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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years ago

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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

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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.”

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weelittleweasley · 4 years ago

Text

guitar lesson (f.w.)

prompt: the band that the weasley siblings had formed brought new excitement to hogwarts. new music, new

pairing: guitarist!fred weasley x fem! reader

warnings: language, allusions to sex (for like one second)

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this is literally just pure fluff. pure cute musical fluff.

George groaned and halted his drumming, “Bloody hell, Ronald, it’s not that hard to get the chord progression right after the third time drilling the song!” he cried out before tucking a drumstick behind his ear. “We go from G to B minor to E minor back to B minor. What is so hard about that?” he scolds his brother who just rolls his eyes. “Do we want to get this right or not?” George looks to the rest of the band comprised of his other siblings.

Ron just retorted simply, “It’s the first time we’ve ran this song in weeks, George. Everyone is rusty. Just give it a rest. We’ll get it right next go. Besides, aren’t we due for a five?” he looks to his sister who gives him eager eyes and a nod, signaling they were in desperate need of a break.

George scoffs at his younger brother and says, “No, you’ll get it right the next go. Which starts now. Ginny, from the chorus. Fred, keep the chords crunchy, it sounds better that way. Ron, don’t fuck it up. Ready?” George directs the band as they all sigh.

They had only been in band practice for an hour and a half and George was already making it a living hell. Sure, it was his idea to form a band and it seemed like a great idea. It was a way to spend more time together, to make music, to meet new people, and blow off some steam. If anything, Fred was the first one to jump on the offer. He knew that it would be a way for his family to bond, but also a way for him to show off his guitar skills that he had been honing for the past few years. Fred had once said, “Ladies love musicians. Especially the guitarists.”

But now it seemed like the band, which once was a low-key, stress free environment has changed wildly. Almost overnight things took a rapid 360. George had managed to book a gig for their band, The Burrow Bangers, at Three Broomsticks for the next weekend. George had convinced Madam Rosmerta to let them have the whole building for the evening for the gig if they promised to bring in the people. Which would not be a problem. Students were itching to see the band of siblings play. But this meant high stakes for the Weasleys. A real gig, paying them real money, to play real music. All they had ever done before was fuck around and play random music that they thought was funny. But this? This was all very new and very different than what they were used to.

With a few strikes of his drumsticks, George yelled out, “A 1, 2, 3, 4!” And the band swelled with music, George keeping rhythm on the drum kit, Fred wailing on his guitar, Ron strumming on the bass, and Ginny belting into the mic.

“She’s a Killer Queen, gunpowder, gelatine, Dynamite with a laser beam. Guaranteed to blow your mind; anytime...” Ginny belted into the mic, her alto voice resonating throughout the room of requirement as Ron and Fred stared at each other, wondering when they would get a break. Fred looked concerned at Ginny who's voice was obviously getting tired from belting for an hour and a half with no water or bathroom break.

Fred drops his guitar and speaks, “Hold on, hold on!” The band fades slowly before George throws up his hands in protest, asking why they stopped. “Do you not hear Ginny’s voice? She’s tired. We’re all tired, Georgie. We’ve been working non-stop for next week’s gig. I don’t think a ten minute break is gonna kill us,” he protests.

George rolls his eyes, “None of you are taking this seriously. We are getting paid for this. People are coming to watch us. Don’t you wanna be decent?” George rises from his seat, searching the eyes of his siblings for some agreement.

Instead, he’s met with concerned eyes and tired expressions. Ginny looked absolutely exhausted, Fred looked exasperated, and Ron was flat out fed up. But all were equally concerned as to why their brother was so gassed up over this gig. George sighs, “I-” Fred gives him a sympathetic smile. “Of course, we wanna be good, Georgie. But we need to balance things out. Let’s all take a break for a while. Reconvene tonight after some much needed rest and we’ll talk details of rehearsals then. Good?”

Ron eagerly nods his head before slipping the bass off from around his body. Ginny turns off the mic and starts out with Ron, talks of what was for dinner in the Great Hall. Fred approaches his twin and places a hand on his shoulder. “What’s bugging you?” he asks, knowing that this behavior wasn’t typical for George. It wasn’t like George to get serious all of a sudden and push everyone to work without a break. Something was up and Fred could read it all over his brother’s face.

Defeated, George sighs. “I don’t know, Fred. I guess I’m getting myself all worked up because I invited Angelina to the show and I wanted to ask to be my girlfriend and I guess I just want things to be perfect for her in a way.” Fred gives his brother a knowing look, wiggling his eyebrows. “Oh, shut it, you dickhead,” George laughs, pushing his brother’s shoulder. “You’d do the same if you fancied someone,” he teases Fred as his twin shrugs. “Freddie...you don’t mean to tell me no girl has walked up to you and has told you how hot it was that you played lead guitar in Hogwarts’ premiere band?” he teases.

Fred laughs, “Can’t say anyone has...yet.”

This makes George laugh and shake his brother’s shoulders. “That’s the spirit,” George slings his arm over Fred’s shoulder. The two twins carry back their band equipment as they make their way to the Gryffindor common room. “Seriously, Freddie, I bet I can set you up with one of Angie’s friends. I’ll tell Angie to bring her to the show and she can see just how sexy you look fingering those strings,” George alludes as Fred chuckles.

“Nah, mate, I don’t wanna just have a set up of a date. I want to naturally meet a girl, you know?” Fred tells his twin as George rolls his eyes. Fred was always a hopeless romantic deep down. Although he had some flings in the past and had his fun with shagging a few girls casually here and there, Fred was looking for something more serious now. Someone he could connect with. “I’m not expecting for the perfect girl to be right around the corner, Georgie, but I’m not expecting her to be a-”

Fred stops mid sentence as he feels his body collide with another body as they walk around the corner of the hallway, making Fred and the person he had bumped into stumble back a bit. “Godric, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t pay attention to where I was going,” Fred looks around at the sheet music that was now cast about the floor. “Did I make you drop anything?” Fred asks, now looking up at a pair of eyes that made his heart skip a beat.

There you stood, a little flustered, in a hurry on your way to the library. You were late for a study group with some of your friends from your Charms class and it would be your third time late this week. If you were late again, they would surely give you shit for it. But as you took in who was causing you to run late, you suddenly didn’t mind. “Uh,” you gulp, “I’m alright, don’t worry. I should have watched where I was going. Now I’ve made quite the mess, haven’t I?” you lightly laugh as you crouch down to help him pick up the miscellaneous pieces of sheet music.

Fred joins you on the floor, picking up the scattered sheets. “It’s equally our mess,” Fred gives you a soft smile as you blush lightly.

Fred looks up at George who wiggles his brows as if to say Oh La-La! before he winks at his brother. “Oh, hey (Y/N),” George speaks before continuing to walk down the hallway, giving his dear twin some privacy. Fred shoot his brother a look to say, Mate, what the fuck?

“Hey, Georgie,” you laugh. The two of you continue to pick up the pieces of parchment as you inspect the scribbling on them to be the treble clef. “You’re a musician?” you ask him, referring to the sheets. Fred nods. “What instrument?”

“Guitar,” Fred beams as you widen your eyes and nod. “I’m actually in a band with George and my other siblings,” he tells you. “I didn’t know you were friends with George.”

You hand him a small pile of sheet music before you both rise to your feet. “Yeah, George and I have been friends for a little while. I helped tutor him in Divinations class,” you tell Fred who nods. Fred mentally yells that he wishes George would have told him that he was friends with an absolute stunner of a girl. “I didn’t know that you and George were in a band. That’s really cool,” you tell Fred with a smile.

As you stand before Fred Weasley, you hope he doesn’t know how flustered you were. You had always seen him in the halls with George and admired how charming and handsome he was from a far, but never said anything to him. You could have easily told George that you had a thing for his twin, but you were far too nervous to act on your little crush. You clutched your textbooks closer to your chest as Fred fixed the strap of his guitar on his chest, muscles flexing underneath his shirt as your eyes darting to watch them tug against the thin shirt material.

Fred spoke, “We started the band a couple of months ago. So it’s a pretty recent development.”

You nod your head and awkwardly stand before him before realizing that you were just staring at Fred’s face, admiring how his lips curled into a little smirk when he looked at you. Clearing your throat, you breathe, “Wicked.” Fred chuckles. “I’ve always been fascinated by musicians. I wanted to teach myself how to play guitar, but I’ve never gotten around to it,” you word vomit, instantly regretting the words coming out of your mouth. Damn it, (Y/N), you might as well just tell him your life story, you think to yourself.

With a cheeky smile, you watch Fred’s face light up. “I could teach you,” he suggest as your eyes widen. Fred immediately back pedals. “If you want! I mean, Godric knows that you are probably very busy, but if you ever wanted an instructor, I wouldn’t mind giving you lessons,” he retorts as you can’t help but have a lazy smile appear on your lips. Fred’s heart skips another beat as he gulps. “That’s only if you’d like me to teach you, (Y/N).”

The way he spoke your name made your stomach erupt with butterflies. His voice was like honey as words parted from his lips, the sweetest sounds you have ever heard. You watched his eyes as they looked into yours, monitoring how you reacted to his proposal.

Guitar lessons with Fred Weasley? You would have to be mental if you said no. With a meek smile and you reply, “You really don’t have to, Fred.”

“I want to,” he jumps before clearing his throat, realizing how quickly he answered, making you giggle as Fred blushes a deep red that matched his hair. “I would like to teach you, (Y/N).”

With a nod, you say, “I’d like you to teach me.”

Fred smiles widely. “Wicked,” he breathes out as you look away from his gaze to hide your rosy cheeks. “Just one catch,” he smirks as you furrow your brows. “You have to come to our show next week. At Three Broomsticks. And bring friends.”

Extending your hand, you tease him, “You’ve got a deal.” Fred shakes your hand firmly as you laugh. “I’ll see you around, Fred.”

You start down the opposite direction before Fred calls out. “First lesson is on Thursday! 4pm sharp,” Fred says as you flip around to look at him. “Tardiness is not tolerated,” he winks at you as you roll your eyes before walking away to the library.

As you walked down the corridors, you could help but smile to yourself. Your cheeks tingled from your large grin as you toyed with the edges of your books. The thought of Fred Weasley’s hands guiding yours as he taught you how to play guitar made your heart giddy. You nibbled on your bottom lip at the thought that danced around your head. Suddenly, you didn’t care how late you were to this study group.

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

Thursday rolled around slowly, but surely and Fred was checking himself out in the mirror, combing his fingers through his red hair, brushing the pieces out of his face. He nervously looked at himself in the mirror. Should he have shaved? Was he wearing too much cologne? Should he brush his teeth for a third time?

He frantically ran around his dormitory room, thinking he should change his shirt again. Maybe you liked the color green better than blue. As if the color of his shirt would determine the outcome of this lesson/date. Fred didn’t even know if he could count this as a date.

George tapped out rhythms on his bed frame, watching Fred change his shirt for the fourth time as he shook his head. “Freddie, mate, are you really sweating that much?” he laughed.

Fred shot his twin a dirty look. “No,” he spat. “I just...I like the green better than the blue,” he lied, pulling the green shirt over his head and down his torso. Fred darted to his bed and grabbed his guitar and checked the time on his watch. He had ten minutes. “Good Godric,” he huffed.

“You alright? Haven’t seen you this shaken up since the time you thought you ate puking pastilles before your O.W.L.s,” George laughed as he tapped away on his bed frame.

Fred nervously tapped on his thighs, “I’m fine, George. I, uh, I’m giving (Y/N) a guitar lesson today,” he reveals to his twin who's eyes widen and chuckles, “It’s just a lesson. Nothing else. But I’m bloody nervous about it.”

Sitting up, George speaks, “You got nothing to worry about, mate.” He walks over to Fred and places reassuring hands on Fred’s shoulders. “(Y/N)s a great girl. She’s sweet and funny and proper fit,” George raises his brows as Fred groans. “I’m teasing you, Freddie, calm down. You’ve got nothing to lose. Now get down there and make her swoon.”

Fred was never nervous for dates or flirting with girls. All of that stuff came naturally to him. But for some reason the thought of you was enough to make his stomach do somersaults. The palms of his hands got sweaty when your name was spoken. There was something about you that made Fred Weasley lose his senses and that was hard to do.

Shaking it off, Fred huffs and leaves the dormitory making his way down to the common room. With each step he descended, his heart beat harder and faster against his rib cage. As he came down the stairs, your figure came into view which only made Fred’s mouth dry with anxiousness and excitement. He took a deep breath in and exhaled in attempt to calm himself down. I got this, she’s just a girl, he thought to himself. “4:00 on the dot,” Fred speaks, getting your attention, causing you to turn around to face him with a smile on your lips. “Very punctual, (Y/L/N).”

You take a good look at Fred and think about how effortlessly good he looked. Hunter green t-shirt hung on his tall frame perfectly as he walked over to where you sat on the couch, acoustic guitar in his hands. “Not to toot my own horn, but I was here at 3:55, Weasley,” you joke as he smiles. “Early is on time and on time is late.”

Fred chuckles, “In that case, pardon me for my tardiness. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive someone as foolish as me.”

His smile made your heart flutter and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. His joy was infectious. How could someone be so addictive? “Hmmm,” you pretend to think, “You’re lucky I’m such a kind and forgiving person.”

Fred places a hand over his heart and feigns relief. “Thank Merlin,” he fans himself as you chuckle. “Alright. You ready to get started?” he asks as you nod your head. “Brilliant, let’s start with the basics...”

After an hour of trial and error, you had managed to learned some chord progressions and strumming techniques from Fred. You had to give it to him; he was a great teacher. He was patient and smart and knowledgable. Not to mention, you loved listening to him talk about music and how passionate he was about playing. When he talked, he spoke with so much heart and life, it made you gently smile as you watched how animated he became. Fred Weasley really was one of a kind.

You were nearing the end of your lesson as Fred showed you how to play an F chord on the guitar. “Best chord,” he spoke as you looked at him quizzically. “F is for Fred, keep up (Y/N),” he teases making you scoff.

He explained the finger placements as you struggled to get it just right. “Wait, my second finger goes where?” you ask again as Fred points to the third string. You adjust and strum as an off-key chord resonates. “Now, that can’t be right,” you laugh as Fred shakes his head.

Fred gets up and moves from the chair in front of you to the seat next to you on the couch. He looks at you and asks, “May I?” He gestures to placing his hand on yours as you shake your head.

Gently, Fred places his hand on yours that holds the neck of the guitar as the other hand rests on your other elbow. Having his body is such close proximity to yours made your breath hitch in your throat as you felt his chest press against your back. Fred’s fingers adjust your placement carefully as if you were made of glass, trying his hardest not to make you break into a thousand bits. “This finger goes on the third string and this one stays on the second,” he lowly instructs. “And now, strum,” he speaks, a smile in his voice.

And so you do, a soft F chord playing as the strings underneath your fingertips hum sweetly. You two let the sound ring a little bit, either one of you not daring to breathe, scared to say or do anything. Just the position that you were in, his hands on yours, his chin resting near your shoulder, your back pressed against his chest. You gulped and exhaled softly. “Pretty,” you smiled.

Fred chuckled softly. “Yes, you are,” he spoke making your heart stop, wondering if he had just spoken those words.

You turn to face him, a questioning look in your eyes as Fred allows a small smirk to dance on his lips. Cheeky bastard, you think to yourself as you smile at him.

The two of you remain in this position, looking into each other’s eyes for a moment. Fred’s eyes were a rich brown, like pools of chocolate melting under the summer sun. His eyes were full of playfulness and cheer which made joy course through your veins. Fred Weasley was special.

You didn’t even realize that he was leaning in until his forehead was pressed against yours and you connected the gap between you two, connecting your lips in a gentle kiss. As you kissed, he inhaled deeply, cupping your cheek with his hand, bringing you closer to him. His hands were calloused from the guitar strings as they pressed against your soft cheek. You pressed your lips onto his harder as Fred smiled gently into the kiss, enjoying every moment. You were first to pull away, but it didn’t last long, Fred’s lips following yours for another kiss as you giggled lightly. His lips were soft and tasted of sweet cinnamon and you wanted more, like your own drug.

Fred gently pulled away before speaking, “I have a confession.” You hum in response. “I was planning on kissing you this whole time. I was just trying to find a good excuse to sit next to you,” he confessed.

You smiled involuntarily and laughed. “I believe that,” you speak before placing another kiss to his lips quickly. “I also have a confession,” you bite your lip as Fred looks at you confused.

Scooting back a little, you cradle the guitar in your grasp before skillfully strumming a combination of chords that could be recognized as the beginning chords of I’m Looking Through You by The Beatles. Fred’s mouth goes agape and eyes wide as you play better than he could ever. “I lied about not knowing how to play the guitar,” you laughed. “I’ve known how to play since I was ten. I just wanted an excuse to see you again.”

Fred shakes his head in disbelief. “You sneak!” he exclaims. “A woman after my own heart,” he jokes as you laugh before he kisses your cheek. “Well, I guess you don’t need anymore lesson from a git like me. But I still think you should hold up your end of the deal,” he squeezes your hand.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Weasley,” you smile. “Although, I will be coyly judging your skills from the audience.”

Fred laughs, “I’m sure you will be, darling.”

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

After days of rehearsing and planning and scheduling and rehearsing some more, the gig at the Three Broomsticks rolled around. Ginny had managed to convinced the entirety of the Hogwarts quidditch league to come out which already filled the Three Broomsticks at half capacity. But getting more people to come wasn’t a problem. The promise of good music and Butterbeer was enough to have swarms of students flow into the small building.

The Three Broomsticks was soon teeming with people, chatting and drinking and laughing. The energy was high and the Weasleys could feel it from their make shift backstage (which was quite literally a curtain that Ron managed to pin up).

However, this meant that expectations were high which in turn made the band exceptionally nervous. Ginny nervously danced around, doing lip trills to warm up her voice as Ron tuned the bass. George sat at his drumming seat and ran over rhythms in his head, Fred pacing back and forth, biting on his nails.

You shuffled through the audience and found Harry and Hermione sitting at a table in the front as you approached them. You could hear Hermione gush about how hard Ron has been practicing for the gig, a rosy hue forming on her cheeks as Harry poked at her crush. As you approach, Hermione notices you and beams, “(Y/N)! Hi! Are you excited for the concert? You know Ron is playing bass?”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Did you know Hermione has a big, fat cru-”

“Shut it, Harry,” Hermione quickly snaps as you laugh. “Anyway, what’s up?”

You smile, “Do you know if Fred is with the others still? I know he was nervous about tonight and I just wanna make sure he’s doing alright.”

