nails pressing crescent moons into your hips.

You pulled back to catch your breath, still winded from him eating you out. “God,” you ran a thumb over his cheek. “You are a good kisser.”

You thought he would come right then and there, the look he gave you was steeped in passion and lust. His hand met your ass, pulling one leg up to his waist as he moved to press your back against the cold tile wall. He winced as his hard on pressed against your lower stomach.

You loved that look. You wanted to see it again; to know you made him feel good.

Your hand snaked between your bodies as you began to pepper light kisses across his collar bones. He gasped as you grabbed his dick in your hand. You felt his Adam's apple bob as your lips moved to his neck. You squeezed him a little harder and his head fell back with a moan, giving you more beautiful canvas.

Warm fingers met your clit and you dropped your head to his neck, already sensitive from his mouth. “You’re so wet,” he ran his fingers back and forth through your folds, each movement causing you to moan against his chest.

“We-we’re in the shower,” you managed.

A deep laugh vibrated through his chest and his dick twitched in your hand. “I guess you’re right.” He pulled at your other leg. “Come here.”

“Yunho,” you raised your head. “If you slip and drop me,” you warned as effectively as you could with his fingers working you so wonderfully.

“I would never let you fall,” his strong arms pulled you close. “Jump.”

You managed to jump the best you could and one of Yunho’s hands was there to meet you. “Good job, baby,” he lowered you down his body a little.

You could feel him lining up, his tip pushing at your entrance. His eyes fell to yours, watching your face as he lowered you slowly onto him. You groaned as he moved deeper into you, parting you. “Is it okay,” a hand rubbed your back lovingly.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “You can keep going.”

He smiled slightly and loosening his grip on your back one last time, bottomed out with a moan.

You tugged at his hair as you adjusted to his immense size.

“Okay?” He kissed your cheeks.

“Yes, just give me a sec.” You moved your hips up and down, desperate for the pain to subside.

“Jesus,” he squeezed his eyes shut. “A warning next time.”

You clenched around him in response.

“Cheeky,” he chuckled.

“Okay,” you breathed out. “Move.”

“Okay,” he smiled down at you. He captured your moans in a kiss as he thrusted into you.

He was gentle with you, as he always was. He carefully watched you, making sure everything felt good, that he made you feel good. “That’s it, baby,” he cooed. “You’re so pretty.”

You gripped his shoulders as his pace began to quicken and you couldn’t help but clench as his veins dragged against your walls.

“If you keep doing that,” he choked out between thrusts. “I’m going to come right now.”

You slumped against his chest. You wanted to listen to him but he was making you feel so good. Your body was coming completely relaxed and undone in his touch. Your mind, your body, your heart; you were so at ease being with him.

However, your nerves began to spark as his fingers fell to your clit. You could tell he was close because he dropped his forehead to yours wordlessly, his nose scrunched. And he loved when you two came together; Completely free in each other’s arms.

He seemed to completely forget about the slick watery surface he stood on and began to pound into you as fast and as hard as he could. You moaned and mewled as he hit deeper and deeper with each thrust.

“I’m gonna come, y/n,” he warned, his pace becoming erratic and you clenched harder around him, feeling your high approaching too.

“Me too, Yunho,” you whined as he hit your g-spot with a particular force.

You came loudly, fingers desperately searching for something to grip, finally resting on his toned biceps.

He followed you almost immediately, his hips ramming into yours sloppily as his dark eyes bored into yours, a lazy smile on his swollen lips. He pulled out and slumped to the shower floor, holding you tightly in his arms. He gently peppered your face with kisses. “I love you, y/n.”

You giggled as he found a ticklish spot behind your ear. “I love you too, Yunho.” You sighed as you saw his cum run out of your pussy and down the shower drain. “We should have sex in the shower more often; easier to be lazy.”

“I tire you out that much, huh?”

“My god,” you scoffed. “Cocky bastard.”

“You love it,” he teased, massaging the inside of your sore thighs.

You rolled your eyes. “Wanna wash my hair?” You asked, only half kidding.

“I would but, I don’t want to. I want to stay like this.”

“Me too,” you agreed, sinking deeper into his arms. “I could fall asleep like this.”

“Yeah,” his raspy voice responded. “Me too.”

