#i thought i was doodled something funny and 'innocent enough'

[doodlesdreaming]

(Feeling too anxious to retype.)

[archangeldyke-all]

So uhm ….how..how about sev with a corruption kink and .. 👉🏻👈🏻 a really really sweet girl who … gets reeled in by sev‘s magnetic personality and ends up just … u know … getting corrupted 👉🏻👈🏻

i'm completely chill and normal about this ask. (i'm lying) (i'm clawing at my walls and ripping my hair out)

men and minors dni

sevika never thought she'd be into inexperienced girls.

she didn't think she'd be patient enough for it. when sevika wants to fuck someone, she wants to fuck them. she doesn't wanna teach them how to fuck, she doesn't wanna wait to fuck, she just wants to fuck and move on.

but then she meets you.

she thinks you're the cutest fucking thing in the world.

you're sweet. you're the only person sevika knows who will always toss her a smile, even when she's scowling at everyone who comes in her line of vision. it gives her butterflies.

you're kind. when sevika's upset-- most people avoid her. you don't, though. you see right through the angry glare she wears to cover up her hurt. and you ask. you ask her if she's okay, if she wants to talk, if she'd like some company. and you actually listen to her answers.

the first few times she says no-- confused by the question and trying to figure out your angle.

but after a while she realizes you don't have an angle. you're just kind, eyes genuine as you look at her, a sympathetic little furrow between your brows. so she starts being honest. no, she's not okay, no she doesn't want to talk about it, but yes. she'd like your company.

and after the first few times of that, of the two of you just sitting in companionable silence, as you occasionally tell her a funny anecdote, doodling on a napkin beside her, she starts talking too.

you're funny. you make her laugh when she least expects it, little quiet quips only meant for her to hear that make her snort and smack her hand over her mouth in embarrassment. you've got this subtle snark that not everyone picks up on-- but sevika always notices and giggles when you're a bit sassy.

and it's all these reasons-- you're kind heart and sweet nature and sense of humor-- that sevika falls in love with you.

but it's your innocence that makes her fall in lust.

you're innocent. so, so innocent. as your friendship grows and you start opening up to sevika, she's shocked to find out that you (you, the girl she's been having wet dreams about every other night) are a virgin. that you've never even had a girlfriend-- that your last kiss was in the second grade when a slimy little boy held your favorite stuffie hostage until you pressed your lips against his.

she doesn't get it. she has a million fucking questions about it.

she finally snaps one evening, drunk and deadly curious.

"so then the guy tells me they're not sellin' chicken eggs anymore and i'm like what's wrong with chi--?"

"do you masturbate?" sevika blurts. you choke on your words.

"s-sorry!?" you ask with a laugh. sevika cringes and shrugs.

"well... do you?" she asks. you blink.

"i'm a virgin sevika, not a prude."

"so... yes?" she guesses. you laugh.

"yes." you say. something in sevika's stomach flutters. "don't you?" you ask. she nods.

"do you... think about sex when you do it?" she asks. you blink at her.

"well... yeah..." you say.

"am i making you uncomfortable?" she asks, suddenly worried. you giggle.

"i'd tell you to fuck off if you were. i just don't understand where all the questions are coming from." you say.

"i--" sevika cuts herself off. what's she supposed to say? i can't stop thinking about all the ways i could ruin you? that's what she wants to say, but she thinks that might be a bit strong. "i guess i just don't get how you haven't found someone yet."

you furrow your brow.

"well, it's not like women are fuckin' throwing themselves at me, sevika." you say.

"that's not--"

"i'm not an idiot, you know, i know what sex is. just 'cause not all of us aren't fuckin' walking sex magnets doesn't mean--"

"that's not what i meant!" sevika screeches out. her eyes are wide and panicked.

"well, what did you mean?"

"i meant that you're hot as fuck and i'm trying to figure out if you're a virgin 'cause you wanna be or if i'd have a shot at fuckin' you!"

it's quiet for a minute as you absorb sevika's words.

she massages her temples with her hand, mumbling to herself under her breath. you catch a few words. what the fuck is wrong with you? and this is why i don't drink clear liquor.

"you'd have a shot." you choke out eventually. sevika's head snaps up to look at you. "i-i mean--"

"what?" she cuts you off again. you shrug.

"if you wanted. but, you know, i can't-- we'd have to--"

"take it slow, yeah--"

"and i don't think i can do the whole casual th--"

"i'm in love with you." she says. a second passes, and then sevika's brain catches up to her. she smacks her head on the table with a groan. "what the fuck is wrong with me?"

"are you serious!?" you choke out. sevika huffs.

"yes. but i really didn't mean to say it. please pretend i didn't. or if it's too weird for you now--"

you burst into laughter.

sevika's known she wants to corrupt you, but she's vastly underestimated how much she'd get off on it.

like, she thinks she's more turned on than you are-- and you're always soaking wet around sevika.

even in the beginning, when she's trying her very best to keep it romantic and polite (kisses on your cheek every chance she can, a hand around your waist or shoulders almost always, sweet goodnight kisses at your door) the sweet way you flutter your eyelashes at her as you blink your eyes in surprise, the way you shyly smile at her-- it makes her cunt throb.

she spends every moment she can looking at you. half of the time it's in sweet admiration or amusement, the other half she's daydreaming about fucking you, her eyes wandering up and down your figure.

she lets you control the pace-- but she doesn't hesitate once you give her a go ahead.

so, after your third date --homemade pizza and a movie on sevika's couch-- when you shyly smiles up at her and ask if, maybe, she'd like to stay a little longer? she just has to scoop you up in her arms and carry you back to the couch, pressing her mouth to yours.

you were fumbling against her lips, gasping in surprise and trying to keep up with her pace-- but she intentionally kept you guessing-- absolutely adoring the gentle, inexperienced press of your mouth against hers and the little moans pleasure escaping your lips.

she won't pull away from your mouth, won't let you breathe for more than a moment before diving back in-- so you push her down to your neck, moaning when she starts nibbling and kissing the skin of your throat. she growls against you.

"fuck, can i give you a hickey?" she grunts, before returning to her gentle kisses and nips. you shudder.

"yes please." you whimper.

she groans as she bites into the flesh of your throat.

you whine.

sevika's got one hand on your jaw, one gently scratching up and down your back. you grip her arms, redirecting them so one hand can fondle your ass while the other can play with your tits.

sevika moans against your neck and bites you so hard you're certain she draws blood. she doesn't-- but it was a close thing.

(it's only years later that she shyly admits to you that she bit you so hard 'cause she was cumming in her pants.)

you become obsessed with her kisses. any moment you can, you're tugging her in for a kiss.

she loves it. loves teasing you about how needy you are. loves the way you'll pout-- she always kisses it away.

(also, she calls you needy, like she's not the one tracing circles into whatever patch of your skin she can reach and staring at your lips with a cocky smirk while you talk.)

you start losing track of your dates with sevika. you guys were already close friends-- seeing each other multiple times a week-- and now that you're in a relationship (which sevika loves reminding you of because she loves the half embarrassed half proud little smile it gets out of you) but now you're spending most of your free time together.

sometimes you go out, sometimes you stay in, sometimes you just go buy groceries together or meet at each other's apartments to take a nap.

but all that being said, it's about one month into your relationship when sevika first sees you naked.

you've seen sevika naked plenty of times before. she's not shy about her body, and she loves the way your eyes get all wide and glossy, the way your lips part, and your thighs clench when she's, 'just airdrying babe, it's better for your skin or something,' after her shower for thirty minutes.

so it's really satisfying when the roles are finally reversed, and sevika's left speechless as you straddle her lap, still clothed in her boxers.

it's satisfying until sevika's eyebrows furrow and she bites her lip.

your stomach drops.

you're just like anybody else-- you have your fair share of insecurities about your body. and this is the first time anyone besides your doctor or yourself has seen you naked. you give it a second, but when she doesn't move or speak, you start to panic.

"sevika?" you squeak out. her eyes snap up to look at you. she gulps.

"fuck." she gasps.

"uhh...?"

"i'm gonna say it again, shit!" she bites her lip.

"say wha--"

"i'minlovewithyou." she says all at once. you freeze. "you're so beautiful fuck i- i wanna tear you apart but-- fuck, no-- i mean i do but-- i'm in love with you. i wanna-- you've fuckin' ruined me! and now i wanna ruin you, you know?" she babbles. you giggle.

"i knew you had a kink for the whole virgin thing!" you say, pointing an accusing finger at her.

sevika clams up, her shoulders coming up to her ears and her face cringing. "i--"

you kiss her to silence her. she slowly relaxes, her hands coming up to grip your hips.

she guides your hips down, slowly grinding your wet pussy in circles against her thigh.

you pull away with a gasp, looking down at sevika's pretty blushing face, and you giggle. "i think it's cute, baby." you whisper against her lips. she huffs.

"it's not about the vi-virgin thing. it's about you. fuck. you're so good. and i wanna make you feel so good. and it's s-s-so fuckin' hot that you let me. and i-i..."

"you love me?" you guess. she nods.

you laugh, then press a gentle, sincere kiss to her lips.

"i love you too, sevika." you whisper.

she cums, her arms wrapping around, digging her fingers into your back and tugging you to her chest. "b-baby, shit!" she gasps against your throat. you giggle, and press kisses against her head as she shakes beneath you.

you're so horny afterwards that you beg her to make you cum. she flips you onto the bed, hovering over you, pressing kisses to your face, your breasts, your stomach.

"anything, baby, you want my mouth or--?"

"mouth!" you squeak. she chuckles.

"perfect fuckin' choice." she praises, before ripping your legs apart and pinning them to the bed.

she hovers above your pussy, her mouth six inches away from you, the hot puffs of her breath making your cunt clench.

"sevika--"

"just a second." she whispers, eyes glued to your cunt. you whine and shift your hips.

"sevika!"

"fuckin' hold on a second, baby, i'm tyrin' to take a mental pictu--mpph!" you pres her face down against your cunt, cutting her off.

she tries to glare up at you, but the second she gets a taste of you, her eyes are rolling in the back of her head and she moaning louder than you are.

she doesn't let go of her grip on your thighs-- she keeps you pinned as she alternates between sucking your clit and ducking down to lap at your leaking entrance, occasionally pushing against it and slipping the tip of her tongue in.

you're squealing, scrabbling at her hair and twitching in her hold-- stuttering out half words that get cut off by moans.

she chuckles against you and pulls away, her mouth and chin covered in spit and arousal, a grin on her lips. one of her hands trails up your thigh for her thumb to begin rubbing circles on your clit.

"tell me how you masturbate." she demands. you shiver.

"fuck--"

"do you use fingers? or do you just play with this pretty clit?" she purrs. you gasp.

"i-i-- both i guess?"

"mmm. how many fingers?"

"one m-maybe two if i'm really--"

"do you want one of mine?" she asks. you groan and nod, tugging on her scalp.

"please please please please--"

"fuck, but you're so tight, honey. you know i got big fingers. you think you can take it?" she asks, her lips brushing against your clit as her thumb travels down to trace your labia.

