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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years ago

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you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

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

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

word count: 17.2k

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

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Harry hates clubs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the f—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re going to hell.”

“I’m already there, mate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, boomer.”

“You’re older than I am!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the culture shock hit.

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

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

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Precisely his point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Known you for maybe,” he looks at the beautiful watch on his wrist symbolically, “ten minutes, and you’re already stroking my ego just the way I like it. I think that’s a record.”

Y/N doesn’t know if it’s the liquor she’d just consumed too quickly, or if it’s Harry’s intoxicatingly alluring scent dulling the region of her brain that controls fear, but she’s suddenly filled with a strange surge of courage and her thoughts are spilling down her semi-numb tongue before she can stop them. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at stroking, so an ego’s not too hard to handle.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow, surprised at her brazen reply. He might have misjudged her more than he assumed. However, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy this girl more than the one he thought he was going to receive. There’s just something about how she can match his banter without a problem, and how they share a lot of the same thoughts and opinions, that just lights a fire in his stomach.

“Is that so?” His voice lowers in pitch and he scoots a step closer, fingers just barely brushing against her arm as he repositions himself against the bar. His question comes out as a sultry murmur. “What else can you handle?”

Y/N knows that she’s starting to cross a line, and with every passing moment, the likelihood of returning to her friends is getting smaller and smaller. She’s not mad about it. Riding off of the wave of confidence that had inflated her ego earlier, she mumbles her response back with the same tone and texture. “How about you buy me another drink and then maybe you’ll find out?”

Harry gives her a boyish grin and the indents that pop into his cheeks nudge his appearance from an incredibly attractive man to an adorable cheeky boy. He motions to the bartender for another round of drinks, only letting his eyes flicker away from her for the moment it takes to do it. “How do you like LA so far?”

“It’s...alright.” It’s Y/N’s turn to move closer to him now, flicking her hair off her shoulder, hoping that the motion releases the perfume she’d dabbed on her neck while getting ready. Judging by the darkening of Harry's eyes, it does just that. “It’s definitely a change in pace from where I used to live, but I think I’m slowly gaining the reigns. I feel like once I get acquainted, I could grow to love it.”

“LA’s definitely a toggle. You could either vibe with it, or it’ll eat you alive and spit you back out.”

She bats her lashes at him in stunned fright at his bluntness, his face deadly serious without any twitch or give.

Harry then bursts into high-pitched laughter, eyes crinkling shut and nose scrunching. “I’m just fucking with you, love. Ease up, hm?”

“You asshole!” Y/N exhales grandly, half in relief and half in indignation, slugging him on the shoulder. All she feels is hard muscle beneath.

He continues to cackle, sticking his tongue out at her. “Looked like you were about to cry.”

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

The bartender arrives with their fresh drinks and Harry tells the man to but both of Y/N’s on his tab. She feels her cheeks glow, telling him he doesn’t have to, but he waves it off and says he’s more than happy to serve such a nice girl as herself. Especially if she “hates the same things I do. Think of it as your initiation gift into the Anti-Club Club.”

A handful of heartbeats tick by, full of comfortable quietness as they both savor their new beverages. Harry pipes up first, regaining their topic from before.

“But, yeah, Cali’s for sure a special place. You meet some cool people if you hang around for a while. But sometimes,” he pauses for a second, eyes gleaming with something she can’t quite interpret. “But sometimes you can meet a really interesting person in just one night.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Y/N clicks her nails against her Old Fashioned distractedly as Harry fixes her with that beautiful emerald gaze that makes her ears tingle. She cocks her head to the side knowingly, flashing him a soft smirk. “Sometimes, you just happen to meet that one in a million.”

“A lucky strike.” He adds, lifting his tequila an inch off the counter and tilting it towards her in what appears to be a toast, irises dancing with a certain type of suggestive mischief. “To meeting interesting people.”

The human girl clinks the rim of her lowball to the edge of his cup, shrugging her brows and reciting his comment back to him. “To meeting interesting people.”

Y/N measures how the rest of their interaction goes by how quickly her drink shrinks.

When she reaches down to the first ice cube stacked on top, Harry has managed to coax multiple rounds of laughter out of her, his humor startlingly similar to her’s in the most refreshing way imaginable. She quickly learns that despite his broad shoulders, lean torso, dark inking, and flawless features, he’s a complete and total dork. His personality consists mainly of voice impersonations and contorting his expression into an endless array of silly faces, which she takes to easily.

By the time Y/N’s amber drink has reached halfway down its container, the default touch barrier between the two has broken completely. There had been a few caresses prior, but now it’s more frequent, more noticeable, and each touch extends in time. She had been the one to initiate getting physical, which had sat so right in her stomach because that meant he was respectful and patient— definitely unlike most men in clubs.

The mortal girl had gently shoved Harry’s chest when he’d made an nonchalant joke about how losing his swim trunks at a nude beach had been both the best and worst experience of his life, her cheeks boiling as she had felt nothing but more toned muscle beneath the cotton fabric of his top. She had gone back to tracing at his tattoos the further they got into sharing anecdotes and opinions, glancing up at him for permission in the middle of their exchange and smiling to herself when he’d nodded casually without a second thought. As the conversations continue, they both unintentionally get closer in distance to the point where the arm Harry had settled on the bar is now fully wrapped around the small of her back. She willingly leans into him, their knees and thighs brushing with every shift of their bodies and those minute moments begin to pile up their excitement.

By the time the alcohol in her possession bottoms out, she is nearly sitting in his lap, faces only a few inches apart. Y/N can’t recall half of what she had said, the subject having steered into so many different places that she couldn’t be bothered to keep track. Besides, she’s too focused on trying to keep a straight face as Harry plays footsie with her below the counter, his light yellow sneaker toying with her heeled velvet wedge.

An important question on his behalf snaps Y/N out of her flirty stupor.

“So how do you like your new home?”

She blinks at him slowly, partially to try and give a seductive tinge to the interaction and partially because the liquor has started to truly settle in. It takes her a few heartbeats to process the inquiry. “I love it, actually. It’s a place of my own, for the first time ever. I couldn’t be happier.”

The corners of Harry’s swollen lips tick in genuine happiness on her behalf. “That sounds amazing. Congratulations on such a big step.”

“Thank you! What about yourself? Renting anything neat?”

“Oh, I own a condo here.” He mentions casually, outlining the criss-cross pattern along the circumference of his highball glass. “I used to visit so often that I finally just decided to pull the trigger on one.”

“Look at you, investing in real estate.” She says in a teasing voice, her heel grazing around his calf slowly, cheeks sizzling as he parts his legs a bit to allow her the pleasure of traveling higher up.

“Mmhm.” Harry licks his red lips, free hand starting to trace over her own. The tips of his fingers are calloused and cold, the motion of them over her skin almost pulling a tremble out of her body. She does her best to restrain it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Is it nice?”

“Hm?”

His lips twitch in endearment at how he’s managing to make her lose her train of thought. “Your apartment, darling.”

She rests the rim of her drink on the bottom of her lip as she speaks. “It’s nothing huge or fancy, but it’s a decent size and l can call it home. Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N loves how Harry's eyes flit to her lips for what she thinks is the billionth time tonight, his vision sketching along the curve of her cupid’s bow and dotting every peak.

Another warm glow of confidence spikes through her veins and she’s talking before she can analyze her thoughts. “Well, at least I think it can’t get much better than that. Although, I could just be biased. Could probably use an outside opinion.”

It takes Harry a moment to register what she’s suggesting, a light blush creeping up the base of his neck as he realizes how he’s stopped so abruptly. Humans usually never get him this unnerved and it’s one of many times she’s made it happen. “An outside opinion?”

Y/N lists her head to the side. It sounds like he’s accepting the vague invitation, but she’s so anxious to mess this up that she’s second guessing herself with every passing second. However, with every touch, she wants Harry more and more, and that’s enough to propel her towards a more direct approach. “Mmhm. Like yours, maybe. Would you like to come back and see it?”

Harry pauses for a few of her heartbeats, and then bobs his head in acceptance. She can breath again.

He finishes off the last inch or so of his tequila, a wicked grin creeping its way across his pretty, flushed mouth, long fingers carding into his loosely arranged curls. “I’m more than happy to be of service.”

A smile works its way onto Y/N’s own face at his response, her foot dropping back down his leg slowly. “I’m glad to hear.”

“Mm.” Harry takes her hand completely now and she almost moans at how much bigger his are, his rings pinching a bit, skin rough in some areas, but silky smooth in others. And strangely icy, but she enjoys it. “Shall we say goodbye to your friends first? I wouldn’t want them to worry about you.”

He knows her “friends” couldn’t care less, but he wants to be as much of a gentleman as possible. Romanticize, romanticize, romanticize.

Y/N snorts, knowing full well that they’d probably purposefully embarrass her in front of him as a joke.

She squeezes his grasp lightly, giving him a soft smile. “You’re sweet, but it’s fine. They were actually behind you earlier, encouraging this whole thing, so I’m pretty sure they won’t mind.”

Harry hums deep in the back of his throat and the sound melts into a cute chuckle. “I’m glad they helped, then. Think you can deliver them my thanks some other time?”

The young woman chews on the inside of her cheek at his comment, realizing that it suggests he aims on keeping her occupied for the rest of the night and well into the morning. She has to will herself not to lurch forward and kiss at his annoyingly perfect lips right then and there. “I’ll make sure to pass the message along.”

With one last cocky simper, Harry helps her down from the stool and pays off their tab, offering her his jacket since most of her outfit is made of flimsy fabrics. Y/N takes it appreciatively, lashes fluttering when his scent envelopes her like a blanket. It’s the unique smokiness from his cologne, mixed with a slightly sweeter smell that she assumes is his shampoo, and a bit of something that reminds her of a vanilla candle. The aromas are sewn into every thread of his coat and she can’t wait to have those scents glued all over her more deliberately later tonight.

Harry turns and plunges them into the throng of partiers, weeding through bodies with a type of determination that makes her insides twist. His arm comes up in front of him as he plows people out of the way with absolutely no regret, leaving her to throw out a few half-assed apologies in his wake. The idea that he’s excited to be alone with her has Y/N’s insides churning.

Once they escape all of the grinding limbs and tight spaces, stumbling into the cool air of the starry night, she takes a huge gulp of air. She prays it will tide over the jitters running along the inside of her tummy. She has just now realized how riled up he’d gotten her and it’s all coming to a raging boil.

Harry paces past the bouncer, throwing up two fingers in parting. “Later, Brock.”

The security guard gives the young vampire a confused look, not recognizing him at all and wondering how he knows his name.

Y/N repeats Harry’s phrase for the hell of it, squeezing his hand jestingly and he glimpses over his shoulder, grinning at her with sheer amusement and something much deeper swirling around the specks of copper in his irises. If there was a bit more light, perhaps she would have noticed the way his irises had glinted blood red instead of olive green.

She ogles at the way his back muscles shift and flex below his pastel blue shirt, her mind vaguely taking note of the light yellow detailings along the cuffs and collar. The tee is intriguing and fun and she hopes he’ll let her sleep in it after they’re done.

She also gets distracted by the baby curls decorating the nape of his neck. She’s itching to tug at them and see what his response would be. Would he shiver in her grasp and let out a soft moan, or would he smirk darkly and tell her to go harder?

Harry suddenly halts, snapping her out of her thoughts as he presents his car. Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off. “This is yours?!”

She gawks at the vintage jet black convertible before her, feeling like she isn’t worthy of its chic presence. It looks new, shining in the street lamps like a thousand diamonds, not a scratch or dent in sight.

Harry unlocks the passenger’s door, opening it and guiding her inside with a gentle pull at their clasped hands, shrugging his brows playfully. “Hope it’s not too shabby for your liking.”

“Are you kidding?” The human mumbles in awe as she ducks down into the patented leather seat, running her free hand over the elegant cover. She sighs softly at the way his smell is lingering inside the vehicle, just as much as it sticks to his clothes. “I feel like I should bow to it or something.”

He laughs fully now, leaning down to get a view of her sitting prim and proper in his favorite car, looking gorgeous in her flowy silk pants, lace creme blouse, and his own clothes. He gnaws at his bottom lip to withhold a needy groan. “I think you fit right in.”

Y/N feels warmth erupt into her face and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to distract her fingers from shaking. “Looks like I’m not the only one that’s good at stroking egos.”

“S’hardly a task. You make it easy, doll.”

It’s the second pet name he’s called her tonight— it’s strangely vintage, same as his car— and she can’t wait to hear what others he has in store. Preferably in the form of breathy pants and broken whines.

Y/N flicks her gaze up at him through heavy lashes, attempting to stifle a sheepish smile. “Quite the charmer.”

A moment of silence suspends in the air, a light breeze filtering through Harry’s curls, swaying the jewelry around his neck as well as the earring hanging from his lobe. Harry speaks up with a type of hushed desire she hadn’t heard from him yet. “Can I kiss you?”

She blinks up at him once in mild surprise and then releases a sigh of utter relief. “Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.”

Her hand reaches upwards outside the confines of the car, knitting into the thick fabric of his shirt and yanking him down. The second their mouths meet, it sets off a dozen fireworks in the pit of her stomach. His is softer than she had imagined, wet and warm, and his tongue carries the sourness of the tequila he’d been swishing the whole night.

Harry’s breath hitches in his throat, and then a quiet whimpery moan streams down his tongue onto her itchy skin. “Christ, that was hot.”

As much as she loves the taste of him— the tartness of the alcohol mixed with an inherent sweetness his lips carry— she forces herself to pull away, but keeps her sweaty forehead pressed to his. “Yeah. It was.”

With one hand still gripping the car door, Harry uses his other to cup her chin lightly, guiding her into another kiss. Now that they have both developed a feel for the other, this one is less tentative than the last. She tastes so fucking good on his tongue, like strawberry syrup—probably from her lipgloss— orange bitters, and bourbon. He just has to have more of it.

A helpless gasp escapes Y/N when Harry's teeth graze against her upper lip, only nipping enough that she craves more. More of anything he has to offer.

He pulls away and the whine that plucks her vocal chords feeds his eternal soul like nothing else has in a while.