Harry looks at Hermione and then back at you. “Yeah, he’s back with the others,” he says as you nod, leaving. But before you can leave, Harry stops you, “Wait, hold on, I didn’t know that you and Fred were....” he looks for the words.

“We’re not officially together, but we’ve been seeing each other,” you confess with a smile. Hermione gives you a teasing glance as she sips on her Butterbeer and Harry nudges her with an ooh. “Oh please. You think you two are slick? Everyone knows Harry fancies Ginny and Hermione is practically head over heels for Ronald,” you teases as they both wear bright red cheeks. “Mhm, that’s what I thought,” you laugh. “I’ll see you both in a minute.” You make your way to the back of the Three Broomsticks, behind the curtain to find a nervous band of siblings. Ginny catches your glances first and a smirk comes onto her lips. “Oh, Freddie,” she sing songs. “You have a guest.”

Fred turns around to face you and relief washes over his face as your heart skips a beat. Fred looked good sporting dark wash jeans and a black henley. Simple, but Godric, it was enough to make you swoon. Fred grabbed your hand and walked you over to the corner for a little more privacy. “I’m glad to see your face,” he spoke before bending down to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I told you I wouldn’t miss it,” you squeeze his hand. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugs and gives you an awkward smile as you blurt out a laugh. “I don’t know,” he joins in. “Nervous? Excited? Weird? All three?”

You reach up and brush his hair out of his face as he relaxes under your touch. Just the simple gesture was enough to calm him down instantly. “It’s alright to feel like that. You are gonna be bloody brilliant. All of you,” you tell him sincerely. “You’ve been working so hard and you are all so talented. You’re gonna knock the audience’s socks off. I have no doubt in my mind,” you encourage him.

Fred smiles and without another word, he pulls you in by your waist to press your lips to his. You wrap your arms around his neck as you kiss him sweetly. His lips are pressed against yours firmly, but sweetly with passion. His touch was enough to make your head reel. Fred pulls away and presses his forehead against yours, “I’m playing for you tonight. And only you.”

Your heart skips a beat as you smile, staring into his eyes with so much adoration. It had only been a week and a half since you had started seeing each other, but you couldn’t help but have the overwhelming feeling that Fred was the one for you. He was everything you could ever ask for. Charming, kind, handsome, funny, witty. Fred Weasley was it.

“And I’ll be cheering you on the whole time,” you tell him, extending your pinky finger to him as he loops his with yours. The two of you press kisses to your thumbs, making it a pinky promise. “Now, go get ‘em, tiger,” you encourage him. As you walk away, Fred taps you bum playfully as you scurry away, back into the audience with Harry and Hermione.

The three of you buzz about the band and the atmosphere, sipping on Butterbeer before suddenly the audience starts wildly cheering. You turn your attention to the make-shift stage and see the Weasleys all enter. You immediately start clapping and cheering for the band as Ginny speaks into the mic. “Hello, Hogsmeade!” she laughs as the crowd cheers louder. “We are the Burrow Bangers and tonight we’ve got quite the show for you all!” she exclaims as the audience claps and shouts out. You look over at Harry and a wide grin is plastered on his face. “So, without further ado...”

“1, 2, 3, 4!” George bangs on his drumsticks before 80s rock blares through the small inn, the crowd immediately cheering and dancing the sound of the music.

And you had to admit it. They were damn good. They were all in synch with each other and blended so well together. The Weasleys were performers no matter how much they may hate it admit it. Not to mention, Fred looked hot wailing away on his cherry red electric guitar. His fingers skillfully strummed out chords and he musically added riffs when needed which made the crowd roar.

You were overwhelmed with pride at the boy you had taken such a keen liking to you and it was palpable. Fred would catch your eyes every now and then and drop his left eye into a wink, making you blush and cheer louder for him.

Tonight, and every night following, he played for you and you only.

#Fred and George #fred weasley #Fred and Goerge Weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader imagine #fred weasley x muggle!reader #fred weasly x reader #i know fred weasley is such a fucking angel #guitarist fred weasley #fred weasley x female reader #fred weasley x fem!reader #Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfic #harry imagine

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csmeaner · 2 years ago

Note

Same block text Anon here

And I totally agree, writing is a skill that people don’t often hone. It’s incredibly disappointing to me to see what could’ve been cool and interesting information be just kinda, dumped there in the blandest most unenjoyable way possible. Add some mysticism into your fantasy world, I am begging.

The thing about worldbuilding is that, as cool as it is and as much as I enjoy it, it only matters in terms of how it affects the characters living in that world. I don’t fault anybody for being completely uninterested in some silly war of the gods that took place at the beginning of the universe and the intricacies/play by play of why and how that happened unless its consequences have lasting impact on the way people’s characters are living life today. And even then, for the love of god stop putting in random details to “fluff stuff up”. To some degree you can, but too much just overstuffs the information you need/want to know with useless garbage. Gimme all the flavor text you want but there better be some actual context you’re seasoning with that flavor because otherwise you’ve got 0 meat for me to chew on and care about.

I think a lot of people forget that when they worldbuild for species. Characters should always be center stage, but I’ve seen too many get too carried away with waxing poetic or telling tales about their needlessly complicated cosmology and just absolutely neglect stuff like how that history impacts the culture today. Y’know, tangible ways of how a species interacts with their history, instead of just word vomit. If my character wouldn’t care about it, why should I?

For a community hyperfocused on characters and designs they sure give little fucks about actually letting people develope them.

post related

the one decent ask in my inbox talking about a concrete problem in cs and it's being drowned out by censored images of fantasy animals boinking i hate this reality

i agree with all of those points and is definitely why a lot of more serious character enjoyers have gone elsewhere. even once you get past all that crap of spending 600usd per upgrade you're left with a character and a world that isn't really interesting. some of these even copy pasted from their pages

dainty's: space faring and highly adaptive without known origins.

mignyans: alien species from unknown source that sole goal is to infect other species.

coelunes: lunar kemonomimi that explore and populate the moons across the galaxy.

grems: creatures from an ancient species that have been thoroughly domesticated by humanity. Grems serve as human companionship and protection along with many other means of assistance.

dreadnauts: Supposedly sea creatures from the ocean that infect hosts

tomoyokis: made of magic and have container body parts

elnins: magical cats

pacapillars: mammalian things with magic

browbirds: space-faring and magical. apparently started a new life after the old one was destroyed

if you glanced at any of these from their premise would you even join them, especially if placed amongst the others that have the same basic premise of either being from space or made of magic. it all feels like a little polish on the windowpaint to sell adopts

#general

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planetsano · 4 years ago

Text

push and pull.

prompt: bakugou has been neglecting the reader because of work. she can't handle that because all she wants is love and attention.

warning(s): ceo!au, major sugar daddy vibes, aged up, hurt/comfort, f!reader, softie baku at the end.

pairing(s): bakugou katsuki x reader

You definitely felt like a spoiled brat. Walking around the Gucci store with a pout displayed on your glossed lips and nose held high like nothing in the vicinity was even close to being decent enough for you. Heels clicking lightly against the marbled flooring as you wandered around. This was such a drag. Your manicured finger lazily traced a handbag on a display table, it was probably worth someone's salary but you weren't interested. Your eyes were locked on the handsome blonde man pacing back and forth outside the big glass windows of the store. He was angrily speaking into the phone stopping ever so often to insult whoever was on the receiving end.

That— that stupid jerk is Bakugou Katsuki, your boyfriend, and he pinky promised to spend the day with you uninterrupted. Meaning no work calls, no emails, no boring paperwork— just you and him spending time together. He even promised to buy you that new handbag and the matching shoes you’ve been absolutely dying for but here you were in your current situation.

Recently, Bakugou has been incredibly busy with work but you couldn't exactly blame him. He was the CEO of a very successful multi-billion dollar company. But these past few weeks felt like you could never catch him not answering a business call or typing some boring email. Attempting to get one kiss from him always led you to be met with a dismissive wave of the hand as he answered the call. You knew it wasn't wise to bother him any further because he did have a temper. You’ve seen countless people on the receiving end of his rage and you didn't want to be met with it. Though it was sexy at times, you never liked upsetting him so you just left him alone. Always feeling deflated and discouraged as you opened up a tub of your favorite ice cream. Stress eating. This happened on multiple instances over the course of nearly a month. Quite frankly, you felt unwanted and it was driving you mad.

Walking around this store, there were so many beautiful and luxurious things, but your heart wasn't in it. Shopping wasn't much fun without his hand in yours giving you his opinions about how a dress or shoes would look on you, helping you zip up your dresses and sneaking naughty makeout sessions in the dressing room. Don't worry, you knew you looked pathetic. All pouty and woe as me. My rich boyfriend isn't giving me attention, life is so tough… you could laugh at yourself right now.

You missed him a lot but you were understanding�� as understanding as you could be. You wondered if it was selfish to feel this nasty feeling pooling in your chest and stomach. Was it selfish to feel.. neglected? Was it selfish to want to have him all to yourself for just a day?

Was he.. losing interest in you? Was there someone else? Surely work couldn't take up that much of his time.. Did you upset him recently and didn't realize? Feelings of anxiety and nausea started to bubble up within you.. You didn't feel well at all and started to get sick to your stomach the more you got caught up in your thoughts. You wanted to leave. Now.

You hastily exited the store to find Bakugou. It looked like he was just about to come back in to find you, but you stopped him in his tracks. Almost immediately he noticed how drained you looked. Like there was something bothering you. He thought maybe some had said something rude to you but before he could react you spoke.

“Baby, can we go home? I don't feel good..” You looked up at him with a frown, your dainty hand resting on his chest.

The car ride back was quiet. Bakugou noticed your sudden change in demeanor causing him to take more than a couple glances at you in the passenger seat. Usually you'd be so bright and talkative, ushering him to sing along to whatever shitty song you had playing but you were radio silent. Maybe you actually didn't feel good? He would make ure to have his assistant buy you some medicine.

Men are so clueless..

“You ready?”

Your eyes averted their attention from your reflection to the handsome blonde casually adjusting his cufflinks behind you. He looked absolutely stunning standing there in an all black suit accompanied with a red tie. It not only complimented his eyes beautifully, but it matched your sparkly red gown as well. It almost pissed you off how he could be doing the bare minimum and still manage to look that good. But now wasn't the time to oogle. You came up with the conclusion that if he wanted to neglect you then you’d give him a dose of his own medicine. You ignored his presence and picked up your favorite highlighter and a brush, dusting your collarbones lightly to make them pop.

Bakugou walked a few steps closer and you continued to focus on your reflection in the mirror. He leaned over to plant a single kiss on the end of your shoulder, then made a trail of light and soft kisses along your shoulder blade, to the base of your neck and finally to that sensitive part of skin just below your earlobe. It took everything in you, plus more not to give in to his affections, but you desperately wanted to melt under him. You were so incredibly touch starved, especially these days. You missed him, but at the same time you were so upset with him. You couldn't just give in the moment he realizes you exist again. Fuck him. You were supposed to be angry. Not needy.

“You look fuckin’ amazing..” His voice was deep as he whispered into your ear. You closed your eyes tightly and sighed deeply, quickly getting up from your vanity stool and brushed past him, not even looking in his direction. You didn't get far before Bakugou grabbed your wrist and pulled back towards him fully closing the gap between you two and secured an arm around your waist making sure you weren't going anywhere.

God, you could feel him staring a hole into your head as you looked off to the side avoiding eye contact at all costs. You just couldn't bring yourself to look him in the eyes. You’d break.

Bakugou grabbed your face with his free hand forcing you to look at him, temporarily squishing your cheeks and making your lips go into a kissable pout. His harsh crimson gaze was locked onto your doe like eyes making you feel incredibly vulnerable and shy. You hated the power he had over you. Something as simple as eye contact making your ears and cheeks flare up in the color red. The thoughts and emotions from earlier coming back all at once threatening to make you sick all over again.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He asked bluntly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and irritation from your behavior. He could see something was bothering you and it was pissing him off that you weren't talking to him.

“Nothing.. I promise..” You replied. “I'm happy! See?” You forced a smile on your face as Bakugou watched your bottom lip quiver and eyes water as you tried to pathetically convince him you were fine all while looking like a kicked puppy.

“You’re a shit liar. You're about to fucking cry.” Bakugou’s hand shifted to cup the side of your face. You leaned into the warmth of his hand

“Tell me what's wrong.” His voice was still blunt and expression still stern. He never wants to see you like this. Sure, you got upset or even bratty from time to time but he's never seen you in this state and it worried the fuck out of him.

“I-I.. I just-!” You struggled to find proper words to convey how you felt. His thumb rubbed your cheek gently somewhat calming you down and keeping you from hyperventilating.

“Breathe.” His voice and expression softened upon seeing you teary and vulnerable.

“I just miss you!” You blurted out. Bakugou looked down at you with his brows furrowed in confusion.

“You're so busy with work you seem to forget I exist, I don't say anything because I-I’m proud of you and I want you to be successful! I understand you're very busy but.. but is it too much to ask for thirty minutes of your time? Katsuki, I miss spending time with you-” Bakugou watched you pour out all your emotions and thoughts like word vomit.

Guilt hit him all at once like a fucking train seeing you crying because of him. He was the reason you felt like this and he wanted to punch himself in the face for not noticing how unhappy you were sooner. He did admit that work seemed to be the only thing he’s been about lately. Neglecting his love life, his friends, his family, maybe even his own health. Even holding you this close made him realize that he hasn't been.. this close in proximity to you in a while. He fucked up.

“I-Is there someone else? Is that it? My hair.. I can change it if you'd like. Do you still love me? I-” That was the final straw for him. He cut you off with a swift kiss to the lips. It surprised you but you almost immediately moved your lips into sync with his. The kiss was sloppy and too many emotions fueled it, but the most prevalent one was want.

Bakugou’s heart ached hearing your words. Of course he still loved you. Everything about you was perfect in every way, there was no way on Earth he would lose you over some random extra that probably only wanted him for his money and last name. The fact that you were so.. willing to change for him to make him happy because you were so in love seemed so... wrong. He thought that if anything he should be the one trying to make you happy. He couldn't give a fuck whether your hair was long or short, curly or straight, he loved you regardless. Your appearance was never a factor in his feelings for you. Only a bonus.

He pulled away from your lips suddenly and looked at you. Your eyes were puffy, mascara was running and your lipstick was smeared but you still looked beautiful. It was a look he particularly liked but, it was not under these circumstances. You were usually on your knees.

“Don't say stupid things like that.” Bakugou started.

“..I'm so shit at relationships..” He struggled with his words and you could see it in his face. He wasn't ever one to express how he felt.

“‘m sorry for treating you like a fucking stranger.. you know I love you. No one else could even hold a fucking candle to you, that shouldn't even be a thought in this pretty fucking head of yours.” He sighed.

“I don't fucking care about how your hair looks.. I only care about you.” He finished.

Your crying stopped at some point when he was speaking and you were only met with soft hiccups. Bakugou wiped the final few tears from your cheeks and left a kiss on your forehead.

“Stop crying over me. I'm not worth it.” He whispered against your skin. For some reason his words shocked you. Not worth it? You thought was worth all your tears plus more, what was he on about? Did he really think he wasn't good enough for you?

“You don't say stupid things like that either. You're worth all the good things in the world.” You said softly. Bakugou’s heart fluttered at your words and he almost felt himself blush. There was a comfortable silence before you spoke up again.

“Oh no,” You looked at the time. “We're going to be late to the event and I look atrocious” You looked up at him with a pout.

“Fuck it. They'll be fine without us. Those bastards are annoying as hell anyway.. Let's get dinner, yeah? You can pick where we go.” Bakugou proposed and you smiled.

“Let's go.” You stood on your tippy toes and planted a kiss on his lips.

a/n: I hope you guys enjoyed this! For only 2k+ words I feel like I took forever to write this. I just wanted it to be up to standard.. feedback would be amazing. Also, my requests are open! Thank you for 100 followers! ❤️

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou imagines #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki imagine #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia imagines #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha bakugou

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ciggylungz · 4 years ago

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Eat your heart out

Blurb night- 1.8k words

(request: ok but what if u wrote one where y/n is a virgin and they finally did it after dating for months and then Harry's friends came to visit him and you overheard h talking how bad u are and all that angsty stuff...)

Virginity

The word means a something different to everyone. Some people save it for marriage, some don’t care about it, others tie it to religion. It’s all up to personal interpretation and value. For Y/n, it’s not that she didn’t want to lose it, she just never felt ready until she met Harry.

She had met him through a mutual friend, they were both invited to a birthday party and just got on so well they decided to get to know each other better. Dates, hangouts, and many hours spent together later they had become official and now they’re 5 months in and going strong.

A few nights ago, she had finally felt ready. She had communicated to Harry at the start of their relationship she’d never been intimate with someone before and it might take her a while to feel ready to be so vulnerable with him, but eventually the night came and while it was a bit clumsy filled with trial and error she thought over all it was a special experience. Harry had made her feel comfortable, he had made her feel like she was beautiful and made him happy, so she’s completely confused and crestfallen at the words she’s hearing come from his mouth echoing through the spacious house.

“mate, it was bad. Like proper awful, I almost gagged at some points from how bad it was.”

A cruel laugh followed his words. Her chest felt hollow, like her heart had caved in just from his words. She couldn’t bring herself to stop listening, she guessed she was just a glutton for punishment because the hurtful words just kept coming.

“I thought being with a virgin would be hot!”

She heard the voice of one of his friends exclaim, she had never hated the sound of someone’s voice before that moment.

“so did I! it’s why I put up with the wait, thought she’d be bloody tight and a good shag, but I was dead wrong. She barely got wet; she didn’t even taste good! I couldn’t stay hard for shit, pretended to cum and everything just to get it over with. I didn’t know sex could be so bad!”

Another round of cackles and random bullying comments were made about Y/n among the group of men, at this point Y/n felt worthless. She felt like she failed, she felt dirty and stupid. Everything he’d ever said to her was now being questioned. she swears she could vomit.

“Jesus H, what a waste of a pussy innit? Don’t worry can get some girls lined up for you this weekend. Can trip and have a proper orgy, deserve it after pity fucking that dud.”

“Thank god! Need a good fuck after that nightmare. Line up a good few for me yea?”

Humiliated didn’t even come close to describing how Y/n felt right now. Not only had her boyfriend objectify and completely embarrass her to his friends, she’d just heard first hand that he hated it so much he had faked his orgasm, and was planning to cheat on her with multiple women in less than 24 hours. She was sick, her heart stomped on and her feelings completely crushed. She’d never felt so worthless, stupid, used and disgusted with herself. She had confided in Harry how she was scared to be vulnerable, afraid to be intimate with someone because she wasn’t ready to be so open and bare with another person. Harry had told her how she was worth the wait, how she was beautiful and he loved her but now she knew none of it was real. He’d just wanted to be with a virgin, and he hated the experience.

