#even in broad daylight or during golden hour

[chaoswillcalmusdown]

i know most people haven't studied film like that but i am BEgging on my knees for people to stop using 'cinematography' if you don't genuinely know what it means

[beardedmrbean]

Women wearing thongs in broad daylight on street corners, pimps following mothers taking their kids to school, and prostitutes twerking at traffic have become common scenes in California.

Local leaders claim human trafficking and prostitution are rampant in the Golden State after a new criminal justice reform that its author said aims to protect transgender women from being unfairly targeted by law enforcement.

"It’s absolutely out of control and dangerous — not just for the sex workers but for the community," San Francisco Supervisor Hillary Ronen told the San Francisco Chronicle this week.

A road in the heart of San Francisco’s Mission District has become lined with prostitutes and pimps, prompting city officials to install barricades as residents sound off that not only do they feel less safe – especially at night – but that they are worried about the women working the streets.

"From the window right there, I’ll see three [people] ganging up on a girl," one San Francisco resident told the Chronicle while pointing toward a bay window that overlooks an intersection. "They’ll be hitting her."

CALIFORNIA PROSTITUTION LAW ALLOWS SEX ABUSE TO 'RUN RAMPANT' IN LOS ANGELES STREETS, VICTIM ADVOCATES WARN

"I call the cops; no one comes. There’s nothing I can do," the unidentified woman said.

The issue isn’t isolated to just San Francisco, with other major cities such as Los Angeles and Oakland reporting the same.

Pimps in Oakland have reportedly stationed prostitutes outside a Catholic grade school, where parents said they walk their kids to school past women wearing next to nothing – or even naked.

"It's every day, during all periods of the day," mother Rosa Vargas told ABC 7. Vargas claimed that pimps have even followed Vargas down the street on a couple of occasions. Some of the prostitutes look very young and are likely underage, according to residents and local leaders.

SUSPECTED PROSTITUTION RING MOVES INTO CA NEIGHBORHOOD OUTSIDE CATHOLIC SCHOOL: 'PIMP IS BLOCKING MY DRIVEWAY'

Police departments and Republican leaders in the state are pinning blame for the overt prostitution on a new law that went into effect on Jan. 1. Senate Bill 357 repealed a previous law that banned loitering with the intent to engage in prostitution.

"California Democrats' policy of legalizing crime is creating more victims by the hour," GOP Assembly leader James Gallagher said in a statement.

"Under Democratic rule, families and businesses are moving out, while human traffickers are moving in," Gallagher added. "It was clear from the get-go that this law would encourage and enable human trafficking, but that was apparently an acceptable result for the lawmakers who backed it."

CALIFORNIA PROSTITUTION LAW ALLOWS SEX ABUSE TO 'RUN RAMPANT' IN LOS ANGELES STREETS, VICTIM ADVOCATES WARN

The original bill was introduced by Democratic state Sen. Scott Wiener, who argued it will protect transgender women whom he said are disproportionately targeted by police.

"[The previous law] allowed police officers to arrest a person, not based on what they did, but based solely on how a person looks," Wiener recently told KGO-TV. "So, an officer could arrest someone because they were wearing tight clothing, high heels and extra lipstick."

Wiener stressed to Fox News Digital earlier this week that prostitution and human trafficking issues have long plagued certain areas of California, and he called what people are seeing in Oakland "unacceptable." But he stood by the reform.

"The police's hands are not tied," Wiener told local media. "They can arrest people for soliciting, they can cite vehicles that are stopped in the middle of the street, they can arrest ‘johns,’ they can arrest pimps."

The Coalition to Abolish Slavery & Trafficking (CAST), which is one of the largest and oldest direct service providers for sex and labor trafficking survivors in the U.S., threw its support behind the bill and told Fox News Digital that it endorsed repealing the former policy "because we know that reducing the criminalization of survivors will help prevent human trafficking."

"Traffickers rely on our systems to criminalize victims so that they are unable to access safety due to their records and are vulnerable to continued exploitation," Leigh LaChapelle, CAST's associate director of survivor advocacy, told Fox News.

"The impact of these encounters with law enforcement reinforce already heightened stigma when someone is arrested for this offense due to the difficulties securing employment and safe housing with an arrest record relating to the sex trade," LaChapelle added. "Violation of this discriminatory law also puts immigrants in jeopardy of deportation, loss of residency or denial of reentry due to a misdemeanor conviction."

LaChapelle noted that the law has only been in effect for little over a month and said leaders in the state "need to look at the larger, long-standing systemic issues that are contributing to any potential rise in trafficking in California, such as homelessness."

But Los Angeles police sources who spoke to Fox News Digital said the law is "definitely" handcuffing them from cracking down on prostitution. The police said that because of the reform they can only make arrests if a suspect admits to prostitution, which they said is a rarity.

L.A.’s Figueroa Street, also known as "The Blade," has become inundated with prostitutes and pimps, according to the police. Law enforcement officials provided social media accounts to Fox News that showed young women wearing thongs and fishnets, often with their breasts exposed while standing – and even twerking in broad daylight on street corners.

Police said with the emboldened prostitution rings come robberies, shootings, aggravated assaults and other crimes. Many of the pimps are gang-affiliated and take no issue with beating women or going after rival pimps who try to poach one of the workers, they said. Some even record the beatdowns because they "think it’s funny," police said.

NATIONWIDE PUSH TO LIBERALIZE PROSTITUTION LAWS PROMPTS CONCERNS ABOUT HUMAN TRAFFICKING

The Oakland Police Department told Fox News Digital that the new law "now hinders officers' enforcement across the state."

Prior to the law going into effect, the department’s "traffic unit and patrol officers conducted high visibility patrolling," noting that the officials’ "hope is that the increased presence in different areas by these officers deter activity and do not revictimize those who are victims of human trafficking."

LaChapelle argued that police still have "many points of intervention available" to "investigate trafficking without arresting those who have not committed a crime," and they said that "jail is not outreach, and it certainly is not services."

"Using arrest as a gateway to receiving services is harmful and creates distrust in our communities," LaChapelle said. "One thing that CAST has heard from our clients on countless occasions is that being arrested was not only traumatizing and revictimizing but created insurmountable barriers to seeking employment, safe housing and immigration relief."

Oakland City Council President Nikki Fortunato Bas has been focused on human trafficking issues in her district since 2019, when she took office. She told Fox News Digital that she is working on the root causes of human trafficking and to not simply move the prostitution rings to another community.

"It's a big issue. It's an issue that impacts many communities in California and outside California and has been going on for decades," Fortunato Bas said. "And so my approach has been to look at a comprehensive approach that includes law enforcement that is focused on the exploiters."

POLICE: FLORIDA HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT LED PROSTITUTION RING

She said she has zeroed in on exploiters and highlighted that the police department is working with the district attorney's office to build up enough evidence for prosecution. The city has increased the budget for its Department of Violence Prevention to deploy more violence interrupters on the streets, she added.

Her office has also worked to install speed bumps and better lighting on certain streets and launched other "Crime Prevention Through Environmental Design" initiatives, such as traffic diverters.

"Violence prevention and the outreach to offer victims services, including housing, job training, even food, as well as working with the district attorney to provide more protection for victims who are willing to speak out" is paramount in her fight against human trafficking and women being exploited, she said.

LaChapelle added in a comment to Fox News Digital that the issue of funding amid discussions on prostitution and human trafficking need to be taken into account.

"In June of 2021, the California legislature passed CAST’s $30 million request to fund human trafficking victim service providers over three years," LaChapelle said. "This additional $30M came at a time when numbers of urgent human trafficking cases are at an all-time high.

The group is advocating for the funding to be extended, she said.

"Arresting survivors is not the answer when we are struggling to fund enough shelter beds and services," LaChapelle said.

CALIFORNIA MOVIE PRODUCER PLEADS GUILTY IN PROSTITUTION CASE

Fortunato Bas said it’s "premature" to make a declaration on the alleged issues of the reform as the new law has only been in effect for roughly a month.

But police sources equated the new law to California’s Proposition 47, which lowered felonies to misdemeanors for theft of goods valued at $950 dollars or less. Critics argued that sparked a shoplifting and smash-and-grabs explosion across the state, with multiple instances of flash mobs running into high-end stores with crowbars and bats to break display cases and run off with ritzy merchandise.

For now, police said they are bracing for the issues to only get worse and have called on state and city leaders to go on ride-alongs to see the illegal activity for themselves.

[winged-wyvwyrm-electricboogaloo]

Cloaks were extremely popular articles of clothing, used for all sorts of things and beloved by many even to this day, so why dont we see them outside of LARP or the big screen? In This Essay i will outline the general timeline of cloaks, becuase i love them and believe they deserve an essay. Fight me, i bite damnit.

Cloaks were spectacular for a myriad of reasons both aesthetically, and functionally, for a little history on cloaks and relevant similar clothing we can go back to Rome, Greece and even the Aztecs. They were used becuase they were extremely simple, take a blanket, pelt or a large leather piece, drap it over the shoulders, clip it using a simple sharp stick, specially designed pins called a penannular brooch, or a simple leather strip or cordage. Serving multiple functions such as the obvious protection from the elements, both while traveling at at night, bundling up supplies and covering the body and any weapons one might carry, they were also used as a form of military uniform, using colours and designs to convey rank, allegiance and occupation.

Cloaks also aided hunters, scouts, etc, by breaking up the human silhouette, a early form of camofluage, which proves extremely effective even to this day. given the right environment and positioning, one could mistake a human for a rock or some foliage from a mere 20 meters in broad daylight, especially for animals with dissimilar eyesight, such as deer. Cloaks were easily draped over the body without completely squishing or ruffling the outfit underneath, especially prevalent during the frilly clothing eras, and provided simple and effective protection from dust, water and what have you. Cloaks also have the added benefit of being easily worn while on horseback, a must have when the only form of travel was hoofing it =3

In the later years, as humanity, technology and society grew more sophisticated, the need for the benefits of the cloak diminished due to several changed in behaviour and environment. With the invention of the sewing machine, clothing became much easier to produce, rendering the cloaks advantage of simplicity less endearing. Working indoors for longer and more often made the cloaks superb protection from the elements equally less of an advantage over other clothing.

With the invention of the automobile the cloaks ease of wear while on horseback a detrimental aspect, due to the cloaks flowy and loose nature, getting dirty from dragging on the ground, getting caught in doors and similar inconveniences. This also rendered the multi-use function of serving as extra bedding and for bundling item for long trips obselete. So seems the cloaks golden age had come to a close.

However, this does not mean we abandoned them completely! The need for a cloak stand in, for everyday use that matched the times, was needed, enter the long coat! With similar benefits to the cloak such as coverage from rain and snow, protecting your clothing under it along with added range of movement with low cut sleeves and staying closer to the body. Cloaks proper stayed around as fashion statements, and formal wear to accompany suit and tie events and such.

Over time, the long coat evolved into coats and jackets and the cloak was phased out of use due the ever changing tides that are fashion and society. However, some cultures still use cloaks for their amazing function and strong presence, such as the american military for galas, banquets, and ceremonies. The italian Carabinieri allow and even issue cloaks as part of their uniform. Campers, hunters, hikers and larpers all use cloaks ocasionally aswell.

Tldr: they stopped being useful, and a better alternative was made possible via evolving technology.

In a later date i may make an essay on why they should make a comback

(i meant to post this like 5 hours ago and fell down an RP rabbit hole i genuinely thought was real for a while, never change tumblr.)

[sadnessisavegetable]

Praying my Beta Reader Does Not Find this (love them, but no spoilers for them, even on character descriptions)

Hi, hello, I do not typically get much in the way of attention on this site, so I am not afraid of this appearing where my beloved beta, Yuki, can find this. Therefore, this is my dumping ground because I am so incredibly Autistic about my characters.

This is for my Lost Paths AU for LOZ. Lop is the Link of this story, Zyel is the Zelda of this story, Ganondorf is Ganondorf (as always), let's get into Details I Like.

Lop:

This Bastard(TM) was raised by bears. He was literally abandoned in the wilds with nothing but a brand of what he uses as a name and a strange tattoo on his face.

He's deaf because of a physical deformity. It makes everything greatly interesting in the opening of the story.

Said physical deformity made his ears floppy because they are not going to hear the whispers of the Gods, Nuh-Uh, No Ma'am.

Has no shame (much to Zyel and Ghirahim's chagrin) and Will bathe in the Castle moat. In broad daylight. Without much to hide behind. (He picked up the Hero Spirit's gremlin trait very strongly.)

His hair is fluffy and curly and a more honey-golden color, a softer and lighter blond.

Schmol. He looks very cute in everyone else's clothes because they are Too Big for him. But he is mighty enough to wield a Very Big weapon with one hand.

Zyel:

Not A Woman, but still goes by the Princess title so it's not more complicated to the public he will rule one day.

I flung Twili characteristics on this one because ain't no way some random Twili flung themselves at a white(AHEM. I'M NOT WRONG.) royal to negotiate Not Using the Twilight Realm like the British did to Australia.

The Twili blood emphasized the Zonai blood still passed through the Royal Line for Zyel. So Zyel looks somehow more Twili than he should--more like the original Twili anyways.

Nocturnal in the ways that matter, usually hopped up on sugar and caffeine to be awake during daylight and napping during weird times in a 24 hour cycle while more naturally awake at night. (It's so complicated)

Stubbornly figured out how to automate printing presses the way the ancients did, started automating more things (though yet to figure out a coffee one)

More impulsive than any Zelda prior.

Ganondorf:

Resurrected a dead language because he could not be bothered to learn a modern one among his people.

His memory and consciousness is passed through each descendant, activated whenever the previous user of his consciousness dies. Some descendants are lucky enough to get away with dying before they become him, which he doesn't mind so much because they were themselves without question.

Stubborn. Bastard. Will. Not. Lay. Down. And. Die. You can't make him and if you try, his Sheer Rage will swallow your being and make it cease to exist.

A WHORE. HE HAS A HAREM. AND NOTHING MANAGES TO FULLY SATISFY HIS ASS.

Still pissy about how the Gerudo blood got diluted and domesticated just before the Era of Wild Tears. Fully flooded the Gerudo Canyon as a river for the third time now to keep Hylians out because No Fucking More Colonization For Us, Thanks.

Sometimes, when drunk, he causes storms that he knows will hit Hylian towns just because he can (weather magic user go brrrrrrr).

(BONUS!) Ghirahim:

Duke of Hell (Hell is a region in the Land of the Dead in this version, as are the Depths and Lorule, so it's more of a dukedom thing rather than a kingdom, but several dukedoms go into a kingdom from my understanding) and (Mother? Father? Parent?) Creator of Monsters (yes, this BASTARD can actively pull the "I put you into this world, I can take you back out" on all the monsters he made).

Gender? What's that gotta do with anything? You're gay no matter how you approach me with any intent of romance. Up. Up! GAY. Siddown and be gay for me.

His demonic form is more clearly a warped angelic form in my version because he started as a failed prototype to Fi as the Goddess Sword. (Scars where wings used to be, docked ear--HYLIA DID IT IN MY VERSION, blackened, feathered wings on either side of his head, tail with the shape of his blade hidden in the tip of it, white and gold laced through his skin(gold for repairs))

Makes fun of bad historians who have no idea how it really went.

Has puppeted people around to get knowledge out of people without torturing them with waterboarding or electricity or slowly cutting body parts off.

Has five children. All of them are sword/blade demons like him. And it's funny as fuck.

[wratts]

Beyond the Lightning Bolts

Bustling and haggling from the fish market's plaza had fallen silent for the day. Harbor's bells only rang with the faintest of sounds around anchored ships, whose boisterous crews retreated to sleep for the night. Ocean waves lapped against Sandpoint's docks with steady rhythm.

The dying light of sunset, cast through stained-glass windows, painted the walls inside the Harrowed Halls in broad strokes of warm orange and softened crimson. Corked decanters, polished wooden figurines of exotic shape, silvered holy symbols; all manners of metal and glass items reflected and refracted the evening light, glittering and gleaming while the autumn sun crept away to hide behind the horizon.

Thin streams of smoke, coupled with sweet scents of floral mixtures, billowing out from censers by the counter, behind which a white-haired boy of seventeen summers sat. Eyes narrowed in labored concentration, he flipped back and forth between two pages of a tome titled "To Sully Hallowed Decks, or: The Disgrace of a Card Game Named Towers". Athian sighed as he whiled the minutes away, struggling to understand the difference between two diagrams of comparison, unfortunately placed on two different pages.

His eyes fluttered, going from half-lidded to wide awake and alert. As if he had sensed something happening—mere seconds before it happened in truth.

A tiny bell rang with bright chime—the front door to the store creaked while it swung open.

Bathed in light, a short crop of blond hair glowed golden, crowning the figure who stepped inside. A pair of piercing slate-blue eyes scanned the shop's interior until their gaze came to rest on the young clerk.

Julien Dior D'Isarn straightened his overcoat, then nodded to Athian.

He addressed Athian with friendly tone, speaking with the same broad accent everybody in town had come to recognize him by.

"Greetings, friend. Is your shop still open?"

Athian clapped the tome shut and shoved it between a book of sales and a tome of Harrow interpretations, just out of sight. He stood up and quickly rolled his shoulders to not slouch, just before Julien approached the counter.

"Uh, yes. I, um—we've extended opening hours beyond what is common in town."

Julien flashed him a quick, warm smile.

"Ah, good-good, very good. Just like all the grand cities of Avistan. I was afraid I may have arrived too late to speak to the owner of this fine establishment."

Athian stammered, "Y-yes, um, can I get you, uh, anything? A tour on the merchandise, seeing as you're here for the first time?"

"Pardon, young ser. I fear I am not here to browse, but here to see the owner, as I already said," Julien quipped.

Athian rubbed the back of his neck and shot out a short and nervous laugh.

"Right, right, uhm," he swiveled, ready to scramble and scurry off in search of his mentor and employer—then froze.

Garbed in silks and fine cloth of varying garish colors, dyed blue and pink and green, she already stood in the shadow of the doorway to the shop's backrooms. Leaning against the frame with her other hand resting against her hip, she grinned impishly at Athian with an arched brow.

Athian's shoulders slumped as he shrank behind the counter, like a cut flower shriveling in rays of scorching daylight, ceasing only to wither when she directed her attention to their unexpected visitor.

To Julien, she said, "Here I am, Mister Fancypants. What can I do for you that my apprentice cannot serve?"

The paladin snapped his fingers.

"I apologize in advance—I am not here for business, just to chat."

"Chat?"

Cosminica Cosma fidgeted, shifting weight from one leg to the other in her lopsided stance.

"To exchange tales. You were gone for three months. I think we covered the big picture during the flight back from Riddleport, but, uh, how do you say? That was more like a lightning bolt. Of conversation."

"A lightning bolt?"

"Such is a phrase in my homeland of Galt."

"Hm! And this wouldn't be better suited for the council table, with everybody else assembled to hear it?"

Julien shook his head.

"No-no-no. That will not do. You know how those gatherings go. The loudest people speak the most, and many details are lost. It is like a, uh… shower of lightning bolts. Not like a… not like a calm and cloudless sky."

Cosminica nodded. Her head snapped around to lock eyes with Athian, who had almost hidden himself behind the store counter.

She said, "You can close up shop and go home, kiddo."

Protested Athian, "But—"

"Take the books with you and stick your nose into them. I thought I could leave you alone for a while, but it sure seems like I failed to teach you any discipline whatsoever. I used to devour one tome a week while working out of a tent as a full-time fortune-teller and tincture peddler, and what have you managed in three months? Two measly books?"

Athian grinned sheepishly and muttered, "Three? I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry—be studious! There's a boy around your age in town who can teleport people! Across Varisia!" She crossed her arms and glared at him from the single eye of hers not covered by an eyepatch.

Julien cleared his throat and asked, "I thought you extended the opening hours?"

She waved a hand and clicked her tongue. Her gaze cut like daggers as she squinted at Athian, even while addressing Julien in speech.

"I don't think the bumpkins of Sandpoint have realized it yet, and I'm talking about the ones who aren't afraid of me. We may have to advertise better."

Athian mumbled, "We don't advertise at all, and the people are—"

Cosminica shushed him with a hiss and pointed to the front door. Athian needed not be told again. He snatched two books from behind the counter. The bell chimed, and both Cosminica and Julien watched him scurry his way outside. Distorted through the stained glass, the shadowy silhouette of the boy vanished around the corner of the building.

The card witch almost sang with mockery when she spoke again.

"Now. Are you sure you don't need a card reading? Or some charms to ward off fey?"

Julien chuckled. He turned, surveying the shop's overflowing shelves of occult offerings.

Out of an abundance of trinkets on display, between protective scrolls, crudely fashioned charms, wreaths of dried and preserved allium sativum flowers, and shiny glass butterfly baubles, he picked up a brass censer.

"Not one nor the other, thank you."

"Well, then, Mister D'Isarn. Was it truly only conversation that brought you here?"

Putting the brass censer back down onto the counter of trinkets, he turned to face her.

"I did not come here for your shop. It is indeed so that I came to see you."

Though she kept her composure and stared at him deadpan, her face flushed red.

"Excuse me?"

"As I said, for conversation. I have been making the rounds, hearing what you all experienced on your journeys into the Great Beyond and back. Each person's story a thread, piecing together a whole tapestry of tales. I am always interested in the, as you say, bigger picture?"

"Oh."

"And you are part of Riza's, uh… organization? And not unimportant within its ranks, as far I can tell. I thought it only wise if we, perhaps, compare notes."

Cosminica smirked.

"I see."

Julien tilted his head while the smile faded from his face, mien turning serious. He flapped open his satchel and dug around in it, causing its glassy contents to clink. Out came a hand clutching one of several bottles of wine.

"Over fine wine, of course. I am no barbarian; I know how to conduct myself as a good guest."

Now it was Cosminica who tilted her head. "Oh. Of course. Let us sit in the parlor, and please forgive me if things aren't tidy. I wasn't exactly expecting a visit."

She stopped by the shop's front door and locked it. A sign bearing flowery handwriting, indicating the Harrowed Halls were closed for the day—she flipped it and then tip-toed past Julien. He stood rooted in place all the while, waiting and scanning with curious eyes over the shop's almost overwhelming plethora of strange merchandise and oddities.

Halfway into the shadows of the hallway's mouth, she paused. Looking back over her shoulder, she spoke.

"Please. This way."

She disappeared into the darkness, and he followed.

The smell of burning cedar filled the backrooms. Past the cool air of the shadowy hallways, warm light shone from the fireplace, where wood crackled, and embers rose from the dancing flames.

With a gesture of the witch's hand, candles magically set themselves ablaze atop the table. Another gesture caused the Harrow cards on the tabletop to shuffle into one another, flapping softly until a ghostly gust of wind gathered them neatly on a nearby stack.

"Do you do that, too, when there is no audience?" asked Julien.

Cosminica smiled and shrugged, then took the deck of cards. They disappeared from her palm, either into her sleeve by sleight of hand, or by virtue of sorcery. She chased the trick with a wave of her hand and splayed her fingers for dazzling flourish before her impish smile, eliciting a chuckle from Julien.

Metal goblets clinked as she placed them between them. The first bottle's cork popped from the bottle's neck, and red liquid gurgled its way out as he filled first her cup, then the other. He placed the bottle between them and the candles and followed her in taking the seat opposite from her at the table.

Julien raised his cup in toast and said, "To common knowledge and brighter futures for those who use it wisely."

"To fortune favoring the bold," Cosminica replied, raising her cup in response.

He chortled, took a healthy swig, and then cradled the cup as he leaned back in his chair.

"So, I suggest we start this with, uh, what you experienced in the Great Beyond. I imagine from what I already heard that it was not pleasant, and the tales I can share are certainly more… how do you say? Uplifting. More suited to follow any dark tidings and leave this evening on a positive note."

Cosminica's smile did not reach her eyes, fading quicker than the effort it took to display.

"I'm not sure I see the value in oversharing what we saw there. It was—simply put—terrible." She drank. "The plane of shadows, its denizens, the steel maze… Zon-Kuthon's realm is nothing short of nightmarish. The others were not exaggerating when they said we accomplished the impossible. I don't believe the Midnight Lord's minions ever expected us to leave. And what…"

Her words trailed off and her stare lingered on the flickering candlelight, lost in darker thoughts.

Julien waited patiently. He took another sip of wine, bridging the gap in her retelling.

"Whatever we saw in that maze of pain? Just but a fraction of whatever torments our friends must have suffered in captivity there. I don't even dare imagine the horrors. That god's disciples are truly deranged."

Julien sighed into his cup, refraining from another immediate sip to drown the mental image, pacing himself and lowering the goblet instead.

He raised the other hand in surrender.

"Dieux. Very well. Let us not dwell on that. I am glad you all returned. If that quest had no bearing on our dealings in this world, then it is perhaps all the better to forget the details as quickly as possible."

Cosminica gulped down a nervous sip of wine, then nodded.

He continued, "Well, then. What about the River of Souls? That is, uh, as you say, the stuff of legends."

Following a pained smirk, she shook her head. They drank. She continued.