The young man grins at her for a moment, half in smug satisfaction, half red-faced and desperate, before carefully closing the car door and making his way to the driver’s side. He slides in with ease, shuts his own door and buckles up with a click of the belt. The simple action has never looked so attractive before, but she’s certain that anything Harry does with his ring-covered hands would be attractive.

He fishes his keys from his front pocket, asking her where she lives in order to try and orient himself. As it turns out, she’s not too far away from his own flat. He knows exactly which condominium she’s referring to without having to even search it up— a perk of living here for a few decades.

He also chuckles to himself a bit at the fact that she hadn’t mentioned he shouldn’t drive under the influence. Vampires have an extremely high tolerance due to their self-healing properties, so the drinks he’d had only gave him a soft, warm buzz. He just finds it comical— and slightly arousing— that she’s so eager to get at him that she’d let that detail slip her mind.

Harry starts the car, but doesnt pull out of the parking spot. Instead, he glances at Y/N as a crease appears in his beautifully sculpted brows. The idea of something displeasing him bothers her, and she’s about to ask what it is when he murmurs a quick, “Just a second, dove.” He reaches across to grab her seatbelt, pulling it over her body and securing it into place on her behalf, making sure it’s nice and proper before leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t know why he cared to do it, but he had.

The simple action leaves another layer of heat on Y/N’s cheeks. Having him bent over her like that was just a teaser of what was going to unfold later and it already has her mind spinning. She can only imagine how much of a mess he’s going to leave her when there’s no clothes restraining them.

“Thanks.” She whispers, playing with the tips of her fingers.

“No need to thank me. Just wanna keep that pretty face in one piece.”

He plops one hand on the steering wheel as he shifts into reverse, carefully backing out of his spot. His arm ducks behind her seat, head turning and veins chiseling into his neck. It takes all of Y/N’s willpower not to lean up and begin to darken his tanned skin with hickeys.

Harry cruises up to the exit of the club parking lot, waiting impatiently for the turn signal, digits tapping away at the leather below them. Y/N can see him throwing pained little glances at her from her peripheral vision, obviously restless to feel her skin sliding against his. Each look causes the warmth between her thighs to swell.

She’s talking before she can stop herself, voice bashful and soft as ever, yet full of boldness from the liquor she’d consumed. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something to you that’s gonna get us both killed.”

The tapping of his fingers halts and he cranes his head to face her fully, ignoring the flashing green arrow on the stoplight before them.

Harry reaches over the center console, his nose dragging up the length of her cheekbone, causing her to squeak out a tiny whimper at the feathery sensation. It’s the first time tonight he’s touched her so intimately.

The sentence he grits out next makes her entire body visibly shutter, his breath hot against her ear, damp lips smearing over her jaw as his oath burns into her flesh.

“And if you say something like that to me again, I promise you I’ll pull this car over and make you eat every fucking word.”

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introverted-scribblings · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! Could I get a creepypasta matchup please? (Sorry if I misread something and they’re actually closed, please ignore this if that’s the case!)

I’m a cancer, pansexual with a lean towards men, my pronouns are she/her, I’m 5’6, have shoulder length blonde hair, and brown eyes. Then I wear baggy band tees nearly every day and usually all black.

I really like rock, punk, alternative, and metal music. I spend my free time drawing, writing, and reading. I really like art, music, soft blankets, and hoodies. I have more than 15 hoodies actually.

I dislike excessively loud people, bugs, people touching me without permission, and most social events.

I’m really quiet and awkward when first meeting someone, but once I get to know them I tend to talk a lot, so I’d consider myself an ambivert. Thank you for your time!

Hello, darling anon!! Yes, my match-ups are open and yes you may have a creepypasta match-up~ You didn't specify a character so I used my best judgment with this. I hope you enjoy what I came up with!

I match you with....

~Eyeless Jack~

It’s difficult to say how you two would enter a relationship. It probably started completely by accident.

I could see him being drawn to you. He would watch you for a while, trying to figure out what it was about you that caught his interest, growing careless with staying hidden.

You would catch him.

Assuming you hear him out and don’t immediately lose your mind, he would explain to you that he was curious about you. That he meant no harm and just wants to get to know you more.

He would try his best to keep his life away from you for a while, he doesn’t want to hurt you. But with persistence and reassurance, he’ll open up to you more and more.

If you believe heavily in zodiac signs, you two would be very compatible!

I headcanon Jack to be a Capricorn and according to what I’ve read, Capricorns and Cancers do really well in relationships together.

Jack is on the quieter side of things, so after spending some time with him, he wouldn’t mind listening to you talk.

I could see the two of you having some very deep discussions too.

He respects your boundaries 100%

He wants to take care of you because he cares about you, which would lead him to be very conscious of anything you dislike.

People being loud and obnoxious? He’d get you out of there no questions asked.

Need an excuse to get out of a social obligation? He’s told you to use him as an excuse anytime.

Just say the two of you have plans~

He better be prepared for you to start snatching his hoodies though. You’d practically be drowning in them but you’d wear them anyway.

Share with him what you create! Your writing, your drawing, anything!

He’d be your biggest supporter!

He would love to read to you. He has this deep and soothing voice, so it’s wonderful to listen to and it almost doesn’t matter what he’s reading.

You two would need to compromise on music, but I don’t see that being a problem.

You guys could make a shared playlist filled with things you both love!

Overall, your relationship is a quiet one, especially in public.

However, behind closed doors, you two are open with each other and happy to be around each other. Even if that’s just the two of you doing your own thing in the same room.

The song I pick for you two is:

“For the First Time” by The Script

#match ups #creepypasta matchups #creepypasta #headcanons #imagines #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta imagines #x reader #creepypasta x reader #fluff #fluff headcanons #eyeless jack #creepypasta eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader

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oneweekoneband · 4 years ago

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To Leave Or Die In Long Island

Of course, BTMI! was just getting started. Less than a year after the release of the debut, Jeff came out with a second album (well, at 8 songs, it’s more of an EP, or mini-album, or, in Jeff’s words, a digital “10-inch”). Though To Leave Or Die In Long Island is shorter in length than Album Minus Band, that only seems to have helped to focus the sound and songwriting on it. In some ways, it’s more conceptually ambitious, too – the album begins and ends with the same melody in a kind of parallel structure. Almost everything that was great on Album Minus Band is honed to a finer point here. (Strangely, according to this interview, this is apparently Jeff’s least favourite BTMI! album; while I understand his reasoning why, it easily ranks as one of my favourites.) As on that album, for example, Jeff continues to criticize the state of the 2000s punk scene. But instead of simply lashing out at obnoxious trend-chasers, his targets get more specific and his lyrics more potent as a result: opener “Happy Anterrabae Day!!!” takes aim at the overly-violent culture that can still be observed at hardcore shows. Between the first verse to the second, Jeff moves from jeering at the guys who threaten “some fourteen-year-old” to suggesting ways to improve the situation: “If I kissed you on the nose or offered you a hug, / How could you possibly still wanna fight?” He ends with a reminder of the positive possibilities of punk rock: “Think about the reason you went to shows at twelve years old, / We all felt alone, it was not to kick my ass!”

Whether it’s the inside-joke about a bandmate’s ladder-climbing career offer to join a more successful band (that didn’t work out in the end) on “Congratulations, John, On Joining Every Time I Die!” or the under-a-minute hardcore punchline of “Showerbeers!!!”, the album really shines on the lyrical front even when it feels like Jeff isn’t trying (which he admits he wasn’t on “Showerbeers!!!”). Then there’s the more serious stuff: “Dude, Get With The Program” is one of Jeff’s best songs about the paper-thin quality of that bullshit facade upper-management types put on when trying to soothe class antagonisms in their workplaces. Inspired by an experience he had at a job in which a company’s managers started lecturing workers on being part of their “family” right before the paycuts and firings began, he vents his frustrations: “You’re working on your first million, / I’m on my first thousand, / And bills are due tomorrow.” There’s the emptiness of the rhetoric fed to those who get the short end of the stick under capitalism: “You didn’t get fired, you’re ‘laid off.’” The chorus clears it all up: “You could have figured out a way to help us out, / But you just said: / ‘Hey, go ahead and get fucked!’”

youtube

By contrast, the less-oppositional “Stand There Until Your Sober” has been a long-running fan favourite possibly due to its confessional quality. It’s a song about drinking too much, feeling like you’ve fallen behind in life, like you’ve missed your chance to grow up, and being generally miserable with nothing to look forward to except the awesome party you have planned for your friends at your funeral (because “mourning is for suckers!”). Over a relatively sparse 3/4 groove with some nice musical flourishes (those backmasked acoustic guitar chords that open the song always get me), Jeff sings about the city’s ambient lights blocking out the stars, making out with a stranger on a boat, and earning only “a hundred and ten bucks for twenty hours” while watching his friends achieve a comfortable stability in life that always seems out of reach for him. It’s the ultimate loser’s anthem, and maybe some of the most poetic stuff to come out of BTMI! Even in the midst of the despair, a ray of positivity breaks through near the end of the song: “You’ll finally know that life’s okay, / Even when the bad things happen.”

The music, too, takes a giant step forward on To Leave Or Die. Though Album Minus Band already showed signs of breaking free from the confines of ska-punk, Jeff signals his ambitions to fuck with the formula as much as possible right off the bat with the cheesy fake-out synth-rock intro to “Happy Anterrabae Day!!!”, gradually revving up the tempo until it reaches the hardcore intensity that kicks off its first verse. Remember what I said about Jeff’s harmonies on Album Minus Band? Here’s the thing: he might not be a great singer (something he’d address directly on the band’s final album), but he sure knows how to layer his voice in his wall-of-sound production to trick you into thinking he is. Of course, he pulls back the curtain at the end and mutes all instruments for the final chorus’s last couple “na-na-na” sections, revealing a chorus of Jeffs screaming vague harmonies and polyphonies at the top of their lungs, barely staying in time with each other, let alone in tune. He knows exactly how absurd it sounds and works that to his advantage perfectly – it never fails to make me laugh out loud. I actually first got my sister into this band by showing her this part of the song, which she couldn’t believe would be left in an actual studio recording. It’s both incredibly funny and incredibly punk; what could be more so than a guy going “Yeah, I can’t sing, but how about I make a whole goddamn choral arrangement out of my voice anyway?”

The peak of the album’s musical ambition arrives at its climax and final song, “Syke! Life Is Awesome!” A tour-de-force of multi-section songwriting, Jeff describes it relatively accurately on Quote Unquote as being composed of “20-second blasts of different genres whether it be alt-country, post-punk, reggae or synth pop.” What that description doesn’t quite capture is the progression of the song, from an acoustic-strummed folk-punk intro into a kind of freak-folk chorus strung out on its own silliness, from there to a classic hardcore punk tempo interspersed with a couple bars of ska, building to an unstoppable outro with a horn section that sounds like a Motown track’s backing dialed up to light-speed. That excellent “na-na-na” vocal melody from “Happy Anterrabae Day!!!” is reprised here through the horns at the end of the song, a motif for the observant listener to enjoy. Lyrically, too, this might be one of my favourite BTMI! songs; Jeff says this one was about a time he got to talk with the lead singer of Squeeze and realized how cool it was that his life had turned out in a way that such a thing could happen. It’s the end of the song that really gets me: sprinting across the album’s final stretch, Jeff begins a long, uninterrupted phrase following an instrumental break that details all the weird things that happened in his life in the chain of events that got him to where he was at the time of writing that song. It evokes a sense of wonder at the simple mechanism of cause-and-effect: “And if I knew how to throw a football, / I would have never played any music, / And if never got my heart broken, / I would sing ‘blah blah fucking nothing.’” It’s a celebration of the uniqueness of the timeline that makes your life unequivocally yours, as it could never be any other way. In philosophy, we might call that a “haecceity.”

#Bomb The Music Industry!#BTMI!#Punk #Punk rock #To Leave Or Die In Long Island

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hamiltalian-creates · 5 years ago

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Cuddly Dukexiety Fluff

(Someone on Discord asked for some Dukexiety fluff, so here it is!)

Summary: Remus sneaks into Virgil's room in the middle of the night for fluffy cuddles. Virgil seems to be the only one even considering possible repercussions.

Pairings: Virgil x Remus, background Logicality

Words: 1,702

Warnings: None

Was there a better time than 2 in the morning for cuddling? According to Virgil, anytime was better. Unfortunately, his boyfriend had a different opinion.

It was about 1:45 when Virgil woke up to the sound of tapping on his window. At first, he thought it was his imagination because, obviously, that wasn’t a typical noise to hear. It took about thirty seconds for him to realize that it was not in his mind and that someone was actually at his window which, unsurprisingly, made Virgil’s stomach plummet like a rock. Until he heard the accompanying voice.

“Psst, Virgil! Virgil, it’s me! I know you’re a light sleeper, spider bite, let me in!”

Virgil groaned and sat up, leaning over his bookshelf to open the curtains and unlock the window while regretting his entire relationship.

“Thank you!” Remus hummed as he stumbled in, trying not to break anything or make any noise as he hopped from the window to Virgil’s bed, closing the window behind him.

“Why are you at my house at,” Virgil quickly paused to check the time. “1:47 in the morning?”

Remus shrugged. “Your house is warmer and my house doesn’t have you and your cuddles,” he explained as he pushed himself beneath the blanket.

Virgil sighed and laid back down, accepting his fate. “Alright, but if my dad finds out you’re here, I’m telling him you broke in.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” Remus kissed Virgil’s cheek before wrapping his arms around his waist and sighing. “Now isn’t this nice?”

Virgil would be lying if he said he wasn’t. He reluctantly relaxed into his boyfriend’s arms and leaned against him. “It won’t be when I wake up with a boner against my side.”

“I can’t control my dreams, Mr Grumpy Pants.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, but he was honestly trying his hardest to hide the tiniest smile. Maybe the time wasn’t ideal, but he did kind of enjoy having his boyfriend over. Was Remus insufferable at times? Yes. Did people look at them and wonder how they got along as well as they did, much less how they began dating? All the time. But he really loved Remus and all of his grotesque, yet oddly childish, sense of humor and his undying lack of shame in every aspect of life, just as Remus loved Virgil’s constant strings of conspiracy theories and undying fear that everything was going to go wrong at every second ever.

“Why don’t you ever sneak in through my window?”

“Because you live on the second floor of your house. And because I’m not insane.”

