#i hate not drawing for a while because everytime i try to draw again its like….. tiring

[imissthestarswhenicry]

👋 snakebites 👀👀👀

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

hello! i’m love your post and arts so much! I look at your posts after a hard day and my mood immediately changes to excellent. can I ask a couple of questions?

which pairing with Ethan do you prefer?

and… can we get to know you better? a little biography?

Thank you for your time! I'll be waiting for new arts! (sorry if i made mistakes, my english is not so good. im russian)

i like basically every ship with ethan! it mostly depends on the mood im in, but if im being honest, mithan, winterfield, and wintersberg gets frustrating to think about because they all dont treat ethan well canonically... lethan is fun because they have never met and i can make my own assumptions!

i used to like wintersberg the most and i still do like it, i just have expanded my horizons to other ships as well...., its mostly like a punchline to me though. they have the funniest potential which is why a majority of their posts is just joke comics. i do not like how people try to erase how karl is arrogant and egotistical tho. thats like removing the flavor.... the way karl acts is just very funny to me, hes so lame in a good way and i like how everytime he talks to ethan it sounds like hes twirling his hair and kicking his feet. canonically speaking, karl was very much in the wrong for trying to use rose and not elaborating and i will die on this hill. ethan is not in the wrong for being disgusted and angry that karl would ever try and propose that in the deal. karl is very arrogant so when ethan says no to him it makes him mad and he tries to use fear to get ethan to take his deal (kicking his chair and warning him) i like karl, i like how messed up and arrogant he is but i dislike how people try to portray him as a nice guy. however, in a AU where everythings the same except he doesnt try to use rose i do enjoy the dynamic they could have, especially if the teamed up (not with the deal where they use rose. ethan wouldnt agree unless karl never involved rose in the first place). karl is just a very entertaining character and i like him a lot, hes funny and his personality can be extremely hilarious

mia and ethan is pretty tragic and thinking about it too much makes me a bit sad, imo in a reality where ethan survives re8, he needs to divorce mia. im not saying ethan needs to hate mia and never talk to her again i just dont think they should be so intimate together because of her behavior... please do not take this as anti mia. they loved each other dearly but it wasnt healthy. their relationship was kept afloat by lies and mia doesnt change even though she deals with the consequences of her own actions in re7. she actively tries to hide her past from ethan and is mostly focused on trying to move on and have a normal life even if ethan will have to live the rest of his life in the dark.

she loves her family so much, shes very afraid of them leaving her so she hides all the bad things in the hopes that they wont leave. its selfish, its human, its real, her character is so amazing and i love her. she doesnt learn from re7 and hides important information from ethan again. i geniunly think they should have gotten divorced after re8 if ethan had survived. its tragic and its sad but they love each other so much. it sad because they both geniunly love rose so much but they themselves shouldnt be together. its just sad to think about it. whenever i draw them it usually takes place before re7. they should have divorced on good terms and shared custody of rose.........

ethan and chris is also frustrating to think about... chris is a major jerk in re8, whenever i draw it, its under a unspoken AU that chris did not behave the way he did in re8. his weird behavior in re8 is probably for a meta reason imo. capcom wanted to set up a twist villian so they make chris very vague and unesscarily cruel. while its frustrating that they turned chris into a jerk for the sake of a twist, it still happens in canon and i will forever roll my eyes whenever i see him on screen. he did what he thought was best but imo, execution matters more than the intentions. same applies to mia. they both did things that hurt ethan because they thought it would be the best but in the end they just hurt ethan.

all the ships ive discussed with people ethan has met canonically just makes it look like i dont even like the ships... LOL ... ethan just has horrible luck with the people he meets i guess... but i do enjoy the ships and drawing them, but again all of them come with the canon baggage that ends up making me sad because everyone treats ethan poorly whether they had good intentions or not

which is why leon and ethan is the most fun to draw without getting stressed... LOL... they have never met but just drawing what i think their dynamic would be like is very fun.

please dont take this post personally, this isnt a post declaring why ur fave ship sucks, this is just my own personal preferences and in the end i draw all of them anyways

if i had to rank the ships based on drawing silly comics it would be

wintersberg

mithan

lethan

winterfield

wintersberg has the funniest potential just because of karl and mithan can be funny if u water it down to "i love my wife so much" and said wife comes home with suspicious amounts of hard cash

i enjoy making joke comics far to much

if i were to rank the ships based on how healthy they would actually be for ethan it would be

lethan

winterfield, mithan, wintersberg (no particular order)

sorry 😭

leon and ethan have literally never met but imo it would still be the healthiest because ethan gets to start new

the three other ships r all unhealthy in some way, at least canonically without changing much about the characters (i do like winterfield but just because of how chris behaved in re8 it knocked them down)

i cant even rank them on personal preference because my opinion changes so often 😭 it changes based on discussions i have with my friends or recent art i see that inspires me... me and my friends recently had a discussion about mia and ethans relationship which made me very frustrated and sad with mia so i defiently wouldnt be drawing them anytime soon... meanwhile i hvae been talking to a friend who really likes winterfield often so the conversations we have give me art ideas and i end up drawing it more. if a friend of mine really enjoyed wintersberg or lethan and talked to me about it often id probably start drawing it more, the joys of being a multishipper

it changes a lot based on how im feeling and if im in the mood to draw something funny or something serious

sorry u asked a really simple question and i responded with a essay

and a little bit about myself is that i go by crumb, i am 18 and i go by all pronouns and prefer it/its

im vietnamese and live in texas

i made this tumblr acc solely so i could post my ethan art and im a re7/re8 girly so if ur here waiting for me to draw the re1-re6 characters im sorry u should probably expect nothing

i also make personal animations sometimes which u can find here

thanks for the ask and sorry for the rant!

[pumpkinsy0]

fuck it, more Purly Haitian vacation thoughts:

On the first day, Ponyboy got sunburnt to all hell. Yeah he was made fun of for it, but whatever they gave him wasn't regular aloe, it was better.

Runs out of clean clothes (he didn't have much to pack anyway) so he makes due with the clothes given to him (and insisted he keep and bring to america)

Curly jokes he'd look cute in a karabela. Pony doesn't know what that is and just rolls his eyes.

Sandals! Everyone wears them. Ponyboy watches fondly as Curly's aunt weaves him a pair, asking him if he likes the color purple, which he responds "Wi Matènèl." Just like Curly taught him.

The mornings come early and while Curly would love nothing more than to lay in bed all day with Pony, he does want to wake up early and take him for scooter rides. Ponyboy holds on to him tightly as they weave around corners. Curly is in heaven.

Ponyboy is interested in the literature and art of Haiti and loves the bright colors of the homes. He loves their cheap art galleries and after dinner he's read to in Kreyole first and then English second because he wants to try and learn what stories are being told to him.

Darry has asked him to call if possible. There's only one phone avaliable and it's at "the big house." it costs a lot of money to call but The Shepards don't bat an eye giving him the coins he needs to tell his brother he's okay and what his day was like.

Curly avoids all questions asked to him about family back in America. He can't stomach the thought that his relatives think he's living it up and couldn't be further from the truth.

He hates America. Hates the racism. Hates their stupid laws. He hates how their mother left this beautiful place to chase a man that doesn't give a hang about them.

Curly needs a cigarette. On the porch, he pauses:

Ponyboy is given a pretty red and yellow choublack flower crown (cause it's still the 60s) and is out on the street with a bunch of Curly's younger cousins who ask him to draw on the sidewalks with them. Ponyboy never got the opportunity to be a big brother, so it's all fun and games with him. It's lightly raining, a sunshine shower. Ponyboy is smiling, laughing and singing along to some child's song, slightly butchering the words.

Curly is whipped at the sight.

i JUST woke up to this absolute GEM of an ask im going insane im like a dog with zoomies after a shower another BANGER anon ask about haiti omg

AND AND I WANNA ADD MORE THOUGHTS☝🏽☝🏽☝🏽☝🏽

•the shepards has family in the countryside of haiti, and they have a fucking donkey and that thing would nibble on ponys shirt everytime he came near and it was ALWAYS him and him alone like dude???fuck of?????

