#seeing it come up again compelled me to speak a lil again

[tiredassmage]

Ouuuggh. I feel like if I dig too much into this one, I might get myself tripped up somewhere, but... it Is kind of interesting to see this be a debate when... even single player games still have some back and forth on whether or not a protagonist should be voiced. And by 'interesting,' I... generally find this kind of tail chasing exhausting which is... why I love to avoid the actual forums, lol.

I feel less that I have specific feedback on the matter rather than... maybe I'd just like to chip something a little more positive into the endless void, so this is... probably mostly opinion and can just be treated as such. Just your tired mut wanting to have a little faith in devstreams and posts from the team, I guess. xD

I sorta already pitched my thoughts about 7.5, but since that's relevant again here, I'm just gonna throw gumballs at the wall about it, I guess.

Most of the ~feedback of it being "why is this encroaching more and more on msq" feels... maybe bad faith to me, I guess. SWTOR's dev communication could possibly benefit from being a bit more proactive and in-depth with the community; FFXIV's already name-dropped in here and the live letters and whatnot are kind of my primary yardstick for judging the few ongoing live-service games I do play. Then clarification and follow-up still happens when necessary, but maybe it clips a bit of speculation in the bud. I really wouldn't mind them including more technical stuff even if it's not language that's readily understood at a glance (ie, what are they up to with the graphical work) because I enjoy knowing what the team's working on, and I think that level of communication benefits FFXIV, and I think it might do SWTOR some good, too. Of course story details and all still wouldn't be a 'before their time' kind of thing, but more of this about what the team's working on I think would help ease a little bit of some of I guess the other thing that tends to get wrapped up in this discussion that wears me out fast - whether the game's going into maintenance or downhill or whatever else the doomsday assessment of the time might be. You'd think I'd be better acquainted with navigating this given most of my online game experience are all games around 10 years old and older, yet here I am anyway akdnfl;sadf.

But. Anyway. I saw enough of their vision with their inclusion of the KOTOR-style cinematics in 7.5. The spirit of including a broader berth of options than being limited to the infamous three I think was beneficial to the story they were trying to tell in this update. Widening the focus area by reducing some of those black bars I think would be helpful, especially as they focus on upgrading the graphical appearance of the game. It's refreshing to hear a suggestion on the matter that I can actually get behind. Those scenes might include less of an animation and scene load for the devs as described in their post, but I'd still love to be able to admire as much of their work as possible, lol. Especially when it does involve any kind of action. (A side scene from the... Voss update? Old Wounds, was it? Comes to mind - the confrontation with Czerka, I believe. And I think a scene from GS 5. Sometimes those black bars cut off a little bit of the action they do show and that's not always as fun as it could be with a wider frame.)

Which really I guess... what compelled me to add thoughts to this post is really just the sentiment that I don't mind. I like the idea of the devs being able to add more variance to the story. Up to 8 dialogue options giving more room for class-references and other minor decision alterations we can make along the way is good flavor. Voiced to un-voiced isn't... really that jarring to me when it does good for the story. BG3 sports a protagonist whose only voice clips are for some interactions and movement around the map and it's been a thoroughly enjoyed game by myself and plenty others, clearly enough. I understand it breaks the mold of what SWTOR did in vanilla, but it was also hugely fucking ambitious of the game to be like that, especially as an ongoing game, I think.

So the 'argument,' if you will, presented by the devs checks out to me. If it's more sustainable for their workload and allows them more nuance in the story, I'm all for it. And I think the graphical updates and recasting a player character voice actor (even if the handling, I will give, was a little... interesting of them to not announce sooner than they did or in a clearer fashion, but that's not this post) tells me, at least, that the team's still dedicated to working on what's here. They want to continue and I don't think any of that is a sign of the game going anywhere away any faster from a dev standpoint.

But that's why we're all hidey-holed on here in a tumblr corner than out in big swathes of fandom life, after all.

I'm mixed on the KOTOR cutscenes myself, and a lot of what people are saying in the forums is reasonable (reduce black bars, make it more visually appealing and less stiff) but I'd rather, for lack of elegant metaphors, navigate Makeb without a map than go back to dull voiced cutscenes of 30 second PR meetings where Lana reads your itinerary for you. I don't really understand the sentiment that you want less story when other MMO's get to have tons of content unvoiced (see FFXIV, etc.) and people praise it up and down-- if voice work is holding it back, then I'm for less rather than more. We've been getting better story steadily, and I'd hate to see that change back to what we were given at the beginning of LotS, which people seem to forget quite easily.

I think what it could use as a compromise rather than alignment dialogue is class specific dialogue, if they're able to implement that many choices from 3 to 8. Then it'd be less of a yes - neutral - no situation, and players might feel satisfied that it's not just the same responses dressed up. But that's my opinion on it, and it's a small niche issue at that.

Also, unintentional comedy at being able to rate a team response like UberEats???

[minisugakoobies]

I Know | KSY

Pairing: Hoshi x GNReader (no agab)

Genre: fluff, established relationship, dancer!AU

Rating: T

Warnings: drunk hoshi, grumpy woozi, hoshi is absolutely whipped for reader, this is honestly just very soft and sweet!

Word Count: 816

Disclaimers: none, other than I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: Even when he's passed-out drunk, Hoshi still manages to amaze you with his love.

Text Prompt: boyfriend texted me "my love I am intoxicated" and then five minutes later, his best friend sends me a photo of him, passed out, phone in hand, and zoomed in on one of my selfies - tweet from himbowithnofear

A/N: I'm back with another installment of my "texts from svt" series. At some point I'll make a masterlist, but for now, please enjoy this short lil' fic about my favorite affectionate drunk, Hoshi. Fun fact, I've actually had this one finished for a while, but couldn't resist posting Mingyu first!

Unbeta'd as usual. I'd love to hear what you think (but please be kind I'm fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

“Please come get your man.”

Jihoon’s grumpy request is the first thing you hear when you answer your phone. 

“Hey, Jihoon, how are you?” you laugh, unsurprised by his opening plea. Ten minutes ago, you’d received the following message from your boyfriend:

LOML: my love, i am  intoxicatedd

And had been waiting to hear from Jihoon ever since. Though you were a little surprised that he was video calling you instead of just calling or texting.

“To be honest with you, I’m not great right now. And it’s all your boyfriend’s fault.” 

You can’t help but laugh loudly. Jihoon scowls. 

“Why are you upset with Soonyoung? I thought you guys were celebrating tonight.” 

“Because.” Jihoon flips the camera. There’s your man, all 178 cm of him, snoring his ass off in the corner booth. “He’s driving the other customers out of my bar.”

If you’re being honest, you’d been expecting this moment long before Jihoon called you. Soonyoung had gone out for drinks with several of his friends to celebrate one of them getting a new job, and you knew your lightweight boyfriend would feel compelled to try to keep up with those lushes as always. Not at their insistence, but out of his own desire. It was a point of pride for him. 

“Don’t worry. I’m on my way.” 

“Thank you. Please hurry.” Jihoon winces. “I know he calls himself a tiger, but he really snores like a damn bear.” 

You laugh again, about to disconnect, when Jihoon makes a sudden noise of delight. 

“Hold on,” he chuckles, and the screen zooms in on the phone still clutched in Soonyoung’s hand. “Do you see that?” 

It’s you looking back at you. From a photo, one that you recognize immediately as one of Soonyoung’s self-proclaimed favorites, from the weekend you’d spent at the beach last summer. It’s actually a wide shot of you standing in front of a gorgeous sunset, soft pink light dancing on your skin, and that knowledge makes you smile right now. Because it means that your drunk sap of a boyfriend zoomed in on your face, right before he passed out. Probably to dream about you. 

Soonyoung never did anything by halves. Not dancing. Not drinking. 

And definitely not loving you.  

“Come get your simp.” With a grin, Jihoon disconnects.

Tossing your phone into the front pocket of the oversized hoodie of Soonyoung’s that you’re wearing, you grab your keys and head for the door. 

It’s not a long drive to the bar. Inside, you make a beeline for the booth in the back, familiar with the space around you. It’s basically your second home, between being best friends with the owner, and dating (though he’d never admit it) his favorite patron. And, speak of the devil, there he is, the love of your life, head on the table, mouth open, rattling the glasses on the table with his powerful exhalations. 

Something else Soonyoung doesn’t do by halves - sleeping.

Jihoon nods at you from across the bar. All of Soonyoung’s other friends are nowhere to be found, likely having gone home once Jihoon reassured them you were on your way. 

Ignoring the common advice regarding sleeping tigers, you slide onto the bench and gently lay your hand on Soonyoung’s back to shake him awake. 

“Soonyoungieeeee, time to get up,” you trill sweetly into his ear, brushing his dark hair out of his face.

He cracks an eye open. “Baby?” he asks groggily. “Is it time to go to work?” 

“No, dingdong, it’s Saturday. And you’re at Jihoon’s, remember?” 

“Oh.” Soonyoung sits up, looks around. “Right. Oh!” His eyes get wide. “Baby! Those hyungs got me soooo drunk!” 

Laughing, you brush some chip crumbs off his cheek. “I know, ‘youngie.”

“Yeah.” Soonyoung’s eyes slip unfocused as he smiles. “Wait. You weren’t here and now you are.” He hiccups himself into a confused frown. “Why are you here?” 

“To take you home, dingdong.” Running your fingers through his hair again, you grin. 

Soonyoung looks at you and you swear you see his pupils turn into hearts. “You’re taking me home? With you? To your home?” 

You shake your head, gently tugging his beanie down over his ears. “How many shots did they make you take? Yes, you’re coming with me. To our apartment, where we both live.”

“We live together!” Soonyoung’s eyes disappear behind his cheeks as he grins. “You love me!” 

“Yes, I do,” you laugh, yanking on his arm to get him onto his feet. He wobbles slightly, so you duck under his arm, trying to steady him, but he interprets this in another way, cupping your face to pull you in for a slightly clumsy but rather passionate kiss. 

“I love you, too,” he whispers, nose bumping repeatedly into your cheek as you start to lead him towards the exit. 

“I know, ‘youngie,” you repeat with a soft smile. “I know.” 

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

corrupt!Satoru refuses to let go of his little sorcerer girlfriend when he becomes a vessel: Sure things have changed a bit.. Okay, a fucking lot. He's been put on a temporary leave by Yuji and the others till they can figure out a reverse. Which unfortunately for you means he's got all that time in the world to focus on your guy's relationship. "Y/n!" The unanticipated shout of your name almost makes you jump out your fuckin skin, quickly scarfing down a scolding hot piece of bacon so you don't choke. Dammit, you thought you could enjoy a nibble of breakfast before having to appease your master boyfriend. You pray to any God with a heart that Satoru wasn't too pissed at you for not being by his side when he awoke. From the goosebumps creeping down your neck and eerily sudden silence surrounding you, it's an obvious useless hopeless wish. "Why the fuck weren't you next to me when I woke up? Did I not say havin you by my side at all time keeps me from becoming.. Murderous?" The sudden presence and growled query compels you to spin around, starin up at him with wide frightened eyes. He's shirtless, gazing back with an unreadable expression as his magnificent morning wood bulges obscenely. "T-toru, I -" His hand damn near teleports to hold you firm around your slender brown neck. "Know what? I don't really feel like hearin whatever pathetic excuse is about to fall from those cute lips, baby. On your knees." He tells you, pushin you down with one hand while pullin his dick from his dark grey joggers with the other. You comply, eyes teary at how he glares down at you menacingly. "Better not disappoint me twice this morning, y/n. No tellin what I might do.." He warns, head falling back as he slips his dick into your mouth with a sinister smile on his pretty face.

corrupt!Gojo monitors the fuck outta who you talk to and where you go: If he can't have you near him 24/7, he NEEDS to know 1. Where you're goin; 2. Who's gonna be there; and 3. When the fuck you're comin home to him. "You're late. Fuck are you, little girl?" You're never gonna get used to the snarl that consistently stains his tone, even when he's not irritated. You're late coming back from what was supposed to be research on a curse, so Satoru calls you. "Just by a few minutes. I'll be there soon." You assure him, pullin your cell from your cheek briefly to check the time. "I didn't ask how late you are; I asked where you were." You don't waste a second droppin a pin. There's a bit of shuffling over the phone before he speaks again. "I'm on my way to pick you up. Stay where you are. Better be alone like you said, y/n." The line clicks dead as you heave a heavy sigh, makin sure not move an inch till you see Satoru pull up.

corrupt!Satoru doesn't do well with anyone besides himself being mean to you: Slamming your front door shut upon entering, you stomp towards your bedroom as tears of frustration leak from your eyes. You don't make it past the couch in the living room before Satoru's sittin down on it, perching you in his lap. "Who fuckin did it, baby? Huh? Tell me! I'll rip their fuckin head off." His gruesome words don't match the soft imploring look in his piercing eyes; you miss that look so much that the truth spills from your lips without a thought. "I thought I'd make it to Grade 2 today.. It didn't happen. They brought in someone new. Some jerk that failed me cause I wouldn't let him touch me." Your hands slap over your mouth, the last sentence accidentally comin out before you can think. That unreadable expression graces his features before you end up face down in the couch, panties swiftly pulled to your thighs as he eats your poor unsuspecting lil puss from the back. "What the fuuuuuck? Toru, ah! S-satoru, wait. Please just- ohmyGod!" Ofcourse he ignores you. Slurps ya cunt so good that you cum in under a minute. Only then do you get a response. "Get the fuck up. We're goin back up there. Gonna have a lil chat with Mr. New Guy." He commands you, landing one more lick up your slit and a harsh slap to your ass. You leveled up that day. And Mr. New Guy was gone by the next. Yuji and the others don't bother standing in Satoru's way.

corrupt!Satoru loves marking your body and staking his claim: He doesn't think a day should pass before he's adding a new one to the collection. So he corners you when you're in the kitchen doin the dishes. "Hey gorgeous. Wanna make you cum real quick.." He mumbles, pressin up behind you. His hard cock humps your backside slow and firm as he fingers you through your itty bitty shorts. The first swipe has you poppin your ass back on his dick, keening Satoru's name like a fuckin banshee. "That the spot, princess? Yeah it is.. Know all your spots. Just like Daddy should, huh?" His tone is so cocky but you know better than to disagree and nod to his question anyway. "Yeeees, only you can make me feel like this. Always make me feel so goood, Toru." He soaks in your praise and at this point it's a givin that you've completely abandoned your task. A damp hand slides to the back of his head for a handful of his soft snowy locks as he nips and sucks at your neck. His sensual lips are one of your weaknesses; never fail to make you whimper like a bitch in heat. "Satoruuuuu.. Daddy please. Want some dick.." He chuckles at you, wonderin if you can even handle it- not like that would stop him. Still, your knees are already so you weak he has to hold you up, arms slung around your waist to plaster your back to his front. "Fuck baby, so pretty when you beg for my cock. Look even prettier when you let me claim you like this." Fine, he'll give you what you want. But first.. He pulls his lengthy dick out, your small shorts down, and slips it between your plushy brown ass cheeks. Your boyfriend's eyes nearly cross at the tight warm hold of you. Satoru pants and huffs, quickly starting off with short strokes that numb his mind. "I'm gonna fuck this perfect fat ass one day, y/n. Thats right, and you're not gonna be able to stop me. You can beg and cry and scream all you want.. Mmmfuck- but Daddy's not gonna listen, baby. Not one bit. I'm gonna keep goin till you squirt all over me from the feelin of it." Precum assists him slidin back and forth with ease, but his filthy words aid the throbbing in your clit and flutter in your gushy cunt. You only moan back in response to his dirty admission. Its okay. Satoru knows you always get like this: speechless when you're about to cum. Goddamn you turn him on so fuckin much. He bites at the sensitive spot on your throat, locking his teeth and groaning like a wild man. It makes you clench around his dick, him in turn pressin his digits with an accuracy that forces you to cum so good. "Good fuckin giiiirl, baby! So proud of you. Takin my mark and cummin on my hand- fuuuuuck. I own you, princess." Your quick wordless whines spur him on, fingers still yanking his hair viciously as your arousal spills to the kitchen floor. The sting of the pull has Satoru howling while he cums buckets in you. He's licking messily at the fresh bite on your neck as he smears his nut all over your plump ass. Fuck, you always make him buss so fuckin so hard! He's breathing fast, eyes flickin between where he paints you, your new bite mark and how fucked out you look even though you haven't had his dick yet. Speaking of, why the hell is he still so goddamn rigid? But you.. "You're so fuckin wet.." Satoru spears you on his cock without a second thought, your loud stunned cry makin a warmth shoot up his spine. He doesn't know when your hand joined the other in his hair, just cherishes how tight you grip at him when he fucks the rest of his cock into you. Appreciates and adores any and everything you have to offer. 'Shit.. Guess its time to put a baby in you.' Satoru thinks as he holds you round your waist and drills your lil puss as you shout out in surprised pleasure. Christ, he loves you so fuckin much and he's never letting you go.

corrupt!Satoru In layman's terms: He shows you that he is very fuckin possesive and owns you in every conceivable way.

[beifong-brainrot]

https://www.tumblr.com/ben-talks-art/768764373186625536/motivations?source=share

What is your opinion? (it's a bit long if you don't want to read I would understand)

But it talks about the motivations in the legends of Korra and the characters

Well, on one hand I find myself partially agreeing with some of OP's points on the other hand, I disagree in some points too. It's true that atla is much more character driven than tlok. They are still bound by the main plot, but the multitude of side episodes allow us to focus more on developing the characters.

