#but ive never coded before and why is it so hard to get my head around

[tired-teacher-blog]

Hello! I hope you're doing well. Could you perhaps write a scenario Ive had for awhile? So basically, a new student transfers into Class 1A who identifies as Genderfluid, is physically female but feels more comfortable wearing the male uniform. Upon meeting the new student Iida freaks out on them due to his serious, studious nature and wholeheartedly believes that a "girl" should wear the female uniform. He then feels bad after Aizawa explains things to him.

I hope you're doing well too honey! Here is my input so I hope you enjoy it 😘

Title : Odd one out

Characters : Aizawa (Dadzawa)/ Iida/ Genderfluid reader

Genre : Angst/ Heartwarming mostly

Masterlist|Second Masterlist

_ "Alright, be quiet," mr Aizawa's fist pounded on the table as he coerced his students to settle down while he introduced you to them, "this is y/n, she will be your new classmate so treat her nicely."

You took a quick look around the classroom before bowing your head down, "it's a pleasure to meet you all."

_ "You'll be sitting over there right next to Iida, he's our class representative so if you have any questions he'll be happy to help," your new teacher gestured you to take your seat, and you thanked him quietly before walking straight to your designated spot.

It was hard ignoring everyone's questioning looks– not that you were surprised to be the subject of their observation anyway, as you weren't only the new kid at school, but also had a unique look that managed to turn every head your way.

Ever since you were a little girl, you were expected to speak, dress, and act a certain way that mostly left you feeling shackled.

You had never been free to decide those things for yourself since your choices were always met with strong objections.

_"You're a girl, never forget that."

_"No, you can't cut your hair short."

_"Oh look at you, finally dressed the way you should."

_"I don't get you, seems to me like you have no idea what you want for yourself."

But that wasn't true, since you've always known what you wanted.

You simply wanted to be free, and hated following social norms and limiting yourself to what's expected of you as a girl.

_ "Don't forget to hand in your assignments in time am I clear?" your teacher warned in that same tired monotone voice before dismissing everyone as the session came to an end.

_ "Excuse me y/n, may I speak with you?" it was that class representative guy, Iida was it? You would definitely need some time to learn everyone's name.

_ "Yes sure." you offered him a nervous smile as you continued clearing your desk.

_ "First, let me welcome you properly and wish you a nice stay among us," he then took a deep breath and straightened his glasses before carrying on, "I've noticed that for some reason you're wearing the boys' uniform instead of the girls', may I ask why?" this guy is the same age as you are, but for some reason he had a more mature demeanor than everyone else did.

_ "I'm more comfortable dressing this way. Will it be a problem?" there you were, facing another confused soul.

_ "But you are a female y/n! School regulations are clear, and state that what you're wearing is specifically designed for male students, so please make sure to respect our dress code and to wear a proper one starting tomorrow." this guy is strict, and soon you started to understand why he was picked to be the class rep out of everyone else.

_ "I don't believe I'm breaking any rules, and I'm not trying to be controversial, it's just.." you lowered your head and squeezed your eyes shut as you prepared to explain yourself the way you had been doing your whole life, "I'm gender fluid."

He blinked a few times in obvious confusion, "what does that mean?"

_ "Simply put, it means not being restricted to only one gender identity." okay it's true, but who said that?

Your head snapped up to follow the voice, and your eyes widened as you found your teacher approaching your desk.

_ "Mr Aizawa! you're still here sir?" your class rep was clearly as oblivious as you were of your teacher's presence.

_ "I'm sorry, I wasn't going to interfere but I guess I probably should?" his eyes were on you, almost as if he wanted your permission first.

It was unexpected, usually no one cares enough to try and learn about you, and instead jump into their own judgements and conclusions.

You nodded slowly and turned to look at your classmate who seemed increasingly tense.

_ "Sir, we were talking about the school uniform she has chosen to wear."

_ "I know, there is nothing wrong with what she's wearing though, that's still our school's uniform."

_ "But sir, she's a girl. There is a reason why we do not have a unisex uniform."

_ "You're disregarding her gender identity though, which has nothing to do with sex. Let me ask you something, how would you feel about being forced to speak or act in a certain manner just because that's what's expected of you? Never mind how you feel about it."

_ "If I have to do it I will, even if I don't like it."

_ "Wrong answer, you shouldn't force yourself to do something you're not comfortable doing just to gain everyone else's approval," your teacher placed a palm over the confused boy's shoulder, "as long as you're not hurting anyone, you should be free to live however you want, and in that regard I believe that's what y/n is doing. She's not breaking any rules or disrespecting anyone, she just wants to freely dress and act the way that makes her happy. We should all respect that."

Your eyes moved between your new teacher and classmate, it was mesmerizing how knowledgeable and accepting Mr Aizawa seemed to be, and the smile that found its way to your face was proof of how happy you were.

_ "You're aiming to be a hero Iida, and I believe that one day you'll be able to make your brother proud, but to do that you'll need to accept others' differences and see them as unique individuals since you'll be a hero to everyone despite their distinctions."

_ "I've never thought of it this way before sir and I believe you're right, which means I owe y/n an apology," your class rep averted his eyes in embarrassment before bowing down, "please forgive me y/n, I never meant to disrespect or belittle you. I was simply ignorant of your preferences, but I promise to learn more and to never run to judgement. This was a good first lesson." he straightened his back and offered you an apologetic smile that you returned immediately.

_ "I'm happy this happened, and you know what? You can ask me about anything that confuses you, I don't mind at all."

All the anxieties and self doubt that accompanied you on your first day, had left instantly after this conversation.

_ "Alright, now that everything is cleared up, get out of my classroom, I still need my nap."

You were in for an adventure, with unique teachers and unique students, and you could barely wait to start your journey alongside them.

_ "Yes sir! Right away!" Iida pulled you up and pushed you out quickly, as you blinked in confusion, "let's go y/n I'll explain later."

#boku no hero academia imagines #my hero academia headcanons #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia fanfic #my hero academia fluff #my hero academia imagines #boku no hero headcanons #boku no hero fanfic #boku no hero fic #iida tenya x reader #my hero academia iida #tenya iida x you #tenya iida x reader #aizawa sensei #aizawa shouta #aizawa shōta #shota aizawa #dadzawa

[chryzure-archive]

im sorry abt your surgery, ill be there in spirit to hold your hand if you need it <3 wishing you the best and hopefully its just a scare and nothing to worry too much abt!!

as for asks...

i always love your music taste so, 5 songs youve had on repeat lately that make you think of chryzure + chrysijacks? also, if they were each a pair of unlikely animal friends (ie, a pig and a monkey lol) which ones would they be? def feeling rabbit and cat for chryzure.

this question is a very self-indulgent one cus ive been going thru a huge superhero phase but, if they were superheroes which ones would they be? this could either be made-up or existing superheroes-- personally, i think chrysi would be an AMAZING black cat/felicia hardy, she has the white hair and the dark aesthetic to match it :3 i def think azure would be a mutant/x-men (no particular reason, it just seems to match him?) and jacks... well, jacks is just giving me deadpool energy. slutty antihero? i think yes. it'd be cool to know what kind of superhero abilities youd assign to them tho :33

thank you 🖤 please hold my other hand though, they’re cutting up my right one 🤧 hopefully there’s nothing to worry abt since my family has a history of the weirdness w/o the cancer..

chryzure songs:

so good right now // fall out boy (wanted the whole album to make me think of chrysigil, then it jst wound up being chryzure and chrysijacks coded…)

xyz // technoplanet (vv specific vibe, idk why, but instrumentals like this make me go crazy, go wild)

anicent history // the crane wives (teehee! in agony thinking abt them separated)

in my head // mike shinoda, kailee morgue ((bonus song, still alive // demi lovato because screamvi brainrot real….. jst saying the au goes wild!))

cartoon people // billie marten (the vibes themselves……)

chrysijacks songs (he’s more annoying):

chapstick // coin (sorry, juno…:(( sorry jacks ruined this for you)

summer // circadian clock, baethoven (biting him!)

blood in the cut // k.flay (sorry juno pt.2)

hold my like a grudge // fall out boy (part-time soulmate, full-time problem too real for chrysijacks…)

121U // day6 (I DONT WANT TO WANT YOU I DONT WANT TO LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!)

chryzure is kittybunny lovers all the time… they are doing this right now:

chrysijacks is kitty and fox… sorry, the legend of the archer and the fox is actually abt chrysijacks and chrysi’s the archer and jacks is the fox!! idk what was going on in the books, get ur facts right!

((more proof is that i had a chrysijacks song called the fox before the book came out + the lyrics imply jacks not wanting to be the fox and hunted down by the archer… explain this 🤨))

oh my god, i looked up black cat and you’re RIGHT, that’s sooo chrysi??? esp the probability thing… explains why azure’s gotten such bad luck over the years.

if i were to make chrysi her own superhero, hmmm….. i feel like she’d summon ghosts and stuff… ??????? idk, i’ve never thought abt it 🫢 i mean, the funniest option is totally that she can bring back the dead and summon ghosts and stuff, but she never fucking uses that in favor of bashing ppl’s heads in w a baseball bat. OH, wait, her fated abilities include causing fear and giving nightmares, so maybe i could do something like that!!! she can keep the ghost summoning thing if she wants. idk what name i’d give her. it’s so hard coming up w a good superhero name. nightmare is too basic + i’m sure there’s thousands of ppl w that superhero name 💀 oh well!

AZURE WOULD SOOOOO HAVE X-MEN VIBES. he gets to go to a special little mutant school and have like minded peers… little special princess boy 🙄 SOME people learned they inflict fear on ppl and had to deal with it ALONE, but it’s fine. it’s rlly okay.

his powers probably are jst spatial manipulation, but he’s good enough at it that it looks like it’s jst telekinesis… and also teleportation :) jst the idea of him tricking ppl he has one power when it’s actually another makes me go crazy, go wild!!! idk what his title would be either. this is HARD, how do comic book writers do it!!!

yes. jacks is a whore. fuck him. i want him dead in a ditch. his powers are making ppl love him and want to obey him? rlly? he gets everything handed to him on a platter???? killing him killing him killing him!!!! he’d be the villain that chrysi and azure have to take down first, but they get there and jacks is jst rlly lameand they’re like, “…….. okay, guess we’ll leave you alive….?” and now he’s a thorn in their side that doesn’t leave ://////

#IM BAD W SUPERHERO NAMES IM SO SORRY </////3 SOBBING INTO MY HANDS RN. #but yeah the cancer thing should jst be a scare.. #i have the next two years w checkups so it doesn’t become scary!! it’s jst not something i was very happy to learn #.asks #m.kai💛 #s.chryzure #s.chrysijacks #OH also let me know if you want a diff emoji in ur mutual tag!!

[spikeinthepunch]

Penrose: Dawning- the dev blog

Okay well my game has been up for a few days now, and the Jam is over so yeah, why not give a massive blog about it and the development and characters and feelings etc.

again this was quite a feat for me, so to say. as small as the game is. ive been struggling a ton for years and years, so the process and experience has stuck with me for the last month.

The personal

If you have followed and read some of my posts from the last month youd probably seen me talking about having seen a neurophysiologist-- my appointments for that were happening for quite a while before this month but this month was the end of it. Aside from it clearly being a huge stressor in general, it was also a huge eye opener to my problems. Which yeah, include my ability to Make Things. Not art- but everything else. The listening & reading comprehension, math and memory I tested on being really really bad. And it was great to understand that now! but having decided to take on the Jam was a lot and well, even though on one hand i felt good that I knew my issues.... it didn't mean i solved my issues. Now i was just way more away of them.

So, I tried my hardest I think because I knew I'd always give up on this stuff. And well, my mood meds were still kinda helping. I think there was a different kind of determination despite the upset that some of those tests caused me. Still, I faced a lot of anxiety, frusteration, and upsetting feelings in the process because of how hard it was for me to learn even the smallest things. I won't go super hard on that-- I just want to appreciate the small community of Narrat for being able to help and clarify my confusion even if I'd often say to myself "ugh, that was such a simple thing! i shouldnt need to get it clarified two times over!" etc etc.

still despite the variety of emotions i faced i came out of this really thinking 'wow i actually made something' because literally all these years i have never realized a larger project due to my issues. so for that i can be happy.

The development

the process of making this game was interesting because obvious i had never put my assumptions about the best way to develop to the test. i could think all the while "ill do this first, this second etc" but until you start making it you may realize you gotta do something else!

the fact this was only a month long didnt really give me much time to figure out better ways to develop, it i was already a ways into it. so i came out realizing what i could do diffferent. one thing for sure is i know i couldnt start with art. its just not possible in general to predict the art i would need clearly, because even if i were to write a lot, i felt that making dialog branches was much easier while i was coding because i never knew how far i would want them to go.

but also, in terms of writing- i already write a lot and i kinda have my mental process. getting that to work with the game was tough, and while i liked how i wrote for this game, i feel like it faltered in the sense that writing so many bits of it entirely away from each other had my struggling to make sure i felt connected. like, writing on one huge document allows me to easily refer back and having it all together makes it flow well in my head. but having them scattered around code was hard for me to track and i was never sure if it all felt like it connected up well. i also think in general if i wrote most of the important chunks- stuff not incredibly reliant on branches/choices- that i probably would have written waaaay more too. its just a format of writing that is natural.

there isnt too much as i did in the game coding wise so i dont have too many comments on development process. but i know i would like to make games in narrat that use the typical features found in games like DE (as the engine was inspired by), like stats/skills and maybe inventory depending on the thing.

The story & design

i dont plan to explain the story in detail here (a lot of secret context it on my discord) and i have talked loads about trying to write the themes its tackled.

the main thing about it is just that i have never properly realized Penrose and well. I was facing a creative block this last month which caused more struggles. But it was harder with art- mostly design. coming up with a design is harder in a block than reading a thing that says "draw a series of houses". thinking up something new is not easy. and my head also gets very stuck up in "if you design this and draw it, you can never change it".

Eden was pulled from my old unused RP character, Eden Creature, and so i was able to base her off something already. even so making anything at all was hard- even for Mick who already existed. I really didnt want her and Eden to revert back into my old style because its just no me anymore but at the same time i do want to get something unique for this story. Dawning does not reflect what I want exactly. I like what i managed to do esp in working with my time constraints. but, its not something i want to keep doing going forward.

the story was WAY more condensed than i thought it would be and its because i didnt really realize how quickly approaching the deadline was compared to my work. but at the same time i am glad it was? i was quite ambitious with how big i wanted this "proof of concept" to be, to where i definitely probably would have gotten farther in the plot and realized i had no clue exactly what I wanted.

because i do have a general idea of this story but not like. enough. and so shortening the story hugely for this demo was actually a good thing because i would have had to write a lot more and also probably wouldnt have been able to explain lore well enough because of how little i understood my own world. and when youre creative blocked its incredibly hard trying to development of that world too.

conclusion

i mentioned it breifly in a blog post but tbh the most scary part is having it hit that i am nervous has to how people will take my characters. not in a criticism kinda way but just the idea that people just wont really 'get' them. and even just the idea that my OCs have been "presented to the world" in some sense. i do stuff in my own little space all the time and never think about what it would really be like to put a game on itch.io or even like publish a proper animation on youtube or publish a book or something. its different and its weird because i have always thought to myself that i want people to see my OCs! but then i put it up in a place where it likely will be seen and I am afraid of that.

its probably for it being a first time. and also i need to learn confidence in this kind of work i was so into thinking i could never truly make because of my issues. this was still like, very very hard to do mentally etc and i feel very exhausted. but i really dont want this to be the first and last time i try and make something.

#penrose #dev blog

[sankttealeaf]

Hello there - I was wondering when did you first start liking durgetash? How did you get the inspo for your story? ps Im a huge fan ❤

hi anon!! thank u!! <3

the thing that dragged me headfirst into the depths of durgetash hell was the prayer for forgiveness! i went into the dark urge playthrough knowing very little! (started rue's run in early september but only got around to actually playing her in early october! (act 3 was lagging so bad on my first playthrough i needed to jump ship to simpler times)

seeing other peoples interpretations of their durge & gortash got me thinking a little more about rue & gortash and what they couldve been like! i went into rue's playthrough knowing i was going to romance gale and went woah, theres some similarities between the two there. rue has a type!

(fun fact: my first tav playthrough & the beginnings of my durgetash era overlapped so when i got to meet gortash as my tav, cassiopeia, i was only slightly taken in by him. did not trust him at all, though. stupid man)

i think i love the tragedy of it all. no matter what relationship your durge has with gortash, its still one of closeness. and to have someone you worked hard with ripped from you, only to return now wanting to destroy everything youve made? thats gotta hurt.

as for my fic it kind of started as a series of one shots i started writing, never really with the intent to publish them! i wanted to work out how rue acted before the tadpoling and how different she was then!

the original plan was just a collection of moments shared between rue and gortash throughout their time together. back then rue was still called rue, i hadnt given her another name to further separate her life before & after being tadpoled. i also really wanted to make little letters and notes that you find in the game to go along with the writing. however i only ever made gortash's initial request for a meeting.

(as u can see below. i thought it was a cool concept. no idea how i wouldve fully executed it though)

then it sort of spiralled from there! what if rue and enver were friends as kids? what if they keep finding each other over and over again? what if they always fall to the same fate? i love tragic romances, friendships that are doomed to fail, relationships that can only end one way, so it was very fun to explore all this with them!!

the title was originally a title from a one shot i started writing about them. i think the phrase "let sleeping dogs lie" is very them - after all, why disturb what is a peaceful alliance? why ruin it by admitting feelings or saying words they shouldnt? also dog imagery & rue go hand in hand (despite me saying she's cat coded)

i had key events planned from the start that i wanted to happen, the main thing being how rue lets down her guard over the course of their friendship & how that becomes her downfall!

i also wanted to use this as a way to not only explore rue and gortash, but rue and orin, too!! it meant i could write in their povs, get into their brains and work out why they do what they do! i love villainous characters and finding out the root cause behind their actions (im currently running a curse of strahd dnd game and did the exact thing for strahd - writing up his motivations and intentions to give me better access into his headspace & why he acts like he does!)

at the start i never really intented to publish it on ao3. i added the little prologue after writing the second chapter, and then i decided to bite the bullet and post it! i made this account to share my writing, why not do that!!

im still a little in shock at how many people have enjoyed reading it & especially how many people love rue. ive never written any oc x canon before so it was a little scary putting her out there for the world to see!! sometimes i get that little voice in my head that goes "gr. youre being cringe" and i have to bap it away before it can rot my brain. im allowed to have silly characters and make them kiss other characters - no one can stop me!!

this got a little longer than i intended, but thanks anon!! <3 i hope this has been a lil insightful about the behind the scene of my very chaotic brain behind this fic! its all ive been thinking about for 6ish months now (oh gods)

#; tea time #anon #shoutout to anyone in the 'rue lovers' club! #youre the best #and if youve ever read any of my work and enjoyed it #youre also the best #going to return back to writing the next chapter - this impromptu question time has been really fun though!!!! #my ask box is always open! #; let sleeping dogs lie

[indigo474]

Sunday funday take 2-

It rained all weekend. Fine by me. I like the rain. It makes me appreciate the Sun. The inspection for the house-my house- came back. Nothing too concerning. I am going to have the chimney inspected..again.

I started the 10k program today. in the rain, at the park. it's almost like my soul always knew what i needed. i always wanted to run. i cant explain any of it. but today i ran almost 4 miles in the rain.. i can hardly fucking believe it. it's kind of a big deal to me. my goal is to lift 3 days- run 3 days. if i have a choice, which i do- i'm running. i can't help it. i could probably lift and run - maybe something i should think about doing. I must run on the street or i am going to flop this 5k. i have time to figure it out.

I am not renewing my marijuana med card. i originally got it because i was afraid x was going to bring it up.. which he didnt. it was good i had it for my promotion and drug test- they never asked for it. im assuming i passed the drug test? I'm going to try and make a trip to get more edibles before my card expires. But yeah.. i'm done with it.. i rarely get high anymore. there is no reason for me to have it. if i want anything i can drive to new jersey.

I am so grateful for this life. I could never imagine living the life i'm living. not in a million years. It wasn't easy. some days its still not easy- i will probably always be healing. i am still that little blonde headed girl. some days i do a great job of loving myself and being kind to myself. i give myself what i need. there are days where i try and i fail. so i try again. it's amazing though - what can happen when you just keep going, no matter what-

I have another busy week. the ice queen was in monday and tuesday- drunk drunk drunk-- she was out the rest of the week. I heard she missed an important meeting in NY. It's sad. i feel sorry for her. funny i feel sorry for her but i do not feel sorry for the guy downstairs and his obvious drug addiction. i thought about that this week and i am not really sure why that is. i wonder what that says about me. why do i feel sorry for one and not the other? is there a difference? my team is ok. i have a few issues i need to address. we have a dress code. someone on my team was wearing sneakers. i asked her if she was wearing sneakers- she said no. really? they look like sneakers- no she says they are leather. oh ok. i was just checking. i actually thought it was funny. it's almost like they are kids or they think im an idiot. im not sure which. it's a lot. i'm getting good at it- ive learned so much about what it means to be a supervisor. i have 1 person i want off my team. i like her as a human but she needs to go as she is dead weight.

i finished watching the jerry farwell jr doc- it turned into a trump bashing documentary. they tried to say the pool boy was a victim.. i'm not sure i buy it. he got angry he didnt receive money and decided to come forward with his story. we wasnt a victim when he was flying first class, dining with celebrities or was balls deep in jerry's wife. he became a victim when he didnt get paid.. Paradise was rebuilt- that one was hard to watch- those poor people went through so much. i watched a good one-betrayal the perfect husband-

busy busy week. Madison turns 19 on Friday.. we were going to go to Hershey. We might still. Im not sure. I'll order a vegan cake. that will make her happy. my car is so messed up. i think i know what is wrong with it. its a matter of finding the time to get it to the mechanic.

[quilavastudy]

Me learning complex medical concepts for the MRCP: Cool yeah I can do this, just gotta keep studying 😎

Me learning to do basic code in R: *crumples into a crying mess on the floor* 

#ok like #but ive never coded before and why is it so hard to get my head around #help #well ive done a bit of coding here and there before in my Masters but that was in STATA #and i cant remember it anyway #lol #AFP #research #stats #coding #programming #medblr

[lucianalight]

I think its you i sent an ask about the femal gaze a while back and IM GOING FERAL AGAIN

The absolute enormity of my love for the female tropes that Loki is put in is unbelievable

“You weren’t born to be king Loki. You were born to cause pain suffering and death. Thats how it is, that’s how it was, that’s how it will be. All so that others can achieve their best versions of themselves”

Gahhhhhhhh this is basically the narrative directly adressing the female characters. All the dead girlfriends and sisters and mothers. All the potential of female characters wasted for a male lead to shine. All the female characters used as tools to prop up the male characters’ character development.

I am going berserk. Are they realizing what theyre doing?? Is this intentional, cuz i hope it is (i know its not) cuz if it WAS intentional, it would be the most gratifying thing ever, on both on a textual and meta level.

On a textual level: Like, basically acknowledging the way Loki was treated his entire childhood and really up to the point of the events of Thor 1. The way he was thought of as weak, a liar, less than, for engaging in behaviors and having a characterization of a female character. All the way from being belittled for using magic in training, but them still relying on his magic in battle (its only good if it benefits me, the male coded character and useless and not to be trusted if its for YOUR benefit, how dare you exist outside of my needs), to Loki literally standing iver Thor’s shoulder in Jotunheim and trying to diffuse a situation!!! only to be ignored!!! And im sure i could find so many other examples.

Meta: AND if we accept this interpretation, then it puts things in a new perspective from a new lens! Lokis arc in Thor 1 being the arc of of the female character (as really a great symbol for the female perspective irl): getting lied to aboht having the same chance as the male counterparts to succeed, being belittled and abused but putting up with it because you think its worth it for your chance at success, finding out that the game was rigged ALL ALONG. And from then on, through this new lens, i would go as far as to say that Lokis “villain arc” in Thor 1 is just female coded character putting their foot down and saying enough is enough. It captures the absolute fuckin breakdown you go though when you realise you NEVER HAD A CHANCE and the anger of helplessness and being trappen in an unwanted, not-enough future. Its a female rebellion arc. One that ive enever actually seen but definitely needed, taht we all needed.

And dont even get me started on the parasocial nature of this kind of acknowledgment: i think there was just this very instinctual recognition of that in Lokis fans (female and queer of all kinds) because thats just such a female and queer experience. His realization, the lies, the illusion of choice, the anger and resentment and need for justice, the attempt to do right by yourself, GETTING PUNISHED FOR IT BOTH IN UNIVERSE AND BY THE NARRATIVE THAT INFLUENCES AUDIENCE PERCEPTION.

This is why there are so many so called Loki apologists. We can relate not just to his mental instability as people who suffer from all kinds of insecurities and metal illnesses, but we can relate to the core of his character, to his motivation, on such a PAINFUL level. And of course this has all been said before but ive never seen it outright framed in such a way that acknowledges that you could take Loki out and put a female character in and all of the sudden the narrative messenge spins on its head because things start making sense in a way they didnt before (mostly because Loki is male presenting and having a male presenting character be so heavily female and queer coded is hard for our brainwashed brain to REALLY acknowledge). “You just like him cuz hes hot” indeed

Theres tons of things i loved and tons of things i really didnt, and while i agree that Loki is kinda ooc throughout, i iust feels like this line connects this loki to a loki as early as Thor1 loki, even if they didn’t actually intend to do that, but ill take what i can get

AND THAT QUOTE! THAT FUCKING QUOTE! Could be a subtle nod to all of this, to the fact that hes IS coded like that, the malicious way its used by Mobius a nod to the fact that thats what female and female characters get told (narratively, not outright)

Anyways sorry for ranting in ur ask box, i just really want people to see this and interact with it bcs its my fave thing ever and i wanna have a convo abt it with yalls

First of all thank you so much for sending me such an interesting ask! I really enjoyed reading it!

You haven't send me another ask about female gaze before this. I only have one other ask from you in my inbox which was sent during my hiatus and it's speculations about the tv show(I will answer it shortly after this one).

I can't agree more with what you said. Honestly what you wrote is so perfect and complete I have barely anything to add to it.

I've always said that Loki is female and/or queer coded. Generally members of any oppressed group through history can see themselves in Loki. In fact you reminded me of a post, interestingly named "A Different Story", that I'd written three years ago right after IW was released. It was written out of my anger and heartbreak. I honestly had forgotten so much of what I had written. But I read it again. And I think so much of it is similar to your opinion.

why Loki? Loki’s popularity among fans was so unexpected, that it even surprised Marvel. So why Loki? Why he was loved even more than heroes?

Why do we care so much?

Because we see ourselves in Loki. We, who felt different, were different, and were alone because of it. We, who knew how it felt to be ridiculed, rejected, vilified and despite all our efforts, never accepted, never loved for who we are. We, who hide all our hurt and pain under a mask but at some point we just couldn’t take it anymore and exploded. So we identified with Loki. Even when we didn’t agree with what he did, we still understood him, loved him. The characterization and Tom’s performance was so strong that kept our love in spite of everything. In a manner Loki was more real for us than any other hero. He wasn’t a beloved and popular person, or a celebrity. He wasn’t even considered a good and loyal person by his close companions because of his differences. And he was desperate to be seen for his capabilities, to be loved and accepted and respected for who he was and we could relate. We could relate because his story was like our stories in real life.

Are they realizing what they're doing with Loki's arc and how it's similar to female arcs? I believe they do. To some extent. Why do you think that they hated Loki's popularity so much? That a female/queer and villain coded character is more popular amongst fans, specially female fans, than their heavily masculine coded heroes?

To a number of fans and audience, especially male audience with beliefs from a toxic masculinity culture this seemed threatening that a queer coded and/or feminine coded villain gets more female fans than heavily masculine coded heroes. They hated him. And they started to belittle his fans, by implying that Loki was only popular because of Tom or because he is pretty! That Loki’s fans are a bunch of fools that only lust after him for his looks. It seems they deliberately don’t want to understand.

Why do you think they fridged Loki in IW, a trope that is always used for women in movies, to give Thor a reason for his revenge?(I can't believe I've written some of the lines of the tv show three years before and I didn't remember them!:)) )

I don’t care how epic and heartbreaking his death was because Loki didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to die as a plot device to give Thor sth to avenge. We didn’t deserve this. We deserved to see the god of mischief in all his trickster glory. “No more resurrection this time” was directed to us, not Thor. They were telling us that you can rage and try to fight, but at the end, you are nothing, you will be broken like a ragdoll so the real hero can be heroic. The story is not about you, it was never about you. You are just a tragedy, you don’t deserve happiness, you can only be redeemed by sacrificing yourself.

They did to Loki in movies, what Mobius told him. That he didn't born to be a king, he was a way for heroes to achieve the best version of themselves. And they literally told him in the show that story was never about him.

I just hope that, considering the show's director is a woman, she sees this and gives Loki an arc deserving of him, and us who identify with Loki and see ourselves in him.

I hope the show ends the way I ended that post.

Because what can we do when a narrator erases us from their story? We erase the narrator from our story. I don’t want a cautionary tale in my life. I prefer different stories.

#sry if my answer isn't good #i tried my best #loki spoilers #loki series #female coded loki #queer coded loki #bookworm-addict #messages

[bitterqueenofhearts]

His World (II)

Warnings: smut, age gap, unprotected sex, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, drunk sex, choking kink, daddy kink.

Sugar Daddy!Bucky AU x Reader - “a stranger at a party offers you more than the night”

WC: 3.3k

Note: This is the second part of my entry for the Two Years of Darkness by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor ! Thank you so much for the feedback and all the love. I hope you enjoy reading this one, all sorts of feedback are super appreciated!

Btw, I might post the next parts on my new sideblog, @marziwritesfic - just a heads up

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

The rest of the night was a blur, sort of. After you accepted Bucky's fantastic proposal, he started acting just slightly different around you. He had told you "no more drinking", and just because you were drunk enough already, you obeyed him. You wouldn't wanna risk the night by passing out like a reckless fool and miss the opportunity to sleep with that god.

The next thing you remember is getting into a nice car with him, being caressed and petted, always being touched and kept under his grip. Of course, you wanted every piece of him to yourself right then and right there, and couldn't blame him for wanting the same from you.

When you got off the car, there was a fancy building, a fancy hall, a fancy elevator... and you two ended up in a big, fancy apartment. Yes, everything felt out of your league, but you played along with a little help from the haziness in your mind. And then finally his bedroom - where he had every intention of fucking you eagerly till you were nothing but a moaning mess on his bed.

You could never leave his arms all this time, and he couldn't let go of you. You've been wet since the club, fantasizing about his touch, listening to his deep voice, melting under his gaze. Your mind could only focus on getting railed by that man. It took you both less than two minutes to get rid of all clothing.

