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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 5 years ago

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you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

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

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

word count: 17.2k

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

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Harry hates clubs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the f—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re going to hell.”

“I’m already there, mate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, boomer.”

“You’re older than I am!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the culture shock hit.

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

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

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Precisely his point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So how do you like your new home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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angelmavmurdock · 4 years ago

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Our Little Secret: Part Six - A.R.

Word count: 5976 Summary: After Lenora’s funeral, Arvin learns some news about her. Y/n and Arvin have sex for the first time and ends up being way past her curfew...

WARNINGS: SMUT, FINGERING, DIRTY TALK (mild), READER'S FIRST TIME

I attended Lenora's funeral as her best friend.

No one knew about Arvin and I and we were keeping it for a different reason now. Not in case Lenora found out but to keep everyone else sane in this crazy time.

I had taken a week off school, helping the Russell's around the house with cooking, cleaning and some company. Emma was absolutely distraught, only coming out of bed when she needed the bathroom or needed to eat - even then it wasn't promised.

Ma was so busy with helping Daddy while I was busy helping the Russell's, we hardly got to see each other. But we both knew after the funeral things would calm down.

Arvin was handling his sister's death strangely. He wasn't sad. He didn't cry. He would go out on car rides, asking to be alone a lot of the time. I didn't know what he was doing and to be honest, I didn't want to know.

At night, once Earskell had went to bed and well after Emma had went to bed, we'd stay up, sitting outside on the patio in the old rocking chairs with some tea and listen to the radio quietly humming in the background. We wouldn't really speak much. We'd just be in each other's presence. We'd kiss. Then I'd go home.

But today was her funeral. I had a standard funeral outfit on: a black dress with tights and patent shoes with a black ribbon in my hair. I had been crying all day so my tears stained my cheeks and my eyes were red and puffy.

Emma was much the same as me while Arvin was trying to be strong for us, only a few tears leaving his eyes during the ceremony. He held me close to him, his hand just above the curve of my waist to not draw attention to us. We stood by together as Emma cried over her casket.

"Oh Lord, there's just some things we can't understand..."

She cried, kneeling to the floor and caressing the wood with her soft hands.

"But you take her into your arms..." She had to stop speaking because of her sobs.

I watched, tears falling from my face and I looked up at Arvin, rubbing my hand over his back softly. He stared numbly at the casket, only the ever-so-often squeeze of my waist indicating he was okay.

"Now I ain't somebody for sayin' prayers or..." Earskell talked, coughing and then clenching his jaw.

Arvin looked over to his Uncle and then removed his arm from around me, leaving me feeling cold without him. He slightly bent over and helped Emma to her feet, holding her by her arm and then wrapping his other arm back around me, this time on my waist.

"Let's go home." I said in almost a whisper.

Emma and everyone else nodded. I pulled away from Arvin and when he looked at me I looked back as if to say it was okay. He nodded slightly and helped his Grandma to the truck. I followed loosely behind the three of them, giving them some space to be with each other in the fresh air.

As I walked behind them through the grave yard I thought about everything.

What did she have to tell me? What happened with the preacher? Why was she so ashamed? Why did she want to end her own life?...

There were too many questions and none of them I could answer. I was supposed to be her best friend and I felt like I had let her down. I had let her down.

***

"I think it'll be real good if you went out for a night, Emma." I sighed, sitting next to her on her bed.

It had been a few days since the funeral and she was still lying in bed, only getting up for the bare minimum. Even for food she wasn't getting up for, which I was cooking each night.

"I don't have the energy, y/n." She croaked.

"I think you need a bath. And a nice new dress. And your hair did and your friends around you. There's a church day out at the beach on Saturday. I think you should go." I said with a smile.

She laughed lightly, "Honey, I hardly have five dollars to put together, how am I supposed to buy a new dress and get my hair done?"

A grin grew on my face, "Luckily I am here to help with that."

***

Saturday rolled around and I showed up early morning with two new dresses for Emma. She had gotten her hair done the day before and she was feeling a lot better. She showered and I met her in her room when she came out. I lay the two dresses on the bed and she looked in confusion.

"Pick your favourite and I'll see you in the living room." I smiled simply then left her room, closing the door behind me.

I waited in the living room with Arvin who was reading the newspaper, a cigarette bouncing between his lips and an ash tray.

"Ma asked for me to be home at 9 tonight." I said with a sigh.

Arvin looked up from the paper, "Really? That early?"

"Yeah. She does not like you." I groaned.

"Damn...I'm guessin' there's not much I can do about that, huh?"

"Not really...don't you have work today?" I asked.

"Only a small shift. Just gettin' back into it after the accident and then obviously..." He gulped.

"I know...well that'll be good." I smiled.

"Yeah."

"I'm ready!" Emma called from her bedroom.

"Come on out!" I beamed, getting up from the couch.

She clicked down the hallway in her red kitten heels. I gasped with delight. She chose the poppy patterned dress that flowed lightly below her knees. It fit her perfectly. A silver cross hung over her clavicle and her hair was pinned up nicely.

"Emma Russell, you look absolutely divine!" I grinned.

She blushed, "Really? I do love this dress, I can't thank you enough y/n."

"It's no problem at all. I'm just glad you're feelin' better and havin' fun. You deserve it."

She took a deep breath and smiled, "Thanks, darlin'."

Arvin got up to drive her to the church and he complimented her with an embrace.

"I'll be back around 11pm. It's late but the girls are all hitchin' rides with the men after their poker."

"Well I'll be gone by 9 so I'll see you tomorrow? I hope you have fun, Emma." I hummed, hugging her tightly.

"Thank you so much. Have fun!" She waved as Arvin opened the door for her.

We both watched as she and Earskell talked, going to the truck. Arvin closed the door slightly, leaning forward to me.

I giggled and cupped his face, bringing his lips to mine. It was soft but meaningful. His hands lightly touched my waist before we both pulled away.

"Have a good day at work and drive safe, alright?" I said.

"Thanks, y/n. I'll see you later. Bye." He flashed me a smile before leaving the house.

And I was left for nearly a whole day by myself.

***

Arvin's POV

The working truck pulled up to the car park outside. I jumped off the end along with everyone else and we said our goodbyes. As I headed to the truck I saw an officer standing by, looking at me.

"Need to have a word with you, Arvin." He announced.

"About what?" I asked, standing a few yards from him.

"It's uh...it's about Lenora." He spoke awkwardly.

I took a deep breath and looked away for a second, "What about her?"

"I came by here instead of home so nothin's put on your grandmother-"

"Put on her? What do you mean?" I asked.

The officer removed his uniform hat which is never a good sign. He seemed awkward. He seemed nervous.

"Y'know old Dudley in the coroners? He's a drunk but...he ain't no liar."

I looked at him with a stern look, masking the fact that my stomach was flipping inside.

"Did you know Lenora was carryin' a baby?" He asked.

I tilted my head slightly, my eyes on his. This seemed real. But it couldn't be.

I continued staring at him, hoping he'd crack.

"That's bullshit. That son of a bitch is lyin'." I clenched my jaw.

"Dudley ain't a liar. He came to me privately so as your family knew...I felt he was right." The officer nodded.

I averted eye contact, feeling myself tear up. No, no, no, no, no.

"I might've put my foot in somethin' but that wasn't my intention."

He fiddled with his dark green fedora, uncomfortable with the conversation and uncomfortable with the fact he had to tell me.

"You know that preacher ain't said no words for her? Not for people that kill themselves." I shook my head and clenched my jaw.

That son of a bitch.

***

I drove home in anger and confusion. When I pulled up, I saw y/n outside on one of the rocking chairs, a mug in her hand and a blanket wrapped around her.

My mood lifted almost automatically. She looked gorgeous in the dim sunlight. I remembered the house was empty and I was happy in that y/n and I could spend time together alone but then again, Lenora wasn't there.

I walked tiredly up the steps and she sat her mug down with a pout of her plump lips.

"Hey, you okay?" She asked me, standing up.

I didn't say anything.

"Arvin?" She prompted.

I looked up at her.

"How was work?" She asked, trying to pry something from me.

"It was fine." I shrugged, walking back to lean against the post.

She bit her lip, "Is somethin' botherin' you?"

She knew me too well.

"A uh...a police officer stopped me before goin' home." I said, retrieving a cigarette from my pocket and lighting it.

"What? Why?" She asked, arms folding as she leaned against the opposite post.

I chuckled. It wasn't to be annoying. It was in anger and confusion and disbelief.

"He told me that Lenora - my innocent, God-loving, 17-year-old sister - was pregnant before she died." I stated.

She blinked at me like a deer in headlights. She didn't speak for a few seconds, her brain working to log the information properly.

"She uh...she was p-pregnant? No." She shook her head.

"Well she was." I took a puff.

"What the hell? How did I not know?" She pressed a hand to her chest.

"Don't get mad at me I'm just repeatin' what he said!"

"I'm not mad! I'm just...she was pregnant?"

I licked my lips and nodded.

She chewed her lip in thought, wrinkles forming between her eyebrows.

"I don't believe it. That's bullshit."

"That's what I said. But, apparently some guy down at the coroner's said that she was. And apparently, he don't lie." I said.

She shook her head, "Who...who was the father? Cause he'll be out there right now runnin' free!" She exclaimed.

"I don't know. I have an idea but I don't know." I licked my back teeth.

I couldn't tell her about the preacher. She clearly didn't know and I wasn't about to tell her. Because if I told her I would have to explain how I knew and stalking some guy doesn't seem like the best thing to say.

"Well that is just...wow." She rubbed her face.

"I know."

We both went silent, our heads filled with thought and worry and confusion. How could neither of us had known?

"Are you gonna tell your Grandma?" She asked.

"No. No, I'm not." I dropped the cigarette butt and stood on it.

"I think it would set her back." She agreed.

"Exactly. She don't need that right now, she's at a good place."

y/n nodded, agreeing with me. I sighed and took my hat off, running a hand through my hair. y/n walked towards me with her arms outstretched. I smiled and welcomed her. Her arms wrapped around me tightly, her chest pressed against mine. I leaned my head on top of hers and stroked her back softly.

"We didn't get to tell Lenora." She whispered.

I gulped, "I know..."

"Well if heaven is real then she'll be lookin' down at us thinkin': I told you so."

We both chuckled at the thought. But it was slightly uncomfortable to think of her that way. Dead. In heaven. I didn't like it.

"Hey," She chirped from underneath me.

I moved my head and looked at her. She reached her hands up and wrapped them around my neck.

"You were such a good big brother." She stated.

An immediate lump in my throat formed at her words. Not if you knew the things I had done or what I was planning to do...

"And you're an amazin' person, Arv. You really are." She smiled.

I just smiled weakly at her.

"And I know you feel like you have to be strong all the time but with me...with me you don't have to." She whispered, trailing her hands down then up my chest.

Reader's POV

He stared down at me with a sudden look of lust and hunger. Before I knew it, I was being pushed back against the post, gasping as the wood hit my back. Arvin kissed me ferociously, his tongue pushing into my mouth without missing a beat. I moaned in surprised but sunk into him, getting the fast-paced rhythm he was implementing.

He moved his kisses to my neck and he began to kiss and suck on my sweet spot.

"Arvin," I moaned breathlessly, tugging his hair slightly.

His hands slid down my dress and grabbed my ass through the fabric as his mouth worked on my skin.

"Feels so good." I hummed.

His lips came back up to mine and our tongues worked with each other's, pushing and swirling in some sort of dance. It was passionate and hot and I felt like I needed more of him.

Suddenly his hands roamed further to my thighs and swiftly lifted me up. I gasped as my legs locked around his torso effortlessly. He smirked up at my surprise and kissed me again. He blindly opened the door and it slammed shut behind us. He walked through while kissing me intensely.

And then I knew I was in his room. I had only been in once or twice for laundry but I knew it was his. He pushed me against the door, ultimately closing it. I moaned again and he moved his lips to my neck again.

"Want you, Arvin." I hummed.

He looked up at me with a glint of lust and hope in his eyes.

"You sure?" He asked.

"I need you." I whispered.

That was enough for him.

He brought me off the wall and to his bed, lying me carefully on his sheets, getting on top of me.

He kept kissing me, his hands beginning to lift my dress up. I sat up and allowed him to slide it off my body. Thankfully I was wearing nicer underwear this time. He threw my dress to the side and looked down at my body in awe.

He stood up from the bed, eyes burning through my skin as he started to undo his buttons on his shirt.

I felt a colour rise to my cheeks. He was seeing me in my underwear. No guy had ever seen me in my underwear before.

"You are fuckin' unreal, darlin'." He complimented, his eyes shining with adoration.

I bit my lip, "You're makin' me nervous standin' like that."

He removed his shirt and then pulled off his dirty white t-shirt from underneath. I had seen his chest before but his bruises were nearly healed and he looked even better than before. Probably since he'd been working all day. He undid his belt and then slid down his trousers, stepping out of them.

My jaw dropped. Arvin. In. His. Underwear.

"Whatcha starin' at?" He smirked.

I gulped then looked back up at him, "Nothin' much."

He shook his head and leaped on top of me. I squealed before he kissed me.

"You're a minx, that's what you are." He chuckled against my lips.

"Well then teach me how to be good." I whispered.

He pulled away, looking down at me with his dilated brown eyes, almost completely black with passion.

"Fuck, I want to."

He began to slide his hand down my body, making rest stops at my waist and my hip before teasing the waistband of my pants. I gasped and looked up at him in lust.

"Have you ever been touched before?" He asked lowly.

He slid his hand carefully into my panties. I arched my back and moaned lightly at his touch.

"N-no." I answered honestly.

His eyebrows furrowed for a split-second.

"You've never been touched before? When you look this pretty?" He quirked an eyebrow.

His fingers slowly circled on my clit, warming me up. I grasped his arm and bit my lip at the new feeling.

"Have you ever touched yourself before?"

My throat went dry.

"No." I answered again.

He smiled, "That's okay...but you've gotta tell me if you don't like what I'm doin', alright?" He asked.

I nodded with a hum.

He pulled my panties off and I felt completely exposed. Only my brasserie covered the last part of my modesty. But I felt safe with Arvin. I trusted him.

His hand returned back to my core where he continued rubbing circles on my clit. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the new-found pleasure.

"Already so wet, darlin'."

I whimpered at his filthy words and felt his finger slide down my core. He slowly pushed a finger into my entrance. I gasped and gripped his arm that rested beside my head, propping himself up.

He started moving it in and out, beginning to pick up a pace.

"How does that feel?" He asked.

"So- good." I hummed, eyes closed in pleasure.

He began to speed his finger up, curling it up to find my spot. I moaned, bucking my hips into his palm as if to say more.

He got the message and slipped a second finger in with ease. I moaned loudly as his fingers worked inside of me. His thumb grazed constantly over my clit and whatever he was doing was making my stomach flutter.

I could hear the sounds of my arousal and it added to the pleasure.

"So good for me, y/n. So good." He praised.

"Arvin!" I whined.

"What, angel?" He asked softly.

"I need you. Please." I practically humped his hand in desperation.

He smirked, "You sure you're ready?" He asked cautiously.

I nodded, "Please."

He removed his hand from me, leaving me a whimpering, pathetic mess. He slid his underwear off and my jaw dropped once again. His member was a lot bigger than I had anticipated. But to be honest, I had never seen one so I had nothing to compare it to. But my god.

He pumped himself in his hand as he got back onto the bed, kneeling between my legs. I sat up and removed my bra myself. I then took my hair out of the band and the ribbon, sitting them aside. I lay back down, attempting to make my hair look as nice as it could splayed out on the bedsheet.

"You're so fuckin' gorgeous. Can't wait to feel you." He groaned, getting on top of me.

I bit my lip and held his arm with one hand and gripped his hair with the other.

"You ready?" He asked.

I took a deep breath and nodded. He leaned down and encased my lips in a passionate but loving kiss, our lips moving slowly over each other's and our tongues swirling around perfectly. I got so distracted by the kiss that Arvin could easily slip half-way into me. I gasped at the feeling of him.

"Is that okay?" He checked, brushing some of my hair out of my face.

I nodded and hummed. He gave me a moment to adjust to his size. It was slightly uncomfortable but that soon went away when he pulled back then thrusted slowly into me again.

"Arvin," I moaned.

He lifted my thigh up to his side and pushed further into me. I tugged his hair and bit my lip.

"So fuckin' tight, fuck. Feel so good, darlin'." He panted.

"Please go faster." I whimpered.

He dipped his head into the crook of my neck and held my thigh firmly as he began thrusting into me. His pace sped up quickly and soon enough he was moving effortlessly into me.

"Feels so good!" I moaned, arching my back into his chest.

His lips came to my breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth. I gasped at the new feeling as his tongue lapped over my skin. His thrusts sped up and he completely bottomed me out, his skin slapping against mine with every push.

"Oh god!" I tugged on his hair.

He groaned, "So gorgeous, so hot - fuck."

I rolled my eyes back at his words.

In a Christian based Southern state, having premarital sex was looked down upon. But it didn't feel wrong. It felt so good.

"So tight around me," He commented lowly.

"Can we flip?" I asked breathlessly.

"'Course."

He smoothly flipped us, so he was on his back. I bit my lip and hovered over him, taking his member in my hand.

"Fuck." We both cursed in unison.

I pumped him in my hand a few times to see what it was like and how he reacted. He gripped my thigh tighter and bit his lip. I smirked, feeling a pang of power course through me.

I swiped his member on my folds, surprised at how wet I actually was. I slowly sank down on him and we both let out long groans as I bottomed him out.

"W-woah." I panted.

He sat up, shifting inside of me. I moaned a little at the movement. His arms wrapped around me and I held his shoulders. I kissed him deeply, running my hands up into his hair and his tongue explored my mouth like it never had before.

I started to move on him, up and down was my instinct. Apparently I was right.

"Fuck, darlin'." He cursed against my lips.

"Oh god." I moaned, gripping his broad shoulders for support.

He gathered my cascading hair and put it behind my back as I moved on top of him. For some reason it made emotions flow in my brain.

Love.

They way he cared for me and was gentle with me obviously set off an emotion I had never really felt before. Not romantically, anyway.

I looked into his dark eyes and stopped bouncing on him. He looked into my eyes and held my waist. He started to move my hips in a grinding motion. My mouth dropped open slightly at the feeling.

His eyes stayed on mine as I rolled my hips on his, his hands guiding me. It was intimate and passionate and I loved him. I held him as close to me as possible, our chests matching and my hands massaging his scalp.

"Arvin," I moaned.

I could feel a build up of tension in my stomach.

One of his hands slowly came down between us and started to rub my clit again. I threw my head back in pleasure, the feeling intensifying.

"Shit!"

"You close, darlin'?" He asked lowly.

"Close? To- to what?" I asked, fastening my movements.

"Fuck- to your high, baby."

His fingers kept working on my clit and his other hand still guided my hip.

"My high? Oh fuck! That feels so good!" I moaned loudly and highly.

His fingers worked faster.

"If you feel like you need to let go...then do it, baby." He groaned.

I didn't really know what he meant but the feeling in my core and stomach tightened.

"Oh god! Yes! Yes!" I moved my hips faster on him.

"God you feel so good, baby. So good around me." He praised.

I dug my nails into his back, my head going to his forehead.

"Arvin, I love you." I admitted breathlessly.

"You-you love me?" He repeated as if he was surprised.

"Yes! Yes, I love you." I bit my lip.

"y/n...pretty girl," He brushed some of my hair behind my ear.

"I love you, too." He grinned.

I stopped my movements for a second to smile and kiss him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, bringing him as close to me as possible.

He started to thrust up into me, the sound of skin slapping and my surprised moans filling the room.

"Oh! Yes! God, yes!" I squealed.

He worked a lot faster than I did. His member brushed a spot inside of me I didn't even know existed. I could feel myself clenching around him and he groaned at the feeling.

"Let go for me, baby. Come on." He grunted.

"I love you! Arvin, I- yes!"

I felt the knot in my stomach snap and the feeling in my core burn. I moaned and cursed and gripped Arvin's hair in ecstasy. He continued thrusting up into me, my wetness dripping down onto him and his thighs.

"Feels so good baby, good job." He praised.

He kept me in my high like I had entered nirvana. My mind went cloudy, my vision hazy, my hearing muffled. All I could sense was Arvin. And that's all I needed.

"Fuck, baby-"

He quickly flipped me back onto my back and pulled out of me. I was still somehow in my high but I opened my eyes to see what he was doing. He pumped his member a few times before grunting and finished on my upper thigh and lower stomach.

I watched in awe. His muscles tensed and untensed, his head was thrown back and the sounds leaving his mouth were heaven.

After he calmed down he crashed next to me and we both caught our breaths.

"Sorry about that, I should have asked you." He sighed.

"It's okay. I liked it." I giggled.

He shook his head and looked at me, "You are perfect, y/n."

I shook my head back, brushing my hand over his loose curls, "No, you are."

He smiled at my touch, "How was it?"

I laughed lightly, "Good. I didn't even know it was possible to feel like that."

He smirked, "I'm a master, what can I say?"

I rolled my eyes and smacked his chest. He laughed and then shuffled closer to me, lips decorating my shoulder.

"Did you mean what you said?" He asked quietly.

I nodded, "Every word."

His lips connected to mine in a soft, long kiss.

"I love you." I whispered.

"I love you, too."

He dropped the needle onto the record and waited for the music to play.

(Play now)

'Cry To Me' by Solomon Burke began to play through the speaker.

Arvin had poured us a glass of very fancy scotch each. He said it was only for special occasions. I had only put my panties and one of his button down shirts on. The warm, humid weather was enough to keep me warm. Arvin wore a white vest shirt and some long pyjama bottoms.

"I love this song." I hummed, sipping the warm alcohol from the crystal glass.

"Dance with me." Arvin stated rather than questioned.

I smiled and sat my glass down. He gave me his hand and twirled me under his arm before bringing me into his chest.

We held hands on one side while his other hand held my waist and my other held his shoulder. We swayed back and forth to the music, enjoying the post-sex bliss.

"Come on, and cry to me." I sang an octave higher.

Arvin smiled, "I love you."

I giggled, "I love you, too."

We stayed like that, dancing and singing to the parts we knew, hands all over each other, stealing a few kisses whenever we could. He'd spin me out and I'd attempt to spin him but he could never get the hang of it.

We were happy. And we were in love.

"I've never seen you like this before, you know? I like happy on you." I smiled up at him.

A one sided smile curved on his face, "No one's been able to bring it out of me before."

I bit the inside of my lip at his words. Part of me was happy and proud that I could make him feel like that but the other part felt horrible that he's felt that way for so long.

"Well get ready to be happy a whole bunch, 'cause I ain't goin' nowhere."

He laughed, twirling me under his arm and back into his chest.

"That's exactly what I want." He smirked, leaning down to kiss me.

Our lips pressed together.

But only briefly.

A truck pulled up outside. And both of us turned to look out the window.

"Wait WHAT?!" I shouted, noticing that it was Emma and Earskell in the car.

I looked at the clock on the wall.

11:57.

"SHIT!" I exclaimed.

It was nearly midnight. I was supposed to be home at nine.

I scrambled to Arvin's bedroom and hurriedly put on my dress and shoes. Arvin put the shirt I was wearing on and changed into his work trousers again. He grabbed his jacket and his keys, shoving his feet into his shoes as we ran to the front door.

"Oh! You two are still here?" Emma jumped at the sight of us rushing past her outside.

"Back soon!" Arvin shouted.

I jumped into the passenger seat and Arvin got in the drivers. He pulled out frantically and drove off.

"Oh my god. I'm dead. I'm dead." I panicked.

"Just calm down, you'll be fine." Arvin tried to soothe me, speeding through the village.

"You'll be dead, too! Oh god what are they gonna do, Arvin?" I gripped my hair.

"We're nearly there, it'll be fine." He grasped my thigh lightly.

I took deep breaths, looking out at the silent town as we zoomed past everything. The dread in my stomach grew as we drove up the road and then entered the grounds, past the gate.

"Go before they get you, alright?" I ordered, jumping out the car.

"Y/N Y/M/N YL/N! Where the HELL have you been?!" Ma shouted from the door, storming outside.

"Ma, I can explain! Let's just go inside!" I exclaimed.

"Boy, get out that car right now!" She shouted at Arvin.

"Ma! Stop! It's not his fault!" I shouted, beginning to get defensive.

Arvin got out of the car and held his hands in his trouser pockets, walking towards Ma and I. I saw Daddy standing by the door, watching everything and my heart ached.

"You are supposed to be takin' care of her! How dare you keep her away this long with no contact! How dare you!" She shouted at Arvin, pointing a finger at hi accusingly.