Remus tutted. “I’m a loving boyfriend who prefers to sleep with his arms wrapped around his amazing boyfriend. Is that so wrong?”

“You’re a huge dork is what you are.”

“I know, but I’m your dork,” Remus hummed as he buried his face in the crook of Virgil’s neck. “Thank you for letting me in. Honestly, I was about to give up.”

“And miss the chance to have you keeping me warm? Not a chance.”

“How are you not already warm when your dad keeps it this warm in here?”

Virgil shrugged. “It’s not the same. The heater doesn’t hold me. Plus, when I wake up sweaty, I feel less gross knowing that someone as gross as you is here.”

“Flawed logic, but I’m not arguing,” Remus said with a shrug. “As long as I get to be here with you, I’m fine.”

Virgil fought back a smile. “Just go to sleep, dork..”

“With you here, no problem.”

“You say that as if you aren’t in my room,” Virgil muttered before shutting his eyes.

Remus kissed the back of his head before doing the same, sighing as he finally fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Virgil was the first of the couple to wake up, groaning as the sunlight hit his face.

“I need to get darker curtains...” he muttered before remembering that he had blackout curtains. Immediately, he remembered the events of the night and turned to see that Remus was still peacefully sleeping. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be a problem, but Virgil’s father had a tendency to walk into Virgil’s room to wake him up, since the curtains were typically closed and Virgil was still fast asleep in his pitch black room by the time breakfast was ready. Which made for an obvious problem.

“Remus,” Virgil whispered, shaking his boyfriend awake.

Remus shushed Virgil and put a hand over his face. “Five more minutes..”

“I might not have five minutes, my dad’s going to walk in any minute to get me for breakfast. He’s going to flip if he sees you here, you have to go home.”

“But it’s so early,” Remus whined, pulling Virgil against his chest. “Just tell him it was my fault, it’ll be whatever.”

“Remus, if you don’t get up, I’m telling Roman that you gave me his Nightmare Before Christmas posters.”

Remus’s eyes snapped open and he got his shoes from the floor, putting them on and getting ready to go. “Just threaten my life, that’s normal boyfriend behavior,” he grumbled, a clearly joking tone in his voice.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Just hurry before-”

“Virgil?” his dad interrupted, knocking at the door. “Are you awake already?”

“Hurry up!” Virgil whispered harshly, practically shoving his boyfriend out of the window.

“I can only move so fast!” Remus whispered back, stumbling as he fell through the window.

Virgil shut the window and laid back down, trying to look nonchalant as his dad opened the door.

“Were you talking to someone in here?”

“Uh... Remus. Yeah, he just called to ask if I could hang out with him today, no big deal.”

Virgil’s dad raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. “Well, breakfast is ready when you are.”

“Okay, I’ll be right out.”

His dad nodded and began to close the door, stopping himself. “Oh, and Virgil?”

“Yeah?..”

Virgil’s dad grinned knowingly. “Feel free to invite your boyfriend to breakfast, if he doesn’t have any other plans.”

Realizing he was caught, Virgil’s face grew red as Remus answered from the window.

“I actually don’t, thank you Mr Dee!”

As soon as his dad was gone, Virgil silently let him in.

“Well, that was a pretty nice offer, don’t you think?”

“Uh.. Yeah.. Aren’t you afraid of what your parents are going to say?”

Remus shrugged and hopped back to Virgil’s bed before standing up on the ground. “What are my teenage years if I don’t spend so much of it being grounded?”

“... Wisely spent?”

Remus just laughed and walked out of the room, Virgil following behind him.

The two went down to the kitchen and served themselves the food that Dee had made for them, thanking him as they sat down.

“So, did anything happen that I need to know about?” he asked as soon as they did, looking between the teenagers.

“Remus showed up unannounced and I let him in.”

Remus nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

Dee nodded, believing them for now. “Well, it’s good to know you understand that you’re always welcome, Remus. Perhaps you could choose a more convenient time next time?”

Remus shrugged. “I do what I do when I do, but I’ll try.”

Virgil looked between the two suspiciously. “Am I grounded or something?”

“I don’t know, are you?”

He wasn’t. Dee knew that Remus was kind of the black sheep of his family, the punk in a family of preps, as he’d once put it himself. Of course, his fathers loved him and he got along fine with his brother, but Remus always loved being around his emo boyfriend and his goth dad, somewhere where he fit a little better. And, of course, he knew that Virgil would be too nervous about being caught to think of such an idea on his own.

Remus put his fork down as his phone vibrated in his pocket. “Excuse me, that’s probably my dads. Or Roman. Not sure who I’m more afraid of at the moment,” he hummed before walking off, taking the phone call. “Hello?”

“Remus, your dad is afraid that you left in the middle of the night to join a cult. Can you please explain that you snuck over to Virgil’s house again?”

Remus held back a laugh. “What if he’s right? Maybe I’m in a cult right now.”

“Then you’ll be grounded for a month instead of a week.”

“Virgil’s dad invited me to stay for breakfast, it would’ve been rude to refuse. Besides, I left a note.”

“Patton, you said there was no note,” Remus’s father said, a heavy sigh in his voice.

“I thought he was trying to get us off of his trail!” his dad said defensively.

“Yeah, that sounds like something I’d do,” Remus said with a shrug. “I’ll be home soon. Please tell Roman that I’m not dead.”

“Dealing with Roman’s melodramatic response is part of your punishment. I’ll see you when you get home.”

Remus groaned as his father hung up, not looking forward to trying to convince his brother that he wasn’t trying to kill him with heartbreak. He went back to the table and sat down. “Well, my father took it well enough, but my dad and my brother are both convinced I’m trying to kill them through shock.”

Dee chuckled. “How Logan deals with all of you, I’ll never understand.”

“It takes lots of coffee and a lot of hiking trips so he can scream into the wild and let out his frustrations.”

“Yes, that sounds about right,” Dee hummed before continuing his meal.

“I told you you shouldn’t have snuck over here,” Virgil muttered.

“I live with them too, it’s not like I’m not used to their drama,” Remus reassured, grabbing Virgil’s free hand beneath the table. He knew that Virgil wasn’t too comfortable with showing affection around anyone, not even his own dad, so that was Remus’s way of saying that whatever trouble he got into was worth it to spend some time with him.

Virgil blushed lightly, understanding their silent language and squeezed his hand back. No matter how much he may have complained, nothing meant more to him than time spent with Remus.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #remus sanders #deceit sanders #ts virgil #ts anxiety #ts duke #ts deceit #ts remus #logan sanders #ts logan #ts patton #patton sanders #duke sanders #dukexiety #dukexeity #remus x virgil #virgil x remus #fluff

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gayenerd · 4 years ago

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This is another article I found during the internet k-hole I went into while looking for information about Adrienne’s ex-fiance, saved in a document, and now can’t find online anymore. I think it was originally featured in the Mankato Free Press, but the author apparently had a blog detailing her 2009 efforts to get in contact with Adrienne and campaign for Green Day to play in Mankato again. There’s some more interesting tidbits about the Mankato punk scene and an interview with Adrienne there.

Campaign Green Day: Reflection

By Amanda Dyslin

Free Press Features Editor

June 10, 2009 11:29 pm

— It was dark in the middle of the southern Minnesota countryside, somewhere by St. Peter in the summer of 1992.

On a farm with a barn and not much else, there was one light pole casting a shallow glow on three guys standing atop 6-foot wide, 5-foot tall wire spools — a makeshift stage to gain high ground over 200 or so people watching. Next to them was a big, old, beat-up beast of a car pulled up by the owner so 15 or so people could stand on top and gain a better view. One of them had a video camera.

Ben Gruber, then a sophomore at Loyola High School, was there. In fact, he and a buddy had helped haul equipment for the band, and even gave the drummer, Tre Cool, a ride before the show in Mankato. The music was good, he said. A lot more polished than other punk bands he’d seen in Mankato.

He was aware of the five-year-old band, born in Berkeley, Calif., he said. They’d put out a couple of smaller recordings, including their full-length debut “39/Smooth” on Lookout! Records. But they were two years from their breakthrough record, “Dookie,” which would have pretty much everyone at the show that night in awe of what they had experienced — maybe one of the last stripped down, small-scale punk shows Green Day would ever perform.

Mankato punk

The Libido Boyz are often considered the anchor of the Mankato punk scene in the late 1980s/early 1990s. It was a time when the city was rich with garage and basement punk bands, drummer Chad Sabin said before a reunion show in 2007. PSD and Plain Truth were a couple of other bands that got a lot of attention at the time.

Marti’s All Ages Music, located where the Vietnamese restaurant Tonn is now on Front Street, was an open building with a bathroom and a couple of booths where kids could put on shows. A couple of bands went on to the big time after playing there. The Offspring was one of them.

Many claimed having heard of friends who had seen Green Day play at Marti’s. According to a former talent booker, the closest Green Day ever came to playing the venue was when frontman Billie Joe Armstrong and his girlfriend, Adrienne Nesser, walked in and left right after The Offspring’s set in 1994. Marti’s tried to get Green Day to play the venue numerous times, but it was way too small for even the moderate level of fame they’d already gained pre-“Dookie.” Marti’s had the same trouble with the punk band Fugazi.

“It was pretty much no frills,” Gruber said. “There wasn’t much to do there.”

The bulk of the punk scene was made up of high school and college-age punk-rockers who would play anywhere, Sabin said. Like a lot of kids at the time, the Libido Boyz just wanted to play loud, chaotic music, which also is what people seemed to want to hear. Kids would cram into basements for concerts or listen outside garages.

“On any given week or weekend, there would be a show with anywhere from two to 10 bands playing,” Gruber said. “There was a really good crop of musician-age kids who were into (punk) for a while (before) grunge became very popular.”

During the next few years, the Libido Boyz got big. They played in the Cities and toured the state and eventually started playing shows across the country, including New York and San Francisco. Out West is where they met Green Day, who would become the biggest punk band to come through Mankato.

“They were just dirty punks like us,” Sabin said.

Former Libido Boyz bassist Dave Begalka said they played punk shows with Green Day from time to time while on tour. Mike Dirnt, Green Day bassist, actually did Begalka a big favor once when they played a show in Cleveland together.

Some of Begalka’s bass gear went missing, and a couple of months later he saw Dirnt when they both were playing shows in the California Bay Area. Turns out, the bass gear was mixed up with Dirnt’s equipment that night, and he’d been keeping it safe for him the whole time.

“I thought that was just downright a swell thing to do,” Begalka said. “As I recall, I think we couch surfed at Billy Joe’s that night. ... By the way, I still use the lost guitar strap that went around the U.S. with Green Day.”

The Libido Boyz and Green Day crossed paths in another way as well, through Adrienne, who was a student at Minnesota State University and living in Mankato.

The first lady

Adrienne (Nesser) Armstrong, now 39, was born in Minneapolis and started at MSU in the late 1980s, graduating with the class of 1994 with a degree in sociology.

She met Billie Joe on Green Day’s first tour in 1990. Some report it was a show at First Ave in Minneapolis, and she is quoted at greenday.net as saying only about 10 people were there. She asked Billie Joe where she could get a copy of the band’s CD, and the two hit it off.

While on tour, Billie Joe kept in contact with Adrienne by phone. Their first kiss inspired an early Green Day song, “2,000 Light Years Away.” Their relationship caused Billie Joe to arrange two tours around Minnesota so they could see each other, a relationship which lasted about a year and a half.

Although it’s unclear, witnesses who saw Billie Joe and Adrienne around Mankato during that time say the reason Green Day played shows in the area at all was simply because she was here. The shows weren’t a part of any tour, but rather impromptu ways to pass to the time.

The relationship fizzled after they decided the distance was too much of a strain. Adrienne got engaged to Billy Bisson, the frontman of Libido Boyz, the following year. Reports differ from either side, with some saying the relationship dissolved on its own. Bisson has been quoted as saying Billie Joe stole her away.

While in Mankato, Adrienne worked at various places, including the Piercing Pagoda in the River Hills Mall and Pagliai’s Pizza, and is described by those who knew her as a beautiful punk rock girl who everybody had a crush on.

Cheryl Rueda, manager of Pagliai’s, worked with Adrienne and three of the Libido Boyz at the restaurant when Adrienne was dating Bisson. Adrienne also babysat for Cheryl’s kids.

“She was a beautiful girl,” Rueda said. “I think the world of her. She was just a regular person.”

Thursday nights Adrienne babysat for Cheryl’s two kids, Andre and Marisa, who were about 3 and 6 at the time. She would often have a craft project or activity to do to keep them entertained. She even took them out trick-or-treating during a blizzard one year.

“She was their favorite babysitter,” she said.

Carrie Zempel Heise worked with her at a bar called The Jungle, now Dutler’s Bowl.

“I ran into her after the bar had closed down (she was working at Pier 1 Imports), and she told me she was moving out West soon,” Zempel said. “Months later, word got back that she had married Billie Joe, and then the next thing I saw was an interview with him in Rolling Stone magazine talking about his pregnant wife!”

When Adrienne finished school, Billie Joe convinced her to move to California and marry him. Rueda said it happened so fast it seemed she was gone over night. Before she left, she and friends had a big garage sale, said Amy Lennartson of Eagle Lake. She and Lennartson originally had plans to move to San Francisco together and open a business.

“She headed West that May, and I stayed over the summer to finish up my time at MSU,” Lennartson said. “Then, in true rock star fashion, I returned home from a Fourth of July vacation to a wedding invitation from Adrienne — to a wedding that had already happened.”

The wedding took two weeks to plan and happened in five minutes July 2, 1994, in Billie Joe’s backyard, according to the VH1 “Behind the Music” documentary. “We didn’t think about it, we just did it,” Adrienne said.

Protestant, Catholic and Jewish vows were exchanged because neither had a religion. The honeymoon took place 10 minutes from Billie Joe’s house at the Claremont Hotel. The day after the wedding, Adrienne found out she was pregnant.

The couple has two sons, Joseph Marciano, 14, and Jakob Danger, 10.

Adrienne now co-owns Adeline Records in Oakland, Calif., and Adeline Street clothing line. She works with the Natural Resources Defense Council, and co-owns Atomic Garden, an eco-friendly clothing and home goods store.