That's when you finally understood why Bucky wore that single glove in his left hand. He had a full prosthetic arm - which was a surprise to you, as you thought about it later: he had told you about his family, but never mentioned the arm. You wondered what had happened to him, what was in his past? You never meant to stare, but the drunkness fogging your mind made you take forever before letting it go, or at least it felt like it.

Then, you remembered the first thing he said to you: You shouldn't stare. And you bit your lip at the thought, feeling so glad to be there. The room was spinning, but that didn't stop you from straddling him and kissing his lips with vigor as he explored your naked body with his hands. You were getting to know each other, really, at that moment.

He was paying attention, while he grazed your skin with his fingers, to every response your body gave him. Every time you flinched or moaned against his lips. Every time a shiver ran up your body, every time you buckled your hips against his erection. And you didn't know that yet, but James was a fast learner. He would crack your code within minutes, and by the end of the night, he'd have you wrapped around his finger - other than his cock.

You couldn't keep your hands to yourself, either. You loved how warm his skin felt under your touch when you ran your hands through his defined chest, through the strap that secured his prosthesis, tracing his muscles almost delicately, down to his stomach, raking with your nails all the way to his pelvis. His dick was rock hard and ready for you. That made you smile devilishly, pulling away from the kiss and sitting straight up before lifting your body a little to position him against your entrance.

Bucky was mesmerized, his gorgeous blue eyes followed your every move with desire. He answered your smirk with a sly smile, the hottest thing you've seen his face do so far. How could you not want to bury his cock inside you at that very moment? And so you did, lowering yourself a little faster than you should. You just wanted to feel him inside you already. You were desperate for him.

And you felt like the most delicious thing in the world when he let out a small grunt while entering you. The way he devoured you with his eyes... It made you wonder how it would feel when he was the one in control. That's why you did your best at riding him, slowly and taking him in as deep as you could, at first. Your bodies collided wonderfully, sending shivers through your spine every time he was deep inside you.

"Fuck, Bucky..." You moaned for him, feeling his tight grip on your hips. In between other incoherent moans, you let out his name in adoration. None of you could get enough of each other.

"Are you having fun, doll?" You chuckled in response, just before moaning louder for him. His reaction was positive, and you kept that in mind.

Apparently, your thoughts were in sync. Without a warning, he tightened his grip on your back and flipped your bodies, making you lay on your back as he was on top now. You were still surprised, but a deviant smile was spread on both of your faces. Not only were you getting to know each other, but you were getting along deliciously well.

Bucky continued fucking you with a steady pace, drawing out loud moans from you, and you could be quite a loud one in bed. One of his hands still held firmly your hips, while the other grabbed your breast and teased your nipple.

You could do this all night, you thought, with a silly smile dancing on your lips, and at that very moment, you closed your eyes to focus on the sensations he gave you. Not a second later, you felt his hand on your neck, squeezing just enough to make your breathing harder.

"Eyes on me, doll." He demanded. You shot your eyes open again, and he was very close, those blue eyes looking greyish and piercing through your soul.

"Yes, sir." It just came out of you. When you realized what you had said, it was too late, but he didn't bother one bit. It only made him squeeze harder around your neck and fuck you harder too. He smirked wickedly and you shivered under him. Fuck, he felt so good inside you.

"Good girl. You're gonna be so good to me, won't you babe?" His words had a direct effect on you. You nodded your head, clenching your walls around his cock and your legs around his waist. You wanted to please him more than anything.

You felt helpless under him, it was hard to breathe with his grip still on your neck, but it only made you surrender yourself to him more easily. He was taking you over the edge, but keeping you under his control. "B-... Bucky..." you struggled to speak, your voice coming out barely above a whisper.

"Yes, my doll?" He only loosened his grip just enough for you to catch your breath and say whatever you wanted. But he didn't stop fucking you for a second.

"I'm gonna cum." You warned, making him smile in that unique way again. You led one of your hands to your clit, but even before you could begin stroking it, Bucky grabbed your wrist and pinned it above your head.

"Oh, are you now?" He dared you. You whined, really wanting your release. His movements got less steady and more passionate, hungrier than before. He fucked you relentlessly. Shamelessly.

You tightened the grip around him with your legs, meeting his movements with your hips as best as you could. You wanted to cum, but you wanted him to get there with you. Perhaps he had the same on his mind, because only when you felt he couldn't get rougher or more sloppy with his thrusts, he played with your sensitive bud, and you got caught in surprise.

You moaned louder for Bucky, begging for him to cum inside you, to make you his, and other dirty things your mind could come up with.

"I'm claiming you." He growled in your ear, right before spilling his seed inside you and triggering your orgasm as well. Oh, the way you cried out his name was so sweet, he thought.

With a deep kiss, you both rode out your bliss and stayed quiet for a while, panting and sweaty in each other's arms. You two talked sweet nothings groggily, and not long after you were ready for more.

When he was finally done with you for the night, you nested nicely in his arms and slept like a baby.

xxx

His apartment was clean, and even though it was luxurious, there were few personal touches or decorations. There were no visible portraits or family pictures. It was fancy and impressive, but it wasn't cozy. You wondered if he felt at home there.

You only started to wander around the apartment because you were thirsty. Feeling kinda hungover, you desperately needed hydration. When you found the kitchen, you shifted through the cabinets, grabbed a glass, and helped yourself with some delicious cold water. You could feel better from that long sip already.

You were glad it was Sunday, which meant you could enjoy whatever that Cinderella feeling you had going on before coming back to reality.

In the living room, dark and heavy curtains covered an entire wall, and you suspected there could be a balcony behind them. And you were right. After sliding the heavy glass door hidden by the curtains, you were blinded by the daylight coming from the outside world. You had no idea what time it was, but you hoped it was before noon.

After your eyes adjusted to the brightness, the water glass still in hand, you made your way to the edge of the empty balcony. You hadn't realized how tall the building was last night, and it was impressive how far up you were. The cars looked like miniature replicas from where you stood, it was breathtaking. The more you thought about it and the longer you looked down at the streets, you felt somewhat dizzy.

Slowly, you distanced yourself from the edge, stepping back. But there was something behind you that wasn't there before. You let a little shriek out, dropping the glass because of how caught off guard you were.

"Clumsy, aren't we?" The deep voice said behind you. "Good morning, doll."

It was just Bucky. You huffed. "Fuck, James! Why did you have to sneak up on me?" You asked, frustrated for getting scared so easily. And you didn't move to look at him, not wanting to get glass stuck on your naked feet. You could feel his warmth on your naked back, he was probably still shirtless, while you had your dress from last night again.

He wrapped his arms around you, leaning in to kiss your neck possessively. "Mmm... You were the one who left the bed. So I had to come for you, to get you back there for a proper good morning, see?"

You chuckled, already letting your guard down as he touched you. "Really?" You almost forgot about the broken glass on the floor. "I'm sorry about that."

Realizing you still hadn't moved, he picked you up without a warning. He had his arms around your waist and lifted you effortlessly, getting you both out of there. "Don't worry, I got you." Just like that, he carried you to the couch in the living room. "Did you get hurt, doll?"

You appreciated his concern, but you shook your head. "Nah, I'm fine. You saved me." You chuckled and dramatically kissed his cheek.

"I told you, (Y/N), I'll take care of you from now on. And I never break my word." He was serious, there was no arguing with that. But still, you thought it all had just been roleplay.

"James..." You started carefully. "So you were dead serious about all the things you said last night?" He had promised you the world, his world, and just asked you to be his in return. You remembered that very clearly.

"Of course, and you said yes. And here you are, doll. And I'm so glad that I finally found you." He looked happy, relieved. You furrowed your brows at the last sentence.

What did he mean by "finally found you?" You just met him last night. It was almost accidental that you were at his club. No one else knew you - or about you - in that place. "But... We're practically strangers." You argued.

"You can't say that after last night." He had a smug smirk on his face. "And don't worry, I know you're perfect for me. And I'll be perfect for you." He was being very clear. Even though you still had some confusion about how far you'd have to go with the whole giving yourself to him thing, a tingling sensation in your stomach kept you curious. Where would this lead you?

He caressed your cheek with his right hand, looking at you with adoration in his eyes, which made you instantly think about last night. At last, you smiled at him and nodded your head. You could give this whole thing a chance. You could give him a chance.

"Now... I really feel like I should know more about you, James Barnes. It's like you already know everything there is to know about me, while the only thing I know about you is... Money. That's kinda shallow." You were being honest with him.

Even though last night was fun - and you would definitely enjoy more of whatever he wanted to give you - you were trying not to jump headfirst into who knows what his life was.

"You met a very drunk me who would do anything to have some fun, so that's kinda unfair, you clearly had an advantage here." This time you were less serious, but he agreed to let you know more about anything you wanted to.

"It's still early. How about this... Why don't we make some breakfast while we talk about all the things you'd like to know, doll?" You couldn't lie, the suggestion surprised you.

So the two of you went back to his room, where Bucky offered you clean and comfortable clothes to change. Of course, he loved that dress on you, but it wasn't very cozy. So you changed into his clothes, a grey t-shirt and a pair of black boxers. Even though he was bigger than you, you liked how the oversized clothes felt on your body. That was so much better.

When you finished changing, Bucky was preparing something in the kitchen - you didn't expect him to cook, maybe you just thought that rich people always had someone else to do basic things for them - and you sneaked upon him to find out what it was.

"Waffles. How cute." You joked, but feeling grateful at the sight of food. That's when you realized how hungry you've been all this time too.

"I was torn between waffles or pancakes." He confessed, eyeing you up and down with the outfit he chose. "I like this."

You smiled almost shyly, appreciating the simple comment. "Don't try to distract me, you've got some talking to do. Spill it out." You faked a stern and bossy tone.

He chuckled audibly at your impression, thinking it was awfully cute. Maybe he'd show you later how to effectively give orders. "Alright, doll, you got me. Go ahead."

You wanted to ask about the arm, but that would be just rude. So you pushed that question to the back of your mind and tried starting with something easier. "I remember that you said something about not wanting to follow your family's business. What is it? And why?"

"Real estate. I didn't exactly see myself there. And when I was younger... I had some different ideals." He didn't seem to tense up about that subject, so you just nodded and continued, grabbing the plate with waffles he offered you.

"What was different about you back then?" You sat by the counter, and he joined you, bringing syrup, jam, and butter and put it all in front of you, so you could pick your favorite.

"I thought there were more important things in the world back then. So I joined the military." He grabbed a waffle and took a bite out of it, while you stopped with yours mid-air, on its way to your mouth.

"Oh. So you were a soldier?" You were surprised. You couldn't tell. Why couldn't you tell? Were you that bad at reading people?

"Sargent Barnes." He corrected. Wow. As he looked back at you, he could tell everything that was going on inside your mind. "Yes, that's what happened to my arm. Anything else?"

You tried to figure out if he was annoyed, but it didn't seem so. That was a relief. You finally started eating and almost forgot to answer him. It was just so good. You felt so hungry. "This is so delicious, Bucky. Thank you."

You got a smile out of him that made your heart all warm and happy. Damn, it felt like you've been with him for way longer than one night. "Anything for you, doll."

You ate in silence for a moment, thinking about what else you'd like to know about that man. "Why me?" It came out of your mouth before you could think it through. You didn't even know what answer you were expecting.

He looked a bit confused, but smiled and answered anyway. "I've told you. I saw you, and I knew you had to be mine. And it would be a sin to let you go." You believed every word he said. And you kinda hated that.

You weren't one to trust easily, but you were very friendly and tried to think the best of people, so you hoped he was being as honest as you were. After all, it was all too good to be true, and you could only hope for the best, right?

"Okay, so now what? You've claimed me. How is this gonna work? I live across the city. I don't go to the same places you do. We don't even know the same people."

"Dispensable. Trivial. All I need is you, and all you need I can provide." He made it sound like it was all so simple. "For starters, you don't need to worry about your tuition anymore. Let me know how much you need, and I'll get it for you."

Again, a dream come true. You wanted to laugh out of how crazy it sounded. But you didn't, because you wanted to believe him. "Okay... What else?"

"I liked how you called me sir last night. It was so natural. Do it more times." He was being serious again.

"Should I call you daddy too?" You teased, finishing another waffle.

You didn't expect him to just stare at you with a cocky smile. "Yeah. In a matter of fact, I'd love that."

Your jaw almost dropped at his response, but you let out a smirk to match his. "Yes, daddy. Anything for you." You mimicked his words, feeling excited about the whole thing.

"Good girl. Now that you're done eating and asking, let's go back to the bed. We have some unfinished business to attend to." He left his half-eaten waffle at the plate and grabbed you by your hand, making you jump down to the floor and follow him giggling like a fool. "Then, we could go on a shopping spree. I wanna show you how serious I am, doll.

---

His world taglist: @moonlacebeam @shadyskit @bookieworm @learisa @paniniirae @jiminlife2k18 @lokiandbuckylove @lets--be-honest @dumdumlolly @luminousblackgirl @jbtheuniteresting @tina1938 @xhollycowx @letskidaddle @teabutnerdy @lucy-blossom @golddenlioness @221bwintersoldierfeels @webreathfandoms

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sugar daddy!bucky #sugar daddy au #twoyearsofdark #marzi writes #bucky x female reader #bucky smut #marvel #winter soldier #his world

[sallyf4ce]

wolves

chapter IV

-> sally face x f!reader

-> enemies? to lovers

-> previous | next

cw: drugs, cigarettes, violence, homophobia

*does not follow original plot of sally face*

summary: (y/n) and travis make up (ish), (y/n) gets hurt again (you really shouldn’t be surprised), larry gets a little moody (i don’t think he likes (y/n) very much), sal makes a move on (y/n) (although he doesn’t know he did)

“You’re (y/n), right? New kid?” Travis looks at you as you press the wet cloth to your nose. You nod.

“How’d you know?”

“Sal said it. he muttered. The disgusted look on his face was proven a facade by the blush on his cheeks.

“You’re in love, buddy.” you laugh.

“No i’m fucking not! You’re so fucking stupid, what the fuck? Who could love a faggot like Sally f-” you cut him off my shoving his head into the wall roughly. You don’t know what came over you, but being homophobic is still homophobic even if you’re in denial. You convinced yourself that it wasn’t about sally, it was just you being an ally. Way to kill the mood, travis.

“You pull that shit one more time and I'll leave you without teeth, blondie. Or would you rather i tell your dad that you hit girls?”

He squirms underneath your palm. “Sorry.” he looks at you with a pleading face.

You sigh and let him go. “S’fine. You need to learn how to control your anger, though, fuckface. You’re not gonna get anywhere with that attitude.” stuffing the bloody towel in your bag, you lead him out the door.

“I hate you.” Travis scoffs.

“What did i say?”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

“Larry, she’s already closer to travis than she is to us and they just met. Travis is a full-on dick, and they’re being all friendly! I didnt even know that was possible!” Sal chucks his bag in his locker. He hasn’t known you for long, but longer than travis! Plus he’s way nicer, too! Why’d you have to go and get all friendly with his bully?

“I don’t fucking like it either, sally face. Maybe we should just stay away from them.” Larry crossed his arms and leaned against the lockers.

Sal didn’t want to stay away from you, though. You were sweet, he was sure, just a little distant. Plus you just sort of intrigued him. He wanted to know why you were like this, what happened to you, why you had a prosthetic. Maybe it was hypocritical of him, though. He's only told Larry and Ashley about what happened to him, so he shouldn’t be picking at your trauma. you’ll tell him when you feel comfortable with it, but you’d need to be comfortable with him for that. and right now, it seems like you’re pretty comfortable with his bully.

“let’s go, dude. class starts in 5.”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

After grabbing your schedule with Travis, you set your stuff in your new locker (which smelled pretty good, surprisingly.) and began walking to your first class, math. Travis laughed at you when you read your schedule outloud and you gave him a whack on the head. What an idiot. He headed off to his first class, english.

you opened the door to the classroom and coughed to get the attention of the teacher, Mrs. Packerton.

“Ah, lovely! Class, say hi to (y/n) (l/n)!” she smiles as you awkwardly wave.

“You’ll be sitting in the back, right beside Sal.” an inaudible groan leaves your cracked lips as you make your way towards him, trying not to make eye contact.

“uh, here.” he moves over. you plop yourself down next to him and open your notebook.

“we’re doing a test right now. i’m pretty sure you won’t have to do it, since it’s your first day and all.” his blue hair bounces as he looks over to you again. it looks fluffy.

“you wanna touch it?” he chuckles. you don’t want to come off creepy, but he’s offering, right?

you reach out your prosthetic hand but quickly pull it back and switch it, realizing you can’t actually feel with it. he chuckles at your mistake and leans in to your touch.

you were right. it felt like clouds, puffy but still silky. it wasn’t combed properly, though.

“Mr. Fisher and Mrs. (L/n), you little lovebirds. hands to yourselves, please.” Mrs. Packerton laughs a little. “Ah, young love.”

you quickly pull your hand back and flush.

“stupid old lady.” you mutter.

“Mrs. P’s nice, she’s just a little… enamoured in her students’ love lives.” sal laughs.

“stop, you’re making her sound like a pedophile!” you cover your mouth to suppress your laugh and sal’s face heats up even more. He made you laugh!

You both quieted down as Sal continued his test and you doodled in your sketchbook.

“are you okay? after travis, you know.” he hummed, a mix of concern and jealousy swirling in his eyes.

“uh, yeah. i’m fine.”

“You sure? Your lips look pretty busted.”

“It’s all good.”

“why do you hang out with him, anyway?” he turned his test upside down and faced you again.

“what do you mean?” you’re confused.

“he hit you in the face first thing in the morning. If i was you, i wouldn't really like him.” sal gripped his pencil.

“are you jealous?” you question, a smirk on your face.

“No.” his expression is hidden behind his mask. you look into his eyes, trying to make him blush.

the blue is a different blue than the one you saw yesterday. it’s lighter, almost like a porcelain blue.

“whatever you say, porcelain face.”

“porcelain face?”

“your mask, and your eyes, i guess. they’re like a porcelain doll’s.”

he hums.

“what are you then? metal hand? cyborg? fist of steel?”

“you forgot iron fist.”

“iron fist?”

“sure.” you grin. sal’s heart flutters again.

“Alright children, please hand in your tests and nicely file out the class. The bell will ring any moment.” Mrs. Packerton smiles sweetly and starts collecting tests. You grab your bag and leave the class.

Sal looked around the room for a bit, looking for you. A flash of (h/c) hair leaving the room catches his eyes. He tries running after you, but you’re already heading towards your next class.

•Lunch time•

“Shut the fuck up, Trav. I said she was stupid, not stupid hot. I don't know where you got hot from! I literally never said it.” You shoved his shoulder. He just snickered and continued teasing you.

“Hey, (y/n)! Come have lunch with us!” Sal saw you walking with travis. He waved you over from the cafeteria. Travis immediately stopped laughing and sneered. He quickly began walking over to sal, raising his fist.

“Leave us alone, fucking fag-” travis swung at sal but you stepped in front of them, raising your arm to cover sal’s face since he was taller.

Travis throws punches like a wrestler, You already knew that. Maybe you shouldn't have used your real hand to catch it.

His fist slammed into your forearm roughly and you flinched.

“Fuck- travis, go cool off. Now. Leave.” you hold onto your arm. It stings, but it's not broken. You’ll be fine.

“You’re all a bunch of-” he stops mid sentence as you give him a glare. It sort of said ‘you’re gay too, dumbass.’ he scrunched his eyebrows and walked off.

“Oh my fucking god!” a girl with brown hair ran over to you and lightly grabbed your arm.

“This her, sal? Are you (Y/n)?” she looked at you. She seemed very sweet. Kind of reminded you of your cousin.

“Uh- yeah- can you let go?”

She smiles in apology and lets go.

“You didn't have to do that, (y/n).” sal scratches the back of his head. You’ve gotten hurt twice because of him. How are you supposed to be friends if the only thing sal does is hurt you?

“I think maple might have an ice pack in her lunch. Can you come sit with us?” He hopes you say yes.

“Yeah, okay.” you needed the ice pack and travis was nowhere to be seen, so you didn’t really have a choice.

“Hey, (y/n).” Larry grumbles as you walk to their table. It seems he’s upset with you.

“I just saved your buddy from travis. Not to your liking or something?” you look up to him. If something’s wrong, he should just fucking say it. Not beat around the bush like a pussy.

“Yeah. you and travis seem to be getting along well.” he finally makes eye contact with you. Sal and the girl seem uncomfortable.

“We all got our issues, asshole. Some of us just know how to deal with them better than others.” You sneer. He’s allowed not to like Travis, but he’s not allowed to be a bitch to you because you actually understand his actions and choose to help him instead of ignoring him.

“Whatever.” he spits. You turn to sal.

“I’ll get my own ice.” you begin walking away. “Also, watch your dog.” you hear sal chuckle as larry groans. He walks up to you before you can leave, Larry throwing his arms up in the air in disbelief.

“Hey, uh, (y/n)? I’m sorry you got hurt. Could- could i make it up to you somehow?” his hand is on yours. It’s warm, he’s probably blushing hard under his mask.

“Sure, sally. How would you do that?” you spin around to face him. You can see his mask rise a little and his smile peaks through.

“Do you have a phone?” he pulls his cell out. It’s just a simple black flip-phone with a few paint splatters.

“I do, it’s in my locker. I dont have my number memorized, though. Stupid area codes.” you mumble. “You wanna come get it with me?”

Sal looks back to his friends. Ash is nodding frantically while Larry twirls a cigarette through his fingers, still mad.

“Alright.”

taglist: @purelydarling @deadpoetsandhoney @ghostfacefricker6969 @percyyzz @whatsurgamertag @kiillian @potatochic2003 @beingaweebishell @glitterydonutangel @izzydrawsandwrites @angellicbitch @elebeleb @dream-of-eros @mr-bombastic

#sally face x reader #ashley campbell #larry johnson #sal fisher x reader #sally face #sally face smut

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S1:E3; Chapter Three, Holly, Jolly - [Pt. 3]

A Will Byers x Male!Reader Series

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘠/𝘯, 𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭. 𝘈 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳.

|| 𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

Hopper pulls up to the library, thankful to get a spot up front. He steps out of the vehicle and makes his way inside, Powell behind him.

Hopper takes off his hat as he enters the building, making sure to send a big smile to the librarian.

"Hey, Marissa. How you doin'?"

The disapproving look on Marissa's face never left as she spoke.

"You have a lot of nerve showing up here."

"What?"

"You could have at least called, said, 'Marissa! Hey, it's not gonna work out. Sorry, I wasted your time. I'm a dick.'"

Powell was unsure of what to do; he looked from Marissa to Hopper, waiting.

Hopper only stares ahead for a moment, unsure of what to say. Finally, with a subtle smirk, he mutters,

"Yep."

She looks to him, shaking her head expectantly. He seemed at a loss for words again as he shook his head.

"I'm sorry. Uh... Maybe we could go out again next week?" He offers, hoping for the best. She slowly turns her head to Powell and gives him a 'is he for real?' look. In turn, Powell slowly looks over to Hopper awkwardly. Hopper, already knowing he chose his words poorly, visibly cringed, and was eager to change the subject.

"Newspapers? You guys got newspapers around here?"

Marissa had shown them over to the filing cabinet and started pulling out drawers, naming the selections.

"We have the New York Times, the Post, all the big ones. Organized by year and topic. You can find the corresponding microfiche in the reading room." She briefly gestures behind her.

"Okay, we're looking for anything on the Hawkins National Laboratory."

"Well, shouldn't you be looking for that missing kid?"

"Yeah." He states as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We are."

She nods her head, suspicious.

"Uh, so, why don't you start with the Times, and we'll check out the Post."

Marissa scoffs and looks behind her to Powell, unsure if he's serious. She turns back to Hopper and lets out a soft 'hmph!' before strutting away. Powell steps forward and lowers his voice in a questioning tone.

"The librarian?"

Hopper shrugs wildly before diving into the drawers of files.

The two men had gathered a handful of files and set to work in the other room. Each at their own microfiche, reading every column.

Hopper scanned another column that caught his attention.

'ALLEGED EXPERIMENTS, ABUSE' by T. Bridges.

"Terry Ives' legal case against embattled research scientist Dr. Martin Brenner suffered another setback today when the district attorney's office formally refused to press criminal charges against Brenner, his fellow researchers, assistants, or the project's sponsors, citing lack of evidence. Local law enforcement executed a search..."

Next column.

'MKULTRA EXPOSED' by T. Bridges

"The trust of the American people has been shaken to its core as a special inquiry into a covert CIA operation, code-named MK ULTRA, has exposed the extensive details about that which has been haunting the nation for the past decade. Six subjects have come forward..."

This particular column was accompanied by a negative of seven people. Five of which were slightly disheveled, in hospital gowns. A man in a turtleneck and blazer stood obediently in the back. A man in a fancy suit and tie, holding a clipboard stood front and center. A man with whom Hopper guessed to be Brenner.

Next slide.

'DR. MARTIN BRENNER NAMED IN LAWSUIT' by A. Ward - Staff Writer

"Senior researcher Doctor Martin Brenner and seven other staff researchers have been named in a new lawsuit filed today on behalf of former federal research study participant, Terry Ives. Dr. Brenner's attorney in conjunction with the Department of Energy has asked the circuit court to seal the details of the lawsuit until the attorney general's office can determine that no federal..."

Hopper found himself more engrossed and confused as he read.

"...her newborn daughter for scientific research. Following an investigation, the district attorney has already declined to press criminal kidnapping charges against the research facility and staff, citing lack of evidence. Dr. Brenner's attorney called Ms. Ives' allegations baseless and tragic, citing Dr. Brenner's excellent reputation, his twenty recent peer-reviewed scientific papers..."

The next slide was a short column with another accompanying photo. Although the picture was small and blurry, it wasn't hard to see the grief-stricken features on the young woman.

TERRY IVES SUING - 'They took my daughter' by Benjamin Buck

"After the district attorney's office declined to press criminal charges citing lack of evidence, local resident Terry Ives is not giving up her search for justice for herself and her daughter, and this morning filed a lawsuit against research scientist Dr. Martin Brenner and his staff.

Ms. Ives' suit seeks unspecified damages against Dr. Brenner and his facility, alleging physical abuse, sleep deprivation, malnourishment, and multiple allegations of kidnapping; both attempted and successful..."

Hopper sighed, trying his best to swallow all of this new information.

'What the hell has been happening in this damn town?'

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Three. One. Five. The numbers on the strange new bracelet read three one five.

Thankfully, El was able to find her way back outside by the large telephone pole where Mike told her to meet them. But El was still nervous. She just hoped no one had spotted her.

El couldn't find it in her ability to stay still. She couldn't stop pacing and she was subconsciously shaking out her hands, her nerves shot.

'What if someone saw her?'

She eagerly checked the bracelet, muttering aloud to herself.

"Three-one-five. Three-one-five. Three-one-five..." her voice turned soft as her confidence wavered. The only thing that was able to take her attention away from the bracelet was the familiar sound of meowing next to her.

Shocked, she looked over to see a scrawny orange cat staring at her from the other side of the fence. It began to meow again and panic and guilt crashed over her as once again another terrible memory resurfaced.

- 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

The white cat in the cage before Eleven let out a terrible hiss at her. Her head began to shake as she strained her ability. The combination of the cat growling and hissing and the frantic beeping of the machines was enough to push her even further.

She didn't want to. She never wanted to hurt this poor creature. But she knew that if she didn't, she would have to face the consequences. She would have to go back there. The cat gave out another deep growl and Eleven tried to the best of her ability not to cry. Not to break.

The cat began snarling, and it quickly turned to whimpers of pain. Eleven was freely crying now as she looked between the frightened cat and Papa. She gave one final look at the cat before yanking the wires off her head in defeat.

No. She couldn't.

She wouldn't.

She looked at Papa defeated. She shook her head in defiance, though her sobbing gave away her true feelings. He only stared at her in disapproval.

"No! No!" She struggled and kicked. She fought back with all her might while Papa stood at the end of the hallway. Doing nothing.

"Papa! Papa! Papa! Papa! Papa!" She screamed her throat raw as the men dragged her away, yet as always Papa only watched it happen.

"No!" Her shrieks grew more violent as she neared the room.

She couldn't go back in there.

She couldn't.

The men tossed her inside and began closing the door.

She wouldn't.

Eleven stood to her feet and before they could close the steel door, she threw it open in a fit of rage, her attention quickly shifting to one of the men doing this her. In the very next instant, his back was thrown into the ceramic just behind him. His limp body slipped to the floor, leaving a large hole in the tile.

The second man spared a second to look before turning to her to try and restrain her.

Before he could even step foot in the room, he was dead on the floor, his neck snapped. All with the flick of her head.

Overwhelmed with exhaustion, she collapsed against the wall, her nose and ears bleeding.

Papa appeared. He took one look at the cracked wall, to the collapsed man, and then at Eleven. Yet she couldn't move. She was completely drained, all she could do was stare at him. He slowly stepped towards her, staring at her.

She looked up at him in fear of what would happen next, and what did was not something she could have anticipated. He slowly reached his hands out, cupping her face. Sobs wracked her body, and he stared at her in awe.

"Incredible."

He reached down, hooking an arm under her legs, th arried her like an infant. He carried her out of the room and down the hallway, staring at her sobbing form as if he hadn't been the one to cause it.

- 𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗢𝗙 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

"El!"

El turned her head to see Mike, Y/n, Lucas and Dustin. They were walking their bikes across the muddy grass in her direction.

Mike looked to her concerned as he, as well as the others, turned their bikes around.

"You okay?"

Relieved to see her friends, she nodded her head.

Mike gave the seat of his bike a few pats.

"Hop on. We only have a few hours."

Hesitantly, she walked forward. But she complied nonetheless and got on Mike's bike, and the five of them peddled off.

|| 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

The five us were walking our bikes through the woods. Dustin and Lucas were in the back, while Mike and El were just a few steps in front of me. El was looking around as she walked and suddenly I felt her eyes on me. I suddenly became very self-conscious of my cut.

I got it to stop bleeding eventually, but I don't know how I will ever explain this to Mom. She worries so easily. And, I don't think I have ever had a cut this big but I'll survive. My thoughts are cut short when I become very aware of the fact that El had fallen back next to me and was now looking at me with concern.

"Why did they hurt you?" Her voice came out very soft but was laced with concern.

"Huh?" I asked surprised.

El extended her arm out and pointed to my chin. I looked down, upset with how things went today.

"Oh, that. I uh, well... I was tripped. By this mouth breather, Troy."

Her face scrunched up in confusion.

"'Mouth breather?'"

"Yeah. You know, a dumb person,"

I suddenly grew quiet, and El noticed.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

I paused. "Yeah. Yeah, it'll be ok." I said.

I knew what she meant but I didn't think it was noteworthy to bring up how I was feeling.

"Y/n." I turn to look at her and she is giving me a knowing look. "Friends tell the truth."

I began to fight tears that were stinging my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall.

"I just... I just miss him. Will, I mean. And the things Troy was saying..." I began feeling myself get worked up again at the mere thought of it. "They were awful. Truly awful, and I just... I'm tired. And worried. And I just want to find my friend."