"Ma! He didn't do anything!" I shouted.

"I am not STUPID y/n! I know that you two have been gettin' together almost every night. I see the car bein' parked behind the gate, I see the way you two look at each other. And I do not have a problem with that! But if the so called MAN known for his sexual acts keeps my 18 year old daughter out until MIDNIGHT, I am not gonna be happy!"

"We lost track of time, ma'am." Arvin stated calmly.

"Oh did ya' now? Doin' what?"

"Ma!" I shouted.

"No! I wanna know what was so important that stopped you from comin' home on time!"

Arvin and I stuttered, not knowing what or how to say anything.

Ma scoffed and clenched her jaw. We could practically see steam coming from her ears.

"You. Inside. Now." She demanded, pointing at me.

I furrowed my brows, "No! I'm not goin' inside with you!"

"y/n, inside right now!"

"No! I'm not leavin' Arvin!" I held his arm in mine.

Her chest heaved with rage, "Arvin, stay the hell away from my daughter."

Ma went to grab my arm but I dodged it.

"No!" I screamed.

"y/n!"

"No! I wanna be with Arvin!"

"He is no good for you!" She shouted as if he wasn't there.

"You do not get to tell me what I can and can't do! I'm an adult and if I am in love with someone-"

"IN LOVE?" Ma shouted.

"Yes! In love! We love each other and you can't stop that!" I held his arm so tightly I was surprised I hadn't cut his circulation off yet.

"You are not to be with each other anymore. You are a bad influence on my daughter and I never want to see you near her again. Do you understand?" She spoke sternly to Arvin.

I looked up at him. He gulped, his eyes becoming teary, "I understand." He uttered.

"Arvin!" I scoffed.

"I'll leave you alone." He murmured, beginning to walk away.

"Arvin! What the hell are you doing?!" I shouted, my arm still attached to him as he - we - walked away.

He opened the car door and clenched his jaw, not looking at me.

"Go with your parents. I've done enough."

"Arvin, don't say that! You- you just said you loved me!" I felt tears begin to fall from my eyes.

His chin quivered, "Just go, y/n. Please."

"What? No. No! I'm not going!"

He ripped his arm away from me and went to get in the car.

"No!"

I slammed the door so he couldn't get in.

"No! You don't get to do that, Arvin! You don't get to say you love me then fuck off when somethin' comes between us!" I shouted, realising these were more sobs than anything.

"Just go inside, y/n." He said to the ground.

I furrowed my brows and shook my head in disbelief.

"y/n-" I interrupted my mother.

"No! Arvin, please! Why are you doing this?"

"We can't be together." Arvin sniffed.

"Yes we can! We can!" I went to cup his face but he moved away.

I didn't know if it was sadness or utter rage but I broke down in tears.

"You said you loved me!" I screamed, pushing him against the car.

He took it. He didn't look at me, though. But he took my babyish tantrum.

"You said you loved me!" I cried, hitting his chest.

"y/n, go inside. Please." He begged quietly.

I saw tears fall from his face.

I stopped and stood back, watching with blurred eyes as he got into the car and drove off quickly.

I choked on a sob and kneeled to the ground in a cry, letting all the emotions I had pent up go. Absolutely everything.

Ma came up to me to comfort me but I pushed her off and stood back up.

"No! You don't get to comfort me after ruining love for me." I cried, pushing past her and running to the house.

I ran up the steps and I paused briefly when I saw Daddy watching with tired and heartbroken eyes. He silently moved to the side to let me storm away. I sobbed uncontrollable sobs as I ran up the stairs and slammed my door shut, sliding down to the floor.

I thought he loved me.

{Tags: @notanordinaryprincess96 @imagine-yourself-happy }

#arvin russel #arvin russel x y/n #arvin russel fluff #arvin russel smut #arvin russel angst #arvin russel x reader #arvin russel mmini series #mini series #tom holland #tom holland series #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #tom holland fic #arvin russel fic #one shot #arvin russel imagine #imagine #tom holland imagine

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aku-writes · 4 years ago

Text

I tried to flesh out Ji-Woon Hak more. Dunno, key word is tried.

Note: I kept some of BHVRs OG lines from his lore, so please keep that in mind. A good chunk of the beginnging is pretty much bhvrs.

Another note: Everything highlighted in blue is BHVR's original words. This will include rewording.

Ji-Woon Hak thrived under the attention of others, energized by every eye that watched him and every tongue that spoke his name. Amidst the prestige, he had only one desire: more.

Working at his family’s restaurant as a child, he would draw in business with knife-throwing spectacles. Gullible tourists gladly handed over their money to see part of the “traditional Korean experience”. His talent for knife-throwing was not the only thing that brought in customers, Ji-Woon was a natural with his voice and his father only nurtured his talent for singing. Ji-Woon’s father spent the restaurant’s earnings on dance lessons and vocal lessons for his son, pushing him to attain the fame he could never achieve.

Ji-Woon did not disappoint.

After years of showing his abilities to nobodies at talent shows, he finally got his wish of a chance of stardom when Yun-Jin Lee, a producer at Mightee One Entertainment, recruited him into her training program. He was swept away as soon as possible to a dormitory in Seoul where, for fourteen hours a day, he was crafted into a star. Ji-Woon was not only taught how to move and sing, but how to carry himself with the right balance of confidence and modesty as well. Each detail was chiseled into him as if he were a statue.

Draining as the process was, it worked. Yun-Jin selected Ji-Woon to join the band NO SPIN, and with him, he brought raw new energy to their tracks that sparked almost immediate fame. Ji-Woon lived in a daze of interviews and adoration, and though the frenzied schedule exhausted his bandmates, he was invigorated by it. Each day was an affirmation that he was greater than the mediocrity society spewed out.

But one person can only take so much pressure. Fame or no fame, Ji-Woon and his bandmates were still drilled on being more than perfect. It may not have taken its toll on him as physically as it had his friends, but those around Ji-Woon could see the change. There was a different spark in his eyes. A spark that would set everything ablaze. Including them.

They screamed out his name as the fire spread through the studio. Smoke filled their lungs as they pounded on the window for him to free them, their escape blocked by fallen speakers. Yet, as he stood there, seemingly frozen in his spot as he stared at the heavy equipment. . .he backed away from them. Ji-Woon’s back soon faced them as he ignored their cries as he quickly made his escape.

To Ji-Woon world had become stale; the fame, the fortune, the attention, all of it was becoming background noise. It was old news, he needed something new in his life, and fate had granted him the change he desired. The death of his bandmates reinvigorated him and his new solo career. No longer was he just part of NO SPIN, now all the eyes would be on him, The Trickster. He rode on the attention his bandmates gave him, moving him into a prosperous career as a solo artist and producer; a wild child with a soft heart hidden beneath the glam.

Something, however, was growing within Ji-Woon; something akin to the embers of obsession. The last words his friends had called out had been his name. Their voices were the fuel that fanned the embers. He needed to hear those cries again, the feeling they sparked in him filled the empty cavity that the staleness had started to create.

But no one could see it, not even through his eyes, the gateway to the soul. A decade of being taught how to be perfect made it an effortless task to hide what had begun to burn within him.

The first time he killed it was at random, a spur of the moment. An open window. A fire escape. A bat to her skull. Gagged and bound, he played with her, dissecting her alive on her bed like a frog. But something was not right, there was no satisfaction in it. All Ji-Woon got from her was muffled cries and please, not the screams and wails he had craved.

But Ji-Woon learned and he adapted. He changed his tactics, from breaking in to abduction. It wasn’t hard for him to find a secluded area to do his dirty work, far from where anyone would hear and soundproof enough to hide the cries he let ring from his victims. Each kill was recorded, each sound was utilized and hidden into the music that he produced. But he did not stop with just incorporating the wails of his victims into his music; Ji-Woon began to leave a trail of breadcrumbs with each murder, a mink boa from a photoshoot around a slashes throat, teeth plucked out to mimic the mouth of a boxer that had appeared in a recent music video.

But he was not garnering the amount of attention he wanted from it. So he struck closer to home. The idol turned his attention to a fan who had recently come to a VIP meeting with him, she was to be his next victim. He brutalized her, keeping her restrained as he beat her. The fan’s wails when he carved his blade through the flesh of her breasts as he slowly spelled out I HAVE SEEN GOD sent shivers down his spine. Ji-Woon waited patiently as she neared death before he struck again. He drove his fingers into her eye sockets gauging the soft and squishy orbs from their holes, vitreous fluids leaking from one of them as it ruptured within his palm. In their place, he pressed the diamond cufflinks he had been wearing down into now empty sockets. There was a second where he paused, only to simply wipe the precious stones clean

But nothing lasts forever. Violence quickly became Ji-Woon’s preferred media of art. His obsession with the cries of death left him a mental wreck, all his focus being on planning and committing the gruesome murders. This, of course, did not play out well in the eyes of the executives. Though he may not have had the largest cut in the company’s revenue, his fame and audience still played a major role in the continued success of the production company.

They were going to give him one last chance. A last chance to create his magnum opus. If not, he was done. He was going to be cut off. Ji-Woon would go back to being nothing but a dying spark of what had been a bright career.

He was incandescent..

Exhaustion was driving his mind in circles of brutal attacks and complete focus on producing a hit with Yun-Jin. But it would be done, it would be his best performance yet. They would all see. The performance would be like none they had ever seen. And it would be their last.

Animosity swarmed in his chest as he strode to the performance room where he was greeted by the filth that sought to throw him out like dirty rubbish. Behind him the door clicked shut, the lock quietly being done to provide some privacy.

The clicks of the heels of his shoes echoed as he walked up to the stage. As the music began, it played like he had started with Yun-Jin, but it slowly faded into a vile and grisely beat. A twirl on his feet hid the motion of drawing a throwing knife from its hidden spot. None had even seen it escape his fingers until it was already lodged into the neck of one of the trash, blood spraying out and coating the desk and floor. It took Ji-Woon no time to fill the room with the stench of death as the blades flew from the tips of his fingers effortlessly, impaling and slicing through soft flesh. The only one who was left untouched by the whirlwind of death was Yun-Jin. She had been the person to drag him out from the grime of the masses. She would be the true VIP of his greatest performance yet.

There was no pause in Ji-Woon’s wave of violence as a dark cloud formed on the floor of the room. Fiery yellow eyes turned to Yun-Jin. She now would have his full attention, and his her’s. She had frozen to her chair the entire time, watching in dreaded awe. He settled the razor tip of a bloodied throwing knife under her pretty chin, tilting her head up towards his face. Gore drenched his clear skin.

But that scared look on her face disappeared as a dark fog began to swallow the room, her lips pursing as she spat in his face just as she was consumed by the plume of inky darkness. A roar of pure rage crawled out Ji-Woon’s throat as he swiped at the empty chair as he too was swallowed in the cloud.

It was not heaven nor hell, nor anywhere in between. It was a land entirely of its own. A stage with thousands of eyes watching him. A stage with many sets. Hunting grounds to make his prey scream beautiful notes for all to hear. All he had to do was accept and the only death in his story would be the continued slaughter of his victims.

His stage is The Fog, and all eyes are on him.

#dead by daylight #dbd #dbd the trickster #the trickster #ji-woon #ji woon hak #dbd yun jin lee #yun jin lee #lore #lore rewritie #aku writes

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thewickeddevil · 4 years ago

Text

A Study In Jean Moreau

(tw: mentions of Jean's past, violence, mental health and suicidal thoughts/intention to die. let me know if there's something else)

ok, so, i say all the time that Jean Moreau is my favorite and comfort character in All For The Game (i know. it literally hurts but also brings me joy sometimes) and i would literally kill for that man. so, that said, i think too much about him and, consequently, i have too many hcs about him. on request, i will now do what i'm gonna call A Study In Jean Moreau

(my beta reader and best friend helped me a lot with this. thanks @jostenrun)

i'll start with this quote from one of my kerejean fics (https://archiveofourown.org/works/26146540)

During Jean's first four months at USC and playing with the Trojans, he would always ignore Jeremy and put a frown on his face whenever he was in the same place as him. It obviously wasn't the best of strategies to put distance between himself and all the Jeremy glow, but it looked exactly bad enough to work.

Still, Jeremy was all pompous and charming looks at him, always smiling and being polite even though he received much less in return. It pissed the shit out of Jean.

He was used by the Ravens for many years, treated exactly like the exchange item he had been, just possession and obliged to follow lines and lines of rules too strict even for how he should breathe.

Riko was violent, the Ravens were cruel, the Moriyama family was wrong and he needed to repeat this to himself on a daily basis to be able to just keep going.

Back at the beginning of those days, many times he would fight back until he was taught that it was only worse. Many times he would beg until he realized that it encouraged Riko more than it prevented him. Many times he would cry until he was taught that it was wrong.

He would often bleed.

He would often wish to bleed until there was nothing left in his veins, no thoughts in his brain, no air in his lungs, no words on the tip of his tongue—

And he would often try to do just that on his own.

That was his daily life for a long time. Evermore was what he knew, the Moriyama family was who he belonged to and all of that was for what he served. That was it.

How was he supposed to know back then that suddenly overly nice twenty-eight other people would replace all of that with magnificence?

How was he supposed to know that they wouldn't look at him with disgust whenever he accidentally let a curse in French slip away?

How was he supposed to know that the Trojans had complete freedom within the team, instead of having to walk in pairs like the Ravens?

How was he supposed to know that Jeremy wasn't going to hit him whenever he made a mistake?

Or how would he know that Jeremy never considered anything that he made a mistake?

It was all a very big break from reality and so, so suddenly. Jean felt confused at first. Lost, wrong, out of place, stupid and scared.

And Jeremy was always determined to be the best he could be. Jeremy was safe.

Until Jean felt comfortable, confident, fine, and satisfied. He was someone instead of something and he really felt like that.

i think Jean would take years to relearn how to live instead of surviving. sometimes he would fail at that, but so many failures can only lead to success eventually.

he really didn't want to keep playing exy after everything, he doesn't think exy is good at all and trauma made him hate it, but he needs it because of the deal with Ichirou. fortunately, the Trojans are a team big enough to put him in the background for a while, to give him a little rest. but he knows he can't relax too much

he starts therapy. he needs it badly and it takes time for him to really be able to do it, but Jean was never anything but strong, and when he sees the chance to finally heal he knows that, despite how tired he is, despite how many times he wonders if it's worth it to keep going, he needs to grab that and at least try. just one more time. he never wanted to work for anything in his life because nothing was important before, but now he thinks that maybe things are changing

the Trojans get a dorm exclusively for him at first, because they don't want Jean to force himself to share space with someone he doesn't know and still doesn't trust. they want Jean to have his own space and feel safe before anything. he needs that solitude and he knows that it doesn't mean loneliness because his team will always be just a call away from him

he relapses sometimes. days without taking basic care of himself and without getting up from bed, and he no longer remembers whether he’s alive or not. sometimes he's able to call his therapist when that happens, but sometimes he isn't

this is how he gets into the habit of learning poetry. and eventually, writing poetry. he needs a coping mechanism and words seem to be safe enough to float around in his mind and make space in his core

(French poetry that Kevin always dissects for him and tells about the history behind the period in which those texts were written, or about the authors of each text)

the process is slow but it’s progress nonetheless

so, we know about therapy, about not being easy, about difficulties and things happening slowly during the healing process, now let's talk about the little details when things finally start to work out positively. when the best part of Jean's life finally begins

he finds out that his eyesight isn't bad only because of the beatings he took in the nest, and finds it ridiculous when Jeremy offers to help him buy glasses because, according to him, all the glasses Jean likes make him look like a middle-aged man that curses people for fun. Jean doesn't hate it though

Jean learns how to swim and likes it more than he thought he would. he likes the fluidity and movements of the liquid around his skin, how he cuts the water with his body when moving around and how it doesn't hurt him, and he just feels light

Jean likes nutella and chocolate with nuts, because Jeremy used to give it to him after nightmares or difficult days, and it became a comfort food for him (something he wasn’t even allowed to eat in the nest)

Jean's musical taste is a big mess of R&B, soul, pop art, folk, dark pop... he likes artists like Lorde, Aurora, Marina, Sigrid, Sleeping at last and the list goes on

Before he left France, Jean's family had a farm and he was responsible for harvesting fruits and vegetables there. this is one of the last memories he has about France, so he likes to harvest fruits and vegetables whenever he has the chance in the US

Jean loves to read fantasy books. he is a hufflepuff and part of cabin 6 in camp half-blood (children of Athena)

he likes geography. pedology, topography and weather are his favorites. he likes to look at the sky and know how to name climatic phenomena regardless of where in the world he is

(he also likes history and sociology, but only because he can hear Kevin and Jeremy — respectively — talking for hours and hours about those two subjects)

he hates biology

he absolutely hates croissants, tea and coffee. in the morning he always drinks juice or chocolate milk (the latter is Jeremy's fault)

the first time he willingly got wasted on alcohol, he, Sarah and Laila woke Jeremy up in the wee hours of the night while singing in Spanish (Jean barely knows Spanish). he passed out after that and woke up the next day in his room. his first thought was that he was fine even though he lost control of himself around other people, and he cried because of that. Jeremy was concerned because he thought he was crying from a headache or something related to a hangover

Jean can never find shoes his size in conventional stores because he's very big (fucking tall, muscular but not too much, with large shoulders and hips, and eventually a tummy) and, consequently, his feet are also big. he needs to have it personalized and he completely hates it

he loves dogs but is easily scared by them. he couldn't get out of the dorms for almost an entire day after Jeremy's mom's dog barked too loud and it scared Jean. he felt guilty and didn't want people to be mad at him for being so scared of a simple dog

he loves cats though, and after some time into therapy, he adopted a service cat. Kevin and Jeremy always joke about it looking like a replica of Jean himself

Jean doesn't understand the purpose of MMA competitions, because he doesn't like violence and thinks martial arts should be only for self-defense, so he doesn't really understand why people choose to compete over something so aggressive

he also doesn't like the violence in exy, but he forgives because, at least, violence is not the main goal of the sport, but to score points

he learns to draw and starts to open art commissions on the internet. this is his first job and he's proud of it because it was something he achieved by himself

Jean and Jeremy fell in love on the beach

Kevin and Jean take time to forgive each other, especially Jean. the broken heart Kevin left in Jean hurt more than being abandoned by his parents. he suffered from it for years but he didn't really want to blame Kevin. he also knew Riko, after all. he knew how capable of driving someone insane Riko was. it didn't make things easier or less painful though. Kevin and Jean took time, but they never loved each other less

Kevin and Jean fell in love for the second time (the time they could, the time they were allowed) after one of the matches in which their teams were rivals

Jean is very picky for food consistency, and he hates ketchup and mayonnaise for that. he insists all the time that if people knew how to season the food well, they wouldn't need those condiments

(he secretly loves Dijon Mustard though)

Jean was born on 08/31. he’s a virgo

plushies are the first resource that Jean uses when he feels alone but is unable to be around anyone at the moment, so he unconsciously starts making a collection of them. they're all small, except for two that Kevin and Jeremy gave him and are, respectively, a fox and a red and gold trojan. he eventually distributes his plushies to children in local orphanages but keeps those two to himself out of sheer emotional attachment

he doesn't stop suffering because of his trauma throughout his life, but he learns to deal with it. that's the point of everything. he never thinks he will magically forget or get over it, but now he is in a different place in his life and he can start working his way to be the best version of himself he can. he doesn't fool himself into thinking it will be easy and fast, he never thought it would be less difficult than it really was, but he takes things slowly and carefully and hopes it works

his entire healing process is too complex and extensive to explain everything here, but i did the best i could and now i really need to stop because i could stay here ranting for days. xx

#Jean Moreau #all for the game #aftg #the foxhole court #the raven king #the king's men #Jeremy Knox #Kevin Day #USC Trojans #Healing #i love him too much for my own good #this man deserves the whole world and i'll stand for that #Kerejean #Jerejean #Kevjean

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gumnut-logic · 4 years ago

Photo

A little background Pen & Ink in this one.

-o-o-o-

Was it wrong to wish for an emergency in the middle of a brother’s wedding?

John sighed. No, he couldn’t wish that, not in a million years.

He glanced over at the happy couple Gordon was all excited smiles and Penelope was gazing at him with the closest he had ever seen her to displaying astonishment. Her expression had been like that since she said ‘I do’.

He had never seen Gordon smile so much.

It was lovely.

He wished his brother all the happiness in the world. He was due so much.

The gardens of the Creighton-Ward manor were decked out in intertwined yellows and pinks. All the shades of sunshine and pink sunsets. He wouldn’t have thought the two colours would work together, but then who would have thought Gordon and Penelope would work together either.

The pinks covered the spectrum from deep magenta through to candy floss pastels, the yellows ran from sunflowers to lemon ice and the breeze caught the decorations, gently rustling them.

But it wasn’t the colours, his brothers or even Penelope who had him nervous.

It was a wedding.

And a wedding of one of England’s elite.

He was standing some distance from a huge dance floor laid out in the centre of the party. As a brother to the groom, there was no way he was going to get out of the dancing this time around.

As a Tracy, a family of upcoming stature, his father had made sure all his sons of the correct age had taken dancing lessons.

John hated every minute of it.

It wasn’t the dancing itself. He could dance. Music was simple mathematics. A beat was simple to follow and often quite pleasant. His brothers didn’t know it…well, he hoped they didn’t know it, but there had been days on Five where he made full use of the sound system he had wired into the satellite. Some of his favourite movie soundtracks, both cinematic and popular rock had rattled Five’s cahelium hull many times.

His brothers had no need to know.

Alone he could dance to his heart’s content. Express what he wanted to. Feel the music.

At a party like this?

He’d rather shoot himself in the foot.

Because it involved people. People with expectations.

He was aware he was different, didn’t respond necessarily the way people expected. At a distance in space, he was in control. Here surrounded by the need for correct conduct, eyes that followed and stared, impeccable deportment, hell, how he held his fork while eating…it was much harder.

He was a Tracy. He had money and power. People looked up to him like they looked up to all his brothers. But somewhere deep inside the school boy who never quite fit in, who was mocked for his interests by his classmates, who was questioned when he knew too much for his age, who was made aware very clearly by even those who were trying to be kind that he was different.

And apparently different was a bad thing.

He was an adult now. He knew that different was actually a good thing, that different people were the ones who made the actual needed differences in the world, the leaders, the makers and the game changers.

He was a Tracy and they were making the world a better place. He had his confidence; he knew he was doing good.

But here, surrounded by so many people, he reverted. This was why he did his best to avoid these situations.

This was his brother’s wedding and he would do anything for his brothers.

So here he was.

He was dressed to the nines. Black tuxedo, crisp white shirt, Penelope’s boutonnière – Gordon called it a buttonhole bouquet - a yellow and pink Spathoglottis orchid matched with the pinkest Pohutukawa flowers Grandma could find on the Island. He wouldn’t have classified them as quite pink, more a red, but their presence meant a great deal standing here on the other side of the planet. The flowers were matched with a sunflower yellow cummerbund.

The clothing worked, despite the colours. Virgil had muttered something about John’s hair bridging the pinks and the yellows quite nicely.

John stared at his perfectly polished shoes.

God, he hated just standing around.

“John?”

He looked up to find Kayo standing beside him. She was dressed in a figure hugging sunflower yellow gown, glowing satin against the darkening landscape as the sun itself was dipping towards the horizon.

He smiled at her. “You look lovely, Kayo.” She did. Her dark hair was curled over one shoulder and her green eyes were lit up by her dress, her olive skin a beautiful contrast.

She smiled at him. “Thank you.” A glance towards the crowd. “However, I was wondering what you were doing over here all by yourself.”

A shrug and another glance at his shoes. “Seemed like a good place to stand.”

She eyed him a moment before holding out a hand. “Dance with me?”

He straightened. “Umm, aren’t you supposed to dance with the best man?” He stared into the crowd and sure enough, Virgil was peering out at him, Scott standing tall beside him. John sighed. “Did Virgil send you?” To check on his social-klutz of a younger brother.

That earned him an arched eyebrow and a thinned pair of lips. “No. I just wanted to dance with the best dancer in the room.”

“Ah, you’re referring to Virgil, and possibly Scott.”

To his consternation, her smile returned. “You forget, John. I’m your sister. I attended those same classes you did. I know who is the best dancer amongst my brothers. Virgil and Scott say the right things, but you know how to move.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re elegant, John.” That smile widened and the fairy-lights reflected off her lipstick. She held up her hand again. “Dance with your sister?”

Before he could think his hand was in hers and she was walking him towards the dance floor.

