#tbh I didn’t feel like drawing his jacket | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hwan-g · 1 year ago

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pisces sun

p. artist! hyunjin x fem! reader | g. lovers to strangers to more, nightclub setting, angst, smut | w. profanity, smoking, alcohol consumption, mentions of bisexuality, mentions of infidelity, degradation, unprotected sex, straight up filth tbh, flawed characters — read at your own risk | wc. 3.7k | 18+ minors dni!

synopsis. the tone of his voice—don’t trust me, sweetheart. i will lie to you and get away with it—he thinks you ignored it. he thinks that was a mistake. one he doesn’t care to fix.

Hands made of coal, hands raw, unable to draw. Hyunjin stares down at them as if they’re strangers, blue and purple and transparent. The smoke above his head taunts him, throat burning, begging. Hands of an artist, supposedly, hands of a not-quite-all-thereness. All a fancy way of saying he’s useless now, no point in pretending.

But you. You’d kissed him. Perhaps that mattered more than it should. Perhaps he didn’t give a fuck you were taken or that your lips tasted like cherries and your tongue like pineapple. He just wanted the feeling back—life being breathed into him, dainty fingers tugging on his tank top, eyelashes dancing, heart beating. Wanted. With purpose. He was empty of it, desperate to be filled again.

Hyunjin had touched back. He’d stained, tainted, and was now equally as guilty, at fault. He’d warned you wouldn’t like it, the consequences had been there all along; he was always too rough, always pushing, more more more, in the dark, in alleyways, wasted, high off tobacco, stomach growling, hungry, starving, always always always a different hunger, not for food but for this, for skin, for flesh, for the thing between your legs—

He hadn’t been with a girl in a year. There was nothing delicate left in him, nothing soft now. You didn’t look the type to ask for that, not with the way you’re looking at him, stealing cigarettes right out of his mouth. A thief is what you are. Someone that could take and keep taking, shameless, ruthless in your war crime. There’s been a plan he knows nothing about, and cornering a kitten like you won’t help jack shit, that—that he knows, at least.

Too bad.

You’re cold, but he’s fucking colder. That’s what happens to boys that haven’t seen the sun in a while. They freeze all over, their heart falls in deep slumber under ten feet of snow. It’s what a name can do to you, it’s what yellow hair and freckles, a forest in the summer, a hand you just can’t seem to fucking reach—but no more of that now.

This is night. This is cold, middle of February, hard where it should be soft, softer, and it’s looking at him. Straight at him. You. There’s a jacket somewhere in his house that still smells like you or something like you; a naked tree branch, the sharp taste of wind, the first snowfall. You had no one back then, no one had you. You allowed Hyunjin to fuck you over and over and over, fuck you rough, fuck you over, fuck you up, and finally fucking leave you.

Has he ever been anything other than what he’s claimed to be? Not a good person, a miserable artist with no hands, no inspiration, that’s lost the plot, lost the ability to recognize any.bright.color in this world after, and always after, and then what. What possibly? So, you meet again. Punish him. Show him how he deserves to be treated after he manipulated and scorched you with a power of the sun that was never his to begin with. God knows he was burned, too.

You’d bitten the fuck out of his lip. His arms had shot out, had caged in, and you still didn’t look smaller, even as he towered, even as he had the upper hand. If he were to guess, your cunt was soaked. This kind of thing excited you—the chase, the fight. Even from inside the club, his instinct had been right, as if he’d smelled you. You were near, a girl that could never seem to leave him alone, here, somewhere close, and of course he’d get to you, of course he’d try.

How easy you came along, though—that surprised him, painted a smirk on his face that was too fucking hard to wipe off. It meant you still wanted him, that someone did, that that someone was you, his best mistake. His Frankenstein experiment.

“You have nothing to say,” you scoff and shake your head at him. “Even after everything—typical.”

Hyunjin smiles, he swears it’s genuine. You never gave it easy, he always had to work for it. “I’m a creature of habit, I guess.”

You take a drag of his smoke and you make it last. He wants to choke you out; wrap his long fingers around that pretty neck and make it hurt so good. You’d love it, he knows you would.

“Well now, if that were true, I’d be a boy, wouldn’t I?”

Pure venom. You were hurt, still, after so long. He almost doesn’t blame you. He’d hate himself, too. In fact, he does. Very much so.

“Ouch,” he fakes, rubbing a hand over his heart. “Hit me again. Hit me for real.”

“You’d fucking love that, Hyunjin.”

There’s the laugh he hadn’t heard in a while. Coming right out of his throat. It sounded strange, like a cough. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he wanted to take you in his car and screw you from behind, show you what he’d really love.

“Guilty as charged I’m afraid, sweetheart.”

You kiss him again. Just grab him by the necklace hanging, the silver chain that’d been a gift and twirled it around your index like a ribbon. He smiled again as your tongue slipped past his teeth, as you corrupted and inhaled him. Nothing was ever worth it if it didn’t feel like this, he decided, then. Complete annihilation of self, and yet so fucking selfish at the same time—you were terrible for each other, the best, the only, sometimes, yes, definitely.

When he buries himself in you it’s going to feel like a nuclear explosion. You’ll scratch at his shoulder, leave marks on his back. He probably won’t even be able to eat you out from how sore his mouth would be from merely kissing you. What a battle every moment, every movement against you, with you.

You hate him just enough to try to love him, and that’s exactly what he needs.

He digs his nails into your scalp and pulls your hair. His knee pushes past your thigh and forces your legs open—when he applies pressure there, you gasp, you exhale. You sigh into him. He sees right fucking through you. You want this as much as he does. You’ll do anything, too, be anything.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t bend you over right now,” he rasps in your ear, as his hand circles your wrist, brings your fingers to pay attention to the wetness he feels on the fabric of his pants. “You’re fucking soaked for me.”

Your lips are dry as you breathe. His tongue instinctively licks over the pink, teeth grazing, cheeks cold but insides burning. You look at him with a finality he doesn’t want to face.

“We’re not fucking,” you say, but you watch closely as he brings those fingers to his mouth and licks them all the way down to the base of your knuckles.

Hyunjin hums, not convinced. You taste incredible, just as he remembers. “You’re throbbing, aren’t you? You’re arching your back to dry hump my knee, angel. Your body can’t lie to me.”

You’re on fire, a fire. You’re everywhere, you’re crackling. “But I can’t lie to you.”

It’s the boyfriend, isn’t it? Bitterness will never taste familiar in his mouth. “You’re right,” he agrees. “That’s my job, isn’t it?”

“Don’t feel too sorry for yourself.”

He moves his knee to match your rhythm. You hiss, and drop your forehead on his chest. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and brings you closer, closer, closer. There��s hair in his eyes, a beating heart right under his. He lingers, and inhales deeply. He won’t regret missing you, just as he won’t regret taking back from you. You will leave with him and you will do it willingly, without any second thoughts.

“Drop the act, sweetheart, will you? Burn me alive.”

He feels you moving your head, feels your need to pull away. He keeps you there, and switches his leg for his fingers. By the way your body pulled like a string, he figures you like that better. So, he brushes, remembers how to paint. A stroke there, here, and then a line downwards…

The moan that escapes you feels like compensation. A mewling thing, almost reminiscent of a cry. There’s tears running down your thighs, he wants to tease you, but he’s sure you can feel them. Your legs are bare, freezing. You were never scared of a little cold.

“Hasn’t he noticed you’re gone?” He taunts you, condescending, suffers with you. “Surely he should’ve come out looking for you by now. Where’s your knight, huh? Why hasn’t he caught me playing with his girlfriend’s little cunt yet?”

Your fist digs into his collarbone. “Shut up, Hyunjin. You’re only doing this to aid your fantasies.”

Touché. “And yet he’s nowhere to be found.”

“What would you do, anyway?” But you’re panting, you’re shaking. His middle finger, the one with the ring—it’s deep inside you now, it’s curling, it’s found you. “Beat him up? Please. He’s better than that, you’re worse than that.”

He feels his lips curve, and stretch. There’s malice running through his veins, barely contained. “How well you know me,” he muses, his voice but a whisper. His hand cups, moves faster. He has you where he wants you now. His arm digs around the small of your back, as he feels you struggle to get more, to find better friction, release.

Not too far now.

“I know you, too,” he continues, voice rough, on edge. Severe. “I know you hate the other side of me, the one that thought you weren’t enough. Say I fucked up and should’ve stayed with you. Say you hate my guts but love the way I fuck you and come with me. Leave it all behind for me.”

You cum as a hysterical laugh rips from your chest. He rides your high and stays with you till the end. You still don’t look at him, but he can tell by your stance—you’re offended, you hate that he’s right. You hate that this wasn’t enough, either, and that his cock would satiate the thirst in you once and for all if you just gave in. Even if it’s just for tonight. He’s fine with that for right now. He’ll work for more later.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You ask mockingly but he hears none of it.

“Say it.”

“Fuck you.”

His hand forces your head up, cups your jaw and makes you look at him. Your eyes are glossy with unshed tears. He smiles. He thinks it’s mercy.

“Good,” he pets and smooths. “Say it, sweetheart.”

He almost felt you were his, so close he held you. Anyone that passed would’ve mistaken you two as being passionately in love, embracing each other like there was no fucking oxygen on this earth when apart. Hyunjin could pretend that was the case, if he wanted to. He could do many things.

Be inside you was one.

His hold on your face was bruising but your lips looked so plushy, so inviting. He stole a kiss as you were grasping for breath. Being with you, burning his entire collection of paintings and his art studio all together—it equaled the same thing. A madness that can only be found in him. A need for destruction of anything good that ever came of anything—hands unable to do the one thing they were destined to, but they traced your face so prettily, cradled it so carefully and yet so brutally, with all the fucking strength he possessed.

It wasn’t violence, no. It was an alikeness, a recognition from long ago. He did say there was no softness left in him, none to be found in you. What was he supposed to do with hard pavement and a cold so cold it trespassed any sort of warmth, any sort of fever?

Forgive that. He was very drunk. He craved a cigarette.

“You should’ve stayed with me,” you say finally, after a long while of silence and looking through and beyond. “You’d been kind once. A poet. You would drown in anyone. Looks like he drowned you.”

“Icarus falling to his death.” A story told by constellations.

You blink, disagree. “Narcissus petrified in place, staring down the lake. You’re no naivety, Hyunjin, no reaching too far.”

He’d underestimated you, played himself. Your finger passed over his curved lips, feeling the irony there. He pushed it away, replaced it with your wetness. He sucked on his digits, never once looking elsewhere, admitting this, whatever this was, and accepting it at the same time. He had been bettered.

Still, he needed you. Needed this.

“Don’t trust me, sweetheart. I will lie to you and get away with it.”

The tone of his voice— he thinks you ignored it. He thinks that was a mistake. One he doesn’t care to fix. When you grab his hand he pulls immediately.

It’s a short walk to his car but he smokes anyway. You changed this small thing for him now, took it away. That, too. You call him terrible, but you’re just as. It rings between you.

He opens the door but not for you, and gets inside. He leaves you stand for a second while he takes a long drag and lets his gaze roam over you, landing on your face, the smudge under your eyes. He considers it seriously, doing this again with you. You don’t seem self conscious or awkward looking back, just determined and eternally angry with him. That will do. That’s great, actually. Maybe you’ll draw blood, maybe you’ll reach for the gun in his glove department and shoot his brains out.

It’s been a tough year. If you were vain you’d blame it on his bad decision. You don’t because you know better. Hyunjin will put words in your mouth but won’t dare believe them, either. In a sense, he’s a coward, isn’t he? Even now, so close to what he wanted all along, he hesitates. Should he let you in, replace sunshine for winter, cologne for perfume—he’d sit you on his lap and lift your skirt up. He’d fuck you while staring into your judgmental eyes.

Change. What a fucking gamble.

Eh, he’ll take it. He’s nothing to lose.

“Don’t you dare fall in love with me, do you hear me?” And he grabs you by the forearm, brings you in, on top, thumbs touching under your eyes, dragging the liner further, sinking you deeper into the night.

You grit your teeth, watch as he makes you into an animal, just for him. You let him only because you’d like to be anything else but yourself right now. Not a girl that betrays and gets in cars with self destructive boys, but a fox, a cat, a wolf, something with teeth and claws that can fight her way back out, can win against Hwang Hyunjin. You’re helpless, he can tell.

He opens your mouth by squeezing your cheeks in his palm and spits in it. He waits for a reaction, a rebellion, a rejection, even, though he doubts it. Your thighs are on either side of him, and his cock is aligned perfectly underneath your warm, wet cunt. Hyunjin wants to be crude with you, wants to challenge and reshape, bring back the girl that would let him fuck her in public restrooms at random biker clubs off the highway, the girl that would snort white powder from his naked body as he was sexting another boy, not a fucking care in the world, not a clue. Sweet oblivion.

He wanted to bring the worst out of you again. He needed you as desperate, as heartbroken, as ashamed as he was.

“Love is the last thing on my mind,” as you kiss him, as you can’t wait to ride him.

What a joke. “Tsk,” he clicks his tongue against his teeth, mocking, a predator smiling at his prey. “You’re lying to me already. Good.”

Your groan against his neck sends shivers down his spine. He wants more. He wants more. He squeezes, gropes, scratches—he’ll have it, one way or another. He’ll have this, damn it all, because he can’t have the other, he can’t have him, and it’s not revenge but it’s not love, either, it’s the madness that surges through him, the temptation of something else, the pain of knowing, the fear.

You’ll understand. You will, because you care. He’ll play it against you if he has to.

“Fuck me already, won’t you?” You complain and unzip, reaching for his hardening cock between you, blinking emptily as you feel the sticky pre-cum on your fingers. “Huh,” he watches as you bring it towards your wetness, rubbing back and forth, testing how it feels against your folds.

He tries to hold back a reaction but fails. You’re as much a thorn on his side as the boy, you’ve as much control, as much influence. Who is he fucking kidding.

“This brings back memories,” you say, mournfully.

Hyunjin doesn’t have time for those. They haunt him day and night as it is. It’s enough. It’s fucking plenty. So, he grabs you by the arms and slams you down on his dick, hard and uncaring. Your back arches, your breasts bop. He thinks he heard his name come from your lips, curses following, but even so, he welcomes it all.

Being like this with you, it feels much like breaking the rules. Like not knowing where he stands in the world. Every time he got lost, you were there for him to run to. This is no different. A star to guide him, a girl that’s much like him. Perhaps only in that way, he deserved you. You deserved each other.

“Missed this?” He asks as he refuses you your own rhythm, instead opting to piston into your hole as maniacally as his mind is racing. “Your pussy is telling me yes, angel.”

You were grasping for breath, a ragged doll reduced to pornstar moans and nonsensical words. Every time his hips met yours halfway, you’d scream and dig your nails into his clothed thighs. It didn’t hurt, though Hyunjin wishes it did. You were always his favorite kitten.

“Lost your words, huh?” His hand swipes up and lands on your tear stained cheek. Your eyes speak of hate and malice as they bore into his. He smirks and spits in your open mouth again. “You used to love this, sweetheart—your cunt can’t lie to me. It’s eating me right up.”

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you—ah!”

He picks up his pace, feeling himself getting close, and pictures shooting his load in you, deep in you; how embarrassed you’d be knowing you’ll be carrying him in there for a while, a reminder of how you fought but ultimately lost. Hyunjin loves getting under your skin, loves fucking you into oblivion even more.

He switches his hold from your arms to your neck, fingers wrapping securely around the sensitive part, just enough, just right, and angles your body in a way that makes his cock hit inside you deeper. You gasp, and try to hold onto something, anything—the door handle and the windshield, while you’ve no control over any of it now, he truly has you trapped. He truly intends to keep you, too.

