#yeah i probably should have been tagging it from the starter

[alyssaforevermore]

Unearthed ↦ Daryl Dixon season two, part one

Synopsis: Based on the events of The Walking Dead television series, Y/N Grimes, younger sister of Rick Grimes, attempts to survive in a world now inhabited by walkers. Family has always meant everything to her, but in this new world, can she keep her family safe and together?

Show: The Walking Dead (S1-S11)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Warnings: coarse language, violence, character deaths, drug and alcohol references, series spoilers and general The Walking Dead content warnings!

Tags: @1ivinqdeadqir1 @callmeyn @thegeorgiahuntsman @mellxander1993 @bigbaldheadname @cjmonsterwolf @abbi23323 @actuallyklee @lanxsee @livingdeadblondequeen @sweetz1919 @moonmark98 @sarahbaker2010 @ririi-3 @ryoujoking (if you've requested a tag and aren't here, I cannot tag you sadly)

Masterlist

It had been hours since you’d all fled the CDC. You kept replaying everything in your mind, from Lori and Shane to Jacqui staying behind. Things had never felt more bleak than they did right now.

“Looks complicated.” Andrea spoke, sitting at the table in the RV.

Shane sat across from her, cleaning his gun. “The trick is getting all these pieces back together the same way. I could clean yours. Show you how.”

Andrea smiled, handing him her gun.

 “Oh yeah.” Shane smiled. “It’s a sweet piece.” 

“It was a gift from my father.” Andrea responded. 

You stared at Shane, your eyes narrowing as you tuned out Andrea. Seeing him carry on like normal, as if he’d done nothing wrong, made your blood boil. As if he didn’t know you knew; as if he didn’t know you saw it.

“Oh jeez.” Dale’s voice caught your attention. “Do you see a way through?”

You stood up, heading to the front of the RV. Dale was in the driver's seat while Glenn sat in the passenger’s seat. Ahead of you were hundreds of cars, abandoned throughout the highway. Many cars’ doors were open, the occupants probably having fled in a hurry.

Glenn frowned. “Maybe we should just go back? There’s an interstate bypass-“

Dale shook his head. “We can’t spare the fuel.”

You pointed to a narrow open space. “Can we get through there?”

As the words left your lips, smoke began leaking out of the front of the RV.

“Didn’t I say it?” Dale shook his head. “I said it a thousand times.”

Shane appeared at your side. “Is there a problem, Dale?”

Dale stopped the RV. “Oh, just a small problem of being stuck in the middle of nowhere with no hope of-“ he paused, looking around. “Okay, that was dumb.”

“Is it the hose again?” You asked.

“Most likely.”

You all piled off the RV, meeting with the others who had driven behind you.

“Think you can find a radiator hose here?” Shane questioned.

“Definitely.” Dale nodded.

“There’s a whole bunch of stuff we can find.” Daryl pointed out.

You nodded. “We can siphon some fuel from these cars, for starters.” 

“Maybe find some water.” Carol added.

Glenn nodded. “Or food.”

“This is a graveyard.” Lori spoke up. “I just don’t know how to feel about this.”

You let out a low sigh. “Now’s not the time to have a conscience. We’re tired, thirsty and hungry. They’re dead.”

Everyone stared at you for a moment, the coldness of your words catching them off guard. Not Daryl, though. You knew he was probably thinking the same thing anyways.

“We should split up, cover more ground.” He mumbled, walking away from the group.

Before anyone could respond, you jogged off to catch up to him. 

“Have you given any more thought to sticking around?” You asked, your voice hushed.

“I’m here, ain’t I?” He huffed.

“You are, for now at least.” You responded.

He stopped for a moment. “Do you really care if I go?”

You looked in his eyes, a half smile forming across your lips. “Of course I do. You’re one of the only people I can stand these days.”

Daryl fought himself, trying not to smile but ultimately failing. There was a lightness between the two of you that you’d never felt before. When you were with him, everything that was bothering you seemed to fade away.

Your eyes shifted to the car next to you. “Think there’s anything good in there?”

Daryl turned, reaching for the door handle. “Only one way to find out.”

You pulled out your knife, prepared for any unwelcome surprises. You nodded for Daryl to open the door, and he did just that. Thankfully, the car was free of any dead.

Placing your knife back in its place on your hip, you climbed inside the car. You opened the glovebox, finding a few granola bars inside.

“Can you pass me the bag?” You asked, and Daryl compiled before opening the backseat.

Next, you opened the center console letting out a small chuckle.

“Anything good?” Daryl asked, looking over.

You picked up a small handgun, holding it up. “Not exactly where I expected to find one of these.”

“Any rounds?”

You checked the gun, finding all six rounds. “It’s fully loaded. Doesn’t look like there’s any extra bullets though.”

You peered out the window, your smiling fading as your face went pale. Daryl took notice, looking up as well. There were dozens of walkers headed your way, coming from the direction you’d left the RV in earlier.

“Shit.” Daryl huffed, climbing out of the car.

You followed suit, both of you closing the doors quietly as you crouched down. Somewhere behind you, you heard the panicked mumbling of one of your friends. You and Daryl both rushed over, still crouched to avoid bringing any attention to you.

A few rows of cars over, you found T-Dog who was bleeding from a large cut on his arm. You and Daryl quickly took out the walkers surrounding him, with Daryl tossing one over T-Dog and whispering for him to be quiet. Daryl grabbed a body from one of the cars as you laid down, him tossing it over you. Then, he used one of the walkers you’d just killed to cover himself.

Seconds later, the walkers had caught up to you, slowly making their way through the space the three of you were in. You could feel your heart racing, unsure if Daryl’s strategy would work. Closing your eyes, all you could hear was the shuffling feet of the dead. Thoughts of your friends and family filled your head, beginning to worry if they’d managed to hide in time too. You tried to tell yourself that you hadn’t heard screams, but no amount of rationalization was helping.

Finally the footsteps subsided and you opened your eyes. Daryl threw the corpse off of himself, rushing over to help T-Dog. You did the same, putting pressure on the cloth Daryl placed over his cut. 

“It’s bad.” T-Dog gasped.

You shook your head. “You’ll be okay, we just have to get you back to the RV.”

As the words left your mouth, screams filled the air. They were coming from the direction of the RV. You looked at Daryl, fear present across your face.

“I got him, go.” Daryl assured you.

Not wasting another moment, you stood up and raced towards the RV, the newfound gun still in your hand. When you arrived, you quickly noticed Sophia sliding down the hill and into the ditch with two walkers following her. Rick was close behind, chasing them into the woods with a rifle in hand.

Carol pulled herself out from under one of the cars, running towards the highway barrier. She was sobbing, barely able to get her panicked words out as everyone gathered around her.

“Lori, there’s two walkers after my baby.” She cried, placing her hand over her mouth.

Lori held her, looking over at you. You didn’t know what to say, your body frozen in its place. Rick was already well out of view and you knew that if you went after them, you’d just get lost at this point.

All you could do now was pray they both made it back safely.

…

“You sure this is the spot?” Daryl asked, looking into a small hole by the creek.

“I left her right here,” Rick nodded. “I drew the walkers way off that direction up the creek.”

Rick had made it back to the group a bit earlier, Sophia never having returned. He led a few of you to where he’d left her, believing she’d stayed there while Rick dealt with the walkers. 

“Without a paddle– seems where we’ve landed.” Daryl responded.

“She was gone by the time I got back here. I figured she’d just taken off and ran back to the group. I told her to go that way and keep the sun on her left shoulder.” Rick pointed in the direction you all came from.

“Assuming she knows her left from right.” Shane sighed.

“Shane, she understood me fine.” Rick argued. 

Shane shook his head. “The kid’s tired and scared, man. She had a close call with two walkers. You gotta wonder how much of what you said stuck.”

“I’ve got clear prints right here.” Daryl spoke, pointing to the ground leading up from the creek. “She did what you said, headed back to the highway.”

“What the hell happened from here to there?” You whispered.

Rick shook his head. “Maybe she got nervous, hid somewhere else along the way.”

“Let’s spread out, make our way back.” Daryl said.

 Shane nodded, helping Rick up the hill. “Hey, we’re gonna find her.”

Rick nodded, walking past Shane.

Shane held his hand out for you. You stared at him for a moment before finally relenting and taking his hand, allowing him to pull you up. The two of you caught up with the others, Daryl kneeling down.

“She was doing fine until right here.” Daryl spoke. “All she had to do was keep going, but she veered off that way.”

“Why would she do that?” Glenn asked.

“Maybe she saw something that scared her, made her run off.” Shane suggested.

“A walker?”

Daryl shook his head. “I don’t see any other footprints.”

“What do we do then? All of us press on?” Shane asked.

“No, it’s better if you and Glenn go back to the highway.” Rick spoke. “People are going to start panicking. Let them know we’re on her trail doing everything we can, but most of all keep everyone calm.”

Shane nodded. “I’ll keep ‘em busy scavenging cars.”

Shane waved for Glenn to follow him, and Rick turned to you. “You should go back with them. It’s probably safer there, and it’s getting dark.”

You shook your head. “I’d rather stick with you and Daryl.”

Rick nodded and Daryl began to lead you further into the woods. It was a while before you noticed the footprints slowly disappearing.

“The tracks are gone.” Rick sighed.

“No, they’re faint but they ain’t gone.” Daryl responded. “She came through here.”

“How can you tell?” You asked. “All I see is dirt and grass.”

“You want a lesson in tracking or you wanna find that little girl?” Daryl asked, his eyes still focused on the ground.

Daryl continued to lead you both further, before rustling in the bushes caught your attention. He signaled for three of you two split off, using Rick as a distraction while Daryl shot a lone walker. Daryl joined you both at the walker, removing his bolt and calling out for Sophia.

Rick knelt down, pulling out gloves and placing them on his hands. He then held up the walker’s hand, inspecting it closely.

“What are you looking for?” Daryl asked.

“Skin under the fingernails.” Rick responded, dropping the hand and inspecting the walker’s teeth. “He fed recently, there’s flesh between his teeth.”

“What kind of flesh?” You asked.

Rick sighed, pulling out his knife. “There’s only one way to find out.”

He ripped open the walker’s shirt, positioning his knife on its stomach. Daryl shook his head, placing a hand on Rick’s shoulder.

“Here, I’ll do it.” He spoke, pulling out his own knife. “How many kills have you skinned and gutted in your life, anyway? Mine is sharper.”

Daryl stabbed the knife into the walker’s stomach, cutting towards himself. 

“I’m going to be sick.” You mumbled, placing a hand over your mouth.

Daryl stabbed the walker several more times, cutting into a new layer each time. “Now comes the bad part.” He spoke before reaching his hands inside. He began to feel around, scooping out bits as he went along.

“Yeah,” Daryl mumbled. “Hoss had a big meal not long ago. I feel it in there.” He scooped out the stomach, tossing it on the ground for Rick to cut open. After searching it for a few seconds, Daryl was able to pull out a piece of skull.

You let out a sigh of relief. 

“The gross bastard had himself a woodchuck for lunch.” Daryl spoke, tossing the skull aside.

“At least we know.” Rick responded, standing up.

…

The sun was quickly disappearing as you finally made it back to the highway. Carol stood at the barrier, her face falling when she saw the three of you without Sophia.

“The trail went cold.” Rick spoke. “We’ll go back out there at first light.”

“You can’t leave my daughter out there on her own, to spend the night alone in the woods.” Carol cried.

“Out in the dark’s no good.” Daryl responded. “We’d just be tripping over ourselves. More people getting lost.”

Carol shook her head. “She’s only twelve! She can’t be out there on her own. You didn’t find anything?”

“I know this is hard, but I’m asking you not to panic.” Rick spoke calmly. “We know she was out there.”

You nodded. “We tracked her for a while. There was nothing to tell us that anything happened to her.”

“We have to make this an organized effort.” Rick began. “Daryl knows the woods better than anybody. I’ve asked him to oversee this.”

Carol eyed Daryl, her eyes narrowing in on a spot on his pants. “Is-Is that blood?”

“We took down a walker.” Rick explained.

“Oh my god.” Carol shook her head.

“There was no sign it was anywhere near Sophia, I promise.”

“How can you know that?” Andrea asked.

You and Rick both looked at Daryl, not wanting to explain your methods. “We cut the son of a bitch open, made sure.” He spoke plainly. 

Carol took a deep breath, sitting down on the barrier. Lori sat next to her, placing a hand on her back. Carol’s face turned to anger as she looked over at Rick.

“How could you just leave her out there to begin with?” She asked, her voice shaking. “How could you just leave her?”

Rick’s face fell. “Those two walkers were on us. I had to draw them away. It was her best chance.”

