Hooked On A Feeling (Harry Hook x Male Reader)

Hook, Line and Sinker

The air in the salon was thick with the scent of hair products and the soft hum of background music as Chet worked. The Curl Up and Dye, Dizzy's little hair salon on the Isle, was quiet, save for the rhythm of sweeping and the occasional clink of bottles. Dizzy had run an errand, leaving Chet to mind the shop. He hummed along to the tunes, his eyes flicking from corner to corner, his thoughts drifting lazily, when the creak of the door echoed across the room.

It was him. Harry Hook.

Chet watched as the pirate slipped through the door, a small grin playing on his lips. Harry moved with the arrogance of someone used to getting exactly what he wanted, his eyes immediately falling on the register. In one smooth motion, he reached over, lifting a few bills without a second thought. His eyes, however, soon lifted to meet Chet's gaze. He flashed a grin, the same one that had haunted countless victims of his thefts and charm alike.

"Well, well," Harry said, his voice teasing as he sauntered toward Chet. "Aren't you the one to watch?" Chet didn't flinch. He stood tall, his eyes narrowing slightly as he crossed his arms. The sharp edge of his expression cut through Harry's playful tone like a knife.

"Get lost," Chet said, his voice cold, though there was an underlying smirk tugging at his lips. Harry chuckled, a low, almost melodic sound, and without hesitation, his hook shot out, catching Chet's chin. He tilted it up, making sure Chet's gaze was locked on his own. The touch was not aggressive, but possessive, as if Harry was claiming something without permission.

"Oh, come on," Harry teased, his grip firm but not painful. "Why so cold?" Chet's eyes remained icy, but he didn't pull away. Instead, his lips curled upward in a mockingly sweet smile, though his words were sharp.

"I'm really not in the mood. Leave." Harry's smirk didn't falter; in fact, it deepened. He tilted his head slightly, still holding Chet in place. His hook now traced the side of Chet's neck, the sharp metal grazing his skin, teasing but not cutting. He leaned closer, his breath warm against Chet's cheek.

"But I just got here," Harry whispered, the amusement in his voice evident as he continued his slow dance around the boundaries of Chet's patience. "Besides, I like your company." Chet's gaze darkened, eyes flickering with something sharper than annoyance now. His lips parted slightly, speaking with a dangerous calmness, each word clipped and deliberate. "My company? Or is there something else you want from me?"

Harry's grin turned sly, a playful gleam in his eye. The tip of his hook lifted Chet's chin higher as he spoke, his voice teasing but edged with something more hungry. "You know me so well," he said, his tone almost a purr, but his grip softened just a fraction, as if he was enjoying the power struggle between them. Chet's eyes flashed with a storm of emotions, his stare unwavering. The tension between them thickened, the space around them charged with a palpable electricity. He leaned in, their faces mere inches apart.

"And I know how this'll end up," Chet said, his voice dropping to a low whisper, a dangerous promise hanging in the air. "I said—get lost." Harry's smirk tightened into a thin line as he tilted his head, his eyes never leaving Chet's. He took a step closer, his body pressing against Chet's as his hands moved to grip both of Chet's hips. His hook trailed back down Chet's neck, tracing the line of his jaw, gently at first, before applying more pressure.

"And I refuse," Harry retorted, his voice thick with amusement. He pressed forward, pulling Chet even closer as his hook dipped lower, tracing the curve of Chet's collarbone. Chet's fingers twitched, then suddenly moved down Harry's torso, a fluid motion that was over in an instant. With a snap of his wrist, he swiped Harry's sword, the cold steel pressing against Harry's skin as he levelled it at his chin. Harry blinked, surprised, his posture momentarily faltering as he registered the sword. His eyes flicked between the blade and Chet, a cocky smirk returning to his face.

"Stealing my sword, are you?" Harry chuckled, the amusement lingering in his voice, but there was an edge of irritation now—he didn't like being outplayed, especially by someone like Chet. "You think you frighten me?" Harry teased, his voice dripping with confidence as he leaned in, his hands still firmly on Chet's hips, despite the sword now poised against him. Chet met Harry's gaze with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the bravado. The sword lightly tapped his chin, the cold edge of it gliding against his skin as Chet tilted his head, his eyes narrowing.

