#Suffer is from Rubys playlist

[dustyfandomtrashbin]

Hmmmmmmmm, I'ma do some from each of my oc playlists bc I can

Red Haze - Creo

Make the Grade - Jack Conte

Suffer - Petit Biscuit, Skott

Unknown - Oliver Buckland

Wishing You Were Here - Chicago

Grandloves - Purity Ring, Young Magic

Snowfall - Øneheart, reidenshi

Daniel in the Den - Bastille

Des Lapins Dans Des Chats - Noob, Odezenne

WTH?! - Shady Monk

When You Sleep - my bloody valentine

Thiskidsnotalright - AWOLNATION

Mania - Blake Robinson Synthetic Orchestra

Anyone who wants to share their music taste can do this ^v^

Hey eyeone! I want to know what your favorite songs are, if you see this post you are CONTRACTUALLY OBLIGATED to reblog with at least 1 song you have listened to and enjoyed but if you have more you'd like to share then go ahead! Also tag your friends!

I'll start, I'm going to list 5 of my favorite songs

Dr Sunshine Is Dead by Will Wood

134340 Pluto by Cojum Dip

Vulture by Bear ghost

Dear John by I monster

And finally: playing places: Oceans by Cosmo Sheldrake

Here's the people I want to tag

@f4y3w00d5 @ashen-the-tiefling @terrencetheshark14 @underpaid-guard @blacktipreefsharkwizard @the-gnomish-bastard @thatgayforkcrow @lixorloveslicorice @yourlocalbreadenthusiast @agentldiddy @aileaxthevoidien @slutty-wizard-council @monsterfucker-research-wizard and anyone else who wants to play!!!

[tadpolesonalgae]

Eris x reader: Pomegranate Seeds

A/N: So they don’t really have kings and queens in prythian but for the sake of clarification because I feel that using Lady is an odd descriptor, I’m using Queen the first time. (I was listening to a greek mythology playlist while writing this!)

Warnings: wine?

Word Count: 1,844

“To a new world.”

Raise the glass, clinking with his own, ringing like tiny silver bells. “To a better High Lord.” Caramel softens at the edge, whiskey swirling as he inclines his head, the two of you drinking deeply. Ruby liquid warms your throat, pooling in your stomach, poised to soften your mind.

Drink quietly for minutes, taking in the beauty from the uppermost levels of the palace. Forest stretching for miles, red and oranges cooling beneath the moonlight into somber, neutral shades. Leaves flutter below as wind runs her fingers through the lustrous mass, dancing through, skating across the trees as she sweeps over the landscape.

“Part of me never thought the day would come,” Eris admits, quietly. “That his immortality would prevail over my own, and this relief would never arrive.” Shafts of moonbeam smoothen the planes of his face, bathing him in ethereal silver, wine dappled with sparkling light. The deep emerald of his waistcoat is darkened by the night, shade cast down the strong lines of his body as he braces his forearms on the balcony railing, caramel corduroy tailored to perfection. He’s dappled in jewel tones, the ruby heirloom sitting pretty around his thumb, the just-licked crimson shining resplendent like wine.

“It’s fictitious; yet here we are, standing triumphant.” Brows dip in the centre, a look of tired frustration marring his features. “I don’t feel victorious at all.”

Watch him sidelong: the downcast gaze, wine sitting discarded atop the railing, breeze kissing the soft, silky hair from his face. Take another sip of your drink. “This isn’t like you,” you reply quietly, “since when has inebriation made you so morose?” It’s true intoxication tends to macerate his normally abrasive personality, but not to the point of sombreness. Tonight he’s almost melancholy.

“I’m nowhere near the peak of this mountain. I thought at least from here it would be within my sights, yet I feel as though instead I’ve stumbled upon a crater,” he mulls bitterly. “A crater so great it would take the rest of my centuries to halfway circumvent the perimeter.” His head dips, staring into the blood-red pool of liquid. It simmers slightly in response, filled with effervescence.

Lower the glass from your lips, gently putting a hand over his shoulder. “That’s why you have me. We’ll get further as a pair than if you insist on wretched solitude.” Molten caramel warms your skin, brow dipped at the centre, poised to protest. “We’ve made it together this far, Eris. I’m not about to back out now. We’re in this for the long run.”

He watches you silently, absorbing the steadfast reassurance of your palm, savouring the solace of your touch. Moonlight sets your skin aglow, bathing it in silver—how you shine. The soft cream of your dress transformed by the night into something diaphanous and celestial. Contained within the gossamer is a dusting of warmth—the colour of rosey moonlight.

Takes it all in, and commits the silence to memory. The tranquility of your touch, the innate comfort of your person. Do you know he would have undoubtedly crumbled had you not been at his side? Swallows thickly—the new world has already begun. Changes will be made, battles will be fought, failures will be suffered, but progression is imperative.

“I want to be better than he was,” Eris says quietly. It’s always been his goal, but has it ever been voiced? Or has it been kept silently locked up, fearful of who might hear and hold him accountable. “Then you’ve already succeeded,” you respond, taking a sip of your wine. “Really, I had thought you to be much more ambitious.” Eyes flick to his, ready to push him further. “Where’s your discipline gone?”

He regards you quietly, then stands from the railing. Takes a deep drink from his wine before turning to face you, one side of his face bathed in silver. “I want to be better,” he repeats quietly, “I will be better.” The edge of your mouth raises with pride, pupils dilated from the many glasses that were consumed prior to the toast. “I want to make the Autumn Court my Court. And I want its citizens to think of it as home, rather than their birthplace,” he admits, at last voicing his wishes. “I want my people to be proud of their homeland; to also desire its nourishment.”

Eris takes in a slow, deep breath, air trembling within shaky lungs. Nerves wriggling beneath his skin under the intensity of your gaze. The depth of understanding between you. Steadies himself for the first step of change.

“I want my Court to be blessed with a strong, sound-minded ruler,” he begins, eyes latched with your own. “Someone who’s fair, and just, and kind without being weak.” Your hands join on their own, independent of conscious will, fingers sliding across calloused palms, roughened from sparring and flame. “Someone equally capable of keeping their head under duress, as their humour.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes playfully, “I’d hardly describe your backhanded compliments and bladed jabs as humorous, Eris.”

He smiles a little, one that’s initially difficult to place. Until the day is recalled. The day his youngest brother had fled to spring after having his beloved executed before his eyes. The first, and last day Eris had ever disobeyed his father. You still remember the pulse of his heart, the same smile he’d given you—full of nerves, and mild terror—knowing he was doing something that scared him, but that had to done.

“Maybe not,” he admits, lightly squeezing your hands. Only now making you aware of their tremble. Does he know you can feel the spike of his pulse? Hear the nervous beat of his heart? “But I’m not speaking of myself.”

Your brow dips, furrowing as you peer up at him, wondering what plan he’s cooking up within that wonderful mind of his. Always one for strategy. Gives you another squeeze. Spine straightens. “Centuries ago, I was set on completing this journey on my own. I was the only person I needed; the only one I could depend on when things went wrong. And I will stand by my past resolutions.” He swallows, gaze steadying, familiar certainty returning to his eyes. “But I don’t want to, if I don’t have to.”

He’s talking in riddles; you have no hope of following what he’s talking about. But he sounds confident and assured, so you’ll trust him. “I want someone by my side,” he continues, quiet but firm. “I no longer want to complete the journey on my own.”

Heart warms in your chest, unable to help the smile that softens your mouth, emotion welling across your breast. “I’m right here with you,” you murmur, peering up at him. He nods, that slightly nervous twist to his lips still prominent. Takes a deep breath. Mouth shifts into a serious set, features changing to sincerity, the swiftness catching you off guard. “I want you to be at my side,” he says frankly; earnestly. “As my Queen.”

The title clangs through you, eyes widening, lips parting, breath sucked from your soul. He maintains his hold, keeping you steady. “You’ve made it clear you’ll walk this path with me. Proved time and time again you can be resourceful, and understanding, and diplomatic. What difference does it make if the next time you appear before my Court, you wear its crown? Have equal dominion over that land you care so greatly for, despite the ruin my father tried to inflict upon it because he was too miserable and sour to make changes?

“He was drowning in his own wretchedness, so condemned everyone else to his fate. But you kept your head above the water, and fought for your right to life. You survived, and made something for yourself.

“I can think of no one else more deserving, more right for the throne, than you.”

You stare at him, speechless. Hands still grasped in his own, the band of his heirloom burning into your skin. “Are you serious?” You manage, disbelieving. Heart matching the pace of his, thundering in your chest. “Completely,” he replies. “I believe you are worthy of the title, and will be capable of taking on that responsibility.” Swallows thickly. Exhales heavily. Beat raising higher. “I understand you may have concerns: I am asking a lot from you. Requesting you dedicate the rest of your life to the Autumn Court, and in doing so, also to me. It is not purely objective reasoning that forces me to make this selfish appeal; it would be deceptive and insolent of me to invite you into this contract without revealing to you the full scope of my wishes.”

His attention remains steady and assured, but it’s as though he’s been stripped back a layer, petals peeling away to reveal his golden centre. Raw intention being laid bare before you.

“The truth is, there is no one else I want as my Lady. You made me feel like myself in a way others have not. Have imparted upon me the feeling of having a home in another being, and for that I have never sufficiently expressed by deepest gratitude and fear I will never be able to.” The moonlight spills into his whiskey and caramel gaze, sending sparkling starlight glittering like crystals. “I swear on the few things I still hold dear—you being one of them—that I will do well by you. I will be a better High Lord than my father, but also a better husband, if you will gift me the chance.”

Words flutter through your minds, boggled and scrambled from his proposition. There’s always been an undercurrent between you, becoming more and more prominent in recent decades. His father couldn’t have chosen a better time to kick the bucket—sick bastard. “Your court would never accept my word, even as the new Lady of Autumn,” you manage distantly, mind spinning from the sincerity of his piece.

It’s his turn to quirk his lips, “what’s a Courtful of males in the face of your ambition?” Challenge practically drips from his mouth, eyes gleaming in the night, heating with molten determination. He’s won already, and he knows it. The pull between you irresistible. Muscle looses it’s taut tension. “I did say I’d be with you every step of the way, didn’t I?” His features shift to something gentle and tender, thumb swiping across your knuckles. “You damned yourself from the beginning,” he murmurs, one hand raising to your jaw, allowing a moment for you to pull away. You lean into him. “Don’t call a life with you a damnation, Eris,” you murmur onto his palm, tilting your cheek, knuckles brushing beneath your lashes. “You’re the best damned thing that’s every happened to me.”

Hear his heart spike at your own confession, temperature raising. The slight pressure he applies to the space below your jaw—an almost subconscious request.

Lips part in response, allowing his sweet relief to sweep in.

You thought it would never arrive.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog

[zombryz]

♡ all my suffering ♡ chapter 5

˗ˏˋ hello ˎˊ˗  

Chapter Five

masterlist | Prev. Chapter 1 | Prev. Chapter 2 | Prev. Chapter 3 | Prev. Chapter 4 | Next Chapter 6  | ao3 | playlists (dabi & shigaraki)

Pairings: Shigaraki x f!reader x Dabi

A/N: Hello hello! Thank you all so much for reading, I’ve been writing fan fiction since I was 16 so it has been a journey and I am really thankful for all of my readers. Please enjoy the 5th chapter :) This chapter made my Shiggy heart happy, I just love him so much. 

Warnings: Specific to this chapter - angst, smut,  possessiveness, slowburn progression, TW unprotected sex, fluff annddd more fluff.

Word Count: about 7k

It had been a quiet couple of days after the events with Overhaul. You spent about 36 hours atop the kitchen table trying to regain your energy. As you fought yourself while fading in and out of consciousness, you heard some voices bickering in the living room next to you. You tried to collect yourself as you sat up, holding your head tightly, the pain bouncing inside your skull like a rubber ball on concrete. You try to recall the events of the past 36 hours, and all you can come up with is Toga helping you throughout the night to use the restroom and make sure you were drinking enough water. You were thankful that she was taking care of you. When you looked down, you noticed you were no longer in your costume. She must’ve changed you as well. You slid your feet off the table and tried to stand by yourself, but you quickly tumbled to the ground. You audibly groan at the pain, the noise alerting you to the voices you heard in the other room moments ago. Before you knew it, both Shigaraki and Dabi turned the kitchen corner and rushed to your side. No one else came to your aid, so it must’ve been just you three in the vicinity. It was an odd sight to see the two men so worried about you. They both looked like they hadn’t slept for days, and you felt sorry for them. 

“Are you okay?” Dabi gently grabbed your arm and put it over his shoulder to slowly lift you off the floor. Shigaraki watched the scene from a few feet away but didn’t come any closer to the two of you. He thought it best to let Dabi take care of you; he didn’t want to hurt you by accident or make you uncomfortable since he had been so rough with you in the past. 

“No, I feel awful,” you hiss at your headache brought on by Dabi’s sudden movement of your body. “How long was I asleep?” You face Dabi, and your eyes grow softer after meeting his worried, icy blue ones. 

