#harrison x reader

How Do Suitors Celebrate Valentine's Day with You? – From grand gestures to quiet moments, how do they show their love? Pairing ; Ikemen Villain (Harrison and Liam) and Ikemen Vampire (Faust and Comte) Bonus Mozart.

Header Credit: Ikemen Series Pairing: Multi Scenario x gender neutral!Reader. Tags : Slow-burn Romance, Intense & Unsettling Affection, Dark Yet Tender Love, Suitor Being Cryptic™, Obsession Disguised as Devotion, Acts of Service as Love Language, Possessive Undertones, Fluff, Slow-burn Romance, Gothic & Haunting Romance, Mortal vs Immortal Themes, A Love That Borders on MadnessLove Through Music, Soft Yet Awkward Affection, Private Serenade, Love Language, Subtle but Deeply Felt Affection.

Warning : Dark & Intense Romantic Themes, Mild Emotional Repression, Awkward Yet Endearing Affection, Canon-Typical Moodiness, Brief Touching & Hand Kissing. Morbid Imagery & Medical References, Intimate Yet Unnerving Gestures. Lavish Displays of Affection – Expect grand romantic gestures.

A/N : Request from @ike-garden2024, for special Valentine promotion: (1) How Do Suitors Celebrate Valentine’s Day with You? – From grand gestures to quiet moments, how do they show their love?. For ikemen Villian; Liam and Harrison and the vampire Ikemen; Faust and Comte, Bonus, Mozart.

The following is my interpretation of what I believe Liam, Harrison, Faust, Comte and Mozart would say and act, and I kindly apologize if it does not align perfectly with the character or if you have a different understanding. Please bear in mind that it is intended purely for entertainment purposes and should not be taken to heart.

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Harrison Gray

Valentine’s Day with Harrison Gray – “The Weight of a Gentleman’s Heart”

Harrison Gray is a man of precision, order, and cold calculation. There is no room for frivolity in his world, no space for sentiment. And yet… when it comes to you, all his carefully laid defenses crumble like dust beneath your touch.

Morning – A Gentleman’s Restraint

The day begins in the same meticulous fashion that Harrison Gray governs every aspect of his life—predictably, efficiently, without deviation.

His mornings are usually spent in his study, reviewing documents, writing letters, ensuring that the world he controls remains exactly as he intends.

Yet today, as he stands by the window, the golden light of dawn filtering through the heavy curtains—his mind is elsewhere.

You.

The thought of you is an intrusion, a disruption, an irritation.

And yet, as he stares down at the single sealed envelope upon his desk, its contents written in his own careful hand, he exhales slowly.

"Sentiment is a foolish thing," he mutters. And yet, the letter remains.

A carefully penned note—one that he has rewritten three times over, discarding every word that felt too revealing, too indulgent.

A confession that he cannot bring himself to speak aloud.

The knock at the door startles him.

"Come in."

When you step inside, the very sight of you— dressed in soft morning attire, your presence filling his private world - unsettles him in a way he refuses to name.

You tilt your head, studying him.

"You seem distracted this morning, Harrison."

He scoffs, gathering his composure."Nonsense. I am precisely as I always am." But then—he hesitates.

His gaze flickers to the letter still resting upon his desk. Slowly, methodically, he slides it toward you. "I would have had this delivered, but since you are here…"

A beat of silence.

You blink, looking from him to the letter, curiosity flickering across your expression.

"May I open it?"

His jaw tightens.

"Do as you please."

And yet, as you break the seal and your eyes scan the precisely written lines of ink, he cannot bear to look at you.

Because the words upon that page—though still carefully restrained—are the closest thing to a confession he has ever allowed himself ;

"You are an enigma to me. A disruption. A force that does not bend to my carefully laid plans. And yet… I find that I do not wish for you to leave. I find that, despite my better judgment, I have come to rely upon your presence. I do not know what to make of this feeling. I do not know if I care to understand it. But what I do know is this—I would rather have you near me than not at all."

Your breath catches. "Harrison…"

He cuts you off, his expression unreadable, his tone clipped. "That is all. There is no need for a response."

A pause. And then, in a voice softer than you have ever heard from him— "Simply… stay."

Afternoon – A Gift with No Name

Harrison Gray does not entertain frivolities.

And yet, the mere idea of today— a day dedicated to meaningless sentiment— has left him restless.

He is a man of practicality, of precision. If he is to offer you something, it must be worthy of you.

Thus, as you walk into the drawing room, your eyes widen at the sight before you.

Upon a velvet-lined case, laid out with immaculate care, is a necklace unlike any you have ever seen.