There is at least one friend in Mankato Adrienne is reported to keep in contact with. But said friend — whose basement Green Day was reported to have played in and who reportedly visited the Armstrongs in California — wasn’t eager to talk about it.

Rueda kept in contact with Adrienne for a while. Adrienne would send the Rueda kids Green Day T-shirts and things. She also sent a family photo to the Ruedas years ago. When Adrienne’s first son was 1 1/2, she came back to Mankato to visit and Rueda saw them. She was the same person she had always been, Rueda said.

A few years ago, Adrienne asked a friend in Mankato to go to the Ruedas’ house and videotape the kids so she could see how much they had grown up. Otherwise, the Ruedas haven’t heard from her since.

Big time

The night Green Day played St. Peter, the original plan was for them to play at someone’s house behind where Casey’s is now on Lee Boulevard in North Mankato.

Two local bands went on first. But the cops came and broke it up because of the noise. Gruber and his buddy offered to drive equipment and Tre Cool to a house on Fifth Street in Mankato, where somebody had offered up their basement. But the band took one look and said it was way too small.

That’s when a girl whose family lived off Hwy. 99 near St. Peter offered her place.

“This whole caravan of cars ended up driving out to her place,” Gruber said.

It was too hot to play in the barn. Gruber suggested the guys make a mini stage out of the wire spools, which they thought was pretty punk rock, even commenting on that stage and show later on a bootleg recording, he said.

Gruber said he later recognized songs such as “Welcome to Paradise” off of “Dookie” that they played that night — the night most people look to as the epitome of nostalgia when it comes to Green Day’s presence in Mankato. People still go to YouTube to check out the nine or so minutes of footage from that concert, despite being out of focus, jittery and too dark to see much.

“Took me back,” Gruber said of watching the footage. “That guy filming, he was probably standing right next to me and my friends.”

A couple of hundred people have similar memories from that night, having accidentally stumbled upon a concert that would become local legend. None of them could possibly have imagined what Green Day would become.

“Dookie,” released in 1994 — which followed 1992’s “Kerplunk,” having sold 50,000 copies — sold more than 10 million copies in the U.S. That album, along with those of The Offspring and Rancid, is credited for reviving mainstream interest in punk music, and it won Best Alternative Album at the Grammy Awards.

Future albums, “Insomniac” and “Nimrod,” went double platinum, and “Warning” went gold. None of them reached the level of success of “Dookie.”

But 2004’s punk rock opera “American Idiot” changed everything. Debuting at No. 1 and selling five million copies, critics absolutely drooled over it. “American Idiot” won Best Rock Album at the 2005 Grammys and swept the MTV Video Music Awards.

“Boulevard of Broken Dreams” spent 16 weeks at No. 1 on the Billboard Modern Rock Tracks chart and won the Grammy for Record of the Year. During the band’s 150-date tour in support of the album, they drew crowds of 130,000 people over two days in the United Kingdom.

The band’s new album, “21st Century Breakdown,” was released worldwide May 15 and received rave reviews. Last week the band played “The Tonight Show” with Conan O’Brien.

Their world tour kicks off in July, with the Minneapolis show at the Target Center July 11.

#daslfhasdlfkha imagine staying on the couch of a guy who wrote a sappy love song about your gf/fiancee #articles #Green Day #article #interview #babe-drienne #billie joe armstrong

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fanfic-inator795 · 4 years ago

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RotTMNT drabble: It’s... probably a phase

((Had this silly idea a while ago, but I was suddenly inspired to write it out for funzies. Hope you all enjoy! ^v^))

No matter how many times he saw it, Mikey was sure that he was NEVER going to get tired of seeing the Hidden City. The unique architecture, the bright colors, the dragons and giant birds flying all over the place - it was AMAZING!

Not to mention all the various locations that he still had to see and explore - like the Hidden City Mall! Maybe for any other teenager, a mall would have been mundane - boring, even. But not for Mikey. Not when he had been given permission to explore the mall by himself as long as he remembered to text his fam every few hours, and especially not when it was so different than the malls he'd see on TV. In a way, it was like some of the shōtengai (or commercial districts) they had in Japan, according to their dad. Rather than being confined into one building, it was instead a long stretch of road that was covered with tiles on the ground, had large and open entrances and exits onto the street, and a curved roof above (making it seem a bit more 'indoor' than a marketplace or the Pirate Bazaar down by the docks).

"Coooooool~!" Mikey grinned, his pace increasing as he walked inside. There were plenty of different shops to browse through, from the specialty to the common. Some sold food and pharmacy others while others sold clothes, toys and knick-knacks. There was a shop full of scrolls and tombs, a shop for crystals and mystic gems, and even a pretty neat antique shop! But, as Mikey began heading towards a stand-up noodle bar for a quick lunch, a store that seemed to be covered in shadows quickly caught his attention instead.

The walls of the shop were painted black, with only covered candles providing any sort of life. The letters above the shop were written in Yokai-ese, but just based on the blood red color and the way they were written, Mikey could still tell that the shop was going for a 'hardcore' vibe. A bit intimidating maybe, but also interesting - interesting enough for him to walk inside, the orange of his bandana and the colorful stickers on his chest instantly making him stand out against the racks of black and dark colored clothing and the silver, spiky jewelry on display.

...Huh. So the Hidden City had goths and punks. Who knew?

Since the shop didn't have too many customers at the moment, it was that much easier for the two employees currently on duty to notice him. "Uhhh, you lost, kid?" one of them - a grey-furred hound with a pretty wicked nose ring and a black poncho with several chains hanging off it - asked, raising an eyebrow at the young box turtle.

"Oh, no," Mikey said, giving him a friendly smile, "I'm just browsing."

The other employee - a snake girl with purple scales and red highlights in her slightly spiked hair - chuckled. "You sure this is the store you wanna be browsing in?" she asked him, sticking her tongue out a bit, "There is a kimono shop just a few stores down that seems a little more... your style."

"Already saw it," Mikey replied, "And yeah, they were really nice! Really colorful too - but wayyyy out of my price range." He picked up a couple shirts, looking them over before putting them back. "But hey, this stuff is really cool too!"

"Hmph, oh really?" the hound asked dryly. Great, another poser. Just what they needed. "And just what is so 'cool' about it?"

"Lots of things!" Mikey grinned, "Though, I guess what I really enjoy about the goth style is how you guys are able to use a limited palette to not only express yourself, but still make something really unique and memorable! Don't get me wrong, I LOVE all sorts of bright and warm colors, but expressing yourself with only one or two colors that really mean a lot to you, and being able to focus on just them while still being able add so much style to that one palette is pretty impressive! And pretty cool too, if I do say so myself! I really love the way you guys use metals and stuff to catch the light and catch people's attention." He picked up a spiked collar, admiring it. "Plus, it just looks really sick."

"..." The two employees shared a look before smiling at each other. "Huh... I guess when you put it that way, it is pretty cool," the snake agreed, actually looking sort of touched by Mikey's comments, "I mean, for record, being goth is about wayyyyy more than just the fashion. But, hey, I can hang with someone who can respect and appreciate the aesthetic without being shallow about it."

"Yeah, and you know... if you like the style that much, I think you could pull it off," the hound added.

Mikey's eyes went sparkly at that. "Really?!"

"Sure, kid! We've got some stuff that would look great on you!" "Aaaand, I think we could let you use our employee discount too. Since you're, you know, cool."

"Sweet!" Mikey grinned, pumping his fist in the air, "What are we waiting for? Let's make me over! Goth style~!"

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

Splinter had been planning on texting his youngest during the next commercial break, but before he could even reach for his phone, he heard Mikey call out from the lower level. "Hey, Pop! I'm home!"

"Oh good, I was just wondering when you would get back," Splinter replied, "So, did you have fun shopping?"

"Yeah, it was great! You wanna see what I bought?"

Splinter chuckled. "Oh, I suppose." That was enough to make Mikey race towards the TV room, his steps quick and obviously excited. Sitting up a bit, Splinter wondered what it was his youngest could have bought. Some fancy and fun new hat, maybe? Orange did always like playing dress-up. All of his boys did, really. They must have gotten that from him. Or maybe it was something in his favorite color? Or maybe-

He heard a small grunt behind him as Mikey lifted himself onto the second floor. "Tada! Take a look at me!"

"Okay okay, let's see-" Splinter looked over his shoulder, and his eyes nearly bulged right out of his head. He sputtered a bit before finally managing to shout, "Who are you and whAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BABY BOY ORANGE?!”

Mikey tilted his head at his father. "Huh? Dad, it's me. I just got a new look"

Splinter narrowed his eyes a bit. It certainly sounded like his Orange, but...

Mikey's mask had been dyed completely black, only the tips of his mask tails remaining orange. He was wearing a black tank top with a spiked collar and long, fingerless black gloves. Hanging over his shoulders and shell, covering up his bright yellow spots, was a black trenchcoat. His dark cargo pants had been spray painted with orange at the bottom of each leg cuff, almost looking like flames, and heavy black boots tied it all together.

"Come on, Pop! Don't I look great?" Mikey asked, holding up a 'rock and roll' gesture. ...Or, at least he was trying to. It was sort of hard to do with only three fingers. "I saw this goth store in the Hidden City, and I just HAD to give it a try! Don't you think it looks cool?"

"Er, w-well, ah..." Mikey frowned, disappointment starting to creep on his face.

...Well, that settled it. He may have looked very VERY different, but this was no rebellious phase or sudden change in his otherwise cheery attitude. He was still his son - still the same box turtle Splinter knew and love. "I think you look very, ah, unique!" Splinter told him, "And, uh, veeeeery fashionable and cool!"

Mikey grinned. "Awww, thanks Dad!"

"Hey, are you guys screaming in he-WHOA!" they heard Raph say from the atrium, “Mikey? Is that really you?!”

Mikey laughed, amused at his oldest brother's expression. "Yep! It's really me, baby!" Thankfully, Donnie and Leo didn't seem as shocked, though they were still mildly surprised.

“Huh… You know, out of all of us, I thought for sure Donnie would be the one who’d have a goth phase,” Leo said.

His twin shrugged. “Eh, my natural aesthetic is more high school prep meets cyberpunk.”

As Mikey ran off to give his brothers a closer look at his new goth duds, Splinter gave a small sigh. He would always try to support his sons and give anything that they cared about - whether it be likes, hobbies or even fashion - a chance, and he would continue doing that for the sake of his boys and their feelings... But a small part of him couldn't help but hope that Mikey's 'goth phase' didn't last TOO long.

Later that night, he received a text from Draxum - and surprisingly, this one wasn't some complaint or request. From the Baron's perspective, it was actually positive!

"Lou Jitsu - I know we don't always agree, but for the record, I also approve of Michelangelo's 'new look'. Very intimidating... A good starting point for a young warrior... Plus, all the black fits in with his ninja side. A win-win as it were, right?"

Splinter could only groan.

#rottmnt #my writing #silly stuff #michelangelo tmnt #splinter tmnt #alt title for this: Mikey goes to yokai!Hot Topic

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cienie-isengardu · 4 years ago

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The development of Law’s relationship with Zoro - Part 4: Dressrosa, The Breaking Point (Protecting Law)

<<Part I: Before Meeting>> <<Part II: Sabaody Archipelago, The First Meeting>> <<Part III: Punk Hazard, The Alliance (A)>> <<Part III: Punk Hazard, The Alliance (B)>> <<Part IV: Dressrosa, The Breaking Point (The Plan Failed)__ (Saving Law)__(Protecting Law)__ (Birdcage, Pica and Doflamingo)__ (Aftermath)>>

While Doflamingo was addressing people of Dressrosa and explaining the rules of “game” to punish 12 enemies of his (chapter 746), Luffy was talking with Zoro, most likely explaining what happened in Throne Room. We can only wonder what exactly Luffy told him, did he mention anything related to Law. At the same time, Zoro held Law’s sword that he had to find somewhere around. Interestingly, according to SBS vol. 71, Trafalgar’s nodachi - Kikoku (Demon’s Cry) is in fact a cursed blade and Zoro is sensitive to such “evil” nature of swords what was seen with his own Sandai Kitetsu. As a swordsman himself, of course he took care of the sword while Law couldn’t do it personally. At the same time, we don’t see Zoro returning Kikoku to the owner, just that he had it while talking with Luffy. Another worth to mention detail is the cover of volume 75 (in which the discussed panel comes from) that adds to the impression that Zoro passed Kikoku to Luffy instead of Law. What supports the feeling of keeping distance between those two.

Using Den Den Mushi, Zoro contacted Robin to check in the situation:

For the upcoming chapters, the visual setting of three Supernovas shown together in the same panels will reflect this scene - Luffy as the central figure in this trio…. except a specific kind of situation but about that in a moment.

Like always, Luffy wasn’t bothered much by the whole enemy’s game, while Zoro did not show emotions at all. Law simply watched the whole situation (while his sword lied close to him). At least until Luffy declared to Rebecca he is going to kick Doflamingo’s ass because that went against the main goal of Law’s plan.

Zoro did not take part in the argument between two captains. Yet his reaction (holding and squeezing tighter his katana) seems to be quite ambiguous. For sure it was a sign of support for his captain’s decision - as in, ready to fight everyone and everything, no doubts about what should be done (read: kicking Doffy’s ass regardless of Law's objection). But at the same time it looks as, well, threatening Law is too big a word, because Zoro wouldn’t cut a defenseless man, but there is something (passive) aggressive about such a gesture. Law’s silent reaction (to Luffy’s words? To Zoro’s lack of reasoning with Luffy?) makes me think there was more going on in this scene than just Law’s angry(?) surprise/shock. This probably was another moment for Law to see who the fellow Supernovas were at the core.

Whatever Law’s impression was at that moment about Luffy and Zoro’s determination to save Dressrosa instead of thinking just of their own survival, the next few hours(?) gave him a better understanding of the dynamic between Zoro and his captain. In all fairness, the experience was gained by his own misery thanks to dealing with the insanity of Straw Hat with only Pirate Hunter for some sort of mental support. Starting with such treatment in chapter 746:

Without asking for permission or any warning, Luffy simply grabbed Zoro and Law and straight up jumped from a high place… only to land into the middle of an enemy group.

