#this show's fades to black and transition fades are so funny

[102ki]

watching secret life is like twenty minutes of me rolling my eyes and then as soon as ricky and adrian have a conversation im kicking my legs and giggling

[jhyoos]

REBEL GIRL

Chapter 3: Party Like A Rockstar

rockstar!sevika x influencer!reader

summary: after their first concert of Shattered Soul’s tour, they go clubbing to celebrate.

mentions : modern au!, fame au!, drama, swearing, drinking

notes: just like sevika’s ass it’s finna be juicy.

chapters : one, two, three, four, five six

The long drive wasn’t something you minded—at first, anyway. You had your headphones in, your laptop balanced on your lap, and hours of video footage to edit for your YouTube channel. Outside the bus, the world blurred into a mosaic of green fields, dusty highways, and faded billboards. Inside, the faint hum of conversation mixed with the occasional strum of Vi’s guitar and Jinx’s rhythmic drumming on a nearby table. Caitlyn was curled up in a seat, scribbling in her notebook, and Sevika lounged across from you, headphones on, looking completely unbothered.

It was the perfect setting for productivity, or so you thought.

With your playlist drowning out the background noise, you fell into your editing zone. Your fingers flew across the keyboard as you adjusted lighting, spliced clips, and refined transitions for a vlog you planned to post soon. The soothing rhythm of your work almost made you forget where you were—until the interruptions started.

At first, it was harmless. Vi, clearly bored, reached over to tap the edge of your keyboard, grinning when you swatted her hand away. A few minutes later, Caitlyn leaned in under the guise of offering input, only to give a mock-serious nod and say, “Looks good to me,” before retreating to her seat with a laugh. Then Jinx decided to get involved, leaning dramatically over your shoulder to narrate your edits in an over-the-top announcer voice:

“And here we see Y/N, hard at work, crafting what is sure to be a masterpiece… unless her genius is interrupted!”

You shot her a glare, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your annoyance.

It became a game to them—a cycle of pokes, prods, and sarcastic commentary. Each of them took turns testing your patience, like some unspoken competition to see who could get the biggest reaction out of you.

And then Sevika stepped in.

You were mid-edit, headphones on, completely focused on syncing a transition when your screen suddenly went black.

“What the hell?” You ripped off your headphones, your heart sinking as you stared at the blank laptop screen. Slowly, you turned to face the culprit.

Sevika stood beside you, her arms crossed and a cocky smirk plastered across her face. “You’ve been glued to that thing for hours,” she said casually, her tone infuriatingly calm. “Thought I’d do you a favor.”

“A favor?” Your voice pitched with disbelief. “By shutting off my laptop? Are you out of your mind?”

The rest of the band erupted into laughter. Vi was practically rolling on the floor, Jinx clutched her sides, and Caitlyn tried—and failed—to cover her amused grin.

“Oh, real funny,” you snapped, glaring at them. “Glad my mental breakdown is such quality entertainment for you.”

“Relax,” Sevika said, her smirk never faltering. “You can always start over.”

You stood abruptly, clutching your laptop like it was your lifeline. “If any of you touch my computer again, I swear I’m locking your equipment up and throwing the key into the nearest ditch.”

“Alright, alright,” Caitlyn said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “We’ll back off… for now.”

You glared at all of them one more time before sitting back down, muttering under your breath as you reopened your laptop and prayed your unsaved work wasn’t lost forever.

The venue buzzed with excitement that night, the air charged with the hum of anticipation. You hung back as the band prepared for their set, observing the chaos of pre-show rituals. Jinx and Caitlyn exchanged last-minute quips while Vi strummed her guitar, testing the tuning.

And Sevika?

She was leaning casually against a wall backstage, surrounded by a small group of fans who’d somehow gained access. They hung on her every word, their laughter ringing out as she threw them that trademark smirk. She signed autographs, posed for pictures, and slipped in the kind of flirtatious comments that made their faces light up.

You rolled your eyes, trying to focus on anything else. It was the same routine every time—a parade of adoration that Sevika basked in like a queen holding court.

“Think they’ll ever get tired of her?” Caitlyn asked, sidling up beside you.

“Doubtful,” you replied, crossing your arms. “She eats this stuff up.”

Caitlyn chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, try not to let it ruin your night. Just enjoy the show.”

“Yeah, sure,” you muttered, casting one last glance at Sevika as she laughed at something one of the fans said. Her gaze flicked to you then, catching your eye. Her smirk widened, a knowing gleam in her eye as if she’d caught you watching.

You scoffed and turned away, determined not to let her get under your skin. But as the band was called to the stage, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Sevika enjoyed the game just as much as you did.

The concert was, as expected, electric. The moment Vi stepped onto the stage and shouted her opening line, the crowd erupted. The energy was infectious, the music pounding through your chest as the band launched into their first song. You watched from the edge of the stage, half mesmerized by the sheer power they commanded.

Vi owned the stage, alternating between singing her heart out and shredding her guitar with practiced ease. Caitlyn’s keyboard melodies added depth to every track, while Jinx’s drumming was a chaotic yet perfectly timed rhythm that tied it all together. Sevika, as always, stole the show during her guitar solos. The way her fingers danced across the strings sent the crowd into a frenzy, and you couldn’t deny that she had a magnetic presence, even if you rolled your eyes at it more often than not.

As the concert reached its climax, the energy in the room soared. Fans screamed the lyrics back at Vi, fists pumping in unison, and the stage lights bathed the entire venue in a kaleidoscope of colors. You couldn’t help but get swept up in it, bobbing your head and mouthing along to the words of songs you’d become all too familiar with.

When the last note rang out, the applause was deafening. Vi grinned as she leaned into the mic, her voice hoarse but full of excitement. “Thank you, LA! You’ve been amazing tonight!”

The band exited the stage to thunderous cheers, and you joined them backstage, where the energy was still high. Jinx whooped loudly, throwing her drumsticks in the air and catching them before spinning to hug Caitlyn, who laughed and dodged the full brunt of Jinx’s excitement.

“That was insane!” Jinx exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Best crowd yet!”

“Easily,” Caitlyn agreed, still grinning.

Vi slung an arm around Sevika’s shoulders, her expression smug. “We crushed it tonight.”

“Always do,” Sevika replied coolly, though her slight smirk gave away her satisfaction.

You hung back slightly, letting the band revel in their success. It was a reminder of why they were so good together—the chemistry, the camaraderie. Even Sevika’s cocky demeanor felt earned after a performance like that.

“So,” Vi said, turning to the group with a mischievous glint in her eye. “What’s next? We’re in LA, the night’s young��� I say we hit the club.”

Jinx’s eyes lit up. “Hell yeah! Let’s do it!”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, though her lips twitched in amusement. “You’ve still got adrenaline to burn off, don’t you?”

Vi turned to you then, a challenging smile on her face. “What about you, Y/N? You in?”

You hesitated for a moment, weighing your options. On one hand, clubbing with a rock band wasn’t exactly your usual scene. On the other hand, you couldn’t deny that the idea of letting loose after the day you’d had sounded… tempting.

“Why not?” you finally said, shrugging. “Someone’s gotta make sure Jinx doesn’t end up on top of the bar.”

“Hey!” Jinx protested, though her grin said she wasn’t offended.

Vi laughed, clapping you on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit! Alright, people, let’s get to our hotel, change and get fucked up. Tonight’s gonna be one to remember.”

As the band dispersed to grab their things, you found yourself lingering near the stage exit. Sevika walked past, her smirk firmly in place as she tilted her head toward you.

“You clean up alright?” she teased, her tone playful.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see,” you replied smoothly, matching her confidence.

Her smirk widened, but she didn’t respond, leaving you with a curious flutter in your chest as she sauntered off.

This night was definitely going to be interesting.

As soon as you and Caitlyn got back to the hotel, the two of you dove into your suitcases, rummaging through outfit after outfit for the perfect look. Clubbing in LA wasn’t just a night out—it was a statement. Caitlyn settled on a sleek, black jumpsuit paired with combat boots, her look effortlessly cool as always.

You, on the other hand, had your sights set on something bold. After trying a few options, your eyes landed on the black strappy top, leather skirt, thigh-high stockings, and platform boots tucked away in your suitcase. Once you slipped it on and adjusted the straps to fit just right, Caitlyn gave you an approving whistle.

“Well, someone’s definitely turning heads tonight,” she teased, leaning against the bedpost.

You smirked at your reflection in the mirror, turning slightly to check the back. “You think?”

“Oh, I know. Sevika is going to lose it when she sees this.”

The two of you finished getting ready, sharing excited chatter about the night ahead. Instead of drawing attention by taking the tour bus, the group decided to order an Uber Black to keep things low-key—or so you thought.

As the sleek black SUV pulled up to the club, the flashing lights of cameras and the deafening screams of fans made it clear that your “low-key” plan was a bust. Paparazzi swarmed the car before you could even step out, their flashes illuminating the night as fans shouted your name and the band members’ names.

“Looks like the cat’s out of the bag,” Caitlyn murmured, adjusting her sunglasses even though it was well past sunset.

“Doesn’t matter,” you replied, stepping out with confidence. “We’re here to have fun.”

And fun you had.

Inside the club, the atmosphere was electric. The music thumped loudly enough to vibrate through your chest, and the neon lights bathed the entire room in vibrant shades of pink, blue, and green. You didn’t waste any time, heading straight to the bar with the group to take your first round of shots.

One shot turned into three, then four, and by the fifth, you were officially buzzed. The band laughed and cheered, hyping each other up as you all took turns ordering rounds. Vi was the first to drag everyone onto the dance floor, her infectious energy pulling you into the mix.

By the time the DJ transitioned to My Chemical Romance, your confidence had hit its peak. You climbed onto the table without hesitation, mic in hand as you sang along to every word. The crowd around you roared their approval, and even the DJ gave you a grin and a thumbs-up.

“Careful,” Sevika murmured behind you, her large hand steadying your waist. She stood close, her presence grounding you even as you swayed to the music.

“I’ve got this,” you replied with a playful wink, though you appreciated the gesture.

Fans in the crowd snapped photos of the moment, flooding social media with hashtags and captions speculating about the dynamic between you and Sevika. It wasn’t long before the night took a dramatic turn.

The energy in the club reached a fever pitch, and you were right in the middle of it all. Standing on the table, your confidence amplified by the shots coursing through your veins, you swayed to the music, your arms raised as you sang along to the DJ's playlist. The crowd below cheered, their phones raised to capture the moment, flashes lighting up the space like strobes.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted Sevika making her way toward you, her towering frame cutting through the throng of people with ease. She didn’t look impressed—her brows furrowed, her jaw tight. When she finally reached you, she wasted no time, her large hands gripping your waist firmly.

“Alright, come down before you hurt yourself,” she said, her voice low but commanding as she steadied you.

You groaned, pouting down at her. “I’m fine, Sevika. Seriously. Let me have my fun!”

Sevika raised an unimpressed brow, her hold on your waist unwavering. “You might not care, but I do. Now, down.”

You huffed but allowed her to guide you down, her hands staying securely on your waist until your boots hit the floor. The warmth of her touch lingered, and you couldn’t resist teasing her, even as you stumbled slightly.

“When did you get so caring?” you asked with a smirk, brushing your hair out of your face.

Sevika’s lips twitched, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “You’ve had enough of the spotlight for tonight. Now behave.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “You’re no fun.” With that, you headed back to the bar, brushing off the attention as you ordered yet another shot, determined to keep the night alive.

As the hours wore on, the club became impossibly packed. Word of you and your friend’s presence had spread like wildfire, and the space was now teeming with fans trying to catch a glimpse of the band. The once vibrant atmosphere now felt claustrophobic.

Caitlyn, ever the level-headed one, noticed the shift and knew it was time to call it a night. She signaled to the group, her phone in hand as she ordered a car. “Alright, let’s get out of here before this gets out of control.”

Reluctantly, everyone began to gather, though it was clear the alcohol had taken its toll. You were more than a little drunk, laughing at everything and swaying slightly as Sevika grabbed your hand, pulling you through the crowd. Paparazzi swarmed the group the moment you stepped outside, their cameras flashing like fireworks.

While the others kept their heads down, trying to maneuver through the chaos, you basked in the attention, smiling and waving despite Caitlyn’s exasperated look. “Y/N, keep moving!” she called over her shoulder.

You giggled, letting Sevika tug you along. Her grip on your hand was firm, grounding you as the two of you finally made it to the car. When you climbed in, it was immediately clear there weren’t enough seats for everyone. Caitlyn took the passenger seat while the others crammed into the back.

“You’re on my lap,” Sevika said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You didn’t hesitate, settling onto her lap with surprising ease. You leaned your head against the back of the passenger seat, closing your eyes as the gentle hum of the car lulled you into a daze. Sevika’s hands rested lightly on your waist, her touch oddly comforting. You didn’t care—your drunken state left little room for embarrassment.

The others were loud, laughing and joking as the car sped toward the hotel. Vi was hanging halfway out of the window, yelling into the night, while Jinx snapped blurry pictures on her phone. Caitlyn, ever the responsible one, shook her head at their antics but couldn’t hide her small smile.

When the car finally pulled up to the hotel, Caitlyn took charge, helping everyone out one by one. You leaned heavily against her as she guided you to your room, her patience unwavering despite your drunken giggles.

She eased you onto the bed, pulling off your boots and tucking you in before lying down beside you with a tired sigh. You turned toward her, your gaze hazy but affectionate as you grabbed her hand, pressing a sloppy kiss to the back of it.

“We’re locked in, you know that, right?” you mumbled, your voice slurred but earnest.

Caitlyn chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You only do that when you want to tell a secret. What is it?”

You giggled, your cheeks warm. “I wanna fuck Sevika so bad.”

Caitlyn groaned, though her smile betrayed her amusement. “Of course you do,” she muttered, shaking her head.

You grinned, unbothered. “Your turn. Tell me a secret.”

Caitlyn hesitated for a moment before sighing. “Fine. I’m in love with Violet.”

Your eyes widened slightly, but your grin only grew. “I’m not surprised. I see the way you look at her, Cait. You’re so obvious.”

Caitlyn laughed, squeezing your hand. “Secrets locked in.”

“Secrets locked in,” you echoed, your voice soft as sleep began to pull you under.

The two of you drifted off together, your quiet confessions lingering in the stillness of the room.

The harsh light streaming through the curtains woke you up first, followed closely by the incessant buzzing of your phone. Your head pounded, a dull ache that reminded you of every shot you’d thrown back the night before. With a groan, you rolled over, reaching for your phone on the nightstand, only to see the screen lit up with a flood of notifications.

Your phone was practically vibrating off the surface with the number of missed calls, texts, and alerts from various apps. Blinking through the haze of your hangover, you squinted at the screen.

37 missed calls.

62 unread texts.

“[Y/N] trending on Twitter.”

Your stomach dropped.

The first thing you opened was your messages, and right at the top was a slew of texts from your manager, each one more frantic than the last.

Manager 👹: “Call me. Now.”

Manager 👹: “Why am I waking up to THIS?!”

Manager 👹: “This is going to blow up even more if we don’t get ahead of it.”

Manager 👹: “PLEASE CALL ME ASAP.”

You groaned, already dreading the conversation, but curiosity got the better of you. Opening Twitter, you braced yourself for the chaos.

The first thing you saw was an article headline:

"Rockstar Sevika and Influencer (Y/N) (L/N) Spotted Holding Hands and Getting Cozy at the Club Last Night—Are They Dating?"

The accompanying picture was from last night—Sevika’s hand on your waist as she helped you down from the table, your head tilted back in laughter, clearly drunk out of your mind. There was another photo of you two holding hands as she led you through the crowd outside the club, the paparazzi’s flashes catching every intimate angle.

You scrolled down to see countless tweets from fans and gossip accounts dissecting every detail of the night.

- “So… are Sevika and [Y/N] a thing?? 👀”

- “That waist grab? HELLO???”

- “The chemistry is unreal. I’m shipping it.”

- “[Y/N] is literally living my dream. I can’t even.”

You groaned, burying your face in the pillow. “Oh my god.”

Caitlyn stirred beside you, her own groggy voice cutting through the fog. “What’s wrong?” she mumbled, her face half-buried in the blanket.

You held up your phone without saying a word, letting her squint at the screen. She blinked a few times before her lips curled into a mischievous smirk. “Well, looks like you had a very eventful night.”

“You think this is funny?” you grumbled, tossing your phone aside.

“A little,” Caitlyn admitted, stretching. “But you did kind of bring this on yourself. You were all over Sevika last night.”

“I was drunk!” you defended, sitting up too quickly and regretting it immediately as the pounding in your head worsened.

“Drunk or not, the internet thinks you’re dating her now.”

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed again with yet another call from your manager. With a deep breath, you reluctantly answered, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Good morning,” you croaked, your voice still rough from sleep.

“Morning? Morning?! Do you have any idea how many damage control calls I’ve had to make already?” your manager’s voice was sharp, bordering on panic. “What happened last night? Why is half the internet convinced you and Sevika are in some whirlwind romance?”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s not what it looks like. She was just helping me—”

“Helping you down from a table while holding your waist and leading you out of the club hand in hand?” your manager interrupted, not buying it. “The pictures don’t scream ‘just helping.’ You know how people are going to spin this.”

“Okay, but we’re not dating,” you said firmly, though your cheeks heated at the memory of Sevika’s steady hands on you.