#ateez yunho #ateez x reader #ateez smut #kpop smut #kpop fic #yunho smut #yunho x reader #yunho fluff #ateez fluff #ateez senarios #kpop senarios #kpop imagines #ateez x y/n #ateez x reader smut

[juletheghoul]

I wish you would write a fic where one of Pedro's characters goes to the club that domanatrix!reader works at, and begs to be her new client 😈💅

Okay so. I ran with this. If there's enough of a response then I'll make this into something bigger.

Hope you all enjoy todays horny thots.

Pairing: Dave York x f-(soft/dom)!reader

Warnings: light humiliation, teasing, pussy eating, dirty talk, established sub/dom relationship.

Smut under the cut

He was leaking onto himself. Fat pearly beads of precum as he knelt there at your feet.

“Please?” He was looking up at you on your plush chair in the low light of the room, eyes glassy and lust-blown; patient.

“Why should I let you? You don’t deserve it.” Your tone was scathing, your face a mask of disgust.

“Please, I want it so bad. I want to see, taste it.” He was looking at your thighs, his tongue running over his bottom lip at the thought that after so long, you might finally let him.

“Tell me what you want, use your words like a big boy.” You pulled his hair back slightly and he groaned deep in his belly, you saw his cock twitch and you let go, sitting back in the chair.

“Please, I want to see it. Please show me your pretty pussy.” He had a light sheen of sweat on his chest, his muscles straining as he held his arms behind his back. You gave him the barest hint of a smile as you sat there.

His name was David, that’s all you knew about him. He’d come in about a month ago and he was turning out to be your favourite client. He had been surprisingly clear about what he wanted from you, had been so eager for you to control him; tease and deny him.

“You think you deserve to see it? You’re disgusting.” You shoved his face away and he moaned, recovering quickly and getting back into position. His cock was bobbing in front of him, strings of his arousal leaking down - making your mouth water if you were honest with yourself. “You gonna cry big boy? Making my pussy dry just looking at you.” You grabbed his neck with your hand, ever mindful of the pressure. He moaned, staring at your mouth as you sneered at him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t deserve it, but I’m being good right? Aren’t I being good for you?” You licked at his lip slowly, giving him the chance to act out but he was on his best behaviour and didn’t take the bait.

“Hmm, yes you are baby boy, being so good. Maybe you do deserve to see it.” You smiled as you reached down to rub the thick head of his dick with the tip of your finger, the velvet skin of it slippery with his fluids. You cherished the way his brow furrowed, the way his mouth hung open in exquisite agony. You could see the way he was suspended in bliss, your touch simply wasn’t enough for him to cum. “Do you deserve to see it baby?” You asked him as you wrapped your palm loosely around just the head of him. He moaned, his breaths coming faster and faster. His eyes were shut tight, trying to stop himself and focus.

“Yes yes, I - fuck - I deserve it.” he gritted the words out and you stopped. He let out a breath of relief and you sat back, waiting until he looked back at you to lick him off your palm.

“Since you’ve been so good.” You pulled the short little sundress you wore up, so he could see your panties, they were wet and he bit his lip. “You’ve been so good, I think you deserve a good long look.” You stood up in front of him, your belly level with his face and pulled them down, shoving them into his mouth before sitting in front of him.

His eyes were closed and you could tell he was tasting you. You sat in the chair, and once his eyes were open you spread your legs draping one over the arm of the chair, and bracing the other against his chest. His gaze was focused on your pussy and you spread it open for him to see it all.

He groaned into the fabric in his mouth and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Isn’t it pretty? You can take my panties out of your mouth.” You lifted the end of the dress over your belly.

“Yes, it’s so fucking pretty, so wet - I wanna taste it - please let me. Please let me make you cum - I can make it so good for you.” He was leaning in as he spoke, trying to smell your arousal. You’d never let him touch you before but he was so handsome, and despite the claims of all the men who paid for your company - you believed it when he said he could make it good.

“Fine - come and lick it, but if you don’t make me cum you’ll never see it again.” You beckoned him closer and for a moment he thought it was a test, hesitating momentarily. “Don’t make me ask you again David.”

He wasted no time, he practically lunged at you - his big warm hands wrapping around your thighs as he kissed your belly. His nose skimming along your mound, nudging at your clit.

“Gonna make it so good - want you to cum all over my face.” He slid his hands under your ass to push you up into his face and he dove in like a starving man, drunk on your arousal. His tongue coaxing your slick out and he moaned as he brought it up to swirl against your clit.

