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#How dare she make her own decisions and do something independently of her man? That's now what women are supposed to do! GRRRRRRR!!''

rayshippouuchiha · 2 months

Note

Great! You watched it so that means I don’t have to hold back! Mwahahaha you activated my hidden trapcard 😈

Jk jk but anyway LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR RIGHT??

Like, first they HAD to reinvent the whole Bible Genesis story to make him as freaking sympathetic as possible. I mean, a little dreamer whose ideas were dismissed? Who falls in love with a woman because he admired her “fierce independence”, then freaking gifts humanity in general and Eve in particular with FREE WILL? (I have so many headcanons about them btw; Adam being the way he is I think he and Lilith wanted Eve to have the chance to make decisions regarding her own body, relationship, and future that a life under Adam’s thumb as heaven had inteded would’ve denied her. I think they were very good friends once upon a time., and it kills me that we never see Eve again. Did she blame them for being kicked out of Eden? Or was she grateful to them? I’d love to know, I hope we see her next time). That’s all so freaking good already as a backstory, but then they add this:

At this moment my mind just, imploded with the implications. He gifted humanity with free will presumably because, as a joyous dreamer, he had firmly believed that they would create wonderful things and bring about a better world if they were allowed to think for themselves, but gradually over hundreds and thousands of years seeing only the absolute worst that humanity had to offer he seems to think that it was a mistake, and that’s so sad 🥺 He never got to see the good that came from his actions and became depressed as a consequence, probably blaming himself a bit for every ill-action and sin committed.

I was already primed to love him after that backstory right? But then they imply that he’s a neglectful, distant father to Charlie and she is such a good, pure girl that I started thinking maybe I was wrong to start liking him, maybe there was something off about him that the intro had left out since it was Charlie telling her parent’s story. But then we meet him and he’s just:

A cute, awkward little man? One who clearly loves his family to death if the ring still on his finger (after SEVEN FREAKING YEARS OF ABSCENCE, dear god) and the multiple, gigantic family portraits strewn about his room say anything?

Also, he seems like 2 steps away from an anxiety attack at any given time, especially when asked to speak over the phone. He just like me fr fr

And that, along with the fact that he says “this is the first time she’s called you in YEARS”, and that he seems so freaking happy and excited at even the insinuation that she wants to spend time with him,

Leads me to believe that his absence from Charlie’s life was caused by a mutual misunderstanding born of a similar thought process (namely “what if I’m bothering them? What if they think I’m annoying by calling when I don’t need anything? I should wait until I have a good reason to call, or until they call me”) or willfully by someone (Lilith does seem to take Charlie away from her father awfully quick during that one flashback, right? It’s not just me?). I mean, ^that’s not the face of a father who wants to stay away from his daughter because she reminds him of her mom, or even the face of a father who stayed away on purpose for some time and is now willing to reconnect. That looks more to me like the face of someone who has been eagerly awaiting even a single hint that he’s wanted before daring to appear before his daughter, and has now finally been given that chance after a long time and is ECSTATIC. And even then, it seems that even through his self-deprecation and depression he does do his best to reach out, at least more frequently than Charlie does (he called her 5 months ago, she hadn’t called in years, etc etc).

And then he gets to the hotel and he’s so small and cute and awkward and good with animals and I thought I couldn’t love him any more than I already did but I COULD. HOW DID THEY MAKE A CHARACTER SO APPEALING TO ME SPECIFICALLY THIS IS UNFAIR

Which leads me to my other big headcanon: I firmly believe Lucifer tried to get to know sinners in the beginning, and that he tried some kind of “redeem sinners” effort at some point, just like Charlie’s doing - Perhaps for hundreds of years. But he failed, time and time again, until his dreams were absolutely crushed and he ended up giving up on them for good. I mean, those lines:

“You invite people in and offer them everything and they just bring violence and chaos to your doorstep. It doesn’t matter how well-intentioned you are. They’re always gonna disappoint you!”

“Sinners are violent psychopaths hellbent on causing as much pain and destruction as they can. There’s really no point in trying”

^They all sound not like something he’s saying to rub it in Charlie’s face that he was right (which would be cruel and out of character for someone who seems to love his daughter so much), but more like a cautionary tale coming from a deeply ingrained experience, or like things he’s repeatedly told himself before.

And then during More Than Anything he says this:

“You didn’t know that when I tried this all before *gestures around him with his arms as if gesturing towards the hotel as a whole* my dreams were too hard to defend”

That just cemented that belief for me.

On another note, MORE THAN ANYTHING IS SO FREAKING GOOD?? I CRY EVERY TIME GODDAMMIT AFTER THAT SONG I WENT FROM “AW I LOVE THIS LITTLE MAN” TO “I’D DIE FOR HIM, IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO HIM I’LL KILL EVERYONE IN THE ROOM AND THEN MYSELF”. HE’S JUST So- asfgctrdhfdg

AND I HAVEN!T EVEN TALKED ABOUT HOW BADASS HE IS FIGHTING ADAM OR HOW CUTE AND SWEET HE WAS COMFORTING CHARLIE DURING THE FINALE LOOK AT HIMMM

Or about Radioapple (aka DuckieDeer lol), the ship that has had me in a fucking chokehold since I watched episode 5. There are so many things I love about it that I’d need like 3 whole pages to explain but for now have all this absolutely fantastic fanart instead ❤️

Once again thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. Btw any thoughts on Radioapple?

Oh oh Lucifer is such an interesting character and he absolutely makes me eager to see and learn more about the verse and the finer points of what is/has happened in it.

Personally, RadioDust grabbed me by the heart more than anything, since Alastor is my favorite with Angel Dust as a close second, but I do hands down see the appeal of Radioapple.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #RayRambles

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mimigoey · 2 years

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In defense of Crocell Chima and similar characters

I don't know how to begin but I just have to say this. I come back from school and open mairuma, I see things very similar to what I experience at school. I hope that those in my age group (16) will understand. I do know that adults read mairuma differently. Same applies to us too. I (we) take things differently. I enjoy the situational comedy, beauty of art, relationships and several things about characters ofcourse.

Now, Chima is even younger. Haven't we all (most of us) imagined marrying or dating someone as daring and strong like Iruma or someone, an onii Chan or nee San who influence us so much? Like "daddy daddy I want to marry him!" I know that it sounds silly and even annoying to older people. I don't think like a ten year old anymore but I don't think like a 20 year old either so I can understand chima very well. She probably doesn't even know what kind of love she has towards him. Even I have gone through such a stage of undifferentiated feeling of love. When we're little, we're greedy to posses something we love. When it comes to a person we idealise, especially for little girls, they want to be the wife of someone who is successful, powerful, handsome, pride and joy of the society etc. Sometimes it's the result of how the girl was brought up, particularly in traditional families, that the little girl wants to be a perfect bride for her perfect man. Sounds disgusting? Well it's true and you can't tell a little girl "honey you sound disgusting". Instead, rethink. It's a postive desire for her age. She is inspired to work harder. Iruma is her inspiration to work hard. What's wrong with idolising someone brilliant and kind as Iruma? What's wrong with saying that Chima's strength grew so much all thanks to Iruma? I scored 55/60 for maths test. I was a complete failure in math and it's for my papa I studied. How I'm right now, I don't want to study at all. I compete for only one subject, that's English. I always get the top score though I'm not perfect. I study because I think that getting good Marks is important if I want to get into a good college and also because mom nags me always "I'll take away your phone, you can't attend parties" and dad says something emotional like "I'm here for you". How can I not study! 😶 most of the time I'm in my imaginary world. Again, I had (past tense) a best friend. I loved her very much as a friend. I was loyal to her. The fact that I'm the top scorer didn't make me somber. I always did things in her favour, even participated in quiz competitions because she said so and won a trophy. (But she used me later to her advantage to get a boy and our friendship ended). In conclusion, there's nothing wrong with evolving our character or skills around someone. It is hard to be our own person always. We need inspiration to work. Teachers tell us stories of great and successful people like Gandhi because they want us to idolise them. Instead of that, isn't getting inspired by a nice person next to us a great thing? There will come a time when we will be independent, when we think we should have an ambition for ourselves but it's too early to make such decisions or to even think about it. My older sister wanted to become a doctor but later she became a teacher. So it's too early to pass judgement on how young people live their daily lives.

#welcome to demon school iruma kun #mairimashita! iruma kun #m!ik #mairuma #crocell chima

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cryoculus · 1 year

Text

— reparations 01 ⟢

a man walks into a bar— no, smashes his bike into your shop: what do you do?

★ FEATURING; arataki itto x gn!reader

★ WORD COUNT; 5.3k words

★ TAGS; modern au, flower shop au, slow burn, idiots to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, no smut, sfw

★ NOTABLE CHARACTERS; arataki itto, kuki shinobu, thoma, kaedehara kazuha

★ WARNINGS; motorcycle accidents, blood imagery, hospital visits, but nothing too gory or violent

★ MASTERLIST . AO3 ★

“Thank you for your patronage!”

The elderly woman, who’s also your first customer for the day, grins as she receives the bouquet from your grasp. “No, thank you, dear. Your arrangements are always so lovely.”

You managed a soft laugh, the ping of the cash register resounding in the air. “You flatter me too much, Amane-san! I’m just like any other florist out there.”

“Any other florist wouldn’t dare put up shop in this part of town, though,” she chuckles, gentle fingers caressing a patch of baby’s breath rather fondly. “Though you make it much easier to bring flowers to my husband, aren’t you afraid? You know who runs this district, don’t you?”

“Sure do,” you say, tearing off the receipt printed out by the register before handing it to her. “They’re the ones who own this complex after all.”

Amane nods, smile not faltering. “Then you’ll be just fine. Most folks from the city are quick to judge little Arataki’s gang. Bunch of troublemakers, they said, but what they don’t know is that they’re the ones who keep Hanamizaka the way it is… Oh, never mind me! This is just an old lady’s rambling.”

“Not at all.” You shook your head. “I don’t think the, uh, Arataki Gang’s all that bad. At least their secretary isn’t. Oh, here she comes now.”

The chimes on the front door tinkle softly at the entrance of a new customer that you receive with a kind smile. Kuki Shinobu is not your everyday right-hand woman to Hanamizaka’s band of thugs. For someone managing a rather…unorthodox organization, she seems a bit more put-together than you would otherwise assume gangsters should be. When Shinobu walks into your flower shop, she looks like any other straight-laced college student you’ve come across in the city—looking around as if she didn’t drop by every morning.

“Oh, Shi-chan!” Amane gushes. “I didn’t know you were looking after our newcomer here. The boys didn’t cause any trouble, I hope?”

Shinobu sighs. “The last tenant packed his bags and left because they scared away all his customers. I explicitly told them not to bother the next one that tenders a lease with us.” Turning to you, she spares a small smile. “Speaking of which, good morning.”

“Good morning to you, too, Shinobu,” you chirp. “Is it gonna be the usual for today?”

“Yeah. Oh, wait, no. Do you have anything more fragrant? Specifically something that calms the nerves?” she asks, reaching into her backpack to hand you an ornate vase that seems more expensive than it looks. “Our boss has been feeling off-kilter for the past two days, and his mood swings aren’t doing anyone favors.”

“How about you fix her up with some silk flowers, dear?” Amane suggests, gesturing to the bouquet in her hands. “My husband adored them, and we always ordered some seeds from the old flower shop in the city back in the day. I’m sure little Arataki will snap out of it once he gets a whiff of them in that cramped office of his.”

“Does that work for you?” you ask Shinobu, and she nods. “Alright, give me…fifteen minutes to prep, and we’ll be all set!”

This is how your mornings usually turn out.

For a quick backstory: after living in the capital of Inazuma City for the past twenty-four years, you decided to move out of your old childhood home and live independently. It was a decision that neither of your parents were happy to agree with at first, but you managed to meet the conditions they’d set once you graduated from college. Those being: 1.) Have a stable source of income; and 2.) Don’t move too far away.

It took you a couple of months to survey whether a flower shop would flourish in the neighboring district of Hanamizaka. But once you’ve confirmed that the business opportunity was too good to pass up—the elderly living in this area seriously had a green thumb or two—you decided to hunt for a good apartment and commercial space as soon as you could. That’s how you ended up meeting Shinobu, the secretary (or was it deputy?) of the so-called Arataki Gang. Apart from their supposed claim over this district, they also owned a two-floor building that they rented out for extra revenue.

You’ve only heard about the gang in passing during your college days, when one of your friends accidentally waltzed into their territory once. They took his presence as a threat, apparently, and the boss was quick to issue a challenge in the streets of Hanamizaka. Needless to say, the tall tale only made you more curious with the things that go on outside the city. Now here you are, about three weeks into your new lease in a place legally owned by the Arataki Gang.

But…despite all the stories told by Amane and some of your other customers, you haven’t seen any members lingering around. It’s mostly just Shinobu that gives your shop the time of day, and if you did happen to spot anyone that resembles a gangster, they were quick to scat. As if they’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

And with all the countless complaints you’ve heard about the boss from Shinobu (“Little Arataki”, as Amane liked to address him), you’re yet to meet the man in the flesh.

It’s not like you want to be introduced to someone who can potentially be a yakuza, but…

“Meow.”

As you clean up the leftover stems on your work table, your tabby, Mikan, hops onto the counter behind you, tail swishing with imminent curiosity. You toss the plastic bag containing the disposed remains of Shinobu’s most recent purchase into the bin, clapping the residue off your hands. When you reach out to scratch under her ears, Mikan purrs out a delightful little sound.

“It’s about time we ate some brunch, yeah?”

The next morning, you open up shop like usual. Checking up on plants that need supplementing, calling in for another order of clay pots (your stock is rapidly depleting), and entertaining orders from customers that step inside the store. The clear glass of the display windows makes it fairly easy to spot anyone that might harbor an interest in all things botanical, so you always manage to greet everyone with a sunny disposition.

Well, almost everyone.

“So when do you plan on telling her again?” Your eye twitches as you put together a very extravagant sweet flower bouquet. “We’ve been friends since freshman year, and you’ve liked her since freshman year. That was, what? Six years ago? And you still haven’t told her?”

Thoma pouts at you. “Hey, you talk like admitting your feelings for someone is a walk in the park.”

“It’s not, but keeping quiet for six years is so uncool, Thoma!”

“Not like I’m trying to be cool,” he mumbles. “Oh, do you have any of those cherry blossom designs, by the way? Do you think they’ll look nice with the bouquet?”

You shoot him one last condescending look before rummaging through the cabinets near the windows. Each level contains different flower-arranging paraphernalia. From scented wrapping paper to customized wicker baskets—everything you need to fashion one creative bouquet to another is readily available; artificial embellishments like the one Thoma wants included.

… if they’re in stock, that is.

“Hate to break it to you, but I forgot someone placed an order that used up all my cherry blossom stems last week,” you sigh. “I think I can get my hands on some new stock later in the day, though. I’ll just have someone deliver it to your place or something… Unless you’re finally going to confess to Ayaka for real. I can definitely improvise if that’s the case.”

Thoma laughs, but the sound is a bit dry. “It’s just a little congratulations for securing a partnership with Watatsumi University. You know how serious she is about her job, right?”

Kamisato Ayaka is, indeed, the overachiever in your old college friend group. After graduation, she was offered a distinguished position in the Faculty of International Relations & Culture—something everyone agreed she deserved and more. You haven’t been able to keep in touch with Ayaka since you moved out of your parents’ house, but Thoma is thankfully here to update you about their goings-on.

“Fine, fine. Just have it delivered,” Thoma tells you, pulling out his wallet only to inevitably frown at it. You heave another sigh. “Uh, put it on my tab for next time?”

“This is a flower shop, not a bar, asshole,” you mumble, and when you return back to the counter, Mikan chooses that exact same moment to pop her head out—mewling in delight when she sees Thoma.

“Oh, Mikan, if only your owner is as kind to me as you are,” he fake-sobs, carrying your cat in his arms as she snuggles into his grasp. Damn traitor. “I promise I’ll pay you once I get this week’s payroll. But I’ll be taking my leave now because you know that being here gives me the jitters.”

Right. The friend that got challenged into a duel by the Arataki Gang? That was Thoma.

Once he steps out of the shop, you sink into your little swiveling chair behind the counter—head tilted listlessly towards the ceiling. The greens growing on your plant hangers are looking a little dull, and you wonder if you should move the rack closer to the windows. But despite your attempt at distracting yourself, the exasperation from Thoma’s inability to be honest eventually catches up to you. Mikan hops onto your lap in the next second, as if sensing your distress, and you run a hand across her orange fur with a sigh.

“When I get a boyfriend, I want him to be as straightforward as a man can get.”

“Mrow.”

“If he ever skirts around his true feelings, I’m never going to accept him.”

“Mrow.”

You let out a soft chuckle, lifting her by the waist as she flashes you a disgruntled look. But before she can let out any mewls in complaint, you pull her closer to your chest with a long breath.

“You’re the only one who gets me, Mikan. Even if you like Thoma more than me sometimes.”

“Meow.”

“...Did you just agree with me?”

“Mrow~”

Half an hour before closing time, your usual delivery boy arrives on the dot to receive the order. Kazuha greets you warmly when he walks into the shop, and of course, Mikan bounds into his arms just like she does with everyone but you, it seems.

“Someone’s looking quite chipper today,” he comments before setting your tabby back onto the floor. “Where am I delivering your package again?”

You hand Kazuha the neatly wrapped bouquet—complete with Thoma’s requested specifications—and check the virtual map of the city from your phone at the same time. “Um, the apartment complex right next to Uyuu Restaurant. I texted you the exact floor and unit.”

“Got it.”

Forgetting that you’re supposed to pay him for his services, you hobble back to the counter to retrieve enough mora to cover the delivery costs. Kazuha thanks you kindly when you hand over the payment, and he drops the money into the cute little fanny pack he wears all the time.

“The app is going to let you know once the delivery is complete as usual,” he tells you, already halfway out of the shop. “Thank you again for trusting our services.”

“I wouldn’t dream of switching couriers at all,” you chuckle.

Kazuha humors you with a soft laugh, but just when you thought he’s going to end the exchange right there—

“Oh, you best be careful, by the way.”

Your brow quirks. “Pardon?”

He sighs, casting a worried look your way. “I heard that the tensions have been a bit high between the Arataki Gang and another organization I’m not familiar with. It seems that the dispute has been stirring things up not just in Hanamizaka, but the capital as well.”

It takes you a moment to fully absorb Kazuha’s words, but when you do, your curiosity only festers. Is that why Shinobu’s boss has been on edge lately? Because of the dispute?

“You don’t need to worry about me,” you reassure him with a smile—picking Mikan off the floor as you set her down on the counter. “I live on the second floor anyways, so there’s no reason to go out unless I need to get some groceries. Or visit my parents.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to be more cautious, right?” Kazuha laughs. “Well, see you soon.”

Closing time isn’t as really as lonely as you thought it would be. Despite Mikan’s indecipherable habits, she often helps clean up because the faster you can take care of things in the shop, the faster she can eat dinner. You don’t blame her for the strange source of motivation, though. If anything, you’re feeling a bit famished yourself, too.

“Hmm… I wonder what I should cook for dinner,” you wonder aloud, resting your chin on top of your broom. “Tonkatsu sounds really neat right now, but it’s kind of a pain to make the batter and everything. Ugh…”

Eventually, you continue sweeping the floor just to get your hands moving. You make sure to check your phone every now and again for some texts from your parents, as well. They did like asking if you’ve already eaten dinner at this hour. But ten minutes into your final clean-up, you notice that Mikan has gone stock-still on the counter—green eyes wide and staring out like she saw a mouse scuttling across the windowsill. You make a puzzled face before glancing over your shoulder, but the only thing that greets your sight is the early evening traffic of Hanamizaka.

“Anything the matter?” you ask, but Mikan doesn’t even mewl in response. Your usually hyperactive tabby is just transfixed on the bustling nightlife in a way you haven’t seen before. But you read somewhere that animals often have bouts of odd silence every now and again, so you decide to brush it off.

Just when you're climbing up the stairwell that leads to your actual apartment, Mikan doesn't follow you even if you’re about to switch off the lights. She remains seated on the counter, tail swaying rhythmically like she’s waiting for something to happen.

“Mikan, come on.” You cross your arms. “Don’t you want dinner?”

What is up with this cat today?

However, the next second, an ear-splitting roar shatters the silence of the evening—cleaving through you like an axe through sturdy bark. The sound rattles you enough that you nearly fall off the stairwell, but when you spot a speck of blinding light in the distance, speeding closer and closer in a way that seems like they have no intention of stopping—

“Mikan!”

You know very well that cats have the most graceful reflexes out there; that Mikan can jump out of the way of imminent danger the moment it strikes. But she’s been by your side for a good few years now, so you guess it’s natural for you to develop a strange maternal instinct, of sorts.

Without putting another thought into it, you sprint off the stairwell and leap in front of the counter. An unknown vehicle smashes through the windows a split second later—sending shrapnels of glass flying everywhere. The screech of an engine makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you squeeze your eyes shut, shielding Mikan as you turn your back towards the commotion. In the back of your mind, it clicks to you that whatever dickhead ran their ride into your shop, they probably ended up destroying the Sumerian dracaenas you put up on display. But you’ll give them an earful for that later.

You only realize your heart is threatening to break out of your ribcage once Mikan starts mewling in your arms—pawing at your shirt. A shuddering sigh flees your lips as you hug her closer to your chest.

“Thank gods you’re alright,” you murmur, patting down her fur.

But the next thing you take notice of is the feel of the warm, evening breeze drifting into the shop. When you turn around to survey the situation, you take note of several things at once: the gaping hole in your shop, the passers-by stopping to take a look, the huge, extensively modified motorcycle lying on its side next to a ruined shelf, and—

“Shit.” You immediately let Mikan hop out of your arms as you shakily stand up—mortified at the crimson liquid pooling beneath the head of an unfamiliar man. Under the fluorescent lighting of your shop, you can safely assume that this is definitely blood.

For a moment, you panic—unsure of the protocol for when a reckless driver crashes his bike into your shop. You can’t exactly yell at him for doing that, since he was obviously out cold. So, the next thing you try to take into account is the state of his motorcycle.

It’s one of those variants with lowered seats and longer handles. The kind that you imagine the local thugs use to show off in groups. And just beneath the single, jewel-encrusted headlight is a golden sigil that slightly resembles a…dragon? A demon? You’re not entirely sure, but you’ve watched enough action movies with Thoma back in the day to know that you should switch off the engine to avoid further casualties.

As you step over the large man lying unconscious on the floor of your shop, you twist the key in the ignition slot, taking it out with a bated breath. You notice that it’s attached to a crocheted plush of a tanuki, and that makes you stare at the man in disbelief.

This time, you’re able to get a better look at him.

It occurs to you a bit too late that the huge motorcycle is just appropriate for a guy that’s both ridiculously tall and has the broadest shoulder-span you’ve ever seen. His shaggy, ivory hair is sprawled all over the place, and some of it’s getting dyed in the bright red of his own blood. Grotesque details aside, he’s wearing nothing but a purple patterned haori— giving you an eyeful of the strange red tattoos inked into his impressive chest. But you have enough decency not to ogle someone who’s passed out, so once you pocketed his keys, you crouch down to lightly pat his face.

“Sir?” you call out. “Are you conscious? I’m going to call an ambulance, okay?”

That seems to make him stir.

He opens his eyes—squinting at the bright lights of the shop. From the way his blood red irises keep drifting in and out of focus, you assume that he definitely has a concussion. But before you can even get up to look for your phone, the reckless driver tugs you back down by the wrist. You cry out in surprise but you’re reflexive enough to plant your palms on the ground before you fall into the man’s chest.

Your breath hitches when you find yourself staring deep into the red of his eyes, and you can’t even flinch away when he raises a large, calloused hand to cup the side of your face.

“You’re so pretty.”

And that's the last thing he says before slumping back to the floor.

You don’t really remember the last time you stepped inside Inazuma General Hospital, but each one only left a bitter taste in your mouth. Today’s visit to the emergency room is no different.

You fidget with your phone—chewing the inside of your cheek as you try not to let the scent of disinfectant get to your nerves. There aren’t a lot of people inside the waiting lounge with you, and you aren’t really in the mood to strike up conversation with anyone at the moment. So it’s just you and the messy haywire of thoughts currently fogging up your brain. You can’t even bring yourself to give Kazuha’s usual 5-star rating once he completed your delivery earlier because you feel that antsy.

To be fair, you’re not really bothered by the prospect of bringing an injured man to receive the medical care he direly needs. Even if he destroyed plants and display cases worth over a hundred thousand mora, you’re not so heartless that you’ll leave him to bleed to death in your shop out of spite. You even left Mikan and your shop in the care of your next-door neighbor out of the urgency to bring that guy to the hospital.

But the thing that’s unnerving you the most right now is…the man’s identity.

On the ambulance ride here, the paramedics managed to procure some ID from a wallet he kept in the trunk of the motorcycle. Lo and behold, you’re finally given a name to the careless prick who gave you a hassle and a half as a present for your first meeting.

Arataki Itto.

You tried not to jump to conclusions at first (maybe this is a different Arataki). But the paramedics seemed familiar enough with the guy that when they loaded him inside the ambulance, you could tell that this might not be the first time they brought this specific person to the hospital under the same degree of injury.

The sound of your name being called from the entrance snaps you out of your musing.

“It’s good that you brought him in as soon as you could,” says one of the doctors that oversaw Arataki’s first aid and treatment. “He seems to have suffered blunt head trauma, and I’m assuming it occurred before Arataki-san crashed into your shop. Is that right? The nurses get the stories mixed up sometimes.”

Blunt head trauma? So he ran your shop over because he was already injured beforehand?

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter. “Um, is he going to be okay?”

He nods. “We’ve administered the medication he requires right now, and he should be out cold for the next few hours. I also had the folks from the front desk reach out to his emergency contact. You’ve done enough, so we’ll be taking Arataki-san’s situation out of your hands now.”

Unable to contain your own curiosity, you decide to ask, “...Does this happen often? You guys seem awfully relaxed about having to deal with a gangster.”

“Oh, once you’ve spent enough time tending to those boys, you’ll come to realize they aren’t as bad as people make them out to be,” the doctor laughs as he goes over the clipboard in his hands. You wonder if he’s talking about the rest of the Arataki Gang. “Arataki-san frequents this hospital a lot—not as a patient, but as a companion. When one of his gang members gets into a violent squabble, he patiently sits in this same waiting room until they’re all patched up.”

The information makes your lips part in equal parts disbelief and admiration. You never would’ve imagined a big, hulking man like him showing an ounce of compassion for the men he’s in charge of. But when you recall how gently he caressed your face earlier—red eyes shining with honest sincerity as he says, You’re so pretty—

“Shinya-sensei,” a nurse calls out from the hall, effectively yanking you back to reality. “Kuki-san just arrived. She wishes to talk to the one who brought Arataki-san in.”

Oh, right. It would make sense for Shinobu to be Arataki’s emergency contact. When Doctor Shinya glances at you for your confirmation, you nod at him and follow the nurse out of the room.

You find Shinobu with a chair pulled up next to an unconscious Arataki’s bed in the emergency wards—staring resentfully into space until she catches wind of your arrival. Her eyes widen with disbelief as she gets back to her feet.

“It’s you,” Shinobu murmurs before groaning into her hands. “Why did it have to be you…?”

You feel a prick of offense at that. “I’m sorry?”

She sighs, and you realize that Shinobu’s backpack is lying at the foot of her chair. Did she rush from school to the hospital immediately after hearing the news?

“No, no. I’m grateful that you brought in our boss,” she explains, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s just that… Gods, Master is going to kill us.”

“Master?”

“It’s nothing!” Shinobu insists, and you startle a little because she’s always been a bit soft-spoken. Right now, she’s the epitome of a stressed college student that has more pressing problems outside of her bachelor’s degree. “Forgive me, my thoughts are just…all over the place. I was consulting some revisions for my thesis when I got the call and—ugh! Why does Itto have to go overboard every. Single. Time?!”

You can see the nurse that came with you scuttling out of the scene when Shinobu starts to complain aloud, and you understand the sentiment. You aren’t sure what to make of the outburst she’s laying off on you at the moment, but you decide not to comment on it. Being a college senior and the deputy for a gang are two very different things. It’s amazing that Shinobu can even handle them both at the same time.

“Hey,” you call out, rubbing a hand on her shoulder. “If you need to sort out your stuff with that thesis of yours, I could always just watch over him for the night.”

Shinobu’s face falls. “What? But your shop got trashed by this guy, right? The nurse told me so.”

“Well, yeah, but Shinobu, you look like you’re about to short-circuit any second,” you point out. “I had my neighbor watch over the shop and my cat earlier, so it shouldn’t be a big deal. Even though someone could rob the cash register and I might end up bankrupt.”

You punctuate the words with an uneasy laugh that makes you realize that you really did just leave your incredibly vulnerable shop in the hands of a neighbor that you haven’t known all that long. Shinobu is quick to pick up on your split-second epiphany though, and fishes out her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans.

“I’ll have some of the boys watch over your place in the meantime,” she sighs, tapping away at the screen. “If someone tries to rob you, they’ll have to answer to the Arataki Gang— What’s so funny?”

You hide your soft chuckles with the back of your hand. “Nothing. It’s just that you’re so quick to do a complete one-eighty degrees. Earlier you’re a lamenting college senior and now you’re back to deputy-of-the-Arataki-Gang mode.”

“It’s important to keep these aspects of my life separate from the other,” Shinobu sighs before bowing in front of you. This shocks you a little, because no one in modern day Inazuma still does that right? “I’m terribly sorry for the inconveniences our boss has caused, and for calling in a favor from you at such short notice. Rest assured, the Arataki Gang will make up for it however we can.”

“Uh…” you draw out dryly, unsure of how you’re supposed to respond. “It’s really not an inconvenience, Shinobu. I’ll be more worried about you if you end up missing deadlines because you had to look after your boss.”

Shinobu rises back to her full height, tears glistening in her eyes. Um…

“Thank you so much,” she nearly sobs, throwing her arms around you in a hug. “I promise I’ll rush back here first thing tomorrow and discuss the reparations with you and our idiot boss.”

You relax into her arms, patting her head affectionately. “Take your time. I won’t go anywhere.”

When Shinobu takes her tearful leave, you end up staring at your impromptu patient with a desolate sigh. True to Doctor Shinya’s words, Arataki is out cold—the only indication that he’s alive being the steady rise and fall of his broad chest. They managed to change him into a loose hospital gown, but you can still see the heavy outline of his tattoos under the thin fabric.

You decide to take a seat in the same chair Shinobu was just having a midlife crisis in earlier, checking your back pocket for your wallet. Thankfully, it was still there, and you can at least afford to buy yourself some convenience store sandwiches and a coffee. Archons know you can’t exactly stomach a full meal after everything that transpired tonight. But you decide to linger for a while longer before heading out to grab something to eat.

The circumference of Arataki’s head is wrapped in a sterile white gauze that makes his hair look more cream-colored than ivory, and you notice that his arm is hooked up to an IV at the other side of his bed. Your forehead creases with how hard you’re thinking about what must’ve happened for him to end up in this state. If Kazuha’s earlier warnings had any real weight to them, you’re willing to wager that it has something to do with his gang’s current disputes. But Doctor Shinya also mentioned that Arataki rarely comes into the hospital as a patient, so why…?

Your phone buzzes in your lap, startling you out of your reverie.

Thoma [21:15]: Got the flowers! Heading over to Ayaka’s rn

You roll your eyes, the dread from your earlier musing immediately dissipating from a single text from Thoma.

Me [21:15]: Confess or ten years bad luck.

Thoma [21:16]:

Me [21:18]: I’m not even trying to make you reblog shit! Just confess!!!!!!!

Thoma [21:19]: Maybe next time 😌

“Ow, fuck.”

Once again, you jolt in surprise when another distraction greets your vision in the form of a very conscious Arataki trying to pull the needle out of his arm. Your eyes widen and you immediately shoot back to your feet, pinning his meaty arms to his sides with your hands. You try not to pay attrention to how the girth of his muscle dwarves your fingers. When the hell did he even wake up?!

“Hm?” Arataki stares at you, just as baffled. “As much as I like a lady that can hold me down, I gotta get outta here, nee-chan. Can’t you help me out or something?”

“Shinobu asked me to watch over you for the night,” you tell him through gritted teeth—not liking how he’s not even struggling to shake off your grip. “So please don’t cause her any more trouble than you already have. Just stay here and let yourself recover like a good little gang boss.”

Arataki’s eyes widen slightly. “Whoa, I’m totally not discovering inappropriate things about myself in the most inappropriate times.”

“Just go back to sleep!” you groan. “If you rip out that IV, I’m calling the nurses.”

“Jeez, alright, alright,” he surrenders, even making a show of lying back down on his pillows. “Who are you anyway? The last time I had a lady fuss over me this much was when I…”

You don’t know why, but the fact that he just forgot who you are kind of stings a little. The realization makes you want to slap yourself. This is the man who ran his bike into your shop. He deserves no form of sulking on your end! Who cares if he forgot that he called you pretty in a post-concussion delirium?!

“Whatever,” you tell him, bringing your hands back to your sides with a huff. “I’m going to grab something to eat. You better not pull an escape act while I’m gone.”

“Nee-chan, the more you discourage me, the more I’m inclined to do it,” Arataki points out as he rests his chin on his free hand. You then notice that he painted his nails stark black. “But fine. Can you bring me some yakisoba bread when you come back though? Oh, and a Pocari, too? Hospital food tastes like ass.”

You gape at him. Is he serious? Is he really this shameless?

“Whatever!” you repeat more firmly before stepping out of the ward—not caring how many times Arataki calls out for you.

It wasn’t obvious at the time, but if you intended to lead a quiet, independent life, the last thing you should’ve done is to get involved with the Oni King of Hanamizaka.

★ UPDATE SCHED; every thurs & sat (12 nn gmt+8)

#genshin impact #genshin #arataki itto #arataki itto x reader #arataki itto fluff #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin scenarios #arataki itto genshin #cryoculus #reparations

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theanonymousopossum · 1 year

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All the Thoughts Inside my Head

This is essentially just my headcanons for how Elain feels about all the Inner Circle members put into fic formatting. Hints of Elriel if you squint but really it's ship free.

TW: kind of sad ending but nothing really

Word Count: 1.2K

Snip. Thud. Snip. Thud. The sound of Elain's pruning filled the air as the various branches hit the ground. She was all alone out here in the gardens, as she preferred to be. The silence was something she had learned to appreciate, because she had had so little as a child. Between Feyre and Nesta's ceaseless bickering, her mother chiding her for being unladylike, and her father yelling at all of them, she never really understood why she liked the silence so much. But even when she was mortal, she enjoyed being out in the garden, away from her sisters.

Her sisters. Elain loved her sisters very much, and she wouldn't trade them for the world. They had been with her in the good times and the bad times, and had been there for her while she was still in shock after being changed. But resentment had been growing within her. After she had found out that she had been excluded from an inner circle meeting yet again, all of the feelings she'd repressed from a very, very young age were slowly emerging. And once a few cracks had appeared in the dam, it wasn't long before the whole thing collapsed.

Nesta...Nesta had stifled her. Nesta cared for her deeply, of this she was sure, but Nesta had never allowed her to make her own decisions, from whom she was allowed to see to the places she could visit to even what she could read. And she was tired of it. Elain was a grown woman, who could make her own decisions. Nesta, of course, had become a strong, independent leader, with a mate who supported her fully. No one stopped her from doing what she wanted, no one imposed rules over her, no one dared to exclude her from meetings. And yet just last week Nesta had come and shoo'd away some lesser fae Elain had been talking with in the marketplace, claiming that she didn't like the look of them, and they were sure to be trouble. And Elain could never make her own decisions, probably because of what Nesta did. Because of Nesta's previous alcohol addiction, living in the filthiest part of town and drifting between bars picking up a new man every night, Elain was under constant watch from all, but most especially Feyre.

Feyre was an interesting case. She was Elain's younger sister, and yet somehow it was Feyre who was always taking care of Elain. She was the one who went out and hunted food, then gave them all a place to live in Prythian. But Elain knew that she felt a great deal of animosity towards her sister for her constant babying. It's true, Elain knew that she had not been in any state to make her own decisions her first year as a fae, but that had been a while ago. Like Nesta, Feyre still made a great many decisions for Elain without asking. And she never really learned to treat Elain like a sister, but more as a perpetual toddler. She supposed she should have appreciated it, should have been happy about the fact her sister cared enough to remind her to take care of herself. But she was not an infant, and the explanations on how to perform basic tasks got old very quickly. And Feyre was worried that Elain would go down the same path as Nesta, turn to alcohol and sex as a distraction from reality. Elain couldn't exactly blame her, but she knew that she would never do that. She channeled her rage into creating something with a purpose-in this case, a beautiful garden. Given how many compliments she'd received on it, she would reckon a lot of her anger had been channeled into bringing all of it to life. But she was constantly under watch, and she hated it. She could barely even go to the marketplace to purchase seeds or fruit, or even just to take a walk without someone offering to escort her the whole way, as if she'd somehow bring down the Inner Circle's reputation entirely and single-handedly in the our she usually spent out of the house.

Elain contemplated all the other members of the Inner Circle. Mor, Amren, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel.

Mor she interacted with some, though they lived very different lifestyles. Mor enjoyed partying, was much more outgoing than Elain was, though Elain still enjoyed her companionship. They had become friends of a sort, since Mor had an excellent eye for fashion and was always bringing Elain something she found in the marketplace that she thought "simply was made for you, darling, I had to buy it," and Elain would occasionally do the lovely blonde's makeup when she was going out.

Amren she didn't really speak to all that much, although as of late Amren had been given her advice on how to hone her seer powers. If Elain was honest, the silver eyed female intimidated her.

Cassian was probably her favourite of her new family. He was definitely the sweetest of the bat boys. Elain had learned that Cassian was something like a bear: sweet and caring to his family, and he would protect that family with his life, and would end any threat to it without hesitation. They had bonded over a love of blueberry scones, which Elain had discovered were his favourite after she laid out a plate of freshly baked ones for the family and returned an hour later to find all of them gone.