“That’s it, sweetheart, clamp around me, drown me, just like that, let me see it—” he unwraps one of your hands, making you fall back, as he uses your fingers to rub circles on your clit, and it truly has no beginning and no end, your limbs are all tangled, his hips are on fire, his dick is moments from exploding, and you look so fucking good pleasuring yourself while he buries himself deep in your soaking folds—

“Please, please…” you’re sobbing now, you’re in pain, he can see, but he won’t do anything about it. “Hyun—Hyunjin, I can’t, I can’t—”

“You will,” he growls, and he stills as he spurts, as your walls clench around him, as he paints them white. He withdraws his hold, and pulls you close, your skin sweaty against his feverish face. He wraps around your waist, and his forehead falls against your shoulder, hair wet, wrapping tighter, tighter, until your heartbeats are one, until his release is yours and yours his, until your breathing calms down.

You’re hyperventilating. His mind swarms with a thousand bees.

“You will,” he repeats, and pats your hair down. “And it’s gonna happen again and again, until nothing matters… until I’m punished.”

You’re shaking uncontrollably. He holds you. He thinks you might be crying.

“I don’t want to punish you,” you whisper in the quiet of a car that reminds him nothing of you, everything of someone else. “I want you to take me home for once. I want you to hug me and know you’re here, whole. Present.”

It’s what’s always holding him back. The deal breaker. The one thing—his invisibility being questioned. But that’s long been gone now, hasn’t it? A sunny boy banged against that glass case and broke everything inside. There’s not much of that illusion left.

“It’s not going to happen, angel,” he soothes, reassures. “Not anytime soon.”

You don’t look at him and you’re right to do so. He doesn’t want to look at you, either. Once, he’d loved you. When love blooms it never truly dies. It withers. It’s reborn again. But permanent death?

You’re sitting in remnants of a relationship, connected as only limbs can be. He can’t quite fool himself now.

“But it will,” you sound sure. Tired. Guilty. “Like you said.”

Hyunjin laughs at that. Poison ivy, wrapping around his fucking neck—his words. He’s lost worse, but a loss is a loss just the same. He has to give it to you.

“You might be better at this than I am, sweetheart.”

A huff of breath against his skin. His lip curves.

“Lies,” you say.

“See?”

He’ll usher you in the backseat, he’ll take you from behind. You won’t say another word to each other, but later you’ll call your boyfriend and ask where he is. He’ll lie, too, and you’ll know, but you’ll go back to him anyway. Hyunjin will let you, only because now he’s wrapped a string around your throat.

He can pull at it anytime.

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @j-0ne25, @danyxthirstae01, @streetlight-s, @amnmich, @imtoooyoungforthisshit.

#stray kids scenarios #hyunjin scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids smut #skz smut #hyunjin smut #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin x reader #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #skz fanfic #stray kids #hyunjin #stray kids fanfic #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfiction #—mine.

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the-dumpster-fire-of-life · 2 years ago

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Could u please make n11 with Jinx, vi, caitlyn, cat, dina and ellie?

(Hello! So sorry but I cut out Caitlyn bc six characters is a lot, so sorry but here ya go, Enjoy!)

Falling Asleep On Them

Jinx

This happens more than you would think

For both of you, really

Jinx doesn’t usually sleep at night, just naps here and there

How does she do it?

I have no freaking clue

But she was just at her desk, coloring on Fishbones because she found the parts

It was pretty bare so why not spice it up and add some mother fucking color

That it the Jinx way

So, as she is coloring the face onto it, she heard your footsteps on the metal of the huge fans

She was about to call out to you, say Hi and whatever

But she was cut off when she just felt you grab her chair and turn her around

She was confused but you just climbed into her lap and just…fell asleep

She just looked down at you for a bit before giggling to herself

She shushed herself like “Shush, (Name)’s sleeping.”

She was all smiling before she turned back to her desk and continued with her drawing

She doesn’t care if your taller than her, no matter your body built or weight

Sleep on her, she doesn't care!

It makes her happy!

Vi likes holding you, for some reason

She just likes knowing you are there

She also likes being held tbh

So if you let her sleep on you from time to time, she’ll let you take a nap on her

On her shoulder, in her lap or with your head in her lap

She doesn’t care

As long as she can continue with whatever she is doing, she’s fine

But if she were ever in a situation where she couldn’t continue in fear of waking you up

You will wake up to her frozen in that exact position

She was wrapping her hands after another fight

Really Vi, really?

Anyways

She was wrapping her hand before she looked up and saw you sit in front of her on your guys’ bed

She just smiled at you and said Hi

She was confused when you didn’t respond but she just kinda smirked as you climbed into her lap

She had finished wrapping her hands anyway and just let you

After you were all good and comfortable, you fell asleep

She did not move at all, let me tell you

She didn’t move you either

She just sat there until probably hours later when you woke up

She didn’t care if she was starving, had to use the bathroom, got bored

Her motto is “Don’t move (Name), ever.”

Cat

You don’t fall asleep on Cat much

Only when you feel like it or just need to be held tbh

She doesn’t like the feeling of not being able to move

So if you do fall asleep on her, it won’t be for a very long time

Like an hour or an hour and a half maybe

And that’s a hard maybe

The most you have ever napped on her was about forty-five minutes

She wasn’t doing much though when you did this time

She was just messing with some markers, drawing on her jacket since the previous colors had faded

And she heard the door to her room open

She looked up and just saw you plop onto the couch next to her

“Hey, Baby.” She would just give a quick smile before you already made your move

Pushing her hand aside and maneuvering your way into her lap

Cat kinda just sat there and watched you do it

She kinda excepted it because she heard around your patrol squad the day you had

She would just let you have it this time

Once you were all good, you fell asleep and Cat just resumed what she was doing

She let you sleep on her for a little longer than normal

Be happy though!

It’s an accomplishment!

Dina

Dina actually encourages you to sleep in her lap!

She likes holding you and being warm, especially on a particularly cold day in Jackson

She likes sleeping on your lap also from time to time

But actually prefers you sleeping in hers

She was about as sleep as you were when you walked through the door and joined her

She just laid there and let you climb into her lap and get comfy

“Why, hello there.”

Dina just bid with a smile, hugging you for a moment as you just laid your head on her chest

You both got pretty comfortable and warm

It’s no secret that you both fell asleep pretty quickly

It was a good nap

You both ended up in a pile of limbs after waking up but it’s a good way to wake up!

These are actually Dina’s favorite moments with you tbh

Ellie

Ellie is smug about you being comfortable around her and sleeping on her

She doesn’t care if your bigger, smaller or taller than her

Throw that shit out the window and sleep on her for God sake!

She was finishing some sketches up in her journal when she heard the door opened

She was sitting on her bed also and just watched as you climbed over to her all quiet

She just smiled and set her journal down

She helped you get comfortable also

“Tired now, are we?”

“Shut up.”

She would probably just laugh and lay back with you on top of her

She will hold her journal up behind your back to finish up but she also sometimes rubs your back

She will run her hand through your hair time and time again just because

Eventually, like Dina, would fall asleep too

She just wakes up and her book fell over on your back and her pencil rolled onto the floor

She probably went back to sleep

And when you wake up, you better pray she woke up also

Because she has a grip of steel and lets say this is not a situation you can get out of easily

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pocket-gems · 2 months ago

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Hi! Iv seen u redesign other gems and if you’re up to it figured I’d drop my own! The design and art are 5 years old so I’m sorry for the quality 😭

She’s an overcooked dragons breath opal! Gem is on the inside of her mouth, “breathes” fire. Was apart of the gem war but soon abandoned the cause to just go live with her partner (another gem lol)

Not a crystal gem as she doesn’t care that much about earth, just didn’t want to be apart of the war and didn’t see much of a point to it. If the crystal gems lost she would of just left lol

• By submitting a gem I assume you have read the rules and agreed for me to judge •

Well I have 1 specific issue: it looks too human. I blame the skin colour and the ear (stupid me didn't realize the giant obvious colour separation in the middle because I thought it was shading lmao). Other than that it's genuinely pretty solid! I based the redesign on my take of opals so I hope you don't mind that-

It doesn't look overcooked as in, tiny. So I totally didn't curse it. Hair and clothes got simplified because it's not broken and it doesn't need fixing. I like the green on the jacket, it's a neat touch! Kept the pants and sandals too.

I assume the gemstone is on the tongue so I tried drawing it as one. Also drew fire because why not? I think the most important (and only real change tbh) is the skin colour and pattern, it feels colder if that makes sense. Made the pattern a zig-zag instead of circular because Dragon's Breath Opal is human-made and I thought it would be cool if it had it since forced fusions also have that (and they're made by gems and that stuff).

So I uh hope you like it! ^^

(Reminder that requests are currently closed, I am finishing the ones sent before they closed)

#sorry for the delay #ask #request #tuskkins #gemsona #su #su future #sketch #others art #steven universe #su gemsona #character design #suf #su art

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dreamyautumns · 9 months ago

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So um... I feel like hiding in the pocket of Idia's hoodie would be extremely comfortable so....

Maybe Prefect got shrunk in a lab accident and rather than dealing with the chaos they just decide to hide with our favorite blue fire haired gamer?

(Please?)

Yes, I can do Idia! Requested by Anon! Giant!Idia and Tiny!Reader :D

“You know, you can’t stay hidden inside there forever.”

You were snuggled within the hood of Idia’s jacket, the warmth from his hair relaxing you as you try to forget your situation. You had been shrunk by a potion that had gone haywire, and all of this was during a joint lesson as well.

So, when no one was looking, you ducked into the folds of Idia’s jacket to keep yourself safe. At least, until the effects wore off. Idia didn’t seem to particularly care you were in there. He was pretty startled at first, but he eventually settled with the decision to keep you with him.

“I know I can’t stay here forever,” you answered, “I just need to stay out of sight so Riddle doesn’t come get me.”

Idia stops in his tracks, followed by the pressing of a keypad. A door slid open before the two of you as he entered. You presumed you were in his room now. It was pretty dark.

“Riddle-shi doesn’t like me either, y’know,” Idia grumbles, the flames on his head slowly dimming a bit. “Y-you can’t stay here in my hidey hole long! I want you out tonight!”

“That’s a little harsh for your kouhai, don’tcha think?” you asked.

“I-I need to be o-on co-op soon w-with my online buddy! W-we’re defeating the demon king in this game we’ve been playing! N-not like a normie like you would even understand…”

You tilt your head as you pop out of Idia’s jacket hoodie. You climb out onto his shoulder and look over to see him getting comfortable on his chair.

“I like video games!”

Idia pauses. “Y-you do?”

You nod. You wanted to try and understand him better by talking to him. “One of my favorite genres is JRPG’s…”

The blue-haired boy stops and brings his legs close. “I-It is?”

You nod, then slide down his arm and onto the table. You then stand before him, unsure of how to continue the conversation.

“I also enjoy platformers too! What are your favorite genres?”

Idia’s hair tips gently flicker to a light pink, perhaps to show that he is embarrassed. “I-I… really don’t mind, TBH… anything is cool with me…”

You smile lightly. “We could make the most of this situation by getting to know one each other better.”

Idia starts to stammer. “H-huh? You w-wanna have a n-normie conversation w-with me…? But I h-hate talking a l-lot!” He draws his knees closer to him and leans further into his chair. “A-and you’re so tiny, t-too… it’s just l-like Little Nightmares…”

You tilt your head. “Is that an indie game?”

Idia nods. “H-horror game… you remind me of the p-protagonist…”

“Do you wanna hold me?”

Idia looks taken aback. “H-hold you? W-when you’re so f-fragile and easy t-to squash?! T-too big of a responsibility… c-can I “nope” outta this?”

You sigh and decide to back off to give him some space. You sit down on his desk and gently turn away from him to allow him time to calm his nerves.

As soon as you turn away, a shadow covers your body. You have no time to whirl around before a heavy object pats your head. You look up and realize it is Idia’s finger, and he seems to want to rub your head. You decide against turning around to not worry him.

Idia seems to mumble under his breath as a gentle pink light comes from behind. “They’re kinda cute…”

You decide to turn around. As soon as you do, Idia’s hair reverts to burning bright blue as he shies away and turns on his monitor.

“Y’know, Shroud, we’re friends… so you can talk to me if you ever want to, ok?” you remind him. Idia looks down at you and blinks his shining yellow eyes.

“R-really…?”

You nod. “Mhm! It’s a promise!”

Idia cracks a tiny grin and tilts his head. “O-once this whole shrinking f-fiasco is over… m-maybe I can write you or something…”

You nod in agreement. “Ok! Deal.”

#twisted wonderland g/t #twisted wonderland #idia shroud #g/t writing #g/t

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oumaheroes · 1 year ago

Note

ok ok I know you're probably busy and all and you just wrote something for an anon buuuuut im begging for some ireland and north bonding, i loved reading your england and north fic seeing england telling north no but north saying ireland would let him was hilarious tbh. need some irish bois being nice to eachother pls

All for you, Anon

------

Bog Bodies

On his haunches, North took a sip of water from his bottle with one hand and rummaged about his rucksack with the other. The findings were poor: some sandwiches at the bottom under his jacket, now partially squashed, a packet of crisps that had miraculously not popped after he’d sat on the bag forgetting that they were in there, and one lone chunk of Yellowman. Abysmal. He should have thought to pack more, he knew that this wasn’t going to be a short adventure. A Jammey Joey at least.

‘How long do you think they’ll be till they’re done?’ He asked his brother, glancing up at him and jerking his head towards the action they’d spent most of the day secretly watching. ‘Till they finish up here, like.’

Ireland shrugged lazily, ‘Until they’re done finding things, I expect. There’s a lot of peat to cover.’

‘Okay, how long till we’re done.’

‘Till it feels time to go.’

In comparison to North squatting on the floor like a grubby troll- he’d been standing for hours and he was tired- his older brother was leant against a wide, fat oak, his long arms crossed over his chest. He was looking at the happily buzzing archaeologists in the distance carefully, watching for their discoveries or any misbehaviour North couldn’t quite tell. The humans been there ever since the news of the headless corpse the day before, having swarmed the old bog as soon as they’d been alerted, and had been ferrying their equipment to and fro and generally making a big mess of the place ever since. Ireland and North had come to join them not long after, watching them map out the area and begin to excavate whilst the land owners waited on the sidelines.

North eyed Ireland’s own much fatter and well-stocked bag enviously, ‘They’ve already found the most important thing, though.’

Ireland snorted and grinned, ‘That’s subjective.’

‘Not really. Headless ancient corpse versus...?’

Ireland rolled his eyes but didn’t reply.

‘Could always be another in there, I suppose.’ North stood and shook out his feet.

‘Might well be. That sort of thing was common.’

‘They seem to be popping up all the time now.’

‘More in Denmark.’ Ireland ruffled his floppy hair off his forehead and recrossed his arms, ‘But different thing, obviously.’

A bog body was a bog body, as far as North could see. Tanned, leathery skin, well preserved nails and hair. Facial features which looked more lifelike than North would like if he were honest with himself, younger and closer to the modern day than could first be perceived considering the age of some of the finds. Many hundreds, sometimes thousands of years old. Where they came from and how they came to be in the bog in the first place was generally as unknown from one case to another, but the morbid curiosity about them was the same. Quick peeks into the past always held a draw.

This was different though, as Ireland had said. This was theirs. Or rather, the man they had found this time around chopped in half in the peat was Ireland’s.

More than even that, North realised. The discovery of this ancient person was more Patrick’s the person than anyone other than their close family would ever know. Someone he might once have known personally and things he might have owned, a culture he had once shared and understood and encompassed. His personal history as well as his people’s, depending on how old this particular find was.

‘You hoping they find something that you once dumped in there?’ North asked him, trying to sound nonchalant about the question.