Law wasn’t happy about that - even threatened (again) Luffy that once he is free from handcuffs, he’ll kill Luffy. Usually Zoro reacts strongly to threats against his nakama, yet here he totally ignored Law’s words. Maybe he knew there was no time to worry about that or maybe he simply understood Law’s fury because really, that was a natural response to Luffy’s impatience. Unlike Law, Zoro had a lot of experiences with Luffy’s crazy ideas of “fast transport” and even many Straw Hats well familiar with their captain’s antics still weren’t comfy with it. The whole situation was even worse for the Heart captain due to seastone shackles that were A) weakening him and B) blocking his devil fruit’s powers so it was a freestyle “falling” he couldn’t in any way control or prevent if something went wrong. And Law seems like the type of person who likes to have control over things. So the resentment toward Luffy was an understable reaction.

One more important note about the landing scene - like was previously mentioned, Luffy for the majority of upcoming interaction between the three Supernovas was presented as a central figure, a “connection” between Zoro and Law. Both on the contextual level on which the analysis is based and in the visibility; in the sense how the layout of the panel has been planned. The biggest, most oblivious exception to the usual dynamic of Zoro-Luffy-Law were moments in which Zoro switched his position to put Law in the (safest) middle. Whatever he did that solely for Law’s safety or just Luffy’s (who by carrying all the time Trafalgar on his right arm couldn’t fight at 100% of his abilities and thus the right side was less guarded), the change was beneficial to Heart captain.

Since Luffy carried powerless Trafalgar, Zoro was the only one mobile to actually adapt his position to the needs of the situation. Like right now, cornered by the enemy, Zoro stood a bit ahead of two captains, with a katana already in hand, ready to fight.

Let’s just think about Law’s situation for a moment. Defenseless and surrounded on all sides by enemies, absolutely dependent on protection of fellow Supernovas he barely knew - including one chaotic dumbass responsible for his misery in the first place. Zoro, on another hand, was the only one person from Straw Hats crew that did not irritate or confuse Trafalgar in the last days of stress. But then the build impression of stoic, straight-thinking Zoro slowly started crackling. Like in the landing scene: Luffy thought he landed in a bad place to which Zoro noted there wasn’t any good place for them on Dressrosa right now and it was time to run away… just to run in the wrong direction. Which Luffy corrected the swordsman only to run in the wrong way too.

Law seriously didn’t need more stress at this point of life, yet not only Luffy but Zoro too, were challenging his self-control and patience.

Not much time has passed and Luffy already was caught by enemy’s attack:

Straw Hat managed to dodge “Super weight man” but get stuck for good. Both captains were saved from the powerful/deadly kick of Dellinger thanks to Zoro. Roronoa didn’t even cut the enemy, just kicked Dellinger in the ass and used his attack to push heavy Visa off from Luffy, freeing him for good (and once again, the frame presents Law in the middle).

The same like on Punk Hazard, Roronoa reminded Luffy to be careful.

This moment has an ambiguous feeling about it. On one hand, Zoro once again seemed to ignore Law's presence and focused on Luffy. On another, I think there is something diplomatic about the way Zoro addressed the situation. Because Luffy would be more or less fine, even if stamped by Visa. He was, in the end, a rubber-man and it wouldn't be the first time when something heavy crashed into him with high speed. Going Merry did that on a few occasions, when Luffy was using gomu gomu no balloon to save the ship from crashing into mountains / rocks. Unlike Law, who would be crushed to death.

The biggest problem during the run of Three Supernovas was how defenseless - thus useless in fight - Law was at that moment. He was totally dependent on Straw Hats and Zoro couldn't be not aware of that. On Sabaody Archipelago, when Eustass Kid decided to deal with marines alone, both Luffy and Law got so pissed off at the mere suggestion they needed to be saved. But there, Law was in need of save because seastone cuffs took all his powers, all his control over the situation. It was so easy to make fun of Heart captain, point out how powerless he was, complain about that. And some people would abuse the situation to laugh at Law. Zoro could say something along the line “be careful because Law can't fight”, yet he reprimanded Luffy without dragging Law into discussion. Without a fuss or making Trafalgar feel like a burden. Warning Luffy to be careful is similar to Punk Hazard's scene in the regard of demanding from the captain to not fool around and get the grip of himself. But unlike the previous arc, Zoro's demand was kept short, to the point. No speech how one mistake can cost them life - what was true in Dressrosa too.

Law didn't betray any reaction to Roronoa's words but I think there was a part of him that could feel glad for not humiliating him any more. He already had a hard time being carried like a sack of potatoes and forced to trust Straw Hats to not kill him in the process. He didn't need to be reminded how powerless he currently was.

Soon after that the Three Supernovas run into a crowd of citizens trying to capture Doflamingo's enemies. Zoro showed concern about them, not feeling right to cut desperate common people which Luffy agreed. Once again, Straw Hats proved how different they were from the majority of pirates. Law alone was okay to set Kaido after Doffy's head which in the long run would put the people of Dressrosa in harm's way.

Finally, the admiral Issho showed up - Zoro, due to previous movement of dodging an attack, didn't have time to change his position thus came at Luffy's left side. In that formation, Law was the least protected one which put Luffy at disadvantage as well.

Though Zoro was the character of lower status (the only non-captain Supernova and two stars on Doffy’s list in contrast to Luffy & Law’s three), it was Roronoa who actually fought the marine officer. What makes sense; he already had a chance to test Issho’s strength and was capable of freeing himself with a flying slash from gravity trap / attack while Law and Luffy couldn’t fight at full capability. Of course, manga only gave a small insight into their fight and the skirmish with the admiral was ultimately stopped by Pica's giant presence.

Of course, once Luffy heard the high pitched voice of a colossal enemy, he laughed like a maniac, despite Zoro’s (and enemy foot soldiers) warning.

Straw Hat’s reaction hit Pica’s berserk button to the point the man didn’t care if he killed members of his own Family or subordinates with his destructive attack (“It’s not even a punch anymore!! The town is falling on us”). Everyone could only run away as far as possible. While on the run, Zoro once again reprimanded his own captain. Or, at least, tried. Until he started laughing himself (chapter 748).

(Once again, the translation varies from one site to another; in some versions, Law told Luffy and Zoro “knock it off, you two…!!” or outright called them “you dipshits…!!”. Still, all three translations made it clear how unhappy Law was about the whole situation)

That moment is another breaking point of Law's impression about Zoro as the stoic, reasonable counter-balance to Luffy's madness. Because Roronoa wasn't any better than Monkey D. Luffy and that was the biggest "betrayal" to Trafalgar’s idea of what Pirate Hunter should be so far. Law was so, so disappointed in the angry way and he did not try to hide it.

Frankly, Law’s stoicism was put to the test the whole time and it was cracking under pressure more and more. Zoro and Luffy’s lack of self-preservation instinct definitely didn’t help at all.

Pica’s attack sent Supernova Trio flying far away from the palace, what allowed them to (sort of) catch a break. Zoro’s main focus was of course at the gigantic enemy, wondering how they could defeat him. His words weren’t directed at anyone in particular, but gave an opening for Law to join the discussion. In the past, Law shared his knowledge about powers of enemies and how they worked yet this time he had no advice to give. It may suggest that Trafalgar wasn’t that familiar with the true nature and weakness of Ishi Ishi no Mi (what makes sense, since Pica’s powers are strictly related to rock and his attacks too destructive to use them recklessly, so young Law may never truly see the true potential of Pica in fight. Also, Doflamingo did not mention Pica when he named those of Family Law learned fighting skills from nor Law’s flashback showed any closer interaction with the man).

Or maybe Law didn’t have enough time to recover to talk about strategy against Pica and once Candevish showed up, there were other matters to worry about right then. Especially since the man tried to kill Law on the spot who was saved only by Luffy’s quick reaction (though Zoro already had a sword in hand, once he noticed the non familiar face, so maybe all of them felt the ill intention coming off Cavendish?).

Through the whole discussion with the man, Zoro stayed silent, while Law was furious at both Luffy and Cavendish. Including Luffy’s declaration of them being friends.

Law denied it and frankly, after the whole “adventure” of almost dying time after time because of Monkey D. Luffy’s lack of common sense, no one can blame him for such rage and lost composure. Still, whatever Law said about his relationship with Straw Hat, Zoro was guarding him more than his own captain. What makes sense - right now Luffy didn’t have to carry Heart captain (thus in case of attack wasn’t burdened in any way) while Law was still powerless by seastone. Zoro didn’t sheathe the sword and stood behind Luffy, the same as Law. At least until Luffy’s former rival (enemy) didn’t declare to be sort of on the same side as them. Law once again was faced with Luffy’s insanity, when rubber-man admitted that food given to him by Rebecca was the main motivation for his actions. Through the whole meeting with Candevish, Zoro was the only one person in the group that did not piss off Law even a bit.

Luffy and Candevish had another argument (who is gonna beat Doflamingo), but this time Luffy decided to run away and leave the man to his delusional talk about popularity. The Supernovas Trio soon met another Luffy’s rivals from Colosseum: Happo Navy Gang, the giant Hajrudin, king Elizabello II & Dogma, Abdullah & Jet, admiral Olombus, Ideo, Slayman, Blue Gilly. All powerful in their own right, all feeling indebted to Usopp (Straw Hats) for breaking Sugar’s curse to the point every one of them decided to take Doffy’s head.

Luffy was not really happy to see his rivals showing up one after another, even less when none cared that he decided to personally kick Doflamingo’s ass. Zoro’s initial reaction was commenting “you know lots of weird people” but beyond that did not show any distress (unlike Luffy) while Law did not talk at all.

In the group of so many self-assured fighters arguing who will take down the enemy, only Roronoa seemed to not be affected by emotions and approached the matter with cold pragmatism. He proposed a compromise: all fighters backing them up but the proposition was shut down. Mainly because all had too big egos and were too stubborn. Including Luffy, to Law’s utter shock.

Here some interesting details:

↪ Zoro once again held a sword in a hand. What suggests he didn’t consider the meeting between pirate alliance and the colosseum fighters as the “safest”. At the same time, the sword stayed unsheathed so it wasn’t totally “hazardous” feeling either. Though the situation could quickly get out of control and turn into a fight no one really needed, Zoro gave the fighters a benefit of doubt.

↪ Despite the benefit of doubt, Zoro still changed the usual position from Luffy’s left side to his right. Once again, Law was put in the (safest) middle. The change happened quickly, with the (second rival) giant Hajrudin showing up. After meeting with the Happo Gang, Luffy already was ready to run away while Zoro did not betray any sign of worry. The framing makes it look like he went ahead to face the gigantic man just in case, thus putting himself between two captains and the possible enemy.

↪ Once again Zoro acted protective of other Supernovas without making a fuss about it.

↪ There is a visible difference between how Luffy and Zoro approached the subject of the argument. Through the few pages, from meeting Candevish to arguing with all colosseum fighters, Luffy kept saying he will kick Doflamingo’s ass - in contrast, Zoro said to other men “back up us” what sounds like he actually remembered about Trafalgar. Considering how personal taking down Doflamingo was to Law, being included despite the current state of powerlessness most likely alone made (again) a good impression. On other hand, Luffy from the start to the end was selfish in the sense he decided to kick Doffy’s ass on his own and outright dismissed the very thought that anyone else should do it. Surprisingly, somehow along the way, Straw Hat switched from “we will go to the palace to kick Doflamingo’s ass” (said to the crew at the beginning of battle) to “I’m gonna do that” without including even Zoro.

↪ There is something interesting in the fact that the bigger group around them, then Zoro and Law spoke less. Even more, when one spoke the other usually stayed silent through the conversation with the strangers. What could be seen with Cavendish (Law was screaming talking) and the bunch of colosseum fighters (Zoro’s solution to join the forces). In the case of Roronoa, it seems like a normal thing for him; the more unfamiliar people the bigger chance he will keep quiet and simply observe what is going on around. That of course does not mean he is shy or anything like that, just acts like an introvert. Law seems here to operate in a similar way. Though in contrast to Zoro (who occasionally was commenting on people's idiocy), to Trafalgar the whole situation was as much as ridiculous as overwhelming judging by his shocked face.

↪ Even if Law’s impression of Zoro cracked a bit due to his bad sense of direction and laughing with Luffy at dangerous enemy, when it mattered Roronoa A) didn’t lost his composure and was not influenced by emotions or personal pride and B) was reliable. In contrast, Law’s tolerance for all the chaos and absurdity (and one chaotic dumbass) was barely maintained the whole time.Trafalgar screamed in powerless(?) furypowerless fury(?) a lot and in general showed emotions in unusual manners. On Sabaody Archipelago and Punk Hazard, Zoro rarely couldhad a chance see Law so stressed and out of his depth. Dressrosa for the first time allowed him to see a different side of Law. In a way, Zoro finally had a chance to see (judge) what kind of man Trafalgar was once the control and devil fruit powers were taken away from him. He saw Law when he was vulnerable and it seems this shared experience builtin the long run built a solid ground between those two characters.

The argument between Luffy and gladiators was temporarily stopped by enemy attack. After that all of them rushed after Doffy��s head. Luffy met a befriended in colosseum bull and on his back rode alongside Zoro and Law. Since the situation became more dangerous, Law permanently ended between the Straw Hats, with Luffy defending the front while Zoro secured the rear.

During the run to the palace, King Elizabello and Chinjao stopped Pica’s attack and destroyed his stone arm but no true damage was done to the enemy. Zoro then advised the men to not waste energy until they figure out how Pica’s powers work and for now, just run (chapter 749).

Surprisingly, the fighters that not so long ago were all about their pride and ego listened to Luffy’s subordinate while still arguing with Straw Hat himself who should defeat Doflamingo and calling him the “stupid savior”. Through their journey, Law didn’t say any useful information about Pica nor shared any observations that might help in the fight, despite being to some degree familiar with Pica and pretty smart to analyze other people’s fighting styles.

Frankly, Zoro was the only one sharing aloud his observations with his captain (and Law?) after Luffy hit the enemy with a powerful, yet fruitless attack. Because of that, it seems like Pirate Hunter so far had the best understanding of stone giant’s powers.

Soon after that Pica finally showed up his true body. Up to this moment, Roronoa was more or less neutral about the whole chaos around him and now had his killer smile (that Law most likely couldn't see but could pick up the predatory tone from Zoro’s voice) due to upcoming fight with a strong opponent.