Rhysand was an interesting male, and Elain wasn't sure what to make of him most of the time. He was kind to her, she supposed, and she was grateful that he had given her a place to live. He also was mated to her sister, and Elain could see just how happy he made Feyre. But Elain couldn't get over the lingering resentment she held towards him for his command for Azriel to leave her and not to pursue her. Which led to the last member of the Inner Circle.

Azriel. The male who had haunted her dreams, some good, some bad. The male who understood her, had spoken with her for long hours about things he surely had no interest in simply to hear her speak. The male who had given her his prized possession, something that he had never let another soul touch in 500 years, and he had trusted her to wield it. Elain did not let her thoughts linger on him for too long. All had been resolved, and so there was no point lingering over the past.

Elain finally emerged from her thoughts, having finished pruning all of her bushes. She sighed. It had been a long day, trapped in her own thoughts. But she knew she would never speak these things aloud to anyone else. They would remain just swirling thoughts inside her head. And she would remain the sweet, passive sister everyone expected her to be. Because what else was there to do?

A/N: So, this was originally going to be for Words Unspoken, and I was planning on bringing Az in at the end and making them have a moment together, but I decided it would be better in this form. We don't know much about Elain, but I tried to get inside her head for this one, and picture how she feels, as long as throw in a few of my own personal headcanons. Let me know if you'd want a second part where Elain does in fact discover that there is something to be done. Hope you enjoyed, and thank you to all who've left likes, comments, reblogs, or even just taken the time to read my works, it means the world to me.

#elain archeron #pro elain #theanonymousopossum

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devilsgatewayhq · 8 months

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Name: Olivia Sinclair Age: 33 Time living in Tonopah: Native Occupation: Cosmetologist & Owner of Lavished Lacquer Gang Affiliation: Sons of Silence Hangaround Neighborhood: Springate Crossings Face Claim: Riley Keough

Biography (TW: death):

When you grow up around motorcycles and burly bearded men, it’s not hard to think that you are untouchable. It’s how Olivia Sinclair felt all throughout her youth and into her early-twenties. Being the daughter of one of the founding members of the Sons of Silence, inexplicably felt like it gave her some advantages within Tonopah Valley. A sense of surety and identity and who she was coming easier than most. That was until it became challenged, and she saw the realities that were once framed in a beautiful portrait, be tainted and shredded in the light. Nonetheless, her youth remained an idyllic memory in her mind. Helping her mother, Chrissy, make the annual Christmas cookies for the club. Covered from head to toe in baking flour. Tossing the football around with her best friend and brother Beau. Preparing him for Friday night lights. Painting and playing imagination with her baby sister Iris. Protecting the young girl at all cost. Best of all was getting to ride on the back of her father, Eddie’s motorcycle. Gripping onto the man she deemed a superhero above all else for dear life.

It helped to balance the not so great parts of her childhood and her own internal journey with managing her dyslexia. For all intents and purposes, Olivia hated school. The social aspects and extracurriculars were fine. It was navigating teacher after teacher, test after test, as she learned to grapple with overcoming her learning disability. There was no desire or thrill to chase after something more like Beau. It only left her feeling inadequate and insufficient to be great at life. Nonetheless, she worked five times as hard to come out of it as a basic student. A mental toll on her mind that she did not dare let anyone see, Olivia parade around as the social and kind queen bee. Hardly letting anyone see beneath and within.

Skipping out on college was the easiest decision she could have ever made. It left her toiling over what to do next. Everyone always told her she was “oh so pretty” and had the “best hair and makeup.” Those things didn’t seem so complicated, but when she learned she could make a true business out of it, Olivia turned to cosmetology. At twenty-four, she was working at Lavished Lacquer in town, bringing in her own customers and building a steady portfolio. She loved making her clients feel beautiful and self-empowered that she was finally finding a path of contentment within herself. It was all the more fueled by dancing with fire when it came to her friend’s brother. Certainly not the brightest move in her book, one thing quickly led to another. Five pregnancy tests later, her entire world flipped on its head.

Mia Rose Sinclair was born on August, 8th and would now become the driving force for everything she did. Not a single soul knew who the father was as Olivia swore she would take it to the grave. Mia certainly deserved a father, but the man had far too much on his plate to be worried about Olivia and a newborn baby. Thus, with the help and kindness of her family and the larger one at hand within Sons of Silence, Mia was raised under a lot of love and support. All the more with a daughter under her care, Olivia danced arms length away from the gang. They are without a doubt her family. However, the decision was made in the best interest of her own family. Eight years of relative bliss with a beautiful and bright-headed child made it worth it.

It was only with the loss of her father did her perspective entirely shift. Now a business owner, incredibly independent and self-sufficient, Olivia was thriving. On top of that, her daughter was too. The fragility of life and the things that ought to be valued most shone bright as ever in the forefront of Sinclair's mind. Agonizing deliberation and at war-within herself for what the best option was, soon came the revelation another year later. It’s been six months since Olivia spoke the truth about her daughter’s father. Now she must learn to embrace the beauty of a relationship as an observer between a daughter and a father. Only hoping that it can be as fruitful, exciting, and amazing as her own was.

Headcanons:

Is a certified cosmetologist, esthetician, and nail technician. Has garnered celebrity requests for those who pop through Vegas. Most recently went to Italy to do the hair, nails, and makeup for an actress this summer.

Has a strong obsession for Oreos. #doublestuff for the win.

Mia’s father is Nate Donovan. Revealed to him early spring after eight years, that he is in fact Mia’s biological father. Hope is to co-parent and raise their daughter well.

Since her father’s passing has found it very hard to swing by the Sons HQ or get on a motorcycle. The memories are still so raw.

Never thought she would be one of those parents, but she is at every PTA meeting. Got herself on the board this year. She loves herself a good fundraiser and event.

Became owner of Lavished Lacquer three years ago after working herself up the ranks. Started as a receptionist while in school and is proud to be running a strong business.

Loves a good karaoke sesh. Will break out into song just about anywhere.

With the passing of her father, has opened herself to the idea of love. Highly encouraged by her mother.

#tv character.#affiliation: sons of silence.#gender: woman.

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shygryf · 1 year

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I posted 2,101 times in 2022

That's 271 more posts than 2021!

78 posts created (4%)

2,023 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@parvuls

@27dragons

@knottahooker

@zim-tits

@tisfan

I tagged 389 of my posts in 2022

#omgcp - 189 posts

#meme - 35 posts

#shygryf memes too much - 34 posts

#cats - 29 posts

#quiz - 25 posts

#art - 22 posts

#ask me stuff - 21 posts

#shygryf cooks things - 14 posts

#it's what's for dinner - 9 posts

#mermay - 8 posts

Longest Tag: 113 characters

#1)lots of characters of color and various gender presentation including but not limited to extras and minor roles

My Top Posts in 2022:

Quote for the mini fic ask!!

"We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.”

The Tempest, William Shakespeare

Ooh nice one!

This brings to mind a domestic zimbits fic, something fluffy and slice of life wether them just starting out together or looking back at how far they have come. Because if you told 13 year old Jack or Bitty what their lives would be neither of them would dare to dream it was possible.

5 notes - Posted May 27, 2022

Pass the happy! 🌻🌈 When you receive this list 5 things that make you happy and send this to 10 of the last people in your notifications! 💚 - WrathoftheStag :)

I tried to do a whole year of things that make me happy at

But I only made it to the middle of April. I'll try again next year . Hopefully without so much food

But some happy stuff:

A friend made this amazing quit and brought it last weekend

See the full post

5 notes - Posted June 1, 2022

See the full post

6 notes - Posted August 16, 2022

Please reblog or comment with how often you post to tumblr and if you queue, what you set your time as.

I rarely post anything outside of the queue, important posts just jump to the top. I currently have it set to 6 posts a day between 4 AM and 12 AM which spits things out at 6:51, 9:42, 12:34pm, 3:25PM, 6:17PM, and 9:08PM all Arizona time which is Pacific time right now .

My queue system is overly elaborate and I only keep about a week in the actual queue, the rest in bookmark folders .

10 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Donate what you can to Women’s Reproductive Rights Assistance Project (WRRAP) and receive a Tamora Pierce short-story introducing an exciting new universe as your thank-you!

'To say I was enraged and heartbroken with SCOTUS decision to overturn Roe vs Wade ...would be an understatement.

I grew up during our fight and win for abortion care. I knew women who had been hurt by their attempts to get illegal abortions. In one case, the woman was so terrified by pregnancy with a married man that she attempted to abort herself. She failed, and she and her little boy were pariahs in their small, religious community. I had my own close calls over the years, but by then, abortion was legal.

Abortion was one of the most challenging and complex choices anyone could ever make, but it was something that would save your future and that of those who cared for you, and it was your choice.

And now this . . . betrayal. Bigotry. Lack of care or mercy for human beings caught in traps. Outsiders are taking it upon themselves to govern the lives of those who should be the only ones to make these vital choices. Those who try to rule others must be stopped--but until they are, let us help those who need abortion care NOW.

'Women’s Reproductive Rights Assistance Project (WRRAP) is the largest national, independent, nonprofit abortion fund. We provide urgently-needed financial assistance nationwide to individuals seeking abortion services or emergency contraception.'

I hope you will contribute--if not to receive this tale, to donate to an organization who helps those and need, and agrees that abortion care is purely the right and business of individuals in need of abortions.' - Tamora Pierce

17 notes - Posted July 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

My most popular post was made last year and blazed a few months ago so it isn't on here

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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screamingatanemptyroom · 3 years

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Please Fix the Story pt 26 - The Higher Realm

The Higher realm continues. So close to the end!

Master post linked here

Enjoy!

______________________________

Time passed, but it was difficult to tell how much. Time worked so differently in the different realms. How long did we really spend trying to save one lower realm? Minutes? Decades? It felt like no time and forever. Adonis and I traveled to lower realm after lower realm, fixing the stories, stabilizing the world before heading back to the higher realm.

Some lower realms were easy, if a bit annoying, such as the high school dramas. In those I would often play the “average” new girl at a school. I would meet new people, and was supposed to go on to have romance, betrayals and coming of age realizations. I quickly realized that befriending all my supposed romantic leads instead of dating them, reconciling with my rivals instead of humiliating them, and pushing towards success all together was a much more satisfying strategy. Fortunately, graduating valedictorian with a happy and psychologically healthy group of teenagers often stabilized worlds that had been torn apart by half-baked character design or infighting between rivals.

I took calculus so many times that I could recite lessons in my sleep, but at least the worlds were saved. Despite our success, however, Adonis was often frustrated. He had his own vision of how we were to save these realms. His plans almost always involved us dating, making the high school romance “successful”.

I refused.

He had been a lot more likable since our first meeting, and I was able to consider him a close friend and ally… but I felt uncomfortable at the idea of even pretending to have a romantic relationship. It was definitely a more difficult route to stabilize the world without a romance, but I chose it every time. Adonis pouted and complained, but couldn’t argue with success, and I was successful.

Some lower realms were more difficult. In particular, zombie apocalypse stories were my least favorites. The worlds often couldn’t be stabilized until a cure was found or humanity’s survival was assured. This meant that Adonis and I sometimes spent decades within these realms, working to build armies, or teams of scientists. There was hardly ever any running water, which meant showering was few and far between.

My unwashed self was made even filthier by my absolute failure at using anything with range. Bow and arrow, guns… anything that would keep me out of the gore, I couldn’t hit even the largest of monsters. Fortunately I picked up a sword with relative ease, which allowed me to fight… but this also meant I got covered in rotten blood and guts.

I hated zombie worlds the most.

Realm after realm. We worked constantly, spending very little time in between in the higher realms. Adonis would often try to use those moments to push his ideas regarding fate and the higher realm’s story, but as soon as I rejected him, which I did every time, he would simply scowl and pull us into the next lower realm to save.

It was getting old.

“How many lower realms are there?” I asked one evening as we recovered from our latest mission, rubbing my sore shoulder where I had taken a blow in the last sci-fi alien battle. The wounds disappeared with the realm traveling, but my mind still could feel the wound, projecting the pain long after I had left that form behind.

Adonis leaned back in his chair, his grin a little too bitter to be a natural expression. “How many unfinished stories are there? Infinite, Bel. There are infinite lower realms. We will never be able to save them all. Not like this.”

“It’s not like there’s a lot of options.”

“There are options. You just don’t want to hear them.”

“What, this fate you keep talking about?” I sighed, closing my eyes, tired. “ It sounds like a terrible idea.”

“It’s not.” His voice was quiet, but the intensity shown through all the same. “It’s our duty. Everyone’s survival depends on it.”

“But what you’re saying is: we follow along some sort of script…”

“Fate.”

“…fate… here, in the higher realm. And that is somehow supposed to fix the lower realms?”

He chuckled. “You’re oversimplifying it, but pretty much. We follow our fate, and the heroes of the lower realms will find their happiness tied to ours.”

“What if they don’t want that ending? What if they don’t want that happiness?”

“Of course they do! Everyone wants a happily ever after with their destined one.” He snapped. My eyes flickered open to study his enraged expression.

“I don’t.”

“You’re selfish!”

I shrugged. “Am I? If you’re right, we submit to fate here, everyone in the lower realms gets an automatic happy ending… but most of those worlds aren’t breaking because they don’t have a happy ending. They need a wider world, different ideas… and what about the side characters, even the villains… what about their happiness?”

“They don’t matter.”

“Why not?” I raised an eyebrow. “Just because they’re the villains?”

“They’re evil.” He stood up, trying to tower over me. An intimidation tactic, one that might have worked before we’d spent countless years fighting in life-or-death battles together.

“Have you met the heroes and heroines of some of these realms?” I laughed. “They’re not much better. I don’t think these roles are as clear as you would like them to be. And I don’t think you and I having a happy ending together, and forcing a simplistic ‘and they lived happily ever after’ on all the lower realms will actually fix them. In fact…” I stood up, and he stepped back slightly at the danger in my tone. “I bet we would break them all the more. Are you really so foolish as to think that saving a universe of worlds would be so simple?”

“…” Adonis was gritting his teeth, his hands clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. But I didn’t back down. Didn’t step back. I knew he wouldn’t hit me. He wouldn’t dare step out of the role he imagined himself to be in. Wouldn’t dare cross a line that might ruin his chances at the happy ending he seemed to crave so desperately.

“…” The silence stretched on between us. We were at an impasse. He wanted to follow fate. He wanted clearly defined roles and rules to follow. And I?

I wanted freedom.

*** Soul transfer 11% complete. ***

It’s been forever since I last saw those words… I thought it had disappeared. For some reason, I felt a deep sense of relief at the glowing blue sentence. Something within me had frozen during these many trips to the lower realms, but finally it was growing again.

“The next world is waiting.” Adonis spoke up, his tone flat. I noticed an odd shifting of his gaze, a reluctance to meet my own, and felt a sense of unease.

I won’t like this next world. I cracked my knuckles and gave him a thumbs up. Well, no sense running from a challenge.

We left.

______________________________

I woke up in a luxurious canopy bed. Staring up at the fabric , I raised my arms and have a cheer.

“YES! NOT A ZOMBIE WORLD!”

On the downside, the setting appeared to be a more primitive era, medieval at best, which meant no running water, but at least I appeared to be noble or wealthy.

At least if I suffer, I’ll be clean while I do it!

“Princess?” A young woman dressed as a servant entered the room, seeming very confused. “Are you all right? I heard you yelling.”

I smiled brightly at her. “No worries. It was just a nightmare.”

She visibly relaxed. “Even so, you seem in a much better mood, if I may say so.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you haven’t broken a single thing this morning.” She, unfortunately did not seem to be kidding. “I’m so glad you’ve accepted your father’s decision.

I didn’t have my character’s memories yet. I needed to accept the mission first. In the meantime, acting too out of character could destabilize an already poorly functional world.

“I’m still… thinking it over.” I spoke up cautiously.

“It’s not so bad, your highness.” She smiled at me. “Most young girls feel a little uneasy when their father arranges their husband. But you’ll be happy. I just know it.”

Arranged marriage?

“After all, Prince Harold is reported to be a true gentleman, a might warrior, and a handsome young man!” She sighed dreamily. “Any woman would be thrilled for a chance to be his bride.”

“I’m. Sure.” I spoke through gritted teeth, the satin sheets crumpling in my grip. Adonis, when I find you, I’m going to make you regret every life decision you’ve ever made… and the ones you’ve only considered making. What kind of lower realm did you land us in? As I plotted my revenge, the mission screen popped up.

**** NEW WORLD: A Divided Kingdom****

This is a romance fantasy story featuring a prince and a princess from different kingdoms, putting aside their differences to save the world.

“I already don’t like this.” I muttered.

The Princess Alaire of the Yenlar Kingdom was a clever, independent woman, horrified at the idea of an arranged marriage. Prince Harold of the Bestion Kingdom felt differently. He fell in love at first sight and vowed to woo the young maiden. The couple was different in almost every way, and seemed destined to bicker and fight.

“Then how about we don’t get married?”

But fate had other plans…

“Of course it did!”

A terrifying beast threatened to destroy both their kingdoms, and to survive, the political marriage had to go forward. Uniting the kingdoms, and therefore their armed forces, was the only way to save their people.

However, despite the happy ending, the first book was not well received by readers and the trilogy was abandoned due to poor sales. The reason given was that the romance was “forced” and unbelievable.

Your mission is to bring a satisfying end to the story, while making ensuring the survival of both kingdoms.

**** DO YOU ACCEPT THIS MISSION? ****

YES? NO?

“Quick question.” I spoke quietly to the glowing words in front of me. “Do I have to marry the prince to ensure an ending?”

The kingdoms will not unite without the political marriage.

“That wasn’t what I asked. I asked if I HAVE to marry the prince. What if I can save both kingdoms without a political marriage?”

The stability of the world is all that matters.

“No lecture on the necessity of fate?”

**** DO YOU ACCEPT THIS MISSION? ****

YES? NO?

I grinned. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

As the words faded away, I jumped out of bed. My head spun slightly as I accepted the memories from the poor princess of the original story.

She had not been happy.

She had dreams, ambitions. The Kingdom of Yenlar allowed for women to inherit the throne, and as the firstborn she was ready to take over from her father, to rule her nation. She had spent her entire life preparing. Studying law, economics, warfare…

And all of it had meant nothing in the end.

She had begged for a political treaty. One that did not involve marriage. The Kingdom of Bestion had refused to even discuss it. They stated that there was too much distrust between the kingdoms to move forward without some sort of permanent assurance. Even the threat of annihilation from the ancient beast of legend wasn’t enough to have them reconsider. That wasn’t the full story, though.

Later she discovered that Prince Harold had seen her at a party. He had supposedly fallen in love with her at first sight, and became determined to marry her. He had learned of her plans to marry a minor noble, one who would support her position on the throne without causing an imbalance of power within the nobility. He had no chance, as far as she was concerned. The threatened destruction of their people was just the perfect opportunity to force the matter.

She had lost all power. Becoming a figurehead, a beautiful statue beside the true king, Harold. He ruled over both nations with an iron fist, treating her own people more harshly, much to the approval of his staff. She slowly became bitter and deranged, watching the destruction of the people and the nation she loved so dearly.

Beyond the end of the first book, when the realm’s story ended, she had attempted to poison him and failed. Harold had been disappointed, but felt that she still had use as a figurehead. They faked a stroke, and kept her mute and weak with poisons. A lovely doll. A perfect figurehead.

…is this a fantasy or a horror? Sheesh, no wonder the trilogy wasn’t going to sell. I shuddered, still standing awkwardly next to the beautiful bed that had belonged to a lovely young woman.

I will change this story. I spoke silently to the memories, feeling a sense of relief that didn’t belong to me as I did so.

First, let’s try to reason with Adonis. He and I had worked together in multiple realms, side by side. We were friends. We may not see eye to eye when it came to our approach towards fate and the lower realms, but he had never forced me to do something I didn’t want. He had always respected me and backed off when I said no, even if it made him unhappy.

Hopefully this time will be the same. I thought uneasily. Hopefully he will listen.

______________________________

“No.” His tone was gleeful, but his face was calm, towing with a silver goblet rather than meeting my gaze.

“Are you joking?” I leaned forward, keeping a gentle smile on my face to fool the guards and our fathers who sat on the other end of the enormous dining table.

“I’m perfectly serious, Princess Alaire. Our kingdoms face certain doom at the hands of the ancient beast. The only way to survive is to work together. We can only work together if we trust each other. The only way the Kingdom of Bestion will trust the Kingdom of Yenlar is with a marriage alliance. It’s out of my hands.”

I reached forward and took the cup from his hands, forcing him to look at me. “Why are you forcing this, Adonis? You know it didn’t work out so well for the originals.”

“Careful Princess.” His eyes glanced over at the nearby guards. “You don’t want anything to destabilize the situation further, now do you? Better to act as a proper princess should.”

“Answer the question. This plan already failed. Why do you think it will work?”

“Simple.” He leaned forward and plucked the goblet back from my hands. “We’re different. You may not want to admit it, but we have spent lifetimes at each other’s side. Growing up, going to school, facing enemies, fighting together… we could make this work. It would be a wonderful ending.”

“You know what happened to Alaire after the first book.”

“I would never do that to you.”

“But you are.” I growled, wishing I could punch him. “You are trying to make me a beautiful figurehead, just like Harold did to Alaira.”

“We would rule side by side.”

“What use is that promise, if you are already ignoring my wishes and forcing me to do this in the first place?”

He shook his head. “You have to trust me. This is the only way we can defeat the monster, and stabilize this realm. We’ll save this world. Together.” He smiled. “It’s our fate.”

I threw a plate at him, forcing him to fling himself on the floor to avoid injury. Walking out, I ignored my father’s shouts of rage. Picking up a bag I had packed ahead of time, just in case, I changed into some light armor, grabbed a sword, and headed out into the forest.

If I couldn’t win by a political alliance, I was going to find another way to save the world.

I was going monster hunting.

I searched Princess Alaira’s memories of the legends and stories, going out in a northern direction towards the area known as Death Valley.

As I marched onward, my thoughts wandered over the time I had spent since I had woken up in the Higher Realm. I couldn’t help but feel disappointed with Adonis. He might truly think that he was saving the world by insisting on going through with the marriage, but his lack of willingness to even consider other options was frustrating. He was the only person consistently by my side through every one of these worlds, someone I considered a friend, and being unable to rely on him served to make me feel all the lonelier.

My mind briefly touched on the assassin of the first realm, Liam. I had thought with his comments and actions that he had known about my mission… that he might be from the higher realm too. But no matter how much I looked for him, no matter how much I hoped to see him again, I never did.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he was someone from the lower realm, and I’ll never have the chance to see him, to thank him.

I felt a sense of despair. How long can I keep doing this? Is this why Adonis preaches following our fate so much? Is he as tired of traveling, tired of the missions and the different lives? Is he just hoping to end all this?

I sighed, keeping moving. I’m not that tired, not tired enough to sacrifice my freedom. Not yet, anyways.

It took several days of traveling. Fortunately from my years of experience in zombie worlds, I was well prepared to survival in the wilderness. At least here the rivers were clean, allowing me to bathe occasionally. Finally I was at the entrance of the valley, staring up at the pillars on either side.

There were ominous words carved deeply into the stone.

Only death lies ahead.

I stared at the words silently for a few moments, and then shrugged.

“Still better than marrying Adonis.”

I moved forward.

______________________________

The valley was dark, a deep fog settled in permanently, apparently unaffected by the weather beyond its borders. Dark twisted purple trees rose all around me, their roots tearing through the earth desperate searching for nutrients. The valley was quiet, suffocating in an unsettling silence. My presence there felt like an intrusion, my instincts screaming at me to run away, to escape.

I kept moving.

There were no other signs of life. But I knew at least one other being lived here, the reason why nothing else dared to.

The Ancient beast.

There were no descriptions of it in the legends. Just that it was deadly, enough to take on entire armies. And that it was terrifying.

I feel like I should have seen something by now, if it was so large. I sighed, sitting on one of the trees, staring up at the mountain ahead of me. Shouldn’t it be easier to find an enormous beast that terrified an entire world?

…

Wait.

I looked up, struggling to see the top of the mountain in front of me.

I’m in a valley…

The mountain moved up and down, with regular motions.

There shouldn’t be a mountain here.

It was breathing.

I drew my sword, inwardly despairing. I had underestimated the sheer scale of the monster. I had thought it would be the size of a house, an elephant. Instead it towered stories above me, unimaginably large.

I was doomed.

There was a rumble as the beast in front of me shifted. I couldn’t tell the shape, just an impression of scales and spikes. Slowly, something lowered down in front of me, stretching forward in all directions, filling my vision. I saw teeth larger than my own body, the white of them contrasting with the dark fog around us. As I prepared myself for my death, an eye opened to stare at me.

It was a beautiful dark blue.

“…”

Suddenly, I felt relief. It was incomprehensible. I was standing in front of an ancient beast, enormous and terrifying, and instead of fear and dread… I felt safe.

I raised a hand, almost despite myself. “Hello there.”

The eye blinked. I comforted myself that it hadn’t eaten me yet.

“I think you look awesome. I’m Princess Alaira from the nearby kingdom of Yenlar. I actually came here to kill you, to protect my people… but now I realize that you could crush me like an ant, and that was a bad plan.”

The eye blinked twice. It seemed more confused than anything.

“I have a much better plan, if you would be willing to listen to me.” I let out a laugh, slightly startled at how… villainous it sounded.

*** Soul transfer 20% complete. ***

The creature let out a sound like thunder. I felt that it was laughing too.

______________________________

The wedding was this morning.

I was surprised as I drew near to see the party going. You would think that after I disappeared, they might have canceled or delayed it. I assumed that Adonis had felt sure that I would agree with him in the end. That I wouldn’t be able to let the world end just because I didn’t want to marry him.

Well too bad, buddy. This princess has a different plan in mind!

I could see him, standing on the elevated stage before two thrones, waiting. I couldn’t see his expression from this distance, but I imagine he was barely hiding his worry. Alaire’s father and Harold’s father were also waiting on the platform, their postures betraying their impatience.

“Let’s get this party started!” I yelled.

ROOOOOOOAAAAAAR!

The ancient beast let out a triumphant roar as he flew closer and lowered his head, letting me jump down onto the platform before landing behind me, a large, threatening mountain of a creature.

“Alaire?” The king called out, confused. “What are you doing?”

“Hello, Father.” I also nodded to Adonis, who stared back.

“What is this?”

“Your daughter is a witch!” The King of Bestion shouted, drawing his ceremonial sword. “She betrayed us!”

“Hold on, father.” Adonis held out his hand, stopping his attack. “I’m sure it’s not what it looks like.”

I grinned.

“Nope. It’s exactly what it looks like. I’ve teamed up with the Ancient being. We’re friends now.” I gestured at the monster high above us, who let out a grim chuckle, shaking the ground. “So now I make the rules, got it?”

“…”

“I’ll take everyone’s stunned silence as happy agreement! Now, first rule: Wedding canceled.”

“What?”

“You can’t do this!”

The three other royals on stage shouted simultaneously. I simply pointed again at the enormous creature.

“I can do whatever I want. The big scary monster behind me says so. Next, the kingdom of Bestion will surrender to me, as will the kingdom of Yenlar.”

“You want to rule the world?” Adonis’s gaze was… disappointed. I grinned shamelessly. “Nope. But here’s the thing: Our kingdoms face certain doom at the hands of the ancient beast. The only way to survive is to convince the monster not to kill us. The monster only trusts me. So I have to rule both kingdoms.” I shrugged. “It’s out of my hands.”

I threw his words from earlier back at him, and felt satisfied as he winced in recognition.

“We… surrender.” His words were quiet, defeated.

“You unruly child!” My father tried to shout, but a roar from the monster above us silenced him. He quickly surrendered too. I accepted both surrenders, quickly organizing the meetings to bring our governments together under one rule. Fortunately, the princess’s years of study served me well, guiding me smoothly through the process.

______________________________

I had one more confrontation with Adonis, the night before the coronation. He was escorted to my rooms by guards, saying he had a request. I hesitated briefly, but allowed him in, waving the guards behind the door so we could speak freely.

“What was that?” He shouted as soon as they had left.

I stayed sitting, forcing myself to be calm. “I fixed the story.”

“You ruined everything! Even if it stabilizes this world, it will ruin it in the long run.”

“Says you.”

“Trust me.” He threw up his hands as he paced back and forth. “Everything will go a lot smoother if you STOP CHANGING THE STORY.”

“I thought that was why we were here, though?” I sighed, leaning back in my chair and cleaning my nails with a blade. “To fix the lower realms, to save these worlds? That requires change, right?”

He paused in his movements, glaring at me. “Stop acting stupid. These worlds are broken because they didn’t follow the rules. We have to follow them perfectly.”

“I don’t want to though.” I shuddered. “No offense, but if the story is going to require us to have a romantic relationship, I’m finding an alternate solution.”

“That’s what the story requires, you have your role to play. You know the consequences of not playing the right part.”

I sighed. “No, there’s always different paths to take. You’re a good friend, and I’m glad to have you by my side, but that’s different than love.”

“…”

“You clearly don’t love me either, so why are you making such a fuss about this? As long as we complete what we came here to do, that’s all that matters, right?”

“…”

“Right?”

Adonis stepped closer to me, his atmosphere slightly threatening. “Why are you so different from what you are supposed to be?”

“What are you…?”

“Why can’t you just accept.”

His hand grabbed my wrist, the grip painful.

“your.”

He pulled me closer until our faces were inches apart. His bright blue eyes were blazing with anger as they stared into my own.

“fate.”

Letting me go, he walked away, putting some distance between us, before turning back to face me.

“This lower realm is stabilized. We should return.” His smile was cold. “The next mission is a little different from our previous ones. We’ll talk about it later.”

“…”

“And next time…?” He laughed, a bitter sound. “You’ll play your part whether you want to or not.”

THUD.

The blade in my hand threw through the air, stabbing into the wall inches from his face. I smiled cheerfully as he looked back at me, shocked.

“Try touching me again, and I’ll cut off something you’ll miss. We’ll discuss missions and roles again in the higher realm, but for now?” I rang a bell and guards came in, escorting him out. “I have a coronation to plan.”

______________________________

My coronation was held outside so that the Ancient beast could stand behind me. It seemed cheerful, letting out victorious roars and swaying from side to side. The people cheered as well, seeming a lot happier than I expected them to be. I guess they’re relieved that they won’t be eaten by the giant monster? I wondered idly how I was going to incorporate the creature into the day to day life of a monarch. For an odd reason I had very little doubt that the monster would stick around.

However, all my plans came to nothing. As the crown was placed on my head, bright blue words formed in the air in front of me:

100% complete.

**** You have finished the mission! ****

It was time to go.

At little sad, I looked up at the ancient monster above me. “Thank you, friend for your help. I wish I could stay with you longer.”

A mournful cry echoed through the world. It seemed to understand that I was leaving. Before I could say anything more to reassure it, the world around me shimmered and disappeared.

Only to reveal a furious Adonis standing in front of me.

“Happy now, Your Majesty?” He sneered.

“Oof, someone’s still a little angry that I used an ancient monster conquer the world. Believe it or not, I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you. But you know why I did what I did. Let’s talk about it in the morning.”

I walked away, feeling his glare on my back long after I was out of sight.

______________________________

When I woke up, I realized that I couldn't move.

I panicked, struggling to move my arms and legs, only managing to turn my head slightly. Enough to see Adonis’s smug expression as he sat by my bed.

“It’s time for our story to progress, Bel.” His smile was strange, twisted. I couldn’t talk back, I shook my head slightly side to side.

“I’m the hero, you are the heroine. If the relationship between us can’t be advanced by working together, than it must be forged in adversity." He reached down and picked me up, carrying me out of the small cottage I had arranged for myself and into the castle courtyard. Whatever drug he had injected me with was slowly wearing off, and I struggled in his arms, finally able to shout.

“Put me down!”

To my surprise he did, and although I struggled to stay upright, I kept my balance and glared at him.

“What are you planning?”

He sighed quietly. “I’m tired of always being the one to compromise. It’s time for you to make a sacrifice, Bel. I’ve avoided this so far, worried that progressing our story this way would kill you, but it seems that it is our fate that we take this risk. It’s… unfortunate. I do very much hope you don’t die.” He paused, trying to smile at me. “Don’t worry. It’s only temporary. I’ll come and rescue you soon.”

“A sacrifice?” I felt cold, even as I stood in the warm afternoon sun. My thoughts were slow to form, possibly a side effect of the medication. “Why?”

He shrugged. “There’s an order to everything. Rules. Law. They are all that stand between us and pure chaos. No one can ignore them. Not you. Not even me.”

“Then sacrifice yourself, asshole! Why send me?”

He shrugged. “It’s your role to play, not mine. Your fate.”

“Screw fate! I don’t care if you say it’s temporary or not! Friends don’t sacrifice friends!” I was furious, still weak and feeling helpless.

His hand reached out and brushed my cheek, the touch freezing my skin. I wanted to move away but I could still barely move, only managing to glare at him. “Don’t look at me with those eyes. It’s not my fault. If you want to blame anyone, blame the story.”

“Ad…”

“Sorry, you must accept your fate.” I felt a pinch in my arm, the stick of a needle as he injected something into the muscle. Immediately darkness overwhelmed me.

“We all do.”

Everything faded into darkness.

______________________________

When I woke up, I was in a strange world, surrounded by forest. I lay on my back, still feeling weak, fury coursing through my veins.

Adonis and I had worked well together, despite arguing multiple times in the past. But now… any goodwill I had towards him was gone. He had betrayed me. Knocked me out and sent me to somewhere dangerous, somewhere I could be killed, just to follow his precious fate. To get the story he wanted.

“Are you lost?

I looked over at the source of the voice. It was a tall young man with dark hair, wearing grey, non-descript clothing. He kneeled down next to me, and I found myself staring into dark blue eyes.

“Seems a good description for my current situation.” I smiled despite the dizziness. “Nice to meet you, Stranger.”

He grinned, reaching out a hand to help me up. “Call me Liam.”

Liam? Could he be…?

“…Nice to meet you, Liam.” I laughed. “Or should I say: nice to see you again?”

*** Soul transfer 25% complete. ***

#writing #please fix the story #fantasy #fate #next part will be fun #world hopping

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plannedparenthood · 4 years

Text

Thank You, RBG

We are heartbroken. Supreme Court Justice and gender equality hero Ruth Bader Ginsburg died on Friday, Sept. 18. Her death is a painful loss for our country. She was a fierce and unapologetic warrior for equality, and her achievements are endless. As we mourn we’re also embracing our gratitude for her service to our country.

Cherishing RBG’s Legacy

Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg committed her life to protecting the rights, freedoms, and health of people across the country — in particular women, communities of color, and others whose voices too often go unheard. She was a true trailblazer who inspired millions of girls and women to fight through sexism and discrimination to make American a better place to work, to live, and to love.

Her powerful words over the years, including her razor-sharp dissents, helped push our nation toward freedom and opportunity for all. Her spirit, values, and words will be deeply missed.

A Modern Revolutionary

Some revolutionaries shook up a society with anger burning and guns blazing. Others studied hard, knocked down an unfair system one peg at a time, and spoke truth to power while wearing a lace collar. That was Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

She got two mottoes from her mother, Celia Bader (who marched for women’s suffrage):

“Be independent,” take care of yourself without being financially beholden to a man, and

“Be a lady,” don't allow emotions like anger to be so consuming they get in your way.

When Ruth Bader Ginsburg saw anything repugnant — like systemic discrimination — she would get straight to work. It wasn’t easy. Over decades, Ruth Bader Ginsburg faced a slew of indignities. But she harnessed courage and resolve to strategically break down America’s sexist, unethical laws and institutions.

To honor the Notorious RBG, we’ve collected our seven favorite facts about her life and her legacy.

7) RBG was defiant in the face of entrenched sexism in college and law school.

Most colleges didn’t accept women in the 1950s, and Ruth Bader was one of the first to break the gender barrier. At Cornell University, she was sexually harassed by a professor, who offered answers to a test in exchange for sex. She confronted him: “I went to his office and I said, ‘How dare you? How dare you do this?’ And that was the end of that.”

At Harvard Law School, she and the eight other women in her class of more than 500 students were ogled, ignored in the classroom, excluded from the library, and asked by the dean how they could possibly justify taking a seat away from a man. But that hostile environment didn’t stop her.

She fought it with brain power and superhuman physical endurance. She was so obsessed with the law that she’d regularly stay up until dawn studying. Well into her 80s, she retained her reputation for working until 3 a.m. and living on just two hours of sleep.

While she was kicking butt at the top of her classes, she was also taking care of her young daughter and sick husband. Martin (Marty) Ginsburg contracted testicular cancer and had extensive radiation therapy, which kept him from going to his own law school classes. So, RBG organized his friends to attend his classes, worked through their notes with Marty, and typed up Marty’s papers — all while doing her own schoolwork on top of it.

She tied for first in her class from Columbia Law School in 1959. She also was the first person to become a member of both the prestigious Harvard Law Review, and the Columbia Law Review — one of many of her unprecedented feats. She proved to those elite schools that a woman could succeed.

6) RBG showed the world what a partnership looks like in a husband-wife relationship.

Ruth Bader met Marty Ginsburg while they were both at Cornell University, and they forged an equal partnership from the beginning. He learned to cook so she didn’t have to. Later, he lobbied for her seats on the Court of Appeals in D.C. and on the Supreme Court. And he gave up his law firm in New York to follow her to Washington — a shocking move at the time.

Here’s how she put it at her 1993 Senate confirmation hearing:

“I surely would not be in this room today without the determined efforts of men and women who kept dreams of equal citizenship alive. I have had the great good fortune to share life with a partner truly extraordinary for his generation. A man who believed at age 18 when we met that a woman’s work, whether at home or on the job, is as important as a man’s. I became a lawyer when women were not wanted by most members of the legal profession. I became a lawyer because Marty supported that choice unreservedly.”

5.) RBG won a whopping five cases before the Supreme Court — and they all advanced the Constitutional protection of equal rights for all Americans.

As smart and accomplished as Ruth Bader Ginsburg was, no law firm would hire her after she graduated from law school. Law firms slammed the door in her face time after time because they only hired men. She realized that “being a woman was an impediment.”