•pony would LOVE ti kawòl (its this ice cream in a bag thing, comes in different flavors) but he likes it when its melted so he literally WAITS till its a liquid again, pokes a hole in the bag and drinks it and curly, tim, angela, and their family think hes so WEIRD for that

•curlys aunt is always making malta ak lèt (just means malta and milk) and its curly, pony, and the younger cousins fault that its always gone within a few days like my god

•theres a good chunk of reptiles in haiti and curly used to spend his time catching the fuckers when he still used to live in haiti, and ik he took pony to the best places he would find em, however outside of that sometimes pony would find them on accident and his body would take a ss

•kite flying is pretty important, i think pony and curly should be allowed to make their own cool looking kite at least once

•tim and curly were def stealing cool looking plates from their aunts and was forcing pony to be apart of it, he was a mess trying to keep it together

•OHOH sometimes they would have to ride tap taps (just look it up im WAY to lazy to explain it) and pony was a bit nervous bc theres rlly no specific individual seats and no seatbelts, so curly would hold onto him to make him feel safer so gay

•pony def accidentally got some mannerisms from his time there, this is more of a “if u get it u get it” thing, but if yknow that look ur haitian elder gives u when they catch u doin some stupid shit and they just stand there w their hands crossed???yea pony started doing that LMAOOO

•angela made pony this bracelet w seashells, she was makin em w her fav aunt :3

•the whole family went to the beach and curly hit pony w a wet sandbl and IMMEDIATELY fell and got a cut on his knee by a seashell and i promise u, when there was a collective sound of “gade” (means look in creole) in a ‘well thats your karma’ way, i mean it

•pony and curly both have to share a place on the couch to sleep on so they r just all up on each other by the time 4am rolls around

•curly has this scarf thats used in haitian folklore dances and he is NOT using it to dance, hes using it to pull pony in by the neck or hips, i can feel it trust me on this

•one of the shepards family members is a snack vendor, like the kinds w the snack cart right outside schools, and they would always get free snacks, in return they helped w the homemade snacks they sold, but that goes as well as it can w pony and curly making food, they r NOT allowed to make fresco again

•curly would climb treats for fruits pony wanted he def would

•pony brought the gang lil souvenirs :P

[stardustjie]

𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚎

here we are, finally! its my first time writing for ellie. i guess i'm feeling a little nostalgic lately ♡ i remember getting my crush on her around this time.

dating ellie is definitely an experence. she is the type of girlfriend who would spend hours talking about astronomy and space and those things that make her excited. even before you got together, you two talked about your common interests until dawn came. especially when she doesn't have patrol the morning after. now that you are exclusive and you spend most of the time in her home, she loves to fill the silence with her ramblings and you love to listen.

your girlfriend would adore to do the other way around as well, watching you with love-struck eyes as you keep talking about the subjects you are passionate about for hours. she would adore listening to your voice while you get in your adorable rabbit holes, even if she wouldn’t care about the topic normally. but she does care about you.

when it comes to affection, ellie doesn't show much in public. PDA oftentimes stops at holding hands and being close in public, like putting a hand on your shoulders while you are at the bar in town with the others. however, sometimes she lets herself give you light kisses on the lips in front of your friends. if she is a little tipsy that evening, she might even nestle her face against your neck.

home dates are her favourite because she gets to snuggle against you while watching a movie or something like that, especially the old sci-fi ones. you would prepare for all afternoon, trying to gather all the essentials to have the perfect movie night like its some type of super fancy event. then you would just cuddle during the entire movie, until one inevitably falls asleep.

unsurprisingly, ellie is really affectionate at home. anyone who isnt close to her wouldn’t really guess how everytime you two are alone you cannot be in the same room as her without having your hand brushing and then a kiss on the lips and then again you are snuggling on the sofa. she just adores your touch, especially when the relationship is new and there is this feeling of excitement everytime you are together.

her love languages are physical touch and quality time. cuddles are pretty much equal, she loves to snuggle against you as much as she loves having her pretty girl nestled in her arms. her favourite positions is on the bed, when you two ander the covers and you are facing each other. she also tries to spend any moment she gets with you, it doesn't matter what you choose to do. however, when spring comes and she has free time ahe loves to take you to feed the horses.

ellie writes in her journal about you, both before and after you get together. she loves to include little details about you and she draws sketches of you from time to time, even if she is quite embarassed to show you. except for that one time when you caught her drawing you while she was waiting you for your date, at that point she had to show you. she was blushing the entire time, but she hates to admit it.

[0cean--man]

archie rambles

fun fact archie went through a shit ton of redesigns before i settled on what i settled on. he was originally going to look like jack walten and have more of a upbeat and happy go gitty personality, but because i wasn't happy with my art at the time or my characters i never settled on a proper design for him.

this was his first design i think if mt toyhouse is correct. very jack walten inspired in his older days, while his younger days he looked like every oc i had at the time.

his backstory at the time is that he was brought back to life some how by medic and engineer because they were trying to see if they can bring people back through the logs of the respawn machine. but i never fully stuck with this back story because i didn't like it and changed it not to long after i had that idea.

then there was the "oh god oh fuck i want him to blow up" era, where i only drew him once a month and everytime i did his design would change.

i had more doodles during this time of him but never posted them to toyhouse, and if im correct they were posted in a server im not apart of anymore so yeah </3 but thankfully in this era we got something close to his official current design, which was this drawing!

not quite there, still needed work but its getting closer to the current archie we all know and love. at this point bro didn't have a backstory like at all, all i knew is that "teehee funny TFC medic design i looooove him :3" and literally nothing else. then he was left to rot for a while, and he wasn't touched again until some time in January i think, which he was doodled in this

little shit post doodle, i wanna punch this guy tbh hes so goofy. THEN CAME JULY, 20 DAYS AFTER MY BIRTHDAY. i suddenly had motivation unlike any other, and i was like "YES I NEED TO DRAW OLD MEN" and then the current archie design was born.

i still love this design like a lot, i think he looks lovely. if i had to change anything i would make him have more wrinkles and have his hair curl a bit more since i still want him to have curly or wavy hair. AND ALSO ADD MORE BODY HAIR ON HIM BECAUSE I DONT THINK THERES ENOUGH ON HIM BRO <///3

but besides that i love this design of him. only issue is that his back story is kinda all over the place atm, its a mixture of oh he fell in love with cheavy but because it was the 30's he was violently closeted and still is.

but on the other hand i wanna make his backstory more complex and be like "oh he had a love hate realtionship with cheavy and his team, which is why he didn't rejoin it once they got back together blah blah blah" idk still trying to figure it out yk

[tacodemuerte]

could use some advice on how to make fun art shamelessly and also. how to. where does uh. the drive. where do u get all that drive. i hav lots of inspo but jts hars to turn it into real drawings and then even if i manage to it takes so much thought and effort that i just stop after that bc i know i would have fun or do well if i go on

the biggest key to drive AND shamelessness is to just stop carING MFIOSMFOISHJD

like u gotta stop caring about what people think and what your work looks like! sometimes we think TOO much, because thinking is easier than actually putting the paint down. but then we over think and we've spent 2 hours on pinterest and suddenly we are out of steam!!

IM GONNA SHOW U SOME UGLY THINGS.. THAT I MADE..

if youve been around my blog youve seen this! but tese were super ugly little things that i drew bc i was trying to draw christian cage..i still didnt get a good grasp at him and started to feel like everytime i drew him he just got uglIER MOIFSMFOISHF

so i just like..was like ok FINE.. this WHOLE PAGE isgonna be ugly I GUESS!! and i ended up having so much fun making these ugly doodles! it made me excited to do more and draw him again in the future!

once you like , put away that 'butwhat if its bad' and pull out the 'ok its gonna be bad whatever' , you ironically give yourself more fuel and drivE MFIOSMFISH cause its like well if its gonna be bad, and you DONT care, what's stopping you? and you end up making something that's pretty nice! or ok, or just fun to look at!

this page was another case of that, where i just drew while falling asleep MIFOSMFOISD. i did this a lot for a short time, not the BEST for your health but if you can like the stuff you did half asleep, then you can give yourself some grace and not worry about your work when you out in 200%...

somethings are just irredeemibly ugly but making it is just fun.. remember that art should be fun! it's not all about getting gud..look at this ugly little man, i hate him, but i had fun making him hehe

[kisekisreblogspage]

Rainbow friends Head cannons!! 1/3

This is just a head cannon abaut them not beeing the murders machines we all know and love, more like them beeing goofy/silly creatures

Red plays 90's (girlish) music whenever he is cleaning, and he sings and dances."the loudest the music, the hardest i clean". When he does that he either starts Early in the morning (like a latinian household lol) or in the afthernoon (when everyting gets nasty again)

Everytime this happens Green is the frist one to hear it "A LITTLE BIT OF MONIKA IN MY LIFE-" and Red's voice pretendig to be a singer, and he always goes like "curse you red!... CURSE YOU!"

I like to think that Green is the kind of guy that sleeps the whole day and wakes up tired. Like he had a terrible night cycle, or had a wild party or did a lot of things in the day, but he just loves sleeping, it is not because of deprecion, it is because he is a very sleepy guy.

