#I love her so much almost as much as I hate drawing her accessories

[blueastrum]

Malleus can you dad and your adoptive dad fight

[licorice-tea]

Don’t Fall In Love With Me (Yet)

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: strawhat!reader, gender neutral reader, feelings and fluff (my faves🤞🏽), so much tension, no resolution of that tension… yet😏, lowkey “i hate everyone but you” trope, very brief mention of some canon typical violence, but no actual violence <3

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: lalalalala i love law😇 i actually wrote about twice as much as what’s here to begin with, but i felt like it was too long for one post, so i might upload it as a second part later if anyone wants that! as always ty for the love, and i hope you enjoy! (did i write this instead of finishing part 3 of my Zoro mini series? perchance. (that will be up soon though!))

Part 2

It’s a day like any other on board the Thousand Sunny- calm waters, music, occasional shouting, and just one abnormality. Law, captain of the Heart Pirates, is a guest on board the Strawhat Crew’s ship in the aftermath of Dressrosa. And despite their hospitality, he finds practically everything about life on board their ship to be draining…

Every potentially quiet moment is interrupted by the crew’s shenanigans.

For starters: the cook and swordsman argue over every little thing, and most of their arguments escalate into fights. The navigator is actually a petty thief or a con-artist at best, and her double, the sniper, takes it upon himself to cause dangerous explosions at least once a day. The musician is an incredibly loud pervert, though the shipwright is somehow even louder and more dramatic. The archeologist is alright- she’s quiet, but Law finds her constant observation more eery than comforting. And the captain is still somehow convinced that his doctor could be used as a source of “emergency food.” Then there’s you; the one who brings whatever you’re working on at the time up to the deck so you can work in the sunlight, wears your weapons like they’re accessories, who only takes breaks from working to visit with your nakama, and always offers a charming smile when you catch Law staring… which happens multiple times in the course of the day.

Law is often irritated, rigid, and cold- so different from your own optimistic and nonchalant demeanor. At breakfast, he doesn’t talk much. Just eats his meal and thanks Sanji before excusing himself to go pour over anatomy books from the ship’s library. He does so for hours, not once joining the Strawhat Crew on deck or even taking time to explore the ship on his own. Nami frequents the library, as well, but she’s taken to drawing maps in her room or on deck since their guests arrival. When night begins to settle overhead, he may return to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, before going right back to his work.

At first, one might have been inclined to think Law didn’t like y/n at all. They can often see his gaze trained on them form from the corner of their eye, but chooses to ignore it sometimes and address it with a smile others. He almost never speaks to them if possible, only offering a nod or a mumbled response to whatever they says. But, he goes out of his way to sit by them at mealtimes and to find himself in the same narrow hallways as them, so that their arms brush. Those are the moments he obsesses over in his mind while he dozes off from his textbooks- the feel of their skin against his, and their kind acknowledgements- always void of harsh judgment.

It’s not just the lack of cruelty in essentially eveything they do, to Law; it’s the presence of love. Love for their nakama, their work, people and places they barely know, even him. He doesn’t recall ever having met someone so full of love that goes beyond superficial kindness- because they can be sarcastic and moody at times- besides perhaps Corazon.

And to y/n, there’s just something about Law that peaks their interests. Maybe it’s the feeling of having someone new around, or something even more indescribable and foreign to the pirate.

Zoro is asleep in the men’s cabin tonight, so y/n is keeping watch. It’s the usual arrangement for the 2 night owls of the crew- when Zoro has truly exhausted his body, he sleeps below deck with the others, and y/n has no trouble staying up through the night.

They turn on some quiet music on their speaker, a must have for any music lover. For a while, they just watch the sea and sky. Nights at sea are like a blackout. But, there is no need for light with strong eyesight and the even stronger moon and starlight.

So it’s no surprise that they see, just out of the corner of their peripheral vision, the top of a white and black speckled hat bobbing up and down as it moves toward the kitchen. Y/n’s eyes widen ever so slightly and their breath catches in their throat. The guest makes them feel silly, in a way, for not being able to discern their own feelings toward him, nor his toward them. They get so caught up in their thoughts about him that eventually they give up. Y/n shakes their head, mentally chastising themself for even being embarrassed or flustered in the first place. And with that confidence boost, they decide to go talk to him.

Next thing they know, y/n is standing before the kitchen door with no plan in mind for what they’re going to say to their crew’s ally. They open the door, but he doesn’t look up from the coffee brewing on the stove.

Y/n clears their throat to announce their presence, and Law whips his head around to see who it is. They offer a friendly smile and a little wave.

“Hi.” They speak softly, as if afraid to break the peace of the night.

A beat passes with no response from Law. Internally, he wishes they hadn’t walked in on him at this moment. The light from the overhead lamp catches in their eyes, and he feels entirely too seen. Not in the way he feels seen by someone like Robin, though, whose constant observation makes him feel uncomfortable; like one wrong move and he’ll have hell to pay for. No; y/n sees him and he’s scared that he might start spewing nonsense to avoid revealing his feelings. And suddenly his cheeks are on fire, and everything is quiet, and all he can focus on is the stars in their eyes that he tries so desperately to look away from.

They tilt their head, likely in concern, and he pulls himself out of his thoughts to mumble, “Hey.”

“Cant sleep?” y/n questions, their starry eyes (as described by Law) flickering over the coffee pot on the counter and back to him.

Law shrugs, then pulls his hat lower over his eyes to hopefully hide his warm face. “I wasn’t trying to sleep.”

“Hm…” they hum in response, “Want to keep watch with me then? If you aren’t busy.”

He thinks they’re just being friendly, like always. When they first met, Law was confused. It made no sense for someone so mild mannered to have a bounty of well over 500 million (now almost double that amount in the time that’s passed), though he didn’t doubt that looks could be deceiving. But even in the midst of battle, of which the two had been in several together, they refused to take kill shots or anything of the sort. So he was still unsure of how they had earned such an impressive reward for their capture. Still, they clearly had a high regard for life, and he had come to learn that they truly were just that kind hearted, not to mention witty and generous. And judging by the “Sora: Warrior of The Sea” sticker he’d noticed on small a journal they carried, which was one amongst many; a bit of a nerd, too. All of these things and more had made Law secretly impartial to them. Or at least, those were the reasons he has listed in his mind to make sense of these feelings.

So he nodded, much to their surprise, and mumbled again “Sure.”

The curve of their smile opens up into a grin, and y/n leaves while fully expecting Law to follow (whenever his coffee was ready.) Which, he does.

[spicy-apple-pie]

For your artists ask (if you’re still doing that) <3

7,8,9,11,15

agggh, you chose all the hard ones lol

7) Favourite works of all time excluding your own

This one is so hard because I have favourite artists, but not many favourite works. Plus, my favourite changes with every passing second but right now I would have to say this drawing of Damian with some birbies by @malenjoyer

I love this art style so much and HE'S SO CUTE

8) What do you like most about your own work

Gosh this is a hard one because I think as artists we're always thinking on whats wrong or how we can improve, but I would have to say the line art. It's my favourite part of the process and I like how much character I add to it, though I want to experiment with a more messier style.

9) What are you currently trying to improve

two things. My colour and my backgrounds. I struggle with picking out background colours that makes the foreground pop out or that just looks nice. And I think almost everyone can agree that backgrounds are hard and boring to draw. But it must be done.

11) Favourite comment you've ever received on your work

I have no idea. I love and cherish every comment on my work. Sometimes I just look through them when I'm feeling down. But my favourite right now is on my comic about Damian riding Batcow. They were basically info dumping about how riding cows isn't actually that great but I put Damian in the best spot to sit when riding. I felt so smart for that, even though I just guessed where someone would sit on a cow.

15) Biggest Art Pet Peeve

I don't have a lot of art pet peeves, more like artist pet peeves. Like those people that make those speed paint videos with the clip of markiplier going "jingle jingle" and slime videos to be like "ooooh you don't have the attention span to watch this speedpaint until the end oooooh you hate artists". I'm being hyperbolic, but I still scroll to spite them lol. But for an actual ART pet peeve, I don't like it when a character has soooo many accessories. tbf that's my personal taste, I still find the art lovely and I still admire those who put so many accessories on characters, if that makes sense??? Like that one post about the art teacher who gave a critique about a girls art telling her to make the teacher hate it? Idk I'm writing this past my bedtime so my brain is a little like mush right know. I also hate people bashing art styles. like the "calarts style" (don't get me started) or any other popular trends. Like dude, ever heard of art eras? Art goes through trends.

Thanks so much for the ask!! Hopefully this wasn't too rambley, I just like talking about stuff lol

[immeasurablesaladagere]

Hello salad 🫶 Can I please get some little Taub or Park headcanons please? My underrated kings 🙏

I'll do both!

Taub

Is a middle regressor with an age range of 12 to around 16.

In his ✨💀emo phase💀✨ almost all the time when he's regressed. If he has a say in what he's wearing than it's all black with band T-shirts, skull accessories, too many bracelets, and beanies. He might even get into dark eye makeup if he's feeling fancy that day.

His teenager brain really hates being bald. Almost never without a hat.

Actually becomes really good at using liquid eyeliner when he's regressed, and that skill doesn't transfer to when he's big somehow.

Very "stereotypical 80's movie teen". Kind of has an apathetic "ugh, whatever" attitude about most things and doesn't like being told what to do, lots of demand avoidance.

He is willing to help caregivers out with babysitting though. He pretends he doesn't care but he does and everyone knows it.

"Taub, turn the music on your iPod down, you'll hurt your ears!" - Wilson, yelling

"Yeah whatever, Mom!" - Taub, yelling back (he turns it down secretly)

Stops liking coffee and switches to sugary energy drinks for his caffeine intake instead. He also consumes much more caffeine while regressed if no one stops him.

Most of his emotional woes are being chronically unhappy with his life choices and having a simultaneous quarter and mid-life crisis at the same time.

Touchy about his appearance, as all self-conscious teens.

Likes playing Mario and Legend of Zelda games.

Doesn't have stuffed animals, but he does have a lot of game/band keychains.

Owns a few fidgets like a fidget cube and a Rubik's cube, and has a little collection of magnets to mess with.

Journals (He insists it is not a diary)

-

Park

Little age anywhere from 2-8. She's usually all the way on one end or the other, but occasionally goes in-between.

Didn't know what the heck was going on with her when she first regressed starting in med-school because of the stress, and of course, being a med-student, she jumped to the worst possible conclusion and thought she had a brain tumour or something.

She just nervously sat on that information until her psych class discussed age regression, and then just went "Oh."

Regresses almost entirely involuntarily and due to stress or fear (she also regressed that one time she was on acid, only House really picked up on it). It doesn't happen very often, usually when she's sleep deprived and otherwise upset.

Has a box of the bare-minimum in the way of little gear. A pacifier that's light blue, a colouring book with some crayons, a white bear with a pink bow around its neck, and a little whiteboard list of self-care things so she remembers to actually do them.

Refers to her caregivers very respectfully, using Mr. and Mrs. for everything, or in the case of her coworkers, Doctor [name]. She will not stop calling them that even though they've said she doesn't have to.

Asks people bluntly if they can shut up so she can read her picture books.

The kind of kid where if you sit them down at those restaurants with the paper on the tables for colouring she'll do her best to make a masterpiece and impress the workers.

Will ask you why you look so ugly. She's not being mean, she genuinely wants to know. Absolutely no filter.

Rambles about her current interests and will just keep going if you don't stop her.

Her favourite caregiver is Cuddy, she likes to give her the pictures she draws.

Watches nature documentaries about the ocean and unironically watches the Telletubbies. She loves how creepy they look.

[greatwyrmgold]

Reading the Amazon Lily arc gave me some thoughts about how One Piece handles women.

I'll start with something positive: The Kuja tribe proves that Eiichiro Oda can draw women who aren't either fat hags or supermodels with I-cups and waists too thin for their intestines. The background characters show almost as much variety in visual design as One Piece's male characters.

On the other hand, this kinda draws attention to the fact that most of One Piece's female characters (especially the named ones) are supermodels with different wigs and sometimes fish tails, while most of the rest are oval-shaped and often have jokes made about how ugly and undesirable they are. (Poor Kokoro.) And to be clear, Oda still defaults to the supermodel shape for lots of the Kuja.

While I'm talking about character design, I'm not a fan of the Kuja tribe's clothes. Most of them wear as little clothing as possible, either a bikini with accessories or unusually skimpy variations on other outfits, like that one Kuja pirate who wears a jacket that leaves her midriff and the middle of her chest bare.

Also, they give Luffy clothes after he arrives, and they're flowery and frilly. Few of the Kuja wear floral clothes and IIRC none have frilly ones; the flowers and frills are just added because they're stereotypically girly, and Oda thought it would be funny to put Luffy in emasculating clothes.

The scene where Luffy accidentally smashes into Boa Hancock's bath was...I'd ask why it had to be her bath and not Hancock doing literally anything else, but I think we know the reason.

Not sure how to feel about Luffy beating up the warrior-women tribe's best warriors without significant effort, even though they're proficient with Haki and he thinks it's that ice sport.* On one hand, it feels awfully close to that stupid trope where women are treated as automatically weaker than men.

On the other hand, the man in question is Monkey D. Luffy, who has fought multiple Warlords of the Sea and usually come out ahead. Also, the Kuja tribe's best warrior, Boa Hancock, doesn't actually fight him. If that status doesn't just come from the Devil Fruit that can't affect Luffy's aroace ass (or any other aroace part of him), maybe a fight between them would have been more even.

*This joke was not made in the actual manga. It should have been, though.

Speaking of Boa Hancock and Luffy, though...the absolute worst part of Kuja Tribe lore is fucking Love Sickness. Apparently some Kuja women suffer literal lovesickness when they fall in love with a guy. It's fatal, unless they leave the island to be with the man they love. Gross.

If Boa Hancock had fallen in love with Luffy after he beat up his sisters, that would have been dumb but tolerable. But making it an actual physiological ailment that's common among the Kuja when they meet men...that feels way too close to saying women need a man to be healthy. I mean, that is literally true for these women who live among other women. And it's apparently a leading cause of death among their empresses. I hate it. Love Sickness should have been damned to editorial hell.

Revealing that the Boa sisters used to be slaves wasn't a big problem. But having that revealed a few chapters apart from Robin getting enslaved on the island she landed on (long story), when that didn't happen to any of the other Straw Hats, when Robin is one of only two women in the Straw Hats...petty, but I mostly want to complain about Robin getting enslaved. I don't think they even put seastone cuffs on her. Why is she just accepting this.

The general tropes about a land of woman being fascinated by the first man they see are a bit irksome, but on reflection, I think they only bother me because of all the other stuff. The Kuja tribe's reactions are mostly expressions of ignorance rather than innately feminine attributes, as expressed in the running gag where they keep assuming that the weird Luffy things Luffy does are what all men must be like. So mark that as another positive.

[honeybewrites]

OC Intro: Fres

Since I introduced 703 last week, I figured I would introduce her ex-partner this week!! This has also been sitting in my drafts for an insanely lone amount of time...

Quick note, I have the drawing skills of a snake, so I have used picrew to create the closest picture of the beautiful Fres as possible. If you are interested, I used this one.

Once again, the picture provided is of Fres in their namuh form, not their natural Tanimoriem form, which is why they look human.

With that out of the way, let's meet another one of the Echoes of War Chronicles stars, Mx Fres!

Name: Fres

Mors Asset Number: 702

Age: twenty-three

Birthdate: [Redacted]

Pronouns: They/Them

Species: Dragon, Tanimoriem (Genetic enhancements and experiments have occurred to alter this individual's biology)

Physical Description: Fres has biracial skin, leaning on the lighter side. Vitiligo covers their entire body and a beauty mark sits under their left eye. Coinciding scars cross over the same cheek, just touching their full lips. They have matte gold or sandy textured hair, often left natural or in braids. Their eyes are bright sunny gold, like a burning sun. Various other scars cover their body from other missions and punishments from the Mors. Fres has a tattoo, an old Tanimoriem tribe insignia, on the right right side of their chest. They are short for their species, coming in around 5'10 (or 177 cm). Even slender and lean, they still have a considerable amount of muscle and are very fit.

In their natural Tanimoriem form, Fres' skin color and vitiligo transfer into scales. Their hair remains the same, with short, triple set horns the same color as their scales/skin popping through. Matte gold small spikes run down their back, all the way to the tip of their tail. Triple style spikes end the tail, also matte gold. Their wings are very large, even for the species, coming in at an impressive 30'1 (or 9.17 m) wingspan. The arms of the wings are the same color as their scales/skin, while the membrane and protective scales are matte gold.

Skills/Abilities: elemental, multiple forms of combat, infiltration, negotiation, technically savvy, wilderness survival

Greatest Fear: the Mors

Personality Type: ENFP-A

Love Language: acts of service

Typical Outfit: Out on missions, a modified Mors suit is generally their go to, but outside of that, Fres is very stylish, having lots of outfits, accessories, and lots of pink things.

Method of Manipulation: gaslighting/silver tongue

Part of Project Viall, Fres has been with the Mors for most of their life. They were trained side by side with 703, their best friend. It's the only life they'd every known, but as they were exposed to more of the Realms, they began to resent it. They couldn't accept this life, this pain. So they came up with a plan to escape, and take 703 with them. There was no point in running away if 703 wouldn't come. The plan failed horribly, ending with the two getting separated. Fres was finally free from the Mors, but 703 was not with them. Fres was convinced 703 had chosen the Mors over them and a deep resentment and hatred began to build. The two were now on opposite sides of the war, vicious enemies.

Relationships

Master Gerd: As their main handler, Fres hated Master Gerd the most. Very controlling and abusive, they couldn't stand him. He was responsible for their training, so there was really no escaping him. Fres would like to see his head on a pike or his body dangling from the rafters.

Healer Asurr: As their creator, Fres interacted with Healer Asurr often. Constantly put through tests and experiments to track and improve their abilities. Fres hates them, but not nearly as much as Master Gerd. They would be almost as happy to see Healer Asurr's body broken.

Dana Hueland: One of the first people Fres met outside of the Mors, Dana introduced them to Oraniz. Since then, Dana and Fres have worked closely together. The older, feisty woman being more than happy to help Fres take down the Mors and extract revenge. Fres sees her as family, and the feeling is mutual.

703: Fres' partner and best friend since birth, the two were inseparable. They loved her with everything and as long as they were together, Fres knew everything would be alright. But when Fres ran from the Mors, freed in their escape attempt, 703 stayed behind in the end. Fres hated her for it. For choosing the Mors over them, and Fres vowed never to forgive her for it.

I hope that some of you enjoyed it, I know I love creating these little profiles!

If anyone wants to be added/subtracted from the tag list, you can comment or DM me!

General Tag: @orions-quill @fractured-shield and @leahnardo-da-veggie

EoWC Tag: N/A

LotA Tag: N/A

[semper-legens]

50. The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins, by Antonia Hodgson

Owned: No, library Page count: 371 My summary: Thomas Hawkins is in trouble. He’s in a cart, on his way to Tyburn to hang for murder. As he’s paraded through the streets to the jeering of the crowd, he’s hoping for a royal pardon. Days earlier, he was summoned to the chambers of the Queen to perform a job for her. A job that became so much more complicated when his hated neighbour was murdered - and the prime suspect was Tom himself. But with only moments remaining before that noose tightens around his neck, Tom begins to suspect that he’s not going to get out of this one... My rating: 5/5 My commentary:

Back to this series! And I'm still loving it. There's just something about the Georgian setting that I absolutely adore. I know the 18th and the 19th century are not actually that far removed, but after the slew of historical novels set in the late Victorian period, seeing literally anything else feels like a breath of fresh air. Which is helped by how well-researched the setting was! I didn't come across anything that jibed with my historical knowledge (though 18th century England is not my forte) and it's clear that the author is a huge nerd for the 18th century. She includes a bibliography and some historical notes detailing the real people who show up in this novel, and the real inspirations she was drawing from in order to create this narrative. And it's very welcome, because I am enamoured with this series.

Oh, Thomas Hawkins. You really are the fucked up little man of my heart. After his release from the notorious Marshalsea, Tom moved with Kitty to Sam Fleet's old shop, selling certain literature to interested (and discreet) gentlemen. But he's bored. He longs for adventure, and gets it when he accepts a deal from James Fleet to do some work for him. Which leads him to an audience with the Queen. Yeah, Tom's in over his head, and it's worse news yet - his neighbour, who he was seen very publicly threatening, has been murdered. And he's the most likely suspect. Tom has to work fast to both find a solution to the Queen's problems and his own before he's charged with murder. This is a character at his best when he's most desperate, and we definitely see him pushed to the edge here. I like that Tom has realistic reactions to things - he's not Superman, when he gets chained to a wall by his wrists he's in pain, he makes bad choices and bad judgement calls, he gets himself into more trouble than he can talk his way out of. He's a very full, very flawed person, and that's interesting! I do have to criticise, though, that Kitty feels more of an accessory for Tom than a character in her own right, though Tom's attempts to shield her from trouble and his paternalistic attitude are shown as flaws of his character, so the narrative is at least addressing it.

The actual plot here takes two strands - one, court intrigue as the King's mistress is having some problems with her husband demanding money, and two, the aforementioned murder. Tom has to find a solution to the first and solve the second before too long, because it's only the Queen's favour that's keeping him alive. Obviously, the stakes are high, and Tom gets increasingly frantic as time goes on. His enemies keep piling up, and his friends are few. And the mystery itself is intriguing. The house was locked, so who could have killed the neighbour? There were four people in the house - a maid, his son, his daughter, and his apprentice, all of whom had good motivation. But there's also a hidden passage between Tom's home and the neighbour's, which Tom is desperate not to let anyone find out. Everyone is a suspect, but there are more twists and turns than meets the eye in this mystery. I won't spoil it, but it kept me guessing straight up to the end. By contrast, the courtly plot is a lot simpler, and mostly consists of Tom being put in Situations by fate itself, almost. Not that this isn't just as fun to read. Poor guy.

Look, I'm just going to admit it. I have a morbid fascination with the history of executions - I'm English, my country hasn't had the death penalty for as long as I've been alive, and I am deeply interested both with how such a thing worked historically and attitudes around it today. This book revolves around Tom being hanged for murder. He's on his way to the gallows in the book's opening, and each part begins with a new stage of his journey, as he begins to panic that he won't be reprieved after all. And he isn't. Only through Kitty bribing the hangman was he saved - he was hanged until unconscious, but cut down before he could die. The slow march to the gallows, and Tom's changing mood throughout, makes for grippingly tense reading. It's a foregone conclusion that he will be convicted of murder, but will he live to tell the tale? Adding to that is the fact that the account we are reading was written by Tom in the condemned cell just before his execution, which then picks up after he survives. It's a clever narrative device that really adds to the experience. The stages in bringing Tom to the gallows, apparently authentic, are interesting - the pageantry on display as Tom is paraded through the streets, chained in a cart, and ritualistically offered wine before finally arriving at Tyburn, really shows that the point of such a penalty was to display those convicted of crimes moreso than actual punishment. It's interesting, if terrible.

Next up, still in the realm of history, and the story of a reviled king.

[makerscockandballs]

For the oc questionnaire thing, I'd like to know #1, #3 (preferably physical traits), #31 and #43 for all of your guys if you have the time!

oooh this is gonna be a long one :D (related to this ask meme)

1: What is their go-to comfort food?

Maison Surana: Orlesian chocolate truffles. Tried them once at a banquet he was performing at and got obsessed. You could bribe him with them.

Orev Hawke: Hearty, heavy Fereldan stew like they used to make in Lothering. It’s just potato and turnip and whatever veggies are in season, doesn’t even taste like much but keeps you warm and fed.

Thelrael Lavellan: Sweets of any kind, but most of all a certain Dalish dessert made primarily from wild honey & roasted fruit.

Magnolia Trevelyan: Tomato soup but with tons of hot pepper powder – a classic she’s used to from the Circle, but the spice is her own twist to make it more interesting. Overall, she loves spicy & heavily seasoned cooking, the more the better even if it makes her eyes water. If habanero potato chips were a thing in Thedas she’d eat three bags a day.

3: What is something they really like about themselves and what is something you really like about them? (Physical Traits)

Maison: He doesn’t care too much about his appearance aside from looking neat and presentable but takes some joy in his teeth being pointier than normal. Part of it is just how they always looked, part of it is Warden Weirdness. I love his facial scars, both the characterization aspect (refuses to cover them up yet hates seeing them in the mirror) and from a “looks badass” aspect.