There was suddenly a somber silence over the group that was quickly broken by El's soothing tone.

"Y/n," she said sternly, pulling my eyes to her. There was a soft demand behind her eyes, willing my gaurd down. "I understand."

I looked at her, a grateful smile on my features and my voice came out in a weak whisper.

"Thank you, El."

She gave me a warm smile in return. It very much resembled the one I gave her the first night we met. It was at this moment I knew. I had just found myself a very unique and powerful friendship; one that stood out from my friendship with the party.

El and I have a lot more in common than I thought.

#you'll float queue #stranger things #will byers x reader #reader insert #will byers #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #cosmic #y/n henderson #stranger things x reader #x male reader #x m!reader

[jadelynlace]

Ink Drinker / Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader], Chapter 6

catch up here!

synopsis: Ivar was only meant to be a friend with benefits, but he caught feelings for his older brother’s best friend, and co-worker: you.

pairing: Ivar x F!Reader

***content warning [PLEASE READ]: this chapter has the after effect of the trauma call, and too many emotions. surgical mentions and medical terminology are in this chapter as well. anything in italics indicates a flash back.

author’s note: I’m so sorry.

 ~

“Floki, why can I be left alone?” Ivar asked.

“Because the last time you were left alone you ended up with fifty thousand milligrams of pain killers in your stomach. Now, come here—do you know this?” Floki replied with his fingers taping the photo copied image.

“I drew that.” Ivar said back.

“Yes, you did. Where do you want it?”

“What do you mean?” 

“You hate your body so much why don’t you cover it in something you like?” 

*

It is sixteen hours that Ivar is in surgery. His world is dark, nothing but, with pierces of noises that he can recall. But trying to decipher them only makes the surroundings dull, caked in black and muffled with a buzz of an unruly bee hive. There are pokes of pain, he remembers the green light, and he remembers the pot hole he swerved to miss. He doesn’t remember how fast he was driving and the second he was over the yellow line made no difference for the sudden beast of a truck to find him. 

Everything below Ivar’s powdered knee caps are reattached. Grueling hours on the table while he’s sewed back together like a monster. Enough time for Hvitserk to get clothes, to get you clothes, to pack a bag for his brother per your request. Even in the presence of clean laundry you can’t take your blues off yet—they’re holding you proper because you just saw Ivar that morning. You two made love in the low morning light, filled with ecstasy, his seed and then he made you eggs with extra hot sauce and hugged you tightly you were sure you stopped breathing. He told you to be safe, baby, like he did at the dawn of each shift and that he would call you when his last appointment was finished, and on his way back from shopping for supplies for the parlor and that you two would make lunch plans. In his speed, his haste to make sure he didn’t miss you before the two tone song of death would sing in the radios, he instead, became the reason it did.  

Your chief shows up when you tell him the nature of the emergency. Pulling additional personnel on for overtime and they take the rig out of service and from your hands. Words don’t spare any differences and although he offers you a hug, when you take it he slips you a piece of paper. 

“Remember the job you’re doing. And the change you’re making.” He whispers in your ear and you look at the folded sheet. It’s a photocopy of a poorly drawn fire truck with an even worse sketched stick figure, and you had scribbled it when you were five. Back when you met chief for the first time because now you hold the same badge number your father once did. 

“If I give you your Dad’s old badge number, are you going to act like a jack ass like him?”

“I can’t make any promises chief.”

“I have a partner in mind for you, you’ll like him. He’s a good kid. A good medic.”

“This good kid got a name?”

“Yeah, Hvitserk. I’ll introduce the two of you.”

This is the call that shapes you as a medic, as a provider, and changes how you see things. This is the call that sends a new person out into the street, whether Ivar lives or not. This is the call that forever holds terror in your heart because he was laying in the back of your ambulance, and that was the one spot you never wanted him to occupy. 

Aslaug walks through the doors and she’s already two tissues deep into a soggy mess. Hugging Hvitserk and hugging you and you wish you were meeting this woman for the first time under any other circumstance. Floki thanks you and you don’t quite know why, even though the words fall heavily and un-calming, he still thanks you. And when the surgeon returns before the four of you, you’re the only one that doesn’t stand. But he calls your name because you know him, he was lab staff that tested you for your certifications and he told you that you’ll make a damn good medic one day. 

“Remember what I said on the day of your exam?” He asks and you nod, puzzled and impatient looks on the other faces. “You are a damn good medic—you both are.” He adds, eyes jumping from yours to your partners. “And it shows on this call, of all of them.” Hvitserk’s shoulder nudges you and you only nudge him back, perhaps little too hard in your delirious state. “Essentially what we did, was replant the lower portion of each leg. Now, given the extent of his injuries and how his body handles such, I don’t have a clear cut answer for you on his overall mobility. He may need to have screws implanted, he may need prosthetics. He’s going to be in the ICU for the next 48 hours for constant monitoring. We’ll have him sedated so his body can focus on what’s at stake. He’ll need physical therapy for a long time, and he’ll likely be disabled for the rest of his life, given again, how his body handles this. It’ll be a long road. But, like I said—you two are damn good medics and that is the one reason his legs were able to be saved. I will let you know when he’s moved to the ICU.”

You look back at your partner and his face is as blank as yours; influx of emotions just ready to dive from the void but your minds are still churning, still processing all of what boomed from the doctor’s mouth. Ivar’s chance at returning to a normal life was resting in your hands and you two gave the best damn efforts and they worked. The countless hours of dissection, wondering if you’re cut out for this career, these responsibilities, hours of trauma and blood and vomit all fizzle away because you now know that you are. And it just took Ivar to prove it.

When your eyes open again there’s a sharp pierce in your temple, scrunching eyes together and slowly moving, your head rises from Floki’s shoulder and the lights in the ICU have dimmed in the late hour. Impressions stood between his nostrils, falling like petals over his cheekbones, bleeding through split brows and pink flowers through the depths of his neck. His chest sinking and fainting with time, there was a moment of deafening silence when you are looking at his body; seemingly so small under the contraptions. The depths of earth, and the worst hell was seeing him lay on this cot. He’s only sedated now, even though Ivar looked of death, he was still alive under the harvest of wires. The words of how “we’re doing all that we can” do not bring any more comfort, they just take Ivar like a wave rapidly back out to sea. And now you understand how your patients, and their families feel when you speak the same phrases to them. The clinical assessments do not stop a rigorous schedule, motoring for the possible failure. The room is kept warm, and every so often when you will yourself to peek in, you can see the sheen of sweat that’s over Ivar’s forehead, dancing across his chest under the stickers, the monitors. The capillary refill on his toes show promise, and when the nurse says that to her doctor, you find yourself attempting the same motions on your thumb nail. Pressing the pink away and making room for the white, and then in a quick release, the pink swarms back. The ultra sound machines reminds you of the new equipment in your rig as it assess arterial blood flow every hour.

IV bags drip, slow and agonize and the change of wrappings, dressings and cleaning of both the limbs and Ivar himself collect. You spend hours watching the fluid levels sink, his eyes flutter, his fingers in his hand dance and you grow cold because you just want to hold him. To lock him in a steel tower and to constantly remind him how strong he is, because you know the longest road will not come from learning to walk. It will come from Ivar trying to find that he is worthy to live on.

Blackness had retired across your cheeks, wrapping a veil of makeup that melted into battle scars and you could not move if your body depended on it. Aslaug sits next to you; she takes her time wiping the makeup off from under your eyes, the soiled mascara and she’s humming to you. She had been telling you how when Ivar was young, she would sing to him and it would calm him down. How she sang to him in the hospital after he tried to overdose, tubes pumping his stomach as she blamed herself for such wrong doing. How Hvitserk blamed himself because he gave no one a warning cry. And how she’s singing to Ivar now, even though he can’t hear it, because it comforts the three of you as a whole. 

When your eyes follow the nurse into the room, you can hear her say something to Ivar and you watch his head turn in confusion. Grogginess and a fog on his brain as she talks to him like it’s a normal conversation; wishing him a good morning, how the weather looks promising for a beautiful day and you wish you had that level of bed side manner. You never get the promising parts of the journey; you get the patients that are coding and in a rush to the life saving team in the hospital. You love the ones who tell you their entire live’s story in the back of the rig on the way to the emergency room, sharing details and calming your mind with how simple, and yet how different every walk of life is. The nurse says something about you, about Hvitserk and Aslaug and Floki, out and waiting and ready to see him when he’s fit. You wave through the glass and there’s the tease of a smirk on Ivar’s face, even in his slightly sedated state. A dastardly, bastard smirk and his hand lifts off the bed slightly, wiggling his fingers back to you. The tears start up again, pounding a sledge hammer through your skull after all of the unruly pressure and messes of crying as your body tries to go numb.

“Where’s my mom?” You hear Ivar say in a voice that muted slightly as the nurse stands in the door way to exit. “Can I see my mom?” And the nurse nods. Aslaug stands and kisses your hair line as she walks into the vicinity, Ivar watching her and you need to back up, you need to walk away from the room, this hall way and this battle. A faint wheeze goes through your chest and Floki catches it first before Hvitserk has a chance to lift his head and open his eyes.

“Let’s walk, dear,” Floki says and his voice is not authoritative but it still demands you to comply as he loops an arm around your shoulder. “Walking can help to clear the mind.” It’s your first time outside in almost three days, and the sunlight burns you like you had been its victim on a sand covered shoreline for one too many hours. The hospital grounds are manicured, they’re neat and arranged with an abundance of flowers and colors in the open air but everything to you still feels so dull and lifeless, pointless and hopeless and walking only churns your thoughts to double, triple in size like a snow ball rolling down a hill. 

You’re finally allowed in to see Ivar and you approach slowly, like touching him will seer you suddenly, stain you with a unremovable pattern and you’ll forever be reminded. His blue eyes are dull and groggy when they open, the nasal cannula wrapping his face and your eyes dance over the scurf collecting on his jaw, and the faint bruising, cuts and scrapes on his skin.

“Hey baby,” His voice rasps and you kneel by the bed, tears already on their journeys to streak your tried skin and Ivar’s needle poked, IV covered arm comes to wipe what he can reach. “You were there, weren’t you?” And you can only nod, eyes still damp and you relish in the touch he gives you only if it’s for a second. “You saved my life, baby,” Ivar finally adds and that makes the whimper start again, the choke of a sob in your throat and he tries to quiet you, slithering a quick noise from his lips and you rest your head against the bed, his hand still on your hair. 

“I drove the ambulance over a hundred miles an hour,” You finally say and they’re the first words you can use to process the trauma you two had lived through together.

“That’s my girl,” Ivar smiles, speaking with a voice that sounds like sandpaper.

“I love you Ivar—no matter what happens, I love you so much,”

“I love you too, Y/N,” Ivar says and his voice is weaker now and he needs rest. “Kiss me before you go?” He says with eyes scanning your face, and you can’t deny that now. Pressing your lips softly against his, your hands cupping his cheek and you hope it’s not the last kiss you’ll ever get from him. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” Ivar tells you. “I’m afraid. But I’m not going anywhere,” You nod as he speaks, a forehead against his for a second and his hand is still trying to reach on you where he can. This is the man that would pull the tubes and the wires from his chest if he could, if that would make him get closer to you. “You’re stuck with me,” And there’s a faint snicker after his words, weak and drowned out from the normal tone but you’ll take it after not hearing his voice for three days.

“I’m stuck with you,” You say back with a small smile. But it still doesn’t bring enough hope.

Ink Drinker Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @queen-sarang @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @walkxthexmoon @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @istorkyou @victoria-styles @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @ivarhoegh @a5hl3y5ibley @hashimily @youbloodymadgenius @love-all-things-writing @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @tgrrose @synnersaint @kataphine

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

#modern vikings #vikings ivar #vikings #vikings fanfiction #modern vikings fanfiction #modern vikings au #modern vikings writing #vikings au #ivar the boneless #ivar fiction #modern ivar lothbrok #ivar lothbrok x reader #ivar lothbrok smut #ivar #ivar ragnarason #ivar ragnarsson x reader #modern ivar ragnarsson #vikings hvitserk #modern hvitserk ragnarsson #— i am i am i am. ( my writings & creations ) #— hands so bloody tastes like honey. ( ink drinker vibes ) #alex høgh andersen #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #ivar au #vikings floki #modern floki #floki the boat builder #floki

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: IV

“I had a few, got drunk on you

And now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of 

How you tasted.”

— Medicine, Harry Styles

A/N: if i said i’m apologizing for the way i left off ch3, yes i did ❤️ no i didn’t ❤️ it was fun ❤️ as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! and if you enjoy the piece, please reblog it!!! it keeps content creators motivated!! without further delay, hope you enjoy what’s in store for Sherlock and Watson this chapter cause it’s uhhhh quite a bit of uhhhh ~stuff~ 😌

harry’s condo : ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist

word count: 26.4k

content/warnings: a mild addiction to sexting, some pretty sparkly lingerie, a very interesting photo, a strange but satisfying gift, rough sex and degradation, pillow talk about the validity of the men in Twilight, the satisfying gift being put to even more good use, Y/N going over to Harry’s apartment for the first time, mild mentions of blood, and an impromptu Hamilton re-enactment amidst more lemon blueberry pancakes

///

For the next three days, the sexting grows more frequent. 

Harry feels somewhat humiliated by it, really. He’s an adult— a full-grown, two hundred and nine year old man— and trading nudes with a simple girl shouldn’t be getting him as worked up as it does. He should know how to handle his hormones better, and the thing is, he usually does. But no one in the last few centuries has made him feel as desperate as Y/N does; he hasn’t felt this helpless for someone since he was alive. The vampire just wasn’t prepared to handle the needy responses she so easily yields from his body and he’s horribly rusty on how to skate this thin sheet of metaphorical ice. It’s like he can feel it cracking and crunching beneath his feet, but he has absolutely no power over how to stop it. Any minute, it’s bound to take him under, and he has no choice but to allow himself to drown in it. 

The following seventy two hours are full of so many dirty promises and explicit images, his phone might as well be a porno hard drive.

After coaxing Y/N into a few orgasms through the phone and receiving just as many in return, a dangerous game is set into motion that Harry knows is probably unhealthy not only for his self-worth, but for the sensitivity of his anatomy. He can only get off so many times before his joints are begging for a break. 

He wakes up Wednesday morning with a stiff ache running along his inner thighs and ebbing across the underside of his balls, but there’s an undeniable contentment stewing behind it. He doesn’t truly mind the throb, comforted by the fact that Y/N is probably facing similar issues at the moment. He finds himself smiling coyly as he flips an omelette onto one of his marble-print platters, recalling the events from the night before. 

According to what he’d heard on the other end of the phone, present throughout the array of shaky gasps, cracked whimpers, and wet sounds of pleasure that had echoed from the speaker, Harry had made Y/N squirt. 

That was a tremendous stroke to his already huge ego. The idea that he’d been able to make her cum so hard that she’d soiled her brand new sheets had been circling around his head for the last couple of hours, fluffing his confidence. It’s a milestone achievement, to be honest. He’d done something that very few men have the skill to achieve in person, meanwhile he’d done it just by using his voice and extensive imagination. The arrogance he’s sporting right now is more than justified. His cheeks are starting to ache from how hard he’s grinning.

The vampire is so lost in his recollections that he nearly misses the chime of his phone, the unique ringtone that beeps out being as welcomed as ever. 

Harry scoops up his device while spooning a piece of his green pepper and mushroom egg dish into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he swipes into Y/N’s text conversation. He smoothers the giddiness fluttering in his stomach; he’s not a child. 

As it turns out, he’d killed those butterflies for no solid reason because the instant her message pops up, they come right back to life. 

Morning! Thought I’d show you what I’m planning on wearing to work today. 

Harry roughly swallows down his breakfast at the attachment following the caption, a shiver coiling down his spine. “Fucking hell.”

The photo is a mirror shot, taken in her tiny bathroom. It’s a full body image where she’s clad in a matching set of bra and panties, the material sparkly bright red lace. The bottoms are high-waisted, hugging her tummy and hips in a way he deems perfect, the lace decorating her skin beautifully. The bra is see-through, so he has an unrestrained view of her chest and he doesn’t know why, but he thinks he might love the way her breasts look in lingerie more than without it. Make no mistake, he’ll willingly drool over her no matter what, but there’s just such a refined beauty in seeing her figure in such an elegant piece. She’s like a present set out for him to unwrap, preferably with his teeth. 

Then he notices the garters and the next forkful of food lodges in his throat. They hug around her legs deliciously, the bands settled midway down her thighs as the straps run up the sides and clip onto the hem of her panties. Yeah, he would definitely use his teeth. 

After gawking at the artwork for a minute, Harry finally gathers himself enough to type back a decent reaction.

I’m pretty sure that outfit doesn’t apply to the workspace dress code. 

Y/N shakes her head in amusement at his response, giggling softly as she finishes shimmying into her black skinny jeans, buttoning them over the skimpy lace. 

I’ll cover up for the sake of the customers. But it’s just such a nice set, I figured someone else should get to appreciate it with me.  

Harry sets his utensil down on top of his plate, omelet only half eaten. His appetite has molded into a very different type of hunger. He pads out of the kitchen, feeling the ten AM sunlight filter through the glass wall of his living room and warm his bare chest and back. He heads for the bathroom that branches out of the entrance corridor, coming to a stop right in front of its mirror. He begins to clean up his appearance, combing his bed head into a presentable state (he hadn’t slept, per usual, but rolling around his pillows last night while he indulged fantasies about Y/N had done his curls in something fierce), fixing his royal blue briefs along his hips and dragging the waistband down to show off the dip of his prominent pelvic bones.

Once the immortal is done, he taps back with eager strokes of his thumbs. 

I can’t believe you’ve never worn that for me. That’s a criminal offense. Literally worth capital punishment. 

Oh, really? Capital punishment? And who are you to decide my verdict?

I’m the executioner, obviously. I’m in charge of dispensing the verdict and I promise you, I’ll see to it that you get what you deserve. It’s my civic duty.

Y/N scoffs at his quip, tugging her navy polo shirt over her torso and quickly running a brush through her hair. She puts it up into a neat ponytail, sighing lightly as she stares at her tired reflection. She wishes she could ditch work for the day and entertain more conversation with Harry, but she literally can’t afford to.

Well, you’re gonna have to wait while I go perform my own type of civic duty. Making the world a better place, one grilled panini at a time. 

Harry’s lips jolt. She’s so clever and witty, he doesn’t know how she could possibly be from such a dull, monochrome town. 

I understand. Justice calls. But before you go, can I send you a picture of what I’M wearing today? Could use a few style tips. 

That’s pretty ironic coming from someone whose last name is literally ‘Styles.’

I know, I know. But even fashion icons have their insecurities sometimes. 

Fair point, nobody’s perfect. Lemme see your OOTD, then.

The outfit of the day appears to be no outfit at all, according to Harry’s picture. It’s taken on a mirror, like her own, and it depicts him standing with one hand holding his phone in front of his face while the other seems to be doing jazz hands down his body playfully. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of deep blue briefs (probably because he’d completely ruined the maroon pair he was wearing last night, if his broken moans and heavy panting had been any indication) and they hug his frame flawlessly. The fabric is bunched around his lean thighs, tiger head tattoo peeking out to accompany the rest of the collection, which includes all the inkings running the length of his left arm as well as the butterfly and swallows across his torso. His v-line is evident as ever, dipping below the elastic band teasingly. His chest is broad and his biceps are taut, despite the fact that he’s not even flexing. He looks like a Greek statue and Y/N is positive the higher powers designed Harry with that specific thought in mind.

Y/N doesn’t realize drool is gathering in her mouth until it tickles the inside of her bottom lip. She snaps her jaw closed, clearing her throat sheepishly. Over a minute has passed of her just ogling and she can feel heat layering across her cheeks. She knows Harry probably has the cockiest expression on his face at the moment, obvious in the tone of the next comment he delivers. 

Damn, it’s that bad, huh? Guess I’ll have to change. 

No, it’s perfect. Simple, but effective. Very professional. 

Why, thank you! 

My pleasure.

Here, take this as a token of my appreciation. Hopefully it can help get you through the day. 

This specific photo is taken from an above point of view, as if Y/N were looking down at Harry’s body along with him. His pectorals and stomach muscles appear more defined, tattoos darker and skin more evidently sunkissed. Lower down, there’s the obvious outline of what lies within his boxers, snuggled up against his thick thigh and tempting her to let out a soft whine. Then, resting casually against his abdomen is his free hand, sporting a thumbs-up that gives a purposefully goofy vibe to the risky image. He’s such an idiot. 

The mortal’s answer is just as silly and lighthearted as his gesture. 

Thank you, I’ll keep it locked in my heart forever. 

I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

That’s the first interaction of many that further opens the door to their virtual sex life. Things hardly stay that innocent. 

That night when Y/N gets home from work, they undergo another round of phone sex. It starts off the same: cheeky banter that leads to cheeky pictures that eventually leads to utter filth. 

And that’s how they spend the next few days— taking care of each other’s needs digitally until Friday rolls around. There’s plenty of those encounters, but there’s definitely favorites. 

A session during one of Harry’s self-care baths, when he puts her on speaker and she talks him through tugging one out while the scent of lavender salts— which he’d chosen because they smell like her— leave his heated skin feeling soft and supple. Another instance where he makes her orgasm while she has gotten bored watching a scary movie marathon on her couch, the screams of the horror film mere background noise compared to all the sweet nothings Harry huskily mumbles into her ear, his dominant voice filtering through her headphone and instructing her on how to make herself feel good.

Harry messages her at three A.M. at one point, wide awake as ever, all of his thoughts occupied by the concept of Y/N laying on her tummy between his thighs and sucking him off at a slow pace. He can practically see her small hands wrapped around his girth, stroking up to meet her pretty lips, her tongue lapping at his tip eagerly as she whines around a full mouth. She’s always just so eager. Even at the crack of dawn, she’s awake by some miracle, and happily willing to delve into that fantasy with him. Her soft, timid tone drifts across the shells of his ears, explicitly sketching out how she’d take him all the way down her throat until she gags, and how she’d kiss all over the head of his prick just to smear his precum over her lips to then lick it off, and how she’d rock against his lap fast and hard while he takes her nipples between his teeth. How she wouldn’t stop until he’s dripping down her thighs and groaning into her throat. How she’d let him fuck her as many times as it takes to tire himself out. 

Harry obviously repays her, and it comes in the form of him painting out a scenario where she’s gotten home from a long day at the café. He tells her about how he’d be there waiting for her in nothing but his underwear, sitting back on his elbows in her bed, touching himself over his briefs just at the thought of pleasuring her. About how he’d lay her out and taste every inch of her body with his tongue, and how he’d run his teeth across her inner thighs tenderly while his fingers play with her clit, and how he’d have her ride his face deep and sloppy until she’s shaking and sensitive. How he’d tie her to the bed and toss her legs over his shoulders while he pounds her into the mattress, marking bruises across her neck as she sucks on his fingers and tightens around his cock like “the snug little thing you are.”

They even take their fun out of the confines of their houses and into public settings, just to give it an adrenaline high. Those situations are foreplay; it’s how they prep each other throughout the day for when they’re both finally alone and can truly help one another to the fullest. 

It happens Thursday on two occasions. 

First, to Y/N, who is sitting in the backroom on her lunch break, though she’s barely touched her food. She’s much more interested in what Harry has to say. Much more interested in how he says he wishes he could be there with her right now. That she could sneak him in through the back door of the restaurant and they could lock themselves in that tiny supply room, making sure no one would disturb what he’s about to do to her. That he would drop to his knees and drag her jeans down her legs, pressing damp kisses in the denim’s wake, biting hickies in the areas he knows she loves to receive them. He would mount her knees over his shoulders and bury his face between her thighs, looking up at her through heavy lashes as he licks into her desperately. He would have her grab onto his curls and guide his tongue just the way she likes it, and she’d have to bite into her cheek to keep from getting caught. 

He talks about how he’d take her against the supply shelves, one hand clamped over her mouth while he pants praise into her ear, her body jolting roughly upwards against the surface as she clings to his back. How he’d hold her up with the other arm and slam her down onto his cock, cooing things like, “Gotta keep quiet for me, sweetheart. Can’t make you cum if we get caught.” and “Such a filthy girl, sneaking me in here just to fuck you. Baby just wants to walk around the rest of the day full of me, doesn’t she?” 

That fantasy leaves her in a bothered haze the rest of the work day. It’s bad enough that she almost drops her tray three different times and has to ask multiple customers to repeat their orders. 

Y/N gets back at Harry, though. That revenge is the second occasion. 

The vampire had mentioned that he would be going out with his friends that evening to a bar and she takes full advantage of that. When the picture comes through, Harry nearly spits out his Manhattan drink. 

He’s sitting in a booth surrounded by his entire group and he’d been talking shit with Niall about golf. The vampire doesn’t care for the sport, but Niall loves it, and Harry loves getting on Niall’s nerves, therefore it’s all pretty self-explanatory. Mitch and Adam join in, with Mitch obviously supporting Harry, when he randomly decides to check his notifications. Even in the shrunken little banner, Harry can immediately tell the photo is graphic. Xander asks if he’s alright, telling him he looks freakishly pale and to get his eyes under control because they're in public. Harry blinks the red from his irises, hurriedly excusing himself and clambering up from his seat, jetting across the restaurant towards the restrooms. It’s occupied, much to his luck, so he settles for simply pressing his back against the wall of the corridor, leaning his head against the bricks and taking deep breaths to calm the raging in his stomach. He gingerly opens the message and his knees nearly give out. 

The image is taken from the back, probably using a timer. Y/N is wearing one of her big tees and another pair of cheeky lace panties, but this time around, they’re pastel peach and crotchless. She’s bent over with her ass up and spine arched, knees parted for balance, her shirt bunching downwards due to the angle. Her arms are pulled behind her back and her chest is flushed to the bed, wrists crossed submissively as she gazes at the camera over her shoulder. There’s an unmistakable sparkle in her eyes and he can tell she had sent this now on purpose just to fuck with him, knowing good and well that he was out and occupied.

The shot is more than he can handle and he has to swallow down the urge to stomp out of the bar, get into his car, race to her flat, and make her rethink her decision. Preferably, in the form of harsh spanks and overstimulation. He can see everything— the intentional rip at the crotch of the panties are meant for that sole reason. The closer he looks, he comes to realize that she’s wet, which in turn means she had been touching herself. She’d set this up perfectly, knowing that he’d easily be able to deduce that fact and that it would haunt him for the rest of the night. 

The monster releases a quivering exhale, typing back slowly and carefully, sight bleary. 

You’re going to regret that. 

Pinky promise?

///

When Harry arrives at Y/N’s apartment the next night, as he has for the last three Fridays, he doesn’t saunter up to her door and bang on it angrily. He doesn’t grab her by her hair and drag her into her room, how he’d intended. He doesn’t even have a single cinch in his sculpted brows. 

Instead, he raps softly on the door with one jeweled knuckle and waits calmly. 

The human goes to answer, her stomach twisting in excitement at all the possibilities of what punishment she might face for her antics. A small, sly smile buckles the corners of her lips at the thought, her fingers trembling as they wrap around her cold doorknob. She expects to find a furrow-browed, intense-eyed, red-faced Harry behind the threshold, who would shove past her, nab her by the arm, and throw her onto her bed. She expects him to yank his belt from around his hips while a distinct darkness swallows his emerald irises, his mouth curling into a sinister grin. She expects him to roughly command she get on her hands and knees, his palm finding the back of her head to shove her face-first into the sheets while he rips her panties down her legs and drags the cool leather of his accessory over her backside tauntingly.

What she gets is something— and someone— completely the opposite. 

When her door swings open, Harry is standing standing there, sure. But instead of looming over her with flaring nostrils and cruel intent, he’s decided to lean against the door frame with his arms folded casually. His body is completely empty of tension, his ankles are crossed offhandedly, and a small, bright red paper bag full of sparkly black tissue paper is hanging off his wrist. His expression is a relaxed facade of indifference, lips set into his usual signature smirk, no explosive emotions present whatsoever. 

That startles Y/N. This has to be an act; it feels like the calm before a violent storm and it has her shifting in her socked feet. Did he...Did he forget what she did? 

There’s no way he forgot. It was too brazen a move to dismiss.

Harry steps forward into her home, comfortable enough that he no longer has to wait for an invitation. Y/N moves to the side to let him through, hesitantly closing the entrance behind him, contemplating the man as if he were a ticking bomb. She does a quick sweep of his physique, looking for some other clue as to what he could be plotting, aside from the mysterious gift bag in his hand. He’s wearing a pair of flared denim jeans, a white tee with a royal blue cartoon bee printed in the center along with the words Enjoy health! Eat your honey! surrounding it, his white Vans, and an oversized colorful patch-work cardigan. The outfit is surprisingly domestic compared to his usual taste, but she finds it’s easily one of her favorite fits on him. He just looks so boyish adorable. 

The human comes up with nothing suspicious, glancing back up to lock eyes with her guest. Harry beams at her innocently and she knows for sure he’s planning something, but she can’t place what. 

“I got you this.” The vampire speaks up first, holding out the paper bag towards Y/N with his index finger, bouncing it encouragingly. “Take a peek.” 

The girl accepts the gift gingerly, giving him one more hard look before breaking away to investigate what lies beneath the tissue paper. She pulls out a small cardboard box, her eyes squinting slightly as she reads its print and surveys the label. The image on the surface appears to be of five silicone finger gloves, each about the size of a thumbtack, tiny metal plates embedded into the pads. She’s voicing her curiosity before she’s even finished studying the container. 

“What...What are these?”

Harry rolls his eyes jokingly, tapping the object for emphasis. “Read the fine print, love.” 

Y/N focuses on the region he’d pointed out, reciting aloud. “‘Vibrating silicone finger gloves. For the use of personal pleasure or with partners.’”

Then it all clicks. 

“Oh my God, you got me— what?!” Y/N’s head snaps up in shock, mouth parted and brows creased. “Harry, what?”

The young man laughs airily, gently opening the seal of the box in her hands, which she is now holding as if it were a weapon of mass destruction. It’s such a weird present to give in general, moreso all out of the blue, so she can’t be blamed for her reaction.

He uncaps the packaging, rummaging through its contents and pulling out two of the tiny rubbery gloves. They’re transparent and ribbed, obviously meant to deliver as many sensations as possible, and they’re about two inches in length. He slips them onto his index and middle finger, making scissoring motions for the purpose of symbolism, but mainly just to watch Y/N fidget. “I remember how you said you don’t have sex toys because you’d never really thought about buying any, so I went and picked these up down at my favorite shop. Jessi said they’re good for beginners.”

“Jessi?” Y/N’s voice is tight. She’s not sure how to respond to this; she’s never been in this situation before. No one has ever just given her a sex toy as if a were a candy bar. “Who’s Jessi and why do they need to know about my sex life?”