Tlok doesn't have this, with averagely 13 episodes per season to atla's average of 20 per season. This, obviously does not give us as much time to focus on the characters and develop a plot at the same time. Tlok will hint towards backstories and things going on under the surface, but rarely go deeper. I may think that's why so much of the additional materials

So let's revise the character 'motivations' OP outlines in their post

Actually, Korra wants to be the Avatar because she has never known anything else. Remember, she was scooped up as a wee lil kiddo by the White Lotus and raised to be the Avatar. This is told and shown to us multiple times in the show. And it's something that causes a lot of her difficulties socially and emotionally.

Mako's main motivation at the beginning of the show is to keep himself and Bolin afloat, while also keeping their slates clean. Over the show we see Mako struggle to build his life out further than caring for his life and that of Bolin's.

Bolin wants to help because he bases his self worth on the opinion of those around him due to his childhood coping mechanisms. He struggles to find his place in the world, after so many years of slipping through the cracks.

Asami's motivations vary from trying to do the right thing in opposition to her father and trying to keep her family's company afloat in the first two seasons. Seasons 3 and 4 clearly play into Asami's crush on Korra and if you think that being a pining sapphic isn't enough to drive a character through the plot, you don't know sapphics.

The lack of overaching plot for all the seasons is what causes the character motivations to vary from season to season and I think the charcters suffer from the disjointed nature of the show.

But I think there's something so compelling in the characters of tlok. Korra, Asami, Mako and Bolin are all young people finding their place in the world, struggling to establish themselves. Rather than the Gaang, who have cleraly established goals and motives, the Krew are messy, lost. They feel, maybe not more relatable or real than the Gaang, but the speak to me more as a young adult struggling with many similar issues.

I always hated the general consensus that the point of Korra was to be humbled, and I don't think that was really something expected of her until Book 3. But this once again goes back to OP sorta completely missing the fact that Korra was raised in a compound with no social life, no alternative to being the Avatar, no social skills.

If you were to compare Aang and Korra's backstories, I'd phrase it as: Aang is a person first, Avatar second. While Korra is the Avatar first and a person second.

Korra makes mistakes, she's cocky and rash, but this really isn't a criminal offence, it's what peopke love from Toph and man male characters. And so up to season 3, Korra's arc mainly surrounds her struggling with balancing her life and feelings as a teen with being the Avatar, and the expectations placed upon her.

And then season 3 happens and this strange trend of Korra getting completely beaten down and humiliated, until she 'realises she's not all that' as OP put it, and comes out 'changed for better'.

For a while, I had many questions about this change. Why this sudden switch? And what made Korra more worthy of being 'humbled' than Toph, or male characters lime Zuko and Sokka?

Well, if you allow me to theorise, Korra was an outspoken, confident, if not a bit socially stunted, teen girl of colour (who wasn't east asian), arguably one of the most relentlessly put down demographics. Look back to how people treated Katara!

Season 3 is just about the time the opinion about Korra solidified in the fandom. A lot of people saw her as a bitch, overly cocky, a mary sue, and many other things. And I wouldn't be surprised if the creators took notice of this and decided to please the fans by essentially beating Korra into a smaller, more tepid version of herself. Which is somehow better. Don't get me wrong, it was a relatively nicely done arc... but I just can't not see the implications of beating the shit out of a teen brown girl until she loses confidence and spirit and for a largely white audience to celebrate that as a good arc.

This won't be the first time I theorised something was done purely to placate the fans. This is especially jarring. People complained about the Gaang being sidelined in the show that isn't about them, so B3 and B4 feature shoehorned in guest appearances from Toph and Zuko. A lot of people felt bad for Bolin having shitty luck with women so B3 gave him a contrived, milquetoast heterosexual romance (and Opal is like my fave female character of the show. She was wasted as Bo's love interest).

But Korra's motivation throughout the show stays the same, despite what OP thinks.

I'm surprised that this is OP's conclusion, since just a few paragraphs earlier, the seemed to easily grasp that Tenzin's motivation was to 'live up to the hype of his dad and fulfill his job as the only air master in the world'. Because this is extremely similar to what Korra's motivation is. She also, like Tenzin, wants to fulfil the duty that was instilled in her since she was a child, and she wants to live up to Aang's legacy, and continue his goals.

Korra: See, I'm still in training, but, look, all I know is Avatar Aang meant for this city to be the center of peace and balance in the world, and I believe we can make his dream a reality. I look forward to serving you!

It's literally in the fucking intro, Korra mirroring the pose of the towering starue of Aang as she tries to measure up to his legacy.

I'll agree with OP that the characters have less agency than the characters of atla and that does often leave a sour taste in my mouth, since it deprives them of important moments of character development. Though the example OP gives is odd, because I think they misremembered the plot of "the Revelation".

And I know this may come off as nitpicky, but I think it's important to clarify that Bolin wasn't trying to spy on Amon. He was trying to make enough money for the Krew to pay the entrance fee for the Probending Championship, you know, the thing thar could get the brothers out of poverty. Bolin was hired to act as muscle for the Triple Threat Triad.

This is an interesting character moment for Bolin, because, while it is presented in his typical goofy fashion, it shows that Bolin is willing to return to a very dark period of his and Mako's lives. With the added bonus context that Republic City hustle gives us of Bolin being the one to initiate the brothers leaving crime behind them to be probenders, it really shows how much Bolin is teying to return the favour Mako did to him by sheltering him from the worst parts of their life on the streets.

[People will talk up and down about Mako sacrificing himself to destroy the mech but I don't see enough credit for Bo throwing himself between his brother and friends and flowing lava.]

That episode is also one of the only times Mako and Bolin's background is treated with any seriousness. Mako gives us a very compelling and interesting backstory of them being orphans forced to live on the streets and mingle with criminals. Tragically this thread is rarely elavorated on, as Mako and Bolin's trayic childhood is often only alluded to, if not reduced to outright jokes.

It's sad to see such an interesting dynamic be placed on the backburner, though perhaps it was a blessing in disguise for them, looking at how people treated Katara even daring to mention her dead mother every few episodes.

This is once again a passage I partially agree with and don't. The Krew do have meaningful backstories, they just didn't really often get moments like the atla characters to sit down and tell you about them. We often have to work off context clues and throwaway lines to form an idea. I personally enjoy this format because it makes me feel like that one meme of the guy with the corkboard and red thread, but I can understand why peopke wouldn't like that, especially if they're coming from atla, which is a show that, while having it's subtler arcs, often explains outright what is going on, how people are feeling, what their past was.

I do agree that the characters being made to bend to the plot makes them feel less enjoyable, but I also understand that it was a necessity with the much shorter runtime of the seasons. I wish we'd gotten more of the characters getting to exist as people, like atla, since I find the Krew genuinely compelling and loveable, despite the low opinion a lot of people have of them.

Tlok is a show that isn't able to give you filler episodes like "The beach", or character motivated ones like "Sokka's Master", or even side quest esque ones like "The Blue Spirit". This does deal a huge blow to the characters, and it leaves us with having to scrape up crumbs, when we previously were handed big ole bread loaves of character development.

I still love picking up on the small nods and clues given to us by the creators, but I understand that for most viewers, especially the young teens who first watched the show, wouldn't really 'get it'.

I think, as OPs grievances of minimal agency of the characters and the show being more plot driven are valid. But the characters did have solid and compelling backstories and motivations to be explored, they were just too restrained by the show's runtime, studio meddling and possibly attempting to please the fans to be focused on as much as atla did.

And it's a crying shame really, beacause now you have to be an overanalytical and weirdly motivated freak to find the really good parts of the show that should've been centrestage or elaborated on.

[aemondsbabe]

If you want to share, thoughts on tonight's episode? As usual, Aemond's scenes especially and how they affect who he is?

I really don't wanna see him as someone who only cares about himself or is apathetic :/ but idk... What do you think?

putting my answers under the cut bc they contain spoilers from the newest ep and will probably be long bc idk when to shut up (◡‿◡✿)

first small council scene:

i’m only going to be speaking about his interactions with alicent in that scene, particularly the bit at the very end where he and alicent are alone! idc about those other men, so sorry!!!!

anyway.

after they’re alone, he asks alicent of her place on the council. she reminds him. he says viserys is dead without fanfare or remorse, no pause, no thinking — dead. which makes sense.

however, there is quite a pregnant pause when he gets to aegon. if aemond truly wanted his brother dead, truly meant to hurt him, and didn’t care that he had succeeded, idk why he’d pause there or act as if he cared. maybe because alicent is there but even that i doubt a little — he doesn’t hold himself back from saying anything else in her presence and she (probably) thinks he hurt aegon on purpose already so it doesn’t make sense to me why he wouldn’t just say that, whether it’s true or not.

like the guy looks visibly uncomfortable talking about aegon’s condition. if he didn’t care for aegon, at least a little, and if he wanted him dead…. why would he care now that he’s hurt? why would that make him uncomfortable? he doesn’t even know at this point that aegon’s regained consciousness, that doesn’t come until later in the episode, so it isn’t a matter of “aegon’s awake and i’m scared of what he’ll say.”

later in this same conversation, alicent cups his cheek and the emotion on his face is a lil staggering dare i say. the man was near tears. in my mind, this is him very clearly mourning the relationship he once had with his mother. i think he feels compelled to punish her in a way because i think he sees her actions as of late as abandonment.

again, i go back to that conversation he had with criston in episode 1. he’s upset that alicent is giving rhaenyra any leeway. rhaenyra, the mother of the boys that took his eye. rhaenyra, the woman who wanted him tortured. rhaenyra, the woman who threatens his family. of course alicent giving her any grace would hurt him deeply, especially since she was the only one who stood up for him that night.

if anything, i think aemond’s main source of pain right now is alicent. i think much of his actions and inactions this entire season have hinged on alicent. which is quite tragic and lovely at the same time idk.

anyway.

the scene with aegon:

i’ve made this point before and i’m making it again because this scene further solidified it for me: i think the entire thing with aegon is brothers bickering.

again, those brothers are powerful people. a king and a prince — both with dragons — so it’s different than the sibling bickering we’re used to but i still think that’s what it is.

again, aemond couldn’t premeditate hurting aegon. he didn’t know he and sunfyre would be at rook’s rest. he didn’t even know meleys and rhaenys would be at rook’s rest. i think that little groan he did when he saw aegon fly in, and him calling him and idiot, was him essentially going “you fucking idiot i told you this was stupid and here you are being stupid.” i don’t think it was necessarily malicious — aemond quite clearly thinks highly of himself and his abilities and is pretty quick to look down on others he deems lesser in any way. i think that was aemond being aemond.

i’m not going to sit here and say that he was an angel to go to aegon and that the scene between them was so cute and soft because it wasn’t.

BUT.

i think it’s brothers bickering. it reminded me heavily of when you’re fighting with a sibling and you hit them too hard and now they’re crying and mom is literally walking over and we have to get the story straight because you are NOT getting me in trouble!!! it gave those vibes.

aside from that, i think much of aemond’s character revolves around how he looks to others and how he is perceived. if he came out and just said “what happened with aegon was an accident and i feel bad,” that’s him 1) admitting fault and admitting he made a mistake and 2) in his mind, that’s him being vulnerable and non threatening and therefore, we cannot do that.

if anything, i think he’s playing into the fact that i’m sure that more than a few people think he hurt aegon on purpose and using that to his advantage in order to seem more formidable and scary and vicious. that’s why i wish we got more scenes of him being genuinely vulnerable whether it’s more brothel scenes or more scenes of him just by himself — to give us a glimpse of actual not put upon aemond because i think that aemond is worlds different than how he presents himself in public.

again, i think he cares deeply about very many things and doesn’t have a healthy, effective way of showing that.

thank you anon for coming to my tedtalk i am sorry this is literally like a whole novel 😭😅🩷

[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! - 2nd Part (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

I have absolutely no patience... so here is the next part because I'm not a tease and I won't make you wait hehe. I have a lot more I might post everyday until I run out! Because like I said, no patience in my body! Also the main love is Malarkey but I have a problem and make everyone all love the OC. I'M SORRY I CAN'T NOT!! Warning is a slow burn I'm sorry I have ideas in my head and so things can't happen in the timeline without the ideas. I have to have everything ahhhhh. Anyway enjoy!

People step out of the way as the tall man pushes us through the crowd, we reach another soldier dressed in the same uniform. 

“Captain Winters, Sir!” The man's low voice carries over the commotion of the crowd, Captain Winters who is talking to another soldier turns his attention towards us. 

“Yes?” Winters replies. 

“Sir, we have a field nurse who is here somehow by herself?” The man says from behind me. I watch Winters glance over to me then back to the man.

“Sergeant Randleman there are no field nurses here and there are none meant to arrive.” Winters appears just as confused as the man, who’s name apparently is Randleman, was when I spoke to him first. Winters steps closer to me. Reading my name badge that is pinned to my top. 

“Emily Lane?” He looks at me for confirmation.  

“Yes,” I pause looking up at Winters, “Sir?” I feel compelled to also call him Sir since everyone is saying it. 

“How did you get here?” Winters asks. I let out a chuckle. I have been wondering the same thing. I sober myself when Winters gives me a confused look. I probably look crazy standing here laughing to myself. I go to open my mouth to say, oh I don’t know I was pulled through a portal of some sorts, but that coming out of my mouth in this situation might not be the best idea. My mind races. How the hell do I explain this? I open and close my mouth, Winters frowns at me squinting his eyes as if daring me to speak. 

“I, uh…” I start to say. Think! Think of something to say, these men are looking at me like I’m crazy.

“Emily, how did you get to Holland?” Winters asks again, pushing me for an answer.

“HOLLAND?!” I blurt before my brain can catch up. The two men seem shocked by my outburst. I cover my mouth with my hand before anything else can come out of my mouth. 

The two men share a look, I glance from one to the other. “Bull, why don’t you take Emily here to see Doc, she seems to be in shock.” Winters takes my shoulder turning me back to the care of Randleman aka Bull apparently. 

I am once again being pushed through the crowd by Bull. People are still dancing and cheering, a man approaches with his eyes closed and lips puckered out steering straight for me, I flinch back, my arms coming up to deflect the incoming kiss, a nervous laugh bubbles from my lips. I look back at Bull trying to gauge if he just saw that as well. He leans close to me, “They’re celebrating.” 

“I can see that.” I watch other soldiers move through the crowd; they are swarmed, being hugged and kissed as they walk. 

“What are they celebrating?” I ask. 

“The Germans have left, they are liberated.” he answers, still moving us through the crowd. 

The Germans? 

We stop at a commotion in the road, a woman next to us is grabbed by two men. They violently rip off her dress, I gasp moving forward to try and help her but Bull’s grip remains firm. I turn to face him showing my distress, “It’s not our business darlin’.” 

I continue to watch, spotting other women stripped of their clothes and their hair has been cut. The woman that was next to me cries out as a man with scissors hacks her hair. A lady is dragged by us with a symbol painted on her forehead, I step back into Bull realising what that symbol is. My hands shake and my chest heaves, the world spins. A swash sticker is painted onto the foreheads of other ladies. 

Where am I? What is going on?

“You alright there lil’ lady?” Bull notices my panic, holding me up as my legs almost give way. 

“What is the date today Bull?” I pant, my eyes darting around. I’m wrong, this is a reenactment of some sorts. This isn’t happening. 

“Well today is the 16th of September.” Bull replies looking confused, his cigar hanging from his teeth as he speaks. My breath leaves me in a short huff as the answer did not comfort me at all. 

“The year, Bull?” I ask, my words holding an ounce of hope that was soon to be extinguished as he opened his mouth to speak once more. 

“Why 1944, of course.” He says matter-of-factly, his eyebrows pulled down over his eyes even more, his expression mimicking a mix of confusion and concern as he looks at my face, trying to gauge my thoughts.

“1944?” I choke out. NO NO NO NO. I try to catch my breath, steady my heart rate but it’s no use. Black dots dance around my vision. Panic rises in my chest, my stomach twists. I spin around looking for the portal I came from. Where was it? 

“Emily take a breath.” Bull’s muffled voice says in my ear. I shake my head pushing away from him. I stagger backwards hitting people as I go. Bull follows closely, holding out his hands to catch me. This has to be some sick dream? That's right, this is a dream! I raise my hand striking it to my cheek, it stings but I am still here. Bull looks at me shocked by my actions, I raise my hand again readying myself for another blow, harder this time. My hand is caught mid-air, my other hand also captured by a very concerned Bull. 

“Bull,” I say very seriously, “I need you to hit me.”

“Hit you?” Bull questions. “I’m not going to hit you darlin’.” He keeps my hands in his, I’m sure he’s worried what I will do next if I have free reign of my hands again.  

“Bull, Emily.” Winters appears next to Bull, he glances at the position that Bull and I are in. “As you were.” He says bewildered, moving forward with the rest of the soldiers. Bull pulls me towards him, tucking me under his arm and following Winters through the crowd. I don’t struggle, I march forward like a zombie, my brain has officially shut off leaving me detached from reality. In my mind I am back in my apartment, making dinner and then sitting down to watch a show then crawling into bed to get up and do the same thing the next day.   

After some walking we leave the crowd behind moving away from the town, Bull continues to follow the rest of the soldiers still having me tucked under his arm like an injured bird. I don’t talk, I listen as the soldiers banter, most of what they say makes no sense to me. Dusk falls quickly, the group makes camp on the side of the road we have been walking for the day. I get given food and water, I slowly sip my water but I give my food to Bull, my stomach is still twisted in knots. I know none of it will stay down. Bull asks if I am sure to which I nod, he takes the food from me and quickly eats. None of the other soldiers seem to pay much attention to me, I guess since I have been so quiet and mostly hidden behind Bull for most of the day they didn’t see me. My white uniform top is now dirty and sweaty, my feet hurt from the constant walking. I'm sure I have blisters on the backs of my heels. A hand taps my shoulder, I jump swinging around to see Winters standing over me. “Emily, I need you to come with me. You too Bull.” Bull stands quickly following orders, I stand slowly and trail behind the two. We make our way through the makeshift camp, only one tent is pitched, the rest of the men are sprawled out on the grass under the stars, quietly chatting to each other. We make our way to the tent, Bull and Winters disappear inside. A thought crosses my mind, run, while no one is looking, run back to the town, find the portal and forget what you saw. I freeze glancing around the dark land that seems to sprawl for miles. No, something in my gut tells me I need to stay with these men, if I run I could find much worse. I shuffle my feet following the men into the tent. As I enter Bull and Winters sit at a table that has a map pinned to it. 