“Just a little over a full day,” Shigaraki answered, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. You turned your attention to him and caught his ruby irises before he avoided eye contact. You squint up at him slightly. He was acting weird.

“Damn” was all you could utter. 

“Can you walk?” Shigaraki speaks again, this time with more concern covering his features as he looks back at you once he notices you are no longer focused on him.

“I think so; I just feel dizzy, probably from all the sleep.” You give him a sheepish smile, and he tries to return it with a sympathetic one, but Shigaraki was never really good at that.

“C’mon, let's get you upstairs with Toga so you can sleep in a real bed.” Dabi leans down again to grab your legs and pick you up, bridal style. You figured that made the most sense. Dabi wouldn’t take you out to his bed in the woods when you could barely walk on your own, although all you wanted was to curl up next to him and be cooed to sleep. As Dabi carried you up the stairs, you laid your head on his chest and started to drift off once more. In a matter of seconds, you were out like a light. Dabi put you in the bed next to Toga, and she immediately rolled over to put her arms around you. He thought it was a cute sight and closed the door to let the two of you sleep peacefully. 

Dabi then walked back down the stairs to meet with Shigaraki, who was still leaning against the kitchen doorway but looked lost in thought. 

“So,” Dabi continues the heated conversation they were having before you woke up.

“This doctor is supposedly going to help you get multiple quirks?” He hisses, not liking the idea of his boss being out of commission for months so he could prepare his body for all the quirks he was planning on taking.

“Yes.” Shigaraki responds blankly, no longer as upset as when he was talking to Dabi earlier. 

“What do you expect us to do without a leader during that time?” Dabi throws his arms in the air in a somewhat defeated motion. There is a small silence between the two men, who refuse to look at each other. The air was thick, and Dabi knew that Shigaraki didn’t care to have this conversation anymore; he knew that all he was thinking about was you because that was all he was thinking about.

“Whatever you want,” Shigaraki waves him off with a yawn before heading to his room,

leaving Dabi with a million unanswered questions. 

♡

The next day, you woke up alone in your shared bed, with Toga nowhere to be found. The sun was setting through the windowsill, so you figured you had slept almost a full day -- again. You take a moment to fully stretch, feeling much better than you did the night before. Once fully awake, you checked out your wounds, which were almost fully healed. Your headache was gone, so you did a onceover on your body to make sure you didn’t have to heal anything that was trying to heal on its own, and you healed whatever scrapes you still had. It had been years since you were this beat; you can’t recall a single time you were never able to heal yourself. That battle would’ve ended really badly if Toga and Twice hadn’t come for you. You made a mental note to thank them for saving you. You make your way out of the room, and still there are no other members around. Weird. Where is everyone? You take the time you have for yourself to shower and change your clothes. You put on a cropped T-shirt and leggings. You wish you had money to buy more clothes. You and Toga would share clothing when you could, which didn’t leave much room for personal style. That was okay, though; you didn’t really mind. Once you left the bathroom, you heard a faint sound of music coming from downstairs, which peaked your curiosity. As you slowly walked down the hallway and toward the stairs, the music grew louder, but it wasn’t loud enough to draw attention from outsiders. You were out in the middle of nowhere, so it didn’t really matter too much anyway. As you approached the stairs, you saw flashing lights of red, green, and blue coming from the living room and foyer. The sudden realization made you stop and smile. Were they having a party? No way. You started rushing down the stairs and heard more voices. They belonged to Toga and Twice, who were singing along to the music.

“Hey, hey, look who’s finally awake!” Toga smiles ear to ear as she notices you walk into the room. Her and Twice grab your arms, forcing you to dance with them, to which you happily oblige. You leaned in close to them both, grabbing their faces and kissing their foreheads, thanking them for saving you. They then hug you and happily twirl you while dancing. You laugh loudly and spin out of the dance circle to meet Spinner and another man, who were in one corner of the room sipping beers. Your face goes red when you realize you don’t recognize the man standing next to Spinner, but then you look down and -- 

“Compress?!” You are shocked, never having seen him without his mask and top hat. He was quite handsome, and the only thing that gave him away was his metal arm.

“Hi Y/N, I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” he says, bowing before you and taking another sip of his beer. Spinner shoots you a friendly nod, to which you nod back.

“Wow, yeah, I am, thanks!” You respond happily. They must already be tipsy because they weren’t being as anti-social as usual. “What are we celebrating?” you ask no one in particular, just being super cheerful to follow the vibe.

“Apparently Toga found a disco ball in a dumpster and thought it would be fun to have a dance party.” Dabi comes up behind you and rests his hand on your lower back, against your bare skin, where the cropped t-shirt didn’t quite reach. He then leans in to whisper in your ear, “Hi doll,” his voice and the liquor on his breath sending shivers down your spine. He takes another swig of whatever dark liquor he had been sipping that night. He twists around you, not taking his hand off your skin, leaving a trail of chills in his wake. Once he found his way to the front of your body, he ran his free hand up your arm, to your shoulder, and then to the crook of your neck, grabbing your face and kissing you passionately. The taste of liquor on his lips was intoxicating. You wanted him, but not just him; you wanted a drink. You kissed him hard. Little did you know, Shigaraki was on the other side of the room. A dancing Toga and Twice formed a wall between you and him. He was sitting on the floor with a bottle of rum in hand as he watched Dabi kiss you, making him wince internally. He kept his eyes on your very public makeout session while taking another swig of rum, trying to drown it out. He would be lying if he said it didn’t bother him. He very much disliked when Dabi showed affection toward you; however, you made your choice, and it wasn’t him you wanted. He accepted that, so he decided to keep his distance. Besides, little did you know that he was soon planning on being put inside a tank for months to acquire an arsenal of quirks that he could use at his disposal. What he didn’t need was for you to come along and ruin his plan by distracting him. Back to the present moment, Shigaraki watches as you and Dabi part ways, and his eyes don’t leave your figure as you walk into the kitchen. He shakes off the thought of following you and goes back to watching Toga and Twice dance their hearts out. 

While in the kitchen, you find a bunch more bottles of liquor on the table. God, it looked like they robbed a liquor store. You found a bottle that you thought looked good and took a swig from it—something flavored with coconut; it wasn’t bad, so you held onto it. With your alcohol in one hand, you entered the living room once more, the disco ball lights and music hitting you a little harder this time with the alcohol in your system. Fuck, you hadn’t eaten anything today; that’s why. You look around the room, and Dabi is nowhere to be found. Toga and Twice are still dancing in the middle of the room, and surprisingly, Spinner and Compress joined in too. It was definitely a sight to see, but you couldn't help but smile seeing them all having fun. Your eyes kept scanning the room, and to your right, you noticed Shigaraki sitting by himself on the floor with his legs bent out in front of him so that his arms rested on his knees. He was facing the other members, and you could only see his side profile. His hair was laying across his cheeks, and he was taking small sips of his chosen liquor. He had a lonely cloud hovering over him, so you decided to join him. You walked over and slid down the wall into a seated position right next to him. Your shoulders were almost touching as you crossed your legs out in front of you and laid your head back on the wall.

“Hi,” you blurt out, speaking over the music, suddenly nervous about sitting next to him. You two hadn’t had a real conversation since before the Overhaul fiasco. You weren’t even sure if you were still upset with him or not, but the alcohol in your system erased your irritation, and your sudden confidence made your nervousness dissipate in a matter of seconds.

“Hey,” he said coolly without looking at you. He was starting to fidget with his liquor bottle.

“I take it you don’t like parties.” You tried to cheer him up a bit by bumping into his shoulder while smiling playfully at him, but he didn’t budge.

“Not really, but the drinking part is nice,” he says as he brings the bottle up to his lips and takes a slow sip. You had no idea how to gauge how drunk he was because he was acting the same as he always has. You take another sip of your own liquor and suddenly become very talkative.

“I was really mad at you, you know?” You face your body toward him now, resting your temple on the wall, and take in all his features. You have only ever been this close to Shigaraki a couple of times, and you couldn’t read him any of those times either. His jawline was always so mesmerizing, though; every time he brought the bottle to his lips, you watched his scar separate as he parted his lips around the bottle. The grip around your own liquor bottle tightened as you unconsciously squeezed your thighs together. He was so pretty.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Shigaraki turns to look at you, his eyelids heavy with intoxication. He was finally looking at you. The room was spinning, and you suddenly felt hot as your cheeks reddened under his lustful gaze. His eyes kept flickering at your lips, so you tilted your head back to its previous position and tried to continue the conversation without looking at him. 

“For leaving me with Overhaul, even though you knew how much I hated him,” you pouted, failing to divert your eyes so you were instinctively facing him and making eye contact once again. 

"You’re pretty when you’re mad at me.” Shigaraki freezes slightly when he realizes he said that out loud, but he decides he's too drunk to care. He continues, "I’m sorry, I didn’t want to leave you with h-.”

“He kissed me,” you blurted out before he could finish his sentence. Originally, you kept this out of your story when telling the rest of the league what had happened with Overhaul. You weren’t sure why you were telling him this now—maybe you just needed to tell someone because you were still upset about it. Maybe you wanted him to be angry about it too. Maybe you were doing this to see if you could rile up the big, bad group leader.

Shigaraki almost dusts his liquor bottle in response, but he puts it down on the floor next to his leg so that his drunken anger won’t get the best of him. This didn’t go unnoticed by you; you could feel his angry energy, and for a moment, you regretted telling him. 

“I took his arms,” Shigaraki starts, finally looking away from you. “I left the kill for you.”

You were surprised by this; you had no idea that Shigaraki went to see Overhaul afterwards. The thought of him decaying Overhaul’s arms on your behalf sent chills through your entire body. Did he do that just for you? The room was still spinning. You weren’t sure what to say.

“I-I.” You started to think of a way to thank him, but he realized how this must sound to you, so he pulled back while he still could.

“The league is my family.” He started, lumping you all in together to make it sound like he didn’t single you out, “I would do anything to protect you guys.”

“I feel the same way.” You smiled sweetly. This was the most he had ever engaged with you, so you tried not to ruin the moment. “Thank you,” a beat, “Shigaraki.” You had never said his name to him before, and he immediately didn’t like the sound of it. Since he was already drunk, the liquor gave him liquid courage, and he went on to say something he might regret in the morning. 

“Tomura,” he scoffed. “You can call me Tomura,” he paused before continuing, “although that's technically not my real name either.” He dropped his head a little, allowing his body to succumb to the sadness he was feeling all of a sudden. 

“Well, what is your real name then?” You noticed his body language had shifted, and you felt you had gone a little too far. While shaking your hands in surrender, you said, “I mean, if you want to tell me, I’m sorry I didn’t me-”

“Tenko,” he uttered in a small voice, like the name brought him pain. It was a name that hadn’t left his lips in years. He couldn’t believe he was telling you one of his deepest secrets out in the open just because he was too drunk to filter himself.

“Tenko,” you repeated gently while rubbing the rim of your liquor bottle, and his ears perked up. The last woman to say his name was his mother. He turned to look at you, and the sadness that he was feeling earlier disappeared and was replaced with a sense of longing. The lustful look in his eyes from earlier had turned into admiration. His heart started to race, and he felt like he was floating. You were a lot closer to him now, and your shoulders were touching, but neither of you seemed to care. You were looking up at him, but he was looking away from you and at the group still dancing. The drunken you started to realize that you stared at him like this quite often, but you couldn’t help yourself. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t take your eyes off his reddening cheeks and how his long, light blueish hair covered his eyes just enough that you couldn’t see them from the side. After a moment of staring at him in silence, you sat up on your knees. This causes him to look over at you, surprised by your sudden movement. 

“Your hair is getting really long.” You lift your hand off your knees and try to push his hair out of his eyes, but he jerks away suddenly, very aware of how close you are to him now. “I could, um, cut it for you if you’d like.” You offer and sit back on your heels to give him some space. He lifts his brows and tugs the corner of his lip up in response, an "ehh" look plastered across his face. “Or, I can just put it up for you so it’s out of your face.” You give him a more determined look this time and lean in closer once more. 

“Okay,” he agrees, looking down at you with dutiful eyes. You were still on your knees, so you positioned yourself slightly above him. Even while sitting above him, you felt small. He had a way of making you feel meek in his presence. Maybe it was because of how powerful he was. 

“Can you turn away from me?” you asked, feeling a little nervous now. He obeyed and turned to face away from you, sitting with his legs crossed. He was happy that you couldn’t see his face because he was extremely red this time. You took your extra hair tie into your mouth and grabbed a handful of his hair. It was really soft under your touch. You then took your pinky finger to gather his hair from ear to ear and put the strands into a half-up, half-down man bun. Your heart was racing, and you couldn’t believe that the man who just months ago almost dusted you was letting you touch him. “Done,” you signaled him to turn back around, and then you pulled out a few face-framing pieces to complete the look. “I think it suits you,” you say, smiling down at him. When you go to sit back down on your heels, you fall into him a little, causing your noses to brush together. Your faces were so close that you could smell the alcohol on his breath. You didn’t pull away; instead, you both leaned closer until your lips were a mere inch apart. He leaned in first, and you followed, closing your eyes slowly. Suddenly, the song changed, pulling you both out of the trance and back to reality. He pulled away first, leaving you breathless. Your own hair fell in front of your face when you let your head droop a little in his absence. You were starting to think that this whole ordeal was one-sided. Maybe you were crazy or just plain drunk. There’s no way you almost kissed your boss.

