#I’m gonna reblog the original thread with this as well

[behold-the-griffin]

okay, so I WAS live-blogging my read through of @athingofvikings fic, A Thing of Vikings, but I stopped some months ago, and THAT was because I was curbstomped by the need to create THIS:

All hail Queen Ruffnut the Wordsmith of Norway, first of her line. May her reign be long and prosperous.

[whatbigotspost]

I’m gonna start coining tumblr specific cognitive biases and logical fallacy terms…here’s the first ones I’ve theorized so far. (I’m using “actor” here meaning “the person, acting out the fallacy or bias for us all to see.”)

1. The unique contribution fallacy—reading a post of over 10k notes and the actor thinks of something they surmise is very clever to add. The actor imagines themselves to be the first special unique soul to contribute this add, when OP has actually received this “clever” comment 5000 times of those 10,000 notes driving OP up the wall.

2. The whataboutism bias— reading a post on any given particular topic, and believing that OP should say every single thing that you could possibly say about that topic under said single post. The actor doesn’t know they have a personal agenda on the topic and expects OP would have that same bias to talk about the side of the given topic that correlates to the actor’s personal bias, instead of allowing OP to be somebody who just writes what they wanted to write. This often works in tandem with… 

3. The TLDR bias— seeing a post that is actually extremely long and thoroughly well written, often times with sources, numerous added threads of detail etc. but the actor doesn’t actually read the content of the FULL post. Then, in reblogging it or commenting on it, “adding” something that OP definitely originally said, and revealing oneself as somebody who doesn’t even read the detailed things that they re-blog or add on comments about.

3. The literal URL fallacy— not understanding the total chaos that is the Tumblr URL, in this fallacy the actor thinks that someone’s username is ALWAYS telling you exactly what the content of their blog might be. I’ll illustrate this one in like a totally random example way… Let’s say that you hypothetically made a blog that was all about calling out bigots back in the days of yore, the early twenty teens. And yet somehow, despite the fact that every other user around you seems to not be taken literally by their URLs, the actor decides that everything that you post is therefore bigotry…….even if what you’re posting is your own original content that you’re writing, calling out bigots. Too bad, so sad! Because in this fallacy, the actor is going to see you as what your URL says, literally, always.

4. The missed URL fallacy— this of course is the exact opposite of number three. It is where a blog has a very particular theme and format to it, that is the most important thing you can notice to understand the context of a post. So, again, just a random example here… But let’s just say that the intent of a blog is to always post submitted weird ass dreams people had, but the actor doesn’t realize this in their relogging and thinks that somebody is reporting a real life situation that was definitely, very specifically a wild fever dream.

5. The throw the baby out with the bathwater bias— a fan favorite among left leaning and social justice corners of the site, this bias is when the actor reads a post where somebody doesn’t use the most optimal, virtue signaling language for them personally, so the actor ignores the whole entire point of the post. It could be something as serious as and attention demanding as genocide, but somebody uses a word like “crazy” or “stupid” or “bitch” in it and so the actor’s worldview and general proclaimed values are casually tossed aside because the language that was used to deliver it was not “perfect.”

6. The choose your own reality bias—The actor reads a post and reblogs it, adding commentary that is responding to things that are definitely not said in the original post and definitely not anything in the realm of what OP was talking about. Close cousin to…

7. The this is definitely about me/self-own fallacy— this one is actually one of my favorites to spot out in the wild because it is SUCH a tell. It is like a slightly more specific version of the “choose your own reality bias” but this is when the actor reads a post and blogs it, adding commentary that is responding to things that are definitely not said in the original post as if OP is talking about them personally, and therefore revealing themselves as potentially shady or suspect in someway because why did they make it about them, if it’s not about them, you know?

8. The zombie post fallacy—in this one, the actor most likely does not have time stamps enabled on their dash because that isn’t something that happens here by default, and this site has a higher presence of zombie posts (by the way its designed and how it functions) than any other social media site I know. So when a zombie post from 2011 shambles across their dash in 2024, they react to that content as if it is completely new and relevant information or news or a situation to be dealt with in the modern era.

What needs added?

[poetrysmackdown]

some informal thoughts

hello! hope the holiday season has been kind to all of you. and i hope all my jewish followers had a lovely hanukkah! anyways, since i said a few months ago that i’d pick poetry smackdown back up sometime around this time of year, i thought i should make a post. the gist of it is that i’m still quite busy, i have a break that’s about three weeks shorter than I was planning on, and i don’t currently have the mental bandwidth required to read, contemplate, and sort through poem submissions in a way that does justice to them, even if i were to recruit some friends to help out. since running a tournament format requires at least five weeks of continued engagement once it’s underway, and since i’m not at capacity to offer that right now due to the change in my schedule, i’m gonna have to bow out for now. sad bc i was looking forward to it!

my hope is that i’ll have some more time over the summer to hunker down with it, in which case you’ll be hearing from me. it’ll frankly depend on the kind of job i land in for the summer, but i find that my unemployed spirit can typically keep me doing stupid shit regardless of workload...to a point. i don’t want to make any promises because i don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up just to let them down again LOL. i do admit the amount of exposure the first tournament got has made me feel like more of a perfectionist this time around, doubly because i don’t feel that i’m very suited to being a public online presence (even a relatively quite small one)—i’m bad enough at responding to emails for my own real life responsibilities, let alone tumblr asks for the silly responsibilities i invent for myself lol. that’s not to say i no longer want to do it, or i don’t enjoy it, or even that i don’t feel capable of making a really interesting bracket—just that if i am working to put something new together, and if people are taking the time to submit poems they care about, then i don’t want to half-ass it.

my second admission is something like this. I made the original bracket as a celebration of poetry and our relationships to it. yes it was silly and competitive, and the poems were very tumblr, but still, celebration was the intention—I wanted to have conversations about poetry. I stand by the bracket format as a fun and valuable way to foster conversations about poetry, but truthfully, the poems i’m wanting to have conversations about right now—the poems that we should be talking about right now—are ones that i'm not comfortable putting in a bracket. I reblogged The Baffler’s Poems from Palestine collection on here earlier, and Najwan Darwish’s “Who Remembers The Armenians?”, which I still often find repeating through my head when I'm traveling from one place to another, walking home or riding the bus. I came across this beautiful thread recently where people have been translating Dr. Refaat Alareer’s “If I Must Die” into their own languages (this just makes my translator's heart sing!!!!!!). @havingapoemwithyou has been posting some great poems from and for Palestine as well—check out their tag here.

There's always more to add, and I'll be posting more on here as I come across it, but that's what I feel anyone should be focusing on right now when it comes to poetry. i think poetry can be an escape but it should never be a distraction. does that make sense? i wouldn't be against doing a one-off poll here or there, but it feels weird to be making a tournament for poetry right now, or anytime soon. i feel like what free time i have right now is still best utilized helping my friends with organizing in the real world. and god, a bit off-topic but while I'm talking, fuck poetry foundation—I have so much respect for all the poets keeping up the boycott, because while i think it's a simple decision, it's not always an easy one (Aurielle Lucier discussed that here).

anyways, if you read all of this, thank you for your time!! I could go on and on, but really this was just meant to be a message telling y'all that there won't be another tournament for a while lol. even so i'll be trying to use this small silly platform as best i can until palestine is free because that's the absolute least i can do.

[it-meant-nothing]

Hi @superherotiger , this is a reply to your reblog on the dadneto and quickson poll… I wanted to make another reblog but I realized that it’s someone else’s post and the thread is getting long 😅 So yeah, this is my reply:

THIS IS SO AMAZING! I LOVE IT SOOO MUCH!! I have watched this animatic before and I understood it a lot more with your narrative. Thank you very much for sharing that! I find it so endearing that Peter and Erik were always destined to meet no matter what timeline!! And ohmygod, Erik imprisoned for 24 years? Poor man. Never gets a break! And then Wanda, is once again, dead😭 I mean, I imagine her dead too most of the time because Fox didn’t show us their version of Wanda. Peter finally telling Erik he’s his son and that they team up against the sentinels but alas!!!! The curse against Erik’s family struck once again 😭 AND IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL HOW ERIK MADE A PIECE OF ROSE FROM HIS HELMET. I’M LITERALLY CRYING RIGHT NOWWWW! Aaaaa, I wish you continue the fic! I’d love to see Logan telling Erik in dofp that the child who broke him out IS HIS SONNNNN! Weirdly enough, I don’t see much fanfics where it’s Logan who told Erik… I wonder whyyyy.

I really love your animatics so much 😭 THEY GIVE ME LIFE. AND YOUR FICS TOOOOOO!!! I love all of your works, I hope you never stop making them 😭

Well then, speaking about first fics! I’m not sure if you’re interested but since you shared, I wanted to share as well! I wrote my first fic about them 2 years ago too!!!! It’s an AU with no magic because I really found Peter’s speed abilities very hard to write. I know there’s a lot more mutants more powerful than him but like… if he’s faster than most of them then they wouldn’t have much time to react, right? So yeah, I decided to write an AU without powers… In that AU, Peter is a very young kid who always annoys Erik in the library while Erik, in his mind, just goes like ‘where is this kid’s parents?’ But in the end, he started to appreciate Peter’s company. I never did publish it though because till now, I still don’t know how to do the big revelation. (Maybe this is why Fox didn’t do the reveal? Because they didn’t know how?!?! Anyways, who cares. I still hate them for doing that.)

And another fic I wrote about them also 2 years ago!! I included Wanda in this one! The first few chapters focused on Peter’s insecurities because he always thought that Wanda is the ‘better twin’ and that everyone likes her more including their father. Erik is not aware of this thinking but he always makes sure to devote his time equally to the twins. There’s a bit of unspoken strain in Peter and Wanda’s relationship too despite them being close. It all stemmed from their late mother. Since Wanda thought that Peter didn’t save their mother on purpose; while Peter was a bit jealous of Wanda since she always had Magda’s attention. And then, the main plot comes in! MCU Wanda really had to ruin everything and take Peter away from them. But since X-Men Wanda and Peter’s relationship isn’t the best, there’s an uncertainty if Peter would even want to come home considering that MCU Wanda treats him so well 🥺 But yeah, we all know nothing is gonna stop Erik from bringing his son back 🫣 I actually published this fic! The first few chapters, I mean… It originally focused on MCU Wanda and Peter’s relationship but I’ve decided to focus on dadneto when I do get the time to work on it again hehe. I might add it in the House of Dadneto collections if it runs again! 🤩

It’s this fic if you’re curious!

[obscurushydrae]

Rules of Play

Please at least give it a read! Liking this post also means it’s more likely I will follow back, as I know you have RAU’d.

Updated 08/19/2024

ABOUT:

Kar/Karmun/Karthonic either-or. If you'd rather separate mun/muse you can use my middle name, Asher to refer to me.

They/Them is cool.

From New York, so the timezone is EST.

Birthday’s January 1990, so 30+

Spoonie with AuDHD

Artist, and educator, so I can get busy. I commute, so I'm on the train for a few hours a day as well and can be sporadic activity wise.

Personal blog @karthonic.

On mobile most of the time.

I left the Tumblr RPC 4 years ago so forgive me as I catch up with the new etiquette, etc.

Personal blog @karthonic.

Sci-Fi Muse: @stellevatum

ARK AU: @sidisaspecto & @hln-4

GENERAL:

Above all else: Be Excellent to each other and party on, dudes!

First and foremost: my activity is sporadic. I refuse to let myself be like I was when I left the RPC in 2019. I may queue a lot of shit. I may go into a black hole for a few weeks or months. I may forget threads or lose them. It doesn't mean I don't care-- I am here to have fun and not get stressed over things.

If you ever want to reach out-- all my blogs and personal are listed above, and my discord is on request to mutuals, even though I'm just as much a cryptid on there as well.

Lurking for a bit before reaching out is fine, but I would like genuinely interested folks. Optional but I have an Interest Tracker for organization purposes.

Communication is key. My muse might be intimidating, but I'm not-- just very busy and on mobile more often than not. Don’t know something, or want me to elaborate: ask! I forgot a reply or not feeling a thing anymore, lemme know. I'm good. I like get to know the people I write with, it makes me plot things better.

This incarnation Kar is for Contemporary Supernatural/Fantasy/Mythology like verses. You can find the Og/Sci-Fi flavored Kar at @stellevatum.

While she's BPRD based,  don’t sweat it if you don’t know the other stuff. If your fandom/verse has a way in, I can finagle her into all sorts of place (she's literally an cosmic horror at heart).

That ‘selective’ part comes into play. I have every right to not follow someone, decline a roleplay, just as you do. Just be polite and respectful.

Crossover/AU/Multiverse/Self Insert friendly. Not your thing, then feel free to not follow.

There will be casual mentions of recreational drug use, more often than not mentions of alcohol than drugs, but will be tagged upon request. Other possible triggers are her fatalistic humor. 

This is not a content resource blog. If you’re here for the pretty pictures, aesthetics, or memes, this is not the blog for you.

Godmoding is discouraged but I’m not going to stop it. I will likely try to out ridiculous you Bugs Bunny style. Even though she can’t die, you’re free to try and kill her, but let me know first (either way she’s gonna be pissed FYI).

Most art is mine but will be credited. If I reblog any art reposted without the original creator’s permission, let me know. I’ll remove it.

FOLLOWING/UNFOLLOWING:

Please don’t follow/interact if you’re under 18. If I follow anyone underage, it’s because I wasn’t able to access any about/ooc information, please don’t take it personally if I unfollow!

If I don’t follow you and you follow me, please just hit me up before doing something. Just because I don’t follow means I’m not interested, I just don’t think our characters mesh with the information given. If we chat about it, who knows!

If I follow you or like a post but not follow, it's likely because I want to check out your rules but can't find a mobile friendly/need time to look through things, especially if it's a carrd. If you follow back, I'll message/send passwords as I don't want to overstep.

I don’t usually greet/interact with personal blogs, so side blogs off personals give me a heads up. Otherwise, I might miss you.

I may unfollow or softblock-- but that doesn't mean I am not against second chances. It usually mean either we haven't really done anything and I'm keeping my dash tidy or you never followed back so I'm taking the hint and stepping off, or you were inactive for 6+ month and I assume you abandoned the blog.

If you'd prefer I don't accidentally re-follow, you are free to hardblock. It's a bummer, but we need to what makes each of us comfortable to write. I will only hardblock if it is in your rules or if it was something serious that warrants it.

IN CHARACTER:

Compatible Fandoms (ie I am Familiar with): BPRD/Hellboy, Hades, Devil May Cry, Wolfenstein, Gravity Falls, WTNV, Obey Me!, Sandman, Good Omens, Hellsing, Persona, Durarara!!, Castlevania, Blood of Zeus, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, Basically anything with demons/angels/gods and the like. I will interact with Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss muses, even though personally I don't vibe with Viv.

Kar is an ancient cosmic horror who was supposed to destroy all reality. Raised by mortals, so she thought she was. But she's also got other forms, which folks may see.

As for appearance, unless you’re really looking you might notice the fangs. And for the most part, assume she’s wearing her signature sunglasses covering her eyes since those rarely are taken off in public.

While not usually brought up, but Kar has attempted to end her life and self-harmed. Nowadays it’s usually just masked with fatalistic humor, recreational drug use, and lots of drinking. 

There will be mentions of Nazis particularly of the occult sort, so if that makes you uncomfortable please feel free to step away.

ASKS:

Askbox will only be open for IC interactions, save for when the meme specifies Mun. IMs are for OOC communication. Anon feature is for sideblogs, multimuses to interact ICly with me. Any Anon messages good or bad directed to the Mun (outside of memes) will be ignored. The Anon feature is privilege, I will revoke it for my well-being if need be.

No Magic Anons, please!

There’s no need to wait to send me a meme if you’ve followed me for 5 minutes or 5 months, send the thing.

Reblog Karma is going to be enforced on this blog. That is, if you reblog an ask meme off me, please send me one. Otherwise, reblog the meme from @karref

THREADS:

Jump on any open post, there’s no need to ask permission, they’re there for that reason!

I will be keeping my posts simple! I don't have the time/energy to make formatted posts, and I like to keep things as accessible as possible. I do try to keep track of the heavily plotted stuff, but the casual things might drop off. Feel free to remind me if it's been a bit!

Communicate! If you’re having trouble writing a reply, talk to me! If you don’t like or not feeling a thread, say so and drop the thread. That also doesn’t mean things are done for good. Come to me if you want to skip/do something else.

If you’d rather we move things to discord, just ask! I’ll set up a server just for us!

SHIPPING:

Shipping is welcomed and willing to discuss the possibility, but I leave the rest to chemistry and just how we as writers write. Kar is into male muses, and will be polite about turning other people down, unless one doesn’t take the hint.

I will only write ships with muns older than 21, but 25+ is preferred.

That being said, I will no longer tolerate stringing me along, or vague replies. Please be clear and direct. If you are interested; say so. If you are not or no longer wanting to go in that direction, tell me. Any vague or non-committal replies will be treated as disinterest and dropped.

This blog is multiship, meaning each relationship is treated as its own separate place in the multiverse unless discussed and agreed upon.

Kar can be polifidelitous. She’s okay with having multiple partners and those partners having partners if your character is cool with it. But she can be selectively monogamous in your little bubble too.

NSFW may be on here, or I might do it over discord. I'm playing it by vibes. As I don't really have any established romantic stuff since rebooting, I can't say with any certainty. Will update when I do know.

TAGGING/ HARD LIMITS:

Blood, Gore, Body Horror, Drugs, etc, will be tagged with (name); for instance drugs; . Special Tags on request.

Posts will be tagged upon request, just let me know!

If you read and understand this, I would appreciate if you'd leave a like the post, that way I know you have without forcing a password.

But if you'd like to message me, here's a DM icebreaker: What's your favorite extinct animal? (If you're lucky I may have cool fact about it.)

HOPE TO WRITE WITH YOU SOON! :D

[stellevatum]

Please at least give it a read! Liking this post also means it’s more likely I will follow back, as I know you have RAU’d.

Updated 07/19/2024

ABOUT:

Kar/Karmun/Karthonic either-or. If you'd rather separate mun/muse you can use my middle name, Asher to refer to me.

They/Them is cool.

From New York, so the timezone is EST.

Birthday’s January 1990, so 30+

Spoonie with AuDHD

Artist, and educator, so I can get busy. I commute, so I'm on the train for a few hours a day as well and can be sporadic activity wise.

Personal blog @karthonic.

On mobile most of the time.

I left the Tumblr RPC 4 years ago so forgive me as I catch up with the new etiquette, etc.

Paranormal/Supernatural AU: @obscurushydrae

ARK AU: @sidisaspecto & @hln-4

GENERAL:

Above all else: Be Excellent to each other and party on, dudes!

First and foremost: my activity is sporadic. I refuse to let myself be like I was when I left the RPC in 2019. I may queue a lot of shit. I may go into a black hole for a few weeks or months. I may forget threads or lose them. It doesn't mean I don't care-- I am here to have fun and not get stressed over things.

If you ever want to reach out-- all my blogs and personal are listed above, and my discord is on request to mutuals, even though I'm just as much a cryptid on there as well.

This sounds redundant to post this but: If you have no intention of RPing with me don’t follow. Lurking for a bit before reaching out is fine, but I would like genuinely interested folks. Optional, but I've made an interest checker to help organize things.

Communication is key. My muse might be intimidating, but I'm not-- just very busy and on mobile more often than not. Don’t know something, or want me to elaborate: ask! I forgot a reply or not feeling a thing anymore, lemme know. I'm good. I like get to know the people I write with, it makes me plot things better.

This incarnation Kar is for SCIENCE FICTION/SPACE OPERA like verse. Her Contemporary/Urban Fantasy/Paranormal/Supernatural self can be found at @obscurushydrae

While she's Star Wars Based,  don’t sweat it if you don’t know the other stuff. If your fandom/verse has a way in, I can finagle her into all sorts of place (she's literally an cosmic horror at heart).

That ‘selective’ part comes into play. I have every right to not follow someone, decline a roleplay, just as you do. Just be polite and respectful.

OC/Crossover/AU/Multiverse/Self Insert friendly. Not your thing, then feel free to not follow.

There will be casual mentions of recreational drug use, more often than not mentions of alcohol than drugs, but will be tagged upon request. Other possible triggers are her fatalistic humor. 

This is not a content resource blog. If you’re here for the pretty pictures, aesthetics, or memes, this is not the blog for you.

Godmoding is discouraged but I’m not going to stop it. I will likely try to out ridiculous you Bugs Bunny style. Even though she can’t die, you’re free to try and kill her, but let me know first (either way she’s gonna be pissed FYI).

Most art is mine but will be credited. If I reblog any art reposted without the original creator’s permission, let me know. I’ll remove it.

FOLLOWING/UNFOLLOWING:

Please don’t follow/interact if you’re under 18. If I follow anyone underage, it’s because I wasn’t able to access any about/ooc information, please don’t take it personally if I unfollow!

If I don’t follow you and you follow me, please just hit me up before doing something. Just because I don’t follow means I’m not interested, I just don’t think our characters mesh with the information given. If we chat about it, who knows!

If I follow you or like a post but not follow, it's likely because I want to check out your rules but can't find a mobile friendly/need time to look through things, especially if it's a carrd. If you follow back, I'll message/send passwords as I don't want to overstep.

I don’t usually greet/interact with personal blogs, so side blogs off personals give me a heads up. Otherwise, I might miss you.