Law’s reaction was not shown at all, but once again he experienced Zoro’s insanity; the thrill of deadly fight, instead of worry about danger. Dressrosa, like Sabaody Archipelago and Punk Hazard arcs, confirm Pirate Hunter’s lust for battle. Another thing is the complete trust between Straw Hat Supernovas - Luffy avoided Pica’s attack (saving everyone in the process) and was just like “I’ll keep going ahead” while Zoro took on himself stopping Pica for good.

Like fighting a tricky devil fruit user is no big deal. Even insulted Pica by calling him “a pebble” and “Soprano singer” while knowing full well how sensitive the man was to such words - what Law may or may not heard before he and Luffy get too far away.

The next part: Birdcage, Pica & Doflamingo

#one piece #roronoa zoro #trafalgar law #The development of Law’s relationship with Zoro #monkey d. luffy #pica #colosseum fighters #dressrosa arc #my analyze #the best part of the arc when it comes to zoro and law during battle #zoro & law

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1962dude420-blog · 4 years ago

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Today we remember the passing of Ray Gillen who Died: December 1, 1993 in New York, New York

Gillen was born on May 12, 1959, in New York, but was raised in Cliffside Park, New Jersey. He was an only child and started singing while in high school. He was an American rock singer-songwriter and he started his career playing the New Jersey club circuit with various bands, including club bands Quest (1978–80), the punk rock influenced F-66 (1980–81), Savatage, and, most notably, Vendetta and Harlette. In 1985, he joined Bobby Rondinelli's band, Rondinelli. He is best known, however, for his work with Badlands, in addition to his stint with Black Sabbath in the mid-1980s and recording most of the vocals on Phenomena's Dream Runner album.

In 1986, Black Sabbath started touring for the Seventh Star album when after only a few shows, singer Glenn Hughes got into a fist-fight and lost his voice due to the related sinus and throat injuries. Gillen was offered the job to replace Hughes, which meant leaving Rondinelli to accept the offer. After finishing the Seventh Star tour, Black Sabbath recorded their next album The Eternal Idol with Gillen. However, due to mix of financial burden, writing difficulty (Bob Daisley was recruited for writing as Gillen turned out to be not much of a composer), mismanagement and miscommunication that plagued the band, Gillen and Black Sabbath drummer Eric Singer quit before the album was ever released. Gillen was eventually replaced by Tony Martin, and the vocal track of The Eternal Idol was hurriedly rerecorded note-for-note with Martin before the album was finally released in 1987. However, demo versions of The Eternal Idol featuring Gillen do exist on the bootleg circuit and of 2010 re-release. Also, in an interview Martin revealed that the sinister laugh heard on the track Nightmare is in fact Gillen's voice. The album was re-released on November 1, 2010, in Europe in a 2-disc expanded set including a bonus disc with Gillen's recording.

During the time of the Seventh Star tour, Gillen was asked by project director and co-producer Wilfried F. Rimensberger to join Mel Galley's Phenomena for the recording of the album Dream Runner, which features vocals from Glenn Hughes, John Wetton and Max Bacon. He recorded 4 tracks. Gillen is also featured in Phenomena's 'Did it all for Love' music video although he was not involved in the actual recording of that song.

After the Phenomena recordings, Gillen joined John Sykes (previously with Whitesnake, Thin Lizzy and a different band called Badlands) with the intention to form a new band Blue Murder. Gillen sang demos but parted company when Sykes decided to handle vocals himself.

Gillen then contacted Jake E. Lee (former Ozzy Osbourne guitarist) to form a band. In 1988 Gillen started to form Badlands with Jake E. Lee and recruited his friend Eric Singer with whom he had played in Black Sabbath. Gillen recorded three albums (Badlands, Voodoo Highway, and Dusk) with Badlands and toured from 1989 until 1992.

Following his split from Badlands, Gillen stayed in L.A. and was involved with two projects. He joined forces with drummer Randy Castillo and Iggy Pop band members Whitey Kirst and Craig Pike under the name Cockfight. He also joined the band Terriff, led by guitarist Joe Holmes, fresh off his stint with David Lee Roth on the A Little Ain't Enough tour. Gillen rehearsed with the group for several months before moving back to his native New York. He also went to form the band Sun Red Sun with old friends.

In 1993, Wilfried F. Rimensberger was planning a remake of his first Metal Hammer Loreley Festival but this time specifically to stage Phenomena's first ever live performance, with Gillen on vocals. It was going to be the launch event for a series of concerts across Europe in 1994. Gillen called from New York and told Rimensberger in Munich that he had to bow out as he was too ill to perform.

Gillen died from an AIDS-related disease in a New York Hospital on December 1, 1993. He first showed symptoms of the disease around 1990, and according to his Badlands bandmate Jake E. Lee, "in between the first and the second record, he started getting really thin and didn't look quite as healthy". Lee also claimed that he had not been aware of Gillen's diagnosis with AIDS until a meeting with then-Badlands manager Paul O'Neill, who was going to tell Atlantic Records about his illness if they fired him, and Gillen reportedly said to Lee, "Well, it's not true, so fuck him. Fire him." Lee concluded, "So we did fire him. And he did tell Atlantic Records that. And we got kind of screwed on the second record because of it. They wouldn't even give us tour-support money at all…but, yeah, Paul O'Neill fucked us on that."

Gillen was survived by a daughter, Ashley (born July 1984). He is buried at Fairview Cemetery in Fairview, New Jersey.

He was ranked at 100 on Hit Parader's Top 100 Metal Vocalists.

#december 1 #1993 #rip #ray gillen

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artemismoon12writes · 5 years ago

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Title: A Vested Interest

Daltonfic Big Bang: Week 3, Day 5, Dwodd

Ryan Cobb still didn’t know about his desk chair, so money was still up for grabs. Nice.

“Fuck off!” Derek yelled, looking across the large, white and glass hallway of the Ohio Brooks Parker Galleria Mall to the Hot Topic.

“What is it?” Bailey asked, not turning from his sink full of dishes. He was up to his elbows in coffee mugs and dessert-stained plates. “Is Sebastian coming up to ask for another job application?”

“Shut up Bailey, you know it’s only because he thinks Julian’s hot, not because he wants to work here. And no; it’s not that asshole.” Derek gestured across the hallway; Bailey couldn’t see it because he still had his back turned, uncaring. “It’s that fucking asshole and his boyfriend!”

“Who?”

“You know, the assistant manager and that hipster guy!”

“Oh Dwight?” Bailey asked. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re fucking again!”

Bailey made an amused noise. “Good for them.”

“Good for them!?” Derek exclaimed, “What the hell does that mean?”

“Well, if you could get laid at work you would.” Bailey said, hiding his laughter. “I’m glad you don’t for the record; I don’t want to clean that up, but it’s a little funny.”

“Exactly- how is it that the goth who isn’t even in charge of that place is getting laid and I’m here in a fucking Starbucks like a loser?”

While Derek was ranting, he was ignoring the girl at the register. Bailey shot her a look, commiserating before drying his hands to take her order.

“And if we’re really splitting hairs here Bailey, shouldn’t he, I don’t know? Be doing his job? Instead of letting his little hipster boyfriend fuck him in the changerooms?”

Bailey rolled his eyes, grabbing a larger sized cup for their customer and waving her panicked look aside. It was the least he could do since she was putting up with Derek’s ranting.

“Jeez, Derek if it bothers you so much, just join in our betting pool and you at least could make some money off it.” Bailey said, steaming the milk like it was just another normal day. Which, working with Derek for at long as he had, it kind of was.

“Betting pool?”

Their customer interjected, “I’m from the Barnes and Noble next door; we’ve got it going with us, Clay and the boys in the store, Bailey and y’all, and then then Chels and the Pet Co. downstairs for how long it’ll take the manager to catch them.”

“All those people know? And Ryan still hasn’t figured it out?” Derek asked, confounded.

She shrugged, “Yeah, well, Pet Co. was waiting for the two month mark to send Ryan upstairs at the right moment; but Todd and Dwight were just talking; I’m thinking Clay ran interference so the bet’s still going.”

Derek looked caught between anger and intrigue. He looked at her with a scowl before, “Put me down for fifty bucks on two weeks from now. Ryan’s not an idiot, he’ll realize.”

“Not if he spends all his time downstairs with the fish tanks.” Bailey pointed out.

“Why is he even managing a Hot Topic if he loved animals so much?”

“He’d never sell anything if he worked downstairs, that’s why.” Their customer pointed out, wandering back to the Barnes and Noble with her drink. “Good luck boys!”

Oh it’s on, Derek thought, not realizing how difficult a task it would actually be to accomplish.

---

Two months of this nonsense aside, Dwight Houston had not set out to completely disregard professionalism and decorum when he got this throwaway job at the mall. His mother raised him better than that- or so she kept saying. He was only here for the sole purpose of keeping his car and proving he was responsible- nothing more. If he had enough knowledge of alternative culture to tell people why Hot Topic was the worst place to shop, that wasn’t his problem. He was merely the solution.

When Todd Hendricks, or “Hipster Guy” as he referred to him for the first two weeks in his head, walked in, there was no master plan to get back at his manager for promoting him in this insanity. No, it was only a short conversation, based around Todd’s utter incompetence.

“If she’s a real goth, she will not want anything we sell here. This is emo shit, New Oracle in Glensdale is the real space for crystals. This is just plastic and Yellow 33!” Dwight shook the fake silver jewellery at the customer and his wide rimmed glasses, plaid shirt, and rough, red scarf. “Your sister will not like this.”

“But that’s why it’s funny. Because it’s not authentic.” The customer (who would be known as Todd) said. “She’ll hate it and it’ll be hilarious.”

“It’s offensive! You say she’s a witch, then it’s doubly offensive.” Dwight said, motioning to put the piece back up on the highest shelf with the pole hook.

“I’m her brother, she’ll know it’s a joke.” He argued. “I’m not here to rock your goth purist boat.”

“I am not a goth,” Dwight said, putting the offending piece out of reach. “I am a post-industrial punk with spiritualist leanings; its completely different.”

“Sure.” Was the response, grinning like he’d not proven anything.

Dwight groaned, “Clay, back me up here; the Vampire Diaries spinoff jewellery is not something we should be promoting to any self-respecting goth.”

His part-timer, Clay Rizzo, poked out from behind the piercing display where he totally wasn’t trying to steal new lip rings. “I don’t know Dwight; I am one of those emo pieces of shit, so maybe I’d recommend it?”

“I get no support around here!” Dwight said, stalking to the back of the store. “Impossible!”

Todd looked over to the part-timer, decked in the unofficial uniform of all black and a hundred emo-band pins. “I think I’m dropping by more often.”

Clay gave him an evil grin. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

---

From there it escalated; Todd coming in multiple times a week just to annoy Dwight. Well, that’s what Dwight assumed until Todd asked for his phone number.

“What? Why’d you want that?”

Todd looked at him like he was an idiot. “Because I’ve been flirting with you this whole time? Were you not…”

Clay, unknown to the two of them, was watching with Robin and Jake from behind the t-shirts. They were supposed to be executing the planogram; but why do that when there was drama to observe?

“I was not.” Dwight said robotically. “Uh, okay, that’s…”

“I literally looped a tie around your neck and pulled you in, and you didn’t realize I was into you?”

Clay, who remembered that exchange, had to be smothered with a Haven shirt but Jake to stop him from making noise.

“In my defence, I’m not used to people flirting with me.”

“If you’re not interested, that’s fine. I just thought-”

“I’m not not interested?” Dwight interjected before Todd turned away and walked out. “I’m just, uh, not used to … this?”

“I can work with that.”

It somehow progressed, in spite of Dwight’s inherent awkwardness. Jake, Robin, Jasper, and Clay respectively waving the pair off whenever Dwight took his lunch break now.

“They grow up so fast.” Clay said dramatically while Dwight gave him the finger. Todd just smiled at his conspirator and told them to take care of the store. Not that he worked there. He was there often enough he’d take to reminding Dwight about stock orders, schedules, and that Jake had a family dinner coming up so someone had to get it covered. The store had never run so well as it did when Todd started dating their assistant manager.

---

“Where did you guys put the Manic Panic?” Ryan Cobb, actual manager of Hot Topic, called out from the stockroom. “There should be a packing slip for a 3 pack of each colour, but all I see is overstock of those short-shorts!”

“I don’t know, ask Jake,” Dwight said, standing on a step ladder with Jasper spotting him. “He was in last night when the delivery came in.”

“I’m asking you. How can you be my assistant manager and not know where the hair dye is? We have that Chang girl coming in later and I promised her we’d have her order in!” Ryan called. “I’m going on break, that dye should be on the shelf when I get back.”

Ryan left, once again for supposedly fifteen minutes- but the entire staff knew he’d be gone for the rest of the day downstairs to play with the parakeets Pet Co. just got in.

“Oh, you’re in trouble.” Robin said, amused.

“Shut up.” Dwight muttered. “I bet Jake just put them somewhere weird. Call him and see what’s going on.”

“I’ll call him. He told me nothing came in last night though.”

“Perfect, just fucking perfect.” Dwight groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Todd asked, coming in with a cardboard tray of drinks. “I just saw Ryan go by, if he’s actually in the store for any minute I’m scared the place will burst into flames.”

“Once in a blue moon, it happens I guess.” Dwight admitted, climbing down the ladder to receive his kiss on the cheek and the green tea Todd brought for him.

“What’s happening?” Todd asked, taking his own coffee off the tray and pushing the sugar-laden third and fourth cups to the part-timers he’d been subtly converting to his side. Jasper particularly grabbed his eagerly, gushing thank yous.

“Jake might have lost a delivery.” Dwight paused, “Or not? I don’t know about the warehouse, but they’ve been fucking up recently anyways. I swear I can’t find last night’s order but the stockroom does look like shit…”

“You have a computer? There should be a record of orders received and rejected? I know not everyone still does things hard copy.” Todd suggested.

“It’s in the manager’s office!” Robin volunteered. “Not that we’re allowed in there. It’s for Ryan and Dwight only.”

“Well, they can’t fire me so I don’t care about that rule.” Todd said, taking a sip of his coffee and beelining to the back room.

Dwight scrambled to follow him. “No! No! No customers in the back!”