The vomit crawling up her throat had finally reached her mouth, the girl darting towards the bathroom to empty her churning stomach into the toilet tears springing to her eyes as her body tried desperately to purge out all the hurt yet the waves kept coming.

If anyone had heard her getting sick, they didn’t care since no one even called out her name. The girl didn’t even feel like an actual person anymore, just a defective object who was disposable. She couldn’t be here anymore, the emotional pain starting to manifest into physical symptoms as well. Her head pounding, stomach turning and ears ringing. It took all the energy she had left to shove some of her things into her bag to take back to her flat.

The girl was too humiliated to even face them, to confront Harry or mention what she had heard. She internalized all of it, pulling her hood up and ducking out of the front door silently. She suddenly felt lucky that the living room wasn’t in view of the entry way so she could slip out without detection.

----

y/n didn’t bother to leave a not nor text Harry about her departure, making her way on foot to the underground to get home. She hadn’t driven her car there since Harry had picked her up, and she didn’t have any service to get an uber so she opted for the easiest option.

The majority of the train ride she spent with her head down, thoughts racing as she desperately tried to suppress the sobs begging to be let out. she somehow managed to keep it together until she got into her flat, as soon as she shut the door her back was against it pained sobs wracking through her body.

When her bottom finally hit the ground she was reminded of the bruises she’d woken up with on her hips and ass from where Harry had gripped onto her.

Maybe that’s why he made me switch to all fours, he was so disgusted he couldn’t even look at my face. Maybe that’s why he seemed to get angry, I couldn’t make him feel good.

The soreness didn’t even compare to the internal injuries his words had left her with. It was as if she’d been clawed from the inside out, every hurtful word slashed at her organs. Her mind burning with self-hatred, insecurity and disgust towards herself. Y/n had always been insecure, she struggled with body image and confidence since she was a child and this ridicule of her natural state and what was supposed to be special tore her limb from limb.

She didn’t know how long it had been, she seemed to zone out finding herself laying in fetal position on the wood floors of her home. Her back was still pressed into the cold steel door, using what was left of her to stand to her feet and lock it, sliding the chain lock as well just to make sure there would be no chance of anyone disrupting her decent into the void of pain.

She didn’t get much sleep that night, her head wouldn’t stop pounding and her thoughts never eased up. She’d gotten a text from Harry asking where she was, her only sending a simple message saying she was feeling poorly and went home in reply.

Harry left her on read.

It must have been many hours since the sun had rose then set again in the time she’d laid still between her covers. She hadn’t gotten up to use the bathroom or eat. She didn’t feel like a person anymore. She didn’t feel like she held any worth in any sense to anyone, seeing as no one had reached out for her in the hours she’d been MIA, not even the boy who supposedly loved her.

Y/n shifted her gaze to the clock on her nightstand, she then knew it was Sunday. It had been almost an entire 48 hours since she’d moved from her spot and by now she was sure Harry had been balls deep in numerous other women. Women who could give him everything she failed to, women who he desired and could get off with. They must be everything she’s convinced she’s not. Pretty, sexy, desirable, loveable, worthy of Harry’s intimacy. Something he regretted ever engaging in with his own girlfriend.

---

It was 10 in the morning on Monday when Y/n’s phone finally dinged. By Sunday night she had managed to drag herself to the bathroom to relieve herself and brush her teeth, yet she only then returned to her bed to lay in a depressed shame filled coma of sorts, she truly felt so heart broken it was like her body was giving up on her.

She caved and looked at the message, feeling another stomp on her deflated heart when she saw it was from Harry-

“you alright? Stopped by your work, they said you haven’t called out but you never showed?”

Y/n had forgotten about her job in her spiral, but even now she couldn’t bring herself to care. She knew she was already on thin ice with her manager for taking so many days off to see Harry preform or visit him on his breaks so it wasn’t a surprise if she got fired. She didn’t care though; she knew if she lost her job she’d be another month late on rent and end up being evicted since she couldn’t scrape together enough for last month either. This would lead to her likely having to move back home with her mother or find a hostile somewhere for women, yet she didn’t care. It seems silly that something as simple as someone commenting on her sexual skills would put her in such a state, but that’s not really the main focal point in her mind.

The thing that hurt most was knowing Harry had only been with her to get to take someone’s virginity, and she’d disappointed him so badly he talked shit about her to his friends and made plans to cheat on her. Harry had completely disrespected, objectified and crushed her, and he didn’t even know she knew but she decided he shouldn’t have to know she knew what he said for him to realize it’s wrong. He’s an adult man who knew full well how hurtful and horrid his comments were about someone he had claimed to love. He should have spoke to her if he felt that way, yet instead he played her and tossed her out like rubbish.

Harry broke her heart, one he’d known was already fragile and timid. He’d still said all those nasty things about her even after the nights he’d let her cry into her chest about how much she hated her body, how bad her self-image and confidence was, the way she felt like she was never good enough for anyone. His actions only confirmed what she’d always feared to be true.

Harry didn’t love her.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #blurb night #harry styles smut #harry styles au #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles concept #harry styles oneshot #harry styles blog #harry styles request

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serendipityunho · 5 years ago

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Fire & Flames

× genre: smut, fluff, college au × pairing: badboy!Hongjoong x Reader (fem.) × word count: 5.9k × warnings: explicit language, alcohol consumption, fingering, handjob, oral, clit play, slight choking, pull-out method, hand kink, praising, explicit sex

× synopsis:You never expected to fall into the arms of the notorious bad boy of the campus, Hongjoong, after getting locked out. But yet again, he never expected for you to end up in his arms either.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

‘Come to the party’, they said.

‘It’ll be fun’, they said.

If only you knew you’d be walking home barefoot, holding your heels in your hands in this cold midnight. To begin with, the party wasn’t even that fun. People got high, people got fucked, people got knocked out. When was there anything new?

It was like any other college party, but with more beer kegs this time and Wooyoung didn’t get too wasted, which was an achievement. You never knew how people didn’t get so bored after the first hour of being surrounded by sweaty drunk bodies and actually not worry about being in the danger zone of being vomited on.

Your best friend had already fucked off with some guy at the party, leaving you with the set of apartment keys since you had dropped them down the drain a few days ago. She was already too wasted to give you a lift home before tending to her businesses with whoever she caught, now you’re shivering down the street with your feet so numb you could barely feel the pain of the gravel stabbing at the bottom of your feet.

The apartment building wasn’t too far from sight, it was only a minute walk before you found yourself standing at the entrance with the flashlight on your phone on as you fumbled with the keys. Wait.

“Fuck!” You wish you were seeing things, anything other than the fact that you were holding the wrong set of keys. None of these belonged to you.

Your best friend had given you the wrong keys, and you were too homesick to even bother checking them before leaving the party. Great. Now you were locked outside with a nearly dead phone and frozen feet.

“Come on, come on, pick up” It felt like forever before the robotic voice answered, sending you straight to voicemail as you sighed in defeat.

You wouldn’t have found yourself in this predicament if only you had listened to yourself and stayed home instead of allowing yourself to be dragged to that god awful party. You couldn’t even think properly with your constant shivering as you sink to the floor, ass getting cold from the pavement.

There was always Jongho who didn’t live too far. No, he’s probably at a boxing match tonight. Or Yeosang. Eh, probably in a chicken coma with his girlfriend.

Another sigh left your lips, hot breath evaporating into the cold air as you hugged yourself not that it would make a difference to your warmth. You didn’t want to go back to that party, not when people were finally starting to throw up on each other and couples occupying the bedrooms.

Everything but the 7/11 beside the abandoned warehouse, and the bar was open, all other warm and cozy places were closed dark. The 7/11 looked empty, and that was the problem. You didn’t want the cashier’s eyes on you the entire night suspecting you of stealing shit. The bar it is.

You lift yourself off the cold steps of your apartment building before patting whatever residue was on your dress. A grimacing look took over as you looked down at your heels. You really didn’t want to wear it again unless you wished for your feet to stop working the next day. At least look decent before entering.

With every step, your feet felt like they were on complete fire. You were bound to collapse at any given moment.

Just. A. Few. More. Steps.

The neon sign beamed brightly, almost making your eyes ache at the sight as you pushed through the entrance. A subtle buzz surrounded you almost instantly as your eyes land on the pool table then onto the bar with only a few drinking.

It was definitely much warmer than you expected it to be. But it was more than enough.

“First time at a bar?” Your eyes stopped looking around and shot to the bartender in front of you, wiping the surface with a cloth before swinging it over his shoulder.

“It’s that obvious huh?” You place your clutch onto the counter before taking a seat on the stool, sighing in relief as your sore feet take another break from walking in heels.

“Very. Would you like a drink?”

“Um, a martini would be nice, thanks” Money shouldn’t be used recreationally right now. But, a drink was needed in order to keep your cool.

“So what’s a girl like you doing here so late?” The bartender didn’t look up as he started mixing your drink, ice shackling inside the shaker.

“I got locked out because my roommate gave me the wrong keys and now she won’t pick up”

“Have you tried calling her again?”

“No, my phone is about to die” The glass filled with the beverage pouring out from its shaker as the bartender pushed the drink towards you.

“There’s a payphone over there if you have any change left”

“Yeah, if I had change left, thanks though”

Another customer appeared in the corner of your eye, sitting down just one seat away from you. You could sense a burning gaze in the side of your head as you kept looking down, stirring your drink with the little toothpick you got with the olive.

“What made you come here?” From the very first word spoken, you immediately knew who it was.

“That’s none of your concern, Hongjoong” You were met with a well-known smirk the moment you turned your body to the blonde-haired man.

You weren’t surprised to find Hongjoong at a place like this. It fits in well with his rough agenda anyways. That is, being the boy most parents warned their daughters about and the boy many others either despised out of jealousy from stealing the attention of girls they tried too hard to get.

“It’s quite concerning to see you at a bar so late. Did something happen that finally drove you out of the house?” Hongjoong chuckled, tilting his head to the side as he smirked.

“The only thing that drove me out of the house was a promise that my roommate would do all the housework for a week if I went to this party with her”

“But?”

“But this idiot gave me the wrong keys when I left and now I’m locked out with a dead phone while she’s off fucking some random guy” You scoffed, downing the rest of your drink before fidgeting with your fingers.

“Do you want to use my phone?” Hongjoong reaches for his back pocket, slinging out his black phone before unlocking it.

“No point, she hasn’t picked up any of the other fifty calls I left her” A flash of empathy washed over Hongjoong’s face as he remained silent, nodding his head subtly as you turned back around.

Maybe if you didn’t spend the most of your money on this martini, you’d be able to snag a cheap motel room for the night. Or perhaps some slippers instead of torturing yourself in these heels.

“You could... stay at my place if you’d like? Just until your friend comes back of course” Those were the words you never expected to leave Hongjoong’s mouth.

“I don’t want to trouble you”

“Well, where else are you going to go?” Nowhere.

You were quite surprised that Hongjoong, out of everyone, had offered you a place to stay for the night. Many would think he’d just snicker and walk away from the looks of him. But on this night, he doesn’t look that uptight as usual.

“You’re right. I guess it’s better than nowhere” You sighed before reaching for your clutch, pulling out a few crumpled pieces of cash to leave at the bar.

“C’mon, you look tired as fuck” That was nice to know.

You followed Hongjoong out the bar, standing in front of what seems to be his motorcycle. It was sleek and black, you saw him ride it to campus every day, zooming out the parking lot in a flash as people admired behind their books.

“Thanks” You take the helmet from Hongjoong’s hand before slipping it over your head, adjusting it before swinging a leg over the motorcycle.

“Hold on tightly” Hongjoong revved the engine as you snaked your arms around his waist.

“You trust yourself without a helmet?”

“Do you trust me?” Hongjoong turned his head slightly, letting you catch a glimpse of his eyes.

“Well, I’m going home with you aren’t I?” You wrap your arms tighter around his waist, lifting your feet off the ground as he does the same.

It felt like your heart was about to jump out of your chest at any moment as the wheels on Hongjoong’s motorcycle started moving. You were immediately hit with the cold air once again, goosebumps rising along your arm as you clutched tighter onto Hongjoong.

The neons lights of shops along the street passed by in a blur as Hongjoong sped down the street. It didn’t feel as cold as before, maybe because you were literally hugging someone.

Hongjoong slows down at a set of traffic lights, making your grip on his abdomen loosen as your heart calms down from the adrenaline. Hongjoong’s icy blonde hair glistened under the light, it looked miraculously soft and silky. You lowkey just wanted to run your hands through them.

“Scared?” Hongjoong kept his eyes on the road as he spoke up.

“What makes you think that?”

“You’re hugging me like a koala”

“Okay, maybe a little bit” To be completely honest, you were scared for him too. Riding this death machine without a helmet is ballsy.

“You can trust me” Now that was another thing you’ve never expected to hear from him.

You were already so used to the cold, your skin felt numb as you grew used to the cold despite Hongjoong lending you his leather jacket halfway through the route. You felt kind of bad seeing goosebumps on Hongjoong’s arms as he endured the cold.

“You don’t mind loose clothing, do you?” Hongjoong unlocked the door to his apartment, dropping the keys onto the kitchen counter before letting you in.

“Uh, no, anything would do. Thanks” You stepped into the apartment, it was neat and clean with a few pizza boxes on the counter.

“Are you hungry?” Hongjoong’s face lit up as he pulled onto the fridge door, scouring at what he could find.

“No, I’ve lost my appetite for the night already” With your sense of smell ruined by the thick aroma of alcohol and whatever at the party, you couldn’t bare to eat without wanting to throw up.

“Here, you can take this room. And, uh, here,” Hongjoong lead you to a room with a bed freshly made as if no one had slept in it before, handing you what seems to be one of his shirts and some pants. It wasn’t like they were too oversized so you didn’t need to worry. “, the bathroom is right there by the way”.

“Goodnight, Hongjoong” You flashed a small smile as Hongjoong scratched the back of his head, avoiding much eye contact before inching backwards out the door.

“Y-Yeah, goodnight” You stifled a chuckle before turning back around as the door closed behind Hongjoong.

The room wasn’t too big or too small. It was just perfect. It was masculine enough not to mistake it for a woman’s room. Maybe this was someone else’s room. It wasn’t a new discussion around campus that Hongjoong had a roommate. But where was he?

It was a relief to finally strip off the party clothes, well, dress. The soft material of Hongjoong’s shirt made you feel at home, a subtle masculine scent lingered on it as you held the collar to your nose, sniffing it before stretching your arms out. A man who smelt nice was always attractive.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was a pleasant sleep before you woke up in a cold layer of sweat, gasping for air as you shot up from the bed. You weren’t so sure if you were still dreaming or not, maybe both.

The only thing you could hear over the ringing in your ear was the sound of your heart pumping loudly out of your chest as you focus on your surroundings. Almost everything was completely black other than the window with the moonlight shining through.

It wasn’t uncommon for such sleepless nights like this, you’ve had them since you were a child after some rather unfortunate events. Some you could never seem to forget. Since then, you’ve learnt to cope with it.

It wasn’t much of a big deal as you grew older, nothing an ice-cold glass of water couldn’t fix. That and probably a few episodes of TV that you’d forget in the morning.

You felt gross just sitting in the bed, quite sorry for whoever actually sleeps on here. The red numbers from across the room beamed 3:29am as your feet touched the ground before stepping towards the door.

Hongjoong was probably already dead asleep at this time of night. You’ve never met anyone who sleeps with their door open before. Making your way down the corridor, the wooden floor creaks subtly beneath you as your eyes lingered around the dark space.

What you didn’t expect to see in the kitchen was Hongjoong himself, making you halt in your spot as he looks up from the counter. Arms rested against the counter with a glass of water in his hands.

“Why are you awake?” Hongjoong’s voice was raspy, probably just woke up not too long ago before you.

“I had a nightmare” You hesitantly make your way into the kitchen, fidgeting with your fingers as Hongjoong hops off the stool.

“Do you usually have nightmares that wake you up?”

“Only when I don’t have my pillow, childish right?” It was another thing that helped you cope with nightmares. The long pillow that your parents had given you before they moved away helped majorly. You couldn’t have a proper goodnight’s sleep without it.

“Not at all. Actually, I can’t sleep without my pillow either” Who would’ve thought this baddie was actually a softie?

“So, how come you’re awake?” Your eyes flickered from cabinet to cabinet, questioning in your head which one the glasses were in.

“I was thinking” You were about to take your chances, opening up a cabinet only for a glass filled with water enters your view. You gladly take the glass from Hongjoong’s hand as you turned back around, facing him entirely as he maintained a distance.

“You must be thinking about something deep to stay up this late” Your dry throat felt relief after the first sip of water, finally, your body felt like it wasn’t on fire anymore.

“Would you say BuzzFeed quizzes are deep?” Hongjoong chuckled, leaning back onto the counter with his arms crossed.

“What kind of person stays up at three in the morning thinking about BuzzFeed quizzes?”

“Me, surprisingly, San too”

“San, the rich kid, San?”

“That’s the one”

By now your glass was half empty, rubbing your thumbs across the glass as you take a seat next to Hongjoong. Your eyes glued onto the scenery outside of the window, moon hiding behind the trees of the small forest next to Hongjoong’s apartment building.

“How are you not tired?” Even you were tired and you were barely awake for more than five minutes.

“I’m used to getting calls from my drunk friends at this time telling me to pick them up. It’s kind of like a subconscious alarm clock now” Hongjoong slips around the counter, inching back towards the corridor.

“How fun”

“It’s going to be hard for you to fall asleep, isn’t it?” Hongjoong flashed you a concerning look before leaning forward with his hands pressed against the edge of the counter.

“I normally end up pulling all-nighters when this shit happens” Your finger swipes along the edge of the glass as you make yourself comfortable in your seat, accepting your fate for the night.

“I know I’m no special pillow, but perhaps, I could help?” Hongjoong scratched the back of his head, cocking a brow before pushing himself off the counter.

“What, you want to hold me to sleep? Is that what you’re saying?” It was sweet, really. Just a surprising thoughtful gesture you never expected.

“No- maybe- yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying”

You found it quite charming that Hongjoong had offered you such redemption from tired eyes in the morning. With no further words, you hopped off your stool and brushed passed Hongjoong with him following closely behind.

The bed didn’t feel icky anymore the moment you touched it again, lying on your side as you wait for Hongjoong. You didn’t see him come in but you knew once the side of the bed dipped and a warmth covered your back.

“Wake me up if I start snoring”

“You snore?”