I may unfollow or softblock-- but that doesn't mean I am not against second chances. It usually mean either we haven't really done anything and I'm keeping my dash tidy or you never followed back so I'm taking the hint and stepping off, or you were inactive for 6+ month and I assume you abandoned the blog.

If you'd prefer I don't accidentally re-follow, you are free to hardblock. It's a bummer, but we need to what makes each of us comfortable to write. I will only hardblock if it is in your rules or if it was something serious that warrants it.

IN CHARACTER:

Compatible Fandoms (ie I am Familiar with): Star Wars, Mass Effect, Borderlands, Alien/Predator, Dune, The Outer Worlds, Subnautica, No Man's Sky, Galaktikon, RaM, H2G2, and more!

Kar for the most part, is literally the Force. In a body. Raised by mortals, so she thought she was. And spent most of her life just vaguely gesturing and just going with "humanoid." Force sensitive characters might be able to sense her, but she can mask it.

As for appearance, unless you’re really looking you might notice the fangs. And for the most part, assume she’s wearing her signature sunglasses covering her eyes since those rarely are taken off in public.

While not usually brought up, but Kar has attempted to end her life and self-harmed. Nowadays it’s usually just masked with fatalistic humor, recreational drug use, and lots of drinking. 

ASKS:

Askbox will only be open for IC interactions, save for when the meme specifies Mun. IMs are for OOC communication. Anon feature is for sideblogs, multimuses to interact ICly with me. Any Anon messages good or bad directed to the Mun (outside of memes) will be ignored. The Anon feature is privilege, I will revoke it for my well-being if need be.

No Magic Anons, please!

There’s no need to wait to send me a meme if you’ve followed me for 5 minutes or 5 months, send the thing.

Reblog Karma is going to be enforced on this blog. That is, if you reblog an ask meme off me, please send me one. Otherwise, reblog the meme from @karref

THREADS:

Jump on any open post, there’s no need to ask permission, they’re there for that reason!

I will be keeping my posts simple! I don't have the time/energy to make formatted posts, and I like to keep things as accessible as possible. I do try to keep track of the heavily plotted stuff, but the casual things might drop off. Feel free to remind me if it's been a bit!

Communicate! If you’re having trouble writing a reply, talk to me! If you don’t like or not feeling a thread, say so and drop the thread. That also doesn’t mean things are done for good. Come to me if you want to skip/do something else.

If you’d rather we move things to discord, just ask! I’ll set up a server just for us!

SHIPPING:

Shipping is welcomed and willing to discuss the possibility, but I leave the rest to chemistry and just how we as writers write. Kar is into male muses, and will be polite about turning other people down, unless one doesn’t take the hint.

I will only write ships with muns older than 21, but 25+ is preferred.

That being said, I will no longer tolerate stringing me along, or vague replies. Please be clear and direct. If you are interested; say so. If you are not or no longer wanting to go in that direction, tell me. Any vague or non-committal replies will be treated as disinterest and dropped.

This blog is multiship, meaning each relationship is treated as its own separate place in the multiverse unless discussed and agreed upon.

Kar can be polifidelitous. She’s okay with having multiple partners and those partners having partners if your character is cool with it. But she can be selectively monogamous in your little bubble too.

NSFW may be on here, or I might do it over discord. I'm playing it by vibes. As I don't really have any established romantic stuff since rebooting, I can't say with any certainty. Will update when I do know.

TAGGING/ HARD LIMITS:

Blood, Gore, Body Horror, Drugs, etc, will be tagged with (name); for instance drugs; . Special Tags on request.

Posts will be tagged upon request, just let me know!

If you read and understand this, I would appreciate if you'd leave a like the post, that way I know you have without forcing a password.

But if you'd like to message me, here's a DM icebreaker: What's your favorite extinct animal? (If you're lucky I may have cool fact about it.)

HOPE TO WRITE WITH YOU SOON! :D

[ajscico]

Could you post your continuation of Good Enough again?

I'm in the mood for some comfort today.

Here’s the original ask. And here’s a second snippet <3 hope this helps.

It was almost an amusing sight. The bed was nearly bowing under the weight of the four piled on top of it. Wild was propping up Twilight, Wind was practically glued to Twilight’s side and amusingly enough, Legend had sat himself across legs.

“Can I pry you three off Twilight for a few minutes?” Time began, this got him a dirty look from Legend. “I just need to talk to him…” Legend’s sour look temporarily abated as he reluctantly climbed off Twilight. Wind stopped at Time’s side, tugging at his arm to get his attention.

“He’s really sad about something already. Please don’t yell at him.”

“I know. I won’t.” Time ruffled Wind’s hair. Wind let Legend pull him out of the room. Time silently negotiated with Wild to take Wild’s place behind Twilight. (‘I’m holding him up’ was Wild’s simple answer to Time’s look. Time let it fall silent until the others had well and truly left. Meanwhile, Twilight was… withdrawing into himself.

“Pup, we need to talk…” Time began finally, heart tearing just a little more when Twilight flinched.

“I’m sorry… I’ll be fine to travel come morning. I promise…” Time pulled Twilight into his shoulder.

“That’s not exactly what I wanted to talk about…we’re staying for a couple days, Three willing. You scared us pretty bad there, Pup…” Twilight started to pull away again. “Please talk to me. What happened?”

It took a while, starting with the idea that Twilight had known that shifting had been a bad idea, but had done it twice. Once to comfort Sky (‘nightmares’) and then again and already in tremendous pain (‘everyone was gonna be up soon…’) then slowly prying into the reasons why he shifted so much to hurt himself like this…

(‘Wolfie is better for nightmares… Wind prefers him to me in Hylian form… Warriors said I wasn’t around enough…) all the time, there was this thread in the words that Twilight seemed to think this was a requirement of himself… to be helpful (he used ‘useful’ as his choice of words, though this failed to set Time’s alarm bells off until later) to be better somehow... Finally, Twilight let slip his companion on his quest. Twilight had joked about the ‘princess as beautiful as the setting sun’ who had broken his heart but it was…worse than Twilight had let on. She’d left his Pup without a word and left him thinking it had all been his fault. Three help this kid… Time sent a desperate prayer into the universe and threw in a plea for wisdom while he was at it.

“Pup…I can’t speak for your companion…” Three knew he’d been searching for answers to Navi’s leaving since he was a child…and it was awful to know his descendant had suffered a similar experience. “But I can speak for myself… and you need to know…You are enough. We love you. I love you. I’m so proud of you and the goddesses better give us enough time to prove that to you.” That was the straw that broke his pup once again as the quiet sniffing that had been Twilight trying to hold himself together gave way to full aching sobs. Time pulled his Pup tighter to him. Twilight cried himself out and all Time could do was hold him through it.

—

Wild was the first one to brave the doorway several hours later when Twilight had finally fallen asleep.

‘Is he ok?’ There wasn’t really a good answer to that.

“He’s asleep at least…” Wild nodded, then clambered up to Twilight’s other side. Time waved to get Wild’s attention before asking “You ok?” The fact that Wild was signing rather than speaking wasn’t a great sign.

‘Fine, just a bad day…’ Time read the body language of the Champion, twitchy, restless… squeezing eyes shut and hands twitching towards his ears as if trying to convince himself he needed hearing but didn’t want to… Wild was anxious and overwhelmed.

“You may want to find a spot other than right next to Twilight then…Wind is going to be in here the second he realizes where you’ve gone.’ Wild grumbled a bit at that but then moved so he was wedged between the wall and Twilight’s back and then curled up there to block out as much input as he could.

Sure enough, the others came filtering in by ones and twos. Wind resumed his spot wrapped around Twilight’s middle.

“You didn’t yell at him, right?” He questioned, seeing the tear tracks on Twilight’s face.

“No.” Time assured at the look. “We talked about what happened, why he collapsed… what we can do to prevent a repeat… and he told me some things about his adventure…”

“And?” That came from Legend as he took a spot on Wind’s side.

“Yes, anything we can do?” Now the bed was actually groaning under the weight as Warriors reached out to tousle Twilight’s hair.

“Boys, if you break this frame, you will be paying for a new one for our hosts…” that did manage to convince Sky and Hyrule not to also pile on.

“I can’t give many details. His story is his own and he deserves his privacy as much as any of us… but the worst scars aren’t the ones that we can see. We’ve all lost people, whether it be friends from other realms or kingdoms, family taken from us, or companions who left too soon. And loss leaves scars of its own…”

“What, does he think we’re going to just leave him?” Time let his silence answer. Four swore.

“He does, doesn’t he?” This revelation elicited several more muttered expletives that Time didn’t really have the heart to scold.

“That’s not going to be a simple fix…” Legend grumbled.

“No, it isn’t…” it had taken him years to make peace with Termina and the ideas about permanence and relationships it had put in his head.

“So we do what we can with the time we have.”

[rubbarband]

𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐐’𝐒:  

1. When are you usually online?

.After work or on weekends if I’m not busy with a friend or family come on around 10am est, and I usually log off around 12-1am

2. What verses are you involved in?

Depends on the person I’m roleplaying with, I tend to keep Desmond his standard self since I only have icons with the tailed hero, but I try to be as flexible as I can. I have a fantasy verse where Des is a Dijinn (genie) and where he loses most of his tail and has to adjust and lastly a villain verse as well.

3. What is your biggest RP pet peeve?

.When a person isn’t frank with me when they either have no ideas or wanna drop an rp or straight up have no muse; I don’t like confronting a person about what’s going on about our rp even if we’re both understanding and through about it.  I also hate when I state not to reblog from me unless we’re partners and you plan on leaving a prompt and some stranger I never heard of reblogs a prompt and I gotta go tell them to please read/follow the rules.

Oh or when a muse does their best to get away from Desmond because Desmond is a kind understanding person, and if you’re mean or rude to him, well he’s not gonna wanna hang out with your muse, especially if you’re like racist or call him a freak cause of his tail, obviously he’s gonna just leave.

4. Are you drawn to specific types of muses?

I’m versatile but I like to stick to other fantasy like muses, I don’t bounce off muses that are incredibly overpowered, because Desmond can’t offer help or get to stand on his own feet. So anyone open or is also a super hero Des can bounce off really well!

5. Are there reoccurring themes in your writing that people might not notice?

That’s a tough question, I tend to be pretty frank with my writing, Desmond always mentions, that anyone can be a hero, Mutant struggles, racism, classism, Desmond is always trying to fix the world for the better, even in his villain verse, the theme or changing the world for the better!

6. What are your favourite RP trends?

I don’t really pay attention to threads so, idk, sorry for the boring answer.

7. What is your process for starting a new story with someone?

Well despite my anxiety I like to talk to the person and then if they follow, I’ll follow back and we’ll plan it; I try to be as open and friendly as I’d like to be treated, and some people even appreciate contacting them first.

8. How do you feel about duplicates?

Gee I hope not, Idk why I said gee; anyway there are so many original character ideas out there, I would hope that they would come up with something else creative than a straight copy of my oc.

9. How long have you been involved in roleplaying?

 Since 2012 then took a break and came back towards the end of 019 and onwards.

10. Is there a muse or verse you could write in, but haven’t?

I’ve written alot of muses I felt I wasn’t good at in all honesty. Mitsuru from Persona 3, Jolee Bindo from Kotor 1, Darui from Naruto I used to have alot of rp blogs that didn’t pad out cause either the fandom vaporized off the earth or the fandom was a bag of dicks.  I stick with Original characters now cause there’s no pressure to write them perfect or be told “you can’t write them, you’re black.” so fuck it. Give me more rep MHA you hacks!

tagged  by: @chronicparagon​ Much obliged.

tagging: @silver-strings-of-fate, @acoille, @amplifyingtrace, @cartoonedhero @dustxechoes @plaguebearing, @plaguebearing @princesskorixndr, @fracturedempathy​, @ericense​, @ghostspxder​ @terat0philiac​ @neonbreakor​ and viewers like you!

[miammey]

OK, this was originally gonna be a reblog to a thread talking about if Jouno manipulated Tachihara (he didn’t, not at all), but it became so long it’s gonna be its own thing

Long story short, I think we’re being partially misled by Jouno’s characterization, in a way. Let me explain.

Now,

I’ll say it right now, I think he’s lying here. No one ever mentions that a character could be straight up lying in a scene until it’s revealed then or later, that or it’s obvious, so I’m gonna do it.

When Jouno first found out about Fukuchi being the DoA leader, his reaction was pretry genuine.

This was the first time we’ve seen him so confused about something.

Before this, he said he wouldn’t mind joining the ADA’s (DoA’s) side if they lost, but when he was actually gifted that opportunity, he declined in a very satisfying way (cutting Fukuchi’s neck open). (More on this later)

We don’t know what he was thinking in that scene, but Fukuchi mentioned that he only hired Jouno to later make him become a DoA member.

Fukuchi did not think he was capable of becoming a good person, not in the slightest.

The problem was that Jouno did change, even if he could not be considered a “good person”, he still enjoys doing good, he learned it the hard way, but he learned it.

So part of the reason Jouno declined the offer? Spite.

A big ol’ “fuck you” to Fukuchi, the man who fixed him up only to try and rub him back in the dirt.

And when he did attack Fukuchi, he absolutely knew that he had to chance of winning, so what did he do? Run away to try and contact the other Hunting Dogs, because he trusts them as teammates.

Fukuchi said that Jouno only used the Hunting Dogs as a vessel, but the moment he learned that Fukuchi was the mastermind he was certain that they (Tecchou and Teruko) would believe him, he trusted them enough to ask for their aid. So much for the Hunting Dogs being a “vessel”.

And what about Aya? Why did he give her the note? Well, he’s not stupid. Tachihara told a lie to the Commander, then Tachihara goes mission. He gave Aya the note incase he’s unfortunately right about his suspicions.

Another reason he said he would have joined the ADA (DoA) could have been to manipulate Fukuchi a little bit (hey, I never said he wasn’t manipulative, just not to Tachihara, or any of the other Hunting Dogs, for that matter)). In case his suspicions were right, Fukuchi would have been more open, and more easily able to tell Jouno that he was the mastermind.

Jouno’s surprised reaction could have been because he didn’t want to be right, didn’t want his leader to betray them. Fukuchi was the one who gave Jouno a second chance at life, after all, and allowed him to experience the pleasure of protecting the weak.

Now, there are a few more reasons why I think Jouno’s characterization could be hiding something about his character, one of which being his eyebrows (bear with me, I’m being serious).

There are a few instances where his hair covers his eyebrows, I made a post about i a while back. What this does is make his expression completely unreadable.

I refuse to believe this isn’t intentional in some way, otherwise there would be no reason to try and hide it.

Why hide his expression if he actually wanted to join the DoA? If he were honest wouldn’t it be more obvious that he was excited or something? I know he smirked before then, but that could also very well mean that he has a plan (he most likely had to make it up on the spot).

Another thing is what Tecchou had to say about Jouno while he was beating up Kenji.

Everyone misunderstands him? Despises violence? These are things that contradict everything we thought of when we think of Jouno, to the point where people just don’t believe Tecchou, the guy who has been Jouno’s teammate for (presumably) six years, and has known him much longer than we have seen him on screen.

The thing is, all of what Tecchou says can very much be true, mainly due to the fact that it’s Tecchou saying it, the man who sees good and evil through a black and white lens and puts people above all. If Tecchou of all people says you’re good, then you probably have some good in you, and remember, Jouno bullies Tecchou constantly, and Tecchou still has nice things to say about him!

And about the protecting the weak bit, that is true, we saw in his flashback that it was true, he remembered a single old lady thanking him. He’s probably been thanked by hundreds of people due to saving them, and after the initial memory of urging those bank robbers to commit suicide (look, I didn’t say he was 100% good, but at least he’s not hurting innocent civilians anymore, it’s better than nothing), which is what Fukuchi was talking about and therefore the first thing that came to mind, Jouno remember an old lady thanking him.

Could it be because he used to never get praise or thanks? Probably, he was a criminal after all, but the fact that the part of the mission that came to his mind without prompt was the way he felt when someone thanked him has to mean something, and I doubt that’s a bad something since he continued to stay on the side of the people, following his mission of “defeat the terrorists”.

Overall, we don’t know jack about Jouno, like at all, we barely even saw his thought process when he was fighting Fukuchi and he have less than half a backstory.

But in the end, Jouno is a cruel man who enjoys listening to the suffering of others, there is literally no denying that even if you tried, but I believe there is so much more to him than just that, we’ve just yet to be properly introduced to it.

[turning-dreams-into-chaos]

Rings

(Fred Weasley x Reader)

~Master~

Word Count: 2.7K

A/N: Hope you like! Please like, reblog, comment, whatever! I need validation! 😂

***

The sun was out.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen it with all the rain and cloud seeming to take over lately. You missed it almost too much. You weren’t about to waste it.

“Freddie!” you called out to the older Weasley twin as you hugged the book in your arms tighter when you ran to him, hearing the last bit of his conversation with Angelina and saw his smile grow when his eyes landed on you. “Hi.” You beamed as their conversation ended.

“Hi.” Fred laughed at you, feeling butterflies in his stomach at the adorable look on your face. Angelina took that as her cue to go and when she was gone, you grabbed Fred’s hand and started dragging him. “Hold on!” Fred chuckled as he let you lead him, purposely making it harder to pull him.

“It’s sunny outside!”

He stopped letting you pull him, putting on a show of looking into the sky and scrunching his face. “Is it? Huh, I hadn’t noticed.”

You rolled your eyes and dropped his hand. “I’m going to the lake to read, care to join me?” you called over your shoulder, smiling softly at the sound of Fred’s footsteps running after you. His hand found yours as you turned your head, walking side by side together until you reached the lake.

Fred groaned as he fell to the ground, leaning against the tree and reaching up for you. Laughing under your breath, you took a seat between his legs, leaning your back against his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “What are we reading?” Fred mumbled in your ear as you held up your favorite book, earning a satisfied grin from Fred as you propped your book against your bent knees and cuddled into Fred’s hold. Your hands cupped Fred’s and immediately he started to play with your hands, threading your fingers together, tracing small circles on the back of your hand.

You reached the end of the page, tapping your head gently against Fred’s chest to tell him you were finished. You gave him a few seconds to finish as his chin tapped the top of your head to tell you he was done as well. You tried to turn the page, but Fred had a hold on your hand.

“Freddie, I have to turn the page.” You whispered, turning your head up to look at him. He was just smiling before looking at you and shrugging.

“Blimey woman, just do it.”

“Fred, you have to let go of my hand!” you laughed, feeling his fingers begin threading with yours and you furrowed your brows. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” His laugh echoed in his chest as you tried to pull your hand away gently, but not wanting to let go of his hold.

“Yes, you are!” Fred’s hand finally stopped moving and his only hold on your hand was his fingers wrapped delicately around your ring finger. “Why are you holding my finger like that?”

“It’s an engagement ring.”

The words came out of his mouth and you weren’t even sure you heard him right. “What?”

“It’s an engagement ring.” He repeated and your mouth fell open and closed as you let out a confused laugh.

“It’s your hand?”

“It’s temporary.” Fred rolled his eyes but there wasn’t a hint of annoyance on his face. He knew what he was doing, but you didn’t. “For the future.” He held out your hand in front of you, his fingers still laced around your hand.

“Freddie.“

“Y/N.” He mocked you, making you bite your cheek.

You looked into his eyes, shifting in his lap as his hand never slipped from yours. “Temporary?”

He nodded, his face softening as he gulped. “I’m gonna marry you someday.” He mumbled, his other hand holding your hip as you took a deep breath.

“You are, are you?” Fred took a breath of confidence when you weren’t immediately turned down by the idea. “We have been dating for almost 4 years.”

“Bound to happen eventually.”

“Maybe we should graduate first? Finish this last year?”

He let out a fake disappointed sigh. “I guess you’re right.” You both laughed, feeling the butterflies erupting in your stomach as you cupped Fred’s cheek and kissed him deeply, not missing the way Fred had let go of your hand and gripped your hips, bringing you closer to him.

You pulled away with a grin, letting your head drop as you moved back into your original position, finally able to turn the page. Your mind kept drifting back to Fred’s promise. “Hey, Fred?” You asked, not turning your head until you heard Fred hum a yes behind you. “I like the ring.” You assured him, seeing his eyes sparkle before you cuddled into his hold, his arms wrapped around your waist and he pressed a kiss to your temple.

Someday.

***

It had been almost 3 months since Fred’s “proposal”, but you hadn’t forgotten it. He hadn’t either, giving you constant reminders anytime you were cuddling and his hand would hold yours, paying attention to your ring finger whenever possible. It warmed your heart knowing Fred thought of a future with you because ever since you and Fred got together, all you could imagine was a future with him. How couldn’t you?

Fred was holding your hand as you sat in class, listening to the professor ramble on and on. Your eyes were starting to close as you found yourself dozing off, leaning onto Fred’s shoulder. When he felt you leaning on him, he smiled softly before shaking you, waking you up before you fell asleep completely.

“What happened?” you mumbled under your breath just loud enough for Fred to hear.

He chuckled, adjusting his hold on you to keep you upright. “You fell asleep.”

“Oh.” You said, hiding a yawn with the hand that had been holding Fred’s. He pouted until the moment he could hold it again.

“Oi!” you heard behind you as you and Fred turned around to see George leaning across the table. He didn’t say anything besides widening his eyes at Fred and motioning towards you. You knotted your brows as you watched the twins, seeing Fred send George his “be quiet” look.

Fred turned to you and you put on a smile, batting your eyelashes. “Got something to tell me?” You asked him, seeing him look down at his bag.

“More like give you.” He said with a smirk as you quirked your brow. “Close your eyes.”