“Oh come on, if Ryan’s going to get mad at you about it then I might as well try to help.” Todd said, finding the tiny room easily and placing himself in the desk chair like he owned the place. “Password’s hottopic123, very creative, not hacking proof at all.”

“It’s a formality, that’s why it’s on the post-it.” Dwight grumbled, reluctant to admit he was grateful for the help.

“Okay, well according to your emails it’s right there. They’re not sending it because of the USPS strike. I don’t know why Ryan didn’t notice that.” Todd said after a few open tabs and a control+f.

“Oh that’s why.” Dwight grumbled, pointing to the open tabs on tanks for tropical fish. “He was distracted.”

“Why is he in charge of a Hot Topic if he doesn’t want to even work here?” Todd asked, looking through the pages. “Like, if you’re desperate you could work for the raptor sanctuary; they’re hiring.”

“Wait, you know the raptor sanctuary?” Dwight asked, intrigued. “I have an owl there.”

“I’m sponsoring Rowena, the prairie-”

“Merlin.” Dwight finished. “Yeah, she’s the one who the workers are teaching how to do the flight tricks right?”

“Yeah.” Todd paused, “You’re Castiel’s sponsor? I thought that name was stupid.”

“It’s not stupid! It’s a good name!” Dwight said before realizing Todd was joking with him. “Oh, okay.”

“So, if Ryan is going to ignore the email in his inbox in favour of spending all his time at Pet Co. I propose we do something to get him back.” Todd said, spinning around in the chair and closing the door to the office. It was more like a cupboard with how much room there was.

Dwight looked at him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

Todd locked the door, “You’ll see.”

---

Robin wasn’t sure what was happening until he went to knock on the door and heard it. Shit. Maybe Dwight was cool.

First thing he did was tell Jake over the phone, who told Jasper, who told Clay- who told literally the entire mall by the time he’d made it in for his closing shift.

“Who knew the dude had it in him.” Jake said, punching in, careful to give the office door a lot of room. “I mean, I would do that but Dwight’s always struck me as a bit of a-”

“A nerd?” Jasper supplied.

“I’m so proud of my dads.” Clay said, already on the top of a stepladder switching out t-shirts. “Like, I can’t use that office so I don’t give a shit- but it’s also hilarious. How long do you think it takes Ryan to notice?”

“First, they’re not your dads.” Jake said.

“Todd gave me a gold star for my pins last week, they’re my dads.” Clay said, half joking, but mostly trying to annoy Jake.

“Okay, fine. Secondly, Ryan isn’t going to notice shit. If he hasn’t notice you’ve been stealing lip rings to wear while at work he is not going to notice Dwight’s boyfriend fucked him in the office.”

“Or did Dwight fuck him?” Jasper asked.

“I don’t care.” Jake dismissed the comment. “Either way, it’ll be, like a year before Ryan realizes something is up.”

Clay grinned, “Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

“You’re on.”

The pot, by the time Pet Co., Barnes and Noble, Starbucks, and Radio Shack got in on the action, was somewhere around $400. The only ones unaware, were the couple in question and Ryan Cobb.

---

“Shit, Clay! This isn’t what it looks like.” Dwight said hurriedly, Clay pulling open the curtain to the change rooms enough to poke his head in.

“Really? Because it looks like you’re just passionately embracing Todd.” Clay shrugged, “I could be wrong.”

Todd would have normally made a quip back, but he was too close to reply. “Uh, not a good time.”

“Well, you’ve got almost no time at all for this quickie because Ryan is on his way back. AKA, he’s on the elevator and if you’re here balls deep-“

“I will curse you so hard-”

“You’re already hard, I get it. Put some pants on, wrap it up.” Clay said, flipping the curtain closed. At least the two of them were polite enough to not make any of the part-timers do cleaning duties on these occasions.

Either way, Clay has a vested interest in not alerting Ryan right now. The pot was up to $800 now, and he would need that for next semester’s books. College was expensive.

---

In the end, it wasn’t Ryan who caught them; it was the night security guard who got them outside in Dwight’s ridiculously out of date Chevy. With an ‘indecent exposure’ strike on his record, Ryan had to let Dwight go. The betting pool wasn’t sure if this meant the bet was on, or off.

The next week, when he found Todd wandering past the Hot Topic to the men’s bathrooms with one lanky, gothic boyfriend in tow- he shot Todd a thumbs up and informed the rest of the mall the game was still on.

Ryan Cobb still didn’t know about his desk chair, so money was still up for grabs. Nice.

#daltonficbigbang2020 #daltonfic #mat #lols #otp #dwodd #dwight houston #todd hendricks #derek siegerson #bailey tipton #clay rizzo #jake paige #ryan cobb #jasper miller #robin woods #oneshot #artemiswrites

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sebseyesandbuckysthighs · 5 years ago

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Three Soldiers and a Baby | Part Five

summary: Three handsome bachelors find their day to day operations disrupted when an unexpected new roommate (who comes complete with a diaper and a pacifier) shows up at their doorstep. How will they deal with this new and baffling responsibility without losing their minds or killing each other in the process?

pairings: Bucky x Reader (eventual) featuring Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson

warnings: none

a/n: It’s been a minute, but here’s part five! Sorry for the shorter chapter, but things are still moving along. Getting there slowly, but surely! I’ve actually been thinking about changing the posting schedule to twice a week, but work has been a little chaotic lately so I’m not sure what to do just yet. Also, sorry for not posting/responding to comment feedback this past week like I usually do. Like I said, chaos reigns! But I appreciate everyone who’s been keeping up with the story and leaving some nice little feedback for me. You’re all amazing and I appreciate you! Oh and Happy Canada D’eh! 💖

*warning to mobile users, the “keep reading” tab may not work so apologies in advance*

| previously |

After another minute passed, Steve’s impatience was really kicking in. He placed pillows on either side of Ellie to make sure she didn’t roll around and then turned to help Sam. “Just open the damn container.” He reached out to grab the bottle from him, but Sam pulled it away.

“I’m trying to for fucks sake!” Sam exclaimed, slamming the bottle down on the table in his frustration. A thick cloud erupted from the bottle covering both men in the soft white powder. Loud peals of laughter sounded behind them as both men slowly turned to face Ellie, who was clearly in hysterics over the mess they made.

Sam’s tired sigh turned into a low growl. “Barnes owes me so bad after all this and I plan to collect large.”

“You and me both, pal.” Steve agreed before they both broke out into a fit of coughs.

———————————————————————

Steve would be the first to admit that things may have started off a little rocky, but he felt like they were on a good track now. The fact that Ellie soiled her clean diaper almost as soon as they changed her was just another little speed bump. The little insect was just waiting for it. The two men were still covered in a light dusting of baby powder even though they did manage to shake themselves free of most of it. Unfortunately they would each have to wait for a shower until they figured out what to do with the child.

The pages from the letter they found were starting to crinkle with the amount of times Steve went back to read it. They'd have to have it laminated the way they were going. Ellie wasn't due for a feeding for a couple hours and now that she was clean, they really didn't know what to do with her. How were two grown men - whose main priority was to fight against the evils of the world - supposed to entertain a little baby? Of course, it was Steve that started strategizing because, well, that's what he does.

“Okay, what we need to do is figure out how all of this is going to work and what we're supposed to expect. Sam, can you hold onto Ellie so I can go grab my laptop?” He lifted Ellie off the couch cushion and turned towards Sam who kept looking back and forth between the baby and Steve.

“How about you hold onto the kid and I go grab your stuff. You two already have a little thing going on. I'd hate to get in the middle of that.” He crossed his arms over his chest as though that would protect him from having to do anything.

“Sam, there's no way I'm doing this alone. Sooner or later you're going to have to hold her and right now is as good a time as any.” Steve held her out a little more expectantly.

There was no doubt that the Captain was right and Sam knew that, but it really did nothing to calm his nerves. To share the responsibilities and duties of caring for a child that wasn't your own was not something Sam thought he would ever have to do. Barnes really would be in a world of trouble the moment he walked through the front door.

Reluctantly, Sam agreed but not before pumping himself up a little bit first. After a few sets of lunges, a couple jumping jacks, and some light jabs into thin air, Sam was as ready as he'd ever be. He craned his neck to the side, outstretched his arms, and let Steve place the small bundle in his hands. While Steve had been watching unimpressed by the spectacle his roommate was putting on, Ellie was just staring up at him in wonder. Maybe she was still too young to think he was being ridiculous, like Steve thought he was.

After a few seconds passed with Sam holding out the baby like a sacrificial offering, he dared to open his eyes and get a good look at her. To his surprise, she wasn't crying and didn't even seem upset. She just kept staring up at him with her big blue eyes and her little fingers in her mouth, drooling all over her hand.

Once he loosened up a little bit he gently started rocking back and forth. “Alright this isn't so bad. Yeah. We can do this.”

Confident that he could leave the two on their own, Steve went off in search of his laptop so they could do some serious baby research. Whether they wanted to or not, this was happening and they needed as much information as possible. Over the next hour, they did as much research as they could. Visiting websites and blogs, even watching videos and ordering a couple books online. The mother didn't specify how long this little arrangement would last so they thought the more prepared they were, the better off they'd be.

During that time, Sam and Steve would take turns entertaining Ellie while the other worked at the laptop and read everything out loud. Steve enjoyed talking to her. Just pointing out little things around the apartment and asking her questions she couldn't answer. When it was Sam's turn he would do much of the same except there was a little bit more movement. He would get up and waltz around the room with her in his arms, singing to her while she mumbled back. He even took her into Bucky's room and started telling her things about him. For the most part he only mentioned the negative traits.

“Sam, don't say those kind of things to her.”

“It's alright, man. It's all in the tone of voice you use.” Sam said sweetly. “As long as it sounds pleasant she doesn't care what I'm saying. Even if I'm telling her that her daddy's a tool, she's still all smiles. See, look at that.” He turned Ellie to face Steve and he was right. She was smiling up at Sam as though he wasn't just shit-talking her father.

When it finally came time to feed her Sam was the one to prepare the bottle since according to him, Steve was more likely to burn it. Sam even made sure to check that the milk wasn’t too hot by dabbing some on his wrist before handing the bottle to Steve who was still holding Ellie. She was starting to get fussy, but Steve was stuck admiring the way Sam seemed to be getting a grip on their new and strange situation.

“Don’t act so shocked, Steve.” Sam said, urging him to give the kid the bottle. “They do that kind of thing all the time in movies with little kids in them.”

Steve was about to ask what kind of kid friendly movies Sam had been talking about, but Ellie was starting to fuss in his arms. He shushed her gently and gave her the bottle, surprised to see how eager she was for the formula. Once her belly was full and she was properly burped, they settled her back into the bassinet to see if maybe she would be ready for a nap. It only took a few more moments of cute little babbling before she started to drift off to a peaceful slumber. One that they hoped would last until dinner time.

“Huh,” said Sam quizzically. “So that’s all she’s gonna do then? Eat, sleep, and shit?” That doesn’t seem so bad.” He turned to look at Steve who had already plopped down on the recliner and was emitting soft sounds from his partially opened lips. The super soldier was exhausted and they had only spent half a day with the kid. This was definitely going to be a lot harder than they thought.

Sam smiled down at his slumbering friend, taking pity on him for having done his fair share of the work with little Ellie. After a handful of seconds he was done taking pity on him, though, and moved to grab Steve by the shoulders and shake him awake.

“Wake your ass up. We’ve still got work to do if this kid is gonna be interrupting our typical daily operations.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Steve said with an unappreciative groan, wiping his hands down his tired face. “Okay, what’s first.”

Sam looked down at his friend then to the cute sleeping baby. He noticed the letter was still open on the coffee table and grabbed it.

“First,” he said. “We gotta find out who the baby mama is and what kind of trouble she’s in.”

———————————————————————

Feedback is always appreciated, leave it here!

———————————————————————

part four << part five >> part six

———————————————————————

Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

———————————————————————

tags:

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sam wilson #bucky barnes fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #three soldiers and a baby #my writing

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yodawgiherd · 5 years ago

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Gradual Development

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Rating: M

Ch.123 was legit fire, so good that it roused me from my slumber and made me write for once. A spicy chapter at that, you know how I like it. And if you do too, well then... Enjoy!

Assignments assignments assignments. Head full of them, Mikasa pushed the door to her dorm room open, planning out the order in which she had to tackle the projects the lecturers just kept showering her in, only to be greeted by a sight that definitely wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Uh.”

Turning from the drawer, where he was most likely searching for some of the clothes he left there, Eren did look a bit embarrassed, caused by the fact that he was, in fact, naked, the towel around his waist and wet hair indicating that he just left the shower.

“Hey, I hope you don’t mind that I used your bathroom. Sasha said that she didn’t mind before heading out and I really needed one after the workout.”, he grimaced, rolling his shoulders, “That shit is hard, yet it looks so easy when you do it.”

Mikasa should really be listening to what he was saying, pay attention and stuff, but instead of that her eyes just kept being drawn to that one droplet of water slowly making its way down Eren’s chest. All of a sudden, the assignments didn’t feel so important anymore.

“You’re… Uhm… free for the rest of the day, right?”, she asked, gaze following that rogue drop of water as it kept sliding lower and lower.

“…Yes?”

“Good.”

The sound of surprise he made when she pulled him towards the bed was adorable. Screw it, the schoolwork could wait.

Leg around his waist, and before he realized it, Eren was lying on his back, staring upwards into Mikasa’s pale face, flushed red at the moment.

“What’s this?”, he asked, hands coming up to rest at her thighs.

“I think it’s called cowgirl.”, Mikasa watched him from this new position with interest, liking the way he looked under her. “Woman on top, riding. Look it’s just something new to try, okay? Like when you push your fingers into my mouth, or when you put my legs on your shoulders the last time we…”

“Hey, you don’t have to explain yourself.”, Eren looked amused a bit, by how quickly she became flustered around things like this. “We can try whatever you like.”

Good then. To show him just how pleasant this can be, she started stirring her hips, rubbing herself on him. She was rather glad that they stripped earlier because the way his member felt prodding at her entrance was quite nice. The hiss that escaped him and the way his fingers dug into her flesh was all she needed as a confirmation that Eren was more than willing to go along with her idea.

“Want to give this a go?”, she cooed, giving her hips a little twist.