“Emily, we radioed command and there is no record of a field nurse by your name.” Winters looks up at me, I still stand wringing my hands in front of me. I wrack my brain for an explanation. 

“I’m independent, Sir.” I state. 

“Independent?” Winters hums. “And how did you get to Holland?” 

“I was signing up to be a field nurse in England, when I heard whispers of Paratroopers making their next jump into Holland. I also heard they had only a few medics, so I figured I would meet you in Holland and join you and your men, Sir.” I lie through my teeth. I keep my stare steady, and my body language relaxed to make my lies more believable. 

“Why were you so frantic in the town then?” Winters asks. 

“I got turned around in the crowd, Sir. I was worried I had missed my opportunity to join you. I was trying to tell Sergeant Randleman but I seemed to have confused him.” I glance at Bull, he watches me closely. 

“Why did you ask for the date? Specifically the year?” Winters continues with his interrogation. 

“Well I was tired from all my travels, I had fallen asleep at the place I was staying, when I awoke I was unsure of how much time had passed, since I didn’t want to miss your arrival. I felt like I had slept for years.” I internally cringe at how easily the lies roll off my tongue but I need to ensure I stay with this group.    

Winters pauses thinking about my explanation. He looks towards Bull as if trying to read his mind, they share a glance as I watch them. I catch my bottom lip between my teeth chewing on it nervously. 

“Well Emily we do need more medics. Have you been trained?” Winters turns back to me raising his eyebrows as he speaks. 

“Yes, well no technically. I am in my last semester of training, I only have a couple of months left.” I say. 

Winters brows draw together. “I guess that’s good enough, we are desperate.” he sighs, leaning back in his chair.  

“But you haven’t been trained in combat?” He continues. 

“No, Sir. I am medically trained but have not been on the frontline. I understand not all medics carry a firearm, and are just there to help the wounded.” I answer. 

“That’s correct. Well I cannot prepare you for what you are going to see on the frontline, and you understand Emily that you could also die on the front. There is no guarantee for your survival.” His strong stare pins me to the ground, I gulp. I have seen war movies, most of which I had to watch through my hands. I hated seeing the men being blown to pieces and shot down. 

But this wasn’t a movie. I couldn’t watch through my hands, I was here on the front fighting against the Nazis. The thought hadn’t sunk in. How much danger my life was currently in, like Winters said there is no guarantee for my life. But what is my life? Is this it? Stuck here in 1944? Or when the war is over, if I make it through, do I find another portal? Is there another portal? It’s strange to think how quickly it all got turned upside down, this isn’t a dream, I’m stuck in a time where I do not belong.  

I pull myself from my spiralling mind. “I understand Sir.” I say firmly, holding my ground, making my words as believable as I can. 

Winters stands a small smile spread across his face, he reaches his hand out to me, “Welcome to Easy Company Emily Lane.” I take his hand gripping firmly with a single shake he releases me. 

“Bull, get Miss Lane here some proper attire and supplies.” Winters turns to look at Bull who is already nodding and making his way out of the tent. I follow Bull as he holds the tent flap up for me to walk under. I follow him from behind, having to take double steps for his every one, he grabs things from piles, rummaging through bags, he turns holding up a shirt measuring it to my body. 

“Seems you’ll fit the small.” He says, a new cigar is hanging from his teeth. I follow him as he grabs things and passes them back to me, by the time we are done I can hardly see where I am going. “Oof” I grunt walking into something hard. 

“Hey, watch it tiny.” A man says in a thick philly accent. 

“Oh I’m sorry.” I say peeking out from behind the mountain of gear in my arms.     

“Aye, who are you?” he squints trying to get a better look at me in the dark. 

The group of men that stand around with him also pique interest, five pairs of eyes land on me. 

“Are you lost?” The man I bumped into speaks again. 

“No, not lost.” I say, staring back at him. 

“She’s our new medic.” Bull speaks from behind me. “Are these boys hassling you Lane?” He leans forward but says it loud enough for the group to hear. 

I look over my shoulder at him and smile. “No, they aren’t giving me any trouble, but I think I could take them if I wanted.” Bull lets out a laugh, patting me on my back. 

“You’re going to be trouble Lane, I can already tell.” He chuckles. “How about I introduce you to these men before you try and fight them all?” I smile up at him. 

“This right here is Bill Guarnere,” he points to the man I walked into. “And that is John Martin, but everyone calls him Johnny.” Martin raises his hand giving a small wave, I smile back politely. “And that there is Joseph Liebgott, George Luz, Webster and Donald Malarkey.” Small hello’s and hi are said as they are introduced. They all look basically the same in the dark in the same uniforms, and I have no hope I am going to remember anyone's names. 

“Hi I’m Emily Lane, but everyone calls me Emmy.” I say semi waving my hand from under the pile of clothes I am holding. 

“Emmy, what on earth are you doing here?” the man who I believe to be George Luz says smiling. 

“Well I heard you needed medics so, here I am.” I let out an awkward laugh. “I better go get changed, but I guess I will see you around?” I cringe, when was it hard to talk to a group of men? 

Luz chuckles, “I’m sure we will Emmy.” a cheeky grin forms on his face. I don’t know what that smile means but I move quickly to find somewhere to get changed. I feel the men watch me as I go, I hear them fall back into conversation once I am out of view. 

I turn around looking for a place to change, in front of me a field spans out with trees in the distance, behind me the men have made camp and are lying in the grass, huddling around in groups talking. I turn in a circle, trying to find the best spot. There are trucks parked on the grass but men sit in them as well.

“Emily.” Someone calls from behind me, I whip around to see a tall man standing in the shadows, I glance down at his arm a white band on his sleeve shows the red cross, the sign for medic.

“You must be Doc?” I say moving closer to him.  

“I am indeed, I have your medic pack here. Bull told me to give it to you.” He hands over the army green bag with the red cross mark on the front. I take it trying not to drop the clothes I am holding. 

“Thank you, Doc.” I say. 

“Call me Gene.” I nod at his response, “Do you know what is in this bag?” he asks.

“I think so? A powder that stops infections, gauze, scissors, Tourniquet, medical tags, safety pins, tweezers?” I say off the top of my head, I actually have no idea what could be used in the 40's. I am so used to modern medicine, they would have no gloves, no alcohol swabs to disinfect gear.

“That’s about right, but I will let you have a look through by yourself if you have any questions come ask me.” he says turning to leave. 

“Ok, thank you Doc. Sorry Gene.” I say loudly as he walks away. 

“Miss Lane.” I hear from the other side, OMG now what. I turn to see Winters poking his head from the tent. I straighten, this man seems to be in charge here. I can't piss him off. 

“Yes, Sir.” I make my way over to the tent. 

“Emily, are you wanting to change?” he motions his head to the armful of clothing I am carrying.

“Yes please Sir, I couldn’t find anywhere private.” I shuffle forward and into the tent. Winters steps out, closing the flap behind him. I move quickly putting the clothes down on the table, I start by taking off my shoes and socks. Then shimmy my pants down, kicking them to the side. I empty the pocket of my uniform top, my hand grips something cold. I pull it out to inspect it. My mouth drops. No goddamn way! I clutch my phone in my hand, letting out a strangled gasp. 

“Everything ok Emily?” Winters asks from outside the tent. Oh fuck! I thought he left, he’s probably making sure that no one comes in while I change. 

I clear my throat, “fine.” my voice cracks, “I’m fine.” I say in a clearer voice. OMG, OMG, OMG I mouth. How the hell did I not lose this. I tap the screen and almost shriek, it lights up. The time and date have not changed from when I was back in my own time. I open the screen, no bars. Well I would be more surprised if I did get reception. 87% battery, I need to keep this on me, I mean if I go back to my own time I don’t want to have to buy another phone. I power down my phone and place it on the table. I search through my pockets, pairs of medical gloves, I place them down next to the phone. I pull more from my pockets: pens, pencil, a mask, hand sanitiser, omg I could kiss myself for always having the most full pockets. The last thing I pull out is a small black case, I open my earphones to find them sitting in their charging ports, the green light flashes. God I am good, they’re fully charged. But unfortunately I am unsure how long they will last as I can’t power them down like my phone. I place them down on the table as well. I take my name badge and pin on watch off my top as well. 

I quickly get changed into the uniform given to me, leaving on my bra and underwear I slip into the pants doing the belt on the tightest loop so they don’t fall down and a white cotton t-shirt, I pull on my black thick socks and combat boots. The boots are a bit big but if I wear a couple pairs of socks they should be fine. I button up the long sleeve shirt, pulling on my jacket. I tuck the helmet under my arm and the medic kit is slung across my body. I gather the items from my pockets and slip them into my kit for safe keeping. 

“Almost done in there?” Winters asks from outside. 

“Yes Sir.” I reply, the tent flap opens as he walks back in. Winters scans me from head to toe, a small smirk forms on his lips. 

“You forgot one thing.” Winters reaches into his pocket pulling out the red cross band. He gestures for my arm. I reach out my right arm, he steps forward and slides the band up, I look down at him watching him intently. Winters eyes meet mine, I look away quickly embarrassed I was caught staring. Winters laughs softly pulling safety pins from his pocket pinning the band to my sleeve, as he pins the last one I gasp. He looks up worried, scanning my face, “Got you.” I smile, his face cracks into a smile. “Indeed you did.” 

He finishes pinning the band taking a step back to admire his work, I feel my face flush shy from being scrutinised by him. 

“Well now you look the part.” He steps forward again, taking my helmet from under my arm. He gently places it on my head. “You always wear this, you got it?” I nod the helmet falling in front of my eyes from the movement. He chuckles, pushing it back up.  

“Well I think you should show me how good your skills are.” Winters crosses his arms in front of him. 

“My skills?” I am confused. 

“I have a wound on my left leg, ricochet bullet. Gene was going to come dress it but you’re here now.” He sits as he talks, pulling up his pant leg for me to see the wound. I kneel down in front of him to better look at the wound, the lighting in the tent is poor but it will have to do. I pull gear from my medic bag, gauze and a fresh bandage. I pull down his sock to see the affected area better. The bandage on his leg is dirty, blood has seeped through the previous dressing. I look up at him as he watches me. 

“You should be keeping off this, no?” I ask, wondering what the other medic had told him. 

“I mean I can’t really, these men rely on me.” he sighs, he looks tired. I cannot imagine what this man has seen, his face looks young but his eyes hold scarring memories that he will never be able to unsee. 

I remove the bandage on his leg, the wound appears small, and the wound bed appears to be granulating and no slough seems to be present. There appears to be no sign of infection, I press the back of my hand over the area to feel if it is hot to the touch, which it isn’t. There is no sign of erythema around it and the edges are actively healing; they pucker up due to the trauma of the ricocheted bullet entering the skin. 

I feel Winters’ eyes on me as I assess the injury. “Do you have water?” I ask looking around. 

Winters pulls a canteen from his belt, handing it to me. I tip the water from the canteen onto a couple of pieces of gauze. Then pouring the water onto the open wound, “ah.” Winters gasps flinching. 

“Sorry.” I say continuing with my task, I clean the injury itself and around it, to help stop bacteria from entering the wound. I pat the skin dry, I apply the new clean dressing tying it around his leg to secure it. I sit back on my haunches looking up at Winters, he smiles seemingly impressed with my work.          

“So what’s the verdict nurse?” he tilts his head as he asks the question. 

“No sign of infection, which is good. Should be healed soon. It would heal faster if you didn’t walk on it so often but I can compromise with you on that. How about when you have time, you elevate your legs, to help reduce the swelling.” I say gathering my supplies and tighten the lid back onto the canteen before handing it back to him. 

“Well I guess I can do that for you.” he says, taking the canteen from my hands. I stand making my way to the exit. 

“Goodnight Captain Winters.” I say. 

“Dick.” he replies.

“Where?” I exclaim. 

The man looks confused, I stare at him eyes wide. My hand lifts to point at him. 

“Yo..” I mumble. 

“Me.” He says pointing at himself. 

My eyes are big as saucers at this point, what is this man asking me?

“Right now?” I ramble.

“What?” his face scrunches in confusion. I mean he’s cute, but like I just met him. I reach my hands up to my top button undoing one. 

“I mean I guess.” I say slowly unbuttoning my top, unsure if this is the request he just made. 

“Emily what are you doing?” He seems genuinely concerned.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?” I stop unbuttoning, I think I have read this situation very wrong. 

“My name is Dick, Richard Winters.” He states.

My mouth falls open and my cheeks become hot, I’m sure my whole face has turned the darkest shade of red. 

“Dick short for Richard.” I gape, the cogs in my brain finally turning. 

“Your name is Dick.” I half shout, covering my mouth. I hastily do up my buttons. I am so dumb what is wrong with me, I could hit myself. 

“Well… ah… goodnight Dick” I mumble hurrying out the tent. The cool breeze brings relief to my hot face, I fan myself trying to catch my breath. I need to find somewhere to sleep or hide, I need the ground to swallow me whole, that's what I need.   

I rush back to the group of men most of which are sleeping, I see Bull’s larger figure sitting quietly talking to others. I make my way to him, carefully stepping over the men sprawled on the floor. I sit next to Bull. He appears to be my comfort, not that I know him well but from the interactions I have had with him he seems to be a kind person. He smiles down at me when I seat myself next to him.

“Saw you in Winters’ tent, everything ok?” he asks, leaning closer for me to hear him. 

“Yeah, yup, oh yeah, fine I’m fine, so good, grand even, yup everything is a-ok” I ramble quickly looking back at the tent I just ran from, cringing at how the interaction ended. I wanted to curl up and die. 

“Ahh, are you ok?” Bull frowns in confusion, tilting his head to get a better look at my face that I ducked down out of view. 

“Yes, yup.” I reply, popping the p at the end of my sentence. 

“Alright, get some rest.” Bull says, lending me the blanket from his legs, I slip under it next to him relishing his heat. Exhaustion pulls at my eyes, even on the cold hard ground my body yearns to rest. Bull moves next to me coming closer so our bodies are almost pressed together, I rest my head on my medic bag, as the world around me fades.

-------------------------------------

Chapter 3

[comingyourlugubriousness]

Something that doesn't make sense but compels me.

- Me and @bunnwich where talking about that troupe where characters get turned into lil kids and interact and I was like hmm. I imagine it's due to some alchemy class potion mishap!

In my mind Yume is 9ish here and Idia is 10.

(If you enjoy my art please consider commissioning me! Comm's close in a few days!)

Anyways on to my random thoughts: (warning long)

Younger Idia Headcanons:

Idia’s age would still be post losing Ortho and since it took him about 2 years to make Ortho, this would be an Idia that had been living with robot Ortho for only 1 year. 

Because of that I think he wouldn’t be surprised to see Ortho, but I think he would be amazed at how fair his design has come since he first invented him. Since it is a good 9 years later. I imagine Ortho has been through a lot of updates in the past 11 years.

I think he’d really just want to ignore everyone and spend time with Ortho.

Speaking of others he IS SO ANXIOUS AND AWKWARD AND AFRAID. (the big 3 a’s). He’s hiding behind Ortho whenever he can. I don’t imagine at this age Idia had any friends, let alone friends his own age. And he probably had never even left the Isle of Lament yet.

His only interactions with people I imagine were online. So everything here at NRC is new and overwhelming. 

Hides his hair because he KNOWS everyone will think its freaky. He wears his hood whenever he can, until he realizes everyone knows about it and someone tells him that it looks pretty.

But when he’s not shy and anxious you know he’s being a shithead. I imagine being raised on the internet for two years as an impressionable kid probably made him a real troll. And why I don’t think he would be rude to adults, people around the same age as him better be prepared to be roasted if they push him or try and get him to do something he doesn't want to. (Ortho excluded.)

Despite that I think some people would say (when he's not gushing about his hobbies) that he acts mature for his age. He definitely strikes me as a kid who had to grow up fast in some regards. And that playing with Ortho was his only outlet to actually being a kid. And when Ortho was gone he fell hard into using games/anime as an escapism to try and capture that feeling once again, but never quite could.

He probably finds it a little weird that Ortho acts a bit older, since he’s supposed to be the older brother. But I think he would be too happy to see Ortho to really care.

Strikes me as a low maintenance kid that’s used to taking care of himself. Just give him a corner and a computer/console and he’s good. 

Idia's hair is at a weird phase where there's a lot of it but it's not long so he pins it back otherwise it will get in his face.

Doesn’t understand why Ortho is trying to get him to spend time with others, especially the few kids around here that are his age…?

Younger Yume headcanons:

Yume turning younger is an interesting concept, as they don’t have any real memories of their past. In a strange way this would carry over even when they are younger. Like they know they had parents but can’t recall where they live? Everything feels fuzzy and it kinda scares them that they can’t remember. If anything this would just be a glimpse into their past, but not the full picture.

Yume is a very shy kid. Like Idia they are hiding behind (younger) Yuuta

 While I imagine Idia finds it easier to talk to adults, Yume is the opposite. They much rather talk to kids around their age and they get intimidated easily by adults. 

Too young to have their glasses at this point in time.