“What?” You asked him, glancing up to the professor to see him very much not paying attention to anything going on in with you three in the corner.

“Close your bloody eyes!” George told you, seeming more eager than his brother.

“Okay!” you put your hands in the air and let your eyes close, hearing Fred shuffle in his bag before it went silent and all you heard was the professors dismissing the class and George telling Fred to hurry up. Fred took your hand, and you smiled and felt him slip something onto your finger. “Can I open?” you asked, eager to see what he slipped on your finger that caused your stomach to flip.

“Alright, if you want.” Fred tried to hold back a smile as you opened your eyes, a smile spreading across your face at the candy ring on your hand. “You like?” He asked, sending you a wink.

Your head shook as you laughed, bringing the candy up to your mouth for a taste. “Mmm, my favorite.” You smiled as Fred patted himself on his back, earning a slap on his back from his brother as well who was trying and failing at hiding his laughs.

“Let me have a taste?” Fred asked and you nodded, holding the ring up to him but instead he went for your lips, making you laugh against him. He pulled away with a satisfied sigh as the three of you grabbed your things.

“You two are disgusting.” George joked as Fred bumped his shoulder.

“Jealous Georgie?” He asked making you bite your lip as you threw your bag over your shoulder, taking a moment to admire the ring. Fred and George had started to leave before Fred realized you weren’t with him and he stopped, turning to see you standing in place. “Y/N, you coming?” You shot back to reality at the sound of your name and nodded, grabbing the last of your things and following after him, holding hands once you were side by side.

Someday.

***

“Freddie!” Fred’s head turned at the sound of your voice, seeing you practically run into his store and right to him. He dropped the box onto the floor right in time to catch you in his arms. He let out a hearty laugh as you pecked his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and shoulders. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” Fred mumbled as he put you on the counter, standing between your legs and looking up at you. You pushed your fingers through his hair, hearing a relaxed sigh pass his lips as you took in the bags under his eyes.

Hearing a door close behind you, you looked over your shoulder and saw George come down from their office. “George!” you shouted, scaring the twin on the stairs who smile once he realized it was just you.

“Glad you’re finally back!” He sounded annoyed, looking between you and Fred and crossing his arms. “Maybe you can convince him to finally take a break.” Fred shot his brother a look before his eyes softened back at you.

You turned to him with furrowed brows. “Break?” you asked before realizing why he had he had bags under his eyes. “Freddie, you work too hard.” You told him, gently rubbing your thumb across his cheek. He just gave you a soft smile, grabbing your hips softly.

“Well, I needed a distraction, until you got back.” His grin made you laugh as you dropped your head.

“I was gone barely a week!”

“Longest week of my life!” Fred groaned out, barely letting you finish your sentence as he fell into your arms, wrapping his arms around your waist and getting to feel your hold for the first time in way too long. “I just have one more box to put away.” He mumbled as he pulled away.

You nodded, looking over to the box he dropped when you first came in. “Alright, then we get lunch?” you asked, your voice hopeful as Fred’s smile spread.

“Then we get lunch.” You gave him another kiss before he walked away, to his work. George joined you as he leaned on the counter from the other side, both of you watching Fred work.

“I’m glad you’re back, he wouldn’t stop talking about you.” You looked over your shoulder at him. “I miss Y/N! Y/N this! Y/N that!” He mocked his brother, not missing the glare thrown his way from his twin. You, however, found it endearing knowing Fred missed you as much as you missed him. Your laughter only increased as you and George were interrupted by Fred fumbling with the box, knocking over some things. “Alright, if you want to be a Weasley someday, go help him.” George said, giving you a pat on the back. Your cheeks burned from your smile at George’s comment as he walked away needing to get some work done in the back.

You listened to George’s instructions, helping Fred as you told him all about the trip you had taken with your parents. As soon as you both were finished, you went to get some food, hearing all about Fred’s week working more hours than he usually does. The conversation quieted as you and Fred began eating, sneaking glances up to each other and holding hands across the table.

Fred squeezed your hand, getting you to look up at him. “Close your eyes, love.” He said and immediately you knew what was coming. You bit your lip, closing your eyes and letting Fred slip something on your ring finger again. “Open.”

Your eyes opened, meeting Fred’s dark ones before letting your eyes flicker down to the paper ring on your finger. It was simple but beautiful with your names scribbled in Fred’s handwriting on it, connected with a heart that made your own skip. “I love it.” You told him, bringing your hand to your chest and seeing Fred’s nervous eyes. “And I love you.” you pushed yourself up, reaching forward to hold his face as you kissed him, feeling Fred’s wide smile against your lips.

“I love you too.” He said when you separated and both of you fell into your seats again. You immediately admired your paper ring, the same butterflies in your stomach from his first two proposals. Fred watched you, the smile on your face warming him as he looked between the ring on your finger and your beautiful smiling face.

Someday.

***

The view of the sky at the Weasley’s burrow was something you never thought you’d get used to, but lately, you’ve learned to appreciate the little things. Like spending nights laying on the grass nearby with Fred, staring at the sky as you laid into his side.

“You ever notice how the stars sometimes look like they’re holding hands?” you asked, looking at two particular stars close together. Fred laughed under you as he pulled you closer and grabbed your hand to intertwine your fingers. You sighed, resting your head back on his chest.

Every night since the battle at the school, Fred and you came out here to this very spot and looked at the stars. You almost lost him that day. You almost lost your world. Lucky Percy saved him at the last minute and they both came out alive. You never would’ve forgiven yourself if you let yourself lose him that easily.

You wore the paper ring as a necklace now, wanting to wear it but too nervous of it getting damaged on your finger. You also moved in with Fred at the burrow after that, wanting to stay with him for as long as you could. Fred, of course, was fine with that since he didn’t want to spend a moment away from you either.

“Y/N? Love?” He whispered into your ear, getting you to look up at him. He moved to sit up and you did as well, giving him space as you turned to face him. He shifted behind him, reaching into his back pocket before stopping.

“Close your eyes.” He smiled.

You let out a laugh, throwing your head back as you looked at the sky and clutching the ring sitting on your neck. “Fred, if you give me another temporary ring, I swear-“

“Just close your eyes, Love!” He laughed, and you listened, grinning and stretching out your head as you waited for Fred to slip something on your finger. This time, however, Fred never grabbed your hand. “Open.”

Your hand fell as you furrowed your brows and opened your eyes, only to see Fred kneeling in front of you with a small box in his hands. Your breath hitched, tears immediately prickling your eyes when you covered your mouth, already knowing what was about to happen. “Freddie...”

His eyes gazed softly into yours as he opened the box, revealing to you the most beautiful ring you never saw. “Will you marry me?” He whispered, keeping his voice soft as a tear fell down your face.

“Yes.” You choked out. “Yes!” Fred let out a happy breath, his smile pulling up to his eyes as you jumped into his arms, holding onto him as tight as you could. “I’ll marry you, Freddie.”

Freddie pulled away first, capturing your lips with his as he grabbed your hand, slipping the ring onto your finger before you broke apart and looked down at the perfect fitting ring. “I love you, Y/N.”

You let your head fall against Fred’s shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you again, both of you letting tears fall freely as you laid back down in the grass for the first time officially engaged. “I love you too, Freddie. I can’t wait to marry you.”

Someday.

Someday soon.

***

Tags are open! SEND ASKS OR CHECK THE LINK IN MY BIO!

Sorry if I forgot someone, my tags are a little messy.

Permanent: @literal-fand0m-trash @nathaliabakes @colored-confetti @wiseeggspickleslime @btsiguess-kpop @galacticstxrdust @independentgirl @hollymac79 @emcchi @rauwz @chewymoustachio @smilexcaptainx @faith-quake @clarkesplaylist @johnmurphyisbisexual @kettnerjanea @teenagereadersciencenerd @ladykxxx08 @birdie-writes @annasofiaearlobe @mytreec @ananad1 @agentnataliahofferson @unmanaged-mischief02

HP: @accio-rogers @songforhema @hahaboop @paigeyisme @missmulti @daddyloonglegss @ellie-emb @angelinathebook @marauderswhisperer @emmaloo21 @obsessedwithrandomthings @jackryanplz @dreamer821 @alexmarie29 @grierpilots @alittletoomanyobsessions @iamak20 @pregnant-piggy @the-moon-and-the-book @missrabbitart @marylimlp @blisfvll @leahstypewriter @masterofthedarkness @fishstick-knows @ananad1 @xfirstfemale-marauderx  @lozzybowe

Twins:  @siriuslysirius1107 @wolfiepirate @coffee-without-caffeine @rexorangecouny @spideyboipete @themusingsofmany

[angellbarnes]

Forgotten Love - part six: no longer one of them

chapter summary: the truth will set you free, if it doesn't kill you first. The team interrogates you and your past.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

words: 2.3k

warnings: language, mentions of torture, needles

A/N: sorry it's been a while but finally got around to finishing this chapter. Pls like, comment and reblog as always! :)🤍

series masterlist

You look around the blank, boxy room. Then down at your hands, where your wrists are chained to a table. Then down at your ankles, where they are chained to the chair you’re sitting on. It’s been at least thirty minutes since you were left in here by yourself, struggling in your restraints. Your breathing becomes rugged and you can’t hold down the panic rising within, no matter how hard you try. Even closing your eyes, all you see are them. In a sudden rush of emotion you manage to yank yourself free from each chain and stand, pushing the chair from behind you and sending flying back, hitting the wall and crashing to the floor. You look up to the wall opposite, noticing your disheveled reflection in the mirror, fists balled up tight. A one-way mirror, no doubt.

“No, no, no, no, no.” You repeat to yourself. Your hands fly to your hair, raking through it and grabbing while your chest heaves and your head spins. Steadying yourself with the table for a moment to calm yourself as best you can. You tread carefully towards the door but stop in your tracks, physically frozen in place as you try and place how many footsteps are heading towards you now.

There are seven of them. Three, you notice, stay at the door whilst the others carry on, presumably to whatever room is behind that mirror.

The door opens.

“What in the-” Fury begins, seeing you standing before him and noticing the mess you’d left. “Let me see your hands.” He brings up a gun that seems to glare straight at you, as if to say there’s no getting out of this. So, you show your hands.

Tony and Nat are behind him and Natasha walks to the chair that is on its side, picks it up and sets it back down at the table, then motions stoically for you to sit back down.

“Take a seat. We’re gonna be here for a while. And before you try anything stupid, don’t.” Fury states. You sit back down and suddenly notice the dryness of your mouth and throat.

The three of them now stand before you, looming over like the shadows of your past.

“There’s a lot to unpack here, so I suggest we start with whatever the hell just happened upstairs.” Tony begins. His face is forbidding, as are the others, and his arms are crossed.

You remain silent.

“This is the part where you start talking.” Your gaze shifts to meet a single, harsh eye. God knows he only needs one to get the job done.

“I-”

“What Barnes said. Was it true? Did you help torture him as the Winter Soldier?” Natasha’s voice is demanding, needing.

“No.” You say, finally mustering up a word. “Well, yes. No and yes.”

“What do you mean no and yes?” Fury leans forward on the table.

“Not exactly.”

“Cut the crap. Did you, at any point, help HYDRA in torturing Bucky?”

Silence. Then,

“Yes.” It came out as a broken whisper.

Behind the glass, Bucky takes in a sharp breath. Deep down he knew it was true, but that didn’t stop him from wanting it not to be.

Someone begins walking towards the door from the opposite room. Steve enters and switches out with Tony. Steve looks more disappointed than anything, which makes your heart ache more.

“Why? Why were you with them?”

“Steve-”

“Just answer the question.” Steve closes his eyes in exasperation, letting his head fall forward. He can barely look at you.

“I was alone, back when I joined.” You begin. “At the time I was sheltering in an abandoned warehouse that was half blown to pieces. They found me. I was vulnerable and they knew it. So they took me in, fed me, gave me a roof over my head, a proper one. I thought they were good people, at first.” You’re looking down at your lap as you speak, not wanting to risk looking anyone in the eye.

“And how do we know this isn’t some bullshit story you’ve made up to get us to sympathise with you?” Nat chimes in, brows knit together by the thread of betrayal.

“For all we know you could still be one of them. Feeding everything back to them since you got here. Is that what you’ve been doing? Gaining our trust in order to have inside information? This whole goddamn time.” Steve is angry. More than you’ve seen him before. But it’s not the kind of anger that him and Tony might share when the other gets on their nerves, no. This anger is the one that comes from deep within you, that only shows when you’ve been stabbed deep enough in the back for it to come seeping out all crimson red.

“No, it’s not like that. I’m done with HYDRA, I promise.”

“Well that promise doesn’t mean much to us.” Fury comments.

“I know. But it’s all I have.”

Fury holds his fingers up to his ear. “Hill, bring it in.” A moment after Fury’s request she is heading round and into the room. She passes him a folded piece of paper.

“This,” he begins to unfold it. “was surprisingly easy to find. Inside a book? Really?” He leans onto the table and slides the paper forwards. You are now face to face with yourself; the file page you'd retrieved from the first mission. You rub your hands together, as if hoping for a genie to appear so you could wish for this to have never happened.

“That’s not me. Well, it is me. But it’s not who I am. The person you’ve come to know since I joined this team is the real me. I’m not that person.” You look back down at the photograph of your deadened self. “Anymore.”

“Care to explain?” Nat asks.

“After a while with HYDRA, I realised that some others from the rooms near me were being taken somewhere else. I didn’t know where, though; they wouldn’t tell us. Eventually I was the only one left, and none of the others had come back yet.” Your throat is dryer than ever. “They took me to a room. A dark one. And they sat me in a chair. Strapped me down. I could hear some screams from neighbouring rooms but they dismissed it, said people were hurt and they were treating them. They were lying, of course, but at the time I was naive enough to believe them. They stuck a needle in my arm and released an acidically blue liquid into my bloodstream. At first it was excruciating. It felt as though someone was searing my veins as it moved from my arm and into my chest, then up my neck and down my torso. Then it was everywhere. My mind was so clouded with pain, until it just… stopped. I felt numb. And after that, HYDRA turned me into their own personal weapon. Because I was their success. I was the one who survived. They had used a different serum on all twelve of us, trying to find one that worked. And it finally did. At first I felt special to have been the one that survived. Proud, even. But soon it turned into something more sinister, and I realised how lucky the others were…”

The silence in the room is deafening. To a point where you have to start shuffling in your seat just to rid it. It’s hard to gage anyone’s emotions at this point. Natasha leaves, silently, without glancing back. Though she doesn’t head towards the others behind the mirror, she walks away in the opposite direction. Your heart hangs heavy in your chest with the thought of having hurt her this much.

“So, you’re telling me, the serum we found on that mission last week hasn’t just been created? They’d already figured it out and used it on you?” Steve’s question is spoken as more of a statement, everyone already knowing the answer.

“Yes.” You whisper.

“And that’s where these powers came from? The serum?”

“Yes.”

“Another supersoldier. ‘Cause we don’t have enough of those.” Fury scoffs. “And why do they always have to come from HYDRA?”

“The serum made you stronger and faster. But it doesn’t explain your extra power. Where did that come from?” Steve interrogates.

“The serum as well.” Your voice is weak and strained by guilt as you speak. “When they were recreating it they also… experimented with it. Once they knew they perfected the original serum they started tampering with additional elements and quantities. It wasn’t until me when one of them worked. The serum they’d created managed to grip on to certain sensory nerves and cells and increased the sensitivity, or… something about exteroreceptors, maybe? I can’t exactly remember the science of it all-”

“So, just like that, we’re supposed to trust you?” Steve cuts you off, his vigilant tone as unnerving as his stare.

“Send Barnes in.” Fury motions to agent Hill, who exits the room, only to return with him: the one person you thought could get you out of this situation.

Bucky keeps his head down, making sure to avoid any eye contact. You desperately want to yell the truth at everyone - the whole truth - but you know that wouldn’t be wise. Especially since they’re already sceptical of everything that’s coming from your deceiving lips. They would never believe that. He would never believe it.

Not until he remembers it all.

“Bucky, do you know if this is the truth?” Hill cautiously asks him.

“No.”

“No, you don’t know, or no, it isn’t the truth?” Fury inquires.

“No, I don’t know.” He states, finally looking up and meeting your gaze. You can see the hurt in his eyes. It’s evident that these newly found memories haven’t treated him well. Especially since he’d started to take a liking to you, which he never let be known. He didn’t know what to make of it when he began to feel a strange, but strong, pull towards you. As if there was some invisible string that was pulling, connecting, the two of you together.

It frayed and snapped as soon as he remembered.

But knowing that he’d felt it in the first place makes his head hurt all the more.

“So, number 12, what is your real name?” Fury looks straight into your eyes, almost burning through your skull with his intensity.

“And don’t even think about lying to us again.” Steve snarls. You hesitate for a moment, drawing heavy breaths.

“My real name- my real name is Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Let’s put it to the test, shall we?” Fury proposes.

A few moments later, you’re being hooked up to a lie detector by Bruce. He then sits diagonal to you with the polygraph machine in front of him.

“We’re set.” He states.

“Perfect. Let’s get started, shall we?” Tony is now back in the room. A full house.

They don’t hesitate with the questions, getting straight into it, yes or no.

“Before you joined this team, were you a HYDRA agent?” Hill begins with. There is no way for you to escape this, no stopping the rollercoaster from plunging down as you reach the top.

“Yes.”

“An assassin?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still work for them?” Steve’s turn.

“No.”

“Do you still associate yourself with them in any way?”

“No.”

“Are you in contact with them?” Tony asks.

“No.”

“Do you plan on going back to them? Becoming one of them again?” Steve begins again.

“No.” You answer through gritted teeth now.

“Bruce?” Fury chimes in, and all heads turn to him, as he reads the coloured lines on the paper.

“She’s telling the truth so far.” He confirms.

The questions, the interrogating, it continues for several more minutes. Questions like: Are you loyal to this team? Are you really here to make good of your past? Is that life with HYDRA over for good?

Yes, yes, and yes.

“Did you assist in the torture of a Seargent James Barnes whilst you were a part of HYDRA?” Fury reads from a sheet, making sure to leave no stone unturned. A stone that it feels as if he just threw at your stomach. You force your eyes upwards and to Bucky’s, brimming with sadness.

“Yes.” Your answer feels so sour against your tongue. You pry your eyes away and they fall to the floor once more.

“All true.” Bruce confirms once more.

“But-”

“Last question.” Fury walks forward. “How did you manage to get through our system, without us finding any trace of who you really are?” He speaks slowly, deeply, sounding like he has gravel in his throat.

“The old me was classed as dead. I had nothing to my name, not even a life. And HYDRA didn’t make it their first priority to give me one. So, technically I was no one. It wasn’t that hard to create a completely new person. A clean slate, if you will.”

Everyone’s faces are stern, yet utterly mindfucked. No one knows what to think. Fury stands tall and motions his head to the door whilst looking at the others. Everyone exits the room in a disappointed silence.

Bucky is the last to leave. He stands, with his arms crossed and brows furrowed, directly in front of where you sit. The prolonged eye-contact is laced with an unknown, but oddly familiar,  tension.

“Bucky, I-” As soon as you begin to speak he follows after the others and shuts and locks the door behind him.

Once again, you’re left with just yourself in the vacant room, besides the company of the chair, table and your infinite, anxiety-ridden thoughts of what the hell is going to happen to you now.

•••

Taglist:

@buckysjuicyplums @901seconds @walkwithfluffyangels @infernal-fire @ohashley101 @mrs-fanfiction-2001 @buckys2thicc @freigeistundanderes

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

Baby, some people are meant to be loved and others just naked

So take what I’m willing to give, love it or hate it.”

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

A/N: alright SO!!!! the original part 3 ended up being at the cusp of 50k words (because i have no self control) and that is a LOT to read in one go so it’s getting split into parts 3 and 4! which means!! double update laidese and germs!!!! part 4 will be posted this SUNDAY, AUGUST 16th at 5PM PST/8PM EST :D we hope you enjoy this chapter, feedback is greatly appreciated, and please please PLEASE!!! if you like it, reblog it!!! and if you want, go nuts in the tags!! every single one is read!!! it keeps content creators motivated 💌leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ took the liberty of making an incredible playlist to go along with our story, so feel free to check it out and see if you can find any clues as to what’s in store for the characters 👀without further delay, here she is...buckle up 👁👁this is gonna be quite the ride

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

word count: 24.2k

content/warnings: cheeky banter over texts, The Crew dragging Niall to shit, more banter over a glass of cheap wine, vampire!harry showing up to “interior design” sessions looking like a runway model, some fwb smut, degradation kink, very mild mentions of blood, and some ugly tapestries that somehow lead to sexting

///

Y/N definitely puts Harry’s number to good use. Very good use.

In fact, during the span of the next month or so, Harry reckons that she pulls up his contact on her phone so often that she probably has him listed on speed dial. The assumption is dramatic and probably incorrect, on behalf of his arrogance, but with how much time they start spending together, it’s hardly a stretch.  

It all begins exactly a week after their first time meeting. 

Harry still hates clubs. 

He hates them more than he did last week. He hates them more than he did yesterday, more than he did this morning, and even more than he did a minute ago. He fucking despises them. 

And yet, as Harry stands here before the mirror in his enormous double-sink bathroom, fiddling with his damp hair as his flouncy dress shirt hangs unbuttoned from his broad shoulders, he’s absolutely positive he has never hated clubs more than right now. 

Niall got to pick the venue this time. He’d texted his choice in the groupchat (which is respectfully named Dinner Plans) about four hours ago, making sure to get the word out decently early so that everyone could start making their preparations, all in order for the crew to be on the move by nine P.M. 