As Ginsburg navigated the legal working world in the 1960s, she saw how thousands of state and federal laws were treating women as second-class citizens. At that time, most states’ laws allowed employment termination for pregnancy, and let banks deny credit to women without a male co-signer. The Supreme Court had rejected every challenge to laws that treated women worse than men.

All this gender discrimination fueled Ginsburg’s drive for social justice. In the early 1970s, she followed the strategy of NAACP civil rights lawyer and Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall, who helped dismantle Jim Crow laws case by case over many years — leading to Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka, which outlawed racial segregation in schools in 1954. Like Marshall, Ginsburg centered her arguments on the 14th Amendment to the Constitution, which says all persons should be treated equally under the law.

Throughout the ‘70s, Ginsburg led the ACLU’s Women's Rights Project, for which she argued and won five landmark gender equality cases before the Supreme Court. As she said in the 2018 documentary RBG: "I knew that I was speaking to men who didn't think there was such a thing as gender-based discrimination, and my job was to tell them it really exists.”

These cases set the foundation for the country’s laws against sex discrimination, and helped eliminate being male as the criteria for employment, pay, and benefits:

Two cases in 1975 and 1979 established the requirement that women serve on juries, recognizing that they should enjoy both the benefits and the responsibilities of our judicial system.

“The vaunted woman's privilege viewed against history's backdrop simply reflects and perpetuates a certain way of thinking about women. Women traditionally were deemed lesser citizens.”

—Ruth Bader Ginsburg, arguing before the Supreme Court (Duren v. Missouri, 1979)

An employment benefits case in 1973 required the U.S. military to equally distribute family-based benefits for service members regardless of sex.

“In asking the Court to declare sex a suspect criterion, we urge a position forcibly stated in 1837 by Sara Grimke, noted abolitionist and advocate of equal rights for men and women. She said, ‘I ask no favor for my sex. All I ask of our brethren is that they take their feet off our necks.'”

— Ruth Bader Ginsburg, arguing before the Supreme Court (Frontiero v. Richardson, 1973)

Two cases in 1974 and 1975 threw out gender-based distinctions in survivors’ benefits, granting widowers the same benefits as widows. RBG argued that while giving widows special treatment sounded nice, it wasn’t. Withholding benefits to widowers devalued the work of their deceased wives.

“A gender line...helps to keep women not on a pedestal, but in a cage.”

—Ruth Bader Ginsburg, arguing before the Supreme Court (Weinberger v. Wiesenfeld, 1975)

4) At her confirmation hearings, RBG openly declared that abortion access is a Constitutional right.

At her 1993 Supreme Court confirmation hearings, Ruth Bader Ginsburg showed what it looks like to uphold constitutional rights. Unlike recent Supreme Court nominees, she affirmatively declared the Constitutional right to safe, legal abortion. When Sen. Hank Brown (R-CO) grilled her about her views on abortion, she declared:

“But you asked me about my thinking about equal protection versus individual autonomy, and my answer to you is it's both. This is something central to a woman's life, to her dignity. It's a decision that she must make for herself. And when Government controls that decision for her, she's being treated as less than a fully adult human responsible for her own choices.”

3) RBG wrote the historic decision ruling that state-funded schools must admit women.

In 1996, Justice Ginsburg wrote the Supreme Court’s majority opinion in United States v. Virginia, which ruled that the Virginia Military Institute’s men-only admission policy violated the 14th Amendment’s equal protection clause. Justice Ginsburg destroyed the Institute’s argument that its program wasn’t suitable for women. Instead, she wrote that:

“[G]eneralizations about ‘the way women are,’ estimates of what is appropriate for most women, no longer justify denying opportunity to women whose talent and capacity place them outside the average description.”

The school has admitted women since then, and — as Justice Ginsburg predicted — they have made the school proud.

2) RBG’s dissent from the majority in Lilly Ledbetter’s case led to the passage a fair pay law.

In 2007, Justice Ginsburg dissented in the ruling against Lilly Ledbetter — a tire factory employee who learned, decades into her tenure, that she was being paid much less than men in the exact same supervisory role: She was making $3,727 per month, while her male counterparts were making between $4,286 and $5,236 per month. However, she lost the case because the Civil Rights Act had a statute of limitations for reporting on discrimination.

In her scathing dissent, Justice Ginsburg wrote that gender discrimination can be hidden for a long time and “the ball is in Congress’s court” to change the rule. In 2009, Barack Obama signed the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act, which extended the Civil Rights Act’s statute of limitations and guarantees women equal pay for equal work.

1.) RBG put the smack down on TRAP laws in Whole Woman’s Health v. Hellerstedt.

In the landmark Whole Woman’s Health v. Hellerstedt case in 2016, the Supreme Court — including Justice Ginsburg — ruled that two abortion restrictions in Texas were unconstitutional because they would shut down most clinics in the state and cause Texans an “undue burden” on access to safe, legal abortion. The case exposed the lie that anti-abortion politicians have been peddling for years: that it’s somehow “safer” when the state imposes medically unnecessary, onerous targeted restrictions against abortion providers (TRAP) laws.

In her concurring opinion to the majority, Justice Ginsburg wrote:

“Given those realities [that keep abortion access out of reach], it is beyond rational belief that H.B. 2 could genuinely protect the health of women, and certain that the law ‘would simply make it more difficult for them to obtain abortions’... When a State severely limits access to safe and legal procedures, women in desperate circumstances may resort to unlicensed rogue practitioners... at great risk to their health and safety.”

With this historic decision, the Court reaffirmed the constitutional right to access legal abortion. This decision was a triumph for abortion access. And when one of the restrictions that Ginsburg helped strike down came up in another lawsuit this year, Ginsburg again helped lead the Court to protecting abortion access in a major Supreme Court victory for reproductive rights.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg rose for all of us. How will we work together to rise for her?

From day one, Justice Ginsburg recognized our constitutional right to control our bodies and our destinies. That is a legacy that cannot and must not depart with her.

Justice Ginsburg stood up for us. Now it’s our turn.

Follow Planned Parenthood at facebook.com/PlannedParenthood and twitter.com/PPFA to stay updated on how to get involved. Together, we will rise.

By Miriam at PPFA

2K notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 3 years

Text

In Name Only - Part 18

A/N: Hello, my loves! I hope you enjoy this next little part of our story! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: language, period typical misogyny, description of violence, smut (18+ only)

IN NAME ONLY SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

The journey to Honeyholt was a solitary, quiet thing. It was almost too quiet and allotted for far too much time to think. The more you thought about it all, the more you realized how rash and impulsive your decision was. Oberyn would be furious; but he would understand, right? He had to - you were doing this to help avenge him. Admittedly, your plan wasn’t even fully formed at this point, half formed at best - all you knew was that you had to give your family a piece of your mind. You’d lived your whole life getting pushed around and left in the shadows, and you weren’t willing to do it any longer. Oberyn and the Martells - Dorne - were your family now, and you would be cold and in your own grave before you’d let something happen to them.

You weren’t exactly sure what you would do when you made your arrival back at your childhood home; that much you still had to figure out. Improvisation would have to be your friend, and you prayed to the gods, old and new, that you would be able to pull something off. Whatever that something was, you weren’t sure yet. But it would be something; the sins of your family would not go unpunished.

“Unbowed, unbent, unbroken,” you whispered to yourself as you slowly approached Honeyholt. You offered your mare a few gentle pets as she slowed her trotting; she made a small sound almost as if trying to convince you that your actions were foolish. Too bad you’d already known that, “I know, girl. But I have to do something, anything. Oberyn would do the same for me. He will understand - if not now, eventually he will.”

The soft, sweet scents of the region soon reached you as you took in a breath of fresh air. All the best of your childhood suddenly reached you, and you realized just how much you truly loved the Reach, especially Honeyholt. It was a beautiful, lush land, covered with lots of greenery and flowers and animals. Almost magical in some ways; so different from your current home, but that did not take away from the beauty of Dorne either. Two places that managed to be amazing in their own ways, coexisting in peace. Just like you hoped your families would.

But it was too late for that now. Your brother had made sure of that.

“This is as much for him as it is for me,” you explained quietly, almost as if you hoped she would speak back to you. Maybe it was the tiredness or delusion from traveling for the past two days on horseback by yourself. Maybe it was the need for reassurance that your actions weren’t completely off the mark. Maybe it was you trying to convince yourself that what you were doing was justified, “I have to protect him at any cost.”

As you approached the castle, one that looked so welcoming and warming if one didn’t know better, your stomach started to churn. There had been so many years of happiness here, when your father was alive and lord of the place, but it had quickly turned so much darker once he passed and power transferred to your brother. Maybe it wasn’t the place itself that provided happiness, but the people in it that made it a home. That’s what it was - it wasn’t the castle or Honeyholt that was home, it had been your father, and the other kind people that had lived there. Just like Dorne - sure, it was home, but it was Oberyn and the rest of the family that made it warm and inviting.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you heard soft, gentle buzzing in the distance. A tell-tale sign that you were in Honeyholt - the bees that the region was famous for were hard at work producing their delicious honey. You’d grown up with the sounds and smells, and in a way, it set your soul at ease. This was familiar - comfortable.

Once the path narrowed and you were within walking distance from the castle, you slowly slid off your mare and took her reins in hand, letting her walk next to your side. After so much riding, your legs felt like jelly, and you almost stumbled over your own feet. Petting her muzzle, you offered her a kiss to the side of her head as she followed you closely behind. The familiar sounds of people working around the castle reached your ears as you walked towards the main entrance. But before you could go further, you heard a familiar voice calling your name. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you realized that any chance for a quiet entrance was officially ruined. As soon as one person was aware of your presence, word spread around like a wildfire. There was no hiding anything in this type of circumstance; your whole family would know you were here.

Turning your around, your golden cape swirled behind you as you plastered on the best smile you could muster up. Sarvon approached you as he wiped off his hands on a rag he quickly tossed over his shoulder. A sense of regret ran through you; he was a few years older than you and had always been nothing kind - you’d always considered him a friend. He was handsome in a typical sense, tall and lanky, with a kind smile and fair hair and eyes, so different from what you were used to these days.

“Well, well, well, look who came back to see us all,” he held out his hand to you, which you eagerly shook you. If it was possible at all, a bit of your nerves seemed to settle down, “Lady Martell. How are you doing?”

“Sarvon,” you smiled fondly at him, “I’m...well. How are you faring? You look well - I trust everything is much the same?”

“Just the same as ever,” he agreed with a small smile, “but there are some good news - I am to be married within the year! You remember Yennefer? I’ve been courting her and she’s agreed to be my wife!”

“That is most exciting indeed,” you threw your arms around him, feeling a true sense of happiness. He had always been kind and gentle, and he deserved the happiness of a new marriage, “she’s a lovely woman, and I’m sure she’ll make a most wonderful wife. Someone to finally keep you in check!”

“That she will,” he agreed as a light flush rose up in his cheeks, “can I take her for and get her to the stables? What brings you back to Honeyholt, if I may ask?”

“Of course, and thank you,” you held out the reins to him, “I just...wanted to see my brothers, and my mother. I couldn’t stand being away from them for another moment.”

“I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you too,” he agreed, “it’s always a welcome surprise to see you. Dare I ask you if you come to bring us good news?”

“Oh,” your smile faltered for just a moment as you knew exactly what he was hinting at, “I’m afraid not. I suppose I just missed my family!”

“Of course,” he agreed, starting to lead your mare away, “I’ll announce your arrival. I believe Lord Beesbury is in his study.”

“Thank you, Sarvon,” you offered him a small nod, “you’ve been most helpful as always.”

Before he could say anything else, you turned and walked towards the entrance, walking in under the large stone arches. This was it; whatever plan you were going to concoct, you needed to come with it fast.

A few more people excitedly greeted you, surprised by your very sudden and unannounced arrival. It was still early in the morning, and you were positive you were positive that you looked as disheveled and tired as you felt. Deciding not to indulge any of them in conversation, you gave them curt nods, marching through your former home towards the study that had once been your father’s sanctuary. Even as you approached it now, it felt different; more cold and uninviting than it ever had. What was once filled with light and laughter was now quiet and daunting.

But nonetheless, you steeled your resolve and reminded yourself that you were a strong, independent woman, and that this was what you needed to do. The dagger strapped to your thigh suddenly felt like it was made of ice rather than steel, a million pounds heavy as it weighed you down.

When you reached the heavy doors, you didn’t even bother to knock or announce your presence, instead pushing them open and barging in. Your brother dropped the scrolls he was reading as he looked up in shock and awe at the sudden intrusion. His face seemed to shift through a hundred different emotions as he tried to figure out why you were possibly there. Eaton let out a long breath as he leaned back in his chair and a smirk grew on his face. You knew exactly why it was there; it was the same reason you were there.

“My dear, lovely sister,” his voice was laced with venom as you walked up to his bureau, already seething with anger, “what a surprise, although I can’t say it’s a pleasant one. I’m shocked to see your face again...I believe the last thing you said to me was ‘if I ever see you again, it will be on your deathbed.’ And yet...here you are.”

“You know why I’m here,” you spat at him, “you vile, foul, loathsome little cockroach.”

“There’s that attitude that we all love so very much,” he laughed lightly, but there was no happiness to it, “and look at you know. I see you’ve taken to Dorne well, dressing and acting just like those savages. Sending you there was the best decision we’ve ever made.”

“You dare to speak of my home - my people - in such a manner?” your eyes narrowed as you shook your head at him. He would never change, “you have some nerve for a pathetic excuse of a man that won’t even tend to his people and remains in his study all day. You are worth nothing, you are a shame and a disgrace to our father - our name. At least my husband - “

“Your husband,” he spat as you felt your blood pump, “yes, your weak, pathetic fool of a husband. I had the pleasure of meeting him as you well know. He’s about what you deserve, old, foolish, a whore of a man that will never love you. I’m sure things are going quite well - he can’t even get you with child from the looks of it. What a shame; it seemed to work for all his bastards. Perhaps it’s just you. How absolutely tragic - just what you always deserved-”

“Stop speaking,” your anger and gusto had quickly turned to a feeling of deep remorse, muddled with anger, “y-you have no clue what you speak of. You know nothing-”

“I did try to do you a favor, baby sister,” his lips were curled in a snarl as his wicked grin displayed his full teeth, just like a predator ready to take down his prey, “I did try to kill him. And I would have done it too, if it hadn't been for his little right hand man. He had to stop me just before I could finish him off. You know, part of me was glad he survived; I figured he would die a more slow and painful death at your hand. Imagine my disappointment when I heard that Prince Oberyn, the savage beast of Dorne, survived.”

“He barely survived,” your eyes were burning with the tears you were struggling to hold back, “he was on the verge of death - i-it took everything possible to keep alive, Eaton. I was never more scared...I thought I had lost him.”

“And you should have been happy.”

“I would rather die than to live a day without him,” you practically shouted at him, your voice crackling with each word, “he is my husband and I love him. He is everything to me!”

“Love? You are such a silly, pathetic little child,” his dark laughter reverberated off the stone walls, “you have learned nothing - you will never know anything. Life isn’t about love-”

“Yes,” you interrupted him, “love is everything. Father knew that too; it’s a shame you never learned that. I love Oberyn Martell, he is my husband, my family, my home. And I will never let you do anything to him, or any other part of my family.”

“They’re not your family-”

“They are more my family than you ever will be,” you insisted, “all Oberyn did was try to come here and make amends, to try to instill a sense of peace for everyone - for me. Because he loves me and cares about me. He held no ill intent for you, and still doesn’t - he wants to do nothing to you, despite what you had done to him. He just wants peace, and you couldn’t even give him that much.”

“You think he has your best interests in mind?” he scoffed, “he doesn’t care about you! He only wants to make himself look good. He will never love you - no one will ever love you!

"He loves me!"

"He doesn't love you!" you were both yelling at each other but by this point, "Waylar never did either. But look what you did to him, you caused his death and for what? Your feelings? And you almost did the same to your husband. You need to learn that love isn't a real thing and that in this game you survive and adapt or die."

"You are so hateful," you slowly reached for the dagger, ready to pull it out and wield it at him, "your heart has turned to stone. What a shame; we grew up with a lot of love from father but you never learned. I know it's real - not fake - and I will make sure everyone knows. I will make sure my husband knows how much I love him, my children, my family - everyone. I will never end up like you and I couldn't be more thankful than that."

"You will live and die a fool-"

"And you will die as a hateful, spiteful man," you pulled out the dagger and displayed it to him, watching as his eyes grew wide in worry. You had sneaked incredibly close to him and the dagger was mere inches from his throat. It would have been easy to end it all then and there, "you recognize this, don't you?"

"Where did you get that?" he swallowed and you could see his Adam's apple bobbing, "it belongs to me!"

“No,” you insisted with a wicked smile of your own, “it doesn’t. It’s mine, by rightful inheritance. Father gave it to me several years ago before he died.”

“It has belonged to every head of this family for centuries!”

“Until now,” you reminded him, letting the beautiful steel glint brilliantly in the morning light, “now it’s mine. And it stays with me - and I promise you one more thing, dear brother. This blade will be the last thing on your mind as I kill you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” his eyes were wide with worry as you kept the blade drawn and ready to strike at any second as you walked around the desk and stood in front of him. Pressing the blade into his flesh, you dug it in just enough to draw a thick trickle of blood, “you’re making a grave mistake.”

“Oh no, I’m not,” you insisted, making your voice sticky sweet with honey, “I’m not making a mistake at all. It’s not so funny when it’s the other way around, is it Lord Beesbury? Imagine how it felt for Oberyn as you stabbed him, as you inflicted would be deadly wounds. Don’t you think he felt the same way? And what did he do to you? Nothing. He didn’t deserve any of this. But you? You deserve this because you have done horrible things, Eaton. You don’t deserve compassion or mercy.”

“When they find what you’ve done, they’ll have you too flayed like the Boltons would.”

“Oh no,” you shook your head, “I won’t be caught for this. And even if it was discovered to be me, they would thank me.”

“You are a horrible, insistent bitch-”

“You almost took my husband from me - the one man that has loved me unconditionally. The man that would do anything for me - my family. I will be damned if I let you ever harm so much as a hair on his head. You will never harm him, my children, my family, any one I care about ever again. You’ve set up your own downfall, and I will be your executioner. You know the best part of all? I don’t regret a single thing.”

Slowly dragging the blade down the column of his throat, you let it stop just at his heart. It was so close, just within reach. All you had to do was plunge it into his chest and he would be dead. Just like he had wanted Oberyn to be.

So close, almost there...all you need to do was sink it into this flesh. You felt wild, almost like a mad woman - but everything you had been wanting was right in front of you.

Just a little further, a little harder and it would all be done...

"Stop!" the familiar voice pulled you out of your daze as your chest rose and fell in a hectic, chaotic pattern. Nothing made sense right now - only vengeance and redemption - blood, "don't do this. You will regret it every single day of your life. And I can't let you live like that."

The two of you turned and found Oberyn Martell standing in the doorway, looking at the two of you with the most neutral expression you had ever seen; a true and collected negotiator. Your surprise turned to shock as you stared at your husband. He wasn’t supposed to be here, he wasn��t supposed to know about this. The dagger shook in your hand for a moment as Eaton swallowed thickly.

“O-Oberyn,” you were between a rock and a hard place; you could easily have plunged the dagger and ended this, giving yourself a sense of satisfaction and vengeance. But if you did so, you would directly be going against Oberyn’s wishes. He didn’t want this but you did...you were almost positive of it. A strangled cry left your lips as you found yourself between a rock and a hard place, “you’re not supposed to be here!”

“And neither are you,” he took a few steps closer as he regarded the two of you curiously. He was very pointedly trying to keep the situation calm and diffused, “you don’t belong here, my love. This isn’t your home - come with me and we’ll go home. You don’t need to do this, he isn’t worth it.”

“Oberyn, he tried to kill you! He would have done it if he’d gotten the chance - he hoped you would die a slow painful death after you escaped. He loathes you, and for what?! You have done nothing but be kind and he’s a horrible, vile person! He doesn’t deserve my mercy or anything,” tears were running down your cheeks as you tried to rationalize everything to yourself, “what if he had taken you from me? I-I-I won’t let anything happen to you, ever, Oberyn. He deserves this!”

“That may be so, but you should not be his executioner,” he had come closer and closer until he was standing next to you, a hand tentatively wrapping around your wrist, “you do not deserve to live with such a thing on your conscience. Fate will be his undoing. Not you.”

“What if…”

“Don’t do this,” he insisted, as your brother looked around wildly, trying to figure out what was going on, but very aware that any wrong move, accidental or intended, would kill him, “you will never forgive yourself. Anything you would do to him would be too kind. But please, spare yourself the heartbreak and let him go. I’m right here, I’m okay - nothing will ever happen to me or take me from you. Not in this life or the next.”

“Oberyn,” his name was but a shaky whisper off your lips as you met his soft, brown eyes, “I-I just...I love you, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I love you, more than anything,” he slowly started to pull your wrist and dagger away from Eaton's throat, “that’s why I’m here - why I’m insisting you don’t do this. Please don't do this - for my sake and your sake. Just stop and come home with me. To our home - our family."

"Oberyn…"

"Come on, my Sunshine. Its not worth it. He is not worth a lifetime of regret," without even thinking about it, you let him pull your hand away as he carefully pulled the dagger out of your hand, "its okay, my love. It's okay."

Turning your attention away from Eaton's face, you looked at Oberyn and saw that he was just as emotional as you. He tucked the dagger into his waist belt before putting his hands on your face and wiping your tears away, "I-I'm sorry, my love. I thought...I thought this was the right thing to do."

"I know," he promised as he wrapped his arms around you and held you to his chest. He kissed the top of your head as you started to weep into his chest without abandon, "its okay."

Eaton watched the two of you with confusion on his face; whatever was going on, he knew he was safe for now. Clutching at his throat, he wiped away the blood that had oozed down his neck. A small sound of surprise escaped his lips at the burn.

"You," Oberyn turned to your brother with a look of disgust etched into his features, "you will say nothing of this to anyone, or I will personally finish what she started. You will never contact her again, and she will never contact you again. This is over - it ends now. And if I get even so much as a whiff of you in Dorne or anywhere near us, I will make sure you suffer. The Boltons aren’t the only ones who know how to flay a body. Do I make myself clear, boy?”

Eaton was so stunned, stunned into silence as he merely nodded at the Dornish Prince. Opening and closing his mouth a few times, he fell short of words and watched in silence as Oneryn took your hand and slowly led you out of the study. The young lord hissed slightly at the burning sensation on the delicate flesh of his throat. It had all seemed like a fever dream; but the scar that your actions had been sure to leave were most definitely a reality. He collapsed in his stiff wooden chair, a faux throne for a great pretender, and held his head in his hands. Maybe he should have reconsidered crossing the Red Viper - and you.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Oberyn remained silent as he tightly clutched onto your hand and led you out of the castle. Only a few rushed words were said, but no one dared to approach either of you. If word of your arrival had gotten around, either no one cared enough to greet you, or they were all scared. But Oberyn was fast on his feet and had the two of you out of there before you could protest or make any sort of comment. Tears were liberally rolling down your cheeks in thick, fat droplets and splattering onto your gown and all the over the ground.

He must have gotten there in a rush and quickly put the pieces together as his steed was wildly saddled just outside the gates. You saw Sarvon rush over with your own mare, almost as if he had been roped into aiding the Prince. Silently, he took the reins to the small mare and helped you to climb onto her back before repeating the same to his stead.

Quietly thanking the young man for his assistance, he said nothing to you before reaching into the saddlebags and handing you a flask of water and some fruit. At least the man was smart enough to know you’d be starving and parched. You took them with quiet ease, too embarrassed and confounded to say anything.

He led the way in silence for some time, still checking to make sure you were closely following him. The tension settling between the two of you was thick and palpable; it wasn't angry per se, but it certainly wasn't good. A few times you had wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension, but found yourself unable. Instead, you remained silent and studied the back of Oberyn’s head to try and get a read on him. It didn’t work; the Prince was good at hiding his true feelings when he needed to.

“There’s a tavern a few miles ahead,” he said quietly after a long bout of silent; it had been morning you’d left Honeyholt and now dusk was starting to fall, “we’ll stay there for the evening and then continue on tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” was the only response you could muster up. He hadn’t even turned to look at you.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The tavern was a small, quiet place, quaint and warm, and if you hadn’t been worried about the nerves churning out butterflies in your stomach, you would have been excited to rest there. Oberyn had handled business while you made your way to your temporary lodgings. As soon as you’d entered the room, a low sigh escaped your lips. Turning to the aged looking glass, you could see that you were an absolute sight to behold; hair wild and mussed, tired, bloodshot eyes, and ragged looking clothes. Luckily, there was a tub waiting with hot water in the adjoining room and you were halfway to slipping off your clothes when Oberyn came back into the room.

He offered you a nod of acknowledgment before sitting at the edge of the bed and watching you closely, his arms crossing over his broad chest.

“Go on,” he offered up, raising an eyebrow before looking between you and the wooden tub. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stripped the remainder of your clothes before sinking into the warm water and letting out a long sigh at the feel of the warm water against your skin. It was the most relief you’d left in days, “better?”

“Yes,” you admitted as you grabbed a cloth to start washing your tired body, "thank you.”

“I brought clean clothes,” he continued; his voice was so slow and neutral, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking, “and they will bring up some food. I presume you might be tired and hungry,”

“Mhmm,” his calm demeanor was almost more unnerving than anything else, and you wished he would yell at you. At least then you would know his true feelings.

It was silent for some time before anything happened as the two of you had just stared at one another. Oberyn ended up stripping off his own outer robe and remained only in his trousers as he washed his face in a small basin. Finding it impossible to complete even the simple task of washing your hair, you finally gave in and broke down, “Oberyn? Are you ever going to talk to me again?”

“I thought I had been.”

“You know what I mean,” you made swift work of washing the soap from your body before wringing your hair, “you’ve hardly said more than a few words to me. It isn’t like you.”

“What do you want me to say?” his hands found his hips as he looked at you in question, You were taken aback at his short, snappy response, but at least it was something other than complete emptiness.

“Say you’re angry with me, that you’ll never forgive me or...something.”

“Of course I’m angry,” he said as you reached for the towel as you stood up and wrapped it around your now clean form, “I am beyond livid - furious - do you have any clue as to what could have happened if I hadn’t shown up? Do you have any clue as to how worried sick I was? Every horrible, wicked thought possible went through my mind!”

“Will you ever forgive me?”

“It’s not up to me to forgive you...the question is whether you forgive yourself,” with a heavy sigh, he sat back on the bed and you timidly walked over to him, “you could have been hurt.”

“But I wasn’t…”

“Luckily - this time,” he cut you off sharply as your lips formed a thin line and you willed yourself not to argue back, “but it was still a huge risk - a very uncalculated risk! One wrong move and you could have been hurt, or worse - killed. And what good would that have been? It would have been for naught.”

“I had to do something! You were going to do nothing!” you insisted, unable to keep your silence. While your husband may have had valid points, you wanted him to know you felt just as strongly about your own views, “Oberyn, he is a foul, horrible person! He wanted to kill you, he hoped you would die, and the worst part of all was that he didn’t regret anything. He laughed about, made a mockery out of you and myself. He deserved everything he got and worse!”

“Would you have done it?” how he managed to keep calm was beyond you. He simply looked at you, his breathing even and his eyes full of curiosity as you stood in front of him, wildly flailing while wrapped up in your towel, “would you have killed him?”

“I...I…” his simple question felt like it had punched the air out of your lungs as you opened and closed your mouth a few times, “I would…”

“Do you really think you could have plunged that dagger into his heart, through skin and muscle and bone, and killed him? Do you think you could have watched the life leave his eyes as he took his last breath?”

“I…”

“Killing is not as simple as you think, you sweet, innocent girl. It takes a lot to end someone’s life,” he explained as you stared at your feet, feeling tears start to well up in your eyes, “it is not something to take lightly - I have never taken it likely. I have killed many men, but only those who have deserved it.”

“He deserved it.”

“That may be so, but it’s not up to you to decide that,” Oberyn let out a long sigh as he held out his hand to you, “you do not deserve to be left with such a thing on your conscience. You are much too good for something like that; do not let one man, however terrible he may be, take away your light. He will get what he deserves, everyone always does, and it will be much crueler than anything you could do. Leave him to fate, to the gods, to the universe. He is not a part of your life any longer - you will never have to see or speak to him again. He has built his own bed and he will reap what he sows. But you? You are too kind, too pure, too innocent for such darkness. You are of a different kind than he is; do not let him drag you down to his level for a few moments of the idea of vengeance. It will not be worth it. Never.”

“The things he said...they were horrible, my love,” you took his hand, and let him pull you towards him, so you were standing in front of him. Oberyn stroked the back of your hand, almost absentmindedly as you ran your free hand through his curls, “I have never heard such horrid, loathsome things before - against me, you, our family. He...he said you didn’t love me, that you would never love me. It was all a lie and that I was just meant to go to you and give you children.”

“You know absolutely none of that is true,” he insisted as you nodded, letting a few tears run down your cheeks, “and he knows he is wrong. He says these things because he is jealous, because he will never have them. He is cold as steel and has closed off his heart, and he will never love or learn to be loved. But that does not mean what we have isn’t real. I love you more than you will ever know. I will do whatever it takes to prove that to you, every day.”

“I know you do,” you whispered as he stood up and pulled you into his body, wiping away your tears, “I know what we have is real...it’s just...I don’t know. I was acting rashly, and I just couldn’t handle the idea of someone hurting you, hurting the one person I love the most, and getting away with it.”

“You will never lose me,” he whispered as he traced over your features, “it’s because of you I’m still alive; you stood by my side every minute of every hour for days. Without you, I don’t think I could have made it. You must know that I’m not the only one with the world to lose. When Asha told me of your plans, I thought I was going to lose everything, I was worried. Yes, I am mad - mad that you directly defied what I asked of you, you lied and sneaked out of Sunspear, you went completely and held a knife to a man’s throat.”

“When you put it like that…”

“Truthfully?’

“Yes, I suppose.”

“You are still so young, with so much to learn,” he put a finger to your lips before you could say anything else, “I will teach everything I can, you will learn, in time. But sometimes you must learn to trust others - me. I would never do anything to hold you back, or do anything that wasn’t in your best interest. You know that right?”

“I do,” you admitted, “I suppose I was so caught up with the idea that if I had to suffer, so did he…”

“What a world it would be if everyone thought like that, no?”

“Is that why you’re a Prince, my love? Because you’re so wise and smart?”

“Because I was born lucky. The rest I’ve learned over the years, as you will,” he put a finger under your chin and turned your face up to his, “it takes time, but you will get there, and I will be there every step of the way.”

“I love you,” was all you managed to whisper as you stared back into his eyes, “Oberyn.”

“I love you,” he repeated, “don’t ever do anything like this again, okay? Next time I might not be there, or things can go very differently. It’s not worth it.”

“I promise,” you agreed as he gently kissed your lips, “never again. I'm sorry I worried you, just...please don't ever leave me. I'm sorry."

"Its okay," he nodded at you, and you felt a warmth pool in your belly at the way he observed you - with reverence, devotion, and adoration, "I'm not going anywhere."

Unable to stop yourself, you brought a hand to the top of your towel where it was barely hanging on. Undoing the weak knot, you let it fall to the wooden floor with a delicate thought as you stared at him. Your whole body flushed under his intent gaze, but it was only mere seconds before he wrapped his arms around your waist, his touch warm and brazen on your bare skin.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you crashed your lips onto his, kissing him with a fervent intensity that he easily matched. There was nothing soft or gentle about this, it was a rushed tangle of tongue and teeth as you battled for dominance. But you were no match for Oberyn, a man experienced in life and love, as gripped the back of your neck and held you close to his lips.

Your hands went to the waistband of his trousers as you tried to rip them off as quickly as possible. You wanted and needed him now. His hands found yours as he helped you to undo the trousers and push them to the ground. Oberyn's lips barely left yours as he stepped out of them and he reached for you again. His hands found your bum as he gave it a firm squeeze and you moaned into his mouth. You could feel him smirking against your lips.

"Oberyn," his name was a reverent whisper off your lips as he kissed along your jaw and nipped at the delicate skin of your throat as he did his best to ensure that there would be marks for everyone to see, "please...need you."

"Mhmm," he backed you up against the wall, gently so you didn't hit your back or head too hard. Warm, calloused but gentle hands roamed your body as he touched over every part of you he could reach. His hands were on your breasts, massaging them and rolling your pert nipples as you tried not to completely lose it - not just yet.

You kissed every part of him you could reach, relishing in his soft, golden skin. He snaked hand between your bodies and down to your core, where he started to circle your clit after running his fingers through your soaked folds. It hadn't taken much to get ready for him today.

"All for me?" he rasped in your ear as all you could do was nod and bite on your lip to keep from crying out. He kept touching you, working you up and slowly inserting two fingers, expertly curling them and causing you to see stars. Burying your face into his shoulder, your legs started to feel weak and shaky as you almost reached your high. But before he went any further, he ceased all his ministrations and pulled his hand away.

"Oberyn!" you huffed at him as he bought his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean. That was enough to silence you completely as you watched him in awe, "oh."

"Sweeter than the finest fruit," he smirked before taking his cock in his hand and stroking his length a few times, "my sweet girl, you drive me wild with worry and wonder sometimes."

"Only because I love you," you instinctively spread your legs slightly to make room for him. Lining himself up at your entrance, it was a few seconds before he was fully sheathed inside of you. You moaned at the feeling of him stretching you out so perfectly as he took the opportunity to kiss you.

He wasted no time in thrusting into you, slowly at first, but then quickly setting a brutal pace as he tightly gripped your hips. It was almost as though something inside him had snapped he needed you desperately. Soon, the room was filled with nothing but your combined moans, the lewd sounds of skin on skin, and your back lightly hitting the wall. You were almost positive that anyone near you would be able to hear but was going on but it didn't stop either of you.

Before too long, your walls started to clench around him as his cock twitched within you. Unable to form proper words, you came with a cry around him and he offered you a few more shallow thrusts before spilling inside of you.

He held you pinned against the wall for a few moments as you both came down from your highs. You pushed a stray curl from his forehead before he pressed a kiss to your lips.

"I love you," you offered up as a sort of all encompassing apology as you studied your husband's face.

"I know," he agreed as he touched your cheek, "I love you. Now, let's get some rest, Sunshine. We still have a lot to talk about later."

Maybe you'd made a rash and horrible decision; but at least you knew his love for you was truly unconditional.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#oberyn martell #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell x fem!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #in name only #ino

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sirenofthetimes · 3 years

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Every Proposal on Gilmore Girls Was Absolutely Unhinged

This show was rich in couples, swimming in conflict, and desperately lacking in healthy communication. Which made for some batshit marriage proposals! Let's go:

Christopher to Lorelai in Season 1 ep. 15: Christopher Returns

In Christopher's first appearance on the show, he rocks up to Stars Hollow on his motorcycle at the end of the previous episode, out of the blue, and in this one archetypes are made clear: he establishes himself as the irresponsible deadbeat single dad to Lorelai's hardworking, mature yet still fun single mom. They have a weird dinner with everyone's parents where his parents, Straub and Francine, are shown to be even more uptight and awful than Richard and Emily can be. A lot of fighting and yelling and relitigating past choices ensues. Then Lorelai and Christopher go off to have emotional, nostalgic sex on her childhood balcony, and off the strength of that, he walks into her kitchen the next morning and blurts out that he wants to marry her so they can be a "real family". They barely see each other. They know hardly anything about each other's current lives. This is the first time he's visited the town they've been living in since Rory was a child and yet. A marriage proposal. Naturally, she turns him down, but we have not heard the last of Christopher Hayden.

Max to Lorelai in Season 1 ep. 21: Love, Daisies and Troubadours

This relationship was used mostly to discuss Lorelai's commitment issues, the difficulties of dating as a single mom, and have her fight allegations of her being promiscuous (which are not true, she can be very sexually conservative) by having her do something risky like try to date one of her daughter's teachers at the stuffy private school that also exists in her parents' world. So despite them having okay chemistry, they haven't really dated much and broke up after two months before getting back together shortly before the night of the proposal. Max comes by the house to pick Lorelai up and finds Luke there getting his toolbox and relaying the news that Rachel broke up with him (because she has a basic level of intuition and picked up on his feelings for Lorelai). Max and Luke have a very cringy dick measuring contest, Max (in possession of similar intuition) assumes Luke and Lorelai dated at some point but it's not season 5 yet so she's not legally allowed to admit she's into Luke. They argue, Max expresses frustration that their relationship can never seem to get off the ground, and what does he propose as a solution? Yoking their lives together in blessed matrimony. Lorelai is justifiably frustrated and tells him that's not how you propose, that a proposal is supposed to be special and grand. She lists "a thousand yellow daisies" as an example how to truly pop the question and the next day Max arranges for that famous logistical nightmare romantic gesture at the inn, then says some flowery bullshit on the phone and because it's the season finale and emotions are high, Lorelai accepts. Though later, right after her bachelorette party, she runs away and calls off the wedding. They meet a couple more times for closure, and then the relationship is truly dead.

Jackson to Sookie in Season 2 ep 13: A-Tisket A-Tasket

Sookie and Jackson's budding relationship has actually been pretty nice to watch up until this point. They have a fun balance between awkward but cute flirting and comical bickering about produce. But there's something in the area's water supply that makes people unable to clearly express their wants and needs in a romantic relationship so when Sookie doesn't respond how Jackson wanted her to to him saying his lease was up and asking her what she thought, he sulks. The sulking manifests itself in him not bidding on Sookie's basket at the bid a basket auction so she confronts him to see what's up and they actually manage to have a decent conversation about what moving in together would mean. And that could've been a nice ending for that storyline. But shacking up together? Out of wedlock? Impossible. So at their picnic for two, Jackson fakes Sookie out and says he doesn't want to talk about moving in together any more... because he thinks they should get married. Sookie, reeling from that whiplash, accepts, and since the rules of TV beta couples states they must move faster than the main will-they-won't-they couple at all times, they get married, stay married, and continue struggling to effectively talk through big life decisions,with some admittedly nice moments in between.