"for fuck's sake sevika--" you start. she giggles below you before shooting up, her hand still pressed against her cunt, but her lips now smashed against yours.

she pecks little kisses on your lips as she runs her pointer finger through your folds, gathering your dripping arousal and her spit, and then she thrusts her tongue into your mouth just as she eases her finger into you.

you moan. she really does have big fingers, and a much better angle than you're ever able to reach. she chuckles against your lips.

"you okay?" she asks as she slowly eases her finger back out. you nod against her.

you're sensitive-- it's so foreign feeling someone else inside you, so pleasurable, but so strange-- it doesn't take much for you to start shaking and clenching around her finger. she keeps a slow, steady pace, and you gasp. "oh fuck-- i'm gonna!"

sevika whimpers against you, ducking down to press a kiss to your nipple before squatting between your legs and sucking your clit into her mouth.

you both cum. sevika cums at the way your tight cunt clenches around her finger, and you cum and from gentle circles she's rubbing into your g-spot.

she's obsessed with fingering you.

anywhere, anytime, sevika will snatch your wrist and drag you into the nearest empty room, before shoving her hand down your pants and massaging your cunt, sinking one or two fingers inside when you're wet enough.

"s-s-sorry baby," she whimpers against you as you claw at her biceps, muffling your moans into her shoulder. "i'll make it fast-- you just look way too fuckin' good tonight." she grunts as she sinks a finger into your cunt.

she fucks you slow and gentle against the bathroom stall, both of you giggling when someone rattles the locked door.

"shhhit you feel so good, honey." she grunts. she's always all needy and whiny right up until you cum. then: she just lets her mouth run, saying all the nasty things she's thinking out loud to you.

you clench around her finger, clawing at her shoulder. "shit baby, i'm gonna--"

"fuck, baby i love this pussy. so fuckin' tight for me an' 's all mine. god i can't wait 'til you can take my cock. stuff you nice and full, stretch you out, get you squirtin' on my dick--"

you come with a loud moan.

(outside the bathroom, you hear a scandalized gasp. you both laugh as you quickly straighten up, sevika tucking you under her arm and sneaking you out of the cafe.)

it takes a while for you to get used to her big fingers but with how often she's touching you, it's not too long before you can comfortably take two, then three.

she takes it as slow as she can the first time she fucks you with the strap. she picks out her smallest, keeps the lube on the bed, tucks a pillow under your hips.

it still stings. not enough that you don't want it, not enough to outweigh the pleasure of sevika's thumb on your clit, but still enough for you to bite your lip and whimper, clawing at her abs as she inches inside of you.

"fuck, 's big!" you whimper.

sevika cums. obviously.

she tries to keep her hips steady, but the second the words leave your mouth she's thrusting the two or three remaining inches of her strap inside of you and collapsing on top of you.

the whines and whimpers you let out below her only make her cum harder.

the moment she catches her breath, she starts grinding small, apologetic circles against you where her cock is still buried to the hilt inside you.

"shit, shit, shit, take my cock baby, just like that. fuck." she whispers. you shudder beneath her, and she starts rocking her hips a little harder. "does it feel good, honey? do you like my dick?" she asks. you claw your nails into her back.

"sevika, sevika, shit, feels so good, fuck you're so deep--"

"i love you." she says, pulling away to gaze down at your body, fucking into you with fast little strokes. "look how well your tight little cunt is takin' me. 's so pretty, droolin' all over me. you've just been waitin' for the right cock, huh, baby? knew nobody'd be able to fuck you 's good as me, right?"

you're too busy moaning to answer any of her questions, but she doesn't seem to mind. she can tell by the way you're twitching beneath her that you're close.

"gonna cum?" she asks. you nod. "good girl." she grunts.

that's all it takes for you to cum, gasping and pulling sevika against your body as you shiver and moan through the most intense orgasm of your life.

sevika holds you through it, kissing your face and praising you gently. "so fuckin' good baby."

when you catch your breath and open your eyes again, you look up directly into the face of a cockily smirking sevika. you chuckle.

"pleased with yourself?"

"very." sevika says, grinning.

"'m not a virgin anymore. 's your mission accomplished?" you tease.

she bites her lip and looks down at you.

"i got a couple new missions in mind." she whispers. you laugh.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

[xmycxx]

tattoo!artist Ellie's sketchbook

Part 1 | Part 2

Okay i headcannon that her journal is a fuckin mess (like mine)

like, random tattoo designs on one page, random things like ticket stubs and a business card of an ice cream place she liked and some sketches of you all on the same page

tis a fucking mess

you found it once, she was watching a movie with you on your couch, except it wasn't something she enjoyed but wanted to spend time with you

leading to you laying in her lap, watching a movie, while she used her sketchbook on the armrest to sketch "tattoo designs" she was sketching you

she couldn't help it!!! you just looked so fuckin adorable all comfy in her lap and giggling at the jokes in the movie even though you've heard them a thousand times before

after like, half an hour of holding it in, she finally nudges you off to go pee, you pout but let her leave and just sorta awkwardly sit there, fighting with yourself not to open the notebook that she bookmarked with her pencil

eventually you decide you'll just say that it got knocked over when she got up and quickly open it, careful to keep the pencil in the same place

the page you open to is filled with sketches of where she is, her feet on the foot rest in front of her with some dialogue she found funny on the TV in the background, the lil poster you have above the tv, and finally, you

she sketched your side profile, the way your hair is falling on her lap, a smaller sketch of her fingers in your hair, and your favorite, one of your hands clinging to her free one and kissing her knuckles

you looked through some of the other ones, trying your best to not drop the ticket stubs or random stuff she'd tucked into the journal

a few pages back, you found the reciept for the dinner on your first date, with a sketch of how you looked that day doodled on top of it

looking back a little further, she found the napkin you'd written your number on along with a sketch of the tattoo you'd come in to get, with a small note that said "basic" with an eye roll emoji

you laughed, thinking she couldn't get any cuter, but the second the door opened, you remembered she would kill you for this, you tuck the pencil in what you tHOUGHT was the right page and resumed your position on the cough, feigning innocence

ellie fuckin knows something is wrong when you're fidgeting, and it confirms it when she settles back with your head into her lap and she notices the pencil is on a different page

her face turns such a bright red, she couldn't be happier you didn't see it

clearing her throat, she asks you "so, did you like what you saw?"

"Yep, loving the movie from here els." you replied, praying she wasn't talking about the notebook

"Seriously? you didn't even look at the good pages." She pouted, quickly flipping through and showing you a few pages she was really proud of

it had some tattoo designs for you, a few sketchses of your face, a ticket stub from the first time you invited her to your place and she came by the subway, everything

it was gorgeous, she was gorgeous

though she didn't forgive you for sneaking through her things and tickled you till you apologized a hundred times over by kissing her, it still wasn't enough as she dragged you into the bedroom, notebook long forgotten

A/N: I had this idea yesterday when i was talking to someone about my sketchbook. anyway like 300 of y'all have seen this AU, one of you has to have some ideas for this? requestss?

[priceofs]

Teacher’s pet

So, I got inspired. I’m going to play out something that I’d really like to happen to me. By the way, English isn’t my first language, though I enjoy writing anyway. This will be a series, and this is part one, almost obviously enough. It’s about you, a male!reader x an older!male teacher. He’s a bit of a goof, be warned. You’re kind of laid-back, apathetic, even.

—

George, a name you’d always remember. Goddamn him and the way he’d changed your life without intending to.

You had to choose between Art or Science. You fit both categories, often diving into the world of doodles and research, but the latter club possessed a quite dull teacher—and you didn’t feel too engaged with her, honestly. You hadn’t met your actual Art teacher until today.

A crazy-looking man with medium-length, brown hair tied into a ponytail with slight grey strands hanging off the attempt at formality in his head, which, you’ve heard wasn’t his forte. He wore a black and red flannel shirt, dark blue glasses with thick frames and smudged lenses—you could see the brown of his eyes twinkle with mischief under them. Well, not exactly, but that was the vibe he gave off. He had a bald spot on his scruffy beard, and he walked a bit irregularly, but you couldn’t assume he had a limp—it was more of a state of mind, if you will, from him, not you, or so you’d like to hope. He carried a cup of hot black coffee that smelled good enough for a school drink; bittersweet. You didn’t like this guy. You had already labeled him from that one school event—he wore those dorky shirts with anime or Marvel references, and, in your opinion, he was trying too hard to be funny.

Then, he dropped his things on his desk, clapping his hands once, smiling to show his irregular teeth. You could almost compare this man to Charles Manson—and that said a lot. A lot about you, too. Anyway.

“Hello, people, people, hello,” he announced with that goofy flair, “time for the annual presentation, ‘cause we’re not doing this again, eh?” He chuckled. Suddenly, he turned serious, but you could tell it was more like a mocking action, not to anyone in particular. “You!” He pointed at one of your classmates, which, by the way, you didn’t hold a relationship with. “Name, age, interests, now!” He held his hands up, looking down at her, expectant. Some chuckled, some stared, a bit bewildered. They probably had some expectations about getting a hippie who was too kind for their own good, too fragile to be a teacher at times like these, you thought. Instead, you all got this clown.

“Uh, Isabel, eighteen, dancing?” She replied.

“What kind of old-ass name is that?” One of those stereotypical machos blurted out, looking at his buddies for approval. George smirked, placing an apparent friendly hand on the guy’s shoulder. “Tell me, what’s your name?”

“Jake”, he answered. “Oh my God! Jake! Are some sort of supreme human being?” George asked, his eyes widening as he placed his previous free hand onto Jake’s other shoulder. The guy just chuckled nervously, caught a bit off guard. Oops, Jake’s control was falling apart. ‘What’s this alpha male gonna do now, huh?’ You thought to yourself, smirking a bit as the teacher started cracking your initial opinion of him. George abruptly turned around. You sensed he wasn’t all that bad, since he wasn’t in the mood to humiliate anyone. You kind of forgot about the whole presentation thing, but suddenly, he was pointing at you.

“Name, age, interests. Same thing. Go!” He enthusiastically stared, shifting the class’ attention to you. ‘Ah, great’, you articulated internally. You presented yourself. Your birthday was in a month, but you weren’t sure it was worth telling. “I’m seventeen”, you continued.

“Oh, a bit younger than your peers, huh?” George said innocently, despite what your initial interpretations made you think.

“Apparently so. I mean, time’s relative, right? Einstein said that. We trust that guy, no? Uh—” Realizing you were rambling like you usually did, you stopped yourself before contributing to humiliate your own image any further, or whatever was left of it in this fucked up hell of an educational system. Not like you knew much about politics, but it sure didn’t seem fair.

Snapping you back to reality, George’s voice rang through the echoing classroom. “Well, a science guy, huh? Me too. Science is in everything, right? Even sweeping! It’s the way you grab the broom, the way you mentally organize the space to remove all visible dirt or unwelcome objects from the floor— Anyway, back to the presentations.” He said enthusiastically, turning around to another student. You realized that you were smiling by the slight stretches and twitches the muscles of your face made. With that description, it sounds like you’re exaggerating it a bit, but it was a genuine grin, something that was rare in anyone, especially you.