“He didn’t have a choice, Carol.” Shane defended.

“How is she supposed to find her way back on her own? She’s just a child. She’s just a child.” Carol began to cry again.

“It was my only option. The only choice I could make.”

“I’m sure nobody doubts that.” Shane spoke.

Carol shook her head. “My baby got left in the woods.”

Rick stood up, noticing everyone staring right at him. Hell, even you were staring at him. You knew he did what he could, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you could’ve done more. Maybe if you’d risked getting lost too, you could’ve found her and at least kept her safe.

You watched as Rick turned away, slowly walking off on his own.

------

AN: Here we are with the first part of season two! I'm trying to keep chapters at a more reasonable length moving forward. Hopefully this one was okay. Please remember to like/reblog if you enjoyed. The tag list is still open! <3

[amberstormblade]

Yes it's 3:30am but we can ignore that because I just finished writing a fanfic about a fanfic. Is that weird? Maybe? No clue! Anyways! This is inspired by @fluffy-papaya and @betweenlands 's Black Sheep, Come Home and everyone should go read that because it's amazing and makes me feral!

I might put this on AO3 too but for now it's just here!

i'm so sleepy, g'night folks! happy reading!

(Sorry for tagging you guys, I can undo that if you want)

The world seemed to shake as the dragon’s dying cries echoed through dimensions. A bolt of adrenaline shot through Rex as he realized what was about to happen. They had been inside the starter base as a sort of preparation as they hadn’t known when they would be visible again and didn’t want to risk instantly burning if previous experience was anything to go by. They’re a little nervous, it took a bit to adjust to everyone actually seeing them last time and even if they’ve been able to correct Legundo on where to look, it’s still something to get used to. 

Rex walked towards the center of the room. They took a deep breath and started looking at where their hands should be to try and see if anything had happened yet. Something had changed just, not how they had expected. It was like there was a crack in reality. A small, bright, jagged thing that was just floating there. They went to touch it but it moved with their hand, as if it was attached. Before they could even begin to comprehend what was going on, more cracks began to appear, spider-webbing their way up their arm.

“Okay… this- this is weird, yeah. It’s uh, it’s gonna be okay though. Because once it’s done, I’ll be visible again! So I guess I just… trust the process?” Rex was glad Legundo was in a separate dimension, that way he couldn’t hear their voice shaking. 

The cracks started to get brighter as they reached their neck. They started to burn. Rex’s breathing started to speed up as they felt like they were running a marathon in the desert. They could feel their throat as it seemed to close in on itself, could feel as their knees shook and gave way. They remember what Legs had said, that first time they had died. 

“Inevitable, heh.” The sudden raspiness of their voice catches them off-guard. Coughing does nothing to clear their throat. “Guess the timing was off? Inevitable, all the same.” The cracks have reached their chest now, seeming to gather around where their heart should be and spread out like veins. Rex struggles to stand back up, not really knowing where they would go, not really knowing what to do. They take one step towards the bed, two, they collapse again as the cracks reach their knees. It’s like their legs have been bound and any attempt to move them just causes more pain.

The burning is more intense now, not in the way of lava or fire, but in the way ice burns your hands from holding it too long. The cracks were draining any warmth that their body had held and it was like they were freezing over, at risk of shattering.

With a great deal of effort, they curl into a ball and just hug themself. Rex was glad Legundo was still in the End. Sure, it’d be nice to not be alone but they also don’t want him to see them like this. They wonder for a second if he’ll have a second funeral for them, mourn them a second time, but quickly dismiss the thought. They were lucky to get anything at all the first time, why would he bother to do the same thing twice? Maybe he won’t even realize they’ve died. Knowing how paranoid he is, Rex wouldn’t be surprised if he thought it was all part of some plan to get him. They might of laughed at the thought if it hadn’t been for the feeling that something was trying to crush them to death. The cracks writhing around their form seemed to be connecting, tightening to the point that they could no longer feel their limbs. They could still feel the tears falling down their face at least. Even if they had been able to move, they probably would have let them fall anyway. Not like anyone could see them. Quiet sobs slipped past their lips, as the burning cold sank in and the cracks grew brighter still. A part of them made a selfish wish. If this truly was the end, they didn’t want to be alone.

Maybe the Universe was kind, because a dull thud came from behind them. They would have recognized the sound anywhere. It was someone respawning at their bed or in this case, returning from the End. 

It was Legundo coming home.

“Rex, I’m back! You would not believe how-” His rather cheerful call was quickly cut off and they could feel as he rushed over to them. Quickly kneeling in front of them, Legundo reached out as if to touch them but hesitated at the last second. “Rex? What’s going on?” The worry in his tone was touching, in a way.

Rex tried to speak. Nothing came out at first, just a hoarse, rasping noise. Clearing their throat, they tried again. “...Don’t know. Started… after dragon. Hurts.” Broken sentences are all that can be managed but they get the point across. “Dying maybe… you alone?” They take a deep breath before, “sorry.” There was so much more they wanted to say, but their throat seemed to seal over again, leaving them wheezing for air.

“Hey- hey! It’s gonna be alright! I uh…” He trails off, digging through his things. Legundo pulls out a healing potion, probably one he had gotten from the End, and uncorks it. His hand hovers over Rex again. “I’m gonna touch you now, okay? I can see where your face should be pretty well so I think I can help you drink this. Just, bear with me, okay?” He lays his hand on Rex, flinching back for a second as though he had been shocked. Shaking out his hand, he puts their head on his lap. He cups their jaw oh so gently, as if afraid he might break them. Using his thumb, he traces their lips, carefully parting them. Lifting the bottle, he pours a small amount in their mouth and waits. It’s a struggle, but they swallow it. The sweet taste of watermelon lingers on their tongue as they breathe a little easier. Another mouthful has Rex sucking in their first proper breath since this began.

“...hey, ‘Gundo I- I don’t know how long I have. This didn’t happen last time. I think… I think I might be-”

“Don’t.” He cuts them off. His hand that had slipped from their jaw to their shoulder tightened slightly. “You’re not dying. You said you were going to protect me? You can’t do that if you’re not here. So- So no. You’re not leaving me alone again Rex so you’re going to get better! Okay?” His voice is thick with tears as he pulls them into a deep, bone-crushing hug. Instead of feelling restrictive, however, it felt freeing. It felt like home. A promise between two lonely people that they weren’t going to be alone again, not if they could do anything about it.

Straining to move their arms against the numbness that had overtaken them, Rex returned the hug. The cracks covering their form seemed to reach a crescendo as they flared brighter than the sun. The two just held tighter to each other as Rex cried out in pain. A sort of crackling sound could be heard for a seconds and then, just as suddenly as it all had started, the light and noise stopped.

Rex could still feel Legundo’s arms around them but couldn’t bring themself to open their eyes until, “Oh, you’re colorful.” They were still close enough that the whispered statement seemed to tickle his ear as Legundo leaned back from him slightly.

Painstakingly slowly, Rex opened their eyes. They looked down to see their familiar blue and yellow jacket. They looked up to see Legundo looking directly at them. Their face faintly reflected in his glasses. “Yeah,” They breathed, afraid that speaking too loudly would ruin the moment somehow, make everything suddenly revert. But no. 

There were no disappearing acts that would be happening today. In the next few days they would probably fall back into their familiar routines of secrets and cryptic actions. They would have tense moments and heated exchanges. But, they would also remember this moment. They would share a look followed by a fond smile. They would both find excuses to exist closer to each other, soaking in the contact that they craved but didn’t dare ask for. They would allow themselves a second of vulnerability, because that’s what helped them sleep at night. Someone always by their side to keep the nightmares at bay.

Moments like these aren’t easily forgotten. They both rest easy that night, knowing no matter what, they’ll always remember what it feels like when someone cares.

[rangersveppir]

First Post

Hello, my name is Jón Sveppir, you can call me Ranger Sveppir. I am a retired Ranger who now works at Skjøldur Labs in the Ohrken Region, and I am making this blog to share stuff about my work and show the great work the scientists are doing here.

So some important things out of the way:

I was born in Sinnoh

I joined the Sinnoh Rangers at 20, and served with them for for 14 years before being transferred to the Almia HQ. I have served in most regions at some point or another excluding Paldea and a few other.

Yes this does mean I have worked in Orre, yes It was not a fun experience.

I served with the Rangers until the age of 65 when I was forced to retire, though at that point I was no longer doing field-work. I was then approached by Skjøldur Labs who I had aided in the past while with the rangers and they offered to hire me, so here I am.

These days I mostly do paperwork and act as a interlocutor between the Rangers and Skjøldur.

Speaking of I should cover Skjøldur.

The lab here help with more bizarre or extreme cases that most other labs or centers cannot handle or lack the resources to do so. We also work on ways to allow Pokemon with these severe conditions to live longer happier lives.

For example, you may have seen quadrupedal pokemon with with wheelchairs before, the original design for which was created by the Skjøldur Labs founder.

Sorry for all the rambling I have never been one to be short-spoken. But yeah this blog is to share some of our work and to just share some of my day to day things. Feel free to ask any question you like, and I will do my best to answer. However, in cases of pokemon health and/or care, don't treat my words as gospel, take your pokemon to a center or somewhere else please. But yeah, feel free to ask whatever you like.

Gonna add my pokemon here as well for those interested.

Woops: (M) My starter and old af quagsire. Caught him in sinnoh as a wooper when I thought I was gonna be a trainer and he became my partner when I became a ranger. I have like 40-somethijg nicknames for this guy so if I say something like woops'alot or Woopsifur or Sire I'm talking about him.

Sol: My Valcorona, had a Larvesta egg dumped on me while I was in Unova, a real sweetheart, also has a sweet tooth, don't leave your snacks unguarded.

Sandy: (F) My castform, got her a while back when I was still an active ranger, she's a rescue from a raid done on an illegal breeding operation. Dr.Amilee discovered she likes wearing clothes so if you see a castform in a silly hat in one of my photos that'd be her.

Some other things

* Asks are open, feel free to ask anything, there are no stupid questions.

* Pelliper Mail is open.

Tags

_______

_______

#sveppirrangerstories -- Stories from My time as a ranger, also just general stories will get lumped here. #sveppirhospital -- When I was sent to the hospital due to a possible terrorist action (still being investigated)

#sveppirunown -- the wierd unown sighting.

#sveppirfoodreview -- Food reviews

#SveppirAlolaTrip -- Business Trip to Alola

#sveppirphotos -- Photos

Please note I probably missed some of the early posts I am sorry.

If you would like to donate you can do so here: https://ko-fi.com/thetrickster314

[creampuffqueen]

You absolutely don't have to answer this one if it's something you'd prefer to keep to yourself, but... was there any particular reason why you struggled with your confidence as a writer? It's a little funny, a little sad, that no matter how good someone is at what they do, at certain times they're unable to perceive their work that way

yeah i don't mind at all! i've been in a very good place confidence-wise for a while now, so i'm definitely able to look back on some of those moments more objectively. i think it's very important to share that everyone struggles with confidence at times, no matter how "good" their work seems.

i think my struggle with my confidence as a writer, both then, occasionally now, and always, stems from the fact that i have never been a super confident person as a whole. i have always had very bad imposter syndrome, ever since i was young, in pretty much all that i do. school, work, hobbies, anything really. i always have had this underlying feeling of 'i'm just faking being good at [thing], i was only good at [thing] because of dumb luck, one day i'm gonna be super bad at [thing] and then everyone will Find Out'.

find out what? idk. but that is something i've experienced for a very long time. most of the time i'm able to ignore those feelings, but every now and then they really rear their ugly head and i sort of get stuck in a rut.

as for the writing itself. i actually can pinpoint what i was specifically struggling with at the time. for starters, i was still finishing up school when i was beginning to plot out my fics for yangvik week, and my spring semester was rough. my adhd became incredibly unmanageable and my overall mental health was probably at the worst it's ever been. not super conducive to writing.

the other part of this struggle was actually because of my other fic, 'the push'. i love that fic and i am very proud of it, but it BLEW UP, becoming popular beyond my wildest imagination. it's only been out for a few months but it is one of the most popular things i have ever posted. last time i checked, it is the most popular work in the entire yangchen/kavik tag on ao3, which is just crazy to me.

unfortunately, the downside of this is that i began to feel like nothing i wrote would ever be as good as that fic. the imposter syndrome appeared full-force. i began to wonder if i should even bother writing for yangvik again. i mean, i had created the most popular fic by dumb luck. there was no way i could create something of that caliber again, right? and if i wrote something that wasn't as good, then people would know that i'm secretly a terrible writer.

this was also extremely exacerbated by my outside mental health struggle. i would struggle to write because of my adhd, and then would beat myself up about it because 'oh i just trekked through that mental block before, i should be able to do it again'. (spoiler alert, no i couldn't).

but somehow, the stars just seemed to align for yangvik week. by some miracle, i had both the free time to write AND working medication that actually let my get my ideas down. i published my fic for day one and it was very well received, and i was able to focus on that rather than my own imposter syndrome, and finally feel some confidence in my writing again!

so this is just my message to other artists: everyone struggles with their confidence at times. it isn't always mental health related like mine was (though you should always prioritize your own mental health! making art is so, so much harder when your brain is out of whack) but everyone feels a lack of confidence occasionally. your art deserves to be seen, no matter if you think you've just created the second mona lisa or you think it's a dumpster fire. someone out there is going to love it, i promise <3

thank you for the ask!