“I don’t know, that’s why you need to tell me”

A soft chuckle issues from behind, feeling the wave of Hongjoong’s breath against the back of your neck. You could tell he was hesitant of actually holding you with his hand lingering over your waist. Softly grabbing his hand, you snake his arm around you, holding his hand in yours as you let him get comfortable.

“Can you sleep like this?” With Hongjoong hugging you like this, it wouldn’t take more than a blink of an eye to fall right back asleep.

“Can you?” He did say he needed his own pillow to be able to sleep too.

“Only if you don’t move too much” You could feel your eyes shutting close as Hongjoong started playing with your hair, growing more comfortable in your presence.

You never knew how much you enjoyed the feeling of someone playing with your hair until now. The way Hongjoong’s fingers tangled in your hair as his fingertips gently massaged your scalp calmed you, it was like a silent lullaby putting you to sleep.

“This is so much better than a pillow” You murmured, flipping onto your other side to face Hongjoong. His eyes were droopy, close to shutting as he rests his hand at the back of your head.

“I’m glad”

“You don’t sound so tired”

“Because I’m not” Hongjoong chuckles, drawing little circles on your back as you subtly snuggle closer, lifting your face slightly to see him better.

“It’ll be weird if one of us is awake” You could see the corners of Hongjoong’s lips curve upwards into a soft smile, making you do the same as your fingers trace his jaw.

“Sorry, but I have no more sleeping pills”

“You need to get tired somehow” By now, your face was just as close to his as your body was against his body.

“What do you suggest I do?” Hongjoong had stopped drawing his little circles on your back, smoothing his hand over to your waist before rubbing his thumb along the exposed skin his shirt had uncovered.

At this distance, Hongjoong could probably hear the sound of your heart beating like crazy in your chest. Your hand had trailed down from his neck to his chest, hand cupping over his heart as your eyes flickered up to his.

“Me” Hongjoong couldn’t mutter another word as your lips locked onto his, kissing him passionately as your arm snaked around his neck.

Hongjoong kissed you back just as hungrily, hand caressing your waist as they moved down to your hips and pushing you onto your back against the bed. Your tongue swiped across Hongjoong’s bottom lip before biting it softly, earning a vivid smirk against the kiss.

Your legs wrap around Hongjoong’s torso as he pushed his body between your legs, swivelling his hips against yours with the noticeable tent rubbing against your aching heat. You couldn’t help but moan against Hongjoong’s lips as his hands slide under your, or should you say, his shirt, roaming every inch of your skin.

“You look so good in my clothes” Hongjoong growled against your lips before trailing his kisses down your neck, harshly sucking on the skin as he hikes up the shirt right above your breasts.

“I look good in everything” Your fingers run along the skin of Hongjoong’s waist, hiking his shirt up before letting him pull it over his head.

“You’re not wrong” A small gasp left your lips as Hongjoong takes a breast into his mouth with his hand cupping the other, squeezing it gently as you play with the hair at the back of his head.

“Mhm” Your hips grind upwards against his hard-on, desperate for some friction against your throbbing clit and dripping wet cunt.

You couldn’t help but grip his hair tighter as Hongjoong swirls his tongue around your nipple, sucking on your breast as his hand caresses your waist before hooking under the waistband of your pants. Suddenly, you didn’t feel the need to sleep.

Your legs slide up and down against Hongjoong’s sides before lifting your hips, letting Hongjoong cascade your pants down, throwing it onto the floor as his lips smother your stomach in kisses. His warm breath scattered over your skin as Hongjoong trails his wet kisses down to the waistband of your panties, fingers teasing your inner thighs with harsh squeezes.

Your face scrunches in desperation as Hongjoong pulls your panties down, licking your skin gently before kissing just above your clit, making you clench around nothing yet gushing over the slightest touches. Hongjoong eyes you from below with a devilish smirk, pushing your legs further apart before hooking his arms underneath.

“You look even better like this” Your legs twitched slightly as Hongjoong kisses your inner thighs, blowing softly against your sopping wet pussy, sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your hips subconsciously buck up towards his face.

“You’re such a tease” You moaned out, arms stretching above your head as Hongjoong kisses your clit before lapping his tongue at it.

“I know” A breathy moan left your lips as Hongjoong sucked on your clit, swirling his tongue around the bud of nerves as his fingers slip between your folds.

It was quite a feeling seeing Hongjoong lapping away at your pussy with the glimpse of moonlight shining through the window, highlighting his back as his arms flexed with each movement. You couldn’t hold back another moan as Hongjoong slipped a finger into you, pumping slowly before adding another.

Your face furrowed in pleasure with Hongjoong’s eyes piercing at you from below, lips attached to your clit as he hooked his fingers deep in you. If breathing wasn’t difficult before, it definitely was now.

“Fuck, right there” Hongjoong’s tongue worked faster, fingers coating in your arousal as Hongjoong peppers sloppy kisses all around before reaching up for your lips.

Your knees bent instantly as Hongjoong buried his fingers deeper in you, pumping faster until you could hear the subtle squelches of your juices against his fingers. His teeth clash with yours as your lips hungrily meet each other, moving in sync with your arms pulling him closer.

It felt like a film of buzzing sensations had just washed over your body with each pump growing faster. Hongjoong’s palm rubbed over your clit, making you moan against his lips. Your lips hovered over Hongjoong’s, mouth wide open as Hongjoong’s hand worked faster, fingers slipping out and smearing your juices over your clit before rubbing it.

“Shit- fuck, Hongjoongohmygod” Your abdomen tensed hard as you nerves spark with each rub, close to emitting a firework in the pits of your stomach as Hongjoong’s fingers circle at your clit.

“You like that?” The whisper against your ear made you moan a soft ‘yes’ as Hongjoong’s face dips into your neck, kissing your jawline as you pull on his hair.

“Oh mmphhhfuck” It was only a matter of seconds before you had felt an explosion of bliss triggered by the pace at which Hongjoong was circling at your clit, making your legs tremble as they stayed opened by Hongjoong’s hand firmly planted against your thigh.

Your brows furrow deeply, jaw clenched as Hongjoong smears your release on his fingers again before bringing them up to your lips, letting you take them into your mouth and swirling your tongue around his fingers making sure to keep your eyes locked on his. A groan escapes from his lips as he admires you from above, lips brushing against yours as he rubs his legs against yours.

“You want more?”

“Please” You bring your knee up to his crotch, feeling the hardened length over his sweatpants before rubbing your knee against it subtly.

“Fuuck” Hongjoong swiftly pecks your lips before standing on his knees, tugging his sweatpants down before throwing it off the bed, leaving him in his boxers.

The moonlight highlighted the crevasses on Hongjoong’s body, from the lining of his back to the lining of his abs. He looks tremendously good at this angle, making you lick your lips in anticipation before standing on your own knees, palming Hongjoong’s hard cock over his boxers.

Hongjoong cups both sides of your face, pulling you closer for a hungry kiss as a hand flies up over his, kissing him back just as passionate. You could feel his cock twitch under the material of his boxers, waiting to be held and clenched around.

Your palm rubs against his clothed dick, making him moan as he bit down on your bottom lip. Hongjoong’s hips bucked forward against your hand, rolling it subtly with the movements of your hand.

Your tongues lapped together as Hongjoong pulled you closer by the waist, cupping your ass before giving it a squeeze. Your head tilts as Hongjoong smothers your jaw in soft kisses before trailing them back down to your neck, making you moan a soft ‘fuck’ as you tug at his boxers, letting his cock spring free as you pulled them down.

“There’s a lot of things I could’ve done to sleep,” Hongjoong runs his hand through his hair, eyeing you down as you lower yourself down on him with a hand wrapped around his dick “, but I never expected this”.

“Are you telling me you don’t want this?” Your tongue licked a stripe from the base of Hongjoong’s dick to the tip, letting the tip of your tongue sit on his slit as your hand caressed the rest of his dick.

Hongjoong throws his head back with a groan before taking a hold of your hair between his fingers. His face scrunches in pleasure as your lips wrap around his dick, keeping eye contact as your head bops back and forth, swirling your tongue around the base of his cock throbbing in your mouth.

“Mhm fuck-” A breathy moan fell between Hongjoong’s parted lips, brows furrowed deeply as his thighs tremble at the feeling of you slobbering on his dick.

The grip on your hair tightens, slightly stinging as Hongjoong rocked his hips subtly against your mouth. His abdomen tensed hard as a rock the moment you took his length deeper, letting it hit the back of your throat before pumping the rest of what you couldn’t reach with your hand.

You could taste the precum spewing from his dick as your wetness felt like it was about to drip from your pussy. Hongjoong shot you a daring look as he admired you from above, mouth gaping as broken moans fell from his lips.

Your mouth comes off his dick with a pop as you continue to pump his length, running a hand up from Hongjoong’s abs to his chest only to have Hongjoong grab your wrist, spinning you around as you fell on your knees and hands. You smirked as your head turned to the side, seeing Hongjoong caress your ass cheek with both hands before spreading them apart.

“So beautiful” Your back dipped deeper as you push your ass back, letting the tip of Hongjoong’s dick poke at your entrance as he slides it up and down your slit, coating it in your wetness as you crave the sensation.

It was almost a feeling you quite missed as Hongjoong pushed his dick into your hole, stretching it out with a moan coming from the both of you as you take in his length. You almost forgot how good it felt to have someone bury their cock deep in you before rolling their hips. Hongjoong just brought that sensation back to your memory.

“Fuck, Hongjoong” With your knees digging deep into the mattress and arms stretched far above you, Hongjoong grips your hips, squeezing them before rolling his hips into you, just pushing his dick into you deeper than before.

You run a hand through your hair, pushing it back as Hongjoong thrusts into you, starting slow as your breathing quickens with each hit into your body. You could feel Hongjoong leaning down, pushing your hair to one side before attacking your shoulder with sloppy kisses, hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin.

His hand remained on your hip, squeezing it still as the other travels up from your thigh to your breast, fondling it before reaching for your neck. A quiet moan left your lips as Hongjoong wraps his fingers around your neck, squeezing ever so gently as his thrusts grew faster, knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Ohmygodnnghh-” It was a hoarse moan thanks to Hongjoong’s fingers pressing down on the sides of your neck as pleasure shoots through your body with each body lurching thrust.

“You’re right,” Hongjoong plants a soft kiss behind your ear, still holding on to your neck as his hand on your hips moves between your legs, fingertips lingering along the skin before circling at your clit “, you do look good in everything, even with my fingers around your throat”.

“Maybe even better down my throat” You smirked, a devilish grin carving into your face as you turn around, pulling Hongjoong’s face down for a harsh kiss as he slaps his hips in you.

You couldn’t help but push your ass further back, letting Hongjoong slam his cock deeper and harder into you with each thrust. Your mind slowly thickens with lust and senseless thoughts as Hongjoong rubs your clit in pace with his thrusts, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as you grip the sheets tighter.

“Oh?” Hongjoong cocked a brow, smirking with you before flipping you on to your back, spitting at your pussy before sliding himself in again, thumb rubbing your clit as your legs wrap around his waist.

Your breasts bounce with each thrust knocking you up and down with pleasure and nerves buzzing in the pit of your stomach. You entwine your fingers with Hongjoong’s before dragging his hand over your stomach to your chest, grabbing your breast with his hand as the other rubs your clit.

“Oh fuckkkk mhmm oh god” Hongjoong rolls your nipple between his fingers, squeezing your breast before sliding it back up to your neck, thumb swiping across your bottom lip, letting you softly kiss it before wrapping your lips around it.

Your eyes only roll back further when Hongjoong quickens his pace, making you tighten your legs around his waist, trapping him as sounds of skin slapping against skin grows louder. Your back arches off the bed in response to Hongjoong grabbing both sides of your hips, rutting himself into you at a relentless speed.

It was almost as if he was trying to dig deeper, thrusting harder into you as your jaw was left hanging, inaudible moans trying so hard to escape with each thrust sparking something new in your body. All rational thought flew out of your head as your mind was left on nothing but soaking in a puddle immense pleasure and bliss.

“Yesyes- oh fuck yes” Your face scrunches in pleasure as your brows furrowed deeply, cupping your breasts in your hands as you look down to Hongjoong pounding himself into you.

Hongjoong’s jaw clenched hard, on the brink of breaking as he grunts through gritted teeth, slamming his hips faster into you with his hands keeping you in place. It felt like confetti exploding in the pit of your stomach with each thrust bringing you closer to a high much more than just confetti, nerves buzzing into a firework ready to combust at any given moment.

“F-Faster mhmmfuckk” Hongjoong shoots you a glaring stare with his hooded eyes, smirking with his parted lips.

Your legs couldn’t hold around Hongjoong anymore, sliding off like jelly as your toes curl with every passing second. And with each of those seconds, you could feel it coming, the way your heart threatened to jump out of your chest at any moment and the way your back arched with each static euphoria coursing through your veins ready for combustion.

“Yes! Yesyes oh god! Yes- mmphhhmmfuckk!” It felt like you’ve lasted forever until the ball of buzzing nerves in the pit of your stomach finally flooded throughout your body, filling every inch with nothing but toe-curling, eye-rolling blissful euphoria and pleasure. Hongjoong groaned as he felt your warm release around his cock, desperate to chase his own high while fucking you senseless.

“Ohhhh god- fuckk” Your legs tremble as Hongjoong pulled out quickly, removing his hand from your hip to pump at his throbbing twitching cock above your stomach, gazing into your eyes before landing down for a kiss.

“Mhmmfuck ohmygod-” Hongjoong groaned against your lips, body twitching as you felt his warm release spew onto your stomach, panting like crazy with each kiss stealing another breath of air.

“All out, baby, all out” A hand cups one side of Hongjoong’s face as you wrapped your other hand around his cock, milking the rest of his high out as he heavily drops his head into your neck, panting as if it were his last.

Hongjoong’s cock twitches in the palm of your hands, droplets of cum still dripping onto your stomach as his legs collapse. You smeared the rest of his cum over the tip of his cock, thumb swiping over the slit before Hongjoong lifts his face again.

“You’re fucking amazing” It was a mere whisper but you could hear him clearly over the pounding sounds of your heartbeats.

“Clean me up before you go complimenting me” You swiftly steal a peck on Hongjoong’s lips before pressing your palm against Hongjoong’s chest, pushing him up onto his knees.

“How is this supposed to make me sleep when I just want more now?” Hongjoong yanks a few layers of tissues from the box on the bedside table, catching his releasing into the tissue before carefully trapping it with another layer of tissue.

“More? Oh god, you’re awake awake” You chuckle, running a hand through your hair as Hongjoong collapses on his back beside you.

“It was your idea”

“But did it work though?”

“You mean, do I want to sleep now?”

“Yeah, do you?”

“With you? Definitely” Hongjoong opens his arms for you to snuggle closer, fingers drawing little shapes on your shoulder when you lay your head on his chest.

“Snnggff-” It was quite amusing how Hongjoong managed to hide his secret cheesy persona.

“Wait, I can’t. This is weird”

“What’s weird?”

“This is Yunho’s bed”

#ateez smut #hongjoong smut #kpop smut #180knet #fanfiction #smut:hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #ateez fanfics #kpop fanfics #kim hongjoong #ateez imagines #kpop imagines

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gravesightings · 4 years ago

Note

Yoo its super ok if you dont wanna do this and i can perfectly understand. but what if the slasher boys have a brazilian s/o who wants to dance Forró with them because they miss São João (its a kind of festival we have here)? How would they react?

slashers reactions to: their brazilian s/o wanting to dance forro with them

Asa Emory / The Collector

hard pass. dancing is not his thing.

understands if you’re feeling homesick and would prod for more info.

he’s eager to learn more about you.

still big grumpy, however.

no, he’s still not going to dance with you. not even if you say please.

sweet-talk him all you want, it’s not gonna work.

respect his wishes to be left alone and he’ll have a good time too.

seeing you enjoying yourself? instant serotonin.

Billy Lenz

him? dance? no thank you.

if you somehow convince him, he’s not going to have fun. somehow manages to keep stepping on your feet by accident.

long limbs + two left feet = disaster.

look, no matter how good you are, both of you will inevitably end up on the floor.

but!! he’ll gladly watch you instead. (even without your permission!)

very good listener. might not have much of a reaction but he’ll definitely remember all the little details.

maybe play some music for him instead? you might catch him gently bobbing his head.

Bo Sinclair

it’s a no for me.

would lend an ear at most. though don’t expect much from him other than “s’that so?” and the ocassional grunt.

not the most interested but won’t ignore you. he’s not that much of an asshole.

if his hands are full at the moment he’s just gonna pretend he’s listening. “hm? yeah, yeah, that’s great.”

get enough alcohol in him and it just might work. if you’re cool with vomit on you in some way.

again, don’t expect much from drunk!bo. can hardly stand by himself and all the spinning will make him sick.

Brahms Heelshire

probably had a private teacher for waltz or something equally pretentious.

the best at dancing. brahms is best boy! praise him! praise him!!!

he’ll only be willing to do this if you give him something in exchange. his call.

this is generally not a good idea. (usually all he wants is to shag you anyways so it shouldn’t be too bad.)

learns pretty fast. see that? isn’t he impressive? isn’t he just the absolute best? please praise him.

does it for his own goals but has fun nonetheless. as long as you keep your end of the bargain, it’s a win-win.

another good listener. also very eager to learn more about you and your culture.

Bubba Sawyer

you won’t even have a chance to finish your question. he’s already tugging at you.

yes yes yes!!!!! teach him please! yes, right now!

super excited and learns very quickly.

he’d be overjoyed! learning more about you and dancing with you? my goodness, you’ve spoiled him today!

more interested in actually dancing with you than hearing about the festival but he’ll try to listen at least.

expects you to dance with him everyday. now that he’s learned this - bonding time has now turned into dancing time.

Jason Voorhees

big boy shy. tries to convince you that he doesn’t know how. would relent eventually because saying no to you is hard.

very shaky. what if he steps on you? what if he trips and crushes you? OH NO NOW HE’S HORRIFIED--

gets nervous at the closeness. remember to make room for the holy spirit!

too busy with his raging paranoia to properly enjoy dancing with you unfortunately.

maybe just have him sit and watch you? he’ll be much more relaxed.

extra mindful of your words. might feel bad that you’re homesick since he’s technically keeping you captive.

overcompensates by showering you with gifts and attention. that’ll do the trick!

Jesse Cromeans / Chromeskull

uh, no. literally ask for anything else.

listens attentively if you confide in him. he’s a curious man - tell him more about this... são joão you speak of. what other festivals are there? your favorites?

no he is not willing to dance with you but maybe you’d appreciate an impromptu date in brazil? oh would you look at that. just in time for the festival.