Shigaraki tried to hold it together after what just happened. He focused on the back of the room, staring at nothing in particular. He vowed internally to never cut his hair so that you could always put it up for him. Maybe he was just drunk, or maybe it was the music, but he almost kissed you. Heck, he wanted to kiss you, but he restrained himself. He knew you were just drunk; he knew that just twenty minutes earlier you were kissing Dabi while entirely sober and of your own free will. 

“I’m going to go to sleep.” He slowly rises to his full height, and you are left staring up at his tall figure while you’re still sitting on the ground. He doesn’t bother looking at you as he walks back to his room, bottle in hand. As he leaves, he shoots you a small “goodnight,” and you are left alone with your drunken thoughts. Suddenly, the room felt cold, and you felt somber. 

You took a couple more sips of your liquor and turned to watch the rest of the group, who were really starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. Toga and Twice were slow dancing while Compress was leaning against the stairwell, trying not to get sick. Spinner was passed out in the corner with his bandana covering his eyes. You turned your attention to the front door when it opened, revealing a somewhat irritated Dabi. His presence made you wonder where he had been or if he’d been here the whole time and you didn’t realize it. To be honest, you had no idea. You were distracted by the confusing conversation you just had with Shigaraki. That’s not right. It’s Tomura. No, maybe Tenko? You were just confused. What did he want you to call him now? Dabi was walking over to you, pulling you from your thoughts. You greeted him with a soft smile, and he took your hand to help you up off the floor.

“Hi.”

“Hi doll.”

“I’m starving,” you pout, and he laughs. 

“Let's get you something to eat then.” You follow Dabi into the kitchen, and he scrounges for food, but there is none. “C’mon, I’ll take you to get something to eat.” 

---

You follow Dabi to the side of the house, and he uncovers a blacked-out motorcycle that was hidden under a tarp. He puts on a black helmet and a black hoodie before he hands you a matching white helmet along with a biker jacket. It wasn’t terribly cold outside; however, with the wind from the bike, you would be freezing without it. 

“I didn’t even know you had a bike.” You fidget with the helmet strap before Dabi takes it back and puts it over your head for you. You watch his masked face as he pulls the sides of your helmet down over your head. He taps the top of the helmet as a security measure, and you audibly say "ow,” which he found cute. 

“Yeah, I stole it!” he jokes as he lifts his leg over the seat and pats the seat behind him, signaling for you to get on. 

“I figured.” You giggle as you slide your leg over the bike, take a seat behind him, and wrap your arms around his waist. The thought of him being drunk crossed your mind. “You’re not drunk, are you?”

“Oh, so you’re being a good girl again?” He kick-starts the bike, and its engine roars to life. You huffed at his comment, but you couldn’t answer him because he revved the bike to propel it forward, causing you to hold onto him tighter. He pulled out of the long driveway and turned onto the dark, winding road that led to the main highway. It was about a fifteen-minute ride to the nearest highway. The whole time, you held onto him tightly while watching his hands maneuver the bike in such a way that made your knees weak. Dabi pulled into a gas station and let his feet touch the ground before applying the brake. The neon lights coming from the inside of the gas station were the only lights the street had. It was well past midnight, so there were no other people around.

“Here.” Dabi hands you some money as you get off the bike. “Keep your helmet on so they don’t recognize you.” 

“Thanks,” you say, lifting your visor a little so that only your eyes are visible. 

You shop around in the gas station for a couple of minutes before coming to a decision on an Italian sub sandwich and a cherry red slushie. After paying, you walk outside to meet with Dabi, who is leaning on the bike. Like a guard dog, he didn’t once take his eyes off of you while you were inside. He lets you sit on the sidewalk to eat your food. It was so nice to have something in your stomach other than alcohol. The ride there had made you nauseous. Once you finished your sandwich, you let Dabi have the last sip of your slushie before throwing out the cup. You adjusted your helmet and got back on the bike. While on the highway, another biker pulls up, wanting to race Dabi. Dabi tilts his head back slightly, asking you for permission. You didn’t want to be “a good girl” anymore, so you nodded your head yes. He leans forward, and so do you, holding him tighter than before. You’re soon jolted with adrenaline as Dabi revs the bike, maxing it out. He swerves in and out of traffic alongside the other biker. The speedometer quickly reaches 100 mph before the biker you were racing finally gives up by releasing the gas. Dabi slows his speed as he approaches your exit. Your heart was racing, and you didn’t realize how hard your grip on his waist was until he lightly tapped your wrist to release your grip so that he could breathe. Dabi approaches the house and pulls into the long, dark driveway. He turns off the bike, and you quickly jump off and pull the helmet off your head. Your hair was going every which way, but you didn’t care; you had the biggest smile on your face as the adrenaline was still rushing through your body. 

“That was so fun!” you say, jumping around as Dabi covers the bike back up with the same tarp as before. 

“Yeah,” Dabi says, laughing a little at how excited you were. He leans against the brick wall as he watches you reenact the race for him. It was so late, and you were still so energized. You had so much energy to release, and you didn’t exactly know how. After you finished talking his head off, you noticed Dabi just watching you with a sly smile on his face. With the adrenaline still coursing through your body, you confidently strode up to him and pulled the strings of his hoodie to bring his face down to yours. His eyes flickered in surprise, and you leaned forward to kiss him. He was taken back at first, but after a moment, he leaned into your kiss, pulling you in by your lower back, lapping your lips with his, and running his tongue over your bottom lip. He steps closer to you and moves his hands up to the sides of your face to take your bottom lip into his teeth. He had been thinking about you all night. He had to leave the room earlier when he noticed you so close to Shigaraki. It looked like you were going to kiss him, or at least like you wanted to kiss him, and he didn’t like the way it made him feel. He had just watched you touch his hair and smile at him. He definitely didn’t want to watch you kiss him, so he left to smoke outside. He was still feeling insecure about where you guys had left off since sleeping together, but in this moment, he didn’t care. All he wanted to do was please you. He pulled away from your kiss to pull you toward the wall he was leaning on.

“Turn around,” he demands, and you happily oblige. He roughly pushes you against the house so that your face is flush with the brick wall. He runs his hand over your body, and you audibly whine. You felt your thighs clench together and your core throb for him, butterflies eliciting from your stomach. He leans his face into yours and kisses your cheek while he presses your face harshly back into the brick. He was being more rough with you than he had before, but it was exactly what you wanted, no, needed. As he presses against you, he kisses your cheek, your neck, and down to your shoulders. You can feel his cold staples press against your skin, leaving chills in their wake. You then felt his nose brush against your ear, so you tilted your neck to allow him more access to you.

“I want you while I can still have you,” he whispers into your ear, and you shiver. You didn’t quite know what he meant by his words. Of course he could have you; he already has. You were practically begging him to fuck you right here and now, so what did he mean? 

“Dabi, please, I want you.” Now you were begging. He runs his hand down your stomach as he pushes his body up against you. You scraped your chin against the brick to try to get as close to the wall as possible so that it would force him to be closer to you. You feel his left hand take both of your hands behind your back to hold your wrists down. His right hand trails your lower abdomen and down to your hips before his long index finger dips into your leggings. The motion makes your mouth fall open in a breathless moan. He brings his face closer to you once more and nibbles your cheeks lustfully while his hand goes lower and lower until it reaches your slit. His middle finger dips into your folds while his thumb rubs little circles around your clit. You moan louder this time, and he removes his other hand from your wrists to snake it up your body, wrapping his hand around your neck until he finds your mouth to cover it. His massive hand covers your mouth, but that doesn’t stop you from furrowing your brows in pleasure.

“Shhh, quiet princess.” Dabi’s lips curl into a sinister smile as he fingers you in and out and in and out, curling his finger around the cushiony part deep inside you, taunting it, forcing you to clinch around him. You were so close already, and he knew this. He allows you to milk his finger for two more pumps, and then he flips you around, kissing you roughly once more. “Take these off.” He demands it, and you do what he says. You were sexually frustrated at this point. He steps away from you for only a moment to unbuckle his pants. He releases his cock, which was already fully hard for you, and roughly pumps himself a few times before stepping into your space again. He bites your lip again and lifts you up so that your back is flush with the brick wall. You were already dripping wet for him, so he easily slid himself into you. You tightened your grip on his shoulders before throwing your head back and hitting the brick behind you. He thrust into you harder this time, and you finally adjusted to his length. You were becoming loud again with your lewd sounds, so he reached up to put his hand over your mouth. You close your eyes and lean your head back because of how good it feels. “Look at me while I fuck you.” He growls. Dabi didn’t like how you had your eyes closed; he was starting to feel insecure and like you were thinking about a certain someone else, but you would never know that. You did what he asked; dominant Dabi was really doing it for you. Part of you wanted to be a brat and fight him, but you wanted more. He felt so good. 

"Yes, sir,” you mumble under his hand, and he kisses your forehead before fucking up into you even harder. You try to keep your eyes on him, your eyebrows furrowing in pleasure. He pulls his hand off your mouth and brings it down to your clit. There it was—you were going to come. You run your hands through his hair, tugging it, trying to let him know because when you try to speak, you can't. 

“Come for me, baby,” he says, bringing his head to the crease of your neck and biting and kissing your collarbone with gentle force.

You come around him, milking him with your velvety walls. Your face is immediately hot, and you open your eyes to find Dabi looking at your lips, his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, and his mouth agape. He was sweaty, and his hair was slicked to his forehead. He was next. You grab his face to kiss him tenderly through his orgasm. You bite at his lower lip and cause him to whimper.

“Your turn, baby,” you say, caressing his cheek. He was always the one to call you pet names; it was your turn to call him one. He notices and whines into your mouth before he pulls out and comes in his hand. All it took was for you to coax him into coming, and he did. 

He tucks his cock into his pants, wipes his hands off, and buckles his belt. As you’re putting your leggings back on, he grabs your face with his clean hand and peppers little kisses all over it, making you scrunch up your nose and giggle. 

“Stop.” You smile at him as he pulls away from you. 

"Goodnight, doll.” He boops your nose and fixes his hair. 

“Goodnight,” a beat, “lover boy.” You gather yourself and start walking toward the front door, a little skip in your step.

“That’s new.” Dabi raises his hand to scratch his neck as if he were thinking. He secretly liked the nickname, even though it implied that he was scandalous. He is met by the porch door swinging and closing behind you. He debated inviting you to sleep with him in the shed, but he didn’t. 

--

The next morning, you were sitting on the kitchen counter with a glass of water in your hand. Twice took on the role of group mom and made sure everyone got a big glass of water that morning. Toga, Spinner, and Compress had their heads down on the kitchen table. They were really feeling their hangover. Dabi entered the kitchen through the back door, and Twice handed him a glass of water, which he declined. He joined the other members at the table and tried talking to Toga, but she waved him off. You give him a small smile while sipping your water. After a few minutes of silence, Shigaraki entered the kitchen wearing a red hoodie paired with sweat pants. The hood was over his head, and he had dark circles under his eyes. His hair was sticking out the bottom of his hood, and he looked drained. Twice had already walked over to the rest of the group, so Shigaraki was the only one who hadn’t gotten a glass of water. Once Twice noticed he had entered the room, he started to walk over to the sink, but you waved him away.

“I got this one,” You hopped off the counter while smiling over at Twice, and he happily sat on the counter facing the rest of the group.

“Good morning,” you said, filling up a glass of water.

“Morning.” Shigaraki wiped his eyes and approached you slowly while keeping his distance. He knew he said some things the night before that he didn’t mean to say.

“Here, drink up. You’ll feel better.” You moved in closer and handed him the glass. When he reached out, your fingers overlapped with his for half a second when he took the glass from your grasp, causing you both to become flustered. 

“Thanks,” he says, taking a sip of the water, while you resume your position atop the kitchen counter. He takes a step closer to you, and your eyes widen, not sure what else he could need or want to say to you. He sets the glass on top of the counter next to your thigh and pulls his hoodie sleeve up a little to reveal your hair tie from the night before on his wrist. You are still not his height, even while sitting on the counter, so you still have to look up at him. He gently takes the little band in his thumb and index finger, careful not to dust it. Somehow it looks so tiny in his hand. “I thought you might be missing this,” he says, barely above a whisper so that he wouldn’t alert the others.

You hesitate. You already have another hair tie, but he is being so sweet by returning it. You’re unsure how to respond. Instead of saying anything, you reach out your left wrist, dangling your hand in front of his face, signaling him to slide it onto your wrist. He is confused at first, but then understands what you’re asking and turns completely red in the face, although it wasn’t very visible to you. That snapped him awake, he thought. He takes your hand with his own left hand and holds your wrist with all of his fingers except his pinky, which remains in the air, so he is careful not to activate his quirk. He then takes the hair tie and stretches it out to slide over your fingers and down to your wrist. After he completes your request, he lets his left hand linger on your wrist for a little longer than he had to before pulling away. He looks up to see you already staring at him; your face was flushed, and your eyes were big and doe like. It was like you two were magnets; somehow he was closer than he was moments ago, and he didn’t even notice. He takes a step back from you and clears his throat.