If you knew him, you'd be jealous of him (even my self) because he is the kind of guy who does NOTHING the whole day and sleeps like he has done a whole day of military training. But the hardest thing he done is walk, eating, playing with Blue or Orange atend Red's checkouts or just beeing silly (ya' know, the basics, treat human kind with nuclear weapons, or pretend that he is some african Prince who needs money)

Also, Green wuld love cotagecore stuff, not becuase of the looks but becuase of the scents! And the comfynes! You know, the smell of freshly backed goods and bread and meals, the confort of many pillows and blankets, the feeling the scents of plants surounding you, the touch of grass, him not able to see but still beeing one with nature while wearing comfortable retro clothes. Idk how to portray him other ways but GREEN BELONGS TO COTTAGECORE AND COTTAGECORE BELONGS TO GREEN! Change my mind

Now, speaking abaut Orange. He has something that i like to think abaut sometimes. His eyes...

You see, his eyes are canonicly just a line, unfocused, but in the drawing of him across the game, his eyes are not a line, but a circle, focused. I have this headcannon that he can dilatate his eyes on purpose sometimes. From just a line, to a big ol'-blak-hole like eyes, and he does this in order to look cute and archive what he wants, the only 2 persons who does not fall for this are Green (because, Blind) and Red, he does not buy this.

He and Puple are besties, they are both have a good relationship, they are kind of Sibling like, if Orange has some dumb aa shit going on, there is Purple over there suporting his shit!

You can hear him ranting abaut how he tinks the word works like and you will be like "tf? Is this guy living in dereality?" And Purple be like "Oh yes yes you have quite a point" and Orange will be like "I KNOW!"

I like to thin that he is the rizzler in the gang, i can see him apearing in a corner in some "handsome" like pose and move his eyebrow and go like "heya" while trying to rizz you up in the rizzles vibes ever imagined and doing some faces. And then treating you like a friend lol. Yea this is Orange for me, some Sassy silly Rizzles little guy who makes fun of manny and hates when the karma hits back and goes like "WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS!?!?" A drama lizard. He is not a Jerk, he is just a dumbass.

Also, i think that he will mostly joke abaut Red beeing ugly because he thinks that is funny, but he does not belive that Red's ugly, he just like to annoy him

Now if you ask

"Hey Red, is purple a girl or a boy?"

"Its purple"

"Yea but it is a girl or a boy?"

"Its purple"

"But is PURPLE a GIRL or a BOY"

"Its purple"

"A puple girl? Or a purple boy?"

"Its puple"

"You are not gonna tell me aren't you?"

" i told you!"

"Then what it is???"

"Puple"

Its Purple time fellas! Purple belives that the outside world is cyberpunk now, because thats what has been promised for the 2000's to be, poor little Purple.

I like to think that Purple walks araund everywere anytime purple whants, but just choses not to, because Purple belives that socializing is useless and rather be as far away from everyone. But fear not, Purple has get over that phase (thanks to Green) now Purple only walks araund only when Purple feels like so, but still not wanting to talk to strangers, they make Purple unconforfable and overwelmed, so if you are going to try to make friends with Purple, make sure to not overwelm them, go slow and secure, make them know that you are no harm, talk to them, be nice, don't make loud noices, eventually Purple will be interested in you, and you will found out that Purple's very curios and kind of energetic (in a short period of time) and will be a very good friend only to persons who deserves Purple's friendship, and then you will become Purple's favorite Person

I can tell that Purple likes to Wonder araund in a box, like, they just found a box from the deceased person that they just kill the ground and go like "Oh... this is supose to help them hide... i see" and now it is Purple who hide in these boxes, neat right? They think that this is like Red wearing suits. I can also see Purple finding old/abandoned clothes and wearing them, pretending it is some fashion thing. Finding crappy shoes especially, and goes like "yea, this shoes are designer" and the shoes in question are fake jordans. Lol.

Now, lets talk abaut our favorite King. Our beloved Baby, Blue in my headcannons is some kind of funny gentelman, playing roleplays, doll house, making his kingdom out of cardboard taking Green to dance, like he sees Green feeling down and he goes like "NOT ON MY WHATCH!!" And takes Green and hugs him and make him dance with his long as arms untill he starts laugting. They have a very 'favorite cousin' vibe.

To me, Blue is the kind of guy that will give you the best of advises and will tell you those things like he knows way too personaly abaut of why is he saying so, and then give you a pat in the back. You can be talking abaut your most embarasing and childish of hyperfixations one moment and then talking abaut life and your fears in the other moment, like he were your grandpa, or your dad!

"Did someone Hurt you? Friend? Oh... i see... don't worry, i'll make then know that hurting others is bad! Oh don't worry! I wont do anything bad to them! I'll... Just... make them know that they shuldn't Hurt oters for fun..."

"If you are going to Hurt someone there's better ve a reason... like... Hunger... like for now.... 'I' am hungry..."

Yea, he is not going to let that slide.

Start runing

Blue is just like the kind of charactwr that is neat and cool with everyone! You know! Hiding a deep trauma and dark past and beeing misterious aswell. This is a super cool character to work with to me, it culd be either a murder or a mashmellow, or both at the same time! You can get crazy!

"Yea... he was my frist friend... i don't remember why he is no longer with me... i Wonder if i have been bad or something... but Red tells me that he just gone... but were?"

"Don't you get these gaps in your memories?... like what happened here? Why is this place so ruined? It use to be a happy place! Why is all so abandoned?"

"Don't tell Red... but... i have been feeling a little of Deja-bu some times... it feels like i have seen you before, and i have done everyting that i have done to meet you over and over again... do you understand?"

"Red says that he also has some deja-bu.. thank God i am not alone in this... are you ok annyways?"

Yes, i belive that he will get Deja-bu eventualy in a way. And then freak out abaut this bur then keep it cool at the end. Yea... this reminds me to sans.

Oh well this is just the part one, probably put more abaut the rest

See y'all latter

[tears-of-boredom]

i dont know if i mentioned this, but so, ive been putting up small hand drawn Palestinian flags around the house. theres only one that hasnt been torn down(by the teens), and a second one that im just waiting to dissapear, because I put it up recently.

one of the teens complained that it was a Palestinian flag and not a Finnish one, so i began to draw the Palestinian flag and the Finnish flag on the same piece of paper. i know that the teen didn't actually care if it was a Finnish flag or not, but might as well try to shut them up you know.

and so, once it was clear that easily reachable flags were not going to stay up for more than 2 days, i asked if I could put one in the office, since teens arent allowed there unsupervised. first i put it on the door, didn't stay. i put one on the wall next to the door, didn't stay. i put one on a cabinet door that was a meter from the doorway, didn't stay.

and like last week i was going to put up a new one again. but when i asked for permission to, i got denied. because "the office represents the whole unit, and they try to stay impartial".

and I just got so fucking angry at that, but obviously raising your voice with adults will go nowhere, so I had to rely on my tone of voice to express how pissed off i was.

and i tried to ask why having a Palestinian flag on the wall is political. but the only answer i got was like "well if a teen comes in thats from there, then they might not like it", and i tried to ask what about a Palestinian flag would they not like. and they said that "it might make them uncomfortable" and I asked why would they be made uncomfortable by criticism of their state (because it was obvious that we were not discussing a potential teen from Palestine) and they just answered with "Palestine is not a state(/country)" and I said that i was talking about israel anyways. and they continued to try and make it seem like my Palestinian flags had the words "EVERY SINGLE JEWISH PERSON IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEATH OF 30 000 PALESTINIANS" written on them. (and i hopefully dont need to clarify that there was nothing like that written on them.)

and everytime I tried to ask why condemning a genocide was "too political" for them, I got no answer. the most i got was an accusation: "i see what youre trying to do", i wasnt trying to do anything, "youre trying to appeal to my emotions", actually, no. i was just trying to get some fucking answers out of them; why is condemning a genocide too political.

but the coward wouldnt even admit that the "political aspect" is whether or not you consider it a genocide.

and you could have just said that. i would have accepted your shitty reasoning. but instead you made it sound like youre too afraid to condemn genocide. like holy shit, that is not something i would risk to be misunderstood about an institution that's literally built for the health and safety of kids.

and at one point, while they were explaining this "political neutrality" they mentioned that they try to follow the state, because apparently Finland is so politically neutral. and at that, even they had to admit that joining NATO made Finland lose its neutrality.

but the implication that it even had it in the first place is laughable. literally even our school's history book tries to get you to ponder whether or not Finland was truly neutral when it said it was.

like just,, cut the shit, and say that you can't call what israel is doing a genocide. just say that. i hate this shit where you try to make me feel rude and manipulative for asking where you stand on something.

especially cuz like, teens are never winning a fight with an adult. adults will always get to have the last say, or get their way, or end it with something like "this not the kind of conversation to be had with children" or some other shit where actually they were never in the wrong, they're just so old, and you cant possibly expect them to respect you, with some flavour of "oh youre just a child you dont understand this adult stuff"

and the fact that an adult is willing to leave a serious conversation, like the one we were having, just up in the air, without conclusion,, that feels really disrespectful. it feels like im not worth the time or effort it would take to actually finish the conversation, to properly conclude it.

and it also feels like you care more about this "potentially uncomfortable" teen, than the very real teens who have died and are currently dying.

just. very disrespectful. it doesn't matter that your job requires you to not take a stand on certain things, because even then the least you could do is clearly explain that.

perhaps even say what the thing you are "not taking a stand on" is.