Orev: He really likes his hair and tries out all kinds of styles with it once he has the time and money. And honestly I agree, it’s also my favourite thing about him to draw :D

Thelrael: He really, really likes his legs, all his outfits are built around making his legs stand out (haha get it. stand out). I really like his profile, it’s overall flat and a bit round — a bit of a babyface that absolutely works for him and makes him look mischievous.

Magnolia: She really likes her overall build, especially her muscular arms. Worked lots and carried around lots of things when she was tranquil which sucked, but at least now it helps her defend herself. Josephine’s obvious glances are a big plus too. I really like her eyes, they’re big and a very dark deep brown.

31: What would make them blush?

Maison: Compliments and reassuring words about him as a person. He holds himself to impossibly high standards and is never satisfied, but hearing that others think positively about him means so much.

Orev: Coming from the right person, almost everything. Friend telling him they care about him or thanking him? Red. Anders kissing him or even just giving him the smallest compliment? Bright fucking red. Meanwhile anyone outside his close social circle could blatantly and passionately flirt with him and get nothing more than a friendly smile or some playful flirting back. All or nothing babe

Thelrael: It takes *a lot* to get this bastard flustered. A lot. He also has no sense of shame. Whoever tries to make him blush ends up being the actually flustered one within minutes. Nobody has figured out a way to do it yet, but Dorian is certainly trying.

Magnolia: Getting nice personal gifts, especially accessories and flowers. Makes her feel special and courted like a princess. She’s not used to having such nice things and wears them with pride. Getting compliments about how that new hairpin or earring fits her is the cherry on top.

43: And what would you say to comfort them?

Maison: You cannot save everyone, but what matters is that you tried. You helped more people by trying and sometimes failing than you would have through inaction. Let yourself off the hook.

Orev: It’s not your fault. Kirkwall was a sinking ship, and one man alone cannot plug all its leaks no matter how hard he tries. Drowning along with it would not have helped anyone.

Thelrael: It’s okay to be angry. But it is still real, even if the gods were not gods at all, it all still mattered. Every celebration, every story, every ritual still brought your people together.

Magnolia: You’re safe now, and not alone anymore. Nothing can force you back into tranquility or hiding. It’s okay to finally let your guard down and breathe.

[sweetnsour1]

12:18

Fluff, Bakugou x g/n reader

Happy Halloween🖤

“Y/n…I don’t think he’s gonna’ pop out of the fridge.” You blinked away the heavy glare from your face, wondering how long you had been making the beer sweat as you reached for a cold one.

“Hmm…no idea who you’re talking about.”

“Oh really?” Her words were half sung, carrying the unmistakable melody of you’re-a-fucking-liar.

You stayed silent, feeling relieved when Mina dropped it. She was more interested in spinning around the kitchen in search of a bottle opener. You leaned back, careful to not dent the papier-mâché gauntlets you were sporting. The counter would’ve dug into the small of your back if the thick belt of your costume were placed any lower. You looked down the orange and black covering your body.

“Will you stop makin’ faces? Although….it does kinda complete the look.” You took a sip of your beer in reply, laughing when she finally realized they were twist off caps.

“This was such a dumb idea.”

“Hey! It was my super cute idea. Everyone else is having fun wearing each other’s OG hero costumes.” You felt a pull on your mask, turning to glare at the pink finger that had flicked the explosive accessories attached to them. “You’re just mad you had to dress as him.” She booped your nose, preemptively transitioning your glare to a laugh.

“Ugh, sorry. This costume just turns me into such an asshole.”

“Hmm, maybe that’s true for Bakugou too.”

“Nah, he’s still an asshole eight costumes later.”

“You keepin’ track, huh?”

“Oh, shut up. It came up when I had to search for pics of this stupid thing.”

“I see. So how many hours did you spend staring at pictures of the man you allegedly hate?”

“Oh my god. You’re impossible.” You waited for your laughter to stop before taking another long drink. “I don’t hate Bakugou. I just said he’s an asshole.”

“I think you like him.” Mina danced out of the way, dodging most of the beer you accidentally sprayed her way.

“The fuck? That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Man, you really do sound just like him.” She was faster this time as she leapt out of your gauntlets reach.

“You are such a brat…raccoon eyes.” You stuck out your tongue, but followed her out of the kitchen.

She didn’t understand. Mina was lucky, she’d gotten Red Riot in the blind draw. She had just dug through Kirishima’s closet and was now wearing most of his original costume. You, on the other hand, wouldn’t be caught dead asking Dynamight for a fucking favor. Although, you had regretted the time you’d spent looking at stupid fan pages after work, trying to find any content showing his high school hero work. The quantity hadn’t really been an issue, but the quality was…unexpected?

You hadn’t meant to land on so many sites thirsting after the man that pissed you off every day. You hadn’t even known until a couple weeks ago, how many people would kill to be in the Bakugou proximity you were forced into daily. They would love to be shouldered away from the coffee pot as he stomped through the break room, lecturing you about being a sleep deprived idiot. They’d find a deeper reason for why he was such a condescending prick when you forgot to put something in your report…or why he even felt the need to check your reports in the fucking first place. He wasn’t even your superior…much less your boss. They would have spent the last week wondering what it would be like to kiss him every time his lips parted into that annoying shitty smirk of his. But you…you’d never think those things.

You drained your beer, almost knocking yourself in the face with your costume when you swiped the back of your hand across your lips. You wouldn’t let yourself think those things. That’d be too…you grabbed another drink from the bucket of ice on the table. Mina was so wrong, and you knew exactly how to prove it.

“Hey, so that American guy we borrowed got Deku in the draw right?” You scanned the room, quickly spotting the bright green ears.

“Yea, but he-“ She smiled when she caught onto your line of sight. “Why? You think he looks good in it?” You rolled your eyes, passing her your drink.

“I don’t know if anyone looks good in a bright green rabbit onesie, but I’ll go check.”

You tried not to get distracted while you crossed the room, but Mina’s party idea had been really fucking cute. It was fun seeing everyone dressed as everyone. You only nodded to anyone trying to catch your attention. You were on a mission. And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking of the report you’d submitted today. The one Bakugou hadn’t read because he had left early. It was stupid. You were angry every time he showed up in your doorway with a report he hadn’t been given. And yet, you were even angrier today when he hadn’t. Maybe those fans online would know…have a headcanon. You frowned, stomping the rest of the way to the Deku two heads taller than you were.

The American hero looked like he might’ve gotten carried away with the thickness of the boots or something. You didn’t remember him being so fucking tall. You noticed his mask was down as the beer fell back to his side. Perfect…just go for it. It was a party, right? You tapped the green back of the costume, feeling a twinge of jealousy at how much more soft and comfortable it seemed compared to yours. When he turned, you grabbed the front, tugging him down to meet your lips. Take that, Mina. Someone who liked Bakugou wouldn’t have done that. You squirmed when a heavy hand on the back of your head kept you from pulling away. You finally broke free from him.

“The fuck are you-“ Red eyes silenced you. Your mouth was left open and useless as he skirted his gaze down and up your body.

“Tryna get a job as my sidekick?” Your mouth snapped shut. You knew you probably did look just like him as you glared and fucking spun on your heel, ready to stomp away. He was just such-

You couldn’t move further. He had a hold of your arm above the gauntlet. You waited to be yanked backwards for an explanation, but he shifted himself around instead, releasing your arm when he stood in front of you.

“Calm down, Dynamight.”

“It’s actually Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.” You tried to keep snarling, but it was too hard not to laugh halfway through the name. There’s no way you’d have been able to keep glaring anyway…not when he was smiling at you like that.

“Sorry, a nerd should know better.” He swatted at his green ears, making you…giggle? You caught pink and red movement across the room. This really wasn’t the show you’d expected to give Mina. He grabbed at your cheeks, pulling your gaze back to meet his. “Ya look good.” You swatted his hands away as soon as your brain stopped being so sluggish.

“I always look good.”

“Yea…you do.” You were almost too distracted by the darkening of his eyes to notice his arm snake around your waist. You stumbled into his chest when he pulled you, instinctively moving your hands up to brace the impact. “So what am I gonna have to do to get another kiss?” You were halfway ready to explain your mistake when you felt it. The not so steady beating beneath your fingertips. He was-

You looked back into red, confirming your suspicion. For once, he wasn’t making things difficult. He made it easy. Easy to see the way his eyes darted down to your mouth before staying firmly focused on your gaze. Easy to feel the way he tightened his grip. Easy to hear the way his voice softened around your name when you didn’t answer. He was nervous. You smiled, but didn’t move any closer. Fuck it.

“Ya just gotta ask, ya fuckin’ nerd.”

a/n obviously Katsuki lost a bet with the bakusquad that got him stuffed into a rabbit

This story was inspired by an ask sent in by the lovely @cheezitwh0re

Masterlist

[chateautae]

maybe i do | kth. II

➵ summary :  maybe you love each other, maybe you don’t. when a deal between your fathers leaves you forcefully wedding kim taehyung, arguably seoul’s most powerful CEO, you’re prepared for a loveless marriage of eternal regret and unhappiness. but maybe, it doesn’t turn out that way after all.

↳  part of the high-class series!

➵ pairing : taehyung x reader

➵ genre :  arranged marriage!au, ceo!tae, s2l!au, eventual smut, fluff, angst

➵ rating : 18+

➵ word count : 10k

➵ warnings : none really, swearing, mainly fluffy and funny interactions, some angst! :o 

➵ a/n: and i’m back with chapter two! i really wanted to say thank you for the love and support i received on the first part of maybe i do, it was astounding!! i’m so grateful so many people loved the story and asked to be tagged (all at the bottom <3), it made me feel so motivated to write. if you would also like to be tagged please message me. your feedback is always appreciated! 

chapter two : “on my pillow, can’t get me tired” 

prev. ↞ || ↠ next  || masterlist

Taehyung didn’t remember sleeping anywhere near you last night. 

He remembered that even though you willingly agreed to share the same bed, he still opted for caution and slept with the most space between you two as possible.

Though when his eyes fluttered open the next morning, eyeballs burning from the light that bled into the suite, the first thing he realized was that he was not on his side of the bed from last night. 

No, he had somehow gravitated towards the center, and as if almost on cue, your slight movement and the sound of your breathing alerted him of your nearby presence. 

Peering down at you, Taehyung caught sight of your sleepy head turned towards him and lying on his arm, his other thrown over your torso with you unsuspectingly nuzzled into his side.

Taehyung’s eyes shot open, acknowledging he had succumbed to his habit of hugging something to sleep during the course of the night and he internally panicked. He began retracting his arms slowly, just about drawing himself from you until alarms rang in his head at the sight of you stirring in your sleep. 

Taehyung took the golden opportunity to sit up in a flash, having to physically shake his head to rid the image of your tranquil, sleeping face from his brain, crushing the thought that it was kind of cute.

He found himself chanting the same denial from last night, he couldn’t be thinking of such complicated things concerning you when he knew the second he’d step foot inside his home, there’d be a mountain of paperwork ready for him; even more on his work desk.

He had to be thinking about his job, not you.  

Even if Taehyung was married now, it wouldn’t lessen the amount of work that plagued his life nor make it any less demanding. If anything, his life would be harder now considering the fact that he had another priority to add to his list, another aspect of his life he had to split his attention between. 

He didn’t necessarily hate the idea, just found himself needing to work harder than he already was. 

Taehyung sighed heavily at the thought and swung his legs off the bed, rubbing his tired eyes. He took a moment to look back at you, thinking if he observed you a second time he’d be able to piece together how the hell you two ended up in that position, that close. 

By evidence of the forgotten blanket half-thrown off you, he could see you were the tossing-and-turning type, maybe the only explanation for your proximity considering he was the same. 

He also noticed you slept all curled up, like you were cold and the only warmth you knew was snuggling yourself.

Cute.

There it was again, cute. 

Why does that word even exist? 

Taehyung discarded the notion altogether and stood to his feet, stretching out his stiff muscles. He made for the bathroom eagerly to begin his day, though not without fixing at least some of the blanket back onto you. 

“You don’t have a driver?” 

“Not for everywhere I go. I have two hands, I can drive myself.” Taehyung made it a statement to jazz hands at you, showcasing the perfectly capable limbs he was gifted with.

“That’s.. nice, actually. I always see asshole CEO’s getting other people to drive them around.” You relayed as you trailed behind Taehyung, letting him lead you towards the front of the hotel where dozens of expensive cars lined the curb side.

You had no clue which luxury vehicle belonged to Taehyung because quite frankly, he could probably afford every car your eyes caught sight of. It wasn’t until he approached a certain one and retrieved his keys from the valet that your jaw completely dropped, floored.

“This is your car?” You gawked, the sleek design, crispness of its shape and nearly sparkling gloss completely sweeping you off your feet.

“Yeah, think someone like me can’t get a car like this?” Taehyung cocked an eyebrow, gesturing towards himself.   

“It’s just-wow. Mercedes CLS?” You inquired without really looking at him, inspecting the car instead as you admired its every curve. Safe to say, you were beyond in love with it. Even if you were always more of a minimalist and preferred the average product, there was just something gorgeous about luxury cars that appealed to you.

“Yeah, actually it is.” Taehyung looked at you impressed, momentarily reminded of just how different you were compared to any other woman he’s chanced upon. 

How many of them knew car models?

Taehyung was intrigued by the fact before speaking with one of the hotel workers, confirming if they had loaded his car with both your luggage and some wedding sentiments your parents insisted you keep. 

Once receiving affirmation Taehyung made towards your side of the car and pulled the door open. He flashed you a tight-lipped smile as he gestured for you to hop in, drawing you out of your stupor. You thanked him warmly before sliding into your seat. 

He let you scramble in comfortably before shutting the door and walking to his side, positioning himself in and clicking on his seatbelt. He watched as your expression lit up once occupying the car, face beaming with excitement as you touched and drank in at the high-end features the vehicle had to offer. Taehyung found himself smiling before he licked his lips and straightened his face, igniting the engine and beginning the smooth drive. 

It was easy to settle the debate on where you both would be living. Taehyung was an enormously rich CEO who lived in an expensive, massive home while you lived in a measly apartment. You knew it was useless to live separately, even more useless to have him live with you. And so you agreed without protest to pack your things and relocate, begin your move into the house you’d share with him for a lifetime. 

The car ride remained quite silent, you mindlessly bopping your head to whatever mainstream song played on the radio, while Taehyung tapped his fingers against the steering wheel or his lap. 

You found your eyes wandering to his slender fingers wrapped around the wheel every so often, sometimes venturing to the other one he placed against his thigh. You began reprimanding yourself once you realized with all the staring, observing and ogling, you most certainly had a thing for his hands already. 

Fuck. 

They were just so big, bigger than what you’ve seen of the average man and it didn’t help that they looked crafted to perfection. 

There was just something about the veins that decorated them, his palm large in size as his fingers seemed deft turning and working the steering wheel. His little accessories like a ring or two, bracelets and his watch did absolutely nothing to deter your interest either.

It only increased once you realized he looked good driving, really good. You knew men had this common attractiveness to them when they drove, watching them all focused and effortlessly working the car somehow sexy; but watching Taehyung drive was another experience entirely. 

He looked insanely hot, and you felt like throwing yourself out your window for even thinking such a thing. It was another case of you ogling him without realizing until his deep voice suddenly fished you out of your thoughts, questioning. “Did you like the wedding?” 

“Huh?” 

“The wedding, did you like it?” Taehyung repeated, glancing at you. 

“Does it really matter if I did?” You asked, this one phrase seeming to perfectly sum up the misfortune of your life, provoking an ironic laugh even. 

“I think it does. A bride should always enjoy her wedding.” 

“Well, I didn’t.” You deadpanned, your expression turning frustrated having to remember that one of, if not the most special night of your life had just been robbed of you, thrown to the wolves while you were only left to accept the sad fact. 

“C’mon, you didn’t enjoy a single thing?” Taehyung didn’t mean to flash back to the kiss you two shared, though found himself doing exactly so. 

You didn’t enjoy that? he questioned in his head. 

“Not really, I just imagined having more choice in the wedding.” You answered honestly, trying not to sulk so much. “It’s not you, I just... thought I’d be able to decide things at my own wedding. I’m grateful your parents did so much, but I didn’t really get to choose anything.” You grew more solemn as your gaze fixated on nothing, watching the world pass you by through the car window. 

“My favourite flowers weren’t even there.” You said only despondently to yourself, shoulders drooping, though Taehyung didn’t miss it. 

“You don’t like roses?”

Your eyes flashed towards him with furrowed eyebrows, surprised he heard your comment. You straightened up before shrugging back a response. “I like peonies.” 

Taehyung looked at your side profile as you turned away, finding the conversation turning more sorrowful than he liked. He allowed some silence to linger as you leaned your chin against your palm, boringly watching the bustling streets.  

He decided to change the subject.

“So you don’t think I’m an asshole, huh?” 

“What?”

“You said you always see ��asshole CEO’s’ getting people to drive them around. But I don’t, so I’m not an asshole to you?” Taehyung halved his attention between you and the road, glancing in your direction with one hand working the steering wheel.

You thought the question over, “No, you’re not an asshole.” You said simply, distracted by the thoughts that previously occupied your mind. 

“I see.” Taehyung pursed his lips. Another beat of silence passed through the downcast air before Taehyung perked up again.

“Is it just the driving? Or do you have other criteria?” Taehyung asked inquisitively, leaning back into his seat as he observed you. 

You could detect from the corner of your eyes the way his stance drew attention to his legs, thighs broad as he sat. “I guess there is.” 

“Like what?”

You didn’t really know why Taehyung was so curious. You thought it was common knowledge what the stereotypical asshole CEO was like; they were nearly all jerks with horrible one-percenter mentalities and treated people like gravel.  

You scoffed a bit. “They’re usually so full of themselves. They act like they own the place all the time, which makes sense at their own companies but not everywhere else. It’s like the position gets to their heads. Even the way they talk is condescending, belittling, or straight up rude to anyone not on their level. It wouldn’t kill to be nice.” You revealed almost too eagerly, avoiding eye contact with Taehyung as you viewed the traffic on the road ahead, remembering he was a CEO himself. 

Long story short, you’ve had your fair share of experiences meeting them as you grew up during the beginnings of your father’s company. They were quick to skew your opinion ever since you watched the way they treated your father all due to having a start-up, for simply being small in name or reputation. They acted like he was less than, some even daring to behave as though his company would simply never make it. 

It always boiled your blood, left an extremely distasteful image of CEOs and the business world in your head. 

And you were certain it all sucked after that. 

“Understandable.” Taehyung nodded agreeably. “But you think I don’t fit any of that?” He rested a hand against his thigh, sitting laxed as he spread his legs apart further. This time it was definitely hard to miss the way they appeared, all laid out and long as your eyes drank him in, following up his thighs all the way to his-

“You don’t. I thought maybe since you’re super successful you’d be full of yourself. But you’re not, really.” You snapped yourself out of whatever the hell you were doing, trying to refocus on the conversation.

“Ah, seems like a stepping stone.” 

“Stepping stone? Towards what?”

“Towards you not hating me.” His voice came out with a more solemn timbre than you expected, his jaw tightening for a mere second. 

Taehyung only thought such a thing because even if he decided you didn’t harbour negative feelings towards him, there was no way of him determining whether that was true or not without your real input. 

“I don’t hate you, Taehyung. I don’t.. think I can.” You claimed with poignancy, his statement causing you to reflect on your own feelings about him. 

You don’t hate Taehyung, you couldn’t because he did absolutely nothing wrong in this situation. He was dragged in just like you were. You only despised the unfairness of the arrangement, not him. 

There wasn’t much to hate about him.  

“So you’re saying you like me then, aren’t you?” Taehyung suddenly teased light-heartedly, all smug as his amused eyes flickered to you. 

“Shut up, I never said that.” You turned away, scandalized by his remark. 

“I’m kidding. But, why do you think you can’t hate me? I pretty much.. ruined your life.” Taehyung internally felt his chest tighten at the words, remembering the exact thoughts from where he stood no less than 24 hours ago, seconds from lawfully marrying you. 

“And I didn’t ruin yours?” This time you turned your gaze towards Taehyung, meaningfully. Your eyes instinctively communicated your emotions as they locked with his for a moment, Taehyung all attentive. 

“I took away from you just as much you took away from me. We both ruined each other’s lives, there’s no use in blaming each other. That’s why I can’t hate you.” You finalized, crossing your arms and opting to watch the passing buildings through your window again. 

Taehyung absorbed your sudden confession with reason, realizing that in a sense, you two were partners in this unfortunate case. Even if your matrimony constituted a forced partnership neither of you liked, there seemed to be a natural comradery in having to deal with the aftermath of that forced partnership. 

Trying to accept it. 

“I don’t think I can hate you, either.” Taehyung admitted, ending the more miserable part of the conversation as you fell silent. You thought he was done until he decided to bother you again. 

“I think you’re still saying you like me, though.” 

You turned to him half-appalled before pointing towards the road, eyes narrowed. “Just drive us home, will you?” 

Taehyung laughed at the moment and pressed down on the accelerator, internally grinning at the fact you never said no to his statement. 

“This is your house?” You found yourself gawking again at something that belonged to Taehyung, stepping inside a luxury home you’ve only ever dreamed of living in. Sure, you lived with your parents until you were 18, though your father was still starting out with his company for most of those years, not exactly owning anything too luxurious until after you permanently moved out.

So as you stood trying to prop your heels off yourself, your jaw dropped at the sheer elegance and high-status look to the interior of Taehyung’s home. You had already done enough gawking at the exterior, but being inside and processing the fact that you were now to inhabit this home for the rest of your life sent another wave of shock. 

You immediately observed Taehyung was the type who decorated his home with only the finest, his taste easily identifiable. Aesthetic, lavish, charming. He seemed like a man of utter simplicity though his home said otherwise, showcasing an artistic, exquisite feel you never really expected from him. 

“When will you stop saying that?” He titled his head and smiled through a laugh, removing his shoes and slipping into his indoor slippers. 

“Right, sorry.” You were still struggling for normalcy, somehow forgetting almost every hour Taehyung’s wealth and only registering it once you saw something that indicated it. 

Taehyung sauntered inside and took a deep breath, enjoying the feel of his abode. He enjoyed nothing more than being home, in the comfort of his own space. Especially for someone who worked so busily, he found pleasure in doing the bare minimum at home. Relishing in the feeling right now, he pressed his lips together in a smile before glancing back at your struggling figure, catching sight of your size. 

His eyebrows shot up to the sky. “Woah, you’re short.” 

“Huh?” 

“I think I’ve only ever seen you in heels.” Taehyung informed. “Now that you’re not wearing them you’re a lot shorter than I thought. You’re tiny.” He pointed out as he eyed you from head to toe, processing the amount of height you lost simply from removing your shoes. 

“I mean, that’s kind of what heels do, you know, they add height.” You deadpanned, stating the obvious for him. 

“Sorry, it’s just..” Kind of cute, he thought, though fought for another response. “I could probably throw you.” 

Nice save. 

“Excuse me? It’s not my fault you’re so tall.” You scowled at him. “Besides, you’re all height and no muscle, you probably can’t even carry me.” 

“Wanna see me try?” Taehyung was already coming towards you with his arms held out and you sputtered immediately, “No, no, no.” you held your hands up defensively. “Let’s just start the house tour, yeah?” you offered a smile for compromise. 

“That’s what I thought.” Taehyung narrowed his eyes coyly and turned on his heel, signaling you to follow him. 

What you realized strolling through the home as Taehyung discussed its details was that it emphatically represented him like an open book. Even if Taehyung was predominantly unreadable and seemed to always hide a mystery behind his eyes, you could see nearly all of him reflected in his home. 

You often found valuable trinkets or sentiments scattered around the house. It seemed like he cherished a lot of things in his life, namely memories or people. It would also be hard to miss the exquisite selection of paintings and embellishments he draped the walls with, all harbouring their own charm and adding to the overall artistic feel of his home. 

There were famous works consisting of Vincent Van Gogh all the way to local Korean artists you’ve never heard of, though admired their work. 

It seemed as though he selected the paintings himself. 

Another large aspect you couldn’t miss were the many photos he kept, calling to question whether they were of his own work. 

“Did you take these?” You approached a shelf in one of his grand hallways on the second floor, hand brushing the wooden frame of a captured photo; six men including Taehyung himself posing comfortably, like they were extremely close, backdrop reflecting what seemed to be a trip.  