"Not all it's chalked up to be. That is—even if you can remember any details. It's… not really water, so you can't drown in it. I found… well, you're going to think this is odd."

Julien tilted his head.

"S'il vous plaît. Please, indulge me."

Cosminica shook her head again.

"Does that silly Galtese accent ever work for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"In courtship, I mean."

He chuckled. "The many rings I wear are neither of engagement nor are they wedding bands. I will let you decide what that means about my luck in courtship."

He took a healthy swig. Refilled their cups.

The sun had set outside, giving way to night.

Taking a sip, she said, "It's very comforting."

"My accent?"

She giggled. "No—Lethe. I found it strangely comforting. To see painful memories come and go and feel the weight of them lifted. There's even one that… a memory I may be happier without. I don't know what it was, but its absence brings me deep relief. All I know is, I've slept better ever since. And that same relief—it was almost like a gift. Like I received the chance to become someone else."

Julien sipped wine and waited for her to continue. Wooden coal popped in the fireplace, spraying embers behind Cosminica.

Finally, she said, "I am not a good person. It is a relief to stop being me, even if only briefly. For that—for that strange experience—I feel… gratitude."

Julien snorted. Grinned. The grin faded, followed by a smoldering stare, reflecting the dancing flames.

"We all cast shadows, ma chérie. I do not believe that people are good or evil by nature. I believe that people do good or evil. Some do such things more readily than others, but it is not in our mortal nature. Our decisions—our destinies—are always our own, and we can change our paths at any moment. Any monster can help the many. And any hero can do terrible things."

Silence draped itself between them. Julien soon uncorked the next bottle from the satchel he had draped over an empty chair, refilling their cups.

Cosminica slipped off her flamboyantly adorned eyepatch, placing it on the table. Sparkling around the corners, two emerald-blue eyes stared back at Julien.

He raised the cup but stopped short of another sip, almost murmuring into the crimson liquid.

"And what of that, uh, efreeti prince and his palace in the plane of fire? That all sounded like a sailor's tale, carried straight from the distant deserts of Kelesh."

Cosminica pulled up one of her knees and hugged it while cradling her cup, allowing the wine to slosh around. She giggled and shook her head.

"I'll leave it to a silly bard to pad that out with curious narrative and a ridiculous performance on stage. Truth be told, I was so terrified at the time, any tale I could summon wouldn't be worth the price of admission. We traveled from one prison to the next, and I mostly remember the unpleasant heat. It was searing hot. I almost appreciated the wretched garb they had put us in."

Julien chuckled, "I saw—Falco kept his attire from there."

Chiming in with a soft laugh, she nodded.

"He may be one of the few people who looks comfortable in it, but he is probably used to wearing all manner of strange fashion from Korvosa."

They drank.

"So, it was very hot?"

"Terribly so. So hot that sweat just became like a second skin and it was often hard to gather coherent thoughts. All the while, demons, liars, and deadly, courtly intrigue threatened to devour us all. Looking back, it will all sound rather silly—and I'd… rather not think about that. Given we were all struggling just to remember who in the Nine Hells we were. I think the others covered it well enough with their accounts."

With a grin, Julien said, "Very well, I shall not pressure you for details, mademoiselle."

She drank. Squinted at him.

"The way you keep using Galtese words is infuriating, you know that? I'm sure you think it's charming, though."

Julien took another sip, failing to mask another grin.

"I don't think so at all. I know it is."

Skeptically, she cocked a brow. "Oh?"

"It is quite common for people of these parts to find the different Avistani accents and exotic words pleasing to the ear. Alluring, even. Galtese, Andorani, Chelish, High Taldane—Varisian—and let us be honest, even Keleshi. Just don't tell the uptight Lions who are visiting the local guild."

"And you are so certain of this… why?"

Julien licked his lips and averted his gaze.

"Just hearsay, mademoiselle. Just hearsay."

Cosminica narrowed her eyes with a smirk.

"Alright, your turn. The reports of what happened in Riddleport and the Cinderlands were far too short for satisfaction. Please."

"After the little scraps you just gave me? Of visiting the afterlife and returning alive? Zut alors, woman, this is hardly a fair trade."

With a short and bright laugh, she shrugged. She raised her cup, swirled its contents, and took another swig. Julien nodded in response, gathering thoughts until they mounted into words.

"Riddleport was a surprise in many ways. After what Orik told us about his past there, I expected the worst."

"What did he tell you?"

"Apparently, he killed an alchemist who cheated him in business, and that alchemist was the brother of a crime lord of Riddleport. Orik wanted to settle this old matter so he may one day return without fear of attack, and I only saw that ending in one way."

The chair creaked as Julien got up. He poured more wine into her goblet, then into his own.

Cosminica whispered a hushed word of gratitude, then Julien continued recounting.

"I imagined us to be running around the city until we get an audience with this boss. But, for one, unlike in Magnimar, the crime lords are all out in the open and openly running the city there. We could have probably just walked into Zincher's Tenement if we felt brave enough."

"Let me guess—you over-planned around the war table for hours, then everything played out completely different."

Julien chuckled.

"Oui, c'est ça. Takchawi and I had it all figured out. Nikolai helped draw up a map and Sammo told us what we needed to know about the different gangs. We were going to strongarm some scoundrels, sneak around in the shadows, and ambush Clegg Zincher into talking on terms unfavorable for him. And if things turned sour, well—that would have then been up to Orik to decide."

"Now you're just drawing it out. What went wrong?"

"Nothing! That was the big surprise. Nothing went wrong at all. Not a single contingency was needed. Overlord Cromarcky greeting with a special welcoming committee, the very moment we landed. As it turns out, he had a long list of information on us, and had been expecting the Sandpoint Seven for over a year. Business proposals without end. Especially greedy for an airship of his own. Dieux, he would not stop."

"Like a Magnimarian merchant?"

"No, like a pirate. Everything Cromarcky says is poison. He has two faces at all times. The one speaking to you, acting polite, and the one who is the pirate, plotting and keeping quiet. If you listen carefully, you hear the treachery hiding in between his words. I am sure that man got where he is through, uh, what was the word? Mutiny."

"So, you ended up in trouble with Cromarcky instead?"

"No-no-no, en contraire. He threatened us a little bit, but he was also ahead of us and trying to mediate in Orik's matter. Somehow, this devil had known what we were there for. Even asked Yola about her wanting to open business in the city. His spies are either very good, or we are very bad at keeping our secrets."

Cosminica rolled the goblet back and forth between her palms.

"The higher the Seven rise, the harder it will be to keep any secrets," she muttered.

"Pardon?"

She shook her head and said, "Just something the cards told me. Remind me tomorrow, I have something to share with Riza, for that matter."

Julien shrugged.

"Well, that was that. Cromarcky offered us neutral grounds to speak with Zincher. Would you believe the Overlord has a palace to rival the pomp of Lord-Mayor Grobaras?"

Cosminica grinned. "All men have something to compensate for, especially the ones who robbed their way into riches."

Julien responded with his own grin.

"And what might I be compensating for, mademoiselle?"

"Hm," she emitted, tilting her head, and furrowing her brow with a smirk. "Maybe a particularly small—"

"No. No-no-no. Dieux, I should not have asked."

They joined each other in laughter.

"So, you met in this palace of Cromarcky? Then what?"

"That was, uh, all… Orik displayed a surprising amount of restraint and—dare I say? What might be considered cleverness."

"You cannot be serious."

"Oh, but I am. Clegg Zincher showed up to the meeting with a dozen armed thugs, Cromarcky's swashbuckler mercenaries all had their hands on their swords already, and then there we were. Zincher greeted Orik with so much creative profanity, I should have taken notes. I've not heard such foul language since visits with the people of Janderhoff. Enough venom to harm the mind. Incroyable."

"Wait—you have to be more specific. How in the deepest, darkest pits of the infinite Abyss did Orik pull this off without anybody dying?"

Julien shrugged.

"Not with anything we had planned. Or he had forgotten to mention what he knew while we were planning. Could have saved us a lot of time. Orik told Zincher that he knew about Falk Zincher and the prostitutes, and Clegg—" Julien stopped, gesturing at his own face. "Clegg turned white as a ghost. Orik did not provide many details later either, but Clegg's dead brother had done something that might have infuriated Shorafa Pamodae, priestess of the High House of the Sunken Veil."

"Calistrians?" Cosminica asked. Her eyes went wide with recognition until a smirk joined them. "Oh. Wait, let me guess—Zincher runs businesses that depend on Pamodae's prostitutes?"

Julien chuckled. "Almost. She is also an information broker… and she controls the liquor trade in the city. Zincher manages the gambling dens, the arena, and the worker unions. He can rally worker strikes, mobilize a bunch of angry drunks and sellswords—but it is the liqueur which fuels his people. And that is his leverage against Cromarcky. With the Overlord standing right there, he must have known what was at stake if Pamodae cuts him off."

"And that's it?"

"That, yes, was it. Zincher called it settled. Of course, he dressed it up differently—saying that Orik's family may come after him if he took his blood, and the chain of killing brothers and sisters would go back and forth, and it would never end. But everybody in Cromarcky's palace knew what had truly happened. Orik had dirt on Zincher, Zincher had no way of getting at him without drawing swords, and perhaps decided it was best to let old bygones be old bygones."

After savoring another sip, Cosminica just drawled out a single word, "Wow."

"Yes, indeed. I gained some respect from the mercenary. He must have thought of this, long before we set out to visit Riddleport. The pieces all fell into place."

"Wait—did you go to there before or after you visited the Cinderlands with Takchawi?"

"After. We visited Takchawi's old clan before we flew to Riddleport. Ah, magnifique. I have learned so much about deserts in our time together. Developed appreciation for their differences. Rock desert, sand desert, lightning desert, burning desert—"

"Not our time together."

Cosminica peered at him over the edge of her cup, sampling the wine's scent.

"Pardon?"

"Us. You and me. First time you've made a visit to me alone like this. Hardly to be polite."

"Mademoiselle Cosma, I beg your pardon? I apologize if I have offended you somehow."

"Offended? No, not at all. Don't flatter yourself," she said with a bright laugh. "I don't think about you much."

Julien's mien produced a slowly growing grin, spreading from ear to ear.

"But you thought of me."

Cosminica chortled.

"Mister Fancypants with the fancy accent, gallivanting around with more titles than a scribe can fit onto a scroll, and not one ioun stone shy of rattling them down whenever you want to lord them over anybody. Are you often so lonely that you seek out a seer for company instead of a card reading?"

She put the cup down and leaned over the table, studying his reaction with a half-lidded gaze, ready to up the ante and challenge him further.

The grin had long faded from his face.

"Cosminica—may I call you that?"

Smirking, she retorted, "No."

"Mademoiselle Cosma, then. Please, do not be fooled by my titles. Oui, I take some pride in them—the ones I have earned in these lands, at least. But my country—I left in disgrace. Galt was torn by rebellion, and what little was left of my family fled from the gallows, myself included. Knowing what I know now, I carry no pride about my bloodline, and I harbor no ill will towards the people of my nation."

She sighed. "Were you young?"

The moments dragged on until he answered. The cup in his hand slowly spun as he idly turned it.

"Younger than your apprentice now, I believe."

"Hm. And the titles you have earned—you don't think you earned because of pity and previous station?"

He stopped short of taking another sip. "Please. I do not consider myself wise, but I am no fool, either. I am absolutely aware what my station afforded me when I arrived in Varisia as a fugitive."

"Hm?"

"Let us just say it this way, Korvosa's nobility was a lot less welcoming than the aristocratic snakes of Magnimar. I was forced to grow up quickly, but I cannot complain. My childhood in Galt was a good one, filled with love, and coin, and all the education that wealth brought. I became a man with many things already working to my advantage."

Cosminica took a timid sip from her wine and awaited more. Julien continued.

"That is why I have nothing but admiration for everybody else among the Sandpoint Seven, yourself included. You've worked hard to get where you are, and both Desna and Abadar have smiled upon your threads of destiny."

He paused and gazed into his cup, squinting at how far he had reduced the goblet's contents already.

She sighed again. Finally, she interrupted his rambling. "I was joking, by the way. You may call me Cosminica, of course. It almost seems like a mistake that we haven't spoken in private before."

He smiled.

"I agree. Despite any differences, I think we have a lot in common."

Brows furrowing, she shook her head with a smile and replied, "Not really. I'm just surprised I haven't tried to fleece you earlier, Mister Fancypants. You do have deep pockets."

Bursting into laughter, he slapped the cup down, spilling some drops. Julien wiped away a tear of joy, just as the woes and weight of the world was wiped away that eve.

Or the wine had been taking its toll and causing memories to blur, like the world drifted around them in gentle concentric circles.

Still, he stood straight as he got up and refilled their cups. As another bottle ran dry, he produced yet another.

She bridged the following silence this time, saying, "So, the Cinderlands, before you went to Riddleport. Takchawi, and the Hawk clan? Color me curious now, Messieur D'Isarn. That, or the wine is already eroding my inhibitions."

" After you drank us under the table in our last contest?"

Smirking, she replied, "You adventurers and your penchant for putting yourself in danger—you've all already worn down your constitution. That's why I prefer to run and hide—you live better and longer."

"Remind me to seek your counsel more often. Say—do you have any cheese?"

"I do."

She returned with a hunk of it and a knife to the table a minute later, though Cosminica's gait already failed to draw a straight line between pantry and parlor. Julien added new pieces of wood into the fireplace and refilled their cups anew. Both their cheeks flushed red from the heat within, and the heat radiating from flames. Tipsy smiles exchanged like the knife, and the carved wheel of cheese passed back and forth between them.

"Yes," he said, tapping the table twice with the flat of his hand. "Ah, this is good cheese. I did not know that Sandpoint produces such good cheese."

She shook her head. "It doesn't. It's imported."

"From where?"

She laughed. "I am unsure. Probably Korvosa."

"Right, right. As you may imagine, Takchawi was not very talkative, neither before nor after we visited the nomads."

"Incroyable," she said.

He chuckled. Attempted to correct her pronunciation. "Incroyable."

"Just continue with the tale. You're not a very good storyteller, are you?"

He sighed, though it turned into another chuckle. "You're not that great of a storyteller yourself. Considering what you have experienced, I would have expected more pomp and circumstance."

"I am a good storyteller only when I read the cards. The offer still stands, just so you know."

Smiling, he nodded. "You are a tough audience to please, ma chèrie. But you are right. I leave fanciful storytelling to the bards. Even without the language barrier, it has never been my strength. I could not even tell a joke well to save my own life."

She raised her cup.

"Let us hope then. Here's to you—to you never needing to tell a joke to save your own life."

He cocked his head back, bellowing out another burst of hearty laughter.

"Alright, oui. Takchawi, and a clan of the Hawk. We went there and she took the lead. She sought out three specific men among this group of Shoanti. She killed all three of them in open combat."

"What? Just like that? You really need to work on your storytelling skills."

He raised his cup and waved his arms around, exasperated over lacking the answer she sought. "Just like that. The first one, she only pointed a finger at, and he said she had quite the nerve to return. Then the fighting started. They, uh, seemed to have a shared and dark history together, that much was clear. I would say, perhaps, one of the men even had this air about him—it is difficult to describe—"

"Try, then."

Julien nibbled on his slice of cheese and swallowed before continuing.

"Like he was expecting this day to come. As if he was expecting it all his life. Each and every one of them, she confronted like that. There were no challenges spoken, no long conversations. She sought the first one out in the desert, while he was on the hunt. They fought, and she turned his face into, uh—I don't know how to describe it. Like pamplemousse."

"Like what?"

"Pamplemousse. I am not sure what you call in Varisia. It is like oranges—but red on the inside? Bittersweet, like orange and lemon combined."

"Grapefruit."

"Ah, grapefruit, then. She turned his face into mashed grapefruit."

Cosminica nodded slowly and took a long sip of wine to let that sink in.

"There was not a lot of talking otherwise. The other two were similar. She killed the second man by the water. I can recall how his skull's blood flowed into the stream. He begged for forgiveness before she attacked, but when he took his axe to fight back, all semblance of remorse was gone from him. And the third, well, she killed him right in camp, in front of the other nomads. I tried to stop her, but she shoved me into a pile of mammoth dung, and then it all happened very fast. Another three Shoanti from the camp jumped in, offended by her cracking his skull—and she killed them as well. I have never seen her so angry, and I have never seen her not enjoying fighting. This time was truly different. I was afraid it would not stop. Other hunters were already standing by with bows, everybody shouting."

He swallowed before taking a gulp of wine.

"Then what?"

"We were all ready for the worst. After killing all those men in camp, we thought we might witness the death of a whole family. But the chieftain intervened. He ordered them to stop, and then he ordered Takchawi to stop. She did. She said it was not about anybody else but those three she had killed first. Though anybody willing was welcome to try, and she would kill them as well if they did."

"And… they didn't?"

"No. They did not. That was the end of the killings. The chieftain was strange—furious, but he stayed his tongue. We all agreed later that it was like they had all expected this to happen one day. Of course, we were not welcome to stay, as you may imagine. But Takchawi—she was content, in a very strange way, and she has been so ever since. Till this day, she has not explained her actions. And truth be told, I do not care to ask."

He shrugged and took a healthy swig from his cup.

"When did you learn of the rune giant, then?"

"Ah, oui. Right after. We were leaving, and some of the younger hunters ran after us. I was ready to draw and shoot, and I could tell that Takchawi was ready to take more lives, but she stayed her fists. They were not going for her this time. They told us of the attack on the other nomad tribe further north, along the Chavali."

"You followed up on that, right?"

"Bien sûr. We saw the carnage. It was quite, uh… frightening. Those footprints."

He grimaced, licked his lips, and shook his head with a sudden fervor, hinting at fear, lurking beneath the surface.

"I did not think that giants so large could have ever existed, but we saw the footprints with our own eyes. We saw the dead demons on the battlefield, and the many fallen undead, rotting under mountains of flies, and even the vultures avoided this cursed place."

He shook his head repeatedly, and Cosminica struggled to reply.

She swallowed emptily before chasing it with more wine. With a surprising amount of confidence, she said, "Never mind for now. We'll worry about it when the time is ripe. We have already faced the impossible. More than once. The different kinds of impossibilities can stand in line and wait their turn."

Julien's gaze rested on the table between them, hovering between the cups, the deck of cards, the bottles of wine, and the plates, and the knife, and the cheese. A soft smile crept across his lips.

"Right. You are right. Indeed, we should do this more often. You are good company, mademoiselle. And good company is perhaps exactement what we need. To maintain our morale for future battles."

She shook her head. First slowly, then with more fervor, more fire and determination, her whole body spoke in disagreement.

"I'm not made for battle, Mister Fancypants. Battles are only won with great effort and luck, and otherwise lost. Bitterly lost. Destiny, on the other hand, that is my calling. Seeing the signs, whether people heed them or not, whether people respect the seer—or fear her. Destiny can be ignored, but always found, even when you're not looking for it. I see my destiny much clearer now, and I am willing to grasp it. What about you?"

Crackling fire punctuated the silence. He cradled his empty cup before refilling it, avoiding eye contact all the while.

Finally, after he rose and rounded the table and refilled her cup, their hazy gazes met. Once the final drops escaped the bottle's neck, he set it down to join the other two bottles they had already emptied, all in one elegant motion, defying any stupor.

"This wine was good," he said. Wobbling a bit, he retook his seat.

"It still is," she said, picking up her goblet. Raising it in toast, she said, "To us. To… unexpectedly good company."

Julien theatrically clutched his chest and grinned.

"You wound me, mademoiselle. I would have hoped that one at least expects my company to be good." With nothing but an impish smile returning from her to soften the blow, he continued, "To us. To those who are not made for battle—and to those who face it, anyway, embracing destiny with courage."

She muttered, "Your pronunciation is so incredibly silly."

He smiled. They sipped.

She wiped her mouth, lips bedewed and red with the drink. "Where does that Galtese saying come from, about the lightning bolt? In conversation?"

"Ah, pardon. That is not really a Galtese phrase. Well, not in that context."

"Then I may have an interpretation, or a theory," she breathed.

"Bien sûr? I was just struggling to find the right words—"

"An exchange of words can be like the clouds. Sometimes, the sky is clear, all clouds absent, and the words stay away. Other times, a conversation can drift across the sky with tranquil. Or the heavens turn dark, and the clouds weep. Or they can churn with force, showering the world beneath with furious thunder and lightning, making it difficult or even dangerous for people to expose themselves."

He stared at her, his expression completely blank. She chugged greedy gulps of wine to wash down any embarrassment over his lack of reaction, drinking before insecurity threatened to rise to the surface.

Swallowing emptily, he finally responded, "In Galt, we use the expression of a lightning bolt—un coup de foudre—quite literally, with two exceptions. One is that lightning bolts seldom strike the same place twice."

"And the other?"

"Pour la première fois, j'ai vraiment aperçu le voyant en face de moi, et ce fut le coup de foudre."

"You know, I could be using magic to bypass this language barrier, but I'm trying not be rude."

Julien smiled and his shoulders twitched with the slightest of shrugs.

"Maybe you should not be polite, just be yourself."

The corners of her lips twitched with a smile of her own, but she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Mhm." With one last gulp, she downed the remaining contents of her cup. The metal goblet clicked as it set down on the table. "It's late, Mister Fancypants. You should make your way as long as you can still walk straight."

He nodded slowly and raised a hand in gesture of begging for a moment. Julien finished his own cup with three large gulps, then followed suit.

Giving the table's surface two soft pats, he smiled cordially and rose to his feet, bracing himself against the chair, stabilizing himself against the spinning world of drunken balance. Then he slung on his coat with startling poise.

For the rest of the world, who believed she only had a single eye, Cosminica put on her eyepatch again.

They made their way to the door, which she unlocked.

Behind her, before she could turn for words of parting, Julien said, "When not used literally, coup de foudre is also used to speak of love at first sight. Par example… lorsque je suis arrivé à Varisia, et que j'ai vu les collines et la Côte Perdue, j'ai eu le coup de foudre. In Taldane—when I first arrived in Varisia, and saw the rolling hills and the beauty of the Lost Coast, it was love at first sight."

With hearts beating in fast unison, their gazes met when she turned at last. They stood close to one another by the door, clouded by the scents of cedar and wine and sweet incense.

Fabric rustled as fingers locked behind his lower back; his hand caressed her jaw and neck. Eyes as blue as the night, glittering with starlight, sank into bliss behind their lids, and their lips met in velvet kisses. Bodies radiated with heat as they neared, until they burned away the air and left only clothing between them.

The moments melted away into infinity, and flowed slowly even after parting from those kisses, leaving them both breathless as distance grew, and eyes opened to meet anew.

Gingerly, he cradled her cheek.

"Goodnight, seer."

Julien reached past her, and the door's bell chimed as he pulled it open.

It jingled when she pushed it shut again.

[nymphiria]

‘CAUSE I KNOW YOU ARE A STARGIRL!

☰ PUBLIC SEX w/ GENSHIN MEN

- ̗̀ feat: itto, childe, zhongli, pantalone, ayato

— cw: public sex, exhibitionism, overstimulation, dry-humping, manhandling, unhinged zhongli, cockwarming, office sex, jealousy, MDNI 18+

ഒ ៸ ITTO

not a single spot in all of inazuma to fuck you in can compare to his little area behind the city jail. when itto’s been bailed out for the third time that week, he can hardly contain himself as he sees you waiting outside to greet him. not even a simple “hello” is given before he’s dragging you away to fondle you in the shade of several supply boxes behind the police station. once your back is pressed against the cool wood, you know you’re in for a long afternoon.

“shit, baby,” itto whined into your bruised and mark-ridden neck as he pressed his covered bulge against your panties. “missed this pussy so, so, so much. thought i was gonna die.” the look of embarrassment and disbelief are ones that he was so used to seeing decorate your pretty face. his clawed hands dug deep into your thighs as his hips picked up their already fast pace. “itto, it’s only been seven hours,” the incredulous look you shot him made him cackle, his grip loosened slightly only for a few moments.

“every second that i’m not balls deep in you, i’m missing your pussy.”

ഒ ៸ CHILDE

you would never understand childe’s obsession with dragging you around liyue harbor just so he could stuff you full. inside of northland bank? routine. the harbor’s docks at night? exciting. the golden house? his personal favorite. something about potentially being caught by the city’s inhabitants makes his blood pump furiously in his veins. he gets such a rush seeing you try so desperately to conceal your noises in fear of someone you know hearing you.

six orgasms pulled from you and childe still hasn’t let up. it was already beginning to become nighttime when he dragged you behind the large rock in front of yujing terrace. you could barely keep yourself upright with your trembling legs being thrown over his shoulders. no matter how many times you attempted to push his head back or pull his hair to get him to stop, childe was restless in his pursuit to make you braindead. your juices had dropped down his chin and soaked his shirt — it still wasn’t enough to satisfy him. with each flick of his tongue against your swollen clit, you were that much closer to moaning his name loud enough for the millileth guards to hear.

“c’mon, baby. i know you’ve got one more for me, don’t you?”