[dihydromorphinone]

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 and i can still smell her perfume..

long after your breakup, scaramouche bumps into you unexpectedly. he thought that the gods might have blessed him this once, that was – until he noticed you with someone else.

— scaramouche/wanderer x reader, alhaitham x reader, kinda ooc scara..? but he is heartbroken just like me T_T, another angsty fic..., our poor little scara's a total dick but he's also heartbroken.

i didn't know my own feelings

...and before i knew your love,

so i could put up with them.

it's been eight months. eigth months of torment, drowning in the agony and just absolute pain. eight months without you. and as much as he'd like to admit that he is unfazed with your absence – he just can't. it's too obvious. he grew distant again, starting to loathe humans once again. scaramouche was ready to count you as his fourth betrayal, but he couldn't bring himself to. he still loves you, after all. he always did and always will.

sigh left his lips as he put down the box with the rest of your belongings, the one you left after storming out of your shared hut, place you both used to call home. circling through his own memories, he tried to remember the cause of your disturbance. scaramouche wasn't happy with the outcome; the cause was another argument. caused by him. and as much as you got used to his insults and tolerated them to a certain point, you just got tired. it was hard to understand his actual intentions sometimes, and you never wanted to question your significant other on their feelings, so you just left.

he never got rid of that box. so many memories – good, bad; it all didn't matter. he may be cruel, but do not underestimate his emotions. guilt was eating him up since you left, and without you next to him, scaramouche just wished for everything to just stop. he was drowning in the silence, and after you left – your previously shared hut was as if it's lost all its light. usually, he would just bite his cheek so hard he'd draw blood and try to curse you in his mind, but all of this wasn't worth the effort. no matter how hard he tried, he never really hated you. you were like sun to him, shining brightly on him despite the raging storm. your love was like a rope, ready to pull him up by his hands, but now? he was drowning – his heart submerged deep underwater.

too bad he was never too good with his words. maybe if he would be actually able to voice his opinions without having to insult you everytime? even if he didn't mean it, he always said it – and now, as scaramouche was reminiscing about all these times of you two together, maybe you actually were fed up and he didn't notice? he was spiraling back into the abyss, the darkest depths of his own mind. if you'd only be here, next to him, you would hold him gently while whispering that it's going to be alright, that you're with him. where were you now, though?

wanderer sighed again, furrowing his brows and placing hand on his forehead. glancing at the god-forsaken box, he was quick to figure out he can't keep living like this. all he wished for was you. just you. archons, he'd even go back to fatui if it meant seeing your face again! rubbing his head slowly, he stood up. you always told him, at times like these, to go out and enjoy the nature a bit. sumeru was such a pretty nation; it would be a shame to not appreciate it – even a little, for a second. deciding to take your advice, he swiftly grabbed his hat and headed for the door, hoping only to clear his head a little.

scaramouche found out quickly that he, in fact, actually enjoyed such walks. they did not met his expectations, though – it was supposed to take you out of his head, not make him think about you even more. it appears his love was truly undying and he was such a reserved lover, that he almost felt pity for himself. almost, because this one time, wanderer actually felt responsible for the situation between you. maybe if he weren't so harsh, maybe if he could just...

his train of thought was disturbed by someone bumping into him, near the outskirts of the sumeru city. the impact made him fall to the ground, what made him even more pissed. probably just some regular akademiya jerk, he thought, ready to absolutely bash the idiot who can't even walk straight and consider that there might be some other people walking next to them. when he turned his head up, he was stunned. it wasn't just anyone who bumped into him, hell – it was you. scaramouche didn't know what to do. he desperately wished for this moment to come, he finally got to see your pretty face. hope always dies last, they say, and scaramouche was sure that it was all thanks to his undying faith that you two can reconcile.

"oh, uhm... sorry." you quietly apologised, not paying much attention to the stranger who just fell because of you. only when you wanted to help the stranger stand up, you noticed the familiar hat, clothes, body posture... it was him. every bits of your well-being disappeared. you tried to move on from him, and you succeed – at last. as hard as it was, you knew that there will be no good if you'll ever go back to him. besides, you didn't even know if he wanted you back after the heated argument. you found solace in the embrace of alhaitham, who always was there to listen to you.

you met him by accident – and you'd never think that you and him would grow like this. alhaitham always offered you a shoulder to cry on if needed, he always offered you his support in the worst times of your relationships with scaramouche. he never criticized you for anything, only listening and comforting you. and after your final disagreement with scaramouche – alhaitham was there too. he asked you to stay with him, warning you about kaveh beforehand. from that moment onwards, you two started getting more and more closer to each other, finally resulting in you and alhaitham dating.

"...(y/n)?" wanderer asked, hesitantly, wondering if his mind is playing tricks on him. "where have you been all this time? go back home with me, please."

"no, kuni, it's too late for that now." you cut him off, shortly. you noticed your significant other, alhaitham, approaching you slowly and you didn't want to make a scene.

"please, please wait. i know that all which happened between us was unfortunate but please, dove, give me another chance. one last, i promise. i'll change, i will do whatever you want me to. i can't live like this; without you, and-" he started pleading, only to get harshly cut off, again.

"bold of you to say such things, scaramouche. my answer is, and still will be no. 'unfortunate', you say? too bad you only noticed this now. i do not have any intentions of us reconciling. it's too late." you repeated yourself, slightly starting to get annoyed at his selfish requests.

wanderer was ready to give you another round of him pleading you desperately to come back, but he stopped talking as soon as he noticed a pair of arms enveloping your waist. his brows furrowed while he studied the man behind you.

"is everything alright, darling? is this person bothering you?" alhaitham asked, not hiding any hostility towards the former fatui member.

"no, in fact i was just about to take my leave. i wish you all the best. farewell, kunikuzushi."

and stunned, he watched as you two part ways, probably forever this time. scaramouche figured he did not have any right to interfere in your relationship, as long as you are happy – at least, that's what he was trying to tell himself while watching you kiss alhaitham in the same way you would kiss him. and hope dies last, they say – and wanderer took it as a sign. his heart was shattering once again, but who was here to blame other than him? maybe it's time to face his own sins?

after you were out of his sight, he quickly turned back and went into his home. but can he really call it home now? home is where the heart is, and he has none. and since you're gone now – there's no point. he oh-so-wanted to be human, but is it all really worth it? if he understood the emotions he was feeling, would it all end differently?

and as he entered the bedroom, first thing he noticed was that damn box with your belongings. he opened the container, for yet another time this day, and searched for a particular item. buried deep, deep down, at the very bottom of the box, were lying thin sheets of hard paper. upon inspection, one would deduce they're pictures; of you and scaramouche together. he put all other things back into the box and focused on the photographs. photographs, that he oh-so-wanted to he disposed of. now, they gained a new purpose – by looking at them, wanderer felt less resentful.

the scent of your skin will continue to haunt his lungs. he will still yearn for you, even in his dreams – if he'll ever sleep peacefully again. you were the heaven that let him live, and now, that you're gone for good – he may just as well disappear completely.

...your arms were my warmth everyday;

and before i know that warmth,

i didn't know the cold so i could bear with it.