It’s now nine thirty-seven, and everyone is fully set to leave at the agreed upon hour. Everyone except Harry. 

This, however, is not uncommon. He’s always the one that takes the longest to get ready, no matter how soon he starts. No one can remember an instance where Harry has ever been ready on time— which says a lot, considering most of the gang has years of memories from which they can pull. Mitch especially. With almost a century of friendship behind them, not once has the older vampire ever seen Harry stick to a deadline. His flare for being fashionably late is less a flare, and moreso an irritating burn. It always throws off their game a bit, but at this point, everyone has gotten used to the seemingly young vampire’s theatrics. 

So on this Friday night, there isn’t much more to do other than mold to his habits; Harry answers to no one except himself and it’s been that way for decades now, for a reason he’d rather not reminisce. He doesn’t owe anything to anyone, especially since he’s the one that always takes charge of getting them where they need to go, as well as getting them inside said destination. Complaining about their leader wouldn’t do the gang any good for a number of reasons, especially because Harry rarely ever listens. It is what it is— he’s just the way he is, and they’ve all learned to live with and respect that.

The funny thing? Harry does it on purpose, though his friends aren’t aware of it. He drags out the process of getting prepared simply so he can put off having to step inside one of those circus acts people refer to as clubs. He goes as slow as possible and does as much as possible, spreading seconds into minutes, and maybe— if he’s insistent enough and feeling particularly pesky— an hour. His record is an hour and twenty-eight minutes, which he wears with pride, much to his group’s unamusement. 

Harry knows no one will ever say anything about his annoying tendencies, unless they’re willing to volunteer themselves to take the reins for the night. Vampires are alert and productive, but only when they want to be— which is usually only when it benefits them— and only if they can muster up the patience for it. And frankly, none of the creatures he associates with have the patience required to deal with security, driving, and other obstacles the way Harry does. He’s indispensable, and therefore, everyone puts up with his shit. Quid pro quo has never been more effective. 

So here Harry stands, now thirty-eight minutes past the original time sorted for departure, carefully combing volumizing mousse into his slightly wet curls and spinning each ringlet around his index finger to give them the definition and bounce he’s so well-known for. Here he is, finishing up his post-shower routine as all of his friends mill around downstairs in his living room, waiting for him to come down so they can pack into his car and head out for the weekly hunt at whatever establishment has been deemed fit for the night. And here he is, taking his sweet time so he can be the signature pain in the ass that everyone hates to love. 

Once Harry has thoroughly coated all of his hair with the fluffy white cream, he pulls out his hair-dryer from the cabinet below his sink, snapping its accompanying diffuser into place and flipping his head upside down. He carefully scrunches his curls to his roots with the attachment, moving in thoughtful circles as he hums to the rhythm of a song he can’t be bothered to remember the name of. Staring down at his polished jet black heeled boots, he absentmindedly taps against the porcelain ground to the beat of the music, sighing wistfully as warm air circulates its way across his scalp. 

Harry turns his shoes to the side, admiring the detailing along the back of the heel. Across the curved surface is the word SUCKER, bedazzled onto the article with multicolored jewels, glitzing beautifully under the fluorescent lighting of his bathroom. The shoes had been a gift from a friend with connections in high places; more specifically, connections to the man who sits on the throne of the Gucci brand. Harry hadn’t questioned the present when he’d received it— only an idiot would bat a cautious eye at such a luxury. He’d fallen in love with them the second they landed in his palms, decked out in a gorgeous satin box and wrapped with sparkly black tissue paper. The only words that had dared leave his lips were, “Fuck, I think I just got hard.”

The shoes had fit like a charm, and he had wanted to save them for a special occasion. But given that he has hundreds of years worth of special occasions lined up for his future, he’d shrugged off his pickiness and yanked them out the back of his closet for tonight. What better way to show them off than at an overhyped disco hall? 

Harry flips his head right-side up once again, ruffling his fingers through his soft, shiny curls to check for any wet patches or stringiness. He rolls up the wire to his styling tool and puts it back in its designated spot, grabbing his favorite paddle brush and attentively filtering it through his hair until he gets the tousled waves that he’s grown so fond of sporting. He musses them until he’s satisfied with his appearance, nodding at himself casually in the mirror as he proceeds to wrap up the last few necessities he has left. 

Harry buttons his blouse, admiring it in the fogged mirror. It’s a flowy sheer black piece with holographic threads sewn through its expanse, the fabric continuously shimmering with every shift of his muscles from underneath. He leaves the last three holes empty to better show off the dark butterfly inking on his lean chest and the swallows suspended in flight along his collarbones. He doesn’t really have to leave the shirt open, given that the material is see-through to the point where it leaves very little to the imagination, obvious in how all the tattoos along his arms are clearly visible. But he does it either way— he likes it when people stare. He’s got the assets, he might as well flaunt them.

Harry loosely tucks the hem of the shirt along the brim of his high-waisted beige slacks, which he’d ironed with precision to an ideal fold. He opts out of a belt tonight, wanting to display the array of elegant buttons that line the front of his pleated trousers. The pants hang slightly flared around his ankles, and if someone’s interests were intent enough, they might catch a glimpse of his favorite socks underneath the cusps, the words FUCK IT printed across the dark cotton fabric. He always makes sure to have an aspect in his outfit that could make for neat conversation.  

The vampire pulls out one of his drawers, ghosting his fingers over his collection of jewelry before picking out a pearl necklace and his father’s gold-plated cross necklace, as well as a colorful array of rings. He makes sure to retrieve the most significant two, as always— his lionhead amethyst daylight ring and his mother’s opal. He never goes anywhere without them. 

After he’s slipped on those accessories, bending and stretching his fingers for good measure and feeling everything settle into place, he picks out the gold cross earring that matches his necklace. It used to be part of a pair that belonged to his sister. As he watches the gold twinkle in the artificial light, he briefly wonders what happened to its twin, but pushes the thought away before it leads him down a path of pessimistic speculations. 

Harry loops the dangly piece through his earlobe, sighing through his nose as his gaze jets around his entire look, searching for any possible faults he could tend to that would prolong the inevitable— another night of drunken morons and thick synthetic smoke. 

Harry decides to fold the cuffs of his shirt up to his elbows, knowing that it makes his veiny forearms look appealing. He rummages through his selection of colognes before deciding to go with his trusty Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, spritzing a bit along specific pressure points on his neck where a pulse would otherwise be present, following along with the insides of his wrists. The scent of cloves, sugar-frosted vanilla, and cedar wood envelope him in a warm ambiance. After that task is complete, he fusses with his necklaces for a minute or so, settling the cross between his pectorals and resting the rosey pearls across his clavicle, fingering at their smooth surface in thought. Much to his defeat, everything seems to be in order, down to his freshly lacquered black nails. It’s not his fault he’s nearly flawless. His long— and unfortunate— extension on life had given him a plethora of years to work himself into a state of physical perfection. There’s only so much one can do to their appearance before it becomes superiorly stagnant. 

Harry tunes his heightened hearing for a second, listening in to the conversation his friends are entertaining on the first level of his condo. Niall’s voice is the first one that comes through, unsurprisingly. He’s always the loudest and has zero filter, present in how he’s freely ranting about Harry’s exaggerated mannerisms as he paces back and forth across the floor, footsteps heavy. No one seems to be paying him any mind— As usual, Harry thinks to himself, snorting softly— because everyone appears to be caught up in their own personal lives, too lost in gossip and exchanging opinions to give the Irish vampire any thought. 

None of his gang seem bothered by his lack of rush, but Harry knows he can’t keep them waiting forever. Fridays are the day they’d all collectively agreed to hunt together and it had been as so for almost twenty years. Being the leader, Harry can’t let his childish distaste for nightlife get in the way of what’s best for the group. He needs to hunker down on his selfish inclinations and be a responsible friend, or else a human might not be the only person Niall sinks his fangs into tonight.

With one final lingering stare at his reflection, Harry goes to retrieve his phone from its face-down position on the dark marble counter, simultaneously reaching for the light switch to begin powering down his apartment for the next couple of hours until he returns. Hopefully with a pretty girl hanging off his arm and less of a burn in the back of his throat. Although Harry may be cynical, he’s also practical; if he’s going to have to spend eternity on this planet, he may as well try to conserve enough energy to make it bearable. After decades of adjusting to electricity, the last thing Harry wants is to return to candlelit rooms and going to bed in time with the sun. 

The sudden chime that shrieks from his device causes him to jump a tad, brows furrowing in mild confusion for a few reasons. First, because it’s such an odd coincidence that right as he went to grasp it, his smartphone had gone off; it’s almost spooky. Second, because anyone who would normally dare message him at this hour is currently sequestered downstairs on the cushions of his sectional sofa, waiting for him to emerge from his room. Who else could possibly need to contact him this late, especially at the beginning of the weekend? 

Harry flips his red iPhone curiously (yes, he’d bought it in red for the purpose of irony), peering down at the unknown number shining back up at him from the screen. 

The text is simple enough: Hey, accompanied by three disco ball emojis. 

After a few seconds of blank blinking and adamantly searching through his mind for a clue as to who this could be, the answer smacks him square between the eyes. The memories come to him in quick flashes. 

A bald bouncer with a stupid name. A two-story room with seven foot tall speakers and a bar nuzzled in the corner. A group of loud, tipsy girls in stilettos and glittery dresses. One girl, sitting amidst the ruckus looking alone and indifferent while everyone around her gave into inebriated chaos. Mitch urging him to go talk to her. The overwhelming smell of honey and lavender. Gentle caresses placed across the tattoos painting his arms. Pretty lips the color of fresh blood, drained glasses of liquor, and witty banter exchanged between suggestive glances and cheeky grins. Shouldering through a crowded dance floor with the young woman in tow. Settling her into the passenger’s seat of his Cadillac and feeling heat explode across his cold cheeks when she’d yanked him down by his collar, kissing him like his lips were her only source of air. 

A quaint apartment complex, flickering lights in a corridor, and a worn couch. A warm mouth, smudged lipstick, teary eyes, and the gentle, shaky echo of, “I want to make you feel good.” High-waisted silk pants discarded on the floor, a cream lace blouse, and pastel pink lingerie. Thighs squeezing his head as her sweet taste spilled across his tongue. The mortal’s bare back pressed to his chest as he worked his hips roughly into her, mumbling dirty promises against her ear. Sugary whimpers and needy pleads. The warm, tangy flavor of her blood filling his mouth and sedating the burning in his throat. Childish giggles shared in a tiny flat, her warm fingers sewing between his icy own and tugging him into her room. A sleepless night full of steady breaths and only one heartbeat. A stupid tapestry and an ugly popcorn ceiling. A late morning strewn with sarcastic jokes mumbled over the rim of a coffee mug. Pulling his favorite t-shirt over his head and inhaling the sweet smell that had been glued to every thread. 

Making a drastic decision and typing his information into her phone. 

Harry doesn’t mean to speak aloud, but the name slips down his tongue as easily as he’d drawn moans from hers. “Y/N.”

It’s not like he didn’t remember her, because he did. And it’s not like he hadn’t thought of her since, because he had. But it’d been in passing and barely relevant— faint recollections in the form of fleeting seconds. 

He’d thought of her a couple days ago, when he’d been wandering around the mall with his friends. They’d passed by a candle shop where, among all the mixed scents, there had been the unmistakable aroma of lavender and honey somewhere inside, smelling vaguely like her. She’d unwillingly made her way to the forefront of his mind when he’d gone to do laundry, picking out his baby blue Marc Jacobs t-shirt from his hamper and feeling his eyes dilate and fangs protrude— a result of animalistic instinct. As it turns out, she had left a bloodstain along the inside of the yellow collar of his tee. It was dried and crusted over by the time he found it, but the effect it had on him remained the same as the night he’d drawn it fresh from one of her arteries. He’d chucked the garment into the wash carelessly with hardly any hesitation. 

The girl had even elbowed into his brain during an important self-care session. He’d been sitting in his glorified bathtub— which, in shallow honesty, is just a jacuzzi— with his cock twitching in his palm while his head hung over the edge, an orgasm teetering along the trench of his stomach as he’d repeatedly thumbed over his tip. When he’d finally coaxed himself into a climax, moans running freely across the empty halls of his home, the image he saw in those short moments of pure bliss was of her. It was Y/N, sitting in front of him with her hands clasped between her bare thighs obediently, his prick running along the length of her warm tongue as her eyes pleaded for him to cum. 

But, as he’d stated before, the picture had only lasted a handful of seconds. As soon as his high had died down, it had disintegrated to ash, and he’d been left with a slightly startled mental imprint in its wake, which had faded away within minutes. He hadn’t thought of her since. 

That is, until now. Until the surface of his jade eyes are reflecting the message his phone had just received at nearly ten P.M., her identity obvious in her choice of emojis. 

A disco ball. The exact same character he’d assigned himself beside his name in her contact list. It was an inside joke; a result of the hatred they both shared for clubs, juxtaposed by the fact that they had met in one. It was a cute determining factor in their minimal acquaintanceship, and he’s always a sucker for a good paradox. 

Harry continues to stare down at the text message, trying to conjure up some type of answer. She couldn’t have caught him at a better time, quite literally. She could be his saving grace tonight, if he plays his cards right. Maybe if he swoons her enough, she’ll invite him over again, and he can avoid another night full of shit-faced idiots and blinding strobe lights. 

After careful consideration, he swipes open into their new text conversation and taps back a reply he deems appropriate, satisfied with how it shows his personality— the same one the mortal girl had been so taken with upon their first encounter. 

Well, this is awkward. I don’t remember giving my number to a disco ball.

The vampire waits idly for a response, watching as the message delivers and is immediately marked by a read receipt. He doesn’t know why, but he likes that she has them on. 

A swift pause follows— in which he has no doubt she’s probably attempting to come up with some type of witty remark to his— and then the three grey bouncing bubbles pop up, signifying that she’s typing back. His device bloops with her response, vibrating in his large palms.

Funny as ever, I see. It’s Y/N, from the club last Friday. 

Harry’s slightly disappointed by her humor-lacking answer, but he’ll keep the interaction going for curiosity’s sake. Some people are fun in person and just not that bright virtually. Can’t always have it all.

Oh, hey, Y/N! So are you translating on behalf of the disco ball that wanted to talk to me or…?

He can practically see her eye rolling up at the grungy ceiling of her room and that notion makes his lips twitch. 

Ha. Ha. Hilarious! But no, I’M the one who wants to talk to you, actually.

Harry can feel her sarcastic tone through this specific message and that gives him hope. Maybe she does have social networking skills. 

Oh. Well, give the disco ball my best regards then, will you? Don’t want it to think I’m being rude and casting it aside.

The creature can’t see it, but now Y/N’s lips are the ones jolting as she sits on her bed in nothing but a towel, damp hair beading water down her naked shoulders and back.

How caring of you! I’ll pass on the message.

A full grin begins to edge across Harry’s cheeks as she returns his banter just as easily as she would face to face, dimples threatening to indent into place. That’s more like it. 

His fingers poise over the keyboard, mind flicking through the different scenarios he could steer this conversation towards. He has to be perceptive and respectful, but also keep her entertained. He figures asking about her intentions is the best route to take, but he’ll do it subtly. Being too direct could come off pushy. 

So...what gives me the honor of basking in your presence tonight, hm?

He adds a thinking face emoji to the end of the text as an afterthought. He rarely uses emoticons, but now is as good a time as any to start, especially because he has to seem like someone who belongs to her generation, rather than a Victorian era immortal.

Well, you said if I wanted more interior design advice to shoot you a text so...here I am, seeking your expertise.

Harry allows himself to break into a wide simper at the shrouded compliment. It goes right to his ego, just as he likes it. She’s smart. 

My expertise, huh? I take it that my taste in wallpaper left you pretty satisfied last time, then?

A similar grin buckles Y/N’s face at his playful smugness and she bites into the side of her index finger to try and suppress it. After a moment of thought, she releases her digit from between her teeth and taps back. 

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

Harry scoffs coyly, leaning his shoulder against the lightly fogged black marble wall of his bathroom, his friends and plans for the night all but forgotten. He’s having too much fun flirting to pay anything else much mind. 

My pleasure, love. I’d be more than happy to give it again, anytime you need it. Just make sure to fill out the customer service survey my boss emailed you. I’m shooting for a raise and could really use the brownie points. 

“Cute.” Y/N murmurs to herself in amusement, her chest fluttering as a result of the pet name, alongside how well they’re getting on. It’s almost like no time has passed at all. Almost as if they’re friends. 

She’d been nervous to reach out, fearing that he’d see it and ignore her— or worse, leave her on read. Needless to say, this is going way better than she could’ve hoped

Already filled that out. Gave you five stars and everything. Would’ve given you six if it was allowed. 

Harry shifts his weight against the surface he’s using for support, chuckling softly as he gnaws along the inside of his cheek. He feels like a teenager with all of this borderline childish back-and-forth. He’s not mad about it, though. It’s pretty enjoyable. 

Thank you so much for your input! It’s taken into deep consideration. VERY deep consideration, if I recall correctly.  

Warmth pours into Y/N’s cheeks at his innuendo, and she somewhat hates that he can get her all flustered without actually being present. He’s really good at this. A true lucky strike, to put it in his own words.

I’m glad my standards are held so highly, especially since I’m trying to book another advising appointment with you. 

Is that so?

Very much so. How about tonight, if you’re free? I’ve got a dire situation with some wood paneling that I just can’t handle alone.

The vampire’s irises flare crimson red in triumph. It looks like he won't have to put himself through another mortifying ordeal tonight, after all. 

I’m on a tight schedule, Y/N. These expertise are highly sought after, yanno?

Y/N snorts at his pompous joke. “Moron.”

Another text comes in from Harry before she can even think of a response.

However, I think I might be able to squeeze you in for a help session today. Say in about 10 to 15 minutes? 

With newly brightened eyes, Y/N gives the message five repasses to make sure she’d interpreted it correctly. She can’t believe he’d agreed, especially at an hour when most people already have weekend plans cemented for the night. And by the length of time he’d given her to prepare, she’s extremely thankful she’d decided to shower prior to attempting a booty-call. 

Sounds perfect. Do you need me to send you my address or do you remember, by some miracle?

Don’t worry about it, pet. I have a pretty good memory of that night. You made it hard to forget. 

Another layer of heat crawls up her neck and into her ears. She knows this is a casual thing, at best, but for some reason, the idea that he had deemed her unforgettable makes her entire body feel like it’s glowing. She tries to brush it off, chalking up his compliment to how they’d seen each other barely a week ago so of course he remembered. It was fairly fresh in both their minds. 

But Y/N is from an area where she was just another face in the crowd— another timid girl in an ocean of a hundred small-town carbon copies— and she’d certainly never referred to herself as anything particularly special. To have Harry, who is such a refined and attractive person, who most likely has dozens of hook-ups under his belt, call her that? Of all people? It just hits differently. 

She shakes herself out of her head, remembering that a very interesting boy is waiting for a response on the other end of her phone.

Alright, then. See you in 10 to 15 minutes, Mr…? 

Y/N comes to the realization that she doesn’t even know his last name. She doesn’t know the last name of the guy she’d let into her house and between her legs. God, if her parents could see her now...They’d blow California into a crater. 

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles. 

She immediately recognizes the reference, chewing at her bottom lip to keep a tab on a girly giggle. It’s probably not healthy how easily he reduces her into such a dopey puddle. 

Alright, then, Mr. Harry Styles. See you soon?

Very soon. Can’t wait to show you the wood samples I just found.

With a sly smirk dimpling his cheeks, Harry pushes off the elegant stone wall of his luxury bathroom, locking his device and absentmindedly tapping it along his palm as he does a quick mind-sweep of the interaction he’d just had. He’s going to get his needs taken care of—both intimate and carnal— by a girl with whom he meshes with so well, no less. This night has taken an unexpected turn for the better, and he’s never been more thankful for making such a rash decision the morning after a one night stand. 

The shrill boom of an Irish accent breaks Harry out of his flirty stupor, the sound bounding up the stairs of his flat and echoing off the tiles in his bathroom. “Harry, did you fucking desicate up there, you prick?!”

The vampire’s head snaps to the side towards where the sudden intrusion is originating, clearing his throat softly before answering, mostly to anchor himself back into the present. He’d been too busy floating in a daydream bubble to give his friends any proper attention. “I’m on my way down!”

Harry flicks off the light switch to his master bathroom, heading into his dimly lit bedroom and scooping up his wallet from its usual spot on top of the dresser. He tucks it into the wide front pocket of his slacks along with his cell phone, rounding the king-sized mattress at the center of his space, footsteps muffled by the thick maroon carpeting across the ground. He stops under the doorframe, giving his room one last calculating glance to make sure he isn’t leaving anything important behind. Once the creature is sure he’s set, he reaches over and slides the switch meter all the way down until the hanging lamps on the ceiling fade to black. 

Harry clambers down the glass and metal staircase, passing the collection of original paintings organized across the expanse of the largest wall in his home. His friends spot him from the huge couch once he’s halfway down the steps, and of course Niall is the first to make his presence audible.

“Fucking finally.” The blue-eyed vampire groans in exasperation, shooting up from his seat beside Xander, arms falling across his lean chest. “I thought you’d died. Really died.”

Harry dismounts the last stair carefully, heeled boots making a soft clicking sound against the polished light-wash wood of his floorboards. He pushes a few rogue curls out of his eyes, the corners of his mouth jilting upwards teasingly as he regards the fellow immortal. “If I have to keep staring at that shitty paisley button-up you’re wearing, I just might.”  