ഒ ៸ ZHONGLI

the moon was bright — illuminating everything under it’s light. usually this would be perfect for you and zhongli’s routine evening stroll on the harbor’s main road, but tonight the luminance was doing you no favors. for the life of you that night you just couldn’t keep your mouth shut. you should’ve known better than to doubt his strength and prowess as an ex-archon — that was a hill he was ready to die on.

as you were propped against the statue of the seven, zhongli’s hips repeatedly knocked against your ass. the nails digging into your hips felt sharper than usual — more monster-like as the left deep marks in your skin. normally, zhongli would be gentle during intimacy, preferring to take his time and worship you. but now? he was absolutely unhinged, manhandling your poor body into submission. “..‘l-li! s-someone could — mph — see us,” drool dropped down your chin as you tried to reason with him. clawed hands tangled into your hair and yanked your head up to look at his statued likeness.

“good. let them see you pleasing your archon exactly how you were meant to.”

ഒ ៸ PANTALONE

rich men have it all — pantalone is no exception. he flaunts his wealth in every aspect of his daily life to anyone fortunate enough to be in his presence. his favorite possession, however, was you — his precious little whore that trailed behind him everywhere he went. in broad daylight, you were usually dressed rather modestly but between the northland bank’s dark walls is where he loved playing with you the most.

“what do you need? clearly, you can see that i’m busy with something much more important.”

the poor fatui agent was clearly rattled at the icy stare being directed his way by the ninth harbinger. it was pitiful how his hands trembled at his sides despite obviously trying hard to keep them still. if he were asked that question a few minutes before barging into pantalone’s office, there was nothing in the world that could’ve taken precedent over what he came to report. unfortunately, he stood corrected.

your legs were spread wide by pantalone’s own massive thighs, pussy on full display being stretched out. if the agent had dared to look any closer, he might’ve seen your clit twitching with pure wanton need. you were definitely embarrassed at your lover not moving an inch to cover you and preserve your dignity — hiding your face behind your shaking palms. his boss definitely noticed him scanning his eyes over your trembling body because not moments later he was leaning you against his chest to give him a better look.

“go on. look all you want. you’d never even get the chance fuck her in your wildest dreams.”

ഒ ៸ AYATO

lord ayato is extremely possessive over his cute little maid. usually it’s a good thing that you’re mostly in the estate preoccupied with chores, but he overlooked one thing that he definitely didn’t see coming. thoma. both you and thoma worked closely together preparing meals, keeping the home tidy, and various other tasks. it’s actually quite impressive that ayato didn’t think for a split second that the amount of time you spent together wouldn’t lead to anything else.

“i’m disappointed in you, darling, you’ve really wounded me. do you have anything to say for yourself?”

it was a cool night in the garden of the kamisato estate — the breeze made your nipples harden under your night robes and poke through the fabric. “hm? what’s that, dear?” he propositioned, giving a deceiving smile downwards. it was a little hard to respond to his question, especially when he was battering his long cock down your throat. his gloved hands forced your head down to swallow him all the way down to the base and barely let you up for air. your tear soaked cheeks did nothing to deter him from making sure his lesson got through your head.

“i hope thoma comes out and sees you swallowing my cock. then, maybe, you’ll both understand that you belong to me.”

taglist: @p-antomime

[catgirlforkaeya]

what would sfw intimacy be like with kaeya? 💕 extra fluff plz

intimacy

kaeya x gn!reader

fluff

warnings: all lowercase + not proofread

a/n: this has been sitting in my inbox forever i’m so sorry it took so long anon💔 i hope you like it though!

intimacy with kaeya would be like…

• holding hands while you’re strolling through the streets of mondstadt, his thumb occasionally brushing over your knuckles with a featherlight touch

• stealing small kisses (on the cheek or on the lips) whenever people weren’t looking

• getting pulled into an alleyway by kaeya in broad daylight to have a quick makeout session since you were “too irresistible” (his words)

• hugs whenever you see each other, even if it’s only been an hour or two

• wrapping your pinkie finger around his under the tables at the tavern

• coming into his office during lunch break and taking a small nap on the couch with your head resting on his shoulder (or vice versa, kaeya needs a nap too sometimes)

• sitting in silence next to each other, playing with the other’s fingers as you simply enjoy the company

• walking into your shared house after a long day at work, only to be greeted by a strong hug from your lover

• coming up behind kaeya and wrapping your arms around his waist as he makes dinner for you two, earning a small chuckle from him as he continues

• cuddling up next to each other under blankets on cold days, reading a book together while snow fell outside and the fireplace in your house crackled softly

• taking a bath together, even if it’s just to soak in the warm water with your bodies pressed up against each other’s and holding each other lovingly

• times that you actually use the shower you’ll lather shampoo in each other’s hair, stealing a few kisses here and there while also teasing the other

• laying in bed next to kaeya with his arms around your waist, tightly pressing your body into his as he whispers small praises and loving words to you

• peppering his jawline with kisses when cuddling in bed, telling him between kisses how much he means to you

• kaeya burying his head into your chest as he slowly drifts to sleep

• playing with each other’s hair, kaeya absolutely loves it when you even just run your fingers through his hair. braid it for him and he might propose to you right there on the spot

• being woken up by kaeya when he comes home from late nights at work, and instead of being mad for disturbing your sleep you just throw your arms around him and place your lips on his

• waking up next to him in the mornings, your bodies still pressed tightly together from the night before. if he’s not awake yet you’ll lay there for a few minutes just admiring his beauty. how his skin almost has a golden glow to it under the morning light, the way his hair is draped almost perfectly over the pillow and onto his shoulder, and the peaceful expression on his face that you only ever see when he’s asleep

© all rights reserved to catgirlforkaeya. reposting, plagiarizing, modifying, and translating is NOT allowed.

[human-still-developing]

TEXT ONLY:

A Hundred Stars

“But let me see if – using these words as a little plot of land and my life as a cornerstone – I can build you a centre.”

– Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous 

My brother Finn sits beside me in a perfect replica of stillness. 

His feet are well spaced on the floor, hands digging into the damp grey of his trousers like hoes into tough soil. He keeps his expression neutral as his eyes scan the room with an interest just short of curiosity. 

It’s raining outside; grey, mottled water is being guttled into potholes and pipes. For weeks it's been like this, each passing day marked only by the striated charcoal sky turning a lighter shade of pewter during the daylight hours. Even inside I can see its ghostly mark; the wet outline of Finn’s boots, the shadow of my coat that never seems to dry. 

I offer Finn a coffee. He places his soil-crusted nails on the brim of the mug. It looks comically small in the enormity of him. He sits beside me on the bottom step of the staircase, the thin shaft of light from the kitchen falling just short of hitting his polished shoes. 

“You look well,” he ploughs through our well-tilled silence. 

“You too,” I offer back to the dark.

It’s Christmas Eve and my parents’ house is alight from within. Someone’s laughter drowns out the gurgling rain for a moment as the rattling wind is awash with tinny music. My mother’s light footsteps blot out our little stream of sunlight for a moment as she places a platter in the sink and slices up a new loaf of soda bread. 

“We haven’t talked in a good, long while.”

Finn cuts through the silence again because he could never appreciate the beauty of the quiet that stretches between two people. He is a man of action, of words and touches, of proximity and things that make his heart race and head pound. It is in his nature to chase things that make him alive so he fails to realise the life that lingers in the echo that follows. 

–

A montage. 

We are children on a carousel and we are spinning round and round. It’s a lovely summer day and mammy’s broad-brim hat wavers in the gentle wind. It is days like these that I associate with Belfast; full sun, bright colours and an ink spill of people clotted into crowds over the roads. 

As I bob and weave through the catacombs of my memories, I move closer and further away from the lion that Finn rides on. I try to catch sight of my parents and older siblings but it is as if the entire world has been stripped away to these mechanical undulations and the distant sound of laughter. 

Rhythmic, controlled movements. Waves on an ocean. 

Sometimes Finn’s so close that I could almost grab his golden hair that glitters in the low light and other times he exists only as a shadow blotted into the darkness ahead. My hands grow hot and then sweaty and then cold again on the metal pole that connects my mare to the fairy-light studded roof. 

It’s an illusion; in reality we’re all travelling at the speed fixed into the ancient bones of the amusement park ride but for a moment it feels as if I’m in control. That I can press my body into the metal neck of my horse and move forward. As if I can dig my heels into her cold stomach and swerve away from the trajectory of my brother just up ahead. 

As if there isn’t some gravity entwining Finn and me together as the years pull us all apart. 

–

We all sit in the living room to watch Mary Poppins. 

There isn’t enough room on the couch so Finn and I (the youngest of eight siblings) are forced to sit on the carpet. Da’s in the kitchen stirring salty melted butter into popcorn so it’s mammy who’s on her knees to fiddle with the television wires. 

The sun is setting upon our little house on the hill and everything is flooded in a pinkish honey light. My mother’s fair hair glows like a lit candle. Finn rests a large hand on my knee and gives me a toothy smile. My brother doesn’t particularly lean into either boundary in the dichotomy of affection and indifference towards me but casual touch is rare from him. 

I look at him in wonder but he has already turned towards the lady with the umbrella who flickers to existence on the television. At the time I fold away the moment into the crevices of my memory and it is years later that I discover it was the day of his first IRA march. My brother, a brilliant rebel who would sneak away in the dusk hours of his childhood to join the cause Da would sympathetically ponder upon on the occasional dinner. 

How was I to see the seams between us loosening? The distances between us growing wider when all eight of us were bundled onto that one couch?

There’s a cheer that erupts as the first notes of tinny music sound in our living room. I shuffle to the side to make room for mammy and discover the remote hidden under my coat. At that moment, I discard it to the side but let's imagine that I hold on to it for a minute longer and press pause. 

–

The evening that Finn comes home, after half his friends have been riddled with bullets and the other half dead, he brings me a candied apple. 

Like carousels, candy apples are another thing I associate only with Belfast. I hold the sticky treat in my hands as he draws me close and breathes into my hair. The apple is the red gold of a sunrise. I take a bite; the loud crack resonates over our empty kitchen and disguises the muffled sound Finn makes into my skull.

My brother takes another shuddering breath, fingers trembling as he runs them along my back and smooths out my sun-rumpled clothes. I would return the embrace but my hands are sticky and his clothes are still damp from being scrubbed clean so instead I just lean my weight back into him. 

“You’re still all here, aren’t ya Aiden?” he whispers more to himself than me. 

I raise all ten digits to confirm as he pulls back and he gives me a wet laugh. 

“If ya see any of those Brits, shoot them to pieces won’t ya?” 

His voice glitters like black gold. I hide my fear with another bite of my apple. Outside, the lithe figure of mammy makes its slow journey from the plots to our house. The inside of my apple is crisp and white, the kind that grows best in places where it is so cold that even the sun can’t warm the frozen noon. 

Later when mammy arrives, she cries, then screams and then cries again. Finn takes it all with stoic understanding but when she retires he takes up a garden shovel like a gun and digs in the darkness. I plant the core of my apple the way that Da taught me years ago and dream of shaking brothers and apple trees. 

–

When I leave, Finn is building up the levee. 

Ladened with rucksacks and my winter coat in the middle of July, I must have looked quite a fright but Finn doesn’t flinch. Instead he pulls out the tip of his hoe from the soil, rocking back into the familiar riverbanks he knows so well to straighten his shoulders. 

The years have carved my soldier brother into a farmer but the shape of a gun is not unfamiliar to his hands. The blue waters of the River Bann ripple as fishing boats come to port and night draws swiftly upon the dewy paddocks. There is the weight of a hundred stars toying with the thin shadow of Finn’s pursed lips. 

“Help me build up the levee.”

We work in silence, the tug of soil and our heavy breaths the only sound in the stilling night. Already, the skies are tinged twilight purple, birds soundlessly flying overhead to roost for the night. I long to reach for my brother but he heaves up the last heap of dirt and the wall is already built. 

For once in his life, my brother chooses to stay quiet. No laughter, no touch, no candy apples softening and filling the spaces carved out between us. I long for his familiar scent, his kiss into my hair, his strong arms holding me up. 

“I’m not coming back.”

He studies my every feature as if memorising me. A one-way flight from Belfast to London, a scholarship at Cambridge. To him a betrayal worse than the bullets still deep within his friends’ caskets that lie under our feet. 

He opens his mouth to say something but thinks and closes it again. One by one, I listen to his steps recede into the distance. 

–

There are letters, of course. 

Brown paper and cheap ink scrawling a couple of lines as impersonal as an itinerary. I chop the Cambridge logo off the top of my notebook before I send him an equally disinterested reply. 

We bob and weave, drawing closer and further apart. He calls on my birthday and I fly over for Siobhan's wedding. He brushes a hand over my shoulder before I board the bus back to Belfast and I give him an awkward embrace the next visit. 

It’s an illusion, all these moments constructed as if we are the architects of this strange but intrinsic bond between us. These careful movements as I reach forward towards him and recoil into the shadows with the next breath. 

One moment I am a skyscraper reaching into the heavens and the next I am undone. 

–

Finn knocks his leg against mine. I look up to his eyes glittering with a distant light. He places his empty coffee cup on the floor by my feet as the rain picks up into a howling storm. 

“Mammy will be wondering where we’ve gone,” he says after a while, “She misses you when you are gone.”

The mask of Finn’s stillness is slowly coming undone. His leg bounces up and down and he wraps a sweaty palm around the bannister. He is torn by paradox, the simultaneous need to squeeze my shoulders and push me away again. 

“I miss her too,” I say after a long while, “London seems very far away.”

The wind changes outside and Finn rubs his dirt-streaked hands together. It’s mere minutes before my mother will appear out here to place a bucket under the unfixable leak just left to the door and discover us hidden in the shelter of each other. 

At this moment the entire world seems to still. The rain tears through the plots and leaves behind dark soil blisters in the grass. Sometime in the near future, mammy and my siblings will work to salvage it. Perhaps I might delay my flight to lend a hand.

A loud cheer from the kitchen indicates the minute before midnight. I rise to my feet and offer Finn a hand. 

“Come. Mammy will still smack us red and raw if we miss Christmas.”

My astounded brother rises but I don’t release his hand. He tightens his grip and leads me into the kitchen. At that moment before I’m flooded with light and people it occurs to me that in the constant hurricane of colours and movement, the crunching race of the metal animals that undulate to some ancient, unchanging rhythm, I have been caught in a moment of silence.

And here it is!!!

The short story I've been working on for the last few days :) This is for my dear friend @itsliterallysophie (find her on @silverstarfics as well) for her birthday! Check out her writing as well; she is a wonder with words :)

Re-blogs and likes are very appreciated and constructive criticism is welcome <3 I'll reblog this with a text only version in just a tic as well!

[undead-merman]

🧜‍♂️MerMay- The Brothers🧜‍♂️GN Reader- SFW

Lucifer

Appearance

Lucifer has a long black tail with a hint of a royal blue striping on the back. His scales are smooth and small, ganoid shaped and are completely flat. A few black scales are on his face, just at the corner of his eyes giving them a sharper appearance and forming a diamond shape on his forehead. There is one scale slightly out of place on his diamond mark; it's not noticeable unless seen close up.   

His fins are long and flowing and are in the shape of rounded spades. He has a tear on his dorsal fin which goes all the way through the fin and has a scar on his back. His caudal fin is the largest on his body and has a peacock like pattern that can be flushed making the colors go from the normally black with barely visible blue to bright flashy blues, and reds on deep blacks.

His human skin is colored like a great white shark: creamy light skin on his stomach, fading to grey on his back; granting him the ability to countershade and aid in avoiding detection from above and below.

His face exhibits many shark features: broad and round head, small eyes, his mouth is filled with large teeth, and a flat nose.

Daily life

He’s very broody so he prefers the twilight and night hours; being accustomed to swimming in the deep parts of the ocean, too much light hurts his eyes but he also just enjoys the dark endless water with starlight above.

He has a very strict schedule, patrolling his nest, fighting off intruders, meeting up with Diavolo to hunt, clean up his brother's messes, patrol, try to sleep and get interrupted by one of his brothers if not more, and repeat.

He’s a carnivore so he enjoys eating whales, and sharks. He dislikes crabs and lobsters since they’re bottom feeders and he finds the idea of eating them very distasteful. 

He’s meticulous with grooming himself. He’s always sharpening his claws and forever growing teeth, picking them and cleaning them until they gleam in the light and buffing his scales to make them shimmer. 

When alone he enjoys trying to nap amongst a peaceful patch of seagrass. Drifting away slowly as curious little fish swim around him and the plant life softly brushes by with the current. 

He enjoys playing the violin, which surprisingly works, making melodies that haunt divers unfortunate enough to hear.  

Life with you

If you're a morning person you’ll get to see his sleeping unguarded face. He’ll try to wake up with you once he realizes, and within a few weeks he’ll be waking up far before you. He somehow has a built-in clock wired to try and make him wake up before you.

If you're a night person he’s thrilled to share some of the prettiest sights the ocean has to offer when the moon is out. Showing you his favorite spots to enjoy the night in silence. 

He becomes very protective of you and constantly scents you before leaving your side. Rubbing his palms on your cheeks or circling his tail loosely around you before brushing up on you as he swims away. No one will dare come near you if you smell so much like him.

He hates to admit it but he has the natural instinct of him bringing shiny things to you. He won’t even notice it until he pulls your hands in his and suddenly you have a shiny piece of sea glass in your hand. His face heats up if you tease him about it and suddenly he finds a speck on the wall very interesting.

Mammon

Appearance

As golden as gold can look, being actual gold, Mammon has the boldest scales of all the brothers. He’s not sure why they are, they’ve just always been that way and their weight doesn’t seem to be affected. His scales are ctenoid and can cut if he flares his scales and hits you with his tail. He doesn’t have any scales on his face and his skin seems to glow in the morning sun. 

His fins are exactly like that of a long spined sea scorpion with them having large painful spines inside them. Unlike the other fish he has a painful venom that can leave someone reeling in pain for days. It won’t kill but it’ll hurt!

He has two sets of canines that are very noticeable when he opens his mouth to talk. His upper right canine tooth has a gold coating making the tooth look like it’s made of gold. The top pair always hang out of his mouth while the lower one is hidden. 

He has shorter nails more meant for prying than slashing. Though they’re surprisingly well manicured and painted white.

Daily life

100% a morning person. Wakes up all groggy but after brushing his scales he's peppy and ready to start the day.

Mammon hoards his shedded scales, after all they are gold. He puts them in an old vintage submariner foot locker, nearly rotted apart but he sticks random stickers or patches onto it to help keep it together. A lot of the time the brothers will just take the money they are owed from the chest and Mammon whines about it; however, if they're pissed they’ll pluck some scales from him painfully.

His scales get plucked often: by the sea witches to whom he owes a massive debt to, his angry brothers, even Solomon sometimes plucks them off like he’s a pez dispenser. Because of this he sometimes has very sensitive scaleless spots. They grow back within a day but it still hurts.

He joins Lucifer in patrolling their territory. He’s just as protective over his space as Lucifer is, and of course he wants to look out for his younger brothers, but he won’t admit that unless it gives him a chance to use pity points to get out of trouble.

Very particular about his scales. He wants them looking pretty and as bright as they can be. Contrarily, he doesn’t give the same treatment for his hair, calling running his hands through to get the tangles out good enough.

Life with you

If you show concern for his scales he’ll play it off like it doesn’t hurt and it's really just a bother, but it isn’t. If you continue to worry about him or even offer to help patch him up he will become much more protective of you. You treat him so kindly that he doesn’t want that to stop.

If he’s in a bad mood or he gets jealous of someone, he'll grab you and shove his face into your neck and twist till his face is thoroughly buried. He wants to smell you so he can calm down and basically scream at anyone who comes by that you are something very close to Mammon so don't you dare touch.

He’ll try to drag you around to join in his mischief. Joining him in gambling rings or minnow racing. He’ll insist you're a lucky charm, though he just likes your company. He loves to bear hug you if he wins big and he holds you above him in the water with a big smile on his face.

Another victim of random shiny gifts for you. He's more aware of it and brags about how neat it looks even if it's just some old mirror. He’s always trying to play up how amazing his little gifts are.

Leviathan 

Appearance

His tail is very long, much longer than his brothers though it's thinner and has less muscle. His scales are ganoid shaped and colored the same color as his hair with a white underneath. During the night he has bright cyan bioluminescence circles on his sides. His eyes and tongue glowing as well with a very faint glow to his teeth as well. 

He’s embarrassed about it but he has multiple random patches of scales around his face and he thinks it makes him look weird.

His fins are shaped much like a goldfish, even having a round double tail and flowing fins. He is the most delicate looking one. But if he gets angry he transforms into a gigantic sea monster and can cause storms. 

He’s an omnivore so his teeth are small and much like a humans. They fall out if they get damaged but like a shark they’ll always grow back.

His skin is also counter shaded like Lucifer. Though more ashy gray color than his older brother. Unfortunately his bioluminescent colored scales, even though they pulse in brightness, make him much easier to spot. 

Daily life

He’s a night dweller through and through and refuses to swim during daylight hours. He likes to dwell in deeper waters so the light isn’t too much for him; but he mostly likes to stay in his cave and obsess over his washed up anime knicknacks. Making sure to pluck away barnacles and clean the muck off.

Since he’s an omnivore he’ll eat whatever is nearby. He enjoys jellyfish and the deadlier they are to humans the more he likes them. He's unaffected by their venom. Though he’ll enjoy a crab or free swimming fish. 

Leviathan does not like patrolling; he’d much rather leave the scuffling to everyone else so he can focus on more important things, like trying to dry out a keyboard in his open air room. 

His room is open air and inside a cave that can be accessed by a nearby beach. Inside is a shrine to his collection and he’s always fawning over it.

He loves that he matches with his fish friend Henry. They are extremely similar in shape, even having similar tails. He has a fresh water tank inside so Henry doesn’t get too dried up from the salt water. Leviathan can handle both fresh and saltwater so sometimes he hops into the tank to swim near his friend.

He’s very self conscious of his scales, especially the ones on his face so he has to make sure they look nice. His hair has to be styled just right to distract them from his face. He has a habit of pulling his bangs down over his eyes when he’s flustered.  

Life with you

Once he’s bonded with you he is constantly by your side and wanting to spend as much quality time with you as he can. He’ll be trailing you talking about the little curiosities he’s found. He whines about how he wants to go back to his cave but he won’t leave your side.

He’ll show you his collection of nicknacks and if you're able to set up a little television and gamecube he’ll be ecstatically waving his fish tail around like a dog. He’ll constantly beg you to play with him. He wants to CO-OP this game with you!

If he’s feeling cuddly that day he’ll float up to the surface and let you lounge on him and let the waves gently rock you both. He’ll hum old sea shanties he’s heard from sailors long ago as well as some anime songs from a series you enjoy together. 

Expect him to drag you to his spots for finding his little curiosities, he’ll want you to help him scour the area and find more fun items. He’s very happy with whatever you bring and he’ll keep them around his nest.   

Satan 

Appearance 

Satan is built similarly to Lucifer though his scales are more raised and spiny. His tail is a bright shamrock green which shifts to a seafoam green. He has a bunch of scales on the corners of his mouth and completely covers his cheeks.

His fins are long and have a crowntail shape that are tipped a deep black. When he gets angry his fins flare up making him look much, much bigger.

He has a flatter nose and bigger teeth like Lucifer. While they aren’t as sharp they are still dangerous if he’s mad. 

His skin also glows in the bright morning sun and if he’s lounging around he’ll attract nearby small fish to swim around him enjoying the serene glow he has.   

Daily life

He takes a long time waking up, and he’s not a morning person at all. He’s dazed for an hour or so until he’s fully awake, though he’s not much of a night person, more preferring midday.  

He’s currently got the goal of piecing together the world’s true histories. Figuring out what happened to old forgotten cities, lost treasures, and destroyed civilizations. He has a long way to go and he treats this handcrafted book like a child, holding it far above the water.

He explores with random, yet reputable exploration teams. Helping them with identifying relics or gems. He’s earned a reputation for himself by doing this and is often approached to go on expeditions. 

He is another type to patrol around his territory. He does it around midday though and hunts during these. He’s a carnivore and likes tuna and other free swimming fish, but refuses to eat squid and octopi due to how smart they are. He likes to feed nearby ones. Though they aren’t as cute as human world cats.

He’ll go to a human world pier and try to attract the local stray cats with his tail. He’ll leave them little gifts so now all the local cats come to the docks at a certain time to wait for him. He really wants to have a cat but sadly it’s a love that’s not meant to be, they are from two different worlds.    

Life with you

He’ll enjoy taking you on expeditions. Showing you beautiful sunken landscapes very few eyes have seen before. He loves seeing your reactions to sights.

He enjoys learning your hobbies and trying them out with you. He’ll go out of his way to provide an accurate experience to what you're used to since he enjoys learning and experiencing new things, especially now that you're here.

He's another one that loves to rub his smell all over you. He’s just as bad as Mammon, his smell is all over every part he can get to and stinks of “back off, don’t touch” causing others to give you a wide berth.

He’s going to hang off of you every morning. If you're larger than him he shoves his face into your chest and tries to go back to sleep. He looks so different with his sleeping face, he looks peaceful in your arms. But if you're smaller he’ll flop onto you and try to use you as a pillow. He’s surprisingly warm and his underside isn’t as spiny and sharp.