[stillness-in-green]

Chapter Thoughts — Chapter 379: Hopes

Man! It's so nice to have chapters with contents I unabashedly love again! It's not a total win, because Nagant is still an incoherent mess of a character, but there's an awful lot of great great great material in here. Hit the jump!

On Nagant—

O  Nagant, oh, Nagant.  It’s difficult to even know what to make of her as a character.  I’ve been trying, of late, to figure out what Horikoshi even thinks is going on in her head.  She is probably the single character in the series who I have the most trouble with in basic terms of, “The author isn’t writing them like I think they should be written.”

And, you know, that kind of perception gap is not necessarily on the author.  I said a lot here about my issues with her and I’ve taken a (moon) shot at writing her in a way that felt more coherent, but what is Horikoshi’s perception of her, how does that differ from my own, and how much would being able to figure that out assuage any of my issues with her characterization?

Well, for starters, he clearly views her as someone with a stronger attachment to Being An Hero than I had figured.  I suspect he sees her as more vulnerable and less jaded,[1] but if she’s meant to be still a hero-type at heart, what’s with the very militant, “Tell me where the enemy is,” line?  She wants to do what Deku asks and fight on his side, but what does that even mean to her?

If Nagant just turned up intent on shooting whoever Deku was fighting, no questions asked, how is that substantially different than putting her faith in the HPSC and shooting whoever they wanted her to shoot, no questions asked?[2]  Of course, the audience knows Deku is going to be a better judge of that than the HPSC, but I mean in terms of Nagant’s own development and perspective.  After all, she believed in the goodness of the HPSC president once upon a time, too!

I mean, I suppose we can assume she knows All For One is involved in all this, and she knows what he’s like.  But how much else does she know?  Rock Lock didn’t tag along to debrief her; AFO never told her much about Deku himself; we don’t know for sure whether she met Shigaraki at the Tartarus jailbreak, nor how much information about the combatants beyond their location she could glean from the device Rock Lock gave her.

If she’s close enough to take the shot at all, she’s presumably close enough to at least get a general view of what’s going on, including all the body horror transformation effects.  But does she know she’s shooting at someone AFO is possessing?  Is she just aiming at a threat?  What does she think would happen if Shigaraki managed to touch the ground?

She doesn’t take a kill shot or anything, which is at least a step up from what the HPSC had her doing, but seriously, all I can see in the paralleling of her and Gentle is how much I completely bought Deku and Gentle’s resolution compared to how much I wanted to send Deku and Nagant’s resolution back to the manufacturer.

Let me not limit this only to Deku, though!  Nagant crediting Hawks for her turn-around is even worse.  Like, at least Deku is trying to live his principles, even if it took him nearly three hundred chapters to extend those principles to villains.  But Hawks?  As ever, Hawks getting to be a bright-eyed hero talking about how he’s an optimistic guy who kept the faith and is free to do as he pleases now when he has Bubaigawara Jin’s blood on his hands remains just about the most galling fucking thing in this whole series.

When Lady Nagant came to the crux of her doubts, she shot her supervisor dead on the spot and then went to prison for it.  Hawks never even hit that crux point.  I cannot see in what universe he’s meant to have the moral high ground.  Has he killed fewer people than her?  Yeah, probably, given that he was trained as a spy instead of an assassin.  But he still has killed, and I don’t even believe that Jin is his first: that line about how someone has to die when no one will back down is not something that would be said by a man who’s never had to kill before.

Maybe in another world, one that never had the League to deal with, Hawks would have eventually had the same crisis of faith Lady Nagant did, though given that he was trained from an even younger age than she was, who knows how many deaths it would have taken for him to get to the same breaking point?  In the world he actually lives in, however, Hawks was freed through absolutely no moral action of his own and he has made no apparent attempt to bring to light the crimes committed by the agency he worked for.

That being the case, I categorically refuse to be emotionally swayed by Lady Nagant, the woman who said that platitudes made her want to puke, being won over by the platitudes offered by her successor and Midoriya Izuku.

O  That aside, I also really, really want to know exactly how many people know the truth about Lady N now.  Doctor Mario clearly doesn’t—he calls her an escaped convict, no more nor less—but would Rock Lock have made the decision he makes here if he still believed her to have flipped out and shot a fellow hero fifteen years ago, then taken a quirk and a job from All For One?

Fresh off of watching Shouji talk down a crowd of thousands, maybe he’s feeling a bit more generous than normal, so maybe he doesn’t know her deal but is trusting her invocation of Deku’s name, since that’s (sigh) apparently what this whole operation is built around.  I think, however, that it would be much more interesting if he—and a great many other heroes—do know the truth of Lady Nagant now.

Of course, a whole bunch of people who believed in the virtue of their regulatory bureau finding out that said agency was training literal assassins behind their backs for decades now feels like the kind of thing that we’d need to see a reaction—any reaction—to, and we still haven’t, so maybe Hawks has managed to keep that one quiet.  It remains some serious bullshit, however, that no one has brought that up as a horrific crime that needs to be publicly addressed.

O  Ideology and shared (or not so shared) knowledge aside, I also have some incredibly pressing concerns about the logistics of this shot.  To wit, I must ask again, how heroes are managing these amazing traveling times??  Given that we’re explicitly told that the exchange with Nagant and Rock Lock happens after Kurogiri’s activation and Kurogiri appeared on the field literal moments ago, where is Nagant making this shot from that’s even remotely in her previously established range of three kilometers?

(Pictured: Considerably more than 1.86 miles.  Closer to 175 miles, in fact.)

She obviously didn’t hop through the Warp Gate, so how in hell did she get here so fast, completely unattended?  U.A. has been moving along at a pretty steady clip, of course, but I have to think that if it had passed over one of the other battlefields—especially the sea of flames in Kamino Dabi was occupying mere minutes ago—we probably would have seen some reference to that?  And she’s definitely not just parked on the roof of Central Hospital: this chapter gives us clear views of both the hospital and her sniping perch, and they are clearly not the same building.  So, how is this working, exactly?  Because my strong suspicion is that it very much is not.

On Shigaraki’s Origin—

O  Congrats to @codenamesazanka for thinking up the lump of lead theory!  I think hers, my, and our other friends’ talks about it weren’t quite on the mark, but I’m thrilled that Inner Tenko ended up being something much closer to the lump of lead endlessly spewing anger in Shigaraki’s heart than the last bastion of pure soft innocent pureness I had been afraid we were getting.

To expand on that a little, the original idea with Lump of Lead Tenko was that Inner Tenko was a visual embodiment of the “lump of lead” Shigaraki described to Ujiko in Chapter 222, the one that supplied his endless rage.  He was the inner personification of the emotion AFO instructed Real Tenko to preserve by always keeping his family hands close.

In actuality, what we have here is Tenko as Shigaraki’s “origin,” and while that Origin is more complicated than simply a source of rage—we can trace many of Shigaraki’s traits back to Tenko, like his affinity for outcasts, his desire to be understood and acknowledged by the people around him, and probably a desire to be saved as well—I think it’s pretty clear that the rage is part of the Origin.

In other words, his experience in his father’s house is his Origin, and it’s that experience that was the seed for his desire to destroy—they’re one and the same, the same way Inner Tenko and Tomura are one and the same.  Tomura’s Origin is the source of his rage—Inner Tenko is the Origin which is his rage which is the lump of lead which is Shigaraki Tomura himself.

AFO had a hand in this, to be sure, but while he may have prepared the garden, he did not, himself, plant the seed.  Astounding.  I’d almost given up hope that Hori was capable of it.

(Next, I’d like to ask for him to please work on explaining what happened to the thousands of arrested PLF ranks.)

It’s not all champagne and victory toasts yet, of course.  There are ways that this could veer.  But for now, I’m so, so happy that Shigaraki has taken the first steps to making All For One just the next unfortunate SOB in the line of villains who underestimated him only to find themselves overcome and absorbed.

O  Following his speech all the way out to its conclusion, I love his, “That’s the only thing that’s gonna save me, hero,” line.  Yeeees, yeeeeeees, it’s not about AFO raising Shigaraki to be a vicious attack dog and him just needing a warm hug to make him feel better; it’s about ‘this whole system heroes built’ and how much it needs to be reconsidered and rebuilt from the ground up.

As much as my opinion diverges radically on Gentle and Lady Nagant's respective loyalty to Deku, they're both instructive in terms of what aspect of them is mirrored in Shigaraki. This isn't new ground: we saw the same mirroring going on with both Eri and Kouta—Eri in her appearance and general situation, Kouta in his resentment towards heroes and sense of abandonment. The respective traits Nagant and Gentle share with Shigaraki, though, complement each other in ways that stand to significantly complicate Deku's ability to save him.

Firstly, Nagant's Origin is her desire to be a hero, which obviously Tenko had as a goal as well. You could go further and say that she was picked up and groomed into a weapon, a tool to further the agenda of the man who "found" her; the parallels to Tenko go without saying. However, I don't think it will be enough to simply remind Tomura of that desire the same way Deku did with Nagant (and, for that matter, Aizawa did with Kurokumo), and that's because of what Shigaraki has in common with the other ex-villain on-scene here.

To use Gentle Criminal's own words from the moment of his surrender, what Deku allowed him to remember was that he had "a heart that beats for others." Beneath all the vanity and bluster, Gentle genuinely wanted to help other people. Of course, that's generally part of the hero package, but where the specific parallel lies with Tenko is the way that desire specifically manifested as an affinity for outcasts. From the very beginning, Tenko's "heart that beat for others" was attuned to the people everyone else ignored and left out; that's what led Tomo and Mikkun to call him a hero, even one compared to the greatest hero.

Even as a villain, Shigaraki Tomura attracted the abandoned and the outcast; while he framed his villainous heroism in terms of destruction, that destruction still aligned with creating a world that his allies wished for: Spinner's empty horizon, Toga's easy world, Dabi's razing of the hero institution, Twice's place to belong, even Mr. Compress's sushi buffets societal reformation.

Being a hero whose heart beats for them means that Shigaraki will fight for them. Deku cannot save Shigaraki Tomura with promises of Being An Hero without first facing the fact that the people Tomura wants to be a hero for are the same people Deku's own society threw away.

We'll see if Horikoshi's got any way to thread that needle.

On Shigaraki and Visuals—

O  I love, love, love this panel: 

The hands aren’t entrapping Tenko anymore, if they ever were.  They spiral around him, a latticework holding him up, a briar patch that hid him from the wolf that was AFO.  They gave him shelter right up until the moment he didn’t want them there anymore, and then they began to fall away.

All For One may have given Shigaraki his family hands, but the imagery has always been clear that the hands are Shigaraki’s: his element, his motif, his defining image.  He’s been redefining how much he needs them since Deika, and Nana’s hand in particular has been in heavy flux as to what it represents, but here we see Shigaraki as undisputed master of all those groping, grasping hands.  They represent him, they carry out his will, and they bow to him utterly.

Like he did with Stain’s ideology, Overhaul’s drug, and Re-Destro's army, Shigaraki has taken the thing AFO tried to use against him and made it his own.  As Deku is the heir to One For All by using his strength for others, Shigaraki is the heir to All For One by taking others’ strength for his own.  Finally.

O  There are a lot of ways you could interpret the things on this montage page, but my read on it—especially given Shigaraki's overlaid dialogue about AFO thinking wrongly that he had everything under control—is that we’re seeing here moments where things were falling out of that control.  Kurogiri is glitching out, Spinner did not activate Kurogiri the way AFO instructed him to, Inner Tenko shakes VFO’s control when goaded about friends, the early warning spasm,[3] Shigaraki’s defiant proclamation of independence, and—The Last Hand.

Going through this chapter the first time, I wondered at first if the burned hand thrown to the side was meant to be indicative of Shigaraki shaking off the thing that had thrown him into VFO’s control to begin with, and it could still be that.  But given how prominently everything else on the page is referencing an aspect of AFO’s plan going awry, I would love for this to be the first step in that final hand being redefined.  Stop letting AFO dictate the meaning of Nana’s outstretched hand and give that power back to the two Shimuras in any position to have a say in it!