That kid that carries a stuffed animal everywhere. They get very distressed when they first turn until Sam offers them a free toy on the house. 

Mostly an okay kid, but if you try to give them medicine they will kick and scream and cry like their life is on the line. 

Doesn’t like rough housing and doesn’t know how to hold back so they will kick you as hard as they can if someone takes it too far.

Picky eater to the max.

Hates being yelled at and will take everything personally and cry.

They get a little scared by Grim at first, but once he tones down the “minion stuff” a little bit. Yume warms up to him fast. They think he’s a stuffed animal.

Scared of the ghosts at first until they tone down the silly scares.

Tries to be a very independent kid who doesn’t like asking for help, but is frankly too small to do a lot of things. 

Curious about a lot of things and can get distracted easily. So you have to watch them bc if you are not careful they will wander off to go explore. 

Asks questions about EVERYTHING.

Holds on to peoples shirts instead of their hands. When asked why they just shrug and say “it's what they were told to do”.

When there is no were for them to sit, your lap is not safe, it is free real estate 

Hates sudden loud noises. Terrified of heights, but loves piggy back rides and being carried.

Scared of the dark, hates being in complete darkness (if only they had a nightlight hmm...)

Thinks Vil is a real life barbie.

Tries to get Jamil to hold some bugs.

Is impressed by Ace’s magic tricks.

No beastman is safe, Yume wants to touch their ears, pretty please?

Hates Crowely and thinks he is a monster bc of his get up.

Both the lil nerds:

I imagine Yume would be a little intimidated by Idia bc he acts more mature then he is sometimes, but they hear him talk about video games and their eyes light up and suddenly they follow him around like a little duckling everywhere.

Idia hates it at first. And wants nothing to do with them. They make him really nervous. So he kind of just tries to ditch them all the time. But then eventually realizes that’s is very similar to how Ortho would follow him around when they were younger and is surprised that he doesn’t mind it. Yume is pretty cool to talk to and likes to listen to him talk about his favorite games and shows. They don’t look at him like he’s weird or annoying, they actually look...really happy when he starts rambling. And when they look very cute and get excited with him it makes him feel like the coolest person in the world.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that, so he tries not to think about it.

Think Idia also kinda has that older brother's instinct when he sees lil Yume trip or fall over or try to do something they're too small to do bc Yume is too stubborn.

I have a headcanon that straight up Idia can’t tie his shoes so he wears slip ons and velcro. So he got super embarrassed when his shoe came untied and he had to admit that he didn’t know how to tie them. And even more embarrassed when Yume made him sit down and easily tied them for him.

Yume is light up Skechers while Idia is velcro Skechers solidarity

When Yume finds out that Idia's hair is blue and lights up they think its the most amazing and pretty thing ever and gush about how they once had shoes that glowed in the dark too!

_(:3 」∠)_...They

[osunism]

Summary: A young widowed sorceress seeks protection under the aegis of the Honored One, but he has a better idea for keeping her out of the clutches of her dangerous clan.

Warnings: Gojo might be a lil’ toxic, there’s some smut in this story [a lot actually the attraction is pretty instant], and it’s already on AO3 if that’s the format you prefer.

III.

     Asabé has been kissed before, this much is obvious. She has been kissed tenderly by her late husband, who always made it a point to gush and fawn over how beautiful she was. She has been kissed by others too, who remarked on the softness of her plump lips, on how sweet her breath is, how tender and sensual her tongue. Her pulse has raced with the anticipation of a kiss before, her heart beating a feverish cadence in her chest, lightheaded and dizzy.

     But when Satoru Gojo kisses her, it’s different.

     His mouth brushes hers and she yields almost immediately, as if compelled by some unseen goading from the universe. Her lips part under his and he seals his mouth over hers, moaning deep in his chest as she whimpers. Her hands come up, cupping his face as the kiss deepens. To say her pulse is racing is an understatement. Her pulse is humming, her blood roaring in her ears, her scalp tingling. Everything about Satoru Gojo is turning her on, from the solidness of his stance, to the way his big hands caress and pet her as they kiss.

     Fuck, she wants him so badly it hurts, but this is a ruse. She has to keep reminding herself that this is merely a ruse.

     Gojo pulls away just enough to peer at hear from above the rim of his sunglasses, and Asabé realizes that she has not been seeing things: his eyes really do glow on their own.

     “Oh…” Because what other response is there? She stares at him, transfixed.

     “Oh,” Gojo repeats, his deep voice amused. Asabé is dizzy with desire and she realizes she’s still holding his face in her hands.

     “You’re so beautiful,” he says from between her hands, amused and sincere all at once. “My beautiful, gorgeous wife.”

     The word makes her shiver, and he feels it, smirking harder.

     “Do you want to go home?” He asks softly. Asabé nods wordlessly, unable to speak for fear of begging him to take her right then and there. Gojo pulls away from her entirely, and she is forced to let go of his face. One of his hands trails down her throat, over her shoulder, down her arm, only to lace his fingers with hers and pull her close enough to wrap his arm around her as he guides her over the bridge and toward the exit. He leans down to brush his lips over the top of her head again,  kissing her temple.

     When they enter the car, Gojo sits on the other side of the seat, sighing and leaning back.

     “Wonderful performance, by the way,” he says casually and Asabé blinks. Gojo grins. “You almost had me convinced that we really are married. Mr. Hayashi was a lucky man.”

     At the mention of her late husband, Asabé inwardly flinches. It’s like ice water. Gojo has completely broken the intimacy between them, and is now treating her like…like she’s a client again. He isn’t even looking at her, scrolling through his phone like he is, occasionally chuckling to himself as he sends a text. Likely he’s got women galore clamoring for his attention, Asabé thinks bitterly, and wonders why she cares so fucking much.

     When they pull up to the apartment, Ijichi and the concierge work to bring the spoils of Asabé’s haul up to the penthouse, depositing them in her bedroom before leaving. Gojo takes off his sunglasses once they’re alone, running his fingers through his hair with a sigh.

     “Mm, so what shall we do for dinner tonight?” He asks, as Asabé emerges from the bedroom. Gojo watches her momentarily, before returning to his phone.

     “I can cook tonight,” Asabé responds. “I had the concierge and Ijichi go out for groceries while we were out.”

     Gojo grins. “Look at you, already acting like a wife and running the household. What’s for dinner, my beautiful bride?”

     Asabé ignores the flush of heat in her face.

     “You forget that I was a wife before all of this, Satoru,” she says lightly. Gojo’s grin never wavers. “In any case, I’ll be making a dish from my homeland: jollof rice.”

     “I’ve heard of it,” he says. “Sounds tasty. What’s for dessert?”

     Asabé is already in the kitchen, getting everything she needs. Gojo follows, curious and excited to see what she comes up with.

     “That depends,” Asabé says airily, taking out a cutting board and fetching a knife from the knife block. “What does my hardworking, not-a-nuisance-at-all husband want to sweeten his tongue?”

     Gojo doesn’t know why, but her words make him shiver. This is new. Usually he’s the one saying things that gives people tingles down their spine but this woman—this sorceress—is meeting him exactly where he’s at and it’s thrilling him from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes. He wants to gather her up, set her on the counter, and kneel between her thighs. That’s certain to sweeten his tongue, he’s sure.

     “Chocolate,” he says instead. Asabé spares him a cursory glance, her smirk evident.

     “Check the fridge, masoyi,” she says, her eyes glittering with amusement. Gojo eyes her momentarily, but then opens the fridge. Sure enough, there’s a pan of fudge brownies in there. Then, he registers the word she used, glancing at her in puzzlement. She’s not looking at him, chopping onions with a deft hand. He wonders how a woman who grew up as a wealthy heir even knows her way around a kitchen. He can’t remember his mother ever touching a kitchen utensil. Servants and cooks usually handle everything at the estate. And these days, living like a wealthy bachelor, Gojo is fine eating out. The women who make it back to his apartment never stay long enough to figure out how to get ice out of the freezer anyway.

     “If you plan on standing there, the least you could do is get the rice started, eh?” Asabé says without looking up from her task. Somehow she’s found everything she needs, and the rice cooker is already plugged in.

     “You seem to be doing just fine without me getting in the way,” Gojo says reaching for the cake.

     “Aht aht!” Asabé’s voice is sharp. Gojo’s hand freezes.

     “No cake until after dinner,” she says sweetly. “If you want something sweet, try dabino. It’s sweet, but it’s healthy and won’t ruin your appetite.”

     Gojo frowns but it’s more of a pout. “Are you seriously banning me from eating cake?”

     Asabé never stops, moving with a smooth efficiency as she grabs the blender and a bag of fresh tomatoes.

     “Yes,” she says cheerfully. “You eat like a fucking five year old, Satoru. It’s a wonder you still have all your teeth at this rate.”

     “I brush!” Gojo says by way of protest. Asabé eyes him. “And floss!” He adds. “And use mouthwash!”

     She pats his cheek, and Gojo finds even the sharp scent of onions is appealing coming from her.

     “And you’re such a good boy for doing all of those things, masoyi,” she teases. “But your gut health is important. And I need you healthy.”

     Gojo’s eyes flash dangerously, and he grins.

     “Oh I’m plenty healthy,” his voice comes out more of a growl than he intends and Asabé freezes. All at once the power slips back into his hands and he smirks like a predator on the scent. But Asabé is no lamb. Her honey-hued eyes sweep over him like a caress, appraising and impressed. Gojo Satoru is nothing if not a beautiful specimen of a man.

     “I’m sure you are,” she says in that simmering, sultry tone that makes him want to curl his toes. “But right now, you are in charge of the rice.” She reaches for the pack of dabino in the fridge, opening it to fetch one. It’s small and brown and sticky with sweet syrup.

     “Nan,” she says softly, offering it. Gojo turns his head, takes the date from her fingertips. She’s right: it’s sweet, as sweet as anything else he shovels into his mouth, and he chews thoughtfully, pausing when he feels the seed. He removes it from his mouth, setting it aside. When Asabé takes her hand away he’s quick as a strike of lightning. She gasps when he gently seizes her wrist. Then, he brings her syrup stained fingertips to his mouth. Asabé watches him with wide eyes.

     Gojo sucks her index finger into his mouth, slow and indulgent, and then releases it. He does the same to every finger, watching her the whole time. His sight tells him she is more than aroused. All the heat in her body is rising, her blood rushing, cascading, down to her loins. He can see her pulse, hammering in that tender plane of her neck like a trapped thing. He can see her heart pumping. He can see her ribs expanding as she struggles to breathe evenly.

     “I think I like dabino,” he says softly, voice husky, letting his moist lips brush over her knuckles. He feels the shiver in her, from the head to the tailbone. Yes. Good.

     “I think you do too,” she says softly, never breaking his gaze. “Will that satisfy you for now, Satoru?”

     Gojo doesn’t let go of her wrist. “I don’t think I could ever settle for one, Asabé. I’ve an insatiable sweet tooth, as you know. I think I might eat the entire box before the rice is done.”

     She shivers again, and then takes her wrist away from him. He lets her go, smirking. The scales are once more tipped in his favor. He does oblige her by helping with the rice at least, but now it feels as if she has earned his help rather than him being eager to obey her.

     And he’s so damn eager, but he’s gonna make her work for it.

     He wants her to unshackle her voice so badly, wants to test the bounds of Limitless against the gift of the Siren. Can he resist her? Can he grow her skill? Can he get her to stop being so afraid of her family finding her?

     He wonders how she will feel if he offers to simply kill anyone who tries to take her back. Likely not a good reaction, but he can think of no easier way to deal with this. The Ruhín family can always tap into their House of Saud alliances if money gets slim, and who knows what new sorcerers they’ll send to contend with the Honored One?

     He has to admit, he’s excited to see just how far they’re willing to go. He loves sharpening his fangs on curse users. He almost wishes the one whose been prowling around the property would give up his foolish surveillance and attack. He almost wishes making a move wouldn’t spook the others he’d seen when taking Asabé shopping. By the time they came back, he counted no less than seven curse users watching them. The exciting part is trying to discern is if they were there for her or for him.

     The only thing this tells him is that there is a bounty involved. And these foolish curse users will be forced to bring her in alive and unharmed. Gojo knows from experience that most of the curse users who take these kinds of jobs tend to be too deranged and psychotic to actually be successful at kidnapping. And the one person who could likely pull this job off has been dead for nearly a decade.

     Gojo saw to that himself.

     Over the course of the next hour, he watches Asabé cook. She’s quick and efficient, and he can’t help but wonder what she’d look like doing this regularly. Maybe she’ll let him chop the onions next time. Maybe she’ll let him sneak a slice of cake. Maybe he’ll wrap his arms around her waist and nuzzle her neck, try to tempt her for a quickie, see how quickly he can make her come before the pot starts bubbling over. The kitchen smells heavenly, and his penthouse suddenly doesn’t feel like a big empty box, and more like a…home.

     Fuck. He has to remember this is a ruse. Domesticity has never been his thing, but Asabé looks so damn good, humming to herself while she stirs blended tomato sauce and peppers. The onions are sizzling in a pan of olive oil, seasoned with cayenne and garlic. He licks his lips, sees himself going there to slip his arms around her waist, let her feel just how fucking much he wanted her. He’s damn near vibrating in place from the idea. He sees himself nuzzling her throat, peppering it with kisses, letting himself feel the sultry purr of her voice as she gives him approval to continue.

     His phone buzzes. It’s Nanami. Thank fuck. Someone with some sense.

     💖Nanamin🧑🏼‍🏫: How goes the security detail? I hope you’re keeping things professional since you opted to not have her stay at the school.

     Gojo frowns at his phone. Of course he’s keeping things professional! But sometimes the job calls for a bit of theater and can anyone blame him if he’s thinking about how soft her skin was when he was caressing her leg in the store today? Or the way her mouth feels against his, tasting like vanilla and honey and all the sweet things he craves?

     He is imagining what her pussy tastes like. He could go up to her right now, kneel behind her, spread her open and bury his face in all of that.

     🧿Honored One🧿: Of course I’m keeping it professional. And it was her choice not to be at the school. She’s safer with me. Turns out her technique is super powerful, who knew?

     💖Nanamin🧑🏼‍🏫: We had a run-in with a few delegates from her family today.

     Gojo’s expression hardens, all humor chased away as the entire purpose of the job comes thundering back into place. He reluctantly turns away from Asabé, who hums as she cooks, and makes a sign that he’s stepping out on a call. He goes out to the balcony through the living room, dialing Nanami directly. He picks up on the first ring.

     “What do you mean delegates from her family?” Gojo hisses. “It’s literally day one!”

     Nanami sighs. “My guess is that she’s been followed since before she contacted us for help. They didn’t seem to want a fight, but they were insistent on speaking with you. That, and if I were them, the obvious choice would be to investigate Jujutsu Tech to see if she made contact. Your plan does have flaws, Gojo.”

     Gojo frowns and tries to ignore his colleague’s scathing dig at his admittedly impulsive plan. “Well, what did you tell them? Do they know she’s here?”

     “It’s likely they know she’s with you, as they mentioned spotting the two of you together today…being intimate.”

     Gojo grins, but the mirth does not reach the cold, distant cosmos of his eyes, which are filled with a sort of grim ssatisfaction. So their ruse was the right move. Even just seeing her with him should be enough to give them all pause. They must retreat and rethink their next courses of action.

     “So they want a sit-down to negotiate,” Gojo says. Nanami murmurs assent.

     “So it would seem, but if the two of you are involved it’s likely there will be some sort of demand made for official records. I recommend the two of you get a marriage certificate and some wedding photos before they approach you directly.”

     “Well,” Gojo says. “We technically haven’t announced anything. And they saw us together once. I say we let this thing simmer a bit longer, convince them that I really am courting her. Maybe they’ll back off before we have to hunt down a judge.”

     “And just how long do you think they’ll wait before they’re convinced to leave?” Nanami asks. “They could make trouble for us if we don’t play our cards right.”

     Gojo sprawls on one of the patio chairs with a long sigh.

     “Don’t worry, Nanamin,” he says flippantly. “It’s going to work itself out. And if nothing else, maybe I can talk her into becoming a teacher at Jujutsu Tech.”

     Nanami is quiet a moment, and Gojo thinks maybe the call has dropped but then he hears the other man’s soft intake of breath.

     “Why are you determined to help her, Gojo?” He asks. Gojo is quiet this time, considering his answer.

     “I don’t think her talents deserve to sit on a shelf and rot while she is forced to marry and give birth to sorcerers her family will actually care about and nurture. She’s strong, Nanami, really strong, and I think we could use that strength here where she can live a life she chooses.”

     Nanami makes a thoughtful sound.

     “You mean a life you choose for her.”

     “Huh?”

     “You want her to join jujutsu society here,” Nanami says. “But she has been living here already; living the life she wanted to live before her husband passed and she was forced to seek us out.”

     “She’s been living a life of fear, Nanami,” Gojo argues back with a scornful scoff. “And a life lived in fear is a half-life at best, and a miserable no-life at worst. She deserves better than that. She deserves to be free and able to walk around without having to fucking seal herself and her power!”

     That last line is a little too loud, and he hears a soft clearing of a throat. He looks up, eyes glowing like electricity as the sun sinks behind the skyline and trees. Asabé stands in the doorway.

     “Dinner’s ready,” she says softly, and she smiles at him, but Gojo sees a sadness there that wasn’t there before. Fuck. How much did she hear?

     “I’ll be right there,” he says to her, and his smile is warm, his eyes soft. He watches as her vitals relax somewhat, the pulse slowing, the blood flowing in a rush and not a roar. Sometimes using Six Eyes is a cheatsheet, other times it’s a guide on how to disarm volatile situations. Asabé takes a deep breath and exhales before turning to head back inside.