Gordon and Penelope were already well into their first dance. Back straight, feet placed perfectly, his little brother was all eyes for the woman in his arms.

Kayo led him onto the floor without hesitation and suddenly there were eyes on him. He swallowed, but Kayo didn’t give him any time to think, stepping into his personal space in a way that triggered reflexes and before he knew it, he was leading her around the floor in perfectly remembered form.

Numbers, beat and pacing scrolled through his mind as the dance, not a simple one by any description, took up the space in his mind that was usually full of trepidation in this situation. He didn’t have time to think beyond placing his feet in the correct places, arching his back and dipping his sister at the appropriate time.

He extended his arm, rolling Kayo out into a perfect spin.

Yellow satin twirled.

He drew her back and flipped her around into a dip. She smiled at him as their eyes caught.

His bicep contracted and she was looking up at him from his chest level for a split second before the music shifted and they moved into the next step.

John was vaguely aware that other dancers had joined them on the floor. There was a varying level of skill. He glimpsed Virgil with Grandma and his father with Aunt Val. Gordon and Penelope twirled past with a laugh at one point.

To his surprise, he found himself smiling. It was hard not to with Kayo continually smirking at him.

Alan was suddenly spinning around them with Penelope in his arms.

John’s eyes widened, but Alan was grinning fit to bust a blood vessel.

His eyes found Gordon dancing with Mrs Creighton-Ward on the far side of the floor. Penelope’s mother was a handful and John held no envy for his little brother on that front.

But then his brothers and family were swallowed by the crowd. This was a wedding for show. Penelope was a woman of strong standing in the social circuits. The Tracys were surrounded by unknowns.

“John.” A finger reached up and turned his head to look down at his dance partner. “Dance with me.”

She had a challenge in her eyes.

The music increased in tempo and he moved to compensate.

They spun.

They moved.

Her hand on his shoulder.

His hand on her waist.

Their fingers clasped.

They moved with the music.

She kept his attention. She focussed him. This was little more than a workout in the Island gym. Every movement planned. Precise.

A dance.

Kayo was a woman in full control of her body. John, ever so precise in space, ever so crippled by gravity until he adapted back to Earth norm. He had been down from Five in preparation. He was fit. He could move.

And he was elegant.

Awareness of the lack of other people on the dance floor came slowly. The silence below the music only crept up and took him by surprise as the third song came to a slow and final end. He spun Kayo out to the length of his arm, only to draw her back in and dip her to the final notes before bringing her to a smooth stop in his embrace.

The music ended in total silence.

He looked up.

The two of them were ringed by the crowd. They were the centre of attention.

The silence continued until Virgil let out a yell and began clapping like a madman.

Everyone joined in.

The applause was loud. Gordon hooted at the top of his lungs, fist pumping the air. Even his father had a proud grin on his face over his enthusiastically clapping hands.

John flushed, but couldn’t help but grin at the uproar of approval.

How long they had been dancing with an audience, he had no idea, but he was pleasantly buzzed, his heart beating strongly. His family all had love in their eyes and it hit him in the chest.

Kayo nudged him gently with her elbow. “Told you.”

He turned to her, pleasant endorphins making his head spin just a little, and hugged her. It wasn’t his thing, but it was in this moment.

Then there were brothers and claps on his back.

“Man, where did you learn how to do that?” Gordon was staring at him in amazement.

“Uh, dance class. You were there.”

“Umm.”

Penelope’s laugh was light and loving as she wrapped her arms around her gobsmacked husband.

Virgil grabbed him in a hug fit to break bones. When he finally escaped, he realised his brother had tears in his eyes.

What?

But he was grinning like a loon.

“It was only a dance, Virgil.”

That earned him another bonecrusher of heavy lifting arms.

Scott eventually dragged him off. John had no idea what had gotten into him. After all, Virgil didn’t try to smush his sister like that and she was half of the equation in this.

“That was quite a show, John.”

Scott was the only one of his brothers who had the height to look him in the eye. There was a pile of approval in that gaze along with a little pride. His brother was proud of him.

It was only a dance!

He’d seen less when he helped save the world. Not that he didn’t feel valued by his family, but he was flummoxed at why this moment was worth so much attention.

“It was only a dance.”

His brother’s expression shifted to one of fondness and a hand landed on his shoulder. “Well, it was a damn good one.” His shoulder was squeezed gently. “Come join us?” He gestured towards one of the tables where Gordon had cornered Virgil and was obviously poking fun at him. There was a chance the groom may be murdered by the frown forming on Virgil’s forehead.

“Sure.”

Scott grinned and his arm shifted to wrap around his shoulders, drawing him towards his brothers and their family banter.

He glanced back at Kayo and found her grinning ever so fondly at him. She made shooing motions with her hands before spinning in a swirl of yellow satin and heading once again off to the bridal table where Penelope was in deep discussion with her mother.

He stared after her a moment.

“John, you owe me fifty bucks. Virgil cried first.”

“I did not cry.”

“You always cry at weddings. It was easy money, even if fleet of foot here hadn’t dazzled us all with his mad dancing skillz, you were clearly all glassy eyed at the altar.”

“So were you.”

That brought Gordon up short and he stopped a moment as if his brain was caught in processing. “Nope, we’re not talking about me. Talking about you. John, hand over the money.”

“Oh, I don’t know. The bet was whether Virgil would be the first. If you were crying on stage, that makes you the loser.”

“I did not cry.”

Virgil piped up from where he was sitting, repeating himself. “Neither did I.”

“Guys, really?” Scott was rolling his eyes.

“My wedding, my rules.”

That prompted a discussion on whether it was Gordon’s or Penelope’s wedding and who was wearing the pants in this relationship.

John sat back and let the banter roll over him. He had to admit that with his brothers it was easier. There were still people staring at him. Hell, they were actually talking and whispering at the moment. But the difference was that if he trained Five on them, the chances were that the discussions weren’t about how bad his differences were, but how good.

He was different and it made these situations hard. But he had a fantastic family and really being different wasn’t so bad. In fact, a lot of the time it was so much better than being just average.

He needed to remember that.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #John Tracy #kayo kyrano #nuttyfic reblog

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carewyncromwell · 4 years ago

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*sings* Cinderella...you’re as lovely as your name, Cinderella~...

Okay, some quick notes before we start. Despite the beauty of their work, painters’ palettes were actually rather limited on pigments during the Renaissance, only having three pigments more than artists did during the Middle Ages. The Moly is a magical plant that appears in Homer’s The Odyssey. Hermes gives it to Odysseus as a charm to protect him from Circe’s spells. It’s been most commonly compared to the snowdrop flower by scholars. It also is referenced in the canon Potterverse as a powerful herb that can counter enchantments.

The Willow Song appears as a motif at the end of William Shakespeare’s Othello, though it was written at least thirty years earlier. In Othello, Desdemona sings a few stanzas of it in response to her husband’s growing distance and madness -- to the audience watching the play in Shakespeare’s day, which would already know the song, its inclusion foreshadows Othello and Desdemona’s tragic ending. “No One is Alone” is from Stephen Sondheim’s well-regarded musical Into the Woods, which features Cinderella as a semi-major character -- the song is actually even partially sung by Cinderella in the show!

I edited the art for this section, as you can tell. Badeea’s painting is a modified photograph of the Chateau de Chambord in France, overlaid on top of my own drawing. (Thanks, Lunapic!) This is also my very first time drawing Badeea!! GOD, is she pretty!! I think her eyes are my favorite of all the HPHM cast.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

When Carewyn followed up with Andre the next morning, he was quite disappointed when he saw Carewyn wasn’t wearing the new shoes he’d made for her with her uniform. He honestly hadn’t even considered that they wouldn’t be comfortable for walking in -- and honestly, Carewyn could sort of understand why. Andre had never been able to leave the palace grounds, so there no doubt were a lot of practical things he’d just never considered...such as how very flashy royal fashion was, compared to that of the common man. He was pleased with the feedback Carewyn “passed along from her cousins” for him, though -- completely unaware of the fact that all three comments were really opinions that Carewyn herself had had about the dress.

“Hmm...that is a good point,” said Andre, his hand resting on his chin. “Red is a beautiful color...but a deep blue would not only bring out your eyes, but it would also perfectly contrast your ginger hair, since blue and orange are on opposite sides of the color wheel...”

His face burst into a bright white smile. “Your cousin Iris really has an eye for colors.”

Carewyn successfully fought back a groan, even as her eyes drifted up off toward the top corner of the room.

“...Well, she has taken up embroidery as a hobby. I suppose when one spends a lot of time doing samplers, one could develop an eye for colors.”

And also create a lot of initialed handkerchiefs to conveniently drop in front of noblemen so they pick it up and return it to you.

Andre, however, reacted with some interest. “Is that so? Hmm...well, maybe when I’m working on your new pair of shoes, I could invite her over for tea so she can give me her second opinion before I give them to you.”

Carewyn had never disliked a thought more in her life that Iris having a say in what she wore -- but knowing that she shouldn’t be the one to sabotage Iris, especially when her cousin would no doubt be able to do it well enough on her own, she put on her best smile.

“...I’m sure Iris would enjoy that very much.”

Sure enough, within a week, Iris had been invited to the palace for tea with the Prince. Carewyn could only imagine how thrilled Iris, her aunt Claire, and Charles were. As for Carewyn herself, she knew it was now time to do as Charles said and stay out of Iris’s way...and so when Iris arrived, she made sure to clean the rooms in her wing of the palace in a different order and not sing so that Andre wouldn’t be able to “check in” on her with Iris in tow. She didn’t think she could stand it if Iris got to look down at her polishing the palace floors.

Her lack of singing, however, did catch Badeea’s attention. When Carewyn collided with the court painter in the hallway, she expressed some concern.

“I missed your accompaniment, while I was painting,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

Carewyn felt guilty as she leaned her broom against the wall for a moment. “Oh...yes, Badeea, I’m fine. I merely...well, my cousin Iris is spending time with the Prince today, so I thought to...well, not draw focus.”

Badeea nodded in understanding. “Mm, yes...some things are meant to be background details, while others are meant to catch the eye straight away.”

Carewyn and Badeea caught the sound of Iris’s twittering, bird-like laughter echoing down the hall toward them. Not wanting to be seen when or if Iris and Andre came out into the hall themselves, Carewyn quickly picked up her broom and went around the corner -- Badeea adjusted her easel under her arm and followed.

“Say, Carewyn,” said the court painter thoughtfully, “why don’t you dress up in that nice yellow and green dress you have and come to the market with me?”

Carewyn blinked.

“I need to pick up some more carbon black and indigo for this painting I’m working on for Andre, but the man who sells those paints loves to price gauge. If you were dressed up all fancy and you slid in a reference to your family, though, he might be less likely to try to rip you off,” Badeea added with a tiny, coy smile.

Carewyn frowned, feeling a bit unsure. “I don’t know, Badeea -- I still have a lot of work to do...”

“You have the whole rest of the day to finish,” Badeea reminded her. “It would only take maybe an hour or two. And it would get you out of the palace while your cousin’s here.”

Carewyn considered the matter. Truthfully she’d been hoping to finish her work quickly so she could stow away back to the library and scan more troop deployment records...but she really did hate the thought of bumping into Andre and Iris, not just because of how much Iris would hate Carewyn getting any attention and therefore delight in tormenting her in front of the Prince in order to puff herself up, but because she didn’t want to provoke Charles’s ire unnecessarily.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll go change.”

Not long later, Carewyn had put on her mother’s old dress, pinned her hair up, and joined Badeea by the front gates, and the two headed into town on foot. The sky was still rather gray -- it had been raining and thundering for the last couple of days, and there was still a lot of mud in places. Carewyn was glad she was wearing her worn brown shoes under her gown rather than the pretty heels Andre had made for her -- particularly since nobody would likely be looking at her feet.

The shopkeeper in question was indeed a bit intimidated when Carewyn offhandedly referred to “her grandfather, Charles Cromwell” -- and soon enough, Badeea had been able to skip most of the haggling she would’ve normally had to make just to get her paints at a decent price. They left the shopkeeper’s stall, several jars of paint in hand.

As fate would have it, as they walked at the market, someone else was also shopping, and at the sight of the familiar dress and mane of ginger hair, he ran up to meet them.

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn and Badeea both looked up, to see Orion striding up to them. He once again wore his slightly-too-clean, but modest white shirt, olive breeches, and boots, and he was carried a basket full of henbane.

Carewyn’s red lips spread into a smile. “Orion...hello.”

Orion brought a hand up to his chest and offered her a short bow.

“It seems the stars favor us after all, my lady,” he said, the corners of his own lips kissed with traces of a wry smile.

Carewyn shot a quick glance at his basket and quirked an eyebrow.

“Purchasing some more incense?” she asked pointedly.

Orion’s black eyes sparkled. “I’m afraid we’ve already used up what I bought previously. Fortunately the gentleman from last time remembered my face and didn’t give me too much grief.”

“That’s fortunate.”

Carewyn glanced at Badeea to Orion and back.

“Orion, this is Badeea Ali -- she’s the Crown’s court painter. Badeea...this is Orion Freeman. He helped me retrieve my horse the other day.”

Badeea’s dark brown eyes were very bright. “Ah, yes -- KC had said that you were thrown off your horse. Thank you for helping Carewyn, sir,” she added to Orion.

“It was my pleasure,” said Orion. “What’s the subject of your next piece, if I may ask?”

“A foreboding sky and a distorted reflection,” Badeea replied.

Orion looked intrigued. “That would explain such dark shades. Who commissioned the piece?”

“The Prince,” said Badeea. “But his request was just of a view of the entire palace, from a distance -- I was simply inspired by the rainstorm that passed through a few days ago, and how the turrets of the palace looked reflected in the castle moat.”

“I wonder how the castle of Royaume would see itself, if it had eyes,” said Orion levelly. “Would it see its beauty, or would it be the type to be critical of its flaws?”

“Hm...or would it see the beauty of its flaws?” asked Badeea.

“True,” granted Orion. “Flaws make us more human -- would that make something more beautiful, by serving as contrast to our strengths?”

“Flaws aren’t something you should simply have to accept,” said Carewyn demurely, her arms crossed. “One should strive to be better than one already is. Even if one is only human, that doesn’t mean they can’t work to be something better.”

Orion turned to her, interested. “And what would be better than being oneself, my lady?”

“Being a better version of oneself, of course,” Carewyn said, sounding matter-of-fact. “One can always be kinder, braver, stronger...more cunning, more passionate. One can always learn more, and do more, and be more.”

“Yes...but it seems like those could be crippling expectations to hold over yourself, to never be enough,” said Orion, and although his expression was very inscrutable, his lips twitched with something of a frown.

“Perfectionism is a disease that affects every artist sooner or later,” said Badeea sympathetically.

Her dark eyes flitted from Orion to Carewyn thoughtfully.

“I must be getting back to work on my painting...would you like to join us at the opposite bank, Mr. Freeman? I would be happy for some feedback on my work, before I present it to his Highness.”

Orion glanced at Carewyn for her approval -- she offered a small smile, and his lips turned up in a full smile of his own.

“I would be honored.”

So the three set about finding a less muddy spot by the castle moat, across from the palace. They found one right by a beautiful willow tree, where Carewyn very carefully lowered herself onto the grass. Badeea fetched her easel and chair, setting it up so that she had a good view of the castle. Orion looked over her incomplete work appreciatively.

“It looks like it could breathe, were it a living thing.”

“Thank you,” said Badeea. “Now then, I’ll need to concentrate while mapping out the sky, so no initiating conversation, please. These paints stay on fabric just as well as my canvas, so they won’t easily wash out. I would appreciate some accompaniment, though, Carewyn.”

Orion glanced at Carewyn curiously. Carewyn avoided his eye.

“Badeea, I don’t think -- ”

“Ah, ah,” said Badeea, holding up a gloved finger quickly, “no conversation. Accompaniment or nothing, please.”

She then set about mixing certain shades and color spotting sections of canvas.

Carewyn frowned. It was one thing to be singing while she was working herself, to pass the time, but Orion’s focus was still largely on her, and it felt weird. Still, she thought to herself, it wasn’t like she was bashful about singing in front of others, exactly -- she knew her voice was more than serviceable. There was really no harm in it. So, glancing up at the willow tree above her head, Carewyn rested her hands in the grass, leaned back, and sang.

“The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree --

Sing willow, willow, willow...willow...

Her hand in her bosom, her head on her knee --

Oh willow, willow, willow...willow...

She sighed in her singing and made a great moan --

Sing willow, willow, willow...willow...

‘I’m dead to all pleasure -- my true love is gone --

Oh willow, willow, willow...shall be my garland...’”

Carewyn felt Orion’s dark eyes on her at the start. Before long, though, his eyes had fluttered closed, and he sat in perfect silence. As he listened, his shoulders loosened and his expression seemed to clear of all tension or pretense, like a child peacefully falling off to sleep. Badeea painted and shaded to the sound of Carewyn’s low, melancholy singing, adding white highlights to the dark gray and black shadows to create a cloudy sky with sunlight poking through.

When Carewyn was finished with the song, Orion slowly opened his eyes, meeting her gaze again at last. His eyes were oddly hesitant, almost shy.

“Y -- ”

He hesitated. Then, his black eyes softening handsomely, he closed his mouth, and it slowly spread into a smile gentler and warmer than Carewyn had ever seen before. He clearly approved.

Carewyn smiled in return and inclined her head in a silent “thank you.”

Carewyn sang some more songs until Badeea had finally finished and Orion and the two women had to part ways so that Badeea and Carewyn could pack up the easel and finished painting and bring them inside.

The following morning, Carewyn was surprised by KC pulling her aside to hand her a packet of what looked like handwritten sheet music.

“Your friend Orion stopped by a little while ago to give this to you,” she explained.

Carewyn was taken aback.

“I reckon he must’ve hopped over the wall,” said KC, unable to fight back a laugh. “I caught him strolling through the southwest gardens. I told him I’d bring it up to you, so that he wouldn’t get himself in trouble.”

Stunned, Carewyn looked down at the sheet music, shifting the pages so she could scan each line. Her blue eyes softened, growing deeper and darker with emotion, as she read the words and notes.

“...This...this is beautiful,” she whispered. She looked up at KC, unable to fully keep the awe from her face. “...You don’t think he wrote this?”

KC shook her head. “No, he said it was a song he learned when he was young, and that he tracked down the sheet music for you since he didn’t think he’d be able to properly sing it for you. I’ve never heard it either, though.”

Carewyn spent her meal times and about an hour before bed that night perusing the sheet music so she could learn the song. The following day, she felt confident enough to sing some of it while she started about cleaning the Queen’s Chambers.

“Mother isn’t here now...who knows what she’d say?

Nothing’s quite so clear now...feel you’ve lost your way?

You decide alone...but no one is alone.

You move just a finger, say the slightest word --

Something’s bound to linger...be heard...

No one acts alone...careful -- no one is alone...

People make mistakes -- fathers, mothers --

People make mistakes,

Holding to their own...thinking they’re alone...

Honor the mistakes everybody makes, one another’s terrible mistakes...

They could still be right -- they could still be good.

You decide what’s right -- you decide what’s good.

Just remember...”

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn stopped sweeping and looked up, to see Andre striding through the opened door of the Queen’s Chambers toward her.

“An -- your Highness,” Carewyn corrected herself very quickly, after noting who’d accompanied Andre.

Just behind him in the door frame was her dark-haired cousin Iris, dressed in her best rose velvet and her own almond-shaped blue eyes narrowed with loathing at Carewyn over Andre’s shoulder.

Andre, perfectly oblivious to the silent tension between the two cousins, gave a laugh.

“Oh, Carewyn, we’re not back to that again, are we? It’s ‘Andre,’ ” he said with an indulgent smile. “I haven’t heard that song before -- did you learn it recently?”

“Ah...yes,” said Carewyn. She could feel Iris’s fierce glare burning a hole in her face over Andre’s shoulder even without looking at either of them.

“It’s really quite lovely,” said Andre. “Please, do sing the rest of it when you’re able.”

“Of course, Prince Henri.”

Carewyn was absolutely not going to call Andre by his nickname in front of Iris -- she knew how Iris would shriek her head off about it to Charles.

Andre sighed and shook his head in something like tired amusement.

“I was hoping we’d catch you on your rounds,” he said conversationally. “I’m just about finished with your new shoes! Iris said your favorite color was ash gray -- I’ve never really worked with that color before, so it’ll be a bit of a challenge -- but I’m sure I’ll find a shade that might suit you...”

Ash gray? Running with the ‘Cinderwyn’ nickname, then, are we, Iris?

Carewyn forced a smile. “...Thank you. That’s...very kind.”

Feeling more uncomfortable by the minute, she quickly rushed over to pick up her full dust pan with her other hand.

“Forgive me, I really should go and empty this -- ”

At that exact moment, Iris had strode forward, bumping Carewyn’s shoulder in just such a way that the pan was knocked backward onto Carewyn, covering her, her orange and tan dress, and the floor with all of the dust, dirt, and grime she’d swept up over the last hour.

“Oh!” said Iris in feigned surprise. “I’m so sorry.”

Her gaze, however, was just as hard and unapologetic as it had been when she’d ripped the sleeve off Carewyn’s dress at home.

“Carewyn!” said Andre, concerned. “Are you all right?”

Carewyn coughed.

“...Yes, of course,” she said, her voice very hard and stoic in the back of her throat. “It was merely an accident.”

She shot Iris a cold look as she looked over her now thoroughly ruined uniform and the dust and dirt all around her feet.

“Please, go on ahead with Iris, your Highness. I’ll clean up this mess.”

Once Iris had successfully steered the reluctant-looking Andre out of the room, Carewyn closed the door, took off her dress, and finished cleaning the room in her undergarments, so as not to spread the dust and ash around any further. Then, very carefully, she darted across the hall from the Queen’s Chambers to Andre’s, so that she could fetch the high-necked, gold-embroidered dress made out of white linen and light blue velvet he’d recently finished for her from his walk-in closet. After all, she told herself, she needed something to wear while she was getting her uniform cleaned -- and well, at least Iris would be less likely to ruin this dress, since Andre had stitched it himself.

Holding her dusty, ashen dress in a folded pile against her chest, Carewyn headed downstairs toward the laundry. On her way through the entrance hall, though, KC -- who’d just come out of the library -- ran up to walk alongside her down the hall.

“Seems your friend is back.”

Carewyn’s messy ponytail flapped over her shoulder when she looked at her in surprise. “Orion?”

KC nodded, her lips curled up in a wry smile. “I thought I saw someone hopping over the wall through the library window, just now. Shall we go investigate?”

Carewyn bit her lip, looking down at the ruined uniform in her arms.

“Let me drop this off at the laundry first,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

Carewyn ran down the stairs and threw her uniform into one of the tubs to soak, before quickly doing her hair up in a simple, but slightly more presentable braided bun and hurrying back up to join KC. The two women then headed out to the gardens, only to hear something of a scuffle.

“A man with innocent intentions does not hop over castle walls,” said Bill’s voice, though it sounded much lower and harder than Carewyn was used to hearing.

“In this case, sir, I assure you, I do.”

“You will declare your true name and business at once, sir, or I shall see to it that you’re locked in irons and hauled before the King himself -- ”

“Bill!” cried Carewyn.

Bill looked up, startled. The ginger-haired castle guard had slammed Orion back-first against a tree, holding him up off the ground by his collar with one hand, but at the sight of Carewyn and KC running forward, the suspicion and righteous anger in his face dissipated instantly.

“It’s all right, Bill,” Carewyn reassured him. “He’s a friend.”

“Put him down,” said KC.

Bill looked from KC to Carewyn in confusion, before glancing at Orion warily, but he nonetheless did as they said. Once he’d lowered Orion to the ground and let go of his shirt, the dark-haired man calmly adjusted his collar and picked up a satchel that must’ve come off in the struggle off the ground.

“Thank you, Carewyn...Lady Katriona,” he said pleasantly, as if he had not just been in a loose choke hold.

KC grimaced. “Orion, I’ve saved your butt twice now -- we’ve more than gotten to the point of you calling me KC.”

Orion smiled wryly. “I’m glad of it.”

Carewyn, however, still looked a bit harried. “Orion, what were you thinking? Hopping the wall...it’s no wonder Bill thought you were up to no good!”

“Well, the gate was locked, and no one was there to greet me,” said Orion airily.

“Well, of course the palace of Royaume has very strong security,” Carewyn said exasperatedly, “the royal family lives here.”

“I must wonder how the royal family ever receives visitors, then.”

“They don’t,” said Bill rather coolly. “They invite them, and very rarely, at that. And they clearly didn’t invite you to trespass on the grounds.”