“Thanks,” a beat, "Tomura." You immediately regret saying that aloud. The whole group raises their heads and looks at you both. They’re all very confused about why you’re using the boss's first name. 

“What are you all looking at?” Tomura looks over your shoulder and hisses, making them completely drop it. Aside from Toga, who makes a small “ooooo” noise trying to hint that you and Tomura had something going on. “Whatever,” he says, turning on his heel and leaving the room. 

Later that afternoon, while you were training with Toga, Dabi came up and asked to take over as your sparring partner. She agreed and went back to the house. You were covered in sweat and confused about why Dabi wanted to train with you, but you continued anyway. He ducked and maneuvered under your punches and kicks. After a few rounds, he ducked under you and tackled you to the ground. You landed softly in the dirt, and Dabi had you pinned down. When you tried lifting yourself up, you were surprised to find that he was keeping you there. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows at him. He looked like he had been in his head the whole time you were sparring, and now he was staring at you with a look you had never seen before. He looked almost pitiful. 

“I’m losing you to him, aren’t I?” 

“What?”

[tears-of-amber]

POP-CULTURE WITCHCRAFT/PAGANISM: Xue Yang of The Untamed (A Guide)

Reasons Why You Might Work With Xue Yang:

-you need someone who will do your bidding without question for a simple price of candy

-you wish to invite a little chaotic energy into your spells or just your life in general

-you think he’s awesome

-you love how silly he is

Reasons Why You Might Not Like Working With Xue Yang:

-he’s a crazy unpredictable villain who can be petty

-he’s known for accomplishing his missions in less than pure ways

-he can turn on you if you’re not careful or you don’t have candy for him

⚔️Lore/Personality⚔️

Xue Yang (also known by the courtesy name of Xue Chengmei) is very chaotic and unpredictable. He is also very petty, so don't invoke him unless you want to oppose enemies that you have a major grudge against. He also has a dark but quirky sense of humor, so he might use unexpected or odd methods of accomplishing what you petition him to do. What he wishes for in return? Candy and your devoted attention. So pay up! Or suffer the consequences!

⚔️Quotes⚔️

"Cultivator friend, I plead guilty!"

"Of course! The finger is mine, the lives are theirs."

"I'm only afraid of having no purpose in living."

"But to submit to punishment, that depends if you're able to catch me!"

⚔️Correspondences⚔️

Show: The Untamed

Birthday: July 22nd (Cancer ♋️)

Clan/Associations: Sell-Sword (but only for evil causes)

Crystals: Black Obsidian, Shungite, Clear Quartz, Pyrite, Ruby

Month: July

Type: Mercenary, Hired Killer

Weapons: Swords, daggers, corpse poisoning powder, pretty much wields anything (because he's ambidextrous)

Colors: Black, Grey, Red, Dark Green, Gold, Silver Times Of Day: Nighttime

Moon Cycles: Waning Crescent, Full Blood Moon, Eclipses (Solar & Lunar)

Favorite Offerings: Candy, Apples, Attention, Acts of Devotion, Odd Gifts.

Invoking Methods: hold up your left hand pinky finger, and make a sweeping gesture, like a pinky promise almost. You can also use his invoking sigil, but also be prepared to banish him if things start getting too spicy for your plans.

I modeled these sigils after his hair ornament. ⬆️

Have fun and be careful with this entity! Even he will admit he’s far from stable.

For More Ways To Connect With Pop Culture Entities:

For Info On Working With Villains:

[crimeronan]

also I’m SURE this has already been discussed but like. what are each of their songs To You vs what do they actually listen to? like what songs make you think of them vs what songs do they like for real?

OLD question about the OC quartet but here i am finally answering <3 i think the OCs' tastes in music are more varied than my own. keep in mind this is technically not our world so i can't cite specific bands/songs but

nova: stimmy EDM bitch through and through.

sol: likes anything loud and angry (perhaps unsurprisingly).

ruby: particularly fond of fiddle, drums, & any form of live music.

devin: has the most varied taste in that he literally will listen to whatever is engaging enough to serve as a distraction from The Horrors

i can't choose One Specific Song for each bc i have a million half-formed playlists for a million different character facets. so i grabbed one song for each OC from each of the three loud angry bands i've been listening to most lately (rise against, delain, & the pretty reckless)

i put all 12 in a spotify playlist here. sorry for lyrics spamming but i chose snatches that are Particularly painfully relevant

sol: get the devil out of me - delain

though i try not to lose, if in the end i will fall better to have you in tears than not to have you at all i'm no jesus christ, i'm the one mistake that you love to hate i apologize, it's your destiny to get the devil out of me

witches burn - the pretty reckless

welcome back to the days of old where the men are men and the women are sold unwilling sacrifice, i'll fuck you for a price they kill 'em young so they never get old

prayer of the refugee - rise against

we are the angry and the desperate, the hungry and the cold we are the ones who kept quiet and always did what we were told but we've been sweating while you slept so calm in the safety of your home we've been pulling up the nails that hold up everything you've known

devin: your body is a battleground - delain

your body is a battleground and chemicals are scattered round your body is a battleground but don't think you can do without your body is an industry, your pain nothing but gain to me your body is an industry, you can't break free

hit me like a man - the pretty reckless

take your time, do with me what you will i won't mind, you know i'm ill, you know i'm ill so hit me like a man and love me like a woman buried and sad, look me in the eyes, i want it

sooner or later - rise against

from the gods we all seek favors with every sacrificial lamb but the bodies all pile higher and the blood just stains your hands and soon you'll feel the panic in your breath and in your veins when you know there's no tomorrow and you've realized too late

ruby: start swimming - delain

all i seem to hear is stop, stop, i'm catching up on you don't leave me behind i can't see a soul out here it's dark dark, i'm catching up on you and all i wonder is why, why don't i try to stop running?

living in the storm - the pretty reckless

there's something wrong with all of my friends empty heads and violence, i'm trying to pretend that it's not me i can be anything i want to be and i'll try to ignore it, this banging at my door

the eco-terrorist in me - rise against

when business and suffering are one and the same when laws fail the people they turn to the flame i found love, i found life as a thorn stuck in your side, and you wonder why when it all comes down, will you say you did everything you could?

nova: army of dolls - delain

army of dolls stole your reflection army of dolls stole all your perfect imperfections just shut them out, don't let them in, into your head, under your skin do you really think misery tastes much sweeter served with a perfect smile

miss nothing - the pretty reckless

i'm misused, miss-cunt-strued, i don't need to be saved misguided, high-minded, i'm stuck in the rain and i don't know where i am and i don't know what i'm into and i don't know what i've done to me

a gentleman's coup - rise against

afraid, we cower to interests not our own the power to free or to control we let it skip through our fingers to the bone watch as the bodies wash ashore, nobody lives here anymore

[bibaybe]

Fabian Melander

FANDOM: Young Royals

FIC TITLE: Seize The Power

FACE CLAIM: Felix Mallard

ENTERS: Season Two

CHARACTER TYPE: Side Character

AGE: 18

GENDER: Cis man, he/him

SEXUALITY: Pansexual

LOVE INTEREST: Princess Ruby of Sweden

Fabian’s used to being an outcast. Coming from a family connected to the English monarchy made it difficult to know why exactly people wanted to know him. Things only got harder as his father began drinking and lashing out at a young Fabian and his mother. After an incident that ended with his school being paid off to keep the abuse a secret, Fabian was pulled out of school. For years, he and his mother suffered in silence. Until Fabian’s thirteenth birthday, when he decided to try and protect his mom. Things escalated and when the dust settled, William and Julia Melander were both dead, shot with William’s gun. Fabian just barely survived, left with a reminder of how close he’d come to death on his chest.

Sent to live with his uncles, Fabian suddenly had a very different reason to be outcasted. All he wanted was to keep his head down and, preferably, never be heard of again. But obsessed with the idea of redeeming the family name, his uncles sent him to the top school of Sweden, Hillerska, along with a sizable donation.

Hillerska wasn’t the worst place, though he’d much rather be pretty much anywhere else. The first year was the worst - August was certainly not creative with his insults - but eventually, Fabian came to be known as the guy you went to for the good weed rather than his past. As far as reputations went, the weed guy wasn’t half bad.

Senior year started like any other. Drama, fights, scandals - though the Crown Prince’s sex tape leaking was definitely not on his bingo card. But that changed the day Princess Ruby, second-in-line to the Swedish throne, sought him out to buy from him. First they met up to smoke, but soon enough they got together outside of smoking. And before Fabian knew it, he was falling for her. But with his past and her trainwreck of past relationships, Fabian doesn’t have much hope for their future.

Pinterest / Playlist / Tag

If you have any questions about Fabian, feel free to drop an ask!  

[camswish]

Marauder’s playlist pt. 4

Regulus 

Aaaa. I know he doesn’t count as a Marauder per se, but I just couldn’t keep him out of this. 

Out of all the Marauder’s era characters, I have to say Regulus Black is my all-time favorite. I just cannot describe the amount of love I feel for this silly little character who is very morally grey, but we love him. 

I could write an essay (maybe I should) about how the relationship between the Black brothers is so devastating and yet so important to the plot in Harry Potter, I completely love that JK didn’t give us anything about Regulus, because, to be honest, I feel like she would have ruined his character. Not only that, but I prefer to have him close to the fandom. Come to think of it, that’s the reason why a lot of people likes the marauders better than the golden trio, because since we have little no nothing about their lives we get a lot more room to play with and that is where the fun comes. 

Okay we start this playlist with a huge song, which is Yellow Flicker Beat by Lorde. For me, this song screams the power of Regulus Black, and also, you cannot tell me Reggie wouldn’t have love Lorde, like she is a quite genius, like Reg. 

“My blood is a flood of rubies, precious stones

It keeps my veins hot, the fires find a home in me

I move through town, I'm quiet like a fire

And my necklace is of opal, I tie it and untie it”

“This is the start of how it all ever ends

They used to shout my name, now they whisper it”

Such a good song to tell us everything we need to know about this character. “I move through town, I'm quiet like a fire” That is Regulus right there, the quiet and unexpected threat. Regulus was the spare, the second born, the “just in case” child. He was the youngest, living under the wing of his older brother, and also under his shadow. It is so hard for me when people says that Regulus didn’t love Sirius, I don’t think they understand how the love between siblings works. A love between siblings is so gentle subtle but yet so strong that you can feel is there. 

Regulus hated Sirius when he left, but he hated him for how much Regulus needed him after. He hated himself for being so dependant on Sirius, for many years Sirius was there to hold him and care for him. And when he left Regulus believed that he failed his brother on the only job a sibling has. But he could never be as brave as Siri, as outspoken as Siri.

You see, when Regulus learns about all the suffering he could save Sirius by just staying quiet and taking it, he did. Every. Single. Time. The silence was Regulus' way of telling Sirius he watched and cared for him, “I’ll be nice, so they are nice to you” and “I’ll be good so you don’t have to suffer” 

But Sirius didn’t know that…

He took it as if his brother was one of them, part of them. In reality, Regulus never belonged to any side, he only belonged to Sirius's side, until the end. 

We get to the moment where Regulus realizes he is next in line, and the place he will need to fulfill with Sirius gone. He knows there is no way out, even if people tells him there is, he knows the only way to keep his loved ones far from danger is by doing exactly what he is told to.

“It's just a question of time

Before they lay their hands on you

And make you just like the rest”

But, again. Regulus is not one for sharing what he is thinking or plans to do. So nobody knows that in his mind, that is the only way to keep them safe. Nobody is listening, is always so hard, always rooting for the anti-hero.So he distance himself so they don’t see what has become of him.

Until…

The horocruxes appear, and oh, my boy thinks he is so brave and powerful. But is he? I firmly believe Regulus knew he was going to die that day. He prepared everything, he left the letter to Pandora, he prepared his deathbed and lay in it ready to great death. 

And I just want to appreciate the song You Want it darker” by Leonard Cohen. To meee this song perfectly describes how Regulus was feeling and acting when he found out about the horocruxes. He acted oblivious and kept serving Voldemort for a few more days, but he had a look and a smile of “I know your secret”

“If you are the dealer, I'm out of the game

If you are the healer, it means I'm broken and lame

If thine is the glory, then mine must be the shame

There's a lover in the story

But the story's still the same

There's a lullaby for suffering

And a paradox to blame

I’m ready my Lord” 

The rest of the songs are just so sad from there. I’m actually concerned for my mental health because why would someone do this? We end this playlist with Born to Die by Lana del Rey because that song needs to be in a museum. And the final final song on this playlist is…

Heroes by David Bowie, buuut cover by Scala & Kolacny Brothers. If you haven’t heard this cover please do yourself a favor and listen to it. 