"too much?” he’ll sign sarcastically.

has convinced himself that you are now head-over-heels in love with him at this point. yessss. all according to plan.

flies home immediately after. now, wasn’t that fun? what? were you expecting an actual vacation? c’mon now, don’t be like that.

probably caused a lot of chaos at work. has not told a soul about your little escapade, just disappears out of nowhere. prepare for a fuckton of mess back at home.

Michael Myers

no.

try all you want but this man is not going to budge.

only watches you ominously. it’s very unsettling.

not fun overall and there’s no trace of a reaction from him whatsoever.

if you tell him more about the topic he’ll keep it in mind.

later on you might see random magazines or music related to it scattered around the house.

what do you want now? no, it wasn’t him. why are you smiling at him like that? stop it. pushes your entire face away.

Thomas Hewitt

working man tommy here hardly has enough time to finish all the chores in a day, so it’s a no by default. he’s lacking in the confidence department so dancing is out of his comfort zone.

he does care about you though so he’s eager to hear more about it.

play some music while he’s working and he won’t complain. it’s not exactly his style but he appreciates that you would want to share this with him.

won’t ask but if you invite him to watch you instead he’ll automatically say yes.

oh. oh you’re really good at that.

a little embarrassed? no one’s ever really danced for him so he’s a little hot around the collar.

Vincent Sinclair

ah, actually.... nope, he’s got nothing. also not the dancing type but saying no to you is physically impossible for him.

a nervous wreck all the way. his hands are trembling and he’s a little lost on the rhythm. (decent enough to avoid stepping on you though!)

people do this for fun? he is not having fun but he would rather die than tell you that.

super embarrassed. avoids eye contact the entire time and whispers a small apology at every little mistake. someone help this poor man.

immediate relief once the dancing is over.

seeing you beaming with happiness afterwards? totally worth it. he’ll even do it again if you ask.

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mimzy-writing-online · 5 years ago

Text

Advice to Fanfiction Writers who Feel Guilty about Abandoning Stories

This is one of my greatest struggles in writing fanfiction and to date I have two stories that have been inactive for at least a year, and many that have never been published because I feared I would abandon them.

In this post:

We debate the values of finishing a work before you share it online versus sharing it when you’re only a few chapters in and working from there.

What to do if you feel overwhelmed with the size of a project.

What to do it you’re losing traction and fear you’ll never finish your story.

We discuss ways to abandon stories with closure.

And some positive reminders, because

Before I start, let me say this: You are never required to finish a story. You have a right to publish as much or as little of the story as you like, and if you abandon the fic without another word, that is absolutely fine. That is your right. You never need a “real or valid reason” to abandon a story.

Your worthiness as a writer is not determined by how many stories you write, publish and finish. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone.

Okay, onwards...

Should you finish your story before you begin sharing it online?

It sometimes seems ideal to finish the story before you publish. There are benefits to it:

The obvious benefit is that if you decide to abandon the story, then nobody knows it exists and nobody is waiting for a new chapter, so there’s no guilt or no random comments reminding you to finish that abandoned story.

Additional benefits come in being able to edit previous chapters before they were published when problems like the following appear:

-If you find you accidentally made a plot hole in previous chapters that you can’t solve in later chapters, you can go back and edit before you publish that chapter and have it become your story’s canon forever.

-If there’s something in the world building (like in an AU) that you wish you could change, that doesn’t fit the mechanics/physics of what you want to do. Example, in a soulmate, magic, or superpower AU, you might put limitations or a lack of limitations that you regret having and wish you could change because plot needs it to work differently.

-If you regret a character’s backstory for whatever reason (it’s too angsty, or too simplistic, or doesn’t account for how good they are at a certain skill such as fighting, or their character development in future chapters needs it to change) you can change the backstory before your readers get to know them.

-If you took character or plot development in one direction and decided as the story evolved to take it in a different direction, you have the option to rewrite a few chapters or to continue on and smooth it out in editing.

The benefit is that you can edit the problems out before readers ever see them.

The downside to waiting until completion to publish a story is that there’s a lack of feedback to remind you that you’re doing a good job, and therefore a lack of motivation to continue the story because you’re the only one who cares and you know in theory how it ends. You can just tell yourself the story in your head and let it go, but the downside is that it disappears when you no longer thinks of it.

The thing is, writers need feedback. Even the most independent and confident writers need support from their readers.

You’re not a terrible person for wanting people to read your story and give you positive feedback before you actually finish the story.

You’re not a terrible person for wanting validation before the story is complete.

You are a human being who needs love and support from people who appreciate your work.

Don’t feel bad about that.

Should you publish a story before completion?

If you feel that’s best, then yes. If your story is relatively short but you don’t know where to take it, publishing it and having readers give you advice or ideas on where to take it might be the ideal. If you’re halfway there but you’re losing motivation, then publishing then might be a good idea, because the positive feedback and appreciation will keep you motivated to write.

A good way to get feedback and appreciation without publishing your work too soon is to find a beta reader or to have a friend read your story. If you want feedback on problems in your story to fix and edit, then you want a beta reader. They will tell you when your story is great and where they’re less interested in, which will give you a place to start improving.

What to do if you feel overwhelmed by the size of your project:

I’ll break it down into a few steps:

Step One: Word Vomit. This is extremely helpful when beginning a new project, but it may also be useful if you’re stuck on one section of your story and need to reorganize. Open up a word document, open a notebook and put all your ideas onto a page. Scene ideas, bits of dialogue, world building concepts, backstories, anything you think you’d put into your story.

Even if you’re twelve chapters in, taking a moment to do this may help in creating a new idea.

Step Two: Organize your word vomit and outline the story

Step Three: Write

If you’re still overwhelmed with the size of the story but you have a decent amount of progress on it:

Step Four: take all your favorite parts about the story and examine them closely. Pick your favorite scenes and characters and try to rework what you’ve got into something smaller.

Step Five: Narrow down your story to something more concise. You can throw out extra sub plots that you’re not feeling strongly about. You can choose to do time skips during periods of time in the fic where not much interesting is happening and it can be summarized into a paragraph.

Because this is fanfiction, there’s already a huge chunk of canon for you to fall back on that your readers will understand without you needing to explain too much. If the story you’re working on falls back on canon plot a lot, it’s possible to gloss over canon scenes or major canon events that weren’t heavily changed in your fic. This is especially true in universe alteration stories and fix it fics where the stories still follow most of the canon plotline but with a few details changed.

Abandoning Stories with Closure

Quick reminder: You are not required to finish a story, nor give it a conclusion. Whatever your reason for not continuing the story, it is valid. You come before your story.

Onwards...

There’s the classic method, which is leaving a note to readers that this story is abandoned.

Following that, you can choose to leave the fic as is, which is a perfectly good option. It allows you the chance to come back one day and finish it when your mental health is better, when your writing skills are stronger, when your life has more free time, when there’s new canon material to work with, when you have new inspiration.

I think the above option is best, but if it doesn’t sit right with you, the next options are possible.

You can choose to make one final chapter where you try to wrap up as many loose ties as reasonably possible. Realistically you can’t finish everything, but hopefully you and your reader will be able to leave your story with some emotional closure. If you can, end your last chapter on a higher note.

If writing that is not possible, you could leave an outline of what you think might have happened next. It will allow your readers to see what the end conclusion would have been and get closure.

You can allow someone to finish the fic on their own, give them the rights to be the new author. Some readers might even approach you to volunteer to continue the story.

I’m going to restate what I said before, because I think it’s something we all need to remember. Writers are plagued with self doubt, self criticism, and impostor syndrome (i.e. thinking you’re not a “real writer” because you’re not “good enough” which is B.S.) and I think we all need to remember that there’s nothing wrong with us.

We’re allowed to be imperfect, to make mistakes, and to leave projects abandoned. That doesn’t make us bad writers, it makes us real.

You are never required to finish a story. You have a right to publish as much or as little of the story as you like, and if you abandon the fic without another word, that is absolutely fine. That is your right. You never need a “real or valid reason” to abandon a story.

Your worthiness as a writer is not determined by how many stories you write, publish and finish. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone.

I, the author of this post, am proud of each and every one of you for just being here, just existing. You’re real writers whether you think so or not. Your writing is amazing and good and it will always be improving. I believe in you, as both a person and a writer. I know you can do it.

[Note: I began this guide in May of 2019, and now it’s February of 2020, so talk about abandoning a project and eventually coming back to it. I think this is the oldest post in my drafts folder of the blog. Jeez. But it’s done, finally written and edited and now I can publish it.]

#fanfiction #fanfic #writing advice #writing tips #ao3 advice #my post #AO3 #FFN

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mimiplaysgames · 4 years ago

Text

A Powerful Enough Dream (Ch. 10)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua (eventually) Rating: T Word Count: 6,286

Summary: It’s time to save Ven from Castle Oblivion

Read on AO3

A/N: Woooooow I really didn’t want to take this long to finish this, but you guys know what my mental health is like sometimes. I actually finished two other WIPs before this one, but I’m still not happy with those so I wrote this one out. Thank you all so much for your patience. I hope this was worth the wait. >.<

~*~*~*~*~

Oblivion, pt. 2

Ven, you let Aqua take you home.

No way. I wanna go with you guys.

You can’t. We have a dangerous task ahead of us. I don’t want you to get hurt.

--And what is this dangerous task, Terra? It doesn’t sound like what the Master told you to do.

It might be a different route, but I’m fighting the darkness.

--I’m not so sure. I’ve been to the same worlds as you and I’ve seen what you’ve done. You shouldn’t put yourself so close to the darkness.

Listen to yourself, Aqua. Terra would never--

You mean you’ve been spying on me? Is that what he said to do? The Master’s orders?

--He was only…

I get it.

Terra!

Just stay put! I’m on my own now, all right?

--Terra, please! Listen! The Master has no reason to distrust you, really! He was just worried.

You’re awful, Aqua.

~*~*~*~*~

She’s awful and she knows it.

Terra stands there, his fingers curled into fists, hurt and bewilderment in the strict knit of his brows. Aqua used to tell herself that everything she’s done was for the greater good. Better for everyone, better for Terra, even if he didn’t know it. She knew he felt betrayed. Felt. Since there’s no time in the Realm of Darkness, Aqua hasn’t been able to count how many years it took her to realize that she’s actually betrayed her best friend, how long it took to tell the difference between the two.

“I was only trying to help,” he says.

This isn’t how it goes. Aqua swallows. “I know that-”

“Then why?”

This isn’t the way it’s supposed to happen. “The Master was only looking out for you.” That’s true, at least. He’s always had good intentions.

Terra’s lip snarls. “Was he?”

She doesn’t know anymore. “I was confused and unsure, Terra. I’m so sorry.”

Why is she apologizing now when she already has? When Terra forgave her?

But did he? That happened in a dream.

Terra scoffs as he looks away, a false smile pulled on his face before he shakes his head. “Sorry. You accused me of leading myself to the darkness. Is that what you really think of me? An idiot?”

“No…” Did she?

“You’ve blamed me for everything.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t,” she whispers. Has she really?

“You’re awful, Aqua,” Terra says.

She knows it. Terra said it. And her heart wretches inside, vomiting an acid that burns her esophagus and is bubbling up, making her head light.

“A curious memory,” a voice says. Xemnas stands behind her. He hums, his voice so deep it almost sounds like a growl.

Terra is gone.

She realizes where she is. Castle Oblivion. An image of Radiant Garden. “It’s false,” she spits.

“Are you certain?” He smiles and it comes slowly, like he takes care in easing into it. “The basic act of remembering is a basic act of storytelling. We take artistic license and smear it each and every time we take a nostalgic trip. You change the details depending on who you decide to recite it to.” He waves his arms open, dramatically drawing out his words. “Depending on your mood, or your motivation, or the meaning you want to take out of it, you alter things to fit a narrative in your head. Our memories are only ever reliable as the most recent story we told ourselves. Are you confident you’d be able to tell the difference?”

“I…”

“Does this playact fit the story you want to tell about yourself?”

She blinks, trying to recall the exact words and in the order of how it happened. Ven was there that day. She’s sure of that.

Right?

Xemnas sighs, eyeing the scene around him, bringing his gloved fingers to his lips. “I don’t have memory of this. But it was an interesting tale.”

Aqua inhales sharply and shakes herself out of her own damn stupor. “It doesn’t matter what you think.”

“I think whatever you saw is a reflection of yourself.” He strokes his hair out of his face. “Therefore, it’s true in its own way.”

“It isn’t!” She can’t believe so. She can’t think about it right now. Despite how much her wrist hurts, she charges at him, the Defender high and energized, loyal and at the ready.

He accepts her challenge with open arms and two swords of hot, red energy, barely floating out of her reach as though to coax her to follow him around. And she follows, because she’s an idiot. Master Aqua doesn’t know what she’s doing even when she thinks she does. Even when she believes in the words she says, or believes that attacking Xemnas is the right thing to do, because he is on Xehanort’s side and there’s no reason to stop flailing at him with the heaviest ice magic she can muster.

Aqua thrusts the Keyblade at him. Stupid move. She knows that. Then why is she making so many mistakes?

Xemnas catches it in between his blades, slicing them away to throw her off balance. She retaliates with a mutter under her breath. Waves of ice shards spew out in circles, stabbing in random patterns. Let’s see him block these.

He does a decent job dodging, but he’s distracted. That’s all she needs.

Aqua tracks the tip of the Defender against the floor. An ice path spits forward. She skates on them, picking up speed to ram directly into him, throwing him against the wall with a sickening thud.

“How’s that for someone less than half your size?”

She inhales deeply, and with it comes magic and the excitement of dance. The anticipation to move and dazzle. She twirls and her Keyblade ignites, gathering energy with each turn she takes in place before it finally combusts in brilliant colors and spackles of white.

Cutting through the beauty is a mess of black smog. “It was radiant,” Xemnas growls, pushing through with that sickness he calls a Nobody’s power, something that drains energy as if it were a black hole.

The void sharpens up with electricity and collapses into millions of shards of its own light, fueled by a massive compression as if warping the air around it. Aqua backs off. It’s not a space she should breathe into. The false-light shoots outward with Xemnas’s command, stabbing in all directions. They’re hard to block. Hard to dodge. Hard to withstand a direct hit and Aqua takes them in the legs, the torso, the shoulders. Some stab her in the face.

By the end, she’s the one splayed out on the floor, the Defender dissipating.

“A waste of my power when we could have had an amicable conversation,” Xemnas says, brushing off his sleeves.

Aqua is sore all over. Her legs don’t want to pick her up.

Ragged breathing (hers) pounds in her ears, interrupted only by the echoes of his steps, tick-tacking up to her slowly, like he’s pretty sure she won’t get up.

Aqua grunts while pressing her palms against the floor. Her good wrist shakes. Her bad one just won’t.

“Back off!”

Sora’s voice.

He’s coming for Xemnas from above, gripping his Keyblade with both hands high above his head as though he’s about to bat a ball and grovel it into the ground. When he makes contact with Xemnas’s back, slicing across, a white electric spark crackles outward, tossing him at a safe distance away from her body.

All Aqua sees when Sora lands are the toes of giant yellow shoes. A warmth settles on her, ticklish and relaxing until it suddenly vanishes too soon. He really needs to work on his Cure spells.

“Think you can handle him?” he asks her, already prepared to fight more. Xemnas picks himself up, brushing his hand on his face. “We can do it together.”

“It’s a waste of time,” she says. Xemnas and false memories and stupid speeches all at once. How many rooms did Sora go through to get here? How much has he lost already?

She sets her eyes on the exit: a gate that would have led to the alleys in the real Radiant Garden. They should go. Should they stay and finish this off?

(I can’t let Sora fight alone. I need to protect Ven from threats. Why am I not spending my time finding him?)

She ends it with, I have to shut myself up. “Can you distract him for me?”

“Sure?”

“Follow me as soon as I call for you,” she commands, marching straight to the door without a glance at the noise combusting behind her. Sora’s yelling with passion and excitement. Xemnas grunts with annoyance. Explosions rumble in between.

She grips the handle and risks looking back. Sora is a good fighter, all improv and no hesitance, like a rocket with no homing device. He dodges attacks while tossing up mockery and teases (he might as well drop the Keyblade and stick his tongue out while gesturing with his fingers). Xemnas shows off fanciful and destructive magic that is both inefficient in aim and wide-reaching. So much of his hits are collateral damage.

Sora gets knocked onto his knees. She’s about to run to him when he bounces back, blocking another direct hit and redirecting it.

He’s okay.

She should trust him.

“Focus, Aqua,” she chides herself. Regardless of how much fun Sora is having, he’s depending on her to move forward for everyone’s sakes. She thinks about nothing, she thinks about Ven. Sleeping in that throne all by himself. When she wakes him up, he’s going to pout and say, Did you forget about me or something? Aqua, you’re so mean.

You’re awful, Aqua.

She needs an empty, quiet room. The door responds, a little aha! moment that churns in her belly. She turns the knob. “Sora!”

He hesitates.

“Sora, come here!”

This time he follows, hustling to her side. “But-” He points at Xemnas charging at them, so fast that he’s floating, when she grabs Sora by the elbow and pulls him through with her. Like a vacuum, they get sucked inside. All remnants of destruction, crumbling brick, smokey air, and aftershocks are erased with the click of the doorknob into its latch.

They land face first on cold tile in a simple white room.

Sora sighs, a little laugh escaping through his breath. She gets it, she’s relieved too.

“I will never look at Xemnas’s face the same way again,” he says, grunting when he hops onto his feet, shoulders rolling and neck stretching like he’s done a good workout.

Aqua’s wrist still protests when she leans on it to get on her knees. She doesn’t let Sora see - she briskly stands like she’s still got pep to her step, her good hand gently clasped over it as she begins a Curaga to start the healing process. It prickles and kneads, sharp bubbles popping on the skin’s surface like slapping rubber to the skin.

“How did you find me?” Aqua asks. She has to. The castle is designed to disorient. It takes a tremendous bond to keep anyone inside together, and she figures Sora would rather stay close to Riku and the others.

Sora blinks. “I’m not exactly sure. We got separated, picked off one by one. I took doors that my gut told me to choose.” He touches his chest and chuckles. “Or rather, my heart. I thought it’d lead me back to them.” Then he snorts. “You’re a lot easier to find than Riku, that’s for sure.”

That doesn’t make any much sense, and all Aqua says is, “You’re a good person, Sora.”

He lets his smile fall and cocks his head, a quiet Huh? slipping out. It takes him moments to respond. “You don’t think you are?”