[gangles-toybox]

I think it would be funny if people described their current fandom as like an infection that's continually getting worse like:

The Catcher in the Rye virus just grows worse day by day. My first exposure to it in October of 2022 was very mild and I didn't properly start doodling Holden and Stradlater until November. Oh, how innocent I was back then...just mindlessly doodling for something my teacher assigned...what little I knew. We finished the book before Christmas break in December but that only put a temporary stop to my fixation. During this time I occupied myself with the DHMIS and the Shovelware's Brain Games. However, even stranger enough, in March when Character.ai was popping off I got an urge to talk to Holden. And so I did. 3 different bots at least 3 times each or so, usually playing as Stradlater with different scenarios. Around this same time is when we started to read Farenheit 451 and that did not stop the fixation.

However, in June, I got into the Onceler, then Batman(2022), The Real Ghostbusters, and Eddsworld but it was still a lingering comfort of mine and I found myself occasionally doodling the little edgelord and posting thoughts I had about him here.

Then, I got an ask commenting about how I talk about Holden and I got back into it(never left but still) but recently it has grown...increasingly concerning. It started as it always does, mostly just thinking about Holden and Stradlater...but then before I knew i, I was thinking about Ackley...and making an AU....and new ships...and rereading the book...and now it seems that even the critters of Jane and Sally have invaded my brain. I don't know when this will stop if it ever will, but this is by far the most extreme case of The Catcher in the Rye virus I've ever seen...so far? No cure is available...yet.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

LMAOO AIKULATIONS I’m adding that term to my dictionary now it’s so funny

PLEASEDE I CANT WITH THE CALLIGRAPHY THE VIBES I’m ngl I thought you typed it on canva or something your calligraphy SLAYS but BAROU IN THE CORNER I’m screaming the way I can hear that tiktok audio in my mind too and the “(not from Team X)” USHAHSH reuniclus holds the pen while Nagi psychically conveys his vision of the design…alternatively imagine they just pull up like an e-card/invite site and choose one of the happy bday templates and mass send it in crying (considering Nagi’s whipped I don’t think he’d be this bad though but it’s still funny)

We need more Mira diagrams/doodles/visuals I’m actually living for these screw the piccrew generators if you ever think of more character designs I think your drawings are the way to go

THE KARASUYN AUDIO BROOOO the parallels are so strong it’s giving love parallelogram also WAIT IS THAT JOW BREEDING WORKS??? No fucking way no wonder I was getting the wrong pokemon when I bred shit I was not aware that the egg follows the mother wtf but Karasu foster parent taking care of a little pichu goodbye….also wait on that note of Karasu taking care of cute baby pokemon for whatever reason I get very strong munna vibes from him…..idk why but just imagine him taking care of like a crying munna idk but Karasu being on call with otoya of all people is so funny he’s just flaming him for another L (classic otoya)

SHSGSHS bruh that would’ve been me LMAOO that’s literally my blank bare bones account because I know I don’t do shit with it but maybe someday…….

If they just referenced back to the team z va team v match and looked at zantetsu and chigiris interactions there’s like three instances of chigiri being like “don’t call me princess” alone between the two of them like guys….

Im ready for the monster don’t worry *alpha wolf meme* but FRRRR non fanon chigiri>>>>> WAIT NO FR LETS TALK ABOJT IT THAT SCENE HAD ME ON MY KNEES he literally saved Isagi from a one way visit to the hospital and basically his soccer career by that logical omgggg chigiri pulling him out of the way of shidous kick did something to me

You fr found the bllk flow of workout routines LOL not too hard but challenging enough to actually have an effect and actually you’re right unless your Nagi LMAO he probably also cleans up his gear perfectly and wipes everything back down properly too SHSGSHS KARASU atp I don’t want to do anything productive around him it’s like he’s backseat driving but for EVERYTHING LMAOO he definitely knows what he’s doing at the gym though those muscles>>>

AHSSGHA Nagi’s commentary always goes hard but circling back to the chigiri convo imagine they took Nagi’s comment like they did with people calling chigiri princess like imagine people actually fanonized Barou into a stripper

I know Hiori probably talks shit in a call of duty lobby when someone purposely insults him (I can’t imagine him doing it to someone innocent or just kinda bad but if someone picks a fight they’re about to get bullied) (I also don’t play call of duty but from what I’ve seen I imagine this is correct) WB HIORI WB is just that girl WB saving lives…lowk it’s interesting how even the canon itself kinda separated hioris personality into sections because we have that divide between him with his friends and him with his parents and then him post awakening!! Lowk I love fwtkac Hiori too truly THE adopted son LMAOOO but WAITTTTT YOURE COOKING SIDE STORY INSERT SPINOFFS wait….lowk….if it floats your boat…do it………..I need those spin offs….karasu especially to quell the swerving OMFGGGG fwtkac pokemon au it’s literally them rivals to lovers (coming full circle guys yk sometimes i forget im the one who requested that) LAMFOSOA YUKI THE OPP AGAIN do it actually gotta keep it consistent yk

TABIORI LMAOO fr the same person yup yup yeah I don’t ship either but I LOVE their dynamic so i inadvertently end up consuming ship art at some point or another anyways because I like seeing them interacting shshsjsns (also because like half the art out there in general is some form of ship content LOL)

Also WAIT I FORGOT TO MENTION about to your poll I would say yes but really only in terms of length but even then it’s kinda hard? Like 7.9k is already a pretty hefty fic generally im just comparing it to bfb Karasu which I guess should also be kinda an outlier….the ones that stand out the most are the Isagi ones ofc length wise but you’d only be able to tell if you went and compared via your masterlist because 1k is also already really good for a fic (I’ve been Mira recalibrated)….writing wise the quality feels the same to me like you’re always serving…if I had to say something about the actual content is stylistically (?) sometimes I feel those stories lean more towards open ends? But that also kinda ties into wc because more wc means more development LOL I think if someone were to just come and read they wouldn’t feel a difference though Ive just been through your entire masterlist so I feel like im kinda biased in a way LMAO

- Karasu anon

AIKULATIONS 6:9 thou shalt never have only one girlfriend at a time…LMAOAOAOA i love combining the word “revelations” with other stuff for things like that i find it so funny

HAHAH THANK YOU i’ll take any chance to throw in some calligraphy…the barou in the corner is the best part originally i just had it as a :( but then i had a vision and i had to do it KDFHISJDJS nagi ensuring that no former team x members show up fr 😩 HELP because he and reuniclus genuinely think this cooks like they’re dapping each other up like damn we went off w this on ‼️ and then they show it to reo or karasu who are just like man what the hell 😭

HAHA do i just start dropping a visual and an edit every single time i respond to an ask of yours…okay here’s a random diagram i did of mc and tullia (reader had the headband) when we were talking about the girls in bllk au and one of shinah that’s part of a larger “reddit aita” style drawing LMAOAOAO i’ll make more pursuit content soon though trust this is just to tide you over

^ i hope you know which sound mc is referring to with kainess BFJSDJKS also the “don’t disrespect soccer” scene HAHAHAHA

nah because atp just make barou and yayoi exes or smth who even cares LMAOAOA and yes iirc that’s how it works?? unless it’s a ditto obviously in which case it’s just whatever normal pokémon it’s bred with…omg wait karasu taking care of a baby munna is so real OR HEAR ME OUT a baby kangaskhan whose mother died in the safari zone so hiori sends it over to karasu until it’s old enough to survive on its own?? HELP let’s be real who else would he be talking to…it’s either him flaming otoya for taking an L or it’s him talking to reader and GETTING flamed

THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYINGGG LIKE CHIGIRI TWEAKS OUT OVER IT KDJFJDSJ pretty sure the only reason he doesn’t get mad at nagi karasu or otoya for it is because they’re so mean they’ll just say something worse if he tells him to stop 😭 okay wait do you know that “these divas…” meme why is it lowkey karasu and otoya HAAHHA

i fully agree the way he looks so pissed off after saving isagi’s life too omg chigiri manhandle me next fr ‼️ jkjk ofc

HAHAHA no barou is def horrible to train with if you’re a guy especially one of his teammates but if you’re dating him he’d be cool!! KARASU THOUGH he def has a side commentary running at all times like you breathe and he’s just like “interesting way of inhaling y/n” bro shut up?????????? but that one panel of him in pxg with the back arch (do you know what i’m referring to) his legs are glorious…and his BACK in EVERY SINGLE PANEL PLEASEEE that’s why i was saying it’s lowkey insane that barou makes him look skinny because he’s literally so jacked compared to 99% of blue lockers (aka everyone but barou and kunigami) like i would say he’s on the same level of muscular as reo and yuki where they don’t look crazy huge at first glance but then when you look again you’re like DAMN

one thing about nagi he WILL be coming up with a nickname…PLEASEEE fanon barou has to pay the bills somehow /j 😩

hiori is def the friend who’s super sweet but as soon as you provoke them they whip out a level 7 crash out with insults you’ve never even HEARD of 😭 white butterfly hiori my goat…i agree he def has many sides/aspects to his personality which is rlly cool!! AGREED FWTKAC INVENTED SON ENERGY he’s so cute love how he took the time to get his divorced parents (reader and karasu) together bro fr said if my ACTUAL parents are going to stay married then you two better start dating too

LMAOOO wait it’s even funnier because that’ll mean yuki is both otoya AND karasu’s opp then 😭 bro is just chilling and hanging out w chris prince he does NOT want anything to do with them!! fwtkac in the pokémon verse truly full circle indeed…wait does this mean fwtkac bestie pulls up too and gets with otoya…😳

that’s me with nagireo bro i don’t care abt the ship but if you look for nagi content it WILL be nagireo 😢 so i’ve gotten used to ignoring it for the sake of the edit/fanart/whatever JDJFJEJD okay meme one this has me dying 😭😭😭 reo looks so handsome though!! and an edit of tabieitaken’s resident opp

LMAOO see that’s what i was thinking like it’s very obvious which characters i DO like such as karasu and nagi but if you’re just casually reading seabird for example you’re hopefully not going to assume that i don’t like sae based on it yk?? also for the isagi ones since those are the shortest IN MY DEFENSE they had very hyper specific prompts so there wasn’t much to elaborate on yk?? like if somebody said “give me an isagi fic” or was like “write an isagi coffee shop au” for example i’d probably write smth much longer 🤔 but yeah bfb karasu is def an outlier most of my one shots are in then 5-12k range which sae, kaiser, hiori, and rin all fall into…actually another thing i was wondering is like for the people who voted yes who do they think my opps are yk?? like what if they just said yes because they don’t even realize i don’t fw the itoshis like that for example 😓 anyways the poll just finished and the “no” option won out so ig that’s good!! LMAOO i mostly just feel bad when people make reqs for characters i’m not into and then i wonder if they think i hate them as a person or smth yk (mira wc recalibration def plays a role i think seabird would be considered crazily long on any other masterlist but putting it against bfb karasu is kind of unfair 😭)

[kangaracha]

head above water | chapter 2

also written by @keepswingin

---

pairing chan x reader, jeongin x reader

genre love triangle, coming of age, angst, sickfic, friends with benefits, college au

summary Homework, a small business, overbearing parents, a boyfriend that isn't a boyfriend. And then there's whatever is going on with her best friend, who seems to want something...more than a friendship, if he ever gets around to asking her about it- life is complicated, and far too busy for Y/N to be bothered with being stressed, or sick, or whatever it is that's making it hard to eat and sleep and focus on her work-

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

previous | masterlist | next

---

Seungmin throws a granola bar at you as you slide into the seat next to Jeongin, the wrapped snack hitting your shoulder with enough force that you shoot him a glare that could kill as soon as you're settled. Felix smothers a soft laugh in his next bite of sandwich, while Jeongin's arm brushes your shoulder as he reaches over and picks up the offending granola bar, inspecting it for a long moment, before launching it at Seungmin's head.