“I took all of them.” He stated casually, hands tucked into his pockets as he eyed the shelf along with you. 

“All?” 

He simply nodded and didn’t elaborate further as he watched you admire the photos, yourself impressed by his adeptness for photography. 

“You’re really good.” You complimented absentmindedly, enjoying the other photos of not only people but scenery, empty streets, candid shots from what looked to be his own little adventures. 

“Thanks.” Was all Taehyung could manage, trying to mask the sheer gratitude he felt hearing the first ever person to admire his work; something that wasn’t related to being a CEO or a businessman. 

He also felt slightly embarrassed you’d seen a small part of him he usually hid.

Taehyung continued walking down the hallway until he reached the end, revealing what you could tell was the largest room in the house. You were thrown off by just how unnecessarily large it was. It seriously reminded you of an extravagant hotel suite, more like the grandest one among them. 

“This is our room.” Taehyung introduced, gesturing towards its interior. 

“Our?” 

Taehyung nodded “I should’ve told you earlier but I wanted us to sleep in the same room. If we slept apart our marriage wouldn’t look convincing to my two housekeepers. I trust them but I don’t want any information about us getting out to the public, not over my dead body.” Taehyung stated in earnest as he relayed the information, wandering further into the room. 

“You really care that much about publicity?” you genuinely questioned. 

Taehyung scoffed. “Not me, I couldn’t care less about what people think.” He denied instantly, almost laughably. “It’s my father. He hates bad press, especially concerning our family or the company.” 

“I thought bad press is still press, so it’s good.” You suggested as you followed him further into the room, admiring that though large, his room held a sense of comfort to it. Quite frankly, all of his home felt rather welcoming and cozy, surprising of a CEO who ran such a monstrously successful company.

“My father doesn’t think so. Kim Enterprises has always been generational, each of our CEO positions strictly kept within the family. Our name is our brand and pride, it alone accounts for at least half of our success. We’re extremely well-known for our high status, it’s just plain fact in the upper social circles of Korea. We can’t afford to taint our name with petty things like bad press or corruption, our reputation is too valuable.” Taehyung stated this all nonchalantly as he adjusted his suit jacket in his mirror, like it was something he’s grown accustomed to and has known all his life. 

You found your opinion impeding his words.  

“So you can never just, escape this life? As long as you’re a Kim you’re bound to this company?” You found the concept wildly restrictive, clearly shackling down any person that would run the business and you felt a disagreeing shiver shoot through your spine. 

“Of course, why would you want anything else?” Taehyung tiled his head to the side, eyeing you in genuine questioning and your entire being was trying to bite back the desire to correct him, tell him there’s so much more to life than just some company your family owns. Though you opted for changing the subject instead, unwilling to step on his toes and dictate his life when you knew next to nothing about it. 

It wasn’t your place. 

“Woah, you have a balcony?!” You exclaimed with a simper, eyes flickering towards the curtains that revealed two ajar French doors leading to an open space.

You made towards it excitedly and stopped just in the middle of the platform, enjoying the breeze of the fresh air.

“It’s my favourite part of the house.” You didn’t even realize Taehyung followed you until his towering figure stood directly behind you, feeling his proximity permeate through your body. 

You swallowed. 

“Why don’t you look at the view?” Taehyung cocked his head towards the railing of the balcony, though you didn’t move a step. 

You weren’t about to tell Taehyung you’re terribly afraid of heights.

“I-I can see from here. Wow, looks beautiful.” You perked up superficially, trying to throw him off and changing the subject again. “By the way, what’s our closet situation gonna look like?” 

“Ah, let me show you.” Taehyung strided back into the room towards the sliding double doors you spotted earlier. He almost theatrically glided both dark wooden panels open and your jaw dropped for the 47th time today. 

You were welcomed by a ridiculously large walk-in closet, enough to be renovated into its own bedroom. You simply couldn’t normalize its size, especially after registering every suit, tie, watch or accessory Taehyung stored in the gracious space. 

You couldn’t even begin to imagine how much money lied in here. 

“Oh my God.” Was all you could manage, meandering in sparingly as you viewed each and every expensive piece he owned in the room, no doubt of the highest quality designers, finest of men’s fashion. 

“You don’t have to worry about unpacking and moving in here, the housekeepers will do that for you.” Taehyung watched as you looked upon in awe, finding the way your eyes sparkled with emotion very similar to that of Bambi’s.  

“How will I fit-”

“I specifically made space for you, there’s enough.” Taehyung stated, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. He’d resolved a while ago he really would try to take this marriage seriously, victoriously achieve the work-life balance his father kept preaching. 

He saw giving up his closet space as the first step. 

It was indeed so because Taehyung thoroughly enjoyed fashion. He genuinely adored every suit, accessory and outfit in his collection, though if he wanted to reach this new goal of balance, successfully add you to his list of priorities, then he had to be willing to cut down. 

Even if that meant reallocating a third of his exorbitant wardrobe just for you, he’d try not to mind. 

“Are you sure? I could just use another room’s-” 

“I want to.” Taehyung finalized as his eyes turned unreadable from across the room, locking his gaze with yours and you were only left to look back impressed, his generosity unforeseen. 

“Thank you.” You voiced a little weak, still shy by the suffocating nature of his stare. 

“Don’t mention it.” He offered plainly, propping himself off the wall. He looked off to the side eyeing the empty pockets of space he left for you, until your voice called out to him.  

“Taehyung.”

“Hm?” He snapped his vision back to you. 

You wanted to ask him something, more so a favour and you were unsure how to word the request. “Um.. I didn’t want to ask so openly, but..” You found yourself beating around the bush, timid of what his response would be. 

“Go on.” 

“Um, so it seemed like there were a lot of empty rooms in this house, and I was just wondering if I could maybe.. transform one of them into an art studio for myself?” You winced at your own request. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just I had one at my old place and it really grew on me. I would get most of my work done in that room and gained a lot of inspiration from it. I have a lot of art supplies and designed often in that studio, so I need a home for all my supplies and it would suck getting rid of it all. I’m sorry it means I would have to steal one of your rooms in the house, if you don’t want me to then-” 

Taehyung couldn’t help but break out into a small grin as he watched you ramble on, shyly fidget with your fingers, so apprehensive of asking him for something and it reminded him why he was so eager to provide you with anything you wanted. 

You spent too long trying to do everything on your own, achieve everything on your own, relying solely on yourself. Taehyung could see this all as plain as day, quite enjoying of how he’s never really met someone like you, and wanted you to know you didn’t always have to be so independent.  

Especially with him. 

“Y/N.” He called out to you with the same honey-coloured tone from last night, stopping you. Your eyes flickered to his, awaiting his next sentence and Taehyung already found himself having a thing for your doe-eyes. 

Fuck. 

“Of course you can have a room. You can have anything in this house. It’s yours.” Taehyung stated with a degree of assurance, his eyes locking with yours in earnest. 

You both shared a look as your lips curved into a gracious smile, biting your lip to contain it. His stare wasn’t so much intimidating as it was merely.. calm. Gazing at you for the sole purpose of gazing, and you found some heat rushing to your face under his scrutiny. 

Taehyung seemed to realize he was staring and immediately cleared his throat, turning a little nervous as he began another conversation. “So um, I’m sorry to say this,” he began with unease, almost apprehensive and you didn’t know what he was so sorry about. “But I have work today.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

Taehyung internally winced at your reaction, hands finding his pockets. “I took some time off for the wedding, so now I have twice the amount of work left behind. I need to complete it.” He informed straightforwardly. 

“Our wedding was just yesterday, though, aren’t you tired?” You were only taken aback because you were slightly concerned for his wellbeing, wasn’t he tired from yesterday? You recalled him knocking out almost immediately upon hitting the pillow of your hotel bed last night, snoozing away. 

“Maybe, but I can’t afford to rest. I’ll only have more to complete if I do, so I won’t be spending anymore time with you today.” Taehyung relayed the information, readying himself for the even greater disappointing news he’d be passing on. 

“Actually, we won’t be able to go on our honeymoon, either.” Taehyung thought it was best to slip in all the bad news, growing more and more unrelaxed as he was unsure of how you’d react. 

Though what you said next had him nearly floored.

“Honeymoon? Taehyung, that’s the least of my concerns, you should at least rest a day before getting back to work. That’s not really healthy.” You chastised him as lightly as possible, still afraid to be stepping on his toes when you didn’t know his life. 

Taehyung was certain you’d hate having been stripped of a beautiful vacation where you could’ve relaxed in the sun and tropics of Cancun. Your father had mentioned to him you’ve always longed to visit the breath-taking city in Mexico, its clear waters and tropical air as a means to truly get away from your stifling life. 

So when he found you disregarding the trip altogether and instead focusing on him, more precisely his health, he was left damn well speechless. 

There you were again paying attention to the littlest things about him he didn’t care much for; he still had that bandage you offered him a month ago tucked into one of his pockets, not wanting to use the adhesive just yet. 

“I’ll be fine. I’m just sorry we can’t go on the vacation because of me, it would’ve been nice, you know?” Taehyung apologized, feeling genuinely guilty for having ruined the honeymoon. Even if you two weren’t going to travel as some lovey-dovey couple, you both simply could’ve enjoyed the time off.

“It’s okay, just, at least work from home today. Heading to the office would be too much.” You suggested for the sake of the fatigue you could discern on him. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m gonna be home for the next few days since everyone thinks we’ll be on our honeymoon.” 

“Oh. That’s.. good.” You nodded faintly, half at the idea you two were even faking your honeymoon and half at the blasphemous energy he had to work after yesterday. 

The sleep from last night was nearly not enough to recharge from the antics of the wedding, having drained your batteries for the next few days. You were certain his were drained too; he was half the damn couple. 

“I should get going. I’ll send Mrs. Choi and Seo up with your things. They’re probably finished with lunch too, you should eat.” Taehyung advised as he stepped out of the walk-in closet, running a hand through his gorgeous hair and you couldn’t help but ogle at the sexy way his strands fell back on him. 

“Okay.” You voiced as you followed him out, watching him near the room’s door and just about to vacate the premise before you spoke up. “Taehyung.” 

He stopped in his tracks, peering back at you. “Yes?” 

“You should eat something, too.”

Taehyung half-smiled at you with a nod “Sure”, before stepping out of the room, leaving you alone. 

And you couldn’t help but kind of like the way he smiles. 

It was well into the evening now, bordering dinner time as you helped the last of your clothes into Taehyung’s closet, refusing to let the older housekeepers do all the work by themselves considering it was your own luggage. 

You also tried to occupy Taehyung’s room as scarcely as you could with your belongings, feeling odd about suddenly moving in with all your might and changing things around. It just didn’t feel appropriate, like you were invading his space and so you opted for scattering only your necessary items.

“That should be the last of it, Mrs. Choi.” You retrieved your last piece of clothing from the rather soft-spoken housekeeper, tucking the blazer away among the rest. You were satisfied to see not only your wardrobe neatly organized now, but fit just about right with Taehyung’s things. 

He was right about space, there was enough.

“Mrs. Kim, please rest. You didn't have to move a muscle at all for us.” Mrs. Choi remarked, genuinely concerned for you. 

“Yes, please, Mrs. Kim. We can finish up with the little things. I’ve just finished preparing dinner downstairs, you should eat.” Mrs. Seo chimed in as she entered the walk-in closet, gesturing towards the door. 

“Are you sure? I can-”

“Mrs. Kim, you’re very kind for offering your help, we’re very grateful you’ve done so. Though we are Mr. Kim’s housekeepers, we are meant to care for his home and his lovely wife. You need not worry about helping us.” Mrs. Choi stated with an earnest tone, speaking respectfully as she addressed you. 

You were going to protest again before you considered her words, registering that if you indeed helped them, it would technically negate the entire purpose of their work. 

You bit back your reply as a result, crafting a new one. 

“I see, I’m sorry, Mrs. Seo, Mrs. Choi. I’m just.. very used to doing things on my own,” you looked towards the ground. “I apologize.” You almost dipped for a bow until Mrs. Choi rapidly cautioned you, scrambling towards your figure. 

“Oh dear, Mrs. Kim! You do not need to bow to us, you’re Mr. Kim’s wife, you are the one who is bowed to.” 

“Yes, you do not need to apologize either, we appreciate your help, it was very sweet of you.” Mrs. Seo added with a warm smile, bowing to you instead. “Please go for dinner downstairs, I’ve also informed Mr. Kim for dinner, though I’m unsure if he has made his way down yet.” She added on, urging you towards the room's exit and you recognized it was probably better to listen to her. 

Even if all this high-class, status stuff had yet to sink in or make sense to you after being away for so long, you understood there was an eventual tolerance you had to build for it. Just as Mrs. Choi said, you’re Kim Taehyung’s wife now, and that came with a hell lot of status you hadn’t even scratched the surface of yet.

You could already tell it was going to be a pain in the ass. 

“I suppose I should. I’ll get going, then.” You smiled graciously at both women, appreciative of their kindness and began vacating the closet. You just about pulled the room door open before Mrs. Seo suddenly came to you.

“Oh! Mrs. Kim,” she halted you. “I was informed by Mr. Kim to provide this to you. He would have done so himself though he’s quite busy at the moment.” Mrs. Seo extended her hand and presented a pristine looking card, black and incredibly sleek in design. Your eyebrows furrowed until you noticed the telltale symbols, almost ominously minimal branding indicating a rare card only those with some of the highest networths in Korea could own. 

Your eyes widened in horror. 

The Black Card. 

“P-pardon?” You needed her to reiterate, there was no way Kim Taehyung was giving you a black card, the same card that was limitless on credit and only exclusively owned by the affluent one-percenters of society. 

“He’s informed me this belongs to you now, and that you’re to keep it in your possession.” Mrs. Seo elaborated, smiling through the mental whiplash you were currently experiencing.  

“Belongs to.. me? This is mine?” You were still having trouble processing, why would Taehyung be gifting you this? Who’s account was it even attached to? Was it yours and he’s decided to graciously pay all the expensive fees, or worse, was it joined with his own account? 

Don’t tell me it’s joined with his account.  

“Yes, Mrs. Kim. It’s yours.” Mrs. Seo held it out more outwardly, nudging it in your direction. 

Your mouth fell agape for another second before you mentally collected yourself, quickly grabbing the card and thanking her as you made your exit, marching through the house for Taehyung’s unbelievable ass. 

Taehyung could not be providing you with this card. It was irrational, simply had to have been a decision he made with at least two bottles of soju in him, right? You didn’t care what his reasoning would be, you were denying and returning this. There was no way in hell you’d accept this card, especially if he linked his own personal account to it. 

You tried loosely recalling where Taehyung mentioned his study, logically assuming he was working there. You inspected majority of the second floor, working your way through the halls until you finally caught sight of the familiar wooden doors with glass panels, slightly ajar, light bleeding through.

You made for the room quickly and stormed in without a care, attempting to steady your breathing from all the rushing around. You caught Taehyung completely off guard, having shredded his suit jacket to instead sport the rolled up sleeves of his dress shirt, adorning black-rimmed, designer glasses. 

He looked 100x hotter than he should’ve. 

Taehyung suddenly propped up from the leaned-back position he’d assumed on his chair, expression caught by surprise. “Y/N?” He questioned, eyebrows furrowing. 

You held up the card and addressed him immediately. “Taehyung, what’s this? Why are you giving this to me?” You huffed, looking at him incredulously. 

“The card? For you to use..?” Taehyung responded cooperatively, confused as to why you seemed so frazzled. 

“But why, Taehyung? This is a black card, the annual fees on this are insane and I can’t pay-” 

“You’re not paying for them, I am.” Taehyung cut in, shutting the binder he was holding and placing it on his desk. 

“What? No, no way. If it’s my account then I should be the one-”

“It’s not your account, either, it’s mine.” Taehyung brought his elbows to his desk, hands clasped together in front of his lips. It was now he gave you that same intimidating stare he did back when you first met him, calculative and devoid of expression. 

It seemed he did this when he got serious. 

“Your account? But-Taehyung, this is your money, I can’t just have it. Please, take this back.” You stepped towards his desk to return the card eagerly, but Taehyung’s firm tone stopped you. 

“No, it’s yours. I gave it to you to keep.” His words held this underlying sense of authority, scratch that, dominance when he spoke seriously, resolute. You could instantly tell he possessed a natural sense of alpha male characteristics, enough that even though he wasn’t being harsh or looming, his words and the tone he coated them with held more power than you could manifest. 

You almost cowered, but remained adamant on returning the card. It was worse with the card attached to his account, you couldn’t just keep Taehyung’s money like it was your own, it simply wasn’t. Your money sat ordinarily in a separate account on a separate card, which you were happy enough to use. You weren’t going to mooch off of him, it went against every principle that made up your very being. 

“This is your money, Taehyung. I have no right to use it.” 

“You’re my wife. You have every right in the world to use it.” Taehyung countered with no emotion, or at least any you could discern, uncertain what was running through his mind with only his eyes as a guide towards the answer. 

And you knew his eyes didn’t tell. 

“Taehyung, this doesn’t feel right to me. This isn’t my money and I can’t use it.” You emphasized more strongly, drawing closer to his desk though halting your actions once he spoke again. 

“My money is your money, you can always use it.” You knew he was relaxed, appearing practically unbothered as he leaned onto his desk and eyed you. Though with the intense look in his eyes, his aura screaming for anyone within the vicinity to submit to him, he could easily seem frustrated with the situation, namely you. 

And it made you want to crawl into a hole.

“No, it isn’t. I’ve already intruded your home, taken your closet, your room and even an extra one just for myself. I will not take your money either. Please, take this back.” You held out the card more prominently, desperate to have him understand you.

Taehyung wasn’t necessarily frustrated by you, no, he was slightly pissed you kept referring to everything as just his and not yours, that he was the only one considering you two as a married couple now while you still viewed each other separately.

Did you not see him as your husband yet?

He also disliked the fact that you seemed scared of him, or unable to trust him like last night. He could see you fighting back the urge to cower away, genuinely upsetting him you still held a degree of fear and unsureness in your eyes. 

Why are you so afraid of me? 

“Y/N, everything isn’t just mine anymore, it’s yours, too. We’re a married couple, husband and wife. What’s mine is yours.” Taehyung tried to reason, loosening himself up more to seem less intimidating, more approachable.

“But money, Taehyung-it’s different. I didn’t even want to take my own father’s money, there’s no way I’ll take yours, please.” Pleading leaked into your tone as you lips started doing that thing where they just about pout, emphasizing their plushiness and Taehyung couldn’t help but notice it again. 

He started growing frustrated as he removed his glasses, placing them on his desk and pinching the bridge of his nose. It seemed like he was digesting the situation, searching for the best approach.

“Y/N, look. I know the kind of situation you had with your father, but I’m not him. Didn’t you hear what Mrs. Choi and Seo addressed you as?” 

You thought it over, unknowing of where he was taking this. “They.. called me Mrs. Kim.”

“Exactly. Even my last name is yours, everything I have is yours. I’m your husband, I’m always going to provide you with things from now on. That card is just one of many.” Taehyung offered his best explanation, making sure his tone wasn’t as serious to sidetrack any fear you still had.

“I understand. But this is a black card, Taehyung, and it’s your hard-earned money, not mine. It feels wrong even just having it.” You couldn’t fight your inner turmoil, you genuinely believed this to be wrong. After spending almost a decade trying to work for yourself, pay for yourself, seldom seeking the help of another, this just left a disagreeing feeling to churn in your stomach.

Taehyung sighed heavily before pushing his chair back, rising from his seat. He made his way over to you where you grew unintentionally defensive, retracting from him slightly as he neared you. He noticed it and pursed his lips, reaching out for your upper arms and taking them warmly, tenderly, waiting for your eyes to meet his before he spoke to you.

“Y/N, do you remember what I said before I kissed you yesterday?”

Your eyes widened having been reminded of the intimate moment, nodding at him innocently. Taehyung witnessed you trying to avoid eye contact and found himself softening. 

“I didn’t say that without reason. I meant it when I said I would take care of you. Your father is a different story, if you don’t want to use his money, I respect that. But I’m your husband, and I want to be a good one. I want to give you things.. do things for you simply because I want to.” Taehyung reasoned, gripping you lightly. “I want you to use my money, you’re allowed to use it.” He tried voicing with sincerity, earnestly, hoping he could change your mind.

He saw you still hesitating to accept the offer, however, deciding on a compromise.

“Look, you don’t have to use it all the time. You can still use your own card, but you can use mine here and there. Seriously, Y/N, using it won’t even make a dent on me. I’m the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, use it at your discretion.” Taehyung could practically see your gears shifting, searching for your eyes as he wished you’d understand him. 

He saw this as a second step towards work-life balance, only feeling the responsibility and genuine desire to be the good husband in spite of the unfortunate nature of your marriage. He didn’t want any doubt concerning his ability to be a good husband, either.

After all, when Taehyung did something, he always did the best he possibly could.

“Okay, I guess you’re right. But I do have my own money, and I’ll be using that 100x more often than yours.” You relaxed and oddly let him hold you, looking down at the black card that rested in your hand and clutching it to your palm.

Taehyung realized he was still holding you and let go, retiring to fluff his hair instead. You caught a glimpse of his bicep underneath his rolled up sleeve as he did so, and you truly hated you chose a time like this to find him stunningly attractive.

“You should come downstairs, Mrs. Seo prepared dinner.” You ignored your thoughts.

“You go first, I’ll be down in a second.”

You nodded agreeably and turned away, leaving his study. You took a second look at the card in your hand, then glanced around the house as you strolled through it, trying to embed what Taehyung said into the crevices of your resistant thinking.

Everything I have is yours, you reiterated, registering that Taehyung had in fact grown accustomed to the idea of you two as a couple already. He’s accepted it, embraced it, even enforced it now with his earlier declarations and this black card. You automatically felt behind, like you were the tortoise in the race and needed to pick up your pace.

If Taehyung had already come to terms with your marriage, it was only a matter of time before you did as well. Marriage is a two-way street, and if you wanted to make this easier on both yourself and Taehyung, you would compromise with him, accept the true sense of partnership that entailed your status as husband and wife.

Thus was the exact mantra that played in your head as you fiddled with the card, remembering the way his big hands held you.

Warm.

It was night. 

You could say it was like any other ordinary night, though that would be a gargantuan lie. 

This night was the first time Taehyung and yourself were going to sleep in the same bed.

In your own home. 

The hotel suite left you both with your own space and privacy since it was a random, public room with no personality or attachment to it whatsoever, making it easier and comfortable to sleep with him.

So when you emerged from your walk-in closet in a thin camisole, loose pajama shorts and without a bra, you were cursing yourself. God damn you for needing to sleep in minimal clothing for comfort. You’d slept in a loose t-shirt and bottoms at the suite last night since it was a public room, and long story short, it left you tossing and turning more than you liked. 

You had no clue prior to arriving here that you’d be sharing a room with Taehyung. You’d expected to sleep in a different one, in the privacy of your own room where you could prance around as you wished and as a result packed your usual sleepwear. 

But now that you were left having to slumber with Taehyung, clothes on the more revealing side, there was no turning back. 

And what there was truly no turning back from, was when you opened the closet door and your eyes landed on Taehyung’s shirtless, wet self drying his hair after a shower. 

You immediately malfunctioned.

Your eyes fell to his bare back, ruffling his wet hair as his plaid pajama pants hung loosely at his hips. You immediately exclaimed and clamped a hand over your mouth, trying to shut yourself up. 

You did not expect at all for Taehyung to have such honey-coloured skin. It was like it naturally glowed, a healthy tone that made him appear all the more delectable. It certainly didn’t help that his shoulders were broader than you first observed, sincerely an other-worldly experience when he wasn’t wearing clothes. 

You also got an all-access view of his trap muscles, adding to the width of his shoulders overall and when Taehyung turned around to the sound of the closet door opening, gaze locking with yours, you could confirm his neck, chest and collarbones were indeed crafted to perfection.

Taehyung’s eyes widened momentarily drinking you in, not expecting your light sleepwear when just last night he witnessed you in a full pajama set. Not to mention, and he hated that he could tell, but you weren't wearing a bra. 

And the camisole did nothing to hide that. 

Taehyung straightened himself up realizing you two were practically gawking at each other, resting the towel around his neck as he cleared his throat. “That’s what you sleep in?” 