"Harrison, this is—"

"A trinket. Nothing more." His voice is firm, dismissive. And yet—his hand twitches at his side.

A beautiful sapphire rests at the center of the piece, deep as the ocean, its facets catching the light with every movement. The chain is intricate, woven with the finest gold—not ostentatious, but impossibly elegant.

It is, in every way, something carefully chosen.

Something that could only belong to you.

Your fingers brush against it, reverent.

"Why?"

A sharp inhale.

And then, his hand ghosts along the nape of your neck, gathering your hair to the side.

"Turn around."

Your heart pounds as he clasps the necklace in place, his fingers brushing the bare skin at your throat.

The contact is brief—fleeting.

And yet, the silence between you is thick with something unspoken.

"Harrison…"

"It suits you."

The way he says it— so quietly, so final—makes your breath hitch. He steps away. "That is all."

Because if he lingers, if he lets himself soften any further—he may not be able to stop himself.

Evening – A Dance with the Devil

The ballroom is grand, filled with music and movement, the glittering elite of society swirling in an endless waltz.

And yet—the moment Harrison steps into the room with you upon his arm, the world stills.

The murmurs begin.

For Harrison Gray does not dance. He does not entertain, he does not engage in pleasantries.

Yet here he is, his posture impeccable, his hand firm at the small of your back as he leads you onto the floor.

"They are staring." His voice is low, edged with irritation.

You smirk. "Perhaps they are wondering if you will finally crack a smile tonight."

A scoff."Fools."

And yet, as he spins you in perfect time with the music, his gaze never leaves yours.

There is something in his expression—something raw, something unsaid.

And when he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. "I should not have allowed this."

You tilt your head. "Allowed what?"

A pause.

A hesitation.

"This." His fingers tighten at your waist. "You."

A sharp inhale.

"You have ruined me, you understand?"

The words are a confession, a damnation, an admission of defeat.

And yet, as he pulls you impossibly close—his breath warm against your ear, his heart beating in tandem with yours—

You know that he would not have it any other way.

"Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear."

Harrison Gray does not indulge in love.

And yet, for you—he will allow himself this one moment.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Liam Evans

Valentine’s Day with Liam Evans – “A Thief’s Most Precious Treasure”

Liam Evans has spent his life taking, stealing whatever he pleases without a second thought. Yet, when it comes to you, he finds himself wanting to give—though he knows a man like him should never dream of keeping something so pure. But just for today, he will pretend that he can

Morning – A Thief’s Softest Hour

The morning drifts in softly, slipping through the heavy curtains in thin streaks of pale gold. The fire in the hearth has long since dimmed to embers, leaving behind a quiet warmth in the room.

But warmer still is the presence beside you.

Liam Evans—a man who moves through life with the ease of a shadow, yet here he is, bound to the bed by nothing more than sleep and the slow rise and fall of his breath.

His hair, always so neatly combed when in public, is a little tousled now, dark magenta strands catching the light as they spill against the pillow. His face, hardened by a life of crime, is at its most unguarded.

And yet—he stirs.

A low, lazy hum escapes him before his arm tightens around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

"Mm... And where do you think you’re sneakin’ off to, dove?”

His voice is still thick with sleep, a slow, indulgent drawl as his lips brush against the delicate skin of your temple.

You smile, amused. “I wasn’t sneaking off anywhere.”

"Liar.”

His grip tightens—not enough to hold you captive, but enough that you can feel the heat of his body against yours.

"Stay a little longer.” His voice dips lower, almost hesitant. "Ain’t often I get to wake up with somethin’ good beside me.”

And there it is. Liam Evans, at his most honest.

Love, for him, has never been something gentle. It has been stolen, clawed at, fought for. But in this moment—it is simply quiet.

And so, you stay.

Afternoon – A Gift Only a Thief Could Give

Liam is not a man of grand gestures.

There are no roses, no sonnets whispered beneath the moonlight. He does not deal in things so fleeting.

But when you step into the drawing room, there it is.

Laid across the table—a gown.

Not just any gown.

A masterpiece of silk and lace, its color deep as the midnight sky, its embroidery silver like the stars.

Your breath catches.

Before you can even form a question, his voice cuts in from the doorway.

"Don’t ask how I got it.”

There’s a smirk in his tone, but his eyes watch you carefully, as if bracing for your reaction.

Your fingers brush against the fabric, marveling at its softness. "It’s beautiful," you murmur.

Something shifts in his expression. Relief, perhaps.

"Had it made for ya." His voice lowers. "Wanted ya to have somethin’ that’s only ever been touched by your hands."

And that—that is what he truly means.

A thief. A man who has spent his life taking.