     “She heard you, didn’t she?” Nanami asks. Gojo growls under his breath. Nanami doesn’t say it, but he heard too. The knife cuts two ways, and Gojo never feels it.

     “It’s fine.” Gojo says. “I stand by what I said. Did her family leave any contact information or are they playing spymaster until the last minute?”

     “I’ll text you the name and number. I believe they’re staying in the city. And they are registered with the Nigerian Embassy.”

     Gojo doesn’t miss how he stresses that last part. Great, they’re here and listed officially as in the country, meaning they have some semblance of diplomatic immunity. It also means he can’t kill them without causing an international incident. Clever fuckers. Ah well, he’ll find a way to drive them back home one way or another.

     No one is taking Asabé from him.

     Dinner is delicious, and Gojo finds himself reluctantly admitting that Asabé is an excellent cook. He wonders if she had cooks growing up, or if she’s like Nanami and simply enjoys it. They eat in relative silence, and he can see her vitals spiking. Her mind is running rampant and he knows it’s his fault. She bites her lip several times and Gojo gets annoyed.

     “I didn’t mean it the way you think,” he relents because if she doesn’t speak to him he’s going to go apeshit and kill them both. Asabé quietly guides her chopsticks to her mouth, as serene as a monk in meditation.

     “Didn’t mean what, Gojo?” She asks. Gojo clenches his jaw. She’s using his surname. Of course she’s upset. He just shit all over her desire for a quiet and unassuming life. But how is it she can’t see that that sort of life is impossible for someone like her? She is exquisite. A tigress prowling amongst common mongrels.

     A goddess, even. A siren, definitely.

     Why would she ever want to hide? Why should she?

     “Why are you hiding from your family?” Gojo asks. “It can’t be only because of marriage.”

     Asabé glares at him. “It doesn’t matter, because I hired you to protect me from them.”

     “Why the seal?” Gojo presses, not wanting to back down from a challenge. “You could suppress your cursed energy enough with a binding vow and your father’s enforcers would be none the wiser. Why suppress yourself completely?”

     Asabé’s eyes are blazing. Good. As long as he can get something out of her.

     “I didn’t want to risk hurting Jin,” she says softly. “I didn’t…you know how it is with sorcerers: we attract misfortune with our abilities. I didn’t want that part of my life touching him.”

     Asabé lets out a bitter little laugh. “A fat lot of good that did me in the end.”

     Gojo stares at her, and sits back in his chair.

     “You loved him,” he says simply, wondering why the words taste so bitter in his mouth. He has still not been able to understand how a shooting star like Asabé fell in with an unassuming non-sorcerer like Jin Hayashi.

     Asabé smiles. “I did. He was good to me, and he never pried about my past. Gojo, I was able to start fresh here. I was able to figure out who I am without…” She gestures around them. Gojo doesn’t understand. Not that he doesn’t want to, but he simply can’t fathom it. For her to walk away from the life so easily…it is a luxury he has never and will never be afforded.

     Throughout all the heavens and the earth, I alone am the Honored One.

Alone.

     Whatever expression he wears, it softens the look in Asabé’s eyes from one of indignation to that of concern.

     “Satoru?” She ventures, and it surprises him that his name can sound so tender in another’s mouth. He hasn’t heard anyone say his name that way since…since Suguru.

     “Are you alright?” She asks. Gojo nods.

     “Yeah, I’m good,” he says, lying through his teeth. “I can’t claim to understand why you made the choice to hide, but I can respect it. I still think your talents are better spent joining me. We’d be formidable together.”

     Asabé gives him an amused smirk.

     “What makes you so sure of my power?”

     Gojo thinks of the deep, unfathomable blue of her cursed energy, of the brightness in her throat, the sustained note that translated to the sensation of nails digging into his flesh. The discomfort and pain had been real, and his sight registered her cursed energy seeping into him through her voice. Or was it through sound? He wants to test it again but he knows she’s reluctant to remove that seal.

     She deserves better than this.

     “I have a really good hunch about these things,” Gojo says, giving her an easy and arrogant smile. “It’s quite literally one of my talents. I am very eager to see just what you can do with it.”

     Asabé chuckles. “I’d definitely be an ace at karaoke,” she provides and Gojo grins. Her eyes sparkle when she laughs, and she seems at ease in his presence again.

     “Let’s do karaoke, then,” Gojo says, almost recklessly. “I’ll rope my students into it, they love that shit too.”

     “Your students?” Asabé’s eyes go wide. “They let you teach?!”

     Gojo gives her a sardonic laugh. “I’ll have you know I’m a pretty good teacher, and my students are some of the most talented to come out of Jujutsu Tech.”

     Asabé gives him that simmering laugh again.

     “You know, now that I look at you, it makes sense.” She says, rising from her seat. “I’m going to put on some tea, would you like some, husband mine?”

     Gojo smirks, gets up, and follows her. Asabé can feel his gaze at her back like two brands. She rolls the tension out of her shoulders, searching the cupboard for the tea boxes. They’re on a shelf too high for her to reach, and she’s shocked when she feels the warmth and hard lines of Gojo’s body pressed against her back. He reaches above her with ease, and she gets a whiff of his cologne and his deoderant. Suddenly her senses are awash in that clean, masculine scent that is uniquely his own.

     Gojo keeps himself pressed against her, fetching three different boxes of various teas.

     “You looked like you were in need of assistance, wife,” he murmurs, dropping his voice in her ear and relishing the resultant shiver. He caught her around the waist to steady her, his hands gripping her lightly. He resists the urge to smooth his hands lower, to the flare of her hips, to cup the generous curves of her ass. To kneel behind her and bury his face between her thighs while she brews tea for them both.

     Fuck.

     Asabé is frozen in place, trapped between the counter and her “husband’s” warm body, and she can feel just how he feels about this entire situation. And with a hot flush of shame, she hates to admit her initial thought was how fucking big his dick is.

She turns around quickly, hoping to get that hard length off her backside, but now he’s facing her, looking down with those gorgeous galactic eyes, and she leans up and kisses him before she realizes what she’s doing. Gojo doesn’t even question it, he kisses her back instead.

     “Mmm…”

     Gojo moans into her mouth, his tongue slipping between them and seeking entry. Asabé’s lips part, yielding with the grace of a willow bending in the breeze. Gojo licks into her mouth, bracing himself using the cabinets above her head, pressing her into the counter, the tea momentarily forgotten.

     “Are we performing for an audience?” She breathes into his mouth between each heated kiss. Gojo smirks, then grins when her tongue traces his lower lip.

     “That depends,” he says. “Do you want to perform for an audience? Or do you want this to be a private rehearsal?”

     Asabé doesn’t want to admit how hot this is, but it’s too late because Gojo can tell she’s turned on. He can see all of the heat pooling between those thighs, the rush of her breath between her parted lips, the way her body quivers with untapped potential energy. One touch, and she’s his. One kiss, and he’s hers.

     “I…” She cannot find words to tell him what she wants. She wants one thing from him, so badly. But she can’t do this, not when there is so much at stake.

     Her hands come up, and she presses them against his chest. Gojo stops immediately.

     “We shouldn’t.” She says softly, and yet she can’t seem to pull away from him. Gojo is still, waiting for her to make a decision. If she says yes, he will have her, if she says no, he will release her. But if he releases her he is going to need to leave the penthouse and find someone to take all this dick because he has been wanting to give it to her since they met.

     “Are we being watched?” She whispers, a tremor in her voice. Gojo’s expression is as serene as an angel’s when he gives her a subtle nod of his head.

     “How many?” She asks. God, his lips are so close, she just wants to pull him a little further and melt into him. His pupils expand.

     “I counted seven last night,” he says, reaching up to caress her cheek. “I killed one this morning, while you slept.”

     He watches Asabé absorb the reality of the words like a blow, a small gasp; a leap in her pulse; and then a rush of heat directly to her loins. Gojo wants to grin. Oh naughty girl, getting turned on at the idea of her protector killing in her name.

     Good, because Gojo will tear a thousand curse users to pieces for her. He will wipe them from the face of the earth if it means she can be free.

     He will free her if it means he has a chance at having her. She doesn’t know it yet, but in time she will. He can feel the divine pull of her. He wants to tear that accursed seal from her throat and bask in the electric shiver of her cursed energy. He wants to feel her voice on his nerves again, see just how hard he can push her to tap into her true potential. And then he wants to fuck her through the mattress until his name is the only thing soaking her tongue.

     Fuck, what is wrong with him?

     “I’m really trapped,” she whispers, tearing her gaze from his to look anywhere but in those strikingly perceptive eyes. Gojo redirects her gaze, forcing her to look at him. The cosmos wheel in his eyes: stars born, stars collapsing, the core of everything rotating around the fulcrum that is his very existence. Asabé gets lost in the infinite beauty of his eyes, but Gojo forces her to focus. He needs her lucid. He needs her awake. He needs her free.

     “No,” he says, his voice like warm honey. “You have me. And as long as you have me, you’ll never be trapped again. You came to me for a reason, Asabé: I am the strongest, and I am unstoppable when directed toward those that would harm you. Let me protect you. This is what I do.”

     Something about his words makes her brow furrow, makes her feel a rush down her arms and spine like a shiver, but deeper. Goosebumps raise and there’s a prickle at the nape of her neck. Asabé has felt this before.

     Gojo has just made some sort of binding vow. A powerful one from the feel of it. The very air around them crackles with something stronger than cursed energy. Something divine has briefly made itself known. Her eyes widen at the realization.

     “Satoru…” She says, her voice hushed and awed. Gojo places a finger to her lips, compelling her discretion. A vow he cannot speak of or he risks voiding it, then. She wonders what the trade-off is, wonders who else will die while she sleeps in that big empty bed beneath the skylight, gazing at the stars and wishing she could fly amongst them and be free of her cursed bloodline. There is no blood on him, not even the coppery scent of it. He is pristine and untouchable. And yet for all his inviolability she can feel the warmth of him on her skin.

     His fingertips are still on her lips, his eyes are calm, the galaxies within swirling in divine serenity.

     “Kiss me, Asabé.”

Masterlist 🧿 Previous Chapter 🧿 Next Chapter

Translations & Notes: So, if it isn't apparent by now, Asabé Hayashi [neé Ruhín] is a Nigerian princess, specifically of the Hausa ethnic group. I don't like the idea that sorcery is exclusive to Japan nor is cursed energy the only source of magic in the world. So we will be deviating from that specific bit heavily. Gojo doesn't adhere to conservative, xenophobic rules, and neither shall I. Asabé speaks Hausa, English, Japanese, and Mandarin fluently. She'll be peppering in Hausa in her conversations since she feels comfortable enough with Gojo to do so.

𑁍 Masoyi -- Sweetheart [sweetie] 𑁍 Dabino -- Dates [common sweet snack in Arabized parts of the world, including Northern Nigeria, where Asabé is from]. 𑁍 Nan -- Here [as in: take this]

𓆩♡𓆪

© 2024 Hajara Asiri. Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost anywhere without permission [reblogging posts is okay]. I only upload on Tumblr, AO3, and FFN.

[airadam]

Episode 187 : The Killer Tape

"...and we don't make the f-ing pistols..."

- Kool G Rap

Sometimes the episode number compels me to follow it to provide an overall theme for an entire show, and this month is one of those! With 187 famously being the California Penal Code paragraph number/police code for murder, and via Hip-Hop becoming widely known and used as a signifier well outside that jurisdiction, I decided that for this this episode we'd lean into that as a theme - sometimes literal, sometimes metaphorical, often pure creative writing, and at other times rooted firmly in reality. With that in mind, this episode might not be to everyone's taste, but for everyone else, it's certainly a journey thematically and sonically from the first track to our closer, which is truly a great piece of writing.

Mastodon : @airadam@mastodon.me.uk

Twitch : @airadam13

Playlist/Notes

M.O.P. : 187

We won't reveal the sample here as I don't know if it was cleared and don't want to get anyone sued, but I doubt the original artists ever expected it to end up on a track like this! We start Episode 187 with a track of the same title, and Brownsville's own, the World Famous M.O.P. coming out as hard as titanium on this track from the "Street Certified" project, bringing the aggression to absolutely everyone - wack DJs, sucker MC, groupies, sponsors...no-one escapes. Lil Fame produces this one himself, combining the piano sample mentioned earlier with a well-known drum break that has done the business in Hip-Hop time and time again.

Skitz : The Killing (Remix Instrumental)

The original mix of "The Killing" is in my opinion the far superior version, but this minor-keyed piano instrumental is still solid in its own right. As far as I know, the only place to get this is the 12" single of "The Killing", which was just one of the outstanding tracks from the "Countryman" LP. If you see the wax of that about, don't think, just buy.

DJ Marvel : 1-8-7

In the interest of not giving you the "Deep Cover" beat for too long, I'm only giving you a portion of this great DJ/cut-up track, which is based around that famous beat and hook, and turns it into a DJ-killing anthem. DJ Marvel is a UK DJ out of Torquay in Devon, a place that - save for the beach - couldn't be further away in vibes from Long Beach, but he represents his area amazingly on this, probably my favourite track to this day from Bomb Hip-Hop's "Return of the DJ Volume V".

Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg : One Eight Seven

Many of you will be familiar with the Dr. Dre classic "Deep Cover", which introduced the world to (as he was called then) Snoop Doggy Dogg, but I think fewer will know this alternate version/sequel, which was on the B-side of the "Dre Day" 12" single. The lyrics are a complete re-write, though the hook is the same, and there are some subtle variations in the arrangement, but otherwise the original groove is the same. Gloriously dark crime rhyme action. 

Kool G Rap & DJ Polo : Crime Pays

My only regret is that the great intro to this track is slower than the main tempo, and so was too slow to play you here! If you want to hear the whole thing front-to-back, then the album you want is the 1992 crime opus "Live And Let Die". Planned to come out a year previously, the subject matter and disturbing cover art (which had its original two ideas shelved for unsuitability, and the final one responsible for a long-time shelving of the LP after release) are dark, extremely aggressive, and you barely come up for air the whole time. Like most of the album, this funky and fairly short track is produced by Sir Jinx of The Lench Mob, with the Juice Crew legend Kool G Rap speaking from the perspective of someone who feels - rightly or wrongly - that crime is their only option, and criticised the hypocrisy of society. The TLDR is that it's something of an "it's bigger than Nino Brown" piece, and very much of its time when you consider it would have been written around the tail end of the murder spike New York City experienced due to the crack epidemic. 

Jaylib : Survival Test

I've used both the vocal and instrumental versions of this track from "Champion Sound" here to get a proper intro and outro for mix purposes, with Madlib's dense Bollywood-accented production seeming to absolutely fill the sound field but somehow still having space for J Dilla to get on the mic and be heard clearly. Dilla uses the technique of rhyming the word before the end of each line, while the final phrase on the line repeats, thereby constraining how it can be written; he demonstrates a skill as an MC that many people don't give him his full credit for.

Giggs : Talking The Hardest

There's apparently something of a meme around this track supposedly being the national anthem here, so I thought I'd lead it off with an appropriate sample! Many years after recording, this freestyle is still a very popular tune from Giggs' catalogue, even though it didn't make it onto his debut LP. That might be in part due to the Dr. Dre-produced beat being a direct lift from Stat Quo's "Here We Go", that would have been basically impossible to clear. Nevertheless, there's a digital release of this track, so feel free to get yourself this slice of Peckham street talk for a very reasonable price!

Kardinal Offishall : Bang Bang (Instrumental)

I played the vocal version of this a long time ago on episode 113, but here you get Kardinal Offishall's production in the raw - dark, thumping, and menacing. The "Bang Bang" promo is the only place to get this instrumental, which I might even try and get a second copy of myself as this one has taken a few scrapes over the last twenty years!

Smif 'n' Wessun : War

Appropriately for representatives from the Boot Camp Clik, Smif 'n' Wessun blend the street and the military on this tough cut from their 2005 album "Tek & Steele: Reloaded". There's a really quick change-up from the original beat, as Ken Ring, Rune Rotter, and Coptic drop out to a sample from a famous film before coming back with an alternative composition to carry things forward for the remainder of the track. The final bit of seasoning is the cutting in of one of the best-known lyrics from the late Prodigy of Mobb Deep, a man amongst the most quotable MCs in Hip-Hop history.

Ran Reed & Shabaam Sahdeeq : Murderous Flow

This is very much one of those records I might never have thought to include if I hadn't digitised all my 12"s! It's pretty much entirely unlabelled and thus easy to lost in the sauce, but this is a single I picked up during my student days on account of the killer Nick Wiz beat and what must have been an affordable price :) The simple formula of a dope beat with dope rhymes (with the titular murderous flow) is followed here by both the New Jersey native reed and guest Shabaam Sahdeeq, who you may actually be a little more familiar with if you know your late-90s underground Hip-Hop. This was a promo 12" which did get an official single release, but isn't on any LP - as such, you may struggle to find it on any streaming service, and so buying the single is the only way.

Xzibit ft. Mobb Deep : Eyes May Shine (Remix)

This has been a favourite track of mine since it was first released way back in 1996, and I can't believe it's taken me so long to finally find a home for it here! In my opinion this is a far superior track to the original "Eyes May Shine" from Xzibit's debut LP "At The Speed Of Life", with Havoc's gloomy, string-led production striking exactly the right tone for this dismissal of studio gangsters. With the late great Prodigy guesting on the mic alongside Havoc, and the overall vibe being what it is, you could easily think this was a Mobb track featuring Xzibit rather than the other way round. This was never included on any albums as far as I know, but you can find it as a promo-only release on 12" or CD, plus on the B-side of the "The Foundation" single.