“That’s what you sleep in?” You retorted, arms over your chest. 

“Guys usually sleep shirtless, this is normal.” Taehyung gestured towards his own body and you had half a mind to floor yourself. It’s like Taehyung knew but also didn’t know he was hot, knew the effect he had on people though never grew cocky or proud enough to purposefully parade it around. 

And it frustrated you even more; he was fairly humble about being a sexy Greek God. 

“Girls sleep like this too, this is normal.” You copied him, looking off to the side. 

“I was kidding, I only sleep shirtless sometimes. Just get in bed.” Taehyung narrowed his eyes as he gestured towards the sheets, returning to his palace of a bathroom to toss his towel in the hamper and pull a t-shirt over his head. 

You wanted to move, feet just about ready to carry you but you never abandoned your spot. Instead, you pressed your lips into a thin line contemplating that sharing a bed with Taehyung, in clothes like this and in such proximity, all held a degree of intimacy you didn’t know you two shared yet. 

It’s only been a day. 

So when Taehyung returned to your unmoving figure, arms holding your chest and avoiding eye contact with him, he was quick to get the message. 

“Um.. if you really don’t want to sleep here, I can give you another room.” Taehyung offered, figuring himself this may be too soon. 

“No, it’s okay, that’d be kind of a hassle.” You waved him off. “Besides, your bed looks comfy.”

You were honestly trying to live up to your acceptance that Taehyung was the man you’d spend your life with now, so you’d better start getting use to him. You’d sleep next to him for numerous nights, spend endless days together and share a multitude of things; this would simply just be a first of many first times. 

So you paddled over to the bed and removed the covers to snuggle yourself in, the bed’s coolness sending a shiver through you before you hugged the blanket to yourself. Taehyung stood with a smile before crawling in himself, adjusting the covers to his liking. 

He felt at peace in a matter of seconds, the feeling of his own bed lulling him into a state of slumber already. He reached his arm out to shut off the lamp on his bedside table, leaving the room pitch dark and only his digital clock and balcony as a light source. 

You began to cower a bit in the darkness, thankful for the sheer curtains that allowed the moonlight to spill into the room. 

You felt another shiver run through your body when you shifted, realizing you were cold even under the sheets. You tried warming up on your own by shimmying the blanket around more comfortably, but it didn't do much. 

You were left lying on the bed trying to think warm thoughts, unintentionally breathing in the constant scent of Taehyung from his bed; his cologne, his aftershave, his body wash all filling your nostrils.

It was intoxicating, absolutely distracting and sleep began to slip your mind. It didn’t help that you were still cold too, moving around and turning onto your side where you now faced Taehyung. 

He seemed to have already dozed off, face tranquil as he slept soundlessly on his back. You couldn't help but admire his side-profile, the sparse moonlight illuminating his features. It was hard to not stretch your hand out and nearly run a touch along his cheek, like he was a rare work of art that naturally called for admiration.

You realized turning towards him that he radiated a wave of warmth from his body, remembering boys were pretty much furnaces while girls usually froze.

How wonderful it is to be a woman. 

You desired some of that heat and shuffled just a little closer to Taehyung, nearing the center of the bed. You discerned he was indeed warm and maneuvered slightly closer, just about stopping at the center of the bed. You fought back the urge to shimmy any closer, leaving a mindful gap between you two. 

You were seconds from catching a peace of mind until Taehyung unexpectedly spoke in the silence of the night, startling you. 

“You can come closer, I don’t bite.” The smirk in his voice was obvious, making you scrunch your nose and snap back at him. 

“Shut up, I’m not getting closer to you.” 

“You should, I’m really warm, and I can tell you’re cold.” There he was again teasing, his tone coy as he kept his eyes shut, unbothered. 

“Over my dead body.” You mocked him from earlier, turning away from him abruptly and pulling the covers over your head. 

Coffee was probably your favourite thing life had to offer. One of the couple things you’d fight someone over; coffee and your independence, if you wanted to be specific. 

So it made you genuinely happy Taehyung had such a wide selection of coffee to choose from, ranging from all kinds of beans to instant coffee, cappuccinos, lattes, mochas, you name it. It took no time for you to craft a cup to your liking, shuffle into a seat on the island and begin picking at the breakfast the housekeepers had whipped up earlier this morning. 

You’d woken up early today keeping in mind the day you had planned. You decided this to be another move-in day as part of your studio setup project you’ve entertained for the last week. The granted time off due to your odd honeymoon farce with Taehyung proved to actually come in handy, thankfully. 

It had been another peaceful morning for you, having woken up with sunlight gracing the walls, certain you could hear birds chirping as if you were in a Disney film and little mice would come out to start sewing the gown you’d wear as a princess. 

It had been a peaceful morning indeed, but when you stretched out to loosen your stiff muscles, the chaos that met you was anything but peaceful. Even if it’s occurred at least 5 times now, you kept forgetting that you shared a bed with someone else now, and that said someone had somehow always founds a way to gravitate towards you during the night, even daringly cast an arm over you sometimes. 

It left you in a state of panic registering that Taehyung’s, dare you say warm and cozy body would be just behind you, his chest mere centimeters from your back. You would stay still for some time, calculating the optimal way to remove yourself from his hold until he eventually stirred enough to loosen his grip, darting right out of bed. 

Other times, he’d wake earlier than you and you wondered what would cross his mind once he registered your oddly proximal bodies. 

Did it ever bother him?

Nonetheless, it brought a mischievous smile to your face thinking about the fact that Taehyung had such a perfectly human habit like cuddling. He was always so serious, so put together and a near machine at everything he did, seeming as though he wouldn’t give anything romantic the time of day. 

But it was hard to forget the fluffy feeling that blossomed in your chest when you would sense his proximity, maybe inviting a liking to it. You had always slept alone, only yourself and the darkness to keep you company in your lonely bed, in your lonely home. 

So sleeping next to someone, namely Kim Taehyung left an impression on you you couldn’t quite shake. It was difficult to erase the image of his calm, sleeping face after the handful of times witnessing it. Long eyelashes delicately pressed to the skin under his eyes, lips plush as he seemed to naturally pout in his sleep. The sunlight only accentuated his honey-coloured skin, adding a glow to his features that made him appear prettier than he already was. 

It was nice to think you’d wake up to that every morning. 

You found your mind still playing around with the idea until you snapped yourself out of it, questioning why the hell you always ventured off whenever you thought about him. 

Weird. 

You were scolding yourself until your eyes caught Taehyung strolling into the kitchen with his phone in is hand. He’d foregone a jacket today, black shirt sleeves folded to mid-forearm paired with black slacks.  

You were normal until you almost spat your coffee seeing he wasn’t wearing a tie but instead had the first few buttons of his shirt open, revealing a generous view of his neck and the beginnings of his chest. 

Fucking hell.

You were staring stupidly until Taehyung peeked up at you, smiling “Morning.” 

“M-morning.” you stuttered.

He seemed unsuspecting as he returned his attention to his phone, proceeding to the kitchen counter and retrieving a cup to fix himself a drink. He appeared to be reading something conscientiously on his device, never taking his eyes off and you quickly became bored, ready to use the weapon you’d acquired. 

“So.. you’re a cuddler, huh?”

Taehyung nearly dropped his cup.  

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“You’re a cuddler when you sleep. Cute.” You rested your chin in your palm, playful smile on your face. 

“I think you’re mistaken, I am not a cuddler. And I’m not cute.” Taehyung denied as he only focused on the cup, his back to you. You then watched him reach for his selection of tea and purposefully evade the coffee, your eyes lighting up with mischief.  

“Wait, you’re a cuddler and you drink tea instead of coffee? Very cute.” You pulled on his leg, chuckling as you brought your mug to your lips

This was going to be fun.

“Shut up, I don’t like the taste and tea is healthier.” Taehyung practically sneered back, harshly ripping the packet of his tea bag.

“Doesn’t take away from the fact that you’re a cuddler.” You sipped on your coffee, unbothered as you swung your legs back and fourth. 

“Doesn’t take away from the fact that you like it.” 

You nearly spat your drink. 

“What?” 

“I remember a certain someone that shuffles closer to me for warmth, no?” Taehyung snapped back as he returned to his phone and popped his tea into the microwave, his shoulders high to the sky. You could imagine his smug face proud of his remark while searching for your own, realizing that Taehyung was damn good at arguing and you’d really have to upgrade your comeback game to counter him. 

He was unfortunately your match.

“Even if I were one, which I’m not, It’s not like I’m committing a crime.” Taehyung suddenly finalized with a snippy tone, and you realized you may have hurt his ego. 

Men. 

“I never said it was a bad thing.” You commented under your breath and looked away, popping a raspberry into your mouth. 

Taehyung bit back a smirk as he retrieved his cup of tea, taking a sip as he returned to his phone and took a seat across from you. He began compiling his plate of breakfast as he worked his device, typing away with one hand as if he was drafting the Magna Carta. 

You became bored again.

“Why do you have so much coffee if you don’t like it?” You genuinely felt like inquiring, if he didn’t like the taste why would he have so much? 

“For my housekeepers, they drink it.” He took a sip of his tea, all attention on his phone. 

You nodded understandingly. “Why do you have two housekeepers, by the way? Isn’t one enough?” 

“So they can keep each other company.” He answered absentmindedly, eyes still glued to his phone as he bit a piece of his toast. You really hated that he wasn’t actively interacting with you because it only left room to stare at him, and that was never any good.  

He looked illegally attractive with the unbuttoned part of his shirt, your mind profusely bugging out over the exposed bit of his chest. You were reminded of the full view from last night, and began pondering how long you’d survive having to see that for the rest of your life. 

“O-oh, that’s nice.” You stuttered back a reply, squashing your previous thought.

You were actually quite impressed by the kindness Taehyung showed behind that decision, noticing he had these small moments where he was caring, considerate, all hidden behind his unreadable face and seriousness when it came to business. 

It was quite interesting. 

You were mindlessly eating until Taehyung spoke up, eyes flickering towards you. “What are you going to do today?” 

You swallowed your fruit. “I was planning on moving more stuff in again, start finishing my studio setup. Thank you again for the room, by the way.” You expressed your gratitude once more, forking some eggs into your mouth. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

“What are you doing today?” you echoed his question, taking another swig of coffee.

“I’m working again. If you need anything I’ll be in my study.” Taehyung sent you a half-smile before snatching up his plate, bringing his phone to his ear as he stepped out of the kitchen. 

You sighed heavily only being left to think about your day, which would be majorly spent unpacking and arranging things. You had a plethora of art supplies, design tools and canvases to set up in your studio, leaving you constantly thinking of how to even begin. 

It would be a mission alone to sort through everything you had left, knowing you didn’t exactly label out of sheer laziness and would have to individually unbox and organize everything . 

It was this exact task that took up most of your day, time having slipped by in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t easy when you had to be rummaging through your belongings and situating them where you thought appropriate, also trying to envision a new look for your studio. 

You hadn’t realized 3 hours had passed until the ring of the front doorbell caused you to check your phone, curious as to who would be visiting your home in the middle of the day. You assumed it be one of the housekeepers and abandoned your work, cascading down the staircase and striding towards the grand entrance. 

You drew towards the monitor Taehyung had showed you just yesterday, explaining it to be your home security system. Taehyung detailed it had a camera for your front porch that detected movement and the doorbell alike, so you peered at the monitor to see the stranger outside your home. 

Your eyebrows furrowed registering a woman, her back turned towards the door as she fidgeted nervously with her purse in her hand. 

Sheer curiosity took you over and you paddled towards the door, unlocking it. You wore a smile on your face as you swung the door open, though it was immediately wiped off taking in the last person on earth you ever wanted to see. 

“Mother?”

prev. ↞ || ↠ next  || masterlist

tags : @thedarkwinterrose @ayujaded @couldbeyourlast @ladyarmanto @anpanman-sonyeondan @apollukee @blueevelvt @taesluttt @scalubera​ @laurynne5​ @dreamsindreamss​ @thequeen-kat​ @awsome-small-k​ @wrecklesssly​ @kweenhu​ @jalexad​ @staerify​ @bangforever​ @dyriddle​ @aianloveseven​ @waves-and-woods​ @hoefortaeshands​ @veronawrites​ @nightapple4jk​ @wataemelonz​ @aomi-nabi​

[hyperfixation-brainrot]

Miscellaneous DF headcannons :)

Okay, so

Eugene:

• A theater kid.

• Lies about his height. He is shorter than MC, canon is wrong.

• Tends to overwork himself when he's making music. Like, "I've just composed a hit song but haven't eaten in about 2 days-"

Harry:

• Uses a lot of tone indicators, and you'll probably need to do so too. If he thinks you're unhappy with him he'll panic.

• He downplays his own issues because he's worried about being a burden. It's very concerning.

• You are normally the one arranging days out. He doesn't want to put you on the spot or make you feel guilty, so he doesn't often invite you placed unless you are very obviously hinting that you want to go somewhere.

Ethan:

• I may be projecting but he is very much autism-coded. I'm autistic myself, so I may be biased, but still.

Continuing from my previous point, he's semiverbal, so he can speak, just prefers not to and finds it kinda difficulti sometimes. It's probably why he nods so much.

He comes across as intimidating and angry but he's actually just very shy. He's trying to figure out how to tell someone that he likes their outfit and they think he's about to beat them up.

A really good hugger.

Zion:

He says in his DM's that we're the first people he's told about his scars, but I sort of disagree. Personally, I think that we're the first people he's told the truth to. Other people have asked, and he's probably told them that he got in a fight with a gang of land-sharks and won.

Pretty possessive. Not as much as Lawrence, but he will give your male friends a death stare whenever you aren't looking at him.

His ideal date would be anything with dogs involved.

Lawrence:

He doesn't deserve headcannons. Joking, I just don't have many for him.

He talks to his plants. He wasn't allowed pets, or anything that would distract him from his studies, so plants were the only thing that his parents deemed sufficiently educational.

Surprisingly empathetic towards non-human objects, if you couldn't tell from the plant thing. It's kind of odd, because he'll treat a random leaf like a small child. Especially after all he's done.

He likes it when you're clingy and needy, because it makes him feel loved. You practically hang off of him when he feels down. It cheers him up.

Scarlett:

She was one of the "popular girls" before the apocalypse. She had a group of friends that she'd gossip with. None of them made it, and at the time that we meet her, she's in the anger stage of grief, which she takes out on us.

She doesn't actually love Zion, she's just convinced herself she does. She does it as a distraction and coping mechanism.

She craves validation, and when told she's in the wrong for her behaviour towards us, she blames us for "turning people against her" and refuses to acknowledge that she's in the wrong.

Jay

He's aro-ace. He doesn't tell you this though, because he hates you.

Very, very stubborn. He refuses to give you a single chance, because he said he didn't want you around when you first met and he's not backing down.

He and Scarlett are cousins, and he acts like this makes him popular. It doesn't.

Sue:

She loves true crime and mystery novels. It's why she suspected Lawrence to begin with.

She wore braces as a kid, and now she has perfectly straight teeth.

Scarily good at drawing straight lines without a ruler.

Judy:

Everyone likes her. She radiates positive energy.

Really enthusiastic about almost everything. She doesn't feel neutral about anything, her default state is "this makes me so happy I may die".

Really good at doing everyone's hair except her own, so she keeps it short and wears lots of hair accessories to make up for it.

Haliey:

Her coat is a comfort item.

Got teased a lot in school, took it to heart. She spent the majority of her day hiding out in the school bathrooms before the apocalypse.

Knew Scarlett before the apocalypse. Scarlett kind of took her under her wing, which is why Hailey's nice to her even though she's a brat to us.

[dreadreflection-if]

Discovery. Temptation. Sin.

He leads others down a familiar path of vice…

…wishing to forget the knowledge forced upon her long ago.

Basics:

Name: Uriel

Age: ???

Gender: NB (genderfluid)

Height: 5′10″

Orientation: Omnisexual

Faith: [redacted]

Alignment: [redacted]

Background:

Uriel loves to be a mystery. Each person she meets is told a different lie about her past - sometimes she is born in the glamorous city of Levkarest, sometimes in the tragically plague-stricken Pont-a-Museau. He can be a priest keen on converting others to the Church of Ezra, or the victim of a terrible crime searching for a new home. He is kind and funny, or aloof and haughty.

Uriel is whatever he needs to be at that moment to get what he desires.

She knows she has no actual history to share: it was ripped from her mind many years ago, destroying any plans she had for the future. All she has left to focus on is the present - and she intends to enjoy it to the fullest. That is why she molds herself into different personas, and why he can freely make promises he has no intention of keeping. Focused on his own enjoyment, he leads others down a road of temptation - uncaring if they get lost along the way.

Uriel never explains the motive behind her actions. It is an enigma, just like everything else about her. Some have tried to speculate, but he knows they will never guess. They did not see what he saw, all those years ago.

They did not see what lurks beyond the borders of the Mists.

Characteristics:

Uriel is full of confidence and charisma, able to easily deceive others with his performances. He can successfully act as anyone, using his insight to tailor himself to his current partner’s preferences. She can be surprisingly wise, but rarely shows this side of her to others. She has never been interested much in intelligent conversation - any talks of books or writing bore her. Uriel’s main goal at all times is to have fun. He never worries about the morality or consequences of his actions, and dislikes feeling tied down. She hates anyone who would forcibly try to change her - she has already been put through that once.

Personality Trait: I enjoy being mysterious, and lie about anything I can.

Personality Trait: I have a habit of abandoning things when they are no longer interesting to me.

Ideal: Freedom. The future does not matter, so everyone should live how they want in the present.

Bond: [redacted]

Flaw: It does not matter to me what happens because of my actions.

Appearance:

Uriel has a beauty that almost seems unreal - though she denies using any magic to enhance it. She has pale ivory skin and her upturned eyes are an unusual pink. He has long lashes, and a beauty mark sits below his bright red lips. Her hair is maroon and frames her face: female Uriel keeps it long, down to her back; male Uriel keeps it short, at his ears. He wears clothing meant to draw the eye, and is always adorned with expensive accessories. Though she wears many bright colors, the ones she seems to favor are pink and red.

Specific content warnings for Uriel’s route include: amnesia, body horror, hallucinations, and mind control.

[mistymilkweed]

hii! i loved the vi cg headcannons sm thank u!! could i request older sister cg jinx with a younger little? any nicknames are fine!! <3

i hope this is okay!! i've never written for siblings, but i hope this is good!

Older sister CG! Jinx

She'd do best with any regressor that isn't above 7 years old yet, I imagine. Also, I imagine she'd do very well with a nonverbal regressor too.

You will definitely see her as the best big sister ever. She sometimes is more energetic than you, but also very understanding if you want to do more calmer activities.

Loves to bake with you. She'll keep you away from the oven out of fear of you getting hurt, but will let you do all the much more fun parts, like mixing the ingredients and whisking, and will definitely be letting you lick the spoon. Whatever you two are baking almost always come out burnt or deformed in some way, but you both enjoy the experience.

If you act bratty, Jinx will usually join you and it will drive Silco insane. If you're ever sent to time-out, it's by Silco. Of course, Jinx joins you. If you get in trouble, Jinx will get herself in trouble just to cheer you up a little.

Totally makes toys for you, and the nonexplosive kinds too. She'd hate the thought of you around such danger, so that's why she rarely lets you down where she works. Of course, if you beg enough she'll probably cave in.

Whatever kind of hair you have, she'll do something to and with it. Whether it's long hair, short hair, anything, she loves to play with it. If you have long hair, she loves to braid it. If you have shorter hair, she loves to put smaller braids in your hair and gives you cute bows and accessories. If you need help washing your hair as well, she's the perfect help.

Also is amazing at cheering you up. If you get hurt or are just having a bad day, she'll listen to you. If you don't feel like talking, she'll just sit you in her lap, play with your hair, and ramble about funny topics until you feel like talking.

Very protective. If someone even looks at you wrong, she's already up in their face, asking what their problem is. After what happened between Vi and her, she promised herself she'd never leave or hurt you, no matter what. To her, you do no wrong, and she thinks everyone else should agree with her.

Either the both of you will annoy the absolute heck out of Sevika, or you're rather fond of her and Jinx will get jealous. No one can be your sister, only she deserves that title!! Honestly, she'll get jealous of you being overly fond of anyone that isn't herself or Silco.

Loves giving you plenty of hugs. Honestly, there's hardly a time where she's not hugging you. You might have to make it painfully obvious if you don't want to be hugged, because to her you're the most huggable person in the world.

One of her favorite things to do with you is just color with you. She loves coloring, and she'll be so excited if you do too. Any coloring or drawing you did, she'll get all excited and happily show you hers. She has an entire collection of drawings and coloring pages that you've given her that are hanging proudly on her wall.

Loves to call you bubs and jelly bean. If you have a shortened term for your name, she'll also call you that too.

Also if you like doing arts and crafts, she'd always be up for that. Either you both made each other friendship bracelets, or she made you both friendship bracelets, and she's fine with either one. I can also imagine you'd both make one for Silco too.

You probably wouldn't have a nickname for her, but if you ever did address her as sis or sissy, she'd get all excited and would never live that down.

If you ever have a nightmare or can't sleep, she's up pretty late at night, so just come give her a visit and she'll instantly stop whatever she's doing to entertain you until you fall back asleep. When you do fall asleep, she'll carry you back to your room and probably stay for a couple more minutes to make sure you don't wake back up again or have another nightmare.

When you both are bored and somehow can't think of anything to do, she'll initiate a game of Simon says or will make a fun little obstacle course for you. Or when Silco's sleeping, you'll both draw on his face. That's always fun too.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

A/N: this idea started as just random concept drabbling between leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ and i and we never really thought it would amount to anything tbh!! but as we started putting more and more into the plot and characters, we made the spontaneous decision to make it a full on, multi-chaptered collab fic! we have so many ideas planned and so much to elaborate on and we’re just so mfing excited to share it with you guys :’) any and all feedback is greatly appreciated 💌 we hope you enjoy the first part and that you fall in love with this stupid emotionally unavailable moron the way we did! happy reading!!

andrea’s askbox : leyla’s askbox : ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : 

word count: 17.2k

content/warnings: vampire!harry being a lowkey asshole while downing straight tequila like a psycho, getting to know The Crew, Mitch being the iconic legend he is, mentions of smut, and Harry working his immortal charm on an unsuspecting human girl with a peculiar scent and intriguing personality

///

Harry hates clubs. 

In his two hundred years of life, through many trials and tribulations, through tricky scenarios and annoying encounters, through thousands of unappealing circumstances and patience-testing events, he doesn’t think anything quite compares to the crowded, nerve-wracking experience that is a Los Angeles club on a Friday night during peak hours. 

According to his wise, humble opinion, it’s absolutely fucking petrifiying. He’d rather swallow a stake than have to spend hours in a dimly lit room with synthetic smoke choking his lungs, half-conscious humans stumbling around into him, and the stench of sweaty bodies mixed with liquor fumes, alongside the faint yet unmistakable waft of vomit. 

Yeah, Harry would definitely rather eat a red oak spear than have to shoulder that.

Despite his intense hatred for this Californian city during its after-hours, he can’t deny that he fits right into the scene perfectly. Decades of grooming and practice have made him a prime candidate for the fast-paced characteristics that come with the party nightlife. 

Fitting into these aspects aren’t something he had learned willingly; he didn’t really have a choice on the matter, considering his entire existence depends on mortals immature tendencies to get properly shit-faced and make stupid decisions in tightly-packed glorified bars. Harry never understood that— how a fog machine, strobe lights, and an undergrad amateur DJ could ever seem more appealing than the quiet, stable ambiance of a semi-formal bar. How deranged do people have to be to actually enjoy strangers spilling alcohol on them while attempting to shag someone else two feet away on the dance floor? 

Whenever he dwells too much on that thought, he gets a spiking migraine. After this long, Harry’s just come to terms with the fact that humans are regressing as a species. His conclusion is a bit cynical, perhaps, but hardly difficult to accept. One look at a news outlet provides enough proof to launch an Ivy League research project on the matter. 

He really shouldn’t be complaining, however, because the combination of overflowed close quarters and dampened inhibitions makes it the ideal hunting ground. Picking up a living blood bag at a club is basically as easy as walking through a vineyard and plucking grapes right off the stems. It’s practical, it’s fool-proof, and if he plays his cards right, he gets to feed and gets his more intimate needs tailored (a combo that he and his friends refer to as Laid and Drained).  