But for you? For you, he wants to give.

Evening – A Dance With the Devil

The grand hall is filled with soft candlelight, the air humming with the murmur of nobility.

It is a place of power, of wealth—a world Liam despises.

Yet tonight, he stands at your side.

Dressed in a sharp black waistcoat, his cravat slightly loosened, his gloved hands resting in his pockets— he looks every bit the gentleman he refuses to be.

But it is only when his eyes land on you—wrapped in the very gown he gave you—that his posture stills.

A flicker of something dangerous passes over his face. Possessive. Fierce.

"Look at you," he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear. "Walkin’ in here like a dream I ain’t allowed to have."

A waltz begins.

Liam’s hand extends toward you, palm up, a silent command.

"Dance with me."

There is no choice in his voice. But his touch, when you take his hand, is reverent.

The moment he leads you onto the ballroom floor, every eye turns to you both.

But Liam does not look at them. His world narrows to you and you alone.

"I ain’t a good man, dove.” His breath brushes against your ear as he leads you in time with the music. “But if I was… if things were different…”

His words trail off.

Your heart twists. You know what he means.

But instead of answering, you only tighten your grip on his hand.

And for a moment—just one—his steps falter.

"Damn it, dove." His forehead presses against yours, eyes burning with something raw. "How d’you always make me feel like this?"

And then—he kisses you.

Not like a nobleman. Not like a gentleman.

But like a thief—taking, desperate, as if he will never have another chance.

Night – A Thief’s Final Confession

The night air is crisp as you step onto the balcony. Beyond the estate, the city is silent, the gas lamps flickering like distant stars.

Liam stands there, one foot braced against the railing, a cigarette burning between his fingers.

The soft glow of the embers casts fleeting shadows across his sharp features.

You step beside him, wrapping your shawl tighter around your shoulders.

"You look like you have something on your mind." Liam exhales, watching the smoke curl into the night.

"Thinkin’ ‘bout how I don’t deserve this."

His tone is light, but there is something bitter underneath.

He gestures vaguely—to the world, to the stars, to you.

"Ain’t never had a damn thing that wasn’t taken with blood or lies. And yet, here you are."

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers through his.

"I chose to be here, Liam."

A sharp inhale.

And then—he grips your wrist, pulling you between his legs.

"If that’s true, then promise me somethin’."

Your pulse pounds. "Anything."

"Don’t leave me."

There is no jest in his voice, no smirk to hide behind.

Just a man—battered, broken, yet willing to kneel before love if it means keeping you.

You cup his face, tracing the scar at his lip, the rough stubble along his jaw.

"I won’t."

For the first time that night, Liam Evans has no words.

Instead—he kisses you again.

Slow. Desperate. Like a man who has stolen countless treasures, yet knows that you are the only one he truly wants to keep.

And for tonight—for this stolen moment—he lets himself believe that he can.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, dove.”

For the first time in his life, Liam Evans does not want to steal.

He simply wants to be yours.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Faust.

Valentine’s Day with Faust – “A Heart That Should Not Beat”

To love is to be human. To be human is to be weak. And yet… when he looks at you, when he hears the steady rhythm of your pulse beneath fragile skin—he wonders if the greatest flaw of his kind is not immortality, but the ability to feel at all.

Morning – A Gift Without Words

The first sign of Valentine’s Day comes not in whispered declarations or lavish gestures, but in something more subtle.

You wake to find a single book placed upon your writing desk.

It is aged, its leather cover worn from years of use, the gold embossing nearly faded. When you run your fingers along its spine, it feels almost fragile, as though it has existed longer than your own lifetime.

There is no note. No signature. But you know exactly who left it.

Faust.

You turn the pages, immediately noticing something—annotations, scrawled in an elegant but sharp hand. His notes.

He never does anything without reason, and so you read.

The book is a medical text, one of the earliest theories on alchemy and the human soul. And yet, in the margins, his thoughts have been penned in careful, deliberate strokes:

“If the soul is nothing more than the product of electric impulses within the brain, does love not become a mere illusion of chemistry?”

Another:

“A man’s heart beats only until it ceases. But what of those whose hearts have already stopped?”

The weight of these words lingers in your chest long after you close the book.

Afternoon – The Scientist and His Confession

Finding Faust is never a simple task. He does not wish to be found. And yet, you know where he will be.

The laboratory is buried deep within the estate, its air thick with the scents of ink, aged parchment, and the faintest trace of chemicals.

When you enter, you see him—cloaked in shadow, candlelight flickering against the lenses of his spectacles. His gloved hands move with precision, assembling vials and glass instruments as though preparing for some great experiment.