Hyunjin ducks from beside Seungmin, even though it's not needed with Jeongin's aim as the bar hits Seungmin directly in middle of his forehead. When he returns to his full height, he rolls his eyes and glances at you like you're the problem.

"What?" you ask, knowing your voice is a pitch too high to be innocent. You can't keep the smile off your lips, and Jeongin isn't really bothering to hide his either as he reaches nonchalantly for another fry. "He threw a snack bar at my head."

"Does that really make it okay to throw it back at his head, even if he does deserve it?" Hyunjin deflects, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Jeongin interjects, shooting Seungmin a look. "Maybe we shouldn't throw things at all. If only someone got the memo."

"Shut up," Seungmin says, rolling his eyes. He tosses the bar back over to you, this time with a much lower aim as it lands pitifully in front of you, wrapper crinkled and letters bunched together forming something far from the name brand. "Eat," he tells you, like you should already know. "You skipped breakfast."

"Stalker," Jeongin mumbles.

"So you do care about me," you goad, looking up at Seungmin as you tear the corner of the wrapper. "I never thought I'd live to see the day."

"Funny," Hyunjin says, already finished with his own meal and sliding the remainder of his food towards Felix. "Maybe his heart is only big enough for one of us."

"I hate all of you," Seungmin corrects, only for his eyes to find yours once more, something knowing sitting far too close to the surface for your comfort. "Do you feel any better?"

There's a part of you that doesn't want to answer; if you do, you risk worrying them even more, and you know that homework has been rough lately, and the last thing you want to do is cause anyone to think about you more often. You don't want to burden anyone like that, even if you know they don't mind. But it's something deep inside of you that hesitates, that refuses to dig in roots and be okay with doing so. It's your parents getting to you, you're sure, unable to forget all the things your mother has said when she thinks you aren't listening. Something like that, that makes all of this so difficult to unravel properly.

"Not really," you admit finally, taking a small bite out of the bar. Even now, your stomach wants to reject the food, churning in discomfort. "I guess I caught a cold, or something. I've been feeling off for a while now."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Felix asks softly, leaning forward on the table. "We could've helped you out with homework."

"She doesn't need help, she needs to see a doctor," Hyunjin says, a journal open in front of him as he doodles another last minute assignment for the craft he's going to school for. For someone who loves art, you've always wondered why he decides to wait to do everything as close to the deadline as possible.

"I made an appointment yesterday," you say, taking another bite. It's about all you can manage, and you leave the bar on the table, curling your hands in your lap. Jeongin notices, and Seungmin does too, which annoys you more than not feeling well does. If they paid attention to you this much, how would you ever be able to hide anything from them?

"Do you want one of us to take you?" Felix offers. "If you don't feel up to driving, that is."

"I'll be fine," you reply, shooting him a soft smile. "Thanks though."

Felix smiles at you in return, before he happens to glance at the time. "Shoot," he mutters, gathering his trash onto his tray and picking up Hyunjin's as well. "We have to go."

Hyunjin stands with a sigh, looking back to you. A few other students are doing the same when you glance behind him. You can't remember exactly, you find after a few more moments of thinking, but you're pretty sure that they both signed up for the same extracurricular for study hall with the bad luck of it being located halfway across campus, which meant they had to leave their allotted lunch period a bit earlier than the rest of the group.

Maybe you did catch the cold of the century, if it was already affecting your memory like this.

"Let me know if you need anything," Hyunjin tells you, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"Okay now you guys are worrying too much," you say, rolling your eyes. "I'm fine, seriously, and I even made a doctor appointment so I wouldn't have to hear anything else about it. Do I dote on any of you like this when you catch a cold?"

"Yes," Felix chimes as he grabs Hyunjin by the arm, tugging him away. "Talk to you later, stay safe!"

"So overbearing," you sigh as you turn back to Seungmin and Jeongin, pushing the bar in front of you further way. Maybe if you move it an inch every few minutes, neither will notice that you didn't actually finish it. "I'm fine."

"Finish eating then," Seungmin tosses back, pushing the bar back towards you.

So much for that plan.

"Shut up Seungmin," Jeongin intervenes. "She's not hungry."

"You always defend her," he grouses, shooting the younger a knowing look.

"You're just jealous."

"I'm really not," Seungmin deadpans, and you're afraid that if he rolls his eyes anymore, they'll just get stuck right in the back of his head. You reach over and steal a single fry off Jeongin's plate and pop it in your mouth just to make a point. It would've worked better if it didn't sit in your stomach like a rock in a pond, out of place and abundantly heavy, but there's nothing you can really do about it now.

The three of you fall into a comfortable silence as the other two finish their meals, and you busy yourself by scrolling through your phone. Somehow, you end up on your mother's Facebook page, and you can't help but stare at the most recent post that taunts you; it's a mess of gushing words about how beautiful the Bahamas are this time of year, followed with a picture of her and your father lounging on the beach. Your dad didn't bother to get a new bathing suit. Your mother's almost hilariously sunburnt.

Your thumb hovers over the like button, but you find you can't bring yourself to do it.

It was always so easy for them to run away from their problems, and a luxury for them to even have the ability to do so. You envied it sometimes. You envy it now, stressed about too much and ready to just take off in the nearest direction and not turn back. This...cold, or whatever it was, really wasn't helping either.

The bell chooses then to ring, shattering the constant murmur of the room as other students begin to disperse. Seungmin is among the shuffle, climbing to his feet, pointedly leaving the granola bar behind as he goes. "Thank God," he mutters, sparing another look at Jeongin, a certain gleam in his eye that usually means he's up to no good. "Get me out of here. I'm really not in the mood to play matchmaker."

Jeongin freezes from beside you. You lift your eyes, a question of confusion brimming on the tip of your tongue, but Seungmin is gone before you can say anything at all.

"What was that about?" you ask Jeongin instead, turning in your seat to gauge his reaction. He avoids looking at you for a long moment, fingers drumming on the cusp of the table. His cheeks are dusted pink, and there's a flip in your stomach the longer the silence stretches. Seungmin couldn't mean...

"He's just trying to start stuff," he dismisses, giving you a short smile. It doesn't brighten his face like it usually would, and there's something else off about it, but you can't put your finger on what exactly that could be. "We should get going. I'll walk you."

You hum, but the rush to change the subject doesn't go unnoticed. You can't help but think about it as you walk to class, Jeongin's arm beside your own the entire way as he talks about anything and everything to keep the silence at bay.

A different kind of emotion swirls through you. You're afraid to know what it is as Jeongin carefully hands you the granola bar you thought you had left at the table with a soft smile, fingers brushing against your own.

taglist

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @rylea08 @jenniferlr @enzos-shit

@sxnset-angel @amyyscorner @puppysmileseungmin @thatonedemigodfromseoul @briar-rose23

@ismelllikechlorine247

[variousxreader]

i see you said we could send in Koby thoughts… im so obsessed with Koby it’s not even funny. i have an ocxcanon ship with him that ive made over 100 doodles of in a few months and at least 10 pages of dumb thoughts for

i very much hc him as bisexual , usually in my mind he’s cis but i love transmasc Koby too. he’s perfect every way. but i am very much of the opinion he is very muscular either way and dedicates himself to being in the best shape possible.

my oc is a marine so A LOT of my hcs are revolved around a marine s/o who’s his superior. they’re on garp’s ship together and he gets them to talk. oc is a bookworm and has no social skills but Koby is enamored with their insane amount of knowledge and passion for reading and enables their infodumping 24/7, borrows books and they work out together. they get close over their Marineford trauma and eventually cross the friends to lovers bridge because they spend sm extra time together after and understand exactly what’s going on with the other’s mind.

and even though they wouldn’t be able to be together often, I think Koby is a very mature and understanding partner who is able to handle long distance and leaves little notes for his s/o to find, calls them at night once his work is over, and always makes sure to hug them whenever they see each other again. he gets little trinkets for them or a small bouquet of flowers if it’s been longer and will spend the entire night with his attention on them.

i think he’s awkward but well meaning early in a relationship!! scared of messing up or worrying he’s not good enough and still being oh so very shy later down the line. kiss him long enough or pepper his face in little smooches and he will be so!! So embarrassed!! but he loves it… he’s less forward physically but loves to talk and just. look at his so and admire how pretty they are. but I think he loves spooning them and kissing the back of their neck, their cheek and their shoulder at night, or their forehead if they’re facing him. he loves it when they lay on his chest and caress his face. he would be insanely flustered but so tickled by them wearing his shirts or jackets, his old bandana too…

he’s super shy but extremely loving and lovable. i am actually in love with him. no man has ever affected me as much as the existence of Koby and rambling here makes me want to post about him and my character again LOL, thank you for enabling my Koby fixation

Of course!!!! Hes just such a good boy!! I love the marine lover ideas too, but im such a sucker for Koby falling for a slightly older or his age pirate!

Hes so salty he fell for a pirate but he can't help but be so smitten with them lol when i can im writing away for the one shot i mentioned, but that idea spawned a larger fic which accidentally became 2.5k of introduction. Which will allow me to now devolve into chapters of doing whatever i please with the man lmao! It was 100% meant to be smut but i might accidentally turn it into a slow burn romance who knows!

The one shot is now going to be an off shot of the main fic, but being an omegaverse au version. Hell it might not even be a one shot but a mini chaptered fic its self! It could very very well end up as 3 parts or longer

Bi Koby is a dream. My ass really wants to drag him into a reader/ace/sabo/koby relationship thats all levels of debauched.

Theres just something about Koby that makes me primally insane.

Like i fucking love ace and Sabo, but they're so dominant and more sure of themselves (yes even ace) than Koby still

Koby really is the type of man i wanna shake around like a chew toy because hes so precious.

Feral cute aggression w the blorbo.

I shall hug him and squeeze him and call him george,

Also put him into sexual situations that render him fucked absolutely stupid because hes so innocent and sweet and i want to deflower the sweet thing

[bidarcywriter]

“I know you’ve been hanging out with Steve.”

“Oh.”

“He didn’t rat you out or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just, you guys aren’t exactly subtle.” Max half smiled. “Steve thinks he is, but then he asks about you pretty much nonstop, like that’s normal, or something. And you always give me more time to hang with my friends when he’s around. So.” 

Billy’s response was careful and measured, like a cook following an unfamiliar recipe. “You told me to stay away from your friends.” 

There was a question in there somewhere about how okay Max was with that. They hadn’t talked about this before...ever, so. Max doodled on Billy’s nightstand with the tip of her finger. Neither one complained about the lack of eye contact. 