Jedi Mind Tricks ft. R.A. The Rugged Man : Uncommon Valor: A Vietnam Story

This track from the 2006 release "Servants In Heaven, Kings In Hell" is widely and rightly lauded for a top-tier lyrical performance, this time by guest R.A. The Rugged Man. Vinnie Paz opens up with a really good first verse over Stoupe's production, but R.A. is the absolute star here despite that, as he tells the true story of his own father, the late Staff Sgt John A. Thorburn, an American Special Forces soldier during the Vietnam/American War. The verse goes through the mindset of the man at that time in his life, then a life-changing experience during the war, and finally the some of the repercussions as he returns to civilian life. In keeping with the subject matter, some of it might be uncomfortable, but in my opinion, the father-son bridge that this represents makes it an essential listen at least once.

[Tragedy Khadafi] Capone-N-Noreaga : Illegal Life (Instrumental)

One of my favourite beats of all time, this grabbed me from my very first listen in the mid-late 90s when I heard it on Radio 1. Tragedy gives it some Arabic flavour with the sample, and then backs that with tough Queensbridge boom-bap drums and non-melodic bass. Any rapper should be able to sound good on this, and Capone, Noreaga, and Havoc all do their thing on the vocal version from the 1997 "The War Report" LP.

Meyhem Lauren ft. WestSide Gunn : Trigger Point Therapy

This was a track I played a lot last year, as Spotify reminded me, so it was always a candidate to make it onto the podcast, but the absolute golden thing about it that got it into this episode is the speed and beat change halfway through, as Daringer switches it up into the piano-raining instrumental for "Eric B" by WestSide Gunn - who also guests here as the first MC. Meyhem slays it on the mic as usual, and then pays respect back to WSG at the very end, calling back to "Eric B" with a line taken directly from the hook to close the track. Meyhem and Daringer made magic on 2022's "Black Vladimir" LP, which you'll love if you're into the Griselda sound.

Da Beatminerz ft. Apathy : Martial Law

It was a pleasant surprise to hear Da Beatminerz, the legendary New York production crew, back with a new album this year, and they pulled together an array of guests to bless each beat with their vocals. This track sees the East Coast underground veteran Apathy (Demigodz, Army Of The Pharoahs, etc) spitting on a chunky beat a million miles from the AI-assisted, algorithm-friendly fare that some are involving themselves in, showing us how more experienced artists can continue to plough their own furrows away from the passing trends of the day.

Lake and Cormega : Get It

Buckwild on the beat, my goodness - identified the hot section of a much longer track and isolates it here to great effect, producing a menacing, droning backing for two Queensbridge stalwarts. Cormega is a deeply-respected MC with a deep history who has continued to advance and mature into the present day, while Lake is a man with not so large a catalogue as an artist, but is known both as an executive and as a mover and shaker in his own area. The 2006 collaborative LP "My Brother's Keeper", from which this is drawn, is a solid release with a few real gems on it, including "Dirty NY", and my personal favourite, "The Oath".

Above The Law ft. Madd Harv Dawg : Karma

We go sombre for the penultimate vocal track of the episode, reaching back to Above The Law's fifth album, the 1998 "Legends" LP - produced, as was the rest of their catalogue, by group member Cold 187um. The late KMG might just have the highlist verse here, as he, 187, and guest Madd Harv Dawg remind us all that if you choose to indulge in wrongdoing, you can't be surprised when that negativity ends up coming right back around to your front door.

[Self] Heltah Skeltah : Worldwide (Instrumental)

Not "Self" as in me, or Heltah Skeltah, but a producer also known as Lord Self (or Self Serve) who has done beats like the now thoroughly thematically-ruined "Black Trump" for Cocoa Brovas and Raekwon, and big single "What's My Name" for DMX. We hear him here producing on the second Heltah Skeltah LP "Magnum Force" with a dark, string-laden cut dripping with 90s flavour.

Nas : I Gave You Power

We finish the episode with a spectacular piece of first-person storytelling taken from Nas' second LP "It Was Written", and arguably the standout track on the album. Nas provides a great commentary on the tragedy and endless cycle of gun violence by writing from the point of view of a gun, giving a very different perspective than the ones most MCs might have provided. As the title says, Nas notes how holding the gun gives each owner the feeling of power, provoking and aiding them in wreaking havoc they wouldn't otherwise, until even the gun doesn't want to be involved anymore. DJ Premier is on production, with a perfect boom-bap beat centred around a mournful piano - he notes himself that he didn't want to make any element too busy so that the lyrics would stand out, and that lack of ego makes the final product all the stronger, a true all-time classic.

Please remember to support the artists you like! The purpose of putting the podcast out and providing the full tracklist is to try and give some light, so do use the songs on each episode as a starting point to search out more material. If you have Spotify in your country it's a great way to explore, but otherwise there's always Youtube and the like. Seeing your favourite artists live is the best way to put money in their pockets, and buy the vinyl/CDs/downloads of the stuff you like the most!

Check out this episode!

[meatriarchived2]

hi! i just had a question to ask. when you’re writing dialogue for a character that isn’t your own but like from a media like tcm, how do you make sure that it doesn’t sound like a completely different person?

oooohh hmm. hopefully what i toss down here makes any amount of sense, nonnie! im running on some rough sleep so hopefully words can work for me while typing this out ♡

( also realize now zooming out and staring blankly at this that i yap-fested at you im so sor- )

so for me, personally, like i do recommend when it comes to canon characters esp is to kick back and rewatch scenes of them and everything. start taking note of things like. letters they drop from words ( ie. dropping the 'g' at the ends ), things like that. common words & phrases they repeat and toying around with those. theres always little things you can pick up from canons esp if they have a fair chunk of literal dialogue, quotes, etc you could sit there and listen to repeatedly. if there's roles from movies or shows etc that you might feel also fit for the character you intend to write but isnt actually of that character themselves? using those as reference points can also be super helpful!!

for example, with luda bc her actress is unfortunately no longer with us, i'll sometimes rewatch some of k.athy bates' work to help with mannerisms and dialogue and emotions! particularly her role in say, t.itanic, where she's sometimes a lil' snarky, sometimes a lil' harsh-tongued, but she has a warmth to her character towards jack that comes out very motherly, very nurturing. sometimes studying outside works & actors can really help with building a completely different character up! ^_^

but also? find that it helps to really just enjoy the character as they are and fixate on them. bc while yes many writers are ridiculously Good at almost perfectly copy-pasting how a character sounds from the source into their writing? im also someone who alters their voices to personal interpretation! ie. with our mom luda, again, i try to focus her characterization and alongside that her voice moreso to the '06 film from the remakes bc i find that to be far more aligned with how i view her. luda's a very strong, maternal woman who is fiercely protective of her boys & family. we see more of that nurture, that gentler side of her in '06 - while '03 ( which can argue the switch-up in personality for the most part is understandable within plot context ) characterizes her far more harsh, far more stern and cold - particularly towards her own grandson which, to me, feels wildly out of character for her despite technically being canon and so, i disregard most of that canon personality & voice for her.

generally speaking, i've written a whole mess of different types of characters over the years, you start to in a sense create little "profiles" of character types and for me at least? i pick and choose from those that i feel works best to expand a canon character further than what their source has then down as. characters arent just hard-set as what canon throws them down as - sometimes the fun of it all is straying away to a degree from where they started as!

maria, for me, is probably the bigger stray-off than what gun may have intended for her. to be fair even with her being in the game now, im not entirely sure where their direction originally is for her personality etc., i just know that my intention for her portrayal had always been pinpointed at her being someone fairly soft, fairly gentle! bc anybody can sit there and like photography, or flowers, want to go off on little roadtrips, all of that. but i wanted there to be good reason as to why this group of friends could have been so compelled to have gone out looking for a friend who they arguably have only known for maybe a year or two or just a couple months even - and part of that reason is aiming to make maria come across as a character, as a friend, who seems so centerpoint in their shared dynamics with one other - someone whose presence being absent throws so much off. and not bc her role within the group is "so vital" that without her things entirely fall apart, but bc she made such an impact on them all that theres a jarring emptiness when shes not there.

her voice to me & the way i portray her, when working on her dialogue for replies etc., ideally shows different aspects of her character that i like to focus on. she's kind- & soft-hearted. shes a romantic at heart, so she likes to see the beauty and kindness in things and people and the world around her - that leads to a sense of naivety, where she's too trusting of people who may not actually deserve to be blindly trusted from the get-go ( me staring at lamb's johnny ). her dialogue and inner thoughts have those traits bleed into them ( or, at least i hope i show so in them! FNBJK ).

but her voice tends to switch to a degree depending who she's talking to! johnny, for example, she's often a little unsure of herself and her place beside him - she doesnt really know him, still navigating how he reacts to things, what sets him off. so her voice and mannerisms tend to be a little more cautious, slower. uncertain. with leland, for example, shes far more bubbly and energetic and they feed off of one anothers energy! theyre sunshine-to-sunshine coded, same stardust, etc. and so, shes more teasing and laughter and warm with him, she trusts him wholeheartedly. and in bad situations, she's terrified with whats going on around them and shes terrified for him - bc of the fact that he brave-faces so much and puts himself between her and a threat. and that fear bleeds into her voice & mannerisms & dialogue.

i strayed and rambled a little BUT - i think alot of the fun when you start writing, even for a canon character who has a certain way of speaking that the creator intended on, is getting to expand on them with your own personal twists and style! every iteration, portrayal, interpretation of a character is unique to the next, and oftentimes its that writers' personal take that really lets them glow and shine more than what even their creators' have done for them! i would say - which probably sounds easier said than putting it into action - just connecting to and loving the character and wanting to do them justice or wanting to build them up further really helps. i think what writers often do when they take on canons especially is that they simply grow very much in love, in a sense, with said character and want to do good by them. and i feel thats the case for me with maria for example, or lamb with johnny, kels with leland, rae with connie, scout with danny.

while theres plenty of like, technical / logistical things you could do to help with sticking as close as possible to say gun's voice actors for the characters - like pulling up a video of their voicelines and listening to them several times over, studying their tone or the way they adjust pitch lower and higher depending on how theyre saying their lines, the emotions behind what theyre saying, etc., or using other media sources as inspo too - i do truly believe that sticking strictly to their canon voices isnt something to worry or stress yourself over too much! ^_^ sometimes interpretations simply feel more organic and lifelike when you let yourself take your own spin to the character!

and if its your first time really writing, or writing as said character? i dont think you should put too much pressure on yourself to make their voice exactly like how they sound in canon! let yourself have the wiggle room to explore and expand them in a way that feels right and makes sense to you! alot of how maria's turned out now, a full year after picking her up, is because of how much she's been built up not just bc of my own building of her character but bc of the building of her bonds and dynamics with others! she would not be as fleshed out as she is right now without the specific love and care and dynamics that were build in that time with lambs' johnny, kels' leland, raes' connie and now, slowly but surely, scouts' danny too ♡

this all probably sounds all over the place i apologize but bottom line i think - i wouldn't stress over trying to make sure that they dont sound like an entirely different character to canon. ^_^ yes you can work on their dialogue to make sure that they still align generally with their canon characterizations, but over time i think with writing them? you'll end up pouring alot of yourself into the character, your own spin of them, and be influenced by those you write them against. i'd say let yourself find and stick with what feels right to you on how they should speak, how they feel and interpret and showcase their emotions and mannerisms! its entirely alright to stick more to their respective canons! and its also entirely alright to stray from it as well! ♡

thank you for saying i could ask more questions whenever i get confused. i’d love to start writing but i don’t know where to start so i just thought asking people that i look up to or like their writing style would be a good place to start i hope you have a nice night/day

sorry you don’t have to reply to this. i’m just very like intimidated by reaching out to people to actually talk to them but thank you so much for thinking about replying to the question. i’m trying to learn how to write as sonny or julie and i’m scared of like turning them into some random character with dialogue

i'm tacking on the both of these here as well so hopefully thats alright ♡

sorry for the full-on yap fest above but i hope theres something in that answer that might be remotely helpful in the slightest for you!! and i hope it makes a lick of sense!! ;w; you're absolutely more than welcome to drop any questions at all and i'll do my best to come up with an answer! ^_^ i love little questions so please know you can drop by and ask something at any time, i dont mind at all!

but also wanna say thankyou for the kind words too! ♡ its so so sweet knowing anyone outside of our little corner here enjoys what we toss around at one another, and though i dont post too often at the moment im happy that you like our takes on our silly little guys to send these in! i know we appreciate these questions and the sweet sentiments so much ♡

you're very welcome though ♡ again i hope that theres something in all that rambling that maybe helps, or maybe eases that worry about making any character sound too different from their source material. like i noted i do believe that while theres definitely ways to try and capture canons' voices and dialogue, its also perfectly alright to allow yourself the grace and space to make a character your own! and sometimes, that difference between canon portrayal and personal interpretation are worlds apart - and sometimes thats simply the beauty of writing for a character!

i do completely understand the fear of them sounding out of character, especially while starting to attempt to write as them. but i think its more than okay to make sure you're gentle and patient with yourself while navigating their respective voices, over time you'll find what feels right for them, what clicks best, and yes there'll be moments even after you've written for them for a while where you may second-guess what you're doing for them. still get that sometimes for maria! but i'd say try to remember to just have fun with exploring them as characters! ^_^ theres no right or wrong way to write a character, so long as you just. enjoy what youre doing, where youre taking them, and love them.

i think for now ill hush up but again, nonnie, thank you so much for sending the question and the kind words in! ♡ i hope, again, any of this makes sense and im happy to elaborate or answer other questions you may have!

i hope you have a lovely morning / afternoon / night wherever you may be, nonnie!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

FELT COMPELLED TO TELL YOU THIS BUT i was looking back at the tags for my geto fic (the promise ring one) and i came across your tags again and was reminded of the !!!!!! feeling i got when i first read your tags and ajbdjsndnns i need to write for geto again really truly omg

HOW IS THE GOJO FIC GOING

how was the train ride :3 did you get to speak to the pretty lady :3

???????????????KOI????????????????????? THAT WAS YOU??????????????????????

WAITTTTTTT A GODDAMN MINUTE I FEEL SO SILLY 😭😭😭 YOU WROTE THAT???????????? IT’S BEEN SO LONG I HAD TO GO BACK AND CHECK BUT PSJDKDJDIKDDK YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. THAT’S ONE OF MY FAV GETO FICS. I REREAD IT NOW AND I STILL FEEL SO ENAMORED…. your tattoo artist bf geto is Everything to me . this is really insane to me actually icb we were fated to be moots …. soulmoots even……….

but aaaaa i’m kinda upset :(((((( because i read that fic pretty early after starting my blog . and at that point i was a lil too shy to leave long tags….. if i had read it Now you would’ve gotten a whole essay 😔 TRUST THAT I WILL RB IT AGAIN . i need you to know how much i adore it !!!!! (here’s the fic if anyone’s interested!!! read it read itttt koi’s sugu is the sweetest most charming guy in the world)……

anyway sorry i just woke up and seeing this was just phdkdbdksk WE WERE DESTINED TO MEET KOI <33333 through the power of sugu……….

BUTTTTT OK SO YEAH the gojo fic is coming along well!!!! technically the entire thing is already written out, but i wrote it a While ago so now i’m just slowly reading through it and making it Better 😭 i’m excited to post it !!! tho i’m at my bestie’s house rn so i might not be able to post it until later this week… not sure…… I DIDN’T SPEAK TO THE PRETTY LADY :(((( she was so cute though . she feel asleep against the window and i was like 🥺 i think trains are sooo cozy when it’s raining and people are taking little naps…..

[breanime]

Because I am compelled to, here's a lil blurb of nonsense for Manny Mayans, the Yuma charter Hot Boi.

WARNING: Spoilers for Mayans season 4 eps. 1-2

*gif by @mijagif*

“You really don’t like me, huh, sweetheart?”

You didn’t look up, keeping your eyes on the glasses you were cleaning as Manny smiled over at you. “I don’t even know you.”

“Yeah, but you could. We could be… friends.”

You did look up then, frowning over at him. You didn’t know much about any of the Yuma guys who had come and just taken over the clubhouse, and you didn’t want to. Except for Manny. From the moment you met him four months ago when Alvarez declared the forced integration, you’d been intrigued. Manny wasn’t like the other Yuma guys, he wasn’t a yes-man to Canche, he wasn’t overly aggressive to the Santo Padre guys—in fact, you’d seen him be friendly towards EZ, put out the olive branch, and EZ had been receptive.

It was admirable.

But you also saw the way he looked at you, noticed his low eyes on your frame when you helped out at the bar. It wasn’t new, a biker checking you out. Hell, you worked in a biker bar, you were used to it. At worst, they go too far and you have to verbally eviscerate them and they get the message, and at best, you make a new friend. You had a strict personal rule against dating the guys, though, which they all knew, but then the Yuma crew came and well.

Some of them weren’t getting the message.

But again, Manny was different. He stared, yes, but he was never pushy or inappropriate like some of the Yuma guys could be. Just last week, Angel had put a Yuma member on his ass for calling you a bitch for not giving him your number, and three months ago, there had been a whole bar fight that started when one of the Yuma guys smacked your ass when you were handing out beers. The Santo Padre members had been enraged, and as you put your back to the wall to avoid any accidental blows as they fought, you couldn’t help but notice and take stock of the fight.

Coco had a guy in a headlock, Bishop was fighting Taza, Angel was on the floor wrestling with someone, Hank was beating somebody with his cane, Creep and Gilly were smashing bottles over heads, and EZ was back-to-back with Manny, knocking Yuma guys out. Manny—a Yuma charter patched member—was fighting against his own guys in your defense.

It had pulled on your heartstrings a bit.

But that didn’t mean that you wanted to be friends with him.