So regardless of his distaste towards clubs and their eager inhabitants, Harry had learned to mold his persona to fit the bill, making himself as approachable and desirable as possible. His life literally hangs in the balance; he’d put up with throngs of drunk sorority girls and their affinity for shitty perfumed drinks if it means avoiding desiccation. 

It’s not like it’s hard. All Harry has to do is make himself look more appealing than the other hundred men milling around the establishment, which— if he’s being brutally honest— isn’t that challenging. The moral, physical, and ethical standards of men have dropped frighteningly low since his time. Most of the ones that creep around clubs are overconfident, overzealous, boundary-lacking douchebags who think they’re entitled to a woman’s attention, and therefore make complete, utter fools of themselves in the process of trying to court one into their pants. Buying a girl one Sex On The Beach and dry-humping to Daft Punk isn’t the way to convince her to come home with you. 

Harry has developed his own guidelines and tactics for securing a nightly bedroom companion, and his ideas have been working wonders for him for decades now. 

The first and foremost rule is to clean up nicely. Personal appearance is everything. Humans are visual creatures; they build first impressions solely based on outward attraction. That trait is enhanced the higher their blood alcohol content rises. The drunker someone gets, the shallower they become, and it’s Harry’s job to work that to his advantage. And at the risk of sounding shallow himself, he thinks he does pretty alright in that department. 

Especially tonight, present in all the elements of his physique. He’s clad in a pair of high-waisted tan trousers that have been ironed to a crisp, his fitted graphic tee tucked neatly along his waistband beneath his black leather belt. His t-shirt is probably his favorite part of the entire look. It’s a baby blue sturdy cotton number with pastel yellow detailing along the cuffs and collar and a giant cartoon puppy in a striped bowtie taking up its center, smiling cheekily at the onlooker. Arranged around the doodle in faded Times New Roman bubble letters are the words WE’RE IN THE SHIT. 

Harry loves the irony of the article— the innocence of the drawing juxtaposed by the crude message. The piece is a conversation-starter— people almost always comment on it— and that’s exactly what he needs. Something to draw attention to himself and shadow all the other men. Something that shows he has a personality; that he has taste and a good sense of humor and isn’t just another walking genital. Plus, what person doesn’t enjoy a funny little contradiction, especially when it’s this cute?

On top of his graphic top, he’s wearing a tartan cropped blazer (open, of course) with a creme background and royal blue lines. The hem ends at the bottom of his ribs, exactly where his pants begin, and the jacket's hand-sewn buttons and strap detailings show that it's an expensive garment. It shows that he puts money and effort into how he looks, which is something anyone would appreciate when scoping for a possible hookup.

Harry’s shoes are the most casual factor of his fit. They’re a pair of light yellow Vans that match the collar of his tee. They’re plain, but he keeps them clean and they tie the whole look together without a hitch.

Accessories are everything, as well. Aside from the pearls arranged around his prominent collarbones, the gold-dipped cross hanging from a delicate chain around his neck, and the matching dangling cross earring on his right earlobe (again, he adores irony), he’s sporting a plethora of chunky rings on his hands, each unique and effortlessly complimenting his appearance. On his left hand, his index finger dots a ruby jewel embedded into a thick rusted band, another large metal one with dancing bears on his middle, and two clunky golden letters on his last two digits— his initials, HS. On his opposite hand, he has a medium-width plated ring on his middle finger with peace engraved along its rounded edge, an elegant lionhead number with an amethyst stone snug in its mouth, and along his pinky is a decently-sized opal set into a delicate polished frame. 

His two last rings are the most important of all. The lionhead is his daylight ring, which he hasn’t taken off since he transitioned. It keeps him from bursting into flames everytime the sun hits his skin. The opal was his mother’s, and it was her favorite. 

Harry’s attire is something he’s immensely proud of, even though a good amount of people deem him eccentric in the eyes of modern masculinity. He couldn’t give less of a shit. With his lightly tanned skin, alluring cologne and lacquered nails, his shirt stretching across the defined muscles of his chest and stomach, his broad shoulders and tapering waist, his thick thighs, sharp jaw, jade eyes, loosely tousled chestnut curls, and the vast array of dark ink littering his arms...

He looks good and he knows it. And all the people whose gazes glue to him as he passes by know it, too. Especially a random group of young women in line, who ogle at him shamelessly as he casually strolls past. He treats them to a sly wink, an irresistible dimpled smile, and a soft, cheeky greeting of, “Ladies.”

He gets off on the way they swoon at his refined English accent, giggling and waving. 

The only other component Harry has for succeeding in the club environment is simple, but it’s important: Don’t seduce, romanticize. 

Anyone— even inebriated idiots— can try and seduce a woman. And if she’s had enough tequila shots to cloud her thoughts, they just might succeed. But only a real man can romanticize a girl, and it yields way better results. 

Females are an emotional sect (Harry says that with zero misogyny; it’s just a scientific fact and he actually praises it), which means that if you entertain their interests and fluff their egos, they are bound to fall right into the palm of your hand. It changes the game completely because then they don’t feel that they have to pleasure you, they want to. They pursue the guy who flirts without being too vulgar, who appreciates and acknowledges their efforts, and who can go head-to-head with their wit by carrying unforced banter. They chase after him because he’s showing genuine kindness rather than just sexual interests and if he’s that attentive on the getting-to-know-you front, one can only imagine how skilled he could be in other bases. Chatting up a girl the right way, with patience and courtesy, builds credibility and prowess. And as a thank you, they’re usually more than willing to pay special attention to your needs, as well. 

Thus, romanticizing is always the expert move. So, yes, Harry detests clubs and the disaster that is adult recreation. But he’s fucking amazing at playing it to his favor. He’s great at calculating everything down to the smallest detail and he’s going to piggy-back on those skills for the rest of eternity. He’s so good at what he hates that his closest friends have anointed him the title of Walking Paradox. He’s more than happy to keep it. 

All of these thoughts are circulating around his skull, hyping him up for the game ahead as Harry and his friend group walk up to the bouncer at the entrance of the club they had chosen for the night, faint stars twinkling in the dark sky as the sounds and lights of the city fall away into background static. 

They cruise by the long line of people, hearing sounds of disagreement and grumbling coming from the other patrons waiting to get in. Harry casually tucks his large hands into the pockets of his light brown slacks as he pulls up in front of the burly bald man, who is wearing a black shirt with the club’s name printed in neon letters. The security guard is at least five inches taller than him, overswollen biceps and pectoral muscles rippling under the flimsy material of his work outfit as he crosses his arms over his barreled chest, cocking a single thick eyebrow at the seemingly young vampire. 

Harry delivers a good-natured smile up at the employee, despite the man’s obvious begrudging disbelief at what he is about to try and do. His friends chat quietly behind him, uninterested in what is happening; after years of being acquainted, they know that Harry is going to get exactly what he wants. He always does. 

He’s the best of them, that much is obvious. Not only when it comes to his experience with persuading sexual partners and getting himself a decent dinner, but he’s the best at convincing just about anyone to do anything, neutral of gender. He’s the second oldest of the crew, yet he seems to have the most knowledge and practice under his belt; his easygoing charisma, undeniable good looks, and dazzling smile could sway even the most stubborn of souls. Frankly, he’s so successful in getting his way that no one cares to try and argue for the leader position. Not when they can just sit back and let Harry do all the work. 

“Good evening.” Harry’s deep voice chimes giddily in the direction of the bouncer, his accent particularly heavy for no real reason. “How you doing tonight, mate?”

The guard— whose name tag reads Brock and Harry has to actively stop himself from snorting at how fitting the name is for such a brick of a human— looks down at him with a stony expression, voice flat. “I’m good.”

“Well, that’s great to hear!” The curly-haired boy’s simper widens, dimples popping into place as he skates into his next question with dramatic friendliness. “Haven’t had anyone cause you any trouble tonight, have you?”

Brock blinks once, attitude remaining coldly indifferent even in the face of Harry’s cheeriness. His words, however, are snipped and pointed. “Not yet.”

“I’m guessing you’d like to keep it that way.” The young man comments sympathetically, nodding his head along with the worker. “Totally understandable.” 

“Good.” The employee remarks in the same detached tone, shifting on his feet, obviously growing uncomfortable and irritated with the conversation. “So I’m guessing that means you know you have to get in line.” 

Harry glances over his shoulder at the lengthy expanse of people gathered along the side of the building, a light wind filtering through his freshly-shampooed ringlets as he studies the way the bright sign on top of the club casts alternating rainbow colors across the crowd. 

He makes a disapproving sound by sucking at his teeth, lulling his sight back onto the guard. “I don’t know, man. At this rate, I feel like by the time we get to the front of the line, it’ll be last call.”

“Maybe.” Brock shrugs offhandedly. “It is what it is, right? Fair’s fair.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Harry returns his gesture, but his posture shows no intention of moving, the corners of his rose lip set in a knowing smirk. “But since you’ve been having a good night, do you think you could find it in yourself to just let us through? We’d greatly appreciate it.” 

The bouncer’s face hardens, any shred of professional amiability washing out of his defined features. “I don’t think so.” 

The vampire’s shoulders sag in exaggerated disappointment. “Are you sure? It’s just five of us. Don’t think we’ll do much damage. Right, guys?”

Harry glimpses over his back to his friends, who let their conversation falter for a moment to throw out a chorus of half-assed agreements, trying to keep themselves from snickering. 

“We promise we won’t cause any problems.” Xander speaks up, jutting his chin encouragingly at the man as his lips twitch slyly. He lifts one of his hands, the smallest finger sticking out stiffly and wiggling around. “Pinky swear.” 

The rest of the group bursts into a round of light laughter, causing Harry to release a few airy giggles of his own.  

Xander looks over at Niall, raising his eyebrows and quipping in an innocent manner. “Right, Ni? No funny business tonight. That means no climbing onto the bar again and stripping down to your socks.” 

“That happened one time!” Niall exclaims incredulously, socking the taller boy in the shoulder as the others laugh harder than before, his blue eyes narrowed and face pinched. “Once! And it was only ‘cause Harry challenged me to a tequila shot contest.”

The Irish vampire’s accented voice drops darkly as he reminisces. “Fuckin’ hate tequila. Makes me act like a moron.” 

“As if you’re not one already.” Mitch pipes up in his usual soft dialect, chuckling as he ducks away from Niall’s vengeful fist. 

Harry cranes back to face Brock, thumb playing with his daylight ring as his hands stay relaxed inside his trousers. He shrugs one shoulder easily for emphasis. “See? You can let us through. We pinky swore.” 

The entire charade seems to have only infuriated the security guard more than before, his brows now fully furrowed and a deep, unamused frown etched across his previously pursed lips. His voice is on edge with barely controlled anger. “I’m not putting up with any shit. If you want in, go to the back of the line. If not, leave.”

Harry sighs grandly in defeat, head shaking slightly. “Guess I’ll just have to go the other route, then.”

The creature takes a step forward towards the employee, close enough that their chests almost press together. The bulky man stands his ground, though there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes at seeing the smaller boy make such a bold move. 

“What the f—?”

Harry locks gazes with Brock, pupils dilating to twice their size, the usual emerald shade of his irises flickering a haunting red and looking sinister in the buttery light of the street lamps. Horror breaks across the worker’s face, the ability to form coherent sentences disappearing from his demeanor. Harry’s heightened senses can hear the way his heartbeat spikes, blood instinctively rushing into his chest as a response to the adrenaline materializing in his veins. The activation of human’s fight-or-flight modes is always so oddly pleasurable. Just feeling how they react so drastically makes Harry’s fangs tingle with longing. Fear is a good condiment, he’s learned; it gives blood’s usual metallic flavor a certain twang.

But at the moment, a beverage from this specific tap isn’t the one Harry has in mind. He has his interests set on something much tangier and full-bodied; maybe Casamigos golden tequila, or Don Julio's Blanco. Preferably mixed with a young office secretary or a Bath and Body Works employee instead of lemon and salt. 

All in all, Brock is just collateral for a much bigger prize, which lies behind the roped off area he holds dominion over. It’s Harry’s job to break that dam. 

Before the large man can fully react, the vampire begins working his compulsion strategy, tone coming out level and soothing, thick with persuasion and teetering along a sleepy undercurrent. “You’re going to let us through, and you’re going to forget we ever met.”

The guard’s pupils enlarge to match Harry’s, the look of utter terror on his face melting right off. His features go slack as the monster’s magical influence works its way through his brain, coating every neuron and bending him to the deliverer’s will. The man reaches over and removes the velvet rope blocking the group’s path, stepping off to the side obediently with an empty expression present across his appearance. 

The leader of the group smiles just as brightly as he had the second he’d walked up to the door. He passes by the worker, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder and feeling the muscular man strain under his supernatural strength. “Thank you very much. You have a nice night, Brock.” 

Harry’s friends follow behind him, echoing his parting message and sharing a collective chortle.  

The second the group dives past the frame of the club entrance, the whole ambiance of the atmosphere changes. Harry walks across the top ledge of the establishment, coming to a halt at the railing that overlooks the main level of the club, his inhumanly sharp eyes bouncing around all the corners of the building to construct some type of familiar layout in his head. Amidst the blinking lights, thick artificial smoke, and swaying bodies, his keen instincts sketch a mental image for tonight’s hunting ground. 

The bar is at the far left corner of the club, squared off and taking up a large chunk of the colorful tiled dance floor. The music station extends across the entire wall at the opposite end of the tavern, stocked with massive speakers and a professional turntable. Harry’s brows jump in mild surprise— it’s not every day that a club puts so much effort into their mixer. 

The animated dancing area is packed with people, the crowd all jumping and grinding to the beat of the bass, moving as one large mass while the rotating strobe lights hang from the cavernous ceiling, bathing their moving silhouettes in neon reds, drunken blues, groggy purples, and electric yellows. The dim surroundings and heavy fog make all the hues more intense, giving the endless party that timeless quality which people tend to enjoy about nightlife. It’s the night to remember effect that movies and shows always hyperbolize; he thinks this way because he’s well aware that not even a third of these people are sober enough to know what the fuck they’re doing, let alone recall it the following day. It’s comically ironic, really. 

But Harry profits off that liquor amnesia, so he brushes away his sardonic skepticism for the time being, settling his lean forearms onto the metal railing that lines the second story of the venue, which is meant to keep shit-faced customers from creating a messy lawsuit. He carefully absorbs the grandeur of it all, leaning his weight forward with a detached sigh, already flickering through the mental menu of his favorite drinks that he has expertly memorized. 

He’s in the process of choosing between a Manhattan— it isn’t a very complicated drink, which is exactly what he’s looking for; something simple and strong— or just straight tequila in a glass when he suddenly feels a familiar presence arrange itself beside him, bumping his shoulder playfully with their own.

Harry snaps out of his recipe retrieval, eyes casting to the side to land on his best friend of almost a century. He cocks an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for the thin, bearded man to make the first move towards conversation.

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?” 

The green-eyed vampire sputters into spontaneous laughter, the edges of his eyes crinkling as the small pits in his cheeks jolt awake. His tone is humorous and full of fake insult for the hell of the joke. “Wow, alright. So I get us into the club that you chose and that makes me a prick? Good to know. You can handle the muscle next time, then, if you’re gonna talk shit.”

Mitch cracks a gentle jesting grin, which is very on brand for him. He doesn’t seem like much, with his skinny, lanky frame, delicate features, shoulder-length hair, and somewhat scraggly stubble. He’s quiet, reserved, and hardly engages with anyone outside of their immediate group. He’s always been that way for as long as Harry could remember. 

When they had met back in 1924 at a speakeasy in New York, Mitch had given off a mysterious vibe that Harry had found amusing and intriguing. His slightly sickly appearance and distant persona made the younger vampire want to get to know him better; it was just so peculiar that this seemingly impassive man was working at an illegal bar as a live musician. One would think that a performer would have to display an engaging character to keep a loyal audience, but Mitch had been all the talk of the underground despite his unemotional coolness. It was startlingly unorthodox and Harry just had to know more. 

Therefore, with a bit of help from his convincing supernatural abilities, he’d secured a spot as the black market club’s leading vocalist. He wasn’t anything worth a Grammy, but he could keep his singing in tune and follow Mitch’s guitar rhythms easily enough, all thanks to his limited experience with piano. He fit right in. 

From the first show they had put on together, it was like they had known one another in a different lifetime. They clicked so flawlessly it was almost fictional. 

Harry was lively and charming on stage, working the crowd to his favor as easily as he could knock back a shot, wrapping every single patron around his jeweled pinky without breaking a sweat. His witty temperament countered Mitch’s timid disposition perfectly and that uncommon dynamic had been the foundation to their friendship. Their humorous shenanigans on stage (which included Harry pinching at Mitch’s ass and making vague vulgar motions at each other while harmonizing) was a hit within the drunken community, and it bled into their personal lives. They went from only interacting on stage to sharing drinks together afterwards, to hanging out outside of work, to deep late night conversations about the world and their experiences.

Soon enough, they were closer than either had expected to become. And once they found out each other’s true identities (Mitch had transitioned during the American Revolution, when a vampire in his battalion had given him blood to heal from a wound, unaware that the next day, Mitch would suffer a fatal gunshot to the stomach that would trigger his transformation) they grew inseparable. They had remained that way ever since. 

Despite his friend’s withdrawn tendencies, the older vampire never hesitates to make his opinions heard, obvious in how he’d just full-bodied Harry with that snarky comment. Even when it’s at his expense, Harry appreciates and respects the rawness of it. He loves the way Mitch is honest and straight-forward with everything that crosses his path— it’s one of his favorite traits about him and definitely one of the characteristics that had led Harry to deem him his best friend. He’s probably the most fulfilling person Harry has ever met and their friendship brings him a type of comfort that he doesn’t receive from anyone else.

Vampires can be so detached and cold not only towards humans, but towards one another, and it gets old at times. It’s unsettling not having someone to truly confide in, and Harry is grateful that Mitch had been so willing to fill that position.   

Due to this, Harry rarely takes genuine offense in Mitch’s digs. They’re normally expressed as a joke and they’ve both been alive for so long that thick skin is a default.

“How was I dick?” Harry inquires, slinking his head to the side with entertained curiosity. “If anything, he was the one being an asshole. I asked him to let us in nicely and he practically spit in my face!”

Mitch snorts in amusement, shaking his head lightly as his eyes streak across the humongous room in the same cunning manner Harry’s had. “You and Xander didn’t have to mock him that way.” 

That’s another thing that makes Mitch the better half of their power duo— he still has a decent shred of humanity in his unbeating heart. Pessimistic conclusions aside, Harry does have a bit, as well...but his is more like a paper-thin pencil shaving than a shred. Barely there, but there, at least. 

The young man returns his companion’s snort, rolling his eyes up to the hanging lights over their heads. “Was just some harmless teasing. Nothing bad came of it.”

Mitch scowls scoldingly. “It was unnecessary and mean.”

Harry mimics his expression with his nose scrunched sarcastically. “We were just taking the piss, and it’s not like he’s gonna remember it anyways. Stop being such a kill-joy.” 

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” 

“Or what?” Harry tilts his chin up challengingly, the amber specks around his pupils glinting tauntingly, faint black veins momentarily webbing across the whites of his eyes. He sweetens his voice into a honeyed drawl. “Are you gonna spank me, daddy? Have I been a bad boy?” 

Mitch belts out a feathery chuckle, shoving his friend with enough strength to send a regular human flying across the deck. But since the taller vampire matches his force, he hardly moves an inch. “Fuck off.” 

“I’m being serious!” Harry cackles, turning his hips and sticking out his ass towards his visibly disgusted acquaintance. “Go fucking in, if you want.”

He lowers his voice into a sultry hum, wagging his backside jestingly. “I like it rough, baby. Why don’t you bend me over this railing and show me who’s boss?”

It’s Mitch’s turn to roll his eyes to the ceiling, voice deadpan. “I think I’ll pass.” 

Harry juts his lower lip into a theatrical pout, sniffling faux tears. “You’re rejecting me that quick? Who’s the asshole now, huh?”

His best friend doesn’t even blink. “Still you.”

“I can live with that. And it’s probably a good call on your end to give up all this,” he signals vaguely up and down his tight torso with a ringed hand, grinning as he watches the veteran vampire pretend to gag, “because I don’t think Sarah wouldn’t be too happy about it.” 

Mitch’s humorous face immediately drops, eyes narrowing at the change in topic. “Very funny.” 

“I know, right? I’m a proper comedian.” Harry quips proudly, batting his lashes mockingly. “Where is Sarah, anyways? Have you heard from her lately?” 

Sarah and Mitch...They’re a complex couple, if they can even be called a couple. The two are more like occasional friends with benefits, “occasional” meaning “once every couple of months, if Sarah happens to be passing by.” 

Their relationship is open and very loose, mostly due to the fact that Sarah is fairly new to the world of blood-driven immortality and has decided to take full advantage of it. She’s been using compulsion to travel the world for the last three years since she changed, which had been the result of an unfortunate car accident. 

Mitch had been seeing her casually beforehand, keeping her around for the purpose of having a conventional feeding arrangement. Every time vampires feed, they heal the wounds they inflict with a bit of their blood, proceeding to then wipe the person’s memory with compulsion in order to eradicate any chances of getting caught. The caveat is that if a human dies with vampire blood in their system, they become one. 

Sarah’s death happened the day after she’d spent a night with Mitch, and one can imagine how distressed she had been when she'd awoken atop a metal table in a morgue within the basement of a hospital. Mitch had been there from the very first second she’d opened her eyes to her new life. Or rather, her dead life. He had helped her get accustomed to the next stage (meaning having to cut family ties in order to avoid a catastrophe— the less people that know the truth about the supernatural, the better) coaxing her through transition and teaching her the way to go about the rest of eternity without putting herself and others in danger. 

Vampires rarely have any compassion for life (usually out of spite, which stems from how their own lives were taken from them), so it’s not uncommon that bodies are found drained of blood in back alleys, abandoned warehouses, and washed up on banks of oceans and rivers. It could be either of two reasons, or even both: the monster doesn’t care about the consequences of their actions, or they never learned to control their urges. 

Harry’s crew isn't that careless. Through Mitch, they had learned restraint, taking up his practice of feeding enough to satisfy themselves without killing the host, healing them, and then erasing the occurrence from their memories. Mitch had come up with the tactic to cling to his humanity— to be as kind and nondestructive as possible— but if Harry’s being honest, most of their friends only play along because it’s convenient. No bodies means no police involvement, and no police involvement means being able to settle down in one place for an extended period, not having to stress about the annoying process of bouncing around the world for the rest of their lives to avoid detection. 

Keeping low was for the best, and when things get rough— whether it be a mistake on their part or a disastrous bender caused by another vampire passing through— they resort to drinking from blood bags until things tide over. Mitch has a contact at the nearest hospital, which is how he gets access to the stock, as well as how he managed to clean up Sarah’s passing so quickly. 

All in all, Harry had only mentioned Sarah to tease his friend, knowing the slight sensitivity that comes with the subject. Vampires rarely form emotional bonds, typically because it can get really messy, really fast, whether that connection be to a mortal or to another creature of their species. All of them have baggage of some sort— you can’t die, resurrect, be forced to abandon your family, and be a slave to drinking blood for the rest of eternity and just...be normal. That type of extreme emotional turmoil is corrosive towards love. It’s always better to just avoid it all together. 

That’s why this is so habitual to joke about; it’s a way to deflect. 

Mitch sighs grandly, Harry’s question echoing in his skull. “I don’t know where she is, to be honest. Last we talked was, like, four weeks ago, I think. She was in Japan, said she was drumming for a new upcoming band. Haven’t heard from her since.”

Harry nods his head once in understanding, itching to steer the theme of their conversation elsewhere now that he knows the topic is in a more sensitive state than he’d imagined. He doesn’t want to push Mitch into a depressive episode when they’re supposed to be having a good time. Spending the night consoling his sulky friend in the bathroom of a club is the last thing he wants right now. 

“I guess that makes Sarah the asshole, then.” He pokes jokingly, bumping the older vampire’s hip with his own. “She’s ghosting you. Get it? It’s funny ‘cause she’s actually dead.” 

Mitch’s sad expression shatters like glass, replaced by one of unamused secondhand embarrassment at the shitty pun. “I fucking hate you.”

“All the people who were ahead of their time were hated.” Harry sing-songs, turning up his nose haughtily. “Copernicus, Socrates, Einstein— all of them were hated for being geniuses. I’m willing to carry that same burden.” 