“Doesn’t matter. This is already everywhere, and people are eating it up. We need to decide how to handle this—deny it, ignore it, or lean into it.”

You groaned again, flopping back onto the bed as Caitlyn chuckled beside you, clearly enjoying your predicament. “I can’t deal with this right now. My head is killing me.”

“Drink some water and get it together,” your manager snapped. “I’ll call you in an hour. Figure out what you want to do by then.”

The call ended, leaving you staring at the ceiling, your phone still buzzing with notifications.

Caitlyn rolled over to face you, propping her head on her hand. “So, what’s the plan, superstar?”

You shot her a glare, but her grin only widened. “I hate you,” you muttered, burying your face in the pillow again.

But even as the headache and the stress loomed, you couldn’t stop thinking about Sevika’s touch—the way her hand had lingered on your waist, the steady warmth of her presence amidst the chaos. Maybe the internet wasn’t entirely wrong.

[katyspersonal]

I had a really fun dream tonight! The most fun I've had in a while!

It started out strange already, with Aldrich of all people reaching Gwyn from when he was still alive and shining brightly, through time and space from somewhere in the darkness. I remember he was sorta lulling Gwyn, who was terrified, into losing focus by convincing him he was sleeping and it was a bad dream. I suppose time is a very vague mater, so why not? Still, it is kind of funny how Gwyn's child apparently wasn't enough and he came for the father 😔 I recall Aldrich only taking a bite, and it's understandable, I'd think Gwyn's whole soul is way too much to digest for anyone

Again, transition into 'actual' dream happened afterwards! And honestly, it was a very large place. So bright, so.. alive? It was full of many life forms, everything was so awake and always moving, so full in a good way, not in a 'chaos and noise' way. Many kinds of architecture everywhere too, in some places melting together with even a few modern buildings blend in somewhere. Again, time is a strange matter I guess! But another interesting bit was knights battling dragons, or what was remains of dragons kind? Despite the battling it all felt like prosperity, like life just began for everyone. Just so many living creatures and forms everywhere. In the dream I was not understanding it, but after waking up as I remember more details, it starts to feel like mostly memories of Gwyn himself. Not a new type of a dream for me, as I previously dreamed about what Gwyndolin and, strangely, Laurence, experienced after being devoured by Aldrich: they'd be brought back in their brightest memory like in a good dream, living it once more, before it started to show 'cracks' and get flooded by water and darkness, more and more..

This time was a bit different, though. No moment where everything floods, drows and collapses, but instead a lot of traces of flood and water on the ground here and there, and the brightest, the warmest day shining. Like you know, how after a long periods of rains and floods ends, the sun is even brighter and the warmth is even warmer because of all the water drying? It was a lot like this. And I've found Aldrich in this dream, in person... like his real self again; in my dreams it is a very particular image of a chubby black-haired man, always the same. Just maybe a bit too pale skin for a normal human. He was constantly residing in a pond, refusing to come out.. Seemed somewhat relaxed, but he pointed out that things will be "normal" again, and he was just waiting for that "night time" here. Even just a piece of Gwyn's soul was very strong, fighting for dominance on instinct even, but apparently the light would go out in a couple of days, according to Aldrich. Damn, dude has no sense of wonder at ALL it seems xD Full disrespect to him for skipping the season event pass and sticking to his comfort zone gjhgfjhjj I guess he IS a big fan of stagnation, after all. 🙄

Still, I feel so happy and full after this dream? It was beautiful and fun! Also while processing it after waking up I had a silly crossover idea of Rom and Godwyn meeting him like this too as they're also connected with the 'Sea' for an unhappy reason. They could be also recovered again, just with some former traces like Godwyn having scales and third eye still or Rom's tails.. They could actually be cheerful here and drag Aldrich's lazy ass around to actually enjoy the 'event' before everything fades back into darkness and water. And Godwyn of course would try to chill people on dragons battling stuff and negotiate xD Really love this kind of dreams, and thoughts.

[cctinsleybaxter]

Furiosa thots!!! Putting under a readmore since it only just came out and i don't want to dissuade people from going. I find it kinda funny I find it kinda sad (I lowkey hated it but the war rig scene made me go stupid aaaa)

Stuff I liked:

Pacing and sound design. Was really skeptical of the 2+ hour runtime but it went by quick and plotting made sense

Costuming! Any time a practical effect or something textured is onscreen (which is not always. bodes well for the 'stuff i hated' section) is awesome; I don't care if it looks stupid or doesn't make sense it's a pleasure to have in class.

Arm backstory

This car

I went in thinking 'sigh well they're never going to beat robert de niro exploding that helicopter in midnight run' and then the war rig scene happened; I was going crazy!!! I loved it from beginning to end. I actually gasped because I'd noticed the grey mass of cloth being used as a flag at the first encampment and thought 'that's my favorite thing they've shown so far' (i was going to say prop but idk that it was practical); WELCOME BACK GREY CLOTH

Chris Hemsworth was somehow my favorite performance, I felt like he nailed the combination of goofy/ridiculous and scary/threatening

Stuff I didn't like:

George Miller uses bible allegories and imagery like he's the fucking Ultraman guy (Eiji Tsuburaya.) Why make posts about how fascinated you are by 'the japanese' using catholic imagery when we got that egregious crucifixion setup. Australians are culpable.

We don't learn anything about furiosa as a person that can't already be gleaned from Fury Road. I do think this does a pretty admirable job of storytelling for a prequel, we learn about what happened to Furiosa and we (sort of) get the character development that led her to take the wives with her, but I wish it'd been a brand new character's story

I like Anya Taylor-Joy and disagree with people saying this was a miscast because she can't act and is only suited to play models (misogyny takes many forms...), but I do think she's best in roles with a lot of speaking and micro-expressions, so playing a woman who barely speaks or emotes and will later become charlize theron just wasn't it. I'm also legitimately worried about how skinny she is rn

Stuff I hated:

This movie looked like absolute garbage in comparison to the rest of the mad maxes; even the ones I think are irredeemably bad. The combination of whatever frame rate they were using and the CGI was just. Ugh.

Scene transitions (so many fades to black) and montage (specifically thinking about the sped-up footage of them assembling the rig, Furiosa's Lion King dream sequence, and 'the horrors of war') were a hot mess

Framing dementus's anarcho-fascism as worse than immortan joe's regular fascism is such a misstep it casts a shadow over the whole movie. Yeah the hedonist with the working class accent who hates art and is too stupid/selfish to run a territory yadda yadda. It's very Stephen King villain, which would be fine!, but Fury Road had such good politics it just felt tired

You're telling me that a woman who spent her childhood kidnapped and threatened with rape (interesting that said threat only comes from individual extra bad guys btw; both evil men-dominated societies accept slavery and rape but condemn pedophilia) falls for her male coworker and mentor figure. You're telling me this is a compelling relationship between two victims of the same system. You're telling me you filmed it like a YA dystopian romance. You're telling me her backstory is that she showed a guy her most treasured and vulnerable possession, a seed from the fruit she plucked before being taken from eden and losing her innocence, and he bade her keep it by putting his big-ass yaoi hand over hers, and that's what solidified their trust. You're telling me she doesn't once speak to a woman who isn't her mom. Can we die? Can we go to the wasteland?

[inspiredwriterstory]

TopDragon ep 1, part 2

*Fade to a filled cave with Wibli, Turtle, Winter, and hundreds of other dragons*

Qibli: Hello and welcome back to TopDragon!

Turtle: I have to admit I'm really enjoying this show.

Qibli: And your gonna enjoy it even more in a second because I have a surprise for you Turtle. Now before that lets just recap what's happened so far.

Turtle: Honestly I'd rather not because I felt like a red lobster in that car.

Qibli: You looked like it too.

Winter: So last time Kinkajou dive bombed Qibli, we got on the road, and the sand snorter broke his car.

Turtle: In a nutshell yes.

Qibli: Wow.

Turtle: Well before we get back to our cross continent road trip, it's time for our first car review.

Qibli: We have brought a very special guest on to drive a car around a track and report their experience.

Winter: Today's guest is classy, Very well known, and the daughter of queen Coral.

Turtle: Wait what-

Qibli: Please welcome, Prince Anemone!

*Anemone walks out onto the cave stage as the crowd cheers*

Anemone: Hello everyone! Hi Turtle.

Turtle: That's what you guys were being so sneaky about behind the scenes?

Qibli: We thought we'd surprise you.

Winter: Lets all sit down.

*Everyone sits down with Qibli, Turtle, and Winter on one while Anemone is on a couch opposite*

Turtle: Watch your tail please.

Winter: Keep that dirt away from me.

Qibli: Alright Anemone, we had you drive around the TopDragon test track and we're just gonna ask you some questions.

Winter: Is she old enough to drive?

Qibli: On private property yes.

Anemone: I have to admit, it was exciting and scary since I've never driven before.

Qibli: Alright so we sat you down in a automatic Mazda MX5 Miata. Now our track is A very flat track with a mix of wide and tight turns so how would you describe your experience?

Anemone: Well it was definitely different to swimming.

Winter: How about we watch her in action.

*Fade to black and then fade into a shot of the track which is nestled perfectly into a valley in the sky kingdom.*

*Cut to Anemone buckling up in a convertible 2024 Mazda MX5.*

Anemone: Alright, here we go.

*Another dragon soon walks out and waves a green flag.*

*Anemone makes a surprisingly slow start*

Qibli over footage: Where's the fire?

Anemone over footage: Very funny.

Turtle: There around the first turn.

*Anemone goes around a sweeping left before quickly transitioning into a hair pin turn and under steering to the outside of the track*

Winter over footage: Missed your braking point.

*Cut to Anemone inside the car*

Anemone: Come on turn!

*Anemone gets out of the turn and accelerates down the long straightaway*

Turtle over footage: Okay decently fast down the straight.

*Anemone suddenly locks her tires as she tries to break and nearly flies off the course*

Qibli over footage: Oh careful, don't wreck the car.

*Anemone makes a hard right before accelerating through a slight gradient with A zig zag in the road*

Anemone dodging a guard rail: Woah! Oh moons.

Qibli over footage: Not out of the woods yet she still has the final turn.

*Anemone glides forward and holds a right around the turn while running a bit wide.*

Qibli as she finish: And across the line!

*Fade to black and then fade back to the cave.*

Winter: I will say, not bad.

Turtle: Especially for a first time driver.

Anemone: Why thanks.

Qibli: Now here we have A leader board and since you are the first guest to ever be on it you automatically get first with A time of... Two minutes, fifty two... Point three seconds!

Anemone: You know I'm happy with that.

Turtle: Alright well, now that that's been settled, I'm sure you are all wondering what happened to Qibli's Charger. Well we're about to find out.

Qibli: I'm going to be honest, I was shocked when I found out what it was.

*Fade to black then cut to a drone shot of all three cars driving down the road with Turtle behind Winter towing Qibli's Charge.*

Winter over radio: Hate to say I told ya so-

Qibli: No you would marry I told you so and buy a burial plot right next to it for when you die.

Turtle over footage: Qibli had clearly experienced a major failure, he couldn't even get his car started. So I stepped up to the task of taking him to the Oasis.

*Cut to inside of Winter's car*

Winter over radio: You have got to be kidding me.

*Cut to Turtle pulling Qibli off the main road and onto a sandy pathway*

Winter over footage: The oasis was off the main road, and my car was not happy about it at all.

*Cut to footage of Winter's GTR struggling to climb a sand dune.*

Winter: Queen Glacier give me strength.

*Cut to the sun setting over a oasis with A lake and palm trees as the cars make their way over there before cutting to a dusty abandoned shed with tools as a scorpion races by the camera.*

Turtle: We're here!

Qibli as he gets out: Perfect! I can figure out what happened now.

Winter: My word this heat is unbearable.

Turtle: At least you have air conditioning.

Qibli: Hold on, what's this?

*Qibli begins walking away and Turtle and Winter soon follow.*

Qibli: No way!

*Camera begins showing dynamic drone shots of a drag strip made out of sandstone*

Qibli: Ha! This is the original sandwing drag strip! This is where they raced the first muscle cars!

Winter: Oh great, there's a challenge on that post.

Qibli: I got it. *Grabs challenge*

Qibli reading it out loud: You have now arrived and will spend tonight sleeping in your cars before tomorrow's race to test their comfortablity.

Turtle: I am going to be a filled seafood meal by tomorrow.

Winter over footage of the sun setting in the distance: And with that we made our way back to our cars.

Winter as Qibli pushes his car into the shed in the background: With ease I can lay the seats back and turn on the air conditioning. I am sleeping like a royal should.

*Cut to Turtle*

Turtle: In an attempt to get a good nights sleep I have parked my Lancia partly in the lake and I will sleep with my tail in the window so I can say I slept "In my car".

*Cut the the three moons rising as the sound of Qibli working on his car is heard in the background before fading to black*

*Fade to show a eagle flying high over the sand as the sun rises*

Winter: Well I slept decent, you have to say Nissan makes comfortable cars.

*Winter walks over Turtle who is tossing and turning in the water*

Winter: Okay that's cheating, you have to actually be in the car.

Turtle half asleep: I am... *snore*

*Winter picks him up and dumps him fully in the water and Turtle comes back up spitting water out of his mouth*

Turtle: Okay I'm up!

Turtle over footage of Winter and Turtle looking for Qibli: After a rude awakening we both realized we couldn't find Qibli's car. So we looked for clues.

*Both turn there heads to the shed about ten feet away.*

Turtle: Found him.

*Cut to a messy shed with tools and car parts everywhere*

Winter: My goodness, Qibli what on Phyria?

Qibli from under the car as he slides out: Winter? Oh no the sun is up.

Turtle: Did you not sleep last night?

Qibli: I had a broken crankshaft I had to replace.

Winter: Well your gonna feel it the rest of the road trip.

Qibli: I still gotta finish it up so you guys head over to the drag strip and I'll meet you there as soon as I can.

*Time lapse the sun rising over the desert until it's mid day before cutting to Turtle and Winter watching Qibli driving over.*

Qibli as he gets out: Why do you guys look so concerned?

Turtle: Look.

*Camera cuts to see a figure in a white racing suit next to a muscle car.*

Qibli: Crap, it's The Stig.

Turtle over the footage as The Stig drives all the way over rolling to a stop: The Stig is without a doubt one of the best drivers in Phyria. And now we'd have to try and beat his Pro stock drag racing division Ford Thunderbird with our cars.

Qibli: Hello Stig.

The Stig: .....

Qibli: Chatty as ever I see.

Winter: Lets stop wasting time and get to racing.

*Camera cuts to all four lined up side by side.*

*Cut to inside of Turtles car*

Turtle in the car: The only way I can win this is if they all have some sort of issue or make a mistake.

*Cut to winter into car*

Winter in car: Just gotta time my shifts perfectly, hope launch control does it's job.

*Cut to Qibli in car*

Qibli in car: Being fully honest I'm worried that my repairs won't hold. I haven't had a chance to run it in.

*Cut to The Stig in the car*

The Stig: ....

*A produce waves a flag and the roar of engines fills the air. The Stig launches forward while Qibli suddenly pulls a wheelie with his front tires high in the air.*

Qibli: WOOOOOO!

Turtle: Three moons!

*Qibli's front wheels slam to the ground as he pulls forward and matches Winter's speed as The Stig flies down the drag strip widening the gap by the second.*

Qibli: The Sitg is gone! It's just a race between us three now!

*Turtle is falling behind as Qibli and Winter battle to pass each other*

Turtle: Their really going!

*The Stig blasts past the finish line. The camera begins cutting back and forth between Qibli moving the shifter and Winter hitting the shifter paddles*

Winter: Come on sand snorter!

*Both thunder past the finish line side by side with Turtle coming a second later.*

*Cut to Turtle in Car*

Turtle over radio: Who won?

Qibli over radio: I have no idea.

*Camera cuts to the three rolling to a stop side by side as The Stig drives off and a producer hands Qibli a piece or paper.*

Qibli as he gets out with a piece of paper: Well I think we all know The Stig won, but the real battle was between me and Winter, which, you did very good.

Winter: You didn't do bad yourself.

Qibli: So they snapped a picture as we crossed the line and it was close.

*Qibli slowly turns the picture so they can see it. Qibli just edged out the GTR*

Qibli: Muscle wins on it's home ground!

Winter: Dang it.

Turtle: Hey good job.

*A producer walks up and hands Qibli another paper*

Qibli Reading out loud: Now that you have raced in the home of the Muscle car, you will now make your way to Jade Mountain Academy for your next challenge.

Turtle: They're sending us directly there?

Qibli: Did anyone there even approve that?

Winter: I don't know.

*Fade to black and fade back to the cave*

Qibli: Wow. That was a close race.

Turtle: I'm still surprised you could make that repair in time.

Winter: That only looks like he did he made us wait two hours in the back sun.

Turtle: I don't know what your complaining about you have air conditioning, my Lancia is like a oven!

Qibli: Well one thing we can all agree on, is The Stig had the advantage.

Turtle: Did they really think that we had any chance of beating him?

Winter: Obviously not or they're idiots.

Qibli: Now can we talk about my wheelie for a second?

Turtle: How did you even pull that off?

Qibli half laughing: I'm not even sure myself!

Turtle: If someone would do us a favor and put the footage on screen that be great.

*Footage comes onto a TV*

Turtle: Pause right there.