“I don’t…” She’s about to say, deserve my Master’s rank. Something’s wrong. Her Light magic should have only taken a couple of seconds to heal, but it keeps going. When it’s finally complete, her wrist is still sore. Aqua presses her fingers to her temples to massage a headache that isn’t there. “I don’t sound like myself. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” His stretched smile shines again. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s normal.”

“Normal?”

“I mean,” he shrugs a playful shoulder, “maybe a little weird, sure. If that’s what you want to hear.”

She scoffs, the tiniest grin wrestling its way onto her lips. “Maybe I am.”

“Did you know I once called Riku ‘stupid?’”

It’s her turn to snort. “He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who’d let you say that to him.”

“You’d be surprised.”

The snorting turns into a small giggle, something warm and toasty as though this room has never been cold.

“See?” Sora says. “A little laughter says a lot about you.”

Aqua massages her wrist one last time. “In what way?”

“That you survive what you went through,” he says slowly, “and still laugh? You’re stronger than you think.”

Aqua swallows. She’s once thought the same thing, but she’s tired now. So tired of being strong.

As if taking her silence as cue, Sora glances around the empty room, that one simple door waiting for them. “So, what now?”

“We get Ven.”

He’s super excited and it’s very endearing, like he’s about to witness an inexplicable magic trick. “How are we going to do that?”

Aqua leads the way. Ven. Finally. “Again, I will be the one to unlock the door.”

He keeps to her heels like a puppy. Right now, on the other side of that door, she figures there’s nothing, a canvas in need of paint. When the castle takes a peek inside a person’s head to mirror what they want to see, it takes so much more.

“Do you just… picture Ven in your head and voila?” Sora asks.

“Kind of.”

“And what else? What’s the secret?”

Aqua hums, fingers twiddling with each other. “A lot of focus and dedication.”

“That can’t be it. There’s gotta be more.”

“And quiet.”

“Oh, sorry.”

It’s Ven’s movement. His voice. A tight hug given or a toothy grin, from any moment of her choosing, so long as the memory is striking. Xemnas.

Why is she thinking of Xemnas?

When he said that memories are only as real as the stories we tell ourselves. Is that the same for memories so powerful, there’s no way they can be anything but untrue?

He’s wrong. A memory as warm as the laughter she shared with Sora would do the spell right.

Just before she replays the scene in her head, tears slowly prick at her eyes. Even after spending years knowing that she’s going to lose this memory, that she’s literally giving it up as an offering, she’s still trembling. Why is she so scared?

She has other memories, she tells herself, just as precious to make up for it.

~*~*~*~*~

Ven wasn’t able to speak much when he first woke up. He’d learn a few words here and there, and would repeat them. For a child without a grip on language, he was so eager to let everyone know everything he felt.

And he really liked stars.

That night, a thunderstorm blotted the sky, and there weren’t any to see.

Good thing Ven wasn’t afraid of thunder, and good thing Aqua and Terra stashed a tent for nights like these. Draped over Ven’s bed, Terra brought in custom-made wooden lampshades, where he carved out shapes of stars. Third edition - the first time he tried, on cardboard, was a messy affair and some stars turned out to be globs. Stars dotted the entire tent, spreading all over the bed and loitering their bodies. In Ven’s bedroom, they sat in the very sky.

“Ven won’t let me read to him anymore,” Aqua said, watching Ven snatch the picture book she brought him.

“You’re welcome,” said Ven.

Terra chuckled. “He won’t let me either. He just wants to know how it ends.”

“It’s a happy one, I promise,” was Aqua’s desperate plea. He used to be so cute with how attached he was to her and how much he nudged to hear her speak. She even read recipes to him - so long as she spoke, Ven was amused.

“You’re welcome,” said Ven.

Terra propped himself on his elbow, opening a bag of nuts. “Hungry, Ven?”

Ven, forgetting there was a book on his lap, splayed out his palm. He gestured with a kingly expectation that he’d be graced.

“You need to say, ‘Please,’” Terra said.

“You’re welcome.”

Terra gave Aqua a knowing smirk, a tall boy in a lanky body who told her that morning that he needed to grow muscles. His new Keyblade was too heavy for him, his swings too sluggish. He was worried about his future when she thought he shouldn’t be. He gathered a few peanuts with his fingers and gently placed them in Ven’s hand, watchful for spills. “Now you say, ‘Thank you.’”

“You’re welcome.” Ven snarfed them all down, cheeks bubbling full before he swallowed them in one gulp. He licked his fingers and pointed to a pitcher for water (You’re welcome). Aqua thought she’d never forget it.

~*~*~*~*~

“Are you okay?”

“Hm?”

Aqua blinks at a fussing Sora, who has his hand on her shoulder with this terrible concern knotting his face. “Are you hurt?”

“No, why are you asking?”

Sora lets her go, his hand still hovering close. “You seemed really sad.”

Tears are indeed flowing down her face and Aqua wipes them off. Why they’re there, she doesn’t understand. There’s nothing to be upset about. Ven is on the other side of this door. That thought alone - Ven! - burns a hearth through her entire body, like snuggling in a blanket by a fireplace. She’s done it. She’s done something truly outstanding.

“I’m not,” she laughs. “Everything’s going to be okay. He’s on the other side.”

He’s on the other side. Aqua twists the knob as fast as possible, pushing her way into another white room. With a throne. And a boy with blond hair, tucked into a seat two times his size in peaceful sleep.

“Ven,” she gasps. There’s nothing else in her mind. Just Ven.

“Roxas?”

It’s like being dunked in cold water. What came out of Sora’s mouth, she has no damn idea. “Ventus,” she corrects.

But Sora has a strange look on his face, his hand clutching his stomach. “Huh?”

She doesn’t listen. She runs up to the throne, reaching out to shake him. “Ven?”

Stars, he looks the same in her memories, maybe less pudgy in the cheeks. But the more she studies him, the more a pit in her stomach grows. He looks peaceful from far away, but this close, he looks like he’ll never wake up despite being warm to her touch.

“Is it because I took so long?” she asks softly, as if speaking too loud would startle him out of a nightmare. “Is it because there was something I was missing? Should I have found your heart first?” She takes his face in both of her hands and brings his forehead to hers. This time, she really does want to cry. “I’m so sorry.”

Sora walks carefully up to the throne, hesitant to disturb the moment. “Aqua, I don’t feel so good.”

She finds him staring at Ven, like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Sora shakes his head. “It’s creepy.”

“Excuse me?”

A giant bang rattles the door behind them nearly out of its hinges.

“What was that?” Sora whips around. It bangs again, dust spitting out. Spiney tendrils seep through the cracks. “Xemnas!”

Her first instinct is to stay. To fight anything that would threaten Ven’s body. Dammit. There’s still everyone else they have to find. And what if his body gets hurt in the chaos?

“We don’t have the time.” She swings Ven’s arms over her shoulders, hooking his legs over her arms as she takes on his entire weight onto her back. He’s heavy for someone who hasn’t eaten in years.

“Do you need help?”

“If he breaks through-”

“Got it.”

This room is a dead end - the only way in is the only way out. The real treasure room of the castle, its finality a way of saying, You’ve made it!

And so, Aqua has to make a new door.

She struggles to pull out the Defender with Ven on her back, having to lift one shoulder up to keep him level so he doesn’t slack over.

The door bangs again, nearly rupturing apart.

With Sora on guard, Aqua glares at the wall as though to burn a hole through it. It should be less work than transforming the entire castle. The Master’s Defender, once called its Keeper, is a specific inheritance meant for the wielder to keep secrets - even ones he’s never heard of. The castle will deceive. The castle will do what it needs to protect. Aqua asks it to protect them with secrets it will never tell her.

Thrusting the Keyblade forward, the outline of a keyhole sparkles on the surface of the wall, stretching into the shape of a door like all the others. Aqua makes sure to give this one a particular lock.

“Sora!”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. He leans into her as if to keep Ven upright for her. “Just open the door for me. Make sure to lock it firmly behind us.”

He does so, throwing it wide to a tiny room, stretched long but narrow like a walk-in closet. Aqua hustles inside.

The door bangs one more time. It tears near the handle. Xemnas heaves when he pushes it open as though it’s the heaviest in the castle. He’s angry, annoyed, the last in the race, an also-ran. He’s so composed, so poised though, like a puppet that wears a mask to pretend to be human.

And Sora has their sanctuary propped open, gaping.

“What’s wrong?”

Sora shakes himself out of a stupor, shutting her new door. It wipes Xemnas out of existence, like hand brushing the surface of a table, throwing all the mess onto the floor for a new start. Sora then watches it latch, as though expecting it to rattle.

“Xemnas won’t get through,” she says. “I made sure of it.”

He scratches his head, that brand of Sora-smile brightening up like normal. “Where are we?”

“In a safe room.” She bends her knees and gently lets her grip of Ven’s wrists go, letting him hit the wall behind her. It’s so narrow that she’s unable to stretch her legs when she sits besides him. “It’s only meant for our friends.”

“They’ll find us?”

“As easily as they want to, yes.” When she watches Sora slump onto the wall opposite hers, his feet resting up against the other side, she shivers. He’s still reading the walls as if they have words painted on them even though they’re blank. “Are you sure you’re okay?” A worse thought creeps up to her. “Did you see things?”

Sora glances at Ven. “I did actually.” He chuckles. “Like that night when Destiny Islands went under. Kairi yelled at me when I missed dinner like it was just another night. She always had something to nag about.” He blinks. “Or was that my mom?”

“I should apologize,” Aqua says, lowering her gaze. “This should have only been my burden to bear.”

“No regrets here.” Something passes over his face like a cloud hovering over, and Sora presses a fist to his temple as if to think really hard. “Stained glass windows.”

“Huh?”

“Mountains.” Sora scrunches his eyes as if shampoo had gotten in them. “This place used to be really pretty, right?”

Aqua drops her jaw. She stares at him really hard, but he breathes deeply, lost in his thoughts like a mannequin coming alive. Memory of this place should only live inside a handful of people. He isn’t supposed to know, and the castle couldn’t have shown him any of that.

“How-”

Their door unlocks itself, swinging wide open. Kairi limps inside with heavy breath. Riku is slumped over her shoulders, unconscious.

Sora acts like he’s just woken up. “What happened?” He gets up, taking Riku’s other arm so they could set him down. Riku doesn’t come across as a particularly large boy but he takes up so much space. Aqua has to drag Ven to make room before shifting onto her knees to read Riku’s energy - he’s alive.

Kairi sniffs. “He took a direct hit for me.”

Sora pats her shoulder. “He would’ve done the same for me.” Though he’s not so confident.

“Don’t worry. He’s going to be okay,” Aqua says.

Kairi grimaces somewhere in the middle of being comforted and not quite believing that. Aqua starts a Cure spell. It takes its time, but whether that’s her failure or because Riku is in terrible condition, she can’t tell.

“Is that…?”

Aqua spares a glance at Kairi, who has her fingers wiping her tear-stained face. “It is. Ven.”

“Is he not okay?”

Aqua swallows.

The door rattles like there’s a desperate person begging for someone to open it. Lea and Donald bicker when they come in (something about Getting pistol heavy and Donald responds with a Bah!), Goofy trailing behind them. They pile on top of everyone else, Lea opting to stay standing because there’s simply no room for him.

He takes one look at Riku. And he smirks. “Some people always have to play the dark and brooding hero.” That don’t-give-too-much-of-a-care touch to his voice loses its power, however, the moment he sets his eyes on Ven.

Aqua never expected they knew each other.

“Roxas?” He hurries over, hopping over legs and feet like stepping rocks.

Why do they bring that name up?! Aqua keeps an eye over her shoulder. Something about their reactions to Ven doesn’t sit right with her. Something about Lea’s expression - the wide eyes, the dropped hands, the gasp, the deadset desperation - marks it as more intense than Sora’s, who felt nauseous.

Lea settles on his knees to take a close look. Aqua couldn’t have misinterpreted it: disappointment flashes across his face, and Lea stops a sharp inhale before letting it out slowly. “No, you’re Ventus.” When they lock eyes, he gets serious. “Listen, there’s other Organization members in the castle.” It makes every conscious person in the room pay attention.

“Ha, let them try and fit in here!” Donald says, sticking his beak up to the state of the room. Goofy has a long shoe stuck on top of one of his webbed feet, giving Donald a scowl to last two entire nights.

“You don’t have to be so rude,” Sora says with a smirk. Playful or careful, it’s hard to differentiate with him. He winks at Aqua. “He’s only that way because of the King.”

The King and Terra lost in the Realm of Darkness. And Aqua’s stuck in a closet with an angry bird and beat up, tired, anxious fighters.

“Do we go back out?” Kairi meekly asks. “Downstairs instead of up?”

Aqua didn’t have to climb stairs to get here. Damn it.

“We’ll make sure to stay together this time-” she starts to say when Lea interrupts her with a sharp No.

He’s holding his head like he’s got a headache. He fidgets, lost in thought as his eyes search this room though he’s not going to find much help here. There’s someone he obviously doesn’t want to cut across. “We’ll take a shortcut.”

“Excuse me?”

He stands up, leaning over Sora to splay his palm against the wall. “Is Xemnas here?”

Aqua purses her lips before she answers. “Yes.”

“If he’s this close, he’ll find out I used it. He always does.” From his hand slithers out tendrils of black smoke. From that grows a doorway. From the doorway, a glow that opens up a portal to somewhere else. “Straight to the exit.”

Aqua shakes her head. “I’m not going in there.”

“That’s dangerous!” Donald barks. Aqua is grateful she’s not the only one opposed.

“I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to use a Dark Corridor,” Goofy says. He is game and he is cheerful, letting Sora help him sling Riku over one of his shoulders. “Do ya think we’ll need a night-light?”

Sora snickers in response. “It’s only a little cold. Nothing much to worry about.”

Aqua doesn’t know where to start. They’re all wrong. “But-”

Lea takes Ven onto his back. He has a much easier time, as though carrying a backpack, bobbing Ven’s weight to make sure he has a better grip. “Let’s go.” Then he glances at Aqua with a stern, almost distasteful look that tells her he means business. No jokes. No sarcasm. In words, Get your shit together.

He leads the way, Ven poofing out of existence the moment he passes through, asleep, oblivious of the world, unsafe and safe all at once. And Aqua stood there staring. Goofy follows next, his large steps striding so widely that Riku’s arms sway side to side.

Aqua can feel that familiar chill, and it churns her stomach to think that it’s so close to her again. She doesn’t move. Even when Donald struts his way in, throwing a Humph! for good measure.

Even when Sora coaxes Kairi into it, telling her that it’s really no big deal. Just follow the others. Even when he smiles at Aqua and tells her, Come on. It’s a short trip.

She only nudges forward the moment Sora takes one last visible step into the void. She’s alone. She gasps. Summons her armor before dashing after them, metal footsteps clunking through a long, dark tunnel. It slithers around her, but she keeps her eyes ahead, following Sora and Kairi as they run straight to the other side. Don’t look at anything else. Don’t even think about it. Just follow them.

It is indeed a short run to the other side, a round light swallowing her when she crosses the border, leading her back outside to the barren wasteland that is Castle Oblivion’s patio. Aqua’s heart hammers away like she’s drunk too many stimulants for years. Like she’s too old for this. She’s gasping into her helmet, but she won’t dispel it just yet. Not when the others are here.

Lea doesn’t stop. He marches straight to the gummi ship, its hangar left open for them, followed by a diligent Goofy. They have a room inside where they could tend to Riku’s wounds and make sure Ven is comfortable.

Sora looks back. “You’ll fly on your own right?”

Aqua weakly nods and the others board the ship.

Lea made it so easy to exit. Traversing the castle seemed like a nightmare that kept you asleep just to see it end. The gummi ship starts its engines, revving up and blowing air that kicks the dirt up. Aqua listens for Lea’s corridor to dissipate. Maybe all this noise is playing tricks with her mind because that bubbling sound that should signal its disappearance is going on for too long. Aqua turns around. Lea’s is gone alright, but another takes shape at the front entrance.

Vanitas bursts out of it to witness the gummi ship take off.

Xemnas casually steps out, too. “Stand your ground,” he orders.

Vanitas does obey, though he’s trembling with so much fever that it looks like he’s fighting off a spell that kept him frozen. Fists curled up tight, stance wide like he’s about to charge ahead if only given the permission to do so. Aqua would have expected him to glance back as if to say, Are you stupid?

But he doesn’t look back. She can only imagine him grinding his teeth, muttering curses to himself. Whether he’s staring at her or the sky through his helmet, it doesn’t matter.

Aqua has the Defender at the edge of her fingertips, only needing to summon it. Xemnas stands there with his hands crossed behind him, watching as the ship leaves.

A roar thunders through the area, making the ground shake.

What looks like a dragon snakes through the sky. Compartmentalized into chunks that link together a long chain for a body, its purple and green and bears the Heartless symbol on its chest, just below its giant snout and metal fangs. It looks like a machine, something that can drill into a planet until it gets to its core. And then eats.

The weight of it. It’s like carrying a mountain on your shoulders. This thing is a cluster. A Heart of some world that died who knows how long ago, living again as a monster big enough to swallow a ship.

Xemnas readies his energy sabers but Aqua doesn’t take the bait. She turns on her heel and runs.

Vanitas conjures his Keyblade and follows her. She dodges one of his blasts that comes up behind her. Throws herself off the nearest cliff to thwart him off of her trail. He actually stops to gawk at how she summons Stormfall. She commands it to convert it into her glider so she has something solid to land on.

She takes flight, past the barrier that tries to pull her back to Castle Oblivion, but when she keeps momentum, it lets her go out into deep space. The gummi ship is traversing an area full of them, all of these destroyed worlds, all pieces of earth that Aqua can take a whole day exploring. The monster dragon is huge, weaving around abandoned rubble, its tail whipping into an asteroid and demolishing it into dust.

Its nose follows the gummi ship closely, as though it’s sniffing. It bares teeth.

“Sora!”

How ridiculous of her - he can’t hear her from the ship. She dislodges the handles of her glider, turning them over so she’s holding a bow as tall as her. With it, she shoots shards of light against the dragon.

The gummi ship bends into a tunnel inside a spinning asteroid - a wild, dangerous, stupid choice to make and she’ll have to lecture Sora about that later. It comes out of a different hole, now facing the dragon, joining the fight with torpedoes and laser beams.

The attacks burst when it makes contact with its skin (more like an armor), but it doesn’t leave any scarring. It doesn’t slow it down. Its roar is mechanical, as though it’s coming out of a speaker, sleeking over a boulder so it could chomp the ship directly.

Aqua grunts as she speeds up, coming up from underneath the dragon’s chin to knock its direction off-kilter. It misses the ship. Good, for now at least, since it swerves back so easily.