"I think I do," Chet said softly, his tone deceptively calm, though the challenge was clear. Harry stared back, intrigued by the audacity, the fire that flickered in Chet's eyes. He had to admit, there was something magnetic about the way Chet carried himself, how he played the game without fear. Harry tightened his grip on Chet's waist, pulling him even closer, his gaze locking onto Chet's with a smirk that remained in place, though now there was something more dangerous behind it.

"Feisty one, ain't you?" Harry said, his voice dropping into something more approving. His hands moved possessively over Chet's sides as he tugged him nearer. "I like that. Makes it fun."Chet scoffed, his face twisting in disgust. "Fun?" he spat, the word thick with disdain. "You rejects from the Isle know nothing of fun." Harry raised an eyebrow, taken aback for a moment before he burst into laughter. The sound was rough but full of amusement. He moved his hands back to Chet's waist, shaking his head as he chuckled.

"Oh, come on. You really think you know more than us?" Harry's eyes danced with mischief. "We might reject Auradon's norms, but we thrive on chaos and adventure while you all stick to your routines and orderliness." Chet's lips curled into a tight smile, but it was edged with contempt. "Auradon? You think I'm from Auradon?" Harry glanced down at Chet's attire—black and gold striped pants, a velvet coat, leather gloves. It wasn't the typical look of someone from the so-called "proper" side of the Isle. His lips twitched into a knowing grin. "Considering what you're wearing, that's a safe assumption," Harry said, his grin widening as he pulled Chet even closer, his grip tightening on Chet's hips. He didn't care about the sword now, though Chet still held it firmly between them. "So, if you're not from Auradon, then where are you from?" Harry asked, his voice laced with curiosity, his usual mischievous tone returning. Chet's eyes never wavered, his expression unreadable as he stared back at Harry. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, a grin split his face, one that spoke of secrets and mischief.

"Wonderland," he replied, his voice laced with both danger and charm.

Harry's eyebrow arched, his curiosity piqued. "You're from Wonderland?" Chet's smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with a dangerous sparkle.

"A Wonderland brat?" Harry teased, his voice now lighter, almost mocking. Chet leaned in, the intensity of his stare making Harry falter for just a moment.

"Hm, a brat?" he sneered, his lips curling into a smile. "You must be forgetting who has the sword, pretty boy." Harry's expression faltered for a second, his confidence briefly slipping before he returned to his usual playful demeanour. "Pretty boy?" he echoed, his lips curling into a wider grin. "That's a new one, and I have to say, I don't mind the sound of it."

Chet's eyes glittered with a hint of amusement, but there was a deeper intent behind them. Slowly, he leaned in closer, and Harry found himself caught in the sway of his gaze. The feisty fire in Chet's eyes softened for just a moment, and Harry's posture relaxed as if unknowingly drawn in by some unseen force. The moment passed in an instant. Chet's hand shot forward, quick as lightning, and with a swift motion, he sliced through Harry's leather belt bag, snagging the coin pouch in one fluid movement. "Oh, oops," Chet said with a feigned innocence, though the glint in his eyes betrayed the thrill of the theft.

Harry's eyes widened as he felt the strap of his bag snap, and he looked down just in time to see the pouch slipping from his grasp. His lips curled in frustration, the playful demeanour evaporating in an instant. "Why you little—!" Harry snapped, his anger flaring as he lunged to take the pouch back. But before he could act, Chet was gone. One moment, he was there—smiling that signature Cheshire grin—and the next, he vanished without a trace, leaving nothing behind but the lingering echo of his disappearance. Harry stood frozen, the realisation dawning upon him like a cold wave. He looked around desperately, but there was no sign of Chet, save for the faintest trace of a smile lingering in the air. His breath caught in his chest as the shock swept over him.

So it was true.

His eyes widened with a mix of disbelief and awe. He had been played by the son of the Cheshire Cat.