Qibli: Look at how high my front tires are!

Turtle: That has to be like four, maybe five feet!

Winter: I will never get why people go crazy over wheelies, it seems so impractical.

Qibli: It's nearly impossible without the proper equipment!

Turtle: Well I'm afraid that's all we have time for but next time, we'll be making the difficult journey through the mountains.

*Fade to black*

[llycaons]

Section One: Part I

The name of the song: that sweet sweet postcanon getting-together content

*I hope that you will come and meet me* by feyburner

summary: a classic 🥰 one of the first postcanon getting-together fics I’ve ever read. although not without its flaws, this is sweet, reliable, romantic, and has lovely writing. it remains a staple in fic recs for good reason work issues: lwj’s dialogue is very awkward, edging towards caveman speak in some of the more egregious lines author issues: genderbends, fuck or die

*And Yet Here You Are by cosmicmilktea

summary: a wonderful postcanon work. wx’s parallel goals for justice are heavily featured, lwj truly cares about and does well in his cc role, wwx addresses the pain his actions have caused in the past with actual nuance, there’s some excellent teaching going on, the characterizations are great, and it’s one of the only fics that I think really understands how lwj relates to the rules work issues: none author issues: A/B/O

*second person* by theherocomplex

summary: this is one of the most stunning and beautifully written fics I’ve ever read. in one timeline, wwx is grappling with being in mxy’s body, slowly healing and coming to terms with his traumas while traveling solo after leaving CR. in another section set some time in the future, a wwx, reunited with lwj, races to save his life after an assassination attempt both parts of the story interweave with each other; at times aching, at times terrifying, at times introspective. with a wonderful ending after an intensely compelling showdown. the second person pov was so engaging and unusual. cql for most things except wwx being in mxy’s body. I dislike when the post-temple travels are longer than a year, but the characterizations are so good, and the writing is so gorgeous, and the time for healing is needed so clearly that I don’t mind see author notes for warnings. wwx’s new body is written as if it’s a discrete entity from him and they are both talked about as if they have their own desires and goals. there are some allusions to wwx’s suicidal ideation early into his travels, as well as a semi-graphic description of torturing a character to death work issues: none author issues: xicheng, 3zun, dubcon, and sex pollen

how you hold my name by detention_notes

summary: a nice and gentle postcanon getting-together work work issues: none author issues: none

*This House of Ill Repute* by Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle)

summary: postcanon wwx and lwj seek shelter from a storm at an inn they quickly realize offers more services than they expected. honestly, the setting really just made their getting-together very sweet? all the original characters were so lovely and the atmosphere was very friendly. this fic makes me a smile a lot. work issues: none author issues: has written fuck or die

*this must be the place by here_perishing

summary: a four-part get-together series starting with a sex scene just after the fade to black in ep43. it fits beautifully into canon because they just. don’t talk about it the next morning and do everything exactly as they did in the show. the characterizations were excellent in this one, and I loved how tender and funny it was. cql only, and easily one of the smoothest transitions from canon to fanon I’ve ever read. maybe lwj calling wwx an idiot is ooc but I thought it was very funny in context and it made sense for their dynamic here the grammar was a bit shaky, but the writing was otherwise good enough that I could ignore it work issues: none author issues: none

everything you think you had by gusuvibes

summary: post-guanyin temple, wwx and lwj go back to gusu and yearn. it’s a bit sad because it does follow cql canon and wwx leaves anyway, but I like the writing and atmosphere, and I find the ending satisfying in the way the promise at the end of cql was work issues: their first kiss is when lwj believes wwx to be drunk, but he stops them and feels awful when wwx wants to escalate things. wwx isn’t actually drunk, but it was a bit of a weird choice imo author issues: has written genderbends

In the Cold of Spring by dollydoodledoo

summary: absolutely lovely character introspection/getting-together fic that grapples with wwx’s self-worth issues while remaining very positive and warm. I love the style and atmosphere, and the dialogue is realistic and engaging. lwj in particular was given lines where he actually says things and doesn’t just repeat the same three or four sentiments over and over again. work issues: none author issues: none. this is a mutual’s fic, go read it!

*Linger in the Sun* by etymologyplayground

summary: postcanon getting together casefic! the lwj and wwx in this just Know each other so well and love each other so much, so even though they take things slowly you can really feel the romance and tenderness. lovely, humorous, and satisfying work with a nonbinary oc. firmly cql characterizations I find the jc and wwx relationship here to be very obnoxious, in the sense that wwx feels the need to tell lwj not to be so protective of him and jc being rude and aggressive towards him is just…brotherly bonding. sigh. I skip his scenes. work issues: none author issues: has written genderbends

*Wearing Down Every Bone by CSHfic, VSfic

summary: getting-together casefic with a time loop twist. there was a lot of drama and emotion in this one, the worldbuilding and plot were well-crafted, the characterizations were on point, and the conclusion was deeply satisfying in a way most fics on here aren’t (having its own plot helps). the ending made me want to cheer and I thought the wwx was just wonderful work issues: none author issues: none

let me hold it lightly by Phlogistics

summary: that brief interlude of wwx realizing lwj won’t travel with him in ep50, and what comes after. cql characterizations, and I really loved how thoroughly the author understood them and the show’s finale. the imagery and style were also lovely. a little wistful, but sweet and hopeful as well. work issues: none author issues: none

*awake for the sunrise by occultings (microcomets)

summary: half of this is just smut but honestly it’s a really lovely postcanon get-together. short, but their chemistry was just so natural and their joy together was just palpable ahh I love this one work issues: none author issues: genderbends, allusions to cnc, sex pollen

flowers boldly blossoming over withered grass by LilyMaxwell

summary: a lighthearted, loose narrative describing wwx’s life postcanon. not much of a plot besides wwx traveling and then returning to lwj, but a really lovely romance and a lot of writing about flowers work issues: none author issues: idk if this counts are rpf but they wrote a fic of lwj/another character wyb played and tagged it wyb/wyb so???

a safe pair of hands by occultings (microcomets)

summary: I don’t usually like fics with physical curses that lead to get-togethers bc I always feel weird about like, freedom of choice but this one is really good! pretty straightforward - postcanon wwx and lwj are traveling together, lwj gets hit with a touch-starved curse, and things go from there. it’s really sweet and tender and yeah these are definitely some good sex scenes imo work issues: none author issues: genderbends, sex pollen, allusions to cnc

the hidden source is the watchful heart by o_honeybees

summary: lwj pov post-cql get-together. somewhat corny, but very sweet. they’re in love, they come together, they ease into intimacy. low-drama and very tender. I like how thoughtful and responsible lwj is in this one work issues: none author issues: none

my heart skips a beat (so my gut can feel the punch) by seularen

summary: postcanon get-together for cql. wwx finding the balance in his life and what he really wants was really nice to read, and I thought the characterizations were excellent work issues: very faithful to novel sexual dynamics, so this one has a few lines that vaguely reference cnc. not graphic or even really explicit, but only read if you’re prepared for that. author issues: cnc (see above) and xiyao

Devoutly to Be Wished by yunitsa

summary: a short collection of wwx’s fantasies about lwj in chronological order from CR schooldays to the jingshi snow days. not all of them are sexual. I think it tracks his state of mind really well at different points of the story and the finale was just really tender and sweet. I feel like we get a lot of young lwj Yearning but not wwx so much. cql canon work issues: none author issues: none

I’m Going Out (Gonna Make A Name For Me And You) by cosmicmilktea

summary: postcanon, wwx travels and works as lwj’s legs on the ground to enact change for the world and help people in need. fun and interesting character and political work exploring wwx’s recovering reputation, concept of home, teaching, and relationships with others sect disciples. the romance was in the background, quiet but nice. technically a getting-together work, but less focused romance than other fics on here jc was kind of annoying but not terrible. the juniors shipping wx were honestly a little funny. a few of the names sounded off because the author sometimes didn’t use honorifics for the disciples work issues: none author issues: A/B/O

small mercies by mellowflicker

summary: wwx stays postcanon and takes care of lwj during his tenure as cc. the intimacy is mostly unspoken but nice and very physical. no big get-togethers or confessions are needed, because they simply know. the sex is rough and a little undernegotiated but honestly really well done. a nice read overall work issues: none author issues: a/b/o, slave AU, age difference, student/teacher relationship, niyao, consensual somnophilia

Back to Start

[j-graysonlibrary]

His Transgressions Built It: Chapter 5

Title: His Transgressions Built It

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 51K

Genres: psychological horror, drama, LGBT+

Available on: my website and on Kobo

Synopsis: After living almost a decade estranged from his family because of his transition, Noah is called back to his hometown to take care of his young niece and nephew when their parents die suddenly. Because the children only know of their distant "aunt", Noah pretends to be his own husband in order to not explain himself or cause further issues. But, in doing so, he has to navigate the small town, filled to the brim with his childhood trauma, under the guise of a complete stranger.

Full Chapter 5 under the cut

V:

Noah hasn’t had cable TV for the entire time he’s been moved out on his own. He expects it to be an unknowable beast when he turns it on in the living room and flips through the channels. So much time has passed. He’s changed considerably yet the channels and the content are, remarkably, the same.

He lands on a local station, playing the news for the area. The logo—huge translucent letters at the bottom right of the screen—permeates every frame. There’s no scrolling marquee and only one anchor is present. Her hair hasn’t left the eighties and Noah begins to wonder if the news is, somehow, showing re-runs.

That’s not allowed, he’s sure.

But, then again, he’s no acquaintance to cable.

After the weather updates for the day, the screen fades to black and the commercial block plays. The first ad is for a big, chain restaurant. Noah’s fairly certain he’s seen it play before a video online…somewhat recently too. The narrator and background music is quite clear and crisp.

He lets out a quiet sigh.

Next commercial.

An aged grain blankets the screen and static hisses. The color palate of the shot instantly sends Noah on alert and all of his muscles tense as if he’s about to be dropped into freezing water. A man’s back is to the camera but his suit is all Noah needs to see to recognize him.

He doesn’t know him personally.

His sandy blonde hair, almost certainly a toupee, is thick and swoops to one side. He has a red nose and cheeks and his eye bags are quite pronounced. In spite of this, his energy is high and it used to either be infectious or attract ridicule.

Noah’s mother always hated him. Some of the kids at school thought he was funny though…

“Hey ya’ll, it’s me, Tommy Goodson, and you are not gonna BELIEVE the sales goin’ on at Tommy’s auto-emporium!” Tommy lifts up his hands into the air and pumps them a few times. “Check this out!”

He runs through a line of cars, each with big numbers painted on their windows. Already, he’s out of breath on the second car. Then, to bring the pitch home, Tommy reaches somewhere below the camera’s view and pulls back an electric guitar.

It’s not plugged into anything but he pretends to shred on it anyway and a second of some eighties rock band plays over top. Noah wonders a few things.

Did Tommy’s auto-emporium ever face legal troubles by using a sound bite he’s certain they didn’t pay for? And, trailing quickly behind that thought: is Tommy’s auto-emporium even still open? Or, is the local station running the ad solely out of habit?

Tommy lowers the guitar, ready to recap the massive sales going on. He’s breathing a bit heavy and his face is even redder now than it was at the start. He smiles through the pain and stares right into the camera.

And he stares.

And stares

And stares some more.

Noah starts to think something is wrong. It would usually be over by now. Surely even shoddy local commercials would know to cut all this dead air?

But Tommy keeps staring. And he’s staring at him.

When Noah leans to the side, Tommy’s eyes follow. He’s no longer struggling to catch his breath anymore and his cheesy salesman smile is gone. In fact, he looks rather angry with Noah.

The remote. Where is it?

As Noah reaches for it, Tommy snaps back into his persona and exclaims, “So come on down, ya’ll!” The jingle plays over some oversaturated graphics and the next commercial picks up.

Keys jingle.

It’s by the front door.

A heavy shoe against the wood. More jingling.

Noah catches a strong waft of an old scent. It’s hard to explain but it’s like straight alcohol, only on purpose with a glaze of pine. A new car. But also after-shave. The kind from the nineties that can be smelled from across a room. It’s a combination of scents but it was once all bottled together in one.

Whatever it was, his father used it as his cologne.

When the footsteps grow nearer, the scent gets stronger. Noah has a difficult time looking away from the TV. If he doesn’t see his father then, maybe, he won’t be seen either. The juvenile thought keeps him rooted to the spot.

“Hey,” Erin’s snappy voice sucks out the smell and she also allows Noah to turn his head, as a start. Her outfit is mostly pinks and whites and she’s got a white and gold purse already over her shoulder. She tosses the keys to Noah who just manages to catch them before they pelt the floor. “Time to go.”

Bryce joins them in the entryway, appearing unenthused and with a gaming console in his hand already. He’s got no interest in bowling, Noah gathers, but he still can’t just leave him behind.

The bowling alley is not where Noah remembers at all. In fact, the building looks entirely unfamiliar even if the surroundings are trying to jog some type of memory. It’s not in a place he visited often, so he considers that those memories are just harder to reach but the confusing part is that it almost looks like something, just not quite.

Almost. A little to the left, maybe? And more derelict on the outside.

This building actually appears cared for and the signs are in working condition. Through the automatic doors, there is a clean smell.

“Is this new?” Noah can’t help but ask.

“It’s been here since Bryce was a baby,” Erin states, confused. “So, no?”

“That wasn’t that long ago,” Noah replies and then receives strange looks from both of the kids. To them, of course, ten years is forever. It’s the longest stretch of time they can imagine. For Noah, it may as well be yesterday or last month.

Erin loses interest immediately in any further conversation as she sees her friends already occupying a lane. She doesn’t ask for permission and runs off on her own, shouting off a list of girls’ names as she goes.

Bryce sighs and then looks up at Noah. “Do we have to play too?”

“Not with them,” he says, hoping it’s some consolation. “We’ll have a lane to ourselves…and I’ll buy nachos.”

“…And funnel cake?”

“Sure.”

They trade in their shoes first and are given a lane. Bryce refuses the bumper rails. Though he’s uninterested in the game itself, he still sees insult in the aid. Noah doesn’t care either way so he just does whatever his nephew wants.

“You go first. I’ll grab the snacks.”

Bryce hardly acknowledges him at all but that’s been Noah’s experience so far. He thinks nothing of it and walks to the bar close by the entrance, opposite the shoe counter. One employee stands at attention and she’s not what Noah expects.

When he thinks bowling alley employee, he imagines a teenager at their first job or, maybe, a twenty-two year old trying to pick up extra money between college classes. This woman is at least in her late twenties, maybe even thirty, and she’s got a defined style outside of her uniform.

Her hair is in a short afro, maintained very carefully and dyed a copper color which her brows match. They’re thick and there’s evidence of a piercing along the left brow only there’s no jewelry there now. Her ears, however, are lined with silver studs, small hoops, with a couple of dangling bits. Glittering orange eye shadow pops against her dark skin but her lips are far less eye catching, only having a shimmery gloss that can hardly be seen at all.

Unless Noah stares, which he does for a moment.

It’s not just that she sticks out in this scenery—in this town, even—but she looks familiar. He suspects she reminds him of someone he’s met in the city but corralling those memories is akin to grabbing smoke. He’s probably just seen someone who looks like her at his old job. Lots of artsy, alternative types came though, along with the main demographic of old lady hobbyists.

“Hey, what can I get you?” The woman asks with a cheery demeanor. She has no name tag, Noah notices but then, just as fast, notices where his eyes have traveled to look for such a thing.

“Oh, um…” He’s embarrassed but maybe she doesn’t notice. Her disposition doesn’t change. “Nachos and funnel cake…what kind of drinks do you have?”

She punches a few things into the register and then she knocks her knuckle against the counter. “We’ve got some fruit punches, pretty much every pop, blue raspberry slushie and cherry slushie and, for the adults, we’ve got beer and wine.”

“You sell booze here?” Noah is surprised. He knows the old bowling alley didn’t serve alcohol.

“Yes…most bowling alleys do.” She gives him a sideways look.

“Well, sure but…” He struggles to think of how to explain himself. Saying that he used to live here contradicts what he’s told everyone else. And, while the woman at the bar in the bowling alley may not ever share this interaction or even remember it past today, his control can’t slip. If it does, he’ll pay. “It’s such a small place. I wasn’t sure…”

She chuckles. “We’re not that backward.” Noah orders a slushie for Bryce and beer for himself. He figures Erin will be occupied for a while so he’s indulging himself. While she pours the beer from the tap, the woman mentions, “I could tell you weren’t from here. It’s so small here, I feel like I’ve seen everyone.”

Noah takes the snacks and the drinks, all on a wide tray, and he tucks the receipt between his fingers. Bryce has already played for them both, a few times, but stops to dig into the food. Noah will have whatever he doesn’t want and takes a sip of his beer in the meantime, relishing in the flavor. He hasn’t had anything to drink in nearly a month and the sweet nectar almost lulls him into a state of security.

Then he glances down at the receipt. Strikingly high prices aside, he’s interested in seeing the cashier’s name. His eyes trail down the lines of text until he finds it.

Kiki.

Pins crash in the distance and he hears Erin squeal with delight, surrounded by her friends. Bryce crunches on nachos, unabashed and without slowing. Then, a whistling sound enters and everything goes silent, leaving Noah with just the space inside of his mind.