Other Stuff—

O  Telling phrasing in that opening text box: “After Kurogiri was activated.”  Like he’s just an object, a machine to be turned on and off.  Or an asset to be deployed, Winter Soldier-style.  I wonder if that’s meant to be a reflection of Future Deku’s perception or the neutral view of authorial voice?

O  How is Shigaraki even aware of Gentle Criminal being beneath the school holding it up to include Gentle in his assessment of “flip-flopping screwups”?  How does he know a thing about Gentle to begin with?  At least Nagant has those distinctive bullets to mark her involvement, and I can 100% believe Shigaraki knows her basic story either from AFO’s teachings growing up or encountering her at Tartarus.

Gentle, though?  I assume Mandalay hasn’t been including Shigaraki in her telepathic announcements, and Deku didn’t say anything about Gentle out loud, so Shigaraki has to have recognized what happened on his own somehow.  What, did Gentle’s attempt to invade UA make it to the papers despite the ample reasons for U.A. to keep it under wraps?  Had he heard about Gentle at some point in the six years (iirc) Gentle had been committing YoTube Crimes?  Did he detect him using some other quirk—or spot him in the brief moment he hadn’t yet positioned himself beneath the falling school—and then ping him with Search?  I wonder.

O  I like how intensely drawn the rings around Shigaraki’s eyes are as he makes his triumphant return.  They were always the obvious tell differentiating him being in control of himself versus the indistinct foggy outlines when VFO was, but they’re horror manga levels of emphasized here, and it’s a great touch.

O  I notice beehive-hair boy from the Business course is still recording.  I wonder how that footage is going to be put to use?  (Hopefully it will be, not like—so far—whatever Hawks was recording in his confrontation with Twice.)

O  Fantastic last image on that closing two-page spread, but I had damn well better see Shigaraki Tomura decaying Black Whip next chapter.  If it’s solid enough to cut with a knife, it’s too solid to not be vulnerable to Shigaraki’s full grasp.

Translation/Localization Quibbles: 

O  Does anyone actually say “such as” in informal conversation like Rock Lock does when handing Lady N the little tracker thing this chapter?  That whole talk bubble reads really stilted, especially for Rock Lock, who’s usually pretty brusque.

O  I would like it if C.Cook would stop wedging in “groomed” as a description of Tomura every chance he gets.  Like, it’s not incorrect as descriptions go, but particularly in the case of Tomura’s line here, it’s just not what he’s saying about himself.  It reeks of editorialization, and while I can deal with that kind of opining coming from Yoichi (who has always been very free to speak his mind about his onii-san’s wrongdoings), it’s very different to put it in Tomura’s mouth.

(And like, yeah, I know grooming doesn’t have to carry the worst possible meaning of itself every time—horses are groomed; successors are groomed—but come on.  It’s All For One.  Of course it’s going to sound as damning as possible when it’s about him.)

O  “Wasn’t a fan of that” is bizarrely passive phrasing.  Like, there’s a difference between simply being neutral on something and actively disliking it.  And yeah, English has that colloquial sense whereby, “I’m not a fan,” delivered with sufficient dryness can be read as active dislike, but without being able to hear the line delivery or see Shigaraki’s expression to gauge his sarcasm levels, it just comes off as very roundabout.

--- FOOTNOTES:

1:  Which I’d be more okay with if she felt less “vulnerable in ways that keep her sexy and sympathetic” and more “vulnerable in unsexy and off-putting ways that would be more accurate to fifteen years in solitary confinement.”

2:  Deku was, of course, not asking her to shoot Shigaraki, but he sure didn’t look very dismayed about it.

3:  At least, I assume that’s what this panel’s inclusion is meant to convey.  Honestly, I’ve been a bit puzzled by the continued focus on this panel.  It didn't initially stand out as indicative of Shigaraki’s battle for control to me; I’d assumed it was just ShigAFO reacting to something he detected beneath the ground.  But this is the second time it’s been referenced in association with an element of Tomura that hadn’t been absorbed, so I guess that’s what it was supposed to be about all along.

[blnk338]

Could you share the issue regarding the inclusivity poll please? The one you said was resolved? Just so it helps other writers. I think it's important to share such information<3 or maybe do some notes us other writers should be aware of?

I didn't vote because I am not a poc but since we're on the topic of reader insert: the one thing I felt a bit uncomfortable with was "your mom's name" when reaper was visiting her mom. I personally don't have an issue imagining myself as an oc persona such as a ripped reaper but my mom is so nice and that part bugged me. For example, I feel like parents' names shouldn't be inserted or mentioned at all. OR give them a random name at the beginning as a starter disclaimer. Just a personal thought. Everything else is very much well thought through. Kudos as always 😉

hello!!

so the issue that was brought up from the poll was solved here, but i have so far not gotten a response for the "not good" answer. i suppose it could have been a misclick or perhaps someone just wanted to see the answers and didn't read the title first, but if there was an issue (or issues) that caused them to genuinely pick that answer, i'd love to be able to fix it!

some general notes when it comes to writing a race-neutral mc:

don't describe showers (or really, certain morning/night routines); it's important because a lot of people don't wash their hair every day. whether it be for preference, for hair type, or for how they wear their hair, it can be alienating to detail every shower as "washing your hair."

this mistake was actually corrected in the tagged post-- but be aware of how some skin scars! it had slipped my mind that not all scarring ends up pinkish-- it'll just be a dimmer version of the person's skin tone.

don't use major descriptors for hair. "billowing in the wind," "[your ponytail] pulled at your scalp," "curling around the face." all of these can be linked to a certain hair type, usually.

when describing skin, use vague terms. for example "the light from the shades dappled across your skin," instead of "the light sheened off your pale skin."

"your cheeks grew pink," "your face went red," can't always be applied to people with darker skin tones. but yk what can? growing physically warm, sweating, getting goosebumps, or feeling rushes of adrenaline! if you're gonna write something fluffy, make sure everyone gets included.

sometimes eyebags aren't easily seen, either. a lack of melanin means the purple under the lids sticks out more, but eyebags are also sometimes visible with creases, puffiness under the eyes, or a slight droop.

don't go into major detail with facial features. when describing reaper's facial scarring, i keep it general and try not to describe how lips look, whether freckles are cut up from the scarring, etc.

also, when i talk about reaper's mask, i don't talk much about her nose. obviously, larger noses might stick out more from the base of the mask, but plenty of people have flattened noses, so that wouldn't really work. instead, i used a general description (not verbatim) "fits perfectly to your nose."

bonnets and durags! people wear them all the time! in the house, out of the house, but for sleeping, too! mention them as an option for your readers to better immerse them.

really try to remember, especially as a white person, that most fanfics (intended or not) use white people as a default. there're probably a lot of people who will enjoy your fic more if they can see themselves in place of the mc. if you don't sit back, reread your chapter and think "yeah, i could picture anyone in this position" (unless the fic is specified to be black!reader x character or something of the variation), you might want to change it up.

thank you for the comment on reaper's moms name! i sort of can't change that much considering how far we are into the series, but I've removed the times where specifically "your mom/mother's name" (or a variation) was mentioned. (let me know if i missed anything).

sorry about dissing your mom, I'm sure she's lovely :) (/gen)

i also partially didn't add any details on reaper's mom's name because i didn't want to allude to any specifics on reaper's background

thank you so much for the support!

as a small disclaimer... i'm really grateful to get this kind of feedback, from my readers of color and not, it's great to hear how I'm doing because i want to make a fun fic for you guys! if the change is something quick and easy (like this and the tagged message), i don't mind it!

[jokertrap-ran]

[スタオケ] La Corda d'Oro Starlight Orchestra Main Story Chapter 1-3 Translation

*Starlight Orchestra Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Main story tag will be #Main Starlight

Sakuya: *yawns* …Sleepy…

Sakuya: I couldn’t help it. My interest was piqued by what happened yesterday; so much that I couldn’t sleep.

Sakuya: Ahh… My body’s so lethargic… Maybe I should ditch class today…

Friend 1: Ah, morning, (L/n)-chan, Kujo-kun.

Friend 2: I saw it! How surprising!! Good luck with the Orchestra!

Friend 1: There’s a poster posted on the notice board, calling for recruitments for the Starlight Orchestra.

Friend 1: Along with both of your names down as the representatives.

Sakuya: What!? When did we ever sign up to be any sort of representative?

Friend 1: You didn’t? Then you should hurry and inform them of their mistake.

Friend 1: Their office’s down at a place called “The Magnolia”.

Friend 2: Yeah. The general ed’s building is called “The Maple”, and the music ed’s building is known as “The Sakura”... but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of The Magnolia.

Friend 1: Apparently, there was another building hidden deep inside Forest Square.

Friend 1: But it’s so run down that it’s practically like an abandoned haunted house, so no one has been there in a long while.

Sakuya: A haunted house…

Friend 2: Uh oh. I’ve got to get to morning training. Bye!

Sakuya: The Magnolia, huh… I’m pretty reluctant to do so myself, but how about we go check it out after school?

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Sakuya: You’re asking me why I look so reluctant to be here? Right back at you. Why are you so okay with this?

Sakuya: …Ahh, let's just hurry and get this over with so that I can go home and sleep.

Sakuya: Okay, okay. I know that there’s no use in me complaining now. Let’s hurry and go reject this guy.

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Sakuya: This is The Magnolia? They said it was akin to a haunted house, but this actually does look legit…

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Sakuya: What beautiful hallways. Looks like it’s equipped with a Practice Room too. Wow, it’s actually pretty-

Sakuya: …!

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Kazuma: A word of warning, if you may. You'll be kicked out of this place if you’re unable to produce actual results in a month.

Ginga: Ehh~ C’mon, don’t be so cruel~ Give us some leeway. Please?

Ginga: I mean, look! I think we’re gonna be able to get enough members. We already have 2 people, for starters.

Kazuma: How many times do you think I’ve already heard that coming from you? What are they, placeholders?

Ginga: I’m serious this time! For real! They’re probably headed here right now! …Probably. Ahh… No, maybe not… I’m not so sure anymore…

Kazuma: Which is it?

Sakuya: …Looks like we caught you at a bad time. We’ll just excuse ourselves then.

Ginga: O-Oh! OHHHH!! SERIOUSLY!? They came! Good, good. I knew it was right to have believed in you!

Ginga: Thank you for coming, (L/n)! In any case, Shinomori, this is the new Orchestra’s Concertmistress.

Kazuma: What kind of joke is this? They’re both students from general ed.

Ginga: Eh~ Who cares if they’re in general ed? Stop nitpicking! Who knows? They might have a hidden spark of talent in them!

Kazuma: Save your sleep talk for when you’re asleep, and only when you’re asleep.

Kazuma: The Starlight Orchestra is being created to represent Japan in International Concours.

Kazuma: I’m pretty sure the Association did inform you of this criteria.

Ginga: Ahh, geez! I know, I know!

⊳ Choice: International Concours!? / Represent Japan!?

Kazuma: Yes. In other words, we weren’t looking for you. Come, the exit’s this way.

Ginga: Wait, hold up! It’s precisely because we’re gonna be turning up International Concours that we need her!

Kazuma: I don’t understand you.

Kazuma: Tsukishiro Kei’s the  Concertmaster of  Glanz Symphony Orchestra, who will be appearing in the qualifiers for the Concours.

Kazuma: Do you think she can beat Tsukishiro?

Sakuya: …Tsukishiro Kei is going to participate in this Concours?

Kazuma: Of course. Glanz was last year’s representative.

Tsukishiro’s going to be participating in this Concours too…

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Kei: Nicely done. You are the first person to have ever made me feel as moved as I did.

Kei: Now, another. Let us challenge each other for the road to the world.

Kazuma: Hey, you. I do hope you’re not imagining something conveniently stupid up in that head of yours.

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Kazuma: I don’t think you’re going to be able to beat him. Not with that stupidly silly face of yours.

Kazuma: He has made Glanz stronger through the addition of new members— all exceptional talents from Orchestras throughout the country.

Kazuma: …Even members of the Starlight Orchestra were not spared from his recruitment, thus leading to the disbandment of the very Orchestra.

Kazuma: You’re greatly mistaken if you think your adoration for him is going to be enough to take you to places.

Kazuma: His father is the board chairman of the Association. Are you even prepared to cross paths with a genuine elite like him if you undertake the role of  Concertmistress?

I do! Or so I’d like to say… but it doesn’t seem fitting for me to do so now…

Sakuya: C’mon. Now’s the time to tell him that you aren’t prepared and you’re going home.

Ginga: Hey, you! Don’t go breaking at a mere sneeze!