He was good. He was really good and your hands came up to thread through his hair.

He sucked your clit into his mouth and he groaned with every drop of arousal that drooled out of you. You could feel the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter, he was going to make you cum, and fast.

“Oh baby - yes, God David that’s really good, you’re doing so good, touch yourself.” You ground your hips into his face as he groaned, one of his hands dropping to fuck himself with it. Knowing he was so aroused, that he was going to cum while eating your cunt pushed you over the edge and you seized up. He sucked harder, pulling a scream out of you before you heard him, he groaned deep moaning into your pussy as he came all over himself.

You had to wear this dress more often.

--------

tagging all of you because it's the suburban murder daddy

Tag list: @frannyzooey @foli-vora @danniburgh @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @softdindjxrin @wheresarizona @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @lori-tovar @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @dihra-vesa @gaiuswrites @stevie75 @sweet-creature98 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @goldielocks2004 @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @bellaorisa @hellovanessax @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @mrs-ghuleh @pedritoispunk @librariantothejedi @studythoreauly @missswriter @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @giizhkens-cedar @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @anaaaispunk @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @mandosmistress @deadhumourist @felicisimor @tuskens-mando @no-droids-on-sunday @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @gothicxbarbie @tkolemba @localddreamer @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @ajeff855 @recklessworry @soltassbruxa @heyitmelexie @liviiii98 @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl

#dave york ask #dave york x reader fic #dave york x you #dave york pit #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #the equalizer 2

[ktheist]

take my whole life too | m

muses. jeongguk x heir!reader

genre. chaebol au. arranged marriage au. expecting parents au.

words. 5k

warnings. dad!jeongguk, house husband!jeongguk, simp!jeongguk, implied smut verging on actual smut, mentions of break up and arguments

x

you never gave much thought for jeon jeongguk - not for how he looks, not for how much he makes, not for how compatible you are together. nothing. so much for promising to stay together through health and sickness till death do you apart.

but that’s just the thing, you were willing to let go of your heart in exchange for the wealth of your family. which is inherently yours until the findings of your grandfather’s will appointing his administrators the task of safeguarding the billions of dollar estate against his unmarried granddaughter who to be fair, has always had her eyes on that bejeweled ring of his. it’s less about the diamond and more about what possessing - legally, of course - the ring could do. for one, nobody could challenge your legitimacy as the chairman of luxean. and boy, do your overbearing aunties like to nitpick every little thing you do at the board meeting just to put their sons and daughters in a better light.

so yeah, you would say sacrificing your non-existent possibility of falling in love would suffice. plus, jeongguk can go shopping for convertibles with a swipe of a card, fly from london to italy to greece and back to london within one night. heck, he can even have a steamy hot night with the locals and bring back a greek goddess of a mistress if he wanted to.

except for one problem: he wants to do all those things with you.

well, considering how he stripped down to just pants with the buckle undone and protrusion of well defined abs that leads to a tantalizing v-line beneath the contrasting black band of his calvin klein halfway to the bedroom of your suite after the ceremony, completely disregarding the fact you never spoke to him unless you were in the presence of other people - watching eyes - and the limited time you have to change into your second outfits, you figured he’d want more than just hot and steamy nights in paris and peaceful quiet mornings in athens in your sundress and off white spring hats.

he either hasn’t figured out that he’s just a tool for you to gain public opinion or he doesn’t particularly care as long as he’s getting some.

“you’re leaving?” the voice that asked the very obvious question bears a sort of despondency to it.

when you turn to face the man lying naked - and looking like a well sculpted greek god at that - in the bed, you curse yourself for forgetting the one simple thing that you promise yourself not to do: look at him in the eye. by god, you’ve never seen anyone -  any man - who could be so good at weakening your resolution and making you want to climb into bed and cuddle him like a puppy.

“didn’t soyeon tell you i have a meeting?” you manage to sound casual about it for the most part as you put on the earrings that lie abandoned on the vanity when jeongguk came in just before you were almost done with your make up and bent you over the vanity to fuck you once before carrying you to the bed and fuck you in your sensitive state.