Both Sirius and Regulus playlists end with the same song but with a different artist. Whereas Sirius’s is more upbeat since it is the original version, it has a bittersweet taste to it. Regulus version isn’t, it is straight-up sad and tragic as his existence was,

But he tried to be a hero…just for one day.

[abelkia]

La playlist de l'émission de ce jeudi matin sur Radio Campus Bruxelles entre 6h30 et 9h : Alice Coltrane "Andromeda's Suffering" (Lord of Lords/IMPULSE/1972) Barney Wilen "Tindi Abalessa" (Moshi/Saravah-Souffle continu records/1972-2017) Van Dyke Parks & The Esso Trinidad Steel Band "Aquarium" (7"/Bananastan Records/1972-2011) Tom Waits "Table Top Joe" (Alice/Anti Records/2002) RIchard Dawson "Museum" (The Ruby Cord/Weird World/2022) Greg Weeks "The One True Song" (Awake Like Sleep/Alice In Wonder/2002) Luster "Out of Time" (Luster/Morctapes/2022) John Cunningham "While They Talk of Life" (Fell/Microcultures/2016) Françoiz Breut "Contourne-moi" (Une Saison Volée/Caramel Beurre Salé/2005) Saint Etienne "Don't Back Down" (Sound of Water/Sub Pop Records/2000) LEM "La bombe sonore" (Vanitas/Slouch Hat/2022) Mirwais "V.I. (The Last Words She Said Before Leaving)" (Production/Naïve/2000) Beck "Round the Bend" (Sea Change/Geffen Records/2002) The Cure "From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea" (Wish/Fiction/1992-2022) Michel Cloup "Lacher prise" (Backflip au-dessus du chaos/Ici d'ailleurs/2022) The Pastels "Wake Up" (Wake Up EP/Surf City Recordings/1985) Palace "Gezundheit" (7"/Hausmusik/1995) The Living End "Brigitta" (Ghost Riders/EFFICIENT SPACE/2022) Blossom Dearie "Comment allez-vous ?" (Blossom Dearie/Public Domain Recordings/1957-2022) Claude Nougaro & Jean-Claude Vannier "Grain de folie" (Soeur Âme/Philips/1971) Pierre Tchana & T.P. Orchestre Polyrythmo de Cotonou "Il n'est jamais trop tard" (Africa Boogaloo: The Latinization Of West Africa/Honest Jon's Records/1976-2009) L'International Challal d'Hamed Gazonga "Les jaloux saboteurs" (Golden Afrique/Network Medien/1983-2017) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmMJ2zZN4GC/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[smashstiel]

HIII HELLO . its going to be long btw because you wanted everything ksjsd. okay. no but i literally opened notes app so i can write my thoughts there sjf

and the endd!!!!! I LVOE THIS PLAYLIST. SOO SOO MUCH. YOU ARE SOOOO CORRECT WITH EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!. i hate janto so much <3 sooooo much <333 anyway. i will listen to destiel one tomorrow cause im tooo tired rn. ily

first its so funny but i actually have pętla on my destiel playlist. IDKKK THEY ARE SO DESTIEL CODED TO MEEE. i wtedy powiem ci jak bardzo cie chcę….. i love happysad so muuuch. also i see your vision with the city thinggg. ukradli mi plecak - WOAH actually wchodzi. i need to know your opinions on the 456 situation btw. the world has its shine. omgg. i gave up hope but you came along…. no but its LITERALLY them. i can never turn my back on you - jack not believing that ianto could kill that person in adam. tonight you are mine. i like this songg!!!!!!!!! i have NO IDEA if there is a scene like that but. there should be. <333 ruby dress skinny dog. NOO I DIDNT EVEN KNOW IT WAS DAWID PODSIADLO??? its so cool. jack hashtag sad KAHAHA. yeah i see it. starman david bowie <333333 noo but I GET U THO. with the edit thing. theres so many songs i cant listen in the normal way because of edits. take it out on me. YASSSS ITS A BANGER WOAH. very wchodzable. idk kinda jack to ianto after the lisa situation.  down when im not. i lvoe ittt (destiel…)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the last of the real ones. super banger i lvo eit.  ITS THEM. just tell me im the only one even if its not true :(((( nooooo because . ughghghg. lady of sorrows. mcr!!!!!! and DAMN banger of a song btw. also top 10 jack harkness lyrics….

emptiness is a closet full of your old cclothes. i lovee this songggggggg its so goooddd!!!!! glad u had it in those times<33 and yesss. the coat scene!!!!!! its insaneeeee. (again. super destiel. i love my coatguys. jackcas hits different…). blow my brains outt!!!!! jack/john hart……. yeahh. kiss me you animal. horny songss<3333 and. dying on your lips is how i wanna go. and ianto kinda did- nanoże. nigdy nie myślałem że z miłości się wykrwawię…… give me love. HI THE USED HIII. i love the used!!!!!!!!!!! now im looking in the mirror i see this monster that is me.. scared as hell. HELP?? NO LYRICS ANYWHERE???? how. its SO GOODODDDD. ill be late for my funeral. listened to ittt on yt!!!! LOVE ITTTT!!!! of all the gin joints in all the world. AAAAA. I LVOE IT. nooo cause youre right. ianto was like 'i love you' and jack. thought. damn he only loves the idea of me. nooo :((

heart heavy!!! i like ittt!!!!!! and yesss thats definitely what happened <33 captain spacey. love ittt. space themed songs <333 and YASSSS JACK ANGST. ANGST IN GENERAL. I LOVE ANGST. never scared!! i love jack erased memories moment. its so him. "are you scared?" "never" - me when i lie. also idk this is so castiel song to me too. cause yknow the whole naomi thing etc. bubblegum bitch edit. OH MYG ODDDDDDDD THIS IS SO GOOD WHAT. I LOVE IT. i lov eyoutube edits/amv. hits differenttt. GETTING OVER YOU THE USED. HELLO THE USED. GODDD ILOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH. no getting over you… jack after iantos death :(((. i caught fire. hii the used again <3 sound effects and overdramatics. never heard any audiodrama unfortunately djsfsjkd but DAMNNN. thank you romanticfistfightzs boyfriend. DAMN. red is the new black. LOVE THIS. dont remember it from the showwwww guess i have to rewatch it finally hihi. miss missing you. i love this songggg. and yes you are so real. pepper tea. PLSSS . pain and suffering scenarios my beloved<3 dont say we're so much better alone. idk kinda jack and doctor moment.

death for my birthday omgggggggg. yessss. i want death for my birthday… wszystko jedno. I LOVE WSZYSTKO JEDNO SO MUCH. yass its so janto. also endversedestiel.…. surrender the used. HELLO THE USED <333 broken you found me. sdfnaskdjfnlsakfnskdf. yeah. yeah. (my angel… my shoulder… damn..) heven iowa. no no i gettt it. great song btww!! next one - i just do. GODDD. YOULL GO TO BED AT 23, AND WAKE UP 65. TIME GOES SO FASTTT IF YOURE IMMORTAL.. UGHH. the saddest song. AAA ITS SO GREAT I LOVE IT. wchodzi w uj. jdfnskjdf. its not a fasion statement its a deathwiths. MCRR!!!!! just know that i will remember u AAA. 4/16. NOOO AND IANTO DIDNT KNOW WHEN HED COME BACCCKKK. death ii. NOOOO. OUCH. i love angst. but. sdbfjsdbfajsf. i really meant to tell youuuu :(((

my janto playlist + song explanations because im normal . i feel like a lot of the songs are for my headcanons abt them but whatever

pętla - happysad

well its here it started the whole thing because i was obsessed with happysad at that point and most of these songs are gonna be bc of one lyric or sth i feel like but. the idea . im stoned so a lot of rambling sorry the idea abt hating the city was in my brain like jack bc i feel like at one point while waiting there for the doctor he started hating being there. dont ask me why

2. ukradli mi plecak - yann

generally because of these lyrics Especially the "bo mi ukradli wspomnienia" bc of his memories taken by the time agency and then like. bc hes done a lot and also about the kids he gave to the 456 (which i have opinions abt but whatever) and ianto would worry or something i dont know man

3. the world has its shine (but i would drop in on a dime) - cobra starship

might be just me but. deadline audiostory "ive never been much of a talker" ianto 🤝 this connect in my brain

uh. ianto getting a job at torchwood. :)

just think it fits. so

4. tonight you are mine - the technicolors

idk if it really happened or did i think about it so much in my brain its real but wasnt there a moment where ianto asks jack like. why would you choose earth or do you miss your time or sth like that and i feel like thats a thing he could also ask there. :) and i like the song

5. ruby dress skinny dog - curly heads

honestly this is the only lyrics here because i thought of the weevils and i was obsessed with this song i hate you dawid podsiadlo this is the only song of yours i will listen to

also this after iantos death and jack being hashtag sad

6. starman - david bowie

listen i just fucking saw a great 10th doctor/jack edit on tiktok and listened to starman one night and started genuinely crying real tears rolling down my face so its not exactly janto but jack but its still hear because i say so

7. take it out on me - thousand foot krutch

BANGER of a song i love it so much. the thing with this playlist is that i remember finding songs that had lyrics that fit but the whole thing was to make a character playlist i cant listen to without more than like two skips so its all songs i found/still find amazing. anyways i was going somewhere with connecting it to janto but i think it mightve been for my short and quickly killed idea abt them havign a sad argument over Something. its a banger just appreciate it

8. down when im not - greg puciato

the first two are like. cuz ianto was lying abt lisa jack was lying abt the children or like . omitting i guess but im sure they lied to each other at one point and they could stop

9. the last of the real ones - fall out boy

just. fucking. the entire song come on

THESE LAST TWO ESPECIALLY!!!!!!!!! idk i love the idea of ianto having at least one time issue with jack living so much and being like. you wont remember me you mustve had so many people and you never talk abt them etc

10. our lady of sorrows - my chemical romance

one bc i HAD to have mcr song up in this bitch two because come ON one of The mcr lyrics and it fits i had to

11. emptiness is a closet full of your old clothes - wishing

GOD okay the thing here is. if you ask me whats my song like the song thats Mine it would be this one ive been listening to this shit since october 2019 and had it on repeat in my worse time of life ever and according to last fm i listened to it 3963 times. so. anyways its a very important song and it fits because come ON the thing where ianto hugs jacks coat. come on.

12. blow my brains out - jerranis

this one was also put here with a specific scenario i made up and dont remember put mostly becasue this.

but now that i think about it this is 100% a jack/john hart so. sorrey i guess

13. kiss me you animal - burn the ballroom

uhm.

i know its a sex thing in the song i think but it fits so i dont care its generally a horny song

14. nanoże - waluśkraksakryzys

walus i love youuuuu anywayyy mainly this but also

because i really liked the idea of ianto being annoyed at them giving him the coffee boy job at first or sth . there was an idea over there

15. give me love - the used

the used hiiiiii haii the used hiii

jack turning full torchwood mode or something and stuff. generally waving my arms around.

16. scared as all hell - modern day escape

one of THE songs ever to me. apparently no lyrics to this song exist online anywhere??? im the first person to think of adding lyrics????? but yeah i love this song and it fits but i cannot tell you why right now

17. ill be late for my funeral - the requiem (unavailable on spotify)

its on youtube btw if u wanna listen to it but . yeah again jack losing memories

and there was some jack angst here in my brain but i cant remember what exactly. probably jack being depressed about being immortal

18. of all the gin joints in all the world - fall out boy

jack being like that cuz ianto looks up to him but he doesnt know everything about him and thinking how itd be to just be a normal not immortal guy

jack "wasting time" on being alive and aging and normal because i love that for him and then it was about ianto.

19. heart heavy - secondhand sound

ianto after lisa i think would prefer to be left alone and figure it all out and in my perfect made up world this is what itd be like <3

20. captain spacey - sonic sea turtles

genereally the whole song cuz its space themed and stuff but mostly this lyrics because i was crazy about jack feeling like he doesnt belong on earth cuz hes immortal and not like he should be . if that makes sense i love angst my best friend pain and suffering

[directdogman]

Behind the scenes: where each DT character’s name came from!

Thought this’d be a fun post, basically explains where each of the DT characters’ names all came from because I actually get asked for these a lot. Typically, I started by looking up names that had relevant meanings, but quite a few were whittled down to a one name each over time. For fun, I’ll reveal some names Alriiight, here we go.

Phonegingi: This one is a lil funny. A lesser developer would be ashamed that the main character of their thing was named so pointlessly, but an even lesser developer (me!!!) has no shame, so here we go: A few years back, I had an automix youtube playlist on in the background and an Oneyplays Animated came on (President Ding-Dong.) And for a brief time in the video, this weird character named ‘Bagingi’ appeared for a moment. During this, I was trying to come up with a name for Phonegingi, because I needed to add a default name to the game. I couldn’t think of anything I liked. Stitchles (like how it sounds, not how it looks. Looks like it’s said [stitch-lez]), Stitcho (likewise, just don’t like how the word looks), Frankenphone (too obvious), and from this lack of certainty, I simply filled in “Phonegingi” as a placeholder name and swore I’d return to it and replace it with something else later.