“I just work here, man,” you said back, placing the now clean glass on the bar as you picked up a dirty one.

Manny chuckled, and the low sound of his amusement had you involuntarily clenching your thighs. Stay strong. “Come on, ma. We both know you’re family to these guys. Bet you’d be patched in already if we let women in the club.”

You bit back a smile; you loved the MC, they really were your family. Speaking of… You looked over at Manny, taking in his MAYANS tattoo and those dark, sparkling eyes of his before making your statement. “You have a family, right? EZ said you have a wife and a kid?” You watched his face, looking for the telltale signs of guilt and shame that you’ve seen 100 times on a man’s when he’s been caught trying to cheat. But Manny just smiled, pulling up a stool and sitting at the bar. Your eyes narrowed, annoyed at his nonchalant response. “Right?”

Manny shook his head, placing his hand son the bar, “Nah. I mean, I do have a kid,” he pulled his phone out, opening it and showing you a picture of an adorable little boy, “He looks sweet, but he’s a handful,” he smiled softly, “Can’t wait to get home to him. And when I told EZ I had a lady, I meant my kid’s mom. We ain’t together, we just co-parent, it’s better that way. She’s pretty much my best friend,” his smile turned into a smirk, “So I’m not seeing anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You scoffed, “It’s not.”

Manny laughed, and you swallowed down the joy that threatened to bubble to the surface at making him laugh. Silently, you reminded yourself that he was the enemy; Bish said it every day under his breath—the Yuma guys were fucking animals. Except…

…maybe they weren’t.

“So,” he went on, “Now that we established that I’m a single father, let’s maybe work on the next thing, yeah?”

“The next thing?”

“Yeah. Convincing you that I’m not an asshole.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, biting your lip a bit to contain it, “Yeah, well, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He leaned forward a bit, those dark eyes assessing you for a moment before he spoke, and as he did, your eyes went to his very bitable lips, “Trust me, sweetheart, there’s so much I wanna show you.”

You felt your heart quicken just as your eyes widened, but before either of you could speak, Alvarez came stomping in shouting about Templo, and you knew your conversation was over. As Manny got up from the bar, he turned to you. “Look, it’d be cool if me and you could be friends,” he began, “but for the record…

…I’m interested in being more, sweetheart.”

You watched him walk off, effortlessly cool, and you felt yourself shiver.

Oh fuck. You were definitely in danger.

*********************************************************************

HE WANTS TO FUCK!

Anyway, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! Let me know what you think or if you want me to write more for this very mysterious, very sexy character.

[whysojiminimnida]

Okay honestly I know lots of people don't like to touch this topic with a 10 foot pole because it's kinda invasive and more tricky to maneuver than questioning/assuming any of the boys are not straight probably because attraction to others is more outward and people tend to be more uncomfortable w. trans shit so I don't blame you if you wanna ignore this but I can't lie there's a significant part of me hesitant to label Jungkook gay gay specifically because of Jimin. His bigender tattoo lives rent free in my mind and as a person of slight gender identity fuckery I physically cannot wrap my mind around a completely 110% cis person ever doing that especially with his words about expressing things he couldn't before and the effort to show it off during the photoshoot and other times when he talked about his personal journey. On the lowest of keys it just feels like he got a lil sum going on in there if that makes sense so I personally like to leave space for that when thinking about Jk's obvious attraction to him but at the same time I honest to god do get why people think he's full on gay and as a bi person erasure irritates my soul so usually I'm the first person to call people out for disregarding or flat out ignoring mspec identities but I can't lie that he generally doesn't seem very interested in most women as far as I've seen like I fully agree with people who aren't seeing it lol but I've also also seen him with pink purple and blue strands in his hair and that kinda stuck out to me idk I'm kinda rambling the most important thing is that we all agree he's 'gay' in the sense that he's obviously attracted to men because that in itself makes him part of the lgbtq community regardless of the specifics of his personal identity

I hear what you're saying, anon. I have said before that I thought Jimin had bi or pan possibilities for me and his gender, although he identifies publicly as male, could very easily be fluid or he could fall somewhere on a genderqueer spectrum. But he has clued us in on bigender concepts in a pretty big way twice. Once in the 2019 (released in January 2020) 6th ARMY.ZIP photoshoot, and again with Filter.

For the 6th ARMY.ZIP "Young Forever: Mono" photo spread, Jimin requested the tattoos that were drawn on his skin. Not "oh hey draw me some tats" but specifically "I want these ones", reportedly. We see the moon. We see hashtags. We see "Lie" and "Youth" and cute lil knuckle tats like someone else we know. "Love" is written on the inside of his fingers. And we see a bigender symbol, sometimes (but not usually) also used for bisexuality. And about this Jimin said:

Okay then. The story of his life written on his skin. Could account for the mirror shot, which I find to be rather compelling:

THEN we got Filter. With the Illecebra and Arcanus. The costume changes into mens and womens pieces with accompanying changes in tone and demeanor. The ending quickchange into jewel tones (red and purple) with THAT choreography. I don't think one can come up with MORE bigender-coded performance art.

I mean Y'ALL. WATCH THAT CHOREO if you don't like studying Latin or looking at clothes or listening/reading lyrics. And I don't mean to gloss over Jimin's possible bisexuality. He has coded for it. I've discussed it before, but just for reference, the famous bisexual/pansexual Butter rainbow hair:

I do personally think Jimin's primary preference is men because, duh. His primary preference is Jungkook. Whoever Jungkook is seems to be just fine with him. Now, as it relates to Jungkook. JeiKei could very easily just be in love with Jimin, and whoever Jimin is, also fine with him. I've seen that called "Jiminsexual" and I think it speaks to pan orientation and is an oversimplified but kinda okay interpretation of the data we have. Jungkook also identifies publicly as male. He has not said anything beyond that he's a cis man who, as nearly as we can tell, is into men in general and Jimin specifically. Could that change? Sure. Is that the whole truth? Very possibly not. He has toyed with looking pretty in long hair and liking his makeup and wanting his nails done and wearing pretty women's clothes. But where you were going, anon, is that Jungkook could be bi or pan or that his sexual orientation, not his gender identity, might not be 100% gay if he's into Jimin and Jimin is bigender or genderqueer. And that is valid. I feel like the Jeon-Parks are better described as a queer couple than as a gay couple. To our eyes they appear gay: two dicks one relationship looks pretty gay to most folks. It's an easy descriptor and from an anatomy standpoint it's also a correct one. But to fully embrace the Jeon-Parks is to embrace their otherness in all areas, not just one or two, and it's very likely that their relationship has deep, private layers about which we are not going to ever be enlightened. You think homosexuality is tough in Korea, I think we all know that trans or other gender identity is not acceptable. So perhaps "queer" is the better word.

[theladyofbloodshed]

AU where we pretend ACOSF didn’t happen - part seven

Taglist: @sv0430 @nehemikkele @mis-lil-red

Azriel’s shadows devoured him as he disappeared from view. Nesta Archeron stood as regal as ever, her arms folded across her chest, scrutinising him. She ought to have been a queen.

‘Have you had dinner?’

Cassian nodded, unsure whether to tell her that even if he had eaten, his appetite was never satiated.

‘Stop staring at me like you want to eat me then.’

His brain had never worked quicker, preparing every lewd line in existence to rebuttal her comment, but his lips held them all back. If he announced this early on in their meeting that he’d love nothing better than to spend the night with his face buried between her legs, she’d likely kill him on the spot.

Whether something passed through their mating bond, or if Nesta already knew him too well, her nostrils flared then she muttered about killing him again. Her arms remained clamped across her chest and her foot tapped on the snow.

‘You’re wearing Illyrian clothes.’

‘Well spotted,’ she snorted. ‘Should I have come naked? Don’t answer that.’

A slight flush crawled up her neck, but the iron expression never wavered. In five hundred years a female had never rendered him unable to speak. Nesta had achieved that feat when she was mortal without needing to try, but as fae, as his mate, Nesta was even more compelling. What could he say? That seeing her this close was better than anything he’d seen all year? That when she dressed in Illyrian clothes and had her hair styled the same way, it made his mouth water? That she was everything he ever wanted?

‘If you’re just going to stand and stare at me all day, I’m going home.’ Nesta turned to leave, but he shot his hand out, catching her wrist and pulling her back to him. She might have been a blade given form, but Cassian knew weapons, knew how to wield them.

He pressed Nesta’s hand to his chest so she could feel the thunderous gallop within. The Illyrian general who had faced down death was afraid. She had to know this was not easy for him either. That he was fighting against every instinct in his body that wanted to kiss her and never let her go.

She stopped trying to pull away and let her hand rest there, beneath his own. His wings curled around them, shielding her from the worst of the wind – and any eyes that happened to snag on their interaction.

‘I’m sorry.’

Nesta’s head snapped up towards him, but her tone lacked its usual bite when she asked, ‘What have you done now?’

Time apart from her had helped him to understand the obstacles she’d dragged herself through, and to understand that she always did it alone. The mortal man, whoever he was, the one who invoked such fear in Nesta, she had dealt with that alone. She had pulled Elain back from the edge of oblivion and acted a guard dog when anyone tried to get near her sister. Even if she wanted help, Nesta would never ask for it. Cassian should have realised it sooner. The way Azriel had.

‘For everything I didn’t do for you. You are my mate and-’

‘Don’t say that word,’ she hissed, dragging her hand back.

His wings snapped open before she could push through them in her rage so a cold wind hit them both.

‘I didn’t choose you.’

‘You wouldn’t dare sully yourself with a bastard-born Illyrian, would you, Nes?’

‘Don’t you call me that.’ Her jaw was clenched together, likely preparing whatever ammunition she was about to bombard him with. Cassian planted his feet, ready to take it all. All of the venom that Nesta was building, suddenly snapped inside of her. Her shoulders sagged and her arms wrapped around her body. ‘I never had a choice.’

She stalked away, boots trampling through the thick layer of snow into the darkness. Cassian followed. He’d follow her through hell if he had to. Nesta was a runner. He’d learnt that long ago. That she always sought an escape from situations she couldn’t handle rather than face them. Azriel’s words came back to him and he did not want to push her until she snapped. She looked better. The light had returned to her beautiful eyes. He didn’t want to be the cause of her spiralling.

At the crest of the hill, Nesta stopped and pointed across the valley. ‘What’s that?’

‘A hill.’

‘I know that,’ she snarled. ‘The markings.’

‘It’s a monument to the dead. Did Azriel not tell you about our history?’

She shook her head. ‘He’s not around often.’

‘Nor Rovena?’

‘We mostly just gossip about Azriel.’

‘You’ll have to tell me all of his secrets,’ he murmured in her ear. The mere act of brushing his lips near the delicate point had him trembling.

‘Certainly not. I’ve heard you can’t keep your mouth shut, blabbermouth.’

Mother above, the temptation to sweep the strands of hair from her face was the hardest thing Cassian had ever resisted. She’d likely snap his fingers off if he tried it.

‘We can go there if you like. You’d have a good view of the stars too.’ When Nesta began trampling through the snow, he touched her shoulder and flexed his wings. ‘It will be quicker to fly. I’ll be gentle, Nes.’

‘Maybe I like it rough,’ she countered, angling her head to the side like a predator ready to hunt after its prey.

And he was supposed to put his hands on her after she said that. Cassian had never been more thankful that her senses didn’t pick up on the shift in his scent, the arousal that had his trousers tightening over his crotch.

The outright refusal to acknowledge his existence as Cassian scooped Nesta into his arms only added fuel to his desire for the female. She’d turned her head away, exposing the creamy skin of her neck, so she didn’t have to look at him, feigning interest in the snow below instead. No sooner had they landed, did she peel his arms from her. Without boasting, Cassian knew females fell easily for him. He’d never needed to try particularly hard to find one. But the Cauldron had finally sent him his match; a female so stubborn, she preferred to shiver from the cold than step an inch closer to him.

Nesta removed her mittens and brushed a finger against the lettering carved into the stone monument. That small act of exposing her skin had Cassian’s siphons flaring. He could only see her face and her hands but that was already undoing his composure.

‘Can I translate it for you?’ He’d write her a sonnet in Illyrian declaring his love if she asked.

‘I didn’t know bats could read.’ The mask was slipping. Cassian spied a small, mischievous smile on Nesta’s lips before she could turn her head away.

He laughed. Laughed at her crumbling attempts at hostility.

‘This one is a monument to those who died in the War five centuries ago. For their spirits are calm, their souls at rest, but their memory remains in glory. It’s very old.’

Nesta narrowed her eyes in challenge. ‘Aren’t you that old?’

‘I walked into that one, didn’t I?’

From her bag, Nesta fumbled with a flask then brandished a mug of something steaming at him.

‘Is it poisoned?’

‘Why don’t you try it and find out.’

‘Witch.’

Nesta smirked and took a long drink from her own mug, never breaking eye contact. ‘Rovena made it, so you’re probably safe.’

Cassian moved beside her to lean on the edge of the stone. When his wing curled around her, Nesta stiffened, ready to bark out an insult, but when the wind was cut off, her lips pursed together.

‘You look at home in Illyria.’

Nesta shrugged. ‘Rovena is kinder than I deserve. It’s so difficult to see the widow camps, to see them struggling. And now winter is here, it will be worse. I’d adopt all the children if I could. It reminds me of when we were poor – but at least we had a proper roof and walls.’

‘Illyria breeds only the strong.’ There were winter nights as a child when Cassian thought he might die from the cold. The stiffness in his fingers and toes never left even when the sun came up. He had been obsessed with the fireplace when he first moved in with Rhys, scared to leave it in case his body would be seized by the biting cold he was used to.

‘Maybe if your high lord and lady actually bothered with Illyria there wouldn’t be so much poverty. There wouldn’t be females forced to live in tents through the winter. Females wouldn’t have their wings clipped. Cauldron forbid they have to pause construction on their sixth mansion because those rats in Illyria need help.’

A blind fury seized Cassian and he staggered through the snow, away from Nesta. ‘You can be such a horrible thing. Rhys and Feyre-’

She cut him off. ‘Because I’m telling you the truth. The truth you can’t bear to face about your precious high lord.’

‘He took me and Azriel in. We are something because of him.’

‘Would he have done it if you lacked power? If you were the low-rung Illyrian males who shared the same attitude towards females as so many of them do? He wouldn’t care about you. He’d have left you to die in the snow. He does nothing for this land except show up occasionally and look scary.’

Some of those words were hitting the mark. Cassian’s siphons pulsed.

‘Leave this place and the Hewn City to fester. Stick all the damaged females in a library underground, so I don’t need to fix the problem. What a wonderful high lord I am.’

No. Cassian wasn’t listening to this. Nesta was warping the truth, taking the extremes of it to fit her argument. The females were there because they were afraid. The Hewn City had to be that way to protect Velaris. And Illyrians wouldn’t change.

All of it tasted like ash. He and Azriel were proof that Illyrians could change. Not ready to face it, he turned his anger on her.

‘You say you never had a choice. You had a choice to be this bitter, Nesta. You made the choice to sit on your ass and make your sister hunt for you.’

‘Yes, I did.’ Nesta leapt to her feet and silver fire wreathed her hands. ‘I chose to do nothing to try and force my useless father into action. I didn’t want Feyre to hunt. I wanted us to starve to death to serve him right for not saving us. And I wish. I wish we had. I wish we had starved so I wouldn’t have become this thing.’

Nesta gasped for breath as the fire blazed up her arms. ‘Nesta Archeron, a nasty girl who did nothing for her sisters. You all conveniently forget that Elain lived in that house and chose to do nothing too. But Elain is Elain and nobody would dare draw similarities between beautiful, kind Elain and her wretched, big sister.’

‘I tried to protect us. I did not want fae in our house. I knew what would happen with your kind. I’d have fought the whole world to protect her but she gave up on me.’

Nesta dropped to her knees in the snow, sobs ripping from her chest. Her fire continued burning, fuelled by her rage, by her anguish. I think Nesta feels everything—sees too much; sees and feels it all. And she burns with it. Keeping that wall up helps from being overwhelmed, from caring too greatly. That’s what Feyre had said back when her sister was still mortal, one of their first conversations that revolved around Nesta before they were attacked on the Sidra. How accurate she had been in her assessment.

Cassian crawled to her across the snow, reaching for the hand that still blazed with fire. She was trembling, losing a grip on her magic. A fallen star burning up.

‘Nesta. Nesta.’

As his fingers reached through the flames to touch Nesta’s, no pain clawed at his skin. Her silver flames receded. Her breath was shaky, but when Cassian touched his forehead to hers, a sigh of relief escaped her lips. The coolness of his hands soothed the burn of her cheeks. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

‘I’m here. I always will be. Always.’

Cassian lifted Nesta from the ground and wrapped her shaking body in his arms, resting against the stone monument. Without encouragement, she buried her face into his neck. Even now, he could still hear the drumming of her heart as it tried to calm after the outpouring of anger and regret.

‘You made a choice when you were mortal,’ he said, kissing the top of her head. ‘You did all you could for your people. Calculated how many ships it would take to save them. Demanded the mortal queens do more and be better. I’d never known anybody so sure of themselves.’ Because he could, because she was letting him, he kissed her head for another long moment. ‘You demanded they give up the Book. You, who were not royalty or fae, stared down those queens without a quiver of fear. Nesta Archeron, I loved you from that moment.’

[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.” 

[entishramblings]

The Essence of Arda [Legolas X Reader]

A.N: whoA okay so this fic took me on a whole ass adventure. I kinda just let the story go where it wanted to and ya know I’m kinda happy with how it turned out. Also, “(h/c)” means hair color...there is something I included but I wanted to make sure you guys could still see yourself as the character so yeah! Another also...I’m sorry....this was requested literally so long ago.