“Guess I forgot to tell my friends to stay away from you. Honestly, I didn’t think I needed to. You were a fucking asshole, but you, I don’t know. Won them over.” She scoffed as if to say imagine that, rubbing at the yellow sunflowers on her nails. Biting her lip. Funny what time, healing, therapy, and a near death experience could do for a guy. Max was fiercely proud of the person he worked so hard to be. Still...something was nagging at her. Billy knew it, too. “Are you two like, really friends? Because Steve thinks you are.”

“We’re not friends.” One look at her face had Billy amending. “Didn’t mean it like that, Jesus. I’m not messing with him anymore. I just meant, I think we’re more. Or...we could be.”

It took Max a minute. Billy stared at her all calm and expectant, as if waiting for the dots to connect, but also looking half unable to breathe, then— “Wait, what the hell? You and Steve Harrington?”

“What, it’s news to you? Thought you said we weren’t subtle.” 

They could’ve been two goddamn sisters braiding each other’s hair and gushing about their first crushes, but Billy didn’t frown or cuss about it. Just seemed a hair embarrassed, if anything. He winced a bit when Max’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh my god, Billy, you’ve got to be shitting me.”

From his confusion, it dawned on Max that he expected her to be outraged. 

A year ago, she would have been. 

“I’m not shitting you,” Billy muttered when he felt secure enough, digging in his jacket pocket for one of those smelly cigarettes. “We’ve been talking for months now.” Billy shrugged like it didn’t matter when it so clearly did; the tension from five seconds ago melted to reveal something warm in his eyes. “Started hanging after my shifts. Last night, fucker even made a move.”

“And?”

At the quirk of his brow and the tell-tale hint of a smirk, Max shook her head. Exasperated. “No gross details, god, I just want to know where it ended up. The you and him thing.” 

“Oh I can tell you in depth about all of it, Maxine -” 

“Jesus, forget I asked.”  

“Are you sure? He makes the cutest sounds when I - ” 

“La la la, NOT listening!” 

“What?” Billy called to the door Max left swinging upon her retreat, all sugar-sweet innocence and a California smile. “I was gonna say, when I bring him coffee.” 

Max didn’t return. 

Well. That was one way to get rid of his nosy, pain-in-the-ass little sister who he actually sort of liked, now. He took a good mental note of it. 

[jamieedlund]

How do you think aaravos would react if there was a person he could not manipulate. I mean if he's trying to be his sweet charming and very convincing self and there like yeah ok hi nice to meet you to and just acts like his voice doesn't put them into a trance. They just smile and help him with stuff and act like he's just another elf.

I imagine he'd be so frustrated and interested in this strange person. He'd fallow them around just trying to figure out why his charm doesn't work lol

There are two(or maybe 3???) things that I think are being asked here--- Um so... let's go I guess???

⚠Warning somewhat a short read⚠

Still gonna leave a doodle here because I'll never answer fun questions about my agenda without providing you all with something nice( •̀ ω •́ )✧

1. I don't think there is a single person that Aaravos cannot manipulate...Cause...he's Aaravos. He'll always find a way.

2. If they just think of him as regular guy and can't seem to be manipulated, I doubt he'll even be interested in that because he has a somewhat grandiose sense of self. I think he likes himself enough that it doesn't particularly bother him when people are just normal around him and don't think he's THAT attractive. In fact that would probably bored him.

Why waste time caring about someone who doesn't find him extraordinary when he can be doing literally anything else that excites him lol.

I think he's also encountered a fair share of people who all thought of him differently so I feel like he's probably seen it all: it's a hassle to be worshipped, it's boring to be treated normally and it's kinda funny to a laughable degree to be looked down upon.

In short, it takes a super specific type of person, one that doesn't bore him nor infuriate him to get him invested.

3. Since I'm only ever writing about Callum in regards to him, I'll say this, out of literally everyone in the show, I can only see Callum being able to snatch up Aaravos(idk in what way go figures?) because:

He's someone truly good-hearted, and was proven to be incorruptible by dark magic, which that by itself probably has never came into existent within the canon so... it's pretty fricking special to begin with.

He's also innocent enough that Aaravos could easily manipulate but can't help but like at the same time because it's "terrifying", especially when he gets mad.

He's capable of keeps him grounded

Being funny, kind and understanding but firm and perhaps also a bit cruel at times when he thinks his master's decision is hurting others or himself (this is the scary part) I don't think Aaravos would ever be interested in anyone unless they can toggle between being his biggest simp while simultaneously scaring the crap outta him 🤣🤣🤣

My final verdict? There are more things to be done than trying to impress someone who doesn't think he's special when he probably understands this is just the fact of life lol.

I think the follow up is a minor stuff but like - the only person I can see that's capable of making him feel "frustrated" is one who is innocent, kind and believes in him with all of their heart. One that's always be willing to throw hands for him because they know he's a good person. I wouldn't call this frustration either though haha...Maybe he would pull some rare faces with some indecipherable expression 🤣

What can be more frustrating than thinking you are no longer capable of being good and was locked away for 300 year only to be shaken to the core by someone who believes in you whole-heartedly.

It'll definitely piss him off :))) In a fun and exciting way.

[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.” 

[dreamteamspace]

MCYT subway au Part 3 because I’m a sucker for attention and the 2 ppl who made part 1 and 2 noticed me

Holiday Shift

- Everybody who works on the holiday gets double. Those that can’t work have to put their name on a list. Lowest entries and those that don’t enter need to work the shift. It’s Phil’s idea don’t ask

- George is the first to put his name there but Sapnap skribbles it out and makes sure everybody else gets their name in first. It’s his punishment for leaving Dream and him alone for rush hour when Karl was sick. Dream wasn’t all that mad but Sapnap Will Not let that shit slide

- Tommy gladly takes the oppertunity to not have to spend the entire day awkwardly hugging relatives and being told to keep their elbows off the table. Convinces Tubbo to join them, supposedly for the Money

- Dream: “So Karl did you put your name on the list yet?” Karl: “What list??”

- Shift staffing: George, Tubbo, Tommy and Karl

- George becomes the reluctant babysitter of what feels like three kids

- “Karl stop WASTING the bread we NEED THAT.”

- Tommy is told to go pull what they need for monday out of the freezer. Tubbo offers to come with him and holds his hand the entire time. They’re best friends your honor. Tommy promises Tubbo to make it up to him

- George does about 60% of the work on a four person shift. Swears to murder Sapnap on sight. Probably slaps a pastry in his face later

Promotion pt. 4: Taking Over

- Tommy begs Techno to join in support of Wilbur. Techno reluctantly agrees because he can’t really say no to Tommy and because he doesn’t really want to become manager anyway (too much paperwork and he’s fixating on the origins of vedgetables) 

- Tommy now adds #WilburForManager to his pogway stickers. Wilbur is also reluctantly Growing Soft in face of Tommy’s undying support

- Nobody knows why, but Quackity has the unspoken ability to make Schlatt give him sick leave or remove him from shift?? All Quackity has to do is point to his phone and give Schlatt a smug Look.

- Ppl are suspicious but really Quackity just has a video of Schlatt kissing a baby kitten in the face and talking to it in a high pitched soft voice

- Wilbur needs to visit extended family and leaves for 2 weeks. The day before he leaves is surprisingly light-hearted and Wilbur admits that Schlatt isn’t the worst manager imaginable. He lets them waste things sometimes and has yet to give anybody a cut for not showing up to a shift

- Dream can’t openly go against Schlatt, silently wishing he’d just put the milk in The Right Spot before his shift. But no. It never is. It’s always somewhere else. Always.

- Schlatt continues to place things in slightly different places than they belong and following his whim more than the rules. One time he didn’t order the dark chocolate cakes they sell because “Who likes those anyway”

- Phil is there more often to make sure Wilbur’s work is covered. The war continues to rage in stolen glares and misplaced ingredients.

- Bad and Skeppy are slowly genuinely growing concerned, watching the whole thing go down like a movie.

Promotion pt. 5: Adopted On Sight

- Schlatt tells Tubbo he’s doing great One Time because he literally saved Schlatt’s ass from being fired for the whole cakes thing by biking it to the nearest store that sells them and getting some

- Tubbo will now follow Schlatt around to ask him how he’s doing, if he did everything right, if he needs any help, how his morning went so far

- Schlatt does Not Know how to handle Tubbo and suddenly wishes for Wilbur to just Come Back and Take His Kid. Tubbo wishes him a good morning and good night every single day. How is he supposed to keep up his tough old man appearance like this

- Tommy is still on Wilbur’s side and purposefully makes Schlatt’s life just a little more difficult. Small pranks. Stickers on the cakes, wasting them. Writing #TommySupremacy on the sandwhich wraps with markers while nobody is looking. Taking 4 chairs to the back to stack them on top of eachother and stand on them to reach the ceiling. Being the teenager he is.

- Tubbo think it’s funny and that’s the main thing keeping him going really

- Schlatt confronts Tommy but with no results. He turns to Phil to ask him what to do and Phil is like, you don’t do anything. That’s just Tommy for you. Usually Wilbur keeps him occupied with the Dreamon hunting and now he has too much free time

- Quackity is using the blackmail more and more. Does he even work here anymore? When was the last time anybody saw him apart from looting the expired sodas? He’s the only one who can order avocados on a spanish site online that don’t cost their weight in gold

- But as it tends to be with good friends, Schlatt knows the amount of blackmail he has is enough to fill everybody’s need for drama here for the rest of the year. Also he can’t say no to Quackity

- Fundy recieves yet another apology card from Wilbur from Ireland, a whole postcard with a picture attached and a little doodle of a fox. He finally caves and forgives him, now refusing to do Schlatt’s work anymore.

- Dream is Popping Off. Nobody can stop him from working once he starts. He’s 2 months ahead on Literally Everything. Somebody help him

Promotion pt. 6: The Finale I promise

- Wilbur returns! Schlatt is THIS close to throwing in the towel

- Tubbo says he wants another sleepover, wanting to de-escalate the whole manager war. Tommy has to stay true to his promise in the freezer and they convince Wilbur together. Techno was on board before they even asked

- Unbeknowedst to them, the Dream Team + Karl wanted to stay in that night as well to sabotage Schlatt

- Both groups stare at eachother in confusion at first

-They combine their resources to figure out a way to sabotage Schlatt. Dream is growing increasingly quiet and unsure while Tommy stares at The Adults with dissapointment. Tubbo tries to get a word in about how Schlatt isn’t That Bad but they all yell over him. “The milk, Tubbo! Why can’t he put the milk back like a normal person!”

- Eventually Tommy pulls out his bravery and tells everyone to Shut Up

- Everyone stares at eachother

-Tommy: “How come you guys yelling over bullying somebody out of their work sounds less mature than when my literal nephews are screaming at eachother over 10 year old pokemon cards??“

- The adults stare at eachother even harder

- Dream shyly clears his throat. “From an outsider perspective, you know, uh, I should probably be fired for plotting against a fellow manager-“

- Wilbur finally finds his tongue. “Maybe this wasn’t the most... mature idea.”