Lorelai to Luke in Season 5 ep 22: A House is Not a Home and Season 6 ep 1: New and Improved Lorelai

Lorelai and Luke are in kind of a weird place at the moment, with Luke upset with Lorelai for considering selling the Dragonfly to a corporation owned by one of her father's contacts, which would have her traveling and consulting instead. While she's not too serious about it, she's enjoying being courted by the company, but this is in complete disregard for the giant house Luke bought without telling her or the kids he's thinking about having that he also hasn't discussed with her so it's causing problems. This is forgotten however with the news that Rory wants to take time off from Yale after receiving some rare negative feedback, and that Richard and Emily are letting her stay with them after just telling Lorelai they would help her force Rory back into Yale. So when Lorelai walks into the diner lamenting the fact that Rory is making a decision independent from the vision Lorelai had for her life, and Luke comes forth with a nonsensical plan to, again, force Rory back to Yale, Lorelai is touched that she finally has someone on her side. And since she's a veteran of the season finale marriage proposal, she celebrates having her partner agree with her by asking him to marry her. He accepts in the next season's premiere with no hesitation, but eventually their tendency to hide things from each other to not ruin their relationship.... ruins their relationship. Shocking.

Zack to Lane in Season 6 ep 16: Bridesmaids Revisited

Zack is on a bit of a redemption tour after ruining Hep Alien's showcase in front of a major label by throwing a tantrum about Brian potentially writing a song for Lane. This random burst of jealousy sends him on a power trip that has him throwing out their set list and screaming at his band mates until a fight breaks out and the band and him and Lane split up. But when he sees Lane in the music shop some time later putting up a flier advertising her drumming services to other bands, the thought of her daring to potentially continue living her life without him spurs Zach into action. He convinces Brian and Gil to get the band back together and they're in if Lane's in. And his way of getting Lane back is to walk into Luke's while she's working, go off on some tangent about how he doesn't feel good, and propose in front of a huge crowd of gossipy small town people. Lane must have smacked her head on some antique furniture that day because although she at least stops to ask if he's thought about this, when he presents her with the pawn shop ring he got that "belonged to like an Elk or a Moose or something", she accepts and walks right into marriage and babies land and right out of development that would make sense for her character or be interesting.

Christopher to Lorelai in Season 7 ep. 7: French Twist

Ever since Lorelai walked out of her fraught engagement with Luke and into Christopher's bed, he has taken the reality of a woman coping with feelings of rejection by hooking up with the man she keeps stashed in the background for occasions such as these, and spun it into an elaborate romantic tale of two star crossed loves who waited their whole lives to be together. And when Sherry who, guided by the hands of karma, previously abandoned Gigi leaving Christopher to raise her on his own, writes a letter saying she's totally fine now trust her and wants Gigi to spend a few months with her in Paris, Christopher invites Lorelai along for a big romantic gesture trip. They spend most of it jetlagged, but Christopher remembers he's super rich now (as opposed to just being regular rich like before) and he bribes a restaurant to open early for the two of them. Lorelai, basking in the romance™ of it all, confesses her love, and Christopher pounces on that and starts in on a whole speech. Basically, even though he said he'd be willing to wait for Lorelai to fall in line with his vision, he doesn't feel like waiting any more. Lorelai, sensing where this is going, suggests they wait, as they've only been really dating for a couple of months. She also brings up Rory, figuring she'd want to be up to date and present any big changes. But Christopher waves those perfectly valid concerns away, stresses how long they've known each other, insists that they're meant to be, and fate has brought them together. And then comes out with it and asks her to marry him. Which are very intense words for Lorelai, an emotionally vulnerable woman who just broke off an engagement because her fiancé seemed overly hesitant to actually get married, to hear. We don't see her accept, but there's a scene of them returning home where he calls her "Mrs. Hayden" (as if she would ever change her name), and their marriage immediately began to fall apart like wet tissue paper.

Logan to Rory in Season 7 ep. 21: Unto the Breach

It's the end of Rory's time at Yale, and on the heels of her New York Times fellowship rejection, rejections from other newspapers across the country, and the fact that she rejected her one job offer for better things that did not come, Rory's future is wide open and unstable. On the other hand, Logan is completing his character transformation from irresponsible party animal trust fund kid to hardworking and responsible trust fund kid, accepting a job offer for an internet company in San Francisco. The question emerges: How will the young couple handle this next phase of their lives? And when Logan shows up at Lorelai's house in the previous episode, he comes with a solution. He wants to marry Rory and take her to California, and he wants Lorelai's blessing to propose. She gives it, though not without trepidation, and Logan does propose. In the middle of the graduation party Richard and Emily are throwing for Rory, he gets up in front of everyone and takes out the ring. Rory is caught completely off guard and takes him outside to talk about it, where he reveals that he got the job, picked out a house for them to rent, researched newspapers where she could apply to work, and even planned activities for them to do in their spare time. The original plan being that she would say yes to his proposal without knowing all this and walk blindly into her new, pre-arranged West Coast life. But Rory needs time to process the idea of marrying Logan immediately after college, and on the day of her graduation, she declines. Logan decides if he can't marry her, there's no point in being with her at all, and the two go their separate ways, to eventually meet again in a years long affair, for some reason. Though I barely acknowledge the revival.

Honestly, the only proposal that truly makes sense is Lorelai's to Luke in the revival but I won't discuss it here because a) again, the revival basically doesn't exist to me and b) they should've married during the original run of the show.

#gilmore girls #originals #this sat in my drafts for ages because every time i watched a proposal scene i need to Take A Minute #i mean imo even a lot of your standard proposals are still wild to me #but these.... woof

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sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years

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you’re someone i just want around: VI

“I think I’m catching feelings

And I don’t know if this is empathy I feel

Just hold on

Remember when you said this was the last time?”

Sex, Eden

A/N: okay this chapter has probably been my favourite to write so far because we are finally. finally!!!!!! getting to a lil smidgen of softness!!!!! and the softness will only continue like originally I had a different lyric in mind for this chapter (a hozier lyric to stay on brand) and decided that it was too soft so I stocked it away to use in the future when things get even sweeter and harry gets even dumber 😌 we really hope you guys enjoy this chapter!!! and please remember that feedback is truly, madly, deeply™ appreciated!!!! not just by us but by all content creators!!!!! and if you enjoy it, please reblog it!!!! spreading content keeps creators motivated!!!!! and so do messages about what you liked!!!! it lets us know what sort of vibe to add in later!!!! okay now that that’s out of the way!!!! let’s dive in 😼

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

word count: 29.1k

content/warnings: a good healthy dose of denial and justification to deny feelings, the defamation of gherkin pickles, pet names (literally), a strong independent woman who don’t need no man, a (not quite) man who definitely needs a strong independent woman, brunch served with a side of emotional trauma, breaking promises, nsfw social distancing, and Harry once again ignoring the phrase “bros before hoes”

///

Harry knows he’s good at a lot of things.

He’s good at picking up on fashion trends and turning them into timeless styles, molding each piece to fit his own persona with ease. He’s good at identifying the locational origins of wines within five seconds of the sweet liquid crossing over his tongue. He’s good at mixing his own drinks as well, always managing to craft the perfect concoction that suits each drinker’s needs. He’s good at creating gallery walls in his apartment, at charming anyone into giving him what he wants with a slip of his mouth, and at pissing off his friends until they’re threatening to stake him just to get a little peace and quiet. Harry is good at chess, at reciting poetry from memory, and at painting his non-dominant hand’s fingernails without smudging any nail polish onto his icy skin. Harry is fucking excellent at coaxing orgasms out from his lovers. He knows that he’s good at a lot of things.

The issue, he realizes the day after he asks Y/N out on a real date, is that planning a real date is not one of those things.

This, Harry rationalizes to himself, is not his fault. After all, the last time he’d been on a real date was during the Victorian era, and Harry is fairly certain that taking a chaperoned stroll around his beloved’s estate garden isn’t in fashion anymore. And when the way all of those dates ended is taken into account, Harry doesn’t think his past experiences should be the marker for a good date, anyways.

It’s this frustrating lack of knowledge that leads Harry to do what he always does when he doesn’t know the answer to something: he Googles it.

With the top of the line Macbook Harry had purchased a few months back with the money from a CEO of some candle company perched on his lap, Harry relaxes back onto his leather couch, kicking his brown boots up onto the matching footrest as he does so. Once the search engine is open and the cursor is blinking in front of his face, however, the vampire pauses, his manicured fingernails perched over the keys. What question could he possibly Google for his situation?

Harry twists his lion head ring around his cool finger as he thinks, his tongue tucked between his lips in concentration while potential queries run through his head. Ideas for a first date with a girl you’ve been fucking for a month. Things to do in L.A. with a mortal when you’re a two hundred year old vampire. Places to take someone after drinking their blood. A snort echoes from Harry’s throat as the last idea pops into his head. Somehow, Harry isn’t confident in what results those questions will show him.

Tapping his black lacquered nails against the keys, Harry purses his lips as he loses himself in thought. How had he even gotten himself into this position? The reason he hasn’t planned a date in centuries is because he doesn’t date, and for good reason. What use does a soulless vampire have for dating? Mortals use romantic outings to open their hearts to one another, and Harry, in contrast, can’t open what he doesn’t have.

Despite his wondering, however, he knows exactly how he got himself into this situation: he let himself get jealous of a fake-tanned, shaggy-haired idiot named Jacob, a name that Harry despises on principle alone. It had been a perfectly fine name until that awful Meyer woman decided to make it one of the banes of Harry’s existence. And while Harry doesn’t have a particularly forgiving nature, he had just finally begun to get over the association, but thanks to that hallway confrontation at the end of Y/N’s date with the obtusely orange fool, Harry is now reminded that he will forever hate the name with a burning passion. And shaggy hair. And fake tans. And while the irony of him, a vampire—with a middle name of Edward, for Christ’s sake—hating an insignificant mortal named Jacob, simply because he dared to make a pass at the object of Harry’s fascination, is not lost on him, all of that was pushed aside the moment Harry smelled the perfume his fascination wore for the mortal boy.

Y/N never wears perfume for him. And though she had assured him that her dressing up had been for him, he can’t shake the fact that Jacob had gotten to experience it first.

It’s not that Y/N needs to wear perfume for him. In fact, if Harry’s being honest with himself, he likes that she doesn’t spritz artificial scents all over her body before letting him into her home and between her legs. She has one of the sweetest natural scents Harry’s ever had the pleasure of inhaling, all lavender and honey and utterly intoxicating. Of course, as all mortals are, Y/N is unaware of the mouth watering fragrance that drips from her skin, while Harry is all too aware of it at all times, but her obliviousness to her natural scent doesn’t change the fact that Harry would bathe in it if he could. If it were possible, Harry would pump an entire room full of her personal cloud of lavender and honey, lay back on the floor, turn down the lights, spark a joint, and let himself get lost in the very thought of her. That would be Harry’s personal definition of Nirvana.

But Y/N isn’t aware of her natural, skin sweetening aroma like Harry is, which means two things. Firstly, that Y/N doesn’t feel the need to smear anything unnatural on her body to attract Harry; she knows she doesn’t need to go through all that trouble. And that was fine with Harry, until he realized the second thing, which is that there potentially could be someone that Y/N would go to all that trouble for if he doesn’t keep her entertained and occupied. She had told him her date with Jacob hadn’t been on her terms, and that she’d done it just to be courteous towards a co-worker, but that doesn’t sedate the truth: There will always be a maddening possibility that occasions could come into play in which Y/N will spray a choking cloud of gardenia and freesia over herself, all in the hopes of appealing a suitor. The issue is that in those hypothetical cases, the suitor Y/N would be trying to impress wouldn’t be Harry.

Actually, that’s only the first issue. The second issue is that it could be another fraternity moron with an equally stupid name.

After the vampire had come upon Y/N ending her date in front of her door, just minutes before their own rendezvous was scheduled, Harry had felt an initial burst of blind rage, and everything after is a blur. He vaguely remembers trying to make Jacob uncomfortable and delighting in how he succeeded, until he saw the anger on Y/N’s sweet face. He remembers a brief discussion about limits and honesty, and about how she was only interested in him, and that he shouldn’t waste his time stressing about her supposedly dormant dating life. And, most importantly, he remembers asking Y/N to accompany him on a real date, one that would blow her date with the VeggieTales carrot out of the water.

Now, of course, he’s beginning to regret his impulsive decision, purely for the fact that he now has to figure out how to woo a mortal girl just enough to keep her away from creeps with horribly coiffed hair.

And yet, despite this regret…there’s something new curling inside his belly as he types the phrase date ideas for L.A. into the search bar, the blinking cursor reflecting in his eyes before he presses the enter key and millions of results pop up. Ah, the joys of the internet, he thinks as he scours the results with inhuman speed. It’ll take Harry a few different clicks to find the perfect activity for himself and Y/N, and his hyperfocus on the topic will stop him from over analyzing that new feeling twisting inside him.

It’s a win-win situation, if he can say so himself.

Harry’s halfway through the first disappointing article (somehow, he doesn’t think taking Y/N on a hike is very romantic) when the door to his condo opens and reveals Mitch in the frame, dressed in his usual casual attire, this time of blue jeans and a plaid shirt. Harry has spent the last century trying to refine the older vampire’s taste in clothing, even going so far as to once donate the entirety of Mitch’s closet to a homeless shelter, but all his efforts have been in vain, as his friend still insists on wearing the standard (and boring) style for every decade they’ve lived through together.

“Hey,” Mitch greets from the end of the corridor with a nonchalant nod, shutting the door behind himself before sauntering further into the living room. “Thought we were meeting at the bar at eight?”

It takes Harry a moment to remember the agreement Mitch refers to, his brow creasing as his eyes flicker to the corner of his computer screen. By the time he registers the numbers 8:41 shining back at him, the memory of agreeing to get drinks with Mitch after his evening gig has resurfaced. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

“I thought so.” Mitch moves the decorative pillow next to Harry on the couch, taking a seat in his usual spot. His voice is slightly sarcastic as he gives Harry a knowing look. “That’s been happening a lot lately. Lapses in your memory and such.”

“It's old age, I suppose.” Harry’s lips quirk up in amusement, although he knows that Mitch’s comment is pointed towards a subject they’re both acquainted with, courtesy of Harry’s absence on their annual Vegas trip about a week prior. “It’s finally getting to me.”

The long-haired immortal makes a vague sound of humorous acknowledgement, but offers no other response as he turns his gaze to the younger vampire.

Harry watches as his friend’s expert eyes appraise his appearance, examining how the older vampire takes note of the messy state of Harry’s hair that indicates he’s been tugging on it in frustration, the redness of his lips, the way he’s curled over his open laptop. Although he makes no further comment on Harry’s newfound tendencies, his brows furrow in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“I, uh—” The amusement is replaced by an unfamiliar feeling of nervousness that sweeps through Harry’s entire body. “I’m doing research.”

When he’s given no other explanation, Mitch prompts his younger friend. “On?”

“I...asked that girl from the club out on a date— Y/N. Like, I invited her on a proper one.” Harry elaborates, twisting his lionhead ring around his finger as he speaks. “But I don’t really know, like, what to do with her. I’m a little out of touch with what a typical twenty-something woman wants to do on a real date.”

And this is another thing Harry is usually good at— being confident and sure of himself. Normally, he speaks with ease and a nonchalant cadence to his words, lacking any worry about how he’ll be perceived. Harry knows what he wants, and knows how to articulate it. Right now, however, he feels the complete opposite. There’s a tension aching its way through his muscles and settling into the pit of his stomach, curling around those organs that haven’t been truly needed in years, and the utterly bemused expression weaving its way onto Mitch’s face doesn’t help.

The quiet vampire cocks his head to the side upon receiving this news, propping one foot up onto Harry’s coffee table and addressing him with a mocking air. “Why are you taking her on an actual date? From what you’ve told me— which isn’t much, and that strains our best friend reputation, if I’m being honest— I thought you two had an...understanding?”

“We did. We do.” Harry stumbles over his words as he half shuts the laptop, setting it down on the coffee table and giving Mitch’s foot a quick playful shove off the lacquered surface as he repositions himself. “But she went on a date with someone else, so I have to—”

“Are you jealous?” His friend cuts over him with an incredulous tone, and the disbelief sends a flare of something akin to shame through Harry’s body. “Because she had a date?”

“I’m not jealous.” With a firm voice, Harry manages to scoff at the very notion. “I may be a monster, but my eyes are red, not green. It’s just—”

“Well, technically, they are.”

The immortal ignores the shit-eating correction. “—occurred to me that our arrangement will end if Y/N starts seeing some mortal bloke. So, if she wants a relationship, then I can fabricate one for her.”

Although the excuse slips off his tongue easily enough, Harry refuses to meet Mitch’s eyes as he picks up his laptop and opens it again, clicking his way onto another article in the search results. The older vampire’s stare feels as if it’s scorching his icy skin, and Harry can’t exactly say he enjoys the sensation, but it’s better than the alternative of admitting to Mitch—and to himself—that he may harbour the smallest trace of feelings for the human girl.

However, Mitch seems to buy the rushed explanation. “Fabricate a relationship?” He repeats, scratching the base of his chin slowly. “Doesn’t that seem a little...cruel?”

“It’s not. It’s only for a bit, and once I’m done with her, I’ll probably just…” The words lodge in his throat for some unknown reason, but he forces them out. “I’ll probably just wipe myself from her mind, and she…” Harry’s sharp teeth tug on his plump bottom lip. “She won’t remember me. It’ll be fine.”

Yes, Harry repeats to himself as he scrolls through all the results Google has to offer. It’ll be fine. It has to be fine, really, because what’s the alternative? Harry’s kind aren’t exactly built for a long term commitment to anyone that’s less than immortal. The kindest thing for him to do would be to let Y/N go now, without having to use compulsion at all. It would be so simple, he thinks. One small text, a few words along the lines of “it’s not working out, and we probably shouldn’t see each other again, I’m sorry. H.” would probably suffice. And surely she’d be a little upset, but she’s mortal, and a mortal’s feelings never stay the same for long. It would take her a few weeks, or maybe a month at most to get over the creature she’d begun a casual sexual relationship with. Within a year, Harry and their short-lived friendship would be nothing but a small blip in her memory, and she’d be moved on to someone else.

Harry can see her future so clearly that he almost believes it’s shining through his laptop screen like an old film. Y/N, going back out for the first time after Harry breaks things off. Y/N, bumping into a handsome stranger with a bright smile and dull eyes. Y/N, slumped over her kitchen table and fighting a hangover as the stranger hands her a cup of coffee. Y/N and the stranger going for dinner. Walking hand in hand. Kissing goodnight at the door.

Harry’s mind spins through scenarios faster and faster, racing through every possible future for Y/N before he can even take another breath. Although some scenarios have different paths, different breakups, different faces, they always end at the very same place: Y/N in a white dress, walking down a flower strewn aisle, and taking the warm hand of someone who is not Harry.

If Harry needed to breathe, the wind would’ve been knocked out of him the moment he pictured those warm hands with blood pulsing beneath the skin lifting Y/N’s veil, cupping her flushed cheek, and sealing their lips to hers. It’s a perfectly normal image. A human pledging themselves to another human. It’s natural, by human standards, as they seem to value monogamy over everything else. The path Harry is seeing is the path Y/N was always meant to take. So why does it make his icy blood curdle?

Mitch, who seems to be completely unaware of the wild road map his friend’s mind has just drawn, speaks out his concerns in a quiet but careful voice. “Are you sure you’re not getting too attached?” He asks, gauging Harry’s reaction to his question as if it’s a catastrophic statement. “You’ve been spending more and more time with her, you blew off the Vegas trip for the first time…” The older vampire gives a soft shrug of his shoulders. “If it were just for sex and blood, that would be one thing, but it’s almost like you’re getting…addicted to her.”

Although the statement first brings a laugh to Harry's strawberry lips, the initial chuckle quickly fades away as the gravity of Mitch’s statement hits its recipient. Certainly, he feels an indescribable draw to Y/N, but he knows, deep down, that any addiction he has to her is more so to her blood than anything else. After all, what else could he possibly indulge? The last time Harry let himself be addicted to a person, he ended up with a broken neck and newfound bloodlust. He’s learned since then. He’s not so naïve, or so foolish, as to let his emotions wander like that again. He knows better.

“There’s no addiction—I just like her blood more than others, that’s all.” Harry assures his friend, tapping his thumb against the band of his mother’s opal ring. “I know I’ve been a bit of a flake lately, but it’s just while I have her around. I’ll get tired of her eventually; I always do.” He deliberately flashes his crimson eyes at his friend with a knowing smirk. “And then all it’ll take is a few choice words to take care of whatever lingering marks—metaphorical or otherwise— I’ve left on her, and it’ll all be done, and in the past. You know me, mate. Sometimes I like playing with my food.”

That last sentence makes his mouth go sour, almost as if his body is punishing him for uttering something so indifferently ruthless. Especially because deep down, there’s the smallest seed of doubt in his speech— the tiniest hint of uncertainty, telling him that the detachment he is playing up is not true.

Harry forces it to be true. It has to be. Both for his sake, and Y/N’s.

Mitch spends a long few minutes gazing into the blood red irises marching his stare, determined to find a crack in their façade. However, Harry’s good at hiding his feelings, given that he’s had decades of practice on how to keep a thick curtain draped over his innermost thoughts. He won’t let anyone see his weaknesses anymore, no matter how microscopic they might be.

When the older monster’s search turns up empty, he repents with a long sigh, waving his hands free of the whole affair. “Whatever, Harry. You seem to know what you’re doing. Just be careful, alright?”

“I do know what I’m doing, thank you.” Harry elects to ignore the last statement Mitch tacked on, and instead flips his laptop around to show his friend his findings with a triumphant—albeit, forced—grin. “I’m doing brunch. Google says girls Y/N’s age like brunch, and that the Persimmon Pantry in downtown L.A. has authentic crepes that are to die for.”

“Too bad you’re already dead.” The older vampire deadpans, pushing the laptop closed and raising himself from the couch into a standing position, tucking his hands into his jean pockets. “If you’re going to be dating a mortal, do we get to meet her? Because I think Niall may need a bit of a heads up after the accidental run in that happened last time—”

“Do you usually meet my meals?” Harry counters easily as he sets his laptop aside, standing to escort Mitch to the door. “Don’t be sentimental, Mitch. I’m certainly not.”

When Mitch’s eyes meet his own once again, there’s a degree of clarity running through them that nearly stops Harry in his tracks. “Aren’t you?” Mitch asks, voice neutral by careful control.

Harry sucks in a quick breath out of habit, pasting a bright expression over his face in lieu of actually revealing his swirling insides. “Not since I learned my lesson.” He says easily, tapping two fingers over his dormant carotid artery with a sly smile.

The casual act does the trick, and Mitch’s eyes roll in a familiar jesting fashion as he steps towards the door. “Right. You’ve got it under control, then.”

“All under control.” The words slip off Harry’s dry tongue like honey, his sweet cadence filling the space between them. “Not to worry.”

///

Y/N thinks this may be the most out of control she’s ever felt her entire life.

A few weeks ago, she would’ve said that taking Harry home from the club was the most out of control she’s ever been. And three months ago, dropping her whole life and moving to L.A. might have been the answer to that question. And another three months from now, Y/N might get herself into the middle of a new entirely stupid act— which is completely probable, given her track record— and that’ll become the new marker for the most out of control thing she’s done. But right now, at this moment, the most out of control thing she’s done is say yes to Harry asking her out to brunch.

When compared to everything else she’s done with Harry—and let Harry do to her—brunch may seem entirely harmless, but it’s the connotation behind it that scares her. Harry is taking her on a date. A real date. A date to a brunch restaurant, at 11 A.M. on a Sunday, when it’ll be completely bright outside, and people will see them together. A date with both of them in presentable situations, rather than being coated in sweat and completely dressed. A date where Harry refrains from whispering the filthiest fucking shit Y/N has ever heard into her ear, although she wouldn’t put it past him trying to do that over a plate of avocado toast.

Harry is taking her on a date. And last time Y/N checked, she wasn’t exactly good at those.

Her ex hadn’t really been the romantic type, to say the least. Their dates typically revolved around their high school’s dance and athletic schedules. Bradley took her to homecoming and to prom, and football games on Friday nights, where all her friends would meet them at a diner after their school— more often than not— lost. He would take her on long drives where they got nowhere fast, with the two of them sitting in silence, and his music playing through the speakers. She went over to his house once a week for dinner. He’d take her to a movie every second Saturday. And while it was all fine, none of it was very romantic. ‘Robotic’ is a more appropriate term.

And even with the fear of actual romance aside, Y/N has no idea what to discuss on a first date with someone. She had already known a lot about her ex when they began going out, so there wasn’t a period of “getting to know you” that needed to happen. The few first dates she’d had after him hadn’t been stellar, or even noteworthy. If anything, they had been guides for what not to do on a first date. And the funniest thing is that, while she’s fairly sure her last first date had been the catalyst for Harry asking her out, the actual date itself had been awful. But if she’s right, and that was the factor that set Harry off, then maybe she should be grateful for all those awful dates from her past, because Harry, in contrast to all those horrible dates, is different in every conceivable way.

Harry is just different. When she speaks, he listens. When he looks at her, he really looks at her, and he sees her in a way she’s not sure she’s ever been seen before. And, honestly, he has seen her in ways she’s never been seen before, and that’s exactly what Y/N is worried about. How do you sip a mimosa with someone at the Persimmon Pantry after they’ve throat fucked you on your couch, or bent you over the kitchen counter, or handcuffed you to their bed? How do you ask someone about their favourite movie when they’ve coaxed multiple orgasms from you over the phone as Sinister played from the TV screen? How do you listen as someone tells you about their childhood dog when the last dog you were concerned about was the position they bent you into as they spread your—

Y/N clears her throat and shakes her head of the thought, reevaluating her heated complexion in the mirror that hangs on the back of her bedroom door. “Stop it.” She mutters to herself, attempting to give her reflection a stern look. “You’re not going to be able to make it through this if you’ve thrown the towel in before Harry’s even picked you up.”

And that’s another thing, Y/N thinks, as she opens her bedroom closet and begins searching through it for something acceptable to wear. Harry insisted on picking her up, even though the restaurant he chose was a fifteen minute walk from her apartment. She’d brought this up to him when he asked her to brunch over the phone (which is a whole other thing in and of itself— he only called her when he had his hand wrapped around his cock and needed her voice to finish himself off; wouldn’t a text have been sufficient?), but Harry had blown off her concern without a second thought.

“Part of taking you on a date is picking you up, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but the Persimmon Pantry is between our apartments. Wouldn’t it make more sense to meet there? Then you wouldn’t waste your time driving past it to get me.”

“I don’t consider anything involving you to be a waste of time.” Harry had answered immediately, his voice stern, but still allowing a vein of tenderness to run underneath it. “Is that your only concern, then? Me picking you up?”

No, Y/N had thought. It’s not my only concern, but how the fuck do I explain everything else?

“Yeah.” Y/N had answered tightly, her voice weak. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, it’s not a concern of mine, so don’t worry. I’ll pick you up at 10:45 Sunday morning.” And then there had been a pause, full of baited breath and nerves, before Harry’s thick accent rang through her phone again. “I can’t wait to see you.”

Those parting words had sat in her stomach since, warm and cozy and inviting, keeping a soft, constant glow filtering in her veins until the end of the week came.

Y/N glances at the blinking clock beside her bed. It’s 10:17 now, a couple days after that conversation, which means she has less than half an hour to pick something to wear, style her hair that’s currently dripping wet from her shower, and throw on enough makeup to cover up the bags under her eyes that have been developing over the last few nights. After becoming so used to sleeping with Harry next to her every weekend, Y/N is now finding that not having him in her bed, smoothing her hair and rubbing her cheek as she cuddles into his cool chest is prohibiting her from getting a good night’s sleep.

Another concern, certainly, but not one she can deal with at this moment. The best she can do is smear on some concealer and hope for the best, and with that in mind, Y/N turns her full attention to her evaluation of her closet.

“Brunch,” She murmurs to herself, slowly pushing her clothing apart to examine each article. “We’re going to brunch. What do you wear to brunch?”

Brunch, she decides after a moment of consideration, is casual, but not sloppy casual, so jeans and a t-shirt are off the table. It’s Sunday casual, like the outfits her mother would pick out for her to wear to Sunday afternoon teas with the other church women once she turned 15 and had to “start acting like a lady.” Sunday casual, Y/N thinks, but maybe not those outfits. The raised necklines and starched collars had made her neck itch the entire time, and she had picked at the hemlines of her dresses under tables until the seams began to unravel. Sunday casual, but more of her actual style. Sunday casual, but sluttier, maybe? Could one describe Sunday casual as slutty?

Y/N groans as she takes a step back from her closet, clutching her towel to her chest with a tense hand. Maybe she’s going about this the wrong way. Maybe she should try to match Harry…?

A sharp snort falls from Y/N’s mouth. Yeah, like she could ever match Harry. Harry, who is so obsessed with labels that even his handcuffs are embossed with the Gucci logo. Harry, who is so attractive that it’s almost otherworldly. Harry, who can make her tiny apartment look like a New York Fashion Week runway by simply walking down the corridor of her entrance. Matching Harry is almost impossible. She could show up in a full length gown, and Harry would still outshine her in a graphic t-shirt and flared jeans.

“Hey.” Y/N chastises herself lightly, catching her judgemental eye in her mirror once again. “Stop it. Don’t be mean to yourself, just...just pick something to wear. It shouldn’t be this hard.”

After returning to her closet search and trying on a few different combinations, Y/N finally settles on an outfit consisting of a pale yellow sundress with a sweetheart neckline and tea length skirt, but dresses it down with a denim jacket and a pair of cotton candy coloured vans. It’s bright and fun, but still casual enough that it looks like she just threw it on.

“Oh, this old thing?” Y/N raises her eyebrows in mock surprise as she moves to her bathroom to begin to tackle her hair. She keeps practicing the imaginary conversation in the mirror with herself, and while she knows she sounds insane, it oddly keeps her nerves in check. “Oh, I just pulled it out of my closet a few minutes before you got here. Haven’t worn it in years. Do you like it?” The mortal pauses as she reaches for her makeup, deciding to keep herself to a more natural look for the day. “Thank you, Harry, that’s so sweet. You look nice, as well.”

She lightly fills her brows before sweeping some neutral eyeshadow over her lids, pausing her muttering to herself to concentrate on drawing her eyeliner as neatly as she likes. Once she’s satisfied with that, she moves to mascara, adding a thin coat to her lashes and blotting off the makeup she smudges underneath her eye by mistake. When that’s finished, the young woman takes a step back from the mirror, appraising her appearance.

It’s not awful, honestly. She could do worse. In fact, if it weren’t for the ball of anxiety currently twisting its way through Y/N’s stomach, she might even praise herself for the cute and casual look she’s managed to pull off.

“You look good.” She murmurs to her reflection as she reaches for her small silver hoops, slipping them through her lobes with a quick and practiced motion. “Good job.” With her eyes locked on her reflection, Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “Today is going to be fine. Better than fine, actually. And it would probably go better if you stopped talking to yourself, so maybe let’s get that in check before Harry gets here—?”

As if on cue, a now familiar knock on her front door causes the mortal’s mouth to snap shut, clamping off the rest of her third person monologue. When she makes a quick pause to straighten her jacket and fetch her over-the-shoulder woven bag, Y/N impulsively decides to grab her favourite perfume bottle, giving her body a quick spritz before making her way to the door and opening it with breathless anticipation.

Harry, of course, looks fucking incredible. Although his casual outfit consists of a black short sleeved button up shirt tucked into white slacks, Harry manages to work the whole number like a model. His usual cross necklace, unique rings, and stately single cross earring adorn his body, drawing Y/N’s eyes to the glint of the metals as a pair of black sunglasses sit atop the man’s defined nose. He meets Y/N’s eyes behind them, a grin beginning to paint itself over his cherry lips as his jeweled hand pushes the sunglasses from his face and into his chestnut locks, revealing his bright jade gaze full of genuine kindness.

“Well, look at you. Proper model now, aren’t you, Miss Urban Outfitters?” Harry’s voice takes on a casual tone, but the flirty phrase sends a shiver of pleasure down Y/N’s spine. “You look so fucking good in yellow, love. Why have I never seen you in yellow before?”

The shiver of pleasure reverberates throughout Y/N’s entire body. “Maybe because I’m usually naked when I’m around you?” She retorts quickly, reaching to the little hook next to her door to grab her keys.

“Hm. That’s true.” The pleased cadence in Harry’s voice catches Y/N’s ear over the click of the door lock. “Guess you go for the Victoria’s Secret look more often, hm? Though I’m not complaining. You look just as good in lace.”

“Thanks. But not today, I guess.” Y/N says quietly as she pushes down the heat boiling her face, unable to bite her tongue before the words slip out. “We’re on a real date today.”

“Right you are, Watson.” Harry grins cheekily as he motions for the girl to walk past him, following closely with a guiding hand on the small of her back. “We’re on a real date. It’s probably a little overdue, but you know what they say...better late than never, right?”

The moment she takes a step past him, it hits Harry. Although her delectable signature scent of lavender and honey is still there, it’s faintly hidden behind the nearly overpowering scent of gardenia and freesia he smelled last time he was in her hallway, when that oafish buffoon had the audacity to try and seduce her. And despite the fact that Harry prefers Y/N’s natural fragrance to any other scent on the planet, knowing that she took the time to spritz herself with perfume before greeting him brings a dimpled smile to his face. Harry considers making a comment about it, but bites it back at the last moment. The last thing he needs is to have to explain why he pays such particular attention to Y/N’s scent.

When the pair exit the apartment building, Harry takes the lead in front of Y/N, unlocking his flashy car with a click of the remote and opening the passenger door with ease. He extends a hand, grasping the mortal girl’s hand in his own with care as he helps her into the car. The click of the car door shutting comes a moment later than expected as Harry pauses to fix the hem of Y/N’s dress, making sure it’s free of the doorway before closing the door without clamping the light fabric.

Harry doesn’t even think twice before readjusting Y/N’s skirt, with the move coming as naturally to him as breathing once did, and merely notes the stuttering of Y/N’s heartbeat with a half hidden smug smile. It’s not until he’s in the driver’s seat and stopped at a red light that he realizes what that stuttering rhythm is indicating.

Y/N is tense. Even without his supernatural abilities that allow him to hear her heart, register her strained breathing, and feel the energy radiating from her body, Harry would be able to tell that some part of her feels...uncomfortable. Nervous, even. But for what? What about Harry—aside from the obvious that the human is unaware of—could make her nervous? After the countless hours in bed together, the lazy Saturday afternoons, the kitchen singalongs, Harry would think that Y/N would be as comfortable with him as he is with her. After all she’d shown him when they have sex—

Huh. Maybe that’s it, Harry thinks, giving the mortal a quick look from the corner of his eye. The light ahead of them turns green, and Harry continues to ponder his realization as he presses on the gas. If sex has become the norm for them, then maybe a date is outside of her comfort zone. Or maybe, now that her brain isn’t fogged by the endorphins that roll through her veins whenever Harry coaxes an orgasm from her trembling body, Y/N is realizing how unnatural it feels to be around Harry.

As much as Harry likes to pretend otherwise, humans aren’t dumb. If they get too close to someone of Harry’s kind, some sharp-sighted mortals begin to sense that there’s something different about them. Aside from the easy targets and quick decisions, part of the reason that picking up meals in clubs works so well for Harry and his friends is that a mortal’s senses are dulled in the flashing lights and inebriated atmosphere of a club. If Y/N is beginning to sense that there’s something different about Harry, or if she’s beginning to feel uneasy about being around him, then she must be wondering why. In Harry’s experience, mortals will relate their uncomfortable feelings about the supernatural into something they have more experience with to make sense of it all, and if that’s what Y/N is doing, then she’s probably attributing her newfound discomfort towards Harry trying to take advantage of her. If he could read her mind, he might see a horrific scene playing out like an old movie: Harry buying her a meal, soaking her rational thinking in mimosas and other drinks spiked with God knows what, and then helping her back to his car, where he drives her back to his apartment, practically carrying her inebriated body through the door towards his bedroom…

The car takes a sharp right turn into the restaurant parking lot, and Harry guides it to a spot with his hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. The idea of Y/N thinking him capable of that, capable of hurting her like that...it takes Harry a moment to extract his clenched hands from the wheel. If that was really what Y/N was thinking, then he could fix it. All it would take to set her at ease would be a quick request, a repeated statement, and the girl’s breathing would even out, and everything could continue like he had planned.

“Y/N?” He begins, keeping his voice as smooth as silk as he sets the car into park and turns it off. “Look at me, please.”

And then she does. And Harry forgets his plan within a moment.

There’s nervousness apparent in her eyes, yes, but no fear. Although her lips are chewed red, they don’t tremble when she answers him with a quiet “yes?” Despite their close proximity, she keeps leaning closer to him, and whether she’s aware of the action or not, the constant inch of her hand closer to Harry’s softens the immortal more than he thought possible. He can’t compel her to let down her guard when she already trusts him.

“I know that this is different for us. Doing something like this.” Harry begins, keeping his eyes as sincere as possible without compelling the young woman in front of him, who is keeping her eyes on his emerald irises with steadfast attention. “But I want this to be a proper date, like...like what I should’ve probably taken you on a month ago.”

Warmth rises to Y/N’s cheeks at the confession. “So do I. I like being around you, Harry. A lot. I’m just a little...nervous, I guess.”

Harry bites back a smile at how she sounds like she’s confessing something, as if her body language hasn’t been telling him that from the moment she got into his car. “I know. So I think it would be best, just to prove that this is a real date, if we don’t have sex after we finish brunch.”

A choked sound falls from Y/N’s mouth, and Harry delights in watching her scramble for words before she manages to form a half indignant reply. “I didn’t say I was going to sleep with you!”

“You don’t have to say it, pet, because we both know you can’t keep your hands off me. Exhibit A,” Harry nods at her hand, which is mere millimeters away from his thigh. “Being how you kept trying to grab onto me through the entire drive.”

Another gasp of indignation fills the car, and the emphasized outrage sets Harry at ease. He’d rather Y/N be equal parts annoyed and—if the soft look hidden behind her eyes is any clue—endeared than have her equal parts nervous and anxious. He’d take any anger directed at his expense if it meant she was at ease.