The speed with which she nodded only made her smirk. Wrapping her fingers around his length, she positioned herself over him while holding him upright, slowly sinking down after. Eren was mesmerized, staring at where they were joined, watching himself disappear into her, inch by inch, the wet tightness sucking him in.

“Holy fuck.”, he breathed out when their hips were flush against each other, while Mikasa struggled for breath on top of him. It was different this way, deeper, and she felt more stretched than normally. But in return, it gave her complete control over it, the whole thing, and she did love being in charge. Slowly, experimentally, Mikasa started circling her hips, gasping at the way his member kept pushing at her walls. Her eyes kept fluttering closed, but she forced them open because watching the way Eren groaned and moaned underneath was so worth it. When the stretching stopped being so irritating, she paused, and soon Eren looked back up at her, most likely wondering why the wonderful massage halted.

“You like that?”, she asked, although she knew the answer already.

“L-Love it.”

Dragging a single finger down his face, she made a quick stop at his chest to pinch his nipple, experimenting. Hers were sensitive, and Eren did love playing with them, so what about his? And from the way he shivered, her guess that his were too was rather accurate. Satisfied, she started rocking back and forth, finding a rhythm she liked.

“Then let me take care of you.”

The broken whine that he made, that was all the answer she needed.

“Wait, wait stop.“

Those words were everything that Eren needed to pull out immediately, sitting back on his knees and watching Mikasa calm her breathing. They were still new to this, this whole sex thing, so naturally he just thought that he did something that she didn’t like, but instead of explaining herself further, she flashed him a nervous smile.

“I want to try something.”

Again?

“Try what?”

Twisting beneath him, Mikasa managed to scramble on her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder.

“I want you to do me like this.”

“Like this?”, Eren crawled closer, slowly dragging his hand over her beautiful ass, “You want me to fuck you like this?”

“Obviously.”, she rolled her eyes at him, signifying just how stupid that question was.

If she wanted it, he certainly wouldn’t object. Carefully guiding himself back, Eren had to grab at Mikasa’s hips for support, the feeling of her just as overwhelming as the first time, maybe even more.

“Like this?”, he panted out, the question met with a feverish agreement.

“Y-Yea, just like that.”, the look she threw him was one of pure lust, “Eren, move.”

He would never say no to that.

“How did you like it?”, she asked after the deed was done, and they were just tangled together on the bed, breathing each other’s scent. “The position.”

“What, we are grading our sex now?”

She pinched him.

“Just answer the question.”

“Miki, anything with you is an A+, but if you are asking about the specific way then…”, Eren’s bran usually didn’t function right whenever she took her clothes off, so recalling details was hard, but he managed to get the overall picture into his mind, “I liked the depth, and the freedom of movement it gave me, but you were too far. And I didn’t get to see your face when you came.”

“Right, that’s a big minus.”

“You’re just saying that because you never saw yourself climaxing.”, fingers combing her hair, he grinned at her, “You have this special thing, this face when your mouth is open, tongue out, and your eyes roll back. It’s fucking adorable, I love it.”

Mikasa seemed a bit embarrassed, murmuring something he didn’t catch and averting her eyes, so he entertained himself by letting his eyes wander all over her naked body, taking in the perfection he would never grow tired of. During his inspection, he came across some marks that certainly weren’t there when she came from class, which meant that he made them, no one else. Love bites on her neck were normal, but the mark of his teeth on her shoulder was a new one, same as the red spots on her hips where he gripped her while thrusting in.

“Was I too rough?”, he asked, tracing the proof of their lovemaking with the tips of his finger, worried.

But as was usual with Mikasa, she surprised him once more.

“No, I don’t mind.”, shaking her head, she grabbed his hand, raising it to her mouth and pressing a kiss to it, “I actually like it when you are rough with me.”

“You do?”

Mikasa nodded, still slightly blushing.

“What about you? Do you like it when I get rough on you?”

“I… Uhm…”, Eren pondered the question, but there really was no point in denying when that really did enjoy when Mikasa let herself go, pressing him into the mattress and slamming her hips into his with a force that rocked the bed frame. Especially not after she herself admitted to liking it so freely. “I like it too.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“Great.”

“Amazing.”

“Spectacular.”

“Astounding.”

“Miki, I’m too tired to think.”, to muffle her victorious cry, Eren pulled her close, pressing his mouth against hers. “Let’s just say that it’s cool that we both like getting a little rough and leave it at that.”

“Sure. But I still won.”

Eren rolled his eyes.

Mikasa hated officiality. Especially when she got summoned into her professor’s office and made to wait on his dumb couch while the man was doing god knows what. In accordance with her feelings about this, she dressed in the most punk way she could think of. Lace-up combat boots that went all the way up to her knees, fishnets and a short skirt, combined with a shirt adorned with the edgiest picture she could find in her wardrobe, leather jacket, and heavy eyeliner and black lipstick. There, no one could call this formal, even in their wildest dreams. Fuck the system.

But all her efforts would be fruitless if the man didn’t show, so here she was, tapping her foot against the floor, impatient to be finally done with this shit. The door finally creaking open, he entered, sparing her only a passing glance before he pulled in a chair and sat down next to her, clearing his throat.

“Miss Ackerman, thank you for coming.”

She just nodded, not feeling the need to make a vocal response.

“I’ve been going through your exam results,”, he continued, seeing that she was giving him the silent treatment, “and it’s bad, really bad. With scores like these, I don’t think that I can let you finish my class successfully.”

Mikasa’s eyes went wide. What was this asshole saying? She couldn’t fail this class, there was no way.

“Seriously?”, she asked, and the nod he gave her planted a stone inside her stomach.

She. Couldn’t. Fail. Whatever it took. Internally grimacing, she shuffled a bit closer, looking up at the professor’s bemused expression.

“Listen, I uh... I would do anything, and I mean anything, to pass this class.”, reaching out, she put her hand on his thigh, close to the crotch, “You get me?”

Oh, he seemed to understand, grinning.

“Anything?”

Mentally cursing him, she nodded.

“Anything.”

“Well, you could…”, his hand touched her face, caressing her cheek, “you know…. Study?”

Mikasa jumped to her feet, giving the lector a very irritated look.

“Screw you, Eren, do you really have to put your jokes into everything?”

He was laughing, the bastard, doing his best to try to hold it in, and failing miserably at it. But she was far from amused. They were still not very comfortable with things like roleplay, and it certainly didn’t help when Eren just had to ruin it all for a punchline. Frowning, she turned to leave, but he caught her hand, shaking his head.

“Miki please, I’m so sorry okay? The setup was just way too good.”, lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed the tips of his fingers, doing his best apologetic expression, “Can we go again? I promise I’ll do it right this time.”

Normally, she would tell him to fuck off, but after wasting all this time on picking her outfit and doing the makeup, it would be a shame to just let the evening crash on the fact that Eren couldn’t keep his mouth shut sometimes.

“All right, last chance.”, Mikasa conceded, sitting back down, “But if you do shit like this again, I’m leaving, and you can suck your own dick. Understand?”

“I’m not sure I’m physically capable of doing that, but I get you. Crystal clear.”

“Okay.”, she sighed, “Let’s go again, but you’re on thin ice.”

“Well, there’s something you could do for me then.”, Eren’s hand grabbed her own, moving it right above his growing excitement. “If you really do want to pass.”

Dropping to her knees, Mikasa freed him, working the length with her hand after, watching the way his breathing labored. For this, she’s going to make that joker beg for it, that was for sure. Smirking, she got to work.

In the end, it was a rather pleasant evening. Even with Levi looking at the brink of biting Eren’s head off, for no apparent reason, Mikasa was a delight, more than making up for it. That came partly from Eren being the designated driver for the evening, allowing her to get tipsy, which translated into a bit more giggling and flushed cheeks than usual. After saying their goodbyes to her brother, she didn’t say much, just nodding her head to the rhythm of the music on the way home, so Eren guessed that she was tired. But when they reached their parking spot, and he tried getting out of the car, an iron hold appeared on his arm, holding him in place.

“What’s up?”, he asked Mikasa, who’s been casting suspicious glances all around herself.

“You’ve been really nice tonight.”, she said, undoing her seat belt and shuffling closer, her greys meeting his green eyes without blinking. “I think you deserve a reward.”

Before he could say anything, she kissed him, hard, tangling her fingers into his hair to pull him closer. Now Eren was no stranger in making out in the car, but when he felt her hand push into his groin, it did give him a pause.

“Hey, what are you doing?”, he managed to whisper, breaking out of the kiss for a moment. But Mikasa didn’t let him go.

“Shhhh, just enjoy it.”, with that, her head dipped, going down the same path her hand went, making Eren’s eyes widen. Not that he was against the idea, but they were sitting in a public parking lot, and even though it was rather late, the possibility of a random pedestrian walking in on them was there.

“Wait… you want to… here?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she pressed her mouth right against his newly freed member, licking all around his length before closing her mouth around the head, and Eren was done complaining. It had a unique kind of thrill, because even with his vision going white, and the spots dancing in his eyes, he still did his best to monitor the outside, trying to prevent the rather awkward situation that would follow, should they be found out. For her part, Mikasa seemed past caring, making no effort to be quiet or anything, easily making his composition crumble. Surrendering to the inevitable, because being alert was just not a possibility with her lips around his length, Eren gave up on his guard duty, fully giving himself to her.

They were lucky. No one has decided for an evening jog around the campus, no one walked past finding his way back from a party, and Eren was very thankful for it. He was also thankful for the fact that Mikasa had no problem with swallowing because Eren was rather sure that clearing your climax from the insides of your car might not be the most pleasing activity. When he did finish, and she straightened with a satisfied smirk, he just stared at her, not sure what to say or how to thank her, but all she did was a quick wink and she was out of the car, walking towards their room as if nothing had happened. Fixing his appearance, Eren, however, did promise himself that he would get back at her. One day.

The day happened much sooner than he expected because Levi was invited to a formal dinner, by some rich guy whose wife he apparently helped get back in shape, and because he had no significant other he asked Mikasa to accompany him. Which was followed by Eren tagging along, because why the hell not. With a lot of groaning and complaining, Mikasa put on an actual dress, to go along with his suit, and that alone made the evening worth it, whatever they would be doing. And it wasn’t half bad. The food was great, the decorations were tasteful, and Levi didn’t even look that hostile anymore, actually relaxing for once in his life. When Eren excused himself to the bathroom no one paid him much attention, although the buzz of Mikasa’s phone that followed did lift his eyes from the plate. She frowned, reading the message.

“It’s from school.”, she said, standing up, “I have to make a couple of calls. Be right back.”

Once she got free, however, she walked over to the bathroom instead, meeting Eren who did his best to blend in with the wall.

“What the hell?”, she held her phone up, “Why are you texting me to meet you here? What’s happening?”

Without a word, he took hold of her hand, pulling her along inside, quickly finding an empty stall and locking them in. The beginning of her next question got muffled, because Eren kissed her, pushing her down to sit at the closed toilet. Only when he parted from her lips and kneeled between her legs, she managed to squeeze out a few words.

“W-What? Eren?”

He grinned.

“Payback.”

“You want to have sex in the public bathroom?”, Mikasa could feel her cheeks coloring, “With Levi sitting at the table waiting for us?”

A shake of his head.

“Who said anything about having sex?”

With that, he bunched her dress up her thighs, bending his head to press a kiss to right on her core after. For all her initial hesitation, the heated grind of his mouth on her was more than a compelling argument to change her mind, so instead of talking, she helped him in shimmying her panties down her legs, with Eren holding up the piece after, casting an inspecting eye over it.

“Black lace huh?”, he grinned, seeing her color even further, “Nice underwear Miki.”

Done with his teasing, she pushed his head back down, muffling his laughter by putting her legs on his shoulders while he pocketed the stolen piece of her clothing. Normally, Eren would have no problem with going slow, licking her until she would squirm against him, begging for more friction. But Levi was sitting alone at the table, and there was the small possibility of him wondering where they went for this long and searching for them. Eren did value his life too much for that to happen. So after wetting her with his tongue, he slid in two fingers instead, curling them, searching for and finding the spot inside that made her melt. With her slit occupied, his mouth was free to focus on her clit, feeling the effect he had on her in the pull at his hair, the keening that she muffled by biting down on her forearm, the increasing pressure of her legs around his neck, and of course the way her hips ground into his face, chasing her finish. He gave it to her, making her eyes roll back, crying out, the sound audible even with her efforts to be silent, which were made even vainer by the way he stimulated her through her finish, leaving her body only when she was completely done.

“I’m going out first.”, Eren said, standing up and watching the mess he made of her. Mikasa’s pupils were blown, her breathing uneven, chest heaving. Her legs were still spread, obscenely, and he could see the red marks on her arm, where she bit herself to keep quiet. “Take a minute, fix your dress, and follow me after. If he would see us returning together, your brother might get some ideas.”

He stretched his neck, feeling faint phantom of an ache there. It was clear that he’s going to have some bruises, from the way her thighs pressed into the sides of his head, but those were completely worth it. Bending down, he kissed her hair, quickly exiting the stall and closing after himself, giving her a moment to recover. Only when Mikasa came back to her senses, she realized one thing. That bastard didn’t give her the panties back.

Something sharp dug into Eren’s foot, stopping his trip down the memory lane. It was Mikasa, of course, using the heel of her stiletto to get his attention, in the subtlest way she could think of. Looking up at her face, he got scared for a second, seeing the red spot on the scar, as if it somehow opened and started bleeding again, but his worries got put to rest when he realized that its only ketchup from the fries he was so unjustly robbed of.

“Babe,”, she began, watching him intently while he did his best to clean that jumpscare from her pretty face, “I want ice cream.”

It was late. Well, early, like one or two in the morning, the sky above their heads as dark as it could possibly get. The logical thing would be to just head home and call it a night, not giving in to the random taste craving Mikasa had. But why should Eren ever concern himself with what was logical, when just being with her made him feel so warm inside that the chilly night air didn’t affect him in the slightest. Jumping down from the hood of the car, Eren offered her a hand, although he doubted that she needed it, being as athletic and graceful as she was, but then again, the heels of her shoes were killer ones, and the last thing he wanted was for his angel to trip and fall.

“Then let’s go get some.”

#snk #fanfic #eremika #smut #aot #eren yeager #mikasa ackerman

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