“She’s the manager.” Harry says matter-of-factly. He doesn’t seem to find anything strange about this encounter. “She helped me pick out my first pocket vag, so I trust her with my soul. Here, look. You just slip them on and—” He makes finger thrusting motions in the air, wiggling his digits playfully. “Big O. Not as good as what I can give you, obviously, but close enough.”

“Harry, you do realize this is a little…odd, right?”

The boy blinks at Y/N blankly. “What? Why? Sex is literally the basis of this whole thing.” He signals back and forth between them with his gloved forefinger. “It’s really not that weird at all, if y’think about it.”

“I just...it’s like…” 

Her argument fizzles to an end the longer she stares at him. He has the most wholesome expression painted across his handsome features, his eyes glossy with excitement. He looks genuinely elated about the present and she can’t find it in herself to question him any further. As unorthodox as this may be, it’s the first true act of kindness anyone has shown Y/N since she had moved to California. It’s the first time anyone has given the girl anything without her having to request it. She comes to the realization that Harry really is the only friend she has at the moment, and she refuses to pick and prod at that, lest he retract from her on the grounds that she’s ungrateful. Yes, this is a little atypical, but so is their whole dynamic. In his own twisted way, this is how Harry shows his friendship. 

The more she ponders on it, she starts to understand that this truly is something she should accept. He went out of his way to get her this gift, which solidifies their acquaintanceship. It’s sweet.

“You know what, never mind. Thank you! I love them.” 

The giddy smile that cracks his face melts her heart. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

Harry then softly grasps her hand with his, tugging her down the entrance hallway, his intentions set on her bedroom. His voice takes on a deeper sultry twang, the corners of his mouth twitching suggestively. “Because on my way here, I was thinking, yeah? And I figured: who better to teach you how to use these than the person who picked them out.”

“Of fucking course.” Y/N huffs in amusement, shaking her head but allowing herself to be guided forward. “I should’ve known you had an ulterior motive.” 

“Heyyyyy!” Harry’s whine is offended, but the coy simper dimpling his cheeks ruins any defense he could possibly try to spin. “This isn’t an ulterior motive, it’s simply a supporting one.”

“Right.” Y/N states flatly, shuffling forward slowly as he backs down her corridor, momentarily glancing over his shoulder to orient himself. “Buying a fuck buddy a sex toy is totally selfless and mutually exclusive of the agreement.”

Harry takes a turn and crosses the threshold into her bedroom, releasing her arm and instead, he opts for wrapping his fist into the loose material of her large Transformers tee, twisting the fabric around his knuckles and giving it a sharp yank. She stumbles into his chest and almost drops the box. 

The vampire gazes down at her with half-lidded eyes, long lashes tempting and plush lips the color of roses. “I never said it was mutually exclusive. I just said it wasn’t meant to be evidently inclusive.” 

He takes the box from her grip, sliding it onto her nightstand so that any obstacles between them are eliminated. He beckons her closer with a flick of his wrist, feeling heat erupt across his chest as her palms slap down against it to steady herself. She’s always so warm, almost like a furnace. It’s a nice contrast to his ever-present coldness.

Harry’s cupped fingers nurse the slope of her jaw, tilting her chin up to level his, Cupid’s bow ghosting over her own teasingly as a grin threatens to betray him. His accent is thick, heavy with condescension. “Now do you want me to fuck you or not?”

Y/N gulps audibly, the sudden jump in her heart rate causing Harry’s cock to give a foreshadowing twitch in his designer jeans. Her eyes soften with a form of weepy desire, head nodding in his grasp. 

Harry’s top teeth catch on his lower lip as he appraises her from over the crest of his defined cheekbones. “I don’t think I heard you, pet. Must be the AC draft.”

The mortal’s eyes fall shut as she composes herself, a shaky sigh faltering past her nostrils. She tips forward onto her toes, connecting her itching mouth to his. Harry allows it, listing his head to the side to grant her more access, his free arm roping across the dip of her spine and pressing her front flushed to his. The kiss is soft and heated, full of drunken tongues and muffled whimpers. It’s tame compared to most of the others they’ve shared, but Harry likes it. It’s sloppy and intimate; only the beginning of what he knows will be a long night. 

Her words sting the ridges of his lips, hot and bated. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Harry speaks into her mouth, tone gentle but packing a punch. “Get my belt off for me, will you? I’m tying you to the bed tonight.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice, a dark chuckle vibrating across his tongue when her fingers immediately begin to fumble with his belt buckle. 

Once Harry has looped the leather tightly around Y/N’s wrists and has knotted them to one of the wooden railings of her headboard, he sits back on his heels to admire his work. Y/N is splayed out across her mattress with her arms suspended above her head, bare thighs clasped in anticipation as her t-shirt gathers around her waist. Her hands are curled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she watches Harry leisurely shrug off his cardigan, keeping eye contact with her the whole way through. His tattoos stand out against the buttery light of the single lamp on the table, tanned arms flexing sinfully. 

He shifts around, laying down onto his stomach and coasting his palms up her quivering legs, kissing over her kneecaps and along the crease of her inner thighs, bunching her shirt further up her body as he goes. As soon as he spots the first garter, he blacks out for a millisecond, vision washing red. 

“Fuck, wait— did you…?” His voice is strained and desperate as he shoves the rest of her clothes up her torso, pulling her shirt over her head and letting it rest at her elbows. He hums appreciatively when he’s met with the full cherry-colored lingerie set from a few days ago, garters and all. “God, you did.”

Y/N’s gaze falls timidly, a sheepish smile brushing over her face. “I thought you’d want to see it in person, since you seemed to like it so much.” 

“Mm...” Harry struggles to swallow, fingers hooking under the straps that clip to the hem of her underwear, pulling the fabric from her skin and letting them snap back into place. He revels in the tiny noise she lets slip, the pads of his digits now toying across the frilly bands encircling her upper legs. After a thoughtful heartbeat, Harry speaks up, wistful but vehement. “I’m going to make you soil your sheets again.” 

Y/N bucks a tad at his promise, wrists stressing against the leather belt, but Harry’s practiced enough bondage in his lifetime to know she won’t be getting out anytime soon. He parts her knees open with his palms, dragging his silicone-covered fingers down her clothed clit and tutting when she lets out a stuttery gasp. 

“Always so sensitive, aren’t you, angel?” The vampire pets at her core patiently, heat pooling at the base of his abdomen as he feels her panties damped with every stroke of his touch. “Christ, you’re already soaking through.”  

“Want more.” The girl’s plead is strangled as she actively forces herself to keep her legs wide open, knowing that if she were to allow them to snap shut, Harry would only pry them apart again. “I’ve been thinking about this all week. Please.”

“All week?” Harry drags tongue across the inside of her thigh, nipping at the flesh tauntingly, the amber specks in his eyes glittering amidst his lashes. He continues to rub through her underwear, drinking up all the little noises streaming from her throat. “Tread lightly, dove. You’re swelling my ego.”

“I just…” Her hips give another jerk when he wriggles two rubber-clad fingers into the crotch of her bottoms, spreading her open just a bit and grinning against her skin at how wet she’s become. “I just need it hard tonight, Harry. Need you to leave me sore.” 

“I always leave you sore.” The monster reasons mockingly, taking one of the garters between his teeth and tugging, releasing so it stings her like before. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.” 

Y/N trembles out an exhale, gathering herself enough to give him what he wants. “I need you to fuck me like you hate me.”

Harry grabs onto either sides of her panties, slowly peeling them down her legs and then scooting closer forward, planting an open-mouthed kiss right onto her bare clit. She mewls in return, her restraints creaking the bed. He continues pressing messy wet pecks to her cunt, feeling her tense up each time his soft lips suckle her fervently. 

“Is that why you sent that picture?” Harry wonders aloud, pausing his motions and raising one eyebrow at her. “Because you wanted me mad?”

The human nods, face wracked with guilt. It’s cute that she feels bad, especially because Harry had, in actuality, enjoyed her little stunt. Seeing her bent over like that, in a position that shows she couldn’t wait to please him— that she couldn’t wait until Friday came around so he could do to her whatever he deemed fit...It was the best form of edging he’s ever experienced. But for the sake of giving her what she wants, he’ll bite the bait. 

Harry rises up onto his knees, parting her thighs further as he fits himself between them, the pads of his gloved digits dancing across the thick of her damp clit. He bends down until his nose smudges over hers, the breath of his low words hot against her parted mouth. 

“Well, it fucking worked.”  

Harry taps his index and middle fingers against his palm in one quick flick and the tiny metal plates situated along the tips purr to life. He sinks knuckle-deep inside of Y/N, cold rings catching on her folds as he curls upwards to get at that special spot that resides along the pit of her tummy. The moan she releases it so raw and broken, it sends a zip of lightning through his veins. 

He fucks her like that for a while, with his strong chest poised against her heaving own as he marks love bites onto the cleavage spilling from her lace bra, his skilled fingers pumping into her at a harsh pace that has her legs shaking on either sides. He thumbs over her clit messily, the silicone molds sending waves of vibrations through her clenching walls as he relentlessly toys with her g-spot, her arms thrashing against his belt. Fragmented sounds of bliss freely stream from Y/N’s mouth without shame, his name intermingling amongst the whimpers as her head throws back against the headboard. Harry grips her throat in one hand, holding her to the sturdy surface as his other bobs between her thighs roughly, the bed groaning as a result of their intense actions. His wrist begins to ache from how hard he’s going, but the tears trickling out from the corners of Y/N’s eyes and the way she’s panting into his mouth are enough to keep him going.

“Look at me.” Harry squeezes her jugular tighter, garnering attention. She forces her eyelids open, inhales hiccuping when he braces his cool forehead to hers, his irises the color of a forest at midnight, pupils blown out of proportion. His teeth dig into her bottom lip just to feel it swell, a growl stirring the gravel in his chest. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Y-Yes.” Y/N boggles her head feverishly, glimpsing down over her sweaty cheeks to see the way his veins are chiseling along the forearm that is flexing between her drenched thighs. “Fuck, it’s so g-good.”

“Yeah? How about we go a little higher, hm?” Harry scrapes the pads of his fingers against that spongy place inside her, pressing the vibrators down and the motion clicks the toy into a higher level of intensity. 

Y/N writhes in his grasp, back arching off the headboard as deeper, more concentrated rumbles lap throughout her body. “Harry— I— that’s— God, just please!”

Harry takes ahold of her jaw as he continues finger-fucking her without remorse, his short breaths warm against her burning lips. “That’s my girl. Taking it hard and loving every second.” 

Y/N’s eyes lull back into her head. She doesn’t know why, but hearing Harry call her his girl satisfies her in a manner so deep, she didn’t know it existed. Just hearing him recognize her as his— as something he claims for himself, almost like an extension of who he is— stirs a foreign form of fulfillment in the back of her mind. 

“I’m—” The girl chokes on her sentence, finding it difficult to concentrate with so much pleasure coursing through her system, as well as with Harry painting hickies across the side of her strained neck. “I’m gonna cum.”

The immortal’s voice is stern and authoritative. “No, you’re not.” 

“I am, I can’t hold—”

“Yes,” Harry’s grip firms, pace sharpening into unapologetic slams, “you can. And you will. If you cum before I let you, you’re not getting anything else from me for the rest of the night. Do I make myself clear?”

Y/N’s cunt tightens around his fingers, warning him that she’s about to peak. “Harry, I’m sorry—but— but I—”

“Do I make myself clear?” 

Y/N has no hope that she can keep it in, but she adores the darkness swirling in Harry’s eyes at the moment and she’ll do anything if it means getting to witness it for a while longer. “Yes.” 

“Good.” She winces when she feels his teeth skim her earlobe, his whisper dripping with arrogant amusement. “I told you I’d make you regret it.” 

And he really does keep his oath. Minutes simulate hours as Harry continues to flirt her just along the seams of relief, pulling her back every time he sees her about to tip. Whenever he feels her begin to spasm around his slick fingers, he gives her a cautionary quirk of his brows accompanied by a testing, throaty, “Don’t you fucking dare.” or a simple, silent shake of his head. By some miracle, she manages to reign herself in every time, but each ruined orgasm makes it harder and harder to stifle the next. She doesn’t know how many times it happens; she stops counting after four. 

After what feels like decades of torture, Harry finally releases his hold around her jugular, allowing her to properly gulp air for the first time in a while. He sits back against his heels, pulling his hand from between her thighs with a sarcastic sympathetic hiss. “Poor thing.” 

He watches as a trail of her juices strings from his digits to her cunt, eventually snapping in the middle as he lifts his hand to study his work. Her release drips down his knuckles and palm, gleaming in the dim lighting. A mildly sadistic glint washes over Harry’s irises and for a split second, they look almost red, but Y/N dismisses it. Her brain is too fogged to trust right now. 

The boy’s sight flickers past his hand to where Y/N lies limply, wrists bruised from the bonds, arms quivering weakly, and legs trembling in overstimulation. He’s never seen her look more beautiful than now. 

He locks his bright eyes to her exhausted own, watching them shatter to pieces when he pushes his drenched fingers past his pillowy blushed lips. His lashes flutter as her taste washes across his tongue, sweet and decadent as always, a soft groan thrumming deep in his throat. God, he can only imagine how delectable her blood must be at the moment, honeyed by the plethora of endorphins he had repeatedly coaxed into her. He can't wait to feel its warmth fill his mouth later tonight.

Harry removes his fingers with a wet pop, licking across the back of his hand with finality and giving her a daring once-over. “Do you still want my cock? Or are you too sensitive for it, darling?”

He sounds so conceited and self-assured, it causes Y/N’s pride to flare. She wants to make him eat his stupid words.  

The mortal licks her chapped lips, wetting her dry throat and clearing it softly, wiping away the sweat on her forehead with her shoulder. “I still want it.” 

An impressed expression decorates Harry’s features. “You think you can take it?”

Y/N’s jaw clenches with dedication, her thighs spreading open a tad more and she wills herself not to flinch. Her chin cocks upwards. “I know I can.” 

Harry’s brows kink challengingly, a borderline evil smirk sewing onto his face. “Let’s see, then.” 

As it turns out, Y/N can take it. However, she knows for a fact she won’t be able to walk right for at least the next week.

Harry lowers his jeans and kicks them off, reaching into his navy briefs and tugging himself out, giving his length a few pumps for good measure as he shifts forward toward her. He flips the girl onto her belly as easily as he’d turn a sheet of paper, tying one arm around her hips and lifting them up as he slides a pillow below. He situates her accordingly onto the cushion, her ass slightly elevated to give him more range of depth. He pats at her backside lightly, telling her to part her knees and she does so obediently, gripping onto the leather strap around her wrists anxiously when she feels the bed shift with his weight. Harry lowers himself over her body, the tee covering his broad chest soaking up the thin sheet of sweat on her back. He moves all of her tangled hair to the side, burying his fingers into her roots and yanking her head back cheekily. He runs his nose across her damp cheekbone and chuckles when she jumps slightly at the feathery sensation. 

“You’re pretty stubborn, aren’t you?” 

Y/N gnaws on her bottom lip as she struggles to swallow, throat taut from the angle he’s put her in. Her voice carries a confident bite, despite her compromisable position. “I like to think I am, yeah.” 

“Well, you know what that makes you, right?” Harry murmurs as he lines himself up with her entrance. 

“Mm-mm. What?” 

The vampire presses a lingering kiss to the tittering pulse in her temple, feeling it thunder below his skin as he forms his next comment slowly with an ominous edge. “It makes you a brat.” 

He feels her heartbeat trip. 

“And you know what I do to brats?” 

Y/N shakes her head as much as his dominant grasp will allow, body tightening in suspense. 

“I fuck them until they break.” 

Y/N learns that he’s telling the truth. The first thrust Harry delivers is swift, hard, and unbelievably deep; it causes her to let out a choked scream that no one else has ever drawn from her before, except for him. It’s like he can tap into certain aspects of her body she was unaware of; parts of her waiting for the right person to come along and reveal them. She feels that stroke rip into her tummy, but the pain of his size is something she’s become accustomed to in the last three weeks. She hardly feels it anymore; it had molded from a sharp throb to a dull ache, due to how often she’s experienced it. 

Harry doesn’t waste any time, quickly picking up a sloppy, adamant pace that has her hips bouncing against the mattress. He twists her hair around his fist, mouth pressed to the side of her head as his hot pants of exertion send a prickling through her scalp. His other forearm keeps him anchored to the bed as he pounds into her with absolutely no hesitation, the sound of skin slapping, cracked whines, and raspy grunts filling the tense atmosphere of her chilly room. 

“Is this what you were hoping would happen when you sent that slutty picture?” Harry grits out, short nails digging into the comforter beneath. “Wanted to get me all riled up just so I’d do your back in?”

Y/N mewls weakly in response, hands clinging to each other within the makeshift cuffs. 

“If you wanted me to fuck you like I hate you, you could have just asked. I’m more than happy to give you whatever you want. You don’t have to tempt me.” The vampire gives a particularly deep slam, laughing breathily when the girl’s back instinctively arches forward, paired with a watery yelp of, “Oh!”

Harry’s tongue grazes across the shell of her ear, teeth catching the skin. “But since you did, I’ll give it to you just— like—that.” His thrusts match to each word, fingers coiling harder into her locks. “You deserve it. Especially when you had the nerve to act like such a spoiled little brat right to my face.” 

Y/N’s not sure what emboldens her to speak, but her snarky remark is already halfway down her numb tongue before she can stop it. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

Harry hums tauntingly, circling his hips in long strides that urge a series of fractured whimpers to scrape out of Y/N’s sore throat. “Say it again. Go ahead, say it. I want to see you try.”

She remains silent, spine shuddering as she bites down on her tongue to avoid making any more noises that might condemn her.  

Harry roughly cranes Y/N’s neck to the side, buttoning their lips together in a filthy kiss that has her cheeks boiling. “That’s what I thought. The only thing that sharp tongue is good for is licking down my cock.” 

She gasps against his mouth shakily, tears of sheer bliss gathering along her waterline. “You’re such a fucking asshole.” 

Harry can tell her comment holds no true malice behind it; she’s too sweet on him— too whipped on what he gives her— to ever mean it. She’d only said it to provoke him into a power dynamic struggle. But the thing is, Harry’s dealt with feeling powerless before, so he had spent years teaching himself how to win. How to always win. 

“Am I, now?” His next line dismantles her entire plan. “Would an asshole let you cum?”

And just like that, her whole demeanor crumbles. “I take it back. I’m s-sorry.”

Harry releases her hair and nips at her ear mockingly, beginning to withdraw himself. “Oh, I think it’s a bit too late for that, minx.”

“No, no! Harry, please. I’m sorry. Genuinely. I promise I won’t say it again. Just…” She tugs helplessly at the belt restraints, trying to twist around to look at him directly. Her voice is wringed out. “Just please.”

The boy pushes a few stringy curls out of his eyes, pressing his tongue into his cheek coyly as he glances down, suggestively smoothing one hand over her ass. He gives it a firm squeeze, lifting his palm teasingly and feeling her tense in anticipation. “Do you want it?”

Y/N glimpses at his bejeweled hand with hunger, then back at his eyes. “Yes.”

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

“Sorry, I seem to have forgotten what ‘it’ was, exactly. Jog my memory, will you? What is it you want?”

Her irises harden in spite at his shit-eating comment. He’s well aware of how shy she can be when it comes to admitting she wants a spanking, and he’s playing that to his advantage. He’s swimming in the way she squirms. 

“I...I want you to spank me.”

He tsks, shaking his head as he twists his HS rings around to face inwards. “You forgot something.” 

Y/N’s fingers tighten into begrudging fists. “I want you to spank me, please.”

“There’s a good girl.” His low, accented purr sends electricity through her nerves. “You’re so cute when you beg.”

Harry’s hand comes down swiftly, digits fanned out so that all of his rings print across her backside. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to leave a satisfying sting. He loves the way she jolts forward with a hushed curse of surprise, and he adores seeing the shape of his initials marked across her clammy skin. It’s poetic, almost.

“So pretty.” His mumble is wistful as he massages deeply over the region he had just bruised, but it holds unyielding authority. “Whose is it, doll?”

“Yours.” 

“And don’t you fucking forget it.” The creature lifts one palm to do it again, pausing once more just to rev her further. He reaches forward with the other, shoving her face-first into the mattress to get her back to straighten out. “Look forward and don’t make a single sound.”

Y/N obeys, but manages to sneak a peek at his reflection through the waxy wooden surface of her aged bedframe. He looks so good perched behind her with bare heaving shoulders, looking down at her exposed figure over the crests of his sharp cheekbones, brows furrowed into a starved expression that gives away he’s enjoying this probably more than she is. Her voice comes out small and weak. “Yes, sir.”

Harry’s entire face tightens at the word and she feels him throb against her backside. 

“Now beg me to let you cum.”

///

The next morning when Y/N’s eyes flutter open to the grey light streaking in through her curtains, the first thing she senses is a pair of eyes staring at the side of her face. 

She turns her stiff body over toward where the sensation stems and sure enough, she’s met with a pair of sea glass irises filled to the brim with humor. Harry’s laying on his side with his hands tucked below one of her pillows, tousled ringlets sticking up in wild tuffs (thanks to the activities they’d engaged yesterday), he’s completely bare since he likes sleeping nude (though he’d had the decency to cover himself with sheets from the waist down), and his voice is slower and raspier than usual (a result of being dormant for the last eight or so hours). 

“You drool in your sleep.” 

Y/N tucks her hands against Harry’s cold pectorals, snuggling deeper into his chest and pinching at one of his nipples in playful revenge. “No, I don’t.” 

“Yes,” he reaches up and shoos her hand away, proceeding to wipe at the side of her mouth, where dried spit had accumulated. He makes a theatrical gagging face, cleaning his thumb off across the collar of her t-shirt. “You do.”

Y/N sighs in exasperation, making a bold leap to a different topic to avoid talking about her embarrassing sleep habits. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you staring at people while they sleep is weird? Like, serial killer weird?” 

Harry tucks a few matted strands of hair behind the human’s ear, thumbing over her cheekbone tenderly. He hardly ever indulges in such actions, simply because they’re typically reserved for actual couples, which he and Y/N are definitely not. But last night— after he had finally finished being a prick and allowed her cum along with him, and after she had fallen into the bed with exhaustion taking her under, and after he’d had his greedy fill of her blood for the week— he’d gotten bored of playing on his phone. He’d burned through three cold case documentaries on Netflix and played enough Mario Kart to memorize the race charts; it had grown old quickly, and he eventually just locked the device and placed it on her nightstand. He spent the next hour staring at her hideous ceiling, and the one after that fantasizing about taking down her tapestry and burning it in the oven. And finally, after hours of mindless daydreams and letting his eyes chase the city lights dancing across the walls of her room, he had settled onto his side and watched her sleep. 

Harry did it simply because he had nothing else to distract him. He figured it would eventually bore him enough that maybe— just maybe, if he was lucky— he would fall asleep alongside her. But he didn’t, so he just ended up gazing at her slumbering face until dawn. He had been surprised by how oddly beautiful Y/N looked sleeping— how relaxed and tranquil, with her features soft and skin seemingly made of flawless porcelain. That intrigue had bled into the moment they share now, resulting in his touch drifting down the curve of her jaw and across the faint dimple on her chin. He follows the slope of her neck and admires the smoothness of her flesh with the ridges of his fingertips, hearing her breathing stutter ever so slightly. His heightened senses make it feel as if he’s running his digits over velvet and the only concept he can compare it to is touching forbidden artwork at an exhibit. It’s exciting, but he knows that if he keeps going, he could end up getting himself into a crock of shit. 

When the pads of his fingers land on two prominent purple bruises he’d forgotten existed, he’s broken from his soft stupor. He retracts his touch as if she were made of iron, forcing himself to ignore the pout that automatically plumps her delicate lips. 

He clears his throat awkwardly, a tight chuckle stringing his vocal chords. “Staring at someone in their sleep seemed to work just fine for Edward Cullen, though.” 

Y/N snorts sharply, rolling her eyes up towards her headboard. When she sees his belt is still hanging off of it from the night prior, she hurriedly glances back down, pretending not to have seen it. 

“It’s funny you say that because as I recall, he literally admitted to being a murderer. I believe his exact words were,” she exaggerates her voice into an angsty cry, grasping at her chest dramatically, “‘This is the skin of a killer, Bella!’”

Harry bursts into boyish giggles, falling fully onto his back and swiping his palm up his face, fingers remaining perched over his closed eyes as he laughs. He sighs airily, shaking his head as an afterthought. “What a moron.” 

“Truly. His dad was hotter.” 

“Way hotter.” Harry agrees passionately, burying his hand into his messy curls, attempting to comb out some of the tangles. “And he was a doctor. What a man.” 

“Bella really fucked that one up. She had a midlife crisis over choosing between a sad vampire who looked like he had chronic constipation, and a yappy dog with a shirt phobia. All when Carlisle was right there. Brain damage, honestly.” 

“A moment of prayer for the mentally incapacitated. Couldn't be me!”

“Couldn’t be me, either.”   

“Fuck, yeah.” Harry throws his hand up, inviting Y/N to give him a high five. “To good taste.”

She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”

An instance of comfortable silence suspends between the pair of lovers, filled with the soft thrum of the air vent and the distant chirping of birds outside Y/N’s windowpane. She traces her index nail over the wings of the swallow tattoos along Harry’s collarbones, seeming to be deep in thought. She then speaks up once again.

“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.” 

“You know what? I’m happy you mentioned that ‘cause— full disclosure here— I’d ride him like a fucking bull.” 

Now it’s Y/N’s turn to explode in a fit of giggles, nose scrunching and eyes crinkling shut as she loses herself at Harry’s graphic confession. 

“Why are you laughing?!” The fact that he sounds genuinely appalled only spurs her sounds of glee. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t take that chance if you got it. Like, okay, he’s an airhead, yeah? I’m aware. But fuck’s sake, look at his body. I’d happily let him beat me at arm wrestling if it means I get that celebratory dick afterwards.”

The mortal manages to calm down a handful of heartbeats later and Harry feels strangely proud of how he’d made her pulse spike. 

“You’re valid for that, don’t worry. I couldn’t have said it—” A single giggle interupts her sentence, but she reigns it in before it can spiral. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Literally. There’s no way to express it better than exactly how you stated it.” 

Harry smirks softly up at the ceiling, folding his free arm behind his head as the other wraps securely down Y/N’s back, absentmindedly rubbing in gentle soothing circles. “My mind. It’s amazing, innit?”

“It’s definitely something.” 

Another span of cozy quietness fills the atmosphere of the room, longer than the last. Harry doesn’t mind. He finds it appeasing, and he continues to delight himself with running his touch up and down Y/N’s spine. He’s not sure how much time passes, but he’s aware that it’s probably a bit. His theory is supported by how he witnesses the beam of watery light that filters over the duvet gradually fade from silver to a sunflower yellow, indicating full daybreak. 

Even then, he doesn’t say a word, too caught up in this innocent bubble of domestic bliss to pop it so suddenly. He just lays there and listens. Listens to the birds harmonizing with each other across the branches of the tree outside. To the steady breaths that fill Y/N’s lungs with cool air, faltering past her nostrils in the same manner and fogging the metal of his cross necklace. To the faint sound of footsteps trotting down the staircase outside her apartment, and to the vague spritz of the sprinkler system going off at the front of the complex. To the distant honking of car horns in traffic, and to a random conversation between two friends as they walk past the pavement just under Y/N’s balcony. He hasn’t felt this at ease in eons. 

Harry just allows himself to grow in tune with the world around him— a world he’d been convinced was against him for the longest time. A world he was convinced stole his happiness and replaced it with the shackles of a blood-driven afterlife, for no other reason than because he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and met the wrong person. But now, he feels like he’s in the right place, at the right time, spending it with the right person— or at least a half-decent person— and he doesn’t want to let it slip between his fingers so soon. He wants to bask in it, even if he knows it’ll pass. 

And eventually, it does pass, and Y/N is the one who brings it to an end. 

The girl slowly peels away from Harry’s side, his lips dipping downwards slightly at the loss of the warmth she radiates. He thinks she’s about to get up to probably go use the bathroom or to make breakfast, but instead, she just bends her upper body over the edge of her bed to retrieve something from the floor. She comes back up with the box he’d brought her the evening before (which had ended up on the ground as a result of her bed rocking violently), setting it in the small space between their laps. She then returns to her place cuddled into his torso, looking up at him with an expression that Harry can only interpret as expecting. 

The vampire glances down at the container and then back up to Y/N’s face, raising his eyebrows curiously, voice tinged with comedy. “What did I say about bringing sex toys to the dinner table?”

Y/N stares up at him flatly for a second, fighting off a smile. “I just wanted to thank you again. It’s nice of you to bring me a present, even as strange as this one.” 

Harry sucks at his teeth, waving a hand dismissively, blinking down at her with slyness sparkling around his pupils. “What are friends for, if not for buying you vibrating finger gloves and then fucking you with them until you cry?”

Despite having been acquainted with Harry’s crude humor for three weeks now, it still manages to make Y/N’s cheeks sizzle. It could also be the fact that this is the first time Harry has openly accepted Y/N as a friend. It’s the first time he’s ever mentioned her name and that word in the same sentence, meaning that she can now shake a weight off her shoulders— a weight that had insisted he was only using her for sex, that he would eventually grow bored of her, and that he would throw her away once he was done. It’s good to know that’s not the case, and that the friendship aspect of their agreement is true to its name. 

“Right.” Y/N’s smile is full of so much genuine warmth, Harry feels like she could outshine the sun. “What are friends for, if not that. Thanks, Harry.” 

He wonders what she’s thinking, and he finds himself wishing that he had the one valid trait that idiot Edward Cullen possesses: mind-reading. But he doesn’t have it, so he simply returns her gesture and skates the conversation how he best deems fit. “You don’t have to call me ‘Harry’ all the time, you know?” 

Y/N’s brows cinch in entertained confusion. “What would I call you, then? Sherlock?” 

Harry scoffs lightly at the inside joke, shrugging one shoulder casually. “I mean, you could, if you want to. It might take some getting used to, but I think I can shoulder a full-time second identity. Just for you.” 

“How chivalrous.”

“You ain’t ever met a man like me, sweetheart.” He boasts in an over-the-top American southern accent, prying another round of laughter from Y/N, similar to the one before. “But you could also just call me ‘H.’ It’s what most of my other friends use.” 

“H.” Y/N repeats, getting a taste for the new nickname. It’s simple, unlike him, but it somehow fits. She then recalls something from a show she’d watched when she was younger and she can’t help but bring it up. “So, like, just your first initial? Like in Gossip Girl?”

Harry’s face immediately drops at the comparison she makes to the cringey teenage soap opera. “You know what, I take it back. You’re not allowed to use it. Illegal. Banned. By an official court. Gavel and all.”

“I’m just making a point!”

“Yeah, a shitty one.” 

“Oh, whatever. You’re just mad I debunked your little hipster alter ego. ‘That’s a secret I’ll never tell. Xoxo, H.’”