A little later, I told one of my testers I was gonna decide on Gingi’s permanent name that day, replace the placeholder name, and they were shocked that Gingi wasn’t intended to be its real name. Tester argued they liked it a lot. Asked the other early testers I had, unanimous agreement. So, I kept it. Is it a good name? Not really. Is Gingi a good creature when the game starts? Also, not really. It is what it is. People ask me if Gingi’s name should be said with a hard g, because ‘bagingi’ was, but the answer is, I don’t know how it’s meant to be said. I said it with a hard g originally, but now I alternate. Fuck.

Randy Jade: I actually came up with Randy’s name on the spot. I was rummaging through trash/old junk for props and found a nokia phone + a fuckton of old adhesive bandages/gauze wrap. Thought it’d be funny to place something for broken skin on something notorious for never breaking and violà. The Randy name is a pun on him working at a sex hotline as ‘randy’ means, uhhh, ‘down bad’ in British english. It’s a double entendre, of course. The jade is derived from ‘jaded’, but also, it’s a stereotype for sex workers and strippers to use gemstones names as their stage-name ‘Ruby, Sapphire, Amethyst’, and obviously Jade is a gem. So, I thought something that was derived from ‘depressed’ but also connected back to the pun in the first name was good. ‘Avery’ was briefly considered as a first/surname a little later as ‘avian’ is bird, and Randy is also associated with swans. ‘Cyan’ was ALSO considered as a surname, as his head is a shade of cyan and ‘cy-gnus’ is the latin name for swan. But, 'Jade’ sounded better to me, had more ‘punch’ to it as the only one syllable name of those considered (if you look at the datables, 3/4 of the datables with surnames only have a single syllable in their surname), so Jade (the first idea) won anyway! Karen: Karen is derived from ‘pure’. I thought it’d be cool for the datable that takes the longest to warm up to you, but becomes the most affectionate when she does to have a name that sounds jaded, but has a tenderness underneath. When looking through available fonts, I also found one that reminded me of the robo-font from classic Spongebob, which I recall Karen (Plankton’s long suffering, but undeservedly loyal) wife used on her screen. Thought it’d be a nice secondary nod. ...I’m aware that Karen now reads differently to those who don’t know her as not long after Dialtown’s demo dropped, a meme became mainstream of uppity middle-class white women with awful haircuts asking to speak to managers for the pettiest of reasons. I can’t even really argue with it, because I’ve met this kind of person pretty frequently when I worked retail. Sigh. Once again, middle-aged soccer-moms ruin another life. Sorry, Karen. You deserved better. Oh, and her surname is an awful pun. ‘Dunn’ is derived from Donn, which is ‘dark/brown’ in the Gaelic languages. Karen’s head is brown, and her palette is generally autumnal. Also, it sounds like ‘done’, like ‘so, so done’. She hates her job, so it’s true. It’s just a perfect surname for her. Oliver: Oliver’s first name references the fact that he’s an orphan, like the famously gluttonous Oliver Twist. Oliver Twist was also (arguably) the most famous creation of the author Charles Dickens. In Dialtown, Oliver’s boss (Mr Dickens) ‘created’ the Oliver we see in Dialtown with his encouragement/support, so I thought it was cute. Oliver’s surname, Swift, is derived from 3 places. First of all, it’s one letter off ‘shift’. One of Oliver’s biggest themes is changing yourself for the better because you need to. It’s a reference to Oliver’s journey during his route, his transition (which he never shares with the player, but is an important part of himself), and it’s even the advice Oliver gives Norm in the final route. Swift was also the surname of Jonathan Swift, another famous author, like Charles Dickens. Finally, ‘Swift’ contains a lot of the same letters (and the same number of letters) as ‘Twist’, like Oliver Twist, which I feel creates a nice bit of synergy to his name (Karen + Randy’s first and last names also share a trait in common, so it completes the trio nicely!) Bigfoot: He’s Sasquatch. When Gingi suggests full potential legal names for Bigfoot to have, Michael S. Squatch (the surname obviously being an abbreviation of  Sasquatch) and “Bill G. Foote” (which can be abbreviated weirdly as Bi. G. Foot.), both come up. Heh. Sgt. Norm Allen: A friend admittedly helped me with this one. Norm is the only character in DT with a normal human flesh head, and his name abbreviates to Norm Al. Normal. The sarge thing was a reference to the fact that a quarter of US astronauts have been in the Air Force, so I decided to make it a part of his background. Also, 2 of his personal inspirations served in the Air Force, so I thought it’d be a neat nod. There’s a third reason, but that’s a secret tee hee. Connects to something bizarre. Callum Crown: One of my absolute WORST puns. Crowns are obviously associated with royalty/power, but it’s also an old word for ‘head’. Callum is remarkably like ‘Call ‘em!’, meaning his name is more or less completely ‘phone head’. I also later found out Callum means ‘peace’, which is neat, as he promised to unite the whole world in harmony, though I’d already decided on the name by that point, so it was just a neat coincidence. Still cool enough to mention, though! Mayor Mingus Crown: Crown is derived from the royalty/power thing too, though she also has an atypical head, so having her surname call attention to her head was nice. ‘Mingus’ is a name I’d always wanted to give a character of mine, so when I looked up its meaning and found it means ‘tenant (someone who lives) in a manor’, I knew it’d be a good fit for my crooked Mayor. Little Billy: It’s a name that sounds like it fits a shithead kid. First thing that entered my head and I used it. Stabby + Shooty: One has a knife head and holds a gun in his hand and the other holds a knife and has a gun head. may the gods be merciful Jerry Gould: Jerry popped into my head as a ‘weak/beaten’ sounding name, and tbh, like ‘Karen’, it’s kinda taken on that meaning on its own. Think of Jerry Smith in Rick and Morty or Jerry in Undertale. It’s just a name that really fits people who get beaten up by life and despised totally by everyone, every day. Gould was really considered first of all because of the late Edd Gould, the creator of Eddsworld. I found out about Rocky Horror Picture Show from one of his videos that was published in 2009 or so. I always liked Professor Everett Von Scott in the movie, (one of the DSaF phones even had his first name!), and this seemed like a good character to give that trait to, since he’s the most ‘stationary’ character in the game because of his booth job. The only time we EVER see him outside of the booth (outside of that one ending where you see him heavily blurred as you bleed out) is when Gingi gets him a nicer job. It’s a nice way to show that the Jerry that Gingi pictured when they first met was only a partial picture. Inside the booth, you can’t see his disability, like Karen, large parts of himself are shielded from Gingi. The character of Professor Von Scott is also a German, and the name ‘gould’ is derived from old German. It means ‘gold’. In one scene in Bigfoot’s route, we see how Gingi sees Jerry and ofc, his head is made of gold, which Gingi sees as to Gingi, Jerry is this gatekeeper on a pedestal, essentially. It worked on enough levels that I couldn’t conceivably pick anything else. For a brief moment, I considered giving Jerry the surname ‘Perry’ because he would be really insecure about his full name rhyming and it’d be a nice subtle bit of extra misery to subject his character to. Mr Ebenezer Dickens: Dickens’ surname was picked for the fact that Charles Dickens was heavily associated with the Victorian age, being both born in that era and writing stories that critiqued the themes that plagued that era, industrialization (and the mistreatment of workers) and the Victorian mindset of simply ‘knowing your place’, the implication that humans are bred from stock almost, that your class should be for life for some reason. So, I wanted a name that fit a British character, one that felt like it was from another era (to emphasize Dickens’ role as a positive older figure in Oliver’s life) but one that didn’t feel smug, just quirky. Given the above context, Dickens was a perfect surname. Also, Ebenezer is of course the first name of Ebenezer Scrooge, Charles Dickens’ other most famous character. Since both are old, I felt it’d be a funny lil nod. Theoroar Rustlebelt: Really dumb pun. Took Theodore Roosevelt (known for wearing that same type of safari outfit (believe it or not, his outfit is a teddy roosevelt costume!)) and added ‘roar’ (like wild animals do), ‘rustle’ (like rustling tall grass) and ‘belt’ (boxing has belts, and Theoroar is associated with bareknuckled boxing, a trait that comes from Theodore Roosevelt’s stereotype) to the name. So stupid. A bunch of surnames that contained ‘stache/stash’ in ‘em were considered but none were as obvious as the name he got in the end. Abel: The character first cameo’d in another game of mine, and I’m not gonna do the others who also share designs/names with DSaF characters, but Abel will be an exception due to his prevalence in-game. In his original ‘appearance’ in DSaF, in a whole other universe, the character ended up getting held down and his head crushed by a hammer at the end of his arc. It’s a nod to Cain and Abel, the latter of whom gets their head bashed in by a blunt object too (rock, as hammers weren’t invented presumably.) Brannigan means ‘fight/argument’, which fit his argumentative nature and the violent nature of his namesake’s death. Also realized after pulling the name that it reminded me of Zapp Brannigan, from Futurama, who is also a dick who mistreats his subordinates. Neat. Gabby: Her name is a pun too of course. ‘Gabby’ sounds like an affectionate name for a grandmother, like ‘granny’ or ‘nana’, but ‘gab’ also means talk, and of course, she runs a phone store, something designed for long distance talking. Bunny: Wanted something that sounded cheesy, like it could fit a burger restaurant’s name, but also contains ‘bun’, which is used in burgers. Curie: Originally officially unnamed, began calling them ‘Curie’ privately to testers as they’re a museum curator. although later on, I began jokingly thinking to myself that it fits them well, as Marie Curie (famous physicist/chemist) worked with toxic, biohazardous chemicals, which later killed her. Curie, likewise, works with modern art that could really be considered just as dangerous to be around for long periods of time. Lorraine Deere: One of the Patreon characters, appears during the speed-dating segment. The character’s creator came up with her name, but I might as well explain the pun to those who haven’t met her, due to how genius it is. She runs a conspiracy blog centered around deer. Her name is ‘Lorr. Deere’ and she peddles ‘deer lore’. Incredible. Nathan Hanover: Nathan means ‘gift of God‘, a reference to Dialtown’s godly soundtrack. Hanover, meaning ‘on the higher ridge’ refers to Nathan having the high ground, which is why Nathan’s theme has a 1/100 chance to play as boss theme music in-game, a reference to Obi Wan and Anakin’s famous battle on Mustafar with similarly epic music, which ends with Obi Wan (Korean for Nathan Hanover) gaining the high ground, of course. That’s all of the relevant characters I could think of. Hope this was interesting! If not, well, as William Shakespeare once said: “What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet. seriously tho, i called every character in my last 3 plays i wrote (including female characters) ‘derek’ and nobody seemed to notice. just pull random names, it’ll all work out rofl”

[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.” 

[jasmariswonderland]

💎Maximilian Garnet, Third Year NRC Student Twisted from Medusa from The Rescuers💎

Main Tag | Character Playlist | Aesthetic | Personal Stories | Voice Claim | Cards | Inspiration

💎Introduction/Description💎

Name: Maximilian Garnet

Other Names: Maxim (Preferred name/nickname), Maxie (Cater), Roi des Diamants (Rook), Barracuda (Floyd) 

Age: 18

Birthday/Starsign: January 29th (Capricorn)

Height: 180CM

Eye Color: Peridot Green

Hair Color: Ruby Red

Homeland: Shaftlands

Family: Unnamed father, unnamed mother, unnamed younger brother

Dorm: Pomefiore 

School Year: Junior 

Class: 3-A (No. 7) 

Club: Mountain Lover Club also occasionally helps out at Monstro Lounge and creates jewelry for productions of the Film Research Club

Best Subject: Magic Analytics 

Dominant Hand: Right 

Favorite Food: Cheesecake 

Least Favorite Food: Codfish

Dislikes: Insects and vermin

Hobbies: Designing jewelry, collecting rare gems, social media, magic wheels, soccer, reptile care, and spending way too much time at Monstro Lounge

Talents: Hand-to-hand combat, gemology, and appraising valuables 

~~~~

💎Background💎

Maximilian is a third-year student in the Pomefiore dorm. Though rougher around the edges compared to his other dormmates, he’s extremely flashy bordering on ostentatiousness. His family owns a famous chain of jewelry stores in his homeland frequently patronized by celebrities and nobility alike. Through his family’s work, Maximilian cultivated an interest in gems from an early age. He never considered his interest in jewelry as effeminate and has always been fascinated by the radiant, beautiful treasures that come naturally from the earth. He has a particular fondness for earrings and his favorite gemstones are diamonds, peridot and emeralds. 

In addition to their main branch in the capital of Pyroxene, his family also own several smaller lines of shops with jewelry of slightly lower value but still beautiful. His family also holds exclusive mining rights to several Shaftlands mines and frequently work with the government in matters of trade. Many of their creations are also used for film and stage productions and Vil is well acquainted with Maximilian’s family long before his arrival at NRC. There have been rumors that the family has less than honorable connections but for the most part, these rumors remain just that. 

However, Maximilian does not take them lightly and will not hesitate to defend them. He’s aware that his family has had some unscrupulous dealings in the past, but at the same time, he feels that every successful business has had to get their hands dirty at some point and his family should’t have to suffer because of it. Though normally rather selfish, Maximilian is surprisingly very loyal to his family and cares deeply about them, especially his younger brother. 

As his parent’s eldest son, there is the unspoken expectation that Maximilian will take over his family’s business in time. Though he is looking forward to this and plans to work closer with his family during his senior internsip, Maximilian isn’t much interested in the business aspect of his prospective career as he is the creative. He has a great interest in designing jewelry and his family connections give him easy access to gems to create with. 