- Everybody carefully agrees to apologize to schlatt and never speak of this again. Tommy has unknowingly gotten a lot more pranking rights

- They spend the rest of the night organizing the storage, hunting Dreamon, Dream telling them about that one time he ate a living frog, and taking turns playing some free racing game on Karl’s switch

- Lots of laughter, return to their shifts the next day

- They wait for Schlatt to come in to work and pull him to the back. Only Bad and Skeppy are already allowed inside while they keep the doors locked for anybody else

- Dream issues a formal apology to him and tells him everything, and Wilbur jockingly mentions they were really close to pouring food coloring into his rubber gloves as they try to laugh it off

- Schlatt stares at them

- “You know what? I quit. I don’t want to be the manager anymore. I feel like the dad of lord knows how many kids. Phil is some kind of angel. Wilbur please adopt Tubbo and Tommy again, as long as our store isn’t on fire I’m never going to complain about them ever again. Dream you might wanna phone Quackity.”

Insiders

- After a good, short era of peace within the establishment, the Drama Bois are getting bored and latching onto new things

- The bets on whether Skeppy and Bad are a couple or not are getting ever higher, especially as they’ve started letting them behind the counter. They figured out pretty quickly that they’re officially not together, but that just makes the betting all the more exciting. Do they like eachother? Are they hiding it? Are they just really good friends? Are they THAT oblivious or just really good at covering it up??

- Bad especially becomes good friends with Dream, George and Sapnap, and yet they’re all just as split as everyone else on whether he likes Skeppy or not

- Bad pretends to be but is in fact not oblivious to this at all

- Dream especially will often tell them they’re being VERY close to eachother or how cute they are next to eachother, revelling in teasing his friend, especially as Bad will sometimes start to get flustered while Skeppy manages to somehow stay 100% cool

- One day when a middle aged white woman is extremely unhappy with her order she starts talking down on George about being uneducated, and too clumsy for being useful at all, and how they should fire him. George asks her if he should just get the manager and she gladly agrees, only for Dream to swoop out of a back room, a good head taller than her, and sternly tell her if she can’t treat employees like human beings then he will ban her from the establishment immedietly. The woman stutters, takes her order and leaves, cursing something as she goes.

- Bad and Skeppy were sitting at a table nearby quietly the entire time, and Bad has this a-little-too-wide smile on his face.

- Dream murmurs something about having to go, but the seeds are planted. The idea has bloomed. Bad is ready to get his teasing revenge.

- Just as they’re closing, George puts away the milk that Dream left on the counter, telling Dream that he’s putting it away. Bad: “Wow George, that’s so thoughtful of you!” George: “???”

- Dream, softly telling George he can go home earlier and he’ll take the rest of the shift so George can catch up on sleep: “It’s okay, just go. I’ve got this.”

- Bad, just as George left, slurping his milkshake innocently while Wilbur and Sapnap are in earshot: “Awww, Dream! That was SO nice of you!”

- Dream, knowing exactly what this is for: “I’m just... nice to my friends!“

- Bad: “Really?! How many times do you let Sapnap go home earlier?” Sapnap: “You let George go earlier AGAIN?” Wilbur, having waited his entire life for someone to finally notice this: “George is getting so much favored treatment, Dream. But you’re really just good friends, right?“

- If looks could kill they’d all be dead at that point. Especially Bad, who continues slurping his milkshake as the chaos unfolds and Dream knows there’s no escape

@labbyyyyy @karlljacobs

[nebuleeart]

3 4 5 10 12 14 16 18 22 25 26 27 30

Skipped a couple bc i couldnt think of a good answer but ehehe lets GOOOO

3. What ideas come from when you were little

A lot of my current design elements for my anthro ocs actually started when I was in elementary school and designing magical kitty girls to LARP on the playground… like honestly? If you look at Chip and Fray and Hem and then compare them to my childhood characters, not much has really changed, i just got better at art. Also these two OCs (moon and lyrica) are from like 2011 and I still use them to this day 😏

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw

Despite my best efforts over the past decade (decade…. *sobs*) i STILL to this day struggle to draw sonic characters 😭 its the faces and body proportions… I just cant get it right and make them not look stiff. I’m working on it tho so hopefully in another 10 years or so I’ll finally get it down AJSHHSHAHABAB

5. Estimate of how much of your art you post online vs. the art you keep for yourself

Its a HUUUUGE difference. Like i’d say out of 100 sketches maybe 10 of them get finished and only 5 of those 10 end up on social media… i am very picky about what art people see.

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw

I loooooove thick/heavy fabrics!! Almost all my ocs have something like that on them, i like to make them comfy 😊

12. Easiest part of body to draw

Hair! it just comes to me the easiest compared to all other parts. Close second is eyes

16. Something you are good at but don't really have fun doing

I studied cat anatomy when i was young bc i was obsessed with cats so i can specifically draw realistic cats very well but i actually dont like doing it very much… i prefer to draw them more stylized and cute :]

18. An estimate of how much art supplies you've broken

Ive had a nervous habit of biting pencils since i was old enough to use one so you can imagine the carnage I’ve inflicted on many an innocent dollar store pencil

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing, if any

Nothing before but i do stretch and get up and walk around when im feeling stiff while drawing.

26. What's a piece that got a wildly different interpretation from what you intended

Not quite a different interpretation but an unexpected response was all the comments on my sonic underground redesign post analyzing the design aspects and a couple pointing out things i didnt even realize I did which was really fun!! I love getting comments like that i still think about it all the time

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff? If so, what is it you draw to warm up with

Yes!! I mostly do silly loose doodles of whatever’s on my mind at the time,, dont really think about it I just draw

Recent one i did around the time the new rtfd episode dropped and i thought was funny but never posted

just dumb stuff like that ajsvshhsaj

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated

Okay so last year I did this splatoon magazine spread and spent hours on it and it got like 30 notes total but its okay im not sad about it im not sad😊 (lying)

Thank you for the ask maria ily!!!

[maraudersftw]

“Can I at least tell my side of the story?”

@theroomofreq Thank you for the super fun prompt! ❤❤

Doodle

“What’s your bloody problem, Potter?”

James’s laughter died down at the sound of the voice, a hand jumping up to his hair as he turned around in his armchair to find Lily Evans stalking towards him from the portrait hole, face red enough to match her hair.

“Evans,” James blinked, dropping his hand immediately when her scathing remark from a few days ago near the lake came to mind, “What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter, you say?” Evans scoffed, and James could tell from his peripheral vision that Gryffindors all around the common room had stopped to stare at what they expected to be another one of their infamous rows. His attention was snapped back when she spoke again. “The matter is that you just can’t seem to take ‘no’ for an answer. I’ve tried telling you nicely one too many times, but this is just childish, even by your standards.”

“I know you’re going to think I’m lying, but I honestly don’t have the faintest clue as to what you mean.”

“Oh, really?” Lily threw him a fake smile, suddenly shoving a tiny piece of parchment under his nose, “perhaps this will help you remember.”

James curiously moved his eyes away from her face and looked down at the short note. Within half a heartbeat, the tips of his ears were dangerously warm, and he kept blinking at the note, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Thankfully, Remus had taken it upon himself to shoo away the onlookers with a stern, “don’t you lot have anything better to do with your time?”, so at least James was saved the mortification of having prying eyes witness his pathetic state.

“Well?” Lily said, a hand on her hip as she looked at him. James noticed that she had yet to return back to her normal color, taking some comfort in the fact that he was not alone in his humiliation, though hers was definitely mixed with a good amount of anger.

“How did you find this?” He asked in a pained voice, looking down at the parchment again and openly flinching.

It was one of James’s numerous doodles, the ones he often found himself drawing absent-mindedly during classes.

This one was particularly embarrassing; it was a large heart with an arrow running through it, and it merrily nodded from one side to the other, courtesy of his special quill. The highlight was, of course, the pair of initials inked boldly inside the heart.

James recognized this doodle very well, remembered the exact History of Magic lesson during which he had drawn it several weeks ago. But what he did not recognize was the horrifying message scribbled underneath it in his handwriting.

Evans, the bud of my heart,

I like you a Lily bit more every day

All I can think about is how we should put our tulips together

And how robes on bodies are really just a bother

“Can I at least tell my side of the story?” He asked quickly, gulping when his eyes traveled back up to see Lily turning redder by the second. “I swear it’s not what it looks like. I didn’t write this.”

“You expect me to actually believe that?!” She seethed, “That’s your chicken scrawl, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but—hang on, how did you know—?”

“So, you’re telling me someone else went through all the trouble to write down this utterly terrible, pun-filled, and downright crass poem, draw a stupid heart with our initials on it, and dropped the parchment into my bag for—for what, exactly?”

James blinked, “Uhh…”

“Thought so. You know, Potter, I always knew you were a prat, but I never pegged you for a liar.”

“No, wait!” James jumped out of the chair, feeling slightly desperate when Lily looked like she was about to storm off, “alright, that—that drawing is mine. But I swear I didn’t write the rubbish underneath it and I sure as hell didn’t drop it into your bag! I’d have to be mad to—come on, Evans, look at it! I’m not eleven anymore. I could do much better.”

Lily continued to stare at him suspiciously, and James tried not to squirm under her scrutinizing gaze even though he was rather certain he was flushed all over.

After what seemed like an eternity, she let out a heavy exhale and James almost wiped his brow in relief. “It doesn’t make any sense though,” Lily said, “Who would do something like that?”

James considered her question for a second. No one in the entire school had anything to gain out of trying something like this, not when James made his affections for Lily quite vocal all by himself. None of the Slytherins who hated him possessed a funny bone in their body, so James quickly ruled them out as well.

In fact, the only people who would find his embarrassment absolutely tickling—

His eyes sharply flitted to the three boys still seated around the fireplace, their backs unnaturally rigid and tense.

He looked at Remus first, whose face was a mask of pure innocence, and he smiled at James pleasantly. Narrowing his eyes, James moved onto Sirius, who was nothing if not a bastard. He was barely controlling the chuckles spilling from his lips and the mirth in his grey eyes was unrestrained, but this was hardly evidence enough for James, for he was certain Sirius would find the situation entirely hilarious regardless of whether it was brought on by him or anyone else.

Finally, his eyes settled on Peter, and as soon as the smaller boy looked at him, he let a telling squeak fly, watery eyes flitting nervously and confirming James’s suspicions.

Sirius and Remus let out simultaneous groans of disbelief and facepalmed, shooting up from the couch and immediately bolting away, dragging a jittery Peter behind them. Laughter bounced off the walls as they quickly exited the portrait hole.

A second ticked by, and James turned to look at Lily with a deranged expression on his face.

“Excuse me, Evans,” He said, pushing past her with a smile that probably scared Lily enough that she didn’t think to put up a fight, “I have three murders to commit tonight.”

[unnecessarywriting]

Rainy Day Confessions - Harry Potter

Harry Potter x reader

A/N: I am happy to be back writing here. Please let me know what you think and send me requests. I have changed the list so check before you request. Thank you!! Also no Cho hate here, it just fit for the storyline.

Rainy Day Confessions

You know, crushing on someone is harsh. The heart beats harder in your chest at every glance; your cheeks heat up at the sound of a laugh. When your eyes meet, you forget the most basic instinct: to breathe. When it is one-sided, it’s more painful. Each glance is just passing; each laugh is because of someone else. Even the meeting of irises and pupils is just coincidence. These thoughts pass though your head and cause the ache that weighs on your soul. His eyes shine like emeralds, and his laugh is the hum of an innocent bee. Of course these observations are some that many have made before me. Most of these others have been more successful on their advances at staking claim to the one their hearts belong too. 