“i know,” he mumbles.

and when only silence follows suit, you can’t help but let your hands rest on your hip as you raise your eyebrows, “but?”

it takes a moment of the man trapping his bottom lip between his teeth and leaving it with a sort of pinkish shine when he releases it, “can we have another go?”

“you’re hard?” this time, the surprise in your voice is unconcealable, “again?”

“i know - i’m sorry - it’s just... that dress looks really good on you,” he doesn’t even bother to hide his ogling.

so to answer the question of whether you fucked him that time at your suite when you were supposed to change, yes you did.

“sounds like a you kind of problem,” you wave with the hand that picked up your purse - all your essentials already there, “go out and have a look at athens before we fly for london tomorrow - oh and maybe grab some dinner for yourself.”

“when will you be back?” as much as you like to think you’re indifferent to your husband, you can’t help but think he looks endearing for shying away from your gaze and rubbing the back of his head hesitantly, “i thought maybe we could have dinner together.”

there’s a strain in his voice but you brush it off, shrugging, “what do you think meetings like this are held over? i am going for dinner,” you want to take that back as soon as it escaped your lips but instead, you turn around, “anyways, don’t wait up.”

that’s one habit that he seems to have - waiting for you until you climb into bed with him after long hours of frying your eyes in front of the laptop in the common area.

either way, you strut out of your suite, leaving your husband with a semi-hard cock, you didn’t miss the way it twitched at your blatant rejection just before you turned your back on him.

and so you go about your day, the meeting coming to a close flawlessly as with a signed contract and a meal worthy of the restaurant’s reputation. by the time you thought the approaching figure from the corner of your eyes is the waiter bringing your desserts, kim taehyung was in the middle of thanking you “for meeting me on such a short notice, on your honeymoon at that.”

“i should thank you for reaching out to my secretary when you heard i’d be here too,” you chuckle, hand pushing a stray hair to the back of your ear before your gaze travels up to meet the man’s, “my grandfather always says, there’s no security on this earth, only opportunity,” raising the wine glass mid air, you offer him a smile, “and god does not help anyone seize it unless they do so themselves.”

“the late chairman was a wise man,” he raises his own glass, only to freeze at an awkward angle when the waiter finally approaches you.

except it isn’t the waiter. 

it’s-

“___,” a voice fills your ears like velvet on skin, you already know who it belongs to before you even look up at the man whose out-of-character furrowed brows and pressed lips all but makes you want to shoot up from your seat and spout out explanations you don’t even owe him, “i thought i’d pick you up since it’s,” he checks his rolex - it was the first thing you bought him after assessing his lack of accessory after you’d both signed the contract, “half an hour till midnight and the polignotou isn’t going to wait for us.”

taehyung is the one to break the silence, “it seems i’ve taken up too much of your time.”

before you can even refute it, he’s already standing up and fixing his blazer before stepping to the side to properly face your husband. 

“congratulations of your marriage, mr. jeon,” then he turns to you, his smile just as excellent at yours when it comes to hiding your emotions and that could only mean that tonight is drawing to an end on a bad note thanks to your husband’s interruption, “mrs. jeon.”

and with a final words of ‘i’ll have my secretary send you the papers soon’, he’s gone like the wind.

“what are you doing here? i told you i had a meeting! not gallivanting with some greek men!” the words come out in a low hiss when he takes the abandoned seat across from you as you gaze around the vicinity in case there are other business acquaintances that happen to know you.

“i’m sorry -” he mumbles out, “i was walking down the streets and i saw you at the balcony of the restaurant and-” he stops short of his words, tongue darting out over his lower lip for the briefest moment.

“and?” you echo, brows arched.

“i got jealous of seeing you with another guy,” his voice is barely above whisper but you hear it loud and clear.

you’re almost sure that you’ve slipped but and let your eyes narrow at him like a puzzle that you can’t figure out but it’s gone in a heartbeat as you pick up your purse and clear your throat. possibly in search for the right words to say but perhaps also an admittance of your caught-off-guard situation.

either way you stand up, “let’s go, the street starts getting scarcer by 2 and i’d rather stay safe and walk with more people than less.”

x

you did end up walking.

it was a halfway walk but it’s still a walk, that was, until you saw jeongguk pulling on the material of his pants every two minutes. the lack of lights did well to hide it but even then, your eyes automatically pans towards the noticeable protrusion in between his legs. as if your body has completely adapted to his scent - that subtle but evident scent of masculinity, his gaze - the pure, unadulterated desire within the shadows in his eyes and his touch - the way his hand seems to inch lower down your ass before he traces back up to settle on the dip of your spine before it left you cold and unattended when he started to tug on his pants.