“Restraining order.” Harry pinches at one of her love handles, an evil grin dimpling his cheeks when she squeals. “Actually, nevermind. We’re going straight to the electric chair. Immediately.” 

“You don’t get to decide my punishment, remember?” Y/N slaps at his wrists, trying to ward off his attacks but failing miserably. “You’re just the—stop!— just the executioner.” 

“That’s right. I get to strap you to the chair.” Harry finally lets up on the tickling, his lighthearted grin taking on a slightly seductive hue as he momentarily glimpses upwards towards where his belt is hanging. “Though you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“Fuck off.” Y/N smothers her palm against his face, breaking eye contact as she feels her ears bristle with heat.  

“Mm, exactly.” Harry gnashes at her hand playfully, but she manages to yank it away before he gets a bite in. “You can’t even admit you like being called a whore.” 

“Hey!”

“What?” The vampire gives her a cocky look, wagging his head knowingly and then mimicking her voice in a higher pitch. “‘I’m just making a point!’”

“You’re a dick, you really are.” 

“And yet you still ride mine, so who’s the one with the real issues here? Specifically, daddy issues.”

“I’m done with this conversation.” Y/N huffs, returning her attention to the box beside her thigh, muffling the twitching across her lips. 

She takes the cardboard into her hands, tracing over the small flap used to pry the top open. Harry watches her with interest, pondering as to what could possibly be scurrying around her skull that she seems so caught up with the context of the gift. He’d gotten it because he knew they would both benefit from it. It’s as simple as that. 

“You know,” she starts, but her gaze remains glued to the box, “I feel kinda bad ‘cause, like...You got me this gift, I have nothing to give you in return.” 

Harry’s face contorts into a silly frown for a moment, tone humorous. “It’s fine, Y/N. You don’t have to give me anything back. I got it ‘cause I knew we’d enjoy using it together, and because this way, you have something to play with when I’m not around. And you can send me videos of said instances. It’s truly a win-win. A double-ended gift.” 

“I suppose.” She mumbles softly, continuing to pick at the lip of cardboard sticking out. “But I feel like it’s only fair that you get to use it, too, don’t you think?”

And then the reason she’s insistent about this dawns on Harry. The way she’s avoiding looking at him directly, how her heart rate is slowly ebbing upwards, how she is gradually scooting closer to his body, how he can feel her thighs are clasped tightly below the comforter. How the scent of honey and lavender has intensified. How she keeps glancing towards where the sheets are crumpled messily around his hips in a haphazard attempt to remain civil. 

When the monster speaks, it carries all the arrogance brought forward by his discovery. “If you wanna give me a handjob with the toy on, just say so.” 

The human’s head snaps upwards, her expression one of utter alarm at his lewd comment, but he can see right through her act. It’s obvious that was her intention all along— the desire in her eyes is poorly masked. She looks so adorable, pretending not to know what he’s referring to, her palms gripping the box slightly tighter than before. 

Harry twirls a strand of her hair around his finger nonchalantly, giving it a jesting tug. “I just find it funny how much of a horny menace you can be.”

“What—?”

“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”

“What do you—?” 

“Y/N,” Harry sighs tiredly, giving her an omniscient look, “I’ve slept with you enough times to know when you want something. It’s written all over your body language and you’re pretty shit at hiding it in your eyes. Just admit you want to and I’ll let you.” 

The faux shock slowly melts off her face, replaced by sheepish humiliation at being so easily sussed out. She chews on her bottom lip pensively, struggling to sew together the appropriate words to communicate the very inappropriate activity she wants to engage in. Harry has to withhold from leaning down and taking a bite from her tempting mouth.  

She inhales a deep breath through her nose, puffing it out slowly and tapping her fingers across the box nervously. Her voice pipes up so softly, it’s almost inaudible. “I want to give you a handjob with the toy.”

Harry gently cards his fingers into the mussed roots along the back of her head, using that hold to guide her sight upwards until it meets his. He leans down, smearing his lips over her own, feeling static pass through the ridges of their skin. “That’s all you had to say, darling. Go ahead, then. Make me cum.” 

Y/N swallows thickly, lashes fluttering bashfully as she pastes her mouth to his in a soft kiss. It’s a simple action with just their lips and nothing else. No tongue, no teeth, no sucking, nothing sloppy or desperate— not yet, anyways. He can tell she does it as a way to ease herself into this. She wants to, that much is arousingly obvious, but for some crazy reason unbeknownst to him, she’s still shy about it. That’s what happens when you come from a conservative raising: you get intimacy issues. He of all people— with his Victorian era background— would know. 

The hand Harry has cupping the nape of her neck shifts over a smidge, ending up splayed across the side of her face. His palm rests on her cheekbone and his fingers in her locks, his wrist cradling the back of her skull as he patiently deepens the kiss. His chest begins to heave slightly, a familiar sensation already frothing at the trench of his stomach. Harry can feel Y/N’s clumsy movements as she unboxes the vibrators, digging through the packaging and trying to slip them on blindly, not wanting to break away from his embrace. The way he’s flirting his tongue along the inside of her top lip is just too consuming to leave. 

After a few seconds of grappling and a string of annoyed curse words, Harry giggles lightly into her mouth, nudging the tip of his nose across the bridge of hers. The jade tint in his irises is waltzing with amusement, all at her expense. “Sometime today, love.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, I just— I can’t— they won’t—” The mortal releases an irritated growl into their kiss, reluctantly splitting away when it becomes clear she won’t be able to get the rubber gloves on without giving the task her full attention. “God, I’m such a...Sorry.” 

Harry rolls his eyes in mirth, pecking sweetly along the angry creases present over her forehead and between her brows. He thumbs over her cheek affectionately to soothe her nerves, his other hand scratching distractedly at the back of his neck. He filters curls through his fingers as he waits, bicep jolting in the process. “It’s fine, I’m just teasing. I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

“Thanks. Just give me—” The girl pauses her actions for a second, jutting her chin back up towards him and locking the vampire into another quick kiss, solely for the purpose of keeping him interested while she figures herself out. She breaks away again, returning to her mission. “Just give me a minute.” 

Now that she can see, Y/N successfully wriggles all five of her fingers into their designated molds. She prods at them gingerly, copying Harry’s actions from the night prior, using that experience as a manual. The mini-vibrators purr to life, a buzzing sensation trickling down her fingers. She glances back up at an awaiting Harry, who gives her such an easy, good-natured smile, she instantly reaches up and glues their mouths together again. 

“You’re so eager.” The boy grins into the kiss, jumping a bit when he feels her tittering fingers duck beneath the covers around his lower torso. “It’s hot.” 

“I just want to make you feel good.” Y/N mumbles, one palm braced to his strong shoulder as the other rides down his bare abdomen. She can feel his grip on her hair tightening the closer she gets to his cock. “That’s all.” 

“Guess I’m just the luckiest— shit.” Harry’s quip is interrupted when Y/N wraps her digits around his length, giving it one slow, testing pump. His jaw drops open and he begins panting into her mouth, the corners of his lips ticking upwards into a smirk as an intense pleasure swells between his thick thighs. “Jesus fucking Christ, that feels— fuck, that’s incredible, oh my God.”

“Yeah?” The human asks timidly, gazing up at him dreamily from below her lashes as his eyes lull back into his head. “Not too much?” 

Harry loves how attentive she is— how she’s checking to make sure he’s alright before continuing. If he had a heart, it would surely be glowing right now. 

Harry gulps down the lump in his throat, voice more strained and needy than she’s ever heard it. “No, I’m good, I’m good. Keep going.” 

Y/N gradually sinks her palm back down to his base, feeling his cock twitch desperately as the vibrators work their magic. She slowly slinks back up to his tip, thumbing over it carefully, pressing the toy on her thumb pad right over his slit. The garbled moan that emits from Harry is a sound her ears will never forget. It’s a sound she wishes she could record and listen to on a loop. 

“Fucking hell, don’t— please, just— oh—” Harry stutters through a plead, voice bleeding, naked chest now heaving wildly against her own. His hips buck forward into her hand, but she maintains a steady grip, keeping the vibrator pressed to the center of his cock’s head. 

“Don’t what?” She whispers into his mouth, suckling at his Cupid’s bow and reveling in the little broken noises he pours onto her tongue. 

Harry’s breaths are shallow and pained, the grip on her hair stronger than she thought possible as the fingers of his opposite hand yank at his own feverishly. He’s barely able to choke out his next sentence. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” Y/N begins to fish for a solid rhythm, her strokes setting into medium pace and gauging the receiver's reaction. “How’s that?” 

Bright colors web across Harry’s eyelids and he feels like his soul is being torn from his body. “Y-Yeah, that’s perfect, baby. It’s so good— you’re so good.” 

“I am?” Y/N swipes her thumb over his tip again, and when he whimpers brokenly against her lips, she does it again. It urges the same exact reaction, but more shattered. So she does it again. And again, and again, and again. And each time it happens, his hips jerk more violently, chasing her intoxicating touch. She can feel Harry’s precum drip down his length and leak between the cracks of her fingers. 

“You are, you’re just so fucking good to me.” Harry’s spewing words at this point, brain half conscious, half floating in bliss. Whatever dam of common sense holds his mind together crumbles, all of his thoughts rushing out in the form of jumbled phrases and cracked whines. “You get me going like nothing else, pet. You get me going so easily, it’s embarrassing. You make me cum so hard, it feels like I’m touching h-heaven. And your mouth— God, y-your mouth. It’s the best I’ve ever had. It’s so soft and warm, and your lips are so pretty and silky. I could kiss you for hours. And your tongue— you know how to use it so well. You lick me once and I’m already on edge. And every time you get down on your knees, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Y/N sighs shakily at Harry’s string of confessions, staring up at him with wide eyes as his own stay shut loosely, long lashes perched on his rosy cheekbones, handsome features slack with euphoria. She doesn’t halt her motions, continuing to pump him excitedly. The girl passes her thumb over his tip every time she gets to the top, and gives a hard squeeze every time she thunks down against his base, twisting her wrist as she glides back and forth between the two points of reference. That combination seems to work well, evident in the steady stream of vulgarities falling from Harry’s swollen lips as he thrusts upwards to match her pace. His groans splash across her tongue, traveling down her throat and burning into her stomach. She wants him to cum probably more than he does.

Y/N glimpses down, watching her sheets tent as she works Harry over, the outline of her knuckles pressing into the turquoise fabric. It’s such an erotic scene and she knows it’ll be branded across the front of her brain for years to come. She cranes her neck back up to look at the vampire, her breath catching in her lungs. He looks so pretty with his dark pink lips parted in pleasure, his damp ringlets matting along his sweaty hairline, his structured jaw ticking, and his usually sharp traits softened by ecstasy. She’ll do anything to make that image last.  

“Tell me more.” Y/N murmurs, swimming in the praise he is so willing to dish out. 

His eyes flicker for a heartbeat and in that instance, they look oddly darker than normal. Almost crimson, but she knows it’s due to the shadow of his lashes. The words that spill from his mouth next make her forget all about that occurrence, his voice melodic and dark, sticky against her wet lips. 

“Your hands are one of my favorite things about you, I think. They’re smaller than mine and I love how your fingers don’t touch when you wrap them around my cock. I love how they leave my back raw with scratches, and I love how they look tied to the bedpost. I love it when they press flat against my chest when you ride me, and how you lean back on them when I’m on my knees with my head between your thighs. I love how they yank at my hair when you’re about to cum, and how they grip my upper arms when we make-out. I love how your nails dig into my thighs when you're going down on me, and how they look fisting at the sheets when I’m taking you from behind. And I love how they feel tugging me off, like you’re doing now. I just love how perfect they are— how perfect you are.” 

Y/N is left speechless, Harry’s monologue ringing in her heated ears as he gazes at her intensely amidst heavy, barely-cracked eyelashes. His broad chest gasps for air and he takes it upon himself— despite his wrecked appearance— to smush their mouths deeper together, pooling moans across the roof of her own.  

“I’m—” His breathing throttles, voice coming out softer than she’s heard it in the last three weeks. “I’m gonna cum.”

Y/N nods her head numbly, strokes becoming lazy and fast, eager for him to finish. “I want you to. I want you to cum for me so bad. Please?” 

Harry’s hips writhe in a tell-tale sign that he’s about to tip. His whimper tastes sweet on her tongue, the meaning behind it pure syrup to her ego. “You’re the only one who makes me feel this good.”

The mortal whines gently in return, eyes falling shut as she feels him grow heavier in her palm. “You’re the only one I want to make feel this good.” 

The knot of white hot pleasure in his belly begins to unravel, his entire spine shuddering as a result, all strain beginning to wash out of his system in spurts if blissful electricity. He can feel his orgasm racing up his prick, pulling his composure along with it. He gives one last jerk against Y/N’s cupped fingers, feeling her press her vibrating thumb over his slit one more time for good measure. When the first milky ribbon spurts out, that’s when he feels it. 

Harry’s eyelids fly open in alarm as black veins protrude along the whites of his eyes, all his muscles contracting at once, defense mode activated. Y/N’s lips are on his neck. 

His first instinct is to do what he always does and guide her away from that sensitive, highly forbidden area. His fist tightens in her hair and he’s about to yank her back up to his mouth when suddenly, the icy tension present in his veins disappears. It’s replaced by a soothing warmth, which travels through every crevice in his body and kindles his climax, his impulsive hatred for being touched in that specific region funneling away completely. He can’t remember a time where this has happened before. 

Harry’s grip loosens hesitantly as he treads into this unexplored territory, allowing her to continue suckling along his throat. The sensation would usually garner a reaction similar to that of a molten metal brand being placed on his skin, but now— for some startling reason— he doesn’t feel any contempt. He just feels relaxed and cradled in the best way imaginable. The impact is pleasant this time around, and he finds himself wanting more of it. So, he lets her give him more. He lets this strange girl kiss and gasp and lick against his jugular while she finishes getting him off, his own desperate sounds of need bouncing around the brick walls of her bedroom. He lets her coax wave after wave of cum out of him, feeling it splatter against her bedspread and coat over her hand. He whines and grunts into the hair along the crown of her head, tears blearing his eyes as her scent of sugar and flowers clouds his mind. And when his release finally sputters to an end, he lets out an elongated groan so deep, it makes his chest ache.

“Fuck. You’re...You’re an absolute angel.”

Y/N draws her hand out from beneath the bed sheets, turning off the vibrating finger pads by pressing them against her palm. She looks down at the milky substance covering the toys and before Harry can make even a sound of encouragement, she’s already licking it off each individual piece. The girl looks up at the vampire as she cleans every trace of him off her fingers, swallowing it all down with a doe-like tint across her hazy gaze and murmuring a soft, “You taste good.” over a full mouth. Harry just watches silently, heavy breathing slowly starting to even out. God, she really is such a fucking godsend.

The next couple of minutes list by in a blur, all of his focus taken up by the feeling of unsettlement pricking at the back of his brain. Why had he let her touch him there? Why had he let her touch him in a place no one has since before his death?

Y/N puts the toys back in their box, putting them off to the side to thoroughly clean later. She reaches down, bunching up her bedspread in her hand and wiping Harry’s pelvis, thighs, and tummy down until he’s decently clean, as well as whatever is left on her hand. She then snuggles up to his side once again, laying her head into the crook between his arm and pectoral muscles, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully along with him. The irritating red tint across Harry’s chest, stomach, and neck gradually fades away, and he barely flinches when he feels her sponge her lips against his Adam’s Apple. She lulls the tip of her middle finger up along the vein of his cock one more time for finality, smiling slyly when he hisses in sensitivity.

The immortal tilts his head down to appraise her, sniffling lightly and allowing a weak, watery smile across his raw lips. His tone is feathery and detached. “That was…Christ.”

Y/N giggles softly, nodding along to his unspoken opinion. “It was fun. Really fun. We should do it again sometime.” 

Harry splutters into a drunken laugh, mind still floating around the room. “I don’t think I could survive that again.”

Y/N grins up at him cheekily. “Pussy.” 

Her friend breaks into an expression of utter offense, cheeks still slightly rosy. He shoves her head roughly as vengeance. “Hey! Piss off. Don’t blame it on me, blame it on the male anatomy.” 

The girl shakes her head up at him, eyebrows shrugging mockingly. “Excuses, excuses.” 

“Whatever.” 

A moment passes, and then Y/N speaks up again, her index finger poking playfully into the center of his bare chest, right over the butterfly tattoo. “Also, you’re washing my sheets. Your mess, you clean it up.”

Harry grins against her forehead, scratching lightly at the back of her scalp. “Fair enough…Wait, is that why you wanted to do this? ‘Cause you knew I’d soil your sheets and you could force me to do your laundry?”

That hadn’t been her motive at all, and Harry knows that, but she plays along anyways for the hell of the joke. “Perhaps.” 

“Wow. I feel used.” 

“Too bad. Go do it. Now. Before it stains.”

Harry stares at her like she’s sprouted a second head. “I literally can’t walk right now! I can’t feel anything below my waist.”

Y/N lifts the comforter off her body, symbolically showing off the bruises his fingertips and rings had left the night before. “Well, neither can I!” 

Harry reaches down and touches the marks, chuckling to himself. “How unfortunate. Who’s gonna make breakfast, then, if neither of us can even stand?”

“We could UberEats some iHop.” 

“Who’s gonna get the door?”

“Well, I can’t solve everything on my own, now can I?!” Y/N slaps his hand away from her body. “Contribute! You’re the lead detective, after all.” 

“I am, aren’t I?” Harry cocks his head to the side in recollection, remembering his role in their imaginary dynamic duo scenario. “And because I’m the lead, I say…” He ropes his lean arms around the human and buries his face into her warm neck, pulling her close and intertwining their legs together, trapping her to the mattress along with him. “I say we just bum around for a bit longer. Just until one of us can actually muster up the strength to leave the bed.” 

Y/N makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, but makes no apparent attempt to leave his embrace. “Fine.” 

“Mystery solved, then! Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“You’re so dumb.” 

The pair stay cuddled for a bit, with Y/N’s hands loosely gripping Harry’s forearms, tracing across his mermaid tattoo absently. She wanders in her thoughts for a period of time, lost in the sensation of Harry’s warm breath fanning down her neck, his hot lips pressing small kisses behind her ear every once in a while. She likes their morning after routine; it’s innocent and fun and sharing moments like this makes it easy to forget her troubles. She wants more of this, and she finds herself trying to come up with ways to convince Harry to spend the night more often. This is only the fourth time he’s stayed until morning and she wants that number to grow. 

An idea dawns on her and she’s voicing it before her inhibitions can kill it off.

“Do you...Do you maybe wanna stay over the rest of the weekend?”

Harry draws his face from the alcove of her soft neck, eyebrows poised in curiosity. “The rest of the weekend?”

“Yeah!” Y/N shifts her gaze up to look at him, hope swirling around her pupils. “Like, spend the rest of today and tomorrow over, and then leave tomorrow night ‘cause I have work on Monday. Does that, like...Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah.” Harry says slowly, mulling over her offer, thinking back to his schedule. He doesn’t think he has any commitments this weekend that would require him being home— none he can’t cancel easily, anyways. He’d told Mitch he’d go see him play again at the pub later today, but it’s the same set as last time, so he doesn’t think his best friend would mind if he missed it just this once. Niall was planning a barbecue at his place on Sunday, but the Irish bloke does one almost every other week so it’s nothing Harry can’t make up. Plus, what type of idiot would pass up two day’s worth of amazing sex? The more, the merrier.

Y/N watches the vampire’s expression carefully, trying to interpret whether her request was out of their boundaries. She doesn’t want to make him feel like she’s trying to tie him down or suffocate him, she just wants to spend a bit more time in his presence, rather than through a phone screen. Her tone comes out dismissive, with just the tiniest hint of panic. “It’s okay if you can’t, though. Like, if you have other plans and stuff, I totally get it. Or if you just don’t want to, that’s fine, too! I just thought it’d be a fun little thing we can do since we already talk so much on the phone and everything, so I guess I just kinda figured you wouldn’t mind—”

“I get it, Y/N.” Harry interrupts Y/N’s unhinged word vomit, voice amused and nonchalant. “I think I’d like that, yeah.”

Y/N blinks in giddy surprise. “Really?” 

“Well, don’t sound so shocked.” Harry laughs lightly, fingers toying with the pearls laying across his clavicle. “The sex is pretty fucking good and I’m more than happy to have it at my disposal.” 

“Right.” Y/N gives him a deadpan look, shaking her head at his bluntness, reaching forward to fiddle with the chain of his cross necklace for the sake of having something to distract her from smiling like a fool. “Great, then. I have some old boxers that I know will probably fit you and an unopened pack of toothbrushes under the sink, so I think you’re set.” 

Harry’s lips purse at the mention of the men’s underwear, brows creasing a tad. “You just casually have men’s boxers laying around?” 

“They were my ex’s and I kept them out of spite. But don’t tell anyone, I don’t wanna get locked up for robbery.” 

The tightness in his chest— which he hadn’t even realized had formed— melts away. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good, or else I’d have to kill you.” The girl states darkly, a theatrical seriousness to her appearance. 

“Oh no.” Harry wails sarcastically, knotting a fist into her oversized tee and pulling her closer, connecting their lips and grinning into the kiss. “I’m shaking in fear.” 

Y/N gives in without much of a fight, hands still clinging to his forearms, a smile of her own creeping across her cheeks. “Asshole.”

“The only thing I’m relatively afraid of is my dick falling off. You have the sexual drive of a rabbit.” 

“Oh, like you’re any better?” 

“I’m innocent in all this! You’re usually the one instigating. I’m just a mere pawn— a poor, unsuspecting nun led astray.”

“God, I can’t believe I let you fuck me.” 

///

The following weekend, Harry officially invites Y/N over to his house. 

It had been talked about in passing a while back, and he figures it's only fair considering all the time they’ve ever spent together has been solely at her place. Plus, he could tell she was curious to see what his living situation is like, which is valid. You can tell a lot about people through their home, and when you’re sleeping with someone on the regular, you want to learn as much about them as possible. It’s important to know who you’re getting into bed with. Literally. 

Harry’s proud of his condo. He keeps it clean, he keeps it organized, and he keeps it styled in a manner that combines his Victorian gothic roots with modern day aesthetics. The floorboards of the apartment are made of waxed light-wash wood, most of the expanse of his living room covered in a furry dark grey rug. The lightness of the ground is contrasted by the matte mahogany walls, of which the largest is covered in Harry’s collection of first edition artwork. He had picked out every single piece himself throughout the span of the last two centuries, ranging from modern digital technique canvases to nineteenth century oil paintings, all arranged in neat alternating rows from oldest to newest. He can’t help that he’s such a stickler; his mom had raised him so. 

Though his art wall is his pride and joy, the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline comes in at a close second. Harry loves the city, despite the fact that he was born in a seemingly irrelevant town whose only redeeming quality was the bustling public market. Urban regions are just full of so much life, excitement, and potential, which are all concepts he never really got to explore before he transitioned. Cities represent everything he wanted as a young man, when he thought he had prosperous years ahead of him and an entire life left to build; they represent diversity, unique experiences, and endless possibilities. When that was stripped from him, he began to bounce around different countries and cities all over the world, seeking a place that would fill the hole his dreams had left behind. Los Angeles fit that space like a puzzle piece. 

That glorified window just means more to him than anyone could possibly know. Sometimes at night, he’ll just stand by it with his arms relaxed across his chest, watching the city gleam and glitter as individuals from all different backgrounds go about their business, blissfully ignorant to the beautiful concept that they all contribute to something much bigger— a concept that only centuries of wisdom could reveal. When he’s not wracked with jealousy and spite, looking out that window and witnessing the world change and evolve is therapeutic, in a way. It allows Harry to live vicariously through others who get to have what he never did. 

Aside from his art collection and the glass wall, the chandeliers that hang from his cavernous ceiling are third on his list of treasured possessions. They’re special and no one on this earth owns anything like them; Harry made sure of that. They were created by a Swedish interior designer Harry commissioned about ten years ago, so they are custom-made in every aspect of the term. They took months to construct and finalize, which is hardly difficult to believe, given their grandeur. Each chandelier is made of two extensive layers of delicate golden chains, all arranged around a wire center, connected by light bulbs at each peak. It gives his home a chic, avant-garde atmosphere that mirrors his personality down to the last chain link. 

The rest of his flat is tailored to compliment these three major determining factors. The wood paneling all around his apartment is carved with intricate, loopy designs, his two rounded coffee tables are made of the same marble that resides across his kitchen counters, and his kitchen sits directly under the second story ledge with elongated fluorescent poles embedded into the room’s ceiling, eloquently highlighting the creme walls and polished detailings of all his appliances. His sectional couches are made of an off-brown leather, covered in large rectangular couch cushions with a checkered print embroidered across the pillow cases, and weighted fleece blankets litter some areas of the elegant sofas. A wide staircase leads up to the second floor, made of grey glass steps and metal railings. 

The top story of his condo is less Victorian era, more modern composition. The ground is dark maroon carpeting, and the ledge leads to one singular corridor that splits into two seperate rooms at either ends. One is the master bedroom, and the other is an accompanying bedroom which he uses for storage. His room isn’t anything extravagant, per se. It’s big, but his decor is minimalistic, covered in all different muted shades of blacks and greys, from the comforter on his king-sized bed to the tall dresser. A fifty inch flat-screen is mounted on the wall, but he hardly uses it since the one in his living room is larger; it’s only really there as an ornament. Starburst lights hang from his ceiling— smaller, downplayed versions of his chandeliers— and his walk-in closet stands parallel to the entrance of his bathroom. 

The humongous bathroom was meant for two people, pretty obvious in the double-sink set up, but he doesn’t dwell on it much. He isn’t one for dating, and he’s just happy to have that luxury because it comes in handy the morning after one night stands. He has a jacuzzi-like bathtub, lined with water jets and all, and a big walk-in shower with a large overhead panel instead of a regular showerhead. The whole room is made of dark marble and porcelain, and he couldn’t possibly adore it more. Some of his best experiences had happened in this room, explicit and otherwise. 

In the end, Harry has every right to be arrogantly proud of his apartment. It had taken him months to decorate, years to fill with fond memories, and an immortal lifetime to find. He loves it with every trace of his soul, even when others disagree. Namely, Niall, who had mocked his sophisticated relics and old-timey architecture from the first time he’d set foot past the threshold; “You went the dark gothic route? Really? Way to feed into the stereotype, Dracula.” 

But no matter what anyone says, this is who he is, and he couldn’t be happier. After decades of migrating and aimlessly searching the globe, he’d finally found a place he could call home, and absolutely no one could take that from him. Especially not some Irish moron who doesn’t even know the definition of “foyer.”

How Harry manages to afford his flat is a whole other intriguing tale.

It had come up in a pillow talk conversation with Y/N once, and he had told her the story he feeds to any human who asks. He’s a regional manager for an offshore company and it’s mainly a lot of online work. Handling duties through business emails, videochat meetings, job portals, and things of the such. It paints a valid image as to why he’s home all the time. He also claims to be the company’s lone contact stationed in California, so he handles all of the responsibilities that would normally be bestowed upon three or four people. This paints a valid explanation as to how his imaginary position would tether such a high pay grade, which justifies his luxurious living arrangement.

That story is part of the truth. Harry does indeed have ties with corporate businesses. That is, ties to their CEOs’ pockets. It’s surprisingly easy to get past secretaries and security dressed in a nice suit and thousand dollar leather shoes, especially with the help of compulsion and Harry’s golden charisma. Thanks to those tools, he has managed to convince some of the biggest leaders in corporate California to quietly deposit generous sums of money into his bank account once a month. And with his persuasive supernatural abilities, he convinces them to write it off as regularly scheduled charity donations in their minds. That’s how he makes a living for himself— by scamming the rich. Xander likes to take the piss and call him a sugar baby, but Harry sees himself as more of a modern day Robin Hood, instead. 

Mitch says his charade is unlawful, but considering how corrupt the business world already is, the vampire feels next to no guilt. The one percent have always taken advantage of those poorer than them— that was obvious even back in Harry’s time— and he doesn’t see anything wrong with taking advantage of them right back, now that he has the means to. How’s that saying go? “Fuck the bourgeoisie” and all that. 

Everything taken into consideration, Harry’s pretty excited to show Y/N his condo. Watching people’s faces break into awe the second he turns the lights on always gives him such a deep surge of satisfaction. It makes all the hassle worth it.  

The immortal is currently sitting in his vintage car, flicking through his Spotify playlist to find something to entertain him while he waits for Y/N to finish her shift. He had offered to pick her up, knowing that it’s what any courteous host would do, and she had appreciatively accepted, telling him she’d be out by eight P.M. It’s seven fifty-three now and Harry had arrived around seven fifty, taking the slot right in front of the cafe’s entrance so she can spot him as soon as she walks out. These ten minutes are the longest he’s ever had to endure, which says a lot considering he’s endured tons of patience-testing moments in his two hundred years.

Harry swipes his thumb down the glass screen of his phone, sampling songs left and right to see what will stick. After listening to the first few chords of an array of forties dance music, seventies rock and roll, and twenty-first century bubblegum pop, he settles for Rodeo by Lil Nas X. Harry has a very intricate taste in music— it’s one of the traits he’s most proud of— and Mitch often tells him he’s too snotty when it comes to his preferences. He’ll admit it freely that, yes, he can be a piece of work musically, but just because he thinks the industry peaked in the seventies doesn’t mean he hates modern music. He likes most of it, including rap, and Lil Nas X happens to be one of his favorites, much to everyone’s surprise. Most of the artist’s songs are eccentric not only lyrically but also instrumentally, to the point where it’s almost comical— who names a song Panini, of all things?— but the music is catchy and Harry can let loose to it easily. 

The vampire also happened to meet the musician, on one occasion. He ran into him at a club and after a few drinks and some banter, somehow ended up getting invited over to a party at the celebrity’s Malibu mansion. That night is a blur, definitely due to the copious amounts of alcohol and psychedelics, but Harry remembers they had fun and that the guy was worth a listen. In fact, he was the genius that came up with the theme for the rapper’s Rodeo music video. 

A light knocking on the passenger’s seat window brings him out of his memories. Y/N stands outside, hugging her arms loosely over her tummy, decked in her usual work uniform of a navy polo and black skinny jeans. When the two lock eye contact, she gives him a soft wave and a tired smile. Harry lifts two fingers in greeting, returning her polite gesture and swiftly lowering the window. He leans forward across the center console, his grin taking on a playful hue, voice carrying the same effect. 

“Uber for Y/N?” 

The girl snorts and rolls her eyes, but plays along, reaching forward and jiggling the handle of his black Cadillac symbolically. “That’s me, yes. Open up.” 

“Eh, eh, eh.” Harry tuts, wagging a finger in her direction and then making a motion that tells her to back away. “I’m gonna have to see some ID. It’s one of our new safe driver policies. Gotta make sure you are who you say you are, miss.” 

Y/N’s expression drops flatly, eyes half-lidded as he smiles up at her brightly, batting his eyelashes innocently. “Open the door before you end up sucking your own dick tonight.” 