Orion was unfazed. “Well, fortunately, I wasn’t looking for such an invitation, to begin with. I merely wanted to give this to Carewyn, as a gift for Madam Ali.”

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a jar of unusually shiny silvery-white paint. Bill, KC and Carewyn’s eyes all were very wide as Orion handed the jar to Carewyn.

“I asked a few people where best to locate materials for paints,” he explained. “One man pointed me to a flower that grows at the border called the Moly. He made this paint himself. I don’t think any colors like this are made and sold at the market, so I thought I would bring along one of his jars for Madam Ali, so she might use it for her next project.”

Carewyn’s light blue eyes were very bright and touched as she looked up at Orion.

“Orion...it’s wonderful,” she said, her soft voice incredibly warm. “Badeea will love it.”

“You said he used the Moly?” asked KC, as she took the jar from Carewyn and looked at it. “Maybe Badeea could mix up some more paint of her own, then.”

Bill glanced at Orion with a raised eyebrow. “Or the Crown could simply buy it from the vendor who sold you that paint.”

Carewyn noticed a strange, almost skittish glint flicker through Orion’s eye.

“...I’m afraid that jar was a favor, not a purchase,” he said softly.

“I think Badeea would be fine with making her own, Bill,” Carewyn said firmly. “The Crown wouldn’t want to set aside extra money for materials anyway. It’d be a lot cheaper to make a paint like that in house than to buy it from someone else.”

Despite his frown, Bill nonetheless sighed and nodded. “...True. Charlie’s needed a new set of scratch awls for ages.”

Orion looked pleased. “I’m glad I could be of assistance.”

“Perhaps the next time you want to see Carewyn, you might figure out a way to do it that doesn’t require you scaling walls like a prowler,” said KC amusedly.

Carewyn shot KC a slightly reproachful look. Orion’s muted smile rather resembled that of a satisfied house cat.

“I’d be happy to arrange more regular meetings outside the palace, if Lady Cromwell would be open to it,” he said, his black eyes sparkling as he glanced at Carewyn.

Carewyn raised her eyebrows coolly at him. “Once again, Mr. Freeman, you seem to have an unusual amount of freedom, if you’re able to consider allocating time just to meet me.”

Her lips then spread in a wry smile.

“Still...I can hardly sit by and let you get arrested for trespassing on my account. I have some time available late tomorrow morning, before noon. I could meet you by the gate then.”

Orion grinned. “I’ll look forward to it, my lady.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #cinderella au #my art #my writing #carewyn cromwell #orion amari #katriona cassiopeia #andre egwu #bill weasley #badeea ali #orion you sneaksy bugger #definitely manipulating things to 'learn more about your enemy' and warm them up to you #so as to make connections you could use to do diplomacy later when the ruse is up #but at the same time...you sure are oddly comfortable with putting yourself in risky positions to interact with carey-bear ain't you >3 #iris's face claim is a brown-haired devore ledridge #I'll probably be drawing her at some point with andre -- GOD do I feel bad for this guy #as naive as he is about the cromwell family dynamic I think he already prefers carewyn's company to iris's #but honestly who wouldn't *snorts*

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 5 years ago

Text

Arranged Chapter I (Poe Dameron x Reader)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader (no Y/N)

Rating: None for this chapter (series: E)

Word Count: 4,004

Summary: Prince and Princess of your respective planets you both agree to wed, not for love, but for advantage and the public cannot know. But there’s only one problem -- the two have never met, not until your wedding day.

A/N: so this has been several months in progress. I’ll be tagging folks who liked my original post (if you don’t want to be tagged, just shoot me a message!). there’s a lot of set up in this chapter, but i promise it will pay off. I hope you give this series a read b/c its really something special to me. Special shoutouts to @laneygthememequeen, @bucky-of-the-opera, and @mrsrafaelbarba for all the support!!!

"Come on Poe, you cannot have seriously agreed to this," Poe Dameron did not bother to look from the mirror, eyes concentrated on delicately tucking the wide end into the knot before pulling it down into a nearly perfect loop. But why then, why did it feel like he was tying the noose around his neck before his long walk to the gallows? The dread his stomach certainly sat like it - twisting his guts into a kriffing useless knot, much like the one around his neck.

"I already agreed to it, Finn," the knot hung a little crooked - well perfect enough - just as his life was, "long time ago."

Was it that long? It was an instant. An instant that he went from sitting in his mother’s lap in her x-wing, listening to her hum, as she flipped switches and steered the ship across the sky over the Queen’s palace. The quiet buzz of the engine lulled him sleep, until she would rouse him as they swooped in for a soft landing after the daily patrol of the perimeter. The oranges of the sky now inky black, nothing but a glittering scattering of stars and distant planets he knew nothing of.

And now, he was stuffed in a stranger’s all too stuffy suit, tying a tie, and his feet cramping in tight shoes - and as he stared at himself in the mirror - he barely recognized himself. Probably because he definitely didn’t choose these clothes. A tradition - the bride’s family chooses the groom’s clothes. As he resisted the urge to squirm in his aching feet in his shoes, he wondered if they were hoping he couldn’t run with blue and purple feet.

“Two weeks isn’t that long ago,” But two weeks wasn’t when he decided. Two weeks ago was when he confirmed it - confirmed that he would do anything to please his Queen, the person who took him in when he had no one - when he had lost everyone. And this - this wasn’t a loss - it was a gain. A gain, of another at his side.

Finn shook his head, heaving a sigh, “Just tell me, tell me you’re not just doing this for the agreement.”

Was it the agreement why he was doing this? Yes, the troops the neighboring planet of Shar could give could end the war, the relief from supplies could stop millions from starving, and the bloodshed, the one that had stained his hands for all too long, could stop. He could finally stop — stop waking up in cold sweats from the images of broken children haunting him, the ghosts of families poking and prodding at his subconscious, until he begged for mercy. It could stop.

An offer like this didn't come around twice. Except that it did — and she had said no.

His Queen.

Queen Leia Organa, his mother by all intents and circumstances, received an offer for an alliance a long time ago, and all that was needed was a hand in marriage - and since Ben's hand was already promised - it only left him. It was considered and mulled over and examined time and time again. The Queen couldn't deny the offer was favorable — especially with forces stirring, plotting, scheming in the background. But in the foreground was her son. Barely old enough to read, much less decide on an offer of marriage. She said no, because at that time, she had the choice.

But this time, she didn’t. And neither did he.

“I’m not just doing it for the agreement,” he intoned, mustering up a small smile, “Even if I am, as my advisor, shouldn’t you be trying to make sure I go through it?”

He saw Finn frown at him in the mirror, “As your advisor, I’m trying to assure you aren’t making a rash decision,” he paused, before adding, “and as your friend, I’m trying to make sure you’re not being a kriffing idiot.”

“According to you and Rey, aren’t I always?” he laughs, but it echoes hollowly in his chest, and for a moment he allows himself to feel the weight of his decision - he would spend his life with a stranger. Would they grow used to each other? Would they hate each other? Or worst of all, would they mean nothing to each other? And then the counterbalance weighed in - the war, the shortages, and his mother. He turns to face Finn, “I know it’s the right decision.”

“How do you know?”

He only smiles, “Because Queen Organa wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise.” And he hopes that’s true, hopes it’s enough.

“We should get going,” Finn says, but his words don’t register. Not really. Instead, Poe stares out the window, and nearly just out of sight, the very tip of the pavement of the landing strip peeked through, the end of an x-wing barely visible. It would be so easy. Too easy to sneak out of here, feet pounding down the pavement, slipping past every guard, until it was too late to stop him. His head against the rest of the pilot’s seat, thrum of the engine buzzing in his ears, and he would be gone. He would fly somewhere, anywhere he did not have to be responsible for the lives of so many people, somewhere he did not have to follow his duty — somewhere he just could take care of himself. Instead of everyone else.

Finn claps him on his shoulder, and he's ejected from his fantasy, “Hey, you okay?" And a small voice nags at the back of his head, after the war, after the war, after the war. Maybe things could be different - maybe he could be free. Things change. People too. As do commitments to treaties. Alliances fall and rise with only the flick of a royal’s finger, and why couldn’t his life too? “We can’t be late, it’s your wedding after all.”

Then why, he thought as he steeled himself, pushing himself to take one step after the other, why did it feel like my funeral?

~~~~

The march from his quarters to the hall was a lengthy one. One in which every doubt rears its unwelcome ugly head again, whatever seemingly committed front he had put up to Finn shattered in its wake. Now his eyes just looked for exits. Whatever instilled duty and steadiness he had long abandoned him as he left his room, now leaving only with traitorous thoughts and antsiness in his fingers. But eyes — eyes were watching him. Even now as he walked towards where the procession was waiting for his arrival, he felt the gazes of every guard he passed, every servant, every nobleman fall upon him with smiles and well wishes. And imagine what those smiles would be if they could hear his actual thoughts? How quickly those smiles would turn to scorn at his own selfishness? How fast those well wishes would turn to hissed sneers? The math was simple. A single hand to save many. A choice with only one right option. But why did he want the wrong one?

But why was it wrong? Why was it wrong to want to want to have a choice? Why was it so wrong to want to choose who to love?

It wasn’t wrong, he swallowed the lump in his throat as he spotted the procession standing at attention, the colors of the Resistance in full thrust, he just didn’t have a choice.

Or rather he did. His family and his planet or a chance at an unknowable future.

He gave Finn a nod, before facing the procession, striding forward to take his place. And he would choose his people - every time.

~~~

“Add more color to her lips,” The Empress of Shar ordered sharply, smoothing her tone over with a saccharine smile that only assured you that this servant would be fired by the end of day, “We want her husband to be completely enraptured by her — anything less will not be tolerated.” Or perhaps, it would be something worse than a simple dismissal.

Instead, your eyes remained concentrated on the delicate designs that had been drawn on the backs of your hand, patterns of vines and leaves intertwined around each other, bound in the same fate. These same hands that saw battle, bruised and battered and bloodied, were now dressed up in rings and bracelets, drawing eyes to the designs that adorned your skin. And while these tattoos were ephemeral, the passage of time scrubbing them from your hands, the ceremony they represented were not.

That knowledge weighed on you, heavier than the weight of your wedding clothes against your body. Your mother had you dressed before dawn had broken, and even your muscles nearly buckled under the weight, the clothes embroidered to the point of absurdity. And now in the sunlight, you could see it clearly, ornate designs painstakingly stitched into shimmering waves and complicated lattices upon the ivory fabric. You resisted the urge to finger the designs, knowing your mother would lose her mind if even a single bead was out of place.

The fingers of the servants tugged and pulled on the strands of your hair into an intricate braid, weaving ribbons, golden thread, and flowers into the complicated knots. You bit your tongue as they yanked particularly hard. Complaining would only incite the Empress’s wrath - and you didn’t wish that upon even your worst enemies.

The Empress of Shar left no enemies behind. And those she did, she left with their heads on a pike. It was in the name of duty. That's what she told you, anyway.

"Duty first, mercy second," and you learned quite quickly that mercy often didn't come. If ever. Mercy was reserved for only those situations where the Empress had something to gain — and was assured she had nothing to lose. And your wedding was one of them. It would have been all too simple to storm the planet of D’qar, beaten into submission after attack upon attack by their enemies. All it would have taken was one unit — the im’petis — the force users and their army would have been razed to the ground. But war is messy. War never ends. Even when all said and done, the seeds of revenge fester in the crevices and cracks of a broken kingdom, until blooming into swathes of rebellion. Too many warm bodies lost. Too much wasted time.

No, it was better - better to forge an alliance, quell any hint of impropriety, instead two planets become one kingdom. And D’qar and the Resistance gain the support of Shar’s vast resources, while Shar’s gains the aid of their technology. The only cost? Your freedom.

Or your hand in marriage. All the same to you.

You couldn’t run. You couldn’t escape. It was a choice of your family or your life.

And you choose your family. Always.

“Now, it is time for you to meet your husband,” The Empress waves the servants away, and as quickly as they came, they disappear through the double doors, “We will bring you out. The ceremony will be performed separately at first, and then you will be brought before each other as husband and wife,” her lips curl into a smile, “and darling, this must go well, for both our sakes.”

“Yes, I understand,” she raises a brow, “my Empress.”

She nods, “Your ladies in waiting will escort you to the procession, and then you and Poe will live on this planet for a time, before returning to Shar. I expect to hear from you, at the end of every month. Especially before your return to Shar."

You would spend a few months on D'qar, here, as the kingdom prepares for the transfer of power from Queen Organa to Prince Ben."

“Yes,” your throat tight, you give another nod, “I understand.”

“I imagine you will have little trouble. The prince is flighty - weak minded and eager, in both romantic and unromantic pursuits,” she stops in front of you, staring, and you wonder if she can see the weakness in your heart, every thought in your mind telling you to run now, to refuse. But she says nothing, only winding a curl framing your face around her finger, tugging on it harshly, a thread of pain running through your head, “but may I remind of the stakes of this. All of Shar is relying on you, as is your mother. Do not forget your place.”

She lets go and the curl bounces back into place, as she turns to leave, her hand pausing on the door handle, “And don’t forget,” she smiles at you warmly, which only makes your blood run colder, “you two fell in love on a diplomatic mission, and now are being wed,” a ploy - to garner support from the public - it was far better in the eyes of the simple folk to marry for love rather than power. Love sells after all, “So don’t forget to smile at your betrothed - you are in love with him after all.”

The door closes with a click. Yes. Love. Of course.

No tears well in your eyes nor do you scream. You sit there, staring at your luggage. You had been flown to D’qar night before last. The air was lighter here — less humid, somehow sweeter than the aridity on Shar. But now, it felt strangling. You rose, bracelets clanging against your wrists, lifting your skirt as you strided forward. You unzipped one of the bags, stuffed with gowns and dress shirts alike, the material heavy as your arm waded through the sea of silk, until your fingers found the false bottom to the bag. Your fingers snaked through the opening, until they closed around what you sought. You pulled the lightsaber from the bag, staring at the intricate design of the hilt, its weight a comfort in your hands. Only days ago you had spent cutting down Shar’s enemies, and now - you would do it again.

Only this time — there was a knock at the door, and you buried the saber as quickly as you could in the luggage — the deaths would not be on the battlefield, they would be in a palace.

~~~~

Poe’s stomach twisted. He did not like this.

A thousand eyes watched him atop the platform set up by both the people of D’qar and Shar alike. All of whom were watching him now as he sat - trying not to fidget in his throne. Drapes of colors of both kingdoms hung - some separately and others in unison, representing the merging of the two planets and of this union. And they hung all around the stage as well, a barrier from the public’s eyes - but only barely - as he could spot their eager eyes between the parting of the banners.

He did not like this at all.

A lone soul, his stomach lurching as he waited for the ceremony to begin. A million eyes on him, and not a soul he knew beside him. He wished Finn or Rey - someone could have joined him. He resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut - at least the Queen. But they were following Shar's traditions, down to the dotted line - part of the agreement.

A neutral expression would suffice instead of a smile, hoping he appeared to be an anxious groom rather than a miserable prince. The officiant would be joining him soon enough, but it did not make him feel any less lonely by himself. Usually, the men of the bride and groom would join the soon to be husband, but - his stomach twisted again - neither of them were around were they? The one thing he knew that he shared with you - the lack of a father, or perhaps the fleeting memory of one. More a ghost than anything now.

The corners of his eyes stinged, nails digging into his palms, the nagging thought in the back of his head wrenched to the forefront: what would he think of his son? Marrying a stranger he had never met. Would he be proud of his dedication to the kingdom he had lost his life for? Or would he want something more for him? Something like he and his mom had.

The chatter outside grew, and he readied himself for the officiant. But did it even matter? He was alone in the end - in life and in marriage.

“You look quite sad for a man on his wedding day,” his head snapped to attention, as he moved to get up, but his Queen waved him off, “It is your wedding day, you need not rise for me.”

“But don’t I always anyway, Your Majesty?” he gave a weak smile, rising to his feet as she sat, wrinkling her nose at his formality, but holding her tongue (knowing he would use her title anyway), “How many Sharians heads’ did you have to bite off to allow you to be here?”

The corner of her mouth twitched, “Only one. And I did not bite anyone’s head off - I only had to ask, and made it clear to the Empress I was only going to ask once to be at my son’s side during his wedding.”

Son, his throat tightened, swallowing the feelings that rose with that word - the word that wasn’t a word, but so much more - it was the very reason he had agreed to this. More than the scorn, the hatred he would engender, maybe even the crushing guilt of the lives lost - or maybe he couldn’t — but he knew only for certain: that he couldn’t bear the thought of his mother being disappointed in him.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he says quietly, and she looks over, lips curled in a smile now.

She raises a brow, “No remarks to be made?”

Poe looked to the audience as all rose for the approaching officiant, and he knew he wouldn’t run - not because he couldn’t - but because he could live with marrying someone he didn’t know, but he couldn’t live without his home.

~~~

You didn’t want to have this ceremony. You liked the beauty of it all, the elegance, but only from an outsider’s perspective. Not when you were the one sitting like a shyyyo bird in a cage. You hated all the eyes on you — dressed in bright plumage to draw their gazes, as they watched you take part in this forced mating ritual.

Maker, it was your wedding day and all you want to do is take a nap. Especially as the officiant's droning voice led you through the vows, you felt your mind wane, though you kept the outer mask of a bride carefully stitched into your features. Even so, you doubted they could see your face through the thick veil of flowers tied around your head, the string digging into your skull. Even through the thick perfume of flowers, sweet and heady, you could smell the distant aroma of dinner - savory and ambrosial - stewing in pots and warming until this ceremony was over. You almost didn’t care if your stomach growled - after fourteen hours in this outfit and being poked and prodded and watched - you were ready to eat.

And it would be soon enough - as the vows came to an end, with only a word of affirmation needed from the groom and from you. A comlink hooked up to project sound throughout the building - as one was offered to you and most assuredly to him, as so everyone could hear you affirm your love for one another. And it occurred to you, this would be the first time you heard his voice. Curiosity edged in at the corners of your mind - what would his voice be like? Would it be gruff and low? Would it be smooth and dulcet? Would it be pompous and orotund?

It was one Sharian phrase, but you repeated the word over and over in your head - knowing that a second of hesitation (or Maker forbid a mispronunciation) would look suspicious.

You hear the officiant ask, “Hal’e turbi hayatak bihah?” Do you bind your life to hers?

“Nam 'uqad hayati,” Yes, I bind my life to hers. The Shar words rolled off his tongue with clumsy vowels and exaggerated consonants. You had no expectations, and yet his voice was different than you expected. It was neither gruff nor pompous, you supposed it could be smooth or dulcet, but it was still something more than that - and you realized, it was the conviction in his tone.

For Sharians, arranged marriages were second nature - a tried and true practice that made for marriages that would last a lifetime, most by choice, but others by obligation. You thought nothing of it - it was the same risk anyone took when marrying for love, and the same traps that anyone could fall into in a bad marriage. But for D’qar? Their people have married for love almost as long as they have existed. Even Prince Ben, whose hand had been promised to another, it was because he had fallen for another. So for the precious prince, it couldn’t have been easy to agree to this. And yet, he seemed sure - that it gave you pause - when was the last time you had been so sure of anything?

You weren’t even sure when you had agreed to this - though it wasn’t like you were given much of a choice. You were perfect after all - the perfect stand in for the princess, one that didn’t exist. There was never a choice that was yours after you agreed to join the Sharian Guard - and even that was a choice between certain death and indentured servitude.

“Hal’e turbi hayatak biha?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, all hope of running dissipating, as you feel the Empress’s gaze on you, “Nam 'uqad hayati.”

The crowd cheers in time with the band, the low notes a quiet boom in the background, as you and your groom rise from your chairs and are led down the steps of your individual stages — you by the Empress and him by his mother. Other instruments join in with each delicate step you take, building to an inevitable crescendo when the two of you finally see each other for the first time.

The first time.

Your throat is dry, and swallowing does nothing to soothe the very much throbbing heart tangled in your vocal cords. You realize that he’s before you when the Empress’s guiding hand stops, drifting away from your shoulder. Thousands of eyes pierce you from every side, your knees threatening to knock together, but you will them to be still. Princesses of Shar did not shake — but of course, you thought mournfully, you were not one.

“Please lift the veil and allow your eyes to meet your betrothed,” the officiant orders.

Gentle fingers part your flowered veil, lifting it over your head. You blink.

Brown. That’s the first thing you notice when you see them. They were a softer brown than expected. You had heard the rumors about the prince — about his thrill seeking as a pilot and his disregard for the rules (authorizing an attack the Queen had explicitly objected to). You expected more fire, more darkness, and it was there — but there was something more you couldn't place. His eyes blinked as he saw you too, his lips parting, a gentle gaze caressing your face, instead of raking down its sides. His brow only ruffled for a moment, before he smiled Lips pulled wide into a smile and that's when you remembered — oh yes. You were supposed to be in love.