He does not look up.

“You read it.” It is not a question.

You step closer. “I did.”

“And?”

Your fingers tighten around the book. “You already know my answer.”

Finally, his jade eyes lift to meet yours. A pause. A flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

And then— “Do I?” You swallow.

There is something unnerving about the way he watches you, as though you are not a person but a specimen under his observation. And yet, beneath that sharp, clinical detachment… there is something else.

Something far more dangerous.

“Why that book, Faust?”

His lips curve into something that is not quite a smirk. “Because it was the first book I read after my death.”

The words settle between you, heavy with unspoken meaning.

The first book after his death.

After he was reborn into something beyond human.

You step closer. “Then… does that mean you regret it? Becoming what you are now?”

For a moment, he does not answer.

And then, in a movement so fluid it is almost imperceptible, he is suddenly before you, towering over you, fingers reaching toward your wrist.

His thumb brushes against your pulse point. Light. Testing.

 “I have never regretted it,” he murmurs.

His grip tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of what he is.

“Until now.”

Your heart pounds beneath his touch—loud, steady, alive.

A sound that he has long since lost.

Evening – The Taste of a Question

The estate is quiet when night falls.

Dinner has come and gone, yet Faust remains. You find him in the grand study, where the glow of the fireplace casts his sharp features in flickering gold and shadow.

In his hand, a glass of red wine sits untouched.

He does not acknowledge your presence at first. But when you step closer, the corners of his lips twitch.

“You are persistent, little dove.” 

You fold your arms. “And you are avoiding me.”

A soft chuckle. “Perhaps.”

His gaze flickers to the book still clutched in your hands. “You should keep it.”

Your fingers tighten around the leather binding. “Why?”

Faust does not answer immediately. Instead, he leans forward, resting his chin upon his hand as he studies you.

“Do you know the origins of Valentine’s Day?”

You exhale a soft laugh. “A day for lovers?”

“No,” he corrects, “a day for sacrifice.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine.

 “Saint Valentine was martyred. He bled, and now mortals celebrate his death with chocolate and flowers. It is almost poetic, don’t you think?”

Your throat tightens.

“Then tell me, Faust. If today is a day of sacrifice—what have you given up?”

A long pause. And then— He moves.

Too fast. Too fluid. Before you can react, he is standing before you, his gloved hand tilting your chin upward.

“Do you want the real answer?” His thumb brushes against your lower lip. A touch so light, yet so consuming.

“I have given up my peace.”

Your breath catches.

“My clarity.”

“My control.” His lips hover just above yours—a breath away, a decision unmade.

“Because of you.” The words are a confession and a condemnation. And yet, as he finally steps back, retreating into the depths of his mind—

You know.

He has already surrendered to you completely.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my little dove.”

And though his heart should not beat—on this night, for you, it does.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Comte de Saint-Germain.

Valentine’s Day with Comte de Saint-Germain – “A Love That Defies Time”

Centuries have come and gone, yet no passage of time has ever moved him. That is, until you. Until this single moment, where eternity feels like a gift instead of a curse.

Morning – A Gift Wrapped in Mystery

The estate is still shrouded in early morning mist when a knock echoes at your chamber door.

Not urgent. Not hurried. Just… patient.

The way only Comte would knock.

When you open the door, you find no one waiting. Only a single box, exquisitely wrapped in fine silk, resting upon a silver tray.

Your name is written in elegant script upon a folded letter.

“Good morning, ma chérie. You are cordially invited to spend the day in my company. I do hope you will accept—after all, it would be most impolite to refuse a host on such a special occasion. Follow the petals.”

Your lips curl into a smile.

And then you see them—red rose petals, scattered along the floor, leading away from your door and down the grand staircase.

Afternoon – A Courtship from Another Era

The trail of petals leads you not to the grand dining hall nor the parlor, but to the conservatory—a sunlit haven filled with exotic plants, the scent of roses and citrus hanging in the air.

And there, at the center, Comte waits.

Dressed in his finest, a glass of deep red wine resting in his hand, his golden eyes gleaming as he watches you approach.

“Ah, there you are. I was beginning to worry I’d been abandoned.”

A smirk tugs at his lips as he gestures toward a lavishly set table.

"Come, ma belle. I had the kitchen prepare something special just for you."

The meal is an exquisite array of delicacies—artfully arranged fruits, delicate pastries, fine cheese, and a pot of your favorite tea.

But the true indulgence is the way Comte watches you.

"Did you know, in my time, Valentine’s Day was not merely an occasion for gifts, but for grand gestures of devotion?"