~~~

💎Appearance💎

Maximilian is a rather handsome young man with bright red hair and sparkling green eyes. He is well aware of his good looks and often describes himself as “the second brightest gem in Pomefiore after Vil”. The radiance produced by his confidence does not go unnoticed by others and Farron has described him as having “a smile one can’t possibly say no to”. 

Every outfit he wears is often accompanied by a complementary pair of elaborate earrings of his own design. The pair he often wears around school are gold and emerald, encircled by green diamonds. When he’s wearing his ceremonial robes, he swaps these with an elaborate pair of chandelier earrings of platinum and onyx, encircled by black pearls. 

He wears his uniform with an open blazer and a slightly messy blouse, something Vil is always getting on his ass for. He prefers to wear his ceremonial robes with the hood up to make a “striking contrast” with his bright red hair, his black earrings and the violet lining of the hood. Maximilian is a little on the taller side and he wears black boots with his school uniform with heels that add 5CM to his height. 

~~~

💎Personality💎

Maximilian generally has a pretty cool and collected personality if not a bit sadistic, but he’s also very moody and often acts before he thinks. He can be intemperate and this coupled with his sharp tongue often get him sent to Crowley’s office. But though he can be impulsive, Maximilian is not unintelligent and when his head is cooler, he can be quite charming and somewhat manipulative. But though manipulative, Maximilian is also quite malleable and easy to flatter and bribe if tempted with something he really wants. 

His interest in people is often for selfish and even when he reaches out to others, it’s often for an ulterior motive with few exceptions. One of those exceptions is his interest in the Tweels, especially Jade. Personality-wise, Maximilian has much in common with the Tweels and is on very friendly terms with Floyd. At first, he only reached out to Floyd with the idea of getting closer to Jade but over time, he has developed a genuine fondness for him. There’s a certain unpredictability to both of them that makes their friendship amusing for the both of them. He often offers his assistance in Monstro Lounge and doesn’t mind Azul not paying him unless Vil finds out and insists. Floyd is aware of Maximilian’s crush on his brother and while he’s sworn never to tell him (for now…), he teases him mercilessly about it. 

~~~

💎Unique Magic💎

TBD

~~~

💎Other Skills/Talents💎

Mathematics ~ Maximilian is suprisngly quite skilled with math and it’s one of his stronger subjects along with alchemy and analytics. He’s quite intelligent, but often lacks drive to really flourish in his classes. 

Soccer ~ Soccer is a popular sport where Maximilian is from but unfortunately, that popularity varies outside his home. During his sophomore year, Maximilian attempted to organize a soccer club but was ultimately unsuccessful due to a lack of interest.

Martial Arts ~ Maximilian is very skilled in jujitsu and mixed martial arts, both he has been studying since he was a child. 

Skiing ~ Another thing Maximilian picked up as a child, he loves to ski and snowboard and its one of his favorite ways to spend his winter holidays.

~~~

💎Trivia/Lore💎

(A/N: This section will be updated over time)

He was once rendered unconscious for several hours when he offered to be a guinea pig for a dish Jade created with a new species of mushroom he had recently found. Needless to say, Jade never used that particular mushroom for cooking after that. 

He’s really interested in reptiles and keeps a monitor lizard at home named Tiberius.

~~~

💎In-Canon Adventures💎

💎Prologue ~ Maximilian spent the majority of the orientation chatting with the Tweels before it was time for him to join his dormmates, and was quite amused when Yuulan and Grim crashed the ceremony. Later during the Pomefiore welcome reception, he tried to strike up conversation with Epel, but he was sharply rebuked. Even now, Maximilian continues to express interest in getting to know Epel better, sensing that he’s different from the other Pomefiore freshmen

💎Book 1 ~ Maximilian stayed out of Heartslabyul drama for the most part and though he’s on good terms with Cater, he did not tell him much about what was happening. But he has heard rumors.

💎Book 2 ~ For the inter-dorm spelldrive tournament, Maximilian was chosen to play on Pomefiore’s team. Leona and Ruggie did have plans to target him, but on Rook’s advice, he stayed in the dorm for several days after Sidonie’s acciedent so he wouldn’t be hurt. He played pretty well but unfortunately, his team was no match for Diasomnia. 

💎Book 3 ~ Maximilian knew better than to get involved with Azul but he also made no effort to warn any of the freshman around him about his past actions. He barely passed his exams but was not aware of some of the darker things happening at Octavinelle. 

💎Book 4 ~ Maximilian returned to Pyroxene for the winter holiday and was not aware of what was happening at Scarabia. As of Book 5, he’s still not aware. For more about his Book 4 adventures, read here. 

💎Book 5 ~ Maximilian considered trying out for the VDC but ultimately decided against it since he had other priorities for the cultural festival. He spent most of his time helping the Film Research Club prepare and with Crowley’s consent, was allowed to have a booth selling some of the jewelry he had previously created. He was not made aware of Vil’s overblot but he DOES know why NRC Tribe lost the VDC because Danica raged about it in a Pomefiore student group chat that they’re both a part of.

💎Other ~ During the first Halloween event, Maximilian helped out at Pomefiore’s stamp station and defended Danica against a group of magicam monsters who were sexually harassing her. He did this mainly because they were annoying him and was looking for a reason to throw hands but he expressed a surprisingly genuine concern for Danica’s safety and together, they conspired to get revenge on the magicam monsters when they returned later in the week. 

~~~

💎Relationships (As Of Book 5)💎

A ~ Cater and Maximilian get along surprisingly well, often sharing magicam posts and hanging out in their free time outside of classes.

B ~ Maximilian’s family has created jewelry for the Kingscholar family and he has a superficial interest in Leona. He’s always been civil with him but considering Leona’s dislike of most in Pomefiore, it’s unlikely they’ll ever be anything like friends. 

C and D ~ Soon after the start of his sophomore year, Maximilian came across Jade reading in the courtyard. He was initially fascinated with his earring and when Jade told him the story of how it was acquired, Maximilian became even more fascinated with him. He’s quite taken with Jade’s dangerous charm and isn’t put off even when Jade’s darker side reveals itself. Maximilian becomes quick acquaintances with Jade and Floyd and even faster friends. He’s one of the few students on campus who can get along with the Tweels without difficulty. In fact, he finds them amusing and he loves Floyd’s nickname for him. 

E ~ Maximilian is one of few at NRC that does not fear Malleus and their relationship is surprisingly very amiable. He’s also on pretty good terms with Lilia but not so much Silver and Sebek. 