You match him in time, chiseling your expression into a shy gaze, a smile tugging at your lips. And his hand found yours easily, his fingers intertwining with his to face the crowd. Even as your stomach stuck to the soles of your feet, why was it that, even with a thousand eyes piercing you, you couldn't help but stare at him?

~~~

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chibivesicle · 4 years ago

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Golden Kamuy chapters 267 & 268. Filling in the gaps and learning how Tsurumi was involved in the gold.

After a few chapters that I was expecting to be more rewarding falling flat, things are starting to pick up. We first learn about Kiro’s involvement and how his relationship with Wilk became strained. Before they broke Sofia out of prison, Kiro decided to tell Sofia more details before actually reuniting with her. It is unclear if this story was relayed to Sofia via the milk ink or if Kiro wrote this with regular ink meaning anyone could have read the information. What this page does tell us, is that Sofia learned this information prior to meeting Asirpa and Ogata likely knows something about what was written. Noda wouldn’t just throw him in the background for no reason.

I wonder if this information was already shared between Kiro and Ogata?

The chapter title page has an image of Wilk, Riratte and Asirpa as a family. Clearly, a visual parallel with Tsurumi, Olga and Fina indicating that the two men have fates that are intertwined.

When Kiro saw Wilk holding Asirpa, he knew that something was different; he loved her and his family and as a result his priorities would change. Kiro is not happy with this while Huci smiles next to him.

This is an interesting story since Tsurumi is retelling what Kiro wrote to Sofia, clearly in Russian. Tsurumi is dominant and in charge of things as he makes Sofia when he mentions the man Kimuspu. The last remaining person who knew where the gold was hidden. At the same time, somehow Tsurumi learned of this information.

The panel informs us at certain key members of his elite inner circle knew about this, Kikuta in the back, potentially even working for Central at that point in time, Usami close to Tsurumi and Ogata and Tsukishima in the front with Ogata also more distant from Tsurumi.

This confirms what Ogata told us all the way back after the Barato arc with Hijikata. That he referred to how Tsurumi knew what happened to the seven Ainu men without indicating if he was there or not. I loved how Ogata just said that Tsurumi was the intelligence officer who examined the crime scene. Time and time again Ogata speaks but only gives enough information to catch someone’s attention.

The flashback told my Tsurumi who wasn’t there at the time is in part based on what he knows from Kiro as well which is something to keep in mind. The men convened at Noboribetsu, clearly in a kotan close to where Ariko is from.

The group of men were meeting to discuss it and Wilk is leading the discussion. Not surprising at all since he is a natural leader. His back is to us in the middle panel as they talk.

The rest of the men are revealed. The first man who speaks is clearly Ariko’s father, Siromakur based on those eyebrows. The cast of the soon to be doomed men are revealed with a wide range of beards and eyebrows. I’d guess it took a lot of effort to find seven Ainu names and this might be why this plot point is so late, as it is known that Noda avoided names currently in use to be culturally respectful. I will note that Mesira, Irenka and Ratci all have no light or sparkle in their eyes, making them look like they may have had more bad experiences. Sukuta looks like a nice guy.

Maybe it is just me but Oskeporo gives me major Kirawus vibes? I want to see your eyebrows Kirawus! Are you related to Oskeporo? They are both wearing dark clothing, my brain wants to say Oskeporo has a blue attush with white trim.

It looks sort of similar to Kirawus’s - or maybe he’s also from the Kushiro region? In the next chapter we learn that Oskeporo is from Nemuro. That is pretty close to Kushiro since Kirawus was working in Nemuro at the fisheries when he met Hijikata.

Anyways back to the main events. The men realize they need to find the old man, Kimuspu quickly so no one beats them to him, since of course people told other people about it. . .

As they head out Kiro finds Wilk and he’s pissed off. The text bubble tells us he’s beyond upset and he’s got a clenched fist. Finally, we are getting some clarity on why things broke down between Kiro and Wilk.

Even though Kiro had integrated himself into the local Hokkaido community, his best friend left him out of things. Of course, Kiro was always dedicated to their original greater cause as he’s Tatar/Karafuto Ainu and perhaps knows that Sofia is in prison in Karafuto?

Wilk tells the other men to go ahead and so that he can talk to Kiro one on one. Kiro is hurt and angry being excluded from these plans. It indicates that knowledge of their meeting was more well known than Wilk likely would have preferred. Ainu told each other about the gold, the old man, and the leaders meeting to discuss it since Kiro found him easily. Or did Ogata tip him off? Was this the beginning of the cat alliance?

Wilk tells him that they should change focus to only protecting Hokkaido based on logistics. This ignores the places where they grew up and therefore the other ethnic groups.

Tsurumi then asks Asirpa if she understands the difference between a regional ethnic nation that shares land borders with Russia and other countries making them difficult to defend. Which is the exact same reason Tsurumi wants to make Hokkaido an independent state and why Hijikata also likes it. From a strategic perspective it does make a lot of sense, but it excludes most of the minority groups they were fighting for all these years.

This exchange between Kiro and Wilk explains so much of why Kiro said Wilk changed. He sees it as a betrayal and abandonment of the Russian far east and Karafuto. Wilk calmly states they will encourage immigration of different groups.

This is clearly upsetting to Kiro as his skin is covered with the chaotic screentone. This is always used when a character is upset and reeling from learning something that they don’t want to hear. I love the fact that a very similar screentone is used in Ogata’s flashback in 165 talking to Yuusaku. Ogata appears calm but there is emotion behind his ice cold responses.

Interestingly, the screentone with the curved lines is only used with Ogata specifically, and it doesn’t show up again, but both show an inner turmoil.

Kiro argues that because Wilk’s village immigrated to Hokkaido, that is why they failed in part due to going to a place they were unfamiliar with and different ways to survive.

Wilk replies that he understood by the Karafuto Ainu immigration failed and just says ‘we need to avoid repeating those mistakes’. Really? Why do you tell us what they are Wilk? Does he really have an answer for that or is he just saying this hoping Kiro will calm down?

Kiro is quickly able to point out flaws for some of the ethnic groups and Wilk has a cop out of an answer, it will be up to individuals to make that choice. Kiro may be upset, but I think he is correct by telling Wilk his priorities have changed with the birth of Asirpa. These men have known each other for most of their lives and acted in an organization where they had to trust each other deeply.

I do like the switch to see Asirpa’s reaction, she loved her father but she definitely saw Kiro as an uncle figure and did no know about their falling out at all to change her opinion of them when all of this started.

Wilk artfully dodges Kiro’s question by saying he’s being realistic. I don’t think Wilk wants to confirm what Kiro said in stoic Slav fashion. If anyone has been following my meta for some time, you’d know I’m a huge fan of Kiro, so I like the next page. Knowing Wilk, he calls him out on it - he found a place to call home, he loves his family and his priorities have shifted to protect his current home. But Kiro is still holding a torch for Sofia, and wants to break her out of prison and help his own people. The fact Wilk doesn’t even respond tells us Kiro is right.

Asirpa quietly reflects on this. It clearly explains so much about what happened and in a way Kiro showed her Wilk’s original plan with the intention to help the partisans. Tsurumi summarizes the legitimacy of these contrasting goals. His position in the chair reserved for the priest as well as his contemplative expression makes me think that Tsurumi is confessing to his own feelings that are divided within himself.

The page ends with Tsukishima watching things blankly, a frown and stress lines under the eyes - how is he feeling in this very moment?

The flashback continues as Kiro loses it mentioning that Sofia is still waiting for them. This must mean that Kiro has continued to keep tabs on her or maintain some knowledge/limited communication with her. He charges towards Wilk and the two fight, but Wilk manages to get him in a headlock victorious.

Asirpa then is able to tell Sofia that she knew that Kiro had feelings for her, so of course he’d want to go back for her. Of course she didn’t learn this until Kiro died but it does make a lot of sense. Sofia listens closely, but it is still unclear how well she understands Asirpa speaking Japanese.

The fight ends with Kiro on the ground and he lost his shoes in the fight somehow. It is unclear if this is a drawing error by Noda since Kiro is frequently shown bare feet, partly to signal his death in Karafuto, but other times he seems to like having free toes.

Asirpa’s explanation is that Wilk knew the Kiro loved Sofia and he avoided Kiro. It a way it would be a dick move to have a family that he loved, while Kiro can’t do anything about the woman he loved who was their comrade in arms.

Sofia looks so sad here, two men she loved and cared about are dead in this entire mess. The chapter ends with a beat up Wilk tying Kiro to a tree and we see him now barefoot. Did Wilk take his shoes off to prevent him from chasing after them? I don’t know or if Noda accidentally gave Kiro shoes a few pages prior.

But now we finally know the event that lead Kiro to tell Inkarmat that Wilk changed. And we as the readers know he changed. Kiro is pissed off at Wilk and this was the rift that separated the men and their goals for the gold.

Kiro realized that he and Wilk now had different goals and it was what ended their friendship. The next chapter starts with a somber and sad looking Kiro writing the letter. Which now we can see is an ink letter. He reflects on how that was the last conversation he had with Wilk, which likely wasn’t how he had wanted it to go.

Wilk tells him this is for Asirpa’s benefit and her happiness. Apparently, he decided to gift Asirpa with this path based on the fact that he felt Sofia was a good leader/role model. I mean besides the fact that Sofia gave up her chance to live a normal domestic life. It is clear Wilk was impressed with Sofia and her character but it still shows that Wilk is putting her in a situation she didn’t ask for.

Yet, Asirpa isn’t upset by this. She echoes Wilk’s way of thinking which is just like Koito Sr. So in a way she has more in common with Koito and his role to do things his father expects from him. Though Koito’s older brother already died in the service so it isn’t like she has a younger sibling.

Tsurumi seems to suggest that Wilk could have just slid into obscurity and live his life in peace and quiet. Does this mean that Tsurumi wanted to live in peace and quiet with Fina and Olga?

Asirpa boldly tells him that it isn’t possible as the Ainu would disappear. As the Ainu are intrinsically linked to the kamuy. The Ainu must respect the kamuy and in return if they forget them they will disappear.

In reality this was the assimilation of the Ainu into Japanese society, losing their links to the kamuy and their cultural identity.

Tsurumi finally responds that the fate of those wanting to protect the kamuy was not good. He looks like he’s barely able to control himself as he’s got his deranged look on his face. So scary that Sofia and Asirpa are shocked.

The flashback then continues from Tsurumi’s point of view. Though we need to realize he may not be telling the truth. The fact that Tsurumi was able to track down Ariko Sr. implies that the secret wasn’t super secret! Good job of keeping things under wraps Wilk and other Ainu dudes. Tsurumi starts off with flattery to get comfortable with Simorakur.

For example he clearly comments about his son being in the army and making sure he is sent the knife to remember his identity. Interesting the other men with Tsurumi are Usami and Kikuta. Tsukishima and Ogata are no where to be seen.

Tsurumi is told he is too late, the other men went in search of the older man and therefore the gold over a month ago. Of course Ariko’s dad decided to leave the group because of the disagreements that began to occur as some of the men threatened the families of others including Cikapasi’s grandfather. Not sure why bringing Cikapasi into this part of the narrative makes sense since he was fine in the story as an orphan who found his family in Karafuto. . . . I wonder if this was supposed to read that the man was Sukuta and he had a younger brother and grandfather. With Cikapasi being the younger brother . . .

Tsurumi turns on his charm and calls Simorakur, a polite Mr. Ariko (obviously Ariko-san in the original) and ties the loyalty of his family to the Japanese to be important. That his family is serving the government in a good way.

The tells Tsurumi that the six men all had pretty big egos, and drastically different viewpoints so they were not a good alliance. But that one man was able to draw them together and resolve conflicts easily and he was a natural leader. That man of course, was Wilk. The flashback allows Tsurumi to learn about this natural leader who is also knowledgeable and even used a fact that Tsurumi told him when talking to the men.

The next page shows Wilk as a mystery to Tsurumi at first. Of course, he’s got the cross scar on his face marked likely to link him with Christian symbols and he’s offering his hand to the viewer, not unlike how Asirpa first offered her hand to Sugimoto.

Tsurumi is impressed and wants to know more about this man. Of course the big reveal is when he learns who the Karafuto Ainu man is. His eyes go white in shock and likely out if his desire to kill him. We also get an even better view of his torn sleeves. Likely the kidnapping of Koito happened recently and he did a poor job of repairing his white uniform.

So, Koito was kidnapped in Hakodate, recently but Usami wasn’t involved in it. Did Usami just join him? As Koito’s flashback only reveals Kikuta, Tsukishima and Ogata. Not surprisingly, his calm exterior is shaded with the hatched screentone again, just like Kiro in the last chapter.

Tsurumi then tells Asirpa and Sofia that he shot a single poison arrow at Wilk, his eyes completely white. He tells Simorakur that Wilk was a partisan fighting against the Russians and had come to Hokkaido for the gold for the partisans.

And he quickly departs and watches as he lead Tsurumi, Kikuta and Usami to the gold. They hear gunfire and are unable to keep up with everyone else. In the morning they find one of the men stabbed with a makkiri. So Tsurumi knows that Wilk didn’t kill any of the men.

If we go back to chapter 70 Ogata tells Hijikata what he knows as Hijikata implies he knows that Kiro is likely a partisan. Now it is hard to tell if the knife in chapter 268 matches one in 70. But Ogata makes it clear that all of the knives had notches on them.

Does this mean that Wilk actually did damage everything? Or did Tsurumi make this up to frame Wilk for the deaths so that Wilk appeared guilty? Or did Wilk actually do this out of cultural obligation? I want more information since right now Tsukishima and Ogata aren’t involved.

Did Ogata find Kiro and untie him from the tree? Did the cat alliance form while he was out of the range of Tsurumi?

The chapter then ends with Tsurumi telling them that Wilk skinned himself, removing his face and putting it on another dead person’s severed head.

Yay! This now at least lines up with Asirpa’s statement that they found her Aca’s nose and ears to identify he was one of the dead.

A long time ago I had reasoned that Wilk disfigured himself by cutting off his nose and ears, but this is a much more gruesome way to fake his death. Did he know someone like Tsurumi was onto him? My biologist brain really wonders how he was able to do this with out a sterile environment and way to protect the healing skin and face and protect the muscles and argh it just seems far fetched to me from a biological perspective. I figured the nose and ear part would make more sense since GK has had ear removal and off page nose removal.

But hey this is GK! People seem to have great healing abilities! So might as well extend this to Wilk’s entire face.

What these two chapters have show is that Tsurumi has let his own emotions control his place in the hunt for the gold.

I wonder when Kikuta started working for central and if he told Ariko what really happened to his father. Or did he always keep this secret from him and instead betray him, which is in part why he felt so guilty when Usami beat the crap out of him before sending him off to be a double agent?

Kikuta does have more of a moral compass that Usami and we now know he has some sort of inspirational role he played with Sugimoto before he joined the military.

I am still underwhelmed by these developments. I was hoping for something bigger but right now Tsurumi looks like a man who was already angry at the Japanese government for the death of his family in Russia, who then doubles down on it when he learns the man leading the Ainu was Wilk so he goes after him.

At least we know why Kiro was so upset with Wilk and why he felt like Ogata had to kill him so that they could take Asirpa to Karafuto and to meet Sofia.

#golden kamuy #Golden Kamuy manga #tsurumi tokushirou #asirpa #sofia #tsukishima hajime #Usami Tokishige #warrant officer kikuta #ariko rikimatsu #ariko simorakur #cikapasi #wilk

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schoolmascotbyday · 4 years ago

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BASIC QUESTIONS

First name? “Frederick.”

Surname? “Frederickson.”

Middle names? “Flamarion.”

Nicknames? “Fred, Freddie, Dumbass, Knuckle Head, Idiot, Mr. Fred, Lizard Guy, Fredzilla… Fredzilla totally counts.”

Date of birth? “I was born on August 15th of 1997.”

Age? “I am twenty three years young.”

PHYSICAL / APPEARANCE

Height? “Six foot even.”

Weight? “140 or something. Don’t body shame me.”

Build? “I guess I’d be a mesomorph.”

Hair color? “It’s blond-ish.”

Hair style? “Medium length. Sometimes it is straight, sometimes it has luscious waves.”

Eye color? “Grue. (That means green-blue.)”

Eye shape? “They’re kind of squinty, whatever you call that.”

Glasses or contact lenses? “No sir!”

Distinguishing facial features? “I have a big nose.”

Which facial feature is most prominent? “My nose.”

Which bodily feature is most prominent? “My chest.”

Other distinguishing features? “My hair. If you see my hair, you know it’s me.”

Skin? “White. Disturbingly white. I should get more sun…”

Hands? “Big.”

Make up? “I don’t understand how people wear makeup everyday. It’s hard. It would take me hours to not look like a clown. I wore eye shadow for the pride parade, and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

Scars? “Nothing too noticeable.”

Birthmarks? “Nada!”

Tattoos? “None, but I think one day I’ll get a big monster on my entire back .”

Physical handicaps? “I don’t have any.”

Type of clothes? “Worn out.”

How do you wear your clothes? “Too long.”

What are your feet like? “Also big. My socks are dirty. So are my shoes. There’s a hole in my favorite pair, and the bottom is coming off…”

Race / Ethnicity? “Caucasian.”

Mannerisms? “I am overexciteable and it shows.”

Are you in good health? “I keep forgetting to make a doctor’s appointment. Actually, I just don’t wanna do it by myself. But probably.”

Do you have any disabilities? “Fortunately no!”

PERSONALITY

What words or phrases do you overuse? “I think I just shout too often.”

Do they you a catchphrase? “I say whoa-ho-ho a lot. Is that a catchphrase? Or should I have said that for my overused word and/or phrase?”

Are you more optimistic or pessimistic? “Optimistic!”

Are you introverted or extroverted? “Extroverted.”

Do you ever put on airs? “I turn the AC on a lot.”

What bad habits do you have? “Sometimes I chew with my mouth open and I stay up too late and I ramble and I don’t eat healthy foods and get obsessed with entertainment and I don’t blink enough when I’m playing video games and I choose being lazy over being productive and, oh, yeah, run-on sentences.”

What makes you laugh out loud? “A lot of things. I laugh all the time.”

How do you display affection? “Bear hugs and hair ruffles.”

Mental handicaps? “I don’t give myself time to be sad.”

How do you want to be seen by others? “Helpful, loving, loyal, genuine, fun!”

How do you see yourself? “Helpful, loving, loyal, genuine, fun!”

How are you seen by others? “I don’t worry about it too much.”

Strongest character trait? “I care so much.”

Weakest character trait? “I care too much.”

How competitive are you? “I can be kind of competitive, but I don’t trash talk or anything.”

Do you make snap judgements or take time to consider? “It depends on the situation, but I usually make snap judgements.”

How do you react to praise? “A lot of thank you!s and beaming.”

How do you react to criticism? “I don’t usually let it get to me, I try to be better.”

What is your greatest fear? “Losing another person I love.”

What are your biggest secrets? “Sometimes I say I know what I’m doing when I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Shh.”

What is your philosophy of life? “Life is short, have fun.”

When was the last time you cried? “I don’t remember. A long time ago.”

What haunts you? “Losing Tadashi. Not being able to save him.”

What are your political views? “I’m probably a liberal.”

What will you stand up for? “Anyone that needs me to stand up for them.”

Who do you quote? “My friends. They’re so smart.”

Are you indoorsy or outdoorsy? “Indoorsy.”

What is your sinful little habit? “Buying a lot of merch. A lot of merch.”

What sense do you most rely on? “Definitely not common. Hearing.”

How do you treat people better than you? “I try to learn from them!”

How do you treat people worse than you? “I try to teach them!”

What quality do you most value in a friend? “Genuineness.”

What do you consider an overrated virtue? “Chastity.”

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? “I think I’d like to be smarter. Just a little bit, just enough to understand half of the things my friends talked about.”

What is your obsession? “Manga, comic books, video games.”

What are your pet peeves? “Being rushed, people being mean, being ignored.”

What are your idiosyncrasies? “I talk too fast.”

FRIENDS AND FAMILY

Is your family big or small? Who does it consist of? “Small. It’s just me, my dad, my mom and Heathcliff — the butler.”

What is your perception of family? “They’re supposed to be loving and accepting.”

Do you have siblings? Older or younger? “No. I think that would’ve been nice, though.”

Describe your best friend. “I have five, and they’re the best friends in the whole world. Tadashi isn’t here anymore, but he’s still one of my best friends. They’re all smart and unique and I love being around them.”

Ideal best friend? “Anyone who can be themselves around me.”

Describe your other friends. “Most of them are online.”

Describe your acquaintances. “I don’t have acquaintances, just friends.”

Do you have any pets? “I have a bunch of fish in my saltwater aquarium!”

Who are your natural allies? “Hm, Haven.”

Who are your surprising allies? “The rest of our friends.”

PAST AND FUTURE

What were you like as a baby? As a child? “Loud, wild, energetic, friendly.”

Did you grow up rich or poor? “Rich.”

Did you grow up nurtured or neglected? “I don’t want to say my parents neglected me…”

What is the most offensive thing you ever said? “I don’t even know of anything I’ve thought that was offensive.”

What is your greatest achievement? “My current grades.”

What was your first kiss like? “Quick and nervous.”

What is the worst thing you did to someone you loved? “I didn’t save Tadashi.”

What are your ambitions? “I want to write comics that people want to read.”

What advice would you give your younger self? “Enjoy being a kid while you can!”

What smells remind you of your childhood? “Freshly cut grass, pancakes, steak.”

What was your childhood ambition? “To be a superhero.”

What is your best childhood memory?

What is your worst childhood memory? “The birthday my dad told me they’d be home in time for, but missed. They didn’t come home for another week, and I’m pretty sure he forgot about it completely, because the handwriting on the card that ‘came in the mail’ looked an awful lot like Heathcliff’s.”

Did you have an imaginary childhood friend? “A few.”

When was the last time you were crushed with disappointment? “Sometime last month.”

What past act are you most ashamed of? “Shame is not an emotion I know.”

What past act are you most proud of? “Beating Dark Souls (Demons Souls).”

Has anyone ever saved your life? “Probably.”

Strongest childhood memory? “The day I broke my arm falling out of a tree.”

LOVE

Do you believe in love at first sight? “Why not?”

Are you in a relationship? “Nope.”

How do you behave in a relationship? “Like myself. I’m an affectionate guy.”

When did you last have sex? “It’s been about five months, probably.”

What sort of sex do you have? “All sorts.”

Have you ever been in love? “I fall in love all the time.”

Have you ever had your heart broken? “My heart broke when Tadashi… when I lost my friend.”

CONFLICT

How do you respond to a threat? “Just shrug and say ‘bring it’.”

Are you most likely to fight with your fists or your tongue? “I don’t like fighting, but I’ll do what a situation calls for.”

What is your kryptonite? “Funko Pops.”

If you could only save one thing from your burning house, what would it be? “My fish.”

How do you perceive strangers? “50/50. Could be friends, could be villains.”

What do you love to hate? “Cliffhangers and hard to beat games.”

What are your phobias? “Death.”

What is your choice of weapon? “Depends on the game I’m playing.”

What living person do you most despise? “I don’t despise anyone.”

Have you ever been bullied or teased? “I’ve been teased, but it doesn’t bother me much.”

Where do you go when you’re angry? “The kitchen to get a snack. The only time I get angry is when a game is being really frustrating.”

Who are your enemies and why? “I don’t have any, but maybe one day I will be a true crime fighter and I will.”

WORK, EDUCATION AND HOBBIES

What is your current job? “Sign spinning.”

What do you think about your current job? “I love it. I don’t need the money, I just like bringing in more business to the local shops and showing off my skills!”

What are some of your past jobs? “I’ve never had to work.”

What are your hobbies? “Sign flipping, gaming, writing and drawing, reading comics, binging anime, practicing guitar, coming up with new costume ideas.”

Educational background? “I didn’t do so hot in high school, but I’m in college now.”

Intelligence level? “You could say I’m a selective learner.”

Do you have any specialist training? “I wish! That would be so cool!”

Do you have a natural talent for something? “I want to say my sign spinning is a natural talent — I kind of just picked it up one day and realized I was good at it. Also, super-hearing, headlights and flame throwing.”

Do you play a sport? Are you any good? “I’m not much of a sports guy.”

What is your socioeconomic status? “Ask someone who knows what that means.”

FAVORITES

What is your favorite animal? “Maybe lizards.”

Which animal do you dislike the most? “I don’t dislike any animals.”

What place would you most like to visit? “I’d like to go on a family vacation someday. I don’t really care where we go.”

What is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? “The ending of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.”

What is your favorite song? “You’d laugh.”

Music, art, reading preferred? “Reading mixed with art.”

What is your favorite color? “Blue. No, orange. No, green! Yellow! I don’t know! There’s too many colors!”

What is your password? “FredzillaRulesTheWorld.”

Favorite food: “Changes too often to really say.”

What is your favorite work of art? “Death Note.”

Who is your favorite artist? “My dad. He counts, right?”

What is your favorite day of the week? “Sunday.”

POSSESSIONS

What is in your fridge? “A whole lot of ingredients I’ll never use and probably some I can’t pronounce.”

What is on your bedside table? “A lot of junk. I should clean that off...”

What is in your car? “Phone charger, aux chord, a half eaten bag of barbecue chips, stick of deodorant, loose change, hair ties.”

What is in your bin? “It’s empty. I have a butler.”

What is in your purse or wallet? “A group picture with my friends, money, a few different bank cards, a condom, more loose change.”

What is in your pockets? “My keys and my cell phone.”

What is your most treasured possession? “All of my pictures with my friends. I wouldn’t trade them for the world. You never know when you won’t be able to take another one...”

SPIRITUALITY

Who or what is your character’s guardian angel? “I’m sure Tadashi is somewhere looking out for me right now.”

Do you believe in the afterlife? “Yes.”

What are your religious views? “Loosely Christian.”