You arch a brow. "And how did men of your era court the ones they loved?"

A soft chuckle.

"Through poetry. Serenades. Secret letters slipped into gloves or hidden beneath a lady’s plate at supper. Each act was a declaration—an unspoken promise."

His gaze darkens—not with mischief, but something deeper.

Something eternal.

"I fear, however, that mere words may never be enough to express what I feel for you."

Evening – A Dance That Defies Time

By the time night falls, the estate is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight.

You are surprised when Comte does not lead you to the ballroom—but instead, to the gardens.

A violinist stands waiting beneath the stars, the first notes of a waltz drifting into the crisp night air.

And then—his hand is extended toward you.

"Dance with me, ma chérie." He does not wait for an answer.

He sweeps you into his arms, and before you can even take a breath, you are spinning beneath the moonlight, the world fading until all that remains is him.

His touch is gentle yet unyielding, the warmth of his palm resting against the small of your back, guiding you effortlessly through each step.

"Did I ever tell you," he murmurs, "that once, long ago, I believed love to be nothing more than a fleeting illusion?"

Your heart stutters.

You glance up at him, but his golden eyes are already fixed on you.

"And now?" His lips curve into the faintest of smiles—but it is not playful. It is reverent. "Now, I know the truth."

The violinist plays on, but you barely hear the music anymore.

Because Comte bends forward, his breath ghosting against your temple as he whispers—

"You are the only moment in all of eternity that I wish to last forever."

Night – A Promise That Defies Mortality

Later, when the world is quiet and the fire in his study casts long shadows against the walls, Comte takes your hand in his.

And he kisses your wrist— not with hunger, nor temptation.

But with something infinitely softer. With devotion.

"It is a cruel thing, ma belle," he muses, *"to love and yet be forced to watch time steal it away."

A pause.

"But with you, I feel something I have not felt in centuries."

Your breath hitches. "What is that?"

His lips graze the back of your fingers. "Hope."

You close your eyes, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your soul.

And in that moment, you realize— For a man who has spent eternity watching the world change, you are the one thing he wishes would never fade.

"Joyeuse Saint-Valentin, ma chérie."

And though time will march ever forward, in his arms, you feel infinite.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Bonus!

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Valentine’s Day with Mozart – “A Symphony for Two”

Music is his language. Silence is his sanctuary. Love is the one composition he has never dared to write—until you.

Morning – A Quiet Gift

Mozart is not one for grand displays.

He does not shower you with roses, nor does he whisper flowery words of affection. Instead, his love is quiet—felt in the spaces between moments, in the echoes of melodies left unsung.

When you wake, there is no extravagant gesture waiting at your bedside.

No card. No carefully arranged flowers.

Only a single sheet of music, placed upon your pillow.

The notes are unfamiliar.

You trace your fingers over the staff lines, reading the melody in your mind—a delicate composition, gentle and yearning, as if each note is reaching for something just out of reach.

And at the bottom, scrawled in sharp yet elegant handwriting:

"For you."

No signature. But there is no need for one.

Afternoon – A Musician’s Courtship

Finding Mozart in the daylight hours is always a challenge.

But today, you know where he will be.

The music room.

When you step inside, you find him at the grand piano, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the ivory keys, lost in a melody only he can hear.

He does not acknowledge you at first.

But then—his playing shifts.

The notes soften, the rhythm adjusting—as if welcoming your presence, as if rewriting the music to include you.

You step closer, placing the sheet music on the piano beside him.

"You wrote this for me."

His fingers falter—just slightly.

A pause.

And then, without looking at you, he mutters—

"Tch. Don’t make a big deal out of it."

You smile.

Because this is Mozart.

A man whose affections are buried beneath sharp words and guarded silences.

And yet—his music betrays him.

Evening – A Private Performance

Dinner is a quiet affair.

Mozart does not join the others at the long dining table, nor does he engage in the estate’s usual festivities.

Instead, when the world outside is dark and the air thick with the scent of burning candles, he finds you.

"Come with me."

No explanation. No warning.

Just a command, gruff yet expectant.

And so you follow.

He leads you to the empty ballroom—a vast, open space bathed in moonlight.

And at the center, waiting for you—a violin.

"You’re always complaining you don’t get to hear me play," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. "So listen."

Before you can respond, he lifts the instrument, settling it against his shoulder, his bow poised above the strings.

And then— Music.

Soft at first, almost hesitant—and then swelling, cascading, filling every inch of the room.

A melody of longing and tenderness, of passion restrained, of love spoken in a language older than words.

You are rooted to the spot, unable to look away.

Because this is Mozart’s love letter.

Not written in ink.