“I wasn’t trying to grab you.” The mortal mutters under her breath, her eyes falling from his as the increase of her heart pricks Harry’s ears. “That’s just where my hand fell naturally.”

“Right.” Harry answers in a disbelieving voice, his smirk growing as Y/N rolls her eyes in response. “Well, either way…” He extends a jeweled hand and grips her chin between his thumb and forefinger, enjoying how her breath stutters as he turns her head to look at him. “What do you say? No sex after our date? Think we can behave ourselves?”

“I can.” Y/N answers, irritation laced through her voice to hide the desire settling between her words. “You, on the other hand...I doubt you’ll be able to keep it in your pants.”

A wry smile works it’s way over Harry’s lips, and the vampire wets them with his tongue as he uses his gentle grip on Y/N’s jaw to tilt her head forward. “I have wonderful self-control, darling.” He breathes the words, letting the scent of mint roll over Y/N’s face, and delights in the way it intoxicates her with every syllable. Harry ghosts his lips over the curve of her jaw, smudging his kisses down her neck until he can feel her pulse thumping unevenly beneath his lips. His mouth opens just slightly as he leaves a lingering kiss on the area, his tongue gliding carefully over her sweet-scented skin.

Despite every instinct in his body telling him to sink his teeth into the beating pulse he feels and quench the thirst that burns in the back of his throat like a roaring fire, Harry manages to pull away. “See?” He murmurs softly, his cool breath still clouding Y/N’s every inhale. “Self control.”

While Harry is a master at withholding his desires, the effect his actions have on Y/N is apparent in her reply. “Good.” The mortal swallows thickly, her pulse fluttering again as Harry releases her chin and drags his fingers down her neck. “That’s good to know. So no sex, then.”

“Right.” Harry grins triumphantly as Y/N attempts to collect herself. The smug expression on Harry’s face lets her know that he’s completely aware of the impact he has on her, and it drives her insane to no end. Although her conscience is urging her to play his game, and do her best to fluster him as he flusters her, the more rational part of her stops that thought in its tracks. This is what she wanted, wasn’t it? To open herself up again, to open herself up to Harry in a way she hasn’t before? To prove that she can let someone know her without burrowing themselves between her thighs?

The latch of her car door brings her from her thoughts, and her head jerks to the right to see Harry with one hand on the door handle as he extends the other to her to help her from the car. Y/N, still fumbling with her seatbelt, takes a moment to grasp his hand in return, too swept up in the fact that Harry remembers to open her door to ponder how he always reaches her side of the car so quickly.

However, there are some new developments that don’t slip from her attention, like how Harry keeps her hand grasped firmly in his icy grip even after she’s out of the car, pausing only to click the lock on his keyring before walking with her towards the door. Or how, despite his long legs, he never falls out of step with Y/N, making sure to keep his strides measured and even so as not to yank on her hand. Or how, even though her hand is already half extended out of habit, Harry reaches the door of the restaurant first, opening it smoothly and stepping back, gently laying his hand on the small of Y/N’s back to guide her inside the restaurant.

“Uh, thanks.” The young woman murmurs to him, a tone of perplexity running beneath her words. She’s not quite sure why all of this surprises her; hadn’t Harry already proved that, despite his harsh and suggestive exterior, there’s an undercurrent of manners instilled into him?

Maybe, she thinks as she watches Harry step forward to the restaurant host, the surprise and confusion is due to the lack of manners she received from her ex. Despite the “small town charm,” as her mother had called it, Bradley had lacked the ability to successfully perform any gallantry, and any attempts he made to do so had only annoyed Y/N. Whenever he tried to do something that may fall into that category, like insisting on driving everywhere they went, or choosing where they’d go for dinner, Y/N never felt that the actions came from a place of protection or chivalry; on the contrary, Y/N felt like each action was taken on the basis that she herself was incapable of doing the same things Bradley did. On the one occasion she’d brought it up to him, he had scoffed, and argued that he was just trying to be a nice guy, and why would she have a problem with him trying to help her, and if she was going to complain, then he wouldn’t—

An icy touch to the dip of her back jerks Y/N from her thoughts, both metaphorically and literally as her body spasms away from the touch. Upon hearing the alarmed gasp that falls from her lips, Harry turns his head to the side, a look of concern painted over his face.

“Everything alright, darling?” He asks in a quiet voice, his hand retracting from her back with uncertainty.

“Yeah, sorry, just—caught up in thought, I guess.” Y/N covers quickly, giving him an apologetic smile. “You just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

If the way the mortal shivers is any suggestion, Harry can guess what exactly about his touch took her by surprise. “I’m sorry.” He says sincerely, his fingers hovering a few millimeters above the fabric of her dress. “The, uh, the table I reserved is just on the patio around the corner.” Although he lays his hand on Y/N once again to guide her, Harry is careful to place his palm further up her spine, where the sensitive skin of her back is covered by her jean jacket in addition to the thin yellow sundress. As much as he usually adores making her shiver, there’s something different about the action when he knows it’s because of his inhumanly cold touch, instead of his inhuman ability to pleasure her.

The pair move in a line, following the hostess in a beeline through the busy restaurant and out onto the sunlit patio, where there are fewer occupied tables. Stopping in front of a table partly shaded under an umbrella that’s away from the other diners, the hostess turns to the two of them, her eyes flickering over Harry once again.

“Is this table to your liking, Mr. Styles?” She asks, her voice sweet as sugar. The stickiness of it grates against Y/N’s skin, but Harry gives no indication of finding it irritating. In fact, he seems to give hardly any notice to the hostess at all, only half glancing at her before nodding his head.

“Yes, it is, thank you.” He steps out to the side, grasping the back of the chair facing away from the sun and pulling it out. It takes Y/N a moment and a half step already taken towards the opposite chair for her to realize that he’s pulling it out for her.

“Oh—” Face flushing with realization, Y/N steps back around Harry, settling down into the offered seat as he carefully pushes it in. “Uh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry replies, pausing to be sure she’s comfortable before taking his own seat across from her. The hostess, who had been watching his actions with a keen eye, gives another smile to the vampire.

“Alright, Paige will be your server today, but before I leave,” The hostess spares a short glimpse at Y/N before turning her full attention back to Harry. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

The creature is aware of the effect he has on mortals, and has been since he was first turned. While he normally plays that to his advantage (and while that was, to be frank, part of the reason he was able to take Y/N home from the club the night he met her), the attention is beginning to grind against his nerves. It’s easy enough for him to ignore a human, especially one he has no interest in whatsoever, but he can see the way Y/N notices the hostess’ preference for addressing Harry. More specifically, Harry can see the way it bothers her, and it would be amusing if his jealousy over Y/N going on a date with someone else hadn’t been the catalyst to their date today.

“No, that’s alright.” Harry finally responds to the waitress, glancing at her just enough so as not to be rude. “Thank you.”

The hostess smiles at him again before nodding to Y/N and turning on her heel, marching back towards the kitchen, and it takes just a soft snort falling from Y/N’s lips to pull Harry’s attention completely back to her.

“What?” He quirks an eyebrow up at the noise, reaching for the menu in front of him and flipping it open slowly. “Something funny?”

Y/N gives a small shake of her head as she mimics Harry’s action, casting her eyes downwards towards the now revealed menu. “No, not at all.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” The vampire reaches across the table to touch his date’s hand, flipping her arm carefully so he can lay two ringed fingers against the thin skin of her wrist, the fragile hummingbird flutter of her heart thumping beneath it. “And I’m too excellent at reading people to let it go.”

“Too stubborn, you mean?” Y/N corrects him as she raises her own brow, but much to Harry’s delight, she doesn’t pull back from his icy touch as she did earlier.

Harry shrugs lightly, an unconcerned air tinting his attitude. “If that’s what you’d like to call it. Either way, I’d like to know why you’re laughing at me.”

The mortal chews on the inside of her cheek, the action of her weighing her next words clearly written all over her face. “You seriously can’t tell me you don’t notice it.”

Cocking his head to the side, Harry gently yet consistently continues to stroke two fingers over Y/N’s velvety skin, the heat of her veins burning beneath his touch. “Notice what?”

Although she opens her mouth, Y/N’s reply is cut off by the clicking of high heels approaching their secluded corner, and it’s only a moment before a waitress (whom she assumes is Paige) is standing in front of their table. Like her coworker before her, Paige gives a brief hello to Y/N before turning all of her attention to Harry, smiling brightly at him as she gives her opening spiel.

“Hi! My name is Paige, and I’ll be your server today. Can I get some drinks started for you?” She asks, her hands clasped tightly in front of her (Y/N always hates when servers don’t write down orders; she knows it looks impressive, but the attention it takes to remember exact specifications gives her secondhand anxiety) as she addresses Harry.

The order is right at the tip of Harry’s tongue. “We’ll have two mimosas, please. And two ice waters, as well.” He replies, smiling briefly at her as his fingers continue to glide over Y/N’s wrist. The girl catches the way Paige’s eyes flicker to the movement, her (just barely) professional smile shifting for a fraction of a second before fixing itself, and while Y/N knows that it’s irrational, a small part of her can’t help but be pleased.

“Sounds good. I’ll be right back with those.” She chimes giddily, her heels clicking against the ground once more as she walks away.

The moment she’s left, Harry has his full attention turned back to Y/N. “You didn’t answer my question.” He murmurs, his emerald eyes alight with curiosity. “Notice what?”

An exasperated sigh sounds from Y/N as she makes a face. “The way they stare at you.” She answers, jerking her head over her shoulder towards the restaurant door. “The hostess, the server—they were both practically undressing you with their eyes. Are you telling me you didn’t notice that?”

Harry’s curious expression drops as he begins to shift in his seat, the stroking of his fingers over her wrist pausing for just one moment. Ah, Y/N thinks. Here it is. A confession that, yes, Harry did notice it, and Harry (and his ego) loved the attention, and he—

“I noticed it, yeah.” He begins, a reluctant look painting itself onto his statuesque features as a finger on his free hand rubs over his lion head ring.

A glum feeling of satisfaction settles into Y/N’s stomach, and she pulls her hand back a few inches, completely removing it from Harry’s grasp. “I thought so—”

“But I didn’t see the point in mentioning it.” Harry continues, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m here with you. Why would a spare look from a hostess or a server be anything but inconsequential to me?”

Huh.

“I…” For once, Y/N is stunned into silence. “Well, I just thought—”

“Y/N.” Her name sounds like a melody when it falls from Harry’s mouth, and the sincerity layered in his voice makes her snap her eyes to his. “Do you truly think I would flirt with a waitress on a date I asked you on? Does that sound like me?”

“Well, honestly…” Harry’s stare bores into hers, prickling Y/N’s skin with the new and nearly uncomfortable sensation of being seen. “I don’t want to think so, but considering how we met…”

“Ah.” Harry’s lips turn down into a small grimace, but quickly right themselves as he once again grasps her hand in his two large palms. “I won’t pretend that I’m not a bit of a—”

“Whore?”

Harry’s lip twitches in amusement again at the blatant tone of the girl’s voice. “Didn’t we just have a conversation about you slut-shaming me?”

The flush that overtakes Y/N’s face indicates that she remembers. “Yes, we did. But I seem to recall you agreeing. After you teased me for it, of course.”

“Of course. We both know how much you love teasing.” Harry digs his nails ever so slightly into her wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to pull a small gasp from her mouth as his grip begins to mimic the handcuffs that she had begged him to use on her. “But all that aside...I couldn’t give less of a fuck about what they think of me. I’m here with you. Despite most of my flaws, my mother raised me right. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

The thunderous thumping of Y/N’s heart rings through Harry’s ears, a constant reminder of why he’s here. Beneath her soft skin, beneath every telltale mark and scar, beneath her glittering eyes and silky lips, there’s the thing that keeps Harry alive. Rushing through this girl’s arteries is the sustenance that Harry needs to survive, the sweetest liquid he’s ever consumed, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it at his beck and call. If being the gentleman of Y/N’s dreams is what will keep her available for him, then that’s what he’ll do. The pounding of her heart is the beat that keeps him in time with the tune of his life. It’s nothing more and nothing less.

Still, Harry chooses his next words attentively, to bring back a joking manner to the conversation. “Someone must have done a number on you, huh? Was everything not so charming in Smalltown, USA? Did your parents split when you were a kid?”

And although Harry asks the questions with a smirk on his face, laughter in his voice, and mirth in his eyes, he doesn’t miss the way Y/N’s breath hitches in her chest, how her hand tenses beneath his, and how her eyes drop for a fraction of a second. He’s touched a nerve, one that is obviously frayed and hurting, and the regret that instantly washes over him is tinged with the confusion of how he’s capable of feeling such an emotion so intensely.

“Um—” While Y/N knew that she had to tell Harry about her disastrous dating history sooner or later, she had really hoped it would be later rather than sooner. Is a discussion about one’s scumbag ex appropriate first date talk? Can she bring it up now, or should she wait until they’ve finished their appetizers?

“Alright, so I have two mimosas and two waters for you…” Paige’s return distracts Y/N from her dilemma for just a moment as the server sets down the four glasses in front of the respective recipients. With her attention turned back to Harry, she takes a step back from the table. “Are you ready to order?”

Y/N’s eyes snap to the open menu in front of her, which had become the least of her concerns over the last few minutes. “Oh, I haven’t—”

“We’ll get two orders of the chorizo and goat cheese crepes, please.” Harry closes his menu before reaching for Y/N’s and repeating the motion, handing them back to Paige with a charming yet neutral smile. “And a side of hashbrowns, please, to share.”

Brow furrowing as the server scurries away without giving her a second glance, Y/N gapes at Harry, her voice wrought with confusion. “Why did you order for me?”

Harry raises his mimosa to his lips and takes a long sip, setting the condensation-covered glass back down on the table before replying. “You didn’t know what you wanted, and the crepes are delicious. Did you want something else?” With a lick of his red lips, he glances over his shoulder. “I can call her back if—”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Y/N wraps her hand around the alcoholic drink, swirling her finger over the cold glass. “I can order for myself. I’m a grown woman. Do you think I’m not capable or something?”

Harry cocks his head to the side, appraising how the mortal’s expression is closing off with every passing moment. This bothers her, he realizes. The idea of him not thinking she’s capable of something bothers her, enough that she’s clenching her glass, and her normally clear eyes are swirling with anger more and more with every passing moment.

“I know you’re capable, Y/N. I just thought that…” Shifting in his seat, Harry clears his throat as he gathers his words in his mind. Wasn’t he supposed to be the one asking the questions? “It’s supposed to be polite.”

“In what century?” She replies, her mouth falling agape in surprise as her eyes widen. “Men used to order for women because women weren’t allowed to, right? Because men made the decisions? Holding open a door is one thing, but choosing for me—”

“Okay, maybe choosing for you was impolite. I thought you were unsure on what to order, but I should’ve asked first. I’m sorry.” Harry half mumbles the apology as an uncomfortable feeling of shame begins to buzz in his stomach. “But the ordering thing, that— men did that as a sign of respect, so women wouldn’t have to talk to someone they didn’t know. I really didn’t mean anything by it, I swear. My mum just taught me that it was polite, so I...it’s a habit. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

He watches as Y/N chews her bottom lip, seemingly contemplating the authenticness of his apology. Everything he had said was true, of course. His mother did teach him that it was polite to order something for a date so she wouldn’t have to speak to someone she doesn’t know. Of course, it was also true that the practice had died out a century ago, and most women now preferred to speak for themselves. Harry can’t begrudge Y/N if she dislikes what he did; she’s proved time and time again that she can be rather independent. However, Harry’s surprised at the disappointment he feels about her reaction. If this is going to be a proper date, he’d like to hold it up to his standards of proper.

“Alright.” The mortal says after a moment, releasing her lip from her teeth and finally raising her mimosa to her mouth. “You’re forgiven. But I think I’ve earned the right to compensation for your assumptions.”

“Compensation could be arranged, I suppose.” Harry leans forward with a sly grin, his fingers finding the delicate skin of Y/N’s wrist once more. “I feel like I’ve been fairly firm on the no sex thing, but I could pencil you in for some compensation tomorrow evening, if that works for you.”

Y/N swirls the liquid in her glass as she bites back a smirk. “I was thinking of something a little different than an orgasm, actually.”

“What could possibly be better than an orgasm given by me?” Harry questions, his free hand fingering the cross around his neck. “Didn’t you once compare them to a gift from God?”

“I don’t recall ever saying that, actually.” The mortal girl replies in a dry voice, setting her glass down with a decisive thunk. “I don’t want an orgasm—”

“Oh, that’s a bloody lie—”

“I want information.” Tapping her fingers against the table, Y/N stares Harry down with firm eyes. “Like where did you grow up that your mother taught you it was appropriate to speak for a woman? Or why have you avoided any personal questions I’ve tried to ask over the last month?”

Harry retracts his hand from Y/N’s wrist as she voices her inquisition, settling his fingers on the rim of his mimosa to begin tracing the smooth glass. “To be fair, pet, you haven’t asked many personal questions. You’ve been too busy bouncing on my cock, haven’t you?”

“Maybe, but I won’t be today, as per our agreement.” Y/N steeps her fingers together as she leans towards him, the comical sight of her posture forcing Harry to repress a snort. “And you brought up personal questions first, Holmes. So you kind of screwed yourself, didn’t you?”

“I suppose I did. I’ve gotten so used to you doing the screwing, Watson. Guess I’m getting sloppy— although you seem to like that.” Harry can’t help but get in one last dig before conceding, taking a long gulp of his beverage before smacking his lips. “I’ll tell you what.” He says, pointing a jeweled finger at his date with his glass still wrapped tightly in his hand. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Pursing her lips, Y/N quirks up an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Let’s play a little question game.” Harry sets down his glass as he elaborates, his signature smirk growing over his cherry lips. “We alternate questions back and forth, asking whatever we’ve wanted to know. And the other person has to answer it honestly.”

Or as honestly as possible, Harry amends in his head. For obvious reasons, he’ll have to fabricate the majority of his answers, but that’s nothing new to him. Over the years, he’s had to create multiple spiels about his childhood, taking tiny pieces of truths and weaving them together with updated lies. Spitting out a few standard stories about where he grew up and why he left London is small change compared to his burning desire to know more about Y/N’s past.

The mortal chews on the inside of her cheek again, weighing her options in her head as she holds Harry’s questioning stare. As much as she hates to discuss her life story, and as much as she’d been hoping to hide it from Harry, she knows that she has to be honest with him if she wants him to be honest with her. As awkward as it may be, she’ll have to tell the stories sometime.

“Alright.” She relents after a moment, blowing out a harsh breath and lifting her mimosa to her lips. “But I get to ask the first question. Ladies first, and all that.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Harry flashes a cheeky grin at her, his left eye dropping into a quick wink. “Start your inquisition, Watson.”

Harry’s been in this position millions of times, so he knows the types of questions that are about to tumble from Y/N’s pretty lips. She’ll start off by asking where he grew up, and where he went to school, and how many siblings he has, before moving to things like why he moved to L.A., and how he made friends, and—

“What else did your mother teach you, besides manners?” Y/N asks suddenly, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth to catch a stray drop of liquid on her bottom lip as she lowers her glass. “And what was the most important thing?”

The nature of the question catches Harry so off guard that he doesn’t remember to quell the throb in his chest where his heart used to beat at the mention of his mother, and the old half healed wound flares with pain. What had his mother taught him? Harry ponders the question as Y/N’s curious eyes ponder him. What hadn’t she taught him?

“My mother taught me…many things. Many good things. She was a wonderful woman.” Harry begins honestly, albeit carefully, speaking in a measured voice as his eyes fall to her opal ring that sits upon his pinky. “She taught me how to read as a child, before I began school. She taught me...she taught me how to cook a bit. I’m not nearly as good as she was, but I’m passable. And yes, she did teach me how to behave around women, how to be respectful. But the most important thing…”

Y/N watches as Harry’s eyes bore into the ring on his finger, as if he’s staring into a crystal ball of the past to search for an answer. Perhaps, in a way, he is.

“The most important thing,” Harry repeats again, his eyes finally snapping away from the entrapment of the ring. “Was how to let someone know you appreciate them. It’s easy, I think, to go about your day without telling someone you care for them.” Stroking his thumb over the band of the ring, Harry thinks back to the countless ways his mother had wordlessly shown Harry and his sister how much she adored them. “Little touches, or little favours, things like that— those go a long way. They help someone feel less alone. They can be the difference between a good day and a bad day. She used to, um,” A lump suddenly develops in his throat, and Harry struggles to swallow it down as he voices a memory he hasn’t spoken aloud in over a century. “She used to comb her fingers through my hair when I was a little boy, whenever I was upset. I’d come home from—“ Harry cuts himself off before he mentions his father’s blacksmith forge, where he was an apprentice. “—from school, and she would take one look at me and be able to see I was frustrated. She always sat in this big chair in front of the fireplace, and she’d pat her lap, and I’d sit in front of her knees and lay my head on her leg, and she’d card her fingers through my hair as I told her every bad thing that happened that day.” Unconsciously, Harry raises his own hand to his chestnut curls, raking his fingers through them. The motion doesn’t bring nearly as much comfort as it once did. “She always listened. She never made me feel like my problems were silly. She just listened. It made me feel better. Made me feel…” The vampire’s hand drifts from his hair to his lips, rubbing over them pensively. “Loved.”

The mortal girl’s eyes soften as she listens to the memories of the man in front of her, who begins to look younger and younger with every word that falls from his lips. Although she’s surprised by the candor of his answer, it pleases her; she thought pulling truths from Harry would be like pulling teeth. One note of his story, however, catches her attention with an ache.

“You said...you said she was a wonderful woman.” Y/N murmurs, carefully gauging Harry’s reaction to the question. “Is she...not anymore?”

“I’m sure she would be, but she passed away a…a while ago.” Harry’s eyes shift to the ring again, the dainty band with its opal stone standing out from the rest of his chunky jewelry. Y/N wonders if that’s because it once belonged to someone else. “She got sick, and couldn’t get better.”

With a careful but tender motion, Y/N slides her hand across the table and settles it on top of Harry’s, cupping his larger hand in her smaller grasp. “I’m so sorry.” The sincerity in her voice snags Harry’s attention, and the vampire looks up to find the mortal staring at him with understanding eyes. “I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you. You must miss her very much.”

It takes Harry a moment to clear the lump from his throat enough that he can choke out a response. “I-I do, yeah. Every day.” He’s not sure if it’s his icy skin or the burn of Y/N’s touch, but he slowly pulls his hand from beneath her grasp, reaching for his glass of ice water instead. He gulps down half the liquid, setting the cup down with a decisive thunk before pasting a strained smile onto his face. “But that’s enough of my sob story, don’t you think? It’s my turn to ask a question.”

A small frown works its way over Y/N’s face as Harry pulls away, and she clasps her now empty hands together around the stem of her mimosa glass. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“The answer to my previous inquiry.” Harry’s emerald irises sweep over her figure, his tongue poking between his teeth as his simper becomes more genuine. “Someone must’ve really done a number on you if opening a door for you is a shock. What’s the story there?”

Although she knew that this would be Harry’s first question, Y/N still bides her time by knocking back the rest of her mimosa in one swift gulp, wrinkling her nose at the lingering taste that catches in the back of her throat. “His name was Bradley.” She begins, tapping a fingernail against the delicate glass. “And he—”

“So sorry to cut you off, darling, but,” Harry raises a finger to pause her speech, his rings glinting in the L.A. sun. “Bradley? You fucked someone named Bradley?”

“It was a small town! It’s not like I had many options!” Y/N argues hotly, her eyes rolling harder than they ever have before. “Now are you going to be quiet and listen politely, or are you going to keep interrupting me before I can even begin?”

Harry laughs once, shaking his head with an amused air. “Sorry. Continue.” Despite the teasing smirk still tugging at his lips, Harry raises a hand to the corner of his mouth, pretending to lock it shut with an imaginary key. He even takes care to slide the invisible key into his shirt pocket, patting it with satisfaction once the deed is done.

Y/N takes one more moment to glare at him, but Harry’s newfound silence continues, and so she does, as well. “His name was Bradley. I met him through a mutual friend in our freshman year of high school. I’d seen him around before, but we’d never talked, really. And after he asked me to Homecoming, he just kind of…stuck.” The girl shrugs in a way of explanation. “Like, he started coming around more to my house, taking me out to movies. And it was nice. The attention, I mean. There was no one else I was really interested in at school, and Bradley was cute, and he was friendly, and our families really liked each other. It made sense.”

As she speaks, a crease works its way between Harry’s perfectly sculpted brows. Most mortal romances, he’s come to find, are rather dull, but this one seems more boring than others, and he can’t stop himself from raising his jeweled hand in the air as if he were in one of the classes Y/N mentioned, waiting for the teacher to call on him for an answer.

When Y/N notices the hand, an exasperated sigh falls from her mouth, but she leans across the table and retrieves the imaginary key from Harry’s shirt pocket, her warm fingers leaving pinpricks of fire across his chest. A small smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips as those warm fingers touch the lifted spot, mimicking an unlocking motion before she sits back in her seat. “Yes?”

Harry rests a bent elbow on the table, propping his chin up on his fist as he leans forward. “I have a question.” He begins innocently, watching as Y/N narrows her eyes at his sudden polite intrigue.

“Yes?” She repeats again, wariness written into her tone as she evaluated the suspicious air of Harry’s behaviour.

“I was just wondering how big Bradley’s dick is.” Harry’s grin grows to wicked proportions as Y/N’s mouth falls open in shock. “Because, honestly, he doesn’t seem to have that much going for him, and I’ve been wracking my brain to figure out why you dated him, and the only answer I can come up with is—“

“That his dick must be huge?”

“That he’s well endowed, yes.” Harry finishes smugly, tapping a finger against his chin. “I’m curious. Are we talking about a carrot? A cucumber? A zucchini?” Lip twitching again, Harry stifles a laugh as Y/N’s face hardens with exasperation. “A stalk of celery? I suppose the length could be a selling point, but if there’s not enough girth to fill you—”

“His dick wasn’t the reason I dated him.” Y/N replies flatly, a deadpan stare meeting Harry’s mirth filled eyes. “Although, since you’re curious…it was the size of a cucumber, but not an English cucumber. More of a garden variety. Not incredibly girthy, but good for a beginner.”

“A beginner?” Intrigue sparks at the pit of Harry’s belly (along with what he thinks is jealousy, but he’ll wait to dissect that at a later date) as the vampire leans forward more. “This bloke was your first?”

“We were together for years, so—” Y/N cuts herself off with a shake of her head, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger nervously. “No, wait, that’s another question! You don’t get another question if I didn’t!”

“But you haven’t finished answering my first question—”

“I would if you’d stop interrupting!” Silencing Harry with a stern look, Y/N holds up her left hand, pinching two of her fingers together. “Do I need to pretend to lock your mouth again like I would a seven year old, or can you sit and listen like an adult for five minutes? What happened to that old fashioned chivalry from earlier?”

Harry lets out a defeated sigh, sitting back in his chair with proper posture. He takes a moment to adjust himself, straightening his back, fixing the fall of his shirt, adjusting his cross, planting his feet on the ground of the patio, and finishing off the show by rolling out his shoulders before squaring them. “Alright, I’m sorry. I’m ready to listen. Please continue.”

The young woman inhales deeply, testing Harry’s rapt attention as she takes her time sipping her ice water. When she sets the glass down and finds that Harry has stayed perfectly still, his irises glued to her, she continues.

“So Bradley and I got together our freshman year, and stayed together for the rest of high school. It was comfortable. His mom liked me, and my parents liked him. He came to church with us—” Y/N notes that Harry’s eyebrow lifts a quarter of an inch, but only for a moment before dropping back down into its neutral state. “—and he and I went out once or twice a week. He was…nice. But he didn’t do the stuff that you do, the…etiquette stuff.” She taps an index finger against the table, thinking back to all the movie and diner dates that have blurred together in her mind. “Well, he’d try, I suppose, but not in the way you do. Whenever he did something that was supposed to be chivalrous or gallant, it felt like he was doing it because he thought I was incapable. And when I brought it up, he got mad.” Y/N lifts one shoulder in a shy shrug as she smiles apologetically at Harry. “That’s why I didn’t understand you ordering for me. I know you didn’t mean it in the way he did, I can tell that, but it just kind of…reminded me of him. It left a bad taste in my mouth; he left a bad taste in my mouth, I guess.”

A beat of silence falls between them, and the intense way that Harry is looking at her is prickling the hair on the back of Y/N’s neck.

“I get that.” The brunette speaks after a moment, voice low and accent thick. “Being haunted by someone. Even after they’re gone, even after time passes…something can remind you of them, and it can be enough to bring you to your knees.”

Although Harry’s eyes are locked on hers, Y/N has the distinct feeling that he’s seeing someone else in her place. Before she can ask what he means, however, he’s blinked himself out of the self-imposed trance.

“So what was the final straw?” Harry clears his throat quietly as his mind comes back to the present. “Between you and Cucumber Dick?”

A tiny giggle escapes Y/N’s mouth despite her far from humorous answer. “Well—”

The telltale clicking of heels interrupts the unspoken thought, and within a moment, Paige is standing next to their table once again, a tray balanced on her hand with precision as she offers another one of her smiles to Harry. “Here you go—two orders of the chorizo and goat cheese crepes, and a side of hash browns.” The server sets the first plate down in front of Harry, but he quickly lifts it again and sets it down carefully in front of Y/N before accepting the second dish. He repeats the motions with the hash browns, sliding them to the middle of the table and within Y/N’s reach.

“Thank you.” Harry speaks with a kind tone, but offers no other comment to the girl, who’s allowed her eyes to slide to the dark ink that decorates Harry’s arms.

“Of course.” Paige stutters, giving no pretense of paying attention to Y/N. “Could I get you anything else?”

Harry glances at Y/N’s empty mimosa glass, raising an eyebrow in question. “Would you like another drink?” He asks her slowly, his voice unsure. Normally, he’d just order a second one for her without a thought, but now that he knows how she feels about him ordering for her, he’ll have to work on beating back that particular bit of Victorian etiquette.

“I would, yes.” Y/N replies with a smile as she touches the stem of her empty glass. “Thank you.”

A strained smile flickers over Paige’s lips. “No problem. I’ll be right back.”

Harry nods in satisfaction as he watches the server retreat. “There. We have a few more minutes. Keep talking.”

“Ah ah ah.” Y/N picks up her fork and sticks it into the hash browns, pulling away a crispy bite for herself. “I think I get to ask a question now, especially since you’ve crammed a few different inquiries into your last turn.”

“And here I was, thinking you loved when I crammed things into—”

“Harry.”

A teasing smile breaks across the vampire’s face, more genuine than Harry thought possible. “Fine.” He relents, cutting the corner off his crepes and popping the savory bite into his mouth. “What else would you like to know?”

Where to begin? Y/N considers his question pensively as she takes a bite of her own crepe, her expression raising in surprise when she finds that she enjoys Harry’s entrée choice. The smokiness and spice of the chorizo is undercut by the tangy saltiness of the cheese, all wrapped together with a few garnishes in the perfectly cooked crepe. Savoring the bite as she chews, Y/N begins to run through the list of questions in her head.

She could ask more about his family, but if the aching sadness that had radiated off of him at the mention of his mother was any hint, any answers Harry could give on that topic may be off tone for a first date. And while inquiring about what he said before, about being haunted by someone seems promising, it may also be a bit too much. As much as she dislikes talking about her personal life, she gets the feeling that Harry absolutely abhors it, and while she was surprised about him asking her on a date, she’s been even more surprised to find herself enjoying it. The last thing she needs is to fuck that all up by interrogating him about an ex.

With those two possibilities pushed aside, only one burning question is left on the tip of Y/N’s tongue, and she hurriedly swallows her mouthful of crepe before letting it fall. “Alright, I’ve got it.” Cocking her head to the side, Y/N points her fork at the man in an accusatory manner. “Did you ask me out on this date just because you were jealous I was out with Jacob? Was that the only reason? Because you saw me with him, and you didn’t like it?”

Harry wraps his ringed hand around his water glass, the metal of his jewelry clinking against the surface as he pulls a face. Even if he wanted to be honest with Y/N about this, Harry isn’t quite sure what the honest answer would be.

“I’ll admit, I was a little…bothered by it.” Reluctance is threaded through every word that Harry manages to spit out. “Moreso by your taste in men than anything else— Jacob wasn’t exactly up to par.”

“It wasn’t like I chose him myself.” Y/N retorts, pulling a grape from the bunch of side fruit on her plate and popping it into her mouth. “Was that really all that bothered you? That he wasn’t up to par?”

Tapping his fingers against the wooden table, Harry takes a moment to ponder the question. “No.” He says finally, deciding to continue his honesty streak. “No, that wasn’t all that bothered me. You’re right, I didn’t like seeing you with him, but it wasn’t because of him. Not entirely, anyways. I can’t imagine I would’ve liked seeing you with anyone.”

A light flush works its way over the mortal’s cheeks, and Harry can hear the stuttered thumping of her heart. “Why?” She asks in a half whisper, her teeth worrying her bottom lip unconsciously. “Why is that?”

Harry muses the various answers he could give as Paige brings them refills on their mimosas. It’s not like he can tell her that he wants to keep her available for snacking whenever he gets a little thirsty. Well, he could, but then he’d have to wipe her mind, and he’s not particularly inclined to do that at the moment. And, if he’s being honest with himself…he’s not entirely sure that’s the truth anymore. Is sheer convenience the reason behind his terrible reaction to Y/N seeing someone else? Or is that reaction linked to the way he felt when she opened her door to him that morning, and the sight of her all dolled up for him hit him like a truck?

Either way, none of those answers are suitable to confess in the moment, so Harry merely gives a dimpled grin. “That’s another question, darling. We’re not very good at limiting ourselves, are we?”

“I suppose not, no.” Y/N smiles sheepishly as she takes a sip of her fresh mimosa, her eyes watching Harry over the rim of the glass. “Your turn, then. What else do you want to know?”

What else would he like to know? Harry thinks, taking another bite of chorizo as he mulls over the question. Now that the floodgates have opened, now that he has the opportunity, now that he has the ability to ask, Harry wants to know everything. He wants to know what makes Y/N tick, what her pet peeves are, and if she prefers mornings or nights. He wants to know what her favourite school subject was, if she was ever in her school’s plays, or on any of the sports teams. He wants to know her favourite flavour of ice cream, what TV shows she binge watches when she wants to distract herself, and if she’s really read all those books that line the floor to ceiling shelf in her room. He wants to know her, he realizes. She’s more fascinating than he ever thought possible, and her blood is more addicting than he knew. He wants to know every aspect that molded her into the person sitting before him. And one of those aspects is—

“Why did things end between you and Bradley?” He finally asks, his voice low and cautious. “Was it mutual, or...?”

Despite the time Harry took to think of his question, Y/N knew exactly what it was going to be, and she has her answer ready to go the moment the words roll from Harry’s pillowy lips. “He was cheating on me.” She admits with a sigh, her eyes glued to her mimosa glass as she swirls the orange liquid within it. “He went away for university, and I stayed home. I guess he met someone at school.” Allowing her eyes to flick up to Harry for a moment, Y/N finds the man staring at her blankly with a harsh crease between his brows. “I kind of thought it was going to end, honestly. He began to get more and more distant...we’d talk less over Skype or the phone...but I didn’t think he’d…” She trails off for a moment, thinking back to the day she found out. “Well. He did. I found out from his roommate, and the next day, he and I were through. And almost five years of memories, time together, shared moments...all of that was just gone.”

Although it’s been years since things ended, and Y/N has moved on in tenfold, she can’t help the way her voice aches at the end of her explanation, which acts as proof of how the raw wound had healed in a way that wasn’t quite right. No matter how much time passes, no matter how many people she’s been with, no matter how little she cares for Bradley now...nothing will change the fact that he hurt her. Nothing will mend the jagged scar he created. Sure, it may fade with time, but it’ll never disappear completely. And as much as Y/N hates that Bradley still has an effect on her after all this time, she can’t change it. She’s tried.

“That…” Harry’s cool hand wrapping around her own drags her back to the present, and she lifts her eyes to find the man staring at her with the most tender expression she’s ever seen his sculpted face wear. “That’s awful, Y/N. I’m so sorry you went through that.”

“It’s—it’s fine. Really.” Y/N half mumbles the words, distracted by the small circles Harry’s thumb is rubbing against the bone of her wrist.

Chestnut curls swaying, Harry adamantly shakes his head, the crease between his brows deepening with each passing moment. “Don’t. It’s not fine. You don’t have to make excuses for someone who hurt you.”

“I’m not making an excuse, I just—”

“Did he hurt you?” Harry’s jade irises fixate on her own with determination. “Yes or no?”

Once Y/N locks her eyes with Harry, she can’t look away. His gaze nears hypnotic the more she looks. “Yes. He hurt me.”

“Then he doesn’t deserve you making excuses for him.” The vampire squeezes her hand to emphasize his answer. Although he’s not compelling her to understand him, Harry looks at her with an unfamiliar sincerity that he hopes makes the depth of his words resonate within her. “You may be fine now, or you may not be, but the situation itself wasn’t fine. Don’t use your healing as an excuse for his behaviour. You shouldn’t have had to heal yourself in the first place.”

The gravity of his words rings in Y/N’s ears, and the girl gapes at him for a moment, her mouth half open in shock, before the realization of what he’s saying hits her. The way he’s staring at her…it’s nearly uncomfortable, the way he sees her. She almost can’t bear it. How does he know to say exactly what she needs to hear, even if she doesn’t know she needs to hear it? Since the first night they slept together, when he reassured her that she could relax and let loose, Harry has been honest and reassuring. And although Y/N has greatly appreciated that trait in the bedroom, when she’s been at her most vulnerable in a physical aspect…her eyes lock with Harry’s once more, finding them still as steadfast as ever. This may be the most vulnerable she’s been emotionally in a long time. And the idea of that, for once, doesn’t completely terrify her.

The questions get more and more personal from there. Although there’s a few lighthearted inquiries sprinkled in to ease the tension (“What was the name of your first pet?” “It was a cat named Mr. Snuffleupagus. I named him after the Sesame Street character. What’s your earliest childhood memory?” “My sister nearly drowning me in a lake. She thought I would float.”), the majority of questions asked are things that neither person ever thought they would admit to someone else.