Ginga: Don’t you want to be part of an Orchestra? Chances like this don't exactly fall into your lap all the time, you know?

Ginga: And, well… It’s insane to go up against Tsukishiro and Glanz. Normally, anyway.

Ginga: Normal high schoolers don’t even stand a chance to go up on the same stage as them.

Ginga: But hear me out, Kujo, (L/n). Everything’s fair game during a Concours.

Ginga: Neither your history nor family background matters up there; you can stand on the same stage.

Ginga: And you can face off Tsukishiro Kei. That’s what makes a Concours a Concours.

Ginga: Although, if you want to look on enviously from the audience while doing nothing, then that’s fine too.

Ginga: But there are still plenty of obscure musicians in this world just like you.

Ginga: You can create music together with them and aim to go big worldwide. Don’t you think that’s worth a shot?

Sakuya: Worldwide… with music…?

Ginga: The choice is yours. But if you’re willing to give it a shot, then I shall be the one to lead you into the world.

Ginga: Let’s make the best Orchestra this world has ever seen.

⊳ Choice:  I’ll try my hand at it once more!

Ginga: Alright! Now that’s what I want to hear!

⊳ Choice: No.

Ginga: What?

Sakuya: …Well, what did you expect? It’s impossible.

Ginga: Ahhh~ I can’t hear anythiiiing! I can’t hear anything other than a “yes”!

Sakuya: How immature is this guy…!?

Kazuma: Glanz has the award-winning Tsukishiro Kei as their Concertmaster, and here, we have a Concertmistress from general ed. This competition’s over.

Ginga: Ah, geez! Enough with the award yapping! I can’t believe how boring you’ve grown up to be, Shinomori!

Ginga: Are you saying that all we have to do is to gather famed musicians and get them to join us? An Orchestra isn’t that simple!

Ginga: Do you think we’ll win against Tsukishiro if we play the same hand as him? I believe in her! She’s, well…

Ginga: Compared to any random person out there, this one’s stupid, clumsy, slow, and has no experience at all, but uhhhh— she has guts!

Kazuma: Well… You’re the Music Director. You can do whatever suits your fancy, just that it’ll be your neck on the chopping board if you’re unable to produce results within this month.

Ginga: No, that’s not what I meant. I actually managed to get members, didn’t I? Isn’t that considered actual-

Kazuma: Results? No. We need results in the form of actual activities being carried out. In any case, it’s something you’ll require anyway if you intend to participate in the qualifiers.

Kazuma: In which case, you’ll have to create an ensemble or something and hold a concert in order to get selected.

Kazuma: Of course, if the concert flops, then that’s off with your head too. I’ll be seeing myself out then, goodbye.

Sakuya: …And now we have an ultimatum.

Ginga: Yeah… Err… Being spurred into action out of desperation isn’t all that bad of a motivator either!

Ginga: You’ll help me out here, won’t you? You will, right? Yes! Thank you, (L/n), Kujo!

Sakuya: No, I’ve already stopped playing the violin and-

Ginga: I used my entire savings to repair The Magnolia— I’m broke!

Sakuya: Are you going to dump me and the freshie Concertmistress? Don’t leave us~!

⊳ Choice: Don’t leave us~!

Sakuya: Ahh! Stop clinging to me! Okay, okay!

⊳ Choice: Let’s do this together!

Sakuya: I’ve been having a bad feeling about this since yesterday…

⊳ Choice: I’m starting to regret this.

Sakuya: If only you’d felt that way a little earlier…

⊳ Choice: Sorry for dragging you into this…

Sakuya: Don’t pull that face… It’s not like it’s your fault anyway.

Ginga: So far so good. In any case, we’ve got two Violins and me on the piano for our current ensemble~

Sakuya: Ahh, for God’s sake! I’m just putting this out here, but I don’t think we’re going to succeed at all!

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬Main Starlight♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Previous Part: (Chapter 1-2) Next Part: (Chapter 1-4)

[bailesona]

“  i’m  not  sayin’  i’m  responsible,  but  also  if  henri  asks  who  stabbed  all  his  fancy  japanese  knives  into  the  snowman  on  the  roof,  you  and  i  were  together  all  night,  right?  “          can  anyone  blame  him?  can  you  honestly  look  him  in  the  eye  and  tell  him  that  you  wouldn’t  have  done  the  same  thing  if  given  the  opportunity?  no.  you  can’t.  nate  knows  this  with  confidence,  just  as  he  knows  exactly  where  those  japanese  knives  will  end  up  if  he  doesn’t  seize  an  opportunity  at  an  alibi  before  henri  emerges  from  interrogating  a  remarkably  cool  tina.  still,  he’s  been  raised  by  a  good  set  of  father  figures.  two  swift  sweeps  of  his  hands  against  her  shoulders,  and  margot’s  coat  is  relieved  of  the  little  mounds  of  snowflakes  that  manhattan  bestows  upon  her  in  the  doorway.          “  but  to  be  safe,  we  should  probably  hide  in  the  living  room  and  establish  our  cover  together,  right?  or  we  could  go  to  the  kitchen,  really  get  inside  his  head...  yeah...  he’d  never  see  that  one  comin’...  you  know  what,  you  don’t  need  to  help  me,  you  should  save  yourself  before  he  drags  you  in  there.  you’ve  been  warned,  margot.  good  luck  and  god  speed!  “

@sugcrwrites​ liked THIS POST for a family holiday dinner starter!  ( and the locations of all the other muses are in the tags if u want margot to mingle!! )

[applctini]

RULES &&. GUIDES

GENERAL

i am a pretty flexible partner, but i can also be equally as slow when it comes to replying. i work anywhere from 32-42+ hours a week, this is a hobby not my life. as much as i respect your time in replying, please respect mine. never assume i've forgotten about a thread, because i promise you i haven't - i'm just a slow sloth.

i do not mind slight godmodding, as the characters of the hazbin/helluva verse are immortal, deities, creatures, etc. of supernatural origins. powers, strength, magic, voodoo, religion, all of it is bound to come into play one way or another. lucifer himself is an insanely strong being - he just doesn't use his power very often. the only thing that bugs me is others assuming what goes on in lucifer's head. the old cuck doesn't even know what's going in his brain except monkey banging cymbals.

no anon hate, i think that?? goes without saying lmao. it'll be deleted immediately. you can bully lucifer as much as you want, but i'm not tolerating that nonsense thank you.

YES !! those starter calls are for you baby! i want to interact with you. YES !! those memes i reblog everyday are for you !! i want you to pester me, lucifer, i adore having a full inbox because memes and asks are the BEST way to get my attention. you thinking you're not sure if it's for you? send in your own asks !! unprompted shit is my FAVORITE thing to see pop up on my phone as a notification. do it, bug me!! i'm not that scary, i am probably the biggest baby you'd ever meet tbh.

my icons are edited for me and me only, please do not take them, but i am more willing to share where i got the bases from so you can have your own !!

FOLLOWING

tbh i don't always look at my followers, i've been on this website since i was a kid. however that doesn't mean i'm not gonna follow you back. i mentioned i was slow, right? yeah, that - at most it takes me 2-5 days to follow back unless for some odd reason i really didn't see your follow. tumblr loves not notifying me anyways, so just keep that in mind !!

this is a roleplay blog. i will not interact with personals and i hope you respect that to not interact/reblog my posts. i won't block you so long as you respect this one thing i ask of. you're welcome to follow, read my things, but do not reblog anything from me that comes from me.

i don't do the whole follow-for-follow. that always annoyed me, it still does. i don't get it... just, no lmao. if i follow you, i wanna follow you. i wanna interact with you, not to just be a number.

OC's should NEVER feel discouraged with me !! my main multi is mostly oc's, i live off of oc's. i love them. i only ask that there's a base page where i can receive some sort of information on them - it doesn't have to be elaborate, but i wanna know them !!

TRIGGERS &&. NSFW

this blog will be heavy with mental health topics. it'll contain depression, panic disorders, anxiety, ptsd, thoughts of self harm, acts of self harm, martyr complex, and much more. if you are sensitive to these topics or anything you think might lead to these topics, please turn around and do not follow me. i tag everything, but this will be a big chunk of my blog regarding headcanons, certain threads, etc.

i adore writing smut, any forms of it, but i don't write it with strangers. it often comes with just shipping with me, which we'll talk about below. however, if we share a ship (or more !!) i don't mind writing it with you, any form, or at any time. i love the intimacy (or even lack there of oops-) when it comes to sharing a body with someone.

MULTISHIP YAY OR NAY?

YAY!! I am multiship*, i will gladly toss this clown around to anyone like the switch he is lmao.

i love ships, but i also ship with chemistry. i don't like forcing myself to fall for a ship that doesn't hit me and i wouldn't want to do that to a partner either !! it's easy to be a people pleaser on this site, but don't be afraid to tell me if something isn't working for you, i don't take any offense to it. we're all adults here, we can talk like them with our big words.

*i will mention more about my shipping in this post.

WRITING

i write typically from para to novella, occasional crackhead behavior here and there with one-liners. my asks usually wind up on the longer side falling into drabble territory because i love setting a scene, describing such little details that it's probably annoying lmao. you don't have to match me word-for-word, but i would appreciate if length was kept to similar status.

WHAT ABOUT YOU?

me? i'm star, i'm 24 turning 25 currently. i work in retail, like i said i can be very busy during my workdays and may not always be available here. if you have my discord, don't feel discouraged to message me there, or even here if you don't. i will always try to make time between watching my department to reply to you. i'm often closing on my shifts, so usually by the end of the night i'm more eager to reply and like a chirping bird most nights. i'm under EDT currently (UTC -4H) so you can gauge my days.

[mcrmadness]

I felt like posting these dvd screenshots I took a while ago.

[multifandombitxh]

Two Years Late (Ch. 2)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Series Genre: Friends to Enemies to Lovers

Chapter Genre: Angst

Chapter Warnings: brief mention of death, depictions of violence/blood, bullying(? Eddie mean lol), PTSD flashback

Chapter one: X

Tag list: @soapbar99 @avengersmarauders @senkobingus

A/N: I'm so glad some of you liked this series!! I've been working on it for a bit now so I hope you all enjoy future chapters. If you'd like me to add to to the tag list pls let me know ♥️♥️

Edit: I wanted to clarify I wrote this BEFORE vol. 2 came out, just as an FYI!

Chapter 2: In Your Dreams

"I think you're overthinking this," Robin said over her shoulder as she organized a row of tapes. "I mean, honestly, you had a crush on him once, right? It's normal to have dreams about your crush."

"I haven't thought of him in years, Robin," You sighed, "And it wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare, and he died."

The nightmare in question was why you swore not to sleep again until you physically couldn't fight it anymore. It came to you just as you had fallen asleep the previous night, tearing you back out of your rest immediately. It was hard to recall, but based on what you hadn't blocked out, the Demogorgon attacked Eddie in the dream.

Robin shrugged and turned to face you, leaning her back against the shelves behind her. "If it bothers you so much, why don't you just, I dunno, talk to him?"

"I mean, for starters, he hates my guts," You scoffed, "If I told him I had a dream where he died, he'll think I'm a psycho. Besides, I wouldn't even know when I could talk to him."

Robin finished organizing the tapes and turned on her heel to face you again, a sparkle in her eye. "You know, I heard there's this old, rickety picnic table out behind the track field where people meet Eddie to do drugs deals after school. Maybe you could meet him there."

"Yeah, right," You laughed, "Like he'd talk to me if I showed up there. He'd probably run for the hills if he saw me waiting to do business with him."

"You say 'do business' like it's dirty," Robin chuckled, "Like you're gonna meet him behind the school to give him a bl-"

"Don't finish that sentence," Steve warned, whipping his head around the corner and pointing a finger at Robin. "Do not. Finish. That sentence."

Robin threw her hands up defensively. "Quit eavesdropping!"

"The last thing I wanna hear while I'm trying to work is you two knuckleheads talking about Y/N and Eddie 'the freak' Munson doing God knows what behind the school," Steve said, looking between the both of you with a stern expression on his face. "Got it?"

You both agreed in monotonous voices to no longer speak on the subject. Once Steve was done giving you deadly looks and had returned to his own work, Robin leaned in and cupped her hands around your ear.

"Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing," She whispered, "I hear he still talks about you all the time."

"God, not you too," You groaned, "That's what Mike and Dustin kept saying when I drove them home the other day."

"It's the truth!" She whisper-yelled, "So I think you should do yourself a favor, and go meet him. School should be out soon anyway."

"Wait," You said, "Shouldn't you be in school?"

Robin shrugged. "I have study hall for my last period, so I get scheduled at this time a lot. Besides, not the point, quit trying to redirect!"