Whoever is maneuvering the ship (Aqua doesn’t know it’s Sora, but the way it jerks and gets cocky with taunting the dragon into following it reminds her so much of his fighting style) is making it tank around the perimeter, letting it get close to the dragon. If Sora wants to make a direct hit, he’s in a good position to do so.

The dragon roars again. This time, a beam of energy bubbles in its throat, twice the size of the ship. Sora readies torpedoes and throws shots into its mouth. But it doesn’t faze the dragon either.

They’re not going to survive this.

Sora understands. He dips below, the dragon tailing him with that beam still charging up for something catastrophic. Aqua tries zipping around its face, taking shots from her bow directly into its eyes, directly into its mouth in the hopes that it would combust its jaw open and stop the attack. Nothing happens. The dragon ignores her as though she’s just a fly bugging its face.

There’s one more option. Swooping high and higher, she swings over and looks down on the dragon. It opens its mouth wider as Sora barely pushes his speed.

She charges down, the Master’s Defender in her hand while her other grips on her handlebars. This is an extreme choice to make, a silly little sword against a dragon the size of an entire world. But she’s never known Master Eraqus to ever fail her. To ever show weakness, even in that one night when he received a letter about someone who disappeared due to the darkness. He cried. He stood up. And told her this was why they did the work they did. Use the anger and desperation to drive her forward until the end. She’s desperate right now, and she yells into her helmet as she gathers speed.

She cuts across the back of the dragon’s neck, where its definitive brain stem would have been. The dragon explodes - first from its mouth, light beams spurting out. Then in between each compartment that makes up the rest of its body, like volcanoes erupting, and tsunamis colliding, and earthquakes collapsing.

Pieces of it fall through deep space, new asteroids joining the rest of the waste.

But that burst from its mouth hit the gummi ship, which is now smoking from its left wing. Aqua’s glider isn’t big enough to save them.

All she can do is follow the way it falls, to trail behind it when gravity makes it faster than she can possibly catch up to, and watch the way Sora wheels it around obstacles and debris as he tries to control it even though he can’t.

Until it dives into a world that stands bright, a tall castle jutting out into a horizon. There’s a magic there that is protective. As though an invisible hand has grown out of its dirt, the gummi ship, with her friends inside, slows down, landing somewhere where the sunrise is just beginning.

#terraqua #aqua #sora #xemnas #kingdom hearts fanfiction #kh fanfic #sorry for the long wait!#my fic

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youarejesting · 5 years ago

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Quarantine.2

[Masterlist] Pairing: BTS x reader (i don’t know if this will have ships or just friendship or what I am just letting it run its course) Genres: friendship, drama, romance Rating: All Summary: Your brother works with a few BigHit dance teams and whilst having permission to accompany him at work the city shuts down banning anyone from stepping outside for a whole WEEK while they disinfect the streets. If you step outside you might get arrested, shot or poisoned by the chemicals they are emitting through the city. Words: 3.1k Announcement: I have 901 followers this. I can’t thank you guys enough. Stay safe. (this has a tiny inspiration from the movie exit and that is that they can’t go outside that's about it)

[Part 1] [Part 3] [Tag Yourself Here]

When the sun poured in from the window, you deemed it time to wake up, though you hadn’t actually slept, not that you didn’t try. There were specific requirements you needed to sleep. It had to be pitch black with soft tone music in the background and there had to be air running across your face by a fan or you would feel claustrophobic.

Stepping out into the hall, you heard two young female employees talk as they passed about ‘hot water running out’. Following them down the hall you saw the first set of bathrooms. It was packed, the line stretched out down the hall.

“Maybe we should try the bathroom on the third floor?” one of the two women said, “No these are the best and it will be packed as well so we should just stand in line.”

You walked away and to the third floor to see the line, you weren’t worried about showering anytime soon. It was also out the door with tired men and women sitting against the wall. Humming thoughtfully you remembered the storage room, there was an old bathroom beside it, what are the chances there was a shower in there.

Taking the service elevator to the basement. It was clean and brightly lit, just as it had been the day before. There were cameras in some corners of the halls. You walked to the end cautiously, why did basements have such a bad reputation. Seeing the familiar storage room ahead of you and to the right was the bathroom. You pushed the door open hesitantly; you saw the stalls they were clean and unused, and like luck would have it the last had a shower. Locking the door you showered quickly the water was hot because there was a personal hot water system in the corner of the stall.

With a towel wrapped securely around your chest, you quickly ducked into the storage room. Cleaning up a little and hanging ropes across the pipes on the walls. Making a makeshift clothesline to hang the clothes you had washed in the shower. There were some old costumes and props and hoodies. Searching the piles of clothing for something that fit. You found something you were nervous to wear. Embarrassingly you had found a box of old merch and discontinued items in various sizes, none of it had been worn they all still had tags and were sealed in their packets folded professionally.

You pulled out a set of BT21 underwear in your size and felt your face grow hot if you were caught wearing these character underwear you would be mortified. You found what looked like a plain black hoody in an XXL and slipped it on. It reached to your knees. You chose this size as there were no pants in the pile and boxes you had searched just hoodies and underwear.

You took the service elevator up to your floor and stepped out walking past the two women who had lined up in front of you still haven’t gone in. Continued walking you slowed past the boys meeting room you could hear groans of annoyance, “there is no hot water and the lines for the showers are huge”

Deciding to take pity and potentially losing your secret shower, you knocked on the door. Met by a dishevelled Jin. Slipping past him and shutting the door, the room had a very manly musky scent and you blushed “I um… found a secret shower with a personal hot water system but you have to promise to keep it a secret or I won’t tell you?”

Their eyes lit up. Scrambling to you. You told them to pack their shower stuff in a discreet bag and they lined up waiting.

“Follow me?” Turning and peeking out the door you heard them gasp and start laughing hysterically. You froze confused, had your hoody rode up and exposed your underwear. Tugging the back of the hoody down you sighed in relief realising that wasn’t the case. Whipping around to see they were hanging off each other trying to suppress their laughter. “what is it?”

“We didn’t know you were a fan of Suga?” “Who?” They pointed at the small thin young man, his eyes sleepy and his face blank, the corners of his mouth seemed permanently turned down. “You're wearing my uh merch, it says ‘Suga’ on the back” you turned to have a look and facepalmed.

Yoongi couldn’t help laughing at your shocked reaction, his eyes lost all their sleepiness and turned into rainbow arches, his soft cheeks lifting and his smile revealed. You could see his pink gums and you knew he was genuinely amused.

“I uh stole it from the storage room, I thought it was a plain black hoody you have a lot of merch clothes down there,” Leading them from the room and past the line of employee’s to the service elevator. “Why do you take the service elevator?” “What services will we get when the whole city is stuck indoors? And the regular elevator is small and busy”

“You are pretty smart?” Namjoon nudged you with his shoulder, which would have been fine if your body wasn’t tired and lethargic from lack of sleep. Stumbling back into Jimin’s arms. “Thank you, I find I can be smart when I need to be” The doors opened and like every time you stepped into the basement you felt like you were in some action or horror movie.

“This is where we die?” Hoseok laughed his voice cracking a little. You laughed, actually laughed. There was something about the way he said it in English with his cute accent.

“That’s what I think every time I come down here. The bathroom is in there, there is only one shower but if you wash your clothes with the bucket and the generic soap I stole from the supply cupboard down the hall, you can wash your clothes and hang them in the storage room. It has decent ventilation down here so they won’t take to long to dry”

You left them to it, going back to the storage room, cleaning some more you found a board game and some promotional cans of drinks. There were some more clothes in another box, you tried to find a pair of pants that would fit but were unlucky. You couldn’t have it all.

You sighed hanging a long white fabric backdrop over the slightly stained couch. Sitting as you emptied some more product boxes while waiting. You were tired but you couldn’t sleep. Deciding to use the BT21 makeup, you found you put on some makeup and smiled it was nice. You wondered why the storage room was filled with random bits of their work.

You finished applying the lip tint when they walked in clean wearing only towels, “oh um” you turned to cover your eyes, “you have clothes and costumes over there”

They all sorted through the clothes and dressed while you faced the corner of the room. When they said they were done, you walked back to the couch to find it already occupied. “You look happier” Examining the group of boys, Taehyung was tying his shoes on the couch and Jimin and Yoongi were talking quietly looking up and down your legs your cheeks tinted pink

Jin and Jungkook were hanging out washing and they stopped staring at your bra and underwear, causing you to get redder especially your neck and ears. Taehyung hooked his finger under the hem of the hoodie you were wearing and gently pulled it up at the side. With a squeal and a jump, you flailed slapping his hand away.

“Taehyung, you can’t just do that?” Namjoon scolded and Taehyung blushed holding his hands up in defence. “Sorry I wasn’t trying to look at your underwear I was just wondering if you had pants on, but, um… are you wearing Cooky underwear?” Jungkook froze his cheeks going red and you looked away refusing to answer your face feeling like it was on fire. “I don’t know the character names but it’s a bunny?”

“Oh JayKay you lucky boy” Hoseok slapped the younger boys back and you frowned. “Again I just wore what was clean and I could find” You walked out of the room unable to stand to be near them your face was too warm. On your way back to the corridor they all caught up joining you in the elevator to the second floor. You were all going to the dining room for some breakfast.

Your brother again was nowhere to be found, many of the boys were wearing prescription glasses complaining about not having contacts. “You look good don’t worry” you mumbled to Jin and he seemed to fluff right up like a proud peacock blowing a kiss at you from one end of the table.

Taehyung sat in front of you and it was kind of hard to eat. He was so handsome. His face was mesmerising. His eyebrows were thick and eyelashes were long. He had rounded ears that stuck out giving him a silly kind of look but you thought it was so cute. You seemed mesmerised by the tiny freckle on his nose.

Eating slowly giving up your kimchi again and settled for rice and the lightly seasoned side dishes. “You mustn’t like kimchi,” Namjoon said “It’s a strong flavour I am still getting used to but as for now it is making my stomach hurt my body is not used to fermented foods” “But kimchi is so delicious” Hoseok defended

“It’s like, imagine how you would feel if you had to eat bread every day your body would react. It’s nice at first but then you get sick of it, wanting something you are used to eating. Your body would bloat unused to the carbs. My body does the same thing with kimchi but instead of bloating if I eat it I might just vomit”

Yoongi nodded understanding and you sighed “I just want something bland like mash potatoes and chicken with no chilli or kimchi just plain food, just once” you sighed pushing the food around your plate Jungkook laughed beside you his teeth were adorable, and when he smiled his eyes did too you were lost for a moment. He handed you some of the plain food from his plate. They were all really handsome and you had to keep yourself from saying or doing anything embarrassing.

Parting ways you went to find your brother, he was practising with the dancers. You sat watching, even helping one of the students through the routine. Dancing was a family trait, you had been dancing for as long as you can remember but you didn’t anymore, you had gotten so many rejections from your auditions that you finally gave up.

So your brother tried not to act too surprised when he saw you standing and doing the very basic steps to show his student the routine. They were practising for a festival which might not even be held due to the virus. sighing, the kids all took a break and your brother left sparring you a glance.

Frozen in place you didn’t know you were walking until you were face to face with the stereo. Pressing the play button the music played and all you could hear was the rejection.

‘I am sorry you didn’t get the part’

‘We regret to inform you, your audition was not accepted’

‘You didn’t make it to the final audition round better luck next time’.

Shutting off the music you were having a panic attack. Again. Racing out of the room, you ran straight into Hoseok. He grabbed your arm. Looking down at your face, “hey breathe it’s okay, look at me and breathe” You copied his breathing until you felt yourself slump against his chest. He rubbed your back, “Hey, tell me what’s wrong?”

You hadn’t let any tears slip not this time, and you were determined to keep it that way. “It’s nothing” “Come on, that was not nothing?” He squeezed your hand, “tell me about it, I am a really good listener” He sat you down in your brother’s office and poured you some water, “it’s stupid” “Nothing is stupid if it makes you react like that?”

“I used to do something I pursued it and loved it very much, but everyone rejected me, said I wasn’t good enough said I wouldn’t become anything and after all the rejection I couldn’t take it anymore I couldn’t even think about this thing without panicking, I miss it so much, it use to make me happy. I use to get an electric buzz through my body and it was surreal. I could express myself and become whoever I wanted to be, but now all I hear is their voice telling me no”

“I understand, I wasn’t always this famous guy, I was a street dancer, I tried and tried and tried and I got rejections after rejections until one day I got scouted by BigHit” “How many times were you rejected? If you had to take a guess.” “Fifty to a hundred at least” “I was rejected 873 times, I had a tally that’s the equivalent of being rejected every day for two and a half years, forgive me if I felt worthless”

“Don’t let the no’s stop you okay, keep pushing until you get that yes because a life of struggle is better than a life of regret” he smiled patting your knee before leaving quietly and you sat there confused.

You spent the day thinking about it, it scared you how your feet began itching to dance. Your body wanted to move. You walked past the dance studio rooms at least three times before finally, you got the courage to step inside. You sat off to the side watching your brother and Hoseok perfect their routine.

“Hello” Namjoon smiled as the two of you were talking, he started teaching you a tiny bit of Korean, you only got through greetings, my name is, how are you? Where is the___? what is this? It was fun and took your mind off the dancing.

You caught your foot tapping and left the room slowly before the feeling caught up with you. You went to the basement and to the storage room your clothes were almost dry, you continued searching through the boxes and bags of clothes and found some more stuff. It was a shirt that said plus multiply plus in yellow and blue, and the sweat pants you found the tag said soobin and was a perfect fit.

Slipping them in a bag you headed upstairs, everyone went to dinner. Sitting beside your brother you ate slow, mind wandering with what if’s. He was right a life full of what if’s and regret was worse than the rejection. Your brother was talking adamantly with his students and the dance team, you ate what you could before you excused yourself leaving. Laying in the storage room you really couldn’t get the feeling out of your body or the music out your head. Your fear had morphed, you were scared to feel the joy that only dancing could bring, a fear of how bad you must be after the long break.

It was torture, it got dark. You got changed and travelled up the stairs this time trying to tire yourself out or slow yourself down because you knew exactly where you were headed. You took your time and you finally arrived on the fourth floor. You stepped into the empty dance studio and turned on the lights dimming them so they gave a faint glow, you didn’t want to alert anyone that you were inside.

Turning down the stereo system you plugged your phone in and started a slow song, it started small, feeling the music, trying a few moves and stopping you didn’t have anything to go on just yet you were warming up. When none of the songs could draw anything out of you, you switched to the CD and hit play on whatever was inside. The song title appeared on the small led screen ‘Louder than bombs’. The music was able to move you, it had been so long you danced the lyrics ripping through you

Louder than bombs I break.

You finished the song crying and you wanted to do it again but the next song had you with the beat of the drums it was called ‘On’. Slowly getting into the songs each one bringing out a new emotion. Expressing everything you had, you had gone through the album twice. Dancing to black swan, the music died out when you heard clapping and turned falling on your behind.

There was a slapping sound and a deep “ow what was that for?” “Tae, She isn’t supposed to know we are here idiot” The lights grew a little brighter and you saw the BTS boys and your brother. You frowned “how long have you been here?” “I have been here since pretty much the start,” Hoseok rubbed the back of his neck “you were dancing to some English songs”

“I came in halfway through louder than bombs the first time” Jimin grinned doing a few of the moves he memorised. “Your brother was looking for you, we had been searching everywhere,” Namjoon said “We worried you went outside”

“Your dancing was really nice?” Jungkook said “I liked what you did with my song and the black swan dance you did was very pretty” “Y/n I haven’t seen you dance in years” Your brother stepped forward, you were feeling a little overwhelmed, “it was really good?”

“Well remember it because I am still not dancing” Trying not to cry the declaration ripping through your chest. Namjoon started explaining the meaning behind black swan you looked at your shaking hands “I have to go I really can’t do this” you tried to push past them as you staggered off down the hallway wiping your eyes on your sleeve.

“It was nice” You froze the gravelly tone made you turn. Yoongi walked over and placed his hand on your head awkwardly patting it. While refusing to look at you. “I have never seen anyone move like that to my songs before, it made it seem like it was something more I don’t know beautiful it looked like actual art”

He shuffled looking a bit nervous. Walking away leaving you dumbfounded. Sure it was one thing to hear. ‘You are so good’ but it was another to hear the sincerity in someone’s voice as they said something as deep and meaningful about your dancing like Yoongi had said to you. He called your dancing ‘Art’ for crying out loud. That’s the highest compliment you could possibly think of at this moment.

[Part 1] [Part 3] [Tag Yourself Here]

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cagestark · 5 years ago

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Winterspider prompt if you're game! There's a meme about a poor college student being robbed; the robber, upon learning just h o w poor, stopping and giving the (empty) wallet back and being sincerely concerned. "You... you live like this?" What if the winter soldier/bucky barnes breaks into struggling college student Peter parker's apt and all his pre-serum steve instincts are triggered by the state of the place and how /tiny/ Peter is (abo/soulmates/soulmarks/werewolf au for spice up to you)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

This prompt came into my house and stole my money. This is CHAPTER ONE. Because I was so inspired that I’m officially making this my first multichap fic. I hope this will appease you for now…And I hope you can forgive me for making it winterironspider (I’m a sucker for starker/winteriron so it all just clicked together nicely). Please come back into my inbox and let me know what you think so far.

Warnings in this chapter: graphic descriptions of being poor. Bucky says fuck A LOT. Peter is 24 but Bucky keeps calling him “kid” because he’s so small. Sickness. 4.1k

Bucky can pick a lock in ten seconds flat.

It’s a science: tension wrench goes into the keyhole, the slightest torque is applied, then his favorite pick—the Bogota with three rakes, as of late—goes in and he scrubs the hell out of it until the plug turns. Easy as fucking pie.

The hard part (and he’s not counting the guilt, the horror he would feel if Tony ever discovered how Bucky makes the money he uses to buy his lover trinkets) is scoping out the right apartments. He sticks to NYU residence halls, early mornings and late at nights because the security is usually lax enough to let him through without even checking his ID—if they ask? Oh fuck, I left my wallet in my Uber. Maybe he hasn’t left yet, one sec—and then he’s out of there.

Today, it’s the Lafayette Hall between China Town and TriBeCa, reserved for graduate students seeking their Master’s Degrees in science fields.

It should be empty. On campus is an expo featuring innovators from Sphere Fluidics, Fasmatech, AcouSort, and NanoTemper Technologies which—according to the flier Bucky read online—are huge names in the science industry, all displaying their scientific discoveries from the last business year and scouting for fresh blood.

Any science major worth a shit will be there, he imagines. But it’s mandatory for NYU grad students. Score.