Of course the woman looks familiar. He’s angry with himself that he didn’t piece it together right away but Kiki has changed quite a bit. She looks remarkably young so she’s aged well and her hair is completely different to how she wore it in middle and high school. Her style of makeup and her piercings, too, are a far cry from the more modest and timid Kiki of the past. She’s put on some weight too, probably about as much as Noah, himself.

They spent every day together. They ate lunch together, they stayed after school to talk, and many times they tried to arrange a sleepover party. But Noah’s mother didn’t like Kiki for one plain and bigoted reason. More understandably, Kiki’s mother didn’t want her daughter spending the night under a racist’s roof.

Noah can’t even remember how he and Kiki first started talking or even what they spent so much time talking about. It’s all a blur but he knows being around her gave him the only good memories he has of his youth.

He can’t say a word to her now.

His stomach eats itself, acid spilling over and corroding all his other organs. He is struck with terror at this realization and a self loathing in retrospect to every choice he’s made since coming here. Who cares if everyone knows he’s been Mary this whole time? If it means he can reconnect with Kiki…

Bryce coughs and beats on his chest, having taken too big a bite of funnel cake. He chases it down with his slushie and then practically gags. “Ugh! Cherry?!”

“What’s the matter?” Noah asks and then throws back more of his beer. He’s looking at the bottom of the glass when he drinks now.

“I hate cherry. It tastes like medicine.”

He’s never met someone averse to cherry flavor before but he doesn’t stick on that. “They have blue raspberry too. Want that?”

Bryce nods, a hand clasped over his mouth like he’ll blow chunks if he has to swallow any more of the cherry slushie. He’s a bit dramatic but he’s ten so Noah won’t say anything. He’s also hoping to win some sort of points with his nephew by being flexible.

And he needs a new beer anyway.

Kiki has been joined by another employee, one she seems friendly with. He’s got his back to the lanes and he’s fussing with the slushie machine. His dreadlocks, tied back behind him, sway as he fights with a stubborn part of the device.

“Is it stuck again?” Kiki asks as Noah reaches the counter. His bowling shoes on the smooth floor alert her to his presence and she whips around. “Oh, hi again. Need something else? Hopefully not a slushie…”

“Actually…” Noah laughs under his breath. He can’t remember the last time he’s made such a sound and he’s thankful it even translates. “My nephew wants blue raspberry, not cherry. But, in the meantime, I’ll have another beer if, ugh, that’s all in order.”

“Sure is.” Kiki smiles and she pours him another glass.

Noah glances over his shoulder to see Bryce playing alone again. For how little he wanted to bowl, he sure is taking to it.

He doesn’t want to return without his drink and, also, he wants to keep by Kiki. Her energy, while not especially high, is still infectious and Noah wonders if it’s not the beer at all that’s putting him at ease. Even with all the cacophonous sounds in the bowling alley, he’s not yet jumped in fright or retreated into himself. He’s feeling on the cusp of normal, almost, and he wants to dig his heels in and stay here.

Kiki is far better at talking now, about nothing, and it’s probably got a lot to do with her job. Without some mastery of small talk, customer service is endless hell.

Past the shallow and observational, things go a little deeper. She even volunteers more information about herself and Noah doesn’t have to ask directly.

“I grew up here but I didn’t stay until now,” she says as she cleans off the counter in front of her. “I tried city life for a bit but, long story short, it did not work out. I bounced and came back here. It’s got it’s problems but it’s cozy enough. And the bowling alley makes us decent money.”

The way she says it raises Noah’s curiosity. “Do you own this alley?”

“Technically, Shaun does.” Kiki points to the man still working on the slushie machine. He’s retrieved a wrench at some point but Noah has yet to see him use it. He’s just gripping it in his off hand while he fights the thing. “He’s my cousin and he was left in uncle’s will to take the place. Poor Uncle Lou didn’t have more than five years as a business owner before he passed. Anyway, sad story aside, Shaun got the place but he’s not from here and he was overwhelmed so he called me up. I was already thinking about leaving the city so it worked out.”

Noah vaguely remembers Kiki mentioning a cousin before who didn’t live nearby. All of her family was spread out, save her Uncle Lou who could never decide if he wanted to live here or in the slightly larger town north of here.

Shaun finally steps away from the slushie machine and slaps it on the top. The hands start spinning and he turns around. “A’ight, I got it,” his voice is low and his words are mumbled together. He glances at Noah with big, brown eyes and an earnest expression. “What’d you need, man?”

“Blue raspberry,” Kiki says then adds, “I’ll get it.”

“Cool.” Shaun grabs a rag and cleans off his arm. His eyes land on Noah a few more times, very briefly, but he looks away quicker each time. He’s bashful or, worse, he suspects Noah of something.

Kiki presents the slushie with a smile. “Want another refill on your beer before ya go?”

He can use the relaxation but with his stint away from alcohol and a drive home in his future, he knows he shouldn’t.

With a forced smile he says, “No thanks. I gotta drive in a bit.”

Noah takes the slushie and walks toward Bryce who’s decimated the food and has reached the end of the round, bowling better on what would have been Noah’s turns than his own. He’s still projecting boredom and takes his drink with a mumbled thanks.

It’ll cost more to go another round but Erin is showing no signs of slowing, several lanes down, and Noah supposes he can find reasons to return to the bar outside of beer. He bounces his leg with a type of restlessness different than usual and he continuously stops himself from turning his head around to catch a glimpse of Kiki.

Although he’s not yet left, he already misses it here and wants to come back.

[jamboreeofsurprises]

i had just, the most incredible and visual dream last night and i really dont want the imagery i experienced from it to fade. hopefully typing a written record about it will at least refresh my memory of it any time i return to it.

so, i was in a crummy motel with my aunt and grandma, i was sleeping in as it was early morning but i heard faint traces of what was on the tv. lots of people performing songs on stage. i heard a pleasantly good cover of running up that hill by a soul group called Mystery so i looked it up on my phone for later, but the search results also informed me of something very valuable: sparks were about to go on on that very same show that was airing right now. as soon as the show host announced their presence, i started cheering and whooping loudly which startled and annoyed my aunt as she thought i was still asleep but apparently i can pull myself awake for sparks lol.

and this is where dream logic comes in, because i was both still in that motel bed and also there where the show was being filmed in the audience. now, they weren't going to perform live, which i was a bit disappointed in at first, but the stage inexplicably became a gigantic triptych screen, slightly folded inward on the outer screens, think like the garden of earthly delights by bosch (fittingly). ron and russell were there to announce the debut of this special sampling of their new album and it would indeed be an hour long which i was excited about (aunt was ambivalent). they came into the audience to personally greet/thank the fans for showing up in support and i, despite being far in the back, received a handshake from both brothers, ron noting that he remembered me and apologized that "nothing is as exciting as the first time meeting i know but thanks for coming." i thought, what a classically ron thing to say!

the screens went on and a pan of the audience was shown. camera was on me for a second so i ruffled my bangs that were out of place and i heard a few friends of mine cheering for recognizing me, lol. embarrassing but funny.

an animated intro began for a new video of an extended the girl is crying in her latte. this was faithfully recreated 30s-style animation of a mop (?) falling into a river and stating the name of the song in a child's voice while a latte cup poured tears into the river. there was a further extended intro involving the chosen four from earthbound and pokey also talking about everything we were about to see and i was on the verge of messaging everyone i know about what i was seeing out of sheer disbelief. not sure how this was relevant in retrospect but i was absolutely not gonna complain

then began a really grand animated video showing cartoon girls throughout the ages going in semi-chronological order, in styles faithfully recreated and some being actual iconic animated girls, shown crying over various scenarios in fast transitions. i was immediately hit with 'oh they finally had the absolute budget and it is paying off so hard.' black and white animation became early 30s painted animation and czech and soviet stop motion and cutout animation, and at some point anime gets introduced and the video gets a lot more experimental as the animation starts warping and transforming on itself and i swear the extended version of the song also does some interesting and unique things, picking up more instruments and more of an orchestral flair as it progresses, getting a little bigger every time as the visuals become just plain hypnotic. sailor moon was also there crying about tuxedo mask and had a dedicated verse in the song, Somehow. it all just got so kaleidoscopic and every corner of the three screens had something to fix your eyes on, almost grotesque in a good way as the figures abstracted to the point you could barely tell they were girls crying. it was a really fascinating tribute to the medium of animation and the theme of cartoon girls crying throughout the ages over very different things was so fun. i wish i could remember what more of the extended lyrics were but i thought to myself, what we got with the cate blanchett video really was only a tiny sample huh - this is absolutely the way this song should be experienced.

the cheering was really thunderous even if sparks fans only comprised a pretty small amount of the show's total audience, those of us who were there were in shock and awe at everything we were seeing. in real life i actually woke up a few different times to turn off the fan, turn off my alarm, etc and was greatly relieved that the dream picked up right from where i left it each time i fell back asleep. i'm not usually lucky enough for that to happen. in the dream i got on twitter a few times to tell my friends, you should really be here, i'm scared that this is a dream because it's all too amazing it might not be real. i know a video for an extended veronica lake came on shortly after - i think ron and russell also showed up to thank everyone again inbetween. they were dressed in suits and looked very proud of their creation. and i guess that's the basic extent of what i remember.

[padme-amitabha]

Anidala Week 2021

 Day 1: Missing Scene or Favorite Scene(s)

Anakin Skywalker could not take his eyes off the girl. He noticed her the moment he entered Watto’s shop, even before Watto said anything, and he hadn’t been able to stop looking at her since. He barely heard what Watto said to him about watching the shop. He barely noticed the strange-looking creature that had come in with her and was poking around in the shelves and bins. Even after she noticed he was staring at her, he could not help himself. He moved now to an open space on the counter, hoisted himself up, and sat watching her while pretending to clean a transmitter cell. She was looking back at him now, embarrassment turning to curiosity. She was small and slender with long, braided brown hair, brown eyes, and a face he found so beautiful that he had nothing to which he could compare it. She was dressed in rough peasant’s clothing, but she seemed very self-possessed. She gave him an amused smile, and he felt himself melting in confusion and wonder. He took a deep breath. 

“Are you an angel?” he asked quietly. The girl stared. “What?” 

“An angel.” Anakin straightened a bit. “They live on the moons of Iego, I think. They are the most beautiful creatures in the universe. They are good and kind, and so pretty they make even the most hardened space pirates cry like small children.” 

She gave him a confused look. “I’ve never heard of angels,” she said. “You must be one of them,” Anakin insisted. “Maybe you just don’t know it.” “You’re a funny little boy.” The amused smile returned.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, looking upset and embarrassed. “I don’t fully understand, I guess. This is a strange world to me.” He studied her intently for a moment, thinking of other things, wanting to tell her of them. “You are a strange girl to me,” he said instead. He swung his legs out from the counter. “My name is Anakin Skywalker.” She brushed at her hair. “Padmé Naberrie.”

Both Anakin and Padmé were laughing now, and their laughter increased as they saw the look on the unfortunate creature’s long billed face. Anakin looked at Padmé and the girl at him. Their laughter died away. The girl reached up to touch her hair self-consciously, but she did not divert her gaze. “I’m going to marry you,” the boy said suddenly. There was a moment of silence, and she began laughing again, a sweet musical sound he didn’t mind at all. “I mean it,” he insisted. “You are an odd one,” she said, her laughter dying away. “Why do you say that?” He hesitated. ” I guess because it’s what I believe…” Her smile was dazzling. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t marry you..” She paused, searching her memory for his name. “Anakin,” he said. “Anakin.” She cocked her head. “You’re just a little boy.” His gaze was intense as he faced her. “I won’t always be…” he said quietly.”

— Terry Brooks, Star Wars : Episode I - The Phantom Menace

This is one of my favorite Anidala scenes ever because their story starts so sweetly. This scene is so unique to them and after watching the OT, it’s fascinating to see a young Darth Vader as a sweet and innocent child. His interactions as a slave boy with a young queen in disguise is also fits with the fairytale-ish tone and themes in Star Wars. Anakin and Padmé’s first meeting is just precious. 

This is probably the only time, Anakin and Padmé can be themselves without older figures telling them what to do. This is one of the few times Padmé is Padmé Naberrie - not Queen Amidala or Padmé Amidala. It’s interesting to see two young people from different social classes and vastly different cultures and worlds sharing a genuine moment of connection. 

I can add very little to this scene but Anakin proves he has enough clairvoyance (as Admiral Motti mocks him in ANH) to be certain he has met the girl he would marry someday. Even in TPM, little Anakin Skywalker is just as much a slave to Watto as he is to the Emperor in ANH. 

Even Padmé is somewhat surprised by his intensity at such an young age. Anakin also emphasizes on his identity as a person so this scene has dark undertones and references to Darth Vader.  

Another scene I love is the chilling visual parallels with Vader and Padmé in ROTS. The stark contrast between their “deaths” but also the similarities show that they are still connected even while their lives hang in balance. 

Padmé gives birth to life and Anakin loses his humanity. She is in a well-lit medical facility and he is in a cold, dark one. Even their heartbeats are in sync as if they are connected via the Force (which could very well be true, since she was slightly force-sensitive from carrying the twins). 

As the mask lowers on Vader, he whispers (since his vocal cords are badly burnt), “Padmé, help me” and Padmé, always on Anakin’s side, hears his plea and tries to tell that to Obi-Wan with her dying breath. It’s very likely that she heard him through the connection they shared like their connection during the ruminations scene and how Leia felt Luke in ESB and but she was unable to respond as she had given birth and probably lost the temporary force sensitivity. 

 As Anakin takes his first breath as Vader, Padmé takes her last. 

Vader rises like Frankenstein’s monster and Sidious marvels at his new “creation”. Padmé dies all in white, like the angel Anakin believed her to be. The parallels are also reminiscent of the “Death and the Maiden” motif.

Anakin has always felt connected to Padmé since he met her and this is the last time he feels their connection. And that’s how he knows Padmé is truly dead and he has lost her forever.  

Even the chorus “I am a Sith Lord but I could not save her” (even though the lyrics are actually Sanskrit) is haunting. This is where the colors of the republic fade and the black and white symbolism of the empire begins. 

Anakin is now Vader - more machine than man - and stands beside Sidious to assist him in building a tyrannical empire while Padmé dies and takes with her all the colors, love, laughter, cultural beauty, and freedom of the Republic era. Padmé was the personification of the Republic - a flawed but well-intended system and her death represents the democracy whereas Vader represents the Empire. 

Her funeral arrangement makes it seem like she’s drowning like Ophelia - implying that she’s returning to where she belongs. (Her planet Naboo is mostly associated with water and Padmé has often expressed her love for water and lakes in AOTC).

Padmé dying of a broken heart is also fits in with the fairytale whereas Anakin finds himself in a very different world after he wakes up - a world where most of the Jedi had been slaughtered and the survivors were declared traitors, a world where democracy doesn’t exist anymore. And he finds himself kept alive my machinery and he cannot die like his beloved, even if he wishes to. He is now very much a part of the new empire - with his humanity and limbs lost - and he gradually accepts his role as the imperial enforcer. 

Anakin and Padme’s story comes to a conclusion here as their reverse arcs are completed. They have both come a long way since TPM and Padme’s experiences mold her into becoming more emotional and in touch with her feelings from the stoic, reserved Queen Amidala whereas Anakin’s dreams, compassion and search for his identity are lost as he becomes his master’s servant and becomes colder and more stoic. Padmé’s journey was to become more human and learning to put love and family over duty and transition from Amidala to Padmé as Anakin’s unfortunately was to become more inhuman and machine-like, from Anakin to Vader. 

These scenes are where the prequel trilogy ends and the originals begin. 

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

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

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

word count: 17.2k

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

///

Harry hates clubs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the f—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re going to hell.” 

“I’m already there, mate.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, boomer.” 

“You’re older than I am!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the culture shock hit. 

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

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

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Precisely his point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So how do you like your new home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[dandelionbruises]

My biggest rule is: My blogs are 18+ Minors please do not interact! I fully support minors in writing and RP since I've been roleplaying since I was 10 but I'd prefer not to write with you if you are underage.

I mostly interested in shipping so I'll answer those first

MUN DOES NOT EQUAL MUSE I GOT SOME HORRIBLE MOTHERFUCKERS HERE DON'T THINK IM LIKE THEM PLEASE

I match lengths! One line gets one line, literate gets literate and so on.

This blog will have all types of nsfw and will be tagged accordingly. Let me know if I should tag anything specific.

Non RP blogs DO NOT REBLOG ANYTHING

I don't care about discourse and I expect it to not be brought towards me. If this person is doing this or that feels free to warn me and I'll decide what to do. I don't want to see people sending hate or anything that's petty. We're literally writing blorbos from our show doing things on Tumblr.

Communication is important but again we're writing blorbos smooching so like it's not a big deal if you don't want to write, I hope you have fun with ur muse bestie give em a pat for me.

Don't try to control my character please, they have their own thoughts and feelings and actions and I gave it to them. I am their god.

Many of my muses are very powerful, or in positions of power respect that.

In interactions actions have consequences and I love writing those, many of my characters don't think things through so sometimes it's funny.

Fights in Interactions will either be completely talked out beforehand, or we can fade to black and decide who wins. (This can be changed for different muns)

I'm just here to have fun and have irl stuff and that takes priority! I answer things I have motivation for. It's not in order, I'm not ignoring you.

I don't do mains or exclusives but if you do that's fine

I am semi selective however, I won't RP with everyone but I'm not too picky.