What do you think heaven is? “A place where everyone is happy and free and there’s no pain. And you can play games all day.”

What do you think hell is? “Sad and lonely.”

Are you superstitious? “A little bit.”

What would you like to be reincarnated as? “A fire breathing dragon!”

How would you like to die? “In a way that matters. If I’m going to die, I’d like to save someone while I’m doing it.”

What is your spirit animal? “Probably iguanas or something.”

What is your zodiac sign? “Leo.”

VALUES

What do you think is the worst thing that can be done to a person? “Torture.”

What is your view of ‘freedom’? “Pretty much how my life is now. I can do what I want, when I want --- for the most part.”

When did you last lie? “It’s been a long time. I don’t lie unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

What’s your view of lying? “It can be easily avoided. Just be honest.”

When did you last make a promise? “I can’t remember.”

Did you keep or break your last promise? “I’m sure I kept it, I don’t make promises unless I plan to do something about it.”

DAILY LIFE

What are your eating habits? “Questionable.”

Do you have any allergies? “I’m allergic to assholes!”

Describe your home. “It’s big. Real big. The yard is big and freshly cut. There’s not a blimp of imperfection until you get to my room, then it becomes a randomized mess.”

Are your minimalist or a clutter hoarder? “Hoarder.”

What do you do first thing on a weekday morning? “Turn my alarm off.”

What do you do on a Sunday afternoon? “Relax. Wait for my dad to call.”

What do you do on a Friday night? “Stay up late gaming.”

What is your soft drink of choice? “Mountain Dew.”

What is your alcoholic drink of choice? “Just beer is fine.”

MISCELLANEOUS

What or who would you dress up as for Halloween? “Oh, I love Halloween! I go all out! I’ll dress as another superhero this year, or maybe a villain to spice it up!”

Are you comfortable with technology? “I love technology.”

If you could save one person, who would it be? “Tadashi. I wish I could’ve saved Tadashi.”

If you could call one person for help, who would it be? “Haven, she always knows what to do.”

What is your greatest extravagance? “All the merch in my room, or my tank.”

What is your greatest regret? “Not doing anything to help my friend.”

What is your perception of redemption? “Putting someone else before yourself. If you do that, if you selflessly risk your own life or needs or wants for another person, you’re obviously redeemed.”

What would you do if you won the lottery? “Donate it all to charity.”

What is your favorite fairytale? “Jack and the Beanstalk.”

What fairytale do you hate? “I don’t hate any fairytales. People put a lot of hard work into their stories and I respect that.”

Do you believe in happy endings? “I do.”

What is your idea of perfect happiness? “Living every day how you want to live it.”

What would you ask a fortune teller? “I’d give my opportunity to someone else. I don’t need anything answered.”

If you could travel through time, where would you go? “Back to save Tadashi or die trying.”

What sport do you excel at? “Is flame throwing a sport?”

What sport do you suck at? “Soccer. I get confused and score for the other team. Every. single. time.”

If you could have a superpower, what would you choose? “All of them! Fire breath, x-ray vision, flying, rocket fists, gravity manipulation, invisibility, walking through walls, the ability to teleport through people’s phones so if they needed me I’d be right there... yeah, all of them!”

#yes i gave him my birthday what of it #this one took me a hot minute whew #walttasks #tasks.

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the-sara-voe · 4 years ago

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Chapter 5: The Bitter March

Masterlist

Luke coasts down the street, the dial tone blaring through the car's speakers. The tone barely skips one beep before Tusa answers.

“Scam calls not accepted”, she stated, as she tip-tapped away on her keyboard.

An arrogant grin spreads across Alvez’s face, as he asks, “I’m a scammer now”?

“Well, you didn’t answer my text about movie night. So yes, you are a scammer”.

“I’m sorry, Pen got a new kitten behind my back, and we are trying to get Roxie and Belle to get along”, he said, the grin still present in his speech.

“Oh”, Tusa said with surprise, a somber hint filling her voice. She bit her tongue to keep her thoughts at bay, saying “Well that’s alright. Is the cat cute”?

“Despite me not being a cat person, it is adorable”, Luke said, feeling her discomfort on the other end. “Hey, we can have a movie night another night okay”?

His voice is buttery to her, but his words slip past her ears. Just as quickly as he could raise her pulse, it would slow the minute he talked about Penelope. The woman didn’t have a face to her name, but she could summon the rains of the Amazon through Tusa’s eyes.

They have never met, but Tusa has heard nothing but great things. How she is kind, witty, talented. Garcia even left a note for her. Everyone talks about Penelope Garcia like she is a legend, because she is one.

Tusa hates being the one to fill Penelope’s shoes. It makes her skin prickle and her throat sour. She doesn’t want to, but she resents the woman. The unfortunate part is, it isn’t because of her reputation that Selemani disliked Penelope so much.

She perked up her voice, going an octave higher, before saying, “Yeah, yeah I know. I was just looking forward to it. But on the upside we avoided Sena rooting for Monty Python for the hundredth time”.

“That’s a good point”, he said before saying, “Hey while I got you, can you help me find-”

“Find the Church that belongs to those shirts? Bud who do you think I am? I already did it”.

Alvez chuckled as he listened to her. “Address is 7226 Grand Blvd, and it’s a Mormon Church. The t-shirts are for a program they have called Home Sweet Home, and proceeds help the homeless. The church makes a lot of money, and last I checked they ordered 6,000 t-shirts”.

“And they got to be storing those somewhere”.

“That’s what I thought”.

“Alright, thank you Chica I’ll talk to you later”.

“Bye”, she said, rushed, hearing him hang up.

She sat, frozen from the conversation, before she threw her hands to the air. Her hands encompass her face, leaning back in her chair and releasing a groan. All the pressure behind her eyes had moved to her stomach. The aching in her gut festers with every thought of him.

Slipping her palms down her cheeks to her lap, she says, “Luke Alvez, you are breaking my heart”.

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The black pavement glisten in the sun from the unforeseen water shower. Rossi's shoes kick up water drops; upchucked tequila and wasted food becoming more fragrant. The open corridor housed a soiled, kelp-colored dumpster, its neighbors being wrinkled heaps of plastic. Hidden from the opening of the alley, where the ground lay littered in cigarette butts and chewed gum, is the temporary resting place of Daniella Cortez.

"She was propped up against the dumpster", the detective remarked.

Rossi observes the corner. Although the untrained eye would be unable to tell, a small stain of rusty brown glued to the asphalt. Daniella's body had made its presence.

He crouches down, examining the stickers and graffiti that lingered on the brick and steel. The majority of them had faded around the edges and are stained from the decaying muck. "The alley seems fairly secluded in the daytime. How trafficked are the alleyways at night"? Rossi asked while the gears in his head turned.

"Everyone tends to stay away from the alleyways at night, but on Fridays and Saturdays some prostitutes sit here, waiting for guys to drive by. That's how she was found actually".

Rossi's eyes squint. There is one piece of paper, crumpled over itself, but not colored by the garbage mildew. "A prostitute found her"?

"Yeah, said she came back looking for her wallet and found the body instead. She said that the victim wasn't anyone she had seen before, but she saw the victim come out for a smoke".

"Did she see anyone that picked her up"?

"No. She said that she picked up the last guy of the night, and their alibis checked out. Daniella was alone out here".

As the detective continues to ramble, David's eyes fixate on the brick. He slips his hand into a latex glove, plucking the paper from the brick wall. His fingers swivel the folded square open, revealing a manufactured drawing. The thin, black lines branch from one another, to make a set of twig feet, wings, and a minuscule beak. But most startling, the image is clouded in a burgundy red.

"Detective, does this sticker seem familiar to you"? Rossi asked.

The detective hovered over Rossi's shoulder, looking at the image. "That's a sticker a bar nearby uses instead of stamping. Bar's called A Larkin'".

Rossi's face scrunched at the name. "Probably where she was before. Did you guys interview bar staff yet"?

"No, but it is just across the street, I'll take you over there".

Rossi thanks the detective, putting the sticker in a bag for evidence. He stares at the blood-stained lark. Gideon would have thought the lark symbolism was clever for the bar, despite the dumb name.

David halts his walking. Jason believed birds were like people, that they explain themselves through their behaviors. Jason studied their symbolism in various cultures and religions. Birds always had a significance for Gideon, so what was the significance of his letter being with a robin painting?

He pulls out his phone, dialing Tusa. "Selemani"?

Before he could hear her speak, the background rings with metal gently scraping plastic. She must be on her lunch break. Her voice thick and full, she spouts, "Present, sir. You guys get a good lead yet"?

"Not on my end, but would you do me a favor"? He asked, his words spilling like those of a child caught red-handed. "An old friend asked me to look at a case of his. I may have found a potential lead for him, but I need your expertise".

On the other end, Tusa ceases her fidgeting. David could feel her sincerity through the phone. It is something he appreciates about her. Although Penelope's presence is well missed at work, Tusa carries a similar warmth as Garcia. If someone she cared about truly needed something, she would get it for them.

Her voice takes a serious tone, "Alright sir, I'm all ears. What do you need me to do"?

"What is the symbolism of the robin"?

The rattling of the keys is followed by her saying, "Robins represent perseverance, fresh starts, good luck. Associated with spring, Robins tend to migrate during March. Any of this help"?

It was sheer luck that Rossi and Stephen discovered the letter. Stumbling upon that one book, out of all the books Gideon had, and turning to that page. Sheer luck learning about Harper. Does the robin pertain to her?

Rossi's face relaxes slightly, the corners of his mouth upturning. "Yes, that does help. Thank you, Tusa".

"You’re welcome, sir".

After hanging up, Rossi took a moment of pause. His hand found the picture of Harper before he had told it to. Staring at the baby picture, he said to it, quietly, "You're a March baby, aren't you Harper"?

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eponymous-rose · 5 years ago

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I’ve also further progressed in my Vorkosigan re-read! Memory was as wonderful as I remembered (Illyan and Miles going fishing via improvised hand grenade out of boredom is always a highlight).

I love the way Bujold structures her books---I talked about that a bunch with Mirror Dance---but Memory is just brilliantly laid out. Miles is spiraling, Miles fucks up, Miles gets fired (the closest pop-culture parallel I can think of is a superhero having to permanently revert to their mundane secret identity), Miles’s friends manage to yank him out of the mire, and then... surprise bizarre out-of-sequence murder mystery! The victim’s not dead! Miles keeps finding clues out of sequence and realizing he was meant to be framed! And god, you’re so sure it’s Haroche right at the start and then you have that moment of “oh well shit of course he thinks Miles might have it in for the boss that just eviscerated his identity” and so you’re still surprised when that first instinct was right! And then he offers Miles his life as Naismith back. Even Cordelia placed a bet on Miles giving up his life as Vorkosigan. And... he doesn’t. Mirror Dance was about Mark fracturing himself to survive. Memory is about Miles dragging himself back together to live.

I love how Illyan takes the loss of his memory chip---it’s fundamentally a piece of him gone, but it’s also freedom from thirty years of being a tool of his emperor (and then of Aral), and his embracing this destruction of his identity and learning to move forward is such a great foil/foreshadowing for Miles’s revelation. Everything in this story is about moving forward, not without regrets, but moving forward. It’s so fitting that the romance story going on in the background is Alys and Illyan, two 60-somethings, falling in love (and god, I love the scene where Miles wanders in on them in the morning and thinks something like “huh that dress is more of an evening style isn’t it?” and then like ten hours later the penny drops).

And god, Miles and Elli. I love how this was done, how it’s made apparent that you can love someone, and they can love you, and you can be very good for each other in a lot of ways, but your circumstances can still be such that marriage will annihilate one or both of you. It’s nobody’s fault, but the inevitability and recognition of it means it’s not always a devastation: “He could feel the letting-go in them, with the easing of the tension and the terror, with the slowing of every pulse of their blood. Not pain, or not so much pain, but only a just sadness, a due measure of melancholy, quiet and right.” Even when they’re quite bizarre relationships, the relationships in these books are very mature and well-thought-out from a narrative point of view, and this is a wonderful example.

Just a really, really lovely book:

No wonder he was laughing. He wasn’t mourning a death. He was celebrating an escape.

“I’m not dead. I’m here.” He touched his scarred chest in wonder.

[...]

Harra Csurik had been almost right. It wasn’t your life again you found, going on. It was your life anew.

Aaaand on to Komarr! God! I love this book! The most Miles possible meet-cute for his future wife: board at the home of her family on an investigation, have combat flashbacks on a shopping trip with her, and wind up watching her husband die horrifically while chained to a rail on a planet with a toxic atmosphere, knowing if he reacts too strongly he’s likely to have a seizure that’ll dislodge his own breathing mask, killing him in the same terrible way. You know. Rom-com stuff.

Speaking of relationships portrayed well, Ekaterin and Tien’s disaster of a marriage is extremely chilling in its realism. Even as you absolutely detest Tien, you can see how Ekaterin got yanked into that orbit, and it’s all all all so tied in with the very same aspects of Barrayaran culture that we’ve seen Miles face: Tien destroys everything because of his perception of what the response would be to his illness (where Miles, for better or worse, never had the option of hiding it), and because of his shitty insecurities about Ekaterin’s fidelity (echoes of a young Aral come to mind). We’re given explanations (his brother’s literally impossible-to-live-up-to example) but are never expected to see them as excuses, which is a very fine line to walk. The end result is a believably fucked-up relationship that draws on parallels with every single time you’ve ever thought to yourself about a friend, “Oh god sweetie you can do so much better than him”.

And Ekaterin’s thoughts about being bound to this marriage are right along the lines of the most stick-in-the-mud traditional Barrayaran loyalties we’ve seen Miles exhibit, all tangled up in language about honor. And even though it very shortly (and mortally) becomes a moot point, I love that she gets the chance to decide to leave Tien in spite of that.

I also love the scene between Tien and Miles, talking about Nikki’s jumpship obsession, partly because of the obvious contrast between the two of them, but mostly because it illustrates how much of Tien’s awfulness is because he’s just... fundamentally a bitter coward with no imagination.

"Well, every boy goes through that phase, I suppose. We all outgrow it. Pick up all that mess, Nikki.”

Nikki’s eyes were downcast, but narrowed in brief resentment at this, Miles could see from his angle of view. The boy bent to scoop up the last of his miniature fleet.

“Some people grow into their dreams, instead of out of them,” Miles murmured.

“That depends on whether your dreams are reasonable,” said Vorsoisson, his lips twitching in rather bleak amusement. Ah, yes. Vorsoisson must be fully aware of the secret medical bar between Nikki and his ambition.

“No, it doesn’t.” Miles smiled slightly. “It depends on how hard you grow.”

The alternating POVs between Miles and Ekaterin are charming because we get to see Miles from an external (non-hostile) point of view and get all excited about each small revelation, and then we get to see Ekaterin both from Miles’s point of view and from the point of view of her own very active inner monologue, giving us insights we would otherwise have missed since she, as Miles says in the understatement of the century, has a tendency to underreact.

Their relationship is built up very carefully: there’s an obvious mutual interest practically from the first, but they both have reason to be cautious. There are those moments of genuine rapport early on, and then the shopping trip! It’s such a clever revelation, and so layered!

Miles was traumatized at Dagoola IV by watching Beatrice fall from the shuttle in front of him: he reached out to try to catch her, and just missed, and she died. And then we have this perfectly safe little parallel, with himself and Ekaterin falling off a water feature in a shopping district, and he manages to catch her, this time... and they both go over. It’s cute and oddly triumphant...

...and then he realizes exactly what it means. If he’d caught Beatrice, he’d have gone over with her. They’d both be dead, and that revelation hits right after he’s had a whole book to figure out just how badly he wants to live. And to Ekaterin, it’s a very quick summary of what and who Miles is: he’s the man who would not let go. BUT Ekaterin ALSO frames her leaving Tien in that context: she’s not just watching him fall, but purposefully releasing her hands. It’s so twisted and so complicated and such a weird little microcosm of their respective states of mind. And while part of it is Ekaterin giving Miles the little push he needed to properly process that trauma, fundamentally and on a larger timescale it places Miles as the “I’ve been in this hole before and I know the way out” path to Ekaterin’s healing. It’s so well done.

There’s also a hell of a parallel in the physical aspect of Miles’s seizures coming on unexpectedly in moments of great stress versus the psychological aspect of Ekaterin’s whole coping mechanism being built on trying desperately not to flinch or show strong emotion.

(And I don’t know where else to put this but special shout-out to the running gag of Vorkosigan House getting gradually overrun with cats, to the point where Miles starts, apropos of nothing and on a totally different planet, asking strangers if they’d like a kitten.)

These kids! Will they make it work? I may be only halfway through the book, but I have a funny feeling things might work out...

Also, here’s the “rescue” scene in full, because it delights me so:

The root-compacted soil of the edge sagged under her weight, and she began to slide precipitously forward. She yelped; pushing backward fragmented her support totally. One wildly back-grappling arm was caught suddenly in a viselike grip, but the rest of her body turned as the soil gave way beneath her, and she found herself dangling absurdly feet-down over the pond. Her other arm, swinging around, was caught, too, and she looked up into Vorkosigan’s face above her. He was lying prone on the slope, one hand locked around each of her wrists. His teeth were clenched and grinning, his gray eyes alight.

“Let go, you idiot!” she cried.

The look on his face was weirdly, wildly exultant. “Never,” he gasped, “again--”

His half-boots were locked around... nothing, she realized, as he began to slide inexorably over the edge after her. But his death-grip never slackened. The exalted look on his face melted to sudden horrified realization. The laws of physics took precedence over heroic intent for the next couple of seconds; dirt, pebbles, vegetation, and two Barrayaran bodies all hit the chilly water more or less simultaneously.

The water, it turned out, was a bit over a meter deep. The bottom was soft with muck. She wallowed upright onto her feet, one shoe gone who knew where, sputtering and dragging her hair from her eyes and looking around frantically for Vorkosigan. Lord Vorkosigan. The water came to her waist, it ought not to be over his head---no half-booted feet were sticking up like waving stumps anywhere---could he swim?

He popped up beside her, and blew muddy water out of his mouth, and dashed it from his eyes to clear his vision. His beautiful suit was sodden, and a water-plant dangled over one ear. He clawed it away, and located her, his hand going toward her and then stopping.

“Oh,” said Ekaterin faintly. “Drat.”

There was a meditative pause before Lord Vorkosigan spoke. “Madame Vorsoisson,” he said mildly at last, “has it ever occurred to you that you may be just a touch oversocialized?”

#vorkosigan saga #vorkosigan saga spoilers #long text post

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 5 years ago

Text

S.T. REWRITE - S2:E7; Chapter Seven, The Lost Sister - [Pt. 2]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

In their search for answers, psychic visions draw Eleven and Y/n to a band of violent outcasts and an angry girl with a shadowy past.

||Reader's POV||

I hug my jacket tighter around my chest, my teeth chattering still from the cold air. Luckily the seats El and I picked ended up near the bus' heater. Though at least the chill is keeping me awake and alert. I remember drifting off on the futon at Becky's, the next thing I know El is shaking me awake and pulling me down the stairs. All I had time to grab was my jacket and slip on my shoes and we were out the door. Hell, I didn't even get to change out of my pajamas.

I tried asking her what happened and where the hell we were going, not to mention so late at night. She was much too spooked and truthfully I haven't seen her run that fast. Well, at least since last year. But no matter how much I tried to ask, she just kept silent, apart from a few words which I'm pretty sure were to shut me up.

"It's not safe."

So here we were, on a bus heading who knows where. I felt a pair of eyes on me and I looked cautiously to my side, several people were giving us strange even some sympathetic looks. I remember for what seems like the billionth time that I am in sweatpants and tee-shirt, and I hug my jacket tighter around my torso. I turned to look at El, and I can make out her disheartened reflection watching droplets of rain cascade down the foggy glass. I rest my head tiredly on the back of my seat and I attempt to break the silence.

"El?"

Her head rolls across the seat to face me, I can tell she is tired like me though I sense a great deal of it is emotional exhaustion as well as physical. A million questions run through my head but I only.find myself asking one.

"Are you okay?"

She sniffled but gave me no immediate answer. I could tell she was debating on whether or not she should lie. Finally, she speaks, her voice cracked and a little broken.

"No."

I wince, my a lump forming my throat feeling as if I am unable to help her. I extend my hand, as she did this afternoon, and she took it. I gave her palm a reassuring squeeze and I looked in her eyes.

"El, what happened? You can tell me," I reassure.

Her brown eyes fall to my hands, and I can tell she is trying to blink back tears.

"She called us in." She whispered, sniffling. "I'm sorry."

"Wait, what do you mean? Why are you sorry?" I ask gently.

"I heard her," she choked back. "She called for the policeman. And... And she gave them your name. I'm sorry Y/n."

"My name?" I gulped. "So, the police are gonna, know I'm...?"

She nodded, tearfully and I could see the remorse in her eyes.

Instinctively, I gave her hand another reassuring squeeze and forced a half-assed smile.

"It's okay, it's not entirely your fault El," I said. "Yeah, I'm not going to lie. That's not good, but I also knew what I was risking when I went with you. The truth is, things really haven't been going super well at home. Everyone's fighting - more than usual,"

El cracks a small smile at that, and I feel one spread across my face as well. But it quickly fades as I continue.

"Like I said before, Mike hasn't been himself since you left. And now Will is acting up, in fact, he's... completely different. He's sick, he's really sick and he's angrier than usual. The party is falling apart, and I've felt more alone these past few weeks than I have in a really long time. And on top of it all," I lower my voice even more. "I'm still finding stuff I didn't know I could do. I've been having trouble, controlling my powers."

El looked to me surprised, her eyebrows raised though I was relieved to see I had halted her crying. I nodded.

"The point is, you showing up has been just what I needed. And yes, it's really scary, but thanks to you I found out how I got here, where I came from. That's really good! I have you to thank for that."

We shared a weak smile, and there a beat of silence. I took a deep breath and she was the first to break the ice.

"I found her. The girl."

I perked up a bit, and I looked to El El hopefully.

"Really? That's great! So did you get a name? Maybe the girl's name or where we're going?"

The hope in El's face fell, and she shook her head. But her face scrunched up thoughtfully as if she was trying to remember something she might have missed.

"A city." She looked at me quizzically, and she spoke the next words and it was clear to me she must have been repeating a word she heard only in passing. "Shuh-cago?"

My eyes widened. "Chicago? We're going to Chicago?"

El shrugged her shoulders.

"Shuh-cago."

I took a deep breath, letting the information sink in as well as trying to tame the anxiety I knew was soon coming to settle in.

"Um, okay..." I sighed, my eyes falling to my lap and I noticed my leg has begun to bounce. "Well, are you sure? Is that what you heard, or maybe saw in the background somewhere?"

El nodded. I nodded as well, thinking about the road ahead.

"So you really think she'll help huh?" I ask.

She gives me a weak, but reassuring smile and soft squeezes my hand. "Yes."

I smile gratefully, but we fall into silence quickly after.

The familiar feeling bubbled up in my stomach again, though it is much more intense. Sure I had anxieties about leaving with El, but this succeeded that. At least I had the small chance of not getting caught, that I'd be back the next night and it could all be explained away by being at the Byers house. But this was quickly spiraling. This had already spiraled, and I was beginning to feel sick to my stomach with nerves. The moment the chief got her message than it was only a matter of time before my mom was notified, and oh no...

According to Dustin, she's going to the ends of the earth just to find Mews, I can't imagine the stress she'll inevitably be under when she finds out that some woman across town filed a report about me and it certainly doesn't help that I'm on a bus to Chicago.

I try to remind myself to take deep breaths, the last thing I need is my anxiety itself spiraling into something destructive. I still need to learn how to control my powers, though I'm a bit upset with myself for saying everything's okay when it's not.

I always had a problem with that. And yet, even though I meant what I had said to El about finding out where I came from, part of me is upset with myself for letting it go. Maybe I did it cause I felt bad for El, and she seemed sorry and she was in trouble. But then again, I was in trouble now too. Part of me is hoping Chicago is a dead end, and while I feel awful for feeling that way, I do. I find myself longing to be with Will again. The old Will. He always had a knack for knowing when I wasn't okay.

He always made me feel validated when I was upset, and he listened and then he'd do anything to get me to smile. But for now, I had to keep these thoughts to myself, for as long as I can at least though I don't know how long I'll last.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

I don't realize I have drifted off until I feel a tap on my shoulder. I blink away the sleep to the best of my ability and I find El gesturing towards the isle. Once again, I close my jacket tightly around my torso, the cold air reaching my neck and nipping at my ears. We had spilled out onto the busy streets among the several people leaving the bus with us. I looked around in an odd mix of awe and fear. Mom was never a city dweller, and the last big trip she took she came home with a daughter. So apart from programs on TV, this was the first I was seeing a big city.

El seemed to be experiencing it too, but my awe was quickly smothered when my eye level returned to the ground. We were lost in a sea of strange people, nobody seemed to know anyone and they all seemed angry.

I tried to remind myself of the things El told me earlier today.

"Y/n, we can defend ourselves, remember?"