Niall’s irritated expression shatters into one of sheer hurt, hands fumbling with the silk fabric of his shirt, lips melting into a pained pout as he contemplates it sadly. His tone comes out whiney and defensive. “Hey! I really like this one!”

Harry side-steps the boy, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Your fashion sense makes me question my friendship with you.”

Niall’s face pinches with anger, thick brows furrowing as he roughly swats the brunette’s wrist away. “And your dickhead attitude makes me question mine.” 

Harry’s jade eyes dance with evil glee as he returns his palm to where it had been resting before to give a curt squeeze, his rings playfully digging into the muscle beneath Niall’s top. “And yet here you are, sitting on my couch, waiting to get into my car. Funny how that works, innit? We benefit from one another. Mutualism at its finest.”

The Irish man shrugs himself free of his friend’s hold once again, glaring at him with darkening eyes, but there’s no true malice behind it. “More like parasitism.” 

“So are you two gonna kiss now or what?” Mitch’s soft, mocking voice butts in as he drifts up beside Niall, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark denim straight jeans and his long hair tied back into a low ponytail. He’s wearing a light-wash Rolling Stones t-shirt he’d gotten at a concert he and Harry had attended back in the eighties, along with a pair of scuffed up sneakers. Pretty casual for a club— too casual, in Harry’s opinion. “The sexual tension is killing the audience.” 

The green-eyed boy cranes his sight back onto Niall, raising his eyebrows in question and puckering his lips. “What d’you say, Ni? Wanna kiss this little disagreement better? I’m down.”

The pale young man makes a gagging noise, stepping away. “Don’t know where your mouth’s been. But if your bed fellows have anything to say about it, it’s nowhere good. I’m going to respectfully decline.” 

“There was absolutely nothing respectful in that response.” Adam chimes in, chuckling as he bumps Niall’s shoulder with his own, hands clasped casually behind his back. “You need to work on your people skills.”

“My people skills are fine.” Niall quips back sarcastically. “Harry just isn’t a person, he’s a demon.” 

“Technically, we all are.” The curly-haired vampire points out, walking over to his matte leather couch and retrieving a pin-striped, grey-black fitted blazer from its backrest. He tosses the jacket over his shoulders, shrugging it on and fixing the material over his torso, the curves of the piece accentuating the strong muscles of his back and the dip of his slender waist. “I just don’t care to hide it, really. Especially not when it comes to Niall’s taste in clothes. Which is rubbish, by the way. If that wasn’t clear before.”

“It was.” Niall deadpans, gaze half-lidded and petty.

Harry fixes the sleeves of his coat around his forearms, smoothing out any wrinkles and buttoning the cuffs. He momentarily ducks into the kitchen, his enhanced eyesight spotting the small digital time-stamp of the oven even from across the room. He has less than thirteen minutes before he has to be at Y/N’s flat. He should’ve suggested a longer time span.

Harry turns back around to fully face his crew, situating his collar into place by folding it along the back of his neck, appraising their expectant appearances. They’re all waiting for him. He’s the one driving, after all. 

The immortal clears his throat, hands dropping to pat at his blazer pocket, making sure that his keys are in his possession. He sighs lightly through his nose, a knowing grin trying to force its way onto his lips but he keeps it at bay, wanting to maintain a straight expression to garner less backlash for the news he’s about to break. 

“I’m not going.”

The pause that fills the atmosphere and the blank faces his friends dote are almost comical. Harry bats his eyelashes at them without a single twitch or jerk of his features. He wants them to understand he’s being serious.

After at least ten heartbeats— a guess, considering no one in the room has one to provide an accurate measurement— a raging exclamation explodes from behind the other three vampires in front of him. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Harry watches in mild amusement as Xander stomps up from behind the group, shouldering between Mitch and Adam and sticking him with a glower dark enough to instill fear in any living being. But Harry is hardly living, and he’s definitely not scared of a vampire who’s practically a newborn. Xander’s the youngest of them in terms of the immortality scale— he’d transitioned back in nineteen ninety-six when he was thirty, which gives the illusion that he’s older when in reality, he isn’t— so Harry’s strength easily outmatches his. Xander is basically the puppy of the circle, and he’s certainly yappy and annoying enough to support that title. His lack of age and wisdom is also probably why he’s the most explosive. 

Harry kinks an eyebrow up at the taller, tanned man, looping only one button through its designated hole in the middle of his jacket. That will allow him to show off what lies beneath it while also making sure the article won’t be a pest in the windy California night. “I’m not kidding. Something else came up that...peaked my interest.”

Xander’s fists momentarily clench by his sides and he then folds his arms across his lightly heaving chest, trying to hide his anger away along the insides of his elbows. He spits his words through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his cadence level. “What could have possibly come up so late that you only let use know after we waited for you for over an hour?”

Harry can’t stop himself from smirking this time around, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards with condescension. The statement that he produces is all too familiar to Xander, given that it mirrors the reply he had used on Harry exactly a week ago, when the leader of the group had asked him what his intentions were once they’d gotten inside their club for the night. “I have a date.”  

Xander’s entire face flushes a faint shade of cherry red. His forearms tighten across his body, tone more strained than before as he actively wills himself to remain calm. “A date?”

The shorter vampire smiles at him with fake innocence, working his every nerve like it’s his job. Harry doesn’t know why, but pissing Xander off is always such a delectable pastime. “Yup. With a girl I met last week, actually.”

“You don’t go on dates.” Niall pipes up, looking around at the other men in the room in confusion, almost as if his comment should be obvious. “You rarely even spend the night. Said so yourself.” 

Harry shrugs one shoulder indifferently, checking his reflection in the closest section of the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline, the lights of the cars and buildings below twinkling otherworldly. “I guess it’s less a date and more a booty-call, to be honest. I only agreed ‘cause it’s easier than having to drag my ass to that horrid club you chose to spend hours trying to find someone. This meal’s already prim, proper, and served. And I know for a fact I’ll enjoy it, so there’s no real harm.” 

He turns back to Xander, the man’s peeved reaction tickling him more than he thought it would. “What was that you said last time, Xanny?”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Oh, yeah! I'm just grabbing a to-go box for my already prepped meal.”

Harry’s friend’s cheeks dye a deeper shade of crimson, dark veins webbing across the iridescent whites of his eyes for a flickering second. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Harry counters the angry expression with a bright smile, his dialect dripping with arrogance. “Girls dig it. And you seemed to dig it, too, if I recall correctly. Remember? You might not. Post-orgasm amnesia and all that.” 

Xander takes a measured inhale, releasing it slowly and allowing his anger to ebb away gradually, ignoring Harry’s blast from the past. His next question is physically directed towards their ex-chauffeur, but is truly aimed at the gang as a whole. “Who’s going to take us, then?”

The curly-haired vampire shrugs his shoulders once again, uninterested in the topic that is quickly growing old. “You could take Niall’s car. Problem solved.”

The whole clique lives in the same condo complex, mostly due to convenience. It’s already tricky for vampires to find others of their kind, so it’s a miracle that they’d all managed to end up together in the first place. And it’s an even bigger miracle that they got along well enough to form a tight-knit coven, which is the closest thing any of them now have to family. Living in close proximity is the ideal way of maintaining that rare bond, plus it allows them to help each other in staying safe and keeping their urges in line. 

Since they all live in the same building, Niall’s car is in the garage right beside Harry’s, so transportation shouldn’t be an issue. They just always take his vehicle because he’s the only one that actually enjoys driving. 

“Are you mental? Like actually, genuinely insane?” Xander sputters in appalled shock. “Niall drives like a lunatic!” 

“Oi, piss off! Maybe you should learn to drive then, huh? Instead of having all those guys you shag take you everywhere.”

Xander ignores Niall’s insult, putting his palms up in disgust, backing away. “I refuse to get in a car with him behind the wheel. Dying once was good enough for me.”

“Did I miss the memo?” Niall snaps, glimpsing around at all the monsters standing around him, attitude tight with annoyance. “Y’know, the one where you all just decided to shit on me tonight?”

Harry bursts into an airy cackle, listing his head to the side as he gives Niall a humorous once-over, his dangly cross earring dabbing across the crisp cut of his coat’s shoulder blade. “You don’t necessarily make it hard, love.” 

Niall’s jaw clenches as he narrows his icy blue eyes. “Xander’s right— you are an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, he’s also right about you driving like you’re on tranquilizers.” Adam sighs, running a palm up his face, using his index finger and thumb to massage either of his temples, despite the fact that they lack a pulse. “I guess I could drive? I hate it, but Mitch hates it more, so I’m our best bet. Better than Road Runner over here.” 

“Yeah, just keep talking about me like I’m not present. That’s fine. I’m spitting venom in all your drinks tonight.” 

“Well,” Harry boasts abruptly, interrupting the game of verbal ping-pong happening in front of him, taking a quick peek at his phone for the time. As much as he loves causing some good-natured chaos between his friends, he has less than ten minutes to make it to Y/N’s apartment on time and traffic’s a bitch at this hour. “I have nothing to do with this anymore, so I’m just gonna take my leave. You lot have fun figuring this out.” 

He swivels around on his heel, striding away with his usual haughty air straightening his back, heading towards the corridor that leads to the front entrance of the apartment. The softly lit hallway swallows his silhouette and for the first time since he’d left the secluded confines of his bathroom, he allows a giddy smile of excitement to tweak his lips. Just for a second and not a moment longer. If his friends had seen it, they would’ve taken the piss.

Niall’s accent cuts through the air, prickling at his ears as the glossy, cold doorknob comes into contact with his even colder fingers. “I can’t believe you’d abandon us just to get laid!”

“Lock the door on your way out!” 

///

When a sharp knock echoes across Y/N’s flat, she nearly screams. 

Her nerves have been on edge since the last text she’d received; only after reading that final cheeky message had the reality of the situation hit. 

This isn’t her. This isn’t her at all.

Inviting a total stranger into her home and into her bed was something she’d never experienced before last week. One night stands were very few and very far for her— she could count all the ones she’d had on a single hand, and even then they had been with people she had known to some extent— and it was due to the fact that this type of situation is slathered in mystery and unsureness. Giving herself up in such an intimate manner to someone she wasn’t acquainted to in some shape or form…It comes with a certain amount of risk, both physically and emotionally, which is why she hardly ever engaged in such activities before Harry.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with having that type of exhilarating fun in your life— she praises the women who can go around so confidently and express their sexuality however they please— but she herself had been raised under a roof that was moderate and conservative, and that environment had molded her into the person she had grown up to be. Those traditional concepts ran through the core of her being, and no matter how hard she tried to shake them, they refused to break loose. They weighed on her shoulders, constantly making her second-guess her motives and desires, most of which go against the status quo that had been implemented into her brain from a young age. This— whatever this is— is a huge step for her; it’s the first attempt she’s made to take over her own life and go against the grain she’d been accustomed to her whole existence. 

From the second Y/N had arrived here in Los Angeles and set a foot off the plane, she had been alone. Everyone who cared for her was miles and miles away and she was starting a new chapter on a completely blank page, with no one to guide her hand as she wrote. For the two months she’d spent settling in and trying to meld into her new environment, she had gone at it with a sense of emptiness hollowing the pit of her stomach. No one was there to comfort her during the rough patches, and no one cared enough yet to assure her that things would turn out alright. No one had bothered to tell her she was safe and that nothing would hurt her. No one made themselves available the way people did back home. 

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago. 

Their encounter had been purely for sexual gratification, but during that short time they shared, she vividly remembered him telling her that she could trust him. It was a preposterous statement to make— asking someone to trust you when you didn’t even know their last name— but the gaze in his emerald eyes had seemed so genuine and encouraging, and his voice had been so gentle and soothing, and his touch had been so delicate and consoling...That strange young man— with the pretty curls, intriguing tattoos, and dazzling smile— had somehow managed to untie the knot of unease that had been sitting in her belly for the last couple of weeks. She’s stumped on how he’d managed to wriggle it free; the only thing she can effectively say took a part in it was his eyes. There was just such a glass-like quality to them that reminded her of a mirror. It was like they were reflecting all her emotions back at her, using their familiarity to compel her into a state of mental peace. She’d appreciated it more than she’d let on. 

Something tells Y/N that this is the reason she had contacted him. She wanted to feel that safety net he had provided her with once again. She didn’t need an emotional connection from Harry, she just needed a bit of mental relief. She wanted something to take her mind off all her troubles. Something to distract her, even if it was only for a few hours. And with the way Harry had handled her last time, she knows he’s more than capable of helping her reach those goals. 

Y/N doesn’t think anyone has ever made her feel how Harry had that semi-drunken Friday night. She’d been with a few other people before, and had even been in a long-term relationship with someone she had once thought would end up being her husband, but none of those men came close to this peculiar stranger. 

In the town she was from, it was typical for people to marry their high school sweethearts. It was a small region where everyone either knew one another or knew of one another, so it wasn’t difficult to find someone that could fit into the role that needed to be filled. The person she had found was a boy by the name of Bradley, who she had begun to date their freshman year of high school. 

They’d met through mutual friends and he’d invited her to their first ever homecoming dance, where she had felt like everything was falling into place almost like in a movie. He was cute, with hazel eyes, sun-bleached hair, and freckles that jolted every time he laughed. He was polite, funny, and treated her with enough respect and dignity to keep her hooked for a while. Things had gone pretty well the four years they were together in high school; their relationship wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exciting either. It was just...secure. He was there, and he was willing to give her his attention, and that’s all that really mattered to her at the time. She thought that was all she needed. 

Then graduation came and went, and so did Bradley. He left for college, set on the intention that they would make long distance work somehow. To keep a long story short, it hadn’t worked out how they expected. As the months passed, she noticed he started to separate himself from her more and more. The video chats are what disappeared first; what used to be a daily FaceTime call turned into a weekly one and then, if she was lucky, a monthly one. Phone calls followed the same fate. Texting became a chore rather than something to look forward to and she could feel him slipping, which left her feeling helpless because he was in another state, far away and too out of reach to appropriately solve anything. Energized conversations slowly faltered into five-word messages, which eventually teetered into barely any communication at all. 

When Y/N heard the news that he’d cheated on her, it didn’t even come from him. It came from his roommate. Things ended swiftly after that, which was the saddest thing of all. Almost five years of her life, completely gone to waste. Handling the pain was a whole other misery she’d had to shoulder, alongside the embarrassment and humiliation, which stemmed from the fact that she was aware her peers had heard about the whole ordeal. With the help of her family and friends, she’d eventually gotten over the heartbreak. The weird thing is, she doesn’t think she loved him. She loved the idea of him— loved that he represented everything she had been raised to seek in a relationship. They’d grown up together, their families knew one another, they shared the same friends, they had common hobbies. It was like a match made in heaven, though after it broke off, she quickly came to the realization that it hadn’t been made in heaven at all. Made in a test tube was a more fitting analogy. 

Y/N’s love life after that painfully slow cliche disaster consisted of random boys around town she recognized from school and work. The hook-ups were fleeting and hardly satisfying, but at least they were something. She soon found out that she could do better on her own, but whenever she craved someone else’s touch, she was grateful to have anyone she could get. She’d mainly stuck to the same guys for the sake of consistency; it was easier having people she already knew how to please and vice versa, though she’ll admit it was mostly a one way street. Men can be so clueless sometimes that it’d be funny if it wasn’t so irritating. 

Then Y/N had skipped town and closed off sexually for a while. She had stayed shut down until Harry had walked into her life with that stupid sly smirk and his unorthodox— yet surprisingly attractive—fashion sense, sipping straight tequila like a fucking psycho from the cup in his jeweled fingers. He’d waltzed right onto the stool beside her at the bar, right out of the club with her hand in his, and then right past the doorframe of her apartment, kindly gifting her the best sex of her entire life. He’d worked her every desire with a certain skill and awareness she had never experienced (not from any of her past lovers, and definitely not from Bradley’s vanilla tendencies), dismantling her body as if he’d known her for decades, leaving her sore and aching in a way she didn’t know was humanly possible.

And now here Y/N is, pacing back and forth from her small living room to her even smaller kitchen, chewing along the knuckle of her forefinger as she tries to tie down the jitters running amuck in her belly. 

She repeatedly smooths down the dress she’s wearing, claiming that it’s to get rid of the wrinkles, but in truth, it’s to wipe the dampness from her palms. The outfit had been a birthday present from her cousin the year before and she’s rarely worn it since the move, which is a direct result of her lack of socializing. She only ever really leaves her home for groceries and to attend work, neither of which call for a pretty sundress and strappy tan sandals. Despite having gone out to the club a few times, the dress doesn’t fit that scene either. LA gets a bit chilly at night and she has yet to grow accustomed to the city’s weather. Wearing this after-hours would surely end with her acquiring a mild case of hypothermia. 

The garment is a light blue baby doll design, littered with tiny daffodil prints of varying shapes and colors. It stops about three-fourths down her thigh, fluttering outwards in layered flares, its bandeau-style top held in place by thin straps of the same fabric. She figured she’d deck herself out nicely; from the one interaction she’d had with Harry, she can tell he’s a person of refined taste. It was evident in his expensive clothing and his wide variety of precious rings. She doesn’t know why, but there’s a toiling in the pit of her tummy urging to impress him. 

Y/N’s hair has been freshly washed and blow-dried, her legs thoroughly shaved into silk, and she’d applied a light layer of makeup, done in anticipation that anything heavier would likely end up smeared across her face— a result of sweat and Harry’s dominant persona. Simply reflecting on his commanding sensual presence makes her self-pedicured toes curl in her sandals. 

Y/N hadn’t been sure on how to prepare for his arrival. She wasn’t versed in advanced hook-up culture— her raunchiest experience was in the backseat of someone's 2004 Toyota Corolla. She doesn’t want to get this wrong. Going overboard would make him feel smothered and awkward, but underselling would give him the impression that she doesn’t have any respect for him, save for what lies between his legs. Those are the last two things she wants him to gather from this. 

She’d settled for pulling out a bottle of red wine that had been a house-warming present from the landlord. Not too shabby, but not too loud. And who doesn’t enjoy a cup of half-decent wine on a Friday evening, right?

Y/N had just finished arranging two glasses— which she’d found at the thrift shop down the street for a steal— onto the counter of her kitchen when that swift rapping sound had broken through the tense air of her home, echoing from the front door and causing a yelp to lodge in her throat. 

Ice shoots through her veins. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She takes a handful of penetrating breaths, concentrating on how the cool air feels expanding her lungs. The technique aids in calming some of her nerves, grounding her just enough that she can will herself to move without her knees giving out. Y/N tentatively makes her way down the corridor that leads to her front door, heart hammering against her ribs. She shouldn’t be this riled up— he’s literally already been inside her. There’s pretty much nothing she can hide from him at this point. 

On the other side of the door, Harry is blissfully ignorant to the panic attack threatening to overcome Y/N. 

The vampire leans his shoulder against the frame of the somewhat raggedy door, arms crossed over his thick chest as his gaze bounces judgmentally around all the patches of peeling paint. He chews at a piece of gum— which he’d popped into his mouth on the drive over to make sure he tastes as delectable as always— in slow, lazy motions, jaw flexing as he unconsciously pops an array of tiny bubbles with his teeth, waiting for Y/N to emerge. 

Harry glances up at the flickering light bulb in the hallway of the complex, nose scrunching in distaste at the annoying flashing. She really needs to get a better place, he thinks, reaching up and dragging the pad of his middle finger along the curve of his bottom lip, absentmindedly wiping off a bit of extra chapstick that had colored outside the lines when he’d applied it. He always tries to keep his mouth soft, especially when he knows he’s going to be using it. Plus, the vanilla bean flavor pairs well with mint. 

The sound of a seal cracking open yanks his attention, the door before him slowly swinging inwards. Cool air pours from inside, bathing him in a scent that his frenzied instincts had been subconsciously craving the last couple of days. Harry cranes his neck over his shoulder, spitting his gum out and not bothering to watch where it lands. He turns back just as Y/N’s familiar figure comes into view.

The first thing he notices is the dress. 

Fuck, the dress. 

It’s nothing too fancy, just a casual sundress, but it fits her like it was made specifically for the purpose of testing his restraint. He rakes his gaze up and down her body shamelessly, much like he had on the night they met. 

The light blue background and rainbow miniature floral print compliments her skin tone nicely, making it stand out below the dingy light hanging above their heads. The piece lands about halfway down her thigh, fanning around her legs slightly in frilly folds, tempting him with that bit of innocent exposure. An image of him ripping the dress up her thighs races across the forefront of his mind and he can feel his fangs momentarily break through his gums.  

As Harry draws his sight upwards, the minimal throbbing between his legs only amplifies. The dress cinches just below her bust, accentuating her chest, and he comes to the painful realization that she’s not wearing a bra underneath; she doesn’t need it due to the bralette-like top. One simple tug of his index finger would leave her completely bare and that conclusion causes a sweltering itch to erupt along the back of his throat.

Harry’s irises finally come to rest on her face, finding that the rest of the human girl’s look appears just as it had last week. Minimal makeup, no accessories, and the smell of chamomile shampoo strung through her hair, though it’s easily smothered by her natural scent of flowers and sugar. He also finds that while he had been blatantly undressing her with his eyes, she had delighted herself in doing the same. Watching her gawk at him hungrily caresses his ego immensely, evident in how the edges of his mouth kink. 