Mitch blinks at him three times. “No one hated Einstein.”

The curly-haired boy’s lips twitch darkly. “I’m pretty sure Japan did.” 

“You’re going to hell.” 

“I’m already there, mate.” 

Mitch shakes his head, but even through the black lights, Harry can see him trying to ward off a laugh. After a moment’s pause, he speaks up again softly. “It’s not that hard to refrain from humiliating innocent people who are just doing their job, H.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re still on that?” The broad monster groans in exasperation, palms slapping down on the metal rungs below him. “We were just having some fun! But fine. If it helps you fake sleep at night, I’ll try and keep my condescending flare to a minimum.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Mitch responds peacefully, tapping his nimble fingers casually along the railing, his action much less violent than his companion’s. “S’not too difficult.” 

“Whatever.” Harry scoffs, returning his intent gaze to the dance floor, scoping out the scene once again in hopes of finding a proper meal for the night. 

He zones in on a group of young women gathered along one side of the bar, their messy giggling and lack of balance giving away that they’re obviously sloshed off their faces. Seems promising enough. 

When he talks once more, his tone holds an attitude that plays on a grumble, but it’s somewhat distracted. “The least you could do is let me have some fun, considering I didn’t even want to come.” 

Mitch huffs, making an entertained noise in the back of his throat. “You say that every single time we go out, and yet you always end up taking someone home. Don’t know why you’re complaining.” 

Harry side-eyes him from his peripheral vision, the corners of his pretty cherry mouth dipping down grudgingly, mood defensive. “You drag me to these things so I’m not going to apologize for making the best of it. I put a lot of effort into my pick-ups! I deserve to get my dick wet.” 

“God, please don’t say that again.” His best mate physically makes a vomiting sound. “You’re acting like a spoiled fraternity douche.” 

Harry’s gaze ignites into flames, his back straightening out as he fully turns to face the shorter man. He’s never been insulted so low before. “Take that back!” 

“Take that back!” Mitch mocks in an exaggerated, high-pitched British accent, attempting to stifle giggles. 

“Take it back! You know how much I hate Gen Z.”

“Okay, boomer.” 

“You’re older than I am!” 

“I know. Your lack of maturity is a constant reminder.”

Harry opens his mouth, prepared to make a sharp comeback about how Mitch should have left the shaggy-haired stoner aesthetic back in the eighties, but then a heavy Irish accent interrupts his rebuttal. 

“What’s all this about getting your dick wet?” 

Both of the vampires turn towards Niall, finding Xander and Adam accompanying him in a loose semi-circle. 

Xander isn’t paying any attention, too busy tapping away at the screen of his smartphone, apparently engaged in a very riveting conversation with whoever is on the other side. Adam has his hands tucked into the pockets of his plum purple wind-breaker, looking over Harry’s shoulder, seeming to be adamantly searching for someone in particular amidst the mob on the level beneath them. Niall is the only one interested in their dying conversation, probably only because he heard something crude being mentioned. 

“It’s nothing.” Harry dismisses, but he can’t help but stick Mitch with a glare. “What’s the plan for tonight, then?”

Adam speaks up for the first time. “Charlotte and Ny texted saying they got here about ten minutes ago. Mentioned they were dancing near the DJ station, so I think I’ll go find them.”

“Sounds good.” Harry bobs his head in accordance. “We’ll see you out there, yeah?” 

Adam returns his action, turning on his heel and heading for the stairs that lead to the bottom floor. The leader of the group watches him trot onto the large spiral staircase, disappearing into the thick throng of people scattered across its wide steps. 

Harry shifts his attention to Xander, snapping his fingers a few times in his direction and giving a two-toned whistle. “What about you? What’s got your head?”

“Not what, who.” Niall teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and making kissy faces at their friend. 

Xander ignores him, glancing up at the green-eyed brunette to let him know he’ll be with him in a second, returning his focus back to his iPhone. After a few more elongated moments of typing, the older man finally locks his device. 

“I have a date.” He throws out casually, almost as if it should be obvious. 

“A date?” Harry reiterates slowly, not quite buying it. Xander doesn’t date. He couch-surfs just as much as Harry does. 

“Mmhm.” Xander glimpses behind his fellow vampire, eyes carrying intention. “It’s just a random dude from Tinder. I thought it’d be easier to set something up beforehand, just so I don’t have to spend the whole night trying to figure out if a guy is making eyes at me or trying to keep his whiskey down.” 

“Smart.” Harry shrugs his sculpted brows, impressed. A cocky grin toys with the corners of his mouth. “But we both know no one will ever compare to me.” 

“Right.” Xander scoffs in a deadpan manner, gifting him a tight, aggravated smile. “If only you weren’t such an emotionally unavailable prick.” 

“Oh, like you’re mentally stable enough for a relationship?” Harry bites back, but it holds no true malice, just some petty rivalry. “Piss off.”

“Happily!” The other vampire exclaims, clasping his hands together for dramatics. “Have fun finding someone out there. I’m just gonna grab a to-go box for my already prepped meal.” 

Harry doesn’t bother watching him leave. Instead, he turns to Niall, pointing at him to symbolize it's his turn to share his plans for the night. “What have you got, Lucky Charms?” 

His friend breaks into a jolly cackle at the nickname, arms falling crossed over his chest, hands absentmindedly squeezing his elbows in thought. “Well, I dunno, Tea and Crumpets. What’s your game plan?” 

Before Harry can answer, Mitch butts in, feeling left out of the banter and somewhat hurt that no one had assigned him an alter ego. “What’s my country-derived nickname?” 

Niall gives the American a slow once-over, shifting in his dark brown Clarks boots, fitted navy slack riding up his thighs and allowing his rainbow polka-dot socks to peek out. He hums lowly in the back of his throat, a grin spreading across his rosy cheeks. “Biscuits and Gravy.” 

Harry chimes in, his own arms casually folding over his strong chest, index finger tapping on his bottom lip as if mulling something over. “I quite like We The People, actually.”

The Irish lad snaps his fingers as if having a sudden epiphany. “Uncle Sam!”

Harry’s emerald eyes twinkle with glee at seeing the way Mitch’s go half-lidded, no longer entertained. “Four Score And Seven Years Ago.” 

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

Niall wags a finger at Harry, lifting one shoulder in question, seeking approval on his next idea. “Star Spangled Banner?”

Harry copies the boy’s motion from before, snapping his fingers and making jazz hands. “I Pledge Allegiance.”  

“Ok, I get it!” Mitch whines with annoyed finality, pushing off the metal railing with a curt grimace on his scraggly face. 

“You asked!” Niall rationalizes between hiccups of evilly delighted joy, cupping his stomach as if to keep it from splitting open. 

“Won’t make that mistake again.” The older creature grumbles, leaning his back against the rungs and looking off towards the distance, communicating that he’s done being a part of the conversation. 

Once Harry manages to reign in his giggles, he rubs at his nose with the side of his finger, releasing a wistful sigh. He refers to the question Niall had stated before their little bullying fest. “I think I’m just gonna do what I always do— sway a nice, pretty girl into doing some not-so-nice but very pretty things.” 

“Solid.” The Irish bloke remarks, toying with the plastic buttons on his silk beige top. “Not much to do other than that, to be fair. Adam’s usually my wingman, but I guess he abandoned me for a girl’s night.” 

“Mitch is mine, and he knows better than to dip on me.” Harry roughly nudges his best friend with his elbow, dodging to the side when Mitch tries to hit him in return. 

Niall hums softly in amusement. “Maybe I should make Adam sign whatever contract you drafted for that poor bugger.” 

The curly brunette snorts. “Good luck. Adam’s as stubborn as they come. But, hey, if you can’t find anyone, just come to me.” Harry’s irises flit crimson for a millisecond, an ominous smirk buckling his features. “You know I’m always happy to share.” 

“Thanks,” his friend exhales flatly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“If you’re taking tips,” Mitch pipes up, vaguely signaling at Niall’s shirt with his chin, “maybe don’t wear that stupid shirt next time. The elephant doodles look ridiculous.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not taking fashion tips from anyone who actually enjoyed living in Ohio, then.” Niall snaps in an exaggerated American accent, middle finger jutting towards the other man. “The only thing you know how to dress is a cornfield scarecrow. Must be why you look like one.” 

Harry forces down more laughter, clearing his throat softly. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t get hammered— girls hate that.” 

“Note taken.” The pale boy runs his fingers through his hair, fixing it up and adding texture to appear more laid-back and rugged. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Later.” The younger vampire recites, giving a big thumbs-up. 

“Good luck out there. You, too, Boston Tea Party.” 

With that, Niall saunters away, leaving a fully laughing Harry and a grouchy Mitch in his wake. 

The two acquaintances decide to follow in everyone else’s example, descending down the looped staircase and chatting about Mitch’s latest gig at a new bar downtown. 

Harry praises Mitch's talent with his guitar, specifically the fact that he found a hobby which he enjoys so much that he’s willing to keep it as a permanent part of his life. It’s easy to get bored of things when you have hundreds of years ahead of you; everything can seem pointless, in the end. But Harry doesn’t think Mitch has ever let himself fall into those types of dark headspaces and he finds that extremely admirable. 

Harry wishes he could say the same. He’s no musical prodigy, that much is obvious, but he is an expert at playing a few specific French songs on the piano by memory. He rarely does it, though; only when he’s in a low state of mind, which— given the origin of how he learned said classical pieces— isn’t something he’s proud of. They’re tied to a very gruesome part of his past that he’d rather bury deep inside, but he can only push back his troubles for so long before they begin to leak out, staining the clean sheet of recovery he had sewn into place. Those arrangements just bring him a warped sense of comfort he can’t explain.

Even though he’s aware of the destructive aspects of the songs, he finds himself humming one now out of instinct as he elbows through squished bodies and flailing limbs. The second he notices he’s doing it, he cuts it off, focusing all his intention on making it to the other side of the room to the bar. It’s a hard trip when it feels like the walls of the building are closing in on him. 

When Harry finally breaks free from the Human Centipede re-enactment that is the club dance floor, he practically collapses onto the sleek glass counter. Death was less painful than that walk. 

He cranes his neck to the side wildly, suddenly remembering that his much smaller, much skinnier, much more crushable friend had been in tow behind him. To his utter shock, he watches as Mitch calmly weeds around grinding drunk couples with the poise and grace of a swan, filling the empty spot besides him without a single ailment in the world. 

Harry blinks at him blankly in silence, almost as if he’d grown an extra set of fangs. 

Mitch flags the bartender from all the way down the counter, not bothering to meet the green eyes peering at him in disbelief. “You’re so fucking dramatic, H.”

“How did you not die? Again?” Harry sputters, sight jutting all around the older vampire’s body, looking for any battle wounds or missing appendages. “I almost lost an arm in there!”

“It’s a good thing it wasn’t your favorite one, right?” Mitch smirks at his own lewd joke, the simper molding into one of genuine kindness when the mixologist slides up in front of them. “Hi, how are you? I’m good, as well, thank you for asking! Yeah, I’ve got something in mind. Don’t worry, I’m not one of the ‘just make me something sweet’ type of assholes.”

Harry zones out the rest of the friendly chat Mitch entertains with the employee, letting his gaze wander around the large auditorium-like room. He dances his vision over the DJ remixing music on top of the stage, head beginning to bop along to the beat that is currently shaking the seven foot tall speakers. He’s pleasantly surprised at how good this specific producer is. 

He continues scoping out the rest of the venue, taking notes of the different clusters of people that seem to hold promise for the plans he has in store later tonight. A small group of hippie friends here, a two-party duo of tipsy stoners there, and a clump of college students at the edge of the ruckus, stumbling around loudly. Things are looking somewhat decent, in his opinion. The hippies seem to be catching his attention more than the others— specifically, the one that looks similar to Stevie Nicks. That’s a fantasy that’s been waiting to be fulfill for decades now. 

Harry lulls his head forward again when he feels Mitch give a squeeze at his elbow, telling him that the bartender is waiting to take his order. He decides to go for the gold tequila, asking for it straight in a highball glass without any garnishes. The worker’s eyebrows jump up slightly at the unorthodox request, but he drops a polite, “Coming right up.” either way.

“You truly have no flavor.” Mitch tuts once their waiter has stepped away to prepare their drinks. “No taste buds whatsoever.” 

“Yeah? Well, you can suck my flavorless dick.” Harry chimes brightly, eyes crinkling shut as a result of a theatrical smile. 

The younger vampire goes to turn back around, legitimately interested in the girl he’d seen that looked like one of his seventies celebrity crushes, already running through scenarios in his head on how he’d get her into his bed for tonight. Weed and ABBA are probably good conversation starters for that, if Harry’s undisputed people skills have anything to say about it. 

As he’s rotating his torso, a blurred image catches his eyes. He does a double-take, honing in on a group of girls that look faintly familiar. He scans them carefully as they huddle around the corner of the bar area, laughing and toasting along to the multiple conversations they all have going at once. They look like the typical posse that would be a backdrop clique in a mainstream movie. 

He knows where he recognizes them from— it had been the same girls he’d spotted earlier up on the second deck.

Harry expertly surveillances each woman, picking out potential candidates as easily as he’d pinch petals off a flower. The one in the center of the group is obviously the leader, present in how she’s the prettiest and is somehow managing to juggle all of these interactions at once. It means she’s used to being the center of attention— probably strives under it. He throws her out as a potential; the last thing he needs is someone who everyone knows and seeks out. He wouldn’t be able to sneak away with her quietly. 

The rest of the girl crew all seem to be the same status-wise, appearing as supporting characters to the main one in the middle. He could choose any one of them blindly and it wouldn’t make a difference. They all seem so tight-knit, they probably share personalities, at this point. It’s like dipping his hand into a jar of jelly beans and they’re all the same flavor. That notion makes him laugh to himself a bit; maybe Mitch was right about his lack of taste. 

Then, Harry spots her, and all the other women immediately go up in smoke. 

It’s hard not to spot her. She sticks out like a sore thumb, but not in a good way. 

The prospective contender is off to the side, sitting atop a barstool with her feet tucked along the footrest, tapping them against the metal rung awkwardly. She’s talking to one of the other people in the group, but the interaction seems forced and not very satisfying, obvious in both of their faces. She’s tracing her middle finger around the edge of her glass cup distractedly, the contents inside barely touched, the ice in her drink long-melted. She seems disinterested in the chaos her friends are causing, her expression bored and borderline regretful, as if she doesn’t want to be here. 

The further he sizes the girl up, the more appropriate she looks for the role he needs filled. Since barely anyone is paying attention to her, that means he can lead her astray without too much resistance from her acquaintances, if any at all. She appears somewhat unimportant to the narrative— merely a background extra— and it makes him wonder what she’s doing with this clique of women that can’t seem to be bothered by her presence. It’s sad, really. Sad, but beneficial, because that means he can succeed in making her the supporting protagonist of his narrative, at least for tonight. 

The girl is attractive, but not anything astronomical. She’s unconventionally pretty in a way that makes her relevant, but not particularly distinct in the eyes of regular men with presumptuous standards. She’s easy to pass up, and if Harry hadn’t been actively pursuing someone of her bashful persona to card into his plans, he wouldn’t have noticed her. At the risk of once again sounding shallow, Harry’s aware that— physically speaking— he’s very much out of her league. His above-average appearance gives off the vibe that he’d fit better with the leader of the group instead of with her, but he doesn’t want someone that would raise suspicions as a result of their absence. This girl, sitting along the edge of the party with barely any purpose and no one to really question her whereabouts, is exactly what he’s looking for. She’s perfectly imperfect for the cause. 

Harry continues to examine her meticulously, analyzing other traits that can give him a better feel for her character. She’s clad in a pair of high-waisted pastel pink silk pants that stop right at her ankles, accompanied by a flouncy creme lace blouse tucked into her waist. Tan wedges, no accessories, delicate rosey nail polish, and minimalist makeup. The boldest thing about her is the brick red shade of her lipstick, which is easily shadowed by the sparkly sequin dresses, five inch heels, and layered tops her friends are wearing. 

Harry likes her outfit, though. It’s concise and safe, which he can appreciate. Yes, perhaps she looks like she belongs in a dentist’s office rather than a Los Angeles nightclub, but he thinks there’s beauty in simplicity. She looks cute, and that’s good enough for him. 

“She seems interesting.” Mitch’s soft voice snaps him out of his detail-hungry haze, drawing him back into the reality that is the black lighting of the club and the deep booming of the music’s bass. 

His friend slides his tall drink across the glass counter, the amber liquid inside warping his reflection. 

“I suppose so.” Harry answers passively, shrugging one shoulder in indifference while accepting the cup, ringed fingers clinking against the crystalline surface. 

He takes a leisurely sip from the straight tequila, its tangy kick sending a warm surge up through his ears and down his throat, spreading into his chest and along the trench of his tummy. Alcohol really is the cure to everything. 

Mitch gives him a deadpan look, the strobe lights alternating across the glossy surface of his hazel irises, highlighting smugness. “You’ve been gawking for five minutes. Put your pride back in your pants and go talk to her.” 

The curly-haired vampire flashes him a light smirk over the rim of his drink, absentmindedly tapping his two initial rings along the bottom of the highball cup. “Ever so blunt, aren’t you?”

Mitch scuffs, taking a swig from his trusty beer bottle. Out of everything, that’s the one aspect Harry despises about his best mate— that he goes to a club and orders the same drink every time. Where was the fun in that? Where was the excitement of trying something new? When you have an eternity, the least you could do is utilize it to your advantage. Cycling through every cocktail in human history is a prime example of making the best out of immortality.  

But Mitch is a creature of habit— as are most of their kind— and Harry knows he won’t shake easily. Not when it comes to surrendering his preferred beverage, and definitely not when it comes to sticking his nose in Harry’s intimate business. Meddling and being irritating are what best friends are for. 

“What can I say? Pep talks are my forte.” The older monster remarks sarcastically, bumping his bottle against Harry’s glass in encouragement, using the spout of his container to point in the general direction of the mysterious girl. “Now go make dinner.”

“But, darlinggggg,” Harry whines playfully, a smirk still tugging at the corners of his slightly liquor-swollen lips. “I made dinner last night. Isn’t it your turn?”

Mitch rolls his eyes and shoves Harry’s shoulder harshly, with just enough force that it actually has some type of impact this time around. “Just go, before she gets creeped out by your staring.” 

Harry’s own irises copy his friend’s actions as he pushes himself up from the bar, rubbing at the new sore spot on his shoulder with an exaggerated pout present. “Ow.”

Mitch blinks at him flatly, fighting off a grin. “You’ve had worse. Go.”

Harry swivels on his heel, once again facing the group of tipsy girls at the other end of the counter. It appears that most of them have dispersed into the dance floor, having found partners to entertain them for the time being, moving to the music as if there are no other people in the room. They had left behind three of their companions, one of which is Harry’s aspiring hookup; he gets the feeling that the two girls had stayed behind out of the kindness of their hearts, feeling too guilty to leave the runt of the litter all on her own. He hopes that’s the case because if so, the second Harry inserts himself into the situation, they’ll take that chance and split, leaving him to tend his meal in peace.

He tucks one large hand into the front pocket of his trousers, the grip on his glass tightening a smidge, rings biting into his skin as the condensation of the chilled tequila cools the small spike of pain. He spins his lionhead ring around his finger within his slacks, gradually drifting closer as he goes through a checklist of prized pick-up lines he could use to garner her attention. He ducks and dodges inebriated club-goers with ease now that he’s had something to take the edge off, finally reaching the end of the bar, slowly coming to a halt right behind his target for the night. 

Harry nearly passes out as soon as her scent hits him. 

It’s faint and tender and nothing quite like anything he’s encountered before, a mixture of honey and lavender that permeates through her normal perfume. He feels like his head’s been put through a wringer, his whole body clenching for a moment as raging sparks erupt across the pit of his belly. He indulges a deep breath, willing the blazing current away in order to keep his cool, but all he can see flashing before his eyes are images of her leaving traces of that smell smeared all over his face as he bobs his head between her quivering thighs.

He takes another penetrating inhale, centering his mind back into the present. He needs to behave.

Her friends spot him immediately, their side of the conversation faltering to ash. They give Harry a wide-eyed once-over, mouths parting in slight shock as they drink up his attractive appearance, gazes lingering along his thick chest as it strains the baby blue material of his tee. Their sights drag across his broad shoulders, dainty collarbones, and strong neck, faces gawking without remorse, blinking emptily at the slope of his sharp jaw and the peaks of his prominent cheekbones. They seem to be at a loss for words the second his dimples indent into place, his brows shrugging in a half-assed greeting before he cocks his head to side a tad, voice velvet as it directs towards the girl they had forgotten existed.  

“I’m guessing you’re the designated driver?”

Y/N jumps slightly in response at the new addition to the painfully dying conversation, not recognizing the heavy English accent and deep baritone that booms behind her. She had been wondering why Melissa and Isabel had stopped talking so abruptly, and she now has her answer. 

Y/N slowly goes to cast a curious glance over her shoulder and Harry can hear the pulse flaring in her neck from the sudden intrusion to her surroundings. His fangs prick along the inside of his bottom lip due to carnal instincts; he has to will them back into receding. 

 When her eyes land on the owner of the random words, her finger immediately halts its swirling motions along the hem of her glass.

‘Fuck.’ is the only thought that registers through her short-circuiting mind. 

The lanky, curly-haired brunette that stands before her gives a gentle yet confident smile, the gesture dazzling even in the low lighting of the atmosphere. He’s absolutely gorgeous, with deep pits carving into his cheeks, perfect teeth complimenting full cherry red lips, eyes the color of a rainforest canopy, and a broad frame that is somehow not overwhelming. He’s sporting neatly ironed tan slacks, a fitted cotton shirt with a cute yet crude graphic at its center, a fancy plaid coat, and crisp yellow Vans without a single smudge in sight.

Y/N can’t help but take notice of all the little details of his fit, especially the accessories. A beautiful pearl necklace laid along his delicate clavicle, a cross resting between his defined pectorals, and a matching earring dangling from his earlobe. Not to mention the array of clunky rings arranged along nimble fingers, hugging a tall glass carrying caramel liquor and somehow managing to dwarf the cup’s size. The extra decoration is sensual in such an unexpectedly delicious manner. 

The hand he has tucked in his pants ducks out to comb through his dark auburn ringlets and Y/N can feel her mouth water at the new round of elegant rings. The action activates the cologne Harry had thoughtfully spritz in specific pressure points along his body, the scent of tobacco and vanilla traveling through the fog-heavy air and causing Y/N’s stomach to summersault. 

The young man is as close to flawless as anyone could ever come. 

Y/N feels an unmistakable sharp pain shoot through her ankle, and she comes to the realization that it had been the tip of one of her friend’s heels. The reality check jars her out of the embarrassing daze he’d spelled onto her, open mouth snapping shut and her lashes fluttering over her previously unblinking eyes. 

“Oh! Uhm—uh—” She clumsily twists sideways to fully face him, swallowing thickly and tasting the remnants of the alcohol she’d barely been nursing. “N-No. I’m not— well, I don’t think…? We Ubered here so that wouldn’t make any sense ‘cause I have no car to drive...so...” 

The boy chuckles softly at her choppy monologue, his laughter warm and inviting, similar to the look reflecting off his shiney irises, the golden flecks around his pupils seeming to swell and shrink from the rainbow lights cascading across them. Despite being caught off guard and utterly embarrassed, she can’t seem to break eye contact with him. The longer she gazes into his eyes, the more relaxed she begins to feel, a fuzzy heat stemming from the center of her belly and spreading up her neck and ears. 

Y/N gulps heavily like before, willing her tongue to produce a less embarrassing comment. “Sorry. Let me...Let me start over…Hi.”

“Hello.” He quips back playfully, lopsided grin widening in fond amusement. He lifts his drink up a bit in greeting. “M’Harry.”

“Y/N.” The girl squeaks out, copying his gesture because it’s easier than forcing her disoriented brain to try and come up with its own. 

Harry flirts his intent up and down Y/N’s body slowly, checking her out without any subtlety. He wants her to know he’s interested. 

When his sight locks with hers again, he bats his lashes sultrily and pours as much passion as he can into his tone, accent weighing in just right. “S’nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Her entire face prickles at how her name sounds dripping from those faultless raspberry lips. She’d pay anything to hear him say it again. “You, too.” 