She did have point, but then again if we were put in a situation where we were forced to use them, all the closer we going were to being caught. I look to El, to gauge her reaction and I find she's still very much lost in the towering city skyline and she a genuine smile on her face. For a moment I wish I can enjoy it as she does, but I am still in sweatpants and a tee shirt and I haven't the faintest idea when or if we'll find exactly where we're going.

Eagerly, she starts walking down the streets and I follow her. I'm thankful I was able to retrieve my shoes and jacket, but I still can't seem to drag my thoughts away from the fact that my teeth are chattering once more. The words I spoke earlier today pop into my mind only to mock me, "I guess I kept myself warm,". Another reason to learn how to control my powers, it sure wouldn't hurt-

I'm jolted from my thoughts when I feel a strong force struck my shoulder. I tumble back slightly, quickly catching my footing but my heart still spikes. I whirl around to see a large, glowering man sneer over his shoulder at me as retreats.

"Watch it, kid."

This time I fiddle with my jacket as an excuse to keep my hands busy, my heat creeping up in my chest as my tempter rises. I return my attention to El and our walk when I find her glaring at him. And if looks could kill - which hers quite easily could - he would be six feet under.

"Mouth-breather," She says menacingly, her eye line falls slightly and I panic.

I turn just in time to see the man stumble forward onto the concrete. Angrily, he sits up, looking around frantically and glaring at anyone who laughed at him. All worry washed away when I could barely make out the string of curses directed at his shoelaces as he hotly tied them.

El looked to me, suppressing a smile and she had a wildly mischievous look in her eye.

I felt myself crack a smile and my anger slowly melted away.

Okay, that was pretty funny.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

If I thought I was cold before, I was dead wrong. We've been walking for two hours, my feet are killing me and my sweatpants are clinging to my legs. About half an hour ago, a truck drove through a puddle and I caught the tail end of the splash when we hooked around a corner. To pass the time, I've been trying to dry them subtly with my hands against my legs, but it didn't get me very far, even with El's tips. I finally gave it a rest after a while, I wasn't getting very far and I didn't want to risk draining myself if the walk was much longer.

By now I've grown used to the odd and wandering looks we've gathered, especially me given my state. But the tension crept back in when El lead us down an incredibly questionable alley. We were definitely in the riskier parts of the city though I tried to hold my tongue and save questions until later. My instincts told me I needed to appear more confident than I was than I'd have at least a sliver less of a chance of being a target. El seemed to hold up that exterior, though even her confidence was waning slightly.

We were surrounded by many sluggish people, milling about one another and the alley was lit up by fire pits in steel barrels. The stench was horrid, it wreaked of booze, cigarettes, and urine. Subconsciously, El and I grew closer I realize cause I feel the ends of her hairbrush against me when I flinch back.

A frightening, cackling man had stepped towards my face as we walked by.

"They're dead. They're all dead!"

His hyena-like laughter bounces off the cement walls and echoes in my ears. I can practically taste his awful breath and I duck my head down avoiding eye contact as I pull El along forward with me.

I can sense her eagerness to leave the alley and hands still clenched tight, we broke out into a small jog and out of sight. We didn't stop until we reached what looked to be an abandoned underpass. Graffiti littered every wall, and we emerged from the darkened space to find an old warehouse. Like the underpass, there wasn't a wall that wasn't painted with spray paint and neon color and El stopped suddenly.

I glanced ahead of me at the building, the small door supplied with only one window that flickered with yellow light, and back at El, searching her eyes.

"El, is this it?" I ask.

"Yes."

She sets off towards the building and I quickly follow behind, attempting to prepare myself whatever we might find. Inside is not much different to the exterior, boxes, crates, barrels, and planks littered the interior and it was harder to find a surface that wasn't covered in graffiti. The entrance we stood in was part of a small alcove, and it was clear the further you stepped inside the ceiling extended. But what caught my eye were the four people huddled around another makeshift firepit.

One girl, who was perched on several cushions and lighting a cigarette began to giggle teasingly.

"You should do stand-up, Axe. There's a spot a few blocks away."

The group chuckled, and a tall lanky man with a large mohawk unlike anything I've seen before rolled his eyes with a smirk. Among them, a rather large and beefy man, who clearly seemed to be the muscle, and another young woman in cuffed jeans, gloves and a dark green flannel.

El called out to them and I panicked, though logically I knew we needed make ourselves known regardless.

"Hello?"

The group stopped and turned, their faces illuminated by the fire gifting to them a very chilling tone.

A sickening smirk curled along the tall lanky man, and he struts around the fire towards us.

"Well, well... What do we have here?"

The others rose from their spot and I looked anxiously between El and the others, though I somehow managed to keep a still face.

The others began stalking towards us and I could feel my heart rate pick up. The woman in the green jacket scoffed, looking us up and down and it seemed she couldn't tell which of us looked, stranger.

"What are those, overalls?" She asked finally.

The other young woman had stalked around us and she stopped at me. I tensed and she looked me up and down before jabbing a finger in my shoulder and nudging me roughly.

"And get a load of this one," she squeaked, blowing smoke into my face.

I coughed, swiping it away and they all laughed. She turned to me and faked a pout.

"What's the matter girlies? Thought your little slumber party could use a fun little adventure, in the big city, huh?"

The others chuckled softly, and I stifled an eye roll. Her mocking tone fell into a serious one shortly after.

"Well, you ain't gonna find it here, go on back to the farm now."

"We're looking for my sister."

My eyes flickered to El in surprise, but they quickly returned to the group. Once again, not wanting to give away too much but I do have to applaud El's quick thinking.

"Aw..." Cooed the man with mohawk mockingly. "Shirley Temple lost her sister. So sad."

"I saw her. Here."

She reached into her bag and pulls out the photograph from Becky's.

"Uh-uh," The large man said suddenly. "Hand out of your pocket. Slow."

El complied and the lanky man ripped the photograph from her hand.

"Give me that shit."

For the first time, he hesitated, shocked and caught off-guard and the woman in green stepped forward when she caught a glimpse. She ripped it from his grasp, just as he had done previously and gaped.

"Is that Kali?"

"Kali?" El asked.

Mohawk stepped forward, growing tense and took advantage of his height and towered over El, zeroing in on her. I tensed but I never left her side.

"How did you find us? Who else knows you're here?"

El backed up slightly and I spoke up urgently.

"No one knows we're here."

"And no one asked you, shithead." My face soured and he returned to El. "Is this true Shirley Temple? So, what then? Poof! You just show up like magic with that picture?"

"Stay calm." The woman in green warned. "They're just kids, alright?"

He turned on her quickly, snapping at her.

"Some kids that could get us all killed."

He returned his attention to El and pulled something from his pocket. My eyes fell to the object in his hand and I was as certain my eyes were wide as saucers as sure as I was that everyone could hear my heart thumping against my ribcage.

"If I have to ask again, Shirley, you'll start losing things." He unsheathed his knife and began pointing it at El's face. "Starting with those pretty little locks of yours. Yeah?"

I looked desperately between the man and his companions, each of them seemed uncomfortable with his actions in varying degrees. The woman in green stepped forward, extending her arm.

"Come on, Axe. Put down the knife." She warned.

The blade grew closer towards her face and he only grew angrier.

"How did you find us?"

"I saw her." She said, her voice came out rushed and shakey not that I blamed her.

He advanced further, the knife growing closer to her face and everyone's voices began to drown in the deafening roar of blood pumping in my ears. He was beside me now as El kept backing away.

"That's not an answer!" He roars.

"Axe!"

I throw aside my common sense and step towards them. Before anything can happen, he freezes and begins examining his hand frightfully. He steps backward, his blade-wielding arm extended as far away from his face and torso as possible and his breath becomes shaky as he speaks.

"Jesus. Jesus Christ!" He huffs.

He chucks the knife on the concrete behind us, the blade nearly nicking my legs. He looks up and down his torso, and his face goes pale. He frantically swipes at himself, several squeals of fear elicit from him and El and I share a confused look.

"Get off! Shit!"

He is running across the room, hunched over, and desperately swatting at his head, face and arms deranged. I have to step back to avoid his path as he maneuvers around me and his companions have to do the same.

"You're a terrible dancer, Axel."

Everyone including myself turns our heads towards the source of the British voice. On the stairs, leaning on the banister with a sly smirk was another young girl. Half of her head was shaved, the other half was tinted purple and like the others, she dressed in grunge, but oddly they didn't seem shabby or cheap.

The guy named Axel relaxed, only for a moment before it evolved into anger. He smacked his head angrily and gestured towards her as she came down the steps.

"I told you, Kali, stay out of my head." He spits.

"So we're threatening little girls now, are we?" She asks, striding towards us.

"They know about you." Axel defends.

The girl with the bow, the one mocked me, stepped forward with the photo El had and gestured to her.

"Farmgirl here had this."

The new girl, the one I can only assume to be the one we were looking for, grabbed the photo. She seemed to be hiding her shock, and El cautiously approaches her. She eyes El up and down suspiciously, her gaze flickering past her to me on occasion.

"Where did you get this?"

"Mama," El answers, taking the photograph back and placing it in her bag.

"Your mother gave this to you?"

"In her dream circle," El says.

I raise my brow, and as I suspect the others don't take to it, or her very easily.

"Dream circle," Axel scoffs, pacing the room. "I think she's a schizo or something."

I gape at him, unable to stop myself but he doesn't see me. I desperately want to say something but I know I have to be careful less I start something.

"Says she's looking for her sister."

"Yeah. Like I said, schizo."

I take a deep breath, clenching my fists. I'm reminded of the first night we met El. When we both overheard the boys saying those awful things about her. That she was from the nuthouse. It angers me that so many people out there are so quick to judge people they don't automatically understand. My glare follows him across the room and as he bends to pick up his knife. I smirk when I see the knife fly through the air and into El's waiting hand.

Mumbles of surprise bounce around the group, but I simply watch as El confidently folds the knife and hands it to the girl.

"I saw you. In the rainbow room."

Something in the girl's eye changes, she begins to stalk around El before she stops halfway to stand beside her.

"What is your name?"

"Jane."

I can't say I was expecting that, but yet I wait. I concentrate my energy on keeping my jaw clenched. I've been fighting my chattering teeth ever since we entered and the muscles in my jaw have grown weak. But in a weird way, I begin to forget it's there as I watch what is unfolding before me.

Kali grabs El's left wrist and pushes back her sleeve to reveal her tattoo. El reaches for Kali's left wrist and they compare before sharing a chilling look. El's eyes grow cloudy and I can her lips trembling.

"Sister." She whispers.

"Sister," Kali says.

The two embrace in a tearful hug I grow uncomfortable where I stand. I tuck my arms in further where they have been fused against my chest, and I shift on my feet my tempter growing short. I don't understand why I feel this way but I do. I want to be happy for El, but something feels off. Maybe I'm jealous because I thought me and El were close, she was the first real female friend I had and we both came from the same place. But I guess she found that with someone else. I never really was from there, not that I wish I was but at least I could someone to lean on with having powers.

And yet, that didn't seem to be what bothered me most. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I can't help but feel like things are only going to get more slippery.

Before I can dwell on it more, they break apart and Kali takes El's hands in her own giving them a squeeze before releasing. The two smile at one another and my eyes fall to my feet. The ends of my sweatpants are still soaked I can feel the water in my shoes. And yet the most chilling thing I felt at that moment was Kali's eyes on me.

"Jane, who is this?" She asks.

"Y/n. My friend."

I break my gaze away from my shoes and I give her a small wave, forcing a smile.

"Hi," I mumble, trembling.

She looks me up and down, her suspicious gaze creeping back up in her eyes. Her intimidation faltered when she allowed herself to register my odd outfit. The question seemed to have a bigger demand than her previous one, and she seems to dismiss a thought.

"Why are you in pajamas?"

"Long story," I mutter, my teeth chattering once more. "We had to up and leave unexpectedly and I didn't get a chance to change or grab any spare clothes."

Her brows furrowed suspiciously, and for a moment I worry. I can feel myself squirm under intimating gaze but then I feel a wave of relief when I see her crack a smile. She chuckles and looks to the tall woman in the green jacket.

"Funshine, take her upstairs and help her find some warm clothes. I'm gonna talk to Jane. Alone."

Her eyes fall on me, her amusement fizzled out into what I could have sworn looked like a warning glare as she spoke the last word. My eyes fall to El and she smiles happily at me, before looking excitedly to Kali unaware of the cold shoulder Kali was giving me. I tense, not wanting to be separated from El, but I try and comfort myself in the fact that Kali does seem to genuinely care for El. Though that was just as worrisome.

The larger man nodded, stepping forward and gestured to me. I looked to him surprised, my eyes flickering to Kali and she smiles.

"Don't worry, he's nothing but a big softie," Kali says, turning and leaving with El.

I look back at the man and he smiles warmly, I can feel myself relax and I even find myself smiling back at him.

"Don't worry, we'll get you some nice warm clothes."

Reluctantly, I follow. We walk side by side, falling in line behind El and Kali though they disappear around the corner and Funshine directs me to one of the makeshift bedrooms. My eyes fall to the fire pit in the corner and I eye it longingly. He gestures towards it and ushers me along.

"Go ahead, wait but the fire. I'll be right back with some warm clothes." He says, heading through the doorway.

I smile shyly, eagerly gravitating towards the fire.

"Thanks."

He left through the door and disappeared around the corner, and I stifled a smile. I could feel the heat washing over my body and I felt myself relax in the slightest. I only wish there was a faster way to dry my legs but before much longer, Funshine returns. He glides across the room with some clothes in his hands.

"Here, I gathered around stuff that I thought would fit you best." He tosses them on the bed next to me and begins to walk out. "I'll let you change."

Eagerly, I pick up the clothes and I watch him retreat. Out of the whole bunch, and my brief encounter with them, I trusted him the most and I couldn't hold my tongue any longer.

"Hey," I call out, growing nervous.

He stops suddenly, and turns around, giving me a curious look.

"Thank you," I mumble, smiling. "For the clothes."

Another friendly smile stretches across his face and once again he nods.

"You're certainly welcome."

+++

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softforcal · 6 years ago

Text

Floral : Tattooist!Cal

Summary: Renowned tattoo artist Calum Hood doesn’t take apprentices often, but when he does, he tackles the challenge like everything else in his life: with the utmost professionalism. Until he meets Lily, a learning artist, and Calum falls head over heels before he can help himself.

Warnings: there’s smut. but its super slow burn.

Cal Mood Board: Lily

Word Count: 13.3k

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

The young, heavily tattooed man sat at the receptionist desk in his parlour. His head was bowed, chiseled jaw set, eyebrows furrowed as he studied the papers scattered in front of him.

Art littered the sheets and after a good, long look, the man would either add the paper to a pile on his left or on his right.

The stack to his left was large and separated in two with a combined paper count of well over three hundred.

The stack to his right was substantially smaller, containing only five or six hand picked sheets.

Buzzing filled the space, one of his workers and friends, a man named Michael, was finishing up the last client of the day. His words didn’t even register to the focused man at the front as Michael wiped off the skin carefully, put a bandage over it and then walked the client to the reception desk. The woman paid and left, leaving the two large aussies to silence.

Michael looked over Calum’s shoulder, hands reaching out to pull at one of the last few sheets yet to be judged, “this is nice.” Michael stated.

Calum cocked his head, taking the paper gingerly from his friend.

He had to admit, there was something interesting to the style.

It was floral, which Calum usually shied away from, but something about this piece just captured his eye. The lines were thin and delicate, precise and deliberate, they caught his attention and drew his gaze along each light, flouncy, petal. It was realism, which was Calum’s specialty. As much as he enjoyed the more cartoony things, Calum had a reputation for making tattoos that seemed to jump out of the skin.

And this piece definitely did that.

He added it to the pile on his right.

Michael helped him decide on the last few and finally he was done, having finished with six sheets of paper that Calum then carefully picked up, “now for the hard part.” he stated.

Michael’s laugh echoed through the tattoo parlour, “those all look sick man, i don’t know how you’re going to choose, glad I don’t have your fucking job.”

“You going home for the day?”

“Might go to a bar, wanna drink?”

“Hmmm.” Calum sighed, “I need to finish this up.”

“Well I’ll tell you one thing, if you don’t choose whoever the fuck did that flower piece, I’m going to break into your application file, find them, and get them to tattoo me. Girly or not, that shit was fire.”

-------

Calum’s dog Duke padded around his feet as Calum walked through his apartment. His fingers held the glass of whiskey loosely by his side as he approached his work desk. Letting out a long sigh, Calum collapsed into his plush, slightly worn, work chair, setting his drink down.

The final six contenders were all in front of him.

Two of them were animal sketches, one was more geometric, and the final three were florals. As much as he tried to give each one the same amount of time and attention, his eyes kept going back to that one floral one.

Calum was very specific about taking on apprentices.

He’d only ever had two, and after he was done with them, they were almost as renowned as he was.

Thinking about the artists brought a smile to his face. His hand absentmindedly rubbed at the triangle on his forearm, just under his horse shoe tattoo.

The idea had been Michael’s originally, and it had been a joke. No one thought Calum would actually do it. So when Calum had allowed his first apprentice to graduate to full tattooist stature by taking a gun and putting whatever he wanted onto Calum’s body, everyone had been shocked.

But, his first apprentice had been kind, opting for a geomorphic animal hybrid tattoo. It was medium sized, a black triangle with a wolf face inside. Calum hadn’t looked the entire process, putting his complete trust in the man he’d just spent over a year training.

Everyone had been shocked. His friends had filmed most of it and it had gone viral.

Calum was known for his tattooing skills but he was also known for his tattoos, he could be very particular about who took a needle to his body so this was the ultimate show of confidence in his teaching abilities.

Whenever Calum found himself retreating into himself he’d look down at the lone wolf tattoo on his forearm to remind himself to open up a little, to enjoy his pack and welcome new members.

New apprenticeship applications had been abundant after that, with Calum getting at least three or four hundred applicants whenever he announced that he would be taking on someone new.

The second apprentice had gotten Calum on his stomach with his shirt off and had began to wipe down a very large expanse of Calum’s practically unmarked back when it was decided that Calum’s apprentices would have to run their final tattoo idea by Calum’s senior artists first.

Michael voted yes to having a massive dragon on Calum’s back but Calum, Ashton and Luke had vetoed that idea.

The dragon had been substantially shrunk down to a red and black little reptilian creature on Calum’s shoulder, its tail wrapped protectively around his upper arm. Whenever Calum wore shirts that showed off the intricate, very real looking piece, Michael would always joke and pretend to talk to the dragon which he had since named “lil Sebastian.” Calum had denied this name but that never stopped Michael.

Calum enjoyed the application process.

He enjoyed looking at all of the art which he insisted be sent in with a coded system that he didn’t know, that way, he had no idea of the age, gender, ethnicity, or background of any of the applying artists. He wanted to make it fair. He wanted to choose the best because their art was the best, not because of any other possible side reasons.

The floral piece made him want to know who had drawn it.

Which was odd. Usually Calum was okay with not knowing. But there was, as Michael had pointed out, something about it.

Calum took a deep breath, picking up the sheet one last time.

He wasn’t the type to ever let his heart make decisions for him, but he knew that this choice was backed by his eyes and his mind as well. Whoever this artist was, they had talent, and Calum wanted to be there to take that talent, which was already spectacular, and somehow make it better.

The decision had been made. Now all that was left was for his receptionist (who for the time being was Ashton since their receptionist was on mat leave) would call the artists.

It was a Friday, and by Monday, if the artist accepted, his parlour would have a new apprentice, and Calum would once again embark on a year to three year teaching mission that at the end he would have a new tattoo and an artist to show for it.

-----------

Lily waited for the coffee. The long sleeves of her oversized denim were perfect for fidgeting and she took full advantage, rolling the worn fabric between her fingers.

A strand of blonde hair had fallen loose from the messy bun atop her head, dangling in front of her face, but Lily was too wired and distracted to even notice.

“Black coffee and a frap for Lily?” the cute barista guy said. Announcing her name was just a formality, the barista had flirted with Lily at the till, he knew who she was and his eyes were bright as he handed her the drinks.

She offered a small smile before rushing from the shop.

She’d had a last minute spur of anxiety about showing up to her apprenticeship the first day without anything. She’d rather be on time with coffee than early and empty handed.

Lily dodged around people on the street, her small frame making it easy, the large black denim flaring out behind her like a flag. She slowed down as she approached the parlour.

Her palms were sweating and she could feel her heart practically beating out of her chest. She took a few deep breaths. When she’d applied to the apprenticeship she didn’t think she’d actually get in.

Lily had always loved drawing and somewhere along the way she’d realized that the doodles in the margins of her textbooks could become something more. She’d been accepted to a pretty high end arts school and one of her teachers had brought up tattooing in a class.

Lily had immersed herself, and a month later, had already given herself a stick and poke but it was nowhere near as pretty as she had wanted it to be.

She’d become addicted to tattoos.

By the time she’d finished at the arts school, she’d had numerous tattoos done, all floral, of course.

Lily had found HoodTats on instagram in her second year and had been following his posts religiously since then. He only ever posted his art which was something she always appreciated, knowing that whenever that notification popped up on her phone, she’d be able to see a new piece from the artist as opposed to pictures non-art related.

When he announced his apprenticeship reopening, Lily had worked her ass off, but had accepted the fact that she wouldn’t be chosen.

When she’d gotten a call on Saturday morning and an aussie accent had told her she’d been chosen, Lily had dropped her phone to scream. Scrambling to grab her cell again, she and the man had exchanged a light hearted chuckle, and he’d given her info on what she needed to do. It had seemed so surreal, Lily was shocked she’d even been of sound mind enough to be able to jot down the information on her drawing pad.

And now there she was, standing in front of the parlour.

She stood there for a moment, just looking at the doors.

“You going in or what?” a voice asked.

Lily jumped, grip tightening on her coffee as she turned to look at the man who was standing next to her. She took in his strong jaw and golden skin, and she wet her lips absentmindedly, “yeah, sorry, I uh… fuck, I’m a little jittery today.”

He hummed, eyes scanning her too, then he reached out and opened the door to the parlour for her. Lily offered a small smile and walked in, the gorgeous man following her inside.

“Hey Cal.” the guy at the main desk said, looking up.

The guy from behind Lily grunted in response, and Lily furrowed her eyebrows, Cal as in-

“Hey!” the happy blonde grinned, drawing her thoughts away.

“Hi.” Lily forced a smile, taking a deep breath, “I’m Lily-”

“Right! The apprentice! You’re early!” the blonde said, “I’m Ashton!” he held out a hand and Lily haphazardly set the coffees down, wiping her hand on her pants to rid of the condensation that had marred her skin from the frappuccino.

She shook Ashton’s hand, making an awkward face, “sorry, my skin is cold.”

“No worries, you brought someone a coffee?” he asked.

“Uh… I figured i should bring something so I bought a frappuccino-”

“You mean the black coffee is for you?” the guy laughed.

“Yeah-”

“Offer Calum the black coffee, trust me.”

Before Lily could respond a new guy came into the parlour from the back room and he walked over with a grin, “who’s this?” he asked.

“Calum’s new apprentice.”

“Lily.” she extended the hand to the pink haired guy.

“No shit?!” the pink haired man grinned, “fuck, your art is amazing! I’m Michael!”

He shook her hand aggressively but the light in his eyes told Lily that he was just excited, genuinely excited, to meet her.

“I saw your florals? Damn, if you ever want a canvas, I have a whole leg that’s free and you can just fuck it up-”

“Michael you’re scaring her.” Ashton tutted, nudging his friend.

Michael looked between Ashton and Lily, “no I’m not! I’m not scaring you am I?”

“You scare everyone.” the gorgeous guy from before had returned, and he leaned his hip against the counter. His leather jacket was gone, revealing a black v neck that was pulled tight against his strong chest. His arms were crossed, biceps bulging, arms littered in tattoos exposed and proud on his beautiful skin.

“This is Lily, she’s your new apprentice.” Ashton stated.

Lily’s eyes met Calum and she nearly swore in front of him… again. She’d just said fuck to him outside. To her new boss. She’d said fuck.

Fuck.

Calum looked her up and down again, taking in the oversized denim that nearly hid her tiny frame. Her jeans were black and ripped at the knees and her blonde hair was in a messy bun on top of her head, one haphazard strand in front of her face. She had high cheekbones and soft looking lips, eyes that were a molten chocolate brown peered up at him and freckles splattered her cute button nose.

“So you’re the floral girl.” he said before he could help himself.

She opened her mouth then shut it, grabbing the black coffee from the counter she held it out for him, “i got this for you.”

Calum looked at it for a moment then accepted it, turning it over in his hands to look at what was written on the side.

“Who’s Greg?” he asked.

“What?”