Ireland let out a bark of laughter, ‘Not here. Might not look like much now but this place was special. Too special to piss about around.’

‘But you dumped stuff in other places, then.’

‘Not dumped.’ Ireland corrected, ‘I used to leave little wooden figures about here and there.’ He held up his hands about a foot apart, ‘Maybe this big. Added along to ceremonies people held or whenever I passed by alone.’

‘What for?’

‘What for is a question.’ Ireland frowned thoughtfully and glanced back out to the archaeologists. ‘Several reasons. Luck, offerings, promises. Can’t remember all of them. Copied what Mama used to do.’

Several branches of questions opened up at once. His brothers didn’t talk about their mother or childhood often- topics easily brushed off or for some reason hard to bring up in the first place- and North always felt uncomfortable poking at the former. Mama was a parent who was potentially his, but wasn’t, someone he felt that he should love and respect when she was as distant to him as a God was.

Sensing that this was an opportunity he shouldn’t waste, North carefully chose the avenue he felt would yield the most answers.

‘What were the idols of?’

‘People, Gods, us, animals.’ Ireland waved a hand, ‘I’ll make you one sometime. Been a while since I practiced. Or Alisdair can, his used to be half decent. Don’t ask Rhys though, his are shit.’

‘They might find one.’

‘Might do. Wood rots though.’

‘So does skin, and look what happened.’

A scurrying of men and women along their walkway and back to far afield cars made them both pause, something small and wrapped carried amongst them. The spiked edges of their talk floated back to their spot in the trees, high and excited. It was empty landscape, no human activity apart from the archaeology dig, but North could feel a thrum in the air, the last notes of what first called him and his brother to this place. Something he couldn’t name but which connected him to everything.

Stay, stay. Watch, and remember.

North wasn’t really too sure why he was here. This was his brother’s land after all, his brother’s ancient people and lost ways, not his, but still this was connected to him somehow. Or, it was better to say that it was something he was connected to, something that was apparently important for him to witness for his people’s benefit- the circle of time connecting him to his siblings’ past to fill him in on what he had missed.

There was so much of his brothers’ lives which came before him. North felt Croghan Hill at his back, heavy and looming in the summer sun. How many different peoples had that hill seen? How many of North’s own family, past his sibling’s mother and beyond? So many mortal lives caught in its shade, so many centuries before he’d even been thought of. What had any of this got to do with him, he who couldn’t understand the significance of what was being found.

‘This is for you too, you know.’ Ireland seemed to sense something of what North was thinking. He tilted his head to one side, his eyes still on the dig site and the treasures within, ‘All connects back to a point we’re both a part of.’

‘The bog bodies?’

‘Not just them, or any of what they find like this. What they represent.’ He turned to North, the usual jokey expression in his eyes replaced with something more serious, ‘It’s a culture that’s not here anymore but that is still a part of us, even if we can't see it. It matters the same to both of us.’

‘But it wasn’t mine is it.’ North dug his hands into his jean pockets, ‘I wasn’t alive to experience it. I don’t even know what any of that was for.’

Ireland looked at him, face unreadable, then looked away. ‘If you say so.’

North looked at him. ‘What?’

Ireland shrugged, ‘If you say so.’

‘What do you mean, if I say so?’

‘If you think this has nothing to do with you, then who am I to tell you any different.’

‘Wh- I don’t..’ North clicked his tongue, ‘What the fuck does that mean.’

‘What? You wanted me to tell you something different?’

‘No-‘

‘You want me to sit here and hold your hand and tell you there there babby, everything’ll be grand?’

‘No! Christ, fuck off, then.’

Ireland shrugged again, one armed and apathetic, and turned away. North felt his cheeks heat up.

‘It’s true, isn’t it? That out there’s for you, that’s your old people.’

‘Sure.’

‘Well then. Then, what’s it got to do with me?’

Ireland shook his head, his mouth downturned in disappointment or frustration. ‘Why are you asking me? You seem to have your own opinion.’

‘Why’d you have to be a cunt about it.’

Ireland snorted, ‘Being a cunt am I-‘

‘You are. You’re-‘

‘Rather that than a thick-headed child.’

‘-brushing me off, it was a valid fucking question.’

‘It wasn’t a question; you were simpering for something.’

North recoiled, ‘Simpering-!’

‘Aye, you were.’ Ireland’s cheeks were ruddy in the high way they did only when he got truly annoyed about something, ‘You wanted me to convince you that this does matter to you, give you a clean old line of evidence that you can take away and make yourself feel better with. I already did that enough and I ain’t arguing my point. You either take what I said and try to make sense of it, or you don’t. I’m not going to stand here and put up with you begging for validation.’

North clenched his jaw, his teeth aching with the pressure of not immediately shouting back.

‘People will take voiced doubt as truth.’ Ireland continued, stepping closer. He was still taller than North, still holding the upper ground, and North had for remind himself not to take the automatic instinct to step back, ‘Makes them question and think when they might not have done before. And you feeding into self-pity is pissing annoying. It’s pathetic; I don’t want to hear it.’

‘It was a question.’ North felt a shameful sting in his eyes. He pushed away the knowledge that his brother had hit on a truth he hadn’t him to voice, ‘I-‘

‘It wasn’t a question, don’t give me that. You wanted me to tell you why any of that-‘ a sharp wave of Ireland’s hand towards the humans on the bog, ‘-is for you.’

North swallowed, the core of it too cleanly said to deny, ‘Yes.’

Ireland shook his head, ‘Think for yourself, boy. Did you feel a need to come here?’

‘Yeah.’

‘If I hadn’t called you, if I hadn’t come, would you have anyway?’

North nodded. He would have, it wasn’t a feeling that could be ignored.

‘Then that’s your confirmation. That’s important for you and yours too, that’s it.’

‘But why.’

‘How the fuck should I know. I don’t have it all written down here in rules, now do I.’ Ireland moved back to his spot against the tree, standing there stiff, ‘You’re supposed to have a brain, you tell me.’

North shrugged helplessly, ‘Because my people are interested? Because it’s news. Because it’s an older culture of this island and people want to look for something recognisable that they’ve kept?’

Ireland’s expression didn’t change, ‘And what do you think is true?’

‘I dunno, all of them?’ North let out a breath, ‘A little bit of all of them for different people.’

As he said it, he felt that it was probably true. There wasn’t one good answer but the fact was that he was here to watch anyway. Ireland was right, that meant something, even if North didn’t know exactly what.

Ireland waited a while before speaking, as if he was waiting for North to say something more or question him again. When neither were forthcoming, he nodded and leant back more easily against the tree trunk, crossing his feet and the ankles to rest on his heels, ‘I’m not here because all in that there bog was a culture I was part of. I’m here to watch it dragged out of the dirt because it’s something that will mark the people today. Look for what’s the same and not what’s different, you’ll never get anywhere otherwise.’

The ancient hill and the shiny metal cars that now drove around it, small and modern under forgotten giants. The same could be said about them and the archaeologists: Ireland watching the return of something he’d lost, and North watching it unfold to learn what would become a part of him, as the humans picked it all from the peat. The old and new, two sides of the same coin used for any purpose humans chose.

North pressed his lips together, his throat feeling tight. ‘Yeah. I get it.’ He paused, ‘Thanks.’

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ireland shake his head with a small smile, ‘You called me a cunt.’

‘You are a cunt.’

‘Ouch.’ Ireland held a hand to his chest in mock injury, ‘That hurt my feelings.’

‘You don’t have any feelings.’

‘In that case, I won’t share what’s in my bag.’

North looked to it, then back to his brother. His stomach rumbled, ‘I was wrong.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re not a cunt.’

‘I know, I’m so lovely.’

‘What’s in the bag?’

Ireland toed it with his shoe and grinned, ‘Just cheese sandwiches.’

‘I take it back; you are a cunt.’

‘Your loss.’

--------

AN:

Bog Bodies are human remains found in old peat bogs. The make up of the soil- the lack of oxygen and the particular mineral make up- is wonderful for preserving organic material by tanning it to almost leather. The result is perfectly preserved people, down to the hair on their heads or the pores of their skin

This story is set in 2003 and the discovery of Old Croghan Man, noted in different sources to have been found in May or June near Croghan Hill which the man was named after. The hill is very old and part of ancient and surviving modern local mythology, but the area itself was also regarded as something very special, a portal from our world to another beyond

Bog bodies ended up where they did for a variety of reasons: murder, accident, or even sacrifice. The old Irish Kings, as is one theory suspected for Old Croghan Man, could be held responsible for bad weather, or a bad harvest, and sacrificed to appease the Gods in the bog

More sources, if you're interested:

youtube

Thanks for reading!

#aph ireland #hws ireland #aph northern ireland #hws northern ireland #hws british isles #heroes writes

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amischiefofmuses · 3 months ago

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Ghost Rider - A stream of consciousness while watching.

Decided I'mma post my notes I made while watching the movie, might do it for every movie rather than spam the feed with liveblogging me watching it. Some of it has absolutely no context and I want it to be known that especially for this one, I don't know the comics for ghost rider AT ALL so this is a blind reaction with only the movie itself as source material. I'm starting with movies not tied to the MCU or XMCU for now - then I'll be working my way into those too.

Younger Johnny is actually a decent enough actor, even if the film is super cheesy. The penance stare sequence with evil laughter, gunshots, a baby crying, screams, just so over the top I actually giggled.

Little disappointed that the cop checking his speed didn’t cut to it saying 666 - feels like a missed opportunity to lean into the silliness. So many unneeded flashbacks, yes I know what happened 5 minutes ago thank you.

The old guy is an actually decent actor, I like his vibes - wish he was the ghost rider the film focused on ngl. THE MIRROR SCENE WHERE HE’S CLACKING HIS TEETH TOGETHER AND MAKING FACES TO TRY AND TURN INTO THE GHOST RIDER, HELLO? Kjashdkjsha No wait, this whole scene of him trying to gain control is goofy. Good lord.

The ‘YOU’ thing is meant to be iconic, instead it’s so ridiculous- maybe because it’s cage. The prison scene, good lord, this man cannot act. ‘Don’t put me in here’. Pffttt. Criminals are angry he didn’t die in a jump??? ‘NICE JACKET.’

Modifying the jacket?? What ARE his powers? He can manipulate things like that just because he MUST look edgy????

I ALMOST DEFINITELY HAD A CRUSH ON BLACKHEART, this is the first time I remembered a line and it was that ‘Forgive me father, for I have sinned. I’ve sinned a lot’. Come on now young magnus, you gay as hell. No wonder I watched it so much.

The zoom on the guard pfftt. Goofy af. Finger waggle was kinda cold tho. If he didn’t blow things up wherever he went then maybe he wouldn’t draw so much attention smh. Flipping the cops off while driving away on top of the water was FIRE.

Remembering another line - ‘The suspect is going UP’, the delivery was great. Pulling in a helicopter, how strong is he actually????

I do think the elemental nature of the villains is p cool and their designs aren’t too bad, they are defeated shockingly easily though. The chain as a tool/weapon is also damn cool. Leave the old man alone dammit, stop kicking him. I know he’s a ghost rider but damn.

THEY DID KILL HIS FRIEND. I KNEW IT. Blackheart faking the penance stare working on him, this sassy little fucker. I really do have a type.

ALSO why is the old man hot, I hate it here. I would smooch that grandpa. Music choices bang HARD. Hate that carter slade only rode with him there and left, I was so hyped for the team up goddammit.

Bike giving him encouragement. Hell yeah. I’d love that tbh. Also is the bike sentient then???

DRAMATIC WILD WEST EYE ZOOM PFFTT. Reading the contract was a bit underwhelming, they could have added some latin fanciness in there or smth. ‘This is the contract. All of you,,, come to me!’

The red effect on blackheart’s eyes when he turns into legion, LMFAO NO. Turning the gun to a hellfire gun? Again, sir, what ARE your powers? Another penance stare, fuck yeah gimme the silliness.

His fire turning blue when he looks at her is cute af honestly, that is cute.

THE POSE. THE POINT. It’s kinda growing on me. Also I hope it’s acknowledged that he’s a known criminal now because,,, oof? Not gonna be easy if he can only be Ghost Rider at night. I LOVE THE ENDING SONG. Getting it later.

#We're Running It Back || Mags Reviews Marvel #yes I'm giving it its own tag #if ever you wondered what it sounds like in my brain - it's this #ooc || the birb speaks #marvel cw

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winterdrag0n · 3 years ago

Text

Bucky with a smiley face

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: There’s something in the blue of Bucky’s eyes that comforts you. And there’s something in the smiley face that you draw beside his name that brightens his days. The unspeakable words tie your bond with the man of few words himself who of course notices when you have a bad day.

Warning: Fluff, and a pinch of angst (because god help me, I can't write anything without angst in it).

Word Count: 1.7K

A/N: TBH I didn't think I was physically able to write something fluffy, but reading a lot of fluffy romantic stories from @pellucid-constellations Love Letters Writing Challenge inspired me this little coffee shop AU and my hands were itchy to write this. I hope you like it! This is my submission for the challenge. :)

You haven’t seen him for three days, but you remember he was wearing that black leather jacket over the grey Henley the last time you saw him— it means he hasn’t been home? He looks tired, with dark circles under his eyes and bruises on his left cheek. You know he’s in Avengers business and he did come with cuts and bruises sometimes but your heart still aches seeing him like this.

“One Americano, iced.” He taps his card onto the little machine in front of the iPad that serves as your cash register.

“Thank you. Do you need a receipt?” you ask while pulling a paper cup from a stack and start writing his name on it.

“No, thanks. Oh, it’s B—“

“Bucky. I know.” You smile sheepishly.

He looks at you, his tired eyes sparkle and the corner of his lips curves up a little. That simple motion gives you shivers and your heartbeats drumming so loud you worry Bucky might hear it.

He waves his hand lightly before walking to the end of the counter, waiting for the barista to call his name.

You started working in this coffee shop three months ago and Bucky was your first customer. There was just something about his eyes that radiated warmth and kindness although he didn’t smile in your first encounter. You remembered seeing his metal arm that day and he looked self-conscious so he started to wear gloves afterwards. He always ordered the same thing— Americano, sometimes hot, sometimes with ice. At first he came every day, and then he was MIA for a week, and then he came again for three days straight before he was popping up in the news for saving Senators and the other important people. You knew he was an Avenger and he was out of your league, but seeing him had always been the silver lining in your cloudy days, as you seeked comfort from his blue eyes. And before you even realized it, you were having a major crush on him.

Today is the first time he smiles at you, and at the receiving end of that devilish beautiful smirk, you’re so gone. You know your crush has officially become an infatuation, or worse, you might be in love with him. Is that even possible?

Like usual, you write his name the only way you know how, with a smiley face at the end.

Bucky ��

And today, you add some words, because that smile makes you greedy. Feeling bold, you can’t help not to let him know how you feel.

‘Glad you’re okay. Rest well.’

***

He skipped coming to the coffee shop yesterday but today he enters the place looking so fresh, as if he slept for the whole day. He taps his fingers in front of your iPad and says, “Flat white, please.”

You look up, looking surprised.

“Yeah, I’m feeling adventurous,” he says cheekily. He’s come a long way from keeping his distance from you to starting a little conversation. He even stopped wearing the gloves, confidently showing the distinctive looking metal.

“That would be $5.20,” you say with a controlled smile.

He taps his card into the machine and says, “Thanks, um— Y/n, right?”

You can feel your cheeks heat up, your name on his lips sound so... unbelievably sexy. You swallow dry air and stammer, “Um, yeah, I—, uh…” And you suddenly forgets how to function like normal human being and stupidly turns your back pretending to look for a paper cup under the cabinet.

Bucky waits until you turn around and face him again to say, “And I’m Bucky… you knew that already.”