This is not what Y/N intended. This is most definitely not what she’d intended to happen when she’d reluctantly agreed to go out with some coworkers on a Friday night, giving in simply because she had promised herself she’d be more social within her new job. 

She had moved to California roughly two months ago, wanting to get away from her old life in the small, boring town she hated to call home. Buying the flight had been a drastic decision made when she had been under the influence of something she’d rather not admit, but the following day— after she had sobered up from a wicked hangover— she found herself not wanting to cancel the trip. Found herself craving the excitement and adventure of beginning anew somewhere far away from everything she had ever known. 

All of Y/N’s friends back home had supported her without hesitation, egging her preposterous idea and congratulating her on “getting the fuck out of here.” Her family had been a little less supportive, but after a few heartfelt chats about following your ambitions and a budgeting lesson from her cousin, they had gingerly gotten on board. They understood that keeping her trapped in that lame town where nothing really happened wasn’t the way to ensure her success in life. Therefore, the people closest to her had swallowed their opinions and respected her choice to dive off the deep end, in search of something better beyond the borders of their tiny city. 

Within a week, Y/N had secured a decent job at a semi-popular cafe, courtesy of a connection from a family friend. Within two weeks, after many sleepless nights full of Rocky Road ice cream and the bright white pages of ApartmentFinder.com, she had managed to book a nice flat close to her place of work. It was a miracle, if she’d ever seen one. Especially within the crowded, expensive community that is Los Angeles. Within three weeks, she had been walking out of the giant glass building that was LAX with only two suitcases in tow, boarding an Uber to her new life. 

Things had never seemed more picturesque, she’d thought. Everything was falling into place in a way that seemed almost blessed by the universe.

Then, the culture shock hit. 

California was different. It’s was so fucking different than anything she’d ever faced and she wasn’t prepared for the social difficulties she’d have to hurdle. All her life, Y/N had grown up with the same people around her, spending every school year with them up until graduation, expanding her friend group as time passed. Even after high school, she’d remained closely connected with most of her graduating class. The region she lived in was tiny, tight-knit and friendly; it was hard not to. She couldn’t even go to the store for groceries without bumping into at least three people from her Algebra II class. 

Point being, it had been ages since Y/N had been put in a situation where she actively had to try and make friends. She’d been through that challenge way back in kindergarten and had never been hit with it again. 

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

Y/N didn’t mesh well with Californians, she quickly found out. They were all about crazy parties and club-hopping, whereas Y/N had been raised on community cookouts and mass sleepovers. They enjoyed getting cross-faded and streaking down the beach at two in the morning, meanwhile Y/N liked stripping down to her undies and spending the night binging Queer Eye while stuffing her face with Cheeze-Its and Snickers bars. They freely boasted about their sex adventures while bussing down tables at the restaurant, while Y/N’s intimate life had been nonexistent since the move. 

It was just...startling, to put it lightly. It wasn’t what she had expected at all, and that’s mostly her fault for not doing the correct amount of research before jumping headfirst into a cliche LifeTime film. 

Therefore, Y/N had made a pact with herself one month in, swearing to let loose and allow her surroundings to sweep her into a new dynamic— into a new, social butterfly version of herself. She’d started accepting the invitations from her coworkers to go out at night, and she’d started putting more effort into being open to wild experiences, no matter how scary they might seem. Shutting down and refusing to mold to her environment would only result in her having to return home with her tail between her legs, and she’d rather jump naked off a pier than see her parents’ faces wracked with pity. 

And that’s exactly what she’d done a couple nights ago, at the encouragement of the group of girls she was at the club with now. It had, in turn, ended in her coming down with a mild cold, but at least now she’d be able to tell her friends back home a cool story about dropping inhibitions. 

Dropping inhibitions is also why Y/N’s here tonight, dressed in the most party-like outfit she could put together, prodding an overly-boozy drink into her system, attempting to release some of the tension that had been building in her head for the last couple of weeks since she’d left her old life behind. That’s why she’s here, with strands of her blow-dried hair catching on the dark red gloss Melissa has slathered on her mouth in a thick layer. That’s why she’s here, with synthetic smoke scratching at her lungs and drunken men and women bumping into her every two minutes, most of them too busy sticking their tongues down each other’s throats to realize they’d almost toppled her off her seat. That’s why she’s here, with a blasé expression plastered across her features as her coworkers talk over her head without a second thought, her mind far away from the walls of this overhyped horror house. 

Y/N had been thinking about how she’d just started her Disney+ membership, finding comfort in putting together a mental checklist of all the movies she’s going to plow through the second she sets foot past the doorframe of her apartment. Indulging on her childhood was an ideal form of escapism, in her opinion. She’s positive Walt Disney would agree. 

That’s what her brain had been lost in when Harry’s deep, melodic voice had interrupted her daydreams, sending her spiraling into an embarrassing performance of nerve-induced hysteria. 

Now here she is, blinking back at him dumbly, eyes the smallest bit damp from the smoke machine and neon flashes of light. And here he is, smirking at her over the rim of his glass, eyes raking down her wired up body suggestively as he takes a calm sip from what appears to be the straight tequila in his colossal, bejeweled hand. 

The English boy takes a gradual step closer to her, wanting to make sure he’s not crossing any boundaries that would make her uncomfortable. The scent of his cologne intensifies and she feels a fiery heat suddenly pour between her clasped thighs. It just hits her how long it’s truly been since she’s gotten laid and fuck, it’s sad.

Harry begrudgingly peels his attention away from Y/N for a second, aiming his words towards the girls standing behind her with their mouths still opened stupidly. Even from a respectful distance, his warm breath still washes across her jaw and cheek, causing electricity to zip down her spine. “You don’t mind if I steal her for a bit, do you?”

‘Yeah,’ Y/N thinks in the back of her muddled skull, ‘that’s definitely tequila.’

Isabel and Melissa slowly shake their heads in unison, glancing at each other as if to confirm he’d just spoken to them. 

The edges of Harry’s lips jolt into a kind, easygoing smile. “Thank you. Promise I’ll keep her safe.” 

Y/N feels her heart hiccup at his statement. If she’s not insanely mistaken, it appears to have carried an undertone of dirty intentions. God, she’s praying she’s not mistaken. 

The two girls clamber away on their tall pumps, rounding around Harry and pausing for a moment. They make moaning faces and vulgar motions behind him, encouraging Y/N to pursue the stranger. She then watches them disappear into the throng of crowded bodies, leaving her alone with the beautiful boy and her heart slamming against her ribs. 

Y/N focuses back onto Harry, licking her itching lips lightly, not knowing what to say next as he settles himself beside her. He rests his forearm on the counter along with his drink, tucking his other hand back into  his trouser pocket and fixing himself into a comfortable standing position, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. The friction between his jacket and the bar rides his sleeve up an inch or so, and Y/N gets a view of the anchor tattoo he has along his wrist, as well as the upside-down cross inked between his thumb and index finger. 

Harry catches her looking, mouth twitching with a smidge of arrogant self-assurance. He loves when girls drool over his tats. 

“I have more.” He remarks lightly, a pang of condescending pleasure shooting through his chest at the way she jerks and pins her gaze down to the floor. 

Blood rushes into her cheeks at the realization that she’s been caught and Harry’s teeth grind. It’s so hot watching her fidget for him. Maybe he finds her more attractive than he’d originally let on. “Would you like to see them?”

Y/N timidly coaxes herself into locking stares with him once again, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, barely nodding with a soft, “Sure.” 

She looks so pretty like that, he notices, staring up at him all doe-eyed and shy. It’d probably look even better if she were on her knees.

Yeah, he definitely likes her more than he’d thought. 

Harry proceeds to shift about, shrugging his coat off his strong shoulders, letting it slip down his lean arms and reveal the plethora of dark tattoos strewn across his left arm. Y/N watches avidly, drinking up every flex of his biceps under the black paint and every twitch of his pecs beneath his cotton shirt, the tendons along his throat going taut for just a moment. That moment is enough for her to etch the image into the back of her eyelids for the rest of her life. 

Harry tosses the article onto the table, extending his arm over its surface for her to get a better reading. She doesn’t miss the chance, her pupils tracing over every line and stroke of the pen, over every shaded area and meticulous detail. 

His voice comes out as a low, garbled murmur, his own irises studying her features with just as much intensity. “You can touch them, if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

After a moment of hesitation, the brim of her crystalline cup is replaced by the ridges of his smooth, tanned skin. She drags her digits over the naked mermaid, tracing the curve of her figure and the dip of her tail, then passing onto the stem of the large rose, ghosting over every thorn and prickle. Harry can feel her heartbeat through her fingertips and it’s making him throb. 

“They’re very pretty.” Y/N whispers, allowing her touch to fall away, palm finding refuge across the counter. “Did they hurt?” 

“A bit, yeah. But I’ve gotten so many done that I think I grew numb to the needle after a while.” Harry answers, shrugging one shoulder to show it’s no big deal. He grasps his glass once again and takes a drawn-out swig, extending the action just so she can see the way his Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows. Once the cup is back in its place, his tongue peeks out and swipes any leftover liquid from his rosy lips, which then settle into a coy simper. “Plus, I kinda like the pain.” 

Y/N’s breathing stutters in her lungs and she swiftly swerves the topic onto something much less explicit. “So why’d you ask if I was the designated driver? That’s kind of an odd question. Very out of the blue.” 

Harry lulls his middle finger across the hem of his glass, exactly how she had been doing earlier, the motion weighed by an innuendo. She seems to understand it, present in how she bites into the inside of her cheek. “I just figured that a pretty girl like you would have easily found someone to dance with. So when I saw you sitting here looking all bored with your drink barely touched…I just assumed, I suppose.” 

And there it is again— the blood pouring into her face. Christ, if she keeps that up, he’s going to fucking lose it.

“Thank you, that’s— that’s really sweet. Proper gentleman.” 

Harry runs his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes snapping to her tinted mouth for a second, establishing some sexual tension that he’ll expand on as they go. “Who doesn’t like a guy who knows how to treat a girl, right?” 

Y/N clears her throat softly, obviously phased by his forward compliment, but she tries to play it off. “To answer your question, I— uhm...I’m not really one for the club scene, I guess. Don’t really like it, but I didn’t want to be rude and turn down the invitation.” 

‘Good girl,’ Harry thinks, silently cheering her on for having more brain cells than the typical human. 

“Well, that’s where we share some common ground, then.” He chimes brightly, a soft smile bringing his dimples to life. “I don’t care for clubs, either, but my friends have an affinity for them so here I am.”

He gestures vaguely towards the general direction where he’d left Mitch, continuing his rant. “The choking smoke, the annoying strobe lights, the crowded floor, the drunk morons—”

“Bumping into you without giving a shit.” Y/N finishes his sentence, her vulgarity drawing a boyish giggle from her companion and now she’s convinced she’d do anything to hear him laugh like that again. “And there’s always a faint smell of vomit coming from somewhere.”

Harry slaps his hand down against the glass table in passionate agreement, voice pitching up slightly as his brows jump in emotion. “Right?! It’s fucking disgusting. Don’t understand how anyone could genuinely enjoy it.” 

Y/N nods vehemently, sharing the same expression of utter distaste towards the subject. “It honestly doesn’t make any sense to me, either. Why come here when you can go to, like, a nice bar somewhere, y’know?”

Harry blinks at her in astonishment, her opinion mirroring his own with psychic-like accuracy. “My thoughts exactly.” 

“Great minds think alike.” Y/N responds playfully, taking a hearty gulp from her drink since the first time he’d spotted her from across the room. 

After a comfortable pause, Harry speaks up, also entertaining another sip from his own drink, which is now nearly empty. “Are you from around here?”

She can’t be. Rarely anyone born and raised here is willing to bash the status quo, and never so openly. 

She’s once again mesmerized by the attractiveness of his rings, but manages to get her composure in check. “Kinda. I moved here about two months ago.” 

Precisely his point.

Harry releases a curious hum over the cup between his lips. “Let me be the one to officially welcome you to Cali, then! Where people go to shitty clubs for fun and tan themselves into a strip of leather.”

Y/N sputters out a half-suppressed giggle and Harry’s brows almost furrow at the weird fluttering in his stomach. He rarely gets it.

Y/N takes another deep gulp of what he thinks is probably an Old Fashioned, silently praising the way she’d finished it off so quickly. She crunches an ice shard between her teeth and lets it melt across her tongue before engaging again. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here either though, are you?”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to chuckle a bit and she fights off an endeared smile. 

“What gave it away?” He asks, purposefully doing a thicker, fuller accent, his teasing nature making the grin she’d just stifled fully break through.

Y/N lifts a shoulder offhandedly. “Your accent seems a little too…posh for this area. Or even this hemisphere.”

Harry scoffs softly, the pinky around his glass sticking up jokingly as he kinks an eyebrow at her, a few rouge curls falling across his forehead. “Keen ears, mate.”

Y/N lifts her drink up a bit with a playfully knowing air, mimicking an English dialect. “Cheers.”

He places his empty cup down on the counter, his middle finger once more ghosting around the edge absentmindedly. She notices the pastel yellow polish covering his nails, tiny black smiley faces decorating the lacquer.

“I like your nails.” She admires, tipping her empty lowball towards his hand for significance. “Did you do them yourself?”

Harry glances at his fingers, stretching and wiggling them out, his features taking on a bit of pride. “Sure did.” 

“Don’t think I’ve ever met a guy at a club who could pull off nail polish so easily.” 

The left edge of his lips flicks upwards. “How do you mean?”

Y/N’s gaze bounces back to his and the tone twirling in his jade irises tells her everything she needs to know about keeping this conversation going: he enjoys being praised. 

She chooses her next words carefully, wanting to appeal to his interests. “I mean that it looks amazing on you. The color suits your skin nicely, makes your hands look good.” 

Harry breaks eye contact, glimpsing down at his shoes and she realizes he’s actually trying to hide a blush. The fact that she had managed to coax one out of him boosts her confidence while simultaneously making his own waver. He’s never like this— never so easily flustered. He needs to get it together.

Harry tilts his chin back up, lower lip strung between his two front teeth. His voice comes out as a flirty laugh.

“Known you for maybe,” he looks at the beautiful watch on his wrist symbolically, “ten minutes, and you’re already stroking my ego just the way I like it. I think that’s a record.” 

Y/N doesn’t know if it’s the liquor she’d just consumed too quickly, or if it’s Harry’s intoxicatingly alluring scent dulling the region of her brain that controls fear, but she’s suddenly filled with a strange surge of courage and her thoughts are spilling down her semi-numb tongue before she can stop them. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at stroking, so an ego’s not too hard to handle.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow, surprised at her brazen reply. He might have misjudged her more than he assumed. However, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy this girl more than the one he thought he was going to receive. There’s just something about how she can match his banter without a problem, and how they share a lot of the same thoughts and opinions, that just lights a fire in his stomach. 

“Is that so?” His voice lowers in pitch and he scoots a step closer, fingers just barely brushing against her arm as he repositions himself against the bar. His question comes out as a sultry murmur. “What else can you handle?”

Y/N knows that she’s starting to cross a line, and with every passing moment, the likelihood of returning to her friends is getting smaller and smaller. She’s not mad about it. Riding off of the wave of confidence that had inflated her ego earlier, she mumbles her response back with the same tone and texture. “How about you buy me another drink and then maybe you’ll find out?”

Harry gives her a boyish grin and the indents that pop into his cheeks nudge his appearance from an incredibly attractive man to an adorable cheeky boy. He motions to the bartender for another round of drinks, only letting his eyes flicker away from her for the moment it takes to do it. “How do you like LA so far?”

“It’s...alright.” It’s Y/N’s turn to move closer to him now, flicking her hair off her shoulder, hoping that the motion releases the perfume she’d dabbed on her neck while getting ready. Judging by the darkening of Harry's eyes, it does just that. “It’s definitely a change in pace from where I used to live, but I think I’m slowly gaining the reigns. I feel like once I get acquainted, I could grow to love it.”

“LA’s definitely a toggle. You could either vibe with it, or it’ll eat you alive and spit you back out.” 

She bats her lashes at him in stunned fright at his bluntness, his face deadly serious without any twitch or give. 

Harry then bursts into high-pitched laughter, eyes crinkling shut and nose scrunching. “I’m just fucking with you, love. Ease up, hm?”

“You asshole!” Y/N exhales grandly, half in relief and half in indignation, slugging him on the shoulder. All she feels is hard muscle beneath. 

He continues to cackle, sticking his tongue out at her. “Looked like you were about to cry.” 

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

The bartender arrives with their fresh drinks and Harry tells the man to but both of Y/N’s on his tab. She feels her cheeks glow, telling him he doesn’t have to, but he waves it off and says he’s more than happy to serve such a nice girl as herself. Especially if she “hates the same things I do. Think of it as your initiation gift into the Anti-Club Club.” 

A handful of heartbeats tick by, full of comfortable quietness as they both savor their new beverages. Harry pipes up first, regaining their topic from before.

“But, yeah, Cali’s for sure a special place. You meet some cool people if you hang around for a while. But sometimes,” he pauses for a second, eyes gleaming with something she can’t quite interpret. “But sometimes you can meet a really interesting person in just one night.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Y/N clicks her nails against her Old Fashioned distractedly as Harry fixes her with that beautiful emerald gaze that makes her ears tingle. She cocks her head to the side knowingly, flashing him a soft smirk. “Sometimes, you just happen to meet that one in a million.”

“A lucky strike.” He adds, lifting his tequila an inch off the counter and tilting it towards her in what appears to be a toast, irises dancing with a certain type of suggestive mischief. “To meeting interesting people.”

The human girl clinks the rim of her lowball to the edge of his cup, shrugging her brows and reciting his comment back to him. “To meeting interesting people.” 

Y/N measures how the rest of their interaction goes by how quickly her drink shrinks. 

When she reaches down to the first ice cube stacked on top, Harry has managed to coax multiple rounds of laughter out of her, his humor startlingly similar to her’s in the most refreshing way imaginable. She quickly learns that despite his broad shoulders, lean torso, dark inking, and flawless features, he’s a complete and total dork. His personality consists mainly of voice impersonations and contorting his expression into an endless array of silly faces, which she takes to easily.

By the time Y/N’s amber drink has reached halfway down its container, the default touch barrier between the two has broken completely. There had been a few caresses prior, but now it’s more frequent, more noticeable, and each touch extends in time. She had been the one to initiate getting physical, which had sat so right in her stomach because that meant he was respectful and patient— definitely unlike most men in clubs. 

The mortal girl had gently shoved Harry’s chest when he’d made an nonchalant joke about how losing his swim trunks at a nude beach had been both the best and worst experience of his life, her cheeks boiling as she had felt nothing but more toned muscle beneath the cotton fabric of his top. She had gone back to tracing at his tattoos the further they got into sharing anecdotes and opinions, glancing up at him for permission in the middle of their exchange and smiling to herself when he’d nodded casually without a second thought. As the conversations continue, they both unintentionally get closer in distance to the point where the arm Harry had settled on the bar is now fully wrapped around the small of her back. She willingly leans into him, their knees and thighs brushing with every shift of their bodies and those minute moments begin to pile up their excitement.

By the time the alcohol in her possession bottoms out, she is nearly sitting in his lap, faces only a few inches apart. Y/N can’t recall half of what she had said, the subject having steered into so many different places that she couldn’t be bothered to keep track. Besides, she’s too focused on trying to keep a straight face as Harry plays footsie with her below the counter, his light yellow sneaker toying with her heeled velvet wedge. 

An important question on his behalf snaps Y/N out of her flirty stupor.

“So how do you like your new home?”

She blinks at him slowly, partially to try and give a seductive tinge to the interaction and partially because the liquor has started to truly settle in. It takes her a few heartbeats to process the inquiry. “I love it, actually. It’s a place of my own, for the first time ever. I couldn’t be happier.”

The corners of Harry’s swollen lips tick in genuine happiness on her behalf. “That sounds amazing. Congratulations on such a big step.” 

“Thank you! What about yourself? Renting anything neat?”

“Oh, I own a condo here.” He mentions casually, outlining the criss-cross pattern along the circumference of his highball glass. “I used to visit so often that I finally just decided to pull the trigger on one.”

“Look at you, investing in real estate.” She says in a teasing voice, her heel grazing around his calf slowly, cheeks sizzling as he parts his legs a bit to allow her the pleasure of traveling higher up.

“Mmhm.” Harry licks his red lips, free hand starting to trace over her own. The tips of his fingers are calloused and cold, the motion of them over her skin almost pulling a tremble out of her body. She does her best to restrain it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Is it nice?” 

“Hm?”

His lips twitch in endearment at how he’s managing to make her lose her train of thought. “Your apartment, darling.”

She rests the rim of her drink on the bottom of her lip as she speaks. “It’s nothing huge or fancy, but it’s a decent size and l can call it home. Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N loves how Harry's eyes flit to her lips for what she thinks is the billionth time tonight, his vision sketching along the curve of her cupid’s bow and dotting every peak.

Another warm glow of confidence spikes through her veins and she’s talking before she can analyze her thoughts. “Well, at least I think it can’t get much better than that. Although, I could just be biased. Could probably use an outside opinion.” 

It takes Harry a moment to register what she’s suggesting, a light blush creeping up the base of his neck as he realizes how he’s stopped so abruptly. Humans usually never get him this unnerved and it’s one of many times she’s made it happen. “An outside opinion?”

Y/N lists her head to the side. It sounds like he’s accepting the vague invitation, but she’s so anxious to mess this up that she’s second guessing herself with every passing second. However, with every touch, she wants Harry more and more, and that’s enough to propel her towards a more direct approach. “Mmhm. Like yours, maybe. Would you like to come back and see it?”

Harry pauses for a few of her heartbeats, and then bobs his head in acceptance. She can breath again. 

He finishes off the last inch or so of his tequila, a wicked grin creeping its way across his pretty, flushed mouth, long fingers carding into his loosely arranged curls. “I’m more than happy to be of service.”

A smile works its way onto Y/N’s own face at his response, her foot dropping back down his leg slowly. “I’m glad to hear.”

“Mm.” Harry takes her hand completely now and she almost moans at how much bigger his are, his rings pinching a bit, skin rough in some areas, but silky smooth in others. And strangely icy, but she enjoys it. “Shall we say goodbye to your friends first? I wouldn’t want them to worry about you.”

He knows her “friends” couldn’t care less, but he wants to be as much of a gentleman as possible. Romanticize, romanticize, romanticize.

Y/N snorts, knowing full well that they’d probably purposefully embarrass her in front of him as a joke. 

She squeezes his grasp lightly, giving him a soft smile. “You’re sweet, but it’s fine. They were actually behind you earlier, encouraging this whole thing, so I’m pretty sure they won’t mind.” 

Harry hums deep in the back of his throat and the sound melts into a cute chuckle. “I’m glad they helped, then. Think you can deliver them my thanks some other time?”

The young woman chews on the inside of her cheek at his comment, realizing that it suggests he aims on keeping her occupied for the rest of the night and well into the morning. She has to will herself not to lurch forward and kiss at his annoyingly perfect lips right then and there. “I’ll make sure to pass the message along.” 

With one last cocky simper, Harry helps her down from the stool and pays off their tab, offering her his jacket since most of her outfit is made of flimsy fabrics. Y/N takes it appreciatively, lashes fluttering when his scent envelopes her like a blanket. It’s the unique smokiness from his cologne, mixed with a slightly sweeter smell that she assumes is his shampoo, and a bit of something that reminds her of a vanilla candle. The aromas are sewn into every thread of his coat and she can’t wait to have those scents glued all over her more deliberately later tonight.  

Harry turns and plunges them into the throng of partiers, weeding through bodies with a type of determination that makes her insides twist. His arm comes up in front of him as he plows people out of the way with absolutely no regret, leaving her to throw out a few half-assed apologies in his wake. The idea that he’s excited to be alone with her has Y/N’s insides churning. 

Once they escape all of the grinding limbs and tight spaces, stumbling into the cool air of the starry night, she takes a huge gulp of air. She prays it will tide over the jitters running along the inside of her tummy. She has just now realized how riled up he’d gotten her and it’s all coming to a raging boil. 

Harry paces past the bouncer, throwing up two fingers in parting. “Later, Brock.” 

The security guard gives the young vampire a confused look, not recognizing him at all and wondering how he knows his name. 

Y/N repeats Harry’s phrase for the hell of it, squeezing his hand jestingly and he glimpses over his shoulder, grinning at her with sheer amusement and something much deeper swirling around the specks of copper in his irises. If there was a bit more light, perhaps she would have noticed the way his irises had glinted blood red instead of olive green.