Not whispered in the dark.

But played with every ounce of his soul.

Night – A Love That Transcends Sound

When the final note fades, there is a silence that stretches between you.

Mozart exhales slowly, lowering his violin.

And then, at last, he meets your gaze.

"You… liked it?" His voice is quiet. Almost uncertain.

You step closer—slowly, carefully, as if approaching a skittish animal. "It was beautiful."

His jaw tightens. A muscle in his throat moves as he swallows. And then, in one swift motion—he turns away. "Tch. Of course it was. It’s my composition."

You bite back a laugh. This man.

Even now, he refuses to let down his walls completely.

And yet—the tips of his ears are flushed.

Before he can move, you reach out—catching his sleeve, stopping him. "Mozart."

He stiffens. And then, slowly, he lets you turn him back to face you.

Your fingers brush against his—light, tentative.

He does not pull away. Instead, he exhales—a quiet, defeated sound. "You drive me insane, you know that?" His hand curls around yours—tight, warm. "But if I had to compose only one piece for the rest of my eternity…" He lifts your joined hands—bringing your fingers to his lips.

A kiss. Soft. Fleeting. "It would be for you."

"Happy Valentine’s Day, liebling."

And in that moment, you realize—Mozart does not need words. Because his love is already a melody, written in every note, every glance, every touch. And it is yours.

▅▄▃▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▂▃▄▅

Written by : @eternaldarknesswitch

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Warnings: None really, maybe a little implied grown-up time ;P Besides that, it’s just fluffy fluff.

Pairing: Harry Wells x Reader

Word count: 1.2K+

A/N: So this is my first posting in what, 4 years? Has it really been that long? Not only that, I also decided to do it with a fandom I have not written for before. I fell into a Flash hole about a few months ago, and I have taken a particular liking to Earth 2 Harry Wells. So consider this as me hopefully coming back, and hopefully having made something cute for y’all. All mistakes are my own!

It's based on I'm Yours by Jason Mraz - was hearing it one day in my car and thought it would be cute! Also I don't own the GIF's, one I found on google and one here <3

You were walking through the cortex, thinking about how you were going to steal the projector Cisco was hiding in STAR labs. A big smile spread on your face as you skipped down the hall. Cisco rarely let anyone borrow it, not even you, his best friend. He loved how you were both movie dorks, but he protected it with his life if he had to. Hence you were now sneaking in to steal it for the marathon weekend you were having with yourself.

𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄 + 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍ ʀᴇx, ʜᴀʀʀɪꜱᴏɴ ɢʀᴀʏ, ʟɪᴀᴍ ᴇᴠᴀɴꜱ, ᴇʟʙᴇʀᴛ ɢʀᴇᴇᴛɪᴀ, ᴀʟꜰᴏɴꜱᴇ ꜱʏʟᴠᴀᴛɪᴄᴀ, ʀᴏɢᴇʀ ʙᴀʀᴇʟ, ᴊᴜᴅᴇ ᴊᴀᴢᴢᴀ, ᴇʟʟɪꜱ ᴛᴡɪʟɪɢʜᴛ, ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀ

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Just know that these headcanons are made before the official release of the game in English, so expect inaccuracies in their personalities (occ). This also sorta came out as relationship headcanons, but eh, I'm hitting two birds with one stone

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐊

I firmly believe he’s a sweetheart and his fav position is missionary!!! My mind will not change, anyways, he just wants to see you in the moonlight and be as close to you as humanly possible

moonlight.

harrison knott x reader.

￫ description: harrison thinks you look beautiful in the back of his car.

￫ c/w: p in v, fluff.

￫ a/n: of course my love! i hope you enjoy the below! <3 my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

“Harrison.” You moaned, barely above a whisper. His name falls so softly from your lips, he thinks his name sounds like a sweet song coming from you. You delicately hold onto his biceps as he’s wedged between your thighs in the back of his car. You’ve both spent the whole day surfing at the beach until the sun decided to set. The clear night sky has the moonlight reflecting off the windows and into his parked up car. It dances on his back muscles and gently highlights the soft features on your face that he’s come to love so much.

Hey! here is my little corner of the internet :)

I have currently only written for Sam Holland, Tom Holland, Harry Holland, and Harrison Osterfield, but I'm trying to expand! so send in requests of any characters + celebrity's and ill try my best to write for them! 

HIII MY LOVELY SAMMIEE!! again tysm for requesting this!!