“jeongguk -ah, fuck,” you bite back the moan that spills over your lips, “you’re making too much noise.”

“yeah?” his voice bears a lull to it as he thrusts in and out of you in the way that makes your legs come together and your heart leap all the way to your throat as your hands grip onto the dampened cart jeongguk pushed you against in the closest alleyway you were walking towards before he bent you over, lifted up your dress and pulled your panties down.

not even a minute passed before you felt him inside you. and by god, did you feel filled to the brim. the sheen of sweat coating your skin is cold against the chilly night air, the sinful sounds echoing off the walls makes you pray for the first time in a long time that no one is nearby and the way jeongguk is hitting all your sweet spots has you gritting your teeth in hopes that it’d be one less sound to get you arrested for public indecency.

in a country that you’re not a citizen of, at that.

you’re not sure how you got back to your suite and how the hell did you switch into your night dress but you have an inkling that it has something to do with the man whose arm traps you against a hard, muscled body when you started shifting to wake.

his breath fans the back of your neck as he slurs his words but you can make out a ‘five more minutes’ after a grumble and a faint ‘chaeyoung’ at the end.

“no,” you’re not sure what or who you’re saying the words of rejection to, but you slam a fist into arm that’s holding you, “let me go! jeongguk! let me go!”

he finally does at the bloodcurdling scream that could wake up the whole city. but somehow security hasn’t come bursting through the door and the streets in front of your room hasn’t halted its hustling and bustling.

“wh-what happened?” jeongguk’s wide eyes scan the room for the one, solid minute before they rest on you but instead of settling with the deduction that your scream was caused by his own entrapment - possibly the unfamiliar name he blurted out - he crawls over to you, “are you okay?” hand on your cheek as he checks for something.

they return to your eyes when you slap it away though.

you’re not even sure why you’re seeing red but you attribute it to the fact that- “how did i get in this?”

he takes one look and blinks, “i changed you because you fell asleep in the cab and i carried-”

“why?” arms crossed over your chest, you speak over him.

“i... i thought you might be uncomfortable sleeping in that dress,” you can almost hear the screws in his brain turning in search for answers.

“stop, okay? don’t act like you’re some award-winning husband - you’re not, you were broke and was about to lose your only source of income when i came to you and asked if you wanted to not have to work a day in your life,” he must’ve not known that his eyebrows twitch at the words, “it’s always been about the money - i get it, so you can stop now. we don’t have to play house when no one’s around because this isn’t an actual marriage and we don’t even love each other.”

you expected the stars in his eyes to dim out, expected him to avert his gaze somewhere to the most random thing like the ugly vase next to the door or the phone on the nightstand or the window where the sound of kids laughing and vendors across the street obnoxiously greeting his neighboring competition.

but instead, he looks straight at you, “what is it then?” he asks, “what are we if those good night kisses, cuddling into each other in the middle of the night when we woke up briefly before falling back to sleep, holding hands while walking and making love every night-”

“i don’t know where you got that because i never kissed you, i never asked you to wait for me to go to sleep together and i never touched you first - they were all you,” your head dips to the side just the slightest bit, “and we had sex every night. that’s it - it’s just sex.”

the last thing you see before you climb off the bed and lock yourself in the bathroom, dialing up your secretary’s number to book a plane ticket for yourself, is what you’ve initially expected to see.

stars that don’t shine as bright as the morning they twinkle and greet for the first time of the day. brows that knit together but not because he’s anxious or nervous about telling you something.

when you stepped out, he’s gone and you don’t leave any notes. not even a text after you packed up your belongings, hailed a cab and went straight to the airport in your darkest shades and brightest dress.

and so it goes, not a single rumor about your early arrival in seoul and your lack of spouse with you. mainly because jeongguk and you have put up quite a show for those watching eyes. a love story worth spectating and an ending keenly awaited. but you’ve made it clear, during your about-to-hit one month honeymoon that you’re truly, deeply, madly in love with your chosen husband, so much so, that you’re willing to leave the chairman seat unguarded. 

it’s a gamble but it worked like magic. the board members welcome you back into the company without any inquiry even though you’re one week too early. mr. yoo even seems relieved to see you when you’re on your way to your office on your first day back.