You take the sharpie and write his name on the paper cup. “Yeah, got it.”

Bucky ☺

“All right.” He taps his vibranium fingers at the counter again before waving them cooly to you. “See you tomorrow, Y/n.”

There it is again, your name on his lips.

***

“Americano, please,” he says with a gentle tone.

“Oh, you didn’t like the adventure?” you ask earnestly.

“Not a dairy kind of guy.” He grins.

“We have soy milk, or oat milk,” you offer.

“Yeah, no, I think I prefer my coffee black.”

“Sure.” At this rate, you can write his name without even looking.

Bucky ☺

“Thank you, Y/n,” he says while tapping his card to the machine.

“You’re welcome, Bucky.”

He smirks, “That’s the first time you say my name.”

“Oh, sorry, is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course… it just—“ He doesn’t finish that sentence.

“Just…?”

“It feels… weird.”

“Weird?” you ask worriedly.

“No, no. Don’t get me wrong— shit. I’m bad at this. I meant… It felt foreign, but good. Definitely good.” He smiles faintly at you before giving you that look, the kind that makes your knees lose all their strength, you swear you’d fall down if your hands don’t grab the counters.

“See you, around, Y/n.” And then he walks to the end of the counters, leaving you gasping for air.

***

Bucky doesn’t realize he skips his steps on the way to the coffee shop. The Avengers headquarters serve coffee for free and it tastes just as good, but he knows he doesn’t come to the coffee shop for the coffee.

He noticed the way you looked at him whenever he pretended to study the menu— he’d choose Americano anyway, or the way your eyebrows rose the moment he entered the coffee shop. At first he just liked the feeling of being wanted, of knowing someone was longing to see him, especially after a tedious and tiring mission, but lately there’s just something in the way you write his name that makes him finally feel again.

Bucky ☺

There’s something about that smiley face that expresses more than any words could. Along with your shy lopsided smile, they brighten his day.

When you said your name, Bucky had goosebumps all over his good arm. He loved the way his name sounded on your lips. He never thought he could feel like this again, he didn’t even know if it was even possible. You’d unlocked something that he thought hidden forever and you’d thawed what he thought had been frozen.

But today, you look different. Your eyebrows didn’t rise when he entered the coffee shop and he had to clear his throat twice before you finally noticed him.

You smile at him, finally. “What can I get you, Bucky?”

“Just Americano would do,” he replies politely.

Both of you stand awkwardly with a counter separating you. He wants to ask about you, about your day, your favourite movie, about what you’re doing in your free time, or if you’d like to go to the park with him.

But there he is, just standing, saying nothing, while tapping his stupid card onto the stupid machine.

“Thanks, Bucky.” You smile faintly at him, and then turn your body to the side, writing his name on the paper cup.

Letting out a soft sigh, Bucky walks away to the end of the counter. He’s still watching you from the corner of his eyes as you’re smiling at the next customer, taking their orders.

But you seem off and it worries him. He’s trained to read body language and he knows you’re not feeling okay.

The barista puts down the cup on the counter as he calls his name. He nods lightly at him while grabbing the cup and his heart sinks when he reads his name.

Bucky.

Just Bucky, without the smiley face.

He freezes for a while, thinking if he should do something about it, but he’s lived long enough to know better, not to poke his nose into areas that don’t concern him.

Although… you concern him.

***

You watch Bucky’s back as he steps out of the coffee shop. Somehow the lump in your throat gets bigger and hotter and you grit your teeth so your tears won't well up.

You had a sucky morning and you wish you had someone to talk to. You wish Bucky would offer to lend his ear to you, but then the words that your step Father said this morning linger in your mind. ‘Get lost, you useless bitch. You’re just like your Mother, nobody loves you and you’ll die alone!’ You know it’s not true, you know he said mean words whenever he visited and you refused to give him money, but no matter how many times you tell yourself to ignore, sometimes those words manage to infiltrate your fragile heart, especially when the heart has been loving someone one sidedly for so long, growing insecurity upon your self-worth.

You’re helping Jack, the barista, to unpack some soy milks when the door opens and Bucky stands there, like a deer in the headlights, hesitating his steps.

You look at him, his eyes are fixed at you, his mouth agape before he is finally able to move and call your name.

“Yeah?” You answer just as softly as he walks closer to you.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Um… yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why— why do you…” You’re not sure how to finish that sentence.

“You didn’t put a smiley face on my cup.” He raises his brows while showing the papercup to you, his eyes wide and vulnerable, locking yours. “I thought… if maybe… you had a bad day.”

Your heart swells, it skips a beat, you’re not sure what’s happening in your body. A wave of relief rushes over your stomach and your chest suddenly feels so light.

“When does your shift end? You wanna… go for a walk?” He asks, his eyes still glued to yours, telling emotions that words are unable to say.

“His shift is over, actually.” Jack winks at you.

You smile at Jack gratefully, mouthing thank you.

Curving his lips, Bucky offers his right hand to you, his blue eyes are kind and open. You take off your apron and walk around the counter to meet him on the other side. Bucky smiles at you as you take his hand, feeling the warmth of his flesh as it transfers the heat to your contrasting cold hand.

You knew you were right all along. Behind his metal arm, his fully black outfit and grumpy face, Bucky is as warm, as gentle, as generous as the smiley face you’ve drawn on the paper cups. Holding his hand feels familiar, like you’ve known him all along. Your fingers interlacing and it feels so right, like puzzle pieces that finally reunite together, wondering how they survived all those years without one another.

Hopefully, they never have to anymore.

Reblog and comment are really appreciated! They feed my soul! I'd love to connect and I don't bite (most of the times).

Go here if you wanna see my other fics! Or send me an Ask!

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arcadejohn127-9 · 4 years ago

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Ahhh I love your writing sm!! Could I request how the brothers would react to an MC that's super doting and overly loving from the get-go?. Always insists on helping w cooking duty, brings the brothers coffee if they look busy, etc? pls & ty!

Tbh I don't really have a love language over than verbal but this speaks to me

In game I make my MC very much like this, overly positive and always wanting to help. Not because I have to, I could easily pick more honest or teasing options but when it comes to it. My first instinct/Response is those options because I like the idea of being helpful to people

It's only when people start using that for their advantage or make me help them out even though I'm busy or just don't want to do it. That's when there's an issue.

Lucifer:

"oh~ Luci! You still working?"

You peered over at him at his desk, peaking from the space between the wall and the stair railing

He looked up at you with a tired expression, frowning

"I am, what do you need?"

you trotted down the rest of the steps, walking over to him with a bright smile

A tray in hand with coffee and biscuits and apple slices

"I made these for you, I know it isn't much but you're always working so hard... perhaps I can help?"

Lucifer wasn't too surprised, you were always offering your help whenever you could but it still surprised him you were so quick to offer

He didn't know how you had all that energy to face the day and then do more for others but he always enjoyed your company

"be my guest."

You grabbed a mini stool and sat beside him, you'd read over papers with him, massaging his hand whenever you noticed it cramped

He shared the snacks you got him and even revealed the mini snack draw he had in his desk

He put a finger to his lips with a smile

"don't tell my brother's, this will be just between you and me."

He showed you what he had and you picked whatever caught your fancy, happily eating as you looked over the papers

Mammon:

He wasn't use to Someone being nice to him so when you came along and offered acts of service - he was blown away!

Even over time he wasn't really use to it

Speaking of you and your acts or service; you were whistling a happy tune

A thick wallet in your pocket, you headed straight to mammons room

It was as if he could smell the money, he rushed to your side and started eyeing the wallet

"Stop peeking - it's a gift."

He looked at you confused but was grinning

"oh? The great Mammon can't refuse a gift!"

You placed the wallet in his hand, he let out a yelp at the weight of it

It was completely loaded!!! It was stuffed with money!

He couldn't believe it - it had to be a trick! There was no way you were giving him this much money!

"Are ya playing with me? Ha ha human."

"no tricks, you've been struggling with your debt to the witch's so I thought I'd help, I heard you've been getting in trouble with Lucifer more because of it so I wanted to help!"

He didn't even realize he teared up, he jumped towards you and hugged you close

Nuzzling your faces together as he hugged you tight

"You-! YOU DAMN HUMAN- NO YOU ANGEL! YOU'RE THE BEST THING THAT'S HAPPENED TO ME!"

You patted his arm, laughing and it wasn't long before he was planning to spend a big splurge on you despite his issues with money already

Levithan:

He was shuffling into his room, headphones on and just starting to calm down

Today was hectic so he was happy to finally be back home

"Evening! Don't worry, I still used the secret password."

"HUH-?! THAT'S NOT- WHY ARE YOU IN MY ROOM?!"

He threw his headphones off, face bright red

He should of known you were up to something, you kept humming whenever you entered his room

Talking about cleaning up after himself but he kept forgetting due to getting distracted

"I noticed it's gotten really messy so I decided to clean it for you but before you say anything, I know you hate when it's cleaned because you don't know where anything so I've labelled where everything has been stored if it's changed places."

He was still upset, he REALLY hated it when things are changed without him knowing first

But he looked around the room and sure enough, things were still in the cupboards and places he stacked them in and the labels were correct

Everything was completely organized! All the piled up ramen was even gone!

He exhaled a long breathe calming himself down, he was happy - really really happy

"Thanks.... just - can we arrange something next time? But I do like what you did! It looks nice - it's much better now!"

"of course, I'll ask next time - also~ I got you some special ruri-chan themed chips in hopes to make you feel better."

He moves before he knows it, hugging you tight

"STAY WITH ME FOREVER!!!!"

He's definitely embarassed afterwards and gets you out of his room before he makes himself look more like a love sick fool

But don't worry, he texts you wanting to hang out later

Satan:

Satan has been locked in his room after having a big outburst earlier that day

He got overwhelmed from all the noises and threw a book at mammon

You waited awhile before going after him, wanting him to calm down and looked after mammons sore head

You grabbed the book he threw, making a nice calming tea and even made some Apple pie

When you knocked his door he freezed

"Who is it-?! Lucifer, I'm not in the mood for your scolding-"

"it's just me, I got you something!"

He opened the door for you, letting you inside

His room looked clean for once - you didn't doubt he continued his rage into his room and cleaned up to calm down

You offered him a smile, placing the tray on his bed

"I hope you like it, I made it myself."

He looked at the fresh apple pie, his stomach rumbling at the mere sight of it

"you did this...for me? Didn't I scare you?"

You hummed, sitting close to him

"yeah a little but everyone has their bad days, you having one doesn't change anything - though you do need to apologize to mammon."

He sat down by his bed, placing the tray on his lap

"you're right I do, thank you for not just seeing me as some angry creature....I didn't intend to blow up like that."

You patted his arm, still smiling

You two sat together, you read his book for him whilst he ate and drank

He was very bashful at how supportive you are but that was you, you've always been so quick to offer help or do things for people ever since you've arrived

You were good to him, he'll always appreciate that

Asmodeus:

His love language is affection and words

Yours is acts of service

It's perfect!

Though, when it was established you were quick to help and offer your service - prepare for MANY innuendos

He'll come skipping to you, draping himself off the nearest object and asking if you want to help him de-stress

Most of the time you just have spa days or lay around doing nothing

You decided to treat him today seeing as exams were stressing him out

"Asmo! Won't you help me? I have this lovely new-"

He's skidding as he appears in the doorway, ready to do whatever you want

But you just grinned, knowing your plan worked

You grabbed him and shoved him into a chair

Before he knew it; his hair was tied up and his jacket and scarf has disappeared

"oh? What's all this about? Does my love want some special care?"

"nope, I just want to look after you today~ you've been stressing over exams so much, I wanted to treat you like a prince."

He had the biggest grin on his face after that

And treated like a prince he was

You did his skin routine, brushed his hair and curled it

If he even mentioned being thirsty you were straight to getting him a nice refreshing drink

If you're able to - please carry him bridal style - he will love every second of it

"you treat me so well, I know I'm already a blessing to this demonic world but you're just pure light."

He's so love sick, an absolute fool in love

"nonsense, I'm just helping you like usual."

Which is true, you were always being helpful to him

Thats why he loved doing whatever he could for you

"Never leave the Devildom, I couldn't bare not seeing your beautiful face everyday."

You just laughed, massaging his face and gave him a quick kiss

Beezlebub:

Another person who does acts of service as a love language

Though, do forgive him if he forgets due to hunger - he'll immediately make it up to you

At this point he's become a subconscious challenge/game of service - always trying to one up each other

Currently, he was really anxious about his up coming game

It was the biggest one that R.A.D was having and was against a smaller school in the Devildom

The brothers all agreed to come watch him play and even made banners and levi brought glowsticks

You were no were to be seen

The weeks running up to the game you were always busy and whilst you still do some things for him here or there - you were mostly out of the house

But it was but a long lasting plan

You planned on supporting him the best way you could!

When he finally rolled onto the field he felt dread when he didn't spot you in the crowd

He couldn't stop frowning until he saw you, shaking pom poms and running with the cheersquad

That's right, you joined the cheer team to show your support for the lovely demon

"I WANT TO DEDICATE A CHEER TO OUR STAR PLAYER - BEEZLEBUB!!!"

He's so flustered and absolutely shining with joy under his helmet

As soon as he could he came running towards you and hugged you tight

"I was so worried I did something that made you drift away....you did this for me?"

"of course! I'm sorry I made you worried, I wanted to surprise you."

He had to take off his helmet after trying to nuzzle your face, you yelped when it bonked you

"This is the best thing anyone has done for me, thank you (Y/N)."

"you're welcome, now go win that game! Prove those losers that R.A.D is the best school around!"

It was no surprised that R.A.D won

The players all cheered and partied, inviting the band and cheerleaders to celebrate with them

But you decided to have a sleepover with Beelzebub, feeding him plenty of tasty foods as your own type of celebration

"Open wide."

You almost choked on the cake basically shoved in your mouth, laughing as frosting covered your nose and cheeks

You got your revenge but he happily licked what he could

This is the best celebration he could ever get

All because of you!

Belphegor:

Even if your love language wasn't acts or service, you definitely got in the habit of doing it with this guy

He was spoilt from always being carried and pampered by his twin

He could get away with sleeping anywhere as long as he got things done and good grades

But you were always the helpful human, giving him snacks or fluffing his pillows

He's joked about getting a bell so he could call you whenever he needed you

That never happened

"Belphie!! You awake? I got something for you."

He immediately popped his head up and waved to get your attention

You showed him the cup of hot mocha you've recently made; sweet and delicious and has an extra kick to help with keeping awake

"Smells delicious, you made this?"

"yep! Now drink up, we got plans today."

He happily drunk it, feeling more awake with every gulp

By the end of the Cup he was absolutely overjoyed from the taste

Though you almost groaned in frustration when he yawned, so happy that he got sleepy

"you have anymore~? I could drink loads of these- make me more, you know how to make them, I'm too sleepy - it's your fault I'm sleepy."

You flicked his head

Reminding him to not act like a brat

But you did make him more and throughout the day you'd give him a large cup

You needed to do studies and make sure belphegor kept his grades up - Lucifer's orders

But he was already a star pupil regardless so you weren't sure why you had to

But spending time with your favourite demon was never an issue, regardless of his attitude

"We need to do this more, I love it when you look after me."

"I know, now write your answer, I need proof you're working so I don't get strung up."

#obey me #obey me shall we date #gamingclubpresident #aracadejohn217 9 #obey me mammon #obey me mc #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #beelzebub obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me luficer #obey me imagine #obey me headcanon #obey me x you #obey me x mc #obey me x reader

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volleychumps · 4 years ago

Note

hi! just dropping in to say i love your writing! if it’s not too much, could you possibly write a fluffy scenario or hc where you hold hands for the first time with any of the hq boys of your choice and you both are super flustered yet happy? 👉👈 thank you 🥺

AIGHT CAFFEINE DON’T FAIL ME NOW.