Harry’s shit-eating face falls so fast, it causes her to burst into laughter. A soft click vibrates through the handle below her fingers. “I’ll waive the background check. Just this once.”  

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Y/N taunts, yanking the door open and ducking into the shotgun seat, gently tugging it closed behind her. 

Once the human is situated in her spot, she releases a lengthy sigh, sinking down against the cushions as she grabs her seat belt and clicks it into place. 

Harry puts his cell phone down into the cubby hole below the stereo set, setting the car in reverse and slinging an arm behind her headrest to get a better view as he backs out of the parking space. His gaze momentarily flickers to her slumped form as the car retreats slowly, tone curious. “Long day?”

Y/N glimpses over, giving him a quick once-over and taking in his olive green Nike jumper, ripped denim boyfriend jeans, and pastel yellow Vans. He looks so boyishly cute, which is ironic given the premise of tonight’s rendezvous. The shoes (which he had worn the night they’d met all those weeks ago) and the position he’s in (perched above her with his sharp jaw and neck flexing as he cranes his torso to look for oncoming traffic) flashes her back to the first time she had been in his car. They had been way less acquainted, she had been much less relaxed, much more nervous, but the encounter very much carried the same exact intentions. That recollection makes her lips quirk a bit. The pair had grown so comfortable with each other since then, that Friday evening feels like it happened decades ago. 

“Yeah.” Y/N murmurs softly, gladly indulging a deep inhale of the vanilla and tobacco scent she had become familiar with, allowing it to soothe her nerves and wash away the stress of a hard day. “I’m just happy it’s over and that the weekend’s finally started. Wanna forget all about it.” 

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, love!” Harry plops back into his seat, shifting his car into drive and gifting her his famous brilliant smile, dimples winking to life as he taps his ringed fingers across his steering wheel humorously. “I’ve made you forget your name plenty of times before; I’m pretty sure I can erase one shitty work shift just fine.”

Y/N scoffs at his pompous claim, reaching up and prying the hair tie out of her locks, looping it over her wrist and shushing her stiff roots. She tucks strands behind her ears, the corners of her mouth twitching in endearment at the giddiness of his aura. “Just drive, Sherlock.” 

The mortal isn’t surprised to find that building in which the vampire lives is one of the tallest in the city, and that it’s basically smack in the center, as well. One look at Harry and anybody could immediately tell he thrives off being the center of attention, so of course his home is a direct reflection of that. Refined boy, refined personality, refined environment. It’s practically a law of science. 

Once Harry’s car is parked and the ignition rumbles to a smooth stop, Y/N unbuckles her seat belt and goes to unlock the passenger’s side door. Right as her hand is wrapping around the handle bar, the door swings open of its own accord and she just barely manages to stifle a blood-curdling scream full of shocked fear. When her eyes focus, Harry is standing there holding the door open for her, features painted with cocky amusement. 

“How did you—?” The girl whips around to look at the empty driver’s seat, eyebrows cinching in bewilderment as she turns back to face him. “How did you get around so fast?” 

Harry shrugs his shoulders offhandedly, reaching one bejeweled hand down to aid her out of the vehicle. “I did track when I was younger. Made me a fast walker.” 

Y/N hesitantly takes it, body language still slightly tense from the jump scare. With his help, she gradually climbs out, the door shutting behind her as she sweeps her sight around the parking garage in wonder. This is the first time Harry has ever invited her anywhere, let alone to where he spends most of his life. She doesn’t want to miss a thing. Even the simplest aspect can tell you a lot about a person. 

Y/N jerks a tad when she feels her friend’s cold fingers slipping down her palm, sifting between her own. She glances down at their intertwined hands for a second, a warm glow bursting through her chest. She’s always admired how his are so much bigger. 

Harry tugs her forward toward the elevator at the other end of the parking lot, bottom lip caught between his teeth in a sly smirk. “C’mon, Watson. Let me show you around.” 

Y/N stumbles after him, allowing the boy to guide her to where she needs to go as he weeds through cars effortlessly. She suddenly chimes up from behind, asking a random question to fill the leftover silence their footsteps spare. “That car next to yours had such a weird license plate. What the fuck does ‘craic’ mean?” 

Harry chuckles knowingly, perfectly aware of whose car she is referring to. “It’s this odd thing Irish people say. Utter rubbish, honestly.” 

A comfortable quietness fills the air of the elegant elevator as it shoots up towards the twenty-fourth floor of the skyscraper, the only other sound being the gentle lullaby of a nameless tune wafting through the speakers above their heads. Harry finds himself studying Y/N as she looks out at the city through the glass walls, the lights of the exterior buildings casting a beautiful buttery gleam across her relaxed characteristics, along with a radiant glint over the surface of her glossy eyes. Despite the slightly smeared mascara staining her waterline and the inherent frizziness her hair carries after being pulled into a tight ponytail all day, Harry finds that she looks nice. Pretty, even. 

The girl senses him staring, craning her head to return his gaze, the edges of her lips lilting upwards lightheartedly. He returns the gesture, peeling away to focus on something— anything— else. He deems the control panel a worthy replacement.

As the numbers on the dial drag by, Harry finds himself absentmindedly thumbing over Y/N’s knuckles. She doesn’t seem to notice or mind, so he continues doing it, massaging the crest of each bump and pressing down gently along the troughs. He enjoys the sensation of her silky warm skin heating his icy own, and he ponders whether she likes how cold his touch is, or if she hates it as much as he does. He expels that notion from his mind; he refuses to let such a stupid concept upset him. He just keeps caressing her hand, restraining his mind from ambling too far into its meaning. It’s just to pass the time. 

He keeps the movements going until their ride skates to a joltless halt with a sharp ding! and then he steps out, having to give his full attention to leading her down the long corridor to his flat. Y/N is so caught up in drinking up her surroundings, she almost bumps into the creature when he comes to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance of what she can only deduce is his home. Harry drops her hand, much to her disappointment, fishing into his back pocket for his keys. He patiently filters through his keychain, picking out the right one and working it into the lock, a soft click emitting from the mechanism. 

Harry pushes the door open with his palm, standing off to the side just outside the threshold and tilting his head towards it, posture bowing slightly. “Ladies first.” 

Y/N thanks him quietly, taking a cautious step forward into his hallway. She can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at his gentlemanly tendencies; she rarely meets anyone as respectful as Harry seems to be and she finds his old-timey attributes to be refreshing. Helping her out the car, taking her hand to guide her through the parking lot, rubbing at her knuckles innocently, holding the door open for her— it’s all such an archaic form of chivalry she wishes she’d see more often these days. She doesn’t know if it’s a British thing, if he had just been raised like that, or if he simply does it to get laid, but she’s thankful for it either way. 

With one last glance at her friend over her shoulder, she begins wandering down the dark narrow path unsurely. The sound of the door slinking shut behind her and Harry’s footsteps ease her. 

She stops once she senses the corridor open up into a larger space, which she guesses is his living room. A soft gasp escapes her at the sight before her. The whole area is washed in darkness, the only source of light stemming from the large glass pane that stretches from the floor of the apartment to its tall ceiling. Dozens of buildings and cars glimmer below, the breath-taking image of the lively city looking almost like a snapshot from a professional movie. It’s absolutely gorgeous and she feels like she could stare at it for eons. 

A chilly hand suddenly presses along the dip of her spine, ushering her forward an inch or two, Harry’s invisible voice and warm breath hitting the shell of her left ear. “S’cuse me, dove.”   

The boy reaches behind her for the light switch and the condo bursts into radiance with one simple flick of his wrist. 

“Oh...my God.”

Harry’s home is something straight out of a luxury catalogue. The light floorboards and the mahogany panels. The massive leather couches and hand-sewn cushions. The extravagant chandeliers and glass staircase. The marble kitchen and generously packed liquor shelves. The ginormous wall of priceless artwork, littered with pieces from all different eras of history. It feels like stepping into a decor wonderland.

“Not too bad, huh?” Harry pipes up playfully, anchoring her back into reality from the floaty stupor that had consumed her mind. 

“Not too—? Are you kidding?” Y/N sputters incredulously, whizzing her head to the side sharply. “You were keeping an entire Four Seasons royal suite from me?!”

Harry belts out a bundle of childish giggles, the edges of his eyes crinkling and the tip of his button nose twitching. “I never thought of it much, to be honest. I’d grown to like your place.” 

“Right. Because a creaky mattress and a kitchen the size of a broom closet is so much more satisfying than chandeliers and a fucking glass wall.”

The vampire glimpses around his flat indicatively. “Okay, I see your point.”

“Exactly.” 

Y/N drifts forward, running the tips of her fingers across the backrest of the aged leather sofa and along the corners of the throw pillow, doing a slow circle at the middle of his home, taking everything in a second time around to make sure it isn’t a mirage. “Fuck, this is incredible. Is your boss looking for any more regional managers, by any chance?”

Harry follows after her, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his boyfriend jeans, chewing along the inside of his cheek to suppress a proud smile— a result of her explosive reaction. “I’m afraid my position is the one and only, sorry.”

Y/N droops her shoulders in exaggerated contempt, presenting a shitty English accent to tease him. “Bollocks.”

It garners the designated feedback, her tummy somersaulting at Harry’s exorbitant laughter. 

The boy comes to stand before her, cocking his head to the side questioningly towards his kitchen. “Can I offer you a drink?”

Y/N glimpses over at his bar area, eyes dancing over his extensive array of fancy bottles. “Oh, please do.”

Despite only having known Y/N for a few weeks, Harry has gotten quite acquainted with her tastes, even outside of sexual matters. She doesn't like the taste of alcohol, but she likes its effects. And he likes them, too, if he’s being honest. Her blood always begins to smell more appetizing after just a few sips and the way her cheeks heat up so easily when she’s buzzed always makes his breathing trip. 

He works his extensive skills, pulling from his liquor cabinet and mixing flavored liquids and syrups until he comes up with something that he thinks the girl will enjoy. It’s fruity, with hints of peach, lime, and strawberry, but also warm and fulfilling, with a rich whiskey and a few dashes of bitters. He plunks in a couple of ice cubes and mixes it together with a bar spoon, tapping it against the rim with finality and swiping it over his tongue in a quick taste test. He’s pretty happy with his concoction. 

Harry glances up to where Y/N is leaning against the armrest of his couch, her legs crossed before her as she stares at one of the abstract paintings mounted on his wall. It’s an original, as are the rest of them, which he had purchased some odd seventy years ago from a barely known artist whose talent had gone to waste in the world. It’s a deconstructed sunflower, with the color palette inverted and the strokes of the brush uneven and jagged. Odd and complicated, but beautiful, nonetheless. Its complexity is what makes it significant. 

The vampire slowly wanders over from his kitchen, holding her drink in one hand and a cloth napkin in the other. He takes the spot beside her along the armrest, speaking wistfully as if recalling a fond memory. “It’s a flower.”

Y/N nods slowly in recognition, peeling her gaze away with the corners of her lips jilting. “Mmhm, a sunflower.”

Harry’s brows jump in shock. Barely anyone ever guesses the identity correctly. He’s found that as time passes and humanity becomes more reliant on technology rather than cognizant knowledge, society in general has reduced to a more pea-brained state than ever. As a result, the amount of people who can interpret and understand the meaning behind complex artwork has greatly diminished, unfortunately, so he’s pleasantly surprised to find that one of the few who still possesses that talent happens to be the girl he’s shagging. “Wow, that’s a first. It’s so unusual, no one ever really gets it.”

“I guess I just have an affinity for the unusual.” His guest quips, giving him a jesting shrug of her eyebrows and a suggestive grin. 

You have no idea.

“You underestimated me, Holmes.” 

“That I did. My sincerest apologies.” Harry returns her joking simper, proceeding to then dip an index finger inside the stout glass in his grasp, bringing it up before her face. “Taste.”

Without breaking eye contact, Y/N parts her lips and allows him to coax the wet digit in, the tangy flavor of the mixture making her taste buds tingle. She encloses her mouth around his finger, lulling her tongue along it slowly with a mischievous glint shining across her irises. 

Harry’s prominent jaw clenches as he watches the scene unfold, breath bated and a moan threatening to betray him. She truly wastes no time.

He gradually pulls his finger from her tongue, struggling to clear his throat, missing its texture already. “How is it? More syrup? More biters?”

Y/N gazes up at him drunkenly, though it’s definitely not from the liquor. Her lips quirk cheekily as a result of how visibly frazzled she’d gotten him. “It’s perfect. Better than anything I’ve had at a club, that’s for sure.” 

“Yeah?” Harry taps his opal ring against the bottom of the lowball glass, trying to reign in his previous composure. “Think I could be a bartender?” 

“You don’t hit me as the type of person who has the patience for it.” The girl remarks wittily, slinking her head to the side and biting back a giggle when Harry makes a face at her.

“You make a valid point, I suppose.” The vampire responds with an airy sigh, nodding in surrender. “The stupid blabbing from drunk morons and impending fear of being vomited on would be too much for me. I wouldn’t last a day.” 

“You wouldn’t last a single night, let alone a whole day.”

“Alright, pipe down!” Harry deadpans, bumping her shoulder with his vengefully. “You’re bruising my ego.”

“It’s humongous,” Y/N snorts, shoving him in return, “it can take a few hits.”

The pair sit there in silence for a suspended moment, just taking in the expanse of the art before them. Harry then turns his torso towards her once more, bringing the drink in his grip up to her mouth. “Here, have a proper sip. Put my all into it.” 

Y/N obliges, looking up at him with her signature doe-like air of trusting innocence, allowing him to tip the hem of the cup against her mouth. The cool beverage filters through her taste buds and down her throat, the sweet and sour mixture leaving an enjoyable tingle in its wake. A few streams of the liquid bead out of the corners of her lips and Harry impulsively gathers them with the side of his index finger, the napkin in his other hand completely forgotten. 

As he goes to pull back in order to clean up, Y/N leans forward and traps his digit between her lips like before. This time, there’s a more insistent sultry hint sparkling around her pupils. 

“Christ...” Harry pants, watching Y/N work her way down his forefinger with a silent groan hinging on his teeth. 

He doesn’t deny himself from indulging the dirty action this time around. Her mouth is as soft and warm as ever, sending chills racing down his spine despite the sweater hugging his body. His mind slips for a second, reminiscing in all the other ways he’s felt the inside of her mouth before, a faint red tinge splattering across his cheekbones. 

Y/N draws his finger out, kissing messily across its length and over the pad, looking up at him through tension-heavied lashes. She doesn't speak a word, but her intentions are clear in the electricity between them.

He can’t hold back any longer, his next comment coming out as a pained growl. “God, you’re such a filthy little thing.”  

She hums softly in the back of her throat at his explicit compliment, suckling at the center of her bottom lip needily. “I like being your filthy little thing.”

Harry swallows thickly in order to keep himself somewhat tame, fangs suddenly pricking his tongue in warning.

The mortal scoots closer to him, sifting her fingers between his around the drink and bringing it upwards, downing the last couple of inches in one go. She draws the cup from his grasp, reaching over to set it down carefully on the coffee table before turning back and snuggling deeper into his heaving chest. 

Harry scoffs in amusement, but he can feel a certain charring scratching at the back of his throat. “Drinks like that are meant to be savored, darling. You’re not supposed to just pound them.” 

Y/N stretches her neck upwards, taking his earlobe between her teeth, lips wet and cold from the alcohol. His lashes flutter when her warm breath hits his skin, contradicting the sensations from before. 

“Why don’t you let me worry about how I drink, and you can worry about a different kind of pounding.”

And that’s all it takes, really. That’s all it takes for Harry to completely drop any self-control he has left. 

The creature jars his face towards her, large hand shooting upwards to grip her jaw firmly, holding her in place as he crashes their mouths together. It’s all tongue and clacking teeth, desperate whines and stuttered gasps. Y/N’s hands fumble for something to tether to while Harry takes it upon himself to grasp at her opposite hip with his free hand, yanking her onto his lap. She buries her fists in the cotton fabric of his jumper, balancing her knees on either sides of his parted thighs. The boy’s fingers coast from her jaw down to her throat, tightening ever so slightly. The action is minimal, but it reveals that flare of dominance Y/N has become addicted to. 

“Do you want it here?” Harry rasps against her eager tongue, smirking into the kiss when he feels her start to rock along the bulge that is beginning to tent his denim pants. “Do you want me to bend you over the couch and fuck you, baby? With the chandelier making your skin glow? Where we can put on a show for the whole city to see?”

It’s a tempting offer and his words obviously have some form of impact, seen in the way Y/N’s grinding takes on a hungrier, deeper pace against his clothed cock. 

“I want…” Y/N finds it difficult to voice her desires, the responsible party being the manner in which Harry glues cracked mewls onto the roof of her mouth. “I want it in your bed.” 

She doesn’t know why, but she just wants him to take her some place where the moment they share is intimate, unseen by the prying eyes of others. She wants to christen his bed exactly how he had done hers; she craves that strange connection, for some reason. Y/N isn’t naive, she knows she’s not the only person Harry has had in his home and in his sheets. But she wants that experience, nonetheless, even if it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She knows she’s not his only, but at least she’s one. 

Harry slowly breaks their kiss, brushing the tip of his nose across her own in a small comforting gesture. He blinks at her groggily, the copper specks in his eyes glitzing under the golden hue of the lighting. When he speaks, its soft and low, almost as if he doesn’t want to risk another soul overhearing. “Okay. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” 

Y/N almost doesn’t get anything she wants, given that she nearly kills herself on the trek up the stairs, courtesy of her weakened knees and wobbly ankles. Harry just barely manages to save her, but he finds the occurrence too hilarious to spare her the embarrassment. 

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny!” She exclaims indignantly as he helps her up the last few glass steps, clinging to him like a scared puppy, her hands still shaking with adrenaline. “I could have died!” 

Her shrieking only makes him laugh harder and he nearly keels over, palm clutching his stomach as if to keep it from popping. “I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just— your face when you— and how you tripped sideways— I—”

Y/N shoves him hard towards the corridor where his bedroom lies, but it’s hard to maintain an angry demeanor when the young man’s giggles sound like bells and when he looks so cute with his curls flopping across his forehead. “Dickhead.” 

They’re almost at his bedroom door when Harry grabs onto her wrist, tugging her roughly so that she lurches forward into his chest. He plants a wet kiss onto the bridge of her nose, expression entertained. “Stop being such a bad sport. It was pretty funny.”

“Yeah, okay.” She huffs begrudgingly, glancing down impatiently at his plump lips as he walks backwards down the hallway with her in tow. “You can invalidate my rage once you have a near death experience yourself.”

The irony of it all. 

Harry kicks the door open, ghosting his mouth over Y/N’s and watching her sight do a quick sweep around the area. “Welcome to my lair.” 

The human likes his aesthetic. The room has different hues of the same color, so it all ties together nicely, and the hanging lights look like miniature versions of the two large ones downstairs. The bed is huge, which is a relief because for once, they won’t have to actively worry about accidentally rolling off the edge mid-fuck. “It’s nice. Very chic.” 

“Thanks.” Harry reaches up and cups either side of her neck with his palms, dragging his damp lips over her chin and down the center of her jugular, smiling against her skin when he feels her shiver. “It doesn't have a bookshelf wall like yours, but I make due.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wisps out weakly, leaning her head back as he speckles his mouth across that sensitive point on her throat he discovered ages ago. “I bet.”

She feels Harry’s touch travel down her torso, cold fingers suddenly smearing across her love handles beneath her work shirt. His grip tightens at the hem with the intention of pulling the polo off, breath hot as it washes over her collarbones. “Wanna find out just how good I make it work?”

Y/N’s arms instinctively raise on command, her reply shaky and fragile. “Yes, please.” 

Harry makes it work. He makes it work so fucking well. He doesn’t need crazy positions or any vibrating toys to make her feel good; he just knows her so thoroughly by now that he’s able to tend to every single one of her needs like it’s his sole purpose. The sex is missionary, with her splayed out across her back upon his mound of feathered pillows, her thighs clamped over his hips as he slams into her at a harsh, curt pace. Her calves are tied around the backs of his thighs, her nails are carving memories into the broad expanse of his shoulders, they’re both panting curse words and encouragement into each other’s mouths, and he’s cradling her to his chest as if he wants to absorb her heartbeat right through her ribs. If only obtaining one were that easy. 

Y/N allows her head to fall back against the cushions, drawing away from the prolonged kiss only because she needs air to continue. Harry’s lips busy themselves elsewhere, running down the valley of her chest and toying with one of her pebbled nipples. Y/N’s back gives a sharp arch the second he brushes across the sensitive nub and the taunting coo he releases goes straight to her core. 

“Liked that, darling? Like it when I kiss you there?”

The girl’s lashes have fallen shut, her eyes lulling around in their sockets as he maintains a steady rhythm between her thighs, ramming into her with so much force, the headboard is knocking into the wall. It’s loud and intense enough that Harry has to fit one of his palms between the railings, bracing the weight of the bed in order to prevent a hole from forming. 

Y/N’s voice fills the dense atmosphere, so shattered and raw, she can hardly understand herself. “It feels so— so good, H.” 

“I love it when you call me that. Sounds so pretty coming from your lips.” The vampire’s tongue flicks over her nipple a handful of times, dark veins momentarily webbing over the whites of his eyes at the cracked whimper she lets loose. “And of course it feels good. I always make you feel good, don’t I? Always make my girl cum so—fucking—hard.” 

Y/N’s trembling fingers card into the curls along the nape of Harry’s neck as he thrusts to his words, twisting them around her knuckles and swimming in the throaty groan he pours over the clammy skin of her breasts. Her whisper sounds distant and dreamy. “Please...Please don’t stop.”

Harry gazes up at her through heavy lashes, lapping at her chest more fervently, accent thick and deep. “I won’t, baby. Not until I have you dripping all over my sheets.”

After a few more minutes of fractured moans bouncing around the panels of the room and the noise of wet skin slapping together, something catches Y/N’s bleary eyes. She wills past the blissful fog in her mind, focusing on the intriguing object hanging from one of the railings of Harry’s bedpost, swaying back and forth wildly due to his strong tempo. 

“Are those...Are those handcuffs?” 

Harry’s attention jumps to where hers is pinned, his powerful stride coming to a gradual stop. He’s heaving and shuddering above her, ringlets matted to his jaw and across his temples, cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of cherry red. His Adam’s Apple bobs once and he gives a short nod. “Y-Yeah. I’ve had them for a while...”

The hope dripping from his voice is practically palpable and Y/N interprets it easily. She glances down at him as he takes quivering inhales against her chest, his eyes bleeding lust. Her mumble is so quiet and soft, he wonders how it’s possible for her to make some of the preposterously loud sounds he’s used to hearing whenever he’s buried this deep. “Use them on me. Please?”

Harry bends to her request without hesitation. He locks her wrists into the restraints, sponging a kiss onto each before giving them one hard tug to check for security. He then regains his rough slams, but with more fervor than before. 

The monster sits back onto his heels, groping her waist roughly and working her against his thighs, watching welts form on her flesh along the pads of his fingers. Y/N unconsciously begins circling her hips to match his speed and the fractured groan that rips out of him makes her walls tighten. He looks incredible looming in front of her, head toppled back between his shoulder blades, bouncing to his every ram. His throat flexes with the weight, jaw taut and inked pectorals glistening with sweat under the dim lights dangling from his ceiling. “That’s it, pet, just like that. Love the way you ride it. You’re so fucking tight and warm and...and just— Christ, just fuck me.”

She wishes she could frame this moment in time and drag it out forever.  

Harry swings his head forward again, blinking the blurriness from his vision to take in the image before him. Y/N just looks so fucking gorgeous like that, tied down at his beck and call, her chest bouncing pertly as her fingers bunch around the chain link, thighs clinging to his waist as she chews her bottom lip raw in an attempt to control her noises. 

The vampire ducks down, connecting their mouths in a sloppy kiss that cajoles her into spilling all the moans she had been withholding. He feels them trickle down his lungs and diffuse into his bones, flames lapping across his insides as their foreheads bump and noses smudge, ragged breaths intermingling. “Let it out for me, hm? Wanna know how I’m making you feel, don’t care who hears.”

As if that isn’t enough, there’s an instance where Harry’s animalistic senses suddenly enhance and he comes to the realization that the metal cuffs have made a tiny laceration along her skin. 

A thin trail of blood travels down her suspended arm, but she doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in the pleasure Harry is pounding into the pit of her stomach. So he simply leans upwards and licks the sweet droplet clean, feeling heat spark across every fiber of his being. He laps up the entire stream and then presses a tender kiss to her palm for good measure, grunting out a gentle, “There’s a good girl.” when she whines at the affectionate gesture. 

The release Harry is getting from between Y/N’s legs mixes with the ecstasy her blood brings, and it shoves him over the edge in a manner he hasn’t experienced since that first time they slept together all those weeks ago. Since the first time he tasted what lies in her veins, while also simultaneously getting to taste the indescribable relief her body so readily brings him.

After all is said and done that night, something peculiar happens. After they both milk their orgasms for everything it’s worth, and after Y/N gives into exhaustion in his arms with her wrists bruised and a content watery smile on her face, and after he gets a heftier drink from her neck and heals the two little puncture wounds with his own blood...The most bizarre, unexpected event occurs. 

Harry falls asleep soundly for the first time in months, and all he dreams about is how Y/N tasted. 

///

Y/N wakes up the next morning to her body covered in Harry’s Nike jumper, to an empty spot beside her in the messy duvet, to a familiar tune tinging her ears from a distance, and to a satisfying ache between her thighs. 

As soon as she cracks the bedroom door open, the smell of pancakes wafts in through the chilled morning air. Specifically, lemon and blueberry pancakes. Her grandmother’s lemon and blueberry pancakes.

A shiver runs down Y/N’s spine the second she sets a toe along the cold glass panels of Harry’s staircase. She takes a deep breath, pulling the extra length of the sweater’s sleeves over her fists and tugging the hem of the article downwards as if she could convince it to cover more than just half her thighs. She carefully works her way down the steps, flinching at the iciness that travels up her legs with every motion. When she finally thunks down emptily onto the light-wash floorboards, her body has grown accustomed to the temperature. As she pads across the furry rug in Harry’s living room, she finds herself wondering why everything connected to him is always so unusually cold— colder than any normal person could withstand. His touch, his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, his chest, even his thighs; everything is always freezing, and she doesn’t understand how he can bear it. It’s such an odd affinity to have. 

The human gradually wanders into the vampire’s kitchen, peeking inside the room from behind one of the archway’s walls. What she sees throws her for a loop. 

Harry is cooking breakfast, as she expected from the sweet scent she’d awoken to, but he’s doing it in a manner she never really expected from him. 

Music stems from a portable speaker he has situated at the center of the marble kitchen island, blaring loud enough to fill the entire giant home with high notes, guitar chords, and acapella riffs. The young man is dancing across his kitchen as he cooks, clad in nothing but a set of black Calvin Klein briefs and a pair of fuzzy magenta socks. Y/N rakes down his body, admiring the crimson and purple love bites she had left on his chest and the raspberry red scratches zig-zagging across his back, the marks flexing with the movements of his muscles. They’re strangely faint, for some reason. Practically barely there. 

She chalks it up to the fact that maybe she hadn’t bruised him as much as she’d thought. 

Y/N forces herself to keep her mind from straying onto anymore explicit topics; it’s probably not even ten A.M. yet. She needs to get herself under control.

Grooving while in the kitchen isn’t necessarily weird (she’s guilty of it herself), but Harry’s dancing techniques very much are. The only accurate depiction of it is that for a boy in his twenties, he dances like an old geezer in his eighties. His moves are choppy and old-schooled, almost like what you’d expect to see in a nineteen fifties disco hall, and watching him ebb and flow across the tiled ground to choreography similar to that of Dirty Dancing and Footloose... It would send anybody into a fit of laughter. Especially since Harry is so tall and lanky, so how he manages to move in such a way is beyond her understanding. 

Aside from that, his choice of music is baffling, as well. Not only because she recognizes the soundtrack, but because she would have never expected someone like him— with his cocky behavior and overly-confident caliber— to be into these types of songs at all. She always pegged him for the seventies rock and roll type. 

“You like Hamilton?” 

Harry’s actions creak to a halt and he whips around towards where the disturbance had stemmed, spatula clutched in one hand and a marble plate stacked with pancakes in the other. His face breaks into a bright smile, voice slathered with dramatic friendliness. “Well, look who finally got up! I was starting to think you were dead, Sleeping Beauty.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him mockingly, walking over to the kitchen counter and propping herself onto her elbows, chin in hand as she watches him set down the platter of food before her. She tips forward onto her toes, taking a deep inhale of the homey, sugary smell, letting it wash over her in flashes of childhood memories. “Are these like the ones I make?”

“Lemon and blueberry, yeah.” Harry bobs his head casually, turning around to place his metal spatula down into the sink, as well as to retrieve a glass bottle of maple syrup from one of his cupboards. “They’re pretty close, I think. I’ve never seen you use a recipe or measuring cups or anything when you make them, so I kinda eyeballed it to the best of my ability. Hope I did your nan justice.”

He pours a decently-sized glop of syrup over the mountain of treats and Y/N watches excitedly as it trickles down all the layers. He then pushes back from the table, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through, continuing to whistle along to the tune of Satisfied as he bops the cabinet closed with his hip and sets down an extra pair of forks and knives beside the plate. 

Harry cuts a neat triangle out of the pancake at the top, pointing at her with his fork as he shrugs his brows nonchalantly. “And to answer your question from before: yes, I do like Hamilton.”

“Hm. Interesting.” Y/N murmurs, going cross-eyed as Harry offers her the forkful of food in his possession, poking at her mouth playfully and getting maple syrup all over her lips. She opens obediently, allowing him to feed her the piece. “You don’t really seem like the type of guy— oh, wow, these are actually really good!”

Harry bites into his lower lip with his two front teeth, a proud smile dimpling his cheeks as the light draft from the air vent ruffles a couple of his sex-mussed ringlets across his forehead. “Yeah? You mean it?”

The mortal nods her head vigorously as she finishes chewing and swallowing, wiping away some of the leftover syrup from her top lip with her middle finger and sucking it clean. “Yeah! You hit it spot on.”

“Aces. I should be on The Great British Bake Off.” Harry makes a small, celebratory fist bump next to his hip and the childish gesture makes Y/N snort softly. 

“Like I was saying, you don’t really strike me as the type of guy who would be into musicals.” The girl comments, watching her friend cut another triangle out of the first pancake and pop it into his own mouth. 

The vampire chews thoughtfully for a second, lifting one shoulder offhandedly and swallowing fully before talking. “I’m really not, to be honest. But this specific musical is pretty good. The songs are catchy.”

He nudges the other pair of utensils across the counter for emphasis, silently inviting her to dig into the dish along with him. She accepts, slicing down the other side of the stack as he leans forward onto his elbows, mimicking her stance. He gives her a curious glance. “What about you? Do you like musicals?” 

Y/N shrugs, poking a few chunks of food onto her fork. “Not really, but I had a major Hamilton phase back in college. That’s why I recognized it.” 