You pinched the bridge of your nose and squeezed your eyes shut, taking a deep breath. "You're not gonna stop telling me to do it until I do, are you?"

"You know I won't."

"Whatever," You said, rolling your eyes. You fished inside your bag and pulled out your keys, hoping to drop the subject for good. "Did you still wanna hang out and watch Gremlins tonight?"

Robin clapped her hands together a few times, grinning ear to ear. "Yes, absolutely I do, yes, please. I need a break from this shit hole and homework desperately."

"Cool," You said with a smile and a nod, "I'll see you then."

Robin gave you a high five and you left the video store, looking forward to spending some time with her later. Since you hadn't been sleeping well for the last few weeks, you and Robin couldn't seem to agree on a time to have a movie night. Every time she asked about it, you always had to reschedule so you could catch up on sleep.

Not that you ever did.

As you hopped in your car, you thought back to your dream from the night before. It only came to you in fragments now, so all you could really recall was dark, black water, a crimson sky, and the Demogorgon rising from the water to attack Eddie. As you thought more about it, more and more of it came back as you drove to the high school. Your breathing became uneven as you remembered holding Eddie's hand on the edge of the water, staring into his eyes just before everything went dark. Your heart skipped a beat and you tried to clear your head enough to focus on driving.

When you arrived at Hawkins High, class wasn't quite out yet, so you sat in your car for a minute to prepare yourself. Did you really want to do this? You couldn't be sure. Part of you was excited to see him again, while another part of you wanted to throw up at the thought. It was hard to tell which part of you was winning, but either way, you had a bad case of butterflies that wasn't going away any time soon.

Gathering your courage you exited your car, locking it behind you and taking long strides toward the track field. Thankfully the field was vacant, allowing you to sneak down into the woods unnoticed. Your breath formed little clouds in the cold air, making you shiver and zip up your jacket. Brown and orange leaves littered the ground and crunched under your feet as you walked into what you were sure was going to be an absolute disaster of a meet-up.

If he even showed up, of course.

The further you went into the woods, you realized you could hear voices in the distance. You slowed your steps as you approached the voices to avoid revealing yourself. The clearing came into view and sure enough, Eddie was sitting at the old picnic table across from someone in a green and white letterman jacket. You decided to hide behind a nearby tree while the conversation progressed. All you could really hear was Eddie blabbing about "pure bliss in minutes".

Drugs. He was talking about drugs.

Fueled by rage you moved from your hiding spot and into the clearing, staring down the student and folding your arms over your chest. He stared back at you, his cheeks burning bright red and his mouth falling open a bit. Next he began to stutter as Eddie droned on about whatever drug he was trying to sell, digging himself into a deeper hole. When he finally noticed his little customer was staring off into the distance behind him, Eddie turned and his shoulders dropped at the sight of you.

"Y/N-"

"Go home now and I won't tell your parents I saw you here," You said to the kid, setting your jaw. It was an empty threat- you'd never seen that kid in your life, let alone his parents- but it was enough to scare him.

"Y-you wouldn't do that," The kid said, immediately beginning to shake and turning to Eddie. "M-my parents can't know about this, they'll never let me s-stay on the team! She w-wouldn't do that, right, man?"

"You really wanna take that risk?" You asked, shifting your weight.

Eddie gave the kid a nod, gesturing for him to leave as he closed the metal lunch box in front of him. "We can do this another time, k?"

With that, the kid began gathering his things, quickly sprinting from the clearing, not that you were paying attention to him anymore. Your focus was locked on Eddie, who stood from the table, seething. His chest was rising and falling quickly, and you took note of the rings that decorated his tightly closed fists.

"You had no right to do that," He said, his voice shaky from adrenaline. He was taking slow, precise steps toward you, but you held your ground.

"And you have no right selling drugs to children," You said with a shrug, "I'm not the bad guy here, Ed. Targeting the young and vulnerable now, huh? I guess I shouldn't be surprised, you were always really good at being manipulative-"

Before you could keep grilling him, he grabbed you by the shoulders and shoved you backwards until your back hit the base of a tree, the impact softened by your thick jacket. Still, the air left your lungs as he pinned you against the rough bark, a dark look in his eye. Eyes that were still so pretty, a lovely shade of warm sienna in the autumn evening.

Even when he was looking at you like he wanted to murder you where you stood.

"I'm warning you," He muttered, his grip tightening on your shoulders. "If you tell anyone about this-"

"You'll what, Munson?" You challenged, "Not to burst your weird little bubble, but you don't fucking scare me anymore."

Eddie seemed taken aback by your words, his expression faltering and switching from murderous rage to remorse. It didn't last long before he pushed off of you, moving back over the to picnic table and covering his mouth with his hand. You watched him carefully as he lowered himself onto the bench, his back facing you. The chain attached to his tattered jeans clanked loudly against the old wood.

"What are you even doing here?" He asked finally.

You shrugged and slowly walked over to the table, crossing to the side opposite of Eddie to take a seat. "Honestly, I just had to ask you something."

"Oh, Christ," He said with an irritated laugh, "That's it?"

"It was an important question!"

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest and looked you up and down, his lower lip pulled between his teeth. "Well?"

"Okay, I know it sounds weird, but have you, um," You started, "Have you been having, like, weird dreams lately?"

"What?" Eddie asked, unable to hold back his laughter. "That's your important question?"

"Just answer it," You said, losing your patience.

"Jesus, you're pushy. No, I have not been having 'weird dreams'," He said, using air quotes. "Why? Are you trying to curse me in my sleep or something?"

You chewed your lower lip and considered telling him the truth. The thing was, if you did, there was no way he would ever believe a word of it. He already hated your guts, there was no reason for him to believe that you were attacked by an inter-dimensional demon two years ago and now you had vivid nightmares about it every single night.

Lowering your gaze, you shook your head and anxiously toyed with the sleeve of your jacket, pulling at the discolored Sherpa lining on the cuff. "It's nothing, forget I even asked."

"Seriously?" Eddie scoffed, "You said it was an important question! You interrupted a deal for this? God, you really haven't changed one bit, you still love making everything about yourself."

Sadness and anger mingled in your heart, making your chest tighten. How wrong he was, you thought, considering it was really about his safety more than it was your own. If he was having the dreams, too, you would know it meant something was wrong. But it was just you. In a way, that brought at least some relief.

"You know," Eddie went on, wetting his lips. "I used to think you were so cool, like, the coolest person I knew. Then you started hanging out with those assholes, and I realized I was wrong about you."

"You were always wrong about me, Eddie," You said, "Just not in the ways you think you were. Besides, you sell drugs to 'those assholes' now, so I don't think you're in a position to be judging my choices."

With that, you rose from your seat and started to make your escape. You made it to the track field, but Eddie was hot on your heels, grabbing you by the wrist and forcing you to a halt. You stopped in place, shooting him a deadly glare. When you tried to rip your hand away, he held on tighter, pulling you closer in the process.

"What the hell happened to you?" He asked, "You didn't used to be like this."

Unprompted memories of hundreds of saliva-covered fangs adorning a gaping mouth flashed through your mind, a low, gutteral growl accompanying the image. Bodies surrounded by pools of blood and carnage followed suit, making you shiver. For the second time you considered confessing to Eddie what happened to you back at Hawkins Lab, but your gut told you to do otherwise. If Eddie wasn't tied up in Brenner's mess, you wanted to keep it that way.

"I grew up, Eddie," You answered, swallowing hard. "I grew up, and the real world sucks. What happened to me is none of your business."

"Oh come on," Eddie groaned, "I answered your question, didn't I? I gave you the benefit of the doubt, why can't you do the same?"

"Let it go, Eddie," You warned. You fought against his hold which prompted him to grab at your other wrist, holding them both up in front of you. Struggle as you did, he was a lot stronger than he looked. You were closer now, the gap between your bodies smaller than before, so it was a lot harder to avoid eye contact, but you found a way.

"Did someone hurt you?" He asked, to which you responded by shaking your head. "Y/N, I'm serious, if someone did something to you-"

More images of splattered blood and desperate screams clouded your mind.

"-I need you to tell me-"

"You won't believe me!"

Eddie released your wrists and let them fall to your sides, one of his hands coming to rest near your elbow. "I might."

"Why do you even care?" You asked, laughing through tears that threatened to spill out. "You never gave a shit about anything except that stupid game-"

"Hey," Eddie interrupted sternly, both hands on your elbows now. "I always cared. I never stopped caring."

"Bullshit," You spat, "If you cared, you would've been there for me, and you weren't. You can't act like how you treated me was okay. You were my best friend and you gave up on that, not me."

Eddie's mouth fell open as if he had something to say, but clamped shut after a moment. He averted his gaze from you, looking up at the sky and closing his eyes while taking a deep breath, as if he was contemplating something. You pulled out of his grip and took a step back, watching as his head fell forward and he placed his hands on his hips.

The bell rang noisily behind you, startling you both. Not long after, students began slowly filing out from the doors, laughter and shouting filling the air. You turned back to Eddie, who was awkwardly scratching the back of his head and still avoiding your gaze.

"Are we done here?" He asked, clearing his throat. "I have shit to do."

"Yeah," You replied, "We're done here."

[rebelwrites]

Trouble Is Your Middle Name

Dominic Toretto x Sister Reader

A/N this is my fic for Fanfic Friday

Join The Group Chat Here - If You Want Tagging Manually Let Me Know 🖤

Dominic Toretto Masterlist

This Months Writing

There were two rules you had, two rules your half brother gave you when he promised to take you in when you had nowhere else to go.

Rule One you kept up with your studying, just because you had the surname Toretto didn’t mean you could slack off, he wanted the best for you and not to end up like him or the rest of the family.

Rule two was you would keep out of trouble. Stay off the police radar and keep your head clean.

The first rule was easy and you were keeping your grades up and would be ready to sit the Bar soon enough, becoming the first lawyer within the family. But the second rule was hard, you grew up around cars and the fast life so it was in your blood.

It had been a long and exhausting week of studying and you needed a break, before you exploded. So as you climbed into the driver's seat of your Hellcat you went into auto pilot, cruising through the streets until you found an empty parking lot. You needed to let some steam off, it was late so you were less likely to get caught, or that’s what you thought. Little did you know you had a cop following you ever since you left the campus library.

A few burnouts and donuts never hurt anyone.

There was something about throwing the car about that made you feel free, the smell of burning rubber was one of the best smells and you found it relaxing. There was no doubt that you were a Toretto, it didn’t matter that you didn’t have the same mother as Dom and Mia, all that mattered was the Toretto blood than ran threw your veins.

You were in your own little world as you tore up the car park, leaving tyre marks as you went, to even notice the cop had put his lights on. It was only when you heard the blip of his siren you knew you were fucked. And you had broken rule number two.

“Fuck,” you mumbled bringing the car to a stop, killing the engine before slowly climbing out of the car.

“Should have known it would have been a Toretto,” the cop scoffed, instantly getting your back up.

“Talk about pre-judgement,” you mumbled under your breath.

“What was that Toretto?” The cop spat.

“Nothing,” you shrugged. “Look can I just go and we pretend this never happened?”

“I’ve been watching you all night, ever since you left campus, so far I can do you for speeding, reckless driving, criminal damage, and I’m sure if I looked probably illegal modifications,” he said, puffing his chest out.

“Look, do what you gotta do, I need to know what’s happening with the car so I can arrange a lift,” you said calmly, when inside you were panicking. You knew Dom was going to flip.

“I’m tempted to seize the car,” he laughed.

“Do it,” you shrugged, pulling your phone out, looking for Dom’s name, hitting call.

Within three rings he answered.

“You do realise the time right?” He laughed.

“Yeah I do but I need you, look don’t flip out but I went to let off some steam in an empty parking lot,” you sighed, “turns out a cop followed me from the campus and is tryna do me for so many things. And is now threatening to seize the hellcat.”

“Fuck sake, Y/N. What did I say?” Dom shouted.

“I know I broke rule two and I’m sorry okay.” You mumbled. “Just please come down, I don’t like the look of this cop, he is giving me the creeps.”

“Say no more kiddo, I’m on my way, ping me your location.” Dom said softly, he knew you didn’t get scared or creeped out often so he trusted your feelings. “I will bring the busta as well. Don’t worry.”

It didn’t take long before you heard the sound of Dom and Brian speeding down the street, pulling into the parking lot, parking with your car.

Dom jumped out the car, instantly pulling you into his arms. It didn’t matter that you were half siblings, neither of you saw each other as that. You were blood and he was going to do anything he could to keep you safe.

“Has he touched you?” He asked.

“No, thank god,” you whispered looking up at him. “I’m sorry, I should have come straight home.”

“It’s fine kiddo, I know you are stressed.” Dom smiled softly, kissing the top of your head, before letting you go.