He’ll want to introduce you to his octopi friends. Each one is named after a different sea or famous author. If you agree he’ll be delighted to take you there and let you play with them. Though he might get a bit jealous if you get along with them a bit too much. He won’t show his jealousy though.   

Asmodeus 

Appearance 

He’s the most serine and delicate looking of all his brothers. His thin body has a bright cherry blossom pink tail and has long silky looking fins. His bright scales sparkle and shimmer and have a pearlescence to them. He has perfectly pure white scales patches on his tail as well giving a koi pattern. 

He resembles a butterfly koi but with longer and frankly impractical looking fins. They flow around him weightless and they look like silk in the wind around him. Even his dorsal fin is long and flowing.

He doesn’t have any scales on his face and he looks perfectly human from the waist up. His skin has an angelic like glow and shimmers in the sun. He has a few freckles on his face, chest and elbows. 

He has small pearly white teeth just like a human would, he’s very keen on keeping them perfectly white, just like his white scales, but his canines can extend like a cat flexing their claws.  

Daily life

He wakes up to his internal alarm clock, which is scarily accurate. Bright eyed and bushy tailed from the moment his eyes open. Swimming around and preparing himself for another day, brushing his tail, combing his hair, and cleaning his teeth, all while chatting to whoever will listen.

He is a highly requested entertainer for festivals and celebrations. He’s invited to grand openings, large festivals, and even private birthdays to those who pay him well enough. His dances and singing is the best among his kind and can easily enrapture sailors let alone his own kind. His voice mixed with the way his fins trail behind him like long fans is an easy way to get hypnotized. 

When he’s not booked for a celebration he’s helping Diavolo keep humans away from their city. He uses his voice to entrance anyone he deems a threat and can make them turn and forget why they were out here and what they saw. He doesn’t get into any of the violent stuff. That’s not his style.

If he’s not at home, he is always with someone. He’s like a fairytale princess with a crowd behind him, be they other mers or fish schooling around him. He always has a smile on his face and he’s not very quiet about how much he enjoys attracting an adoring crowd. At home he enjoys a nice relaxing self care session.

When he’s angry his canines poke out he doesn’t notice this habit of his, but it's usually because he’s extremely angry at the time and holds himself back.

He doesn't bother with patrolling and he’s not territorial in the slightest. He’s a lover not a fighter so his big brothers can handle any scary monster.     

Life with you

He’s bringing you to all kinds of festivals and parties as his +1 every time. You’ll be able to experience all the wonders Diavolo’s kingdom has to give and he’s extremely happy to be there with you every single time.

He’ll use his charm to get you whatever you want. Did you want that cute seashell necklace? Or that shark tooth bracelet? He’ll approach the store owner, shake his tail and flirt a bit and it’s his now. Which he immediately hands to you with a huge grin on his face, telling you how well it suits you and how you make that item look even better.

He’s always trying to groom you in any sort of manner. Rubbing your scalp and smoothing your hair with his finger. Trying to rub thick creams into your skin, or rubbing pigment onto your nails to paint them. You're the only one he’ll do this for.

He needs to hold your hand at least 3 times a day and needs a kiss before he goes to sleep and he’ll break into your room if he doesn’t get them all. He’ll act all innocent but he knows exactly what he’s doing. He just likes being a brat so he can cuddle and love you.

He also gets upset if you smell like someone else so he randomly jumps you and cuddles you in his arms rubbing his cheek against yours and rubbing you with his tail and brushing all of his fins against you. If you check you can see his fangs sticking out when he’s jealous. 

If you’re ever feeling down he’ll sing for you. Dance with you, twirling you around as if he’s the moon and you're the earth itself. He gets lost in the dance and by the time you're done you're both embracing and laughing. 

Beelzebub and Belphegor

Appearance

While being twins they couldn’t be more polar opposites. Beelzebub has radiant skin that seems to glow even in the darker parts of the ocean and a long sunset orange tail full of powerful muscles and reaches the longest out of the brothers. His tail is smooth and has a cycloid scale pattern. Belphegor has the shark-like appearance some of his other brothers have. Counter shaded skin, flatter nose. But he seems to absorb the light around him making everything seem much darker than they really are. His tail is medium size and is pretty thin. His tail is a deep eggplant purple with black spots.

Both of them have matching fin shapes, their caudal fin being shaped like a swordtail guppy and the rest of their fins are wide and shaped like fans. Belphegor's fins are mostly black but with the same eggplant purple speckled in. Beelzebub’s are the same sunset orange.

Beelzebub’s face is free of scales but on the sides of his cheeks and around his jawline and down to his shoulders scales are clustered around. They are thick hardy scales making his neck his strongest area besides his tail, but he has a scar just under his chin.

Belphegor has a freckle-like pattern of small scales they scattered all around his face only one or two at a time. They’re much smaller than the ones on his tail.

Belphegor has extremely sharp teeth and while they’re small they’re serrated. Beelzebub has mostly human teeth, though his canines are much bigger and wider, he’s able to crush stones with those teeth.

Daily life

These two have been inseparable since they were young and it's a trend that is clearly there to stay. They may have a different schedule but when they go to rest they rest and sleep in the same nest. 

Beelzebub helps teach the younger mers to fight. He’s been permitted to teach not only the royal guard but other everyday mers. He’s a proud teacher and he’s always trying to come up with ways to help each student of his even on an individual level, but that’s when he’s not eating. 

He’s also the kingdom's best hunter, and a small team is sent out with him every once in a while to hunt down any monsters that come too close to their kingdom. Beelzebub ends up eating the thing before they get back though. The bigger and more ferocious they are, the better they taste. That’s what he says at least.   

Belphegor is the kingdom's most talented astrologist. Unlike his twin brother though, he doesn’t put his skills to much use. He’ll help, maybe, if he’s not tired or if he’s in a good mood, but those chances are slim to none. Instead he’s actually a doctor. 

He’ll laze around in his office and sleep on the table, but when a patient comes in he’s somehow able to look over them once and tell what’s wrong with them. Even his brother’s are confused how he can just wake up, take one look at someone and perfectly diagnose them. 

He also seems to nurse others on an auto pilot. He barely has his eyes open and is able to patch up any wound he can find. Because of his talent yet lack of effort he has earned some ire from his peers. He doesn’t care though as long as he can keep sleeping on the job.

Many other Mer’s have approached him in hopes to become his apprentice but he’s ignored every single one. He’s too lazy to even try. Which many people think is selfish since he’s so skilled. Though he doesn’t care what they say.    

Life with you 

You will always find them not too far from you. Once they grew attached to you they began not moving too far from you. Sometimes they even drag you along with them so you can be near them. Belphegor is guilty of dragging you to his workplace more than Beelzebub, sometimes trying to trick you into keeping everyone busy so he can nap.

Beelzebub just brings you so he can keep an eye on you and give you hugs when he’s feeling a bit stressed. You can tell when he’s getting stressed because the longer part of his tail fin flicks back and forth. If you end up hugging him right when he starts he’ll end up holding you until you ask him to let you go. It always makes him smile if you do that. 

They are both picky about having you sleep in their nest. Belphegor will complain and try to guilt you into their nest if you try to sleep anywhere else and Beelzebub will give you puppy dog eyes. They won’t stop until you agree, and they both coil around you when sleeping.

Beelzebub is very protective of you since he knows how monstrous things can be outside the kingdom so whenever he gets worried about you he pulls you by the hips closer to him. Belphegor simply just gets jealous of others talking to you and will rest his chin on your shoulder and stare at whoever is talking to you. 

If you let him, Beelzebub will groom you. Brushing your hair is a favorite of his. He likes playing with it. If you were to return the favor by polishing his scales or even playing with his hair too he gets left in a great mood for the rest of the day. The smile he gets never leaves his face. 

Belphegor when he’s feeling up to it will show you the stars at night. He’ll let you float on him or next to him and gaze at the bright night sky, untouched by light pollution or blocked by trees. Just the sounds of the open ocean and the two of you. Sometimes he’ll end up like an otter and fall asleep while holding your hand so you don’t float away.  

[mythicamagic]

Fangs of Silver: Sesskag oneshot

Summary: Kagome Higurashi has her work cut out for her, hunting one of the most elusive and powerful werewolves known to man: the Killing Perfection. Sesskag smut oneshot. Werewolf Sesshoumaru/monster hunter Kagome. 

Rated M

Words: 4,700

Read on Ao3 and Dokuga

AN: for @cookieasylum​ for an art trade. Thanks bud! Hope you like it

Fangs of Silver

Warning: werewolf x human smut, knotting, menstrual sex

---

Two fingers unfurled to touch the moonlit forest floor, tracing the outline of a large paw-print stamped into dirt. Even splaying her palm wide with four fingers and thumb outstretched, Kagome couldn't hope to meet its size, dwarfed in comparison.

"Looks like I've found you again," she muttered, straightening from her crouch. Walking onwards and listening out for any hint of movement within the imposing woods- tall anorexic trees completely still with sharp looking branches- blue eyes remained alert, watchful.

She'd been tracking this one for God knew how long now. Months. Had it been a year yet? Though even the smallest victory of finding his tracks left no time for celebration.

Kagome frowned to herself. This particular beast wasn't usually so careless. He evaded her during daylight hours by wading through streams or keeping to rocky terrain, never giving the same name when mingling with villagers. Even when the Full Moon hit- he managed to be elusive and surprisingly clever. The smartest one she'd been sent to hunt. This time he'd either been sloppy or…

Kagome glimpsed something through a gap in the lower trees, located further down the hill. Smoke?

Surely he wasn't trying to trap her with something so obvious.

Frowning, Kagome set down her weapon and snuffed out the flames of her torch, checking her supplies. Enough silver bullets. Enough jewel shards. Her guns were in good shape, but she was out of herbal supplements to repress a certain annoyance that also occurred every month. Wincing, she put a hand to her lower abdomen, feeling it cramp.

Crap, not now.

She'd have to ignore it. She couldn't afford to lose this guy due to Mother Nature kicking her continually in the gut.

This beast had committed countless acts of violence- leaving behind a trail of bodies in their respective towns and villages. Unlike usual werewolves who sloppily left bitten survivors to run amok, this beast made no mistakes. He seemed to kill specific people and left them firmly for dead. He never inflicted the curse upon anyone. Surprisingly his victims were usually reported to be less than innocent citizens.

Due to the killings- a bounty had been placed on what the authorities referred to as 'the Killing Perfection.'

Creeping down a steep incline, Kagome stepped as lightly as possible within the relative darkness of the trees -autumn leaves crunching beneath her boots.

A lonesome house in the woods stood like a mourner in a graveyard under the light of the Full Moon, dark wood faintly eroded by time. Vines held the chimney in a stranglehold, but smoke puffing out of the top revealed it to be in working order despite the dilapidated state of the house.

Slipping around the side of the building and ducking out of sight from any windows, Kagome stopped with her back to the wall, loading her rifle while stooped into a crouch.

Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, Kagome wasted no time. She pushed off and rounded the corner, kicking open the front door with the barrel of her gun trained inside.

Empty?

Kagome didn't let her guard down, slowly inching inside and glancing around.

The fireplace was lit with healthy flames- a kettle sat off to the side, an empty mug not too far away. Everything else in the room had a layer of dust costing it, but the armchair lay newly cleaned. Footprints trailed around the ashen floor, some human, some wolf prints.

Kagome searched the lower floor that comprised of mostly empty rooms, before pointing her gun up towards the stairs, setting foot on the first step.

It groaned loudly beneath her weight.

Wincing, blue eyes snapped to the top of the dark stairs for any tell-tale signs of movement.

Wandering up to the second floor cautiously and looking around revealed nothing more than dust bunnies.

Kagome frowned, eyeing the open window. Had he jumped down and escaped?

Sighing with disappointment, she shouldered her gun and trailed downstairs.

I suppose I can sweep the outside to pick up his trail again, but I bet he's long gone. He probably lit the chimney to distract me before making his escape and transforming for the night.

Wandering over to the kettle, she touched its side.

Still lukewarm. He'd literally just been there.

And I was too late.

Kagome groaned.

"What a disappointed noise. Were you aching to see me that badly?"

Stiffening, her heart jumped. The silky sounding words had come from behind her.

Pivoting on one heel, Kagome turned her weapon on the man lounging in the armchair.

His image blurred, snatching up her gun to lurch the barrel upwards just as she fired, the blast piercing the ceiling- some debris raining down.

Golden eyes sparked, snapping the barrel in two before throwing her to the floor with impressive strength.

Kagome gasped, back colliding hard with the wooden floors, winded. She quickly grabbed one of her pistols and trained it on the man- who had disappeared again.

"W-what?" she panted. "It's a Full Moon. Why haven't you transformed?"

"Ah, you wish for me to change? Very well," his voice rumbled from outside.

Fur blocked out the moonlight pouring in from the shutters, brushing along the side of the house. Quiet, hungry panting filled her ears.

Kagome quickly fired at the windows, but the shadows melted away, causing her to wonder if it had been a trick of the light.

"I heard tell of a woman who subdues my kind before using shards of a blessed jewel to revert them back into humans…"

Paws padded around the house, nails dragging- scraping the forest floor. "You have pursued me for some time. Did you hope to transform me into a mortal like those you have hunted before me? Break my curse?" the male uttered.

"I knew you were strong, so I didn't have much hope of using them. Taking you back alive to stand trial for all the things you've done is a tall order," Kagome grunted, lower stomach clenching. She quietly hissed. Cycle blood likely marred her trousers now.

"Indeed. Even if you shot me with one of your infamous jewels though, it would not work."

A figure bent down, twisting through the front door with the ease of a feline through bars. Sleek silver fur gleamed with a fiery hue, bathed in the hearth's orange light.

Saliva dripped from exposed canines, muzzle pulled back.

The werewolf towered over her in size. He had the look of a distorted wolf- pale torso resembling a man due to broad shoulders and defined abdomen. He shifted to stand upright, hind legs strong, capable of supporting his weight. Thick hackles rose, paws more akin to hands tipped with killer claws.

Unlike the other beasts she'd faced, this one had peculiar red markings slashing over his cheeks, lower legs and flank. Glowing red eyes burned with the heat of the sun.

"You unknowingly came in search of a Pure Blood. I cannot be 'fixed' little hunter. This is how I was born," he purred, mouth unmoving, whispering honeyed words in her mind.

Those eyes strayed down to her legs, nostrils flaring. "And you are in heat, no less. A fine time to go hunting for a predator."

Kagome shivered, raising her pistol and aiming it between his eyes.

The werewolf gazed at her calmly, completely different from the wild, almost rabid beasts she'd fought with before.

A Pure Blood…

She'd never come across a creature so ancient. He looked at her with intelligence, as she'd suspected from tracking him.

"I-I'm not in heat," she muttered, finger grazing the trigger without pulling it. Why wasn't he attacking?

"You hurt those townspeople. Why?"

"I walk among men in my other form. Occasionally I find those deserving of death. Those who harm their cubs and mates. Those who leech of their pack and drink themselves into violent stupors. Sometimes they simply get in my way."

Kagome grit her teeth, "so you dispense justice alone? I don't disagree with cruel people deserving some kind of consequences but you don't get to decide who lives and dies. That's playing God."

He chuckled inside her mind, mouth pulling back from sharp teeth in an imitation of a smile. "Is what you do so different, little hunter?"

"I follow the orders of my superiors- unless I think someone can be saved with the jewels I bless."

Interest brightened his gaze, tail swishing once behind him.

Her only warning.

The beast knocked her arms to one side, striking her down with a headbutt to her chest. The action sent her gun skittering away over dusty floorboards, disappearing into harsh shadows. One human-like forepaw pressed down on Kagome's stomach, making her breath wheeze free from frozen lungs- his other holding her right arm down to keep her pinned. He then leaned in close, white ears perked atop his head.

A white maw drifted over her startled face, nostrils flaring, inhaling her scent greedily.

"Holy powers…" he uttered thoughtfully.

Kagome's left hand fumbled with the hem of her shirt, eyes narrowing. "I'm a former sister of the church. It comes in handy when dealing with creatures that go bump in the night."

She abruptly thrust her formally concealed dagger up, aiming it straight for his heart.

Powerful jaws snapped down, locking around her arm- the beast hissing as her blade ran off course but scraped down his neck and shoulder.

Kagome yelped, dagger freezing. Her hand remained free outside of the cage of teeth but she dared not move. Teeth mouthed her arm without breaking the skin, until a particularly sharp canine made a trail of crimson leak down the inside of her wrist.

A large, wet tongue roved, licking and sliding over the length of her elbow and wrist while they lay trapped within the hot cavern of his mouth.

"Now we have both shed blood tonight, little hunter. Are you satisfied?"

Kagome panted, gritting blunt teeth. She glared hotly into large red eyes fixed on her, looming close. From the new proximity, she could now see his seafoam green irises and slit pupils from within the sea of crimson. They dilated the longer she looked.

"You are quite the woman," he rumbled appreciatively. "What name do you go by?"

"K-kagome."

"Hn, I am Sesshoumaru. I thank you for your relentless pursuit of me over these past few months. It was quite flattering."

Kagome opened her mouth to reply before a hiss broke her off. The clenching of her abdomen took up attention for a moment, twisting like a knife in her gut.

"Heat can be painful to go through alone," he acknowledged, teeth slowly easing from her arm, eyes trained on her warningly not to try anything. His slick tongue unwrapped itself from her arm with a trail of saliva. He licked his maw hungrily.

Kagome gripped her sticky arm, glaring from her position on the floor. No bite. Just a nick from his tooth. It wouldn't be enough to curse her. She warily lowered her dagger.

"It's just my monthly cycle. I'm fine...gn…"

"You seem it," he mocked, wolf expression unchanging, though his eyes danced.

His great head lowered, hovering over her groin. His nose drew closer, inhaling over the red patch. His long pink tongue slid out, drawing over it with a lingering lick.

Kagome yelped, forgetting her guns and blades- grasping the dense white fur of his neck. "W-what are you doing?!"

He managed to look suggestive without human features, tipping his head slightly. "As a hunter, it must be difficult to find relief. You are always working, are you not? Chasing evil…" his voice resounded with the finest baritone in her mind, coaxing and soothing, completely at odds with his monstrous appearance. He almost sounded aristocratic. "Fortunately...you happen to lie beneath a beast tonight."

Saliva, warm and dewy, dropped onto her leg in small puddles. Sesshoumaru gazed at her while snaking his tongue out once more, prying it harder between her legs.

Kagome gasped, back-arching, a rush spilling up from her cunt to twist sweet arousal at her core. She viciously clamped down on such a reaction, growling.

"No one gave you permission to take liberties with me, pal!" she drew her knee up, attempting to kick him away.

Sesshoumaru released her arm in favour of grasping her thigh, chuckling while forcing it down. "Why protest?"

Kagome snatched up her dagger again, pressing the hilt against her chest and keeping the point raised outwards.

"Why agree?! Y-you're a…" wide blue eyes flicked over his strange, inhuman body. "I've never- n-not with a werewolf. I'm pretty sure that's breaking some sort of rule. Or law."

"I will not tell a soul."

Her gaze turned flat, fingers shifting over the hilt. "I'm supposed to be killing you. We just tried to kill each other!"

"Hn, keep your friends close and enemies closer, as they say. Allowing them into your bed does not seem like such an extreme, and I find there is always a slight thrill in fighting, is there not?"

It was a night of firsts. Kagome had never experienced anything like it in her five years of hunting. None of her superiors had ever mentioned an intelligent werewolf who could control their transformation and shapeshift at will. The only whisper of it had come from dusty old books stashed away in catacombs. The air in the lonely house felt cold, tickling her skin like a living thing, but the space between Hunter and Werewolf crackled with intensity.

Kagome swallowed, feeling squirmy. She tensed when a wet nose came back up to sniff at her neck. Warm breath fanned over flushed skin as his snout travelled up and down, scenting. It soon buried itself within dark hair, making her gasp. The suggestion of teeth scraped the crown of her head, joined by a pleased, rumbling noise. Goosebumps rose on her exposed skin, blood burning, alight with confused but obvious need.

His alien, paw-like hand ran over her hip and breast, cupping the side of her jaw. The shock of thin fur and monstrous, long fingers tipped with claws should've terrified her. Kagome had fought against such hands for years. Her body held traces of scars where such nails had hooked and dragged into supple flesh.

As it was, when his second stroked her inner thigh, Kagome shuddered. He smelled faintly of clove and damp earth. His movements were deliberate. The inferno of his eyes when they locked with hers shone with hunger- but also curiosity. That mindfulness and clarity of his thoughts was what allowed her to hesitantly touch the hand on her thigh.

It felt too large and gangly to be a human, fur and heat brushing the calloused skin of her palm.

"You can't bite me," she warned, laying the flat of her blade against his neck. "I'll kill you if you do- and that'll instantly free me from the curse."

Sesshoumaru smiled with his eyes.

He forced her down again, claws making quick work of her pants, tearing a sizable hole at the crotch.

The wiry fur of his muzzle immediately dived down, fervently taking in her scent with hearty, eager inhales. It sent a rush of arousal straight through her, hips jolting.

Nose, teeth and tongue soon brushed her sex, before the latter thrust inside, heedless of the blood.

Kagome cried out, toes curling, going completely still. The invasive probing between her legs filled her entrance, sinking deeper. It then flicked outside, allowing her to feel the velvet rough texture. It swirled experimentally over her clit.

Shakily tightening her now slippery grip on the dagger, Kagome gasped and shuddered.

"I-I thought you were going to transform into a man-!"

Sesshoumaru gave a rumbling noise in response. He gripped the front of her blouse, yanking to rip it open and fondle her breast.

"You do not wish to see the creature you've hunted feasting on you?" the rumbling purr lifted into something darkly amused, tail flicking behind him.

He grabbed her hips, swivelling them to flip her over. Kagome yelped and snarled, about to protest when his palms kneaded her ass, raising it and tearing off the remainder of her pants- the pads of his thumbs dragging to her sex, spreading slick folds and delving a warm, thick tongue inside her all the deeper.

Kagome kept a needless grip on the dagger, a strangled noise caught in her throat. His muzzle nudged and pried, urging her to rock against his tongue. Feeling warm, she clumsily grasped at her coat, yanking her arms free and tossing it aside.

Full breasts were squashed to the floor under the weight of the werewolf as he pressed her down, but her nipples- stiff and hardened with pleasure- received friction from the steady rhythm. The pleasure came in small, electric bursts.

"Fuck," she groaned, biting her lip. This was wrong. She shouldn't allow this.

A clawed thumb rubbing at the sensitive bundle of nerves between her thighs silenced that weak protest. It felt good. So deliciously good. Men scarcely put their mouth on her down there, deeming it 'dirty' or beneath them.

Kagome shivered, pushing back against the roving tongue continually thrusting inside her core, flexibly twisting, rubbing against her inner walls and licking with heinous, grunting noises like she slaked his thirst. They found a kind of rhythm without communicating through words, and an incredible rush built in her stomach- delighted to rock against his mouth.

Bowing her head and trying to concentrate on breathing, Kagome jolted and shamelessly moaned as his movements became more relentless, hungrily collecting evidence of her arousal and cycle onto his tongue.

"W-why-?" she managed out, straining to look at him over her shoulder- the tongue plunging faster in quick delves like he were mining for gold- sharp teeth scraping her entrance, adding rapidly to the throbbing feeling building up in her lower stomach.

Why was he pleasuring her? It didn't align with a wild beasts actions.

Blue eyes glimpsed glowing crimson behind her. With a sudden push of his humanoid paw on her back, trapping her in place- Kagome squealed loudly as Sesshoumaru pried so deep he wore her like a puppet with his tongue, grunting with savage satisfaction when she came from the action.

"Agh!" Kagome cried out, body igniting, juices immediately flowing into his mouth, which he collected enthusiastically with broad strokes. Somewhere between all this, she lost grip on her weapon. The blade clanked against the floors loudly.

After pulling away, the werewolf paid no heed to the red staining his lips, licking at his jaw in a decadent, gluttonous manner.

"Why what?" Sesshoumaru sat back on his haunches, ears perking, haughtily eyeing her with an air of pride. He probably took great pleasure in reducing a hunter to such a vulnerable mess.

Kagome felt like she'd received her answer. "Never mind," she caught her breath, forehead dotted with sweat. Her muscles burned despite the lack of physical exertion, body feverishly warm.

She sat up slowly, wincing at the slick feeling of her cunt. It fluttered and clenched, demanding more- wanting to be filled.

"I feel better now. We can end things there and-"

Kagome caught an eyeful of his crotch, entranced by the hard evidence of his arousal.

Oh.

She swallowed, reading the look in his eye easily. They wouldn't be stopping anytime soon. From the look of his long, thick cock, they'd be spending a while easing it in if he were committed to pleasuring her.

Somehow she felt alright with that. The fever in her veins wasn't satisfied yet, though she had reservations about allowing a literal werewolf to take her. However something undeniable had come to life in the pit of her gut, something raw and hot that left her wet between her legs and wordlessly begging.

Sesshoumaru's claws closed around her ankle, dragging her towards him- her ass coming to meet his twitching cock.