Harry hums in understanding, picking a blueberry off and chewing it slowly, a sly smirk beginning to tweak the corners of his mouth. “So were you, like, a nerd back then?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say a nerd, but I had decent grades and was pretty quiet.”

He swallows down audibly, blinking impassively. “That’s literally the definition of a nerd.” 

Y/N returns his flat expression. “Fuck off.”

Harry throws his palms up in peaceful surrender, but he still has that shit-eating grin present. “Alright, fine, fine...It’s okay if you were, though. You were probably one of those cute ones, y’know? With the clunky glasses and innocent goody-goody face.” 

“Shut up.”

“Oh, and with one of those short little plaid skirts?” He releases a pained groan, clutching his chest and closing his eyes for a second. She has no doubt he’s sketching some type of graphic image of her in his mind. “God, I bet you looked so good. Do you still have it? Can you wear it for me?”

“I said shut up!” Y/N reaches forward and stabs at his tummy lightly with her fork, ignoring the warmth crawling up her neck and across her cheeks. “Fucking perv.”

Harry smacks her utensil away with his own, giggling lightly as she tries to prick him again, continuing to fight her off. “I’m just asking a question! For science!” 

Y/N twists her fork around his, trying to outmaneuver him into dropping it. “How could my fashion sense in college possibly contribute to science in any way?” 

The vampire easily catches onto her play, slipping himself out of her grasp and trying to trap her makeshift sword down against the tabletop. He purses his lips into a simper, glimpsing up at her through his lashes and quirking his brows cheekily. “Biologically, of course. It contributes to my solo reproductive activities.”

“You are vile.” 

“Really? ‘Cause you seemed pretty happy to help with said activities last night.” 

Y/N drops her fork onto the brim of the platter, reaching up to massage at her temples and keep herself from swatting Harry’s eyeballs out of their sockets. “I’m finished.” 

“Yeah,” the jade of his irises glimmers coyly as he sets down his utensil beside hers in a ceasefire, “you definitely finished.”

Harry chuckles boyishly as Y/N drags her palms down her face, trying to hide away how flustered he’s getting her. She decides to change the subject, not caring to steer the conversation smoothly at all, but rather jumping to another topic right away. “So does this mean you have all the lyrics memorized? Since you like them so much?” 

“I do, yeah.” Harry taps his fingers against the marble counter to the beat of the song currently playing. “Do you?” 

“I was obsessed, so of course I do.” Y/N reasons, her own digits following in tune with the immortal’s. “I think Non-Stop was probably my favorite to sing. It made for a good shower concert.”

“Well, it’s settled then.” Harry quips happily, reaching for his phone and tapping across the screen. “We’re duetting this. Right now. C’mon, Burr.”

Y/N’s motions stop, shyness creeping in from the back of her brain. “Oh, I don’t know, Harry. I never really—”

Her refusal is interrupted by the beginning of the arrangement mentioned, the notes blasting through the speaker as Harry purposefully turns up the volume to drown her out. He taps at his ear symbolically, mouthing, “Sorry, I can't hear you!” and he doesn’t even attempt to ward off the evil grin creeping across his face. 

“Harry, I’m serious—” 

But it’s already too late. Harry juts his hand out in front of him, pointing at his companion with a theatrical edge as he begins to serenade, picking up the slack of her part. 

“After the war I went back to New York. A-After the war I went back to New York. I finished up my studies and I practiced law. I practiced law, Burr worked next door!”

He looks at her expectantly, urging her to jump into the next half as her assigned role. Y/N muscles down her hesitation and recites the lines timidly with her brows creased in hesitation, but at least she’s participating. “Even though we started at the very same time, Alexander Hamilton began to climb. How to account for his rise to the top?”

Harry joins her in the next stanza, grabbing her hand midair in encouragement, trying to shake her out of her rut. “Man, the man is non-stop!”

Y/N is surprised at how well they sound harmonizing together, and she can feel her discomfort slowly begin to melt. She watches as Harry freely boasts his solo with absolutely no remorse, making grand gestures as he slides down the side of the counter, his movements dragging her along. 

“Gentlemen of the jury, I'm curious, bear with me. Are you aware that we're making history?” The boy taps at his chin to symbolize that he’s thinking, acting out the story the lyrics construct. “This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation, the liberty behind deliberation.”

He points at Y/N once again and she does the supporting vocals, gradually beginning to gain more confidence. “Non-stop!”

“I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, with my assistant counsel—”

Harry doesn’t even have to cue Y/N this time around; she picks up her half immediately, falling into line with him flawlessly as if they’ve done this a million times before. “Co-counsel. Hamilton, sit down. Our client Levi Weeks is innocent, call your first witness.”

Harry quickly rounds the corner of the kitchen island, giving her body a grand spin as he draws closer, coming to stand right before her. She gives him a fake exasperated look to match the attitude her character depicts, shaking her head in disapproval. “That's all you had to say.”

“Okay…” The creature yanks Y/N forward into his bare chest, leaning down and flirting his lips right over hers tauntingly, eyes half-lidded in amusement. “One more thing—”

“Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room?” The girl rolls her eyes dramatically, shoving past Harry’s shoulder and she finds it humorous how these lines fit so well, almost as if they were actually directed at him, calling him out on the arrogance he always seems to dote. “Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude may be your doom.”

Harry swivels on his heel, following her as she scurries outside the kitchen entrance, running into the living room. 

“Why do you write like you're running out of time?” Y/N grabs onto one of the couch cushions, pretending to scribble over it with a fake pen. “Write day and night, like you're running out of time? Everyday you fight, like you're running out of time.”

Harry swipes at her from across the couch, trying to grasp onto the jumper she’s wearing. “Keep on fighting in the meantime.”

Y/N ducks out of the path of his grabbing hand, chucking the pillow forward and it bonks him square in the face. She sticks her tongue out at him as Harry scowls dully, climbing onto his sofa and scuttling towards her on his hand and knees.

She jumps just out of reach, diving across the other end of the furniture. The vampire throws his weight to try and tackle her to the sofa, but she just barely escapes. He ends up toppling over the backrest due to his over-abundant momentum. 

“Non-stop!” Y/N waves her middle up at him triumphantly as he pushes himself up off the ground, giving her a challenging look as he takes off after her once again. 

The pair continue to sing back and forth, with Harry chasing Y/N around the living room and kitchen as he belts out his part of the song, Y/N always somehow managing to slip from his grasp as soon as her turn hits. They’re a mess of giggles, silly faces, and boisterous actions as they reenact the play and neither can recall a time they had ever had more fun. There’s never been an instance when they felt so comfortable with another soul that they are willing to run around half-naked, screaming lyrics at each other in their underwear, not caring who sees or overhears. It just feels so second-nature.

A section of the song comes up where a woman is singing and Harry immediately takes up the part, placing his hand on his bare hip and standing in the most feminine fashion he can possibly muster, fanning at his face. “I am sailing off to London, I am accompanied by someone who always pays.” 

The exaggeration makes Y/N bend over laughing and her distraction allows Harry to nab her. He pulls her into his embrace by her forearms, cackling through the following stanza as she wriggles and squirms to try and get free. “I have found a wealthy husband who will keep me in comfort for all my days.” 

Y/N finally gives up on trying to thrash herself free, going limp against his chest and glimpsing up at him with begrudged annoyance, but a fond smile is unmistakably buckling her cheeks. Harry leans down, singing right in her face just to flaunt his victory, their noses brushing. “He is not a lot of fun, but…”

And then, there’s a shift in the ambiance between them. 

Harry gazes down at her as she giggles up at him from his arms, full of so much genuine warmth and excitement, she could power the entire city if she wanted. Her shoulders are heaving slightly as a result of all the running, there’s still faint traces of black mascara smeared under her waterline and down her cheeks from the previous evening’s exertions, she has some acne scarring littering her cheekbones that look fairly recent, and her hair looks like it could nest a family of at least ten birds. But despite these imperfections, Harry finds himself feeling oddly endeared by it all. These flaws are all things he’s gotten used to and has grown to treasure in Y/N. They make her who she is. They make her witty, and they make her clever. They make her fun, as well as trusting. They make her likeable, and energetic, and kind. They make her a good friend and a generous lover. They make her... her. Harry gets the feeling that if she didn’t have all of these traits— if even one was missing— this little arrangement they have going wouldn’t have flourished the way it did. 

Yeah, maybe he would have slept with her once or twice more just to scratch an itch, but he most likely would have let it fizzle to an end after the fact. Her personality paired with these small details— albeit, not all entirely attractive— that make up her existence play a key role in the dynamic they share. And he wouldn’t trade them for anything else— wouldn't trade Y/N for anyone else. Not anytime soon. 

A warm surge travels through his chest, filling his veins like kerosine, heating him from the heels of his socked feet to the tips of his ice cold fingers. An unorthodox swelling sensation twists inside his ribs, right where his heart used to beat, and he finds himself reciting the next line in a soft voice packed with more emotion than he’s shown or felt in the last two centuries.

“There’s no one who can match you, for turn of phrase…”

Y/N seems oblivious to all of the unsettling experiences he’s undergoing, her amused expression not changing in the slightest. Harry allows the rest of the song lyrics to pass by, the lump in his throat too heavy to fight. Instead, he just keeps staring down at Y/N with brows frowning in confusion, his breathing coming out bated and shaky, and that knot in his chest continuing to tighten until it becomes painful. He gets the sudden urge to kiss her— to feel her lips press to his and feel her give into him the way she always does. The way she has for the last four weeks. He doesn’t want it to be sloppy or desperate or sexual; he wants it to be intimate, soft, and caring. He wants it to be special. Something they share. Something only they share.

Then, that moment passes. That flicker of weakness that had leaked through vanishes and Harry feels like he can breathe properly again.

He breaks their locked eyes, releasing Y/N from his hold and taking a swift step back, coughing awkwardly to try and rid the tickling sensation in the back of his throat. He scratches at the nape of his neck nervously, fiddling with his baby curls and attempting to piece himself back together after that unexpected and unwelcome intrusion of his innermost feelings. Though, he doesn’t know if that spectacle even files under the category of emotions; from what he remembers, they aren’t supposed to tangibly attack you in such a manner. It felt more like a violation— like someone had gone in and started poking and prodding at his subconscious with a metal skewer. 

“Harry…?” Y/N inches closer to him, concern prevalent in her voice and across her features as she stretches her hand out caringly. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.” 

“I-I’m—” His voice comes out higher than usual and quivering, so he coughs once again to get it under control, taking another step back. He's scared that if she touches him, that horrible burning sensation will come back. “I’m fine. Just...Just forgot the lyrics.” 

“Oh, okay…” The girl doesn’t sound convinced with the answer, but she lets the subject falter anyways, her hand dropping back down beside her thigh. “Just checking.” 

“Yeah, I got that. Uh, thanks. But I’m all good now.” He holds up a clenched first and juts out his pinky, wiggling it for significance. “Promise”

Y/N scoffs gently at his playful deed. “Alright, then.” 

Harry eyes her attentively as she returns to her previous spot in front of the plate of pancakes, retrieving her fork and starting to pick at them like before, as if nothing had happened. As if Harry hadn’t just almost had a cardiac arrest, despite the fact that the organ responsible had crumbled to dust ages ago.

“Are you gonna eat anymore?” Y/N signals down at the stack of pastries before her questioningly. “Because if you don’t get some now, I’ll eat them all myself. Don’t think I won’t. They’re better than the ones I make and—”

The vampire suddenly feels like bile is rising up his throat and his words spew out before he can think to stop them, though he’s not so sure he would. 

“Do you want to stay over the rest of the weekend?”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #smut #harry styles series #vampire!harry #harry styles #1d fanfiction #1d fic #one direction fanfiction #one direction smut #one direction fic #1d smut #ysijwa #harry styles one shot #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry x y/n #harry x reader #harry x you #harry styles au #vampire au

[17wishbones]

Thank you all who have liked, reblogged, and commented on this Demon Slayer Quickie. Rengoku is just a breath of fresh air kind of character (as are the rest) but his time on screen still hurts. I’ll stop crying about and instead keep posting chapters. I hope to do so nightly or every other day. Let’s love him together! So here is more Rengoku goodness. - - - - - - -                                 CHAPTER III: UNNECESSARY APPROVAL

You sat next to Kyōjurō with your head drawn down. His father had a despicable aura pouring out from him and it made you bite your bottom lip from drawing into a frown. ‘Respect his father. Respect his father. Respect his father.’ You repeated in your head as a mantra.

“Father, _____ and I are engaged and to be wed at the end of this year!”

Rengoku Shinjurō scoffed while not even looking your or his son’s way. “Someone useless like you marrying someone worthless like her? Hmph! How sad.”

Your nails painfully dug through the hakama pants, daring to break skin. He really pissed you off. Rengoku answered him nonetheless. “Do not insult my soon-to-be-wife,” he spoke with a stern tone, taking his stance, “As she will be part of our family.”

Shinjurō shrugged his shoulders. “Do what you want. You’ll die against the demons anyways. What use will you be then? Go ahead and get yourselves killed.”

You bit your bottom lip hard this time, keeping your words to yourself in order to respect Kyōjurō but it hurt to see the pain in his eyes and it hurt you to the core. Here he was with a father and younger brother and the drinker acted like neither of them existed. Your existence be damned, but. . . you didn’t move a muscle until Rengoku moved.

Once removed from his presence, you were ready to burst into tears of anger. How could he, a former Hashira, talk down upon one of the best things in your life!?

“Don’t cry, My Sunflower!” He embraced you close. “I won’t let even his words dim my flames!”

“You’re too good for this world,” you murmured, “And I hate seeing you like that. It hurts to see a living parent not want to be with their kids.” You sniffled. “I wouldn’t put my children through that.”

“You mean, “our'' children, right?” He gently smooched your forehead.

“Our children,” you repeated, “How many did you want again?”

“Ten is a good even number!”

“Eh!? Ten!? How about you reconsider with three or four kids?”

“At a time? That sounds perfect!”

“That’s not how it works, Kyōjurō! And how will I work with so many kids?”

“You won’t have to worry as I will become a hard-working husband and father, to make sure my wife and children are well taken care of!”

“And I’ll get to be a big uncle!” Senjuro exclaimed as he came out of a nearby room, waiting on you both. “And how did Father take the news?”

You sharply turned your head. “Just as when I told him we both became Hashira - not great. Regardless! We are to wed before the end of this year, so our plans have not changed!”

Senjuro ran up and hugged you . “I can’t wait to have my big sister!”

“And I can’t wait to have you as my little brother, Senjuro.” When you looked into their vibrant eyes and loving smiles, you couldn’t ever imagine leaving them for anything. Not even he could make you run away. “I love you and your big brother so much. No matter what, I’ll never leave.”

Rengoku’s chest swelled with pride. “I am the luckiest man to have you as my wife! That’s why I will never stop fighting for you!” 

“And so will I!” Your enthusiasm made him bloom with desire. The time of the meeting was, unfortunately, so close, but if fate was on his side, they’ll be on a mission together this time.

“RENGOKU AND _____, MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE PILLAR MEETING!”

“Oh,” you gazed at the crow above, “It’s already time to go. We will be seeing you again soon, Senjuro.” You leaned down and gave him smooches on each side of his cheek. “You take care, okay?”

“I will!”

“What about me, Sunflower?” Rengoku asked. “I want three for good luck!”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Alright, alright. Come here.” One kiss, two kiss, three kiss, four…

“MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE PILLAR MEETING NOW!”

If it weren’t for the crow, you would still be at the Rengoku Estate, letting him pollinate your flower. “On the way!” You shouted. “Shall we?”

Happy, Rengoku held your hand and began leading the way. “Be good, Senjuro!” 

You felt so lucky that both brothers treated you as an equal, as someone who was loveable and desirable. For them, all of what you did was worth it.

‘Fingers crossed that we get paired together. Just have to get through this meeting-’

The sudden push of swarming auras met you at the corner, where the other Hashira gathered. You knew that feeling well. Some still rejected you, even though it was clear and evident that you had the strength and the drive to be a Flame Hashira. It frightened you at times, their inward feelings. You had wished to not be cursed with this kind of ability, however. . .

“Good morning, everyone!” Rengoku made the aura dissipate with every footstep, lighting an open path into the closed circle. Every step filled with purpose. Every word full of confidence. He refused to let your hand go as you both approached them. Shock still riddled them from his rooftop outburst last time. He truly meant every word, and he wanted them all to know that this was real, and it was happening.

Words and expressions were chosen over an exchange of Nichirin blades as fighting another as a Hashira went against the code. Ubuyashiki’s word was law, but if Rengoku had the opportunity if he were not loyal to the code, he’d challenge those opposing to a 1v1, square up or shut up, match.

“My children, good morning.”

You both released hands and knelt before Ubuyashiki’s arrival. “You have gathered as much information as you could, but even still, Muzan remains out of reach, and there have been more cases of demons arising. So, I will group you today.”

His words softened as the confines of your mind filled with indifference of your trip down in Asakusa. You considered another daring trip to see if you can find just anything that’d bring everyone closer to locating his whereabouts. Maybe even where a couple of the 12 Kizuki reside.

“Rengoku and _____, you’ll be heading back to Osaka. I heard you got very close to finding him, _____.”

“Yes, or so I’d like to think. A horde of demons erased his trail, and so I couldn’t follow it thereafter. I believe they sent them to put me off of his trail, and to have me dead.”

“That is why Rengoku will be your partner.”

“Thank you, Master! This arrangement is most suitable!” Rengoku couldn’t help smiling. For once, fate really was on his side!

Even though Ubuyashiki couldn’t see, he knew that the two of you connected. As two Flame Hashira, you both were going to be a force to be reckoned with. “Good. This concludes our meeting. Make haste to your next assignment.” - - - - - - - - -  Chapter: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII (Part 1) / (Part 2) / (Part 3)

#rengoku kyojuro x reader #rengoku x you #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #romance #anime

[havin-a-wee]

Stars Align

pairing: harry styles x y/n

warnings: fluff, ig you could consider it angst but its really just mysterious

word count: 2k

hello! i apologize for kind of disappearing, my fic rec account has kind of blown up and ive been super busy with that.

this is my entry for @sweetlygolden 's Harry On Holiday Challenge! i chose strangers in the same city, and the line prompt “That is the worst sunburn I’ve ever seen.” i honestly already have a part 2 planned out but we'll see how it goes!

“How much longer are you going to stare at that pretending like it’s interesting.”

Her soft voice surprised him, and he whipped his head around to see who had been speaking to him.

For the first time in a while, Harry was able to get away for a little. Of course, he travels a lot for work, but this was the first vacation since he can remember where he was alone, doing whatever he pleases. He chose Italy for this special occasion, because it’s always been one of his favorite places, and he missed the freedom of wandering around the boot shaped country without a care in the world.

The day's adventures had brought him to La Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna e Contemporanea, which is a museum that he's been wanting to see for quite some time. He started the day off by getting a cappuccino and a crespelle from a wonderful little cafe down the street from his hotel.

Right afterwards he walked to the museum, taking in the sights around him on the 20 minute trek to his destination. Before the woman behind him snatched his attention, he was staring at a painting of an abstract house. The house was only painted in blue, and the artist had used the different shades and tones of the color to create the details in the painting.

He had been staring at it for a good amount of time, which he assumed is what prompted the stranger to talk to him.

It’s his 3rd day on the trip, leaving him 4 more until he has to be back in L.A. for work. He has no plans, no schedules, no job to do. It’s just him and the world. At least, that’s what he assumed it would be. The vacation is supposed to be a solo one, however, he’s currently staring at a stranger that decided to speak to him. And for some reason, he is drawn to her. Compelled to spend time with her after just a simple sentence was spoken between the two of them.

When he fully turns around she jumped, a bit startled by his bright red complexion. “That is the worst sunburn I have ever seen!”

It was true, Harry had managed to get himself a nasty burn on the first day in Italy. He usually tans instead of getting a sunburn, but when you’re used to the dreary weather of the UK, it can be hard to forget how strong the sun is in other places.

So he had laid out on the beach and fell asleep, waking up a few hours later with tomato red skin and a burning sensation covering the exposed skin.

“That’s what happens when y’fall asleep on a beach in Rome,” he chuckled, smiling awkwardly at the woman before him.

She’s beautiful, there is absolutely no denying that. She was wearing a simple spaghetti-strap black dress that cut off right at the knee. There were no designs, no embellishments, just a black dress that hugged her figure perfectly. Her lips have a deep red lipstick smeared across them, and he couldn’t help but notice how the color complimented her skin tone. Her simple black pumps completed the outfit, and her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, with a few of the front strands falling out of the hair tie and framing her face.

“I’d assume so.” Her demeanor is serious, even though there's a smile on her face. She’s…..intimidating?

Harry hasn’t been intimidated by anything since he was a teenager. Once you perform in front of thousands of screaming people, who also happen to idolize you, things don’t tend to phase a person anymore.

But for some reason, her presence caused butterflies to fly around in his stomach, a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time. He actually enjoyed the feeling, it reminded him of when everything was normal.

What also reminded him of normality was the fact that she seems to not have the slightest clue of who he is. If she does, she’s sure as hell good at hiding it.

“You’ve been looking at the same painting for 10 minutes, just wanted to make sure you hadn’t fallen asleep.” A small laugh escaped her lips, and the noise agitated the fluttering butterflies residing in his tummy. Her voice is mesmerizing, and she sounds like what Harry imagines an angel to sound like. She has an American accent, and it eased his nerves slightly that she was also a tourist.

He turned back to the painting to look at it, but it was also convenient in that she wouldn’t be able to see his undoubtedly flushed cheeks.

“Yeah m’not sure what it is ‘bout it but there’s somethin’ special with this one.”

“That’s Prismi lunari by Fortunato Depero, he was very talented.” Harry spun around once again to face her, shocked at her knowledge of the random artwork.

“You know that off of the top of your head?” He tilts his head and looks at her, furrowing his brows in confusion. He’s pretty sure there was no label for the painting, and if there was it was way too small for her to see from where she’s standing.

“I know a lot of things.”

The statement was simple, but Harry wondered if her words paired with the smirk on her face are code for something else. “How long have you been here?” Her question snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked up at her and smiled. He flicks his wrist and directs his attention to it, reading the Gucci watch adorning his wrist.

“Well I got here at 11, so about 5 hours.” It honestly surprised him when he realized it was 4 o’clock, but he knows how wrapped up he gets in artwork so he must have lost track of time.

“Jesus christ! I can barely stand to walk around a museum for an hour!” She blows out a puff of air, mocking being out of breath. They both laugh at her comment, Harry laughing a bit harder than her. “What’s your name?”

“Oh! M’Harry, s’nice to meet you.” He stuck out his ring-clad hand, and her delicate fingers wrapped around his as she shook it.

“Well Harry, wanna get out of here and walk around with someone who knows the city?” She points at herself, and the small smile she gave him earlier transformed into a silly grin.

“Well m’not sure how well an American can know the city, but I’ll bite.” Usually he would never do this. Going off with strangers is never a good idea, especially because of his status. But there’s something about the girl that makes Harry feel safe. They had just met yet he feels like he could trust her with things he hasn’t even told his best friends.

“An American who’s been living here for a year, that is.” His eyebrows raise slightly, intrigued by her new admission. But before he can even open his mouth to speak, she grabs his wrist with her daintily manicured hand and whisks him out of the quiet museum.

The air was humid, quickly drawing beads of sweat from his forehead. He’s also quite baffled at how she was completely unphased. Not a single drop of sweat was dripping on her body, her soft skin untouched like an old porcelain doll, preserved for years in perfect condition.

“I’ll show you around a little, we can go to this wonderful little vintage store I know.” She had turned to face him, her hand moving from his wrist to cup his one hand in both of hers. “Um- at least, if you want to.” For the first time, she was nervous. Although she will never admit it, Harry makes her extremely nervous. Extremely.

When he turned around when they first met, her jump of surprise wasn’t just because of his bright sunburn. In fact, it wasn’t about that at all. It was about how fucking attractive he is. He really looks like one of the statues that was put up in the museum. His sparkling green eyes send a shiver down her spine, and the tattoos peaking through his thin white t-shirt cause a fire to build in her stomach.

Having someone to talk too while he traversed the streets of Rome is a lot more enjoyable than Harry had anticipated. He purposefully told all of his friends that he was going to be MIA while on this trip. But the fact that she is a stranger changes it in some way, in a good way.

The cobblestone streets are surprisingly smooth, and they walk next to each other in a comfortable silence for a long amount of time. The silence would only break when she would point out something in their field of vision. At one point, Harry pauses, standing still in the middle of the street with a thinking look on his face. He realizes that he doesn’t know her name, which seems ridiculous to him because they were walking around a foreign country like the best of friends. She turns to him, matching his confused look when they lock eyes. “I just realized I don’t know y’name.”

Instead of reacting like he would expect one to react when asked that question, her pupils dilated and for some reason she appears to be scared. Why would someone be scared when you ask for their name?

‘Maybe she thinks her name is embarrassing’ Harry thought, still looking at her with a confused look, but now it was laced with a bit of suspicion.

He watches her sigh, and her hand went up to her ponytail and pulled the black elastic out, her soft hair cascading down her shoulders. With another sigh she said, “Y/N. My names Y/N.”

“That’s a really beautiful name.”

“Oh! There’s the store!”

He found it odd that she was so eager to switch the subject, but goes along with it nonetheless.

The vintage store is lovely, and Harry was able to find a beautiful ring and necklace set, matching gold roses on both of them. They looked around the shop for about 15 minutes, Harry being the only one to make a purchase.

The sun had set by the time they went outside, which isn’t surprising considering that it was almost dark when they walked into the little shop. They stood, facing each other outside of this small little shop in Rome. Two strangers, who just happened to cross each other's path. Harry knows this won’t last forever, and he also knows that he wants to see her again. In a leap of faith, he pulls the gold necklace out of the small brown bag and looks up at her.

“Here, I got them so we could match.” It was bold, but Harry feels connected to this girl, and he doesn’t know it, but she feels the exact same. The smile she gave him when he handed her the necklace was bright and genuine, the creases next to her eyes proving its authenticity. He motioned for her to turn around, wrapping the necklace around her neck and clasping it while she held up her hair.

“Thank you Harry. This is the best day I’ve had in a while.”

“Likewise.”

“I hate to do this, but I have to go. Have a wonderful rest of your trip Harry.”

It was then that she placed a small, tender peck on his lips, barely lingering for a second before pulling away.

“Wait! Can I get y’number?” Her smile slanted into a smirk, and she pulled a small card and a pen out of her small black clutch. She placed the card up against the brick wall, leaning it against it and scribbling something down on the paper. When she finished writing, she pressed her lips against the card, handing it to Harry.

He looked down at it, expecting to see a series of numbers, but he was met with a simple note, scribbled on the piece of cardstock next to the red lip print she had left.

May the stars align in our favor once again. - Y/N

He looked up frantically, planning to ask her to write her number down as well, but he was met with nothing.

She had disappeared into the night, leaving as quickly as she appeared earlier that day.

#HarryOnHoliday #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot

[yolkyeomie]

Humanity of the Inhuman | Kim Sunwoo

summary — legends are meant for the wild fantasies of the dream world, but when one myth suddenly comes true, you find yourself tangled within its webs of reality.

word count — 5.9k words

pairing — sunwoo x female!reader (ft x juyeon)

genre —college au, gumiho au

disclaimer —!! light mentions of death, blood, and injury !! lol happy birthday to my favorite writing muse in the world, sunwoo :)

part I | part II | part III | part IV?

I.

You close the door behind you, a deep sigh falling out your mouth as you try to recount the events from today. Though you didn’t get very much time to yourself before you were rudely interrupted by banging coming from you bathroom door and an irritated voice shouting at you. “Hey! I know you’re here, I heard the door open and close! Are you going to let me out now or what?”

You glanced down the hall that led to the bathroom and saw the yellow paper talisman stuck on the door, completely untouched since you had placed it there to keep the gumiho in one place. “Wow, it actually works.” You mumble to yourself, slowly approaching the door knowing that the boy inside was struggling to escape.

You didn’t know how effective the talisman would be since nine tails were said to be rather powerful beings but it was truly working wonders to keep him in one place. Maybe he wasn’t very strong in reality? “Hey fox boy! I’ve got some questions, if you answer at least one of them I’ll let you out.”

You could hear the boy scoff from the inside, probably in disbelief that he was being held hostage by a human with no power to their name. “Doesn’t that sound fair?” You continued, “your freedom for information that I want, good deal right?”

“I don’t think I’m understanding correctly,” the boy began, slamming his fist against the bathroom door one last time to try and break free. You jumped back on instinct, the gumiho’s strength shaking the door on its hinges. Yet the paper talisman stood strong and refused to budge, making it hard for you to not break a smile a few moments later at the gumiho’s struggle. “What information could you, a human, possibly need from a gumiho, huh? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I’m curious,” you admit, sitting down in front of the door and watching the boy’s shadow underneath the small gap in the door. “I'm taking mythology as a fun little elective class and we were just beginning to learn the lore behind nine tailed foxes, I just wanna see which type of myths are true and fake.”

“And you had to lock me,” the door handle jiggled for a moment to show the gumiho’s distress, “in your bathroom to do this?”

“You tried to kill me! What else was I supposed to do?” You complained, frustrated with the boy despite not even being face to face with him. “I was lucky enough to have a talisman sitting in my house that my parents had gotten me weeks ago! If I didn’t push you in there and put the talisman on the door, you probably would have eaten my liver or something.”

“I wouldn’t have eaten your liver,” the boy argued, a loud thump hitting the door as he spoke. It didn’t sound like a punch, more like he had put his back on the door and leaned ups against it. “Even if I wanted to, you made the dumb decision of saving me so now I’m in debt to you.”

“What? I’m sorry, can you run that back for a second?” You questioned, scooting up toward the door eagerly at this new piece of information. “What do you mean you're in debt to me?”

“The other day, when you told me you had saved me after I was attacked? You’ve binded me to you for doing me that favor, leaving me in debt to you. I cannot harm you while I’m debt to you unless I repay you for it.”

The silence between the two of you let a cold shiver run down your spine, though you were too busy processing the information he had given you. “It’s kinda like… an honor code but for gumihos. It was put in place by higher spirits in hopes of lessening the attacks caused by us. It never really worked though, no one dares to approach a fox in fear of being eaten.”

“I’m guessing that’s how it was centuries ago or something…,” you snorted, crossing your arms as you reminisced upon you accidentally stumbling across his injured body.

“Because no one tried, the message never got passed down to the next generations,” he explained, “so it’s become a lost piece of our mythos. Honestly I would have liked to keep it that way as well, but here you are bringing this rule back to fruition. Either way, I’m not going to kill you until I repay you, so there’s no need to keep me in here anymore.”

“You promise you’re not going to jump out and eat my liver the moment I open the door?” You questioned him, getting off the ground as you spoke.

The other side of the door was quiet for a moment before the boy finally answered, “you have my word.”