Y/N doesn’t mean to ogle, she really doesn’t. But from the instant he’d come into view, standing there propped against her threshold with his ankles crossed and his lean arms folded over his strong chest, she couldn’t control it. He just looks so fucking good— better than last time, which she didn’t think was plausible— and she gets the feeling that he knows he looks borderline godly. 

Harry’s clad in what appears to be a sheer mesh flouncy button-up with holographic threads speckled through the material, shimmering under the dim atmosphere of the hallway. The last three holes of the shirt are left open, exposing his tanned pectorals and thoroughly inked chest. Last time they had been together, she’d been too distracted by the aching between her thighs to properly notice the swallow tattoos along his collarbones and the giant butterfly at the crest of his stomach. But now, she stares at them freely as they expand and contract with his easy breaths, her mouth beginning to water. 

The blouse is covered by a dark pinstriped blazer, the crisp shoulder blades of the jacket complimenting his broad frame as the curves dip along his waist alluringly. The loose top is tucked in along the brim of yet another pair of high-waisted trousers, though they are creme-colored instead of copper. The ironed pants give way to a pair of glossy black heeled boots, which are bedazzled along the back of the two-inch elevation, the jewels twinkling in the shape of a word that she can’t make out at this angle. 

Harry’s collection of luxurious rings and necklaces adorn their usual spots and she gets the impression that he never leaves home without them. His gold cross earring sways back and forth lightly, her warped reflection cast across its surface and staring back at her numbly. 

Harry breaks through the haze his physique had cast on her brain.

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.” 

A shiver slithers down her spine at the deep baritone of his voice, English accent slathered across every syllable and dripping with suggestive teasing. She’d forgotten how sultry he sounds, even when he’s not actively striving for it. 

Y/N’s attention jets up from where it had been pasted to his body, the expression across his handsome features one of snarky self-assurance, which tells her she’d been caught. Indents cave into his cheeks, twitching with glee as he bats his lashes slowly, eyes going half-lidded in amusement. He looks so sinful with those shiny ringlets curling around his small ears, framing his sharp jaw and kissing the nape of his neck, alongside those raspberry red lips and the emerald hue sparkling around his pupils. She can’t tear herself away.

After an elongated second of silence on her part, Harry raises one of his sculpted brows expectantly, letting her know he’s waiting for a response. Heat overflows Y/N’s cheeks and buzzes across the shells of her ears.

“H-Hi. Uh— Nice to see you. Too. Nice to see you, too.”

An odd sense of déjà vu flags in the back of her skull and she’s reminded that this is exactly how they’d met the first time around— with her making an utter fool of herself, much to his entertainment.

The crescent above his top lip curves upwards as a result of his grin widening. He taps the tip of his elegant shoe patiently against the cement ground, arms shifting against his chest and she can see the way his biceps strain the fabric of his coat. He’s just so fit.  

Harry’s tone comes out playful and lighthearted. He doesn’t need to be invited in again since she’s already explicitly allowed him in before, but he asks anyways, out of courtesy. “Can I come in? Or are you planning on taking me dancing or summat?”

The laugh that escapes Y/N is dense with a nervous edge, but it’s better than a stuttering jumble of incoherent words. She moves out of the way, flushing her back to the wall of the tiny entrance corridor and leaving just enough room for him to squeeze by. “Yes, come on in! Sorry.” 

“You’re alright, darling.” The tall vampire steps forward into the mortal’s home, turning sideways as he does so, chest pressing against her own. He glances down at her lips for a flash of a moment, then back to her eyes. “Thank you.”

Y/N’s grip on her doorknob tightens. She looks up at him through her lashes, bottom lip barely trembling. “No problem. Thanks for coming over on such short notice.” 

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth, pressing it to the inside of cheek as he absorbs the mildly erotic image of Y/N decked out in a frilly dress, glancing up at him shyly as her chest heaves slightly against his own. “Well, I couldn’t leave you to handle that pesky wood paneling all on your own, now could I?”

A smile ghosts over her delicate lips as she shuts the door and locks it, not breaking eye contact. “How generous of you. My hero.” 

Far from it, love.

Y/N slips out from where Harry had wedged her to the wall, beckoning him after her with a gentle turn of her head. The creature tucks his hands into his front pockets, following her down the narrow stretch. They drift past her room (he makes sure not to look in and spare himself the horror of seeing that dumb tapestry) and past her bathroom, into the expanse of her living area. It’s just as small and cozy as he remembers it and he can’t stop himself from scoffing lightly as his sight drifts over the couch. Good memories. 

“Would you like some wine?” Y/N’s question carries softly from inside her kitchen. She’s already gripping the glass bottle in her hand, attempting to pull out the cork, and she hadn’t thought of needing a wine-opener until now. Fuck. 

Harry makes his way to join her, passing underneath the archway and taking the spot across from the girl. He leans his lower back on the counter, hands remaining perched casually in his slacks. “I’d love some.”

“Great.” She huffs, twisting stubbornly at the spongy cap with all the might she can muster, the rough surface scratching her palm. “Let me just— just get this open.”

Harry’s head lists sideways as he wards off a chuckle. “Want some help?” 

Y/N releases an irritated grunt, shoulders slumping a tad as she fails to get the top loose. She holds out the bottle towards her visitor, titling it from side to side in surrender. “Be my guest.” 

The immortal pulls his hands out from his pockets, taking the container from her grasp and the human notices how they dwarf the bottle. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. 

Harry wraps his ring-clad digits around the cork, giving it one easy twist and Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off as she hears a pop tinge the air. Harry offers her the wine and cap in return, licking his lips to avoid laughing in her face. Supernatural strength always delivers. 

“How…?” Y/N’s owlish eyes flicker back and forth between Harry’s cocky expression and the object in his hands. “How did you even...?”

The brunette gives her a nonchalant shrug. “Guess you loosened it up for me, Thor.” 

She gingerly takes the beverage and its accompaniment from his outstretched palms, blinking at him in mild shock. Her slight unease is swiftly phased out, however; a result of his cute banter. It was probably just a lucky coincidence. “I guess so.”

Y/N pours out two glasses of the dark red liquid, handing one to Harry, feeling her heart skip a beat when he wraps his hold around the stout flute and their fingers brush. He stays like that for a heartbeat, with his icy digits sifted between hers, the amber specks in his irises glittering like diamonds. Then, the moment is over and he pulls away slowly, guiding his drink up to his plush lips. She hates how he can leave her so breathless without a single hitch. 

The girl watches as Harry takes a leisurely sip of the alcohol, his gaze dancing around her kitchen curiously as she finishes recapping the bottle and scooting it into the corner of the counter. 

A thought dawns on her as soon as she focuses back onto the boy before her. Harry looks weird. He looks so weird standing in her small, dingy kitchen with its worn wooden cabinets and fake marble tabletop. He looks so out of place, dressed head to toe in designer brands and fancy fabrics, hands and neck decorated with posh jewelry, and the unmistakable smell of an expensive cologne wafting from his masculine throat. And he most certainly is out of place when it comes to who he’s associating with. He’s out of Y/N’s league, not only physically, but in his behaviors, as well. It’s so obvious it almost hurts. 

Yet here Harry is, looking polished and stylish, while she’s sporting a mere sundress that was probably bought off the clearance rack at Kohl’s. It just doesn’t mix, and she finds herself wondering why he’d chosen her in the first place. When she had voiced similar concerns the day they’d slept together, he had told her it was because she was timid and he wanted to see if he could break through that. But Y/N isn’t stupid. There has to be some other reason. Why else would a rich bachelor pay attention to a small-town runaway in a measly floral—

“I like your dress.”

Y/N glances up at Harry from where her mind had fallen, startled by the sudden interference in her dark thoughts. She’d been tracing across the slope of his structured jaw, mesmerized by how it would grow taut every time he swallowed down a gulp of his beverage. 

She had ambled so deep in her head, she barely manages to mutter a passable answer. “Oh, thank you! I’ve had it for a bit, but I barely wear it.”

The edges of the vampire’s mouth quirk around the rim of his glass, creases wrinkling along the corners of his bright eyes. “It suits you nicely. A beautiful dress on a beautiful girl.” 

Y/N’s belly somersaults, a sheepish giggle running along the undercurrent of her next mumble, so low it’s hardly audible. “Thank you. Again. Thought I’d bring it out for a special occasion.” 

Harry’s eyebrows jump upwards at her comment. He draws his wine glass from between his lips, resting it against his hard stomach and gifting the human a cheeky once-over. “So I’m a special occasion, now, am I?”

Y/N looks down at the straps of her sandals, fighting off a grin. She shrugs one shoulder offhandedly, bringing her cup to her mouth and taking a long drag of the sweet liquor, feeling it wash across her tongue and leave a warm glow in her tummy. “Maybe.” 

Harry hums teasingly in his throat, tapping his pinky pensively along the bottom of his glass, opal ring clinking against the crystalline surface. The color of his drink makes the black polish on his nails stand out almost artistically. “I’ll take any compliment I can get, especially from those pretty lips.”

Another wave of heat flushes across the apples of Y/N’s cheeks. “You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”

The monster tips back another swig of wine, savoring the notes of wild cherry and pomegranate in its palate. Not bad, especially for what he can tell is a ten dollar bottle. 

He cocks his head to the side, irises glitzing knowingly amidst his long lashes. “I think we’re both aware that I most certainly know how to flatter a girl.” 

Y/N’s stare snaps up to lock with his, the faintest whimper stringing her vocal chords. If it wasn’t for Harry’s heightened hearing, he would have never known it’d happened. But he does, and he can feel the throb between his thighs spike as a result. The sounds she makes are just as wonderful as he remembers.

The sexual tension suspending in the room is practically palpable. After a bundle of her heartbeats— which is gradually rising in intensity— echo in his ears, he decides to speak up again. 

“I’ve been thinking about you.” 

The statement can be taken into so many different contexts and that’s why Harry chose it. She could interpret it as innocent admiration on behalf of a smitten lover, or as another layer of sensual praise. It’s versatile, successful either way. 

Y/N blinks at him exactly three times in surprise. “You have?”

She’d been thinking about him, too. Non-stop. And now that she knows it’s mutual, she doesn’t feel so nervous anymore. It reassures her that they’re on the same page of this messy novel written about their undefined association. Or that they are at least within the same chapter.  

Harry bobs his head in confirmation, indulging another sip of wine, letting it filter through his taste buds slowly. His glass is almost empty. “Mmhm. Walked past this candle store at the mall the other day and they had one burning that smelled just like you.”

His confession is sweet and it makes the tips of her fingers tingle. Y/N copies his action, taking another gulp of her beverage, attitude airy and inquisitive. “Is that so? And what do I smell like?”

Harry’s response is immediate and confident, almost as if he’s spent time thinking on the subject prior to today. “Honey and lavender.” 

Y/N nods her head in wonder, laughing gently. “That’s oddly specific.” 

Harry feels like he’s been smacked between the eyes with an iron rod. That was an idiot move. Absolutely moronic. 

He just now comes to terms with how intimate the comment he’d made had been. It suggests that he’s pondered on this topic, which gives the impression that he could be more interested in her than he actually is. He doesn’t need this loose connection turning into some type of cliche romantic comedy; he doesn’t have the space, patience, or emotional stability for it. And certainly not with someone he’s only fucked once. 

The vampire clears his throat, figuring that he can clean up this metaphorical spill by throwing a bit of crudeness at it. “Then yesterday I had a donut, yeah? One of those cream-filled ones. And when I took a bite of it, all the cream just came oozing out and I was like, ‘hm, this reminds me of someone…’”

The slightly endeared expression on Y/N’s face crumbles to dust, voice shrill and indignant at his lewd analogy. “You fucking perv!” 

Harry sputters into a round of boyish cackling, nearly wheezing when her foot reaches over and strikes him on the shin. He clasps over his stomach with his free hand, head falling back in glee as her features pinch in embarrassed disgust. He manages to speak between bursts of giggles, water gathering along his tear ducts due to how hard he’s laughing. “I’m just being honest!”  

“No, you’re being a gross little fourteen year old asshole!” Y/N exclaims incredulously, but she can’t keep herself from joining in on his boasts of amusement. 

His laughter is contagious. It’s loud and unapologetic in a manner she rarely sees in anyone and he just looks really fucking cute with his dimples jolting and smile lines creasing. It’s hard to stay mad at him, though it’s not like she’d truly been upset in the first place. 

Harry reigns himself in, inhaling deep breaths and wiping at his tears with the back of his large hand as a joyful groan rumbles in his chest. A few more giggles sneak out when he sees Y/N’s flat expression, but he manages to stifle the rest. His tone is jesting, poking fun. “If it makes you feel any better, I was respectful enough to wipe the donut down with a napkin, as well.” 

“Fuck off.”

Harry grins down snidely at the last inch or so of alcohol left in his glass, bringing it to his mouth and downing it all in one go. He places the cup down carefully on the counter behind him, his arms finding their way across his stomach, fingertips momentarily tapping at his elbows. He appraises a playfully grouchy Y/N, pursing his lips to hide a smirk. 

He watches as she takes another small taste from her drink, her pulse lulled by its contents. She’s not drunk by any means— not even buzzed— but it had helped calm the tittering in her throat that Harry had been able to detect earlier. She’s relaxed now, all anxiousness washed away by the small serving of liquor and his inappropriate (and extremely funny, if he does say so himself) jokes. 

The creature thinks it’s proper time he gets what he came for. 

“I really am glad you reached out, though.” Harry starts, an easygoing smile nudging across his alcohol-swollen mouth. “Truly.” 

Y/N snorts sarcastically, attempting to hide how his comment had made her pulse sharpen. He’d heard it anyways. “Oh, are you? Truly?”

Harry pushes himself off the edge of the counter, slowly sauntering over to Y/N, who instinctively draws back further against the tabletop behind her. She ogles at him from below heavy lashes, glass still perched between her tinted lips, excited anticipation written all over her body language. He can practically feel the heat radiating off her, rising a few notches the closer he gets. 

“Yeah.” Harry’s arms unfold, one stretching over her shoulder to prop his palm against the cupboard behind her head, the other fiddling with the seam of his blazer. He slides his forefinger and thumb along the single buttoned hole, giving it a rough tug and allowing his jacket to spring open. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun interior designing with anyone. Not for a while.” 

Y/N glimpses down at where his coat had parted, drinking up the sight of his lean torso behind the see-through material of his shirt. Now that he’s nearly pressed against her, his scent is stronger than before, burying her under smoky notes of vanilla and seasoned firewood. A familiar heat pools between her clasped thighs. 

When she pipes up, it’s shaky and whispered, covered in a dreamy undercurrent. “Yeah, me either. It felt...nice.”

Harry’s irises flash crimson for a millisecond, but she’s too occupied gawking at his tight stomach to notice. His dialect takes on a low, seductive twang, the breath of his words fanning across her face. All she can smell is wine, mint, and...vanilla chapstick? 

“It felt really nice.” 

Y/N’s view drags up to land on his lips. They look as soft and appetizing as last time, tempting her to just drop her flute onto the floor and replace it with his mouth. “Extremely nice.” 

An outside force suddenly tips her glass upwards and she realizes it’s Harry’s fingers. He nudges her cup until the liquid inside funnels towards her mouth, his intentions set on helping her finish it off. She drains the wine obediently, staring up at him dazed and moony, feeling a few drops escape along the sides of her mouth and tickle down her chin. The jade-eyed boy then gently pries the glass from her fingertips, reaching over and placing it inside her sink to be handled later. 

Y/N’s hands fall flat against his thick chest, feeling it rise and fall steadily below her grasp as he takes a step forward, their bodies completely flushing together. His palm trails up the exposed sliver of her thigh, diving a couple of inches below her dress and giving the outer area a hard squeeze. He doesn’t go any further; he won’t until she explicitly asks for it. He’s a prick about a lot of things, but never consent.

Harry leans down, running the tip of his cold nose along her clenched jaw, his warm tongue peeking out to collect the streams of wine that had dripped out. The contrast in sensations makes her knees buckle and what he murmurs hotly against her skin doesn’t help in calming those motions at all.

“Wouldn’t mind making you feel that nice again.” 

Y/N’s mind stalls, overwhelmed by his touch and smell. She can feel him sponging tender kisses at the corner of her mouth, and she can feel the palm of his hand massaging at her thigh needily. She can feel his breaths quickening in pace the longer he’s around her, and she can feel the foundation of a moan building in his lungs in the form of small vibrations, which run across her palms and twitch her fingers. She can feel everything; she’s never been more hyper-aware of her surroundings than now. And all because of this one mysterious young man. 

When Y/N finally speaks, Harry feels relief flood his system, though it is swiftly replaced by intense desire. 

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.” 

That’s full permission if he’s ever heard it. 

Harry’s other hand drops from its spot against the cupboard behind her, joining its partner on her opposite thigh. He coasts his palms fully below her flowy dress onto her hips, a lascivious simper crawling across his cheeks at the lack of extra fabric beneath her clothes. “No panties tonight?”

The human swallows heavily, shaking her head as she leans it back against the wooden cabinets, giving him access to her throat. At the sight, the vampire’s fangs protrude, cutting into the inside of his lower lip as venom fills his mouth. He wills himself to maintain control. It’s difficult, considering his sharp eyes can make out the chiseling of her arteries pumping blood just beneath her delicate skin, but he forces composure into his behavior nonetheless. With all of the lights on and Y/N completely sober, he knows he won’t get away with another mid-fuck stunt like the one he pulled last time they were in this position. 

Instead, he distracts himself with what he can draw from her at this very moment— another unbelievable orgasm. 

“Such a filthy little fucking thing.” Harry growls, smearing his lips down the center of her jugular, nipping love bites into her flesh but making sure not to split it open. “S’that how bad you wanted it when you texted me? So bad that you didn’t even bother to wear anything underneath?”

Y/N whines softly when he passes over a particularly tender spot along her neck, shuttering against his chest. “Y-Yes.” 

A low chuckle rolls from Harry’s wandering tongue as he hones in on the area that had coaxed such a delicious reaction. “Fuck, that was such a pretty noise. Are you sensitive here, baby?”

Y/N nods with fervor, running her touch up his pectorals and over his strong shoulders, diving under his coat and fisting at the mesh that strains across his muscular back. Her eyes roll closed, her next confession coming out in the form of a feathery sigh, legs parting wider for him to comfortably fit in between. “I just...I just need you.”

Harry eagerly accepts the invitation, sifting between her thighs and hiking them up onto his hips. The fact that he can suspend her so effortlessly, almost as if she weighs nothing, makes the pit of her tummy boil. “You need me now, d’you? How much, doll? Want you to tell me how much you missed my cock.” 

The young woman winces ever so slightly at the crude word and it amuses him to no end. “So fucking much, Harry.” 

He can confidently say his name has never sounded sweeter than when it trickles from Y/N’s tongue. 

When he speaks, it’s packed with all the pent up turmoil radiating deep in his abdomen. “Did you think about me the way I thought about you?”

Y/N’s reply falls breathily from her mouth without any hesitation. “Y-Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

A cocky hum tinges the air on his behalf. “And why’s that?”

“Because…” The girl struggles to swallow, finding it difficult to match how easily brazen he can be. She pushes through. “Because you fucked me better than anyone else ever has.” 

The compliment is one Harry gets often, but for some inexplicable reason, it hits so much deeper coming from Y/N. “Mm. Poor baby just needed to get properly rawed, didn’t you?”

“Had no idea how badly I wanted it until you came along.” 

A dark chuckle rolls from the creature’s lips at her bluntness. He repeatedly passes his textured tongue over the pressure point on her throat, flames igniting in his chest when she releases another watery, desperate mewl. “God, look at you. Practically already dripping. Like it when I play with you like that?”

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

And so Harry keeps going, and he doesn’t stop. Not at her neck, and not anywhere else. Not until she begs him to hours later, when he’s whittled three orgasms out of her trembling body, each one more intense than the last. 

The first one takes place right there on top of the kitchen counter. He boosts her up onto the table, bunching her pretty sundress around her quivering thighs— as he’d fantasized prior— while she fumbles with his trousers. He tends to her every breathy whimper as she eases him out of his briefs, marking his teeth all over her throat with the assurance that his blood will fade the bruises by morning. He tears his jacket down his broad shoulders, panting into her mouth as she undoes all the buttons that line his elegant iridescent shirt, moaning softly when she breaks their kiss to paint her hot lips down the expanse of his heaving chest and tight stomach. Y/N ducks down as far as her angle will allow, wanting to taste as much of his skin as she can. She wants to memorize its salty smoothness for as long as she lives. 

Harry watches her with bliss-drunken fondness twitching his mouth, head falling back to hang between his shoulders as a low, “Such a good girl.” rumbles from his throat. His ring-clad fingers tangle into her locks and scratch at her scalp lightly, strained exhales encouraging her to keep going as she delights herself with tainting love bites all over him. He yanks the girl back up by her roots, grabbing her hips and roughly scooting her forward towards him, clammy foreheads pressing together as he fixes to fill her up for the first time in what feels like eternity. 

The monster’s voice is as dominant and thick as she likes it. “Eyes up here. Want to see you come undone while I fuck you.” 

The way he spreads Y/N open makes her choke out a scream like nothing else she’s ever heard. Harry simply clamps one of his palms over her mouth, continuing to ram into her at a harsh stride, gasping against her ear with every thrust as she rakes her nails across his back. “Gotta keep that pretty mouth quiet. Thin walls.” 

The human feels like her heart is going to break through her ribs and what she doesn’t know is that with every passing beat, Harry feels it tenfold. And it’s driving him fucking insane— she drives him fucking insane. Especially when she looks at him with that glossy, begging gaze, biting into the mound of his hand as he slams his hips inside her so hard, the glasses in her cupboard shake. “Like it when I give it to you rough? Yeah, I thought so. Just like that? Harder? Say please…Christ, you’re a fucking angel.”