“it’s nice to see you again, miss ____ -” he stops himself, “i mean, mrs. jeon.”

you shake your head, laughing, “miss ___ is fine for me, everyone’s known me as that for so long.”

when you reach the end of the hallway where you have to part to go to your office, and him to his, you tap him on the arm once with a hand that lacks a wedding ring but he doesn’t seem to care as he dips into a bow and bids you a good day.

and so it goes, you start burying yourself in your pending works while also juggling surprise visits from two of your aunts, to which each does not fail to not-so-discreetly give your left hand a once over. but you’re faster, having kept your ring in the drawer and pulling it out and slipping it on under the desk before standing up to greet the elder women both times without fail.

on the day jeongguk and you were supposed to return, you’ve debated on booking a hotel just because you don’t want to face him - soyeon briefed him about your sudden departure back to korea and that there was no reason for him to come back with you. and so he stayed. travelled to london and then to glasgow with a black card and unlimited possibilities - just liked you promised him on the day you signed the contract.

things might have gotten off track but coming back to the familiar scent of ocean from your candlewicks and the bonzai that belonged to your deceased grandfather in the corner of the room, you’ve found your purpose again - the reason you would go so far as to sacrifice your heart for this position.

you’re never going to lose sight of it ever again.

but when the door beeps once after you punched in the code, the smell of something delicious waft in the air after you stepped into your apartment and jeongguk greeting you with a pink apron with printed with hearts all over it, you feel yourself freezing in your spot.

“oh, you’re back?” his back is on you as he redirects his attention to the sizzling goodness in the hot pan, “i’m making fried noodles, it’ll be done it 10 minutes - why don’t you go and change first?”

it takes a moment of you staring at the black tresses of his head and the broad shoulders with a pink string hanging over the back of his neck before you actually take a step towards the stairs. once you’ve showered and dressed in your pajamas - you prefer those than the lingerie jeongguk has only ever seen you in - it takes another moment for you to stare at the golden strings layered with button mushrooms, beef slices and prawns and a fried egg over them.

“okay,” you shake your head, as if to shake away the trance that seems to come over you - jeongguk’s already looking at you with a curve on his lips, “what is this?”

“friend noodles,” he says simply.

“no,” another round of head-shaking passes, “i mean, what are you doing? i literally insulted you and called you a bum and a gold digger.”

he takes a minute to mull over the matter, bottom lip jutting out as if to say, “yeah, i kinda am.”

“you must also not realize that i only talk to you when we’re in public or when we’re having sex,” you point out, fork gripped tightly in your hand to which he gives a glance at before reaching to pull it out of your grasp and setting it on the napkin next to your plate.

“love making,” he reiterates but before you can even get a word out, he holds up a hand and tilts his head in a ‘wait’ kind of manner, “and a relationship is 50-50, you work and i cook and clean.”

your eyes narrow at him for the longest moment before you pick up the fork again, this time dipping it into the strands of gold and twirling it before directing it to yout mouth. an appreciative moan leaves you as the spice and sweetness spread over you like a whole new experience.

“good right?” jeongguk mimics your action, digging in and smiling proudly with the first bite.

it’s only when you’re done and loaded the dirty dishes into the washer, as you watch him take off the apron with his back on you whilst you lean against the edge of the counter, do you finally ask, “who’s chaeyoung?”

the way he freezes up with hands middair, in the middle of hanging the strap over the hook - isn’t the least bit surprising.

“wh-who?” the hesitant way he looks at you and then to his feet and then to the sink with a hand rubbing the back of his neck - is familiar. welcomed even but you don’t show.

“you tell me,” you shrug, “must’ve been someone important - someone who you’re used to having wake you up.” you let the silence hang in the air for several heartbeats, watching as his adam’s apple bob whilst his wide-eyed gaze shifts from the sink to the block of knives to the stool before they rest on you.

“maybe a girlfriend you left behind in exchange for money - the money i offered you,” and with that, you watch as his gaze shakes and his pink move but no words come out.

it’s only a long moment later, that he finally manages to find them, “i... i haven’t seen chaeyoung ever since we got married.”