[rubyreduji]

[minors dni]

music major jihoon whose friends forced him to take the class with them but jihoon is absolute shit at art and he knows it

so the first couple weeks go awful. jihoon's hands are made to make music, not draw anatomy. he can tell the teacher hates him too because why is he so fucking awful at this

then once all of the intro stuff is done jihoon walks into class one day and sitting in the middle of the room is the most beautiful girl he's ever seen. then the professor starts the class and it slowly dawns on him what is happening and then holy shit you're naked and of course you are because its a figure drawing class so they're going to be drawing figures but still what the fuck

and the professor is going on about how everyone should be appropriate and respectful but jihoon's dick is already half hard and he can't stop staring at your perky nipples that are the prettiest color jihoon has ever seen

jihoon realizes that everyone else is getting their supplies ready and he fumbles around to do the same. in the middle of the room a cloth is laid out on a small platform and you drape yourself over it. your legs hide your core but your breasts are still on full display and jihoon thinks he's not going to have blood circulation in his brain after this

jihoon is already bad at art and now he can't even focus properly because you're all soft curves and smooth skin and holy shit you keep staring at him back and why are you doing that because its making jihoon's dick even harder now. your eyes are sultry yet soft and jihoon has to keep shifting around just so he can hide the tent in his sweats

the whole class jihoon struggles to get his drawing finished. he goes to draw a line and then he gets distracted by the swell of your breasts and the curve of your hip and he can't do it

"fifteen more minutes and then we'll see how every did, okay?" the professor calls out and jihoon panics

quickly he starts to sketch, trying his best to capture all of your beauty. when the fifteen minutes is up he wants to cry. his picture doesn't even look like a human body, let alone the godly figure you have

reluctantly jihoon turns his canvas around and he wants to hide away forever. everyone else's drawings are smooth, accurate lines that capture your nature perfectly while he has scribbles and lumps

you stand up and walk around the class to inspect the pictures yourself. you tie your robe back on but its so loose that everytime your body moves slivers of skin are revealed and your breasts are practically spilling out, your cleavage on full display

when you get to jihoon's you stare at it before cocking your head to hte side a bit. "huh. it's...unique." jihoon wants to die in a hole holy shit. "not awful, just different," you assure him but jihoon is still incredibly embarassed. enough that his dick is starting soften again even though your breasts are practically in his face

the professor tells everyone to finish up their drawings before next class and jihoon is in turmoil as he walks out of class, held hung low

"hey! excuse me!" jihoon stops when he hears a soft voice calling him. he turns to see you and he flushes. "hi! i noticed you sort of struggled in class, which is totally normal, but i was just wondering if you wanted any help? i'm an art major too so."

"i'm actually a music major"

"see even more reason to accept my help! but, only if you want!"

"no you can uh, yeah...i'd like the help"

"great are you free right now?"

and maybe it's a good thing jihoon is bad at art because now he's in your apartment getting his dick sucked by you

in your defense, you guys did start out doing art but the second you stripped of your clothes jihoon's dick decided to make an appearance again. you were trying to convince jihoon his art skills aren't that beyond hope when you noticed it and realized why jihoon was struggling so much. and so you decided to help him out in a different way

so now you're on your knees, sucking at the head of his cock

"h-holy fuck," jihoon mutters. your tongue is digging right into his slit and jihoon is losing his mind over it. his hands grip your hair in his fingers. "oh shit, shit, fuck." jihoon is cumming, painting the inside of your mouth white. you suck him dry until he finishes cumming and when you pull off jihoon slumps back in his seat

you wipe at your mouth before giving him a smile. "how was that?"

"holy shit y/n," jihoon says breathlessly

"mmm," you hum as you reach down and start to finger yourself, your fingers slip in and out of your wet pussy. jihoon stares intently at the way your folds glisten

"fuck," jihoon whispers before he's sliding onto the floor next to you. he moves your hand away from yourself so he can replace it with his own digits. you gasp when he pushes two in

"f-fuck. so thick"

jihoon's dick aches painfully. he just came but his dick is stirring around, his biological need to fuck you overpowering his refactory period

his fingers are drenched from your arousal by the time his dick starts to rise again. he removes his fingers from you and wraps his hand around his dick, using your slick as lube to get him up to full mast

"j-jihoon," you whine. quickly he positioned you two and slides into your needy pussy

"god you're so hot," jihoon mumbles. he slowly starts to move his hips and when he realizes there's not resistance, your pussy willing and ready, he quickly picks up the pace

soon you two are going at it like rabbits. jihoon pistons in and out of you at a rapid pace while you moan like a pornstar under him. he grips your thighs and pushes them up at your chest, fucking into you even harder at the new angle

it takes maybe four more thrusts max for you to cum around jihoon's dick, drenching his thighs as you squirt all over him. jihoon groans at the feeling and quickly pulls out so he can jerk himself to completion all over your stomach

you're both panting heavily as try to recover from what just happened. you're bodies are thrumming with pleasure and adrenaline and when you suggest to jihoon that you guys for round two in the shower he quickly obliges

he never does get his art project finished

[om3ga-but-sfw]

Idk if your still taking for undertale but can I request general yandere for sans the skeleton ? If not please ignore :3

Ofc I'm still taking Undertale! Thanks so much for the ask :D!

Though I don't know if you want headcanons or a oneshot or something so I'll just do hcs if that's okay!

[Warnings: General obsessive behavior, implications of stalking, and possessive behavior.]

Yandere Undertale Sans Headcanons

Sans, at least from an outside perspective, is relatively chill, laid-back, and is still the lazy charmer we all know him to be

He can be a little protective, sure but that's normal, right? Yeah, sure, it's nothing to worry about! After all, just how much can a lazy skeleton really do?

Well, that's nothing for you to worry about, at least not early on.

At the beginning, Sans is... well, Sans!

He's funny, he'll pull a few pranks here and there along with dropping a bad pun every now and again. He's sleeping all the time and loves to scare you whenever you think you're alone and just does his thing. He's a funny lil' guy!

It's so normal that it's almost scary in this case.

Until it isn't.

Sans isn't one to form deep connections easily, and though he can be social it does take more effort for him to actually have friends or just other people in his life that he can be close with like how he is with Papyrus or even close to that point.

So when he does it isn't just a big deal, but it seems that when it especially comes to you (no matter the relationship you two have), it changes the whole game

Almost completely out of the blue, how Sans acts completely shifts over entirely, but if you don't know where to look or don't have a careful eye then it will be tough to even notice the tiniest change. Though sometimes it can be easier to see it, if Sans catches on that you may have noticed something then he'll try to be extra careful.

Which means that some of the little details that were fueling your paranioa now seem to either completely gone, or are much harder to find. Though, don't be so easily fooled.

For you see, now some of those habits of his don't seem so normal or healthy anymore.

Everytime Sans sleeps, he not only uses it as an opportunity to be unreasonably close to you, but he also uses it to take little things you probably won't notice but have some value to you.

If by chance he takes something that you're trying to find, he'll just give it right back after a few moments of watching you freak out, and claim that he found it in a place or location where you'd normally find it... but you could've sworn you checked there already- but that doesn't matter, right?

Maybe not the first few times, but after a little while it gets weird.

As for all the stuff he gets to keep? Well, he has a special place for that in his room, and it's like keeping small parts of yourself with him. He loves it, but you'll never find it.

His little 'scares' seem to be worse too, but only in the sense where they seem to happen when you not only least expect them, but when you really are all alone. It's almost strange, like he's always there, but you know he isn't. Right?

Yeah, sure, sure.

Moving on, Sans still is a guy full of jokes, and yet his little pranks seem to be a tiny bit more targeted now.

People you hate now live their lives just a little more inconveniently, and though it seems small it's the little things that can make your day all the more worse or better.

People who hate you now have to be a little more careful as they might 'risk' making an embarrassment out of themselves in front of their colleagues should they run into one of Sans' pranks. For, if they aren't careful then they'll get a bucket of water spilled on them once they enter a room, or sit on a whoopee cushion during an important meeting.

You're friends and loved ones, however, have it worse.

Tar being spilt on them, being tased for a short while, getting their fingers stuck in mousetraps, stepping on legos or thumbtacks- its bad. It's so bad that some even begin to draw away, why?

Well, that's because it gets worse with each and every 'prank'. So much so that Sans just so happens to create an opening for himself, and solve every little problem he's been overthinking and worrying about ever since you both began talking.

Sans is lazy, but lazy people who procrastinate tend to find the most innovative ways to do things as a means to make their lives easier in the most convenient way possible, especially if their smart.

Sans is a charmer, a listener, so he knows every little thing about you and everything you know about someone. He uses his little charm to get more information out of other people in the most natural way possible as he butters with up with jokes and barely even has to lift a finger before everything he wants comes tumbling out. His popularity helps immensely in that aspect, and so does his way of coming up with believable excuse and reasons on the fly.

He uses what he knows to his advantage, and that begins to show when all your loved ones begin to pull away, and even those close to your loved ones are keeping their distance and supporting your loved ones' decision.

It isn't too long after that you're cut off entirely.

Sans is a patient guy, he can wait for the results for as long as it takes (until a certain point of course), and wouldn’t you know it- his patience is handsomely rewarded.

And the funniest part of it all is that you still don't even know it until it happens.

When it all crumbles down on you and smacks you straight in the face, it hurts so badly and breaks you apart so terribly that all you can do is turn to the one person who never left you. Who you knew would listen and would hear you out as you sobbed out your worries and woes.

Sure, Sans might have acted a little weird on the outside, but like his brother he isn't that bad of an actor. People are easy to read, so it's easy to see what topics to avoid and what to change to not spark something

You are no different

And Sans is content with that, and others may be wondering why he didn't kidnap you or anything, but that's the thing isn't it?

Why would he need to do that and go through all of that trouble when you're right here in his arms, and right where you're supposed to be? You may not know it, and Sans might not say it, but this is all he's ever needed and wanted.

You, here with him, in the comfort of his home. Away from anything and everything else as it almost seems like it's just you and him in the entire world.