Content that the apartments will more than likely be empty, Bucky chooses the first hit at random after taking the elevator up: apartment 2B. It’s furthest away from the security camera at the other end of the hall—not that Bucky has ever left behind a reason for those cameras to be checked. It’s the principle of the thing, really. He keeps his back turned, hair in his face, both hands gloved (thank God it’s always cold and dreary in NYC, so his gloved hands don’t draw any attention) while he scrubs the lock. It takes him no longer than it might for anyone with a legitimate key, and then the door is open and he is in.

Bucky can see decently in the dark, the light from the hallway disappearing as the door is carefully closed behind him. Holding his breath, he stills himself, calls upon his enhanced senses, and listens: but there are no sounds coming from the apartment. Empty.

Then he actually takes in the place, and he realizes that that word fits in multiple ways.

The apartment is vacant, he thinks at first. There is the basic furniture all the NYU apartments come with: a refrigerator, a couch, a coffee table. But there is no television, no end tables. There are no curtains on the window across the room—and wow, what a lovely view of the brick building across the alley. The entire place smells musty and unused. Maybe it really is empty—

But no. Little signs of life appear. There are shoes by the door, ones that saw better days many, many days ago. On the wall, a photograph is tacked there, unframed, of two boys on either side of a pretty, dark skinned girl. A plastic grocery sack is dangling off of the drawer handle of one kitchen cabinet, sagging with contents that he can’t make out through the opaque plastic.

Someone does live here, they’re just terrible at decorating.

With careful, silent steps, Bucky moves deeper into the apartment. He doesn’t bother looking for a wallet—that will be with the owner—but usually there is money somewhere else. If he’s really lucky, he’ll find whatever he’s looking for.

Today, he wants blank CD’s. Last night, Tony showed him a movie where the teenage love interest burned—(“why’s it called that, Tony? You don’t burn the thing, do you?”)—a CD with love songs. It was real romantic shit; something Bucky never got to do. Something that he longs to do with this amazing man in his life. He can imagine the look on Tony’s face when he listens to a compilation of all the awesome music he’s introduced Bucky to, and it makes his heart race.

The Best Buy downtown sells a pack of five CD’s for $6.99 plus tax which brings the total to $7.61. That’s all that he needs. He could probably take that and more from any one of these apartments and the occupants would never notice. He isn’t hurting anyone. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

Then—jackpot. On the counter is a line of change: neat stacks of quarters and dimes, taller piles of nickels and pennies. Palming it, he cups one hand under the counter and slides the coins home into his hand. A quick count tells him that it’s just $2.30. It’s probably change for the vending machines downstairs, maybe fare for the bus. Nothing that will break this grad student’s bank.

For a moment he contemplates leaving the apartment. He’s almost got a third of what he needs for the CD’s. But breaking into another apartment just escalates the risks he takes, unnecessarily so when the rest of the money could very well be in the bedroom or even in the pocket of some jeans resting on the bathroom floor. No. He’ll press on.

Walking silently, he brings up the floorplan of the apartments in his mind (NYU had all that shit online; didn’t they know how unsafe it was? This world made information so available). The bedroom is on the left, past the kitchen. In the dim light through the window, he can see the door, open, a dark gaping mouth that he slips through soundlessly. It is even darker here, and he stands still waiting for his eyes to adjust further. It’d be no good to go fumbling around in the dark, knocking into furniture.

It only took moments, but as soon as he could make out dim shapes, he heard it. A little whimper. The rustling of sheets. Everything in him went still except for the blood in his veins, propelled by his furiously pounding heart. Someone is here. Bucky broke into an occupied apartment. He is standing in the doorway to a bedroom and there is someone sleeping in the bed.

He gets a glimpse before he can slink back into the living room, and what he sees stops him in his tracks. It is a boy—or a very small man, perhaps, considering these apartments are for graduate students only. The boy is wearing just a pair of boxers, some dark color—red or navy or even black, perhaps, since colors are distorted in this low light—but there is no hiding or distorting how thin he is. The shadows between his ribs are little valleys to the pale, jutting mountains of bone, rising with his fast, shallow breaths. The collarbones protrude, limbs fine-boned and so skinny that Bucky could probably wrap his fingers around an entire ankle or bicep. His face is smushed against one pillow so features are indistinguishable, but the mop of messy curls on top is unmistakable.

There is no bed. There is no bedframe, no mattress, no box spring. A pile of threadbare blankets and sheets are entwined into a makeshift nest, like the kid is some little bird.

After taking in the sights, he takes in the smell. It’s strong—damp and musty, like the windows have never been opened. The pungent scent of sweat. The overly sweet scent of cough syrup, though the two bottles on the nightstand are upended and empty.

Mostly, the acrid smell of sickness. A bucket is beside the bed, and the smell of vomit gets stronger the closer he comes—why is Bucky walking forward? He should be walking away, far, far away.

The boy whimpers again, rolling onto his back more. Sweat coats his skin, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest is even more pronounced in this position, tummy a hollow little thing. This boy is sick, very sick from the smell and the heat that Bucky can feel when he places his hand above the boy’s head, hovering over the skin.

“Ben!” The boy shrieks. Bucky jerks away and nearly topples the trash bin of vomit. His heart is pounding, thinking I’m so sorry Tony, so sorry that I’m going to get caught and get arrested and that you’re the only person in the world I’ll have to call, and if you don’t want to bail me out I’ll understand, I really will—but the boy sleeps on, lips moving. He is dreaming the feverish dreams of the sick.

Carefully, Bucky stands. He backs from the room. On his way out, he takes in more details even if he doesn’t want to: a name-badge for the building and NYU campus (which he takes, which he should have seen on his way in and known that it would be wherever the student was—complacent, he’s gotten too fucking complacent), the silver duct tape on the bottom of the kid’s shoes which holds them together. The past-due notices on the refrigerator. The paper plate resting in the sink, plastic cutlery that has been washed and re-used countless times. The kid is poor. So fucking poor.

And he can’t help that it reminds him of another sickly poor boy from nearly a hundred years ago. He remembers it like it was yesterday, fuzzy memories that Princess Shuri helped turn clear: a thin pale Captain America, the chest-deep coughs that would rattle his whole frame when he was sick, sitting by his best friend’s side through the night just to mop his brow and make sure he didn’t choke on his own sick. His stomach aches, twisting inside out with phantom hunger pains. Stepping into that apartment made him feel like he’d entered a time machine back to the Great Fucking Depression.

Another thought comes: what if the kid needs a fucking ambulance? What if he’s in there, brain frying from his fever? What if he throws up and aspirates? That will be on Bucky. There’s no way that he can walk away from this—not if it could add an(other) life, like a notch, to his murderous bedpost.

Palms sweating, he looks down at the badge he left with. Peter B. Parker. It’s a cute name—Bucky’s always had sort of a thing for alliteration. The picture of the kid is shy with the closed-lip smile and the rampant curls falling onto his forehead. He was skinny to begin with, but not malnourished like he is now. The badge will let him come in through the back doors. Because apparently he is planning on coming back.

Bucky pulls out his cellphone, mostly unused, and makes a call. While he talks, he takes the stairs down so that he doesn’t lose the call in the elevator.

Tony picks up on the second ring. “Hey Bucky, everything alright?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” In the background he can hear the sound of a door closing, and Tony’s voice grows more familiar, softer and more comfortable. He must have been around company but left.

“You only ever call if you’re about to break the law,” Tony says fondly.

Is he really so predictable? Well, in this case, he’s already broken the law, though that’s hardly a point that he wants to make. “No. it’s—nothing like that. I was just wondering about the credit card you gave me.”

“Oh? Thinking about blowing the dust off it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters. He hates it—hates being like the other million people in Tony’s life who just take his money. The fear that this man who has helped Bucky salvage himself, salvage the will to live life, to carve out a life he wants to live…the fear that he’ll think Bucky is just with him for the money is unconquerable. Tony gave him the leather wallet and the credit card years ago, and Bucky has never once used it. “Just a bit. Twenty dollars. Thirty at the most, Tony, and I swear I’ll pay you back—”

“Hey, hey, no need for the freaking out. Mi dinero es su dinero, polar bear. Buy whatever you need.” He pauses. “Are you in any trouble? I don’t know if you need me to emphasize this, but there’s probably no trouble you can imagine that I can’t get a person out of.”

“I’m not in trouble,” he says, hoping Tony doesn’t notice the unconscious inflection on the word I’m. “But I’ll remember that. I promise.”

“Okay. Great. That’s all I need to hear. Thai, tonight?”

Bucky can’t help but smile. He pushes open the back door to the building and steps out into the street, angling his face away from the security camera at the alley entrance on instinct. The wind is blistery, whipping his hair around his face. “I’ll be there.”

Tony hums. “I can hardly wait.”

They exchange declarations of love and say goodbye. Bucky feels a little choked up, how he always feels after hearing Tony say that he loves him. His eyes sting—but that’s just the wind. Honest. Down the street is a pharmacy and Bucky ducks in, head down. There’s an entire aisle for cold medicines, and he takes far too long examining all the bottles. Thank God there are ones that seem to treat everything: headaches, fever, nausea, cough. Everything except for the kid’s destitution.

He sees the chicken noodle soup and he grabs some of that as well.

Checking out is awkward; Bucky slides the card upside down at first. Then he’s unsure: credit or debit? He clicks credit since it’s first, but then he has to sign and he has a new dilemma. Should he forge Tony’s signature or put down his own? The card has his name on it, but it’s Tony’s money. In the end, he writes his own name. Forging feels too…familiar.

With less than twenty dollars spent, he trudges back down the block to the apartment building, and it isn’t until he’s swiping the key to get into the back door that he realizes he has no fucking idea what he’s going to do. Knock on the kid’s door? Hey, I broke in earlier and saw you were sick and out of medicine, here’s some. I’ll put the change I stole back on the counter. Sorry to fucking bother you?

Bucky Barnes, former assassin for Hydra, absolute dumbass.

Absolute persistent dumbass. Because he knocks on the door. He really fucking does. And when no one answers, he knocks again and again until he hears movement on the other side of the door (a chest-rattling cough that makes him shudder) then the door is cracked open and a bloodshot, honey-brown eye is staring out at him.

“Hi,” Peter croaks. His voice is wrecked, and it immediately does things to Bucky. Things that are wrong, especially considering that his voice isn’t croaky because of a cock nudging too persistently at the back of his throat, but because he is fucking sick. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to help you,” Bucky says. Peter’s eyebrows furrow. It’s cute. He’s wearing a shirt that is far too large for him, and pajama pants so long they slip down past the backs of his heels. “I’m—visiting one of your neighbors down the hall. You’re keeping everyone up with your cough, kid. I brought you some medicine.”

Peter opens the door wider, so that Bucky is seeing all of him instead of just a two-inch section. He rests against the doorframe because he’s swaying, struggling to keep on his feet, and he is so tiny, so, so tiny. The smell of him is foul, but Bucky would never mention it. “Gosh,” Peter says, and Bucky is horrified to see tears, real fucking tears fill his eyes. “I didn’t know I was keepin’ everybody up.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Bucky says. People say that, sometimes, to horses that are likely to buck off their rider or men who pull out guns in gas stations. Bucky figures that he should probably use either of those situations as reference for what to do now, because how to comfort a crying kid was not in the Winter Soldier’s repertoire. “Don’t shoot.” Fuck. Try again. “I mean—it’s not your fault. You’re sick. Obviously.”

Fat tears roll down Peter’s cheeks. It impedes his breathing even more, until Bucky is afraid that he’s going to choke on his own phlegm. When he speaks, he tries to keep his voice even and clear through his hitching breaths. The shirt slips off his shoulder, bones protruding. “I-I-I know. It hit m-me a-all of the sudden. But now it won’t go away.”

“Have you tried going to the doctor?”

Peter’s smile is downright tragic. He looks like he wants to reach out and pat Bucky on the cheek, call him a sweet summer child, ask him what pipe he smoked to have such a dream. “I d-don’t have insurance. I’m still trying to p-pay off my debt from last year when I had my tonsils removed.”

“And they—what—they won’t treat you? Just because you needed treating once before? They’re fucking doctors!”

“I know,” Peter whines, rubbing a wrist at his leaking nose. The door opens even wider. “Would you like to come in?”

Bucky sees the irony. He really does. A half hour ago, he was in this apartment robbing the kid. Now he’s standing at the kitchen counter watching Peter make ramen noodles (“my aunt always said that when someone is in your house, you should treat them like they live there”). He nearly burns his hand on the pan, and that’s when Bucky moves to take over, stirring when appropriate, adding a packet of flavoring. Peter pulls one bowl down from the cabinet—the cabinet that is unbearably empty from the quick glimpse Bucky gets of it.

“I only have one bowl, I’m sorry,” Peter says, face red, eyes downcast. His hands shake while he ladles the soup and noodles in. He gives Bucky one of the plastic spoons—it’s clean, he knows—but the whole thing is so fucking sad. When Peter glances over the counter, muttering something about some missing rent money, that’s it. That’s it for Bucky.

I’m taking him home with me, he thinks, nudging his spoon against the noodles in his bowl.

“I’m Peter, by the way,” the kid introduces himself. Then his face goes white, shaking intensifies. “Excuse me.”

Bucky hears him vomiting even through the walls between them. There isn’t much to come up, but the retching lasts forever it seems, the boy dissolving back into tears. Instinct says to go to him, but Bucky doesn’t want to be anymore of a fucking creep than he already is. When the vomiting turns to coughing and then to gasping, Bucky decides fuck it. He is a fucking creep. But he’s not going to let the kid pass out and crack open his head.

Peter is in the bathroom, bowed over the toilet, curls matting to his forehead with his fever. Bucky goes through drawers until he finds a washcloth and wets it from the sink, the water stinking of iron, to at least dab at the back of the kid’s neck. He shivers, but sighs into it, his wheezing breaths slowing.

When at last he leans back, his cheeks are red and wet. “Thanks,” he croaks. Bucky just mops at his forehead, avoiding the comical look of relief and pleasure on his face.

“You need a doctor.”

“Can’t afford it,” Peter mutters, reaching out to flush the toilet. Bucky practically carries him back to the kitchen-living room combo, setting him down on the threadbare couch.

“I’ll pay,” Bucky says. Then he winces—because it isn’t really his money. It’s Tony’s money. How can he just promise Tony’s money to this kid? But he can pay Tony back. No matter how long it takes or how hard he has to work. He’s got decades and decades left to live. He’ll spend them all trying to repay Tony’s kindness and love as it is. What is this one extra debt?

“What?” Peter asks, his eyes glassy with fever. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“A trip to the doctor costs hundreds of dollars, not to mention if I’m really sick, I’ll need medicine which will cost even more. I’m not taking that kind of money from you.”

“I’m rich,” he half-lies.

Peter looks him up and down, the worn boots, the soft but unremarkable jeans, the gloves that he’s still wearing even though they are indoors. While he doesn’t look destitute, the idea comes across loud and clear: Bucky sure doesn’t fucking look rich.

He sighs. “Fine. It’s my boyfriend. He’s rich.”

“You want me to take your boyfriend’s money? I’m—what? I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name.”

“My name is Bucky,” says Bucky. “And my boyfriend is Tony Stark.”

Peter’s mouth clicks shut. His eyes clear a little, the name cutting through the sickness. “Tony Stark.”

“Yeah.”

“The billionaire.”

Bucky can feel himself smile against his will. “Genius, billionaire, philanthropist, superhero. Yeah, he’s the one.”

Peter reaches out and puts his burning hand against Bucky’s forehead. “Maybe you’re the one who is sick,” he teases weakly.

“I’m serious,” Bucky says. He pulls out his phone and Googles it—hopes the kid doesn’t see the tab of Lafayette Hall dorm room floor plans that was previously open. Then he brings up the tabloids. He and Tony aren’t in the news as often as they were years ago when they first started leaving the Tower together to do couple-things, but the articles last forever. There’s a nice one detailing all about Tony’s promiscuous love life, how everyone thought the bisexual ways of his youth were just a phase. Until Bucky.

The pictures are clear. Peter’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “You’re dating Tony Stark. Oh my god. I’m—I’m his biggest fan. Oh my god. I think I’m going to pass out. I’ve—” the kid goes red as a beet, “I’ve had a crush on him since I was like, like this tall.”

Judging by the height of his hand when he holds it up, Peter’s been harboring his crush on Tony since ever. And yeah, Bucky gets it. His lips can’t help but quirk upwards—Peter is so fucking cute, even with he way his cheeks are hollow, eyes sunken. He lights up when he talks about Tony. Bucky is the same way. Tony inspires that in people.

“I’ll pay for you to go to the doctor. See? I can afford it.”

Peter gnaws at his lower lip. “But why? I don’t get it. Because I’m keeping everyone on the floor up? That doesn’t—this is weird.”

“Because you remind me of someone I used to know. My best friend, from when I was a kid. He’s—he’s not around now. But you two would have gotten along well, I think. And he would’ve kicked me in the ass if he knew I just walked away when I knew you need help.” He can see the indecision on the kid’s face, the wavering teeter-totter of what he wants to say (yes yes yes) versus what he thinks he should say (no, but thank you). Bucky has an ace up his sleeve: “Why don’t you come back to the Tower with me? Meet Tony. He’ll tell you all this himself.”

“I couldn’t!” Peter nearly shrieks. He coughs, and Bucky waits patiently for him to finish.

“You could. You totally could. You will. I’ll call a car—”

“Oh my god,” Peter whispers under his breath, his whole tiny body going lax and weak like a woman from Victorian times, likely to swoon at any moment. Where are Bucky’s smelling salts? “Oh my god,” he says, soft and to himself. “I’m going to meet Tony Stark.”

Bucky can’t help it. He grins, pats awkwardly at the kid’s shoulder—and Jesus, he’s a tiny little thing, still burning up under Bucky’s grip. “He’s going to be thrilled to meet you.”

Peter insists on showering and changing his clothes. Bucky steps out into the hallway to call Tony back and warn him—and ask him to send Happy or one of the self-driving cars. Anything to avoid taking a cab or the subway.

“Twice in one day,” Tony says when he picks up the phone, forgoing a greeting. “Aren’t I a lucky man?”

“I’m the lucky man, ‘s far as I can tell,” Bucky says lowly. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine Tony’s expression, the ridiculous fond face he makes when he looks at Bucky. “I had a favor to ask of you, though. A big one.”

“Anything for you, frosted flake.”

“Send a car to the address that I text you? And—order Thai for three?”

#winterironspider #starker #multichap #chapter one #bucky breaks in #peter is sick #tony is tony #tw: poor #tw: sickness #winterspider #cagewrites

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