Y/N is dirty. So fucking filthy, and Harry loves every second of it. Loves that anything he throws out, she returns with as much enthusiasm, if not more. Loves that she can take his cock as hard as he’s willing to give it, which says a lot, considering his stamina and strength usually surpasses most humans. He’d met very few mortals who can match his sexual prowess and she happens to be one of them. She not only takes it, but pleads for more. She doesn’t just seek her own pleasure, but insists on delivering his own. And though they’re polars opposites at their core— she’s timid, physically standard, and boringly normal, whereas he’s confident, attractive, and unusually superior in every sense of the phrase— they fit together better than he’d ever care to admit. They’re perfectly compatible, down to their personalities and their intimate needs. 

As Harry stands there— fingertips leaving welts across her waist as he grunts brokenly against her throat, stretching her out like she was meant to take him this deep, her moans sounding like classical melodies to his ears— he thinks that maybe...maybe he’ll keep her around. A friends with benefits situation would be the most ideal. And to quote his own clever motto from before, it would be mutualism at its finest. 

The alliance would be nothing emotional; simply for the sake of providing each other with requited relief, as well as providing Harry with a convenient feeding arrangement. Neither of them would have to submit themselves to going to those terrible clubs, they both already know what the other enjoys, and the banter they share is pretty fulfilling. Plus, her blood is one of the sweetest he’s ever had. Whatever magic lies in her veins tides over his cravings in a fashion he’s never quite experienced. They both get what they want and don’t have to deal with the disasters of real commitment; neither are in a place in their lives where they can shoulder such a big responsibility. Harry is emotionally unavailable, as he has been for the past two centuries and as he intends to be for the next dozen. Y/N has just started anew in a place where she has so little to give and so much to lose, dating is the last thing on her mind. A casual no-strings-attached arrangement would be a perfect gift, bow and all.

And with the way they make each other cum multiple times that night— once on the counter, and twice on that trusty old couch— there’s not a single doubt in Harry’s mind that this is most definitely mutualism at its peak. 

///

During the span of the next few weeks, Harry learns a lot about Y/N. It’s surprising how informational someone’s sex habits can be. 

The second week after they had met— and the first since their second very heated, very satisfying encounter— she shoots him a text on Wednesday, of all days. 

Harry isn’t doing anything particularly interesting when he receives her message. He had gone to see Mitch play at the bar that had recently booked him as a semi-permanent gig, sitting in the booth furthest in the back from all of the ruckus, fingers tapping along the waxed table to his best friend’s skilled jazzy guitar chords. Mitch always teases Harry about how he doesn’t have a job, which the vampire always waves off. Working for money is stupid and unnecessary; any materialistic wants and needs that plague him, he can get with the help of compulsion. Therefore, what’s the use in condemning himself the horrors of customer service or a constricting office cubicle? 

His best friend is halfway through his set when Harry’s device vibrates against the sticky surface before him, tittering fingers coming to an abrupt stop. He flips over his iPhone, eyes flickering over the screen, a coy grin spreading its way across his blushed lips. Y/N’s contact beams up at him in return. He’d set her profile as just her name alongside three disco ball emojis, for the sake of their little inside joke. 

I’m getting off work a bit earlier than I thought today and was wondering if you wanted to help me with my ceiling fan.

Harry bites into his bottom lip to muffle a chuckle, shaking his head lightly as he stares down at the comical request. 

That’s odd. Last time I was there, you didn’t HAVE a ceiling fan.

Y/N sits on her lunch break in the backroom of the cafe where she’s employed, a veggie wrap halfway suspended towards her mouth when Harry’s text bloops in, pointing out her embarrassing mistake. She blinks at his correction blankly, eyes closing in faint humiliation as her true intentions are now painfully clear. 

After a second of recollection, she types back some damage control, though it hardly has an impact. Harry’s already chortling to himself just thinking about how contorted her face must look at the moment.

I’m aware, thank you. I meant I wanted help picking one out. I’ve got a few tabs saved as potentials. 

He decides to be a little shit about this whole thing, continuing to mock her.

You could just send me the links right now and I can tell you which one I like. You know that, right?

Y/N knows that. She also knows, by the tone and texture of his response, he’d only mentioned that alternative to be annoying. He knows she’s not talking about ceiling fans, and he just wants her to chase after him. Unfortunately enough for Y/N’s pride, she’s more than willing to.  

I just think your opinion would be much more valuable and effective in person, since you’d be able to help me search for other ones at the same time. We’d cover more ground. Two heads are better than one!

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

I personally think so. A dynamic duo for the books, honestly.

A soft round of applause cuts through the air around the vampire, signaling the end of Mitch’s performance. Harry glances up to see his best friend mounting his guitar back into its case, smiling bashfully at the crowd and nodding his head in thanks to all their praise. Harry coins his luck; things couldn’t have wrapped up at a better time. 

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

Y/N stops mid-chew through a bite of her meal, cheeks puffed as the corners of her mouth twitch at his nerdy reference.

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7. 

I’ll see you there, then. 

See you there. Also, why do YOU get to be Sherlock? Seems a bit sexist. 

Harry rolls his eyes at her quip, smirking to himself as he types out his final response.

Well, first and foremost, I’m literally English. Secondly, last time I checked, I’m always the one in control. And frankly, you seem to like it that way. See you at seven, darling.

And at seven on the dot, Harry’s outside her apartment. His friends would be amazed at his punctuality. He only shows it when it’s worth the trouble.

The creature walks up the steps to the mortal’s complex with his Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, keychain tucked into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, and his tan Chelsea boots clicking against the cement ground. A light wind whips his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt against the broad muscles of his back, drawing a soothed sigh from his lungs. He loves the California weather. 

He gives her door three swift knocks with his ring-clad knuckles, stepping back from the entrance and clasping his large hands behind his back as he waits. 

When Y/N answers, Harry tilts his chin down a smidge, looking at her over the brim of his chic black glasses with his signature dazzling smile dimpling his cheeks. He lists his head slightly in a formal greeting. “Detective.” 

The girl’s irises flit up to the ceiling as amusement twitches her lips. She plays along. “Nice to see you again. Detective.”

She moves off to the side, beckoning him to come in and he gladly takes the offer, striding into the flat and down the narrow corridor he’s grown quite familiar with. Y/N follows him back into her living room, gaze quickly drinking up his appearance. He’s casual today— less jewelry, more comfortable clothes— and he works the normal fit as effortlessly as he works his fancy brands. Especially with those tight dark jeans. They hug his thighs in a fashion that should be illegal. 

Harry twists around on his heel to face her, reaching up to remove his sunglasses and tucking them along the collar of his tee. A handful of curls fall across his forehead, framing his face and sculpting his jaw, as usual. A sweep across Y/N’s physique tells him everything he needs to know. 

She’s still in her work clothes, clad in a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of dark skinnies similar to his. Her hair is down, though the strands have a dent that suggests she’d been wearing a ponytail. Her mascara is smudged a tad under her seemingly tired eyes, but her attitude is as bright and lively as always. She appears messy, but he likes it. It’s a type of unconventional beauty that’s natural and genuine, which he can appreciate.

He contemplates her with a certain slyness that makes her shift in her socked feet. 

“I got a message earlier. Sounded kinda frantic.” He drifts closer to the human, a sultry tension growing taut between them. He glances upward for an instant, as if recalling a thought. “Something about ceiling fans…?”  

Y/N chews into her cheek to keep from giggling, allowing him to press his chest to hers. He slowly begins to back her up towards the shabby couch, which has seen this interaction happen one too many times. “Yeah, I’m thinking of getting one. Figured it’d help. It just gets really hot in here sometimes, y’know?”

“Mmm…” Harry thrums in agreement, deep in the back of his throat. His hands crawl onto her hips and grasps them somewhat roughly, index fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans as he leans down to brush his soft lips over her own. She’ll never grow tired of the electricity that passes through them every time their mouths touch. It kindles her needs unlike anything else. “It does get pretty hot in here sometimes. Especially if you’re working up a sweat.” 

He pushes her further towards the sofa, movements gradual as she drifts backwards, careful not to trip her. She glimpses down at where their lips are flirting, breath hiccuping when he licks his lightly in anticipation, his tongue just barely grazing her Cupid’s bow. “Absolutely. A fan would definitely help relieve some of that stress.” 

“Yeah.” Harry nudges the tip of her nose with his own, feeling her grab at his biceps for security as he continues inching her backwards blindly. “It can work wonders for when you’re all pent up, too. Especially when you’re really tight, which I know for a fact you are.”

The backs of the girl’s knees hit the edge of the couch and she topples into its cushions. She sits up onto her elbows, sheer need inking into her irises as he patiently begins to undo his belt. His long, nimble fingers work with ease and he seems to be in no particular rush, which pricks at her nerves because she feels completely the opposite. She’d been thinking about him since Friday night— or rather, Saturday morning, when he had actually stayed for breakfast that time around. 

Y/N had sat on top of her small dining table while he took the seat before her shirtless, leaning forward with his arms crossed nonchalantly over her lap as she fed him bites of lemon blueberry pancakes. The pads of his calloused fingers had drawn random shapes across the warm skin of her thighs, attempting to cheekily slip beneath her pajamas shorts and he’d giggle boyishly around mouthfuls of food every time she would swat his hand away. He looked so fucking pretty that morning, with his curls tangled in tuffs and the vague imprint of her teeth scattered across his grinning mouth, angry red scratches decorating his bare shoulders. That wholesome yet dirty image had left her head spinning for days. 

The sound of Harry’s zipper ripping open blinks Y/N back into the present and she nearly gawks as he grabs onto the hem of his graphic t-shirt and yanks it over his head, arms crossing as he does so. He tosses it onto her playfully, laughing as she smacks it away from her face and gives him a deadpan look. Harry leans forward, propping his palms on either sides of her head and bracketing her in, the unmissable scent of his delicious cologne invading her senses as his dark tattoos ripple over the lean tendons of his stomach and arms. His strangely cold forehead flushes against hers and he nips at her top lip, tugging it between his teeth and releasing. His voice comes out as deep and hypnotizing as ever. 

“Get undressed for me. Want your thighs wrapped around my head.” 

Harry comes to find that for such a reserved girl, Y/N has a pretty intriguing sexual mindset. She’s open to a lot of stuff he’d never expect from a rural-town escapee. Her kinks surprise him, but pleasantly so, considering they cross over with a lot of his own. She’s into choking, which he adores. There’s nothing hotter than feeling her pulse slam against the palm of his hand as his array of rings mark into the delicate skin of her throat. She likes being restrained, which translates into Harry pinning her wrists above her head while he slams between her drenched thighs. It’s difficult to achieve that on the sofa, so they end up rolling across the rug on the floor, her legs tangled around his hips like a vine as he pants into her mouth, damp hair flopping over his forehead and tickling her eyelashes. Ideally, he would have used his belt to tie her hands to a headboard. If they were at his place, he would’ve just reached for the metal cuffs he has hanging casually off the railing of his bed, which he keeps there for easy access. But they’re in her living room, so he makes do with what he can. 

The vampire doesn’t stay over that night, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he promised Niall he’d help him out with a car issue. Apparently the motor is making a weird noise and Harry isn’t shocked one bit. Niall barely has the brain cells to be alive, much less to handle the upkeep that comes with owning a vintage vehicle. He thanks Y/N for a good time as he slips into his tight jeans and recovers his sunglasses from the floor, pulling his tee over the already fading hickies littering his collarbones, fitting his accessory into his sweaty curls. 

Harry leans down to where she lays limply, splayed over the couch where he had placed her after picking her up off the ground (only after he’d made her cum twice). He plants a nonchalant farewell kiss to her parted lips, thumbing over her bruised nipples jestingly and grinning into her mouth when she whimpers. “I’ll see you later, Watson. Let me know which fan you decide to buy.” 

Two days later, Harry’s phone chimes again, this time with the unique ringtone he’d assigned just for her. 

He’s relaxing in his bathtub, submerged up to his chest in hot water mixed with Epsom salts and jasmine bubble bath, his locks sudsy with shampoo. He’s in the middle of shaving his face, dragging the straight razor (his time in the nineteen thirties made him picky towards any other tool, especially those simpleton plastic ones) down his jaw carefully, making sure not to nick the little moles under the corner of his mouth. When his device goes off, he halts all his motions, glancing over from the hand mirror he’s holding before his face. He’d changed her contact name to Watson as homage to their funny little dynamic, but he’d kept the disco balls in their place. He respects the roots of their acquaintanceship.

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

He had a nagging suspicion he’d hear from her today. It’s another Friday night, after all. He’s just happy she’d texted earlier than last time so he can flake on his friends without forcing them to wait for an hour. 

Wow, you chose two day shipping? You must be itching to see me.

Don’t let it go to your head. The only thing I’m itching for is your professional opinion. 

Right. Well, me and my professional opinion are washing up at the moment so give me thirty minutes and I’ll be there, yeah?

Sounds good to me, Sherlock. 

Harry decides on an outfit that falls at the center of his dressing spectrum— something comfortable but not lazy. Something semi-formal. He doesn’t really have to impress her anymore (not that he had to try that hard in the first place) but he wants to look good, either way. There’s nothing wrong with showing off what he has, both physically and wardrobe-wise. He chooses a horizontal-striped fitted tee made of thick cotton, the lines alternating between brown, beige, and a light caramel. He tucks the shirt into a pair of mid-rise corduroy flared pants that are a dark mustard shade, shrugging on an olive green jacket with red and white stitch detailing along the edges, large images of cacti embroidered along its expanse. His pearls, cross necklace, and he opts out of his earring this time. Rings, vanilla chapstick, mint gum. Keys, wallet, starch white Vans. 

Before he knows it, he’s being roughly pulled into her home from his spot just outside her threshold, his cherry-lacquer nails carding into the silky hair along the nape of Y/N’s neck as his teeth skim over the hollow of her throat. The human grapples to push his coat off his wide shoulders, backing further down the small hallway of her flat and kicking the door shut. She holds his head firmly to the sensitive spot in her neck that he’d toyed with a week prior, and he can’t resist the way his eyes blink crimson— a hunting impulse, stemming from the sound of her blood rushing through her carotid artery. He hadn’t fed last time— vampires only need to feed once a week to avoid desiccation— so he surely intends to tonight. 

Harry’s hands fit perfectly around the dip of her spine, pulling her body tight to his as he paints sloppy kisses over her jugular. He gets his teasing words out in between desperate gasps and breathy chuckles. “And here I thought this was genuinely going to be about the fan.”

“Shut up.” 

Y/N makes a sharp turn, tugging him into her room instead of the living room and it dawns on him that this is the first time they’re going to fuck in her actual bed. All those instances of sleeping together and not once had they done anything on the piece of furniture that was intended for that sole purpose. It’s ironically hilarious and he voices that opinion as they stumble onto her mattress. 

“You know,” Harry murmurs into her mouth as she shoves him flat onto the rumpled sheets (she hadn’t made her bed this morning and that’s endearing, for some reason), straddling his lap as she hurriedly pulls his t-shirt out from along the waistband of his trousers. “Out of all the times we’ve done this— which is quite a few— we’ve never done anything on your bed other than sleep.” 

That’s a lie. He’s never actually slept in her bed. After staring at the ceiling blankly two weeks ago for about eight hours, he had been smart enough to grab his phone from his pants the second time around. He spent that stretch of time playing Mario Kart and watching Unsolved Mysteries on Netflix with the volume down just out of human earshot, so as to not disturb her slumber. 

Y/N ducks in order to drag her wet, pillowy lips down the butterfly inking on his tummy and over the spines of the two ferns on his pelvis, licking across his happy trail. He jerks in response, a soft grunt gurgling in his lungs as she uses her index finger to trace the outline of his hardening cock through the velvet fabric of his slacks. Her voice is distant, giggle breathless. “Yeah, you’re right. How counterintuitive.”

Harry swiftly pops the button of his trousers, helping her coax them down his legs, releasing a stuttery moan when she immediately bends down and mouths at his prick over his briefs. The soiled stain forming around the tip of his cock would be embarrassing if he didn’t know she found it hot. 

His tone is tight but humorous as she continues licking at him eagerly through his underwear, nails digging into his inner thighs. “Am I your first?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes for a moment before she realizes the joke. He’s referring to if he’s the first person she’s slept with on her new bed in her new home. “Yes, you are, actually.” 

Harry’s juts his bottom lip out into an overly-sweet exaggerated pout, talking in a honeyed drawl. “Aw, I get to christen your bed with you? We’re practically married now. When’s the baby due?” 

“God, you’re a moron.” Y/N bursts into a fit of laughter as she mounts back onto his lap, pinching at his torso in fake spite and feeling her insides flutter at the airy giggles that escape him. She gnaws on her bottom lip thoughtfully for a second, watching with hunger as he finishes removing his shirt and momentarily sits up to chuck it onto the ground over her shoulder. 

Harry falls back onto the mattress, folding his taut arms behind his neck, biceps flexing with the movements as his strong chest and toned stomach look as appealing as ever. She runs her palms over his tanned skin, feeling the sturdy muscle shift beneath her touch. Shit.

The immortal slinks his head to the side, eyes going half-lidded in suggestive mischief as he sees the way she’s objectifying him. He doesn’t mind; he actually lives for it. “Are you just gonna keep staring or are you gonna fuck me?”

His lewd comment washes warmth across Y/N’s ears and spurs her into action. In less than a minute, she’s fully unclothed, bouncing on his cock with a type of need that boils the pit of Harry’s belly. His fingers are digging bruises into her waist, slamming her down onto his prick with enough force to make the old bed creak wildly. She may be on top, but he’s still the one pulling the strings. 

Y/N collapses forward, anchoring herself onto her forearms on either sides of his head, burying her face in his auburn ringlets. She bites onto her tongue, trying to keep a tab on the atrociously loud sounds threatening to spill from her mouth. They come out as broken whines instead, which Harry drinks up like a glass of aged bourbon. She fists at his roots, jolting with every thrust he gives upwards, her knees digging into his love handles to keep balanced. At this point, she’s barely riding him at all. He’s just ramming himself into her from below as he guides her hips and she doesn’t have an issue with that at all. She likes when he leads.  

His growl comes out low and raspy, riding on a moan, his warm, choppy exhales pebbling her bare nipples. “How’s that, darling? How’s that cock feel?”

Y/N nods her head frantically, not trusting her tongue to form an appropriate response. 

“Tell me.” He grits out through bared teeth, back arching a bit as he feels the knot of white hot pleasure in his stomach twist and turn. 

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

One of Harry’s hands coasts down the small of her back and onto her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. She yelps at the new sensation, pain and bliss intermingling. “Yeah, you fucking can. You will. Use your words. Tell me how much you like it.”

A violent shutter runs through Y/N’s limbs and she instinctively pushes back against his palm. Harry’s eyebrows kink in question as he feels her draw her face back from his hair. One look at her eyes tells the entire narrative: She wants him to spank her. 

Harry slowly lifts his hand from her skin, brows raising a bit higher for confirmation. Y/N smears his lips against his forehead and left cheekbone, bobbing her head desperately, whispering a tiny, “Yes, please.” that sends smoky tendrils of hot air cascading down his straining neck. 

When the vampire’s hand comes down, it’s fast and hard, his cold rings biting into her flesh and leaving welts, the sound echoing off the glossy walls and tall bookshelf in her room. The cry that betrays her could probably be heard down on the main floor of her complex. 

The shattered noise makes Harry sanity slip and he’s lucky she’s too lost in her own bliss to see the way his eyes glow dangerously red. “Fuck, you’re such a slut for it.” 

Harry suddenly boosts himself forward, toppling Y/N backwards until she’s the one wedged against the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into the crook of his sweaty collarbones, cracked cries pooling into the junction of his clavicle as he hikes her roughly up his thighs. He sinks further between her legs until he bottoms out with a loud garbled groan, pushing so deep she can feel him in the trench of her belly. 

“Oh my God, Harry— I— fuck, just—just— oh!”

His pace rises in intensity, strokes messy and unforgivable as he fucks her into the bed, the cracking of the frame warning him that it might give away. “Oh, so you liked that, did you? Like it when I call you a slut and stretch you out like one?”

Harry feels Y/N’s teeth rip into his shoulder in order to evade a scream; a strong shiver pin-balls down his spine as a result. Her voice is absolutely wrecked as she talks over her muffled mouth. “Loved it. Loved it so much. Want—Want more. Please, please, please.”

Harry holds her down firmly to the sheets, pounding into her with a form of unrestrained force he’s never exhibited. She just drives him to the brink like no one else has in nearly twenty decades. “Can you feel me in your tummy, pet? Can you feel how I fill you up?” 

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?” 

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”  

“Hands off.” 

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.” 

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind. 

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.” 

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked. 

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better. 

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts. 

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged. 

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then. 

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level. 

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that. 

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold. 

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him. 

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane. 

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home. 

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him. 

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device. 

I need interior design advice. 

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time. 

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh. 

Genuinely? 

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot. 

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it. 

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl. 

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall. 

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry? 

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide. 

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback. 

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits. 

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall. 

Immature? 

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry. 

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs. 

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks. 

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries. 

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up. 

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her. 

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours. 

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play. 

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex. 

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective. 

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures. 

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet. 

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.  

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.  

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue. 

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs. 

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect. 

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching. 

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh. 

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives. 