Why would he lock you away when you came to him all by yourself?

That's because he doesn't have to, so he didn't. Either way he got what he wanted, what he needed, so it's not like he cares anyway.

I just hope you like cuddles, because you're getting a ton of them.

Sans will make you second guess all the people around you until all you can be sure of and depend on is him.

He'll shape your world in a way where he's your only sense of comfort, he's your own safe space. Where his home is the only home you know.

Sans isn't trying to make the world seem like a bad place, and sure there are decent people out there, but who can be better than him? No one will ever make you feel as safe, seen, heard, or comforted as Sans, so it doesn't that there are others out there who are decent? None of them can give anything that Sans hasn't already given you.

That's what Sans wants to show you and help you understand.

The world isn't all the cruel, but isn't it better with him around?

-----------

Kind of rushed, but I hope they're okay! Sorry it took so long! I've been scavenging for motivation-

[expired-applejuice]

Venom headcanons (warning He/They pronouns for Venom)

-Anne and Dan invite Eddie and Venom to all their vacations

- when Venom and Eddie have a fight, Venom bonds with Anne and Dan spends time with Eddie.

- If Eddie gets a bad sickness, like a cold, Venom panics and calls Dan and Anne.... He wants his boyfriend to be healthy

- Dan and Eddie are actually best buds... It makes venom jealous because who said that Dan can be so close to his boyfriend best friend.

- Venom rants to Anne about how much he loves Eddie, and Anne keeps a Journal called "Is that Alien Okay?" The answer is no.... How could he when Eddie's lips look like ✨that✨

- Eddie had a crush on Dan at once, and it makes Venom mad.... It was mentioned to Anne and she just laughed, remembering the time Dan picked up Eddie. (Ya know the part that was ripped away from us)

- The kiss is always brought up and Eddie is always the first to make an excuse about how it was totally Anne. And Anne says that she wasn't in control and it was all Venom.... Eddie get flustered making venom tease him on the way home.

- Dan absolutely loves Sonny and Cher.

- Anne has beef with Cher and the boys can't stop laughing. She refuses to go near her.

- Eddie secretly loved when Venom sang because of the happiness in his voice.

- Cletus knew about the Symbrock relationship and low key shipped it. That's why he kept mentioning that Eddie had secrets

- Eddie still can't go near Waterbar because of the tank incident.

- when Venom and Eddie fight, Venom says he's taking the kids, (referring to the chickens) but Eddie doesn't realize it and gets flustered because, what kids? What fucking kids. When did we- how did we?

- Eddie gets Lethal Protector tattooed somewhere on him and it made venom both Happy and angry. They didn't like the sound and the fact that Eddie was in pain.

- When hanging out with Dan and Anne, the two get in fights, and to stop it..... Dan most definitely plays "Careless Whisper" and Anne thinks it hilarious..... Venom ends of singing with it.

- Dan always tells his heroic tale of how he helped in fighting a crazy red alien. Eddie always listens cause he's just showing support. Anne is like, babe again? Really? Venom still Thinks that they didn't need his help.

- Eddie told Anne about the whole "wind in my hair" thing and she bought venom a wig. Venom instantly took over to try it on, and now Eddie has to beg him to leave it home.

- Venom taught Sonny and Cher to sing "I Got You Babe" in chicken, and had everyone to come over to listen to it. He's so proud of them.

- Eddie hates the Rave, but goes for Venom. But he had to admit, the place brought back memories of college. Times with his mates, when he didn't care about image or whatever. And when he'd explored his sexuality with that one dude. Good memories.... Venom no longer takes Eddie.

- Dan once bonded with Venom and taught him slang, and now Venom no longer can spend too much time with Dan. Eddie was cancelled for ruining the Vibe.

- Venom draws on Eddie's face while he sleeps and Eddie wonders why there's dicks on his face.... And why there's the word puss- Venom really? You're so immature

- Dan, Anne, and Venom, are all in a club called "The Eddie Protectors" and Eddie Believes he doesn't need their protection.... But he does.

- Dan took them to couples counseling.... (This should get its own scene in the movie... Can you imagine)

- Venom cries at the movie old yeller, and Eddie won't let him live it down.

- Eddie is forced into a real date by Anne, (before she figures out Venom is alive) and Venom hated every minute of it.

- Venom intentionally trys to scare, and put Eddie in danger just to save him.

- Dan video taped the apology, and now Everytime It's venom's and Eddie Symbiosis anniversary, he plays it.

- Venom keeps Eddie up all night with stupid shower thoughts.... Some are steamy. Most are stupid things that keep Eddie up thinking about life.

- The beach scene was their honeymoon.

- Eddie makes lots of mistakes, and each time Venom swears they won't help him ever again cause he doesn't listen.... But each time they do help because, who else will take care of the garbage human? Himself? No.

- Venom loves looney tunes, and Eddie just lets him watch it while he sleeps.

- their neighbors know about venom, and are chil with it, as long as Venom promises not to kill Eddie past 12 am, and keep the chickens in check. Their secret is safe.

- Venom punches the faces out of posters cause he can. Eddie tries to stop him, but he's tired.

Please draw these and tag me in them or something

[i-cant-sing]

It is just me or i think y/n Todoroki would like to motivate Shoto and her Kitkat in the gym (in diferent times of course bcs they wouldnt deal with sharing attention), like 'you can make more 5 of this push ups big bro!' or ' I know you can run faster in this bike than this kitkat!', having water and gatorade for them. And when she tries to do what they are doing they would be like 😊😊😊😊

Gym: Yandere Bakugou x reader

Ohhh yeahhhh, especially since both of them want to be with you constantly 24/7. Just gonna do Katsuki this time. I'm gonna go with an aged up reader because young teens in love just doesn't work for me lol. Slight nsfw.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more.

After a couple of months of dating officially, you guys both moved in together. The house was actually pretty nice, modern and big, with many amenities at home (courtesy if Katsuki because he wanted you to spend as much time at home as possible)

Katsuki was a morning person, you were not. His day begins at 5 am, when he leaves the house for his morning run, and comes back around 7, coming to the bedroom to see if you have woken up yet (you havent). He actually loved this part of his morning routine- seeing you all tuckered out in his bed, wearing his clothes, smelling like him; he actually feels like a million bucks.

You would wake up when Katsuki would kiss your cheek before whispering "I love you." Best alarm of the world.

By the time you got out of bed, Katsuki has already made his way to his home gym. You're both pro heroes, so it felt right to have a home gym to keep yourselves in shape. You quickly rush down to join him, eyes widening when you see him doing squats, his perfect ass just tempting you grab it and squish it hard.

And you do that. Every morning. And Katsuki shrieks, everytime.

"LET GO OF MY BUTT!"

You laugh walking in front of him. "Oh you know you like it."

"I dont!" He huffs, before rolling his shoulder back. "Now, are you done being a brat? We need to start our sets." You nod, before the two of you begin to warm up. You were more focused on using the gym machines, while Katsuki was more about lifting weights.

When he would do push ups, he would call you over to either sit on top of him, or lay under him as he kisses you everytime he goes down- yeah, he does those cringy things he sees fit-couples do on Pintrest.

Its kind of funny how the both of you are obsessed with each other's butts. Katsuki is breathing heavily as he watches you do squats, or how your butt jiggles when you're sprinting. He absolutely hates the gym ball, because its always a (sweet) torture for him to watch you spread your legs and bounce on the damn ball like you're bouncing- you get the point.

Katsuki's work out is hard, extremely hard, especially since he has a higher stamina than you. So, its kinda impossible for you to work out as much as he does. But that doesn't mean you don't try to compete with him, especially after he laughs at you.

"Hey Katsuki, wanna see who can bench press more?"

You see, this was a mistake on your part because you were challenging Katsuki in an exercise he does quite well.

Katsuki wiped the sweat of his face with a towel. "Hmm, why? What does the little brat want?"

You wrapped your arms around him, fluttering your eyelashes at him as you smiled sweetly. "Well, if I win, then I want us to try that thing we've been talking about... you know... pegging."

Katsuki's cheek's flushed, just like they did the first time you mentioned the idea.

"Fine."

Your jaw dropped. "W-what? You wanna do it? Oh I'm so glad Kats, I promise we'll stop if it gets uncom-"

"What? Oh no, your ass is the only one that's getting fucked. I was just accepting your challenge."

You lost. But in your defence, Katsuki cheated. He purposely positioned his legs right next to your face, so that when he would lean down to spot you, your face would rub with his... thing. It was very distracting.

In Katsuki's defence, he was just spotting you because your hands seem to shake, plus you were being a distraction too when your boobs were right there when you were spotting him. But you don't see him complaining?

Now you both laid in bed, your head on Katsuki's chest as he played with your hair, trying to comfort you as you pouted.