“Oh so I see you called your half brother,” the cop laughed, “thought you were meant to be a Toretto?”

“You wanna shut your fucking mouth officer,” Dom snapped, pushing you behind him. “I mean is it that slow of a night that you have to follow a young woman and keep her blocked in a parking lot at eleven pm?”

“She was breaking the law,” the officer shrugged, “and just one look at her car tells me that it’s been illegally modified,”

“Well I’ve just had a walk around your car and I can find at least three different violations,” Brian said calmly. “For starters your tyres are bald, you have a brake light out, and the window wiper is broken, that is just from walking around the car.”

“What would your chief say if we reported you?” Dom said, “told him all the issues with your car and how you made a young woman feel uncomfortable. I’m not quite sure that would go down well.”

“Dom my dash cam is still recording,” you whispered.

“And we have proof,” Dom laughed, stepping closer to the cop. “So here is what’s gonna happen, you are going to climb back into your squad car and drive off, pretending that this never happened, that my little sister was never here.”

“But she obviously was here,” the cop laughed.

“I mean it’s our word against yours, these tyre marks could have been from anyone,” Brian shrugged, “and plus Y/N has been with me working on my car.”

“Fine,” the cop huffed, “but if I catch you driving so much one mile an hour over the speed limit I will be coming for you.”

“And then I will just come after you and send this little video to your chief.” Dom hissed. “Now get the fuck out of here and go you know, be a police officer.”

The three of you stood there, watching as he pulled out of the parking lot, driving off into the distance.

“Thank you,” you whispered, hugging Dom. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

“You are kidding right?” Dom laughed, “Trouble is your middle name”

“So you aren’t mad?” You asked looking up at him.

“What is there to be mad about? You were never here remember,” Dom laughed, “Now come on let’s get you home.”

@chibsytelford @phoenixhalliwell @galaxysanduniversesinmymind @withmyteeth “jessprins13 @rightwhereiwantyou @jasonbabymama @pumpkin-spice-hate @garbinge @zozebo

[carry-the-sky]

Kastle + 2 for the touch writing prompts 💕

based on the prompt: a touch with relief

also on ao3

shout out to @onebatch2batch and @ninzied 💕

.

She’s late.

Frank’s eyes dart to his phone. Screen’s dark, same as it was when he glanced at it a minute ago. No missed calls, no texts. He swigs his coffee, more to swallow down the muted panic in his throat than anything else.

“Fresh cup for your friend, honey?”

Frank looks up. The waitress—Jo, her name tag reads—is nodding at the mug of coffee he ordered for Karen when he got here.

His eyes linger on it a moment before he shakes his head. “I’m good, ma’am. She’s, uh—she’s on her way.”

Frank must look as keyed-up as he feels, because Jo offers him a gentle smile. “You got it,” she says. “Just holler when she gets here, okay?”

Then she’s walking off. Probably assumes he got stood up by a date, and hell—he almost wishes that’s what this was. At least he could shrug that off, carry on with his day instead of sitting across from an empty booth, chest slowly going tight with dread.

Frank pushes back from the table, forces himself to breathe. Maybe something came up at work—a deadline got pushed up or a source backed out last-minute and Ellison’s got her holed up at the office doing damage control—

His hand twitches for his phone. They’ve been meeting for lunch pretty regularly for the past month or so, but Karen always shoots him a text the day before to confirm. He scans her last message in their thread—Tomorrow still good? Same place as last week?—and something in his chest twinges. Maybe it’s an occupational hazard, or maybe it’s just her way of making sure he won’t bail—either way, Frank can’t blame her. He’s far from atoning for the way he left things that day at the hospital. It’s a small miracle she let him back into her life at all.

Frank’s eyes flick to the time at the top of the screen. It’s going on twenty past the hour. Hell with it—maybe he’s being paranoid, but his gut says something’s off. He hits the call button next to her name.

It goes straight to voicemail.

His pulse stutters. It doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t mean—

He tries her again.

Hi, you’ve reached Karen Page. Please leave your name and number and I’ll get back—

Shit. Frank swipes over to his contacts, scrolls until he finds the number for the Bulletin’s front desk.

“New York Bulletin,” a cheerful voice answers on the second ring. “How may I direct your call?”

“Is Karen Page in?” he asks, straining to keep his voice steady.

He knows what the answer will be, but it still lands like a gut-punch when the receptionist tells him that Ms. Page is currently out of the office. His hand is shaking when he hangs up.

Jo is making the rounds again, and Frank doesn’t miss the sympathetic glance she shoots in his direction. He takes a deep breath through his nose, slow and steady to counter the hammer of his heart. He needs to focus, think.

Hanging around her office is a non-starter—he’s let his beard grow out, but his face has been plastered across the front page enough times that the damn receptionist would probably recognize him now. He could try Karen’s place on the off chance she ran home—

Frank’s fingers twitch against his phone. He should get up, move, do something other than sit here with this familiar tension cranking up his sternum. One thought spins on a turntable in his head—something’s wrong. Something’s wrong. He let his guard down, let himself breathe for one goddamn second, and now—if something happened to her—

The world narrows, tilts like a kaleidoscope. He needs air.

He’s dimly aware of standing, tossing a few bills on the table before he’s out the door. The street is thick with noise—people laying on their horns, distant sirens, someone shouting. He focuses on each individual sound, anchors his breath to the steady thrum of the city around him.

He’s not sure how long he stands there—a few minutes, maybe. Long enough for his vision to stop swimming, for the pounding in his ears to subside. Long enough to register his phone, buzzing in his hand.

Her number’s flashing across the screen.

Frank fumbles to answer, almost dropping his phone in the process. “Karen, hey—”

“Frank,” she replies, and relief floods his veins at the sound of her voice. “I’m so sorry—my phone decided to automatically update right as I was leaving for lunch, and then when you didn’t show—I was getting worried.”

He frowns, trying to process her words. “Where—where are you?”

“Sal’s. Why, didn’t you—” she pauses. “Wait, did you go to Cinco’s?”

Frank turns her text from last night over in his head. Same place as last week. They definitely grabbed lunch at Cinco’s—he’d ordered extra steak fries with his burger, just to let her swipe a few from his plate—but, shit, that’s right—they’d swung by a new place afterwards for dessert, some local café that had just opened.

We should try this place for lunch sometime, Karen had said in between bites of her raspberry scone. Frank remembers the dusting of sugar across her upper lip, remembers the small heart attack it gave him when she’d licked it clean.

“Think there might’ve been a misunderstanding,” he tells her now, cheeks warm. Karen just laughs in response as it all clicks together, and Frank lets the sound wash over him, the warmth of it dissolving the tension in his chest. She’s laughing. She’s okay.

“Lesson learned,” she says. “Be more specific. And make sure the phone isn’t going to update.”

“Wouldn’t be a problem if you had one like mine.”

“Not a chance. There’s old-fashioned, and then there’s prehistoric.” There’s a beat of silence, and he knows she’s smiling on the other end of the line. “Listen, I have to head back early today, but are you free for lunch tomorrow? I owe you some fries from Cinco’s, at the very least.”

“Works for me,” Frank says. “Sure you don’t wanna write that down, just to be safe? That’s C-I-N—”

“Shut up, Frank.”

It’s his turn to grin. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” she echoes.

He stays on the line until she hangs up, weightless with relief even as his blood still hums with adrenaline. It was just a miscommunication—but when his eyes squeeze shut, he’s right back in that hotel watching Lewis drag her into the elevator, praying to whoever the fuck was listening that she’d still be breathing when he got to her.

He knew, even then, what it would mean to lose her. Lose her without her ever knowing—

Make it mean something.

About damn time he did.

.

Karen’s waiting for him when he gets there the next day, sitting in the same booth he was. Her eyes snap to him as he pushes through the front door, and then she’s standing, and somehow before he’s fully aware it’s happening, he’s pulling her close, burying his face in the slope of her neck, breathing her in.

She’s warm. Her arms cinch around his shoulders, drawing him in even closer, and he smells something floral, soft and clean when her hair brushes his cheek. They stay like that a moment, holding onto each other—then she gently pulls back, and the loss of contact aches like a bruise. As he slides into the booth across from her, it’s all he can do to keep from reaching for her again.

Jo comes by with coffee, gives Frank a wink that could be seen from outer space as she slides Karen a mug. When he ducks a glance at Karen, she’s pressing her lips together like she’s trying not to smile.

“How long were you sitting here yesterday?” she asks.

Frank grips his own mug tightly to keep his fingers from shaking. “Not long. Felt like—longer than it was.”

He tries to keep his voice light, but he never did have a very good poker face. And they don’t do that. They don’t lie to each other.

When he looks again, Karen’s face has softened. She reaches across the table, rests a hand against his forearm. “Frank—”

He recognizes her tone of voice, knows she’s about to apologize for something that’s not her fault. After all his bullshit, everything he’s put her through—she’s still the one telling him she’s sorry. She’s still all heart. The ache in his chest digs its roots in, blooms until he can hardly breathe.

“Hey.” He tilts his head to catch her gaze, holds it. “I’m good. Yeah? Might chuck your phone in the Hudson first chance I get, but—”

He’s hoping the jab will pull a smile from her, and it almost does. Her mouth crinkles at the corners. “Still,” she says. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

He just looks at her—eyes bright and blue and open, and shit, he’s gonna kick himself for the rest of his life for taking his sweet time telling her exactly what she means to him. He slowly turns his arm until his hand grazes her wrist, her palm, and then he’s threading his fingers through hers.

“I’m always gonna worry, Karen. I know you can handle yourself, that’s not what—” he cuts off as she gives his hand a gentle squeeze, swallows thickly before saying— “You’re the most important person in my life. You’re everything. I’m never gonna not worry.”

Now she’s smiling, mouth curved like a moon as she looks down at his hand in hers. “You mean that, Frank?”

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get off my ass about it, but—this thing, Karen, you and me—if you’re in, I’m in. I’m all in.”

He’s not sure it’s happening until it’s happening—one second Karen’s leaning across the booth, the next her lips are on his.

He barely has time to process the softness of her mouth, the warmth of her hand cupping his jaw, before she’s sitting back, looking as stunned as he feels.

“I take it back,” he says, a little hoarse. “What I said about your phone. Damn thing should update every day.”

Karen just laughs, and they both lean in again.

[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.” 

[galacticforces]

Rules

This is an 18+ blog. I’m over 21 and no longer feel comfortable writing with minors.

Don’t godmod unless we’ve discussed it. There are certain muses that I let mess with my muses’ heads, but as a general rule, don’t be a dick and take away my ability to control my own muse and their reactions to things.

I fully support reblog karma. I’m not a meme source, so if you’re reblogging memes from me, I expect you to be sending them as well. It doesn’t have to be something from the same meme, but it doesn’t hurt anyone to send a color pallet art request or a question for the mun. I will block you if this happens too often.

I won't write with you if your muse doesn't have a bio or about page. This goes double for genderbent or otherwise canon-divergent muses. It's important to know the background and how that's changed them.

I’m happy to rp with well-developed and interesting ocs, including children or relations of canon characters, but please talk to me about it first and  have a good bio and rules page.

But, if you’re not a rp blog, don’t like or reblog my starter calls.  That’s confusing and weird. Also please don’t reblog threads you aren’t a part of. That can confuse my thread tracker.

Please don’t bother me about replies.  You’re welcome to nudge me if I’ve been responding regularly to our thread and I stop suddenly or if you tag me in something and I don't respond, but I have a tracker.  I don’t lose things often and I’ll let you know if I want to drop a thread.  I’m slow.  Please be patient.

Please don’t bother me about shipping.  I’m not saying I wont ship with you, but it’s not incredibly likely.

I will occasionally rp smut, but I reserve the right to not jump into that with muns I don’t know well.

I don’t do in-character IMs, but you’re welcome to approach me ooc at any time. The mun doesn’t bite, I swear.

I reserve the right to not rp with any blog for any reason.

The mun’s pronouns are ey/em/eirs or they/them/theirs.  Pronouns should always be respected in ooc interactions.  Queerphobia, ableism, etc, won’t be tolerated from the mun. I understand that muses’ views don’t reflect those of the mun.

Questions or concerns?  Message me or send me an ask.  I’m always willing to talk, but you’ll probably get a much faster response if you’re not on anon.  Also, if we’ve interacted, feel free to ask for my discord. I don’t write there any more regularly, but I’m willing to do things there if that’s your preference.

If you’ve read all this, let me know, yeah? Just a ‘hey, I read your rules’ is plenty for me.  Or just like this post.

[neon-junkie]

In Heat

Summary: Your species goes into heat once or twice every solar cycle, and unfortunately, you're in heat whilst co-piloting Mandos ship. With no supplements, the only way you can get rid of this ache between your legs is with Mandos help.