"I do not think you have unwound nearly enough. You must expel all pent up frustrations if you are to continue hunting me. I worry you will fall behind if not- your tracking has become sloppy lately."

Kagome whipped her head up and growled- just as the head of his cock nestled at her entrance, cutting off the noise and sending it choking. Blushing, she reached behind her, spreading herself for him- holding herself open while Sesshoumaru gave that jagged flash of teeth in response, slipping his thick length inside her inch by inch.

Whimpering and dropping her hands, Kagome bowed forward, trying to adjust. He sank even deeper. The sheer slickness between her thighs helped but didn't assuage the terrible stretch that threatened to overwhelm her. He was too big, his large and hairy body towering over hers, encasing her back with the furnace heat of his body.

"Ease yourself back against me- slowly," panting breath fanned over her damp neck. She felt him run an almost affectionate feeling lick up the sensitive shell of her ear. "Relax. This body was built to withstand many things," his palm stroked a path over her navel, circling up her hip where a scar lay. "You will not allow me to dominate you so easily, will you, Kagome?"

Panting, Kagome tried to get used to feeling every inch of him inside her, filling her clenching walls to the brim.

His hands were three times the size of hers, one settling beside her on the floor. The way he loomed over her made the formally fearless woman feel small, crushable.

"H-ha! As if," she shakily replied. Not one to give in, Kagome did as instructed, slowly rocking back against him just like before. She winced. The sensation was much fuller and tighter, uncomfortable.

Sesshoumaru hissed and groaned, rubbing at her clit again to shoot tiny bursts of fireworks through her system. It helped coax some pleasure back into things. Kagome gave a shaky moan.

Sensing her change in enjoyment, the wolf began moving.

She cried out, wincing a little at his slight withdraw- before groaning as he eased back in, creating a slow, building pace.

The thick, soft fur that covered him from crown to foot gleamed in the light of the room. Kagome could feel it hot against her back, tickling her skin. The strands began to stick to flushed flesh. Sweat began to bead, rolling down her shoulder blades.

"You take me very well, for a human," Sesshoumaru nosed at her hair.

"I can't say 'taking a cock' nicely is the highest compliment ever, but- thanks," Kagome panted. He gave an amused huff, giving a hard thrust in response that knocked her forward.

Yelping, she grabbed onto the first available thing. Her breath caught when her fingers met soft, warm fur. His arm.

It felt sturdy amidst the sea of sensations. Kagome held tighter onto it, bracing herself. She could sense the control beginning to slip from her new bedmate.

Sesshoumaru growled ferally, fanning hot, sticky breath over her shoulders. He then slammed inside her- ramming his hard cock completely within.

Letting out a loud, startled cry that bordered on a scream, Kagome bit down on his arm. He set a brutal pace, thrusting his cock with a quickness that blinded her. She squeezed her eyes shut so tight stars burst behind her eyelids.

Strands of dark hair stuck to her forehead, the rest bouncing and swaying with the werewolf's chosen pace: hard and merciless.

She sank her teeth harder into Sesshoumaru's arm, but he was completely silent inside her mind now. Whatever debonair and lofty charm he possessed had been shoved far back into the recesses of his consciousness, replaced with raw primal need and heavy grunts. He sought to fuck, and Kagome found herself mewling receptively, weakly rocking back against him.

With a snarl, he yanked his arm free from her teeth- rearing back onto his haunches and dragging Kagome with him, holding her hips while continually rutting into her.

Kagome went completely speechless in both pain and pleasure. The new angle nestled onto his lap with the steel band of his arms wrapped around her waist allowed him to reach new depths.

Letting out mindless moans, she rested her head back against his furry shoulder, body ablaze, cunt squeezing him deliciously. The arms holding her prisoner forced her to meet each thrust, creating an intense friction inside that brought her into a state of begging. "P-please- more. Fuck-! More, I'm so close, please!"

Sesshoumaru gave guttural snarls and rumbles in response. But there was something strange happening with his cock. She could feel it even while held under the haze of pleasure. Nudging up against her entrance, something thicker than his length and more rounded threatened to push inside. His knot.

Kagome couldn't react- distracted by another orgasm ripping through her at the most inopportune time.

The knot swelled and stretched her sex farther than she'd anticipated. With a jolt of his hips, Sesshoumaru followed her into orgasm, throwing his head back in a deafening snarl. A torrent of cum flooded her, painting her inner walls- all locked in by the werewolf's knot.

Kagome jolted and strained, mouth opening in a wordless scream. Full. She felt too full. Her sex strained, still squeezing him like a vice.

Slowly, his voice drifted back into her head. "Very good...worthy female...powerful. Should claim..."

"S-sesshoumaru?" she croaked weakly, limp in his arms.

A silver muzzle nuzzled the side of her head in response, crooning lowly. "Hn?"

"You uh..." Kagome panted, giving a weak gesture of her wrist, trying to rise and finding it impossible. He was quite literally locked inside her. "You knotted me- shouldn't you have pulled out?"

She wasn't concerned about being pupped- she'd handled dodging pregnancy with herbal aid before. However, like this, it made moving away impossible.

"Why would this one do that?"

Blue eyes blinked, shifting up to him. His fur plastering against her skin felt like a feathery bed cushioning her spine. "Because now we're stuck, for who knows how long. A few minutes to 30. I figured you'd..."

Want to get away. Re-establish our roles as enemies.

He acted the same as always. She couldn't anticipate his movements or read him.

A sinuous tongue she'd now become intimately acquainted with slid up her cheek. The fur receded at her back, and Kagome stiffened with alarm.

When she turned slightly, she found herself gazing at the pale, handsome features of a man. His markings remained, branding him as something inhuman despite the skin, pretty fall of hair and stern sweep of his brow.

"I intend to have you many times," Sesshoumaru uttered out loud, sounding much crisper in the quiet room. "In a multitude of ways."

Kagome opened her mouth to reply, gasping when a tongue thrust inside her mouth. Grunting, she managed to return the dominating press of tongue and teeth, biting his lip for good measure and feeling him shiver.

When he began moving again while locked inside her, she fell into the murky waters of arousal once more.

-----

The morning sunlight peeking through the broken blinds brought many aches and pains with it. Kagome heard the front door shut, footsteps drawing away before falling silent.

Sitting up quickly, a fur throw fell from her shoulders. It pooled in her lap, revealing the full extent of fresh scratches and claw marks littering her nude body, along with bruises.

She winced at the stickiness between her legs. The smell of sex overwhelmed the stuffy room. So it wasn't a dream.

Noticing a steaming mug of green tea sitting before the lit fireplace loaded with newly chopped wood, Kagome tentatively reached out to touch it. Still warm.

He must've just left.

Running her hands up and down her flesh, she found no bite marks. He'd stayed true to his word.

Feeling a little complicated, Kagome blinked upon noticing a letter sitting atop a fresh change of clothes on the armchair. Her weapons were also neatly arranged nearby.

Picking up the parchment, blue eyes flitted over the message.

'Pursue me once more, my hunter. I enjoyed feasting on you.'

Kagome pressed her lips together. She shook herself a little. This was still the enemy, nothing had changed despite a thoroughly pleasurable night. In the privacy of the room however, she allowed herself a small smile.

After eating, washing and dressing for the day, Kagome stepped outside.

Securing her weapons, she gave chase.

End

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

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

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

word count: 17.2k

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

///

Harry hates clubs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the f—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re going to hell.” 

“I’m already there, mate.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, boomer.” 

“You’re older than I am!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the culture shock hit. 

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

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

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Precisely his point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Known you for maybe,” he looks at the beautiful watch on his wrist symbolically, “ten minutes, and you’re already stroking my ego just the way I like it. I think that’s a record.” 

Y/N doesn’t know if it’s the liquor she’d just consumed too quickly, or if it’s Harry’s intoxicatingly alluring scent dulling the region of her brain that controls fear, but she’s suddenly filled with a strange surge of courage and her thoughts are spilling down her semi-numb tongue before she can stop them. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at stroking, so an ego’s not too hard to handle.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow, surprised at her brazen reply. He might have misjudged her more than he assumed. However, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy this girl more than the one he thought he was going to receive. There’s just something about how she can match his banter without a problem, and how they share a lot of the same thoughts and opinions, that just lights a fire in his stomach. 

“Is that so?” His voice lowers in pitch and he scoots a step closer, fingers just barely brushing against her arm as he repositions himself against the bar. His question comes out as a sultry murmur. “What else can you handle?”

Y/N knows that she’s starting to cross a line, and with every passing moment, the likelihood of returning to her friends is getting smaller and smaller. She’s not mad about it. Riding off of the wave of confidence that had inflated her ego earlier, she mumbles her response back with the same tone and texture. “How about you buy me another drink and then maybe you’ll find out?”

Harry gives her a boyish grin and the indents that pop into his cheeks nudge his appearance from an incredibly attractive man to an adorable cheeky boy. He motions to the bartender for another round of drinks, only letting his eyes flicker away from her for the moment it takes to do it. “How do you like LA so far?”

“It’s...alright.” It’s Y/N’s turn to move closer to him now, flicking her hair off her shoulder, hoping that the motion releases the perfume she’d dabbed on her neck while getting ready. Judging by the darkening of Harry's eyes, it does just that. “It’s definitely a change in pace from where I used to live, but I think I’m slowly gaining the reigns. I feel like once I get acquainted, I could grow to love it.”

“LA’s definitely a toggle. You could either vibe with it, or it’ll eat you alive and spit you back out.” 

She bats her lashes at him in stunned fright at his bluntness, his face deadly serious without any twitch or give. 

Harry then bursts into high-pitched laughter, eyes crinkling shut and nose scrunching. “I’m just fucking with you, love. Ease up, hm?”

“You asshole!” Y/N exhales grandly, half in relief and half in indignation, slugging him on the shoulder. All she feels is hard muscle beneath. 

He continues to cackle, sticking his tongue out at her. “Looked like you were about to cry.” 

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

The bartender arrives with their fresh drinks and Harry tells the man to but both of Y/N’s on his tab. She feels her cheeks glow, telling him he doesn’t have to, but he waves it off and says he’s more than happy to serve such a nice girl as herself. Especially if she “hates the same things I do. Think of it as your initiation gift into the Anti-Club Club.” 

A handful of heartbeats tick by, full of comfortable quietness as they both savor their new beverages. Harry pipes up first, regaining their topic from before.

“But, yeah, Cali’s for sure a special place. You meet some cool people if you hang around for a while. But sometimes,” he pauses for a second, eyes gleaming with something she can’t quite interpret. “But sometimes you can meet a really interesting person in just one night.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Y/N clicks her nails against her Old Fashioned distractedly as Harry fixes her with that beautiful emerald gaze that makes her ears tingle. She cocks her head to the side knowingly, flashing him a soft smirk. “Sometimes, you just happen to meet that one in a million.”

“A lucky strike.” He adds, lifting his tequila an inch off the counter and tilting it towards her in what appears to be a toast, irises dancing with a certain type of suggestive mischief. “To meeting interesting people.”

The human girl clinks the rim of her lowball to the edge of his cup, shrugging her brows and reciting his comment back to him. “To meeting interesting people.” 

Y/N measures how the rest of their interaction goes by how quickly her drink shrinks. 

When she reaches down to the first ice cube stacked on top, Harry has managed to coax multiple rounds of laughter out of her, his humor startlingly similar to her’s in the most refreshing way imaginable. She quickly learns that despite his broad shoulders, lean torso, dark inking, and flawless features, he’s a complete and total dork. His personality consists mainly of voice impersonations and contorting his expression into an endless array of silly faces, which she takes to easily.

By the time Y/N’s amber drink has reached halfway down its container, the default touch barrier between the two has broken completely. There had been a few caresses prior, but now it’s more frequent, more noticeable, and each touch extends in time. She had been the one to initiate getting physical, which had sat so right in her stomach because that meant he was respectful and patient— definitely unlike most men in clubs. 

The mortal girl had gently shoved Harry’s chest when he’d made an nonchalant joke about how losing his swim trunks at a nude beach had been both the best and worst experience of his life, her cheeks boiling as she had felt nothing but more toned muscle beneath the cotton fabric of his top. She had gone back to tracing at his tattoos the further they got into sharing anecdotes and opinions, glancing up at him for permission in the middle of their exchange and smiling to herself when he’d nodded casually without a second thought. As the conversations continue, they both unintentionally get closer in distance to the point where the arm Harry had settled on the bar is now fully wrapped around the small of her back. She willingly leans into him, their knees and thighs brushing with every shift of their bodies and those minute moments begin to pile up their excitement.

By the time the alcohol in her possession bottoms out, she is nearly sitting in his lap, faces only a few inches apart. Y/N can’t recall half of what she had said, the subject having steered into so many different places that she couldn’t be bothered to keep track. Besides, she’s too focused on trying to keep a straight face as Harry plays footsie with her below the counter, his light yellow sneaker toying with her heeled velvet wedge. 

An important question on his behalf snaps Y/N out of her flirty stupor.

“So how do you like your new home?”

She blinks at him slowly, partially to try and give a seductive tinge to the interaction and partially because the liquor has started to truly settle in. It takes her a few heartbeats to process the inquiry. “I love it, actually. It’s a place of my own, for the first time ever. I couldn’t be happier.”

The corners of Harry’s swollen lips tick in genuine happiness on her behalf. “That sounds amazing. Congratulations on such a big step.” 

“Thank you! What about yourself? Renting anything neat?”

“Oh, I own a condo here.” He mentions casually, outlining the criss-cross pattern along the circumference of his highball glass. “I used to visit so often that I finally just decided to pull the trigger on one.”

“Look at you, investing in real estate.” She says in a teasing voice, her heel grazing around his calf slowly, cheeks sizzling as he parts his legs a bit to allow her the pleasure of traveling higher up.

“Mmhm.” Harry licks his red lips, free hand starting to trace over her own. The tips of his fingers are calloused and cold, the motion of them over her skin almost pulling a tremble out of her body. She does her best to restrain it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Is it nice?” 

“Hm?”

His lips twitch in endearment at how he’s managing to make her lose her train of thought. “Your apartment, darling.”

She rests the rim of her drink on the bottom of her lip as she speaks. “It’s nothing huge or fancy, but it’s a decent size and l can call it home. Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N loves how Harry's eyes flit to her lips for what she thinks is the billionth time tonight, his vision sketching along the curve of her cupid’s bow and dotting every peak.

Another warm glow of confidence spikes through her veins and she’s talking before she can analyze her thoughts. “Well, at least I think it can’t get much better than that. Although, I could just be biased. Could probably use an outside opinion.” 

It takes Harry a moment to register what she’s suggesting, a light blush creeping up the base of his neck as he realizes how he’s stopped so abruptly. Humans usually never get him this unnerved and it’s one of many times she’s made it happen. “An outside opinion?”

Y/N lists her head to the side. It sounds like he’s accepting the vague invitation, but she’s so anxious to mess this up that she’s second guessing herself with every passing second. However, with every touch, she wants Harry more and more, and that’s enough to propel her towards a more direct approach. “Mmhm. Like yours, maybe. Would you like to come back and see it?”

Harry pauses for a few of her heartbeats, and then bobs his head in acceptance. She can breath again. 

He finishes off the last inch or so of his tequila, a wicked grin creeping its way across his pretty, flushed mouth, long fingers carding into his loosely arranged curls. “I’m more than happy to be of service.”

A smile works its way onto Y/N’s own face at his response, her foot dropping back down his leg slowly. “I’m glad to hear.”

“Mm.” Harry takes her hand completely now and she almost moans at how much bigger his are, his rings pinching a bit, skin rough in some areas, but silky smooth in others. And strangely icy, but she enjoys it. “Shall we say goodbye to your friends first? I wouldn’t want them to worry about you.”

He knows her “friends” couldn’t care less, but he wants to be as much of a gentleman as possible. Romanticize, romanticize, romanticize.

Y/N snorts, knowing full well that they’d probably purposefully embarrass her in front of him as a joke. 

She squeezes his grasp lightly, giving him a soft smile. “You’re sweet, but it’s fine. They were actually behind you earlier, encouraging this whole thing, so I’m pretty sure they won’t mind.” 

Harry hums deep in the back of his throat and the sound melts into a cute chuckle. “I’m glad they helped, then. Think you can deliver them my thanks some other time?”

The young woman chews on the inside of her cheek at his comment, realizing that it suggests he aims on keeping her occupied for the rest of the night and well into the morning. She has to will herself not to lurch forward and kiss at his annoyingly perfect lips right then and there. “I’ll make sure to pass the message along.” 

With one last cocky simper, Harry helps her down from the stool and pays off their tab, offering her his jacket since most of her outfit is made of flimsy fabrics. Y/N takes it appreciatively, lashes fluttering when his scent envelopes her like a blanket. It’s the unique smokiness from his cologne, mixed with a slightly sweeter smell that she assumes is his shampoo, and a bit of something that reminds her of a vanilla candle. The aromas are sewn into every thread of his coat and she can’t wait to have those scents glued all over her more deliberately later tonight.  

Harry turns and plunges them into the throng of partiers, weeding through bodies with a type of determination that makes her insides twist. His arm comes up in front of him as he plows people out of the way with absolutely no regret, leaving her to throw out a few half-assed apologies in his wake. The idea that he’s excited to be alone with her has Y/N’s insides churning. 

Once they escape all of the grinding limbs and tight spaces, stumbling into the cool air of the starry night, she takes a huge gulp of air. She prays it will tide over the jitters running along the inside of her tummy. She has just now realized how riled up he’d gotten her and it’s all coming to a raging boil. 

Harry paces past the bouncer, throwing up two fingers in parting. “Later, Brock.” 

The security guard gives the young vampire a confused look, not recognizing him at all and wondering how he knows his name. 

Y/N repeats Harry’s phrase for the hell of it, squeezing his hand jestingly and he glimpses over his shoulder, grinning at her with sheer amusement and something much deeper swirling around the specks of copper in his irises. If there was a bit more light, perhaps she would have noticed the way his irises had glinted blood red instead of olive green.

She ogles at the way his back muscles shift and flex below his pastel blue shirt, her mind vaguely taking note of the light yellow detailings along the cuffs and collar. The tee is intriguing and fun and she hopes he’ll let her sleep in it after they’re done. 

She also gets distracted by the baby curls decorating the nape of his neck. She’s itching to tug at them and see what his response would be. Would he shiver in her grasp and let out a soft moan, or would he smirk darkly and tell her to go harder?

Harry suddenly halts, snapping her out of her thoughts as he presents his car. Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off. “This is yours?!”

She gawks at the vintage jet black convertible before her, feeling like she isn’t worthy of its chic presence. It looks new, shining in the street lamps like a thousand diamonds, not a scratch or dent in sight. 

Harry unlocks the passenger’s door, opening it and guiding her inside with a gentle pull at their clasped hands, shrugging his brows playfully. “Hope it’s not too shabby for your liking.”  

“Are you kidding?” The human mumbles in awe as she ducks down into the patented leather seat, running her free hand over the elegant cover. She sighs softly at the way his smell is lingering inside the vehicle, just as much as it sticks to his clothes. “I feel like I should bow to it or something.”

He laughs fully now, leaning down to get a view of her sitting prim and proper in his favorite car, looking gorgeous in her flowy silk pants, lace creme blouse, and his own clothes. He gnaws at his bottom lip to withhold a needy groan. “I think you fit right in.” 

Y/N feels warmth erupt into her face and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to distract her fingers from shaking. “Looks like I’m not the only one that’s good at stroking egos.”

“S’hardly a task. You make it easy, doll.” 

It’s the second pet name he’s called her tonight— it’s strangely vintage, same as his car— and she can’t wait to hear what others he has in store. Preferably in the form of breathy pants and broken whines.

Y/N flicks her gaze up at him through heavy lashes, attempting to stifle a sheepish smile. “Quite the charmer.”

A moment of silence suspends in the air, a light breeze filtering through Harry’s curls, swaying the jewelry around his neck as well as the earring hanging from his lobe. Harry speaks up with a type of hushed desire she hadn’t heard from him yet. “Can I kiss you?”

She blinks up at him once in mild surprise and then releases a sigh of utter relief. “Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.” 

Her hand reaches upwards outside the confines of the car, knitting into the thick fabric of his shirt and yanking him down. The second their mouths meet, it sets off a dozen fireworks in the pit of her stomach. His is softer than she had imagined, wet and warm, and his tongue carries the sourness of the tequila he’d been swishing the whole night. 

Harry’s breath hitches in his throat, and then a quiet whimpery moan streams down his tongue onto her itchy skin. “Christ, that was hot.”

As much as she loves the taste of him— the tartness of the alcohol mixed with an inherent sweetness his lips carry— she forces herself to pull away, but keeps her sweaty forehead pressed to his. “Yeah. It was.”

With one hand still gripping the car door, Harry uses his other to cup her chin lightly, guiding her into another kiss. Now that they have both developed a feel for the other, this one is less tentative than the last. She tastes so fucking good on his tongue, like strawberry syrup—probably from her lipgloss— orange bitters, and bourbon. He just has to have more of it.

A helpless gasp escapes Y/N when Harry's teeth graze against her upper lip, only nipping enough that she craves more. More of anything he has to offer. 

He pulls away and the whine that plucks her vocal chords feeds his eternal soul like nothing else has in a while.  

The young man grins at her for a moment, half in smug satisfaction, half red-faced and desperate, before carefully closing the car door and making his way to the driver’s side. He slides in with ease, shuts his own door and buckles up with a click of the belt. The simple action has never looked so attractive before, but she’s certain that anything Harry does with his ring-covered hands would be attractive.  

He fishes his keys from his front pocket, asking her where she lives in order to try and orient himself. As it turns out, she’s not too far away from his own flat. He knows exactly which condominium she’s referring to without having to even search it up— a perk of living here for a few decades.

He also chuckles to himself a bit at the fact that she hadn’t mentioned he shouldn’t drive under the influence. Vampires have an extremely high tolerance due to their self-healing properties, so the drinks he’d had only gave him a soft, warm buzz. He just finds it comical— and slightly arousing— that she’s so eager to get at him that she’d let that detail slip her mind.

Harry starts the car, but doesnt pull out of the parking spot. Instead, he glances at Y/N as a crease appears in his beautifully sculpted brows. The idea of something displeasing him bothers her, and she’s about to ask what it is when he murmurs a quick, “Just a second, dove.” He reaches across to grab her seatbelt, pulling it over her body and securing it into place on her behalf, making sure it’s nice and proper before leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t know why he cared to do it, but he had. 

The simple action leaves another layer of heat on Y/N’s cheeks. Having him bent over her like that was just a teaser of what was going to unfold later and it already has her mind spinning. She can only imagine how much of a mess he’s going to leave her when there’s no clothes restraining them.

“Thanks.” She whispers, playing with the tips of her fingers.

“No need to thank me. Just wanna keep that pretty face in one piece.” 

He plops one hand on the steering wheel as he shifts into reverse, carefully backing out of his spot. His arm ducks behind her seat, head turning and veins chiseling into his neck. It takes all of Y/N’s willpower not to lean up and begin to darken his tanned skin with hickeys. 

Harry cruises up to the exit of the club parking lot, waiting impatiently for the turn signal, digits tapping away at the leather below them. Y/N can see him throwing pained little glances at her from her peripheral vision, obviously restless to feel her skin sliding against his. Each look causes the warmth between her thighs to swell. 

She’s talking before she can stop herself, voice bashful and soft as ever, yet full of boldness from the liquor she’d consumed. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something to you that’s gonna get us both killed.”

The tapping of his fingers halts and he cranes his head to face her fully, ignoring the flashing green arrow on the stoplight before them. 

Harry reaches over the center console, his nose dragging up the length of her cheekbone, causing her to squeak out a tiny whimper at the feathery sensation. It’s the first time tonight he’s touched her so intimately. 

The sentence he grits out next makes her entire body visibly shutter, his breath hot against her ear, damp lips smearing over her jaw as his oath burns into her flesh.

“And if you say something like that to me again, I promise you I’ll pull this car over and make you eat every fucking word.” 

[henrysteelsmurryme]

fratrry (1, ~6.4k words)

Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3

WARNINGS: SA, swearing, alcohol consumption, Harry being a slag and a bad driver

: :

Bella remembers the first time she stepped into the Alpha Sigma Phi house in broad daylight. It was after three consecutive weekends of hooking up with one of the brothers, Matt Hodge, at every single party they had hosted. He wanted to bring her to the house, to introduce her to his brothers.

They weren’t dating. It was strictly casual sex. But, still, Matt wanted all his brothers to know who she was.

“So, that means she’s off limits,” one of the brothers stated, right in front of her.

Harry had glared at him. “Bro. Bella is with Matt. She’s part of the family now.” His scowl then shifted to a grin. “We protect our family.”

Harry Styles, the most notorious student in the university. Known for being extremely laid-back, happy-go-lucky, and incredible in bed. Like, the best in bed, for both men and women. He isn’t picky.

And, well, Bella can see it. He is easily the most beautiful human being she’s ever laid eyes upon. His curly brown hair, clear green eyes, and his dazzling dimpled smile are all ingredients to cook up one devasting…philanderer. Ladies’ man. Player. Flirt.