Multi-Verse, multi-thread, multi-ship, etc etc

I get the most motivation for ships, as much as I love writing angst, gore, drama etc I more so really like when they bond or argue and build up. Domestic, romantic, platonic, whatever is fun. I do have a weakness for gut wrenching angst.

I write dark shit, smut, angst, horror

I prefer to plot for more in depth/longer threads, but I'm not apposed to opens which ARE open.

I love AUs OCs and Crossovers please throw characters I have no clue about at my muses.

LASTLY I AM SLOW TO REPLIES, i am currently homeless, and transitioning into school within the next week or so. I will be very busy, and I am staying in a shelter. Please don't hound me for requests or take it personally if I am slow

Interact with this post so I know you read my rules.

Mains: My main most developed favorite muses, they're the ones I love using the most.

Sides: Characters I love and are developed but have probably written less, or may need some tuning and will progress as we write

Interaction characters: characters I love that generally don't have a point unless they interact, they have fun personalities so it's cool to see how your muse responds. Freaks, and weirdo muses of sorts.

Triggers: Button eyes, Description of things going in eyes (the Silco thing is an exception) the movie Coraline, Bugs (not including the pretty ones butterflies/moths and anything that isn't a freak), skin walkers, not-deer, Wendigos, weeping angels.

Other blogs: @unhclydiivinty @loyaltyearned

[sappyscarfy]

I just saw Doctor Strange 2 it was epic! Sorry im gonna have to yell about it

Spoilers below!

[Ok first im a normie mcu movie-only fan but i do frequent comic discussions so i know some things]

DS2 has been my most anticipated phase 4 marvel movie. I went into it 100% for doctor strange cause he's my fav character. Im not that huge about wanda sorry so i wont have much opinion on her,,, I won't lie i was quite worried for this movie with all the delays and reshoots, not to mention early reviews/reactions seems rather "mixed" so my expectations are kept in check Things i wanted to see before going into the movie: -Better magic fight. Frankly the magic in DS1 was rather meh. But they have been powering him up for the past couple movies so i had high hopes -Strange not getting overshadowed by Wanda and cameos -Better magic. Seriously i just want to see some cool magic. See that cool Strange vs Thanos battle in Infinity war? I just want an entire movie of that 💀 And they delivered! The magic was much more creative and varied! No more boring fistfight (except for that one scene where they literally cant use magic lol) A huge huge upgrade over the first movie. The music battle with darkhold strange (idk what to call him) was incredible! And when zombie strange turning the spirits into a cape. Metal af!! (Im gonna have to draw that someday). The magic in this movie is absolutely eye candy! Also holy fuck this movie is brutal i can't believe its PG-13. Black bolt head just fucking pop and Reed Richard is just shredded like spaghetti and its clearly see on screen. Rip all the parents bringing their kids into this movie I know many people are disappointed that the Illuminati were taken out so quick but im not a comic book reader so i wasn't obsessed over these cameos. Tho Professor X in that yellow chair was so funny i cant get the mental image of him rolling around in it during the battle with thanos out of my head So for the characters. Strange did get huge character development and i think he was really well written. I love the whole thing of him being able to accept that he doesnt always have to be the one wielding the knife. Christine role was very good too and im so glad she didnt give Strange a goodbye kiss at the end. Really like that last scene where Strange repaired the watch to show that he was finally able to move on too. Im very very glad that they didnt get back together at the end -The new character America Chavez i love her! I've only known her for 2 hours but if anything happened to her, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself. She punch star portals. Coolest thing ever! Needs more development in the future tho -Wanda. Im not wanda stan so i dont mind whatever role she's playing in this movie. I think she was a good villain. Tho im actually glad that it was the darkhold that corrupts her because going from wandavision to murdering a bunch of people is way too steep of a character turn -Wong my beloved! I was so scared they're gonna kill him off to make Strange the sorcerer supreme but im glad they didnt. He was really funny in this movie and i love the banter with strange as usual. There's that scene in Kamar Taj where he yells "FORTIFY YOUR MIIIIIND!!!!!" was so hilarious to me -Mordo (838) he doesnt really do anything. But im glad they didnt kill off og mordo like some leaks said -Who is that green minotaur i want to know moreee

Visual-wise this movie looks way better than most mcu movies. Lots of more interesting shots and better color grading. Tho some of the transition scenes are really goofy like that one going from Wanda's apple field and fading to Wong face lmao. And Raimi really loves eye closeup huh

Hm hm what else? Yeah the post credit. Im sorry I know many comic fans are very excited for Clea but that scene has strong "it's me blorko" energy skskskks. Anyways idk anything about her but she seems very cool and im excited to see her in the future I think the pacing in this movie is a bit too cramped. Def needs some extra minutes in some place like the beginning to kamar taj fight

Side note, this movie has a B+ Cinemascore (which is a rating system used in box office community to represent the casual general audience opinion). The only other B range mcu movies are Thor 1 (B+) and Eternals (B). Im honestly baffled that people like thor 2 (A-) and black widow (A-) more than this 💀 Overall good movie, better than NWH for me!

[fexiprompts]

So stick with me here

Lexi + Fez special episodes

Fez episode P1

( Ik a lot won’t translate as this show and the special episodes where HELLa dreamy and visual but would love if things are described in detail - our babies are spiraling)

Think of this as the immediate 3-4 months following the raid. I think it also works out that ash isn’t confirmed dead to give room for ash returning in season 3 - atleast in my version of this - but ash is in this just never seen

Fez’s episode should so the immediate booking and possible memory loss / dissociation of seeing ash as get shot while going through booking/holding ( would be great if it doesn’t confirm ash’s death)

* my idea is that ash is not narrating but speaking to fez directly. It starts subtle “ fuck off” “wtf fez” ( kinda like that scene in the play where we hear fez but don’t see him)

- how him and rue became so close (how was that built they literally never show us)- smoking, hanging, talking about his gma, talking about ash

a transition can be them talking after some fam love shit has been said and we hear ash say something “ going soft bro” and fez breaks the fourth wall and continues to until the end of the episode

- a dreamy like conversation between fez and ash ( we need to see these boys show more than masculine love , and I want ash to be able to express his why and why he felt that way — fez needs to hear that if only it’s dream) “your just a kid” “ I was never just a kid, I was your partner” “ you deserved to be a kid” “ so did you bro wtf”

[ we see Lexi try to visit the store and things are roped off and closed]

- Faye being released and being the person fez immediately calls ( sorry she’s going to be his new family she has no one and people loved her)

- Faye and fez chat yet we don’t know what they talk about ( it’s assumed he asks her to help with covering the house , get kitty safe and manage the store)

- dream scenes of him and Lexi on the farm , that life they wanted etc( big wide open spaces in contrast to tight jail cell would be gorgeous ) would be amazing if there’s some flashbacks of him and Lexi talking about life or goals or dreams that SL deprived us of “ you going fucking soft bro” “ I took care of you bro I deserve some soft shit”

Optional adds or saves for Lexi episodes ( pt2)

- Lexi tries to go by the house multiple times and we see her left in the dark ( top of fic)

- Lexi goes by again and she speaks to Faye and finds the letter , she asks Faye to let her speak to fez, Faye says “he needs time”

- we see Faye cleaning up the house, there when kitty goes to a state facility

- cal and fez cross paths in lock up “ where’s your sidekick” “ fuck you pedo didn’t you learn last time” “ funny enough I did” “ oh yeah and what was that” “ you have a choice, we all have a choice” “ fuck you on about” “ I raised someone who would hurt others because I hurt them, his choice got me here”” and you aren’t upset by that?” “ he made a choice, I will make mine”

- Faye helps him with an alibi, paired with the bugged confession say he gets a year ( we hear that at the end for his sentencing)

- Lexi gets a call from juvenile jail with the collect call being from Ashton ONeil 😭

Fade to black

If you like it happy to provide what the Lexi episode will look like and how that sets us up for S3!!

!!

[softcallofdutyimagines]

More Then a Woman | Frank Woods x Fem!Reader | Chapter 5

Summary:

I once again expose myself for being into older men, and you and Woods go on your first date

Tags: Slow burn, fluff, age difference

Chpt 1 | Chpt 2 | Chpt 3 | Chpt 4 | Chpt 6 | Warnings: strong language and some age difference, in case you don't like that

“Anyway, can I help you with something?”

Your friendly voice and sweet smile pull him out of his thoughts. Frank looks down at you, and instantly lets his nerves get the better of him. This was a mistake from the beginning.

He looks away, attempting to mask his insecurities with a gruff exterior, “Uh, it’s nothing. Sorry, may-”

“Oh no no, it’s fine, really! I just have to deliver these papers and then I can be right with you”, you smile encouragingly, and then… he decides to stay. More due to the fact that he feels unable to say no to you rather than by his own resolve, however.

He’ll have to watch out for that.

So he waits. There’s exactly one other chair in your office, a squat cube shaped thing sitting on the other side of your desk. Clearly this is something you own and brought in, rather than a piece of furniture that was given to you like that plain old black office chair behind your desk. The chair looks like it was brightly colored once, and smacks of something salvaged from the early 70s and dragged into the modern era. Still, it’s rather comfortable despite the faded, slightly sagging state of it.

Frank traces his fingers up and down the angular arm rest, thinking of you. You know, now that he’s had the chance to look around… There’s actually quite a few things of the past in here. He sees a bulky old camera and even a typewriter tastefully displayed amongst a few other nik naks on your shelves, both of which look like they were rolled out around the time he was just a child.

For a moment, he feels uncomfortable again and far too old to be trying something like this with you. But then, the anxiety is washed away with the musing that perhaps…. You like old things.

He can’t help but huff a laugh at that. A wishful thought on his part, maybe, and yet… not completely untrue.

“What’s so funny?”, your curious voice pulls him out of his thoughts as you suppress a small laugh of your own.

“Huh? Oh, nothing just… That camera’s gotta be older than I am”, he chuckles and points to the black box of a thing just above you. “What are you doing with a piece of junk like that anyway?”, he laughs.

You gasp in mock hurt, “It’s not junk! It works!” Suddenly you seem to grow quite excited, trotting up to retrieve the object in question. Cradling it carefully, you swing around your desk and take a seat on the hardwood, showing off your treasure, “This is a Kodak Cartridge Hawk-Eye from 1926!” You enunciate the date excitedly as though it were a relic from the dinosaur days, meanwhile all Woods can think of is that that was only a mere four years before he was born.

For a few minutes longer, you go on giving a whole info dump on all you know about the little device, wave upon wave of building excitement adding to your voice and before long, Frank finds himself being swept up in it all. No offence, but… he really doesn’t give a single fuck about the camera. But, the way it has you grinning bright as sunshine. The electric spark in your eyes. The way you give his arm a gentle touch to brace him for what you seem to think is a very riveting fact…

He would listen to you talk about that damn thing all day, just to see you like this.

Before he knows it, the lecture is over and he couldn’t be more disappointed. You shake your head, just now realizing you’ve gone off on a tangent once again. “Ugh, sorry…”, you laugh it off and go to put it away, “I just get so excited about my antiques. I love that stuff, you know? Anyway, before I go off again… What was it you wanted to see me for?”

Suddenly, Frank can feel his heart clench tight. He had almost forgotten why he came, and now… he’s wishing you would’ve too.

“Oh? Uh, why… Why did I-? Uh… Yeah, um, so-”

Damn it! He never thought he’d say this, but he’d rather be in a gunfight right now. Anything then this… juvenile, high school shit. You’ve since returned to your spot on the edge of your desk. Despite his highly suspicious stuttering, your expression remains polite and even encouraging as you wait for him to formulate a coherent sentence.

While his mind reels for some sort of excuse, anything to get him out of this situation he’s dug for himself, his nervous gaze lands on the very last thing it needs to right now. Your eyes are glittering in this afternoon light. Do you know that?, he thinks. You’ve locked eyes right back at him, but the situation is anything but awkward. He appreciates the way that you aren’t afraid of him. That you’re willing to show him patience and understanding… Like he’s a fucking human being, instead of some crazy old veteran that you’re just indulging until you can finally get rid of him.

The longer he looks back at you, the more and more he can feel the tension melting out of him. Each muscle in his body slowly but surely unclenches, allowing him to relax at last as he leans back into his seat. He can’t lie to you. You don’t deserve that.

Damn it…

Frank breaks eye contact at last. He flexes his hand gently, working out the nervous energy, as he makes a fist. “I uh… I was just wondering if, maybe… you wanted to get coffee sometime…”

Immediately he braces for… well, he’s not sure what exactly, but rejection for sure. He closes his eyes so he can’t see the disgusted face you must be making, and all the muscles he’d just set at ease jump back into bands of iron across his chest, tensed so tight, he feels like his heart might stop. It’s only been a few seconds, but it feels like years have passed when you finally respond…

“Sure! What time would work for you?”

His eyes snap open as he jerks his head around to look at you, not entirely sure he heard you right. But then… there’s that same, sunny smile and electrified eyes that tell him you mean it.

“I-I uh…”, and just like that, he snaps out of it. Woods sits up straight, fixing a strand of hair that’s strayed from its place, and grinning excitedly himself. He hasn’t felt like this in… years. “W-well what time would work for you? I’m sure as shit not doing anything”, he laughs.

You think for a moment, “Oh! Say, do you go for a run on Saturdays too?”

Pft, not lately. “Yeah! Why?”

You light up, “Great! Tell you what, let's meet up and we can go for a run together then hit that coffee shop we met at last time. Would that be alright? Could be fun!”

As though you even needed to ask, he’s already agreeing. The two of you make some more concrete plans like the wheres and whens specifically before preparing to head your separate ways. You stop him and scribble down your number on a torn sheet of paper. “Just in case”, you smile. “And hey… Loser pays”, you break out into laughter.

“Oh yeah?”, he smiles back, “Don’t think I’ll go fucking easy on you!”, he calls, half way down the hall by now as you wave him off.

When you’ve retreated out of sight, Woods takes a look around. Alone again. Good. He reaches into his pocket and gingerly retrieves the slip of paper. Over and over again he reads and re-reads the chicken scratch handwriting you’ve produced. To him, it’s wonderful.

By the time he gets to his car, he feels like he knows that number better than his own dog tag ID. He slips the precious sheet into his wallet, the first of a few select reminders of you that he’ll keep safe in there.

As the few short days go by, he waits restlessly until he can see you again. And finally… Finally, Saturday morning comes.

5:26 am, and he’s up before his alarm. He doesn’t even need to check the digital clock to see what day it is. He already knows as he jumps out of bed and races to get ready. In no time at all he meets you early at the nearby park you agreed to meet at. You’ve come prepared in your high tops, short shorts, and nylon catsuit. Stylish and modern, but thankfully not as over the top as what the fashion industry would have you in.

It takes every ounce of willpower within him to keep his eyes up.

“Ready?”, you stretch your arms up high, only accentuating your body as you do so.

Frank can feel himself turning red as he status out an affirmative, earning… is that a smirk? from you.

“Alright then, ready… set…”, without warning you bolt off for a head start.

“Hey!”

He wants to be mad, but… He’s just having too much fun, damn it. About half way through, it’s a fair race, and although he’s beating you it’s not by that much. Once he’s proved to himself that he’s still got it, Woods allows himself to fall back, giving you the ego boost you need to stick it out and sprint to the finish, tired as you are.

Frank trots to a stop behind you shortly, only slightly more out of breath then you are. He may have let you win, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t give him hell in the first half.

“Cheater”, you give his shoulder a light punch and a knowing look.

“Me?”, he laughs, ignoring the accusation that he would ever let someone else beat him in a competition, “What do you call that stun at the start?”

You merely laugh, wiping some sweat from your brow as you head towards the door of the coffee shop. The bell chimes as you enter and walk up to the counter together. You place your orders, and Frank pays. You wait in silence for your orders, merely taking the time to completely catch your breath.

Drinks and breakfast in hand, you sit by the large bay windows together. The sun has just peeked over the horizon, filling the room with a golden glow. A halo of light shines around you, catching every perfect curve and angle you have to offer as you grace him with your presence. The food and coffees are nearly forgotten as you both get caught up talking about everything and nothing all at once. Conversation topics turn and change like leaves in the wind, easily transitioning from one to the other as you slowly yet surely get to really know one another.

Frank is on the edge of his seat, waiting eagerly to hear what you have to say next as he talks with you. It’s the most excited he’s been to hear someone else drone on and on in his entire life. By the time you’re both feeling talked out, the sun is well on it’s way to rising and the morning dew has since evaporated.

But, it doesn’t matter. How could he ever feel time was wasted when it was spent with you?

The two of you walk back towards the park, making sure to take it slow so you can get the most out of what little time you have left together.

“And then I said, ‘Looks don't count for shit in the jungle. This is 'Nam baby!’ “

You burst out laughing, “Did you really? And then what happened!”

He grins, “Well, the- Oh, wait, we’re uh, we’re here…”

The two of you stop at the edge of the parking lot. It’s practically empty aside from your lone car only a stone’s throw away. At that, the mirth seeps from you as well as you agree.

“Well… I guess… thanks. I had fun, you know”, Frank turns to face you, hoping more than anything that you enjoyed yourself as well.