Cautiously, you put one hand on the door handle and took the talisman within the other. With silent prayer to any otherworldly being that might be watching you and the gumiho from above, you snatched the talisman off of the door and braced yourself for the unforgiving claws of the nine tailed fox you had trapped in your bathroom.

Though all you were greeted by was the grateful smile of the boy you had rescued, a hint of mischief sparkling in his ever changing amber eyes before settling to a deep dark brown to blend in with the mortals of your world. “That wasn’t that hard was it? Now if you excuse me—“

Before you even had the chance to retaliate, the boy darted between you and the door like a quick breeze in the air. He was much faster than you had anticipated, though it should have been expected from a creature such as a nine tailed fox. “Wait, where are you going? I had questions to ask!”

The boy stopped in his tracks, struggling to comprehend where the exit to your home was. He may have been in your house, but the most he had seen was your living room and bathroom. He cursed under his breath for finding himself trapped in an unfamiliar surroundings once again. You watched as the gumiho let out a deep sigh of frustration, turning around to face you with an annoyed yet sweet smile on his face. “Of course… the questions. How could I forget! Tell me, what is it that a human wants to know about gumihos?”

You held up the talisman as a warning sign, not knowing if it still had any useful power to it but it was definitely enough to get the nine tailed fox on his best behavior. “First off, who are you? Or more like… what’s your name? And why were you bleeding to death in rain when I found you?”

“Asking for a lot already, aren’t you?” He mumbled, snorting to himself as he threw himself onto your small couch. “My name is Sunwoo and as you know I am a nine tailed fox. As to why I was bleeding in that alleyway… I was attacked, like I told you before.”

“Okay, Sunwoo, I get that you were attacked but why?” You continued to pester, your curiosity of the gumiho’s situation overtaking your thoughts. The more he tried to hide what was going on, the more curious you became. Though you shouldn’t get close thanks to Juyeon, who knew what he’d do to you if you got closer. “A small argument doesn’t just lead into nearly murdering a person! Or well… fox.”

“My apologies…” he trailed off, looking to you for information.

“Y/N,” you answered him, “it’s Y/N.”

“My apologies, Y/N, but that sort of information is classified,” Sunwoo shrugged, flinching slightly as you threatened him with the talisman, “I just don’t think you’d want to involve yourself in gumiho business. It’s not something a human should be sticking their nose into either way.”

You roll your eyes at his excuse, pointing to yourself as you exclaimed, “have you already forgotten? I am your savior and you’re in debt to me! I should at least know why the victim was keeping attacked in the first place don’t you think? Just think of it as… you repaying your debt to me now.”

“That’s not how that works.” The boy explained, slightly cringing at your actions as he watched you place yourself upon a pedestal to ring information out of him. “I’m in debt to you, yeah, but it means I quite literally owe my life to you. You saved my life, now under whatever circumstances that might occur, I will save yours.”

“Tell me why happened, Sunwoo,” you urged, a little more aggressively this time.

“I stole a fox bead from another gumiho.” He admitted, crossing his arms as he leaned back into the couch. You could almost feel Sunwoo’s hair on his skin rise as he recalled the events prior, trying to decide what he wanted to say and what he’d keep from you. “They had found me and attacked in an attempt to get it back and as a result, left me there to die when they thought they had retrieved it. Luckily for me, they took a fake instead.”

“Fox bead?” You questioned, trying to wrack your head around in an attempt to remember if you had heard of such a thing before. Though you’re not sure if your mythology class had gotten far enough into your gumiho lesson to cover it. “What is that, fox beads?”

“It’s a bead for foxes, everyone has one,” Sunwoo teased, though quickly adding the actual explanation before you could threaten him again, “it’s a bead that provides most of the power and future knowledge that a gumiho could ever ask for, making them one of the most popular beings alive. The only way to obtain this amount, though, is by absorbing the energy of a human.”

“By kissing them?” You questioned, and Sunwoo nodded his head in reply. “My god, I can’t believe he was actually right…” you realized, recalling the information that Juyeon had given you. Nine tailed foxes feed off of a human’s existence, but who would have known they gain more power as a result of taking an innocent human’s life.

Instinctively, you cover your mouth as defense against Sunwoo, not completely trusting the gumiho as he laughed at you. “Have you already forgotten, Y/N? You’re my savior, I owe my life to you. I can’t harm you until that debt has been paid off.”

“Why would you steal a fox bead if every gumiho has one? Just go fill up your own bead you… sicko…” you glare, the vivid image of the gumiho in front of you snatching the life out of humans prevalent in your mind.

“I stole it because the gumiho who had this specific one had almost filled it all.” Sunwoo explained, he held his hand out for you to see as a flash of light sparked in his palms, an object beginning to form within his grasp as his eyes turned the same amber yellow as before. You watched as a glowing bead appeared in his hands, the same color as his foxish eyes and making a light jingle sound every time it moved.

“This is…,” you mumbled, mesmerized by such a beautiful crystal being presented to you.

“The fox bead, the nearly completed fox bead.” Sunwoo nodded. “There hasn’t been a fox bead of this variety in many, many millennia. If the gumiho I stole this from gets his hands on this again and gives it the last bit of human energy it needs? All hell will break loose. That’s what I stole it, or was instructed to steal it. A fox bead of this strength cannot be destroyed by just any gumiho, but by a—”

“Shut up for a second,” you interrupted him, putting the talisman down as inching closer to the fox bead. As the object moved around in Sunwoo hands, the jingling continued to get louder and louder in your head. It got to the point where it finally clicked in your head as to why you were drawn to fox bead in the first place. “I’ve heard this before, the ringing… jingling sound it makes.”

“The fox bead?” Sunwoo questioned, his eyes shooting up to yours at an alarming speed. When you nodded your head his amber yellow eyes snapped back to the natural dark browns and the fox bead disappeared from his hands. “What do you mean you heard the fox bead?”

“Before I found you, I heard jingling. Like… bells or wind chimes or something like that. I followed it because I was curious and it led me straight to you.” You explained yourself, recalling the events rather easily. “And it happened again earlier today when I was on the phone with my friend. It led me outside of my room which brought me straight to where you were. I guess what I was hearing all along was the fox bead.”

“Y/N…” he mumbled, struggling to father his thoughts as he spoke. “Y/N, the fox bead doesn’t make any noise. Or at least, humans cannot hear the jingling of a fox bead unless they are the gumiho’s next target. And we already know it couldn’t have been me because I’m in debt to you.”

You thought to yourself for a moment before replying, “are you saying that the gumiho you stole from… he was planning on using my energy to complete his fox bead?”

II.

“Okay, I understand this is a serious situation, but is all of this really necessary?” You turned your wary gaze toward Sunwoo, fidgeting with the sleeves of your jacket as you watched the boy wander not too far behind you.

Despite your cautious tone, the gumiho was a lot more relaxed than you were. Dressed brand new clothes you had bought specifically for him the day before, Sunwoo took in his surroundings with his keen dark eyes in search of the gumiho that was targeting you. “Of course it’s necessary. If I leave you to your own devices, the gumiho targeting you may try to strike and you will be gone before anyone finds out what happened… if they find out what happened that is.”

You shouldn’t be feeling this anxious about everything. After all you are on your turf, the college campus, and you have a mythical nine tailed fox following your move. You're more safe here than you could be anywhere else. Maybe it’s the fact that you can’t believe any of this is actually happening, it feels like you're in some sort of twisted fairytale than reality if you had to be honest.

Seriously, nine tailed foxes? Fox beads? Being the final victim for the beast? None of that is believable if you were simply hearing it but here you are experiencing it all.

“Well, at least don’t stick around so close,” you scold him, shooing him as far away as you could. “What if I come into contact with the nine tailed fox, and he sees you? He thinks you’re dead after all!”

“Actually...” Sunwoo trailed off, trying to word his next sentence as gently as possible. “Not exactly…? I mean… maybe like a day or two ago he would have believed I’m dead but—”

You stop in your tracks immediately, spinning on your heel to face the gumiho with a furious glint in your eyes, “—What do you mean ‘but’, Sunwoo?”

“It doesn’t take long for a gumiho to realize when they have a fox bead that’s not theirs,” he explained leaning up against the wall and fiddling with his hair as he spoke. “It’s an innate ability we all have, the one that the gumiho took was mine and that thing is completely empty. It was enough to give me time to get out of the city but then…”

“I found you and we figured out that the nine tailed fox was coming for me.” You finished off, wanting to curse yourself for ever stopping for the boy in the first place. You almost wish you didn’t get yourself involved with the nine tailed foxes, almost. “What's the point in doing all of this then?”

“It’s so I can find out where exactly the gumiho is hiding and keep him from you,” Sunwoo grinned, “and then stall him just enough so that I take his fox bead and destroy it.”

You stared at him for a few moments more before letting out an intensely deep sigh. For some reason, the plan that Sunwoo had created didn’t seem very fool proof. But what could you do? After all, you were the human and he was the gumiho. He knew a lot more about nine tailed foxes then you could ever imagine. He, unfortunately, held your life in the palm of his hands.

“Well you can’t stay beside me all of time,” you hissed, finally approaching the room that held your mythology class. “I don’t think I really want to explain to my class how I found and saved a nine tailed fox right after we started the course for your mythos.”

“You can let me in, it’s fine!” He grinned, trying to weasel his way past you and into the class before you could catch him. “I want to know what humans learn about gumihos! You know, give them a few pointers and let them know what’s true and what’s not true.”

“Sunwoo, no!” You snapped, your hands wrapping around his shirt collar and pulling him back as hard as you could. He lurched backward and nearly tumbled to the ground, shocked by your sudden burst of strength. “Are you really trying to keep me safe or are you in cahoots with the other nine tailed fox, him?”

The boy frowned at your accusations, forcing himself back into his feet as he opened his mouth, “Y/N—“

“Y/N!” You turned your head with neck breaking speed to see Juyeon approaching you from down the hall, his gleeful and generous smile beaming down on you once he got your attention. In a panic you turned back to Sunwoo, wanting to give your last attempt at shooing him away before realizing he had disappeared within an instant. The last hint of the gumiho’s mere existence was the faint jingle of the fox bead he had stolen echoing in your ears, so at least you knew he was still around.

You spun on your heels to face Juyeon as relaxed as possible, anxiously fumbling with your hands as he stopped in front of you. “You’re rather early aren’t you? Who were you talking to?”

“I was on the phone,” you quickly responded, your mind running miles as you tried your best to give him an excuse, “with Kevin! He was just checking up on me after the whole… spirits in my house fiasco.”

“Oh, I remember you coming to me about that,” he nodded, nervously adjusting the bag slung over his shoulder. “Are you okay actually? You never gave me an update on the sounds you were hearing and it… worried me, I guess.”

You slowly begin to smile at Juyeon’s kindness, jokingly punching him in the shoulder as you said, “aw, how sweet! Checking up on your good ol’ school friend, huh?”

“School friend…,” he trailed off, hesitating for a moment before smiling at you with the tips of his ears burning a slight shade of red. “Of course I’m worried about my school buddy! Mythology isn't fun without you there with me after all.”

You pat his back in reassurance, “don’t worry, everything is fine for the most part. Though…,” you stopped, wondering how you could discreetly mention Sunwoo’s existence and his warning of you being hunted by a nine tailed fox to the boy. Did you need to tell him actually? None of that was actually of Juyeon’s concern. But… he did say he was worried about you.

“If I needed to go somewhere… somewhere away from my home…,” the jingling from the past few days echoed in your ears as you spoke to him. The fox bead, Sunwoo, was nearby again. You should finish this conversation as quickly as you could. “Would you open your dorm to me? Just for like a day or so! I wouldn’t overstay—“

“Of course!” He blurted, his eyes wide with glee but quickly glistening over with embarrassment. Juyeon cleared his throat as he tried to continue the conversation as normal as he possibly could. “I mean— uh— I’d be happy to, don’t worry. I’d have to clean up a lot and move Hyunjae out so he won’t bother you so just… make sure to give me a heads up, okay?”

You blinked once, then twice, then once more just in case you were seeing what you were seeing. After a few moments of awkward silence after the boy’s rambling, you grinned at him. “Why didn't you question me for not asking Kevin first?”

“I…,” Juyeon struggled to reply, his face flushing as he realized what he had done. “You’re my school friend, Y/N! I’m going to help you when I can, of course. What type of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

You couldn’t tell if the awkward silence between the two of you was because of Juyeon’s terrible lie or the fact that both of you were still astonished by what came out of his mouth. Though you didn’t have time to ponder on it any longer when the fox bead jingled in your ears again and the boy finally piped up, “I’m gonna go ahead and head inside now. See you, Y/N, in like… three minutes or something, I don’t know—“

“—I’m gonna make a call back to Kevin first,” you added on, finally gaining control over your body again as you pulled out your phone and gestured to it. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

He nodded a few more times than needed before skipping into the mythology class, not even daring to look back at you as he disappeared within the class. You couldn’t tell whether Juyeon’s genuinely just being his normal kind self to you or if his actions were motivated by something deeper, you honestly didn’t want to find out at the moment. Not when there was a gumiho out for your head at the moment.

“Alright, Sunwoo, you can come out now—“ your breath hitched as you felt a hand tug aggressively at your wrist, practically snatching you away from the doors to your mythology classroom and into a more secluded hallway.

When you looked up Sunwoo loomed over you, his dark eyes turning into its mystic amber yellow and his nails digging into your skin as his grip grew tighter and tighter. “Are you crazy?” He questioned, though the jingle of the fox bead he had stolen nearly drowned out his voice. “Why were you talking to him?”

“Juyeon?” You question, yanking your arm away from him and taking a giant step away from him. “He’s… he’s my friend, why would I not talk to him? I’ve been taking this class with him since the semester started. He’s a good guy, don’t worry about him.”

“He’s not some good guy, Y/N,” Sunwoo warned, holding out his fist for you to see. Curiously you watched as the fox bead began to form in the palm of his hand, gleaming a much brighter light and practically pulsing with the energy of humans trapped within it. For something so morbid, you sure found it beautiful. “Juyeon is a gumiho, why are you trusting him?”

“Huh?” You respond, unsure of whether or not you had actually heard him correctly. “I’m sorry, repeat that one more time for me.”

“Lee Juyeon,” Sunwoo answered, reciting his full name without you even needing to tell him, “is a gumiho, the very gumiho I stole this fox bead from. Juyeon is targeting you.”

III.

“Y/N!” Sunwoo yelled, banging his fist against the bathroom door like he had been doing for the past couple of days. He was in time out for telling such a ridiculous lie and assuming you’d believe him right off of the bat just because he was a mythical creature. “Y/N, why are you being like this? Can you at least talk to me again.”

You didn’t respond as you laid face first on your couch, struggling to block out the gumiho’s voice from your head. Did he really think you’d believe that Juyeon, the boy you’ve known for nearly the entire semester, was a gumiho? Nine tailed foxes may be master manipulators, but there were some lies that were outrageous enough for even the most simpleminded folk to see past.

“Y/N, you can’t keep me in here forever! Juyeon will come after you when least expect it and—“

“Shut up!” You finally snapped, grabbing a hold of one of the cheap decorative pillows laid across your couch and throwing it as hard as you physically could at the bathroom door. Though the pillow only made it halfway across the room before crashing to the ground without a sound, leaving your sigh of frustration to fill the gap left by the silence.

“I just… I don’t understand. You humans make no sense at all! Why is it so hard to accept the fact that Juyeon is a gumiho?” Sunwoo complained, forcing you to get off the couch and march your way toward the bathroom door. “You wanted to figure out why you heard the fox bead make noise and now you have your answer, Juyeon has been targeting you this entire time! Why are you defending him so hard—“

You snatched the talisman off the door and swung the door open with the ferocity of a tiger, taking the nine tailed fox off guard and watching him stare up at you with a wide eyed and frazzled expression. “Maybe I’m defending him so hard because I’ve been him much longer than I’ve known you! Juyeon has been nothing but… but sweet and kind to me all semester, he’s been looking out for me for who knows how long, and you just want me to believe that he’s out to take my life?”

Sunwoo blinked at your words before vigorously nodding his head, “yes, of course!”

An angry growl of frustration escaped your mouth, getting ready to slap the talisman back on the door and lock the nine tailed fox back inside. “Aren’t gumihos literally trickster spirits? I can’t believe I’ve believed everything that’s come out of your mouth so far. Who knows how many times you’ve already lied to me? Next thing I know you’re going to try and eat my livers when I least expect it!”

However the boy was much more sly and quicker than you could have ever been, so he easily slipped out of the way before you could do so, “I thought I already explained I’m not going to kill you? I physically cannot do so. I have an honor code to follow, genius!”

“How do I know that’s not a lie too, hm?” You questioned, crossing your arms like a child as you walked away from him. “You have no proof of this… this nine tailed fox honor code. How should I trust the words that come out your mouth, hm?”

Sunwoo frowned, the corners of his mouth going as low as they possibly could. “Do you like him or something? Suddenly all the trust we’ve built up has crumbled into nothingness, it’s really getting on my nerves.”

“I do not like Juyeon, he’s just a really good friend!” You shouted, retaliating sharply to the nine tailed fox. The boy nodded his head slowly, clearly not believing your words and rolling his eyes not long after. “But the stuff you’re saying? Unbelievable, this entire situation is unbelievable as is!”

“How do I make you believe what I say, without you accusing me of being a ‘master manipulator’?” Sunwoo mocked, though genuinely trying to find a solution to your disagreement. “I could tell you that I can’t lie to save my life, but you’d think that’s me trying to manipulate you or something again. You know, not all gumihos are good at lying! Some of us are—“

“Prove it,” you demanded, gesturing around your living room as you waited for him to respond. “Prove that you’re not going to harm me and prove that Juyeon is actually a nine tailed fox. I need cold hard facts and visual evidence before I can go on and trust you with my life again.”

“Y/N,” Sunwoo whined, trying to get you to let him off the hook just this one time. Yet you shook your head, sat down on the couch, and simply waited for him to somehow prove he wasn’t just being the stereotypical nine tailed fox she had been learning.

“Go on,” you urged him, “I’m waiting.”

The gumiho looked around in a frenzy, unsure of what exactly he could do to win your trust. You sat and watched him struggle, trying to wrack your own brain around why you had trusted Sunwoo so easily. Was it because you found him while he was injured and dying? But you should never trust strangers in the street anyway, whether they were at death’s door or not!

Maybe it was that cursed fox bead, it’s soft ring echoing in your ears and clouding your judgement each time you needed to make a decision. Were you even sure that the fox bead wasn’t actually his? He could have been lying about that whole situation too…

“I got it!” Sunwoo exclaimed, catching you off guard and shaking you from your thoughts. You look up to see the boy holding his hands out in front of him, his eyes beginning to shift into that familiar amber yellow and an object forming in his hands.

“Hey! No gumiho powers can be used!” You yelled, leaping up from your seat to stop him. Though the gumiho only stepped out of the way, raising his hands straight up so that you couldn’t reach him. “How do I know that it doesn’t amplify your ability to manipulate or not?”

“This can’t be done without the power of a gumiho in the first place,” he hissed, lowering his hands once the stolen fox bead finally materialized in his hands. “Do you want me to prove that I can’t harm you or what?”

You hesitate for a moment and a large smile begins to grow across Sunwoo’s face. “Then this is the only way I can prove it to you. I’ve told you once before that the fox bead is used to absorb human energy, so I’m going to use it on you to show that I genuinely cannot hurt you.”

“Use the fox bead on me…?” You repeat, letting his words slowly process before Juyeon’s words begin to blare through your head. “Wait… doesn’t that require like… kissing me? No, absolutely not! What if this is just a plow to kill me or something?”

“Y/N,” Sunwoo held the fox bead in his hands, it’s glow shining through the crevices of his hands as he spoke, “do you trust me?”

“No!” You quickly replied, “no, I do not!”

“Perfect, that’s the whole point of us doing this then!” He grinned, opening his mouth and dropping the fox bead in like a piece of candy. “It’ll be like two seconds, don’t worry! Well, it’ll feel like two seconds depending on whether or not the fox bead actually absorbs your energy...”

“Sunwoo!” You snap, finding yourself trapped behind the couch and the nine tailed fox in front of you. He took two enthusiastic steps forward before you put your hands in front of you, pushing him to arms length as you quickly spilled, “are you sure this is the way we have to do this? Can you figure out any other way?”

“No I can’t,” Sunwoo hissed between clenched teeth, urging you to put your hands down. “Can we please get this over with so that we can move on to other things? This will take like two seconds.”

“Ugh, fine!” You finally comply, tapping your lips and growling out, “let’s just… get this over with, if you end up actually killing me with this I will haunt you in the afterlife!”

The gumiho leaned in close, his hands hovering over your shoulders and his breath fanning across your face while the sparkle of the fox bead glistening in the corner of your eye. It gleamed in between the roof of his mouth and tongue before you no longer could catch sight of its glow, Sunwoo’s lips pressed fully onto yours without warning of his sudden roughness.

You yelp at his actions but it was entirely eaten up by the gumiho pressing his hands into you, engulfing the fleeting moment as quickly as he could. Somehow you found the strength to separate yourself from him, taking a moment to inhale just once and let out a “Sunwoo—“ before the boy dove right back in again.

He moved from your shoulders to cup your face in his hands while his weight pushed the both of you onto the couch below. You were practically drowning in the gumiho’s desires, too engrossed in Sunwoo’s kiss to notice the fox bead rolling out of his mouth into yours. Though the boy pulled back suddenly, breaking kiss and leaving the two of you breathless and in silence. If you didn’t have the willpower to hold yourself back, you probably would have pulled him back in again… how embarrassing.

His amber yellow eyes twinkled for a moment before shifting back into its illusion of a dark brown and he finally spoke to break the stillness of your home, “look to the sky, look to the land, and then look the people,” Sunwoo explained, having deep breaths after each sentence, “then swallow the fox bead.”

You didn’t get a chance to reply before the gumiho kissed you again, filling you up with the same adrenaline from not even a few seconds ago then retaking the fox bead from your mouth. You blinked a few times to bring yourself back to reality, wanting to ground yourself before speaking another word out your mouth, “why?”

“That’s how you defend yourself against a gumiho and destroy the fox bead all together.” Sunwoo responded, rising off of the couch and taking a few steps away from you. “The only reason you didn’t feel your energy being drained was because that wasn’t my fox bead and I am obligated to protect you, not harm you. You just need to know in case Juyeon takes his back and comes for you.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me instead of—,” you cut yourself off, covering your mouth with your hands and hoping desperately that Sunwoo didn’t catch the intense burning of your ears or beating of your heart, “instead of… showing... me...”

Sunwoo grinned, a grin so eerily similar to a real fox that you almost scoffed. “Because you thought I was manipulating you and wanted me to prove my innocence. Oh and don’t worry about me proving Juyeon is a gumiho, I’ve got something planned that will help.”

He stopped talking for a moment, licking his lips as you finally found the strength to sit upright on the couch and turned his piercing dark eyes toward you. “Of all the things, I didn’t expect you to taste like strawberries? How… interesting.”

#kpop imagines #kpop #kpop au #kpop scenarios #the boyz sunwoo #the boyz juyeon #the boyz imagines #the boyz #the boyz x reader #juyeon x reader #sunwoo x reader #tbz au #tbz sunwoo #tbz juyeon #tbz imagines #tbz x reader #the boyz au #sunwoo au #college au #fantasy au

[shihalyfie]

How would you describe the relationship between each respective goggleboy and 'rival'? Ive seen different interpretations but im curious what you think! Not to mention that the fans are sometimes arguing over who the 'rival' actually is, like with Daisuke where some people say its Ken and others say its Takeru. (I dont think there are actual rivals in the show, except for maybe Manga!Kiriha who outright says he will be just that with Taiki.)

One thing to keep in mind is that the word "rival" has kind of integrated itself into anime lingo as a full-on English loanword, so it comes from expectations of anime tropes more than anything. While even official staff has used that word in talking about Digimon, as you say, it never really fit to begin with, because not only has Digimon TV anime never been a particularly conventional shounen series in many ways, that term was also mostly coined in light of series where that term made a lot more sense. As in, they were more likely to be actually competing over something (in sports, or something tournament-based like card games); in that sense, a "rival" would be someone who might be antagonistic by being on the other side of the field, but would have a mutually positive relationship with the other person overall because the competitiveness would keep both of them on their toes and allow both of them to improve together. Digimon is not the first time this term has started getting overapplied to contexts where it doesn't really fit at all (it's been going on in Super Sentai for years), so people generally have a greater perception of it broadly meaning "two characters who have differing opinions on how something should be done due to their differing personalities, and sometimes fight over it", but in Digimon especially, it really does seem like trying to smash a square peg into a round hole.

The short answer: Xros Wars is probably the only one you can make a real argument for.

The long answer, in detail:

Adventure: I cannot emphasize enough that Adventure, being a series that was really big on that whole trope subversion thing, is a series that casts the trope of "rivalry" as "getting in a lot of fights" as a bad thing -- it's actually pretty unsubtle about it, because the word "rival" itself is explicitly used in Adventure episode 44, by Jureimon trying to manipulate Yamato. Or, in other words, "hey, if you saw someone who's supposed to be your supportive friend as someone you had to constantly compete against for no good reason, wouldn't that be really messed up?" Adventure does not even bother with or remotely believe in the idea that fighting somehow is a sign of how good friends you are, at least, not as long as that fighting is a sign of genuine hostility and refusal to communicate (which is why Yamato punching Taichi in 02 doesn't count). Every time Taichi and Yamato got in a fight back in Adventure, it was heated and ugly, and everyone in their presence was horrified, and once they sorted out their issues in Adventure, their appearances in 02 and Kizuna involved properly talking things out and making an active attempt to understand each other's feelings. There's a bit of bickering between them due to said opposing personalities, but it's never over anything serious (see the contrast in Kizuna between them having a bit of a minor row at the beginning, but high-fiving right after and spending the rest of the movie practically counseling each other).

02: Straight-up does not exist. Daisuke may have seen Takeru in that way due to the Hikari issue at first, but he was really running in circles getting absolutely nowhere about it, Takeru was mostly like "okay, you have fun with that," their only major argument about anything was the very serious issue in 02 episode 11, and it still resulted in Daisuke trying to understand Takeru's feelings. I think all of it boils down to Daisuke himself just not having that kind of personality to begin with, because he's friendly and supportive before anything else, and the whole thing with Takeru became a non-issue after a fashion (way before we even get into Kizuna, at that). Ken has the word "rival" sometimes applied to him in official franchise media, but nobody ever believes it. Sure, Daisuke and Ken have fairly complementary personalities, but they seem to both be aware of this fact and actively using it to help each other. It's very, very, very hard to imagine them ever getting into any kind of fight the way Taichi and Yamato used to in Adventure. It's just not happening! They're "best friends" who enjoy each other's company and actively hang out, and...yeah, that's it.

Tamers: Also does not exist! I know a lot of people really try to say it's Ruki because she's the one with the lone-wolf attitude and aggravated Takato at first, but my impression of Takato's attitude with her wasn't out of any competition but more that he'd like it if she didn't try to pick fights with him. Which she does actually stop after a while, mind you, and you could even make an argument that she's more of a foil to Jian than Takato, because Jian's the one who was completely pacifist at first, with Takato caught in the middle. In the end, Ruki never actually attains a particularly close relationship with Takato compared to Jian, nor does she really keep up a particular competitive streak with Takato; she kind of pops in and out at her leisure because of her more independent streak, and Jian ends up more of Takato's right-hand man (which is why the franchise presumably picks him as the secondary character to feature whenever they do "secondary characters"), but neither Takato nor Jian are prone to conflict and the entire trope is just fundamentally absent. The Tamers trio, is, ultimately, a trio.

Frontier: Takuya and Kouji are probably the first pair to really look like a proper execution of the trope, and at the very least they align pretty perfectly to how it's known in Sentai: a more hot-headed, aggressive lead with a more cool-headed and cynical right-hand man, where they end up often prone to conflict over dispute on how to best lead the team. However, while it's much more of a conventional execution than Adventure (since Adventure had Yamato actually be more prone to being an emotional fuse bomb whereas Taichi was often too chill more than anything), there being any conflict isn’t gone into that deeply beyond just "their personalities are complementary", and in that sense it's not far off from Adventure itself.

Savers: The series kind of baits you into thinking it might go this way when Nanami taunts Tohma about how he had to resort to a Masaru-esque tactic to beat her (it's one of its early red herrings about Tohma supposedly betraying the group), and it does have traces at the start because of how blatant of a foil Tohma is to Masaru, but one thing important to consider is that while the "rivalry" of what's being competed over is barely even relevant in most Digimon series to begin with, Masaru and Tohma don't even have a "group" to lead -- they're the employees under DATS who are being given orders from above, and are dealing with situations as they come. Masaru ends up leading the charge a bit, but he's not actually a leader in any shape or form, and Savers is more of a story of Masaru's coming-of-age than anything else, so while the series mostly has to do with his personal philosophy more than Tohma's, it ultimately lets the two of them pursue their lives their own ways. Masaru's worst bout of infamous anger is at being hurt over Tohma's apparent betrayal, not against him personally.

Xros Wars: I would say this is the only series to date where the term "rivals" properly applies, and it's because they're fighting over something concrete: the Code Crowns, and eventually Digital World territory. So in this case, for the first two parts, the answer is obviously Kiriha; Nene was a rival at first, but after various events happened she allied with Xros Heart early into Death Generals, and while Taiki and Kiriha had a relationship of mutual respect, Kiriha still considered him an opponent over what they were competing for until eventually the Xros Heart United Army fully came into formation. In the manga version, Kiriha does invoke the word "rival" in the above sense of competing to polish one's skills, but ironically, its version of the Death Generals arc involves them being much more in-tune with the same goals, so it might actually apply less because Taiki kind of responds with "uh, sure...?" since he's not nearly as interested in self-improvement. In Hunters, while it initially seems like it might be Yuu, the answer is really Ryouma, and note that Ryouma never really forms a particularly close relationship with Tagiru; it's just that he's the person most at the forefront for competing with Tagiru in the Hunt, to the point he's the first person chosen to wield the Brave Snatcher and turns out to be a bit of a foil for Tagiru in terms of actually having admired Taiki this whole time.

Appmon: Also does not exist. Rei tried to do the whole schtick in terms of competing for the Seven Code Appmon at first, but Haru was having none of that and immediately reached out to him emotionally, worrying about his welfare, and although Rei had a bit of a detached relationship with the other Appli Drivers thereafter, it really was friendly more than anything, just a bit awkward. Haru and Yuujin aren't even on the table, since their relationship is "best friends" akin to Daisuke and Ken.

Adventure: reboot: Also does not exist, considering that Taichi and Yamato bickering over the best way to approach things is limited to the very beginning of the series (and one of those times was with Yamato and Sora, not Yamato and Taichi, at that). In fact, I think most of these kids have been acting separately for most of the series anyway...?

#digimon #shiha's ask box #timelessanimo #digimon multi series talk