A manwhore, essentially.

She can almost guarantee that in all of her classes, at least 10% of the people (including the professors) in each class have fucked him, or have been fucked by him–whatever, that doesn’t matter. He just sleeps around a lot.

But, she remembers being pretty sure that he had just quoted Twilight. She thinks it was just a coincidence.

It was weird to watch him during the day–like he really was a fucking vampire. The only times Bella had ever seen Harry Styles was when the house was submerged in darkness and blinding party lights, the music so loud the bass shook her bones, and there were so many people in the house it was a fire hazard.

She had only ever seen him sweaty and drunk, a smile always on his face if he was dancing, or a smirk if he was flirting. He ruled the weekends, the nights. He was a king among his people, and the Alpha Sigma Phi was his castle. He thrived in those atmospheres, like that’s all he’s good at, the only thing he’s good at (besides fucking, maybe the bed is his throne or something).

Seeing him–watching him interact with his brothers while the sun shined through the windows was something else. He’s so fucking pretty when the sun rays are reflecting off his eyes, lighting up his hair to create a golden halo around his head. His smile is just as blinding as the sun, yet it’s so hard to look away.

But, yeah, Matt. He’s cool. Good in bed, isn’t clingy, a good conversationalist. Bella enjoys being around him.

She doesn’t enjoy being around his brothers, however.

Even though she’s “off limits,” that does not stop them from making crude jokes or throwing a light–but offensive–teasing her way. It’s so fucking irritating. She hates frat boys. They’re rude and smelly and disgusting and vulgar and Bella can hardly stand being in the same room with them for more than two minutes, if that. So, when she comes over, she usually tip toes through the house until she makes it to Matt’s room.

Despite complaining about how much she hates being there so much in her head, she’s there an awful lot. Every Friday and Saturday night for the parties, and also the occasional weeknight party; every Monday night to watch football; during the day because the house is closer to campus than her apartment is; and usually all day Saturday because she stays the night Friday and attends the Saturday parties.

So, basically, she’s a giant hypocrite.

It’s not like she despises them, despite how many hours she’s spent damning their names and rebuking their entire beings. They can be funny and decent sometimes, and she likes to tease them and be teased by them sometimes, but they almost always take it too far. That’s what gets her blood boiling, what makes her scream into her pillow until her voice is hoarse, what makes her thoughts so absurdly gory it almost frightens her. The only frat boys she can truly stand for more than two minutes are Matt and Harry.

Every conversation she has had with Harry is the exact same, like he’s checking off a list.

1. He flirts with her an awful lot.

2. He makes a joke about taking her to bed, or any joke that involves them fucking.

3. He lightly scolds the brothers when they make a particularly mean joke about her.

4. He quotes Twilight.

5. He either makes a comment that stuns Bella because it’s actually kind of intelligent and she would never expect a deep thought like that to come out of a pretty head like his, or he’s genuinely kind to her, does something as little as asks her about her day or if she just got a haircut.

This morning is no different.

It’s early Saturday–well, ten o’clock, but the house is silent. Half of the frat is at breakfast at the diner (a tradition) and the other half is still asleep, and won’t wake up until at least noon. She has some time to sneak into the kitchen and grab something to eat without being bothered.

So, she’s confident enough to walk around the house in a shirt that she wasn’t wearing last night, and her underwear. Of all the times she’s done this, she hasn’t been caught yet, and she will continue to push her luck.

Harry is in the kitchen when she enters, like he always is. “Good morning to me.” He smirks, leaning back against the counter. His eyes rake down her body, lingering on her exposed legs, right underneath the hem of her shirt.

She says with a sigh, “Hi,” and goes to the fridge. She knows Harry’s staring at her ass.

“Anyone ever fucked that ass yet?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asks into the fridge. She hears Harry laugh behind her. “It’s ten in the morning; I just woke up.”

“I’m sorry.” He giggles. “That’s the first thought that popped in my head. It just came out. I couldn’t stop it.”

“Like that makes it any better.” There’s nothing good in the fridge. She shuts the door and gives Harry an unimpressed look. He just beams at her.

His eyes flicker down her body, eyeing her legs. “Did you just wax?”

“I did.”

He hums into his glass of orange juice (probably a mimosa). “I love a woman with a bit of hair.”

Bella opens the cereal cupboard. “I bet you do.”

“Want me to make pancakes?”

“Please.”

Harry nods and hands her his glass before gathering the ingredients. Bella hops onto the counter and takes a sip of his drink (definitely a mimosa).

She watches him prepare her breakfast, wearing just his boxers and an apron that has the typical half naked woman’s body on it. His face is still slightly puffy, his eyes just a little red and swollen. His movements are sluggish and lazy, and it perfectly describes every Saturday morning in the Alpha Sigma Phi house. She loves the mornings here (mostly–all–because of the absence of frat boys).

She’s halfway into eating her plate of pancakes when the door slams open and the house fills with deep voices. Bella hops off the counter and darts out of the kitchen, but she’s too late.

One brother, Chad, spots her and immediately chases after her. “Bella! I see you, you little bitch!” He catches up to her just as she’s on the first step of the staircase, wraps his arms around her and pulls her against his chest. She lets out a short shriek when she’s lifted into the air. She flails her legs to no avail as Chad carries her back into the kitchen.

Harry drones, “Put her down.” He doesn’t even glance their way, focuses on the stove.

“You thought you could run away from me, you little slut?” Chad murmurs into her ear. She huffs out a laugh, tries to pry his hands off her.

“Let me go, Chad.”

“No, I want everyone to see the cute little panties you got on. Oh, red? My favorite color.”

Bella barks out a laugh and he snickers at the sounds of her struggles. Then she feels his hand slide down her waist. She kicks her legs out and snaps, “Watch it!”

He wrinkles his nose. “You’re wearing cotton? Not even lace or silk? You’re such a prude.”

“Chad,” Harry warns, like he’s losing patience.

“Yes, dad,” he drawls, dropping her.

She huffs, pulling her shirt down before she stomps out of the kitchen. She hides in Matt’s room for the rest of the morning until he wakes up. They both head back downstairs, Bella with pants on now.

She sits in a chair in the living room as Matt stumbles into the kitchen to make them coffee. She stares with a bored gaze at the television; they’re watching SportsCenter.

She sighs and leans back. Matt eventually returns and slides into the chair with her. It’s a tight fit, but Bella loves a good snuggle, so she relaxes against him, accepting her mug from him. He wraps an arm around her to pull her closer before turning to the television.

Harry enters the living room with a loud sigh, still in his boxers. He falls back onto the couch. “The freezer is dangerously low on French toast sticks. We’re down to a two, maybe three year’s supply.”

“Shut the fuck up Harry’s” ring through the room. He pouts. “Okay, but someone does need to go shopping. I don’t know who it is, but it’s not me.”

Nobody responds.

“It’s Matt,” a brother says after checking the spreadsheet on his phone minutes later.

“Fuck,” he says in Bella’s ear. He shifts a bit and twists his neck to look at her. “Come with me?”

She shrugs, takes another sip of her coffee. “Sure.”

Before they leave for the store, Harry requests that they buy a certain snack for him. Then he asks for something else, then another thing.

After the seventh request, Bella snaps at him to come with them. He pouts, but then joins them.

And then they lose him in the store for twenty minutes.

“Let’s just go,” she says to Matt. Harry’s nowhere to be seen. “They’re gonna start pregaming soon.”

“We’re not going to leave him, Bella.” Matt gives her a disapproving look. “He’ll cry.”

She mutters under her breath, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Matt snorts.

Then he finds him in the bathroom.

She’s staring at Harry incredulously as she hurries beside him in the parking lot. “A bootycall in the middle of the day? In Meijer? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Harry beams as he struts, pumping his arms dramatically. It’s the same stupid fucking smile he wears on his stupid fucking face after he gets some stupid fucking pussy or ass. He always acts so fucking stupid after a good fuck. He’s so fucking stupid.

He’s also sporting a rather large hickey just under his jaw. It’s ginormous and purple and distracting and stupid, really fucking stupid.

He ignores her, climbs into the passenger seat. “God, Matt, can you fuck her with the stick that’s up her ass? Or,” he turns back, wiggles his eyebrows at her, “I’ll fuck you with a bigger stick.”

“You mean that monster dildo in your drawer?” She looks out the window. “No, thanks. I don’t want to split my ass open.”

The frat boys laugh obnoxiously loudly in the front. Matt hits his head on the steering wheel. Harry cackles and claps his hands.

Stupid fucking frat boys.

: :

The front door of the house slams open. Heavy footsteps sound like thunder as they stomp through the house. Harry appears, eyebrows drawn together and a deep frown on his face. “Got another fucking ticket.”

“Harry,” one of the brothers says with a shake of his head, “that’s the second one this semester.”

He replies sharply, “Don’t you think I know that?” He throws himself down on the couch, glaring at the wall above the television. He lets out a short groan, hands flying up to his face.

Suddenly, his tense body relaxes, and he sags into the couch. He lets out a light sigh as his hands fall to his lap and slap his thighs. He shrugs and pushes himself off the couch. “I’ll just have to fuck the chief again.”

Bella gasps, can’t help the “Oh, my God.” What the fuck did he just say? “Harry,” she says uneasily, “isn’t that, like…illegal?”

He shrugs. “Fuck if I know. I don’t give a shit. As long as it gets me out of paying five hundred bucks.” He notices the look on her face, then rolls his eyes. “Oh, please, Bella, it’s a speeding ticket. On the highway. It’s not like I’m hitting people or going fifty in a neighborhood.”

“Wasn’t your last ticket a parking one?”

He sighs. “Listen, Bella, I was seconds away from shitting myself. I wasn’t about to go find a parking space. I barely made it to the toilet as is.”

Matt snickers. “I fucking remember that. You called crying from the toilet.”

“I wasn’t crying.” Harry sniffs. “It was a traumatic experience. I still haven’t gotten coffee from that Dunkin.”

The next day, he has the balls to ask Bella to accompany him as he drives to some unknown destination.

She’s standing outside the passenger car door. Harry is sitting in the driver’s seat, and he has the window rolled down to talk to her.

“Harry, I don’t want to get in a car with you.”

“Of all the things about me that could frighten you, you’re worried about my driving?”

She immediately says, “Yes.”

Harry sighs, then pats the passenger seat. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. Just get in.”

And she had every right to be terrified, because he is a terrible driver.

“Harry!” Bella shrieks, pointing out the windshield. “Look out for that car!” Her hand flies up to the handle on the roof, holding onto it for dear life as Harry speeds toward a car merging in front of them.

Harry lets out his own shriek, swerves and manages to switch lanes without crashing into other cars. Their bodies jerk to the right as Harry whips around. Bella hits her head on the window.

“Stupid shiny Volvo owner!” he yells, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white.

Bella lets out another shriek, her body jerking to the left now as Harry weaves through the lanes. She yells seriously, “I’ve never seen anyone so prone to life-threatening idiocy in my life!”

Harry makes a weird noise. Bella would laugh if the current situation wasn’t so dire.

“I should turn you in to the cops! You shouldn’t be allowed to drive!”

“Stop shouting!” he shouts at her. “And I’d just suck everyone’s dick and they’d let me out!” Even though the immediate danger is past them, he’s still tense and hunched over. And he keeps jerking the car around. It feels just as chaotic as before.

“You’re the biggest skankiest sluttiest trampiest…!–” she struggles for another word, she’s panicking “–slut I’ve ever met!”

“Thank you!”

Bella has a serious headache, and stomachache. Her hand hurts from how hard she’s squeezing the handle. Her head feels like it’s about to burst from how tense she is, from how much she’s freaking out.

When they reach his surprise destination–a fucking Hobby Lobby–Bella climbs out of the car and almost collapses with relief.

She screams, “I am never getting in a car with you again!”

Harry rounds the car, looking perfectly normal. Bella still can’t breathe properly.

He yells back, “You’re overreacting!”

“We almost died!” She thrusts a hand out to the car. “And look at how you parked!”

Harry looks. He’s smack dab in the middle of two spaces, at a forty-five-degree diagonal. He’s also about two inches from the BMW parked kitty corner from his car. Phew.

“At least I didn’t hit it,” is all he can say.

Bella’s so pissed. “And what the fuck could you possibly need from Hobby Lobby? I’m calling an Uber.” She turns on her heels and pulls out her phone.

“Fine!” he yells after her as she walks away. “Have fun paying fifty bucks!”

When she gets back to the house, the brothers take pity on her, and they each venmo her five bucks.

: :

Bella has never been one for Halloween. She’s not even willing to spend ten bucks on a costume from Party City, and she’d rather go as nothing then pick random things in her closet to only barely represent the person she’s trying to dress up as. Go big or go home, and for Halloween, she always goes home.

Which is why she’s wearing scrubs that one of the frat boys let her borrow for the night. It’s a little big, but at least she’s dressed. And Matt decided to dress as a sexy nurse, so it’s a little funny.

She doesn’t see Harry until the party is in full swing. She catches his eye, and narrows her eyes at him as he approaches her. She’s trying to figure out his costume, and she has an inkling.

“Hello,” he says tentatively once he’s standing in front of her. She rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself last week. I’m Edward Cullen…” He’s grinning so hard, it looks painful. “You’re Bella?”

“No,” she responds flatly.

“Fuck!” He lifts his leg and stomps it on the ground hard, throwing his hands down as well. “You ruined it!”

“Aw.” Bella pouts as she brushes past him. “Sorry.”

He shouts after her, “Your costume is ass, by the way!”

He ends up hooking up with a woman dressed as Bella Swan at the end of the night.

“I’ll pretend she’s you the entire time,” he reassures the real Bella as they walk by her, his hands on the woman’s hips as she leads them to the stairs.

Bella furiously shakes her head. She says with a desperate plea in her voice, “Please don’t!”

Harry throws his head back and laughs, disappearing up the stairs.

The next morning, Bella walks into the kitchen to find Harry at the stove, only in his boxers.

“Wow, you really put that glitter everywhere.”

“Go big or go home, Bella. I never half-ass Halloween.”

She just hums, jumps onto the counter next to the stove. “Make me one?”

He nods. “You can have this one.”

As he cooks the omelet, Bella takes in his appearance. “I bet that’s gonna be a bitch to get off.”

He groans. “I showered this morning and none of it came off.”

She laughs hard at that, throwing her head back and covering her mouth. Once done with her laughing spell, she leans forward and pokes one of the various hickies on his neck. “Hey, it came off here.”

He scoffs. “I fucking hope so. Felt like she was actually sucking my fucking blood. Turns out she was vampire Bella and not human Bella.”

She hums and leans back against the counters. “Shame.”

“Yeah.” His eyes flick up to her, quickly scanning her body before focusing back on the omelet. “Bet the doctor and nurse thing was hot.”

She snorts. “Yeah, choked him with my stethoscope.”

He hums, wiggling his eyebrows. “Kinky.” He holds the plate out for her. She takes it and thanks him, accepting the fork he hands her.

“You know,” he says as their both eating their breakfast. He rubs his chest, a pinched look on his face. “My chest’s been hurting the past couple days.”

Bella doesn’t look up, too focused on her omelet. “Oh, yeah?” she asks around a mouthful.

He nods. “Yeah.” His voice drops to a low, sultry tone. “Think you can check it out for me, doctor?”

Bella laughs so hard, she starts to choke on her omelet. Harry has to pull her off the counter and smack her back a few times until the egg sprays out of her mouth. It ruins the mood.

: :

Harry doesn't really get moody. He's so laidback, it's hard to get a reaction out of him.

But every once in a while, he'll storm into the house and lock himself in his room for the rest of the day, before coming downstairs the next morning with a smile on his face, like his sour mood never happened.

Today, Bella thinks, is another one of those days as he storms inside the house and doesn’t say hi to Bella or any of the brothers.

Ten minutes later, he comes downstairs, hair wet and dripping onto his shirt.

Bella glances at him, then does a double take. “You showered?” She stomps her foot childishly. “I was gonna ask you to workout with me.”

“I’ll still do it,” he says curtly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he snaps, turning to leave. “I’ll get dressed.”

Bella doesn’t respond, just thinks, Yikes. She usually avoids him when he's grumpy, lets him calm down on his own. But she really wanted to workout today and he's always her workout buddy. She's just surprised he agreed.

They don’t speak as they stretch in the driveway. Usually, Harry talks nonstop and chats her ear off. However, today, he is silent, just quietly brooding to himself. He’s got a wrinkle between his eyebrows, and a frown on his lips.

It’s kind of awkward, and a bit tense, but Bella tries not to think too much about it. She doesn’t say anything for a while, not until they’ve started jogging.

“You all right?”

“Yeah,” he says on a sigh. “Just had a rough day.”

Bella lets out a sympathetic hum, and doesn’t say anything else.

She thinks the jog blew some steam off, because he seems to be in a better mood when they’re lifting. While she’s bench pressing, Harry’s spotting for her. He pushes his hips forward a bit, his genitals almost touching her forehead.

Bella flinches away with a laugh, and she can hear Harry giggle above her.

“Aw, come on. You don’t want my balls in your face?”

“Not while I’m lifting,” she says with a strain in her voice as she completes her presses.

When it’s his turn to lie down, she returns the gesture.

Harry flinches away with a laugh. “Get that fishy pussy away from me.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t want it in your face?”

He hums, scrunching his nose teasingly at her. “Maybe later. I think I’ve got some Summer’s Eve in my cupboard.”

Bella gasps loudly, getting another loud laugh out of him. She smacks his stomach and–well, it feels like smacking a wall.

Harry just wiggles his eyebrows at her as he lifts the bar. Bella doesn’t say anything, just presses her lips together.

When they’re done lifting, she asks, “Do you wanna take a walk to cool off?”

Harry nods, and they walk around the neighborhood. This time, Harry does talk, and he doesn’t shut up.

Usually, Bella would snap at him because she can’t stand to hear his voice for so long, but she doesn’t. She realizes she prefers it when he talks, rather than when he doesn’t.

He talks about the most random of things, and while he does make a dirty joke every once in a while, they’re tame and not so disgusting that Bella wants to knee herself in the face.

He talks about what he had for breakfast, then for lunch, and how he’s excited for whatever Martha’s going to cook up today. He talks about the hawk that he witnessed attack a squirrel. It’s so random, it’s almost endearing. And it also helps that Harry can actually hold a conversation with her and not make her uncomfortable.

Bella likes to think they’re friends. She thinks Harry feels the same way.

Their hands bump together as they walk, enough to the point that Bella knows Harry’s doing it on purpose. That, and a large smile grows on his face more and more even as he’s talking about how one of his professor’s parent died. She knows what he’s up to.

Finally, after the umpteenth bump, she grabs his hand.

He smiles so wide, the skin around his eyes crinkle and his eyes sparkle.

“Knew you wanted to hold my hand,” he says teasingly. “You weren’t that subtle.”

“Yeah,” she says dryly. “I kept hitting your hand, cause I wanted to hold your hand.”

“Let’s not tell Matt,” he says with a smile. “He’ll get jealous.”

Then he starts to swing their joined hands obnoxiously. And he asks her about her day, what her favorite part was, what she had for breakfast and lunch. She tells him about her classes, how much she hates her one professor.

And he listens. He turns his head and stares at her as she talks, so much that he trips over a crack in the sidewalk. And he shuts up as he does so. He doesn’t interrupt her, doesn’t talk over her, doesn’t outshine her story with one of his own.

Yeah, they’re definitely friends. And she can definitely stand at least one frat boy.

They end up walking for about an hour, which is the exact opposite of a cool down, but Bella doesn’t mind. Harry’s in such a good mood now; it’s like his irritated one never happened.

They return to the house, and it’s filled with the aroma of spaghetti.

Harry lets out a little moan, and yells, “I fucking love spaghetti, Martha!”

She responds, “I know!” from the kitchen.

They continue through the house, and Bella rolls her eyes at the brothers eyeing her legs. Maybe she shouldn’t have worn these shorts.

They walk up the stairs, and pass Matt’s room, but Bella silently follows Harry to his room. She stands in the doorway for a moment, wringing her hands together, before asking “Can I use your shower?”

He spins around, not expecting her to have followed him. “Yeah. That’s fine. Do you need a towel?” Bella nods. Harry scratches his head. “Yeah, well, um…I only have one, but I think it was washed, like, two days ago…?” He gives her a hopeful, sheepish look.

She sighs. “That’s fine.”

When she’s finished showering, she steps into his room in just the towel. Harry’s lying on his stomach on the floor, propping his chin up with his fist as he scrolls through his phone.

He asks without looking up, “All done?”

Bella hums back, gripping the top of the towel. “I’m gonna change.”

“Okay,” he says easily, still not removing his eyes from the screen.

When a minute passes by and Bella doesn’t move, he finally lifts his eyes. “Do you…want to change here?”

She snaps out of her little daze. “Oh–uh, no.” She scurries past him, opens the door and peeks her head out, looking down the hall. She books it to Matt’s room and finds him taking a nap.

She quietly shuts the door, but he’s a light sleeper, so he wakes up and rolls over. “How was your workout?”

“Good.” She goes to walk to his dresser (where her clothes fill half the drawers) but he makes a noise. “What?” She turns to him, then sighs. “I just showered.”

“And?” And his voice is a bit raspy, a bit husky like it always is when he wakes up. It makes her insides tingle.

She thinks it over, then shrugs, dropping the towel and crossing the room before climbing on top of him. She straddles his hips and his hands grip her waist.

“I kinda liked it when you’re all sweaty,” he whines.

Bella laughs and leans down to kiss him as she grinds her hips against his.

: :

“Hey.”

Bella looks up from her phone. Harry’s looking down at her with a soft smile on his face. She smiles back. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Got you something.” He reveals a wrapped box from behind his back. “Merry Christmas,” he says, almost shyly.

Bella’s mouth falls open. She looks up at him with something close to awe in her eyes. “You didn’t have to get me anything. I didn’t get you a present.”

He waves a hand. “Don’t worry. This is my present, too.”

Gone is the sweet moment. Bella rolls her eyes, tearing open the present to get it over with. She’s not surprised to find a matching set of a bra and panties.

She holds the bra up, high enough that it aligns with Harry’s chest as he stands in front of her. He’s biting his lip hard, but his dimples peek through.

She sighs, lowering the bra to her lap. “How do you know my bra size.”

“Lucky guess,” he chokes out. He looks about three seconds from bursting into laughter. “I’m well acquainted with boobs.”

“Acquainted,” she repeats to herself, looking at the bra. It’s cute, she stubbornly admits. And it’s in her favorite color: a soft green. She can appreciate that he remembered her favorite color. It’s lacy and sheer, but the lace weaves through the material likes vines and flowers. It’s very dainty, and very pretty. Fuck.

He probably had so much fucking fun picking these out. She can imagine his shit-eating smile as he looked through all the collections. He probably felt the material to determine if it was soft or not, chose colors that he thought would complement her skin tone. He most definitely imagined her in each set, deciding that this one best fit her in his mind. He most definitely had a fucking blast.

“I know you like your granny panties, but I had to go for the full set. Don’t worry, they’re cotton.”

She replies dryly, “How thoughtful of you.”

His smile widens. He’s so fucking annoying. Then his smile shifts into a smirk. He licks his lips, raking his eyes up and down her body. “You should try it on for me. It’s only fair that I know what it looks like on you, since I bought it for you.”

She stands up, so close to him that if he were to lean in, their noses would brush against each other. She’s got a hint of a smirk on her face, an impish look in her eyes. It excites Harry a bit–a lot, it excites him a lot.

“I’m sure Matt could send you a pic,” she says before walking around him.

“FUCK,” she hears him yell from downstairs. She giggles before walking into Matt’s room.

Just before New Year’s, Harry gets a snapchat from her. They never talk on snapchat, so he immediately knows what it is. His pants tighten just a fraction as images race through his mind. But, nothing’s better than the actual thing.

Harry taps on the message. It’s exactly what he thought it was and–

It fucking disappears. She sent it for one second.

He asks out loud, “Are you fucking kidding me?” He sits up in his bed, staring down at his phone in disbelief.

That bitch. That fucking bitch.

This entire thing was a joke, one that she thankfully went along with. It’s all for shits and giggles, and Harry thinks replaying the image would be crossing that line between a joke and something else.

So, he doesn’t replay the image, just texts, You’re an actual bitch I hat eyou so fuckign much go die in a hole somewhere in fuking Nebraska like the hick that you are

If you’re nice to me I’ll send you a titty pic

I love you so much you’re so fucking hot can I please get a titty pic so I can jerk off to something tonight

He gets another snapchat from her. It’s a full ten seconds long. Harry is 420% sure it’s her knees.

: :

Alpha Sigma Phi throws a huge party the first weekend of the semester, as they always do after a break.

After weeks of staying in her small town in Nebraska, Bella welcomes the pounding bass, flashing lights, and strong drinks with open arms. She was getting so fucking bored; the closest thing she had to having fun was sending Harry those snapchats.

And speak of the devil, he strolls up to her, an unimpressed look on his face. Bella snorts; he must still be cranky about it.

"Hey," he says shortly, confirming her thoughts.