“Yeah, me too!”, that familiar little smile that he’s grown so fond of slowly makes its way back. “Maybe… Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Besides,”, you act on a jolt of courage, stretching up on the tips of your toes to press a little kiss to his rough, stubbly cheek, “you have to tell me the rest of your story”

You lick your lip and give it a little nervous bite as you shyly take his hand in yours for comfort.. It feels huge, more like a bear paw than a human hand, compared to yours. “Well… See you later…”, you turn and begin to back away, holding his hand until you can no longer reach, forcing you to let go. You offer him one last smile, but all he can do is stand there, frozen amongst a roar of emotions.

Woods lifts a hand to his cheek, reverently caressing the spot your lips touched. The depth, breadth, and complexity of feeling circling in his mind are far too much for him to ever put into words. But, out of them all, one rings out loud and clear. He’s so, so…

Happy.

[bandaigaeru]

comfort place - yang jeongin

→genre: friends to lovers →synopsis: comfort can manifest itself in many forms. some find it in the fantastical world of the arts. others find it in sports. but, for you, comfort is a person.  →word count: 6.5k →pairing: jeongin x gender neutral reader →warnings: drunk jeongin, mentions of puking

i. 

“Why are you doing that?” 

“Doing what?” 

“That,” your eyes go wide as you nod at his stature. He’s hunched over your trash can. Blue gloves shield his hands as he digs. 

“Oh. I think I lost my earring or something.” 

“And your first instinct was to search my trash can?” you quirk an eyebrow. Perhaps you should mention that this isn’t just any trash can, it’s your kitchen one. Full of discarded, burnt ramen and your roommate’s weird protein shakes that will clog your drain otherwise. 

He nods, as though this is the most normal first step to a lost earring. Yang Jeongin is many things, but being questionable is one of his strongest traits. 

You slip behind him to get to the fridge. Water bottles line the right half, more commonly known as your roommate’s side. You reach for one. 

“What are you doing on March twenty-fifth?” he asks, arms deep in your trashcan. He’s really going to endure this conversation without a single shred of his pride disappearing. 

You try not to look at him as you glance at the calendar. Two weeks away, the small square for that Saturday reads “NATIONALS” in large red letters. 

You hum to yourself. “Dog sitting.” 

“What?” he looks at you, eyes squinted in confusion, “Why?” 

“Danceracha’s going out of town for the dance contest. I told you this.” 

He exhales a deep, surrendering sigh as he straightens his back and plucks the gloves off. He shakes his hands in the cool air before starting for your sink. The calm stream of water trickles out. “Man. That sucks.” 

“Why?” you question. Your fingertips draw marks of condensation along the plastic. 

“I was gonna invite you to a party,” he mutters. A pout comes to his lips. For a moment, your heart drops. He looks the same as when you met him. All those years, long with memories but short in quantity, whizz past you. 

“Party?” you repeat. 

“Yeah,” he nudges the water stream off. 

Parties and Jeongin don’t mix well. History has proven this. 

“Whose party is it?” you start for the living room, knowing he’ll follow. 

“You don’t know him,” he says, his voice never once fading because, indeed, he’s on your tail. 

“Okay, but what’s his name?” 

“Chan. Actually,” he hesitates, “you might know him.” 

As you sink into the couch, chipped leather scratching your legs, you glance at him. His eyebrows are scrunched into his thinking stance. Then, his features light up once he finds the answer. “Do you remember sophomore year’s biology class?” 

You nod. 

“Remember when that senior came in to make fun of Mr. Lee?” 

Again, you nod. 

“His best friend is Chan. You probably saw them in our freshman yearbook for spirit week. They dressed up as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum for Twins Day.” 

Your mouth forms into an acknowledging part. “Got it.” In fact, the recurring image instantly pops into your head. You can thank all the hours spent staring at it with stifled laughter for that. 

“So what’s the party for?” 

He shrugs, “Some college achievement shit.” 

“And you got invited?” you laugh. Jeongin barely made it out of high school. He took one harrowed glance at the local campus and nearly cried. You don’t blame him, though. That place is stressful. Even as a freshman you can say this. 

He rolls his eyes. “I’m cool, you know? I don’t need to be in academics for them to know that.” 

“Sure,” you nod. 

“I’m serious!” His lips quirk up in a defensive manner that sends a spark through your chest. 

Among other things, Jeongin is confusing. Questionable and confusing. These are the words you say when someone asks you what he’s like. Because seriously, why does he always do things so infuriating yet endearing? 

He runs a hand through his hair as he unlocks his phone. His thumb works quickly to swipe through a message log before he tilts the phone so you can see. “See?” 

The conversation in question is short, a maximum of four texts. The details blur as he snatches his phone back as quickly as he showed it. Again, infuriating. 

“Are you planning on going alone, then?” 

This question makes him freeze. He stares at the wall wielding a mounted TV, whose black screen reflects the image of him by your side, shoulder to shoulder. A small smile tilts his lips. “I guess. People want me there. So I’ll find my niche.” 

See? Endearing. 

You have no doubts that he can find a place to fit in. He did it in high school and he’ll proceed to do it in the future. That’s just how he is. Plus, maybe he can allow someone else to feel safe too. Like he did for you. 

ii.

High school is a demon with a comforting smile. When you’re forced to transition, they tell you it’s all fun. Sunshine and rainbows, if you will. What they don’t tell you is that luck will always make it so you don’t get any of your friends in your classes. And this, with your contradicting lunch shifts, will slowly force you out of the friend group you had stuck with since elementary school. 

Perpetual tears are stocked behind your eyes. Waiting for the perfect moment to fall because let’s be honest, any minor inconvenience could push you over the edge. Stress does that to you. 

In third period of your second week, your math teacher announces that she’s decided on her seating chart. She makes you line up against the walls as she grabs her reference sheet, lined with the images of desks, names scribbled atop them. “Jeongin,” she says, pointing to a desk in the front row. 

A boy a few feet away from you steps out from the crowd to claim his desk. He’s wearing an oversized maroon hoodie whose back is marked “Yang” in white letters. 

Your teacher stops at the seat next to him. She glances at you and your heart drops. “Y/N,” she points to a desk. 

Sitting up front is worse than the incessant plagues of high school drama. All eyes permanently burn into the back of your head, even when not a single soul acknowledges you. 

As you try to settle into your seat, back a little stiff from trying to shrink yourself into a tiny marble, the boy beside you leans over. “Hey, you okay?” 

For the first time, your eyes lock. His remind you of the innocence of childhood, that blank yet full gaze. You nearly melt, but instead, your back loosens. 

“Yeah. I just don’t like sitting in the front,” you chuckle awkwardly. 

He smiles. Not one of the pity ones, but a real toothy smile. “Aww. Me neither, I always feel like everyone’s watching me.” 

Finally, a person who gets it. 

“But I just have to trick myself into not caring,” he says, glancing at the whiteboard. Shadows of poorly erased marker line the corners. 

Abruptly, after his serene gaze, he jumps back to you. “Do you like coffee by any chance?” 

Despite the initial shock of the question, you say, “Yeah, I do.” 

As it turns out, his family owns this huge coffee shop right next to the bookstore you used to frequent. His mom was rather happy to see a new face. On that day, she accepted you as family. 

And math didn’t turn out to be so hard that year. 

iii.

The apartment grows quiet after Jeongin inevitably has to leave. Your roommate’s dog comes trotting out from his room. His nose is upturned, scouting for a soul to give him attention. 

“Come here, Kkami,” you pat the empty spot on the couch beside you. He runs the rest of the way. Instead of resting on the couch cushion, he prefers your lap. This pickiness he obtained from his owner. 

Hyunjin’s anything but a bad roommate. He does the dishes, sweeps when he finds a large puff of Kkami’s fur traveling your hardwood like a tumbleweed, even brings home coffee when you have a huge study night ahead of you. However, when it comes to you and Jeongin, your mutual hangouts on weekends, he has a very specific need. And that’s to be around you two as little as possible. 

He claims it’s because he can’t stand third-wheeling. Jeongin refuses to understand this concept. “If we’re not dating, it’s not third-wheeling?” he’d said, numerous times. 

Hyunjin won’t budge on the subject. 

The tune set as Jeongin’s ringtone, chosen by him, plagues the air. You reach for your phone, placing a protective hand on Kkami’s side to prevent him from falling. 

“Hello?”

“Problem: What would you do if your brother told you he got a girlfriend?” 

You squint at your reflection in the TV between scene transitions. It looks odd without him beside you. “Which brother?” 

“Guess which one would make me more dumbfounded. Hint, it’s not the older one.” 

“Your younger brother got someone before you?” you snicker. Jeongin holds his pride in his individuality. Losing to a younger brother with something like this is hilarious. 

“This isn’t funny! Should I be a serious big brother and talk to him or should I just seethe in silence?” 

“Neither. Leave him alone.” 

He does something akin to a whine. “But-”

You stick up a finger, though he can’t see you as you interrupt, “C’mon, Jeongin. He’s a teenager. Let him be.” 

Sometimes, it feels like he’s the outsider and you’re the true, reasonable sibling. 

He sighs. You imagine him pushing his hair out of his eyes and staring up at his ceiling. All lost in the possibilities that lay before him, since you and him both know he won’t listen to you. 

“Can I hang up now?” you ask, glancing at the front door. 

“Are you gonna abandon me for your significant other too?” 

You scoff as the front door opens. “You’re ridiculous.” 

Hyunjin steps into the apartment. His hair is damp with sweat and lays jagged in front of his eyes. You raise a hand to wave. 

“It’s a real question, though. You know whoever it is will be jealous of me.” Now, you know, he’s just prodding for a reaction. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice. 

“Yes, Jeongin. I would one hundred percent drop you for some person who offers emotional stimulation,” you monotonously chide. 

Hyunjin gives you a curious look as he passes. You would think he’d be used to this by now. 

“Okay but,” Jeongin’s voice grows low as he settles onto his bed, “would you really? Tell me you won’t.” 

“I won’t,” you press your back deeper into the couch. It’s not like you’ve had many romantic opportunities since meeting him. Jeongin, though also needy, is more interesting than anyone else you’ve met. He’s a shiny emerald among a sea of charcoal. 

“Good,” he says, and you can tell he’s smiling. The image of his little dimple indenting makes you mirror the sentiment. 

“Now can I hang up?” 

“Fine,” he sighs.

Through a laugh, you manage, “Goodnight. Love you.” 

“Love you too.” And then the line goes dead. 

iv.

“Are you sure you don’t like him?” must be a trendy replacement for ‘good morning.’ 

“Who?” you ask, rubbing your eye as you start for the cereal cabinet. 

“Jeongin. Who else?” Hyunjin says. He sits at the kitchen table. A plate of freshly heated blueberry waffles sits before him. 

Without turning to him, you say, “I’m sure.” 

It’s a reflex, really. 

He exhales in the most exaggerated way possible to grab your attention. His eyes are cold with the hunger for an answer. A real one. 

“I don’t like him,” you say slowly, allowing each word time to sink into the air. 

The thought has surely crossed your mind. It’d be unrealistic to say you’ve never pondered the great possibility of being in love with your best friend. But ultimately, you don’t think you are. Sure, you’d take a bullet for Jeongin. Just not in the ‘wow I’m madly in love with you’ kind of way. You tell yourself it’s in the ‘you’re going to do so much good for the world’ kind of way. 

“Fine,” Hyunjin admits, picking up one of his waffles and taking a caveman bite. 

Most of breakfast is quiet as you sit opposite him, staring into your bowl. Your milky reflection takes you off guard a few times. 

“You know,” Hyunjin says after a while, his voice raw and a little croaky. He has to bring a hand to cover his mouth as he clears his throat. “You should get him to stay with you while I’m away.” 

As you look back up at him, he adds defensively, “I’m not trying to play Cupid.”

You shrug, “He probably has other plans.” 

Yet when you text him a few hours later, he jumps on it. “It’ll be like a sleepover! Don’t you miss when we did those?” 

You did, but you don’t admit it. 

v.

The week of nationals arrives too quickly for your mind to process. One minute, you’re studying for an upcoming exam and the next there’s a knock on your bedroom door. It doesn’t wait for a sound before opening. 

“Hey, I’m leaving.” 

Hyunjin’s dressed in black sweatpants and a black hoodie, which covers his messy hair. Perfect for his night of sleeping on the bus. A duffel bag packed and puffy hangs off his shoulder. 

“Good luck,” you smile up at him. 

“Thanks. Don’t try sneaking into the venue with your rat like you did last year,” he returns the smile. 

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea,” you rush to defend yourself. 

He scoffs. “Yeah, right. You still played into it.” 

“And we got to support you as your lovely friends.” 

“You were the only people cheering during the contemporary dance,” he mumbles, stepping back into the hall. 

“To be fair, we couldn’t realize because we were so involved!” you shout to match the increasing distance. 

“Right!” he calls, a laugh shaking his words. 

Studying is now a failed mission. Every time you glance at the words printed on the textbook’s glossed pages, they just blur together until your mind drifts to Jeongin. When is he coming over? He said he’d be here by seven. It’s roughly a quarter past. He has a key, so it’s not like you have to be free when he gets here.

When you succumb and close the textbook, you hear shuffling in the living room. Shortly followed by Kkami’s familiar barking, which he only pursues when someone’s here. 

The feeling of a generously excited puppy fills you as you follow the source. 

“Hi,” you smile. 

Jeongin has treated himself to a coffee. He must have just worked a shift. 

“Hi,” he hands you the paper cup. 

“Oh, is this for me?” you take it. It’s hot against your palms. 

“Yeah. It’s hot chocolate. Thought you might want it.” 

He drops his backpack, likely stuffed with potential party outfits, by the couch. He stands and scans your face as you take the first sip of the drink. The sweetness takes over and makes you shiver, but the warmth minimizes the shiver to nothing. Surely enough, this is his mother’s hot chocolate. 

“Thank you,” you say, looking into his eyes. The living room light has speckled his eyes with stars.

“Of course.” 

A moment passes of just looking at each other. Not a single word. You’re not even sure if you’re remembering to breathe. 

It breaks when he glances at the TV. “Movie time?” 

Settling on the couch doesn’t take long. He sits close enough to you, resting his head on your shoulder. He’s done this for as long as you remember, but why does it feel so close all of a sudden? 

He chooses the movie. A tradition you’ve established ever since you accidentally chose a movie so repulsively awful you had to take a break from watching movies at all. The teasing was barely bearable. 

Even now, when someone says something similar to that movie, you shiver. 

“Are we feeling sci-fi?” he asks. 

You almost shrug until you remember where his head is. “I don’t care,” you say instead. 

He chooses a romance movie, his safe pick. 

And he falls asleep not even ten minutes in. 

Hyunjin’s question returns to you in neon lights. Certainly, this tight feeling in your chest couldn’t be akin to liking someone. When you like someone, there’s always a telltale sign. There’s a bright moment of realization. That’s never come for you. Even now, all you can do is question. Question. Question. Question. 

vi.

Jeongin’s party outfit is the most conspicuous thing ever. A light blue tee from middle school that has all his classmate’s signatures on the back. Black jeans with holes at the knees. You can’t tell if he’s going to a child’s party or not. 

He catches your tilted gaze, matched with the furrowed eyebrows, and huffs. “Would you rather I get puke on a good shirt?” 

You blink. “I’d rather you not puke on yourself.” 

A noise close to laughter bursts past his lips. “Ha. Funny. I won’t reach that point. I’m thinking people puking on me.” 

You nod. Jeongin’s a lightweight, from what you know. But hey, if it helps him sleep at night. 

He departs after a long phone call with Chan. He offers a little wave as he opens the door. “I’ll give you live updates.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“But I will.” 

And indeed, he follows through. Selfies bombard your phone every three minutes. One is taken with Chan, but it’s so shaky and dark that they look like blobs with highlighted cheeks. 

These only make you more confused. Maybe Hyunjin was right. But you don’t want him to be. Nothing makes you feel more foolish than catching feelings for a friend who is just that. Friend. That painful, heartbreaking word. 

You open Hyunjin’s message log, prepared to reach out and ask if he can help you break down what you’re feeling, but his contact transitions to consuming your entire screen—perfect timing, he’s calling. 

“Hello?” 

“Guess what?” His voice is drowned out by external shouts. 

“What?” 

“We took second place!”

“Congrats,” you smile to yourself, leaning against the couch arm. 

“It’s all thanks to Felix’s freestyle. That surprise category threw us off, but he really came through,” he rambles. He tells you about all his points and each error, which ultimately seem mundane but apparently make a difference in his detail loving mind. 

“Anyway, I just wanted to call. See how you’re doing, you know.”

“I’m doing good,” you nod as though to convince yourself. 

“How’s Jeongin?” 

“At a party,” you say as your phone buzzes again. Another selfie. This time, he’s in a lonesome bathroom and posing in the mirror. A peace sign that surrounds his eye. That stupid dimple makes your heart jump. 

Hyunjin giggles at something on his end and says something not aimed at you. He quickly returns to his serious tone with, “How are you really feeling? Don’t bullshit me.” 

You stifle a laugh. Resting your head on the back of the couch, you glare at the ceiling, “Confused.” 

“About Jeongin?” 

He slips into a quieter place. You sigh. Why are your hands shaking all of a sudden? “Yeah.” 

“Well,” he starts, “I pushed you into thinking about it for a reason.” 

“He doesn’t like me like that.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because friends don’t like friends like that.” 

“But you like him like that, so doesn’t that ruin your statement?” 

You sit in the silence for a minute. “I guess so.” 