“well, congratulations!” you bring your hands together in a crisp applause, lips curving into one of your schooled smiles, “soyeon contacted her and guess what she said? she said you told her you were going to the city to find a job and didn’t want her to wait on you which was why you broke up but poor little chaeyoung is still waiting for you on the country side - you can go see her and your parents.”

and with that, you turn your back on him for the first time since you left him to an empty suite and a cold bed. 

“why are you so...” but just as thought you could walk out of this like a winner, jeon jeongguk somehow manages to pull you several steps back with just words and eyes that bears more emotions than you can handle, “mean?”

“you’re always smiling and laughing with your secretary like you’re best friends, you always look sad when you talk about your grandfather and you always kiss your parents on the cheek every time you meet them... why-” he stops short when he meets your gaze - you’re not sure what he sees that makes him look like he’s been punched in the face with a wild ball. 

“i’ve always been mean,” you feel your eyebrows rising before you blink once, “you just had your head in the clouds, dreaming about how you can make a girl with a rotten attitude change and maybe fall in love with you along the way - well guess what? i’m not her,” and just like that night in athens, something in the way he stands, stiff like a rock and eyes darkened with a sort of desire, your eyes travel down to his pants where a painfully obvious erection protrudes against the fabric of his pants, “...and you like it.”

“no, i - this - it’s...” he fumbles on his words as he clasps his hands over his crotch, but the way his eyes seem to find solace at the sight of your cleavage screams desperation and agony.

“___... you don’t have- fuck,” the first moan falls out of his mouth when yours wrap around him. 

“only because i can’t have a proper conversation when all you’re concerned about is how to take my blouse off from all the way across the room,” you say after a delicious ‘pop!’ when your cheeks hollow out just before you pull away.

it takes only a few more pumps before he’s begging you to “wait- please - i want you.”

it’s the ‘please’ that gets you.

“fine but don’t come inside,” you relent, hands fiddling with the zipper of your skirt before jeongguk’s polite ‘let me’ as he bends you over the counter, chilly air kissing your skin as a tear echo against the wall and you wonder if you’re free in the weekend to go shopping for-

“oh my god,” the moan slips out of your mouth in a pleasured surprise - you didn’t expect him to get your pantyhose, panties and skirt out of the way that fast.

thought with the barely noticeable discomfort of your panties digging into your hips, you figure he opted for keeping them pushed to the side instead of getting rid of them completely.

they do come off anyway, left in the trail of clothes strewn along the way to the stairs where jeongguk decides to have you bend over because “it’s a perfect place for a doggy,” and you concur as you moan and whine while he fucks you like he owns you. hand keeping your hair in a lock whilst he holds your upper body up whenever you’re about to lose yourself and bury your face in the steps. 

but you do manage to get to the bedroom, just not the bed. you made a mess on the carpet - it’s going to stain an ugly shade of sex and lust but soyeon will probably not even bat an eye once you ask her to schedule an appointment with an interior designer. might as well give your room a make over.

so it goes, jeongguk likes to call your eye rolls and offers to lend him a driver to drive him to his hometown to meet the love of his life - cute. alternatively, jealousy. which you simply roll your eyes at, again.

at times, he comes over to your office - mainly to take you out for lunch but ends up fucking you over your mahogany table. and later in the car on the side of the road where an officer came knocking on the fully tinted window - you had at least 60 seconds to button up your shirts and pull down your skirt while jeongguk zips up his pants with a whine before you roll your window down.

how the rest goes, you rather not say.

but you’ve sworn against car sex - at least in daylight and in an open space.

so when you end up walking past a mirror in your room, just as you’ve donned an off white blouse and a grey pencil skirt, you find yourself freezing in shock. hands coming to cup your stomach, you squint at the woman who’s squiting back at your belly.

“honey, breakfast is ready,” jeongguk pokes his head into the room, the infamous pink apron tied around his front and a pair of light orang oven mitts on his hands.

“do you think I gained weight?” you quiz, knowing full well that he’ll spout a heartwarming but blatant lie about-

“no, i think you’re a healthy weight,” a man that looks like him comes to hug the woman in the mirror, kissing her head before glancing at his reflection once and turning back to it, squinting his eyes at the part where your hands are.

“uh,” he hesitantly starts, “how much chipotle did you have last night?”

“not enough that’s for sure,” you turn to him with an incredulous look, “i went to bed hungry,” a light smack lands on his chest - to which he doesn’t even bat an eye, “cause you keep stealing my food!”