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark? 

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache. 

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief? 

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else. 

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her. 

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry. 

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants. 

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants. 

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly. 

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way. 

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot. 

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack. 

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally. 

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background. 

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination. 

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish. 

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes. 

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever. 

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going. 

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours. 

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it. 

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure. 

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core. 

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right. 

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth. 

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now. 

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen. 

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit. 

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders. 

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance. 

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person. 

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

[leaderintitleonly]

*    knowing  your  partner  well  can  potentially  make  writing  a  lot  easier,    repost,    do  not  reblog.

                                                    meet the mun.

— basics

NAME:  Jamie/Fiery/Fiery-mun PRONOUNS:  I refer to myself as she. You can call me anything. Just not an insult. Not late to dinner. Nothing mean. Cool? Cool. I’ll answer to anything. PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION: Pigeons. Send pigeons. I’ll get to messages eventually but I am so very, very tired and if I didn’t get to it, I got distracted and that’s very easy. But if you’re my mutual I’ll give you my Discord!  SINGLE / TAKEN: I’m with @wishingxuponxstars and yes, my boyfriend rps.  — three facts 𝙞. I have crps/rsd. The pain is said to be the highest you can feel. Yeah the human body stops feeling pain right here. I didn’t take my pain medication while writing this. I’m smiling. I need a treatment soon. How am I writing this? There are some secrets I don’t know. On that note, medication and pain makes me forgetful. :D  𝙞𝙞. When I could still walk, I worked at a lighthouse for a short period of time. I did tour guide things. And I had to stop people from throwing rocks. Yes, people tried to throw rocks from the top. 𝙞𝙞𝙞. I’m a trained actor! Yeah we’re gonna end on that. I’m disabled and I can’t perform but I’m still happy I had that education.  — experience Ah I started writing on those AIM chat things and Neopets when I was nine and ten. I faked my age. Don’t do that! But I tried Vegeta (DBZ) and when that wasn’t a good fit, I just started going back to my original plan of Doc. But I changed his name and just played him anyway. People didn’t know the difference. Then I migrated onto Gaia Online and I had an OC for every new thread. It wasn’t until I was on Tumblr that I was consistently playing characters and had very regular partners instead of one rp a month. Doc has stuck around pretty much the entire time, be it in notes in a notebook or just being turned into an OC who isn’t actually an OC.  — long or short replies I am so sorry. If you give me three sentences that inspire my character, then I’ll end up just exploding with joy. I’m so sorry. Your brilliance becomes my brilliance. I am so sorry. I don’t try to do this on purpose.  — best time to write When I’m awake and the pain has relaxed enough so I can be here. 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙: stole it from @droppingdonkeys​ 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜: continue the crime spree

[thecoloursdontshow]

Kiss the cook

Words: 1121

Warnings: Fluff, mention of blood (nothing graphic), stitches 

Summary: Bucky sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand.  Sam normally texted him after each mission was over, and right now it was 1:45 am and Bucky hadn’t heard from him. He was panicked, to say the least. He chewed on his bottom lip as he watched the black of his phone screen. Maybe his phone was dead, or broken. That was rational thinking, but Bucky was well past that. All he could think was that Sam might not be ok, and that was enough to make him shake

Reblogs are cool and fun and really appreciated!

Also on wattpad

Sam stumbled onto the jet, clutching his side, where blood was promptly oozing out. He lied down on the bench while Torres rushed over holding a first aid kit. “Sam, what the hell happened?” Torres questioned, examining the wound. “Knives happened, Joaquin.” Sam answered shakily. “This isn’t too deep, I can probably stitch it up.” Torres told him, and Sam sighed in relief. “Thanks, man.” Sam said, and shut his eyes, imagining the hell Bucky’ll give him when he gets home.

Bucky sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand.  Sam normally texted him after each mission was over, and right now it was 1:45 am and Bucky hadn’t heard from him. He was panicked, to say the least. He chewed on his bottom lip as he watched the black of his phone screen. Maybe his phone was dead, or broken. That was rational thinking, but Bucky was well past that. All he could think was that Sam might not be ok, and that was enough to make him shake. 

After a while, he decided it was useless to just sit there. He made his way to the kitchen and pulled out ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. Bucky was a stress baker, that was for damn sure. He pulled out the dumbass apron Sam bought for Christmas that says kiss the cook. Unfortunately, it's the only he owns, so he is forced to wear it. Sam was all too pleased by this information. It was ridiculous. He started measuring flour, glancing anxiously at his phone every few minutes. Still nothing. Bucky shook his head and continued baking, letting all his worries wash away for a moment.

Sam closed his eyes tight as Torres stitched him up, biting his lip as the needle threaded through his skin. He let out a sigh as he heard Torres step away, and opened his eyes. “Thanks again.” Sam said, offering a small smile. Torres smiled as well, going to put away the first aid kit. “That’s what I’m here for.” Torres stated, moving into the cockpit. Sam went to lay down as he remembered. Text Bucky. Sam grabbed his phone from the bag beside him and goes to turn it on. “Dead.” Sam muttered, shaking his head. He sighs in annoyance and shuts his eyes, trying to get some semblance of sleep. 

Bucky was now covered in flour, stirring in the chocolate chips, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Alpine decided now would be fun to jump up on the counter, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “No, Alpine, go play with Figaro, for god’s sake.” Bucky shooed her off the counter, and starting rolling up the dough into balls and placed them onto a baking sheet. Bucky set the timer for 10 minutes and began cleaning up, having more of a mess since his damn cat decided that she would play in the flour. “How the hell did I end up here?” Bucky muttered to himself, wiping off the counter.

Sam unlocked the front door and walked through, being greeted by the smell of fresh baked cookies. Sam grinned widely as he walked through the door. He caught sight of Bucky Barnes, eating a chocolate chip cookie, wearing the god awful apron, with flour in his hair. “Sam!” Bucky cried through a mouthful of cookie and pulled Sam into an embrace. Sam let out a slight noise of discomfort, and Bucky stepped away. “What happened?” Bucky asked, his voice more urgent, his hands still resting on Sam’s hips, and eyes fixed on the stitches on Sam’s side. “Sorry I didn’t call.” Sam said, but Bucky shook his head. “We are well past that, what happened?” Bucky insisted, eyes still on the wound. Sam shook his head, eyes fixed on Bucky. “Just some guys with knives, nothing major.” Bucky looked at him like he was insane, eyes flickering from the stitches to Sam’s face. 

“Are you alright?” was Bucky’s next question, and Sam smiled up at Bucky. “Buck, baby, I’m fine.” Sam said, and Bucky met his eyes. “You sure?” Bucky muttered, and Sam shook his head softly. “Yes, you idiot.” Sam replied snarkily. Bucky grinned at Sam, and it made Sam’s heart flutter. “So, you like the apron?” Sam asked smugly. Bucky rolled his eyes, a grin still on his lips. “I do not, but it's the only thing we have, thanks to you.” Bucky answered, that caused Sam to grin his toothy grin, and snickered. “I knew you’d wear it.” Sam said smugly, and Bucky shook his head, rolling his eyes. 

“To be fair, it does have pretty clear instructions.” Bucky stated, his grin now being replaced with a smirk. Sam nodded. “So it does.” Sam stood on his tiptoes to kiss him, but Bucky stood on his tiptoes to mess with him. “Do you want me to kiss you, or not?” Sam asked snarkily. Bucky laughed softly and went back down to his original height. “Yes, I do.” and so Sam kissed him. It was short and sweet, with the taste of cookies and coffee. They pulled away slowly, their noses brushing. They both smiled widely. “Thanks for not dying.” Bucky muttered. “Of course.” Sam said, intertwining his fingers with Bucky’s. “Want a cookie?” Bucky offered, and Sam chuckled. “You sure you didn’t eat them all?” Bucky gives Sam a pointed look, and Sam began laughing harder. “I did not.” Bucky countered, and Sam shook his head. “It sure seemed like it.” Sam retorted, and Bucky rolled his eyes. This was ridiculous. 

Bucky didn’t reply, and Sam wasn’t gonna let him get away with that. “See, your silence tells me you at least ate most of them.” Bucky sighed deeply, still smiling. “I’m too old for this nonsense.” Sam barked out a laugh, and Bucky grinned at him. He couldn’t believe he got this lucky. Bucky dragged Sam to the oven, and gestured to the remaining cookies. “See. I ate like 3.” Bucky said pointedly, and Sam chuckled. “Ok, ok, you win.” Sam said as he bit into a cookie. 

Bucky leaned his head on Sam’s shoulder, sighing in contentment. Sam smiled down at him, the flour still somehow in his hair. He planted a kiss on the top of his head. “Alpine started playing in the flour. It was a mad house.” Bucky told him, and Sam chuckled softly. “You sound surprised she would do that.” Sam said, and Bucky hummed. “You have a point.” Bucky agreed.

The two decided that they were far too awake to try to sleep, so they took to the couch, turning on whatever was vaguely interesting. Sam played with Bucky’s curls, and Bucky listened to the steady beat of Sam’s heart. It was calming, comforting.

[noperopesaredope]

Ok, so, new (actually pretty old, but I revamped most of it) fic idea!

I remembered this bad boy sitting way in the back of my pile of old fic ideas I nearly went through with, touched it up, and shall now pitch it to all my fellow Varian fans out there! (most of it was original, but then I changed it up because I was inspired by shows like “What If...” and “Loki”, so you may see some similarities, but those ideas were already there a few years before those shows, they just looked a bit different)

This post is long, so if you want to hear about it, just click the read more button.

Plot

So, this fic starts post-series, about 4 months after the finale (maybe more). Varian finds some old Demanitus designs (or maybe a hidden room full of weird equipment), and Varian being Varian decides to build it. He ends up making a weird mask and glove (the glove has a weird circle symbol on it with a couple of runes). He ends up somehow pricking his finger and some of his blood drips on the center of the circle. Varian thinks nothing of it and moves on, trying to figure out what the glove/mask can do and how he can activate them.

Suddenly, (while he’s wearing them) they start working, and a smallish portal opens up from underneath him, which he falls through. Suddenly, he’s in a whole new place, very different from anywhere he had ever seen. He begins walking around, exploring, and sees amazing things, like dragons and magic and stuff, just out and about. It’s straight up HIGH fantasy. He’s like an isekai protagonist in a fantasy world.

While Varian’s walking around, he is suddenly attacked by a group of generic monsters, but a mysterious stranger saves him. He thanks the stranger, whose face is covered, and asks if they can tell him where he is. The stranger looks him up and down before saying “far away from your home, Varian. Very far away.” Varian, surprised and a little bit suspicious, asks how this stranger knows his name, and then who they are. The stranger simply says that they are someone who can help him. They introduce themselves as “One”, and request that Varian follow them to safety.

Varian, looking around him, decides that he’d rather just trust One than get stranded, so he follows them. They find a good place to stay for the night, and One asks if they can see Varian’s glove. Varian cauciously hands it over, and One looks it over before handing it back, then decides to explain the situation.

“Varian, have you ever heard of the multiverse theory?”

“Yeah, I read about it in Demanitus’ book. It talks a bit about how there could be infinite universes parallel to our own and each other, each event creating new universes based on the alternate versions of those events. Some universes also work entirely differently from others, or the flow of time is different, so there might be a universe where everyone is a chicken, or a universe where everyone that exists now is living 100 years in the future compared to us. But everything also moves at the same pace. It’s like a time paradox. Sorry, I’m rambling. Why are we talking about the multiverse theory?”

“Well, my young alchemist, what you have there is called a thread jumper. It allows you to jump between universes, and travel the multiverse.”

“Wait, so what you’re saying is, I’m in another universe?”

“Precisely.”

After a small panic attack, One explains that they know all about this kind of stuff, since they have a jumper too, and can help get Varian home. The only problem is, Varian’s jumper isn’t working. One says they know someone who might know how to help, and they walk to a strange hut. One barges into it without knocking, shouting “what’s up Science Bitch” as they entered.

Inside is a guy reading a book, who immediately puts it down to yell at One, shouting “I’M A WIZARD YOU-” before noticing Varian. They stare at each other for a long moment, due to the fact that they are both Varian.

So, introductions are made, short existential crisises are had, and Wizard!Varian sits down to look at OG!Varian’s (That’s what I’m calling our Varian) jumper.

Turns out, Varian’s jumper is a bit weird, and requires a day or two to recharge after a jump, so they have to wait a while for it to charge (it seems that Varian can only travel using his own jumper, and can’t just hold onto One or anything). They all groan at this, but decide to take advantage of this by getting to know each other a bit. Wizard!Varian and One already know each other very well, and have a history with the multiverse stuff, but they don’t want to talk about it much with OG!Varian. Instead, they tell him a tad bit more about how some of the stuff works, and ask about his world.

After a few hours of conversation, Wizard!Varian decides to observe the jumper a little more, and finds some more bad news. So, he doesn’t know why, but it doesn’t have settings, so they have no control over where OG!Varian might end up when he teleports. Uh oh. So they might have to do a slightly more old fashioned way; just keep teleporting until they get to the right world. OG!Varian will be able to tell when he’s in the right universe though, so it should be okay! Besides, they can probably find someone to help them fix it since Wizard!Varian can’t.

So, One vows to help get Varian home, and they soon (after it finishes charging) head off. The fic will start out slightly episodic, with a bit of a “universe of the week” type format. In each one, they will meet a different Varian (since this fic is centered around the different Varian AUs. Some crossovers may happen occasionally, but there will always be a Varian there). While they are in each universe, they may end up helping the Varian there in some way or another, and later on in the story, one or two may end up joining the duo.

Eventually, the plot will pick up, and become something a bit bigger, with plenty of lore and character development for the Varians. I already have the bigger idea for the plot and most backstories already planned out in my head, but don’t want to give it away in case I starting making this proper.

Anyways, that’s my fic idea. I call it “Varian!AU” and nobody can make me change the title.

I’m probably gonna add more info and ideas in a reblogged version of this post, so look out for that on my blog!

Hope you guys think this is interesting! I’d like to hear some suggestions for AUs I could include (I already have a long list, but I want to see some other stuff people come up with)!

[tiennewrites]

only bought this dress so you could take it off (Part 1a) | hq! headcanons

╔═════ ∘◦ ☟ ◦∘ ══════╗

Summary: The boys get dresses as gifts for their s/o (reader) and their subsequent reactions when their s/o wears it (◍•ᴗ•◍)

Genre: fluff

Characters: Azumane Asahi, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsuma

Pairings: AsahixReader, KiyoomixReader, AtsumaxReader

Warnings: None, this is just pure fluff (⁄˘⁄ ⁄ ω⁄ ⁄ ˘⁄)♡

Author’s Note: Wrote these as a way to take a break from an original piece I’m working on for my exophilia blog and like all my work, things just spiraled out of control ¯\_(ಥ‿ಥ)_/¯ I’ll likely add more boys and NSFW sequels if this gets a good response because this was a fun exercise. Hope you enjoy!

All rights reserved. Do not repost my work.

╚═════ ∘◦ ☝︎ ◦∘ ══════╝

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Asahi would have been mortified if you or any of his friends knew, but he found the dress while he was scrolling through Pinterest.

He happened to be looking through summer fashion trends when a picture of a long, yellow sundress scrolled it’s way up his computer screen.

When he clicked through the pin to the brand’s website, he enlarged the image on the model to admire some of the smaller details: delicate spaghetti straps, white heart-shaped buttons down the middle of the long skirt, and his favorite part they way the top could be tied into a bunny-eared knot

Needless to say, he saved that pin so that he could find it later.

That night, you found him rifling through your side of the closet to figure out what size you wore.

How could somebody be two different dress sizes?!

When you tapped him on the shoulder, he jumped so high you thought he was gonna go right through the ceiling.

His face was beet red and he told you he was looking for a shirt that he had lost.

Your poor boyfriend agonized for a week about which size he should get you- he didn’t want the surprise gift to be ruined just because he got a size that was too big or too small.

In the end, he decided to buy it in the larger size. He figured he’d pay for it to be tailored if it was too big and he just wanted to see you in the damn thing already.

When it finally arrived, he laid out the dress on your bed with a bouquet of sunflowers

Asahi tried to stay casual and cool on the couch while he waited to for you to walk into the bedroom to find your surprise, but his stomach clenched in anticipation while he played with the stray threads of a throw pillow.

He smiled excitedly when he heard you squeal in delight, and turned around to see you already running towards him to throw your arms around his neck and pepper his face with kisses.

To his relief, when you tried on the dress, it fit perfectly.

He liked the way the yellow color made your skin absolutely glow and he loved the way the bunny-ear knot complemented the swell of your chest.

The gift prompted an impromptu trip to the beach. You just wanted a good reason to wear out the amazing gift your amazing boyfriend got you.

Even though the day was sunny, the wind whipped around the two of you as you took turns chasing each other barefoot on the beach.

Asahi didn’t mind though. He liked the way your hair looked, wind blown, and the way the dress wrapped itself around your beautiful legs in the gusty breeze.

As the sun went down and the day got colder, he wrapped you up in his denim jacket to pull you close into his giant chest. The two of you fell into a sandy heap smiling and giggling at each other.

»»——⍟——««

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The dress was displayed in the window of a hole-in-the-wall boutique and it didn’t really catch Kiyoomi’s attention at first.

One day on his way home, he got a good look at it and admired it’s clean and simple silhouette. The fabric was white and well-pressed while still looking soft and light.

There are details, like the puffy sleeves and structured bodice, that aren’t usually to his taste, but there was just something so lovely and… pristine about how the garment was designed.

He decided that the tone of white would look lovely against your skin and bought one in your size.

Kiyoomi asks for it to be gift wrapped and rushes to hide it under the bed before you come home.

When he finally gives it to you to unwrap, he’s pleased by how your eyes light up when you lift it out of the tissue paper and see it for the first time. He thinks it’s absolutely adorable when you hold it up against your body and twirl in front of the mirror, laughing.

You wear it for the first time on a date and he’s pleased to find it fits almost perfectly. The bodice hugs the curve of your waist just right and the skirt dances against your mid thigh in the most delightful way.

If he thought the dress looked amazing on you by itself, he absolutely loves the way you dress it up. You tied a soft beige scarf in your hair and wore your favorite nude heels- the strappy kind that took some practice for you to walk in properly.

Kiyoomi already thought you were cute, but today you were just lovely. So lovely he almost reconsidered letting you leave the house.

Almost.

This date had been planned for weeks and he knew you would be upset if you didn’t get to show off your new dress.

The two of you walked down the street arm in arm, and while you enjoyed looking at all the neat items in the shop windows, Kiyoomi sent hard stares to all the wandering eyes that followed you.

At one point, you passed by a pet shop and you bent over to coo at the floppy-eared bunnies playing in the window and to his dismay, the dress tightened at your hips, causing the fabric to sinfully hug the curve of your ass.

He planted himself right behind you to hide what was *his and his alone* you from perverts.

After dinner, you guys took a walk in an empty garden park to enjoy the sunset and take pictures.

You posed for some but Kiyoomi loved taking candids of you looking like an outright angel the way your hair glowed like a halo against the sun.

He swallowed hard when he caught of a glimpse of how the warm light filtered through the fabric of your skirt and he could make out shadows of the soft lines of your inner thighs. You were distracted by something in the distance, completely unaware of how enticing you looked in the fading light.

He quickly snapped a picture on his phone and shoved it in his pocket before you could demand to see how it looked.

Later that night he set that picture of you as his phone wallpaper.

»»——⍟——««

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Atsumu honestly doesn’t even remember buying you a dress.

But apparently last Valentine’s Day you wouldn’t stop bothering him about getting you a gift so he sent you a picture of his credit card with a text that said “go crazy 😘”

So here he is, getting hungry, waiting for you at the bar of the high-end restaurant you both love.

Atsumu is nursing a drink and shoots you a quick text, asking you where you are and that he’s hangry now

Much to his exasperation, you text back that you’ll be there in another 10 minutes and that “It’ll be worth the wait 😜”.

Fifteen minutes later, he nearly spills his drink all over himself when he spots you waltzing in with a smile, wearing a little red satin number.

Even though you’re in heels, you still have to tippy-toe to press a kiss to your stunned boyfriend’s cheek.

Once the initial shock wears off, he smiles and grabs your hand to spin you so he could enjoy every little detail. To say that the dress accentuated the curve of your figure was a dire understatement.

The sweetheart cowl neckline cradled your tits gorgeously and the open back made Atsumu’s mouth water.

And your ass. The ass that launched a thousand boners. If Atsumu didn’t believe in a higher power before, he certainly believed in it now.

With the matching shoes and purse, you looked like walking wet dream.

He was suddenly very okay with having to make three huge credit card payments.

As delicious as dinner was, Atsumu couldn’t help but be distracted by how the candle-light made your dress shimmer against your body, creating highlights and shadows that danced and teased him with every flicker of the flame.

You didn’t notice that one of the spaghetti straps slipped off your shoulder in the middle of some story you were telling, but he certainly did.

Atsumu let his eyes linger for a moment on the bare curve of your shoulder before reaching across the table to ghost his hand up your arm and place the strap back in its place. Before pulling back he let his knuckle idle at the crook of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

Atsumu loved that you wore this gorgeous number just for him, but if he were being truthful he couldn’t wait to see it on the floor his bedroom.

»»——⍟——««

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　Like, comment, and reblog!　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

If you feel so inclined, buy me a ko-fi (ko-fi.com/tienne). Love in any form is deeply appreciated!

Thank you for your support!（˶′◡‵˶）