Pairing: Mando/Din x f!Reader

Word Count: 2809

Rating: NSFW

Tags: Nsfw, Smut, Slight a/b/o dynamics, Sex pollen, In heat, Knotting, Creampies, Multiple orgasms/loads, Reader isn’t human.

Notes: If you enjoy my work then please reblog!!

A co-pilot wasn't something that Mando had ever considered, but since he was carrying such precious cargo, and struggled to shoot and fly at the same time, he decided it was for the best. He'd hired you and told you straight what exactly he needed you for and what his mission was, and after meeting the child, you understood why he felt like it was his duty to return this infant to its breed. You'd been traveling together for a few weeks now, often sharing the load of flying and helping out with the action whenever you needed to. Mando had told you that in dangerous situations, you were to guard the child whilst he dealt with the fighting, and so far, all had been well. The two of you got along much better than expected, only because your wit and sarcasm matched his, and you were fine with the few words he spoke. There was no need for pointless chit-chat and gossiping, especially when both of you could be resting instead, so your dynamic worked well. 

You're uncertain of what species Mando is, but he's human-like so human is your best guess. You'll never know as he's forbidden to remove his armor, and you're fine with that. It's not something you need to know, but you can't help but be curious. Humans are far too common out in space, they seem to be a very reproductive breed, unlike your own, a dying breed but you've still met a few like you in your time. Mando had made a comment about how he hasn't seen many of your kind before when he first met you. Funny that, your breed not being common despite things getting very... heated once or twice every solar cycle. With modern technology, those heated ruts can often be tamed and ignored, almost not feeling that urge at all, let alone the smell. But unfortunately, you'd been carrying the bare minimum on this mission and for some reason, you didn't pack the medicine needed to help calm that phase. So, here you are, crossing one leg harshly over the other as you try to calm your crotch down. It's almost burning, you can feel yourself soaking through another pair of pants but you've already excused yourself more than one to go and use the 'bathroom.' Unfortunately, you're so used to your own smell that your body ignores it, so you're not sure how bad the stench it, but from the way Mando keeps looking over his shoulder at you whilst he drives, you'd assume it's pretty bad. When you're in heat with a partner, it's fine, often becoming a very intimate and sensual time for the pair. But you haven't got a partner. You're stuck floating through space with some knight in shining armor and a small green being who's almost twice your age. Just your luck. Mando pulls down on a lever and flicks a couple of buttons, putting the ship into auto-pilot. He swivels his chair around and looks at the child, who's been quietly sat in his floating cot this whole time. "Come on, you. Naptime," he says as he stands. He picks the child up and slides down the ladders, exiting the cockpit and putting the child into the small hammock he'd made for him in his pod. You overhear the pods door shut, followed by the sound of Mandos shoes clinking against the metal stairs as he climbs back up. He closes the door as he re-enters the cockpit, sitting back down on his chair and swirling it to face you. He's silent for a few seconds before he finally says "we need to talk." "Oh? Have I done something wrong?" you ask, your mind quickly going over the past few weeks to look out for any mistakes you might have made. "No... I know you can't help it, but..." Mando begins as he waves his hand slightly, shooing away any bad tension that might have been in the air from his blunt sentence starter. "The smell you're letting off, it's... distracting," Mando tells you. "Oh, sorry! I can't exactly help it. I normally have supplements but... I forgot to bring them," you admit. "I didn't think this would happen whilst I'm out here." "Bad timing, huh?" Mando asks. "Yeah," you say with a nod. He ponders for a moment and you can tell he's thinking about how to help. "We're not going to come across any planets for a few days. Is there... any way I could help?" "Not unless you have a hidden stash of supplements, no." "...I didn't mean through the use of supplements. We know that solution is off the table. You're, erm, in heat, aren't you?" Mando questions. "I am... are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" Mando pauses again before eventually replying "yes." You can feel an uncertain expression creep across your face as you ponder over the thought of Mando helping. "You're human, aren't you?" you ask him. "I am," he confirms. "Please don't take offense to this, but I don't think a human would be able to keep up. Those, erm... 'sessions' can last for hours, and you'd definitely be... drained," you explain. "We can try," Mando says with a shrug. You're about to respond but Mandos stood up from his seat. He walks over to you and settles down in front of you, resting his hands on your knees as he looks at you. The feeling of Mandos hands resting on your knees is setting you off much more than it should, and you're pretty certain he heard that whimper escape your lips. "What do you say?" Mando asks you. "We can try," you say with a small nod. "Good," Mando replies as he slips off his gloves, chucking them onto his chair and turning his attention back to you. Mandos hands rest on your knees again, only this time he begins to slide them up your thighs, eventually settling on your waistband. He grips onto it and lightly tugs, waiting patiently for you to lift your hips up. You do, and watch as Mando slowly pulls your pants off, pulling off your boots in the process, leaving you with just your shirt on. His hands are on your thighs again, trailing up the inside of them. The feeling of skin against skin is setting you off again, your pussy already dripping wet, accidentally beginning to soak the chair. He gently parts your thighs, exposing yourself to him. Mandos thumb rests against your clit as he begins to gently rub it, his head flicking between watching your expression and admiring your folds. "You're soaked," he informs you. All you can do is nod, your head beginning to spin from the small amount of contact. "Guess I won't need to prep you," he comments. "Nu-uh," you say as you shake your head. Mandos hands move away and you can't help but whimper. He softly shushes you as he reaches down and begins to unbutton his pants, pulling out his already hard member. He pumps himself a few times, slicking himself up with the precum that drips from his length. You never thought you'd see Mando in this state, jerking his shaft, getting ready to take you, but it's a welcoming sight that you'd love to see again. "Up," Mando says as he stands, offering you his hand and pulling you to his feet. "Wrap your legs around me, alright?" Mando says as he places his hands on your hips, his body slightly bent. You know what he's trying to do so you lightly jump, Mando picking you up and holding you tightly. He walks you over to the wall, pressing your back against the cold metal. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, and Mando moves one hand off you so he can line himself up. The both of you sigh as Mando pushes into you, sheathing himself all the way in, the tip of his cock brushing against your core, making you whine and moan. Mando pauses for a brief moment, probably getting used to the feeling before he begins to fuck you up against the wall. His thrusts are rough and deep, his balls slapping against your ass. Despite the drone of his helmet, the moans he's letting out are so beautiful that your pussy can't help but clench every time he makes them. "You feel so good," Mando compliments, his voice husky and full of lust. "So do you," you respond as you wrap your arms around his neck, clinging onto him for dear life. Mando rests his head on your shoulder, your cheek turning cold as his helmet presses against you. It's a welcoming touch, your body radiating more heat than the sun, so the coldness of his helmet feels far too good. You feel your body slipping slightly, but Mando raises you up and presses you even more firmly against the wall, his body pressed right against yours. His hands move down to your ass, gripping onto each cheek as he fucks you. For a man that doesn't talk much, he's quite the moaner, almost moaning louder than you; but Mando manages to brush against that spot inside of you, a scream escaping your lips as you bury your head into the curve of his neck. "There it is," he says as he begins bucking against it again. His cock ruts against your g-spot perfectly, making your walls tighten around him as you feel your first orgasm nearing. "So tight," Mando moans, loving the way you're clenching around me. "I'm gonna..." he trails off. Another few thrusts and Mandos spilling his load inside of you, grunting and moaning against your shoulder, his grip on your ass tightening. You also cum, your walls clenching around Mandos length, making him whimper and stop his thrusts. He's pushed deep inside of you, his orgasm being milked as you ride yours. You're almost painfully tight around him, practically locking him into place. Eventually, you un-tense, and Mando is able to slip himself out, still panting as he gently lowers you to your feet. "You're not done, are you?" he asks. "No," you say as you shake your head, holding onto Mandos arms to keep yourself upright as your knees feel like they're about to collapse at any second. "Get against the chair," Mando orders you as he points to his pilot chair. As you walk over and get down to your knees, Mando speaks again. "I didn't realise you get that tight." "Yeah," you say with a shrug. "Some people call it knotting as we're similar to animals," you explain. "You didn't do it then, did you?" he asks as he gets on his knees behind you. "No," you reply. "Why?" "I managed to stop it. I don't want to hurt you. You humans are a bit too soft, wouldn't wanna crush you," you explain with a soft laugh. "I can take it," Mando shrugs. "Plus your species can't interbreed, can't they?" "They can't," you say as you peer over your shoulder, watching Mando lazily stroke himself as he talks to you. "Then it's fine. If you can't help it, then do it," Mando encourages you. He doesn't seem to be admitting it, but he definitely wants to feel how tight you can get around him, so the least you can do is show him as your way of thanking him for helping you out. "Alright," you agree. "Good," Mando says with a small nod. Mando lines himself up again and slips back into you. He rests his hands on your hips, holding you steady as he begins to buck his cock into you. Your hands rest on the seat of his chair, your head resting against them as you begin to moan. You can feel Mandos balls slapping against your clit, the sound of skin against skin echoing around the cockpit. It was definitely a good mistake to forget your supplements, simply because this mysterious masked stranger, who is technically your boss, is now balls deep inside of you, helping calm your heat and doing a surprisingly good job for a human. Mando continues to let out the prettiest of moans as he rolls his hips oh-so-perfectly into you. He feels rather sensual and intimate, not feral like he was 5 minutes ago, but things are about to change when Mando shuffles back slightly and pulls you with him, moving your arms and head from the chair you were resting on. "Give me your arms," Mando orders you. You move your arms behind your back, forearms pressed together, keeping your upper body raised without support. Mando tightly grips onto your forearms and pushes your chest down, your cheek pressing against the metal floor. He begins to slam into you, keeping a firm grip on your arms behind your back, his body towering over you as he begins to fuck you with an animalistic vibe. "Shit!" you whimper, enjoying the way Mandos balls slap against your clit. He already feels like he's close, his balls warm and heavy, ready to push another load into you. His previous load is mostly seeping out of you, his thick length pushing the creamy liquid from your cunt as he pounds you for all you're worth. "Good girl," Mando praises you. That comment makes your head spin and your pussy clench, and Mando picks up on it. "You like that, don't you? My praise?" he asks. "Mhmm," you say with a small nod, your eyes scrunching shut as you feel Mandos cock hit your core. "Interesting," Mando replies as he makes a mental note of it. Mando leans his body over yours even more, his spare hand reaching forward to grip his pilots chair. You're sandwiched underneath him, enjoying the feeling of no-escape as Mando pounds the heat out of you. Your hips feel like they're going to collapse at any moment, Mandos thrusts are a lot harsher than you were expecting, and eventually, you find yourself almost fully lying on the floor. Mando moves his hand off the chair and places it beside your head, keeping his body towered over you. "Come on. You're close, I can feel it," he tells you, commenting on the way your walls begin to clench around him. "Here, let me help," Mando says. He straightens his back as he moves his hand from the floor, reaching underneath you to begin rubbing your clit, his other hand still wrapped around your arms. "Mando," you moan as you feel your orgasm approaching. His cock throbs as you say his name, but he continues to hold himself back, waiting for your release. "Come on," Mando repeats. Mando continues to slam his hips against yours, hitting your g-spot perfectly. The pleasure is all too much, and you cum again, this time tightening fully around Mando as you lock him into place. "Shit!" He yelps as you tighten around him, his cock buried deep inside of you. He spills his load into you, moving his hand off your clit so he can hold his body up, his muscles going weak. You're a whimpering and panting mess beneath him, and Mando eventually hunches over, resting his head between your shoulder blades as you milk him for all he's worth. He's breathing heavily, moaning, and sometimes grunting from how tight you are around him. At least your heat has calmed down, but you weren't expecting things to end up like this - your boss locked inside of you, probably sweating from how long he's been at it. Eventually, Mando lifts his head up. He straightens his back as he looks down, giving his cock a small tug but you're still too tight for him to remove his cock without it hurting the both of you. "Here," Mando says as he wraps an arm around your waist and rolls onto his side, pulling you with him. The two of you are still panting as Mando spoons you, his arm underneath your head, and the other one around your waist. "Rest," he tells you. "You should rest too," you reply. "I will," he agrees. You want to thank him for helping you out, but you're unsure how to say it without it sounding... weird. You decide to leave it, closing your eyes instead, deciding that you'll repay him however he sees fit when the opportunity arises. Mando shuts his eyes as well, falling asleep with you on the floor of the cockpit. It's not the most comfortable place to sleep, but it's the only option available when Mando is still locked inside of you. He'll be able to slip out of you by the time you both wake up, but let's hope that nobody tries to disturb your slumber, else things are going to get awkward pretty quickly.