She ogles at the way his back muscles shift and flex below his pastel blue shirt, her mind vaguely taking note of the light yellow detailings along the cuffs and collar. The tee is intriguing and fun and she hopes he’ll let her sleep in it after they’re done. 

She also gets distracted by the baby curls decorating the nape of his neck. She’s itching to tug at them and see what his response would be. Would he shiver in her grasp and let out a soft moan, or would he smirk darkly and tell her to go harder?

Harry suddenly halts, snapping her out of her thoughts as he presents his car. Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off. “This is yours?!”

She gawks at the vintage jet black convertible before her, feeling like she isn’t worthy of its chic presence. It looks new, shining in the street lamps like a thousand diamonds, not a scratch or dent in sight. 

Harry unlocks the passenger’s door, opening it and guiding her inside with a gentle pull at their clasped hands, shrugging his brows playfully. “Hope it’s not too shabby for your liking.”  

“Are you kidding?” The human mumbles in awe as she ducks down into the patented leather seat, running her free hand over the elegant cover. She sighs softly at the way his smell is lingering inside the vehicle, just as much as it sticks to his clothes. “I feel like I should bow to it or something.”

He laughs fully now, leaning down to get a view of her sitting prim and proper in his favorite car, looking gorgeous in her flowy silk pants, lace creme blouse, and his own clothes. He gnaws at his bottom lip to withhold a needy groan. “I think you fit right in.” 

Y/N feels warmth erupt into her face and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to distract her fingers from shaking. “Looks like I’m not the only one that’s good at stroking egos.”

“S’hardly a task. You make it easy, doll.” 

It’s the second pet name he’s called her tonight— it’s strangely vintage, same as his car— and she can’t wait to hear what others he has in store. Preferably in the form of breathy pants and broken whines.

Y/N flicks her gaze up at him through heavy lashes, attempting to stifle a sheepish smile. “Quite the charmer.”

A moment of silence suspends in the air, a light breeze filtering through Harry’s curls, swaying the jewelry around his neck as well as the earring hanging from his lobe. Harry speaks up with a type of hushed desire she hadn’t heard from him yet. “Can I kiss you?”

She blinks up at him once in mild surprise and then releases a sigh of utter relief. “Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.” 

Her hand reaches upwards outside the confines of the car, knitting into the thick fabric of his shirt and yanking him down. The second their mouths meet, it sets off a dozen fireworks in the pit of her stomach. His is softer than she had imagined, wet and warm, and his tongue carries the sourness of the tequila he’d been swishing the whole night. 

Harry’s breath hitches in his throat, and then a quiet whimpery moan streams down his tongue onto her itchy skin. “Christ, that was hot.”

As much as she loves the taste of him— the tartness of the alcohol mixed with an inherent sweetness his lips carry— she forces herself to pull away, but keeps her sweaty forehead pressed to his. “Yeah. It was.”

With one hand still gripping the car door, Harry uses his other to cup her chin lightly, guiding her into another kiss. Now that they have both developed a feel for the other, this one is less tentative than the last. She tastes so fucking good on his tongue, like strawberry syrup—probably from her lipgloss— orange bitters, and bourbon. He just has to have more of it.

A helpless gasp escapes Y/N when Harry's teeth graze against her upper lip, only nipping enough that she craves more. More of anything he has to offer. 

He pulls away and the whine that plucks her vocal chords feeds his eternal soul like nothing else has in a while.  

The young man grins at her for a moment, half in smug satisfaction, half red-faced and desperate, before carefully closing the car door and making his way to the driver’s side. He slides in with ease, shuts his own door and buckles up with a click of the belt. The simple action has never looked so attractive before, but she’s certain that anything Harry does with his ring-covered hands would be attractive.  

He fishes his keys from his front pocket, asking her where she lives in order to try and orient himself. As it turns out, she’s not too far away from his own flat. He knows exactly which condominium she’s referring to without having to even search it up— a perk of living here for a few decades.

He also chuckles to himself a bit at the fact that she hadn’t mentioned he shouldn’t drive under the influence. Vampires have an extremely high tolerance due to their self-healing properties, so the drinks he’d had only gave him a soft, warm buzz. He just finds it comical— and slightly arousing— that she’s so eager to get at him that she’d let that detail slip her mind.

Harry starts the car, but doesnt pull out of the parking spot. Instead, he glances at Y/N as a crease appears in his beautifully sculpted brows. The idea of something displeasing him bothers her, and she’s about to ask what it is when he murmurs a quick, “Just a second, dove.” He reaches across to grab her seatbelt, pulling it over her body and securing it into place on her behalf, making sure it’s nice and proper before leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t know why he cared to do it, but he had. 

The simple action leaves another layer of heat on Y/N’s cheeks. Having him bent over her like that was just a teaser of what was going to unfold later and it already has her mind spinning. She can only imagine how much of a mess he’s going to leave her when there’s no clothes restraining them.

“Thanks.” She whispers, playing with the tips of her fingers.

“No need to thank me. Just wanna keep that pretty face in one piece.” 

He plops one hand on the steering wheel as he shifts into reverse, carefully backing out of his spot. His arm ducks behind her seat, head turning and veins chiseling into his neck. It takes all of Y/N’s willpower not to lean up and begin to darken his tanned skin with hickeys. 

Harry cruises up to the exit of the club parking lot, waiting impatiently for the turn signal, digits tapping away at the leather below them. Y/N can see him throwing pained little glances at her from her peripheral vision, obviously restless to feel her skin sliding against his. Each look causes the warmth between her thighs to swell. 

She’s talking before she can stop herself, voice bashful and soft as ever, yet full of boldness from the liquor she’d consumed. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something to you that’s gonna get us both killed.”

The tapping of his fingers halts and he cranes his head to face her fully, ignoring the flashing green arrow on the stoplight before them. 

Harry reaches over the center console, his nose dragging up the length of her cheekbone, causing her to squeak out a tiny whimper at the feathery sensation. It’s the first time tonight he’s touched her so intimately. 

The sentence he grits out next makes her entire body visibly shutter, his breath hot against her ear, damp lips smearing over her jaw as his oath burns into her flesh.

“And if you say something like that to me again, I promise you I’ll pull this car over and make you eat every fucking word.” 

[the-slasher-files]

Hello!! It's me again, I loved what you wrote from my last request, and I wanted to try if I could ask for another one. I know it's a holiday, so I understand if it's gonna be a while, or if you'll be unable to do it.

Picture this, s/o is out busy all day, leaving the slashers on their own. Then, while the slashers are in their duties, they spotted something that reminded them of s/o. It can either be clothings, accessories, or even the smell of something their s/o bakes, etc.

I would love to see how Michael and Jason (even the other slashers, for the other readers out there) would contemplate when something like that happens to them. Like a moment thinking about their s/o and recognizing their adoration for their s/o.

(Ask is a little long but I also wanna say I love you writings so much! Happy Holidays!)

oooooh I adore this!! Happy Holidays to you as well! Just to make it more painful I am going to make it so the s/o is gone for ‘longer’ making them yearn more :) Also forewarning there is quiet a bit of gore in this but not super bad, also includes people getting murdered and angsty vibes! hope you enjoy🔪💕

MASTERLIST

SLASHERS BEING REMINDED OF THEIR S/O WHEN THEY’RE GONE

INCLUDES JASON, and MICHAEL

JASON VOORHEES

A creature quietly stirred in the shadows of the trees, moving rapidly but somehow silently. A ghost. A myth. A legend of Camp Crystal Lake. When you were gone and he was on the hunt, the man that bared the name Jason Voorhees, was ruthless. Everything he was with you as a lover was lost and replaced by violence, rage and a malicious intent. Brutally spilling blood in revenge, becoming one with the forest and lake that hid him effortlessly, waiting for the time to strike.

The small group of teenagers were in the rustic wooden cabin glimmering in the night by with the warm glow of the campfire outside, left abandoned for other activities. He could hear the groans, heavy breathes and muffled music from the drunk teens, creaking the old beds in a rhythmic pace. The creature white knuckled the wooden handle of his machete, forcing bones and veins to appear along the damaged skin.

The normally creaky floorboards of the porch did not creak for him, hiding his presence, almost as in appreciation for the man that kept up the camp and fed the woods surrounding. Jason made his way into the wooden structure quickly meeting a sizable man, shirtless, protecting a young female that stood behind him poised to scream but the air never left her lungs for the machete brutally skewered both teens with little effort. A river of scarlet seeped into the old wooden floorboards beneath the killers muddy boots as the blade was pulled out of the slumped corpses. With forceful steps Jason marched into the small bedroom ripping the door open, the hulking frame of the beast lunged toward the naked skinny teen and with the clean whoosh of metal blood sprayed everywhere, the bed, the floor, on Jason and coating the now screaming women beneath the teen. Quickly the creature grabbed her throat, pulling her up and squeezing, watching the life drain from her trembling body, lips turning blue and eyes bulging, she was gone in a simple few minutes.

The night fell silent again until a new muffled song appeared from the bathroom, a familiar song, one the creature had heard many times before. Turning slowly and gingerly pushing the wooden bathroom door open, steam swept through the air and a phone laid on the counter, a woman was in the shower singing alone to the song playing from the device.

The scene was yours but the smell and voice wasn't. It brought the creature to a strange state, one that placed the man in between his two persona's; deadly murderer and gentle lover. Jason stood observing for a moment, remembering all the nights he would come home and find your little naked body in the hot shower pretending as if you were on stage to thousands preforming your favorite songs. So cute, so pure and vulnerable, coating yourself in the beautiful floral scents you always seemed to dawn. Jason would often step into the stream with you usually fully clothed making you laugh-- Your laugh was even so adorable to the large man-- and he would run massive hands where he pleased along your soft skin, making you look so small under him. Perfection was an understatement to Jason, you were his everything and you took him for what he was, loving the man with all of your heart.

Jason missed you and missed you bad; gone for a week seemed like a year to him. Hating when your family pulled you away to the fast and loud city, which you told your lover you hated too but you both knew you would have to see them sometime, making sure you were fine.

A ridiculously out of tone lyric was sung and it ripped threw Jason’s ears, drawing his ire and pulling him into the killer character. This was not you, not your smell, not your voice. Swiping the phone to the floor the creature destroyed it under his boot with ease and forced the giant blood covered machete through the shower curtain and into the unfortunate soul behind it.

MICHAEL MYERS

A scream broke the air of the cool October night. In the traditional white American home a crimson liquid painted the inside, smeared against the walls, sprayed along the flickering tv screen, pouring out of a woman. A man watched her, head tilted as she clawed against the grey carpet with one hand, while the other futility clutched her neck where a stream of blood ran. His anger was bright at the fact it wasn't you beneath him, bleeding out and crawling away helplessly.

The shape of Haddonfield had made home in the shadows tonight, slipping away between the cookie-cutter houses and stalking with warm glow from the windows. A blur of white and navy hid away for the moonlight didn't even want to touch the sick soul, seamlessly blending into the night.

He had watched her from the bushes with a feeling of desire forming in his core, burning fury and sick thoughts incased him. The shape could do things to her that he never could with you, but it wouldn't be the same, he knew. She had your same hair colour. Similar build. The same black hoodie. Baking something that smelled familiar.

You were gone, not at home but in your hometown. Far away from Haddonfield. Only one more night he counted in his head, one night too long. You had done everything to try and convince Michael to take the road trip with you but leaving his town wasn't something he ever wanted, you knew that and accepted it. However, Michael didn't accepted it, rage grew every hour you were gone, knowing he should have just tied you up in the bedroom, threatening to kill you. Fuck, he wanted to see how your blood would run between his fingers and shimmer on his cold metal blade. Something was different about you, and Michael just couldn't place it why he had kept you alive and allowed your touch for so long. It could've been your smell perhaps, it was sweet with a tinge of musk from himself; the copper smell fell flawlessly against your skin and mixed into a dangerous perfume. Maybe it was your nature, treating the man like a human instead of a demon, not ever wanting to push him on why he was the way he was, you just took what he gave you and it was enough. Every living thing has needs and you met his perfectly, unlike the bitch he watched.

Large boots squelched along the damp grass, striding with a wicked intent the shape quietly opened the back door of the home, stepping into the shadows of the hallway. Michael looped into the kitchen where the woman was; she gazed into the black eye holes of the white mask and screamed, faltering to the living room, Michael walked slowly grabbing the largest knife from the wooden block on the counter. Two large strides had the man towering over her figure, slitting her neck from ear to ear.

Michael had planned this from the very moment he saw her yesterday walking past the house you shared with him. She was not you, and that was the point.

[delightfully-difficult-pirate]

You Are Invited (1/2)

AN: Merry Christmas @killiansprincss!!  I am your Secret Santa for CSSS 2021.  Once again I apologize for the lateness of your gift.  And apologize more since I will need to post this story in two parts, because as I was editing I realized that some of the earliest parts I wrote did not flow with the rest of the story, which took a path I had not originally planned.  I do hope you enjoy it, though.  I have tried to work in many of the things we talked about over the past month.

Rating: PG (for now)

~*~

The town center was bustling with far more people than usual, Emma noted as she dodged out of the way of a cart piled so high with bolts of fabric that the person pushing it could barely see where he was going. Poor lad, Emma thought, as she watched him stop in front of a tailor shop. Whether he was a tailor's apprentice or just delivering a new shipment of goods, there would be no rest for him today or for the next few days. Nor for anyone even tangentially involved in the creation of gowns, hats, fans, and other formal wear and accessories. Or food, either.

For her Mother was hosting a ball and the Kingdom seemed to love nothing more than one of Queen Snow's balls. They were renowned across the kingdoms; not because of how elegant or extravagant they were, but that anyone in the Kingdom could attend regardless of social standing. This scandalized the upper echelons of society thirty ago, she was told, but as the Kingdom grew to their new Queen, they also accepted her slightly eccentric ways.

What could one expect, after all, from a princess that was once a bandit?

Emma wasn't the greatest fan of balls, much to her mother's chagrin, but they were a good place for her to get a feel for the attitudes of the Kingdom's people as well as of any visiting royal or dignitaries. This was also the reason the Crown Princess was currently in town, dressed in a basic tunic, trousers, and cloak to blend in with the local populace. Balls provided some insight into local attitudes, but she'd long ago found that the best place to get the pulse of the Kingdom was to visit a local tavern.

Today her destination was a tavern called the Snuggly Duckling. Located by the dock, it was a favorite of visiting merchants, sailors, and those who wished to separate them from their hard-earned coin. Though only midday the tavern was already bustling with people. Even so, Emma spotted August seated at a table in the corner, two mugs already in front of him. When she sat, August pushed one toward her and Emma drank it great fully. The tavern's owner brewed a surprisingly good ale that Emma was rather fond of.

August smirked at her as she drained hate the mug. "Hard trip?"

"You know how the town gets in the days leading up to one of my mother's balls. I was nearly run down by no less than three times."

August's brows furrowed. “Your mother's ball?"

"Yes, didn't you hear? My mother insists on holding a ball to celebrate my birthday." Emma would have preferred a hunt.

Now August frowned. “Emma, your mother isn't hosting the ball," he said slowly. "You are."

Emma let out a loud laugh, drawing the attention of the people around them. She waved them off as she replied, “That is absurd! Where did you get such an idea?"

"The invitation." August rummaged in his satchel for a moment before producing a folded and bent piece of paper, which he handed to her.

It read:

Her Royal Highness Emma Ruth Leona Eva Odette Nolan

invites you to a ball to celebrate

the 28th anniversary of her birth.

Every eligible bachelor is encouraged to attend.

"Papa and I received that weeks ago," August told her as she stared at the invitation.

Emma sighed. Somehow, she wasn't that surprised. Not even with the “all eligible bachelors" bit. After all, Emma was turning twenty-eight. It was almost unheard of for a Princess, much less the Heir to the throne, to remain unwed at such an age. She was lucky that her parents hadn't pressed the issue sooner, seemingly content to let their only child choose when, and who, she wanted to wed. However, her mother's patience must be beginning to wear thin and Emma knew Snow would view a ball as the perfect place for her daughter to meet her own True Love.

After all, not everyone could be so lucky to meet theirs while committing highway robbery.

"You really weren’t aware?” Her friend asked, incredulous.

She shook her head, grabbed her mug of ale, and finished it off. Other than helping compose the guest list, Emma tended to avoid all the other aspects of organizing balls. It wouldn't have taken much effort for her mother to conceal the invitations before they were sent out.

What impressed Emma, though, was that her mother, notoriously bad at keeping secrets, managed to avoid spilling the beans.

August cleared his throat. "There is more...”

"I'm going to need another round before you tell me anything else." Emma signaled the tavern keeper and soon had a fresh mug of ale to help her deal with whatever else her oldest friend was about to reveal.

"Rumor has it that you are to dance with every eligible bachelor in attendance."

She was to… what?

Emma's head dropped to the table with an audible thump.

Her mother's scheme was truly above and beyond anything Emma thought her capable of. She would need to remember not to underestimate her in the future.

With the ball only days away, it was far too late to cancel it altogether. Royals from neighboring and distant kingdoms would already be en route. And short of faking illness or injury, which Emma refused to do, neither August nor Emma could come-up with a plan to avoid her dancing with every eligible bachelor who sought one.

It seemed that Princess Emma Ruth Leona Eva Odette Nolan was hosting a ball after all.

~*~

The following morning, during breakfast with her parents, Emma surprised them by volunteering to oversee the decorating of the castle's Grand Hall where the ball was being held.

“As this is the first royal ball I am hosting, I want to be sure that everything is perfect," she told her parents, staring directly at her mother as she did so.

For a moment, the room was completely silent. That was until her father let out a boisterous laugh.

“I told you she would find out, Snow," he said to his wife, who flushed red in embarrassment.

"Yes, well...'' her mother murmured, glaring at her husband before turning to face her daughter. "I simply thought that a ball hosted by you would encourage a more diverse attendance and not just the same people we always see."

"Like all those eligible bachelors I'm supposed to dance with."

Snow turned an ever deeper shade of red, which amused Emma. She'd never seen her mother this embarrassed before.

Temped as she was to enjoy her mother’s discomfort, Emma continued, "Since it is too late to change anything, I'll go along with this inane plan on one condition. After tonight, allow me to find a suitor in my own way."

"But darling..."

Emma knew exactly what objection her mother was about to make, so she interrupted her, "I swear I'll make a real effort. Perhaps I could spend part of the summer visiting other kingdoms."

Her mother grinned. "A fantastic idea!" she exclaimed. "I know Aurora and Philip would love to have you, as will Ariel and Eric."

Finished with her breakfast, Emma left her parents, her mother happily reminiscing about her visits to various royal courts, and headed toward the Grand Hall. A short time later her father found her engaged in a tedious discussion about where the flower arrangements were to be placed once they arrived on the morning of.

After that was settled, he casually guided her to the side where they were out of the way of the bustling staff before he said, "I'm sorry about not telling you about your mother's plan. I tried to talk her out of it, but obviously I failed." He gestured to the activity before them.

Emma studied her father for a moment. Though she wished he would of given her some type of warning regarding her mother's machinations, she also knew that her father was utterly devoted to his wife and would do almost anything to see her happy. In the grand scheme of things, an unhappy wife would be much more unpleasant than an annoyed daughter.

"However," he father cleared his throat, "Are you sure the bargain you struck with your mother is a wise idea?"

“No," Emma replied, shaking her head. "I am sure I will still have to endure an endless string of visits from Prince such-and-such who just happens to be passing through if I fail to return with a suitor."

Not that Emma strictly needed to marry a Prince. That was expected, of course, but she knew her parents would be just as happy if she brought home a commoner. After all, King David was the son of a farmer. Not that many people knew that. To most, he was Prince James, David being his regnal name, son of the late King George.

The truth was David was the twin brother of James that had been separated shortly after birth by the machinations of an evil imp. James was secretly adopted by King George and his wife and raised in luxury. When his untimely death jeopardized a profitable deal with King Midas, her father was forced to assume the identity of the brother he hadn't known about. So the farmer became a Prince, married a Princess-slash-bandit, and together they became King and Queen of David's “Kingdom” after deposing King George.

So while the aristocracy would be upset if she brought home a suitor of non-noble birth, she knew her parents wouldn't care.

If she could find a suitor she actually liked that is. There were hundreds of men who would happily marry her given half a chance, but having grown up with parents who were True Loves, Emma wanted more than a marriage of convenience. Even if she never found True Love herself, was it too much to hope for a normal love with the man she would share her life, and Kingdom, with?

Her father must have sensed the direction her thoughts were taking and wrapped his arm around her. "You don't have to get married, you know."

Emma looked at her father with a raised brow.

"I'll admit, it will certainly make things easier if you do, but neither your mother nor I are going to force you to marry if you do not wish to," he explained.

That brought up a topic Emma had wondered about. “Who would inherit the crown if I never have children?"

Her father scratched his beard. “A distant cousin of George's, I imagine."

Her nose wrinkled. “I could always adopt.”

Or have a child out of wedlock and declare them heir regardless of legitimacy, but that would likely fracture the Kingdom.

Before Emma could continue contemplating other options, a footman approached her father and herself.

After giving them a quick bow, he informed them, "Your Majesty, Your Highness, the Queen of Arendelle and her entourage will be arriving shortly."

Emma let out a very unregal squeal and rushed from the Grand Hall. If there was one aspect of balls that Emma did enjoy, it was seeing the friends that lived some distance away. The Queen of Arendelle, Elsa, her younger sister Anna, and Anna's husband Kristoff were some of Emma's closest friends, despite the distance between the kingdoms. They regularly exchanged letters but only saw each other once or twice a year, usually at balls.

She arrived at the front gate just as the group from Arendelle began to cross the long bridge to the castle, Elsa riding in the lead. Riding just behind and to the Queen's left was a man Emma had never seen before but read all about, Captain Liam Jones.

As excited as she was to finally meet the suitor willing to put in the time and work to get to know Elsa and not be intimidated, she frowned as she noticed that she hadn't spotted either Anna or Kristof. That was until she remembered from a letter this summer that Anna was expecting her first child and it wouldn't surprise anyone if Anna, and by extension Kristof, decided against traveling at this time. Emma would miss them, though, since Anna tended to bring excitement to any event.

When the group came to a stop in front of the castle, Emma watched as Liam swiftly dismounted before assisting Elsa off her horse. The smile the normally shy Queen gave him made Emma grin. It was great to see her friend so happy.

King David and Queen Snow, who joined Emma at the castle gates a few minutes ago, walked forward and greeted their fellow monarch. "Queen Elsa, welcome."

"It is always my pleasure to visit your lovely Kingdom," Elsa replied. “May I introduce my betrothed, Captain Liam Jones.”

‘Betrothed?’ Emma mouthed at Elsa as the curly haired man stepped forward and bowed deeply to her parents. Elsa blushed and nodded.

When the formalities were finally complete, Emma ran forward and wrapped her friend in a hug. Still not accustomed to physical displays of affection, it took a moment for Elsa to relax and return the hug.

“Congratulations,” Emma whispered in her friend’s ear. Elsa hugged her tighter.

Once Elsa released her, Emma turned to Liam. Elsa’s fiancé wasn’t a tall man, only half-a-head taller than Emma herself. His brunette curls shone in the fall sun and he was shaved clean of any facial hair. Though he was currently dressed in a formal outfit of pale blue in the Arendellian style, Emma knew from Elsa’s letters that Liam was not originally from the country. She couldn’t recall Elsa mentioning where he was originally from, though.

According to Elsa, he’d joined the Arendelle navy some years ago and slowly worked his way up the ranks until becoming Captain of his own ship. Last summer, Elsa had sailed on his ship for a trip to Agrabah to negotiate the creation of a new sea-based trade route. Apparently, Elsa, prone to insomnia, had spent many nights in Liam’s company and slowly a romantic attraction developed. After returning to Arendelle, Liam sought Elsa’s permission to formally court her, even though it meant leaving his current post in the Navy.

It was easy to see that Liam adored Elsa. It was visible in his eyes every time he looked upon her, which he did often. Emma noticed as the group was escorted through the castle toward the guest wing that he always kept Elsa within sight if she were not next to him, though she often was.

It sent a pang through Emma’s heart and made her realize that she wanted what the two of them had. She told herself that she would put a serious effort into finding a suitor during her travels next summer.

Maybe she would ask Elsa if Captain Jones had a brother.

TBC

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