 💎Maximilian’s Relationships With My Other Twst OCs💎

Despite his intemperate attitude, Maximilian is on decent terms with most of my other twst ocs, of those he’s met anyway. He spends a lot of time around Farron and he and Iman are also very similar in personality. The only oc of mine he outright dislikes is Andrew, Farron’s love interest. He feels that Andrew is beneath Farron because he’s from a lower-income household (and is only attending RSA on a spelldrive scholarship) and is perplexed at how someone with such crass manners could attract someone as refined as Farron. And no, Maximilian does not see the irony of this. 

~~~

 💎Cards (to be updated over time)💎

[createandconstruct]

I am physically obligated to ask for Zidane's other half, Garnet

I believe you mean Zidane's BETTER HALF BECAUSE SHE IS JUST THE BEST. THE BEST. ZIDANE WOULDN'T EVEN ARGUE.

favorite thing about them: May I direct you to how strong and resilient she is and how despite losing practically everything, witnessing the death of her mother - only after learning she lost and forgot her birth mother and home - witnessing and enduring the destruction of her kingdom and deaths of her people, and so much more suffering she just KEEPS GOING AND GETS BACK UP ON HER OWN. She's incredible.

least favorite thing about them: Nothing, she's perfect. But I mourn the fact that we never got to see Garnet with her summoner's horn. I deserve AT LEAST concept art.

favorite line: Literally every word out of her mouth. Though a fav of mine is when she regains her memories of Madain Sari and her mother and says “but maybe Doctor Tot can tell me. About the lady who protected me from the storm as the boat lurched about in the waves.” That line is a gut punch every time for me. Garnet losing both mothers the moment she regains he memories really hits me.

brOTP: Oh man there's quite a few. First I gotta say Garnet and the Tantalus crew. She's practically a sister to them after everything. Marcus and Garnet are ABSOLUTE bros. Tantalus visits Alexandria and Garnet’s just like “oh bye Zidane I’m gonna go see my friends” to which he’s just “oh sure sounds good,” only to find her at Ruby’s theater hanging with the crew like “uhhh you didn’t even thing to invite me??? I was an OG Tantalus member???” I also love Steiner and Garnet. They are a riot. Steiner is an overprotective father/brother who’s constantly like “PRINCESS YOU’RE IN TIME OUT GET ON TOP OF THE FRIDGE,” and Garnet is just “THIS HOUSE IS A NIGHTMARE.” I love that by the time they get to Treno she has 0 patience for him. She even tells him she’s going to leave him behind. Yet she worries for him when he’s left behind in Alexandria. By the end of the game they are true lifelong companions, and really, truly family. Also also, Eiko and Garnet. They are sisters and they hurt me. The last of their people. Both so alone in different ways. Garnet and Eiko find each other despite all odds. It warms my heart at how Eiko even takes a bit of an older sister role to Garnet because she’s so used to acting as an older sister for  Mog. It seems like after Mog transforms into an eidolon, Eiko fully embraces Garnet as her “little sister,” worrying about her and such. They’re really sweet and I love them.

OTP: Must I even say?

nOTP: Nothing really? I just love Zidane and Garnet so much nothing else really interests me.

random headcanon: A part of me likes to imagine that after Zidane returns, while Garnet obviously doesn’t abdicate from the throne and run off with him, she regains a bit of herself and her time as Dagger - now that the person who helped the name fit is alive and in her arms again - and so she cuts her hair again. Garnet growing out her hair for the ending, of course, shows us time has passed (and they, ya know, probably didn’t wanna make a short haired-Garnet princess model lol) but it feels as if, Garnet with her long hair in Alexandria, things are as they were at the start. Her hair is long, she’s dressed in her ceremonial dress, watching the play, and surrounded by friends and festivities but unbearably lonely. When Zidane returns things fall into place and she can stop “moving on” and can instead finally “move forward,” I’d like to think that she cuts her hair again to do that. I also just love short haired Garnet and would love to see her rock that look as Queen.

unpopular opinion: She is THE best female character in the FF series. Yeah I said it come fight me. FIGHT ME COWARDS. But then again I love all my FF girls equally so I guess I'll have to fight myself. (no but for real Garnet doesn't get enough love??? from fans or from square enix. Like square??? where is my daughter give her love???)

song i associate with them: Absolutely has to be this track: Choice by Michiru Oshima (from Snow white with the red hair). It really captures Garnet and it's my favorite track in my ffix writing playlist called ‘a walk through alexandria.’ Also I'm basic: Kingdom Dance and Waiting for the Lights by Alan Menken really give me Garnet and Zidane vibes. For more regal vibes this track from Dragon Quest XI, Hero’s Triumphant Return. It makes me think of the entire main party together but also has me thinking of Garnet’s strength and of her properly owning her rightful throne.

favorite picture of them: Right now I am OBSESSED with this Garnet art by AndreGuindi on Twitter. Here's a preview CHECK HIM OUT.

Everything by @ nanpou0021 on twitter. I just love how they draw Garnet. Here's a preview!!! FORGET THIS POST GO CHECK THEM OUT

Also @azukimomonaka on twitter. Like UGH their art of Garnet and ALL the characters are breathtaking. Check them out cause they are unstoppable with the ffix art right now. tHIS PIECE JUST MAKES ME FEEL. I lie on the ground because my brain is just: Them™ 

[friday-night-unknown]

Information undercut

Masterpost ▾ Inbox ▾ Main ▾ Discord

12(24) ▾ Sexless ▾ 01/01 ⌦ Tag: #un bf ⌦ Reference sheet

The World’s TRAITOR. A super-human artificially made in the lab to be part of humanity’s last resort against the Ć͢a̔͋̂t̡̉á́͒s̆̄͞t̾̈͝ro͞͞͠p̛̉͞h͈̉e͆̈̈́, but escape for his own entertainment. His lack of empathy unable him to understand why he should save this world from the Ć͢a̔͋̂t̡̉á́͒s̆̄͞t̾̈͝ro͞͞͠p̛̉͞h͈̉e͆̈̈́. Will kill without hesitation, but he has no mother to tell him not to taunt with his food. Heartless, but not quite evil. He’d save you if you are to his likings. Is here to live his life to the fullness and force everyone into a singing battle. If you can't sing, you die. 

Very insecure about his eyes, wears a shade to cover them. Will kill you if you even DARE to mention them.

19 ▾ Female/Male ▾ ??? ⌦ Tag: #un gf ⌦ Reference sheet (unavailable)

Is their name Ruby, or Rudy? Nobody knows, but BF001 keeps calling her ‘Girlfriend’.

She is the PLAYER. A girl dressed in red who comes from another WORLD, here in this world to explore all kinds of possibilities that HER FATHER prepared. She was stuck in a hopeless romance with a certain blue-haired boy, she yearned to enter the world and be in his embrace. Little does he knows, his love isn't what he expected. It was born out of lust and hatred, a twisted relationship, much like the Shepherd and the Lamb. 

 ❝ The outside world is hard and cold, come in here and you shall find home. ❞

27 ▾ Male ▾ 31/03 ⌦ Tag: #un pico ⌦ Reference sheet (unavailable)

Former SCIENTIST that was part of the scientist team that develops BF001. He initially grown to care for the boy as his own until he betrayed the world, leaving and throwing him into the pit of despair. All is gone in just one day, he is just UNLUCKY to be alive. Now trying his best to survive in this rotting world. 

Seems to have develop mild PTSD but refuses to admit it. Lost his glasses during Ć͢a̔͋̂t̡̉á́͒s̆̄͞t̾̈͝ro͞͞͠p̛̉͞h͈̉e͆̈̈́, has bad eyesight.

7 ▾ Sexless ▾ 06/06 ⌦ Tag: #un hex ⌦ Reference sheet ▾ Playlist

Everyone's best friend. A ROBOT created to replace someone who is dead. A rich family recently gone through the lost of a son and so they commissioned the CREATOR to build a robot as a part of therapy. However, È͛͘ȑ͛̽s̤̿ä̍͑̃t̒̌͝t̞͋ doesn't like his identity. He doesn't want everything he does is being 'coded' and instead believe everything he does is by his own will. Because of that, he greatly suffered from identity crisis, and still is finding out his true identity. No one treated him like a human being except the CREATOR and his assistant. Unlike your ordinary robot, he is coded to have FLAWS. Always wanted to have a REAL body instead of a metallic one. 

He has monophobia.

25 ▾ Male ▾ 25/03 ⌦ Tag: #un ruv ⌦ Reference sheet ▾ Playlist

Able to travel between timelines and alternate universe freely thanks to the left-over demon power by Sarvente. He is the HACKER, able to change the game codes on will. However, overusing the power will resulted in a state of withdrawal— coughing blood and flowers (a reference to Hanahaki Disease). It is a curse for him to bear. The flowers on his left eye is connected with Sarv's. His mortal body cannot comprehend with Sarvente's power, it is advised to not used much. He jumps from AU to AU, timelines to timelines; copying/stealing codes from other Sarvente to save his own — that including leaving the other Sarvente dead.

He is lactose intolerance.

Ageless ▾ Male ▾ 10/10 ⌦ Tag: #un whitty ⌦ Reference sheet

A ONE-WINGED ANGEL. Holds an immerse hatred towards demon and NEVER let him find out you are a demon. Lost his wing due to a contract, now he is stucked in the mortal realm because you cannot fly with just one wing. Determined to save this world. Extremely affectionate and protective to the person he cares for, but will never hesitate to break that friendship if you lied to him about your identity or betrayed him. 

Has three forms: Normal, Ballistic, ???. Weapon is a double-handed electric guitar LITERALLY made out of electricity.

85(17) ▾ Male ▾ 11/09 ⌦ Tag: #un senpai ⌦ Reference sheet (unavailable) ▾ Playlist

A famous TV HOST unquestionably died in the late 1950s. He has done so many shows, TV commercial and advertisement. Due to the Devil's contract he signed, he is doomed to trap in the virtual world. Extremely touch-starved and each day the urge to have a REAL body once more grows. He is known to drag people into the television, then God knows what he did with them, but they are never to be heard ever again. Possessed Hex for the body, as well as for the friendship, also work as his protector. A two-sided man, a jolly young man and a cries a lot, swears a lot. Was called 'Senpai' by Hex, but that wasn't his real name. For his real name has been forgotten. 

Uses a lot of 1950s slang. (boob tube e.g.)

7 ▾ Sexless ▾ 07/07 ⌦ Tag: #un tankmen (collectively) ⌦ Reference sheet (unavailable)

After BF001's escape, these SOLDIERS were created artificially in such a short time. Initially, they were just heartless soldiers following orders but slowly, they developed their own personalities due to the observation made on the scientist in the lab... including cock jokes. A team of 7 to save the world from the brink of death, however, they can only do so much.

Have an infinite amount of 'bodies' as their CODES are being made different, their ability to 'respawn' make them misunderstood the definition of DEATH until a small boy died by their hand and never come back. Unlike BF001, these soldiers grown to have empathy.

30 ▾ Male body▾ 07/05 ⌦ Tag: #un lemon ⌦ Reference sheet (unavailable)

A MONSTER born from the Ć͢a̔͋̂t̡̉á́͒s̆̄͞t̾̈͝ro͞͞͠p̛̉͞h͈̉e͆̈̈́. With no memory nor identity, he roamed the earth aimlessly. Heavily in denial he has become a D҈e҈m҈k҈n҈. He only wish others to stay away from him so they do not get hurt. However, two children seems to acknowledge his human part instead.

He's 13'3ft tall. He has hunger pangs where he'll go frenzy to clench his hunger. 

Ageless ▾ Male ▾ 17/04 ⌦ Tag: #un updike ⌦ Reference sheet (unavailable)

A POWER ANGEL responsible for the world's peace and fends off evil demons. However, great POWER comes with great RESPONSIBILITY... ... as well as REGRETS. He believes in his words but he doesn't believe in his own. All he ever wants is to bring back an old friend and live how it was supposed to be. He descended from the sky and search through the mountains and sea, only to be engaged in a fight to the death by his dear friend. Oh lord, will he have his happy ending? 

 The sound of water calms him down.

Ageless ▾ Male ▾ None ⌦ Tag: #un garcello ⌦ Reference sheet (unavailable)

The DEATH for he who controls life and death of all living beings. May his body be immortal but his mind is not. Memories don't last forever, and as time goes by, he found himself forgotten a few IMPORTANT things... Especially the reason why he decided to take on this particular human form. 

 In the eyes of death, NOTHING lasts forever. He had given up trying to build a friendship, as it'll only bring more heartbreaks. He learn to seclude and isolate himself as to not get himself hurt. 

 Love... ... what a convincing illusion.

More to come.

Masterpost ▾ Inbox ▾ Main ▾ Discord

[lunarxdaydream]

✨ ( Loraine & Mercer )

( drabble based on song from shuffled playlist )

Shallow breaths. One after another, the sharp intake only worsen the dizzying sensation. Trembling fingers rise, coated in crimson that refuses to wash away under fall's rain. And the scent -- panic ensues as sight moved to her clothing. Stained. Faint lines run down her neck ... but there is no mistaking the color. Nor the metallic taste in her mouth.

"... n-no ..."

Bile rose, burning against the back of her throat. Her stomach churning with disgust as knees sank to the ground. No matter how hard she tried to rack her mind for what happened, nothing came. She couldn't remember ... and yet the the blood on her ... -- 'It's not ... mine ...'

Teeth grit. Nails burying into bloodied palms as she swallowed back the acid threatening to spew from her lips. One thought continues to replay. One desire gnawing at her guilt-ridden chest. And the more she tried to ignore it, the louder it became. Screaming to be acknowledged. To satisfy no matter the cost.

"R-Run ...", she pleas. Her voice, filled with desperation, cannot cease its shaking. Raw hands pressed against barks for support. Muscles now opting to obey the cruel voice within, seeking nothing more than to achieve its goal. The sight of them ... their scent ... -- the very aura they exude practically make her mouth water.

Yes ... this man ... -- this is what she wants. He might be the one ... to ease this unbearable hunger ...

'... Delicious ...'

A guttural cry escapes. Arms wrapped tight, she steps back to slam against the tree. Every ounce of control utilized to stop from attacking him. Her nails pierce, already itching to tear into him. To draw fresh blood. To taste and satiate this need to feed. Her vision tunnels, honing in on her target. Ruby flickering between gold as low growls rumble from her chest.

Beneath the moon, Loraine could barely make out his face but ... the dual tones in his hair ... -- the unique aroma ...

How cruel. After everything he has suffered ... after failing him ... and now she was ... trying to hunt him down ...

'Please ... get away from me ...' She wants to scream. Beg him to just leave. Kill her even if that would spare him or anyone else. If she had known this is what new life would give her ... 'I don't want it ...'

|| @vacuitas | song used ||

[mermaidmafia-official]

SLEEPING EVIL

Fair is foul, foul is fair - the Weird Sisters, Macbeth Act I, Scene I

Name: Amare de Vavassour

Apparent Age: anywhere between 23 - 30

Actual Age: approximately 1,698

Birthplace: Leptis Magna (present day al-Khums/Khom, Libya)

Creator/Creatrix: The Bloodmother (Ysabelle)

FC or Features: FKA Twigs for the most part - but generally, doll-like face, large eyes, and long dark and curling hair

Likes:  black orchids, Belgain chocolates with rose and blood creme centres, blood soaked petals, dramatic wardrobes, white roses, mulled wine, illuminated manuscripts, gothic architecture, modern dance clubs, sneaking spritzes of Ysa’s Black Opium parfum, bullying cherubs

Dislikes: having to catch up on a century’s worth of information, most modern technology, Lia, Rosenblut (ironic considering her love for blood soaked rose petals), Granny Zhang’s ruby eye

Goal(s): to continue to enjoy her unlife and occasionally sow the seeds of chaos; to stay on Ysa’s good side (do nothing to deserve another time-out nap); and to possibly find out exactly what is going on and why everything seems to have gone all to hell in her absence

Fear(s): being put to sleep again, falling out of the Bloodmother’s favour or being replaced

Rumour(s):

Amare is a member of the Severan dynasty, but her identity suffered from damnatio memoriae as a result of something she did (reasons vary and also have rumours of their own)

She was once a priestess of a maiden cult that transgressed their vows of devotion

She left the Bloodmother’s coven for a time to live in Romania during the late 16th century after being taken as a lover by a certain bloody countess

-Typicals-

Wardrobe: when she does wear clothing, she tends to wear a lot of white, red, and black (occasionally dark, rich gems tones of blue and red as well). She also adores furs, satin, all things sheer and embroidered, and anything that flows, has dramatic construction, or can be easily repaired after she’s burst into a cloud of bats. Has a fascination with intricate jewelry and loves wearing flowers in any manner.

Places most likely to be found: in her room, lounging in the bath that she’s had filled with blood from gods-know-where (or whom), sometimes wherever Ysa is, levitating outside your bedroom window just for funsies

People most likely to be with: Sabine (mostly used for support until she regains her strength and even then she’ll probably continue to use Sabine like a human walking stick), Poppy (on occasion), Ysabelle

Strongest character trait: dissimulation

Mannerisms: will turn into a large black borzoi and walk away to get out of conversations that annoy her/are not going her way; tends to speak softly, playing at being demure, and her words are often sweet barbs; will also lie about everything and anything; movement is typically languid; has a tendency to trail her fingertips lightly across cheeks, shoulders, and bare arms (hers or those of others)

-Bio-

she was put into an enchanted slumber a century ago by the bloodmother following a violent outburst that left multiple mortals limbless - and thoroughly bloodless. purportedly, her presence is still felt throughout the villa despite her constant comatose state. she has an attendant that keeps her fed in sleep, bathes her and brushes her long hair. when awake, she relaxes in luxurious blood baths - must include rose petals or else they are incomplete. and then after you can eat the blood-soaked petals as a sweet. death was lovely, everything now is delicious, and wouldn’t you like to fly into the red moon with me(at) ? / it seems to everyone in the villa that she’s on a constant blood-high, and it could be those blood baths that she soaks in for hours. it gives her hair the luster of a black pearl.

-Relationships-

with THE BLOODMOTHER {Ysabelle} - parental-filial. Sometimes Amare does things just to get Ysabelle’s attention.

with BLOOD GETS IN YOUR EYE {Yinmei} - indifferent for the most part. Yinmei finds Amare to be on the fake side, and Amare is a little scared of Grandmother Zhang (that ruby eye! it bores right into that place where your soul used to be!) but goes to lengths to make sure the older vamp does not know this. They both, however, have a similar opinion of Lia.

with A COLLAR OF SPIKES

with FUNERAL FEAST

with FACE LIKE A ROSE {Lia} - Amare is not happy about Lia’s presence in the coven. Historically, she hates it when Ysa takes a lover and makes it her business to revert the Bloodmother’s attention away from said lover and back where it belongs. Has been know to set fires in protest - the London fire of 1666 and the Paris Bazar de la Charité fire of 1897 were no accidents.

-Extras-

playlist

eclipse ~ moonbyul

You’ll miss when I’m not around ~ grimes

move ~ taemin