First Time Holding Hands (w/ Sugawara, Iwaizumi, Yamaguchi, and Akaashi)

Warning(s): none

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

Sugawara

-“Why are you so far away?” “...What? Who is?”

- glances back with an easy smile on his face at you, tilting his head slightly as you pretend like you don’t know what he’s talking about

- chuckles lightly before fake-pouting, overdramatically sighing with a hand rested over his heart

- “My cute girlfriend doesn’t even want me to walk her home from school-” “You know that’s not it!!!”

- Loves seeing you flustered, but lightens up the teasing because he knows how easily worked up you get

- “It’s fine. I’m used to not being loved.”

- smile grows when you huff, bashfully catch up to him in a few long strides, walking alongside him with heat in your cheeks

- “Happy?” you mumble, heart beating out of control as his eyes close with a wide grin at your question

- grabs your bag strap before you can walk any further, slowly taking it away from you to shoulder it onto his own as you blink in confusion

- he would never say it but he was kind of freaking out too

- slips his hand into yours gently, feeling you stiffen before relaxing, making him just cherish you in that moment as you blink owlishly at him in the setting sun

- your hand was so warm how cute

- kisses your knuckle to top it off, knowing your fuse was about to bust eventually out of embarrassment

- walks along casually, pocketing your hand in his jacket pocket while winking at you as he tugs you along

- “Much.” “I hate you!”

Iwaizumi

- “Dude you haven’t even-” “Shut up.”

- glares at a giggling Hanamaki and Matsukawa as Iwaizumi bites into his curry bun a bit more violently than usual

- “Ooooh want me to help you practice-” “Don’t come near me, shittykawa.”

- to be honest you both were really awkward when it came to this kind of stuff, because being in a new relationship from being best friends had different kind of boundaries

- “Look. I’ll show you.” “Oikawa, uh, maybe you shouldn’t-”

- is half-expecting Oikawa to grab his hand anyways, but instead the brunette is strolling his way over to you across the lunch room

- “Oh he is not-” “I think he is!”

- gaze hardens immediately when your other best friend approaches you, Oikawa talking to you with a bright grin on his face as you listen on in slight confusion

- so when he watches Oikawa raises his palm up, seeming to ask you to compare hand-sizes, he’s borderline seething

- Hanamaki and Matsukawa both have their hands covered over their mouths laughing like this isn’t happening

- stands up immediately when you hesitantly raise your hand up to meet Oikawa’s, allowing him to interlace your fingers-

- “Hajime?!” ignores you as he casually throws you over his shoulder, making sure to keep your skirt down and away from prying eyes as Oikawa pales on the spot

- “I’ll deal with you later.” As he ignores Oikawa’s soldier-salute with a terrified look in his eyes, walking out into an empty hallway as you amusedly glance down at your boyfriend

- “So you say you don’t get jealous-” “Shush. You’re not off the hook either.”

- rolls his eyes at your giggles as you lean against the hallway when he finally sets you down, looking up with a grin at your boyfriend

- “Something you needed?” “....Hand.”

- sighs as if he’s annoyed when you blink in confusion, looking off in the other direction before holding his hand out

- “...just...give me your hand, will you?” “Iwa, we’ve been holding hands since we were kids...”

- Ignores your giggles as you take his hand in yours, feeling a completely different feeling overwhelm him when he realizes he’s holding your hand as your boyfriend

- just kind of stands there, tracing his thumbs along the lines of your hand before his cheeks begin to darken

- “You can let go if you want-” “No.”

- Tightens his hold, pulling you into him as you melt into his embrace, smiling into his shoulder as he mumbles into your hair, hands finding your waist

- “...let’s just stay like this awhile.” “Tooru really got to you, didn’t he-?” “Don’t say his name.”

Yamaguchi

- First date with this baby boy means he’s probably a nervous wreck the whole time, tbh

- probably trying to hold your hand the whole time, but can’t work up enough courage because he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable :(

- No for real he tried during the movie but you thought he wanted some popcorn, so instead of your hand he got buttery fingers so he definitely could not hold your hand

- “You could’ve just said so, Yama!” “Haha yeah. M-My mistake.”

- Lord help this boy

- but when you were at the cafe, sitting side by side in a booth as you talk about the movie, you begin nodding off sleepily

- “Are you tired?! I can take you home right...now...” trails off when you plop your head down onto his shoulder, humming that you were fine before beginning to play with his finger tips absent-mindedly

- Eyes widen and he stiffens like a board before you feel it, and you giggle a bit nervously before straightening

- “Sorry, I...didn’t mean to make this weird. I’m gonna grab a hot chocolate and we can go, alright?”

- doesn’t answer as you slip out of the booth, a feeling of disappointment settling in both your stomachs before Yamaguchi swallows back his nervousness, slipping out after you a few minutes after when you have your beverage

- walks quietly behind you as he tries to find the right moment, eyes widening when he sees you yelp at how close a car was coming alongside the road of the sidewalk

- “Come here.” as he pulls you softly by the shoulder and hand, switching you to his other side

- “I’ll walk by the r-road...” breath catches in his throat when you smile, tightening your hold on his hand as he feels his chest finally relax

- “Tadashi your hand is on fire.” “D-Did you have to say something about it?!”

Akaashi

- he thought it was cute that you were shy

- but he draws the line when you’re literally physically affectionate with everyone but him

- “Uh, I don’t know man, maybe it’s because you’re her boyfriend?” Konoha tilts his head as you quite literally let Bokuto give you a bear hug in the background

- isn’t the type to get annoyed easily, but when you’re willing to hug Bokuto more than him, he feels a lick of fiery irritation in his stomach

- “...so I’m guessing you haven’t kissed her yet-” “Konoha, please stop talking.”

- literally is so smart but cannot comprehend why you always walk a good three feet behind him, or shy away from his motions to hold you

- gets so upset about it he asks Bokuto for help

- desperate times call for desperate measures

- so that’s how you end up confusedly following Bokuto’s directions to Akaashi, and you shyly peek your head into the boy’s locker room just as Akaashi is shrugging his jacket on

- “Ready to go home?” “Mhm.”

- the original plan was to be a “man” and just grab your hand while cornering you against the lockers, flustering you until you tell him the truth-

- but come on this is Akaashi Keiji, gentleman of the century

- backs out of it with a light sigh, smiling a gentle smile at you before nodding his head slightly, walking up to you carefully as you begin to fidget nervously

- “...My sleeve.” “H-Huh?”

- clears his throat, looking away before turning around

- “It’s okay if you’re uncomfortable for now, but how about holding my sleeve to start? That’s only if you’re okay with it, of course.”

- breathes through a heavy beat of silence before a warm feeling encases his hand, and he glances back at you in shock

- “I just...um, really like you, so I kind of freak out because you’re just so...perfect? Is that the right word?”

- smiles at your rambling before shaking his head lightly, turning to face you fully as his blue eyes look into yours lovingly

- “...May I?” “Y-yes...?”

- slowly keeps his hand in yours while the other cups your face, slender fingers gliding through your hair as you will yourself to stay still along with your heart beat

- kisses you on the forehead as if you were fragile, and you tremble a little, prompting him to pull back with a gentle look

- “We’ll take it as slow as you want, at whatever pace you want, okay?” as he traces your cheeks, watching a soft smile pass your face before his tone hardens

- “Just no more hugging Bokuto. I swear I can give better hugs than him.” “...’Kaashi, you’re so cute.”

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

General works: @takemetovalhalla @kasandrafaye @savemesteeb @dreebbles @yams046 @let-me-have-my-own-name @deadontheinsidebut @lifeisntjustblackandwhite @curiouslilbeast @aprettyfruit @wisepandaslimeland @h0ngh0ngh0ng @lmkjimin @therestless101 @orangegiraffe7 @dai-tsukki-desu @kac-chowsballs

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shotosprincess · 4 years ago

Text

♡ dating the bnha boys — hcs

｡･:*:･-: ✧ :,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･-: ✧ :,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

➪ shoto todoroki

pls you’ve prolly been terrified of him for a while prior bc of how ?? talented ?? the mf is ??

but mans prolly saved you at some point and there was this lingering stare you two shared before he left you at recovery girls’ office; were you reading too far into things ?

spoiler alert: you weren’t.

anYWAYS-

he’s the kind of boyfriend to tenderly brush your hair for you and attempt to learn how to tie and braid your hair up in cute ,, simple designs !!

he’d always be ready with little things you’re constantly forgetting; extra snacks,, water,, a fully charged portable charger ,, trust me when i say that man is pREPARED- after all ,, he needs to be ready with everything to take care of his little sweetheart ,, does he not ?

ONLY TWO POINTS IN AND IM ALREADY CRYING BC I LOVE HIM SM BYE BYE BYE

at some point he’d find you sitting on the roof by yourself late at night,, only to stay with you and let you fall asleep on his chest as he drapes a blanket over you and heats it up a lil with his quirk

OKAY YOU CANNOT TELL ME THAT THAT MAN WOULDNT HOLD THE DOOR OPEN FOR YOU AT ALL TIMES AND WOULD SOMETIMES EVEN GET LOWKEYHIGHKEY KINDA SAD WHEN YOU DONT LET HIM

prolly bc he just wants to prove to you that he can be useful

pls just let the man know he’s useful and important he never shows it directly but he needs the reassurance—

he’d give you a warm massage w his quirk whenever you’re in pain :”)

HIDES AND PROTECTS YOU FROM MINETA BC HE KNOWS DAMN WELL WHAT THAT LITTLE SHIT FANTASIZES ABOUT

loves heating//cooling things for you ,, like instant noodles or ice packs !!

surprises you w jewelry that have his initials on them !!

GIVES THE BEST CUDDLES I SWEAR

would hold an umbrella for u while you loop your arm into his as the two of you walk home through the light rain :”)

cries into your chest sometimes after youve fallen asleep bc it’s late nights like these when he reflects on just how lucky of a guy he is to have you— it’s hard for him to articulate it directly ,, but when he does fully open up to you ab it ,, you end up crying too .

WOULD 110% MAKE THE TWO OF YOU YOUR OWN PERSONAL LIL ICE RINK AND TEACH YOU HOW TO SKATE // DO FUN FIGURE SKATING DUOS WITH YOU

➪ katsuki bakugou

prolly got with you initially bc of a dare ( and he nEVER passes up a dare ) ,, but eventually those feelings started to become real and honestly ? it kinda scared the shit outta him . he didn’t know why ,, but for some reason he didnt actually want to leave .

OKAY LARA JEAN AND PETER MF KAVINSKY TYPE BEAT ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ HIT US WITH THE FAKE RELATIONSHIP TO REAL RELATIONSHIP TROPE YESYESYES

teasingly-mean nicknames = his love language . enough said .

AGGRESSIVE !! KISSES !! ALL !! THE DAMN !! TIME !!

makes you wear his hoodie whenever you show even the sLIGHTEST hint at being cold

he just rly wants to see you in his clothes

he’s so clueless on how to do this whole boyfriend thing ,, but he’s definitely trying bc it’s for you :”)

watches and tries so desperately to copy all the cute couples in the movies you guys watch together

“ roses...do you want roses ? “ “ what ? “ “ the guy in the movie gave her roses...do you want roses too ? “

but at the end of the day you just appreciate him for who he is and that’s more than enough for you :”)

PLS DENKI AND KIRI ARE CONSTANTLY SHOCKED AT HOW MUCH HE’S TRYING FOR YOU

will take any and every opportunity to show off his strength and quirk to you <3

now we all know this man gets jealous hella easily ,, and its no different w relationships :”) he’d constantly make it a point to hold you extra close to him in public ,, show you off on social media and call you by a nickname//petname whenever possible just to reiterate to ppl the fact that you’re his and he’s yours

WOULD LET YOU SIT ON HIS LAP AND DO HIS EYELINER AT 2AM PURELY BC YOU GOT BORED

pls i could rly see myself doing that i wont lie

honestly sometimes he forgets himself and his temper gets a little out of hand ,, but the second he sees his feral reflection in your fearful eyes,, he pulls you to his chest and apologizes profusely :”))

➪ denki kaminari

MF PROLLY GOT WITH YOU BC OF A RIGGED GAME OF SPIN THE BOTTLE AT MINA’S PLACE I CANNOT SEE ANYTH HAPPENING OTHERWISE

one tiny kiss turned into two ,, which turned into three ,, and before you knew it ,, the both of you were spilling out the pent up feelings you had for one another all this time—

mina never shuts up ab it ,, she’s so proud of her matchmaking skills

when the power goes out during a storm ,, he holds onto you tight and plays w your hair as he uses his quirk to turn things back on ,,, “ shhh it’s ok,, i’m here “

will do anything and everything to make you smile <3

he has a lil album in his camera roll with all his favourite pictures of you ,, which is practically just all of them tbh ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

HE LOVES SHOWING YOU OFF IN THE MOST WHOLESOME WAY POSSIBLE !!

super energetic n bubbly but at the end of your dates he passes out right away in your arms

you make sure to wrap him up in blankets and give him an overload of kisses after he’s rly asleep though

will work embarrassingly hard to win you stuffed animals at the fair !! it doesn’t always work ,, but it’s cute nontheless <3

some of the staff and children at the fairs get pissed off but oh well ,,, what you do for love

pls he prolly makes you lil bento boxes for lunch every now and then ( ESPECIALLY DURING EXAM WEEK ) w tiny notes and designs taped on them

constantly calls you “ shawty “ lowkey un ironically and dice rolls in ur direction whenever he sees you ,,, you just end up laughing and playfully punching him

I JUST KNOW HE DOES THE F BOY LIP BITE FACE CONSTANTLY

ITS AN ADDICTION FOR HIM I SWEAR

SUPER CLINGY BUT IN THE CUTEST WAY AAAA

LIL STICKY NOTE LOVE LETTERS FROM HIM IN YOUR LOCKER EVERY !! MF !! DAY !!!

you both agreed that at home cozy netflix dates w microwave popcorn and fuzzy blankets >>> movie theatre dates

110% made a playlist for you at some point when he crushed on you from afar and shared it w you after you started dating

he made a collaborative playlist for yall AND multiple playlists of songs that remind him of you afterwards

pls i just kNOW this man’s love language is making playlists

theyre prolly all categorized by mood or smth too w the cutest covers ever pls

➪ ejirou kirishima

you initially met him bc he was hella upset and alone this one time and you were the only one to notice and be there for him bc he ran away from everyone else to hide the “ uNmanLy “ tears :”))

takes you w him on his lil gym visits ,, hypes you up with every little thing u accomplish !!

constantly teasing bakugou with how he’s able to pull you and how lucky he is to have you

bakugou gets hella annoyed most of the time and just blasts him away-

idk bro i just feel like kiri prolly calls you “ adorable “ alot i wont lie-

LOVES HAND HOLDING,, takes any opportunity to hold ur hand and trace lil casual patterns across your knuckles w his thumb

sometimes he’ll even draw lil hearts on your hand

play fighting but sometimes the two of you get too carried away and he actually loses half of the time-

LATE NIGHT GAME NIGHTS WITH HIM AND THE BAKUSQUAD,, he loves being on the team against you so he can get all competitive

OK HEAR ME OUT;;;; DANCE BATTLES W HIM AS YOUR PARTNER AGAINST RANDOM PPL AT PARTIES

mans gets hella insecure ab himself sometimes ,, so he loves doing lil things for you !! opening a can ,, pulling the blanket over you ,, zipping up your jacket <33

STOP WAIT THATS SO CUTE BYE I WANT THAT

lets you dye his hair—THATS HOW MUCH HE TRUSTS YOU BYE

pls yall prolly aggressively play wii sports and just dance against one another on a regular basis;; it’s literally your thing and you cannot tell me otherwise ahjdjfj

pls i just KNOW this man’s an overly passionate wii player

will wrap his arms around your waist and hug u from behind as you make breakfast

WOULD WEAR MATCHING EARRINGS W YOU IF ITS FOR YOU

slow dances in the living room at midnight w you !!

eventually as you spent more time together ,,, you were able to change his idea of “ manliness “ ,, and he was able to realize that manliness is not equivalent to stoicism and that expressing ur feelings is still totally manly and totally valid !! <33

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space-helen · 3 years ago

Text

Embrace

Words: 830

Pairing: Sheriff Hassan x Reader

A/N: I still love this man so much.