“maybe we should book an appointment,” he suggests, voice smooth but the glint in his eyes and the suppressed smile on his face gives away his exitement.

“no, i can’t be pregnant,” you shake your head, walking over to the vanity to pick up your purse and keys, “it’s not the right time.”

“but what if you are?” you hear the hurt in jeongguk’s voice but your interest overrides your emotiones.

“i just can’t be,” and with that, you place a kiss on his lips, “i’m sorry, baby.”

and with that, you left for the kitchen when jeongguk still tried to reason with you. he tried again for the next few days until you set your food down and told him a baby is never going to be in the picture.

but two months down, you barely fit your clothes and jeongguk has been kissing you good morning before bending down and pressing his ear to your belly, “and good morning to you, my little blueberry.”

and he’s been kissing you good night before pecking your stomach and wishing the life form growing inside you a ‘come out fast so mommy and daddy can meet you, okay?’

“good news and bad news,” soyeon said exactly one month ago after you’d fainted in a middle of a meeting and woke up in a hospital room, “you can’t be pregnant but you are and you’re gonna need an heir soon anyway so...”

“it’s bigger than a blueberry now,” you point out  - jeongguk’s been calling your child a blueberry ever since he rushed to the hospital after getting a call that his wife fainted and once he was there, got flashed with a sonogram the size of- “the doctor said it’s as big as a blueberry, not chipotle,” you’d been indifferent, mainly because a child wasn’t in your plan and you’d been taking birth control since way before you got married.

but jeongguk had been overjoyed. taking care of you everywhere you go, he didn’t even let you drive and instead searched up for drivers with a long list of the lowest rates of accidents in their records. he gets into the shower with you because he “can’t wait to have a family shower together” and packages of baby clothes have been pouring in with matching shirts and ‘mom’, ‘dad’ and ‘baby’ printed on each one and he shows them to you after you got back from work.

his love for your child had made you fall in love with being a mother. with having a family of your own - the two notions you never thought you could wrap your head around as you made your vows to each other two years ago. 

and it’s somewhere down the line, as you watch jeongguk rock your baby in his arm as she sleeps soundly amidst the beeping of the heart monitor, jeongguk’s voice like a lullaby as he murmurs ‘you’re so beautiful, you have mommy nose, and my lips, thank you for being born,’ and when he twirls around, probably feeling the heat of someone’s stare from all the way on the bed, he looks at you with that lost, wide-eyed wonder before his lips curl into a smile, eyes disappearing into crescents.

-it’s then, do you realize that jeongguk has become the person you smile and laugh with, the person you greet with a kiss and the person your heart beats for.

he’s your husband, lover, soulmate.

x

note. i have another preview with the same title and characters but from a historical era which i haven’t managed to finish but if you see a marquis!jk and x heir!reader then yk hehe. also if you like arranged marriage au’s do check my masterlist! i have a lot of them apparently (i just realized while writing this fic lol)

i’ve been super stressed and feel like i haven’t actually been doing anything i really like in the weekend so i sat down and decided to finish this draft idea once and for all! 

first off, oc is a douche bag who cares about herself a lot but it’s written in her pov which i hope portrays a justification (which isn’t necessarily okay) to the things she do. but in other people’s story, she’s that woman who stole a person’s man, or she’s that hard ass boss that nobody really likes but pays good, or that graunddaughter that seems to think about her grandfather’s money only. but no one is easily good or bad, it’s more than that just like oc. and i hope to send at least that message through this story. not one can be just ‘good’ or ‘bad’.

in my opinion, there’s no development in her character bc of the word count and the fact that i didn’t plan for it to be long enough to include a development. i just wanted to write about an asshole who has feelings and can be nice to certain people. she’s probably still an asshole but her feelings for jeongguk changed and so is her treatment towards him (as per foreshadowed) and he became one of the people she loves - and i say probably because we’ll probably never know for sure and it’s also not up to my interpretation alone. you, the readers, may think she has or may think she hasn’t - either way, this is just a story about someone who you might know, maybe someone who you’d dupe as selfish. either way, i hope yall enjoyed it!

#bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #bts jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #bts #jungkook scenario #bts scenario #jungkook au #bts au #bts fluff #bts angst

[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.” 

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