His breath is amplified and you can hear each inhale and exhale. “You’ll probably just brush this off, but I think you have a shot.” 

You nod. “Sure. A shot at going to the moon maybe. A shot at Jeongin liking me? No way.” 

“Look, pessimism isn’t gonna get you anywhere. If you’re too much of a pussy to talk to him, I will. But not because I want to, because it’s terrible seeing you sulk,” he mutters. 

A round of applause for your roommate. 

“Just give me some time. I still don’t know if I like him,” you glance at the dog, who’s cuddled up on a pile of blankets. Why can’t your life be that simple? 

“Not trying to force you or anything, but I think you know the answer to that.” 

He’s probably right. It’s not like you can retaliate anyway. There’s a distant knock before he says, “Sorry. I gotta go. I’ll be home tomorrow.” 

The following silence is truly suffocating. 

vii.

That party changes everything. 

Jeongin stumbles home, each step a potential path to faceplanting. It’s this exact stumble that forces him to trip over a box. 

The noise draws you from sleep. Through squinted eyes, you stare at him as he tries to regain his balance. His arms are splayed out, searching for a stable support beam. 

“Jeongin?” you whisper, though you know it’s him. Who else would be drunkenly returning home at, you glance at your phone, three in the morning?

“Y/N,” he gasps. Your voice prompts him to follow it. 

As you stand, he finds his way through the narrow path between couch and coffee table. He throws his arms around you. 

“I missed you,” he mumbles, words meshing together. 

“I missed you too?” It’s only been six hours. 

He holds you at arms length, palms resting on your shoulders. “I love you,” he slurs, eyes drunkenly taking a long blink. 

“I love you too?” 

“No, like, I really love you. ‘The moon is beautiful’ type of stuff,” he nods. 

You’re not sure what he means by this. But it doesn’t matter if you try to question him, because he continues. 

“I think about the future a lot,” he says, hands falling to his sides before he falls onto the couch. “Nothing’s ever consistent. But you’re always there.” 

“That’s-” you begin. 

He wasn’t finished. “I think our wedding would be nice.” 

Now, he goes silent as you stand there in shock. He thinks about that? How often? 

The moment your lips part to ask these things, a light snore escapes his lips. You grab a blanket from your room, the Totoro one he loves, and you gently cover him. You lean over his face. His cheeks are a little swollen, as are his lips. You push his hair away from his eyes before going to your room. You’re careful not to make a noise as you shut the door. 

He’s gone by the time you wake up. For the first twenty-four hours, you shrug it off as a painful hangover he’s just sleeping through. 

Most hangovers don’t last a week, though. 

One time, sitting beneath a sky littered with stars, Jeongin released a deep breath. “Do you think we’ll ever stop being friends?” 

Jeongin’s not insecure about many things, as his philosophy is that if one person finds something unattractive, there’s a hoard who will think otherwise. But this topic is an exception. 

“Unless you do something unthinkably terrible, no,” you mumble. And you truly meant it. 

So, Jeongin: You haven’t done anything unthinkable.Why have you disappeared? 

Life without Jeongin has been incredibly boring. It’s prompted an imminent heartache. Attending class is a lame option considering your bed is so much more comfortable. You never knew missing someone could form a black hole in your body, consuming each grain of energy. 

Hyunjin’s the only reason you’re eating. Since he knows you’re not up for any meal, he brings you snacks and another bottle of water—to add to the mountain of empty bottles on your desk. 

“Do I need to go break his ankles?” Hyunjin asks one day, nearly a month after his tournament. 

You shrug. You know he’s joking, but laughter doesn’t seem to bubble up. It’s lost in the dark cave that is this confusing state. 

“I texted him today. No response yet,” Hyunjin adds. 

You nod. You got the same treatment, but you stopped trying a while ago. 

“Have you gone to the coffee shop? To see his mom or something?” 

You shake your head. “No point in it. He doesn’t tell her much. Plus I don’t want to pin her against him or anything.” 

Hyunjin sighs. He doesn’t know what else to say, or offer, or do to help you. Not that you’re a lost cause, but he’s starting to lose the ounce of hope he had. To him, you’re too good for this. Telling and convincing you of that is a difficult task. 

When he leaves you alone, you cry again. At this point, your eyes hurt when you aren’t crying. But hey, at least you’re sleeping nice. The desperate need to escape can do that to you. 

viii.

You tell Hyunjin your conclusion at dinner—something he’s finally tricked you into eating. “I think I love him.” 

He nods. “Yeah. Didn’t we already establish that?” 

You push the noodles around. “I didn’t want to admit it.” 

“Why?” 

Averted gaze set to the ramen, though his remains scalding. “I don’t know.”

He reaches across the table to regain your focus. He knows the noodles aren’t that interesting. “That’s okay. Look, we can go beat his ass if you want. Or we can hunt him down and hold him hostage-”

He stops when he sees the small hint of a smile turning your lips up. One of his own appears, and in his mind, he’s breaking into a congratulatory dance. The crack in the sadness is exposed, and it’s slowly breaking further. All that’s next is revealing the ravine of happiness. 

After dinner, you sit on the couch and decide to watch a movie. Unlike Jeongin, he gives you movie pick. It reminds you of the bitter taste that’s overcome your mouth since he up and left. 

Halfway through the movie, some shitty one Jeongin and you watched a few months ago, Kkami barks at the couch. He looks between you and the crack behind it as if to say, “Hello? Get my bone!” 

You glance at Hyunjin, who also waits for you to get up and retrieve the dog’s lost bone. Normally you take turns with this task, but he seems to have forgotten it’s been his turn for the last five times. 

With a muted sigh, you pull yourself off the couch. Hyunjin doesn’t even bother to pause the movie. Jeongin wouldn’t do that.  

You lower yourself to look into the dark tunnel. With a blind hand you swipe against the floor. A small object connects with the palm of your hand. You drag it out. A small metal earring glares back at you. You drop it in the pocket of your hoodie—which was a gift from Jeongin as you drifted into adulthood. You return to the bone search with a sting in your eyes. 

ix.

Happiness is a fragile object. 

At the same hour that Jeongin had said the unthinkable, your phone buzzes loudly against your side. Ultimately, this brings you back to the post-sleep daze as you trudge to answer it. Looking at the contact is the last of your concerns. 

“Hello?” Your voice is raw. A long gulp of water would be kindly appreciated. 

“Hey, Y/N, right?” This is a voice you’ve never heard before. You pull back to look at the contact and, unsurprisingly, there isn’t one. All that stares back is a string of numbers, unique to this person. 

“Yeah?” 

“Hi, sorry for the late call. I’m Chan-” you nearly hang up out of defensive instinct, but you let him finish. “I kind of need a favor right now.” 

“What kind of favor?” 

In the background, there’s a loud retching noise. “Um, so Jeongin, right?” Chan nervously laughs. 

“We’re not really-” you start. 

He interrupts, “I know. But he’s been talking about you nonstop. He’s really a wimp, you know. Actually, I guess I’m not really asking for a favor. I’m doing you a favor.” 

You know where he’s going with this. “I’m sorry, Chan, but I don’t think that’s a-”

“Hush,” he says before his voice distances. 

“Y/N? It’s Y/N?” the familiar, slurred voice asks. 

He wasn’t going to give you an option. Deep down, you’re kind of grateful for that. 

When Chan returns to the phone, he says, “I can send you the address. We’re on the first floor, so it shouldn’t be too bad. I would offer to come pick you up, but I’m babysitting.” At these final words, he laughs. 

You consider waking up Hyunjin to take you—he’s the one with the car—but you think against it when you realize it’s only a five minute walk. 

Despite the daytime weather that is clear sky and sun that hugs your skin, the nighttime 

version is a little less welcoming. Indeed the air is breezeless, but it’s a bitter cold. Grabbing a hoodie would have been smart, but alas. 

Chan opens the door with a smile. “Hi, come on in.” 

He points to a closed door, “Jeongin’s in there. He should be decent. Just a little pukey.” 

You follow his directions, while he starts for the couch. At least he’s allowing privacy, you think. You knock lightly on the door. After a long trial of waiting with no response, you slowly push the door open. 

His cheek is resting on the cold porcelain of the bathtub. Through dazed and squinted eyes, he looks at you. “Hi?” 

“Hey,” you say, stepping into his space for the first time in over a month. Despite the stain of puke on his shirt, you realize that he hasn’t changed much. What physical changes can someone go through in a month? Well. Everything. 

You appreciate your mind for allowing his appearance to never leave. Otherwise, you might have looked at him just now and been disgusted. Because it’s Jeongin, and because of this weird tugging feeling in your chest, you don’t. In its place, you look at him as though he holds the world’s most valuable object. 

He tries to sit up, nearly falls on his face, but manages. “Do you hate me?” 

“No. I don’t think so,” you squat next to him. The familiar weight of his head meets with your shoulder. 

“I shouldn’t say this,” he laughs. His mind is going a mile a minute, but his lips refuse to go at an accompanying speed. “I love you.” 

You stare at the top of his head. “I love you too.” 

“Really?” he lifts his head. He seems to search your eyes for the similar sparkle his hold. 

“Yeah,” you nod. You decide to save your cheesy comments until the morning. No point in wasting them if he won’t remember this when he wakes up. 

“Did you know that I,” he says, trying to lift himself to his feet. He leans a little too far on a foot, prompting you to rush and steady him. “thought you and Hyunjin were dating for the longest time.” He laughs again. 

You squint at him, “Is that why you disappeared?” 

A drunk smile finds his lips and his cheeks glow beneath the bathroom light. “Guilty.” 

“You’re stupid for thinking it’d ever be anyone but you,” you whisper, glancing anywhere but him. You could say this to the mirror too. Stupid for thinking it could be anyone but him. 

He’s ridiculous. Ridiculous enough to allow his smile to drop a little as he leans closer to your face. “I’m going to kiss you,” he whispers. 

You watch as he leans a little bit closer. Bit by bit. You even close your eyes at one point. At the last minute, when his breath begins to mingle with yours, he pulls away. “No. Let me brush my teeth first.” 

You watch in a stunned silence as he stumbles to the living room. “Do you have a spare toothbrush I could use?” he asks Chan. 

Chan responds quietly with, “Yeah, under the sink.” 

You beat Jeongin to it, offering him the packaged toothbrush. 

“Thanks, love,” he says. 

Questionable Jeongin who calls you pet names. You like it, though you’ll try your hardest not to admit it. That’d only feed into his questionable choices. 

Minty Jeongin has sobered up a little bit. Instead of kissing you immediately after rinsing his mouth, he stares. 

“What?” you prompt. 

“Nothing.” 

And then he leans in and kisses you. In all honesty, it’s exactly how you imagined kissing him. There’s no stereotypical sparks. It’s just Jeongin, whose lips happen to be on yours. That’s enough. Afterward, though, you acknowledge that Cloud 9 is beneath your feet. 

x.

Chan drives you and Jeongin back to your apartment after a difficult talk and one final puke. (The puker looks at you when he feels it coming and asks, “Can you hold my hair back?”)

As you’re helping Jeongin out of the car, Chan leans back in the driver seat and glares a strong eye at Jeonign, “Run away again and I will beat your ass.” 

Jeongin chuckles. “Right. Catch me first.” As he says this, he throws his arm over your shoulder for stability. Though, he’s sober enough to walk on his own now. The occasional stumble, sure, but he’s not in dire need of someone to guide him. 

You take it as his way of saying he plans on staying. 

However, when you make it into the apartment, you don’t bear right to the couch. 

Keeping him close will prevent him sneaking out and running away again. That’s a thing of the past, and you’ll make sure of it. 

He doesn’t even complain. 

“Don’t puke on me, please,” you whisper as you climb into bed. He follows shortly after. Arms naturally find your waist as he pulls you closer to him. 

He hums. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Dreamless sleep takes over you, but the entire time you’re aware of his arms and his proximity. In a way, it’s better than dreaming. 

It’s even better when you wake up before him. His lips are a pretty shade of pink and for a moment you forget about his eventful night. You press a light kiss to his cheek. 

His eyes don’t open, nor does he stir. He’s in that beautiful, drunken sleep. You try not to laugh at the thought of his hangover to come. God, he’s going to be so whiny. 

You try to slip out of his arms, but the death grip only becomes tighter. He whines a little, mutters something like, “Don’t go.” 

After a few more minutes of just staring at the sleeping boy, boredom takes over. Yeah, staring is nice and all, whatever, but it reaches a certain intolerable point. Ten minutes is that point. 

You nudge him, “Jeongin, let go. I need to go to the bathroom.” 

“No,” he mutters, burying his face deeper into the pillow. 

“Jeongin.” 

“What?” 

“Let go.” 

His eyes finally open. They hold a small sense of surprise, which prompts you to tease, “What? Do you need a breakdown of what happened? Were you seriously that out of it?” 

“No. Well, a little,” he stumbles over the words. 

“What do you remember?” 

“Puking,” he winces as he laughs. There’s that signature headache. 

“You don’t remember kissing me?” 

Wide eyes stare back at you. His lip shakes as he tries to force words out. “What?” 

You laugh quietly. “Yeah. You did that.” 

“I’m sorry,” he sits up. His vacant arms feel cold. 

“No it’s okay. You only kissed me because I told you I loved you,” you sit up to match him. 

His head turns to look at you. Tufts of hair stick up in an oddly symmetrical way. “Really? Since when?” 

You nod. “Yeah. Time frame is unknown, but I think the feeling might have always been there. So you wasted a month of your life hiding.” 

He tips his head, “Hey now, I had a valid reason.” 

Your eyes squint at him. “It could have been avoided if you answered my texts. Or Hyunjin’s. Or if you checked your voicemail. Or-”

“Okay, I get it,” he nods, leaning in to shut you up. He presses a quick kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t say how weird it feels to kiss his best friend—but he’s incredibly excited to get used to it. 

“It’s fine. I think. My grades kind of tanked,” you comment, glancing at your desk. The tower of water bottles still stands. Somewhere buried beneath them are your abandoned papers. 

“Because of me?” his voice is soft, as are his eyes as he fights back the sting of tears. Of all his intentions, this wasn’t one of them. 

This look pains you. “Kinda. I thought I had lost my comfort place.” 

In order to disguise his tears, he pulls you into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be good to you. We can make latte art together at the shop and stargaze at stupid hours. Whatever you want.” 

You laugh into his shoulder. “Is that a promise?” 

He sniffles. “Yes. I love you. That’s the second promise.” 

xi.

Hyunjin’s reaction is lackluster. A forced gasp as he waves his hands in surprise. “Wow. I totally didn’t give Chan your number or anything,” he says. 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yeah. He called me trying to drop him,” he points at Jeongin, “on me.”

“And you didn’t want to get out of bed?” Jeongin asks, bringing his mug of freshly brewed coffee to his lips. 

“No,” Hyunjin sticks a finger up in defense. “Kkami wouldn’t let me move.” 

What he means is: Yes, I didn’t want to get up but allow me to use my dog as a ploy. 

You and Jeongin share a glance to confirm this thought. You burst out laughing. 

“Do not tell me you’ve developed a couple's telepathy already,” Hyunjin whines, throwing his head back as he begins to pace the kitchen. 

Jeongin begs your stare again. He wiggles his eyebrows to pseudo-communicate. 

“I’m going to retail therapy,” Hyunjin sighs, dragging his keys off the counter before starting for the door. 

A loud fit of laughter fills the air as the door shakes in its frame. 

“He’s so overdramatic,” Jeongin manages, wiping a stray tear away from his eye. 

You allow this time to watch him intently. All of his details flood over you with definitive clarity. His skin has gotten its first film of tan now that spring is in full swing. A change of season which you had missed out on together. It’s okay, he’ll take you to see the cherry blossoms next year. 

“Oh, I found your earring, by the way,” you say when he catches you staring. 

“Really? Where was it?” On instinct, he brings his hand up to his right ear. The lobes are not blinged, but it’s still worth checking. 

“Behind the couch.” 

He gapes at you. “How’d it get back there?” 

“How would I know?” 

You allow a silence to lay upon you as his face twists to think. All at once, it lights up again, “Ah. It was probably when we had that wrestling match. I didn’t have the back on because my ear was itchy or something.” 

Interesting Jeongin. Questionable Jeongin. 

Yang Jeongin is many things. Home. Comfort. Love. Above all else, he’s a friend. Who you happen to kiss from time to time. 

[kumkaniudaku]

Simple Syrup

You asked for Daveed smut and I tried to deliver. At least this one time. Enjoy!

Warning: Sexual Content. 18+. 

Daveed Diggs x Black!OC (Olivia Jenkins)(Yes, the MC/ OC is black. Representation is important.)

"Yo, open up!" Heavy fists beat against the door of Olivia's downtown apartment, making her roll her eyes. "I know you can hear me, girl! It's your favorite pop-up roommate!"

"You've been evicted, Diggs!"  

"I paid you rent, though!"

Turning the stove on low, Olivia shook her head as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. Daveed always found a way to surprise her with his presence. He never texted before showing up at her door but frequently sported a backpack or suitcase full of clothes or Rafael for an extended stay. He and all his baggage were welcome anytime, with or without notice.

Stepping to the door, Olivia bit back a smile before responding. "I didn't receive any payments this month."

"I got it in my bag."

"Bag or bags?"

"Open the door to find out."