She replies in a flirty tone, "Hi, Harry." She gives him a smirk, one that he responds with an unamused look. He's so dramatic.

"How was your break?" He lifts his cup to his lips.

"Boring as fuck."

He snorts into his drink, the corners of his lips lifting into a smirk. "Told you you could've came home with me."

"Yeah." She looks around the house, a sigh leaving her lips. "Might have to take you up on that for spring break."

"Going to Laudy, actually. You can still come."

She wrinkles her nose. "With your frat bros?"

He shakes his head. "Nah. With Ni and all them."

Bella nods, the disgusted look on her face relaxing. "Then maybe."

Harry hums, then scans her body. His eyes linger on her shoulder, where a familiar green strap is peeking through. His jaw clenches a bit, and he swallows.

Bella catches his eye and snorts.

Harry sighs heavily. Then he asks begrudgingly, “Did Matt enjoy my present?”

“He did, actually. Thank you for asking.” She presses her lips together to avoid laughing at the grumpy look on his face. “Did you get my snapchat?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Fuck you again for that. You’re a fucking bitch.”

“Oh, please.” She walks by him, patting his chest. Then, she leans in, grazing her lips against his ear to whisper, “Maybe if you act right, you’ll get another picture.”

She pulls away just enough for Harry to turn his head and glower at her, but the harsh gaze quickly dissolves. His forehead relaxes, and his lips part a bit to draw in a deep breath, one that visibly expands his chest and raises his shoulders. His eyes flicker down for a split second, but she notices.

Bella smirks before strutting past him.

She doesn't see him the rest of the night. She hears from disappointed men and women that he's upstairs with someone, and that he probably won't come back down the rest of the night.

She thinks she's going to ask him to brunch tomorrow. She missed him over break. They'd gotten pretty close over the last few months, and she considers him a friend. A close friend, even.

She's grateful that at least two good things came out of this frat house: good sex, and a good friend.

She's in the living room with her friends when, all of the sudden, she feels an immense amount of pressure between her legs. The air is sucked out of her lungs and she feels like she’s just been punched in the stomach.

The hand is squeezing so hard, their fingers slip into her underwear. She gasps and immediately tenses, then lets out a choked sob. Her eyes fill with tears as she yanks herself away.

Immediately, she feels like she’s going to throw up, or start sobbing, or both. Her body’s shaking.

She whips around and pushes whoever it is that was behind her. It’s fucking Brad.

“What?” He lets out a loud, boisterous laugh, falling back onto his brothers who snicker and push him until he’s upright.

“What the fuck,” she seethes through clenched teeth and teary eyes.

He steps closer, and the beer and alcohol attack her senses. She scrunches her face up and takes a step back. He follows. “Your ass just looked so cute. I couldn’t help myself.”

She sniffles, lets out a little cry. She wipes her eyes before looking up. “Fuck you.”

She throws her cup in his face and turns on her heels, storming up the stairs. She can hear his cries of pain behind her.

Tears are now running down her cheeks as she approaches Matt’s room. Her hands are shaking so bad it takes her a few minutes to unlock the door. When she finally does, she stumbles into the room and collapses onto the bed. Sitting on the edge, she leans down and presses her face in her hands.

She feels so fucking disgusting. She can still feel his grimy hand between her legs, can still feel the pressure from how hard he was grabbing her.

She sniffles and reaches down to cup herself, to rub gently, to try and erase some of the harsh, invisible bruises. It doesn’t really work.

She lets out another cry, and then spends the next five minutes trying to calm herself down.

She’s nearly okay when Matt walks into the room. He asks with a snort, “What the fuck did you do to Brad?”

“He grabbed me, Matt,” Bella says wetly. She doesn’t look at him.

He walks across the room, bends down to pick up a stray shirt from the floor. “Brad? Did he hurt you?”

“No,” she says thickly, tears springing to her eyes. There’s a lump in her throat. “But I didn’t like it.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it, Bella,” he says gently, but it sounds scripted, like he’s just supposed to say it.

“Matt–” She hides her face in her hands again. She struggles to get the next words out. “He grabbed my…my…”

“…Pussy?”

He isn’t taking this seriously. He sounds amused, not sympathetic.

Her face crumbles from behind her hands and she tries so hard to keep the next wave of tears from breeching, but they don’t listen to her. She lets out a sob.

“I didn’t like it, Matt.” She’s so upset. She’s so tired. She can’t do this anymore. “Can you go tell him that?”

“Bella,” he says slowly, exasperatedly, “they’re just joking around.”

Her hands fall to her lap. She looks him in the eyes. “I don’t care. It makes me uncomfortable.”

He shrugs his shoulder and holds his arms up. “They don’t mean any harm by it!”

Bella’s so overwhelmed. She's drunk and disoriented, and she was violated, and now she’s being gaslighted. It doesn’t feel good. Frustrated tears spring to her eyes. She says shakily, “I don’t care if they don’t mean any harm–” her voice raises to a shout “–it still fucking harms me! I don’t like their touching. It makes me feel gross and bad. Aren’t you gonna fucking do something about it?”

He raises his hands, lets out a sharp laugh. “I’m not your boyfriend. You’re the one that wanted this to be casual, remember?”

She spits through her tears, “No, you’re not my boyfriend, but I consider you my friend. I thought you were a basic fucking human being.”

“Bella, I’m a nice guy, okay? They’re all nice guys.” He scoffs. “It’s not like they’re gonna rape you or anything.”

“So, you’re not going to say anything?”

He rolls his eyes. “Bella, I’ve never said anything, because they don’t. Mean it. Like that. You’re being sensitive and dramatic, seriously.”

Her breath hitches. Her voice barely rises above a whisper. “All the times I’ve told you, you never did anything?”

He snorts. “No, of course not, because they’re not bad guys, Bella. They like to tease, that’s it.”

She presses her tongue inside her cheek, tries to stop the new wave of tears from falling. “Okay.” She nods.

He sighs out of relief. “Finally. Let’s just get back to the party.”

She shakes her head, steps back from him. “No.”

“Fine.” He brushes past her. “Stay up here. I don’t give a fuck.”

“We’re done,” she says to the empty room.

Matt pauses in the doorway. “What?”

“I’m done.” Bella shrugs with wet cheeks. The tears have stopped flowing, but they’ve stained her skin. “Fuck you. You’re a piece of shit. You and all your frat bros.”

Behind her, Matt rolls his eyes. “Fine. Fuck you then. Whatever. You can fucking leave.” Then he leaves her.

: :

Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3

[kerie-prince]

We're Worlds Apart (2)

Draco Malfoy x American No-Maj!reader

series m.list | general m.list | previous chp

warnings: light cursing, mentions of death, angsty Draco

summary: Draco Malfoy is a pureblood wizard. Magic runs through his veins and has been since his birth. You're a Wiccan No-Maj; a non-magical being with ordinary blood through your veins, but practices what you call magick. And this very practice upsets your neighbor.

(gif not mine)

The surrounding neighbors have been very nice; one elderly couple walked up to Draco’s door with an apple pie, quite the American staple, and he seemed to appreciate it. They seemed normal and sweet. Much unlike the feeling he had for his neighbor. Y/N. He hasn't made any attempts in the month that he's lived in the small suburban neighborhood to see her. He avoided her like she was a deadly plague.

Albeit, it was probably harsh and extremely childish. The whole point of him becoming a new person was changing his views he had been taught in adolescence. Or else why did he help Harry Potter all those years ago when he swore he hated him?

It was currently around 3 in the morning, he was standing in his backyard and made sure no one would be awake as he sent his owl to send a letter to his best friend, Blaise. He was the only person who still contacted Draco on a regular basis besides the occasional letter from Theodore. Gregory cut all contact with Draco after the Battle, especially since Vincent had died that night in the fire in the Room of Requirement. Pansy was living her life somewhere, and although the Golden Trio had forgiven Draco for his actions, it didn't start any friendships. But Draco was fine; Blaise and Theo had been there for him in more ways he cares to admit.

He never mentioned a word about Y/N to Blaise until now when he asked what Draco’s American neighbors were like. Majority of the letter contained contents of how work has been, the differences in not only culture but also how things are called, and just his own well being. He did say something short for the elderly couple, but when it came to Y/N he had a lot to say.

These muggles are far different from the ones in England, Blaise. They know things about the magic world but input a fantasy in their heads. They believe they can actually practice witchcraft and wizardry, calling themselves “Wiccan” or whatever rubbish it is. Bloody hell, they even have films and tv programs of them. My neighbor is one of these and she does the most ludacris things in her house. Quite laughable, really. If Salazar was alive today to see this happening, I’d bet he’d curse the whole lot.

She had been lingering in his mind since that day of his discovery. It was annoying him. Every night, he would catch her in her room doing whatever the hell she was doing and he felt as if the universe was mocking him. This is what people think what you really are was the message he got from it all. Draco never thought something like this would make him feel like a freak. But he did. This act of hers was an indirect insult of what he was capable of. And she had no idea.

—

It was a fine autumn morning. The shop was closed today, so you had lots of time at home to catch up with cleaning. You stood over your bathroom sink brushing your teeth and saw from the reflection of your mirror your cat stretching herself before walking into the bathroom to rub herself on your legs. “Good morning, Aurora,” you cooed at her. She purred in response and ran off to her tower in the living room.

After getting changed into some comfortable clothes, you walked up to a closet in the hallway that had collections of crystals, oils, sage bundles and more. “Let’s see, where did I put the angelica root?” you asked out loud to yourself. Going through the shelves, you pulled some sea salt, ground lemon balm, ground angelica root, and a feather. You carried the items outside in a bowl to your backyard and set them at a small garden table. Walking over to your garden, you pulled some elderberry flowers and started your cleansing spell.

You sprinkled the salt onto a censor dish and placed a charcoal dish on it and lit it up. In the bowl you had used to carry the items out, you started mixing the herbs together as you waited for the charcoal to burn red. Once it did, you sprinkled the herbs on top, creating a cleansing incense. You picked it up from the bottom of the censor dish, picked up the feather and made your way steadily to your front door, lightly wafting smoke towards it. Reaching your front door, you drew a pentagram over it with the feather and smoke,

“Be gone negativity,

Here now blessed be.”

You repeat your incantations throughout the house until you have finished and walked back to your living room, drawing one last pentagram. You placed your feather and censor dish on the bare floor, stood up and tapped your foot three times,

“By my will, so shall it be.

Sealed now shall this cleansing be.”

You sat on your couch and turned on the television, waiting for the incense to burn out so you could scatter it around your backyard. After a couple of hours of watching a guilty pleasure of yours, you decided to get some actual cleaning done. First thing was to do some trimming and gardening outside, so you grabbed some gloves and headed out back to your yard.

Before grabbing your garden scissors, you looked up and saw something rather strange. There was an owl in your neighbors yard. In broad daylight. From the backyard, you heard a car pull in and peeked over the fence to see that it was your neighbor coming home. You ran to the front leaving a dirt trail in your house and ran out the front door.

He hadn’t walked in yet, so you started waving your arm, “Hello! I’m Y/N!”

He had just nodded his head and walked a straight line to his door. Not wanting to lose this chance of having a conversation with him, you yelled for him one more time, “There’s an owl in your yard!” His eyes widened and without a word, he ran into his house in a panic. From a distance, you heard him say 'shit' before closing the door.

Building up confidence, you walked up to his door and knocked a few times and patiently waited. You fixed your hair and stood surprised as he hastily opened the door. “H-hi! It’s so nice to meet you, I'm Y/N,” you stretched your hand out to shake his hand. He looked at it and had a displeased look, causing unease within you. Looking at your hand, you noticed you still had your gardening gloves on with dirt on it.

“Oops, sorry!” you chuckled as you took it off and reached out again.

Again, he just looked at you with a straight face for a couple of seconds before finally speaking, “Look, I’m really busy, so if you don't mind.” He shut the door without giving you any chance to say anything back. You stood there in shock, replaying his British voice in your head. And as you stood there, you wondered why it is that he doesn't want to talk to you. The Charles couple across from your house were able to introduce themselves, and even got a smile from him. But for some reason, you could never get the same treatment.

—

Ian had proposed to Draco a housewarming party during lunch. Of course Draco had never been to one, much less hosted one.

“It’s alright, boss. I can fix all the arrangements up. All you gotta do is relax,” Ashley proposed. To say that Draco is extremely happy is an understatement. He had friends that actually enjoyed his company and not his influence. Not that he had much of that anyway.

America was really working out for him; work was great, people were nice, and the area he lived in was peaceful. Yes, he didn't like his neighbor, but she wasn't ruining his life in this new country. He just didn't like what she did.

“Thank you, Ashley. And you know you can just call me ‘Draco’.”

“I know,” she replied. Ashley grabbed her Blackberry phone and started drafting up an email, asking for his address so she could let people know where it would be. “Is this Friday a good time?”

“Yes, that should be fine. I don't have any plans that day.”

“Great, it's sent out to everyone in our department. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an attending to watch over for a surgery. See you guys later!” Draco, Blaine and Ian waved at Ashley as she left.

Blaine left soon after, leaving Ian with Draco. “Alright man, how’s it going on your street? Are you finally settled in?”

“I finally got the last of my things delivered from London yesterday. I was a bit nervous though. That mugg— I mean No-Maj neighbor of mine saw my mum’s owl in my yard. Thankfully, she didn't ask any questions,” Draco said as he cleared his lunch tray.

“Wait, you still use an owl? Ha, I didn’t think people still did,” Ian chuckled. “Well, of course I do. Do you not?”

“No, most wizards here in the States just use the usual ground post that No-Maj’s use. Things are a bit more modern around here. Speaking of your neighbor actually, have you ever spoken to her?”

Draco shrugged nonchalantly and said a simple ‘No’ when he really wanted to scrunch his nose and eyebrows in disgust and say ‘Fuck no.’ Ian, however, is gifted in Legilimens. He heard what Draco really meant but kept to himself. I guess things are different in the UK he thought.

—

“Hello my dear baby, I just wanted to call and give you a heads up; your brother and I are coming for Thanksgiving. He’s bringing Stephanie so do me a favor, please no witchy stuff.”

The voicemail played out loud in the kitchen. Please no witchy stuff. Your mother had repeatedly explained to you that she was okay with ‘it’ all, but growing up you never really got on the same page with her. And you knew it was because of your practice. Your younger brother would say comments every now and then when you grew up, but he always stood up for you when other people called you a ‘satanic freak’. But never once did you regret starting the Craft. You enjoyed it and it made you feel whole.

It had been a week since your encounter with your, now known British, neighbor. It bothered you a lot that he didn’t seem to want to get to know you. You were lost in your thoughts that you almost didn’t notice the doorbell going off. You answered the door and saw your neighbor.

“Hi dear, do you think you could help me and my husband with something?” Mrs. Charles smiled sweetly at you. “Of course, what can I do for you?”

“My grandson is coming in from Vermont, would it be alright if you could give us a ride to the airport? I’d ask Draco but he’s always busy at work and I don’t want to be a bother.”

Draco? “I’m sorry, who’s that?” you had a confused look.

“Our new neighbor, dear. I thought you had met him already. You two are the same age after all,” she informed you. Draco. How unique. You instantly recognized the name from the star constellation. It was nice to finally put a name to a face. Distracted again, Mrs. Charles waited for your answer, “Y/N? Can you do it?”

“O-oh, sorry. Of course I’ll help. Frankie was his name, correct?”

“Yes, it’s Frankie. Thank you so much. His flight comes in on Friday. I’ll see you then,” you wished her a good night and looked out your window to make sure she crossed the street safely. The rest of the night consisted of you and and your cat laying on your couch watching TV, but what was on the screen didn’t have your attention. Draco did. And you had no idea why.

—

“Dude, why do you not have a TV?” Blaine looked around Draco’s house and studied the arrangements he had. It was quite plain, almost minimalistic. Looking around, Draco couldn’t help but think how different it was from the Manor back in London. Instead of grand chandeliers, moving portraits of the Malfoy’s before him, and intricate designs on the walls, he had simple white walls with just one moving picture of him, Blaise and Theo a couple minutes before a Quidditch game against Ravenclaw. He had a bookshelf full of old school books from Hogwarts and some small relics he liked from the Manor.

“I’ve never had one growing up, and once I moved here I just never gave any second thought of it. Besides, what would I even watch?” Draco replied. Despite having one letter off from being the same name as his best friend, Blaine reminded Draco of Theo. They were both funny and outspoken. He would’ve loved for them to have met. They’d probably get on.

A few moments later, Ashley and Ian knocked on Draco’s door. The door was unlocked for them to be able to open the door. They looked around the living room before settling onto the couches. “Okay so I was thinking that we can just have some trays of snacks and desserts with some champagne. Does that sound good to you guys?” Ashley suggested. They just nodded along to whatever she said. She had gone to the store with Blaine to get everything prepared before the party tonight.

Ian looked at the pictures of Draco with his friends and one of his mother that laid on top of a chimney. “Do you still have lots of friends from Hogwarts?”

Draco thought about it, “You know, I actually didn’t have a lot of friends back in school. Back then, I only hung out with probably six people. But now it’s just two.” He sounded a bit sad, but figured that two were better than none.

“Do you think of what happened a lot?” Ian implied about that day at Hogwarts. He had been the only one that Draco trusted enough to tell. “Sometimes,” Draco gave a short reply. The action of opening up was still new to him, but he knew he shouldn’t wallow in it. Plus he’d rather have a friend instead of a doctor to talk about it.

Ian really felt bad for Draco. It must have been really traumatizing for someone to go through something like that at just the age of 17. Sure, Draco wasn’t the best person at the time. Who is he kidding, he was probably the biggest git in the whole school. It didn’t necessarily mean that he had to go through what he did. He lost one of his friends in a fire, and one left him after said friend died. Another left for no apparent reason. And another wanted something different in her life. Those things affected Draco, and probably will for the rest of his life.

He didn’t pity Draco, but was feeling sympathetic. “Well if it makes you feel any better, I don’t have much friends from Ilvermorny. It sucks now, but hey, down the line you get new ones.” Ian held a fisted hand out, waiting for Draco to bump it. It made him laugh as he bumped Ian’s fist.

Outside, Ian looked out to see a certain neighbor walk to her car. “Hey, is that that chick you were talking about?” Draco looked out the window and saw you grab some things out of your trunk and into your house. “Yeah, that’s her.” Ian never really pressed on Draco to explain why he didn’t like his No-Maj neighbor like he did the elderly couple across the street.

“Well, I gotta say. She’s a sight for sore eyes for a weirdo.” She’s a what? Beyond the nightly activities he had caught you doing on occasion in your bedroom, he never really looked at your face. Or really just at you. But now that Ian mentioned something, he started studying you. She’s not so bad looking— wait, what are you thinking?

By accident, Ian snorted at the words Draco thought. “Did… did I say that out loud?” Draco asked with suspicion in his voice. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t really mean to be invading your mind or anything. It runs in my family,” Ian laughed nervously.

“It’s okay. My godfather was also good at Legilimens and Occlumency. I’m pretty sure he’s heard worse during his classes. Come on, I’ll give you a full tour of the place.”

“If the other rooms are anything like the living room, I’m sure I’ve seen the whole place then,” Ian joked.

“Piss off.” As Ian walked towards the bathroom, Draco looked back outside to see you again. He watched as you helped the Charles couple in your car and drove off to Merlin knows where.

—

The party was rather fun. It lasted until almost 1 in the morning. He thanked Ashley for handling everything and spent the night talking and laughing with his colleagues. Once everyone left, he changed into comfortable sweats and a plain black t-shirt. Out on his bedroom window was Blaise’s owl with a sealed letter. He quickly opened the window, grabbed the letter and looked out to make sure no one was watching. Your room was dark and it seemed as the drapes were down. He guided his friends’ owl with his hands to a small, make-shift owl post against the fence that separated your yards. It had food and was enchanted to be at a comfortable temperature. His owl laid on one side of the post, resting as Blaise’s owl joined it.

Draco opened the letter and read its contents to himself.

Well mate, I’m glad you’re having a good time in America. There’s not much going on here in London. I’m just working at Gringotts until something opens up at the Ministry. Not really sure what I want to do, but I’ll figure it out. Anyways, I think you’ll be pleased to hear that Theo and I are going to be joining you for the holidays. Theo got a hold of a couple American muggle films and he figured that if the women there were as fit as the actresses, then you must be living the best life and he wants to join. As for that muggle neighbor of yours, I can’t wait to see her in person. We’ll see you, Malfoy.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw lights turn on in your room and your shadow walk around before turning off once more. Sorry Blaise, but there’s no way in hell you’ll meet her.

—

Frankie’s flight was delayed, causing you to get home so late. You were extremely tired and your feet and back were sore. Usually, you’d take a bath with some salts and oils to relax yourself, but tonight you were really lazy. So lazy that you just shook your shoes off and plopped yourself on the bed.

The second you hit the mattress, you dozed off. Your mind was wandering and found yourself dreaming.

You sat in your backyard in a pretty sundress. There was a slight breeze in the air and you held a cup of coffee in your hands. Someone sat at the chair opposite you and blocked the sun’s light in your face. You looked next to you and saw your friend smiling at you.

Draco.

—

next chp

(っ◔◡◔)っ taglist: @beiahadid @malfoy-styles-wife @fivenightslaughter @juneballoon999 @leydileyla

[vanguardangel]

Atsushi and Akuatgawa were the boys sleep the first time over at the s/o house? She lives alone and has a very pretty home..😅

.

-sighs- Oh the glory of having a home of your own....one day I shall have my little plot of land in the forest with a tiny little cottage with my dog and my own hi-speed internet.

ANYWAYS, yes I gotchu fam! Sorry for the length, I went a little overboard but I had a lot of fun writing this!

Atsushi

Oh my goodness, I’ve only watched season 1 so far of Bungou Stray Dogs (I keep getting distracted), but I know for sure this little sushi roll is an absolute sweetheart, and quite hospitable to boot! (He slept in a cupboard when he shared his room with Kyoka for fuck’s sake)

Needless to say, this poor boiyo is quite flustered when the tables are turned on him.

The two of you were walking through the streets of Yokohama together, hand-in-hand as the two of you enjoy the beautiful display of ginkgo trees. Their golden leaves swirled both below and above the two of you as the wind began to pick up.

Unfortunately, while you were admiring the trees, you didn’t realize just how dark the clouds had gotten. Suddenly, there’s a crack of lightning and the rain just comes pouring down. Thankfully, your home was nearby and the two of you quickly speed-walked in that direction.

He didn’t fully realize you were pulling him into your house at first. All he knew was one second; he was being bombarded by rain and the next; not so much.

“Hey uh....y/n?” he manages as he watches you fuss about in the house, looking for towels for the two of you. “Where are we...?”

You simply smile at him, tossing the towel over his head to dry his hair. “My place!”

ATSUSHI IS SHOOK

“Your place?! What about your parents?”

“They live on the other side of town, I moved here to be closer to the Agency.”

Atsushi already admired you, but now there are literal stars in his eyes. You were the newest to the agency, right behind Kyoka, but you had your own place! Amazing!

And it’s so pretty and cozy! It wasn’t terribly big, having only about two or three rooms, but it was perfect. Atsushi could already see himself planning some tea dates with you, with the window open and the cool autumn air wafting in.

CRACK!

The lightning struck again, causing the lights to flicker. Upon peering out the window, the two of you gaped at just how quickly the streets had begun to flood.

“Well, looks like we’re stuck here for now,” Atushi chuckled nervously.

The two of you tried to ride out the storm, cuddling up on the couch and watching movies. You were watching Aragon rallying the troops at the Black Gate when another god-awful crack of lightning finally severed your electricity for the night.

Atsushi begins to actually get worried. It was getting really late, and he didn’t want to impose on your hospitality. You were already so kind to him, he couldn’t possibly ask to stay.

So instead, you asked him, insisting even as he’s trying to assure you that he can get home by himself.

Yeah no, Atsushi, you’re not going anywhere in this nasty weather.

When you manage to convince him, he tries to insist he’ll sleep on the couch, so you’ll need to persuade him if you want him to sleep in the same bed with you.

Bribe him with cuddles. Tiger-boi is warm and weak for cuddles.

Atsushi and you will sleep well tonight.

Akutagawa

First off, I gotta give you props. Somehow, in this crazy and bizarre world of mafia and literature-inspired powers, you managed to do something that was nearly impossible.

You managed to earn not only Akutagawa’s respect.

But his trust.

You had a weird effect on him as if your presence and words were like a tranquilizer for his crazy emotions. His outbursts are few and far between, especially compared to the early stages of your relationship. Maybe it was because you were one of the few people to treat him with kindness? Maybe it was your still innocent view on life? Maybe its just one of those weird situations where AKutagaw is simply fascinated by the fact you’re one of the few people he doesn’t want to hurt? It’s one of the wonders of the Port Mafia.

Even still, it's still quite the surprise when he invites you to his little outings into the city. He just kind of takes your hand and leads you throughout the quieter areas of Yokohama, sometimes even venturing into the little shopping centers if he’s feeling brave enough.

One day, he leads you to a tiny ice cream shop that Gin recommended. The two of you sit outside, enjoying the nice autumn breeze alongside your tasty treats.