Request: Helen, my dear friend, if requests are still open could I maybe request something??? Maybe a Sheriff Hassan x reader were he just bear hugs the reader when she's sad. I would love to hug him tbh. - @morganofthecoves1

______________________

You’d woken up with the general feeling of sadness. Work and the day that followed had it growing. Walking out of your house you could see that the day was coming to a close, night drawing in slowly as the sky changed colour.

Your head hurt and you pulled your jacket around you tighter as you made your way towards the one person that you knew could make you feel better. You hadn’t gone to him earlier in the day not wanting to bother him and distract him from work knowing that he would have abandoned it for you.

You stepped inside the store and quickly found yourself walking into his office fairly quickly but he was nowhere to be seen.

Sitting down in his chair you pulled it close to his desk and sat back in it, you smiled as you looked at the items strewn across his desk, an organised mess.

It was no secret to the island that the two of you had been seeing each other in some capacity and it never had been. The relationship had blossomed naturally and with strength like no other.

The door creaking open had you looking up. The man jumped slightly when he saw you behind his desk not expecting you in there.

“Y/N!” he beamed as he closed the door behind you.

You gave the man a weak smile “How was your day.”

He placed his hands on his hips and smiled, just happy to see you “It’s been ok.” he paused when he realised something was off. Removing his hands from his hips he moved towards the chair opposite you and used his hands to lean on it. “What’s wrong Honey?”

“Nothing it’s ok” you waved off.

“Something is I can tell.” his eyes were soft when he looked at you.

You went quiet for a second you couldn’t not give him an explanation when he looked at you like that. “I just woke up feeling a little sad and then work had me down and I felt like I kept messing up and that I’m not good at my job.” you could feel the tears welling up but didn’t let them fall “I just feel sad y’know?” you made a gesture with your hands and Hassan could hear your voice faltering.

“I know I know,” his voice was soft as he made his way around the desk. Coming up behind you he bent over and wrapped his hands around you and rested his chin on your shoulder, hugging you tightly to him.

You reached up and put your hands on his arms in an attempt to try and hug him back somewhat. You felt a tear run down your cheek and the man pulled his head from your shoulder. Gently he brought his thumb to your cheek and wiped it away.

You moved in his arms and he took it as a sign to let go briefly, allowing you to be able to stand up and wrap your arms around his middle. Your arms weaved under his denim jacket and you felt the soft touch of his shirt.

The man gave you a sweet tender kiss on your forehead before you rested your head against his chest and he wrapped his arms around you again.

The embrace was warm and safe. You happily breathed in his scent that you’d become so familiar with and you felt the weight of his head on top of yours as he rested it there.

You stood in his arms for what felt like an eternity before the door to the room opened and he released his hold. He didn’t want to let go but he knew it’d be unprofessional to speak to someone with his arms still around you.

Letting go you turned to see Ali in the doorway as Hassan's arm stayed around your waist somewhat

“Dad I’m going to go on a bike ride I might be back late.” the boy spoke from where he stood.

“Do I not even get a hello?” the man placed his other free hand on his hip

“Hi Dad.” he shrugged before looking at you and giving you a smile “Hi Y/N.”

Hassan let out a gruff laugh at the boy’s actions “Alright, you can go but don’t be too late alright? Be safe.”

“I will.” he grabbed the door handle in his hand “I’ll see you both later” and with that he was gone, closing the door behind him as he went.

The man tightened his grip around you and placed a quick kiss to the top of your head before releasing you. He quickly sifted through the paperwork on his desk and switched off the light in the room.

“Let’s go home.” he offered you his hand.

You smiled and closed the gap taking his warm hand in your own. He gently brushed his thumb over the back of your hand and gave you a sweet smile in return.

Tag List: (open)

Sheriff Hassan:

Midnight Mass:

#sheriff hassan x reader #midnight mass x reader #hassan el shabbaz x reader

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

was it a dream, m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: You fucked Min Yoongi on Jeon Jungkook’s bed, then you took Jungkook’s virginity because Yoongi told you to, and still you and Yoongi don’t know what the fuck you are because, let’s face it, everything is too complicated now – so I guess that’s grounds to let Jungkook cum all over your face and tits as Yoongi fucks you? Sure, whatever.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, alcohol consumption; no one wants to admit anything and there’s no closure tbh; fluff and feels; smut (fem reader, threesome, semi-public sex, fingering, f-receiving oral, nipple play, penetrative sex, doggy, facial, cum-eating); non-idol!AU - friends with benefits / lovers? with Yoongi and JK

a–dick–ted au, but can be read alone.

–

next on ‘dreams‘ playlist > pretty ting by bibi ft. kim seungmin > te quiero by twly ft bibi

"I get bored."

"Mhm."

"I don't like lingering."

"Mmm."

"... We're still in front of the house, Yoongi."

"I know where we are."

Min Yoongi was peeling your black hoodie up and over your head. Well, actually, his hoodie. It made your now red hair cascade down over your shoulders, wisping around your red bra straps. Yoongi was the one who suggested you to dye your hair. You didn't do it for him. You were going to do it anyway.

Right.

Whiskey on his breath, leaning in. Tasting like danger and sex, just because it was him.

"I like this skirt," Yoongi purred. "It's tiny."

He was referring to your plaid red skirt. Almost schoolgirl-style, except no schoolgirl wore anything that short. You used to wear it in high school when you went to the arcades on weekends. Back then, you were much skinner and trying to unsuccessfully hook-up with guys. You still fit into it, waist-wise. Ass-wise.... not so much. You filled out over the years.

"It's cold."

Yoongi hummed knowingly. His hands worked up your thighs, spreading them out. Pushed down your black thigh-high socks so he could knead more of them.

"You still wore it though."

Well, yeah. You weren't trying to pick up random guys anymore. Only Min Yoongi. Every time, at these loud ass house parties with too many drunk people and too loud bass. It was a mess. Someone was attempting to chug a whole barrel of beer and ended up vomiting in the grass.

Disgusting.

"Why do you go to these things?" you muttered as Yoongi lifted one of your legs, tucking it beside him so he could stare at your clothed pussy. Red, seamless, cheeky. Not a thong. He clicked his tongue in disappointment, but you ignored him.

"Free alcohol."

"Really?" you snorted, backing up a little as his hand neared. "I could just buy whiskey and bring it to you if you want free alcohol that bad."

Yoongi smirked, licking his pink lips. Wet, glistening. You wanted them on your clit right now. His fingers dipped down, stroking the smooth red fabric lightly. Too lightly. Teasing you. You twisted the urge to raise your hips for more pressure.

"Where's the fun in that?"

You raised an eyebrow.

Yoongi pressed down, fingertips shoving the fabric into you, soaking it instantly. You sucked in a breath, staring into his dark, cat-like eyes.

"Why do that when I can make you jealous by going to these parties and having you wonder if I've kissed someone else, touched someone else, fucked someone else?"

He rubbed your clit through the fabric and you gritted your teeth, moving your hand down, but Yoongi was faster, slapping it away. Rubbed harder, a low moan leaving your throat. You didn't want to reach up with your other hand because you might lose balance and hit your steering wheel and accidentally honk your horn. That would be a disaster.

Yeah.

Of course, that’s why you weren’t stopping him now.

"I don't care what you do, Yoongi," you panted, glaring at him.

Different house, different party, same car, the correct scene this time, with the right guy in your car, getting you off through your panties.

Why don't you have a boyfriend?

That was Yoongi's first question when he slid into your car this night. Looking fine as hell with his black-and-white flannel, gray t-shirt, black cargo pants, black sneakers. Straight black hair covering his eyes, a clean undercut when he pushed it back to smirk at you.

Yoongi curled his finger, now grinding your clit with his knuckle. Oh, fuck. Your juices leaked into your panties, darkening the wet spot and filling the car with your scent. Close.

"You don't care, hm?" Yoongi mused in a tone implying that he knew you cared. Very much. After all, what happened last time… You don't slap bitches across the face for no good reason.

"She was making out with someone who couldn't consent from my point of view."

There was a dark sparkle of mischief in Yoongi's eyes.

"Who was? I wasn't referring to anything in particular."

Shit.

Your face heated and you grinded into his hand, breathing hard, not caring anymore. Whatever. Who cares what Min Yoongi thought? You were going to get off and whether he was there or not didn't fucking matter. Yoongi pressed his knuckle into you, dark hair shadowing his eyes, soft exhales as he watched you near your peak.

"Cum for me," Yoongi breathed, raspy and deep. "Right here, in front of this party, in your panties, and on my hand."

He could make you do anything.

You bit your lip and pressed the back of your head into the car window, shutting your eyes, letting the whines out. Pleasure warming you, tendrils of heat crawling up your torso from Yoongi's hand, your soft voice telling him he was so good and he was purring your name, drawing it out, so sexy in his husky tone saturated with lust.

"A-ah, Yoongi..."

Your back arched and your breathing hiked, onto the edge and then falling, falling, Yoongi's knuckle suddenly slicker, your hips rocking and shivering, whimpering as the pleasure shocked your heart, beating so fast and hard that you felt your pulse in your throat. You heard Yoongi snicker, spreading his fingers out, pressing them to your wet panties, shoving them into your folds, rubbing soothingly.

"I like this most," came his smokey whisper behind your closed lids. "I always have the most fun with you."

You're such a bad boy, Min Yoongi.

You breathed out in long, smooth breaths, trying to calm your speeding heartbeat. Yoongi's hand still on your crotch, the other on your thigh, squeezing it.

"Noona, open the door."

A muscle in your eyebrow twitched. You sucked on your tongue and opened your eyes. A clear voice with silvery depth. It had come from behind your head. You made eye contact with Yoongi.

He looked thoroughly amused.

You turned your head partway to see your side mirror. Yup. Ash blond hair, dark eyes, black tattoos as his right hand tapped your car window, tan skin, sharp jawline. White turtleneck, white denim jacket over it. Black jeans.

The wrong guy. Jeon Jungkook.

You heard your car doors click and, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Yoongi press the button to unlock them. Hmph. Jungkook moved from the front seat to open the backseat. Climbed in like he owned the damn place. He also smelled like alcohol, but all kinds, unlike Yoongi's whiskey scent.

"Hey, hyung."

"Hello, Jungkook."

You didn't look at him.

"Hey, noona."

"Get out of my car," you spat.

"Should I get out of the car, hyung?"

"No. She doesn't mean it."

You glared daggers at Yoongi, who smirked widely. Your legs were spread open in Yoongi's lap, your hoodie was off, there was a giant wet spot between your thighs, your skirt was far too short to cover anything, and your red hair was in disarray, fucked up by Yoongi's insistence. Your eyes flickered to Jungkook, who looked back at you. You thought he would be gazing at your body, but he wasn't. He was staring at your face.

Somehow, that was worse.

Your neck heated and you looked away from those brown eyes, to the house. Jungkook's female harem was at the porch, gaggling at your car. Seven of them. Why was there seven? That's a random number, you thought. They were beginning to recognize your car. Hmph. Well, you can have him, just leave me and Yoongi alo–

You gasped as Jungkook pulled the lever of your seat, dumping you to the back of the car, scooping his arm around your shoulders, grabbing your head and kissing you hard, tasting like alcohol and smelling like laundry and the sea. You moaned into his mouth as Yoongi slipped under your panties and shoved two fingers into you, grunting at your tightness. Jungkook's soft tongue slid into your lips, your name mumbled onto your tongue, rubbing it as Yoongi fingered you. Too much simulation at once. Jungkook's free hand pushed up your bra, exposing one of your breasts and pinching your nipple. You whined, hips bucking into Yoongi's hand, too much, it was too much, Jungkook’s rough kisses and Yoongi's long fingers, and you felt the wet squelch as it all spilled out, gushing down Yoongi's hand, chest heaving in Jungkook's arms, moaning your release into the younger man's mouth.

Jungkook broke the kiss, scrambling down as Yoongi removed his fingers. Yoongi brought them to his face and swirled his tongue around his digits. He hummed approvingly around his fingers as you whined, feeling Jungkook's hot tongue lap up the rest, licking at your swollen clit, sensitive from Yoongi's prior work.

"Don't put your dirty tongue on me after you've ate out other girls all night," you gritted out, hand reaching down to grip Jungkook's blond hair. Not pulling him away, but not pushing him in either.

"I didn't eat anyone out," Jungkook murmured into your pussy, vibrating the slick lips with his low voice. "Hyung told me you were picking him up and that you would pick me up too."

You said no such thing. You gave Yoongi a peeved look and Yoongi just smirked around his wet fingers, smearing your juices over his lips and licking them off. You shivered and pushed Jungkook's head into your pussy, gasping as he shoved his tongue into your hole.

The girls outside seemed to realize what was going on. They were pointing accusingly and yapping amongst themselves. Your tits were half out, after all.

"Great, now everyone thinks I'm a slut, Yoongi," you grumbled.

"Who cares?" Yoongi said dismissively. "Anyone who talks shit is going to answer to my fist."

Jungkook lifted his head, panting for breath, chin shiny with your pussy. He didn't look outside. He simply curved his arm around Yoongi's head and flipped off anyone looking in the car. You raised your eyebrows. Thank the American culture for making the middle finger the universal 'fuck you' so that even Koreans knew what it meant. Yoongi seemed to know what Jungkook was doing and laughed huskily as Jungkook backed up, slumping in the backseat.

"Am I supposed to drive like this?" you hissed, shoving your exposed breast back into your bra and snapping your panties into place before lowering your leg. Ugh, your underwear was soaked. You had pulled your foot out of your boot before Yoongi started pretzeling you in the driver's seat of your own damn car. You shoved your foot back into it now, fixing yourself up. Yoongi plucked the black hoodie from the driver’s seat.

"Technically, this isn't yours."

"I thought it looked familiar," Jungkook remarked, wiping his chin and then licking off the back of his hand.

You righted your seat, rolling your eyes.

"Whatever," you mumbled as you started your car.

“Why did you make me do it?” you had asked him.

Yoongi’s lips trailed along your bare shoulder, pulling down his blanket to leave his marks on you.

“Do what?” he had murmured against your skin, making you shiver.

“The whole ‘taking-Jeon-Jungkook’s-virginity’ thing.’”

He traced your shoulder blade with his tongue. “Did I read the situation wrong?” Completely neutral, his hand coming up to run his fingers through your hair. You melted into the action, one of your favorites. It made your skin tingle and your breathing soften, releasing the tenseness in your chest. “You always tell me if I’m wrong.”

“Yeah… I do.”

“Did you hate it?”

“… No.”

Yoongi turned you around to face him, his black hair brushing against your cheeks. Eyes barely open, but seeing all of you. He collected your hair in his fingers, pushing it back and away from your neck. His lips swollen from your kisses; his fair skin nicked with pink from your bites.

“That’s good.”

His finger drew the line of your collarbone, dark orbs watching your lips part, wanting him. Pulling yourself closer to him, skin to skin, his warmth against yours. You leaned in. Yoongi didn’t move away, his breath against your lips.