Those questions range from vaguely prying (“How old were you when you lost your virginity?” “Seventeen. It was with—” “Bradley and his beginner penis, right.” “Alright, smart ass, who did you lose yours to?” “My first girlfriend.”) to diving deep into memories, stories, and opinions that neither have so much as breathed to themselves in the dark of the night, let alone someone else.

Despite the plan having been to leave after brunch, the pair find themselves engrossed in their conversation, drinking mimosa after mimosa as the late morning bleeds into early afternoon, and they continue to discover each other.

As Y/N takes a sip of her fourth beverage, Harry regards her with curious eyes, which are focused on picking apart every moment of her body to dissect and devour in his head when he’s alone that night. “So you said pretty much everyone from your hometown marries their high school sweetheart.” He asks slowly, rubbing a jeweled finger over his ice-swollen lips. “But you didn’t, obviously.”

“No, I did not.” Y/N says in agreement, a tipsy snort sounding from the back of her throat as she raises her fluted glass in a toast. “Thank fuck, honestly. Could you imagine me as a wife right now? And a mother? With children?”

Finger tapping against his lip, a cheeky grin tugs at the very corner of his mouth. “No, I couldn’t, frankly.” Harry’s dimples wink at her as he answers. “But what I’d like to know is…do you believe in it? Marriage, I mean? Because you said your parents had rough patches, and you thought they mostly stayed together just to stay together, and you and Gherkin Pickle didn’t last—”

“I’m sorry, Gherkin Pickle—?”

“So what I want to know is…” With his thumb and knuckle still grazing his chin, Harry points his finger at the girl across the table. “Marriage. Do you think there’s value in it? Do you think someone can be monogamous for their entire life? Do you want to get married someday?”

The alcohol is beginning to soak into Y/N’s brain, making her bolder with every thump of her heart in her chest. She leans across the table to ghost her fingers over Harry’s knuckles, continuing to glide them over his cool skin until she reaches his statement rings. “Why?” She asks, a smirk twinkling its way onto her face. “Are you asking?”

“Not quite yet, no.” Harry can feel the alcohol beginning to buzz through his stagnant veins, and he’ll later blame his flirtatious response on the pleasant feeling. “Although you in that dress has me half considering it.”

“Only half considering it?” Y/N clicks her tongue in feigned disappointment, swirling the tip of her index finger over the opal ring that sits upon Harry’s pinkie. “That’s a bit disheartening. I’ll have to up my game, huh?”

The sight of Y/N’s lithe finger tracing his mother’s ring sends a shock through Harry’s buzzing body. He can’t quite tell if it’s the witty banter that she matches perfectly and with ease, the lighthearted smile that lifts her soft lips, the gentle pulse he can feel reverberating through her fingertip, or the cleavage that’s just barely slipping out of her dress as she leans over, but Harry can’t tear his eyes away from the mortal girl, not for one second. He doesn’t want to miss a single moment of her like this. How it’s all for him.

“You know, I’m starting to regret my earlier proposal.” He murmurs quietly, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue as he watches the mortal take a long sip of her mimosa. “How much begging would it take to convince you to follow me to the bathroom right now for a little fun?”

Despite the warmth pooling between her thighs at the offer, Y/N shakes her head. “Too much begging.” She replies, setting her glass back down on the table with a soft clink. She can already tell there’s a good chance that she’ll go back on the agreement they made, but she wants to make him sweat first. As much as it tortures her, she knows it tortures him more. And he’s certainly done his fair share of torturing. Now it’s her turn. “But speaking of proposals…”

To his credit, Harry doesn’t push the subject of bathroom quickies again. “Right.” He pauses with his glass half raised to his lips. “Marriage. Thoughts?”

Harry’s attention is rapt as his eyes drift to the mortal’s lips, which pucker slightly as her lightly inebriated mind thinks through the question. Not for the first time, he wishes he had the ability to take a look inside her head and see how her thoughts form before she voices them.

“I think…” She fixes her fork against her plate with a clink, her voice light but thoughtful as she forms her response. “I do think there’s value in marriage, but not inherently. It’s not valuable just because it exists; I think it becomes valuable based on the work you put into it. My parents, for example…” Her finger begins to circle Harry’s icy knuckle absentmindedly. “My parents didn’t put much work in, so I don’t think their marriage has that much value in comparison to what it could have if they tried. But if two people put effort in, and strive to be the best partner they can be…I think there’s tremendous value in that.”

Harry responds with a low hum in the back of his throat. “That stands to reason.” He wishes he could take her hand in his own, but the sensation of her warm fingers tracing his skin is too wonderful to pull away. “What about monogamy? Do you think it’s realistic?”

“I suppose my answer is the same.” Y/N shrugs lightly as her soft skin catches on the corner of Harry’s H ring. “It’s different for everyone, but I do think it can be realistic. What’s not realistic is the idea that it’s easy. People change over time, right? Sometimes someone can change into someone completely different. You have to expect that, and be flexible with it.”

For the first time since the beginning of their date, an uncomfortably negative feeling buzzes in the pit of Harry’s belly. Of course Y/N thinks people change—she’s mortal. But Harry, on the other hand… Harry is forever frozen at twenty-six. Harry is static. Harry is stagnant. However Y/N will change, Harry cannot match it. Ever.

That realization helps him identify the uncomfortable feeling as his eyes fall on the girl’s finger tracing his rings. It’s longing, he discovers, unable to look away from the way her fingernail scratches his immortal skin without so much as leaving a pinkening mark. Harry will never change again, while Y/N has a whole life of it ahead of her. Millions of possibilities that lead to millions of more possibilities, always shifting, never staying the same from one moment to the next.

“As for your last question…” Y/N’s familiar cadence pulls Harry from his thoughts. “I’m not sure. I wouldn’t completely rule out marriage, but it’s not an active goal of mine. It all depends on finding someone I think I could grow with and still love at the end of every day. And despite how simple that sounds,” The short laugh that leaves her mouth is wistful, but hides a tinge of bitterness. “It’s surprisingly hard to find.”

“It is, yeah.” Harry agrees, finishing the remnants of his mimosa with one fell swoop. “Incredibly hard.” His gaze sweeps to Y/N’s glass, which has about one more gulp of liquid left in it. With the hand not within her grasp, he reaches across the table, picking up the glass and lifting it to her lips. “May I, pet?”

He can hear the way her heartbeat stutters in her chest, and feel the heat radiating off her cheeks as she nods slowly. Harry places the glass between her lips, carefully tilting it back until the drink runs out of the crystal and into her awaiting mouth. A small droplet streaks from the corner of Y/N’s mouth, and Harry is sure to catch it on his finger after setting the glass down.

Y/N knows that Harry is doing his best to fluster her, and while it’s working, she knows that she can play the game just as well as he can. Keeping her eyes on his like a challenge, she grasps the hand touching the corner of her mouth, guiding his finger beyond her lips with a firm grip. The sweetness of the orange juice and champagne concoction swells across her tongue, but that’s nothing compared to the sweetness of watching Harry’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly.

Pulling his finger from her mouth with a quiet pop, Y/N sets his hand back down on the table, squeezing it once before releasing both of his hands and resting her elbows on the table. She steeples her fingers together, setting her chin on the makeshift rest as she regards Harry’s darkening eyes.

“Thanks.” She murmurs, tilting her head to the side lazily as Harry shifts in his chair. “Didn’t realize I missed a drop. That was a sharp catch, Holmes.”

Harry can’t help but flex his finger as his gaze drops to the digit, catching how a light sheen of saliva covers his skin. Heat floods between his thighs, making him regret his choice of fashionable linen pants over standard jeans. “Thank you, Watson.” He matches her banter, albeit with a slightly strained voice. “Shall we order another drink, now that we’ve both finished?”

The question hangs in the air between them like an invitation, open ended and carefully calculated. Y/N leans forward again, unlocking one of her hands to run a finger over the dark ink staining Harry’s exposed forearm. “I think we should grab the check, actually.” She wets her lips with a swipe of her tongue as she feels Harry’s muscle tense under her touch. “I think I’ve had enough to drink. Have you?”

All the moisture in Harry’s mouth disappears, his throat burning as the mortal girl’s scent envelops him with every move. His eyes flicker to her neck, where the thumping of her heart is practically visible underneath her fragile skin. With his inhuman eyes, he can just make out the ghost of a bruise he sucked into her neck a few nights before.

Has he had enough to drink? No. He’ll never get enough. But that’s not what Y/N means by the innocuous question.

“I’ve had my fill, yeah.” Jerking his head in agreement, Harry motions towards the window, where he knows Paige has been analyzing every move between them. Her displeasure at the close interactions between Harry and Y/N is nearly palpable as she makes her way back to their table, and Harry wonders if Y/N can also sense it, as she seems to be more perceptive than the average human. When he turns his attention back to her, however, his brow creases in confusion.

“What are you doing?” He asks, watching as Y/N shifts through her woven bag and extracts her wallet.

“Grabbing my wallet?” Her expression is just as confused as his own when she replies. “To pay?”

“To—? No. Put that away.” Harry says sternly, using the same dominant tone he adopts in the bedroom (only half on purpose). “This is a date. I’m paying.”

“This isn’t the 18th century, H. We can split the bill.” Y/N begins to roll her eyes as she opens her wallet, reaching for the debit card stamped neatly with her name.

“I’m well aware it’s not the 18th century, love.” Lip twitching from the wry irony, Harry gently places his hand on her own and closes her wallet. “But it’s a date— our first one, at that— and I’d like to pay for you. It’s just manners.”

Although he can feel the grip on her wallet loosening, there’s still a degree of hesitancy apparent in Y/N’s eyes. “Harry—”

“And I don’t mean that in a chauvinistic way, and I don’t mean to imply that you’re incapable of paying.” He swipes his thumb over her knuckle once, letting his physical touch reinforce his words. “I asked you out, yeah? So I think it’s only fair that I pay.”

Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s pillowy lips as she worries them between her teeth, her resolve getting weaker and weaker with every passing moment. It only takes three more beats of her heart for her to give a small nod, and Harry, satisfied that she’s agreed, reaches for his wallet to pay the bill.

Despite the temptation to short change Paige on the tip for her disregard for his date, Harry still leaves a sizable tip, saying goodbye to the server with a polite— and only polite— smile. Once she has her back turned, however, Harry flashes his most genuine grin at Y/N as he scoots his chair away from the table to stand.

Y/N’s hands grip the sides of her chair to match Harry’s motion, but she freezes once she sees the man step towards her. Within a moment, his jeweled hands are wrapped around the back of her chair, carefully pulling it out before offering her a hand to help her stand.

“Is this going to be a thing now?” Y/N asks, nodding to their clasped hands as she pulls her bag over her shoulder. “Pulling out chairs, opening doors—”

Placing his hand on the small of her back once again, Harry scoffs. “It’s always been a thing,” He argues, guiding her to the patio door and through the restaurant. “You’ve just been dating pricks, apparently.”

Despite his answer, however, even Harry can’t deny that the urge to resurrect his Victorian etiquette is as strange as it is sudden. And, truth be told, there is something deeply pleasing in the light flush of blood he can hear work its way over Y/N’s cheeks when he opens the door of the restaurant for her, opens the car door, takes her hand to help her in, and shuts the door carefully before making his way to the driver’s side.

It’s easy to spend the short drive back to her building with his hand entwined with hers, their fingers woven together as Harry’s thumb moves over her knuckles. Y/N’s skin, like usual, is so warm, almost as if she’s made from sunshine herself. At this point, Harry wouldn’t be surprised to learn that; her blood could certainly pass for being made from stardust.

It’s all too soon that Harry is pulling into a parking spot in front of Y/N’s building and turning the key in the ignition, his favourite car smoothly powering down in one fell swoop. Once the sound of the engine dies down, his eyes refocus on the girl next to him.

Y/N, in comparison, is just as focused on Harry as Harry is on her. She knows that it’s time to let go of his hand, time to climb out of the car, time to return to her apartment alone. Time to fall out of the fantasy that has been this afternoon. Despite knowing all of this, however, she stays glued to the seat, her eyes locked with Harry’s emerald irises in a soft battle.

Harry is well aware of the predicament he’s found himself in. While he was the one to establish the no sex rule in an attempt to keep Y/N comfortable, it’s becoming harder and harder to stick to it with every passing moment. If he was smart, he’d bid the girl goodbye here, allow her to walk herself into her building, thereby erasing any possibility of him charming her into allowing him inside her apartment. Then, once he was safely back home, he could draw himself a hot bath, scent it with lavender epsom salts, close his eyes to picture the way Y/N looks with laughter in her eyes, the sun spilling across her cheeks, her dress’ neckline falling dangerously low, and tug himself to a tension-relieving climax.

However, Harry has never been known for his intelligence. Not as much as he’s been known for his recklessness.

Before he can second guess his most likely terrible decisions, Harry is out of the car and opening Y/N’s door. He’s helping her out. He’s guiding her into her building, and climbing up the stairs of her fifth floor walk up with her hand locked in his. And now he’s standing in front of her apartment door, with Y/N shyly looking at him as she bites her fucking lip, completely unaware of the rampage raging inside the vampire before her.

And the most infuriating, frustrating thing about the entire situation is the way Y/N is looking at him, like she can barely hold his gaze, but can’t force herself to look away. Harry can feel the waves of need and uncertainty radiating from her, hear the thumping of her heart in her chest. The last time she looked at him like this, like she’s unsure of where they stand, was the first night they met. Harry remembers how she fumbled with her keys, nervously invited him in, and then let him use her in a way that literally drove him to his most primal state. He remembers the euphoria of sinking his teeth into her neck, tasting her ridiculously sweet blood for the first time as his orgasm rolled over him, wave after wave of intense pleasure blurring together as his eyes burned crimson, the lewd sounds of their bodies moving together, the desperate whines that echoed from her throat...

“Thank you for lunch.” Y/N’s sweet voice interrupts his walk down memory lane, and with good timing— five more seconds, and Harry would have been pushing her against her front door to rut her dress up and slip inside her. “And the drinks. I had a really nice time.”

Clearing his throat, Harry pushes the indecent thoughts from his head as best he can. He can take care of this later, he tells himself. He just has to be a gentleman for a few more minutes, and then he can go home, and be as depraved as he needs to be. “I did, as well.” The vampire squeezes her hand in preparation of letting go of it. “A really lovely time, actually. I’d like to do it again.”

The way Y/N’s eyes widen ever so slightly as her breath just barely hitches, both of which would be imperceivable to human senses, makes Harry bite back a laugh. “I would too.” A more reassured smile rolls over her face as she leads his hand to her waist, setting it just over her hip and squeezing his fingers around her love handles.

Even after everything Harry has done to her, all the ways he’s seen her, felt her, made her feel— even after all that— his hand on her hip over her dress still sends a shiver down her spine. “I don’t want you to go…” She confesses in a quiet voice, rubbing her thumb over his icy knuckles. “It feels strange, not having you come inside…”

“I know.” A sigh escapes Harry’s lips as he leans down, brushing his forehead over hers as he murmurs his response, his voice dangerously low. “But if I come inside, I know what I’ll do. And I promised that I would behave myself today.”

“I don’t mind breaking promises.” Y/N wisps, closing her eyes as Harry’s breath, tinged with orange from the mimosa and mint from the candy the restaurant gave them with the bill, rolls over her in a delicious wave.

Nudging his nose against her own, Harry shakes his head with the smallest of motions, his fingertips digging further into Y/N’s love handles. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” His lips ghost over hers, barely even brushing before he pulls away again. “One of us needs to have some self control.”

Y/N wedges her free hand between their bodies, resting it over Harry’s chest with her fingers curled along the unbuttoned edge of his shirt. “If you insist.” Her fingernails dig just the slightest bit into Harry’s sturdy chest, savouring the way she feels his body tense beneath her. “If you want to be boring, then that’s fine.”

Harry laughs quietly at the small attempt to tease his ego, and although his instinct tells him to prove her wrong, he just nods his head. “Am I too boring to receive a goodbye kiss?” He brushes a loose hair back from her forehead before cradling her warm cheek, guiding his thumb over her cheekbone in a repeated action. “Haven’t kissed you in hours. Feels wrong.”

Butterflies burst into flight in Y/N’s stomach at the innocent request coupled with the sweet explanation. They’ve done everything in the wrong order, she thinks, as she allows Harry to smudge small pecks along her chin and cheeks. The very first night they met, she allowed him to use her in any way he wanted, and he allowed her the same luxury. They’ve spent the last month exploring each other’s bodies, getting to know every nook and cranny, every preference. They’ve grown accustomed to how the other moves in their sleep, how they wake up in the morning, if they shower at sunrise or sunset. And now, after all that, they’ve finally had what has probably been the best first date in the history of first dates, and this man, who has already coaxed countless orgasms from her shivering body, who has learned all of her likes and dislikes, is asking for a goodbye kiss like a nervous teenager walking his crush home from biology class.

How could she refuse him?

The answer is simple: she can’t. In fact, she’s not sure she could refuse Harry anything he asked of her. And maybe that would be worrisome— it probably should be worrisome— if the idea of giving Harry whatever he wanted didn’t bring a wave of warmth to Y/N’s belly that travels from her center to the very tips of her fingers.

“No,” She wraps the loose fabric of his shirt around her fingers, clutching him as close as she possibly can. “You’re not too boring, H. You’re never boring.” Y/N sucks in a breath as she feels Harry’s teeth graze over her jaw, marking her ever so slightly as her lover makes his way back to her lips fervently.

He smudges a kiss at the corner of her lips, pulling a strained whimper from her as she waits for him to kiss her properly.

“Ask me.” He whispers, grazing his fingers over her cheekbone again and again. “Ask me to kiss you. I want to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

The request is so innocent compared to everything else Harry has ever asked her to do, and his voice lacks the dominant command it usually carries over her, but Y/N feels just as weak as she would if he ordered her to get on her knees. “Harry…” Her voice floats through the miniscule space between them, so quiet that it’s barely audible over their laboured breathing, but Harry still thinks it sounds like a song. “Please kiss me. Kiss me goodbye.”

A groan reverberates in the back of Harry’s throat, and the tiny molecule of composure that he has left in him slips away as he glides his lips over her own silky pair, his fingers threading into her hair on instinct. Although he does his best to restrain himself, it becomes more difficult with every passing moment, and becomes damn near impossible when he hears the way Y/N whines at the sensation of their lips brushing together with more and more force.

Despite his best efforts, Harry soon finds his hands moving of their own accord as his palm travels from Y/N’s hip towards her ass, ruffling her dress as he grips her and thrusts a leg between her own. He backs the mortal up into her door, her back hitting the wood with a delicate thud, and the groan she releases worries him for a split second before he feels her grind against his thigh situated between her legs.

Harry knows that the pretense of this just being a goodbye kiss went out the window the moment he touched her, and although she’s responding in kind, he has to live up to his word. He has to. He swore that he wouldn’t fuck her today, and as much as he wants to, as much as it seems that she wants to— and if the red hot heat burning his thigh is any hint, she very much wants to— he has to regain some self control. Despite all his shortcomings, or how his thirst for her blood outweighs any other desire he has for her, he has to remain a gentleman. Even if it means peeling himself away from the beautiful girl who is scratching at his chest, moaning into his mouth, grinding against his thigh, and speaking between ragged gasps—

“Fuck the promise.” She groans into his ear, her teeth grazing over his lobe with more pressure than Harry thought her capable. “Please, H. I know what we said, but I need you.”

Harry curses under his breath at the sensation, his eyes rolling back into his head for a split second, and he knows that if he doesn’t distance himself, he’ll succumb to her begging. “I can’t, darling. I can’t.” He chokes out the words between pants, bumping his forehead against Y/N’s as he struggles to catch a breath that he’s forgotten he doesn’t need. It’s funny, he manages to think, how he teased Y/N for not keeping her hands off him earlier, when he’s the one who can’t bear to be away from her touch now. “I want to— Christ, I want to— but I’m trying to behave.”

“Behaving is stupid.” Y/N mutters, smudging her lips across Harry’s stubbled jaw and down his neck, leaving small marks in her wake. “What happened to giving into desires?”

Good fucking question.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut tightly, a choked laugh escaping his heaving chest. “That was when we were just fucking. Now we’re…”

Y/N regards the man with hooded eyes, a flutter of hope shining through the desire that’s settled in her chest. What exactly are they? They’re not dating, she knows that for certain. But they’re not exactly just fuck buddies anymore. “We’re what?” She prompts after Harry trails off.

“We’re…” Harry struggles to form a coherent thought, too entranced by the feeling of Y/N in his arms to think straight. Sucking in a deep breath, the fragrant scent of the girl’s arousal burning his throat, Harry forces himself to take the smallest step back from her, although his hands stay locked around her hip and her cheek. “We’re saying goodbye.”

A defeated sigh falls from Y/N’s swollen lips, but she nods gently at the man before her, brushing her thumb over his exposed collar bones with great care. “Alright.” She mumbles, disappointment laced through her voice. “Goodbye.”

The glum tone brings a small smile to Harry’s cherry lips. “It’s just for a little while, love. Not forever.” Harry teases her as he swipes his thumb over her flushed cheek. “Couldn’t stay away from you that long.”

The breathless flush turns into a pleased warmth as Y/N struggles to hide the smile threatening to break across her expression. Taking the change in mood as a hint, Harry ducks his head, pressing his lips against hers with an earnest softness for just a moment before stepping back and releasing the mortal girl from his grasp.

“Goodbye.” He murmurs again, his belly aching at the thought of leaving Y/N alone for the rest of the day. It really does feel unnatural, he’s surprised to find. Has he really gotten that used to being around her?

It’s a strange process, leaving Harry at the door. After she finally says goodbye again, shuts the door, locks it tightly, and slips on the chain, Y/N finds herself touching the wood, her palm pressed flat against the surface as if she can feel Harry on the other side. It takes her a moment to walk away from it, the buzz of the mimosas and their first date streaming through her veins.

Checking her phone for the first time, Y/N is surprised to find that it’s nearly 4pm— had they really been in the restaurant for almost five hours? No wonder the server had been giving her a dirty look; they’d spent so long just talking and sipping drinks, ordering no other food, and not giving up their table. She’d probably be glaring too.

Admittedly, there is a slight rumble in Y/N’s stomach, as they ate over four hours ago, but she ignores it as she takes a seat on the couch to untie her pink vans, tossing them into the corner before slipping off her jean jacket. She tosses that over the couch too, running her hands through her mussed hair. She’s not quite sure what she’ll do with the rest of her day now that she’s alone. She could indulge some reading, or answer some messages from relatives, or maybe even—

A pounding on the door disrupts her thoughts, jerking her eyes from the book on her coffee table to her front door. With her brow furrowed in confusion, Y/N rises from the couch and walks to the door, gliding the chain free and turning the lock before swinging the door open.

Braced in the doorway with shining eyes, ruddy cheeks, and a heaving chest as if he’s run all the way back up to her apartment, is Harry. He takes a moment to compose himself, swiping his tongue over his lips as she takes in her more relaxed appearance.

“I couldn’t go.” He confesses, answering the question on the tip of Y/N’s tongue before she even has the chance to speak it. “I made it down to my car, and then—”

Y/N grabs him by the front of his shirt and yanks him into her apartment, slamming the door behind them before reaching for Harry again. His hands are already outstretched to receive her, having grown used to their intimacy routine, and she’s pleased when he automatically rests his palms on her lower back and her neck as she wedges her lips between his once again.

“I don’t want you to go.” Y/N gasps the words against his mouth, barely peeling herself back from him to utter the sentence. “I need you so fucking bad, H, please—”

With great difficulty, Harry attempts to think straight, but it gets harder when Y/N bucks her hips and— well, it gets harder. “I meant what I said, Y/N. I did, I—I made a promise, and I have to—”

“What do I have to do?” Y/N demands, tangling her fingers in Harry’s chestnut curls and forcing him to look her in the eye. “I fucking need something, Harry, and you’re the only one who can fix it.”

Christ. Harry’s had his suspicions, but now he’s convinced that this girl has some direct line to all his weaknesses, because she knows exactly how to stroke his ego like no one else has before. She presses every one of his buttons every time. She’s allowed him to handcuff her, take her in every position, manhandle her, slap her around, and she still begs him for more. Is there anything that she hasn’t done better than anyone else?

And that’s when it hits him. The perfect loophole.

Harry is so excited at the possibility of relief that he nearly whimpers, just barely managing to bite back the sound at the last second as he smooths his fingers over his lover’s wild hair. “What about when I’m not here, pet?” He goads her softly, a glint shining in the corner of his darkening eyes. “What do you do then?”

“I…” Although confusion is present in Y/N’s voice, she answers him promptly— she’s gotten used to obeying his sexual requests over the course of the month. “I call you. And you...you tell me what to do, usually.”

“Tell you what?” Harry hungrily prompts her again, tugging on her hair with the lightest of touches. Like before, he wants to hear her say it. “What do I tell you to do?”

“You tell me how to—how to touch myself.” The mortal girl stammers, shyness creeping into her tone despite having begged for Harry mere moments earlier. “And then I do.”

“You do. You behave so well for me.” Keeping his voice as smooth and sensual as possible— which isn’t hard for him, if he’s honest— Harry twirls a lock of Y/N’s hair around his finger, wrapping it around the length as his fingertip brushes over her lip. “I tell you what to do, and you do it. And you moan for me, and send me the prettiest pictures.” He presses harder against her lip, dragging her mouth open as a whimper escapes. “And I always think: what would it be like to see that in person?”

Although the effect of the mimosas has faded by now, Y/N’s head is swimming in a cloud of Harry’s cologne and her own lust, and she struggles to understand the double meaning in his words. “What—what do you mean? You’ve seen me in bed—”

The innocent confusion in her voice tantalizes Harry in the best way. “When I’m touching you. But that’s not what I want.” He murmurs, grinding his hips back into her own. “I know how to get around my promise.”

He watches as the realization dawns on Y/N’s face, her heart stuttering as warmth floods through her body. “Y-you mean—? You want to see me…?”

“I want to see you touch yourself.” Harry finishes her thought as his eyes darken, and he licks his lips at the image of Y/N laid out on her bed, legs spread wide, showing off just for him. Only for him. “Will you let me?”

And there it is. That wave of warmth and desire spreads through Y/N’s tummy, begging her to say yes to any request that falls from Harry’s mouth. The urge is so strong that she nearly begins to strip, her fingers edging to the hem of her dress, before she manages to form a clear thought of pause. “Are you sure you want to see me…?” She dances around the word for a second time. “Like, I—I don’t know if it’s very sexy, or—”

“Is that a fucking joke?” Harry laughs incredulously, his thumb swiping over the edge of Y/N’s jaw. He could leave so many pretty marks… “Of course it’ll be sexy. Christ, love, it’s fucking you.”

The statement that Harry makes is so sure, so confident, that it nearly sends Y/N reeling. The human’s eyelids flutter as he begins to pepper kisses along her cheekbones and down her jaw, his tongue swiping over her sensitive skin every few moments.

“Anything you do is sexy.” He whispers the words against her skin, his voice low and accent thick enough that it seems to fill the entire hallway. “Literally anything… How you lick your lips after taking a drink, how you get in and out of my car so delicately… It’s all so fucking erotic.” Y/N shivers when a breath of cool air hits the damp skin of her neck as Harry laughs lightly. “I’ve got a bloody hard-on nearly every moment of the day.”

Hearing the confession that tumbled from Harry’s cool lips, Y/N thinks, is the verbal equivalent of doing three shots of tequila and chasing with a vodka soda. The words wash over her as easily as Harry’s cologne does whenever she gets close to him, and her fingers tug on his brunette locks with need. “Really? Even today?”

“Are you kidding? Especially today. Look at what you’re wearing…” His icy fingers skim down her neck before tracing over the cleavage that the neckline of her yellow dress leaves exposed. “Every time you leaned over to take a bite of food, I nearly came in my trousers.”

Despite the desire curling itself around Y/N’s core, she can’t help but giggle at the mental image. “That would’ve been a sight.” She scratches her nails lightly against Harry’s scalp, the motion surprisingly tender for their topic of conversation. “Would’ve had to ask Paige for another napkin.”

“It would’ve been properly humiliating, yeah.” Harry agrees easily, unconcerned with the thought as his lips follow the path led by his fingers. “But it would’ve been worth it.”

While the pair’s position is rather incriminating— Y/N’s hands in Harry’s hair, Harry clutching her as close as possible, his lips travelling over any exposed skin he can find— there’s an air of careful consideration floating around them. As much as Harry wants to see the girl in his arms pleasure herself, he wants it to be her decision. Anything less wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying.

“Y’don’t have to do it just for me, Y/N.” The vampire takes the slightest step back to give her some room to breathe without his close proximity to cloud her judgement. “But if it’s my reaction you’re worried about…” Harry untangles one of her hands from his hair, ghosting it down his body before cautiously laying it over his white linen trousers, where his bulge is growing more prominent by the second. “You have nothing to be worried about.”

A desperate whine nearly escapes Y/N’s mouth, but she manages to bite it back at the last moment. She wants him. As nervous as she is to have him watch her touch herself, she’s more turned on than anything. When she sends Harry explicit texts and photos that are most certainly not safe for work, part of the thrill is the reaction she gets from him. A dirty photo is only as sexy as the other person’s reception of it. To see Harry’s reactions in person… it would be a lie to say she’s not into the idea.

But it would also be a lie to say that she doesn’t want something in return.

“Alright. You can watch me.” Y/N relents with a sigh, and she takes a moment to enjoy the triumphant look in Harry’s eyes before tacking on her addendum. “On one condition.”

“Anything.”

Y/N squeezes her hand over his bulge, making the slightest stroking motion upwards towards his belly as a low groan rolls from Harry’s mouth. “I get to watch you touch yourself, too.”

There’s not even a moment of hesitation. “Done.” Harry seals his lips over hers firmly the moment the word exits his mouth, grinding against her hand as he backs her into the wall. Her back hits the panel with a quiet thud, but Y/N is too busy twisting her fingers around the button of Harry’s pants to notice.

“Ah ah ah.” Harry tuts as his jeweled hand grabs her wrist, pulling it away from his hardening cock while making sure not to use too much strength on her fragile joint. “You don’t get to do that, pet. You’ll only be undressing yourself tonight. It’s only fair.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve to talk about fair.” Y/N huffs her reply, but doesn’t pull her wrist from her lover’s grip. “You’re the one who made the stupid rule in the first place!”

Clicking his tongue, Harry takes another step back from the young woman while keeping his other hand floating over her hip. “And you agreed.” He reminds her as the corner of his lip tugs up. “So I think it’s best you behave, don’t you?”

Although the statement turns her legs to jelly, Y/N doesn’t let it show, and instead steels her resolve as best she can. “I’m behaving.” She mutters, crossing her free hand underneath the arm in Harry’s grip.

“That’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it?” Harry swipes his thumb over the delicate bones of her wrist, feeling her pulse stutter beneath his touch. The vampire swallows the venom that spills into his mouth at the thumping rhythm. He’ll have time for that later.

Chest heaving, Y/N wets her dry lips as best she can despite the lack of moisture in her mouth. “So where are we…?” She trails off as she glances down the hallway of her apartment. “The living room is probably best, position wise…one of us can be on the couch, and the other on a chair.”

“That’s true…” Harry nods his head, but a frown settles over his pillowy lips. “But it’s not very comfortable for you. You usually lie down when you get off, don’t you?” Like every other technically intimate question Harry has ever asked her, it’s spoken with a tone of efficiency and casual observance, simply to find the best approach for any situation.

And, like every other technically intimate question Harry has ever asked her, it sends a shock of warmth into her panties.

“I-I do, yeah.” Y/N stutters her response, clearing her throat before adding onto the short statement. “I’m usually in bed.”

Harry nods expectantly, like her reply is just a confirmation for him. “We’ll go to your bedroom, then.” He says decisively, his grip on her wrist loosening. “You can lie down, get comfortable. I’ll stand.”

Leading the mortal to her bedroom, Harry slides open the door, guiding her inside before shutting it with a firm click. When he turns back around to look at her, she’s looking at him expectantly, her fingers twisting around each other as she stares at him with wide eyes. She trusts him, he realizes, not for the first time. She really does trust him.

Although the anticipation is written clearly across her pretty features, Harry knows she needs a small prompt to begin. “How are you usually dressed when you do this alone?” He asks quietly, his own fingers working over the buttons on his shirt smoothly. “Completely bare? Fully clothed? Underwear only?” One of his dimples makes an appearance as he smiles with half his mouth. “Wearing only that sweater of mine that you’ve pretty much stolen?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that sweater’s too warm.” Y/N replies with an eye roll, tugging off the jean jacket covering her smooth shoulders. “I, um…it depends. If it’s just quick, then usually I’m clothed, but if I’m taking my time, then I’ll just, um, I’ll be in my underwear. Sometimes just my bra.”

Harry’s fingers finish with his last button, and he leaves his open shirt draped over his tall frame. “We’ll be taking our time, angel. So just get as comfortable as you usually would.”

Y/N nods her head in a jerking manner, sucking in a deep breath through her parted lips in an attempt to calm the heave that threatens her chest. The erotic tension in the air could be cut with a knife as she tosses her jacket to the side and works her fingers over the zipper of her dress, which catches for a moment and puts up a struggle as she fights to undo it. Once she wins the battle, she tugs the yellow dress down her shoulders, letting it pool around her ankles before stepping out of it and tossing it to the side. Her bra and panties aren’t matching, with the former being a delicate baby pink lace, while the latter are lavender cotton, but she doesn’t let herself focus on that detail. Instead, her fingers hover for a moment at the waist of her panties, hooking in the elastic before she changes her mind at the last minute and decides to keep them on. For now, at least.

Harry watches the entire ritual with starved eyes. He wants Y/N to start before he does, so she can get into a natural rhythm herself, but he can’t resist palming himself over his trousers like she did a moment ago, despite his icy touch not being nearly as satisfying as hers.

Y/N, however, has different plans, regarding him with heavy lashes as she takes a step back towards her bed. “Your turn.” She murmurs, sitting on the edge of the bed and curling her fingers around her ruffled comforter.

“All in due time.” Harry assures her with a wry smile, ghosting his fingers along his inked abdomen. “Get comfortable, baby. Pretend I’m not here.”

“Like that’s possible.” The mortal girl mutters under her breath, unaware that Harry’s supernatural hearing can pick it up as if she were shouting in his ear. Nevertheless, she does as he says, scooting back on the bed until her shoulders reach her pillows. She lays back on the soft cushions, shifting around until the padding feels comfortable beneath her back. She lays there for a moment, her arms folded neatly over her bare stomach as she licks her lips expectantly. “Now?”

“Now…” Harry flicks open the button of his trousers. “Do whatever you like to do. Whatever feels good.”

It takes Y/N another moment to work up the courage to actually do something. The trick, she realizes, is closing her eyes. If she so much as catches a glimpse of Harry watching her, her entire body tenses, and she can’t even manage to move a finger over her stomach. With her eyes closed, however, she can imagine that Harry isn’t there, and she’s just in her room, with his only influence being in her mind as she touches herself. It may not make much sense, when she could just use the real image of him to fuel her thoughts, but Harry’s presence is so dominating that pretending he’s not there seems to be the only solution.

And so, when her eyes are shut tightly enough that she can’t see the man, but loose enough that she’s comfortable, Y/N begins to touch herself lightly, her fingers tracing over the dips of her stomach with the smallest amount of contact she can manage.

Her touch moves over her skin like a flutter, its only purpose to warm herself up and ease herself into being watched, and while the small brushes against her own skin would normally have no effect on her, in this moment, with Harry standing by her bed, the action feels more erotic than she ever would’ve thought possible. She slowly glides her hands up to the pink lace of her bra, tracing her finger along the edge of the cup before sliding over the lace to the hardening peaks of her nipples. She’s more sensitive than she thought, and Y/N’s breath hitches for a moment as she brushes against one nub, tweaking it once more with her finger before repeating the motion on her other breast. When a quiet but harsh exhale sounds from Harry’s direction, the human girl amuses the idea of removing her bra to give more visual stimulus, but quickly decides against it. Harry said he wanted to see what she does to herself, she thinks, keeping her eyes closed as she massages her breasts once more. He didn’t ask her to perform a strip tease for him.

And, in truth, a strip tease is the farthest thing that Harry wants in this moment. Any girl can take off her clothes and touch herself to put on a show for a voyeur. If Harry really wanted to watch that, he could easily find countless porn videos depicting the real thing. But the sight of Y/N gliding her fingers over the soft lace of her bra, tracing unseen roadmaps over the mountains and valleys of her chest and abdomen, parting her lips just slightly as she twists her nipple once more… that’s what Harry wants. Despite the countless erotic activities Harry has engaged with Y/N, this may be the most intimate, even without touching her. Maybe that’s why, he muses, only half in the thought as he slowly tugs down the zipper on his trousers, doing his best to make no noise so as not to startle the girl in front of him. She’s letting him see what she does to herself when no one is around, when she just wants to make herself feel good. It’s a selfish act, in the best way. And it’s making Harry’s cock throb like never before.

Y/N’s hands have reached the edge of her panties now, and with her legs spread wide open, Harry can see the dampened spot staining the lavender cotton a shade darker. Her scent wafts over him as she moves, slipping her hand beneath the fabric, and Harry’s own eyelids flutter as she fills every one of his senses. There’s a small part of his more instinctual mind cursing him for thinking of this— for establishing an activity where he can see her, smell her, but not touch her. However, there’s a larger part of his mind thanking him for this. For the opportunity to bask in Y/N’s own sensuality and pleasure.

The dampness that greets Y/N’s fingers as she slides into her panties isn’t a surprise, but still provides relief. For a brief moment, the girl had been worried that she’d be too nervous about the situation to let herself enjoy it, but as she teasingly circles her index finger around her clit, she knows that enjoying it won’t be a problem. Although she misses Harry’s cool touch, the feeling of his rings sliding over her clammy skin, and although it may seem untrue when Harry is in bed with her, no one knows Y/N’s body like she does. No one can instantly know what feels good and what doesn’t, what needs to be touched with more force, what needs to be gently caressed with a feather light pressure. Y/N alone is the keeper of those secrets, and although she’s begun to whisper those unspoken tokens to Harry in the dead of the night as he lays between her thighs, she alone knows the real truths.