Now, Akutagawa usually doesn’t talk much during these types of dates, usually preferring to listen as you chatted away.

But today, he seemed distracted. His eyes flickering between you and the other patrons around you. At first, you thought he was still jumpy from his prior mission (then again, since when did this guy ever fully relax?).

“Akutagawa, what’s-?”

“C’mon, y/n,” he abruptly says, taking your hand as he quickly stands. You just barely manage to hold onto your ice cream as he quickly leads you out of the patio area and into the maze-like alleyways of Yokohama.

“Easy, easy!” you manage to squeak out. “You’re pulling really hard...!”

“Quiet,” his tone was more than enough to shut you up. “Don’t look behind you, just stay close to me.”

You gulped down the knot in your throat and quickly did as he said.

The two of you wandered through the streets and alleys for what seemed like hours. Sometimes you would speed up, only to quickly slow down and return a normal walking pace. It was late sunset when he finally stopped.

“We’re safe,” he announces nonchalantly. You groaned and flopped down a nearby bench.

“Thank God,” you moaned. “My legs feel like lead. What was all that about?”

“I’ll tell you later,” you could swear he smirked a little when you simply huffed in response. “But...I may have to call for a car...we’re a fair way out from base.”

“Well, this is actually not too far from where my place is. Wanna just crash there?” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. The blush arrived even quicker.

Akutagawa gave you a pointed look.

“Er uh....w-well, it's almost dark. And it's dangerous for even the Port Mafia to wander the streets at dark. Not that you’re helpless, you can easily hold your own, I’ve seen you, but I could just get in the way, and I’d much rather die than be a hostage, and-”

“Okay,” Akutagawa cut off your nervous babbling. “Let’s go.”

“Yepp, yessir, let’s go!”

Saying you were nervous was an understatement. You were a man to your house. The house you lived in. Alone. And not just any man; Akuta-fucking-gawa! The self-proclaimed “dog of the Mafia.”

“Here we are...!” your voice nearly broke when you opened the door. “I know it’s small and I know it’s not much, it’s just me here but...”

“It’s nice.”

“....huh...?”

Akutagawa casually strolls in, taking in the quaint little surroundings before settling down on your couch. There was the ghost of a smile on his lips. You just sigh and join him.

“So, you gonna tell me what just happened?”

“We were being followed,” Akutagawa said simply, not even reacting to your shocked expression. “Noticed them before we even reached the ice cream shop. Didn’t think they’d be stupid enough to do that in broad daylight, but there it is.”

“......why didn’t you kill them?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he shuffled himself to nestle his head in the crook of your shoulder. “Doesn’t matter.”

The two of you spent the rest of the night just talking. The conversation focused on nothing in particular, switching between work, your interests, and other random topics. You two end up actually falling asleep on the couch, just leaning against each other.

Your back was aching, but managing to wake up and see Akutagawa actually at peace was so fucking worth it.

[hopelikethemoon]

all ours (Javier x Reader)

Title: all ours  Rating: PG-13 Length: 3.2K Warnings: Angst, pregnancy stuff (braxton hix), and fluff. Notes: Set in the maybe today, maybe forever universe, shortly before Josie is born.   Taglist: @grapemama​  @seawhisperer​​ @huliabitch​​ @pedropascalito​​ @rogrsnbarnes​ @thewallpapergoesorido​​ @twomoonstwosuns​​ @gooddaykate​​ @livasaurasrex​​ @ham4arrow​​ @hiscyarika​ @plexflexico​ @readsalot73​ @hdlynn​ @lokiaddicted​

Javier was snoring beside you, not frustratingly loud snoring, but rather the sort of snoring that just made you envious that he could sleep. And peacefully. You missed sleep.  You missed a lot of things that came with not being pregnant. You missed being able to sleep on your side, you missed beer, you missed seeing your feet, you missed wearing clothes that weren’t made like sacks, and you even missed sex. Despite the occasional passing desire, you had been far too miserable the past month to summon the energy to enjoy anything related to sex. 

You missed a lot of things that came with not being pregnant. You missed being able to sleep on your side, you missed beer, you missed seeing your feet, you missed wearing clothes that weren’t made like sacks, and you even missed sex. Despite the occasional passing desire, you had been far too miserable the past month to summon the energy to enjoy anything related to sex. 

You winced as the baby’s foot once again found your bladder. You readjusted and sighed heavily as you tried to find a position that didn’t put pressure on your back. Everything hurt. All the time. 

You rubbed your hand over your swollen belly, trying to soothe the baby back to sleep. You just needed an hour of sleep. One hour and you could function like a human tomorrow. 

Javier stirred beside you, his foot brushed against yours as he stretched out before he rolled over to face you. “Why are you still awake?”

 “Your baby is rambunctious tonight.” You complained, bunching your pillow up under your head as you settled. “If you can’t sleep, the sofa isn't terrible.”

 Javier arched a brow at you, “I’m not sleeping on the sofa.” He grumbled, shaking his head slowly as he reached out to rest his palm on your stomach, running his fingers over your skin. “You need to settle down little girl, your mommy is trying to sleep.”

Javier threw back his covers and moved to lay down beside your stomach. He propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand still resting against your belly right where the baby was kicking. “Does it hurt?” 

 You pursed your lips and shrugged. “It’s uncomfortable, mostly.” You reached down and lazily played with his hair. “You should go back to sleep, Javi. You’ve got the meeting at the embassy tomorrow.”

 “I’m fine.” Javier promised you as he pressed a kiss to your stomach, before his gaze lifted to yours. “Did you put the cocoa butter back in the bathroom?” 

 “Yeah.” You stifled an exhausted yawn as Javier climbed out of the bed. “What are you doing?”

 He walked around to your side of the bed, his expression still soft and warm from the sleep he was pulled from. “Just relax, baby.” He whispered, leaning down to kiss you. “I’ve got you.”

 Javier returned a few minutes later with the tub of cocoa butter you used on your stretch marks. He turned his bedside lamp on, the room now lit in soft golden hues as he joined you in bed again. 

“Javi.”

“Let me do this for you.” 

Javier shot you a look as he unscrewed the cocoa butter container, sitting the lid aside on the bedside table. He sat the tub down on the comforter as he leaned over to push your tank top out of his way. He ran his fingers over your rounded stomach, with an adoration in his eyes that made your heart flutter. 

You grabbed another pillow and stuffed it behind you, propping yourself up enough to watch him. He dipped two fingers into the butter, scooping up a decent amount and smearing it into his other palm. He dabbed up a little, smearing it over the curve of your stomach. The cocoa butter was cool at the first touch, enough so that a little shiver of delight went through you. But Javier’s touch warmed the chill away, sensing a different type of contentment through you. 

“Do you like that?” He questioned, a grin tugging at his lips as he met your heated gaze. 

“Yeah.” You whispered with a weary smile as your lashes fluttered.  You sank back into your pillows and let yourself get lost in the sensation. 

 “You need sleep too,” Javier whispered as he leaned down to press a kiss to your stomach. 

His hands curled around the sides of your stomach, fingertips drawing tiny patterns into your skin as he applied the cocoa butter. It was the most entrancing sensation, soothing away the stress and tension that you’d carried with you all week. 

His touch didn’t just comfort you — the baby seemed to calm beneath his hands, her swift kicks transforming into the faint flutters of movement. 

You relaxed, letting your eyes slip closed as you focused on the shapes he drew with the butter. They reminded you of the ones he always drew against your thigh. “This is better than sex,” You muttered as you gave into the pull of sleep. 

  ——

  It was unfair how good Javier Peña looked in a suit. Especially when he was just this side of being pissed off after a meeting with the Embassy. They were riding his ass about overspending this quarter, which wasn’t a surprise considering how the mission had been going. The Cali Cartel weren’t as easy to crack down on. 

You had the perfect vantage point from your desk, looking straight through into the glass wall of the conference room where Javier sat getting his ass handed to him. 

But you couldn’t keep staring at him, not without Chris or Daniel getting suspicious. You loaded a new piece of paper into the typewriter, before you got up from your desk to retrieve a file from one of the banker boxes that sat on Javier’s desk. 

You took a step and grimaced, a faint cramp playing across the front of your stomach. You hesitated, rubbing your stomach cautiously. “Shit.” You breathed out. 

You ignored the sensation, reaching for the box and pulling the lid off. 

The pain returned, more severe this time. It felt like a rubberband drawn across your stomach, followed by a short contraction. 

No. No. No. 

Your eyes flickered towards the conference room, hoping to catch Javier’s attention, but he was fuming over something that had been said to him. 

Focused on your breathing, you returned to your desk to snatch up your purse. “I’ll be back.” You offered in response Chris' curious look, before you headed straight for the elevator. 

Contractions.  

You were having contractions and Javier was trapped in a pointless meeting. 

By the time you got down to your car your hands were trembling, your keys shaking between your fingers as you tried to unlock your car. It took you three tries before you slotted the key into the lock. 

You hadn’t felt the sensation again since you started walking. The twinge of pain that had come with the strange cramp was still there, but not nearly as insistent as it first was. 

You drew in a shaky breath as you settled into the driver’s seat, starting up the car to turn the radio on low. You weren’t going to go to the hospital just yet. If they were contractions, they were far enough apart that you didn’t need to rush. 

There wasn’t even a plan. 

You had meant to discuss it with Javier, but it just hadn’t happened yet. 

What would happen when the baby was born?

Would you just drive yourself to the hospital?

Handle everything alone?

Would Javier sit at work and pretend he didn’t care? 

With each passing day, things seemed bleaker. You were impressed is it was that you’d managed to be with Javier for nearly half a year. The years of being his partner seemed like training for spending days-in and days-out with him. Your personalities clashed frequently, too similar in your rationale to let it fester for long. 

Your entire relationship was nothing more than stolen moments, late night conversations, and a deep seated need to make it work. Together. It isn’t easy. The path forward is a difficult one. 

Would it always be like that?

You inhaled sharply as another burst of tension shot across the front of your stomach, a faint flutter of a contraction making you grit your teeth. 

Not now. Please not now. 

You startled at the sound of someone tapping at your car window, pulled out of your focused breathing. 

It’s Javi. 

You cranked the window down, shutting off the radio. “What are you doing out here?”

He tapped the bottom of a pack of cigarettes in the palm of his hand. “Smoke break.” Javier said, clicking his tongue against his teeth. 

“Oh.”

Javier pulled  a cigarette out of the pack, clenching it between his lips as he tucks them back into his breast pocket. “Chris said you left abruptly.” He glanced around the parking lot warily, pulling his aviators down to peer in the window at you. “You good?”

You swallowed thickly and turned your gaze out the windshield. “I thought I was having contractions.”

“Shit.” He clicked the lighter off, not bothering to light his cigarette. “I’m taking my fifteen in your car, unlock it.”

Javier tucked his aviators into the front of his shirt, walking around the front of your car to slide into your passenger seat. “Javi, it’s fine. Go back inside.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Javier spit out as he turned to face you. “What’s wrong?”

“I told you, I thought I was having contractions… I’m fine.” You ran your hand over your stomach, breathing in shakily. “It was just a twinge of pain. It’s fine.”

His eyes flickered around the parking lot cautiously, before he reached over and stroked your stomach. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

You shook your head. “No. I’m fine.” Against better judgment, you rested your hand over his. It was risky, considering you were sitting in the middle of the parking lot in broad daylight. “It’s going to be okay, Javi.”

“Scared the shit out of me.” Javier remarked as his fingers spread out over your stomach. “I looked up during the meeting and saw you were gone.” 

“I could’ve been in the bathroom.”

“Chris made some smartass comment about you leaving the office.” Javier slid his hand out from under yours so he could wrap his fingers around it. 

“You can’t do this here, Javi.” You warned, twisting your hand out of his grasp. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Javier reeled his hand back in like you had struck him and the look on his face stings. “So, what? You just want me to head back inside and pretend that you’re not potentially going into labor?” He scoffed and stuck the cigarette back in his mouth, clamping his lips down around it as he stared out the window. “Unbelievable.” 

“I’m not going into labor.” You retorted. “These things happen.” You rubbed at your eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I’m fine, I promise you. If something happens, I’ll page you.”

“Partners are allowed to give a shit.” He snapped. “No one is going to be suspicious of me taking a smoke break in your car. No one gives a fuck if I care about you giving birth. We’re fucking friends.”

“I know.” You pinched the bridge of your nose and exhaled. “I don’t want to lose my job, Javi. I’m already on thin ice because I’m pregnant, I don’t need our secret to ruin my entire career.” 

Javier’s jaw clenched tightly as he glared out the windshield, “This is bullshit.” He pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, forcing the one he’d pulled out back into the carton. “No one batted a goddamn eye when we hung out before. You, me, Steve… knocking back drinks after work. Now I so much as look in your direction and you’re convinced our cover’s been blown.” 

“Javier.” You snapped, rubbing your hand over your face as you tried to keep your ire under control. “Do you have any idea how fucking stressful this is for me? I walk into work every morning expecting to get handed the pink slip. I am trying to keep the focus off of me.” 

He dragged his fingers through his hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I hate this.” 

“Me too.” You bit down on your bottom lip as you watched him. “It’s not the ideal situation, but it’s the best we can do. If I get fired, immigration will terminate my visa and I’ll have to go back to the states.” Hesitantly you reached across the center console and took his hand into yours. Even if someone walked by, you figured they wouldn’t be able to see where your hand was. “And I don’t think either of us want that.” 

Javier shook his head slowly. “No.” He squeezed your hand tightly, interlacing his fingers with yours. He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, his eyes still focused straight ahead. “Can I come over tonight?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.” You retorted, trying to make light of the tension between you. 

His lips twitched into a faint smile and he glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes, “I”m sorry.”

“Don’t.” You squeezed his hand.

“No, baby. I was a jackass.” Javier rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand. “This situation is fucking bullshit.” He turned to look out the window beside him. “But you’ve got it worse. Shit, you got all of three hours of sleep last night.” 

You chuckled softly, “ I was only anticipating one hour.” You tensed as you spotted a pair of agents walking through the parking lot. You quickly released your hold on Javier’s hand, playing with the radio. 

“I should probably head back inside,” Javier said reluctantly, raking his fingers through his hair. “You’re sure you’re okay?” 

You nodded and assured him, “I haven’t felt the cramping again. I think I’m going to go rest.” You ran your hand over your stomach, smiling when you felt the faint press of the baby’s hand or foot. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

Javier reached over and rested his palm against your belly, “I’ll see you both at home.” He told you with a serious tone, before he pushed the car door open and headed back into the office. 

Home. 

Your brows furrowed as you considered the word. 

You couldn’t remember hearing him refer to your apartment as home before. Sure, he spent more nights in your bed, than he did his own. When he picked up groceries, they usually ended up in your refrigerator, except for the beer that went back to his. Hell, he even kept a suit alongside his spare clothes in your hall closet. 

He had all but moved into your apartment. 

For someone who had been so nervous about whether Javier could settle down, you’d somehow overlooked the fact that he had. A year ago you wouldn’t have believed that Javi was the type of guy who would stay up to rub cocoa butter over your skin. Or the type of guy to just… move in. You had been convinced that you knew him well. Somehow you’d missed that all of the bravado, the charm, the long list of one night fucks were just a mask. 

Javier had fallen into this pattern of domesticity with surprising ease. 

You knew it wasn’t easy for him either. He couldn’t truly savor the experience of becoming a father. He had to swallow his pride when Chris made snide comments while theorizing who the father was. He had to look at a photo of your sonogram, rather than sit beside you in the room. You knew he wanted more. You could see it in the way his gaze got distant when you discussed your appointments or the way he’d find a reason to touch you throughout the workday. 

He wanted to be a father, to be a lover, to be a partner, to be more than a cog in the DEA’s wheel. 

  ——

  “Javi, do you think you could drive me to my appointment on Monday?” You questioned as you reclined back on the sofa, watching Javier as he tried to put the baby’s crib together. The pieces were scattered across the floor, with seemingly far too many pieces for one solitary crib. He kept swearing under his breath and glaring at the instructions. 

“Yeah.” Javier glanced up at you. “It should only take about an hour, right?” 

You nodded, “And there’s no reason for you to stay in the car.”

His jaw tensed as he exhaled through his nose. “You want me to go in with you?” 

“I would.” 

“Baby—” 

“I want you to come in with me.” You said firmly, giving him no room to argue with you. “I know how badly you want to see the sonogram.” 

Javier pushed his fingers through his hair, dragging his hand down over the back of his neck as he sat back on his ass. He propped a leg up, resting his elbow against his knee as he stared at you. “I’ve got that print out stuck to my bathroom mirror.” 

You smiled adoringly at him, “Of course you do.” Carefully you sat up, tucking a pillow behind your back. “I was thinking about yesterday,” You started and you caught the way his expression faltered. “I’m aware that this—” You gestured between the two of you, “Has been one sided.” 

He scratched at his jaw and shrugged, though his eyes flickered towards the ground. “You’re the one doing all the work.” Javier’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he kept his gaze low. “I’m not trying to push this.” 

“Javi, I’ve kept you at an arm’s length and it’s okay for you to be pissed about it.” 

“I’m not pissed.” He ground out, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna pretend I sat around thinking about having kids someday.” Javier ran his tongue over his teeth and sighed. “Because I didn’t. But I always thought I’d have one twice as hard to handle as I was for my pops.” He grabbed onto the edge of the coffee table as he pulled himself up off the floor. 

You patted the sofa beside you, your other hand resting against the curve of your stomach. You kept your eyes fixed to his face, brows furrowed together as you studied his expression. “It’ll get easier once she’s born.” You promised and you hoped that was true. 

“Will it?” He sighed as he sank down onto the sofa beside you, propping one foot up on the coffee table in front of him. 

“I want you here.” You reached out and took his hand into yours. “Despite the fact that you hog the covers, I’ve gotten used to you sleeping in my bed.” 

Javier huffed a short laugh. “I have too.” 

“I wish it could be different,” You said quietly. “I know you want more.” 

“I don’t want more.” Javier flexed his jaw. “I just want something. Anything.” 

You lifted his hand to your lips, kissing each knuckle. “I know.” You whispered as he leaned close and brushed his lips against your temple. “That’s why I want you there on Monday. It’s my last sonogram before we get into the homestretch. You belong there with me.” 

Javier’s shoulders relaxed, “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me, it’s just the truth.” You reached out to cup his cheek, drawing him close so you could kiss him. “I know at work this baby’s just mine, but it’s yours too.” 

“It’s ours.” Javi corrected you. “She’s all ours.” 

[elisela]

honeymoon suite buck x eddie, 1.3k (nc17 for buck’s daydreams) For @madamewriterofwrongs​ who gave me the “that is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in,” prompt, and for @carlosreyes who said “buff dad eddie in a suit” caused this to pop into my head fully formed.

He should have known the plan was doomed to fail, especially once Eddie had looked at him and said “Buck, this is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in,” and had slid his hand into Buck’s back pocket without the slightest hesitation, pressed so close to his side as they strolled up the hotel reception and announced they were on their honeymoon that daylight could not be seen between them.

Oh, the plan had worked wonderfully—a few indulgent smiles aimed at each other, Eddie’s appraising look sweeping over his body and sinful grin at the mention of a honeymoon suite, and the very, very real flush that had found its way onto Buck’s face when Eddie had whispered, loudly, “I can’t wait to get you in that room, baby,”—and they’re standing in the doorway to their suite, eyes focused on the large balcony and open ocean beyond.

Eddie’s arm is still around his waist.

The plan had worked wonderfully, but Buck—Buck is so fucking screwed.

Eddie whistles beside him and Buck nods along, taking in the view. It’s nice, much nicer than the double room they had booked for the long weekend for Maddie and Chim’s more formal wedding (Buck was no longer allowed to call it her second wedding, even though he insists it’s the right term—she and Chim had gotten married at the courthouse while she was pregnant with Joy, and technically, this celebration is the second), but when Buck had been daydreaming about the jacuzzi tub and large balcony to lay around on, he had conveniently forgotten that they were exchanging two double beds for one very big one. They’ve slept in the same bed before; he’s crashed in Eddie’s more times than he can count for various reasons, most of them having to do with Christopher, and Eddie’s spent the night in his after a few drinks. It’s not unusual, it’s something he wouldn’t even think twice about at home anymore, but here in the doorway of a honeymoon suite, he thinks he’s probably the biggest idiot on the planet if he thought he could get through a weekend with this type of proximity, this intimacy.

Eddie’s arm is still around his waist.

It’s the only thing he can think about, the perfect weight of it, the way Eddie’s palm rests just above his belt, fingers curved around his hip with enough pressure that he feels them in a way that’s achingly comforting. And just as he’s getting used to it, just as he’s relaxing into the feeling of Eddie’s affection, as he gives himself a moment to pretend and feel out his future, Eddie withdraws his arm enough to rest his hand on the small of Buck’s back and propel him forward.

“We are gonna get some use out of that,” Eddie says, and Buck, who had been eyeing the bed, wills his body not to react to the image that goes through his mind, of Eddie below him, sweat matting down his hair and the fading sun casting his skin in a golden light, writhing under Buck’s attention, hands fisted into Buck’s hair and on his shoulder as he takes Eddie into his mouth, because Eddie is definitely looking at the balcony and he is clearly not seeing the possibilities that Buck is.

Buck clears his throat and lets the scene in his head die out, replaces it with something more tame, something infinitely more in the realm of possibility, like waking up to Eddie’s arm slung around his waist and Eddie’s embarrassed smile when he opens his eyes. “We only have an hour to get to the restaurant,” he says. “You want the first shower?”

Eddie’s hand falls away from his back and Buck takes a moment to mourn the loss. He unpacks for both of them while the water runs and Eddie’s terrible singing voice floats over to him, chuckling softly as he hangs their suits and stashes everything else in drawers, inspects the shoes he polished the night before at Eddie’s to make sure they hadn’t been scuffed up on the flight over.

He tries not to look when Eddie comes out of the shower, towel slipping around his hips, held up by a careless hand, but he doesn’t have to look to know the slight definition of his abs, his broader waist, filled out by the hours of work Buck has made him put into weight training during their downtime at the station. It’s that thought that carries him into the shower and holds his attention while sticks his head under the spray and wraps a hand around himself, stroking slowly to the idea of sinking down on his knees and getting his hands on Eddie’s hips, fitting his thumbs against hip bones, Eddie’s hands on the back of his head and neck while he thrusts into Buck’s mouth. He bites his tongue to muffle the choked off sound of his orgasm, washes quickly and tells himself once again that he’s going to stop jerking off to his best friend like a creep.

“That’s a new suit,” he says as soon as he steps out of the room and gets a look at Eddie, standing near the mirror as he fits cufflinks onto his unbuttoned shirt. Fuck, Eddie looks good. Eddie’s always looked good, but now Eddie looks good, looks like he could withstand Buck tossing him around a little as he fucked him, like he could give it back as good as he got it.

Buck’s always been attracted to him, from the day he stepped into the 118 and gave Buck his first glimpse of chiseled abs and slim hips, but if he had thought Eddie was attractive then—Eddie has nothing on himself from that day. He’s thicker all around, filled out, his strength more obvious now, not able to be hidden behind button downs and navy blue slacks. Buck’s eyes trace his broad shoulders and the collarbones that sometimes peek out from his shirt, desperate to run his tongue over them, to bite down on Eddie’s shoulders as they fall into bed, to fit his hands around defined biceps and pin Eddie down. The thin undershirt does nothing to hide his pecs from Buck’s view, the drape of his white button down calls attention to the straight line of his hips, so different from the curve Buck had seen the first time Eddie was shirtless.

He can’t stop himself, feels like he’s stuck in the doorway of the bathroom, taking in Eddie’s thick thighs, flicking his gaze up to the steady, capable hands that have stilled near Eddie’s stomach, shirt buttons forgotten as Eddie looks at Buck.

Buck, who is not clearly not hiding anything right now.

Fuck.

“You like it?” Eddie says, quietly, far too quietly and hesitantly for someone who can see what’s written on Buck’s face, all the love and longing he holds for Eddie put on display.

Maybe Buck had been better about hiding how he felt than he thought, but the way Eddie is looking at him—unsure, doubtful, two emotions that Buck never wants him to feel when it comes to knowing just what sort of love Buck holds for him, platonic or otherwise—makes him cross the room, gently move Eddie’s hands out of the way and reach for his shirt, buttoning it up carefully. “You look really good, Eds,” he says softly, slipping the last button through and letting his hands slide up to Eddie’s shoulders, one around the back of his neck, finally looking at Eddie’s face.

Eddie’s looking at him, eyes a little wide, like he can’t believe what’s happening; his hands come up, hold onto Buck’s waist and Buck steps closer and tilts his forehead down at Eddie’s touch against his bare skin, resting it against Eddie’s. “This—I wasn’t expecting this,” he says, breath ghosting over Buck’s lips.

“It is our honeymoon,” Buck says, and Eddie huffs a breath out of his nose, shaking his head gently. “I should be able to kiss a guy on my honeymoon, shouldn’t I?”

“You could have kissed me anytime,” Eddie says—

So Buck does.