"You did good this time, Princess. Got pretty close to beating me." Katsuki said, as he patted your butt, trying to soothe you. You were a sore loser, especially since Katsuki's ass was on the line.

"You interrupted my workout." You complained. "I was just about to do my cardio."

Katsuki smiled, before kissing the top of your head, a thumb drawing circles over your cheek.

"Hmm, this was good cardio too. We should try this again."

[symphonicmetal101]

Reactions to MC Falling Asleep On/Next To Them

Ok, just for consistency, MC falls asleep on them during a meeting. MC switches spots every meeting to avoid fights.

Lucifer:

He was in the middle of speaking to Diavolo when he felt a weight on his shoulder

To his surprise, amusement, and horror, you had fallen asleep on him....in front of Diavolo (not that he let his emotions show)

However he was concerned that you had fainted, so he tried to wake you up, however Diavolo intervened, saying he had watched you nod off the whole time

He still wanted to wake you up because this was still a meeting that you were supposed to attend.

Diavolo tried to intervene again for your sake, and Lucifer was going to (reluctantly) listen.

However he shifted his arm enough to have you slump forward and nearly hit your head on the table

He managed to catch you in time, helping you into a position on the table that you would be comfortable, cleared his throat, and went on with the meeting.

Oh, but inside he felt a surge of pride that you had come to trust him enough to fall asleep with him near. Nobody could miss the smug smirk that played over his lips for the rest of the meeting.

At the end of the meeting, he stays behind with you. He gives you his coat as a blanket, and a small kiss to your forehead. He promised himself only five minutes more before waking you, but seeing your peaceful face changed his mind.

He scooped you up and took you home.

When you woke up, he denied anything having happened.

Until you confront him with photo evidence from Diavolo

Mammon:

He was only kind of paying attention to the meeting, he was mostly tapping around on his phone, sometimes showing you a picture of himself or something he hoped you would like

However when you slumped against him, he dropped his phone.

"Oi! Whaddya think you're- oh" (whisper-yell if ya know what I'm talking about?)

Once he realizes you're asleep, he blushes a little and moves some hair out of your face.

But he also realizes that now he can't move without waking you up.

But he also doesn't want to be in this damn boring meeting.

It's a calculated risk to try and get his phone back while keeping you asleep, but it's a risk he's willing to take..

....ok so it was a miscalculated risk

He got his phone, but was quick to react to the "thump" of your head hitting the table.

You were awake now, hand to your head, rubbing the sore spot.

You now had the attention of all the brothers.

Cue his brothers getting mad at hin :(

You try to tell them it's not that bad

(This part's a little ooc, sorry)

He grabs your hand and walks out of the meeting, ignoring Lucifer.

He blushes furiously as he pulls you in for a hug, an apology, and a quick peck to where you hit your head.

"Hey, I know I screwed up this time, but ya can't fall asleep on anyone else, got it? Just me. I won't let ya get hurt again."

You laugh it off lightly; you really weren't hurt, but it was endearing to see him so protective of you, him taking the situation a little more seriously than needed.

You hold him close and promise him you're ok, and that of course, you won't go passing out on anyone else.

Levi:

He was playing a game on his phone

You had been leaning over his shoulder every once in a while to check how he was doing

He didn't mind, and got a little blushy every time you got close to him

He thought that was all you were doing when he felt you against him, but you started to feel a little heavier, and you didn't pull away.

He turned to see if you were ok, only to see you were asleep.

His squirming made you fall onto his lap

Poor baby doesn't know what to do

He lost his game, but that doesn't matter now as he looks at you sleeping so peacefully.

His face is fully flushed, and he had a hand over his mouth to prevent any noises from escaping.

He looked over you to your other side, where Asmo was, mouthing the word "help"

Asmo just pouts and mouths back, "with what? You're so lucky!!! Look at them! They're soooo cute!!"

Realizing he didn't really have a way out of this, he tentatively pushed a bit of hair out of your face.

He was still very red for the rest of the meeting

At one point he shifted into his demon form to use his tail to keep you from falling off...he wasn't quite comfortable using his hands yet.

He didn't dare move even after the meeting was over, hissing at Mammon when he made too much noise and you started to stir.

Eventually you woke up in his room. Nobody quite knew how Levi had gotten you there, but if you told him you appreciated the rest, he'll be blushy for ya again.

Satan

He and Belphie were making faces at each other from across the table

Y'know just to spite Lucifer

And to see the look on your face everytime he turned to face you

But after a while Lucifer ignores them, so there was no point.

So his back was to you when he felt you leaning against him

He thought it was kind of weird, but couldn't look back at you. You also weren't responding to him

He shot Belphie a look of confusion, and a bit of concern, but it was Beel who saw it, as Belphie was passed out on the table

He simply pointed at Belphie, and then pointed at you.

Oh?

Oh

He desperately wanted to 1. See you sleeping, 2. Move into a more comfortable position, 3. Repostion you so you weren't at risk of falling, like you were now

He used his demon form to hold you up momentarily while he shifted in such a way to hold you properly

He stays in his demon form, his tail wrapped around your waist, your upper body now in his lap

Lucifer tries to convince him to wake you up

So out of spite, Satan falls asleep too, still holding onto you tightly

Asmo:

He's one of the few that actually tries to be engaged at meetings

But when the topic moves off of him, fashion, or MC, he gets bored quickly

He had one hand on yours, idly drawing shapes and designs with his finger while he read the latest fashion news on his D.D.D.

He found an outfit he thought you would love and was eager to share it with you but..

You had fallen asleep on the table, cheek squished up against the surface, gently holding his hand

He had to hold back a squeal of excitement as he opened up the camera on his phone and started taking copious amounts of pictures of your cute face

Once he had his fill, he realized thay your position would be terrible for your back...and neck...and face.

He feels kind of bad, but he's just looking out for you when he gently shakes you awake

You thank him, and refuse to let go of his hand as you wake up

This time the sqeaul of happiness is very audible as he pulls you into a hug and a couple dozen selfies

Beel:

Sweet babie boy is too hungry to pay proper attention in meetings, though he would if he could

So he doesn't notice when you've passed out next to him right away, especially because Belphie does it all the time

It isn't until its time to go that he realizes that you're asleep

At first, he was just going to get some snacks and wait until you woke up

But Asmo pointed out that you would get stiff in that position on the table

So as gently as possible, he moves you into a position he can pick you up in

Belphie gives him his pillow so that you'll be comfortable in his arms until they get home

He tucks you into bed in your room; he treats you like porcelain the whole time, worried that somehow he would hurt you

He leaves the room, but kinda hovers near your door to stop any of his brothers from disturbing you

Belphie

He mever pays attention in meetings, if he even bothers to show up

But today was his turn to sit next to you

Your company didn't stop him from falling asleep though

He woke up about half way through the meeting, but he didn't know why

At least until he tried to move, and felt something on top of him

He whispered to Beel, who lowered himself enough to see his brother's face

"Is this MC?" "Yeah?" "Ok."

He falls back asleep, although his face is slightly flushed as he buries it into his arms because you're just too cute!

Hours later he wakes up to Beel carrying him home on one arm, and you on the other. He tried to let you guys sleep, but he didn't want you guys to stay overnight at the school

By some miracle, you were still asleep, so Belphie happily took you into his arms this time before he passed out too.

Diavolo:

Diavolo made room for you to sit next to him at the head of the table

While the others didn't know, but you were holding his hand with both of yours, in your lap.

It felt very intimate for him, as the most he had done in years was shake hands or maybe give Lucifer a pat on the back

So he was a smiley babie the entire time, only partially listening to what Lucifer was saying to him

His partial attention went completely out the window when he felt your weight on his arm.

Lucifer looked mortified, however Diavolo had a rather surprised look

You...you fell asleep on him

You fell asleep on him!

He was very happy. It was a sign of trust, the trust you had in him and in everyone in the room. Not to mention, that was the closest anyone had been to him in a long time

Lucifer was going to apologize on your behalf, but Diavolo wouldn't have it

He gently shook you awake, taking in your dazed eyes.

He just woke you up to reposition you on his lap; it's far more comfortable than that chair anyways

He held you with one arm, dismissed the meeting, and relished (is that a bad choice of words for someone who hates pickles?) His time with you.

His other arm was busy dismissing Lucifer, and once they had left...

He took hundreds (literally) of photos of you in his lap, him poking your cheek, and some that no one else were to see, but he placed small kisses on your head.

Although he was upset to let you go, Barbatos and Lucifer encouraged forced him to take you home and let you sleep in your bed.

He personally carried you home, however if you grab his wrist before he goes and ask him to stay, he'll be powerless against you. Fuck off Luci, and screw royal duties

Barbatos:

He doesn't sit down at meetings, as he is he butler.