“What are we?” you whispered.

“Don’t know.” His lips grazed against yours and your moaned softly into them. “Whatever you want.” Dainty, simple kisses. “We’re whatever you want. You know that.” Capturing your lips, trapping them, fingers dancing down, looping around your waist and pulling you close, chest to chest. “You want it to stay like this, it will stay like this.” Grinding against your thigh, hardening against your softness. “You want me to keep driving you crazy, you want me to keep letting Jungkook play with you, then it’ll happen.”

Deep, intense kisses, teasing you, making you addicted to him.

“You want me to go away and leave you alone, I will.”

Your arm came around and you tangled your fingers in his black hair, kissing him fiercely.

“No, don’t leave me alone,” you breathed. “Want this. Want you.”

He purred your name against your lips, flitting his tongue between them.

“Want you, Yoongi.”

Everyone said the same thing.

Min Yoongi is a bad boy. Min Yoongi is a playboy. Min Yoongi doesn’t care about anything. He’s just a guy who makes pretty good music, but think twice before trying to get close to him. He’s had the same friends for years and any new ones were superficial acquaintances.

You didn’t care about any of that. You weren’t really hanging out with him anyway. He was just always there when you were kind-of, sort-of dating Kim Namjoon. And it was a kind-of, sort-of because you kept it that way. Namjoon kept asking you to take it further, but you held him at a distance, saying it was too early and that you were careful with your heart.

Then It was the little things. Accidents.

A brush. A graze. A single fingertip.

Yoongi’s eyes on yours. Watching you. Challenging. It didn’t mean anything, until it did. It didn’t mean anything, until the touches got bolder, the moments got longer, and then you were in the bathroom hallway of some random club, face-to-face with Min Yoongi, and he was close, so close, but not touching you. He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you and you knew, shit this whole thing with Namjoon is not it, because no matter how good riding Kim Namjoon’s dick was, it was not Min Yoongi’s stare that was instantly making your pussy throb.

His long fingers danced in the air. Tracing the curve of your jaw, but not touching you. Whiskey on his breath, but not breathing on you. Cocking his eyebrow at you, at you. His palm turned upwards, two fingers outstretched and, if you leaned forward, you could place you chin on them.

But you didn’t.

“Are you wet?” Yoongi whispered huskily, barely heard over the loud bass.

You blinked slowly. “Are you hard?”

His lips curved into a devious smirk.

“Yeah.”

Pause.

“Yes.”

Someone was vomiting real fucking loudly in the men’s bathroom.

Yoongi dropped his hand and took a step back. Let his eyes linger on you as he backed up and walked away, rounding the corner.

You broke up that thing with Namjoon that night. It wasn’t fair to him and he wasn’t in that deep yet, so he was chill with it. Understanding. He wasn’t getting the vibes from you either. You didn’t even know if you had vibes.

You didn’t throw yourself into Min Yoongi’s arms. That would be rude and, besides, it wasn’t like you knew him that well. But Namjoon still invited you to things, concerts and stuff, because he was a nice guy and, even if you guys weren’t dating, he was still friendly. And you went, even if you didn’t really like people. Just in case.

The first couple times, Yoongi wasn’t there.

And then he was.

And then it started again, but bolder this time, crazier things, short skirts and exploring hands, no talking, no chats, only eyes and touches, until it wasn’t, his hands curling into your shirt, shoving you against the wall and kissing you and you kissing him back, fingers slipping under his leather jacket and pushing up his shirt, nails on his skin.

His raspy voice against your puffy lips.

“Let’s have some fun.”

Always going to these damn parties, always asking you to take him home so he could take you down, gasping your name into your ear, telling you the same thing.

“I always have the most fun with you.”

Asking you how you wanted it today, from the back, from the front, against the wall, saying he’ll do anything to get you off. You want his tongue? His fingers? His dick? He would give it to you. Spread your legs open on his kitchen counter and eat you out like you were his fucking groceries.

Always reminding you.

“The best sex is still you.”

You would still go to the events Namjoon invited you to, his underground concerts, and watch Yoongi open for him every once in a while, growling into the mic and glaring at the audience, until he found you, lips curving into his trademark open-mouthed smirk that would be in between your legs later that night.

Min Yoongi is a bad boy.

Min Yoongi is a playboy.

Min Yoongi doesn’t care about anything.

So what?

You can feel however you want.

You can live however you want.

No reason to take anything seriously.

Whatever, right?

“Give me the fucking hoodie.”

“Nah, you can borrow Jungkook’s jacket.”

“Except you can’t button it, noona.”

You sucked in an annoyed breath. “Fine, give me the fucking jacket.”

Min Yoongi smirked, watching Jeon Jungkook strip his denim jacket and hand it to you. You put it on, scowling. “You act like it’s acid,” Yoongi chuckled.

“I’m burning,” you snapped sarcastically. “Absolutely dying being covered in Jeon Jungkook.”

“You want to be covered in Jeon Jungkook’s cum, that’s for sure.”

You took too long to respond to Yoongi’s quip. Jungkook smirked, placing his forearms on the headrest of your seat, craning his head around to look at your face. You turned away, feeling your neck and ears pulse. His ash blond hair drifted down, shading one of his brown eyes.

“Yeah, noona? Is that what you want? I’ll give it to you.”

“Shut up.”

You twisted away and got out of your car, followed by the two men. Didn’t look at either of them. It was a cold night, but your body was hot. It wasn’t covered enough. You felt an arm curve around your waist, tattoos on a tan hand. A sharp chin balancing on your red hair.

“Need your help, noona. I’m kind of drunk.”

“Let me call the Grim Reaper.”

A fair hand sliding under the denim jacket, making you hiss with the cold touch.

“You chilly?” Yoongi teased. “Need cuddles?”

You didn’t say anything. He could feel how hot your skin was, saw your ears were fucking scorching with embarrassment with how short your plaid skirt was. You locked your car, ignoring them.

“It’s only three flights of stairs,” Jungkook murmured, probably staring at your ass.

Whatever, right?

“Need my jacket back, noona.”

“Where’s the hoodie?” you grumbled to Yoongi.

Yoongi shrugged. “Left it in your car.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fucking typical. I’ll go get–”

Yoongi shoved you into Jungkook’s apartment.

“He just wants another taste.”

Warm lips on your neck, large fair-skinned hands circled with black-and-white checked flannel dancing up your bare chest, bra already gone. Jungkook already on his knees, looking up at you, licking his lips. Still in his white turtleneck and jeans.

“Look at him. Isn’t he cute? Don’t you want to shove your dripping pussy into those pink lips and grab that blond hair?”

“You’re so bad, Yoongi.”

You lifted up your skirt, so fucking short it was basically useless. You ticked your chin to your panties, damp from earlier in the car. “Help me take them off, Jungkook.”

Jungkook licked his lips again, letting his tongue dawdle before sliding it back in.

“You sure, noona?”

“Yeah.” Sucked in a breath as Yoongi teased your nipples, too familiar of a scene. “Want your mouth, please.” Rubbed them in between his fingertips and you moaned, leaning into Yoongi’s touch. “Please, Jungkook, wanna cum in your mouth.”

The side of Jungkook’s lips cocked upwards. “Of course, noona.” Reached up and hooked his fingers on the sides, pulling them down your thighs, mouth watering as he witnessed your wetness. Leaned forward and buried his nose into it, inhaling deeply, shuddering. “Smells so fucking good.”

Yoongi’s fingers leaving your breasts, running through your red hair, the hair you dyed because he causally said you should dye it red. He got it out of you eventually, both hands in your hair as he fucked you into his bed, balls slapping into you with his force, breathing in your face.

“Your hair is so fucking sexy,” he had panted. “You dyed it red because I said you should, didn’t you?”

“No.”

He stopped suddenly, leaving you full, but unstimulated, bent in half under him. You tried to move, but Yoongi’s grip in your hair had tightened, breathing hard against your lips.

“You’re no liar,” he had whispered.

“Move.”

“Tell the truth.”

Gentle kiss. His cock twitched inside you and you moaned, needing more.

“Tell the truth,” he had commanded.

“Yes, fuck, Yoongi, yes, now fucking give it to me.”

He began to fuck you again, hard and satisfying and everything you wanted. The best fucking dick you’ve ever had, made you cum twice before him, made you gasp his name and clutch his sheets, just like how you grabbed his shirt and gasped his name right now, leaning back against him as Yoongi’s head curved around your body, attaching his lips to your nipple as Jungkook’s tongue dipped into your drenched pussy, his moan vibrating your core as Yoongi sucked, playing with your other nipple with his hand. Standing in Jungkook’s bedroom, two mouths on you. Jungkook took one of your legs and put it on his shoulder, noisily and messily eating you out, Yoongi’s whiskey breath now all over your tits.

You could have been mad, but you were too horny to be angry, too busy humping Jungkook’s face and arching your back to get more into Yoongi’s hot mouth. One hand in Yoongi’s black hair and the other in Jungkook’s blond hair, gripping them both tight, losing yourself in the pleasure, head tipped back and tongue sliding out, impossible to catch your breath. Jungkook’s tongue lapped at your clit, closing in on it, adding more force, and you whimpered, legs shaking.

“Jungkook, a-ah, fuck…”

Skirt bunched around your waist, far too short to even blanket Jungkook’s face, giving you a clear view of his intense brown eyes, one hand on your thigh and the other wrapped around your ass, shoving your hips into his face.

Yoongi flicked your hard nipple with his tongue and pinched the other. You moaned, shivers up your spine, suddenly tipping into your orgasm and spilling it all into Jungkook’s mouth, Yoongi’s name leaving your lips, rolling your body into his face, hearing him chuckle in that deep voice of his. Jungkook slurped greedily, lapping at your pussy as Yoongi released your nipple and came up, murmuring your name, feathery kisses on your lips.

“So sexy,” he breathed. “So fuckable.”

You moaned into Yoongi’s mouth as your rode Jungkook’s face, and Jungkook got the hint, licking you all over again, your clit throbbing onto his tongue, leaking more and more into his mouth.

“Fuck, noona, you taste so fucking good when you’re horny,” Jungkook growled, his Busan satoori slipping out. “Extra sweet, like candy.”

Yoongi gave you one last kiss as Jungkook lowered your leg, standing up to cup your face and kiss you, smearing your juices on your face and licking them off, a fucking mess, your own sweet-sour taste spreading everywhere. You shuddered against his lips, one hand still in his hair, the other letting go of Yoongi’s black locks and clutching Jungkook’s turtleneck as he kissed you.

“Leave the skirt on, noona,” Jungkook mumbled. “You look so cute in it. Cute little slut.”

Body so hot, so fucking hot that it felt like your skin was on fire.

“… Fine.”

Jungkook’s hands sliding back, burying in your dark red shadow root, light kisses on your cheeks. “Just playing around, noona. I know you’re not a slut.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Jungkook chuckled and grabbed your ass, grinding his crotch into yours. “You do like playing with me, don’t you?” He was so fucking hard, even through the thick fabric of his jeans.

“Mhm.” You swallowed your moan, gripping Jungkook tighter. “Don’t know why you’re so obsessed with me though.”

“I told you,” Jungkook purred, nudging you towards his bed, getting you to climb onto it, those familiar navy sheets, so soft against your skin. They smelled just like Jungkook, fresh laundry with a hint of the sea. “Sex dreams with you are too good. I need the real thing.”

He dumped you on his bed, leaning down, kissing you once more.

“I wanna see you doing the stuff you do in my dreams.”

“You look cold.”

You shivered. “I’m not.”

Yoongi pulled off his black hoodie and held it out to you.

You puffed out hot air. “I don’t need it.”

His voice low and husky. “Smells like me.”

You bit you lip and took it from him, slipping it over your shoulders. Smelled so fucking good, just like Yoongi with a hint of whiskey. You snuck a glance at him in your passenger’s seat. He was leaning back in the chair, sighing softly, black hair all over his closed eyes. You saw the dark circles. His face seemed paler than usual. You started the car.

“Need to drop by the pharmacy.”

“Any chain in particular?” you replied absentmindedly.

Yoongi waved a hand. “Just need hangover meds and water.”

You tapped the water bottle in your cupholder. “There’s some left.”

You kept your eyes on the road as he reached over and drank from it. You heard it being drained. You drove steadily, thinking of the closest pharmacy. Stopped at a red light, thinking you needed to turn left at the next one.

“Thanks for picking me up.”

“Mhm.”

Silence with your steady driving, ever so slightly going over the speed limit. Not enough to get caught. Just on the edge. Gliding in the darkness, surrounded by yellow headlights and red backlights. You pulled into a parking lot, right in front of the pharmacy.

“Be a sec.”

Yoongi hauled himself out of the seat, wearing only his over-sized white t-shirt and distressed blue jeans. Was it just you or his arms a little skinner than before? The silver bracelets seemed looser on his wrists.

“Want your–?”

The car door shut.

“Hoodie,” you finished, speaking to no one. You watched Yoongi stagger to the door, pulling a black face mask out and covering his face before entering. You had a brief, fleeting moment where you thought, I should have gone with him, but you frowned. Yoongi was an adult. He didn’t need you.

He didn’t need you.

You rested your arms on your steering wheel and waited. Waited. You were good at waiting. Was it still waiting if that your default state, just breezing through life, wondering if there was any meaning in it all, wondering if anything meant anything? You made a face. Why were you having an existential crisis right now? Stupid. If nothing mattered, why bother agonizing over it?

Whatever.

The car door opened and Yoongi slid in, tugging off his face mask and holding a plastic bag.

“Here.”

You jumped as Yoongi threw a small plastic packet in your lap. Gummy bears.

“You like these, right?”

You blinked at them. “Yeah… I guess.” You did like gummy bears. Why did he get gummy bears?

“That’s good.”

That was that. Yoongi cracked open a water bottle. You waited as he scowled, dumping powder into the water and shaking it up. He squinted at the directions and then resumed shaking the water bottle, turning the water a cloudy white. He reopened the bottle and took a large swig, shuddering as he removed it from his lips. He didn’t look pleased, but he accepted it.

“What are you trying to forget?”

“Hm?”

You shrugged, tilting your head at him. “I mean, you go out drinking a lot. That’s what alcoholics do.”

Yoongi snorted. “I’m never drunk.”

“What’s with the hangover meds, then?” you pointed out.

His eyes slid to you. They seemed extra dark even in the bright streetlights.

“I don’t want a headache in the morning,” he muttered. “Or a limp dick.”

You chuckled. “I can just drop you off and go home.” You reached over and started the car. He seemed tired and stressed. You figured you could let him sleep. Wasn’t like you picked him up only because you wanted a quick fuck.

He tapped the water bottle against your forearm as you started turning out of the parking lot. You spared him a glance, raising your eyebrows.

“Wanna see your face in the morning,” he said casually, taking another sip. You could barely see his eyes with his black bangs covering them. “And hear you begging for my dick to fuck you harder.”

You rolled your eyes and drove him to his apartment.

You stayed that night.

“Jungkook, your dreams are freaky as fuck,” Yoongi cackled, hoisting your hips up as you whined, back arched and wrists tied by Jungkook’s belt looped a few times around them and buckled closed.

Jungkook asked you to keep the skirt on. He asked you to move your arms back and stick your chest out, breasts pushed together by your upper arms, nipples sticking straight out. He asked you to press your forearms together and not move them, hands clasped together as he jacked off in front of you.

Sure, whatever.

He also asked Yoongi to rail you from behind while he was doing it, and asked his hyung to make your tits bounce.

And Yoongi told him he was freaky as fuck as he slid into you, using one of Jungkook’s condoms, mentioning that Jungkook should buy a different brand because they were thinner and better quality.

“Okay, hyung, I’ll make sure to have them next time.”