Monday has consisted of classes with the one who you have been falling for. He, of course, thought that talking back to the pink toad herself was wise and wound up in another detention. You sat in the back of the class waiting patiently for her insufferable voice to stop screeching in your ears. You were doodling on your parchment when she made her way to your desk.

“Miss Y/L/N!”

You looked up in annoyance and surprise.

“If you are so insistent on not paying attention in my class, you can spend time reflecting in detention tonight.” Of course you had detention with her, and of course it had to be with him.

The end of class came with the end of the day, which meant that detention was awaiting you. You walked towards the pink hell, and awaited for your courage to knock on the door. Her shrill voice told you to come in, and as you entered, your heart dropped. You were alone. Never had you been alone with this woman before, and that was enough to strike fear into your body. Silently, you sat at the table, and in front of you sat the infamous quill. You had detention with her once before, and you could recall the pain it that quill can cause. You sat in silence until you heard a knock at the door. He walked in and sat across from you with a matching quill.

“Mr. Potter, you shall write ‘I shall not talk back’ and Ms. Y/L/N, you shall write ‘I shall not be distracted’ until the messages sink in.” The both of you nodded and began to work. 

A half an hour passed, and the first drop of blood fell from your hand. Another twenty minutes passed before you were both let free. You walked slightly faster, hoping you could make it to your dorm before any tears fell. You weren’t sad, just in pain. Harry tried to keep up with your pace. You could tell as the sound of his footsteps increased. 

“Y/L/N! Hold on a minute.” You slowed down at the sound of your name. You didn’t respond, you just slowed your steps.

“Are you okay?” He sounded sincere, but you knew he would be this way with anyone who shared that experience with him. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Now, I kinda need to get to my dorm and start working on that potions essay. Goodnight Potter.” How you wanted to use his first name, but you weren’t close enough for that.

As you made your way into your dorm room, you wanted to hit yourself on the head for being so dismissive. You weren’t nervous about talking to Harry, you just didn’t want him to see your vulnerable side. The last thing you wanted was for the boy you were crushing on to pity you and think that you were weak. Alas, there is nothing you could do about it. That night you went to bed with a few tear stains, and a throbbing hand. 

The next morning you woke up feeling a little defeated. The events of the night before still weighing in your mind. You got up and pulled yourself to breakfast with the promise of some delicious jam. You sat alone. You had friends, plenty of them in fact, but you just wanted to enjoy some solitude and be left to your drowsy thoughts. Throughout your time at breakfast, you felt eyes on you. Quite frankly, you wished it was your crush, but there was no way he would feel the same. It turns out you were right. Before you left the great hall to make your way to Charms class, you glanced around the hall and saw the eyes of those that bore into your skull. It was none other than Hermione Granger. Why she was watching you was unbeknownst to you, but you didn’t want to dwell on it.

Charms class was interesting and fun. It allowed you to focus on something other than your own thoughts. Flitwick was always a joy to be around, and he gave you a lot of house points as you often excelled. The only real competition you had was Hermione in this class, but she didn’t seem to mind that you were great in that class.  As the class was ending, your brain started to go back to the events of the nights before. You felt a little guilty about being so dismissive, and your hand was still in pain. You decided that you should apologize to Harry at dinner.

A few hours later you walked into the hall with confidence, but as soon as you saw him with his friends at the Gryffindor table, you panicked and walked in the other direction. You sat at the table thinking about when to talk to him, and what to say. Eventually, your thoughts were interrupted by a tap on your shoulder.

“Harry told me about your detention last night. Are you sure you’re alright?” It was Hermione.

“Yeah Granger. I’ll be fine. My hand still hurts, but it’ll heal eventually.” You offered her a small smile.

“Well, I just wanted to make sure. We both know how evil that toad is. Harry was also worried about you.” She gave a cheeky smile as if to tell me she knew all of my secrets. 

“Actually Hermione,” this was your chance, “can you actually tell Harry I’m sorry for being so rude last night? I’ve been feeling pretty guilty about it, and I really don’t want him to think it was about him. I honestly was just overwhelmed.” You looked down, slightly ashamed that you couldn’t just say that to him yourself. 

“You know, you could always tell him yourself.” She gave you a knowing look. “But, I guess I can do you this favor. Enjoy the rest of your evening, and don’t hesitate to come over to us next time.” She offered a playful wink and walked back to where Ron and Harry sat. Of course she noticed your feelings. Clearly, you have been a bit too obvious. 

The next day came too fast. And it went almost as quickly. After dinner, you wandered the halls before curfew. You contemplated going to the astronomy tower, but you thought that was too obvious. Someone was most likely there, and it was most likely Malfoy himself. You decided to enjoy the fall weather and wandered the courtyard. Eventually you sit down by a tree and just close your eyes. The silence was rejuvenating. The chaos of classes and the continued noise in the common room often left little time for relaxation. This was the best way to decompress. Not too long later, a cough brought you to your senses. 

“You know, your dorm may be a better place to sleep. You’re also less likely to get sick.” I knew exactly who it was. I sighed and kept my eyes close. Maybe if I don’t look at him, I can keep my composure.

“At least here, I don’t have to listen to the first and second years experimenting with Weasley products. Plus, the weather is perfect for a nap. I could sleep the rest of the year away, and I might as well if the pink toad is going to be around.” We sat in silence for a moment. Eventually, Harry spoke up.

“How’s your hand? You were bleeding a lot.” I let out an empty laugh in response.

“I’m heavy-handed I guess. How’s yours?” I heard a shifting noise next me, but I didn’t think twice about it.

“As well as to be expected. Listen, you had nothing to apologize for. I get it, she can be a lot. By the way, you call me Harry. There’s no reason for formalities.” At this point I could feel his eyes on me.

“Well, it’s not like we’re really friends,” I countered. 

“You call Hermione by her first name, and I didn’t think you were friends either,” he pushed.

“I talk to her. More than I talk to you. If it’s any consolation I would probably refer to Ron as Weasley, well, maybe not if he was surrounded by the twins too.” I started to get up, but I felt his hand lightly grab my wrist.

“Then call this the start of a friendship. Now, you have no reason to not call me by my name.” I shook my head in response and began to walk away.

“Goodnight Potter,” I murmured to myself, but Harry heard it with a small smile on his face. 

When Thursday came around, you felt great. Of course, your hand was still sore, but emotionally you felt good. You had managed to keep your emotions in check when talking to Harry last night, and you even managed to act a little more like yourself. On your way to the great hall for breakfast, you had a bit of pep in your step. You made your way to the table when you noticed that Harry was sitting over by where you were known to sit. Hermione and Ron were in their usual spots, but they were constantly looking over at Harry with smirks plastered on their faces. 

“Should I even bother asking why you’re here Potter?”

“Well, I think I should sit with my new friend, don’t you?” He was too cocky for his own good.

You shook your head in response. Maybe he won’t end up developing the same type of emotions for you, but the least you can do is make a friend out of him. Your chats that morning were friendly. Your heart continued to beat a little harder in your chest, but you did the best you could to keep your emotions in check. Throughout the day, you would catch Harry around you. Sometimes he was in the same room, or you were just passing by each other more often, but he became more prominent in your daily activities.

You were spending more time with him, and his friends in the weeks following. Hermione made a good study partner, and Ron was actually pretty funny to be around, but you couldn’t get past these feelings in your chest whenever you looked at Harry or heard his voice. You were grateful to have a friendship with him at all, but the more you got to know about him, the harder you started to fall. At some point, you even considered a mutual interest, but that was soon crushed. 

Cho Chang. A better match for Harry. You knew that he had some interest in her the year prior, but you thought that it was over. How wrong you were. It was a Hogsmeade day, and you looked forward to spending the day with some of your other friends. Fun was the best way to describe the first part of your trip. You made the necessary stops at Honeydukes and Zonko’s, and then you made your way to the Three Broomsticks for some Butterbeer. Things were going great. Your conversations were lively and it was nice to not have to push away your emotions. It wasn’t until you looked over your shoulder that your heart stopped. No, not in the good way, where everything around you stops too and everything suddenly gains meaning. No, this was the time that you hoped that it would never start again. The two of them sat, with butterbeers and laughs. Her hand on his arm, his smile bright. You turned back to your friends and painted a smile to your face. Just make it through the day.

When you finally got back to the dorm, you sat on your bed and looked at the wall. You weren’t thinking, just feeling. Should you go to dinner? That was the question that ate away at you for an hour. You opted that it would only make sense to go and ignore the voice in the back of your head that reminded you of all of your insecurities. So, you wandered through the halls until you reached the great hall. You took a deep breath and walked over to your friends from earlier. This earned three pairs of eyes to stay glued to your presence. The past few weeks, you spent your meals with the trio, but today, you couldn’t bring yourself to sit with them. Dinner was uneventful, thankfully, and you made your way back to the dorms where you would stay until Monday.

Your first class was History of Magic, and you chose to focus intently on the lesson. This continued in all of your classes, until you entered Defense Against the Dark Arts. Your head hurt from your thoughts trying to sting at the hippocampus of your brain. The pink toad’s ramblings eventually set you off. You got up without a word and walked out of the class. When she asked where you were going, you replied, “Anywhere else but here,” which she responded with, “Tonight, my office.” You figured detention was going to happen. It was inevitable, but you could care less at this point. You had been trying so hard to turn off your head and your emotions, that it didn’t matter what was going to happen.

That night, Umbridge held you for longer than normal. She must’ve been very angry with your sudden departure. When you left her office, your hand was dripping onto your uniform. You made your way to your common room, as silently as you could. That night, you could only think of and feel the pain from your hand.

The next morning, your hand was still bleeding. There was nothing you could do about it other than wrapping it up. At breakfast you sat alone, until he appeared in front of you.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s been wrong?” He sounded almost accusatory. 

“I would rather eat my breakfast. Alone.” He flinched at your tone, but he didn’t move. Instead, he looked at your bandaged hand, where the blood seeped through the white cloth. He sighed knowing how bad the pain must be. You both ate in silence, until Cho Chang made her way to where you two were. You chose to block out her annoyingly nice voice. It was clear she was flirting, and Harry was clearly falling into her words. You got up and left as quickly as possible and went to charms. 

Another week passed, except the trio had done everything they could to get you to go back to being friends with them. You studied with Hermione occasionally, but you cut your sessions short when she started questioning your behavior. One night, however, you took a break and started wandering the halls. Somehow, he found you. You sat, looking out the window in peace, when he caught your attention.

“You know, it’s unfair that you think you can just play with people’s emotions.” You were caught off guard by his statement. You stayed silent, however, not knowing how to respond.

“I thought we were friends Y/N. We had so much fun together, and I actually enjoyed spending time with you. You’re amazing to talk to, and you’re pretty funny too, which makes this all so confusing. Why? Why won’t you talk to me? To Ron? You barely talk with Hermione anymore. This is just selfish. If you didn’t want to be friends, you should’ve just said so. It would’ve saved us all the time.” He went to walk away after you didn't respond.