-

liked by hazosterfield, tomholland2013, tuwaine, and 372,388 others

yourinstagram: HE IS THE MOMENT LADIES AND GENTS (and he is mine teehee)

view all 322,382 comments

hazosterfield who is that man??? can i get his number

yourinstagram sorry he’s taken 😰

hazosterfield oh yeah?

yourinstagram yup 🤠

tomholland2013 WHY DIDNT YOU POST THE PIC OF US

yourinstagram this is a haz stan account, who are u again?

tomholland2013 im taking that personal 🙁

yourinstagram hmm okay 💀

tuwaine who is that sexy mann 😍

yourinstagram BACK OFF 🤺

user31 not y/n defending her man’s GET HIM GIRL

yourinstagram im trying 😰 they’re coming in hot 😩

yourinstagram JOKES ASIDE love you haz 💗 hazosterfield

hazosterfield love you too pretty girl

yourinstagram 😰😩

-

liked by hazosterfield, harryholland64, tuwaine, and 738,921 others

yourinstagram im never going snowboarding again.. the amount of times i’ve fallen ✋🏽 and haz just SAT THERE while i was crying

view all 472,284 comments

hazosterfield do you have any broken bones?

yourinstagram no…

hazosterfield then you’re fine

yourinstagram suddenly every bone in my body is broken 😗

tuwaine i was a witness, haz indeed sat there while Y/N was crying 😁

yourinstagram im gonna cry again 😭

tuwaine oh no

user37 bye omg Y/N is feeding us all this haz content i can’t-

yourinstagram PURRR bestie he’s so fine i can’t even find a place to begin 🥵

user37 should we expect more photos of haz

yourinstagram yes 😩 this is turning into a haz stan acc

-

liked by tomholland2013, harryholland64, lifeisaloha, zendaya, and 2,992,273 others

yourinstagram this is a haz and monty stan acc💗 love my 2 loves

view all 372,332 comments

hazosterfield thank you, i love all my fans 🥰

yourinstagram YOURE WELCOME 💗💗 I LOVE U

hazosterfield love you too but don’t let my gf see this… she’s kinda crazy

yourinstagram oooo i know you didn’t just say im crazy

hazosterfield point proven

yourinstagram oop tea 💀

tomholland2013 again you don’t post the pics of haz and i, so rude ✋🏽

yourinstagram WHO ARE YOUU🤺

harryholland64 you’re welcome for the photography tips

George Harrison x Reader

John Lennon - Valentine’s

Paul McCartney - Valentine’s

Ringo Starr - Valentine’s

The Beatles Masterlist

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex / sexual assault (indirect, and doesn’t actually happen, it is only suggested).

George used to forget about Valentine’s Day.

He didn’t see the point of it, I mean, who even wants to see couples be soppy all day, anyways?

But he was contradicting himself when he was stood at your door in February 14th, 1963.

A rose in his teeth, and strumming gently at the guitar in his hands while he waited for you to answer the door.

You took his breath away when you opened the door, wearing his favourite red dress.

The flower almost fell out of his mouth.

Almost.

He felt so confident, but he almost melted to a puddle on the floor when he tried to say something.

The problem was, you weren’t his.

Not yet, anyways.

You were surprised to see your friend George, not expecting him tonight.

“Oh, George! You alright?” You asked, trying to multitask while putting your earrings in.

The worlds slipped his tongue, silently stuttering of what he wanted to say.

“H-happy Valentine’s Day!” He managed to tell you, looking bashfully down at his feet.

“Aww, Georgie, Happy Valentine’s Day.” You pouted at his kindness, accepting the flower from your good friend.

“You got any plans?” He heard himself asking, and you nodded - going to grab your coat after slipping on those heels that made your legs look gorgeous - (not that your legs didn’t always look gorgeous, according to him).

“Yeah, actually! I’ve got a date.”

The mushy feeling in his stomach quickly churned into an unbearable pain of disappointment.

“Ooh, with who?” He asked, not really caring, but still trying not to ruin your spirits - (or his own, for that matter).

“Chris. You know, the one that works down at The Cavern.” You told him, oblivious to the distraught look on the man in front of you’s face.

“The bartender?” He asked, eyebrows creasing - not able to disguise his scoff.

You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, George. The bartender.”

A bartender.

A fucking bartender.

Why would you choose a bartender over him,

A rockstar.

It sounded selfish, but to him it was completely plausible.

He was so much better than that narcissistic pig.

“What’s the guitar for?” You questioned, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“I- oh, it’s-”

Tell her you wrote her a song.

Tell her you wrote her a song.

Tell her you wrote her a song.

“I’ve got practice with the lads.”

Well done, George. Now you’ve done it. Dickhead.

He cursed himself, angrily.

“Oh, well have fun!”

You kissed his cheek, locking the door behind you as you each walked in opposite directions.