But you managed to sneak off under the guise of going to the bathroom, and found him in the kitchen

He was preparing refreshments for after the meeting when you came and hugged him from behind, burying your face in his back

He just chuckled at you, but continued to prep, using magic to pass him the things he needed so he wouldn't have to move

What caught him off guard was when he heard a small snore, and you starting to slip sideways on his back

....how did you fall asleep standing up? Humans are capable of that?

In any case, he turned around to support you so you wouldn't fall, left the refreshments and carried you to a small couch

He used a small energy spell to help you wake up, and left to finish the refreshments

A few minutes later, you found him again, and thanked him for letting you rest.

You got one of his rare smiles. He then reminded you that you had a meeting to return to

"That's still going?? I thought I was asleep for hours."

He shook his head and smiled fondly as you exaggerated a groan.

"I'll accompany you there. I have tea for My Lord and the guests."

Simeon:

He always pays attention, but when he gets bored, you and he play tic-tac-toe on a scrap of paper.

He was waiting for you to pass the paper back, but after some time had passed, he decided to turn and look at you

You were asleep on the table, and Luke was poking you, trying to get you to wake up.

He gently asked Luke to leave you alone. You were clearly worn out, and this was one of the few times the brothers weren't causing chaos.

He returned to listening to the meeting, absentmindedly stroking your hair and back while you rested

He helped Luke use his hat as your pillow, so your face wouldn't turn red or get hurt

When the meeting ended, he gently woke you up, and offered to walk you home, hoping the walk would help you re-energize a bit, as well as taking advantage of the rare quiet moments you two had.

You guys ended up walking for ages, so when you finally stopped in front of HOL, the guys were freaking out because you hadn't answered your phone.

You hid behind and pushed him through the brothers like a shield, and to your room, where you cuddled until Luke called Simeon because Solomon was trying to cook again.

Luke:

He's a child

He gets bored very easily

So you and he have little handshakes and other games to play discreetly during meetings

However, you had been caught by Lucifer, so you decided to stop for a bit.

Luke was caught off guard when you put your head down on the table

"...MC? Are you ok?"

You tell him you're fine, you just have a bit of a headache, so he resigns and let's you rest

But then he hears you snore

"MC?! You're going to get in trouble again!"

He tried poking at your cheek, small tugs to your hair, and continued to talk to you.

His desperation caught Simeon's attention

When he explains what's wrong, Simeon encourages him to let you sleep

But now he's bored again

So he starts moving your face for you, making you look angry, upset, happy, etc. Before anyone can catch him

Eventually he realizes that he's going to be stuck there for a while, and he's getting kind of tired too.

So he falls asleep next to you, holding your hand

That way he'll know when you wake up, and if he needs your help to get out of trouble, he can squeeze your hand.

By some miracle, (Called Simeon and Beel) you guys ended up in your respective beds.

Luke called you as soon as he woke up to check on you

Solomon:

Surprisingly, he is very attentive at meetings

Mostly because he wants to impress Lucifer and butter him up to make a pact with him

But that doesn't change the fact that when he notices you starting to fall asleep, he takes action

By taking action he makes your eye twitch with a quick spell

"What the fuck? Solomon, why?" "Because, if I have to be here, you have to be awake." "You couldn't have just cast an energy spell or something? Seriously?"

Yes, seriously.

He needs entertainment, and your silent frustration is hilarious for him to watch

Until the meeting is over and you tackle him, causing chaos to break loose.

I hope y'all liked that, Ik I have a huge WIP list and I don't even stick to it. Oh well. Thank you to @aceaine for helping me keep on track😁

Masterlist

[jhynka]

TOMORROW X TOGETHER - what happens when they're drunk headcanons CW: mentions of intoxication

AN: first hcs after a while :) hope u like them

TAGLIST: @prodbyblush @flowers4riki

CHOI YEONJUN

-Sings in the bathtub

-Specifically sings there and zips his mouth shut everywhere else because of the ‘acoustics’.

-He will belt, rap, and even sing whole operas he didn't even know he knew.

-This man will completely sing in fluent German and Italian while singing.

-One stutter while he sings and he completely breaks down.

-”I WAS SINGING SO GOOD. WHAT HAPPENED TO MY MOUTH??? WHY DID I STUTTER?? MY MOUTH IS BROKEN. PLEASE. SOMEONE. FIX MY MOUTH.”

-Huening consoles him that his mouth isn't broken and that he was just enjoying singing.

-Does excessive skincare.

-By excessive, I mean squirting out a whole bottle of moisturizer and spreading it across the mirror like fingerpainting, and eventually on his face.

-Tries to make art pieces with his serum too, since its more of a yellow color compared to the cream-white moisturizer.

-He would describe his mirror art as the 'next Da Vinci', but it just looks like someone dropped their white cake onto a mirror.

-Places sheet masks on the walls and draws faces in the holes and laughs at them.

-Literally, hide all your face products because they are gone.

-Would try and give you a makeover.

-”Y/N! Here's some cream and some lipbalm that you should put on your eyes because it looks good. And this mask man I made on the wall says you're really pretty even without your lip balm eyes so remember to always forget lip balm eyes and give mask man a hug instead”

CHOI SOOBIN

-He cooks a lot when intoxicated. Cooking is the inner skill he has that only appears when he's drunk. He would make micchelen-worthy dishes and tries to replicate them the following day but triggers the smoke alarm at hybe instead.

-Complete concoctions with perfectly sauted onions, and deserts with crystalized caramel, all home and handmade in the dorms of Hybe Ent. never to be made again.

-It's always a new thing everytime he drunk cooks. Sometimes it would be a 8 course dinner, others it would be homemade deserts such as brownies and cookies. The only difference his cooking had from professionals, was that it always came out perfect. Always. Not a small burn or a slight undercook on any area of the dish. None. Always perfection on a plate, waiting to be devoured.

-He also aimlessly walks around the building.

-He would forget that he was accepted by Hybe and even debuted so he would mummer how devastated he was because he was ‘rejected’ by Hybe while banging into the walls while walking.

-On some occasions, he would just stay in the elevator, letting people get to their floors in silence but never getting off any floor.

-RM would be the responsible one, (ofc) and help him get back to his dorm room and even tuck him in.

CHOI BEOMGYU

-Tries to push Yeonjun back in the freezer.

-”Yeonjun get back in that freezer!! You belong in there!”

-Eventually gives up and passes out next to the fridge.

-Literally, all his emotions would just turn into sleepy anger towards Yeonjun.

-”CHOI YEONJUN YOU BETTER NOT BE WITH Y/N OR ILL KILL YOU”

-Becomes extremely protective of you.

-By protective, I mean clinging onto you like there's no tomorrow.

-Would be that person to cling to your leg and have you drag him around.

-The loudest out of all of them when drunk. hes going to scream, shout and even yodel.

-He's the one that would get you all in trouble with how loud he was being.

-Would try to kiss Yeonjun out of hatred.

-He will just go up to him and kiss him.

-”YEONJUN. YA. I HATE YOU SO MUCH LOOK AT MY LIPS. ILL KISS YOU WITH IT HAHAHA.”

-Yoongi would probably be walking past the dorm, and he'd sample Beomgyu's screaming for his new songs.

KANG TAEHYUN

-Drunk posts on Weverse.

-Will keyboard spam leading moas to think that Odi stepped on his phone

-Speaking of Odi, he will give Odi so much food that his playpen would just be a mess of food.

-Soobin will get silent-mad at him, but not enough to care because of his rejection-depression.

-Honestly, he seems like the type to know what kind of fics everyone is writing about him

-So 100 percent reads fanfics about himself

-”Y/N people think I'm a bad boy, hhahahahah. I don't know how to ride a motorcycle and I'm not part of the mafia, why do people say i do?”

-Is the one eating Soobin's creations

-He probably eats all of them to the point where he eats something he's allergic to and doesn't care.

-” Yeah, I'm swelling a bit but it's fine it's just a bit toasty here that's all”

HUENINGKAI

-Talks to his plushies.

-He baby talks to them and tells them that they're adorable and so soft.

-He talks about you to them and how much he likes you.

-”Y/N is so cute you know, just like you, and her personality is soft, like you, and there's also her hair that's so smooth and silky, and it smells so nice. I should borrow her shampoo and use that as plushie detergent when I clean you guys so that you smell like her when I go to sleep.”

-Probably practices his “bad boy” face in the mirror

-” Yeah, who's the cute member now? That's Beomgyu not me!! I'll wreck you so badly if you mess with me.”

-Does ASMR. He probably thinks about his Tingle Interview on M2 a lot because he really looked like he enjoyed it, so he's just going to be laying on the floor, in a fetal position, while clicking his tongue half-asleep.

-Talks super fast in Koreanglish, so no one really understands him either because he's slurring at this point or they themselves are drunk.

[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.”