“Is that all I am to you? A waste of your time? You’re right. I was being selfish, but so were you.” You looked him in the eyes, and your heart started to tear itself into pieces. He was hurt, confused, and it appeared to you that he was disgusted with the sight of you. You walked away before any tears could fall.

What you didn’t know is that Hermione and Ron were watching this encounter from afar. To Hermione, it was clear what happened. Ron was unaware. That night in the common room, Hermione explained her thoughts to the boys. You liked Harry. That was clear to her before you became friends, and Harry had developed feelings for you along the way. But why did you back off? That was the question that needed some investigation. By the morning, Hermione figured out what happened. She tried to explain it to Harry, but he denied his feelings for the girl, but with some persuasion, he considered it as a possibility. He didn’t have time to really think about what she meant to him because he had quidditch practice.

You, on the other hand, were stuck in a place of guilt. You hurt him. You were selfish. If he wanted answers, then he should get them, but you owed it to yourself to get closure. You made a plan that required some confidence, and what you could only describe as pure stupidity.

The day consisted of heavy rainfall, but Angelina Johnson was not about to cancel quidditch practice. She had a reputation to live up to, and their first game of the season was coming up. This meant, though, that there was no one dumb enough to sit out in the rain and watch them practice. Almost no one. You had a mission, so you attended the Gryffindor practice, and stayed hidden in the quidditch stands. When practice was ending, you saw the players leaving the pitch, but you saw that Harry was falling behind. This is where you swallowed your dignity, and calmed all of your nerves.

“Harry James Potter!” You yelled as loud as you could. The rain continued to pour down as he found the source of his name.

“You want answers? Well here they are. I like you, hell I may even love you. You hear me? And, I know that you couldn’t possibly feel the same way about me, but I needed to say it. You said that I am selfish. Well, you’re right. I am, and now our friendship is ruined forever because I was jealous and stupid.” You took a deep breath. “If you weren’t the Harry Potter, maybe I would have some sort of a chance, but that’s not the world we live in. In this moment, this very moment, I am just a girl yelling at a boy in the rain because I feel so much for you. I’m sorry, but you deserve the truth.” With that, you left the boy speechless on the pitch. Rain continued to fall, but he didn’t move. 

You ran. You ran so fast, that you weren’t even sure if it was real. You were soaked. From head to toe, and you had just made a fool out of yourself. You don’t know how, but you managed to get to your dorm without too many questions. The next morning, you opted out of breakfast at the great hall. Instead, you ate some of the sweets you had bought from Honeydukes. You avoided everyone like the plague. It wasn’t until the Weasley twins made their way to where you were hiding out, that you had any social interaction. 

“Well, if it isn’t Ms. Y/L/N!”

“What do you know? Is this where you have been hiding?”

“What do you two want?” They must have heard your confession. They are on the team, and they can be pretty nosy when they want to be.

“No need to be so rude.”

“Yeah, we were just here to tell you that Harry is looking for you, and well-”

“He will find you, so you may want to do a better job of hiding.” Although they probably had negative intentions, you were grateful for their intel, so you got up, thanked them and moved elsewhere.

You were walking around when you found yourself in the courtyard. You remembered the night that you and Harry became friends. You sat down, tired of all of the running and wandering you had done all day.

“It only took me the whole day to find you.”

“And yet, you didn’t get the hint. Look Harry, I don’t want to talk t-”

“Then just listen. You said enough yesterday.” You lowered your head and thought of how to escape.

“Y/N, I have been cruel and clueless. Hermione told me that you liked me long before we became friends. I should’ve seen it, but I guess I’m pretty oblivious to some things. I thought I liked Cho, but I think a part of me wanted to console her after losing Cedric. I don’t think she even knows what she wants, but I know that I have missed you so much these past few weeks. And yesterday, when you told me how you felt, I couldn’t help but feel something. I asked Hermione about it and she is sure that I like you too, and you know what, it’s probably true. Not probably, it is true. I know I’m rambling, but Y/N Y/L/N I want to be with you!” He stopped and watched your expressions. 

Your eyes looked up and found his eyes, desperate for a response. You slowly walked towards him and placed your hand on his cheek and pulled him into a shy kiss. You pulled away quickly with a slight blush, feeling embarrassed. It wasn’t until he pulled you back into him that you truly understood his words. You leaned your forehead into his and whispered, “What are you waiting for?”

[womenofwonder]

*Ahem* Royai, duh?

✋How they met

Surprisingly, they didn’t meet at her father’s house. Not, actually it happened way back in kindergarten. Riza was quiet, and she dressed funny, and she always seemed dirty, so she was an target for bullying in the rather well to do private school they were in. On the first day of school Roy (who was a Casanova even at age six) decided this would be a good time to rescue a helpless damsel from the bullies surrounding her, taunting. Unfortunately, he underestimated the number and size of the kids teasing her and got his ass kicked. Luckily for him Riza quickly stepped into help. She smashed one bully’s nose in with her book and then pulled out a pocket knife. They all left in a hurry. And at that moment, Roy realized he was in love.

😘First kiss

Ah...so the first kiss wasn’t exactly a happy one. It was during Ishval. They had won a pretty important battle and everyone was celebrating. They both got drunk. The kiss felt good, and Riza probably would have been ready for more despite the circumstances (screw it, she was going to die soon anyway) but Roy walked off. Even drunk he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that he didn’t deserve her kisses, especially during a ‘celebration’ of him frying more innocent people. Riza honestly thought he had a problem with her and that was the first time she cried in Ishval.

🤯First fight

It depends on what you mean by fight. They got in a lot of fistfights as kids, but that wasn’t ever personal. They bickered constantly but the only big, painful fight they ever had was on promise day, when she almost had to shoot him. The first lighthearted, bickering fight they ever had was when he was apprenticed to her father and she would remind him to do his homework. Not much has changed, honestly.

🍷First date

When he was still an apprentice to her father, they used to wait until he was asleep and then Roy would take her places. He did it mostly to be nice, because Riza didn’t get a lot of fun and growing up in a brothel met he knew exactly which bars would give a couple of kids drinks. But they were honestly dates in everything but name.

💍How they got engaged

Well, they didn’t make the decision. Grumman declared they were getting married at one of his press conferences. “I have decided to end the anti-fraternization and allow my granddaughter to finally marry General Mustang.” Riza just looked at Mustang and said “Okay.” Later on he did do the entire fancy dinner date and gave her a expensive engagement ring.

💒Wedding

Actually, it was surprisingly small and private. It was really sweet and quiet. To everyone’s surprise Roy made Fullmetal his best man, mostly as a joke. Other than a very insulting speech about how Riza was probably out of her mind to marry such an idiot, he was really nice about everything. Riza’s wedding dress had a very high neck (to hide the scarring) and a very short skirt. She still has a gun holstered to her thigh, wedding or no wedding. Rebecca is the maid of honor, and as Riza honestly doesn’t have many friends both Olivier and Winry are bridesmaids. Of course, Elicia is the flower girl despite being a bit old for it. Hayate is the ring bearer. Just kidding. Maybe.

👶First kid

Riza got pregnant after the first year of the their marriage. It was an accident. Their feelings on the matter were conflicted. On one hand, both were thrilled to have a baby, but in the other hand, it didn’t really fit very well into their plans. How did being a parent figure in with the possibility of future with the fire squad? Not mention both were really worried that they would be horrible parents due to everything they’d done in Ishval. To make things slightly more complicated, it turned out they weren’t going to have one but two children. But when the babies do come: a little Rianna and Thomas, they’re beautiful. Of course, Riza and Roy are great parents and the kids actually help them have more faith in themselves.

🥰A random fluff moment

Riza had forgotten exactly how cold it was up north. Shivering, she blew on her hands in hopes of warming them.

“Here,” Roy said, offering her his coat.

“Don’t you need a coat sir?”

“I had use my flame alchemy to heat myself up,” he said.

“Since when have you mastered that ability sir?”

“Just take the coat.”

She took it.

“You’re shivering an awful lot sir. Are you sure you’re not too cold?”

“N-nope. I-I’m g-r-eat.”

“Sir, really, you can have this coat. You’re going to get frostbite.”

“N-no. You k-keep the coat-t. T-that’s an or-rder.”

Olivier gave them both a look. “Mustang, either freeze to death quietly or kiss her now so we get on with this meeting. I would personally prefer the former, but anything would be better than watching your painful attempts at being a gentleman.”

Riza took advantage of his shock to give him back the coat.

😭A random angsty moment

“Thank you,” she says, as if there’s anything to thank him for. As if he’s not about to torture her.

Roy was good at torturing people. He had plenty of practice at this point. He knew exactly how much of his flame it took to cause a certain amount of pain. At least he could make it hurt as little as possible.

“I won’t scream,” she promised.

“Yeah, you will,” he knew exactly how loud it would be too. He had heard it countless time from countless lips and now he was going to hear it from her.

She nodded, so calm about the entire thing. Took her knife, torn off some of her white coat and wadded it up in her mouth. Stepped forward. Turned around to him.

He told himself to hurry up and do it. Waiting would only hurt her more. It shouldn’t be this hard. He’d done it a hundred times before. What was one more person?

He snapped his fingers, and a familiar smell of burning skin filled the arid desert air.

😩A random hurt/comfort

Riza was exhausted. She wasn’t sure how doing just menial tasks could drain someone so much, but it probably had something to do with the fact that her boss was a homunculus holding her hostage. To make things worst, even coming home was no relief. The shadows were everywhere, even in her small, bare apartment. The second she let herself feel safe, or stopped thinking about the fact that she was being watched constantly, he (or rather it) would remind her. Maybe it was a sudden sense of a creeping bloodlust, or the glimpse of slitted eyes and slices of teeth, all which disappeared the second she looked. She had no privacy. These last few days she hadn’t even dared to bathe.

To make things worst, today someone had broken into her apartment. She couldn’t even fathom why they would do that. Wasn’t the constant surveillance enough? But it was too well down for a common thief. If she hadn’t know better she wouldn’t of even noticed it was broken into. But she had placed a slip of paper in the door when she went out, and now it was gone.

“You’d better have not made a mess of things,” she muttered, hoping Pride could hear it. She opened the door and for a second was frozen in shock.

They hadn’t broken into her apartment at all. Roy had.

Flowers filled up the entire place. Some in vases (really expensive looking ones), some hanging from the ceiling, some just randomly scattered about. In the middle of her kitchen table was a note and bottle of whiskey.

Black Hayate ran up to her, barking happily. She reached down to pet him, rather absentmindedly.

“That idiot,” she murmured, fighting a smile. “He’s crazy.”

She went over to the table and picked up the note.

To 1st Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye,

Look, I’m sorry, but I really didn’t know what to do with the flowers. Please don’t shoot me.

I hope you enjoy the whiskey. It’s really good stuff. And you sounded like you needed it.

Roy Mustang. (Riza had to squint at the doodle next to his name. Was that a heart made out of flames? Really? Yes. Yes it was.)

PS: before you ask, yes, I’m doing my paperwork.

Riza rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop smiling. The flowers left plenty of shadows, but for once she couldn’t bother feeling scared. She took a swig of the whiskey and enjoyed the burn down her throat. Black Hayate jumped into her arms, and she cuddled him.

Leave it to Roy. The first time he sent her flowers and he had to give her an entire cart worth.