After a few hours of him sulkily dragging his feet around the nearby park, he made his way home.

He wanted to sulk in the safety of the confinement’s of his own home.

Just as he begrudgingly sat down, ready to crack open an anti-depression beer, the phone rang.

He forced himself to stand up, after shoving a few crisps into his mouth.

“Yeah?” He said, as he answered, honestly not caring who it was.

Until he heard your sobs.

“G-George?”

He immediately went into protective mode.

“(Y/n)? Are you okay?”

“C-can you pick me up?” His upsetting thoughts disappeared from his head, ready to do anything for you.

“Of course, where are you?”

The phone was held to his ear by his shoulder, as he pushed his jacket and shoes on - stretching to grab his car keys.

“T-the end of Matthew Street, I think.” You sniffed, hardly able to hold yourself together.

“I’ll be right there, darling. Stay where you are.”

It was raining when he got outside.

He probable broke a few speed limits on the way, as well as avoiding a few red lights.

But did he care? No.

In that moment you were his number one priority, and he didn’t care what he had to do to get to you.

When he arrived at Matthew Street, he could see you stood under the poorly-protected phone booth, tightly wrapped in your coat, shivering, hair out of its clips, and mascara running down your cheeks from your crying.

He didn’t even park straight, turning the car off and running towards you.

George removed his jacket, securing you in it as soon as he reached you.

“Shh, it’s okay I’m here now, love.”

You broke down in his arms, and he just held you.

He held you until you were ready to talk.

He swayed the two of you back and forth, chin resting on your head, listening to the combination of your cries and the rain falling onto the pavement.

“H-he was an arsehole.” You spoke after a while, through broken breaths. “He took me to a bar and got drunk- and he tried to touch me and tried to pay me to-” Your tears quickened as you cried loudly.

George saw red.

He wanted to kill the man that did this to you.

But right now, you needed him.

And that took priority over everything.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” He took your face in his hands.

You shook your head.

“I- I ran away and called you.”

He nodded, holding you close now knowing that you were okay, and he hadn’t done anything to you.

Then there would actually be a murder.

George did something he never though he would actually do.

He kissed you.

The cold, bitterness of February melted away into the sweltering heat of July.

You quickly relaxed into George’s arms, lips melting against his own.

“I love you.” He told you, after pulling away and leaning his forehead against yours - wiping the tear marks from under your eyes.

Everything you thought about George changed.

The past of supposed friendship made you realise what George was feeling all this time.

Why he was nervous around you.

Why he always went out of his way just for you.

How could you be so naive?

So naive, that you ignored your own feelings, also.

Then it clicked in your head.

Harrison walked to the lake, once again upset about the other campers. Once again, they laughed at his magic, which he himself did not fully control. He was angry and upset, not wanting to listen to it again from time to time. However, when he came to the lake, he saw you. He remembered you. You were a girl from the mystique camp. You, just like him, have often been the victim of ridicule because of your hobbies. He quietly approached you and saw that your eyes were red from tears. He didn't know how long you had been sitting there, but he was sure that you stopped crying only recently.

"Hi..."

You twitched and looked at him. When you saw him, you breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hi Harrison... You scared me..."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't going to do that..."

"It's all right... Will you sit down?"

He nodded and sat down next to you. There was an awkward silence between you, until finally he decided to ask a question.

"Did something happen?.."

"It's nothing special, it's just that some people are such jerks... They call me a liar and crazy even though it's not..."

"Why do they call you that?"

Harrison genuinely didn't understand why other campers called you that. You were a sweet girl who was into mysticism, but there was nothing wrong with that.

"Because I see ghosts..."

"What?.."

You pressed your knees closer to your chest.

"I really have been seeing ghosts since I was born... My parents didn't believe me at first, and then, after the death of my older brother, I started seeing his ghost and when I told them, they began to be afraid... But I'm not sure if they were afraid for me or because of me... Even now my brother is with me..."

There was an awkward silence between you again. In the end, you couldn't stand it and sighed heavily.

"You probably think I'm weird too..."

"No! Nothing like that!"

You looked at him in surprise. It was hard for you to believe.

"To be honest... My parents are also afraid of me and others don't take me seriously... But I do have magic... I literally made my brother disappear, even though I didn't want him to disappear and not come back..."

From such painful memories, he felt his heart ache. However, he did not have time to get completely upset, feeling your soft and warm embrace.

"Harrison... I'm sorry this happened to your brother, but it's not your fault... We didn't choose what we were born..."

Harrison hesitantly hugged you back. He was embarrassed and touched at the same time.

"You are not alone..."

"Thank you..."