Daveed took a step back as the locks began to turn, waiting for Olivia's face to greet him with faux anger the way she did the last time he showed up out of nowhere and stayed for three weeks. Despite stopping by six months ago, it felt like a lifetime since he'd been in her company. Bi-weekly phone conversations weren't enough. He needed to be near Olivia while she watched whatever Housewives franchise had her attention for the month.

When the door opened to reveal the long hallway leading to her living area, Olivia stood with a hand on her hips and a grin on her face.

"Where is my money," she asked, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Just as she expected, he stood in the hallway with a suitcase that she knew cost a fortune to check at the airport and his worn Jansport full of junk and work.

Daveed laughed and bent to rifle through his backpack for a crumpled white envelope that he handed over with exaggerated purpose. "Here you go, Miss Jenkins. Sorry to be late on rent for, what, 8 months? I hope this is enough."

"Boy, you didn't really need to pay me. You're not on the lease."

"Good," he answered as he pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. "Because those are just Chick Fil A coupons."

Olivia stood with her mouth open as Daveed brushed her to roll his luggage to the first bedroom on the right.

He listened to her insult his "stupid face" and instruct him to hurry up while he scanned the room he had called home more times than he could count. All of Daveed's belongings were in the same place, with almost unnoticeable shifts to show that Olivia had cleaned once or twice. His favorite throw blanket was folded at the edge of the bed with his initials elegantly embroidered in the corner. The air smelled of the vanilla candle she kept on the nightstand next to a framed photo of the crew enjoying a roller coaster at Six Flags. His favorite trinket, Olivia's homecoming crown from undergrad, sat next to a single gold medal from Daveed's days competing in track and field. To him, it symbolized their bond from the beginning. To her, it was probably just a space to hide old items.

"Daveed, get in here! I need you to cut!"

All at once, Daveed's sense of self returned to center him in reality. He quickly kicked off his shoes once he remembered Olivia's rules and started off toward the kitchen to answer the call for his help.

Even with the windows open, he could smell savory and sweet aromas combining for a smell that reminded him of the holidays. However, the calendar placed them square in the middle of an excruciatingly hot summer. He could see the open bottle of BBQ sauce on the center island next to a mixing bowl full of things he couldn't recognize but knew they would taste great. Bushels of greens sat in a pot on the stove, boiling amid smoked meat and seasonings to complement the food cooking in the oven. Daveed felt excitement take hold of his face and forced the apples of his cheeks up toward his eyes. Olivia looked up from her task at the cutting board and smirked.

"I thought you were vegan now."

"My business is my business, Liv. We talked about this last week."

"We also talked about you heading directly to Toronto after your job in Atlanta and, yet, here you are." She studied Daveed's face for answers but found nothing but a growing smile. "Come over here and cut up these strawberries while I sauce the ribs."

Daveed followed directions without complaint, lazily strolling to the island and nudging Olivia away. He'd been her help in the kitchen before to open pesky jars or stir while she tended to the more time-intensive parts of the meal. On more than one occasion, he had fucked up, and each time she invited him back into her safe space with open arms.

"How's Rafa and the family," Olivia asked with her back turned while she bent to take a peek into the oven.

Daveed kept his eyes on her backside for a moment too long before answering. "Rafa's good. Amy sends her love and says that you are more than welcome for Friendsgiving this year. She volunteered you for pies."

"You volunteered me for pies, Daveed," Olivia corrected, knowing how much her friend loved her desserts. "What about my babies? Is Santiago the best big brother to Emelia?"

"He's...trying. But he did send a gift for the lady with the bald head. His words, not mine."

Olivia ran a hand across her tapered fade and chuckled. "I feel like he heard Rafael say that."

"No, Rafa calls you Thick Mr. Clean."

"Yeah, because that's what you said when you were drunk on New Years," Olivia accused as she gestured toward the cabinet housing her wine glasses. Daveed nodded before answering.

"I said it with love!"

"Mhmm, I'm sure."

Together they watched half a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc be transferred into the separate glasses, waiting for the moment they could take a sip. The last time they shared a drink, they ran through two 12- packs of beer with Rafael and ended up dancing with street performers in Times Square. She hadn't been able to stomach the smell of a Budweiser since then and fully transitioned to fruity notes and sparkling Rosé with Daveed occasionally coming along for the ride.

Taking another long sip from his glass, Daveed leaned against the island counter to watch Olivia stir a mixture for skillet cornbread.

"What's got you so stressed?"

Olivia shrugged but didn't look away from the bowl. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"The last time you cooked like this, you were writing your dissertation. And the time before that, it was your mom."

The room fell quiet outside of the spoon, ricocheting off the sides of the mixing bowl. After several seconds, Olivia took a deep breath and looked up at Daveed.

"Daddy's getting remarried. Omari and I are his best-kids," she laughed. "I'm not stressed. Just a bit...sad, I guess?"

Daveed understood the issue without needing more context. Five years ago, he was the one sitting beside Olivia on the floor of her brother's home office after the news came that their mother had in the hospital. He was there for the saddest funeral he'd ever experienced and the months of reconciliation that the family struggled through on the way to some sense of normalcy. The idea that her father had found love again was heartwarming, but Daveed knew the occasion was bringing up old feelings.

"Wanna talk about it?"

She shrugged again and moved the skillet to the oven. "There's nothing to talk about. I said I'm fine. I wish she was here, ya know, but I know she isn't upset. She always told us to move on once she's gone. She sure as hell would."

Daveed chuckled at the idea of Mrs. Jenkin's moving on in the afterlife. "She was funny like that. I remember when she met me for the first time and kept calling me Devante."

"Yes," Olvia exclaimed, a spark of joy returning to her eyes. "She'd call me and be like, that boy Devante is smart! Ask him if he can put me in a movie one day!"

Olivia's voice warped to imitate her mother as best as possible before she burst into laughter with Daveed.

"One of the last things she said to me was that I need to make sure you keep having fun. She didn't want you to stop enjoying life on account of her."

"Yeah…" Daveed watched Olivia down the wine in her glass with her eyes closed, waiting for her to continue her thought. "Well, you're doing a good job. We could work on your definition of fun, but solid effort so far."

"How can I do better? I'm open to criticism."  

Daveed kept his eyes on Olivia while he reached across her body to grab the wine bottle for the final drink. Her breath hitched while alcohol buzzed through her system, creating the perfect storm for sudden arousal. She fought her thoughts by shaking her head to recover.

"You can start by grabbing those strawberries and bringing them over to the stove."

"Don't skip the question." Daveed's smirk as he followed her to the other side of the counter made Oliva hot with embarrassment, but she kept a calm exterior. "Are you still having fun with me?"

"I always have fun with you, D, you know that. Who else is gonna play Bop It with me at 2 AM on a Wednesday? The question is, are you still having fun with me, superstar?"

"Don't start that. I come and stay at your house because I miss you, not because I can't find somewhere else to sleep. You're my person."

"For now," Olivia added as a rebuttal, ignoring the way her stomach flipped at hearing the way Daveed felt. "What happens when you get married? You're gonna have to go be a family man like Rafa. Then we'll only see each other on Friendsgiving and Christmas."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"Hm." Olivia's short but skeptical laugh effectively ended the conversation. Still, Daveed had already made up his mind to return to the discussion later in the week. "So, how long are you here this time?"

Daveed used one of his large palms to push a few curls off his forehead in search of relief from the heat in the kitchen. "I was thinking a couple weeks. Three or four."

"That's longer than normal! I get to have my favorite guy here long enough to help me put wallpaper up in the guest bathroom?"

"Am I only muscle to you?"

"Of course, not," she answered with a sweet smile, making Daveed mirror her expression. "You're also a taste tester. Open up."

Before Daveed could object, Olivia swiped barbecue sauce across his bottom lip for his opinion. The tip of his tongue appeared to taste the tangy brown sauce, finding an explosion of flavor that reminded him how much he missed Olivia's cooking.

"What's the verdict," Olivia asked over her shoulder as she turned off the eye under her simple syrup mixture.

"Tangy and sweet. I'm not sure why you don't bottle this up for sale. My dad would love some."

"Meh, I like having it as a treat for the people I love. All my hobbies aren't for profit, my friend."

Daveed dramatically threw a hand across his chest and gasped. "Did Mean Ole Liv just imply that she loves me? I-I'm gobsmacked. Utterly shocked and eternally grateful."

"Diggs, you're pushing it," she laughed. "Come taste this syrup before I start on the lemonade."

From experience, Daveed knew what to expect. But he humored Olivia anyway if only to see pride light up her face when he told her how amazing the sweet mixture tasted. After washing his hands in the sink, he skimmed his middle and pointer fingers across the top of the syrup to pick up enough to coat his fingertips.

He eyed the liquid for a moment, watching it slowly trickle down the side of his long fingers while he thought of his next move. Olivia stood at the refrigerator with her back turned, humming a song from The Wiz. At the same time, she gathered ingredients for the beverage.

"Hey...hey, Liv." Daveed had already started to close the short gap between them and stood waiting for Olivia to respond to his call.

"Wha -" A sudden swipe of syrup across her bottom lip confused Olivia. "D, what is your problem?"

Stepping forward, Daveed took her chin in his to bring their lips inches apart. "Is it still cool if I taste?"

Olivia stared at Daveed without blinking, fighting her brain for a competent answer to his question. Instead, she nodded in a daze with her jaw slack. His fingers took gentle meandering paths across the peaks and valleys of her face before using his thumb to part her lips.

Daveed's first kiss was a tentative peck to test the waters. When he received no resistance, he pulled Olivia closer for full access to her mouth.

Neither of them expected to fall into the kiss so easily. Olivia didn't expect to melt into Daveed's body while he dictated the pace and intensity. Daveed didn't expect to feel an overwhelming desire to consume the one person that always felt so close but far away. He wanted to feel and taste every part of Olivia while he had the green light. She reveled in Daveed's attention, even if it was only for a moment.

Taking a step backward, Daveed used his knowledge of the kitchen to guide them back toward the stove. Their lips remained connected to taste the last bits of each other. Olivia was the first to break the lip lock and move her head upward, directing Daveed to choose a spot on her neck to explore.

The cold, sticky simple syrup came next, the thick glob landing on the center of her chest and sliding to her cleavage.

"I've thought about this a lot," Daveed spoke barely above a whisper as he used a finger to spread simple syrup across Olivia's chest. "Kinda wild to say, but I have."

"How long?"

"A year. Maybe two."

Olivia released a shaky gasp once Daveed's tongue began licking from the space between her breast to the base of her neck to catch the simple syrup. As quickly as it disappeared, he replaced the sugar mixture with another round at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He groaned as the tart strawberry flavor mixed with the sweetness of the sugar and Olivia's skin. She grasped the back of his head for stability, allowing her eyes to flutter closed for a few seconds.

"How does it turn out? In your thoughts, I mean?"

Daveed paused to kiss Olivia's lips again and run his hands down her back. "Doesn't matter. We're here now, and I can't think of anything outside of how good you taste drenched in strawberry sauce."

"Simple syrup," Olivia answered, smiling as she sneakily dipped her finger into the pot behind Daveed. "It's simple syrup, and I haven't gotten a taste yet. Open your mouth."

They kept their eyes on each other while Daveed opened his mouth, waiting for whatever came next. Olivia took her time to coat his tongue in syrup, imagining how it would feel to experience the concoction from his mouth.

There started the mad scramble to get closer, taste more and touch longer. Separate but equal desires to completely consume the other person had the pair maneuvering around the kitchen. They remained attached at the lips until they reached the solid wood breakfast table near the large casement window. Daveed was the first to remove clothing, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind him. A split-second decision had him rushing back to the stove to retrieve the syrup pot. He carefully placed it on the table while Olivia slid the straps of her summer dress down her arms to let the fabric pool at her waist. Daveed watched with a flirtatious smile, marveling at the expanse of her warm brown skin. Olivia returned the sentiment, letting her eyes rake over his broad chest and toned midsection.

One after the other, Daveed and Olivia added bits of syrup to different body parts to lick and suck the skin clean. A handful mistakenly dripped onto Olivia's thigh, and they watched the sticky liquid carry small chunks of strawberries to the inner portion of her leg.

Daveed regarded the sight with wonder before carefully dropping to one knee for a better look. He maintained eye contact with Olivia as he kissed his way to the sweetest spot, lingering in places that earned the most desirable response. The scratch of facial hair combined with his lips and tongue's soft, silkiness made Olivia keen for more. She could feel the blood rushing to pool at her inner thigh for a bruise that would leave evidence of a dream achieved. She smiled at the thought of seeing it when she was getting dressed and how her stomach might feel with butterflies from the memories.

Daveed mumbled praise after praise into the supple skin of Olivia's thigh before starting a journey back to her lips. When he returned, he slowly pushed the waistband of his sweats down his hips and legs.

"Oh," Olivia spoke, eyes wide while she fought the natural desire to let her gaze travel. "I...wow, okay. I feel like I'm violating you."

"I'm kind of asking you to," Daveed laughed as he stepped closer.

"This is so fucking weird. Are we really about to do this?"

"Only if you want. I mean, I want to, but we can stop whenever you say the word."

He was closer now, dropping kisses on her shoulders while he pressed their chests together to reduce the space between him.

Olivia's legs naturally hooked themselves around his waist at the same time that her arms circled his neck.

She leaned forward to speak against Daveed's lips with her eyes hooded in lust, "I want this."

Passion and the hint of strawberry coating their lips intensified the moment between Olivia and Daveed. He held her writhing hips steady while he stood on his toes to push forward. Simultaneous moans of pleasure rang out in the kitchen, surely gaining the attention of nearby neighbors.

Their hips bucked an even pace, repeatedly meeting to build tension in their bellies. Daveed felt the strain of each stroke in his thighs and calves but found the desire to fuck his friend on her kitchen table to override any other immediate discomfort.

"Are you a talker," Daveed asked randomly, making Olivia's eyes snap up from the action below her waist to focus her attention on him.

"What?"

"A talker. Do you like to talk during sex?" His question came between labored breaths and grunts holding a mixture of exertion and indescribable pleasure.

"Daveed, are you trying to have a conversation with me right now?"

"I mean, I like to - fuck - I...I like to talk sometimes. Is that cool?"

A high-pitched moan ripped through Olivia's throat before she could gather her senses to respond. "It's your c-call, Diggs. Just don't stop."

He followed directions without skipping a beat, digging into his strength to pick up speed when he sensed they could move to the next level. He peppered in filthy statements that stimulate Olivia's mind while driving into her with expert precision.

They held on to each other as they reached separate peaks with no regard for the climbing noise level.

"I wanna do this forever," Daveed whispered into Olivia's ear before nipping at the lobe.

"Not look into my eyes lovingly and write songs about me?"

Daveed chuckled and snapped his hips forward, earning a near-silent moan. "Can I use you calling me daddy on the hook?"

"You got a lot of work to do before that happens."

"I'll put in overtime."

Splaying his hand across Olivia's torso, Daveed pushed her to lay flat on the table before leaning to hover over her body. He used his waning energy to give her all the power in his hips, searching for a climax. When she thought she couldn't come anymore, Olivia felt her body jolt off the table once the pad of Daveed's thumb began rubbing tight circles on her clit. Daveed smiled at the reaction but felt it disappear as soon as his hips falter mid-stroke. He rushed to pull out of Olivia, fearing that if he stayed inside for a moment longer, he would expedite his journey to fatherhood.

Olivia helped his cause by curling her fingers around his length and joining his pumping effort while she propped her body up on her elbow. He came with a choppy moan and heavy breathing on her belly, his chest rising and falling rapidly in time with the stove's timer beeping for attention.

Both Olivia and Daveed dissolved into laughter.

"Please, don't let this dry on me. It's sexy now but a pain to get off later."

Daveed's laughter climbed to hysterics at Olivia's mention of the mess on her stomach before reaching across the table to grab napkins out of the centerpiece component.

"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly as he helped wipe her clean. "Condoms next time?" 

"Or my mouth."

Daveed stood shocked for a split second while Olivia worked to readjust her clothing and hurry to the stove. He followed her lead and pulled up his sweats before clearing the syrup pot and grabbing wipes to disinfect the surface.

The room was silent while they arranged hot dishes on the counter and privately grappled with having sex for the first time. A sense of "now what" hung in the air, which made Daveed more and more uncomfortable.

After plates were fixed, they chose opposite ends of the table to enjoy the meal.

"You know," Olivia started, laughing as she swallowed the last piece of cornbread on her plate. "That simple syrup recipe is my mom's. This whole meal was her favorite thing to cook, and I made it because I was really fuckin' sad and needed her nearby. Then you showed up."

Daveed's eyes snapped up from his plate. He wasn't sure what to say and remained silent in hopes that Olivia would elaborate.

"A couple weeks before she died, she told me that she would still be directing my love life from Heaven. She grabbed my hand and said, 'Dammit, Bean, I'm gone get you a man even if I gotta do it during bingo with the good Lord.'"

"You think she's up there winning the grand prize?"

Olivia shook her head. "I think she forfeited it to send you to me."

Her answer made Daveed still to watch Olivia's eyes meet his set from across the table. She reached a hand across the table with her palms facing upward, beckoning Daveed to place his palm in the center of hers.

"We have three weeks to figure this shit out," Daveed said, smiling before bringing Olivia's palm to rest on his cheek.

She looked at him for a minute to take in the way his eyes reflected the sun before using her head to gesture toward the pot still resting on the counter.

"And all night to finish off mama's recipe."