She continues to circle her clit for a few moments, gradually applying more and more pressure as her free hand clutches her bare thigh, her fingertips digging into her squishy flesh. It doesn’t take long, however, for Y/N to need more, and she allows her fingers to run over her entrance a few times before dipping her index finger into her hot core.

While the sound that leaves her mouth is quiet and could potentially go unnoticed, it’s the loud groan from Harry that snaps the human’s eyes open, and the sight in front of her that stops her movements in their tracks. With her index finger still half inside her, and her grip on her thigh tightening, Y/N gapes at him unabashedly, because Harry looks like a fucking god.

Her eyes sweep over him methodically, committing every inch of his appearance to memory so as not to ever forget what he looks like when pleasuring himself. His chestnut curls are tinged with sweat, just beginning to plaster to his damp forehead and neck. His jade eyes are darkening by the second, while his strawberry lips are parted and dry, despite him swiping his tongue over them every minute or so. His toned chest is bare, displaying his dark ink for Y/N’s viewing, heaving with every movement of his tattooed arm. And lower… Y/N moans again as she clutches her leg tighter, nearly enough to bruise. Harry hasn’t completely removed his pants, but he’s pushed them down low enough that he’s freed his cock, which stands tall and proud and angrily red at the tip that pokes through the tight fist he has wrapped around the length. Despite the tension in his body, however, Harry flicks his wrist lazily, teasing himself as much as Y/N did earlier, and she wonders if he does it for the same reason she did. To give their lover something to look at.

With her eyes locked with Harry’s, Y/N pushed her middle finger inside herself, whimpering at how the extra digit stretches her out. She curves her fingers as they move in and out of her at a leisurely pace, focused more on reaching deeper than reaching a quick speed. While her hand busies itself inside her panties, she slides the other from her thigh back up to her breast, gripping and massaging it as her lashes flicker.

“Look at you.” Harry utters with a groan, breaking the silence between them as he thumbs over the leaking head of his cock. “Christ, you look so fucking filthy.” His eyes shift from hers for just a moment, glueing themselves to the shadows of motion he can see beneath her underwear. “Does that feel good, angel?”

A high pitched whine falls from Y/N’s mouth as she presses the pads of her fingers against the spongy spot inside her, setting off a wave of bliss inside her belly. “Yeah. Feels—feels really good, Harry.” His name leaves her lips in a breathy mewl as she tweaks her nipple over her bra, throwing her head back against her pillow.

The newly exposed skin of her neck beckons Harry. It’s completely covered with a thin veil of sweat, with the heat radiating from her throbbing pulse seemingly reaching towards him at the end of the bed. He takes a half step forward without realizing it, only catching his action when his knees bump the edge of the mattress. “Fuck—” He closes his reddening eyes to collect himself as his hand quickens its pace around his prick, only opening them again when he’s sure he’s under control. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I think I have a bit of an idea.” She mutters in reply, stroking small circles over her clit with her thumb. “It’s not like you can hide it.”

“But you’re hiding.” The vampire replies in a strained voice, tightening his fist around his cock as he nods to the girl’s covered core. “Take those off for me, pet. Please.”

Y/N withdraws her fingers from her dripping center, her skin shining in the light of her bedroom as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of the panties. “Wait—” she says suddenly, pausing her obedient motion. “Wait, I—”

The moment his foggy mind registers the word, Harry’s palm stills over his length, and although he doesn’t let go completely, he forces his body to calm down as he appraises the human. “What?” He questions, concern laced into his thick accent. “What’s wrong?”

Sitting up on her elbows, Y/N raises her head from her pillow as she scoots closer to her bedroom wall, stopping once her heated skin grazes the tapestry. “I want you next to me.” Her eyes are pleading as the words fall from her mouth, quiet and desperate. “I promise I’ll stick to the rule— I won’t touch you. I just want you to be comfortable, too, and… and I like it when you’re close. Please?”

The idea of refusing her doesn’t even enter Harry’s mind. Within seconds, faster than a mortal ever would, Harry has stripped off his trousers, leaving himself in just his dark blue boxers that are still half rugged down. He crawls onto the bed quickly, only letting his knee brush against Y/N’s leg before situating himself six inches away from her. Even with the distance between them, he can still feel an electric energy radiating off of her as her fragrance becomes thicker and all encompassing, making his head swim in the intoxicating honey and lavender perfume.

“M’here.” Harry murmurs the assurance softly, his fingers aching to reach out and touch her. Surely that’s not against the rules? After all, caressing someone’s cheek, and only for a moment, isn’t necessarily sexual. With that rationalization in his mind, his jeweled fingers brush against the young woman’s flushed cheek, grazing upwards to push a loose strand of hair from her eyes. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Y/N whispers back to him, her hands now resting on her tummy as she stares longingly at the figure next to her in bed. She wonders if the comforting touch is allowed, but decides not to question it. Questioning it may make it stop, and that’s the last thing she wants. Instead, Y/N simply places her hand over Harry’s, interlocking their fingers together and bringing his hand to her mouth to smudge a soft kiss over the back of his icy knuckles.

Harry can feel the pulsing of her heart through her lips, and it takes all of his inhuman strength to pull his hand from hers as carefully as he can. “I think you made me a deal, didn’t you?” He asks, disguising the want in his voice behind a teasing tone. “You said that if I got up here next to you, you’d…” Harry clicks his tongue as he nods at her cotton panties. “Hm?”

Despite the small laugh that escapes her, Y/N rolls her eyes. “You’ve got a one track mind, I swear.” She hooks her fingers into the edge of her panties, lifting her bum off the bed to tug them down her legs and toss to the side. “Happy?”

Harry licks his lips as he watches the girl’s hands drift back to her bare thighs, gliding over the silky skin with small strokes. “Very much so, yeah.” He replies, pushing his own hair back from his face before trailing his fingers back down his stomach. He wraps his right hand back around his leaking cock, stroking it once as he glances at Y/N again. “Keep going, dove. Don’t stop on my account.”

It’s like they’re back at the beginning,Y/N thinks, as she dips her index and middle fingers back into her wetness before she circles them around her clit. With Harry next to her, his presence so very there, Y/N has to close her eyes again to compel herself to relax. It takes a few moments of massaging her clit and focusing on keeping her breathing steady before she can open her eyes again and allow her gaze to slide back onto Harry.

The vampire, as expected, looks like an erotic renaissance painting. His hand is moving faster over his cock now, which is bubbling precum with every few strokes. His hips buck into his hand every so often, searching for more and more friction as he chases his high. Like herself, Harry has his eyes closed for much of his movements, but when he does open them, they’re pinned to her form and how she touches herself, like she’s his own personal show. And, in a way, she is. And she likes that.

It’s not long before Y/N needs more stimulation, and she thrusts her two fingers back inside herself as her other hand begins to rub over her clit. The dual sensation sends a hoarse moan falling from her lips, her tummy contracting with the wave of ecstasy that she knows is getting closer, but it’s the feeling of Harry’s lips on her temple that has her breath stuttering.

His slightly chapped lips move over her skin in slow and sensual movements, opening and closing as he speaks against her. “That’s it, darling. You’re so close, I can tell.” He sucks in a long breath while bucking his hips into his fist, a whining moan echoing from his throat and into her ear. “Fuck, you’ve got me wrecked…”

Curling her fingers inside, Y/N prods against her G-spot with fervent desire, leaning her head closer and closer to Harry’s mouth as she does so. “I’m gonna cum, Harry, I—” Her words cut off with a broken whine as her spongy walls clench around her fingers.

“Wish I could touch you.” Harry mutters the dirty confession in her ear, his lips still meeting every inch of skin they can find. “Wish I could make my pretty girl cum…” His brow furrows at the whimper that escapes Y/N at those words. “But at least I know you can—Christ—” He swipes his thumb over his tip again as his other hand moves to his balls, massaging over them with a gentle touch. “—can take care of yourself when I’m not here.”

When Harry’s lips find her neck, suckling at the sensitive spot where it meets her jaw, Y/N moans again, louder than before as she bucks her hips into her hand. “Fuck, Harry—” The way she sobs his name is music to his ears. “Can—can I cum? Please?” The question rolls off her tongue without prompt, sounding as natural as breathing to the girl. Harry’s not even sure she registers that she’s asked, but the question for permission goes straight to his throbbing cock.

“Yeah, baby. Cum for me.” He drags his teeth over her fragile skin, aching to bite down but restraining himself from giving in. Instead, he redirects his reaction to his hand, speeding up his strokes until he feels his balls tighten. “Cum for Daddy.” The way he feels her heart stutter at his words feeds his ego like nothing else, and he brings one hand up from his abdomen to rest on her throat, stretching his fingers to grip her chin and direct her face towards his. “Show Daddy how good you’re making yourself feel.” He demands, his lips ghosting over her own as they both work themselves towards the edge. His voice sounds less himself and more like a growl with every passing moment. “Cum.”

It’s the final harsh demand that pushes Y/N to thrust her fingers into herself faster, matching her motions over her clit to the new speed. It only takes a few more moments for the tight ball of pleasure inside her belly to burst, the waves of her orgasm washing over her repeatedly as her walls pulse around her fingers. “Daddy—” The name falls from her mouth and into Harry’s freely. Her only thoughts are of him as her climax consumes her; only his emerald eyes and cherry lips, only his brunette curls and inked skin, only his calloused hands and thick cock. He’s all she can think about. Has there ever been anyone else? “Please, Daddy…”

Harry watches with hungry eyes as the human’s body spasms through her release, the movements of her hands shuddering as the pleasure becomes too great to move. “That’s it, sweetheart. Good girl.” He grunts the praise through clenched teeth as his own orgasm nears, his hand twisting around his cock more and more. “Prettiest little slut in the world, y’know that?”

Y/N releases a whine of acknowledgement, her chest heaving as she comes down from her high and withdraws her fingers from her core. Resting her hands on her clenching belly, she turns her heavy lidded gaze towards Harry, watching him eagerly as he works himself. “Your turn.” She murmurs, her lips finding the edge of his sharp jaw and giving it a teasing bit. “You’re gonna cum, aren’t you? All over your stomach?”

“If—fuck—if that’s where you want it, baby.” Harry groans loudly as his stomach clenches, the butterfly flexing beneath his strained movements. “You want to watch me cum? Hm?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N hums the agreement against his skin, clasping her hands together to stop herself from reaching for Harry’s cock. “You’re usually inside me when you cum, so I’ve never seen it. I want to see it.”

“God, I—” Harry reaches over with his free hand and grasps Y/N’s warm palm, dragging it up to his hair and tangling her fingers in his dark locks. It’s a poor substitute for the craving he has to feel her touch over his cock, but the sensation of her tugging on his hair and scratching her nails against his scalp manages to provide the contact relief he desires. “Fuck, right there—” Harry’s abdomen contracts once more as he works himself over the edge and begins to shoot thick ropes of cum all over his tattooed tummy.

Y/N continues to work her lips over his jaw, whispering anything and everything into his ear to continue to stimulate him through his orgasm. “Looks so pretty, H.” She utters once his cock has finally stopped spurting and he releases it from his grip. “You’re so pretty…”

A breathless laugh leaves Harry’s mouth as he shifts in the bed, wiping his damp hand against his indigo boxers before pulling them back over his shaking hips and exposed cock. “You’re one to talk.” He murmurs, twisting his head to the side to press a kiss to Y/N’s sweaty forehead. “You don’t happen to have a wash cloth handy, do you?”

“I have tissues in my bedside table.” Y/N points to the object in question, and Harry reaches over and tugs open the drawer to retrieve the box of Kleenex. Pulling a few squares from the box, he makes quick work of the cleanup, doing just enough to save him from the trouble of a sticky stomach.

“I could’ve done that, you know. Cleaned you up.” Y/N watches as the vampire stands to dispose of the used tissues, and reaches for her discarded panties to tug them back over her still shaky legs. “You know I like it.”

“I know, but if you did, then I would’ve broken the no sex rule right then and there.” Harry chuckles lightly as he climbs back onto the bed, wanting to reclaim his close proximity to Y/N as soon as possible. “And we’d already come so far.”

When he opens his arms, Y/N doesn’t hesitate to nuzzle into his cool chest, resting her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder with a sigh. “I suppose that’s true.”

Harry lets his jeweled fingers trace down her back, drawing random shapes on the damp skin as her breathing begins to even out. “Did you like it?” He asks curiously, a seed of worry planted within the words. “Having someone watch you?”

“I liked having you watch me.” Y/N clarifies her answer as if it were the most natural and easily explainable thing in the world. “Did you like watching?”

Harry giggles again, almost incredulous as he nods his head at the damp spot on his boxers, a symptom of the copious amounts of precum that had leaked from him. “I think the answer to that is pretty obvious, Watson. I’m surprised someone as distinguished as yourself has to ask.”

“Asking questions is never a bad thing, Holmes. I’m surprised someone as distinguished as yourself doesn’t know that.” The girl counters, delighting in the small laugh that shakes Harry’s shoulders. A laugh falls from her lips as well, followed quickly by a yawn that she unsuccessfully tries to stifle.

“Tired?” Harry murmurs, his fingers still keeping a steady pace against her back. “It’s only the late afternoon— not exactly late enough for bedtime, is it?”

Y/N sighs into his musky skin, relaxing completely against Harry’s body. “Not exactly, no. But I think a little post-orgasm nap may be in order.” She raises her head from the crook of Harry’s neck, looking at him with soft eyes. “Will you stay?”

If Harry’s heart could beat, the tender question would make his rhythm irregular, and the knowledge of that fact dries out the venom that had been flowing freely through Harry’s mouth. “Wow.” He tries to disguise the reaction with a laugh. “Our first date, and you’re already asking me to sleep over? What kind of man do you think I am?”

“Shut up.” The mortal nudges her forehead against his shoulder in a playful manner. “I’m serious. Will you? I sleep a lot better when you’re here.”

The confession falls from her lips as easily as a sigh, but her words lock Harry’s chest in a tight chain, restricting his every breath. And yet… the pressure is comforting, like a hug from someone you haven’t seen in years and you’ve sorely missed.

“Alright, yeah.” He whispers gently, caressing Y/N’s mussed hair without tugging on any tangles. “I’ll stay. We can order some dinner later, if you want.”

Y/N’s voice is already far away when she replies. “That sounds nice.” She whispers, her eyes fluttering closed as her full weight falls against Harry. Within a few minutes, her breathing has leveled completely in time with her steady heart beat, which thunders against Harry’s own silent chest.

The vampire sighs as he shifts on the bed, keeping Y/N locked in place against his body as he does so. How did he end up here, in her bed, staring at that fucking tapestry again? How did he end up agreeing to stay over, to grab dinner with her after she sleeps? How does he know that, if she asks again, he’ll stay over tonight as well, even if it means lying still in bed and counting her heart beats until the sun rises through her curtains?

And why does that sound so appealing?

Carefully, so as not to wake her, Harry shifts Y/N onto her own pillow, removing her from his chest with gentle movements. Once he’s arranged her in a comfortable position and made sure that she’s still asleep, he cages himself over her, brushing her hair back from her face and inhaling deeply. This is why, he thinks. This is why he’s agreed to all of these dates, to holding her as she sleeps, to spending night after night in this tiny human apartment. Her blood.

Harry nudges his nose along the length of her throat, breathing in her fragrance as if it were the bouquet of a fine wine. Her signature honey and lavender scent is as prominent as ever, only amplified by the orgasm-triggered endorphins that are still swimming through her veins. Letting his lips drag over her fragile skin, Harry smudges kisses along the base of her throat with a light touch, searching for the most tender part that he’s come to adore. When he reaches the mark just above her carotid artery, he presses a firmer kiss to the skin, admiring how the mortal’s breath floats from her lips in her sleep. Still, he pauses for a moment to make sure that the sound is just that, a symptom of sleep, and once his suspicions are confirmed, Harry sinks his teeth into Y/N’s satin skin.

As usual, the relief is instantaneous. The warm blood that flows into his mouth quells the dry, burning ache in the back of his throat like nothing else, and Harry clutches the girl closer to him as he drinks more and more. She’s just as sweet as she smells, and there’s that familiar depth of flavour to her that Harry can never quite place a finger on. Perhaps he could if he spent more time analyzing it, but it’s never too long before he loses himself in her taste, and all rational thought goes out the window completely. In the reflection of her mirror, Harry can see that his eyes are blood red and black-veined, and that he looks every bit the monster that he actually is. If Y/N were to wake up right now and see him like this—pale skin, black veins, mouth stained red with her blood—she’d probably scream in horror, and do her best to shove the supernatural creature away. She would be thoroughly repulsed, Harry is sure. And, honestly, he couldn’t blame her. He remembers the first time he saw the red of a vampire’s eyes, and the terror that had seized his entire body like an icy dip in the English Channel. It would only be a natural response.

Harry had come to terms with what he is a very long time ago, and though it took a lot of trial and error, a lot of sleepless nights doused with self-loathing and denial, and a plethora of blurry memories full of strangers’ veins bulging under soft skin and glassy eyes dulled by compulsion, he is in a place in his eternal life where his identity doesn’t phase his peace of mind anymore. He hadn’t become a monster willingly, and he certainly doesn’t enjoy having to do the unspeakable acts required for his survival— not consciously, anyways.

From an instinct-driven perspective, he does enjoy the taste of blood, but it’s only because his supernatural carnal impulses demand it. Ethically, he isn’t proud of his affinity, but it’s not like he has any say in the matter. This isn’t his fault— he was forced to become what he is— and that moral claim is what has kept him tethered to his last few shreds of humanity for the past twenty decades. He’s not doing this to Y/N out of malicious intent, he’s doing it because he has no other choice. Therefore, he assures himself that the traces of guilt tightening his chest at the moment are completely misled and invalid. He hasn’t felt guilt much before— not for years— and he refuses to let it plague him once again. This is just the way things are. This is just the way things have to be.

So why does he feel so fucking shitty right now?

Pushing the discomforting dwellings to the back of his mind, Harry continues to drink from Y/N, using his final remaining strains of functioning thought to monitor the human’s heart beat and breaths. When his thirst is satiated enough, and before either one of those human traits begins to falter, Harry releases his bite on Y/N’s neck, licking over the wound with relish to temporarily seal it. He turns to check his reflection in the mirror again, and finds that, yes, his suspicions are confirmed. Although he’s managed to keep himself halfway presentable, there’s still a trickle of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth, and his lips are stained a dark merlot colour from the sweet substance. Harry swipes his tongue along his mouth, cleaning up any evidence of his late afternoon snack, before bringing his index finger to his mouth and pricking the tip on one of his fangs. Then, while carefully holding the girl’s jaw open with his other hand, Harry slips his finger into her mouth. It’s practically a ritual by now.

It takes only a few seconds for the bite mark on her neck to heal completely, leaving behind only a faint purple bruise in its place. If Y/N were to see it tomorrow, she’d assume it was a half-healed hickey, and wouldn’t bat an eye at it. She’d have no idea that the real cause of it was—

“Harry…” His name falls from her lips with a quiet stutter, her brow furrowing as if troubled by something the vampire can’t see. “Harry…”

“Y/N?” He whispers in reply, his limbs sealing over with ice as he freezes in place as if he were a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Everything alright, love?”

“Harry…” The human utters his name once more as a frown begins to tug at her pillowy lips, and it takes another moment of her shifting in the bed for Harry to realize that she’s still asleep, and the murmuring of his name is merely a symptom of her dreaming of him.

Oh. She’s dreaming of him.

There’s a spark of something in his chest—happiness? Excitement?— but it’s quickly extinguished by the realization that, if Y/N is dreaming of him, her body language is making it clear that the dream isn’t a pleasant one.

Harry releases a frustrated sigh as he sinks back down into the sheets. That’s to be expected, really. After all, he did just feed from her; if she’s having a bad dream about him, it would only be logical.

Still, the sight of her shifting in bed with a distressed look on her face pulls an equally distressed look from the immortal, and he only hesitates for a moment before carefully maneuvering the girl back onto his chest, positioning her so that he can easily rub her warm back with his cool hands.

“You’re alright.” He murmurs softly into her ear, his voice low and melodic despite no one being around to hear it. “You’re fine, sweetheart. I’m here, hm? Go back to sleep.”

It takes a few more minutes of back rubbing, whispering, and a handful of strategically placed forehead kisses, but Y/N’s face finally relaxes as she falls back into a deep, untroubled slumber against Harry’s chest. As her breathing evens out again, Harry breathes a gentle exhale of relief. That was a close call. The next time he feeds, he’ll have to make sure she’s truly unconscious, and has been so for a while. Her bad dream, whatever it was, had probably been caused by him digging into her prematurely. Next time, he’ll wait until the dead of night, when she’s deep in REM sleep. She’ll be more comfortable then.

Which reminds him— he has plans he has to cancel tonight, and the sleeping girl on his chest mixed with his phone being in his trouser pocket on the floor make a difficult combo to surpass.

Despite the testing task, Harry manages to retrieve his phone from his discarded linen pants after a few minutes of awkward stretching, some light grunting, and a few curse words, but he manages to do it without waking Y/N up (she moves a couple of times, but a few soft words and tender hushing Harry’s behalf sends her right back into her dreams). With one hand still wrapped around her back, Harry manages to type out a quick message to Niall.

Won’t be able to make it tonight— something came up with Y/N. Have fun at the bar.

Harry references her by name, knowing that Mitch had probably already blabbed to their entire friend group about the date he’d had, and about how a human girl had recently become the target of his fascination. Juicy gossip is indisputably one of the aspects that keeps eternity from growing stale, and the vampire’s crew believe that to be so more than anyone. There’s not a single doubt in his mind they’d eaten every word up, and that he’d probably get drilled on it later.

He keeps his phone clutched in his hand, waiting for a (sure to be ridiculing) reply from Niall that comes a few minutes later.

The girl from last time? Jesus, again? Weren’t you meeting her for brunch?

A small smirk tugs at the corner of Harry’s lip. I did meet her for brunch. And then I met her back at her apartment, and I’ll probably be meeting her again later after we get some dinner. Don’t wait up.

After that text, Harry drops his phone on the bedside table, expecting Niall to just leave him on read in a fit of annoyance. He’s surprised, however, to hear the quiet vibration of his phone a moment later, and picks it up to skim the message with pressing curiosity.

You’re a fucking incubus, you know that?

The smirk on Harry’s swollen lips suddenly drops.

While it’s not the first time he’s been called an incubus, it is the first time the label has ever bothered him. Why is that? It’s not like it’s untrue; he frequently seduces various people, many of them being women, in order to sleep with them and drink their blood. That’s what an incubus does. The label shouldn’t pester him. In fact, it should boost his ego.

But the title being applied to his relationship with Y/N… that gives him pause. It reminds him of a certain person— a certain disgrace, if he’s being pettily honest— who he had sworn never to think about again, out of respect for his sanity and emotional stability. It reminds him of how when he himself was mortal, he was under similar circumstances to what Y/N is under right now— he was a human blood bag to a vampire who took pleasure in his body.

This is different, Harry tells himself. I’m not going to ruin her life. She’s not going to end up like me. And we have an understanding, which I never got to have. This isn’t the same. I’m...I’m not the same.

In his steadfast opinion, the immortal isn’t an incubus when it comes to Y/N and it’s that simple, point blank. Saying he is… that sets the implication that he could be doing this with anyone, and that’s just not true. Even though he’s keeping Y/N around as a convenient fuck with delicious blood, he wouldn’t go to this much trouble for anyone else; no one else is worth it. No one else has her honey and lavender scent, or contagious laugh, or can match him so easily in banter without flinching or blinking an eye. And though he’s too attached to his own pride— to the inherent coldness and indifference he’d worked so hard to build over the last two centuries— to let her know, he’ll admit that there’s no one else like her. There’s no one who’s company he enjoys quite the same.

Harry doesn’t indulge Niall with a response, simply closing his phone and setting it back on the bedside table. His friend can think what he wants, Harry decides, returning his attention to tracing figures on Y/N’s back. Harry knows what this really is. He knows, and it’s not some evil plan to permanently damage her. It’s just a simple loose relationship between two people who float an inch above the friendzone. That’s all.

Friends, just slightly more.

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petalsmooth · 3 years

Text

Ok.

Let’s talk Lili.

First off we only know what stars put out about themselves or other people say about them. We are not friends with these people. We are not in their homes. We don’t usually hear what they say in unguarded conversation. What we know is what is out on social media with some highly distorted soundbites from chats or DM’s with her mother that were exposed.

We were initially presented a portrait pushed by her and her family no less of a middle class family with the standard girl next door hit it big narrative. Down to earth, relatable, somewhat quirky. Strong two parent supportive household. All that was missing were the apron and pearls.

This girl came out of the gates talking about a modernized Riverdale with two girls who would be actually close and not vying for the same redhead. Feel free to add/or correct along the way of course...especially early on when not following as closely.

We got very little in the way of insight into Cole and Lili because they were trying to keep it quiet even if there were hints together. Mostly during this period what fans were fed was that she was slightly awkward socially, maybe not the most intellectual but nice and harmless. She spoke of empowering women, independence, she constantly shut down the idea of Barchie and praised Bughead. Along through the year’s she would speak to social bullying or bullying in general. She would openly talk about struggles with mental health. She’d talk and show her cystic acne and share photos not all airbrushed in ode to body positivity. She’d talk about not having an hourglass figure, and cellulite and often go out in ratty shorts and a bun sans makeup. You see she’d talk about it then follow through by showing lived the walk or calling out photoshops done of her.

Again this is “relatable girl next door quirky Lili” we told was the REAL Lili.

She would frequently talk and post about her family and dogs at home and how much she loved and missed them...though oddly not so much her older sister.

At a certain point it became undeniable Cole and Lili were together to even the hardest deniers. Of course also the Met gala eventually made official for media.

We get have her liking posts such as Miley’s about how lucky she was to have a man who checked off all the boxes. But at times there were glimpses all wasn’t kosher. People have mentioned various cons where she’d be caught flirting somewhere else, or she’d be in a bad mood giving Cole a cold shoulder. We recently saw an old video of them walking and her basically demanding he drop the fans and attend her. We have the con were Camilla is sexually harassing Cole everywhere and Lili doesn’t shut it down until Camilla tries to grind on him. It was so bad even Mads intervened. We have the interview where she is talking over him or rolling her eyes and basically being the unprofessional brat her fans claim she is not. Even though it’s ON CAMERA. Snapping at your co worker/boyfriend and rolling your eyes during a professional interview is not deniable.

Flashforward to the trip to Italy because for me there was always something off about that. That trip was obviously planned far in advance. Clearly Lili was supposed to be there. Her fans quickly blamed Cole because Lili was working. Lili didn’t have to work. It wasn’t a career changing move to do that film. It did not do well. I’m not entirely sure what was happening around that time but I have the sense Cole was disappointed/a little angry she prioritized it over him accepting very likely the offer AFTER the trip was planned.

Lili spirals during this time. Cole comes back to clean up mess. They are quiet on social media for a long time then slowly emerge again and eventually get the photo booth shots, the wedding and her mingling with NY friends for once. Turns out close to the end for them.

I don’t want to make this a Sprousehart post though although some relevance to bring part of it up. The point is Lili put her career over her relationship. It was a calculated decision. It was also the wrong decision. Her fans talk about her being this warm giving person but that was a cynical call and a pretty lousy thing to do to your boyfriend of several year’s. I’m all for supportive partners but there are time’s where you make sacrifices if you really care for someone and this was a special trip planned long in advance. She blew it off. If I’m the partner she does this too, I question why I’m putting in the effort if it doesn’t mean to them what it means to me.

TBH I think the bad choices she made there is why tried to make it up by meeting with his friends, the wedding etc...

Something than clearly happened because by January they were done. Not sure we’ll ever know but it looked like they were trying to fix things given the happiness hadn’t seen on Cole’s faces in a long time in those booth pics and then...it was done. We didn’t know at the time, but this is timeline Cole gave. There was a brief attempt at reconciliation where she babysits him at a photo shoot and posts a photo of them in bed and then shortly after...Cole calls it off.

He heads to LA, she follows him there but not without making sure to shove Casey’s face into her chest to post and rent a place close to where he is staying. She posts weepy messages about the world ending etc....and weird new photos mimicking old shoots with him so naturally people think this means whatever happened they worked through. Around same time she and hers manipulated her fans to try to cancel him earlier because she misunderstood a picture of Kaia....although flat out if he had been with Kaia he was SINGLE and it was no longer her business.

She tries to walk back the firestorm she unleashed on him by “defending” him from a lesser twitter trend after realizing misconstrued the Kaia picture, All summer she weirdly seems to be trying to avoid the topic if they are together or not despite saying once if they weren’t she’d tell people. She finally puts her foot in her mouth one two many times' and Cole confirms they broke up which she doesn’t acknowledge. Because she doesn’t want to be broken up.

As we know know it wasn’t all rainbows on the set even before all this happened as in the musical she’d launched an object at him hard enough to have the crew concerned. Lili fans keep saying Cole is abusive but the only evidence we have of abuse is her towards him. We also had her suddenly doing a 180 from past 4 year’s and excusing cheating with Archie and promoting everyone in her live recaps except Cole/Jughead.

Back to the events following Cole’s post....then we get a sudden string of interviews taking shots at Cole, doxxing him, implying he could have strayed (just to resurrect hate against him) but can’t say he actually did because she has no proof. We know this because in those chats admit it was just suspicion and paranoia and never did have any names.

We learn that Lili has been funneling news and gossip and photos to keep her mother’s hold on the fandom in check and her mother in turn has been bullying people who would stand on Cole’s side. They sought to ruin him. This is not debatable.

For year’s people had made fun and called Bree out for being an obsessive stalker unable to let a relationship go, then Lili starts doing the same. We know she has tried to copy Ari’s style, her mother made a snide comment about breast size, Lili tried to taunt Ari from on set and Ari shut her down. A girl who almost never was in the line of sight of paps suddenly is snapped everyday following break up even before the public new. That doesn’t just happen. She wanted the attention.

I’m not going to go into all of it, you all know it. Suffice to say revealing she has a bitter vindictive attitude she has submersed herself in ever since Cole made it clear no reunion. She won’t even broach the topic of Bughead/Jughead unless forced. You can spin all you like but the split screens was not an artistic choice by RD. It was spurred by need to keep them apart.

Lili last summer was doing precious little other than a post or two of Black Lives matter and then when Cole gets arrested suddenly she jumps on the me too and sets up impulsive lives. Maybe she meant well but a part of me thinks she did it to attract his attention. Notice once she got praise for it and the initial protests faded she more or less doesn’t bring it up anymore. Cole never intended to get attention, it just happened because he’s a star and got taken in to a jail cell. He never put himself on camera for notice.

Lili also co-opts the murder of a girl to flaunt she thinks she looks good naked. Completely tone deaf.

Lili very rarely is seen in fan photos, only usually when she’s getting flack for it online. She, a girl who talks about bullying, went on a midnight tirade against a guy who dares to critique or poetry setting her fans on him. Then deleted it probably because publicist in her ear.

She first said poems not about Cole, than said you could read into what you wanted to sell them. Now she doesn’t want to talk poetry or sequels because it flopped and was critically panned.

There are constant rumors about Lili on sets of productions to point they even had someone on her newer movie try to downplay. Yet we see in a video the cast barely talking and looking tense on a boat.

The girl who used to talk about body positivity now lets them airbrush abs onto her.

The girl who used to talk of therapy and mental illness now promotes OTC supplements for $ and cults.

If she mentions cellulite she uses other tik toks of people showing not her own.

She said she would never be on tik tok, yet now has her own and post old videos that aren’t funny.

Lili once tired to attack Cole by talking about losing yourself in drugs or alcohol or sex yet we’ve seen her drug paraphernalia because she advertises. Her friends post and laugh over her being drunk. She was in an off and on relationship with Wallis that doesn’t seem to be about anything but sex.

We were told Coles friends are bad influences but Taylor is out there solicitating questionable clients and making videos slamming LILI’S COWORKER as a bad actor and his brother,

The majority of Lili’s posts no longer feature Sunny or her family/Addy.

She insulted Vancouver, compared to a prison, and made it clear her creature comforts were of more importance than a pandemic. Not quite the attitude of an empath. Which she claims she is with intention to be a master which require sucking more gullible people into the cult.

She brags about being a “rich man” without understand the context. She went from artistic photos to modeling pinups to fuel her lack of self esteem.

She’s in her mid 20′s, claims she had grown and matured in the last year but there is no evidence of it. Still can’t work with her ex without buffers which still influences show direction though her fans deny.. Still lives off junk food and hangovers. Those glasses aren’t just for sun. Her timeline is mostly an ode to her vanity with pictures of herself and then her dog. She doesn’t seem to have any causes she’s deeply involved in on the side apart from her cult. She’s still stalking Cole as her impulsive makeup tutorial showed. She said she cut out of her life anyone who doesn’t service her. I highly doubt she is receiving quality therapy on the regular right now. She still does not seem to possess the ability to own her mistakes and apologize when warranted, rather deflects or erases when heat becomes too hot.

The content she puts out about herself post break up is very different than the bill of goods fans were sold before. She is a far cry from that quirky girl next door that stood FOR something more than vanity and shallow affirmation. So no, I don’t see what you see in her stans. Everything that once seemed to distinguish her from other spoilt princesses has long faded.

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sincka · 3 years

Text

If You Love Me || Sylki Fanfic

...really love me

Loki x Sylvie fanfiction

[LOKI FINALE SPOILERS]

dt @entertainmentforgods

(every mean comments about this ship will be deleted. If you don't like this ship, please just ignore.)

They did it, it was over. The impossible had come true.

Their heart beating wildly, the anguish of their uncertainty gradually fades as they understand the finality of it all.

Loki and Sylvie had joined forces to destroy the true mastermind of the TVA. The overpowered individual who pulled the strings behind the curtain.

The Goddess of Mischief dropped her bloodstained sword on the dark ground, making a loud metallic sound. He Who Remains had just gave his last breath.

Sylvie took a deep breath while staring at the inert body of the one who called himself The Conqueror. As Loki stood behind her, he watched her worriedly. She had just accomplished what she had fought for all her life. So many years feeding a justified anger towards one man, for it turned out that the Time Keepers were nothing but a sham. So many years of hiding, of surviving in the midst of so many apocalypses instead of just living fearlessly. Instead of living happily, instead of laughing, smiling, dancing, singing, enjoying the present moment, observing the universe and its many wonders without them being destroyed around her, loving and being loved in return... All of that was taken away from her, because The Ruler had decided to do so. Because only one man had made the decision to sacrifice her timeline and her family and those she loved. She had lost everything as a child, because a human had condemned her existence.

And now, the latter had just died. He had lived millions of lives, and the last had just ended, killed by the vengeful hand of an innocent orphan.

Slowly, Loki moved closer to her as he kept his eyes on her. Then when he was right behind her, he gently took her hand to try to get her out of her torpor. Her face turned to him as her gaze was drawn to the ground. She was still trying to regulate her breathing and realize the previous events.

"Come with me…" He half-murmurs, his blue eyes tinted with green watching his partner's reaction carefully, anxious to see her breaking down despite her strength to contain her emotions.

It was then that she nodded softly, still too absorbed by this decisive moment in her life. Sylvie turns to him with the intention of following him, no matter where he wanted to take her.

A few seconds later, both found themselves outside the entrance to the Citadel.

Loki went down the few steps, before sitting quietly on one of them. His teammate was not far away and she watched him get comfortable, while thousands of thoughts jostled in her mind. Curious, Loki brought his attention to her. When their eyes met, she began her steps to him to sit beside him on the step.

A deep sigh escaped her lips as she sat down comfortably, her eyes fixed in front of her, finally noticing the awe-inspiring beauty of the sacred timeline they both would have admired sooner if it were in a less disastrous context. But now as they ran after time, it was as if it has just stopped.

The variants observed this painting before them, this masterpiece born from space and the end of the universe. For a moment, a pleasant silence rocked them in a surreal dream. Their eyes shine brightly, illuminated by the cosmos and time materialised in a perfectly fluid and sparkling line. But also, their intense feelings took over and tears had formed.

Hesitant but at the same time strangely confident, Loki turned to Sylvie, only able to imagine how she felt now.

"You're okay ?" He dares to ask softly.

Suffering of an internal conflict, Sylvie keeps her eyes wide open and try to look indifferent.

"I accomplished my mission, how do you think I feel ?" She replies naturally, almost on the defensive.

"Relieved ?"

"Yeah, among other things." She confirms with obviousness.

Amused by her slightly aggressive responses which, according to him, are what make her what she is, the god of mischief ends up stretching a tender smirk, realizing that this tone will never leave her no matter the situations in which they find themselves, as dramatic and catastrophic as they may be.

Innocently, Sylvie ends up looking at her partner.

"Why do you smile ?" She asks.

He smiles a little more.

"The real question is... why don’t you ?" Loki retorts, eyebrows raised.

The Enchantress raised her eyebrows in turn, that desperate, lonely look that makes her charm appearing on her face. What to answer to that? She had learned that Loki was insightful about her, but she wasn't used to being the center of attention that much.

"Why seek answers to trivial questions." She asks rhetorically as she looks away from him.

After a while, Loki also turned away, dissatisfied with her answer but still preferring to let go.

"So this is it..." He starts. "It's done."

"It's done." Sylvie asserts, nodding her head a little.

His eyes going here and there, Odin's son was asking himself lots of questions. Including one in particular.

"What do we do now ?" He wonders, seeming lost.

Sylvie took a deep breath again, ignoring like him the future of events.

"Should we go back to the TVA ?" Loki continues, bringing his gaze back to the one person he trusted.

"Why ?" She asks softly. "They don't need us anymore."

"But we don't have to hide." He responds with a comforting smile. "We are their allies."

"Is that what you want, to go back to the TVA ? But to do what ?" She asks again, looking into his eyes.

He thought for a moment, trying to unravel this enigmatic knot, stepping into the unknown.