Next time, okay, yeah, sure Jungkook, it’s not like you’re the one on Yoongi’s dick, you thought wryly as Yoongi began to move, slow but hard, your breasts bouncing at the action, gasp torn from your throat.

“Why do you even have condoms?” you muttered between pants, rocking on Yoongi’s hips as he lifted you and dropped you on his hard cock, ugh, so fucking good, felt so good as Yoongi fucked you and you watched Jungkook’s right hand wrapped around his stiff length, the red head disappearing and reappearing in his tattooed fingers, his chest rippling and his lower lip in his teeth, tiny mole dancing underneath it, eyes on your bouncing tits, moaning as he watched the obscenity in front of him.

Felt good to be watched and tied up, kneeling on Jungkook’s bed, because it was wrong, so fucking wrong, but it felt so fucking good.

“In case you want to fuck me,” Jungkook gasped. “Unless you want my babies.”

You huffed. “I do not.”

Jungkook ticked his head, smirk on his lips with his lip bite. “There you go.” He scooted closer and you ticked an eyebrow, feeling Yoongi’s fingertips dig into you as he smacked his crotch into your ass. You moaned, Yoongi’s name dropping from your lips.

“You always look so fucking hot when you’re getting fucked.”

You chuckled. “This is only the second time you’ve watched me getting fucked.”

Jungkook grinned. “Nope, I’ve seen you get fucked hundreds of times in my dreams.”

You rolled your eyes and the action was cut short as Yoongi shifted and hit your favorite spot, making you cry out and lurch forward, breath in Jungkook’s face, breasts knocking together. Your hands touched the bed, squeezing your tits, gasping for breath.

“Don’t fall over, naughty girl,” Yoongi purred. “Give Jungkookie the best view.”

You lifted your head back, balancing on your fingertips, mouth open, tongue touching your lip, vision hazy with lust. Jungkook’s blond hair covered one of his brown eyes, jaw clenched and he stroked himself faster, veins popping out on his hardness, pre-cum leaking from the tip and running down.

“Wanna cum on your face and tits, noona,” Jungkook breathed. “Wanna cover you with me.”

“Where are your manners, Jungkook?” Yoongi barked behind you, the smacking between you two radiating off the walls, squeaking the bed, and probably wholeheartedly disturbing his neighbors.

Jungkook sank his teeth in his lip, suddenly apologetic. You were about to blurt out that you didn’t give a shit, but Jungkook spoke, breathless with a hint of neediness, staring into your eyes with his brown doe-like ones, and suddenly you couldn’t say anything, repeatedly jerked forward by Yoongi’s forceful thrusts, frozen by Jungkook’s whisper.

“Please, noona… Please let me cum on your tits. On your face. Please let me see you with my cum all over you.”

Once again, you were reminded that Jungkook actually liked you.

“… O-Okay, Jungkook,” you gasped. “A-Anything you want.”

You arched your back even more, tipping your head up, breathing hard. Jungkook had to stand on the bed, his thin moans indicating he was nearing his end and you stared up at him, eyes wide, mouth open, pussy clenching around Yoongi’s cock, whimpering as you felt him fill you over and over, his long fingers bruising your hips, Yoongi’s rough, raspy drawl of you name, deepened by his Daegu satoori.

“Such a sexy woman, so eager to get a faceful of cum, aren’t you?”

You whined, lust building inside you, staring into Jungkook’s glazed-over brown eyes and his thick, dark red cock ready to burst. Yoongi’s voice could make you do anything. He really could. And you wanted him to. You wanted him to make you do anything he wanted, everything he wanted. Your voice was soaked with lust, eyes half-lidded, lips wetly parted.

“Y-Yes, Yoongi… I want Jungkook’s cum all over me…”

Jungkook’s shaking left hand touched your forehead, gently holding you in place, ash blond strands brushing against his high cheekbones as he whispered your name, heavy with his Busan satoori.

“You’re so good to me, noona.”

He moaned your name again and came with hot white strings, splattering down your cheeks and neck, some of it hitting your lips and tongue, spilling onto your bouncing breasts, coating them with his salty orgasm. You moaned back, eyes rolling back as you hit your peak, painted in Jungkook’s cum, so hot, so sticky on your skin, and you tightened around Yoongi’s cock, whimpering as you came, suddenly so wet like a waterfall, slick and viscous, reminding you of the first time that you came on this bed with Yoongi’s tongue on top of Jungkook’s sleeping body, but this time Jungkook was shoving the sensitive head in between your open lips, groaning as you licked off the dripping cum, some of it dribbling into your throat.

Yoongi hissed your name, and you whimpered as his cock twitched inside you, fully sheathing himself in your burning heat before spilling into the condom, his jerking length being roughly massaged by your tight walls. Jungkook’s cum was running down your chest, clinging to your nipples, dripping onto his sheets. Jungkook pulled out of your mouth and your tongue extended, licking at the leftover cum on the outskirts of your lips before you yelped abruptly.

“A-ah, Jungkook!”

Jungkook’s hands cupped your breasts, pushing them together and running his hot tongue over your breasts, sucking off his orgasm, lapping at your nipples, making you shudder and squirm, wiggling on Yoongi’s cock and pussy throbbing with every lick.

“Holy fuck,” Yoongi groaned, obviously witnessing Jungkook’s slurping of his cum off your tits and neck, and feeling you moan and buck on his slowly softening cock. “You’re wild, Jungkook.”

Jungkook didn’t seem to notice or care, kissing up your throat, tongue flicking against your cheeks, breath hot on your face, saturated with the salty scent of his cum. His palms on your trembling jaw, pulling you down to his lips, kissing you deeply, your moan in his mouth.

“You feel good, noona?” Jungkook whispered huskily against your lips.

“Y-Yeah…”

Your heart was rattling against your ribcage, still shattered from your orgasm and the dirtiness of Jungkook’s actions. So hard to come down, trapped on cloud nine, struggling for breath. Jungkook pressed his sweaty forehead into yours, fingers sliding back to run them through your red strands, your skin tingling at his touch. His blond hair stuck to your face, his brown eyes closing.

“Don’t worry,” he breathed softly against your quivering breath. “I’m here with you.”

You opened your eyes, slowly.

Groggily.

Navy sheets, so soft against your bare skin. Hand splayed over your breasts, covering them, holding you close to a hard, muscular chest. Your eyes flickered down, trying to blink the sleep away. Black tattoos on tan skin. You shifted your eyes forward. Mop of black hair, messily covering what you knew were dark, cat-like eyes. Pale chest, completely bare. Your hand was around his slim waist, fingertips on his back.

Don’t you want to be bad with me?

You retreated your hand. Those dark eyes opened, just a crack.

Watching you.

Your hand reached up, tracing his jaw. Palm up. Placed two fingers on his chin, caressing it.

His name, his name, perfectly formed by your lips, your addiction, the feeling you couldn’t give up.

“Yoongi.”

His pink lips curved into a devious smirk. His hand closed around yours, fingers intertwining.

Spark of mischief in his eyes.

“Shh. Go to sleep.”

Held your hand as you closed your eyes once again, nestled in Jungkook’s arms.

fourth act. lucid dreams a–dick–ted au

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #yoonkook x reader #yoonkook smut #bts smut #yoongi smut #jungkook smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #min yoongi smut #jeon jungkook smut

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juletheghoul · 3 years ago

Text

Sub Terra

So in honour of the upcoming milestone of 300 (still shocked tbh) I am posting this completely self-indulgent Dio (the one and only goth king) fic. It's short and I always keep these things open-ended because you never know. I'm dedicating this to my fellow -former-goth/emo teen @mouthymandalorian

Literally talked about how both of us would have been ALL OVER Dio as teens and because of this we are fucking kindred lol.

Dio x F!Reader

Pairing: Dio x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Language, Smut 18+ dirty talk, Oral-female receiving (dio begging you)

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

It wasn't the classiest of establishments, but the music was loud, and the drinks were cheap.

It was a busy night and you kept to yourself - it wasn’t hard having perfected the death glare in case anyone got too close.

You noticed a small group of girls crowding a tall lean guy across the bar. Even though the music drowned out everything around you, you could almost hear the pretentious tone he was speaking with.

Dio.

You knew him, everyone knew him. The only person living life at the ‘next level’, in his opinion of course. It’s almost annoying how attracted you are to him, tall and lean - that neck. Rings and earrings adorning his golden skin, reflecting brightly when hit with a light. Annoyingly drawing your eye to him each time.

Even with all of the black clothing, all of the accessories, the long black jacket, the circles under his eyes - you wanted him. You saw him talking to a group of eager women, looking almost bored. You could see him - taking note of each of them, deciding which one was worth his time, none of them ever were.

His dark eyes flash up to you then and he smirks, expecting you to turn away shyly like all the other girls do. His gaze was intense and it shamed you slightly to admit that it sent a bolt of arousal straight through you but you didn’t show it. You held his gaze, your face the very picture of boredom. You raise an eyebrow at him in challenge when he didn’t look away and you knew then you had him. He smiled slyly, looking back to the girls vying for his attention. You turned, giving him your back, smiling at the face he'd surely make to realize your disinterest in him.

Girls were a game to him, a hunt - he was the same to you. It all comes back around.

You felt him slide in next to you as you watched the crowd- could feel his eyes burning into you from your periphery. With you sitting on the stool - he towered over you, taking up so much space.

You ignored him - keeping your eyes focused on the crowd and your drink.

“What’s your name?” He said it directly into your ear, much closer than necessary. You told him - without turning to face him. You could feel the electricity coming off him in waves, trying to get you to look at him. You resisted - you wanted to see if he would get tired of it and leave. He didn’t.

“I’m Dio, what are you drinking? Let me get you another.” You felt him turn to get the bartender's attention.

You finally turned to him, he was swimming in his jacket and you wanted to crawl into it with him. He smelled like cigarettes and a spicy cologne, hairspray and liquor, not too strong but strangely appealing. You finished the rest of your drink in a large swallow and put your empty glass on the counter.

You could see him looking down at your cleavage, licking his lips at the gap between the dress and the lacy bra you wore. He saw you looking and it didn’t deter him. He drank what you thought was absinthe as he continued to look you up and down - you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he’d be drinking absinthe.

You kept your face neutral and let him drink his fill, not failing to notice the girls at the other end of the bar staring daggers at you.

“I don’t think your friends like me.” You looked up at him, subtly gesturing to the girls watching your conversation with an acute intensity.

“Oh they’re not my friends, they just want my attention.” His smugness would normally have turned you off, but you couldn’t help but be attracted.

“And what do you want?” You swirled your drink as you licked your lip, mirroring his earlier gesture back at him.

“I want your attention.” He leaned in and you pulled back smiling.

“Did you think I would just give it to you?” You laughed as you drank your drink in a couple of gulps, the burning in your throat grounding you. You walked away - knowing in your heart he’d follow you. He did not disappoint.

You felt him grab your hand as he caught up to you and pull you towards him, crowding you, curling his body to surround you as he spoke into your ear.

“I like the chase, and I can make it worth your while. Let me taste you.” he placed an open-mouthed kiss at your pulse point. You let him work himself up against your skin before pushing him away with a laugh.

“I’m not convinced - you gotta make me believe you really want it.” you pulled back enough to see his expression, his eyes were dark. He was enjoying this.

“Believe me, I want it - I want to make you cum on my tongue.” He made to kiss you again and you once again pulled away. You briefly looked to the girls at the bar and if looks could kill, you’d be a bloody heap on the floor.

“Why don’t you go ask one of them - I’m sure any one of them would let you do whatever you want.” you kept your hand on his chest - keeping him at bay. He looked back briefly, before turning his attention back to you.

“I’m not interested in them, I want you.” His hands were at your waist - pulling you close to him, it was so tempting to let him kiss you but you were enjoying his desperation.

“Who says I want you?” you laughed in his ear - biting it to get him really riled up. He groaned and lowered his hands to roughly grab your ass through your skirt.

“I think you do - I think you’re intrigued and curious, and I think you’re going to let me lick - what I have no doubt - is a very pretty pussy.” You let him get close but quickly grabbed his jaw - holding him a hair's breadth away from your mouth.

“It is very pretty - but it’s not for you.” You licked his lip before shoving him firmly away from you. You had a bold idea - quickly making sure no one was really paying attention you swiftly reached under your dress to pull your panties off. His eyes widened as he watched you quickly shimmy out of them. You threw them into his face and you saw him shudder.

“That’s as close as you’re going to get.” you walked away from him to head up to the mezzanine of the club you were in. He didn’t follow you right away - standing there clutching your - very noticeably wet - panties to his face. He was rapturous and it took him a couple of minutes to reign in his excitement.

You kept an eye on him as you made your way up, after a few minutes he stalked his way up the stairs two at a time to reach you. The look on his face was dangerous in its intensity. When his eyes locked on you, it was like butterflies burst in your stomach. How far were you going to push him?

As far as you could.

You looked over the balcony at the crowd dancing below. The second bar up there was closed off, leaving it empty.

He pressed himself against your back, the proof of his excitement straining against his dark jeans and the curve of your ass. His arms resting on either side of you - blocking you in.

“You can’t tell me you’re not excited- your panties are soaked, let me lick it.” He bit at your neck as you surveyed the crowd.

“Beg. Beg to lick my pussy.” You turned to look up at him, head tilted playfully although your tone was anything but. His pupils were blown wide, enjoying this way more than he’d care to admit.

“Please baby, please - let me lick it. Let me kiss your cunt. I want it so badly - look how bad I want it…” he guided your hand to press it against his cock. It took everything in you not to gasp.

“Fine, kneel.” His eyes widened and you swore you felt his cock twitch under your palm. He quickly got down onto his knees and kissed your belly through the dress.

“You want me to do it right here?” He was smiling up at you, asking the question even as he lifted your dress and brought your leg up to rest on his shoulder. You nodded, smiling.

“You said you wanted it, you even begged like a good boy. Let’s see how fast you can make me cum.” You grabbed his hair and pushed it towards your aching cunt, spreading your lips open for him with the other hand. He moaned at the sight.

His tongue was heaven.

His hands grabbed at your ass to get closer to you, sucking your clit into his mouth. You moaned at his enthusiasm, you almost hoped he wouldn’t be good at it but he was. You ran your fingers through his hair, holding him in place as you ground yourself onto his tongue.

“Oh god right there-“ you moaned, you were close already. The fact that anyone could come up was exciting you even more. You felt filthy and powerful as you looked down at him, his dark eyes locked on you.

You felt him slide a finger into you and you threw your head back with a whimper. The wet glide of his tongue, steadily sliding over- again and again. The rhythm of it driving you into a frenzy.

Your grip on his hair tightened and he moaned onto your skin, the vibration throwing you over the edge. You came with a moan, clenching around his finger. Drenching him in your arousal.

He licked you until you pulled him away from over-stimulation. His face was that of the cat who ate the canary. All smiles and bravado as you pulled your dress down.

“Was it everything you wanted?” You let out a sigh as he got back on his feet, adjusting himself in his pants.

“Best thing I’ve ever tasted.” You let him kiss you then, tasting yourself on his tongue. His hands grabbing at your ass again. You pushed him away and his eyes were unfocused, he was ravenous.

You said nothing as you dragged him out of the bar by the collar, his shirt bunched in your hand.

He followed you like a puppy and you smiled the whole time.

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

Let me know if you don't want to be included on all things Pedro

Tag-list: @frannyzooey @foli-vora @danniburgh @sambucky21 @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @mouthymandalorian @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl @sleep-tight1 @softdindjxrin @wheresarizona @sherala007 @freak-nasty-thick-dick-mando @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @lori-tovar @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @dihra-vesa

#dio morrissey #shane dio morrissey #dio x reader #dio x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #dio x female reader #pedro pascal x you

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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

///

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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