Request: @sokkasdarling — heyhey im gonna request smth cus i LOVE U AND UR WRITING HHHH okay so how about a jealous legolas fic where he thinks the reader and aragorn have a lil thing going on but they're just really great friends and she actually likes legolas very much?? please and thank you<3333

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: (Y/N) and Legolas’s paths cross in an unexpected way and the two develop feelings for each other. However, Legolas is unsure and gets jealous bc of the way Aragorn and (Y/N) interact.

Word Count: 3,661 (sorry I got a little carried away)

Warnings: angst, fluff, cuteness, jealousy, the tiniest amount of nudity

(gif not mine)

MASTERLIST | AO3

Legolas had met many wandering souls throughout his travels of middle earth—weathered, withered, and warped humans in particular, for the elements and loneliness seemed to affect them more so. Elves, on the other hand, were bound to nature. It was where their hearts rested and their spirits thrived; therefore, the desperation of the empty lands of Arda did not affect him. However, that didn’t mean he did not wish for company. So, on that account, Legolas made his way north towards the Dundain, in hopes to see his good friend Aragorn once more.

It was there, in the northern wilderness, where he met the most riveting and thought-provoking individual. The intriguing nature that compelled his attention was that she was so unlike the other humans he ventured upon, specifically because she wasn’t exactly human.

The first time he had met (Y/N) was when her sharp canine teeth were at his throat.

A (h/c) she-wolf had launched herself at him with an unhinged jaw and barring teeth. The nimble creature had been so swift that he, even as an elf, did not have time to react. The wolf had pinned him down with a viscous expression—laughing at his surprise. Legolas was only quick enough to pull a knife from his belt once he was already knocked down upon the mud. However, he hesitated just before he was going to strike the blade into the beasts’ belly.

As intimidated as he was, something in those vibrant earthy eyes made him halt. Was it the deep churning of the sea? The fresh breath of the sky? The moisture of the leaves? The pooling of sun-kissed honey? The thickness of clay-like soil? Legolas was unsure why exactly, but those eyes reflected the essence of Arda—they reflected it right back into his soul. And here was his miscalculation, for the natural instincts of a wolf would not suspend for its prey—well, not without a familiar voice calling out....?

“(Y/N), NO!”

The creature froze. She reluctantly backed off of his form but she did not let her guard down. Instead, she circled him with those same barring teeth and low growls.

Legolas inhaled a deep breath of cold air as he tried to re-center himself, for it was not often an elf got knocked on their ass and enthralled so deep in a beauty.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and focused in on his elvish senses—feeling every nerve in his body scream out to be alert.

Legolas’s ears picked up the first indication—the speaker.

A sound of rough, ragged panting carried through the breeze as his gaze whispered upon the being who had previously hollered—a worn down Ranger.

A small grin crossed the elf’s face. Aragon stood before Legolas, with hands on his knees, sucking in deep breathes. An entirely human action. The Ranger clearly had a hard time keeping up with the canine creature—which he surprisingly seemed to be acquainted with.

“Legolas, by the Valar, I didn’t know you were traveling through these parts,” He exclaimed.

The elf chuckled as he stood, brushing dirt off his palms.

“Well, I suppose I am lucky for she listens to you well,” He nodding at the wolf for reference.

The Ranger shook his head and let out an amused laugh. “She never listens to a thing I say. So, you are lucky, indeed.”

The wolf released a snort-like sound as if she was retorting to his words.

The Ranger rolled his eyes before speaking to Legolas again, “Let me show you to where we are camped. A hot meal will be waiting.”

Legolas smiled softly, “Thank you, Mellon Nin (my friend).”

The group—consisting of man, elf, and wolf—traveled through the woodland tundra with small conversation between the two who could speak. They shared their recent adventures and current news across the lands until they come upon a handful of Rangers around a blazing fire. They were clad in similar attire as Aragorn, being worn leather boots and thick fraying fabrics. Each of them had the same haunted expressions as many people Legolas had met, yet nothing like the joyful grin that pulled slightly at Aragorn’s lips.

The Ranger introduced each of his companions to the elf as he settled down upon a log. Legolas did the same, allowing himself to become enthralled by the brilliant flames. The she-wolf left his thoughts.

As the moon rose high and stars stretched across the sky, the rangers began to settle for the evening. It was then when the elf ducked away to relieve himself.

He made his way through the twisting trees in silence for he enjoyed listening to the sounds of night’s nature. But the normal chirps and hoots was not what met his ears; rather it was snapping bones and ripping skin, small groans and weak whimpers—it was pain.

Legolas narrowed his eyes and crept forward cautiously, fearful of what he might find.

The sounds let him towards a rather large bolder that was impeded in the ground and covered in thick moss. He was startled as he laid a hand on the cold stone, for a leg protruded upon the side—a leg belonging to the canine species.

It bended and it snapped, morphing into one of human nature—much like his own. It then disappeared behind the rock once more. He could not hold back the gasp that left his lips for witnessing such a thing was—shocking, confusing, terrifying. It was unnatural, but then again, what was ever natural within the lands of Arda?

Legolas’s attention was drawn upwards as a naked figure shakily stood before him.

She stood straight, with impeccable posture, and a head held high; but that is not what claimed his consciousness. It was that vibrant gaze, burning angry holes into him.

She spoke sharply, “Well, are you going to pass me my clothing?”

Instead of responding or making any motion, he froze as if he was deer hiding from the predator once more. His blue orbs locked onto hers, for he dared not let his gaze wander.

Dreadful silence hung in their air as he processed that the person before him indeed was a wolf moments before—the wolf.

However, that antagonizing absence of sound was disrupted when life was breathed back into him and he could finally move his lips. Though it came out as a whisper, for elves were conservative creatures and such a sight had caught him off guard, it still came out nonetheless.

“You are—are not entirely human.” He stated with an expression that seeped curiousness and inquiry.

“Though, currently, I am shaped like one. So, as you are in my way, I will ask you once again to pass me my clothing.” She reiterated.

Legolas’s brows pulled together and his lips mumbled her words back to her as he searched his mind for the meaning. He twisted around and around until a pile of dark fabrics caught his eye. He grasped them gently and passed it over the boulder between them into her calloused hands.

He turned so his back was facing her. His anxiety and awkwardness reverberated off of every word that non-consensually tumbled from his lips. “You are a shifter then—able to alter your form? A wolf....so I suppose it was you who almost tore my throat out.” He paused before recalling her name, “(Y/N).” He should have stopped there if he could, but alas, he couldn’t. “I have only ever met one other like you. His name was Beorn—a great black bear he was—“

She interrupted him, “Most elves I come across are not so verbal. Though, Strider had mentioned you before, Legolas. A strange fellow you are indeed.”

A small grin of embarrassment flickered across his face, not that she could see. “He called me strange?”

A laugh, sounding of blades of grass rubbing together against the wind, struck the air. (Y/N) spoke, “For an elf he had said. But truly, he was too generous with those extra words.”

Legolas tilted his head at that for it seemed to be an insult; but before he could decide on such a matter, she called out to him again—this time fully clothed and ten feet in front of him.

“Are you coming?”

He quickly scampered after her.

As he and (Y/N) entered the area, Aragorn, who still sat by the fire, glanced up with a shimmer in his eye.

Legolas gridded his teeth and sat down next to the man. In a voice as low and quiet as he could muster, he spoke to the Ranger. “Why didn’t you tell me she was the wolf?”

Aragorn smirked in amusement before whispering back, “I figured you would eventually come to that conclusion and by your expression it was not of the best experiences.”

Legolas shot his friend a glare, but that only made the Ranger grin more.

Luckily for the elf, (Y/N) interrupted the moment. “Strider, did you save me some stew? I’m starved.”

The man passed a bowl to her as he spoke, “You know I always do, (Y/N).”

She smiled gratefully.

The Ranger stood and made his way to his bedroll, clapping the elf on the shoulder as he went.

Legolas took notice of the interaction between the two and turned his attention to the woman sitting across from him.

Once he was sure Aragorn was out of ear shot, he spoke quite bluntly, “You and Strider....are you—“

She snorted, “No, no. His heart lies in Rivendell.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow, “And yours?”

(Y/N) shrugged and glanced up at the scenery around them. “Here. In the lands of middle earth.”

The elf tilted his head, examining her again.

She stopped her chewing and sent him an accusatory look. “What?”

Legolas smiled softly, “I sense that shifters are much like elves in that regard—bound to nature and tethered in the sky.”

She raised a brow, “And what makes you think that?”

He chuckled lightly at her bold fierceness, “Your eyes. I can see the essence of Arda in them.”

(Y/N) shook her head in amusement, “Elves and their poetry.” She paused, taking a moment to think. “Although what you say is true, it is within that where I think we differ. You elves are laced up spiritually whereas shifters are tied animalisticly.” When the elf did not respond she continued, “You care for morals, I care to survive.”

Legolas nodded in understanding, “Yet we both appreciate the beauty of it.”

The corner of her lip pulled upwards and she shook her head in agreement.

......

As time went on and the small group traveled, the female shifter and the elf became great friends—bonding over their infinity with nature. The two had split off from the rangers for a little while because (Y/N) wanted to see the forest of Greenwood and examine what seemed to be haunting it. However, after approximately two moon cycles, they met with Aragorn once more. He was not with his previous companions though, so it was only the three of them.

The months had gotten colder and they traveled upon open plains so (Y/N) stayed in her wolf form. It was easier for the time being. And it was in this shape that she came bounding towards the ranger that she had not seen in a while.

She jumped up upon him, knocking him to the ground as she had once done to Legolas. She plastered wet slobbery licks upon his face as his chest rumbled with laughter.

The elf could not help but feel a pang of jealous encase his heart. He had grown to develop feelings for the shifter as they had grown close over their journey. 

Just as he felt bound to nature, he felt bound to her.

So he stood, with a fire burning in his heart, as he watched (Y/N) give canine affection to his human friend.

As the days continued on, Legolas’s irritation grew. (Y/N) strayed closer to Aragorn’s side—rubbing her face against his leg and pawing at his feet in attempt to trip him.

Of course, Aragorn could pick up on the elf’s mood and angry looks. He had thought Legolas was aware of his lover in Rivendell, but perhaps not. The Ranger had wanted to find a moment alone with the elf so he could assure him of the sibling-like relationship between him and the shifter; but with open freezing lands like this, there was no privacy.

The small trio had settled upon large rocks for the night as that was the only shelter available. They lit a brilliant fire in attempt to starve off the nipping wind, but it only did so much.

Aragorn, wrapped in blankets, had fallen asleep quite quickly; whereas Legolas sat brooding, leaning against a boulder.

It was a moment before he noticed those curious eyes on him. They twinkled with the emotions of Arda, searching his soul. With a tilted head, the wolf approached him slowly.

She crawled forward, so close that her wet nose was inches from his own. She resting one large paw upon his thigh but her weight did not hurt him.

Legolas did not move because he was taken by surprise. (Y/N), as partially human, did understand boundaries; yet, she did not seem to care about them in this instance. Instead, she studied him—up close.

The elf knew that she was searching him for answers given she had noticed his mood as well. However, Legolas did not wish to give any. Therefore, he held his porcelain elf features strong, not bending to her intimidation. He starred right back at her. Though this time, his eyes were filled with anger and frustration—and (Y/N) could tell.

Legolas was upset with her for she blatantly gave Aragorn affections.

Could she not see his heart?

He had said he would not bend to her will and intimidation. He had decided he would be cold towards her. He had made a choice—a choice that he could not uphold as he gazed into her soft eyes of nature.

Slowly, he raised a gentle hand. He brought it close to her face. When she did not pull away, he cupped the canine’s features.

To his disbelief, (Y/N) completed an action he had never seen her do before—even with Aragorn. She leaned into his touch.

Legolas’s lips parted as the moment encapsulated his mind.

He let his hand fall slowly and (Y/N) leaped off his lap. But she did not scamper off in a different direction. Instead, she ducked into his side and curled up against him. She let her head rest on his lap.

Cautiously, Legolas began to stroke her soft, (h/c) fur. He let the short strands slip through his fingers, lulling her to sleep.

.....

When Legolas woke, (Y/N) was not in his sights. He sent a confused expression towards Aragorn who was tending to the dwindling flames.

“She will be back,” the Ranger stated simply.

The elf stood and walked towards Aragorn. “Where did she go?”

The ranger shrugged while biting back a smile.

Legolas frowned at his playful expression, “I know you know something, Aragorn.”

The man raised his brows. “I woke sometime in the night. You and (Y/N) seemed quite close.” He paused, the tone of his voice changing, “You know, she never lets anyone touch her like that.”

“Never have you....?” Legolas let his sentence trail off as the ranger shook his head.

Aragorn spoke again, “My heart rests with another.”

Their conversation was cut short by a feminine voice. “Have either of you seen my cloak?”

Legolas’s head snapped in the direction of the sound for it had been long since (Y/N) was in her human form.

The shifter stood before them shivering slightly in her clothes. They were clearly not fit for the freezing air as the fabric was thin—so thin that her the curve of her breasts and nipples was easily seen.

Legolas adverted his eyes and instantly began to ruffle through his bag as he spoke with concern in his tone. “(Y/N), why have you shifted to your human form? Did you not say it was safer for you to travel through this weather as a wolf?”

She sighed, “It is harder to communicate in my animal form.”

Both of the men knew what she was alluding to.

Legolas cleared his throat and pulled out a couple fabrics from his bag. “I have been carrying your cloak.” He moved towards her as he continued speaking. “Wear this as well. It is an elvish tunic weaved from my homeland; it will keep you warm.”

“Legolas, you don’t ha—“

He shook his head, “Please, I insist.”

(Y/N) reluctantly took it and pulled the fabric over her head. She frowned as she handled the wrap around ties, not quite able to figure out how they were supposed to lay.

The elf smiled softly, “Here, let me.”

Ever so gently he took the extra fabric in his hands and begun to weave it around her form. He tied the delicate cloths in a simple knot before moving to fasten her cloak under her chin.

“Thank you, Legolas.”

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, “It is no problem.”

He turned to gather his belongings as they were to continue their way through Arda. However, as he did so, Aragorn shot him an amused playful look. The elf sent him a sharp glare in retribution.

.....

Within a couple days, a winter storm hit the group. Luckily, they were not far from a human town which they gratefully took refuge in. Of course, as they busted into the inn, many weird looks were thrown their direction. It was not often this area was crossed by elves and rangers—and skin changers, but they were unaware of (Y/N)’s less than human nature.

They each paid for a room and took time to settle into the warmth.

Legolas rested on the edge of the cot, fiddling with one of his blades. He had let his thoughts wander to a place he had been avoiding. A bond with nature was one thing he knew deep within his soul, but a bond with another was something untouched and left uncovered. Of course he had had acquaintances with friends and family; however, the bond he was debating over was one with a lover. He knew where his heart craved to be, yet he was unsure how to proceed.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the frame of his open door.

Legolas looked up to see (Y/N). She was wearing fresh clothing, likely washed and pressed by a maid. All the filth and grim had been scrubbed from her skin and her wet hair was pulled into a tight braid.

“(Y/N),” he stated simply. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head as she stepped into his room, “Well, not entirely.”

Legolas frowned at that comment.

The shifter walked closer until she stood only a foot from the elf.

He looked up into her vibrant eyes with question.

(Y/N) cleared her throat as she gently placed something soft and neatly folded into his hands. “Thank you for lending me your extra tunic.”

He smiled softly at her, “Won’t you need it again when we depart? The weather isn’t getting warmer anytime soon.”

A light chuckle rumbled in her chest and she shook her head in response.

Legolas placed the fabric next to him and looked up at her again. He did not notice he was staring until she whispered his name.

“Legolas, why do you do that?”

He tilted his head trying to hid his embarrassment, “What do you mean?”

Her teeth scraped her bottom lip, “Why do you look at me like that?”

The elf adverted his gaze, “My apologizes. I did not mean to offend you—“

(Y/N) interrupted him, “It is not an offense.” She sighed before speaking again. “You look at me like you marvel at nature—as if I am something so breath taking.”

“You are.” He frowned, “Do you not think so of yourself?”

The woman did not say a word; instead, she shifted her vision to the floor.

Legolas reached outwards and took her hand in his own. “You are breath taking, (Y/N)—even more so than nature.”

She shook her head, “I—I don’t understand.”

Legolas could not hold back any longer. He knew he needed to explain what he meant but no words could formulate such a thing. Therefore, he gave into his impulses and did the only thing he could think of to demonstrate it. The elf pulled her into him and grasped her cheeks with his hands. Legolas drew her face downward and smashed his lips against hers. When she did not reiterate any action he instantly pulled away. Had he taken a step too far?

“Legolas,” she breathed out in a whisper.

“I...I am sorry...I didn’t—“

She shook her head and clasped his cheeks, bringing his mouth to hers once again. Their lips moved together like the rhythmic dance of the wind—swirling and intertwining with eagerness. Legolas could taste the essence of Arda upon her lips—the sweet honey from east of the Anduin, the fresh berries from the region of Eriador, the bitter nuts from the mountains of Angmar. (Y/N) moved her body in-between his legs, but she decided that that was not close enough. So, she lifted herself into his lap, letting his calloused hands encircle her waist and hold her steady. She could feel the warmth of sparking fires, the comfort of soft wool, the shield of shelter from harsh winds. Legolas laid down upon the bed, pulling her form with him. He could hear the pounding of her heart and the gasps of her breath. Every sound she made did not escape him, it fueled him. (Y/N) tangled her fingers in his blonde locks and smiled against his lips for she recognized every aspect of nature within the elf, for it was in her too. It was the essence of Arda.

.....

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