"The Sacred Timeline is free" He said, emphasizing the first words in an exaggerated and caricatural way. "Maybe once we get there, we can look for another timeline where we can... fit in ?"

A silence took hold of them, leaving for only words the looks they exchanged.

Sylvie then ends up lowering her gaze in the direction of her own hands, revealing between her fingers the object that the Conqueror kept around his hand. The tempad.

"How about we take a break, until one of us finds a place to go ?" She offers softly, lost in thought as she doesn't take her eyes off the object.

"What, here ?" Loki asks, uncertain and surprised by her answer.

"Why not..?" She replies, her eyebrows raised, her mind being elsewhere. "When you've seen thousands of apocalypses, The Void isn't as bad as it seems."

Loki takes the time to consider this idea, thinking about everything else. The members of the TVA, the sacred timeline that has become completely independent, the very few people to which he is attached. They had just accomplished something huge, should they just ignore the multitudes of consequences their act caused ?

"It's over, Loki." Sylvie said, looking up at him.

Again, his gaze plunged deeply into her eyes

"We did what we had to do." She continues, looking serene.

"What if they still need us ?" He asks, referring to the TVA, specifically Mobius and hunter B-15, the only two people who believed in them and offered their precious help.

Sylvie watched the sacred timeline as it gradually divided, and she sighed.

"I am tired." She admits, ignoring Loki's question. "And you ?"

Loki admired the many timelines that continued to split, before taking a deep breath.

"Yes, me too..." He answers softly, releasing his breath, releasing the pressure he had been holding since his arrival at the TVA and which he hadn't known he had kept in him all this time until now.

However, he couldn't shake off his negative thoughts and all his apprehensions about the completion of their mission and the impact it will have on the trillions of people the universe can create. The god of mischief had, against all odds, developed a conscience and a moral code. Yes, they had delivered the world by giving it back its free will. But for some reason that he didn't quite understand, he began to doubt.

And buried into his torment, Sylvie brought a comforting hand to his.

Loki laid his eyes on this delicate hand, yet belonging to that of a warrior, his heart missing a beat at the gentle contact of the one he had become crazy about. In this moment of complexity, in this major turning point for the multiverse, he almost forgot his feelings. He almost forgot the way they looked at each other in the Citadel as they walked into the darkness. He almost forgot the moment she had gripped his hand in the Void, in front of Alioth, hoping to help him unleash his enchantment powers.

Suddenly caught up in his emotions, he looked up uncertainly in the direction of his partner. Then, she gave him a brief smile, but oh so genuine. The same smile she had given him on Lamentis, while everything around them was death and destruction. Apparently everything was written. But he decided to ignore this detail that the conqueror had shared with too much pride.

Still confused by these unusual feelings, Loki returned that affectionate and heartwarming smile. Only, looking into her expressive eyes - but in the greatest secret, a loving gaze- he realized that the very thing he wanted above all now was to never leave her again. To stay by her side, as long as possible, even forever, better than that : beyond death. His desires made him all the more nervous. He never thought he would be so consumed by his moods, let alone by a loving emotion that possesses him more and more after each day he spends in her company. Nevertheless he wanted to seize this desire and make it come true.

This time, it is the TVA that he forgets, it is the universe that he neglect, it is the time that he ignores.

It is his glorious purpose that he gave up, because he found a new one...

"Sylvie..." He said, drunk with love for her. "I..."

"No, Loki, wait." Sylvie interrupts him, being totally lost and frightened at the same time. "I have to tell you something..."

"Yes ?" He asks, innocent, patient, in love.

She looked at him intensely, trying to express herself. Something seemed to upset her. Loki was trying to read into her eyes, to read her face, when no word could break the barrier of her lips. Disturbed by this confession, it turned out that it was getting stuck between the walls of her throat.

So the Prince of Asgard frowned, intrigued by the torture she was inflicting on herself through this mysterious revelation.

"I..." She starts before her lips instantly seal.

She took a deep breath, bracing herself for another attempt, as Loki's piercing, loving gaze dug into her pupils until it consumed her whole being.

When finally, in complete disarray, she ends up throwing herself at his neck.

Her lips crashed against his, tenderly, passionately but mostly timidly. Surprised but more than grateful for this proof of unexpected love, Loki was not long in returning her kiss with just as much fervor.

Sylvie had never been attached to anyone. She never wanted to be weak because of her feelings. She would never have dedicated herself to someone body and soul, for trusting and breaking down the imposing and solid walls she had built around her was inconceivable. And yet, faced with the many selfless acts of the one who had irrupted into her plan, she had found herself giving him importance. She hated knowing that she was only considering trusting him. She hated the fact that he could climb these walls she had locked herself between.

Worse yet, she was terrified to find herself reaching out to help him climb.

Eyes closed, they kissed each other with fragility, embarrassed to feel such intense emotions but oh how much they surrendered to them.

Sitting side by side, they relished this moment of sincerity and calm after all they had endured. The highlight of their journey. The completion of a battle for freedom, the same cause that the rightful king of Asgard fought against to make it inaccessible to the people of the earth. This cause that he finally chose to defend ; for him at the beginning, but for her on the way, and for the others at the end of their fight.

Slowly, they parted. Loki then dared to rest his forehead tenderly against hers. They kept their eyes closed, as if to immortalized this moment in their memories, for who knows what might happen to them tomorrow.

That's why he whispered these few words :

"You're right, I... I'm a little tired..." He admitted again hesitantly, unsettled by this moment of pure sincerity.

Keeping her forehead against his, Sylvie nodded gently, not daring to open her eyes to face the truth she still had trouble swallowing.

"Let's stay here..." Loki continues.

"Only for a little while." She continues nervously, muttering her desires like him, probably too afraid that someone will hear them or too embarrassed to admit she is weak in front of him, while he is weak in front of her.

"Yes, after all... If something goes wrong, they know where to find us, right ?" He responds with a raised eyebrow as he still kept his eyes closed, trying to reassure himself by making excuses to stay.

"Yeah, of course, nothing prevents Mobius from coming back here." She confirmed casually.

"Well, unless... Unless he had to prune himself." He said worriedly. "But it’s not as if we have no way to reach them !" He adds anyway, optimistic and trying not to feel guilty.

“Yes ! We have the--” She mimics his optimism, as she pulls away from his forehead to observe the object in her free hand.

"T-the tempad..." He confirms by muttering and nodding his head, bringing in turn his attention to the latter.

The taste of her lips was still too present on Loki's for him to think properly. However, he was trying.

Shyly, he finally looked at her again, a quiet smile displayed on his face.

Of course, Sylvie had noticed it. How to ignore him ? So, embarrassed, she gave him an uncertain look, having no idea how they should react now. After all, despite their thousand years of life, the variants had never really been devoted to feelings or romance that seemed more than superfluous and unnecessary at the time. Although they were aware of their emotions, repressed or not, knowing how to react to them was still an area to be explored.

The landscape around them gradually brought her back to reality. Then, looking worried, she turned her gaze to the entrance to the Citadel. She remembered the corpse of the He Who Remains, the one who had wiped out her timeline and certainly thousands more.

Loki frowned, noticing the change in expression on his partner's face.

"Are you sure you’re okay ?" He asks once more with patience.

Lost in thought, Sylvie continued to look at the place where everything had changed with a blank stare.

"No..." she sighs slowly.

The god of mischief was envious to possess the complicated mind of his variant for the sole purpose of finding the source of her ill-being. It would be enough for him to touch her to enchant her, now that he knows the secrets of enchantment. However, would he dare ? He hesitated for a fraction of a second, before totally rejecting the idea away from him. He was incapable of defying her trust, for he knew full well that he would risk a lot if he tried. Especially since he was still cruelly lacking in experience concerning enchantments.

"But when I wake up tomorrow knowing that the one responsible for all this horror is only a memory, then I could savor every second of my life." She asserts returning her attention to Loki as if nothing had happened, speaking with confidence and lightness.

Perplexed but somewhat reassured, he just nodded briefly, straining to accept her answer. However, something in him told him that she wasn't being entirely truthful.

"...Glorious purpose." He said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Mh..." She only answers, a quiet smirk nestling in the corner of her lips.

Calm eventually took over. Neither of them spoke, only watching the story of trillions of lives forming before their eyes in those many fluorescent lines.

"We're not leaving." He speaks up, his statement sounding more like a question mark.

"We're not leaving." She repeats with a little more conviction than him.

Slowly, he finally took a light breath, before sighing in contentment.

After an extremely difficult journey that could have cost them their lives, even though the Ruler had decided that they would be spared so that they could both achieve their goal, they were going to be able to rest, they were going to be able to breathe. Because even if the gods have more ability than humans to resist fatigue and pain, they could do nothing before the effervescence of their emotions. And as tough as they could be, they were tired, mentally and physically.

Thereupon, on this mutual agreement, the two variants had decided that it was time for them to rest for a while. They didn’t know what they were going to do. But they had decided to figure this out…

Together.

#sylki #pro sylki #sylki fanfiction #sylkie #love is a dagger #loki x sylvie #loki spoilers #loki series #tom hiddleston #sophia di martino #loki #loki fanfic #sylvie #sylki au

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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Time-Travel feat. Ino, Sakura, TenTen

The short of it is "Ino, in the Founders Era, sees Izuna and makes it her personal mission to Tap That."

The time-travelers are Ino, Sakura, and TenTen. Why them? I like girls being badasses, these three make a badass trio, and I don't want to deal with Caged Bird Seal politics. (Hyuuga just... complicate time-travel plots.)

Ino is the one that is clearly clan, and they make a group decision that the benefits of Yamanaka backing (and by extension Akimichi and Nara) outweigh the potential drawbacks.

It's pretty easy to convince them that they're Worth It. Ino doesn't bring anything new, really, but she's clever and knows the clan techniques and is very good at them, so the clan head (after performing a mind search to confirm the story) is like Sure, You're In.

Meanwhile, Sakura is a terrifyingly competent medic that knows hundreds, if not thousands, of medical techniques that don't even EXIST yet, and TenTen might not be a medic like the other two, or capable of explodey punches, or clan-trained, but the girl is a taijutsu powerhouse that's probably fast as hell because she was trained by GAI, and she's got at minimum a journeyman-level training in fuuinjutsu.

(Also just, don't argue with the 100% accuracy lady. Just don't. The reason she doesn't have a body-count to rival Minato's eventual count is because she doesn't want to and basically no other reason. There are some opponents that a Kunai to the Neck won't take down for whatever reason? Iron-skin, water body, super healing/shapeshifting, but for the rank and file? That's a one-hit. And she can throw hundreds of kunai at a time, so... if you take the 100% accuracy statements literally, she's a nightmare if she decides to go lethal.)

They run missions for a bit, and Ino is... usually the one sent out on field missions, because Sakura's busy teaching people how to save lives, and TenTen is currently the closest thing the Yamanaka have to a seal master--she's not a master, not on the level of an Uzumaki or even a Senju, but she's way better than most on account of village training schema and it's cheaper to give her a long-term role in the triple clan system than to hire independent contractors--but sometimes they all go out!

And... okay, I'm gonna be real here: Nobody approves of the way Ino dresses other than Ino and her girls.

Sakura extends her pants a bit. TenTen's fine. Ino refuses to stop wearing crop tops and short skirts, and none of you can stop her.

It helps that Ino's response to guys propositioning her is to tell them to back off, and then if they get handsy, she breaks their wrists. If they're ninjas getting handsy, she starts a fight, but most ninjas are smarter than that because they realize she's not just A Kunoichi, based on how she's moving, but a kunoichi with long, free-flowing hair, which is like... basically a big "I'm A-rank or better, come at me if you dare" flag. On the off chance that someone tries to fuck with Ino and they're actually out of her league in taijutsu, she has Mind Scrambling or, if absolutely necessary, an ear-piercing scream that summons a woman that can fistfight gods.

(And absolutely has.)

But anyway, The Girls go for a Girls Night Out one day. No plans to get laid, but they want to go shopping and have fruity drinks and maybe cause a little trouble.

They visit a blacksmith at one point, because weapons shops aren't quite a thing yet due to lack of centralized shinobi systems, and TenTen's talking up a storm with the smith about things like carbon infusion and alloys preferences, and Sakura's just standing off to a side reading something because most of what she wants/needs can be made by Akimichi blacksmiths, so she's not really in need of anything specialty. She wanders off after a bit, tells them all she wants to visit the apothecary to see if they have any herbs she's running low on. Ino is browsing examples of the blacksmith's more esoteric handiwork When In Walks An Uchiha.

TenTen has a VERY basic look, more or less civilian who got some ninja training, so Izuna doesn't pay her much attention, but blonde isn't a very common color in the Land of Fire, unless one happens to be a Yamanaka or Senju, and even among them it's not like EVERY clan member. (Or Namikaze but imo Minato's color is actually from Land of Earth immigrants and is a BLATANTLY different shade from characters like Ino and Tsunade.)

Senju is obviously, uh, bad, but the Yamanaka and Uchiha are basically neutral... mostly. There's some tension. Izuna isn't expecting to be attacked, but he's constantly darting glances out the side of his eye just in case.

Ino is... not unaware of Izuna.

She feels his eyes on her, notes the fact that he keeps making faces like he's not sure what to think, and Ino... Ino is of the opinion that this is funny.

She decides to drop something on purpose just so she can beeeeeeeeeeend over to pick it up and see what happens. Ino, again, does not dress appropriately for the decade she is in. Izuna chokes on his own spit.

Ino: I'm gonna be a bit of a ho. Yamanaka Clan: Please don't, our reputation is-- Ino: I'M GONNA BE A BIT OF A HO.

So Ino's fucking with Izuna's head by just... being Ino, really, she turns around like "OMG are you alright???" and lets him see that her eyes are lacking pupils so he doesn't keep worrying about whether she's a Senju, pats him on the back, coos over him, flatters his hair, and then insults his fashion sense.

She is of the firm belief that his expression is hilarious. Flirt Flirt Flirt "but you're wearing that? Really? Oh honey, you should know better."

(Ino pulls pickup artist shit on Izuna.)

Ino is fucking with him, and she is enjoying herself. She's a flirt, she's gorgeous, she's a bit of a ho, and Izuna is a hot, main family clan boy who keeps blushing. He's maybe two years older than her and he squeaks when she squeezes his shoulder and compliments his muscles.

And after all that, after Ino has wound him up and turned him around and gotten him confused and flustered and a little angry...

That is when they feel the ground shake and hear Madara screaming for The Pink-Haired Bitch to "come back here so I can kick your ass!"

So. Yes. Sakura has picked a fight with Madara. I don't know how or why, I just know that Sakura and Madara are fighting, Ino and Izuna are both going 'dude WHY' about their respective fighty person and fleeing the blacksmith to go stop whatever's going on before they get banned from town--because really, they can force their way in, but it's way easier to get those tasty daifuku mochi from that one shop when people WANT to serve them--and TenTen is... still chatting up the blacksmith. The girl is going to get a discount.

Sakura leads Madara on a bit of a merry chase so the fight happens a mile outside of town--Ino loves her more than ever--and there's a flare of "Sakura punches a Susanoo," and by the time Izuna and Ino get there, Sakura is yelling in Madara's face about how he's fucking up his eyes.

Madara is. Offended. Izuna is also offended. Those are clan secrets, and Sakura is just looking him in the eye without fear and I'm like. Half convinced that they want to just tear her throat out.

Except Ino is there, and Sakura called her by name, and they know that names with 'Ino' among the Yamanaka are only for clan heirs, and they can't just pick a fight with the entire clan.

They. They can't afford that right now. Tajima is ramping up the whole Thing with the Senju again and they do not have the resources to add another front.

"For fuck's sake, will you let me go alive if I fix some of the damage you've done to yourself?" "You can fix the Mangekyo?" "Uh, no, nobody can fix that hellscape of a doujutsu without some incredibly invasive surgery that I refuse to do in a non-sterile environment unless there's literally no other choice, but I can reverse some of the chakra strain on your ocular nerve if you stop trying to pick a fight because I got the last of the [some medicinal plant that only grows up in the badlands around Iwa]."

Izuna shrieks and demands if that's really what they were punching down trees for and Madara yells at him to fuck off and Ino just laughs at all of them.

Sakura is like. Two seconds away from putting Madara in a headlock and calling him a nerd. He's like a solid five years older than her and she's smarter than he is and he's a jock but she's going to dunk his head in a toilet, I swear to god.

[Image Description: a gif from Will and Grace where a man in a dark shirt approaches a woman in a white shirt for a hug. Both characters have their arms spread wide in greeting, but the woman subverts the expected hug and pulls the man into a headlock with an angry expression.]

(Tenten is just, she's having a good time with a random blacksmith, talking shop. She just comes out to see all this crap has happened and it's like she came back with pizzas to see the apartment wrecked.)

Anyway, Sakura does some Medic Mojo on the Uchiha bros, Ino continues to flirt with Izuna until he can't tell up from down anymore, and when they're headed back to meet up with TenTen and see if there are any ruffled feathers that need smoothing, Ino declares that she's going to get that boy to propose to her.

"Don't people usually say 'I'm gonna marry that boy' or--" "Nah, I don't know him well enough to make that decision. I just want him invested in me. Whether or not I do anything with that... depends on how well he woos me."

And anyway, things spiral from there, Ino keeps hitting on Izuna whenever she gets a chance, Izuna keeps being Very Overwhelmed by this girl that shows off so much of her body and has the confidence of a god--because Ino is the epitome of confidence and always will be--while Sakura fucks off to badger the Senju into peace by making friends with Hashirama and bribing Tobirama with medical developments and flirting with Touka (except Touka's almost a decade older than her and is flattered but not interested, thank you), and TenTen is... honestly I'm not sure what TenTen is doing except that there's a very solid chance she's sneaking off to meet with Uzumaki specialists to help her build a Zetsu Trap.

Our trio of badass ladies decides that Hm, Actually, Having Bijuu Backup Would Be Nice.

Ino's the best sensor of the three, but even she's not feeling out where the nearest bijuu is, so they go for the by-that-point tried and true method of "Sakura goes and hassles Tobirama for information while TenTen and Ino play cards with Hashirama."

Tobirama does point them in the direction of the nearest bijuu--it's the Kyuubi, even!--and Sakura just... invites Hashirama along.

Hashirama: Oh! What do I have to do if I come? Sakura: Stand there and look pretty, mostly. Hashirama: Yes, I can do that. Sakura: And then interfere if we piss off the Kyuubi enough that he attacks. He probably won't, but Mokuton is useful if he does. Hashirama: Oooooh yeah, I can do that.

Tobirama is so tired but these gals are pretty determined to do the whole Peace Thing and Hashirama can mostly take care of himself, and Butsuma isn't quite dead but almost there (idk some disease or infected wound, it doesn't matter), so Hashirama isn't a Clan Head ditching his job but there's nobody around that can stop him from running off, so Tobirama's just like "Cool, don't die."

Butsuma: [dying] Sakura: [sipping a mixed drink wearing sunglasses inside] Shame.

So they go find Kurama, and try to barter with him about the whole Zetsu situation, and... ngl okay I have an entire conversation in mind about "your evil goo uncle" and "none of us know how to seal a bijuu without taking away your autonomy, but sealing is the best way to hide you from Zetsu, so do you have any ideas on a compromise" and "I can SORT of figure out how to--"

And then Kurama just. Summons a smaller fox. Which has a scroll. And pokes it towards TenTen because she's the one that's Impressed Him The Right Way over the course of the conversation.

(Mostly by being vaguely sparky about fuuinjutsu and easily distracted by the Ifs of it instead of the Whys.)

And once she's signed--which Ino and Sakura are just like 👀 about because Oh???--Kurama nods and just. Presses his snout to her hand. And without telling her what he's doing, he just enters her body and settles in as a consenting jinchuuriki situation. He can leave without killing her if he wants, but he can also just chill out. He's hidden from Zetsu, TenTen gets a boost, and nobody's in prison.

(Time to belatedly note that TenTen was earlier suggested as the best jinchuuriki option since, among other things, she had the least to lose as far as chakra control went.)

TenTen: My chakra control is pretty shitty, but I can fight hand to hand for literal hours without feeling like I've done more than a light jog, is that good?

TenTen is such a different brand of ninja from most of the heavy hitters. Because her main attack is just More Knife.

Team InoShikaCho has their whole human yoyo thing, Sakura can punch gods, Naruto and Sasuke are literally insane levels of power, Kiba turns into a giant three-headed dog and Shino can insert exploding bugs into people, Lee can kick hard enough to make a bijuu pause, Neji and Hinata are... okay I don't have much to say about the Hyuuga, but... TenTen. She's just here with some seals and whole lot of sharp and pointy things.

Founders era, you have Madara and Hashirama with their god-level techniques, Tobirama is usually sword but has a bajillion other things like his Suiton, Izuna has a Mangekyo, Mito has her chains and was the first jinchuuriki... and then, here’s TenTen, with Many Sharp.

Her special attacks are Throw, Stab, and Kick the Shit Out Of because she still trained under Maito Gai.

TenTen is the current queen of "catch these hands."

After the village is founded, she challenges one of the og founders to taijutsu only and the literal only reason she doesn't win against Hashirama is that he has a healing factor and is built like a brick house.

TenTen: Hey, Izuna, if you beat me in a taijutsu fight, Ino might be impressed. Izuna: No weapons? TenTen: No weapons, no bijuu, no Sharingan. Izuna: Cool, I can do this. [five minutes later] Izuna: [screaming]

The triple clan alliance: We will gladly join Konoha on the condition that-- Izuna, internally, chanting: That I marry Ino That I marry Ino That I marry Ino-- Madara, internally: Please don't say that Izuna marries Ino Tobirama, internally: [math meme because he can imagine like eighty conditions] Hashirama, internally: [elevator music] The triple clan alliance: That you put Haruno Sakura in charge of the hospital. Izuna: [internal screaming] Madara: [sigh of relief] Tobirama: [internal cheering] Hashirama: That sounds great! I've seen her work, she's a great choice for hospital management, do you think she'd be willing to spearhead a medical training program on the side?

Izuna just wanted the politics to be his wingman here, she's killing him.

Ino has broken this man.

(At this point she's mostly made up her mind... unfortunately, she deeply enjoys messing with him! He's too fun to tease!)

Ino: I want to marry him, yeah, but did you see his face when I teased him about visiting the Daimyou's court and looking for a rich husband to bring to Konoha? He even knows I'd never marry a civilian, and yet.

(He knows, it's just that his brain is dumb when she is involved.)

TenTen asks Hashirama if he's opposed to threesomes, mostly because Mito is amazing and TenTen's a little in love with her. Hashirama is NOT opposed to threesomes, but only with Madara, sorry.

Ino is just... the queen of self-confidence. I want to include some gifs to explain but there are just too many.

As a rule, Ino wears high collars, but... she might try to pioneer Tiddy Shirts out of spite because people keep trying to tell her to dress More Appropriately.

Ino, adjusting her wrap top to show more of the chesticles: Relax, Hashirama, I'm just taking a page out of your granddaughter's book. Hashirama: [verbal keysmash]

This one twitter post.

Sakura: You can't just use your tits to get what you want! Ino: I didn't see you complaining when I got us free dango. Ino, misunderstanding Sakura's point: Uh, yeah I can? Watch. Ino: [gets drinks for the table and a free dessert too] Ino: See? Sakura: Oh my god. TenTen, cutting a slice of cake: Yeah I think she's got us here Sakura. TenTen: I love using Ino's tits to get what I want. Sakura: No!

Sakura: Why am I the only one of us who isn't down for Ino using feminine wiles for material gain? TenTen: Does it have anything to do with your unresolved childhood crush on her? Sakura: ..... shut up.

Sakura: Was Sasuke descended straight from Izuna's line? What if you just negated his existence? Ino: I mean, his soul still exists, right? Or will exist? It's not like we could have lined the genetics up perfectly anyway, don't worry about it.

Once Ino finally lets Izuna woo her, they turn into that couple that's just constantly making out in dark corners. PDA is over 9000. Sakura throws erasers at them to make them stop. TenTen catcalls. TenTen just. Not interested in being a thot in the slightest, but delighted by Ino being a thot.

Izuna: Help I don't know how to BDSM and my hot wife is a dominatrix. Madara: Sucks to be you.

(Ino being a bit of a ho fits and feels fun because she's also just like, very convincingly an actualized character. If Ino is acting like a bit of a ho it's very definitely because she wants to and is absolutely going to make that everybody else's problem.)

Ino, at any given moment: Did you miss the part where I'm the hottest person here?

I'm honestly considering platonic-marriage TenTen/Tobirama on the basis of Seals And Sparking. There aren't enough women in the Founders Era for me to ship Sakura with one so I'm going to say she ends up living in domestic bliss with a Nara kunoichi.

Sakura: Can I just. Can I just be Gay here? Like, can I just Be Gay and get Big Gay Married and have 2 dogs and lead a prestigious medical program? Tenten and Ino: Of course you can, hon! We'll be up to our nonsense the entire time, though.

Sakura: Well... at least Shikamaru isn't here to complain about Ino being the way she is.

OH I forgot to mention TenTen wearing Externalized Small Fox Kurama around like a scarf.

Kurama: [Gets to be out of the seal and See Stuff] TenTen: [Constantly has a companion around who is never tired of hearing her Special Interest Rant about smithing techniques and what will eventually be Aerodynamics after TenTen accidentally builds a plane while tinkering]

TenTen: I wonder if I could make Temari's giant fan thing work for me without wind chakra. [two years of tinkering later] TenTen: I can't remember what I was trying to do at the start but I can definitely fly now.

(Sakura's honestly lucky that Karin isn't there.)

(And tbh Sakura's only The Sensible One until Madara pisses her off and then it's time for people to remind her that she can't just go around Punching Things.)

When Sakura is forced to be the Voice of Reason she is always frustrated. When TenTen is freed from the responsibility of being the Voice of Reason? Shenanigans. TenTen's defense is that she never got to be the crazy one in Team Gai. Like, she’s still a little nutty, but she couldn’t go all out because she was constantly overshadowed by the YOUTH and also Neji’s fate situation.

ANYWAY. TenTen and Tobirama.

TenTen: Your brain makes me horny. Tobirama: Oh, finally, someone sensible.

I remember that while I was brainstorming, I had "TenTen tells Tobirama to marry her within five minutes of meeting him because they vibed so hard on weird fuuinjutsu stuff" followed by "Izuna sputtering and saying that everyone told him that he couldn't just propose to a girl he liked, why does Tobirama get to accept a proposal from a clanless kunoichi when Izuna can't even--"

The proposal is from TenTen to Tobirama, which imo is hilarious in the context of the Warring Clans Era, and also is done on a whim and is basically just.

Tobirama: [says a clever thing about one of TenTen's theories] TenTen, grabbing his hands and looking him in the eye, her own eyes full of stars and the classic Team Gai sunset genjutsu around her: Marry me. Tobirama: ...do we have to have sex? TenTen: No. Tobirama: Do you plan on children? TenTen: Students yes, adoption maybe. Tobirama: I'm sold. Hashirama:

[Image Description: Stephen Colbert, in a suit, dramatically crying at the camera. He has running mascara, and the caption says “I just feel like my heart is going to burst because it’s full of rainbows.” End Description.]

They're Nerd-married and it's the best.

I love the idea of Hashirama just being an Elevator Music Mind when it comes to Tobirama and TenTen. Like. An orange cat. Like, okay, yes Minato is the Hokage with the orange cat energy. And Hashirama is usually golden retriever energy.

But when it comes to Tobirama and TenTen, Hashirama is completely oblivious to their intention to do such things as Raise The Dead For Science.

They're not even raising a specific person for a specific reason, they're just vibing Super Hard and haven't slept enough and forgot this is a bad idea. Got so obsessed with "Can we" that they forgot "should we."

(And I feel like Kurama just encourages them like a chaos entity.)

Tobirama: It was a theoretical exercise. Hashirama, gesturing at the zombie army trying to eat its way out of a Mokuton Cage: !!!! Tobirama: We realized it didn't need to stay theoretical. TenTen: In our defense, we were left unsupervised. Tobirama: It's true, we were.

Sakura: TenTen! I expected better of you! TenTen, with sincere confusion: Why? Sakura: ... TenTen: Like you knew my team, and my sensei, and also I agreed to help you go back in time and alter the past.

Overall.......

Ino: [here to fluster her pretty boy husband] TenTen: [got platonic married to a necromancer who shares some special interests and hyperfocuses with her] Sakura: [just wants 2.5 kids and a steady paycheck as she runs a world-changing medical program]

Anyway

Back to TenTen being Wild.

[Image Description: TenTen in her Shippudent outfit, which is calf-length red pants and a white qipao top with red trim, turning on the spot while flourishing a pair of scrolls that expel weaponry on her command. End description.]

I like to imagine TenTen has an abundance of common sense, but she just never, ever applies it to herself. She can only common sense when other people present her with their problems. TenTen: What if I combined Ribbon dances with the noble art of YEET, then made it into a fighting style?

"I've got 99 problems and all of them can be solved with sharp and pointy objects."

[This section of the brainstorming is removed on account of being deeply inappropriate for a post that should max out at rated M. Just know that Ino and Izuna are freaks, and TenTen and Tobirama are enablers.]

BACK TO TENTEN BEING ABSURD

Tobirama: Ugh, I can't match Hashirama's energy levels for another entire day. TenTen, a member of Team Gai: I can do it. Tobirama: Hashirama is literally inhumanly happy and-- TenTen: No, no, I got this.

(You have no idea how much practice she has at this Tobirama, no idea.)

Tobirama: I am currently the fastest man alive. TenTen: Only because you cheat with Hiraishin. I could totally beat you in a five-hundred lap race around Konoha. Hashirama: ...five hundred? Tobirama: Wait, what. TenTen, already stretching: Yeah, let's do this! It's been a while since I had a solid challenge, you know? Hashirama: ???? Tobirama, is she serious? Tobirama: She runs two hundred laps around the village every morning, so... probably. Hashirama, wheezing: That's a lot. TenTen: That's a warmup.

Someone, probably Madara: Okay but that's cheating because you have inhuman stamina from the fox! Kurama, chilling on a tree stump napping: No the fuck she does not. Hashirama: What do you mean she doesn't? Kurama: I don't just leave the faucet running 24/7 Senju, besides, she doesn't need my help to be a ridiculous persistence hunting nightmare monster in this regard. TenTen: Awww, Kurama, you flatterer.

TenTen: I was running 150 laps of the village every morning by the time I was fourteen. Hashirama: Why? TenTen: My teacher was fun.

At least one shitty joke from a stranger about stamina In Bed and TenTen and Tobirama just stare at the person.

Maito Dai would be... maybe a little older than the Sannin, younger than Hiruzen. Solid age for TenTen to take as a student, probably. Very feels-worthy, with the whole Passing the Torch thing that that whole family had going on, and that Gai passed it to his students since he didn't have children of his own, the idea of TenTen taking that shot to make sure she's still part of that... family, for lack of a better term? Even in this strange new world they're making by altering history like that.

And that’s about it.

As per usual, most of this was brainstormed with @firebirdeternal.

#Yamanaka Ino #Haruno Sakura #TenTen #Uchiha Izuna #Senju Tobirama #Senju Hashirama #Kurama #Uchiha Madara #Naruto #time travel #Phoenix Posts #TobiTen #IzuIno

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softomi · 4 years

Text

The Daughter

prompt: the biggest lesson learned as a parent is that in the end, love is all you need.

series: The Girl

find part one here: ☆

Atsumu always felt like he was on top of the world, there was nothing he couldn’t fix or solve; something he told you was a dad’s instinct. You laughed in his face, cackling for five minutes, losing breath as you held your stomach.

“Daddy! My doll broke!” Ayumi looked up at her dad, sad six year old eyes with tears just threatening to fall.

It was no problem for Atsumu, “All done!” Atsumu waved the doll in the air, not even three seconds after, the plastic doll’s head fell off once more. Ayumi began to bawl, her favorite doll was no longer going to be played with again. Atsumu’s face fell immediately, panic stricken, he lifted his daughter in the air, “Don’t cry, you know what daddy’s gonna do?” He’s wiping her tears as she starts to settle down, “We’re gonna go to the store and buy you all the dolls in the world!”

“Atsumu.” Your head shot out from the kitchen, a finger pointed at him, “You just bought her a kitchen set!”

He lets his daughter run off to get ready for their little day trip to the mall, “It’s just a few more toys. If it’s such a problem, I’ll take them to my place.”

A few more toys resulted in a small dent into his bank account. It was one of the first lessons he learned as a father, money can solve almost every problem. But as long as his little girl was happy, then he was happy.

There were moments, he discovered, where if she was happy; he wouldn’t be happy. As much as he wanted his little girl to always want to stay by his side, her mother raised her to stand on her own and to always go into things headstrong.

“Okay, bye.” Even as the words left his mouth, he still held her hand.

“Daddy!” She laughed.

Atsumu bent down to her eye level, “Yes. Should we go home instead?!”

Your hand collides with the back of his head, “Don’t you dare.”

Much to his dismay, she pushes his hand off. The teacher smiling as she grasps her hand. Atsumu feels like his world is leaving him. But then she turns, letting go of the teacher’s hand to run to her father. Atsumu hugs her so tight, for a little tiny thing, she had become so strong over six years. She’s pressing a kiss on his cheek.

“Bye daddy.”

“Bye baby.”

She’s scampering off into the classroom. Atsumu commends how independent his daughter was; just like her mother taught her to be.

The older his daughter grew, the more he began to feel useless. Atsumu was worried since his daughter had been in the bathroom for a long period of time. He waited momentarily outside of the door before he faintly knocked. He could hear her shuffling, pulling the toilet paper more and more.

“Is everything alright in there?” Atsumu knocked once more.

“Yeah.” She said, “Dad?”

Atsumu perked, “Yes!”

“Could you get me my phone? I want to talk to mom.”

It hurt him, he was always jealous when she chose you over him. And in the speed of light, you arrived knocking at his door. A rushed expression on your face as you walked past him and to the bathroom. The bag in your hand clearly exposing the pads and tampons.

“Well I could have done that.” Atsumu whispers and you shoot him a look before you can open the door.

“Yes, because she would totally be comfortable with her dad helping.”

Atsumu knew you were right; so it hurt even more when the bathroom door slammed shut. He learned a harsh lesson in fatherhood, there’s just some things fathers can’t do for their daughter. That weekend was supposed to be his with his daughter; but you tried to assure him that it was nothing personal when she insisted on going home with you.

His little girl was no longer the cute baby that would hide behind her father. By the time she entered high school, she became an independent, stubborn, competitive, headstrong woman. It made him grin, it made you slightly fearful, she had the best qualities of her mother and father. And it was easily understood that whatever she was going to do in life, she was going to be the best.

“It’s just a hobby right now.” His daughter was breaking his heart.

“But, it’s such a great career path for you. You could go anywhere under a volleyball scholarship.” The food in front of Atsumu had been untouched for the last thirty minutes.

Your hand nudged his knee, shooting a glare from the corner of your eye, “She can make her own decisions. If she feels that volleyball isn’t the path for her, then we should respect what she wants.”

“Uncle Samu followed his dreams, so why can’t I?” She raised her voice.

You tried to keep a hand on Atsumu’s knee, trying to calm him but it did no good. Like father, like daughter; they were going to clash until one of them got what they wanted or worse their relationship would be strained.

“It doesn’t matter what your uncle did!” Atsumu stood from the table, “You’re taking the volleyball scholarship, it’s been decided.”

“Dad!” She screamed as her father walked away. Her lips starting to quiver, “Mom.” She began to wail.

Your hands clean up the leftover untouched food from the dinner table, “Let him think for a few days. You and your father are so quick to say whatever is on your mind.” Your hand falls onto her head, “besides, you know he’ll come around; why else do you think he’s still supporting your uncle. He’s just scared.”

Scared was exactly what he was. He could send her to the best schools, the top universities that would cater to her skills, and even better, she would still be able to be near him. Atsumu had yet to even think about what her other dreams were; he was too distracted with her volleyball career.

Perhaps this was another harsh lesson into fatherhood; he would eventually have to let go. He had to let her make her own decisions, make her own mistakes, become her own person. You had raised her to be independent, to never back down, to always fight for what she wanted; exactly as he had raised her.

“I’m going to do it.” She looked at her father bright and early in the morning. Her words laced with bitterness and challenge, “If I win at nationals, I’m going to choose where I go to school. If I lose, I’ll do the scholarship.”

“Deal.”

In her last year of high school, she placed second at nationals. Atsumu watched her fight for her team, more specifically, for what she wanted. It was perhaps, the most beautiful way, anyone could end their volleyball career.

Atsumu learned that despite their little challenge, his daughter had a hidden card; her mother. No matter the turnout, she had chosen a school based in America. The cost was on the expensive side but as Atsumu knew; any amount of money for her happiness was worth it.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Atsumu removed the luggage from the back of the car, “If you need anything.”

“Yes, I know.” She giggled as she grabbed the luggage from her father, “You’re one phone call away. Dad I’ll be fine. I’ll call you before I get on the plane, right when I land, and as soon as I reach the university.”

Atsumu wasn’t ready to let go of his daughter, he hugged her; not wanting to let go at all, “Just remember, no boyfriends.”

Your hand slaps Atsumu on the back, he whines, “Make sure you call me first.” You’re straightening her hair, as if it would get through to her how much you were going to miss her, “Make sure you eat properly, drink lots of water, and I packed you some snacks for before and on your flight.” Typical mother, your daughter laughed.

Atsumu felt the biggest weight fall on his heart as his daughter turned to wave for the last time. He stood for a minute, as if she would become the little six-year-old, coming back to run into his arms. Atsumu watched his little girl begin her big life.

“Are you ready?” You tease Atsumu.

The man was not prepared, not even the slightest, “Nope.”

The wedding dress on his daughter made him want to cry, in fact, he did cry earlier that day. But as she stood, wanting to give some words to her parents, Atsumu tried to hold back tears; still refusing to believe his daughter was married.

“My dad once told me that a person should only have three things that they need in life; I thought, wow, my dad must be crazy.” She stared into her father’s eyes, “Now I understand, I only need three things in my life: my father, my mother, and my spouse.”

#haikyuu #haikyuu scenarios #atsumu scenarios #atsumu #miya atsumu #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader

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