He showed her the cup. Written on the side was a phone number, a heart, and the name Greg. “fuck.” Lily breathed, her eyes widened, “shit, I mean- fuck, not fuck, shit.”

She hid her face with her hands and all three men grinned at her.

“We don’t fucking care if you swear sweetheart, just as long as you keep it to a minimum in front of clients.” Michael assured her.

“So who is Greg.” Ashton asked.

“He’s the barista I guess. I don’t know, he was flirting with me but I didn’t check the cup.” Lily groaned loudly.

“So… do you want the number?” Calum asked, offering the cup back to her.

Lily grabbed the frappuccino, stepping back as she took a sip, shaking her head, “no fucking thank you.”

Calum tried to stop himself from grinning.

He liked her already.

-------

Calum had to admit, Lily learned fast.

He found that he only had to show her something once, and just like that, she knew what she was doing. The first week had been kind of rocky. Calum was a quiet guy by nature, and he could tell that it was making Lily anxious, although she never said anything.

The first day in particular had been interesting.

Every time she took a sip of her frappuccino, she’d make a face and Calum had found it amusing, until he found out from Ashton after she left that the black coffee that she’d given him had initially been for herself. The poor girl had been so worried about making a good impression that she’d forced down one of those too-sweet coffee monstrosities that Calum, an avid coffee drinker, would not have been caught dead drinking.

Lily got flustered pretty easily which was endearing to him given the whole edgy look she was rocking like it was nobody's business.

Wearing almost strictly black clothing that set off the gold of her hair, Calum may have described Lily as goth, but due to her lack of make up, maybe that was the wrong word. She was tiny, Calum always had to look down to meet her eyes, and she tried to hide behind oversized sweatshirts and jackets. She’d roll up the sleeves into large bunches at her elbows while drawing, and she never seemed to be able to sit like a normal human being.

Even on a stool, she’d find a way to tuck one leg underneath her, or use something nearby to rest a foot on.

Calum had always been the type of guy to be quiet and watch, noticing the small things other people wouldn’t notice. Like the way Lily would focus entirely on a drawing, hands almost as steady as Calum’s, but the moment she was done, her long sleeves would be rolled down again and she’d begin to fidget.

Lily was quiet too. Something Calum appreciated.

She didn’t ask many questions which Calum enjoyed, but it did concern him a little. As her teacher, he wanted to make sure that he was actually teaching.

He found himself asking “did that make sense?” or “do you understand?” more than he ever had in his life, always earning a small “yeah” or curt nod.

He’d also noticed the small dimple, just one, on her left cheek, that would appear rarely but it always made him want to smile back whenever it did.

Michael spent most of his free time talking to Lily, which Calum enjoyed, he was never one for small talk. Through Michael’s chats with Lily, Calum had learned that Lily had actually gone to art school. She’d been doodling all her life. She adored flowers, only partially because of her name (she wasn’t that pretentious.) But, the discussions were usually limited to art and tattoo related things, which Calum was beginning to find quite dry.

He wanted to ask questions, but Calum wasn’t the type to pry. He was never appreciative of people asking him unwanted questions and Calum didn’t fancy himself to be a hypocrite.

Besides, Calum was, in a way (in a lot of ways) her boss. And Calum was never the type to toe the line of professionalism. Which is why, when Michael suggested that Lily grab a drink with them after work, Calum thanked god for his best friend.

Lily had agreed and Calum was sure that it was for Michael’s sake, definitely not his own. After all, Calum hadn’t spoken two words together to the girl that weren’t work related.

Besides, one of Calum’s artists had been traveling for a month and was finally coming home, so it would be a good chance for Lily to meet the guy outside of the parlour.

Michael spent the entire day ranting about Luke and hyping him up to the point that if he wasn’t a six foot four, curly blonde, rockstar looking, douche bag, then Lily would have been very let down.

After closing up the parlour, the three walked down the street to the bar. Calum opened the door for them and as they went inside, all of Lily’s expectations were met.

Luke had already grabbed them a booth, and as they walked in, he leapt to his feet, coming over with open arms. He immediately engulfed Michael in a hug before turning to Lily, “you must be Cal’s new whipping girl!” he grinned, wrapping his arms around her next.

Lily was small next to Michael and Cal but with Luke? She was absolutely miniscule. So Luke had no issue simply picking her up off the ground in a hug.

A small squeal left Lily’s lips and everyone laughed.

“Fuck. You’re not a hugger are you?” Luke asked, setting her back down. His hands went to her shoulders, bending down to meet her eyes as he looked at her with concern.

“Uh… that was a hug?” she asked, laughing awkwardly.

Michael laughed, “don’t mind Luke, he’s just a big teddy bear.”

“Fuck off.” Luke said, shoving at Michael who grinned, throwing his arm over Luke’s shoulders as the two walked back to the table.

“Wow, fuck Calum then.” Lily said, voice quiet.

But Calum heard. And Calum laughed, “Luke can be a bit forgetful.”

“I uh-” Lily flushed red and hid her face with her oversized sleeves, “I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”

“It’s alright.” Calum assured her.

“I just… he didn’t even look at you.” Lily stammered, “god, I would be so worried if one of my friends snubbed me like that-”

“He didn’t snub me.” Calum said a tad too sternly, and it made Lily shut her worried, anxious, stammering mouth. She looked at him with wide eyes and Calum sighed, seeing the hurt in the chocolate brown irises. “Sorry I snapped at you I-”

“No it’s fine.” her eyes had widened and her hands were up and waving, sort of distracting Calum actually, as she ranted about how she always swore too much and needed to learn not to always say what was on her mind, even if she whispered it and didn’t expect anyone to hear, not that Calum was being nosey, he was standing there anyways so he was definitely not being nosey-

“Do you drink?” Calum asked, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably as he looked down at Lily.

“Are you offering to buy me a drink?” Lily asked.

Calum stared at her for a moment and that's all it took for Lily to freak out again, getting even redder as she hid her face, “holy fuck! Shit! You see? I have a problem. That was way too flirty. You’re my boss! Wow. I am way too anxious to function, this is such a mess-”

“I’m going to get you a drink.” Calum stated before she could continue, moving past her to the bar and leaving her standing there wanting to die.

“What’s the deal with that?” Luke asked, tilting his chin towards where Lily and Calum had just been standing.

“So the new girl Lily is an anxious little muffin nugget and Cal is…”

“Cal.” Luke finished for him, making them both laugh, “she’s cute.”

��Yeah, and just wait till you see her fucking art!” Michael grinned, “she’s talented, just Calum’s type.”

Lily had managed to contain herself again, walking over to the table where Michael made room for her, “who’s Calum’s type?” she asked.

“No one-” Michael began to say as Luke stated “you.”

Lily’s breath caught in her throat as she looked between the two men sitting in the booth. Michael was gaping at Luke but Luke was grinning, attention deliberately entirely focused on Lily.

“That is very inappropriate Luke.” Michael tutted.

“Why?”

“He’s her boss-”

“Not really.” Luke said.

“Sort of though.” Michael argued.

“Eh, is he really though?” Luke narrowed his eyes at Michael.

Before Michael could answer Calum came back, a Guinness in each hand. He set one down in front of Lily, “hope you like-”

“Guinness!? My favourite!” Lily smiled.

“Yeah, figured you like black coffee-”

“You like black coffee?” Luke made a face at Lily, “wow, you and Cal really are meant to be.”

“Luke!” Michael screamed.

“What?!” Luke threw his hands on the air.

“You left for a month and you have no filter!” Michael shouted.

“I never had a filter!” Luke pointed out.

Michael groaned, “fuck, it’s true, you got me there. Damn it.” he turned to look at Lily, “I’m so sorry, Luke’s not used to being around girls.”

“Yes I am!” Luke insisted, “all the girls love me-”

“Oh yeah? Then why the fuck are you still single?” Michael asked.

Lily and Calum both grabbed their drinks in unison, watching Luke and Michael fight.

“I’m single because a man like me shouldn’t be tied down!” Luke stated.

“Pfff, sure it has nothing to do with the whole ‘oh I don’t believe in love’ thing?” Michael asked.

“If you want to talk not believing in love, go fight Calum!” Luke said, motioning towards the silently sitting artist, “he’s the douchebag who thinks that shit doesn’t exist, not me!”

All eyes went to Calum.

He set down his Guinness, tattooed, ring clad fingers sliding along the condensation covered glass, a moment passed, “so is someone going to ask me something or are you all just going to stare at me?”

“You don’t believe in love?” Lily asked.

“Well when you put it like that-” Calum sighed.

“How else would you put it Cal?” Luke smirked.

He thought about it for a moment then grinned, bringing his drink to his lips, “touche.”

“How about you flower baby, what’s your vibe on that crazy little thing called love?” Luke asked.

“‘Flower baby’ I like it!” Michael grinned, turning his gaze to the only girl there.

“Well that’s a loaded question.” Lily said, shrinking under their gaze.

“You’re single right?” Michael asked.

“Michael.” Calum warned.

“What? I can ask her that sort of thing, I’m not her boss, plus we were all thinking it.” Michael said.

“Michael, this is bordering sexual harassment.” Calum stated, “Lily if you’re uncomfortable-”

“I’m always uncomfortable.” she interjected.

“You don’t have to answer their questions.” he told her.

Lily took a deep breath, “no, I should try to not be so shy all the time.”

“Good for you, cheers to that.” Luke said, lifting the bottle of beer he’d had since before they’d arrived, “so tell us all your secrets.”

“My money’s on single.” Michael stated.

“Why?” Lily laughed.

“Cuz if you had a boyfriend there’s no way in hell he wouldn’t have already come to the shop to check us out and make sure none of us are threats.” Michael answered.

“And then, he’d show up and fight Calum-” Luke continued.

“Can you both leave me out of this?” Calum interjected.

“But Cal-”

“Maybe just stop saying my name how about that?” Calum sighed.

Luke groaned loudly, “you’re lame.”

“So you two are friends right?” Lily asked.

“Yeah, why do you ask?” Luke said, taking a sip of his beer.

Lily grinned and Michael laughed, “they have a very complicated relationship.” he assured her.

“Your mom and I have a complicated relationship.” Luke quipped.

“How long have you been here buddy?” Michael asked.

“A while.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“A lot.”

Michael groaned, “man, I haven’t even had a beer yet and I’m already going to have to take you home aren’t I?”

“I’m fine.” Luke laughed.

“That’s your awkward ‘I’m totally not fine’ laugh.” Michael sighed, “okay man, lets go.”

“But we can’t leave Cal and the flower child.” Luke groaned.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Michael said, pulling Luke to his feet.

“But I like flower girl.” Luke whined.

“And you’ll see her at work on Monday when you’re sober.” Michael pointed out.

“Promise?” Luke asked.

“Promise.” Michael said, Luke finally allowing himself to be dragged closer to the door, he turned back and looked at Calum and Lily who were both watching him, “tell them to use protection Michael, we don’t need a tattoo parlour baby.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

Luke was not satisfied with this answer, turning to look at Cal and Lily he screamed “use protection!” and half the bar turned to look at the two still sitting in the booth.

Lily flushed immediately and Calum sighed, “we can just finish our drinks and go.” he suggested.

Lily took a sip of her Guinness, “eager to get rid of me?” she asked.

Calum’s grip tightened on his glass, “look, this was probably a mistake, I’m your teacher and this feels inappropriate, especially with how Michael and Luke have been acting-”

“Have you taken your other apprentices out for drinks before?”

“Yeah-”

“So it’s because I’m a girl.” Lily stated.

Calum groaned. He was not a sexist guy. He wasn’t. Which is why he even did applications blind, so that he wouldn’t treat people differently. And now here he was, treating his apprentice differently because she was a woman. A cute woman. Fuck.

“Shit.” Calum said, “I feel like such a jackass.”

“Is it…” Lily sighed.

“Is it what?”

Lily covered her face in her hands, “fuck, now I’m making this awkward.” she peeked at Calum, “I’m going to just say it and we can pretend it never happened, we should pretend this whole night didn’t happen to be honest, like, I don’t know what the fuck has come over me today but… Luke and Michael are throwing me off big time, and, shit, is it… is it because I’m your type? Is that why you’re being so weird? Like, Michael said you’re a quiet guy but this feels more personal you know?”

“I’m just… i haven't had a female apprentice before and I guess I’m not used to it.” Calum studied her and then realized that he’d pretty much just stated that she wasn’t his type, which was a lie, and if there was one thing Calum Hood wasn’t, it was a liar, “not that you’re not my type, you are, I mean, shit, I’m your boss, sort of, and being professional is kinda my thing-”

“You’re very professional.” Lily assured him.

“I just bought you a beer, probably shouldn’t have done that-”

“I won’t tell the head of the tattooist apprenticeship board or whatever if you don’t.” Lily sighed, “Look. don’t treat me differently. I don’t want this to be so awkward, i want to be friends, after all, when this is all over i will legitimately be putting a tattoo of my choosing on your body so we should be friends don’t you think?”

“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable-” Calum winced.

“If you do, I’ll tell you, how about that?” she asked.

He considered it, “deal.”

They finished their Guinnesses quickly, standing and walking to the entryway to the bar, “well, how far from here do you live?” Calum asked.

“A little ways away, why?”

“I mean, should I offer to walk you home?” Calum tested.

“Would you offer that to your other apprentices?”

“Probably not.”

“Then no.”

“Okay well uh… get home safe then yeah?”

“Will do. I’m a big girl.” Lily grimaced immediately, “wow that sounded so weird. I’ll uh… I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

“Yeah.”

Calum almost went in for a hug. His brain was so frazzled. Whenever he took a girl out to a bar they were usually on a date and normally, if he wasn’t interested in taking them home, he’d give them a hug just to say ‘goodbye, never gonna call you again.’

Lily also awkwardly looked like she was about to go in for a hug and they both kind of stumbled awkwardly until Lily thrust out her hand and Calum laughed, shaking it, “uh, have a good night.”

“You too.”

As they both turned and went opposite ways down the street they were both cringing. It was very obvious to them that she was his apprentice and they were two weeks into an apprenticeship that could take more than two years.

They were fucked.

-------

On Monday, Lily and Calum showed up to work fully intending to stay true to their agreement to forget the awkwardness of Friday ever happened, and have Calum treat her like every other apprentice he’d had.

After a bit of small talk with Luke, Michael and Ashton, Calum’s first client arrived and he called Lily over to watch. Calum was very focused when he tattooed, staying completely silent as he worked, which left it up to Lily to make conversation with the clients.

Calum enjoyed listening to Lily chat with clients. She was always so anxious around him, but she relaxed a little bit more around other people. She almost seemed easy going, and if Cal didn’t know her, he would have even gone as far to describe her as an extrovert.

She’d make a great tattoo artist. Always calming down and distracting clients.

Calum almost began getting critical of himself because damn, did he not talk enough with clients? No one had ever complained before so Calum pushed the thought aside.

Calum realized that if he simply didn’t look at Lily, he could teach her better, not get distracted by her pretty freckles or her gorgeous brown eyes-

It worked for a week.

But because it worked, Lily got more comfortable.

It had been a full month when Lily finally got so comfortable that she took off her oversized, black denim jacket for the first time.

It was getting hotter outside, summer quickly approaching, and Lily was wearing a black tank top that exposed her arms and shoulders. As she slipped the the denim off and put it on a chair, Calum’s breath caught in his throat. Delicate tattoos littered the skin from elbow to shoulder, two beautiful half sleeves that he had no idea she’d had.

In classic Lily fashion, the tattoos were all black.

As Calum studied them he realized, “wait, did you… did you tattoo some of these onto yourself?” the art was undeniably Lily.

Lily’s skin flushed, “yeah, iI uh… I bought a tattoo gun a while ago and figured I’d test it on myself.”

“So that’s why your lines are so good already, you’ve literally been practicing on yourself.” Calum would have laughed if it wasn’t so hard core.

“Yeah.” Lily laughed, “I mean, I think they turned out alright.” she looked down at the flowers on her left arm, “the ones on this side are better because I’m right handed, I practiced with my left for ages with paper but it just wasn’t the same so only this peony is mine,” she motioned to a small, delicate flower on her right arm, “everything else was done by other artists I’ve been into for a while.”

Calum recognized the artwork on her right arm, “that was done by Cole.” Cole had been his second apprentice.

“Yeah, he managed to convince me to get a full half sleeve from him so this is all his.”

“Sounds like Cole.” Calum grinned, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt to the shoulder to show her the dragon, “he gave me this one, originally he wanted to take up my whole back but I had to draw the line with that one.”

“Yeah, he wanted my whole arm but I told him just above the elbow.”

“Would you ever get your forearms done?”

“Hmm, probably not, but I have an idea for my thigh-” before she could go into more details, Calum’s client arrived and the conversation was cut short.

That day was particularly difficult. Calum just wanted to gawk at her tattoos. She had been a ten before but now? Wow. Calum had a thing for tattoos and the whole thing about Lily tattooing herself was… well, Calum’s pants were getting a bit tight just thinking about it.

It was around one o'clock when Ashton got a cancelation call from one of Calum’s clients. Calum didn’t mind, there was a deposit for half the cost anyways and it meant he had an hour of free time. Calum sent Ashton for lunch which meant he and Lily were manning the reception desk.

Lily was drawing flowers while Calum watched. He didn’t have any floral tattoos and he had been curious from day one what they would look like on his skin. “Do you want to try drawing that on me?” he suggested.

“Uh… are you sure?” Lily asked.

“Yeah, you need practice drawing on people, last time you did, the woman said your hands were cold after.” Calum pointed out.

“Shit.” Lily immediately put down her pencil and began rubbing her palms together to warm them up.

“Here.” Calum handed her a black sharpie.

“Do you want a floral tattoo?”

“I’ve never wanted one before but... I dunno, your flowers are really nice.”

“Thanks.” Lily flushed, “so your forearm?”

Calum arms were pretty tatted as it was but his left was more covered than his right so he offered up the arm, gesturing to medium sized unmarked patch, “yeah, probably here.”

“Any flowers in specific?” she asked.

“What’s your specialty?”

Lily chuckled, looking up at him for a moment as she twirled the sharpie between her fingers, “a lily. But I do a great chrysanthemum or peony.”

“I only know what lilies look like so surprise me with one of the other ones.” Calum said. He liked surprises.

“Well I showed you my peony so-”

“So the other one.”

“A chrysanthemum.”

“Yeah. That.”

Lily took Calum’s offered arm, putting it on the table as she took the top off of the sharpie. “Free handing is okay?” she clarified.

“Go for it.” Calum said, watching as she too the first swipe of black ink over his arm.

“So you mentioned earlier you had an idea for your thigh?”

“Yeah, I was thinking of getting a few big chrysanthemums actually, but I haven’t found anyone who can draw them right.” Lily explained.

“Why don’t you just do it yourself.” Calum teased.

“Cuz it would hurt like a bitch.” Lily answered, “oh, you were joking.”

“A little.”

He watched her drawing the petals, “you know, not to rain on your parade or anything but I feel like I could probably draw a… whatever flower that is.”

“Chrysanthemum.”

“You know maybe if you wrote that down I’d be able to pronounce it.”

Lily grinned. She made it look so easy and Calum studied how she drew each delicate petal. Calum Hood didn’t do flowers, but there was something endearing about how delicate and deliberate each petal was.

After a few minutes she finished, “there. What do you think?”

It did look really good. And again, Calum Hood did not do floral. “yeah.”

He pulled out his art pad and began to try to copy her work and Lily watched, “more curve here and here.” she said, correcting his lines.

Calum grinned, “so the student becomes the teacher.”

Lily flushed, “well, I mean, it’s always been a dream to have you tattoo me, which sounds way awkward saying that out loud but you don’t do floral.”

“I’m doing floral now.” Calum pointed out.

“Still not curved enough.” Lily corrected another petal.

Calum groaned, pulling out another piece of paper to draw a new flower. As he drew, Lily only corrected it twice, and on the third drawing, not at all. Calum held up the paper smugly.

“It looks great.” Lily said.

“So you’ll let me tattoo it on you.”

“Uh…” Lily laughed awkwardly, “I mean, you drew one but I’m going for something a little bigger-”

No one had ever turned down a tattoo from Calum Hood, it was a challenge and Calum liked challenges, “how about this, by the end of the week if I can free hand a bunch of these flowers-”

“Chrysanthemums.”

“If I can freehand a bunch of these cruh-san-the-memes-”

“Nice try.”

Calum groaned loudly, “if I can draw them and you like them you’ll let me tat you.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one tatting you when this is all over?” Lily asked.

“Are you seriously going to turn down a tattoo from me?” Calum laughed.

Lily considered it, “fine, but I’m not going to say yes just because you’re you.”

“Fine.”

--------

In secret, Calum spent an embarrassingly copious amount of time looking at pictures of chrysanthemums online. He’d even trained on how to say ‘chrysanthemum.’ He’d drawn so many god damned flowers over the week that it almost annoyed him that he actually enjoyed drawing them.

On Friday morning, Calum showed up to work with with his top three ideas. He was anxious his entire first client, wanting time to show Lily his work and see if she liked them. As soon as the man had paid and left, Calum took out the art to show Lily.

“Okay, what do you think?” he asked.

He was never worried about what people thought of his work.

People always adored his designs. Hell, people flew in from all over the world to let him free hand an original design on their body to be permanently inked forever.

Lily scanned the flowers, “wow, these look super real, did you look them up?”

“No.” Calum said immediately.

Lily smiled and Calum knew that she knew he was lying.

She looked at one of the sketches, “this one is so pretty.”

It was one of the bigger ones but Calum supposed that's what she’d asked for, “so… you’ll let me tattoo you?”

Having Calum tattoo her had been a dream for years so of course Lily knew she was about to say yes. Especially since she had wanted something outside of his comfort zone and it was obvious that he’d put a lot of effort into making something she’d like. It was making Lily’s heart beat faster and she nodded, “you can tattoo me.”

Calum’s eyes lit up, “great, after work?”

“After work?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s kind of sudden isn’t it?”

“Well, I mean, if you want another time-”

“No, after work… works.” Lily said, giggling awkwardly, “I don’t have cash on me-”

Calum’s eyebrows furrowed, “I’m not charging you.”

“You have to charge me.”

“No I don’t.” Calum insisted.

“Cal, I know how much people pay for your tattoos.” Lily sighed.

“It’s on the house.”

Before Lily could argue further, Calum’s next client showed up.

The next six hours were busy, with Lily and Cal speaking barely two words to each other. Lily’s adrenaline was pumping. She always got excited before a tattoo and this was exciting. More exciting than she wanted to admit.

As the clock ticked down to closing, Lily got more and more fidgety.

It was just her and Cal left in the shop, not that she spent much time with the other artists since she stayed glued to Calum’s side, watching him work, all day every day.

After collecting payment from the last client, Cal turned off the open sign, walking back to Lily, “you still want the tat?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, you get ready and I’ll grab the shit.” Calum walked to his work space in the back corner of the shop.

Lily followed, taking a deep breath before she began to unbutton her pants.

“You still sure on the-” Calum turned and his voice trailed off, “placement?” his eyes went to where Lily was unzipping her jeans and pushing them down. Lily felt awkward but when did she not? Plus, Calum had tattooed many people in his life so this wouldn’t be much different.

Calum’s breath was caught in his throat as his eyes traced over the black lacy panties she was wearing.

“So I’m thinking here.” Lily said, motioning to her upper thigh, “I want it to curve in just a little inner.”

“Right.” Cal coughed, “let me draw it on and if you don’t like it we can move it-”

“Calum, I know the drill.”

“Right.” Calum grabbed his sharpie as Lily kicked off her shoes and pants, taking off her jacket and rolling up her shirt a little. Calum returned and got onto his knees, looking up at Lily one last time, “ready?”

“You’re just drawing it, this isn’t even the hard part.”

Calum nodded, “so under the underwear line or-”

Lily flushed, pulling up her panties a little, “just under the hip bone.”

The sharpie pressed against her skin and Lily tried to look anywhere but at the gorgeous tattooed man on his knees between her bare legs.

Calum was right handed and working on her left leg, so to steady her, he had to place his other hand on the inside of her leg, delicately moving the skin a little when necessary. His fingers on her bare flesh was making Lily dizzy.

Calum traced the lines across her thigh, trying to focus all his attention on working and not on how pretty her skin was. And how close he was to-

“So you must see women half naked all the time right?” Lily asked.

“Yeah.” Calum said.

“What’s the nudest you’ve ever done?”

“This one girl wanted something on her pubic bone which I told her was a bad idea but she really wanted it, we were in a back room for privacy and when I came in she was completely naked-”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, I gave her something to cover herself up and she was super awkward the whole time.”

“I can imagine.” Lily laughed.

She could feel his breath on her inner thigh and Lily’s skin involuntarily broke out in goosebumps, “you cold?” Calum asked.

“Yeah but it’s fine.” Lily lied.

Calum hummed and continued working until the drawing was done, “okay, go look in the mirror.” he said, standing up and following Lily to see if she liked it.

Her eyes scanned over it and Calum waited patiently, arms crossed over his chest.

“It’s beautiful.” Lily breathed.

“Chrysanthemums are beautiful.”

“How long did it take for you to figure out how to say chrysanthemums?”

“Too long.” Calum admitted.

“Okay, lets do it. You’ll get the basic lines done today and then shading after work on Monday or something?”

“Do you want to split it up into two parts?” Calum asked.

“Don’t you think this will take a while if you try to do it all today?”

“Yeah.”

“I figured you might have plans tonight-”

“Why?”

“Well, its a Friday night.” Lily pointed out.

“So?”

“So maybe you have a date? I don’t know-”

“Do you have a date?”

“No-”

“Great, so let’s do this all tonight.” Calum stated, “we can order take out half way through or some shit, or after, it's up to you.”

“Take out after sounds good, there’s this place down the street with amazing-”

“Shawarma, fuck, love that place.”

“Me too.” Lily grinned, “okay, I’ll sit down then.”

She got onto the chair and set herself up so Calum could access her inner thigh while Calum pulled on some gloves, sat on his stool, and picked up the tattoo gun.

Lily looked at the ceiling as the sound of buzzing began.

The first feeling of the needle piercing her skin made her sigh and Calum smirked, “you good?”

“I uh… kind of like the pain, that sounds wild, shit, I didn’t mean it in like a sexual way or anything-” Lily began to stammer.

“No, I like it too.” Calum said, cutting her off.

Lily wanted to distract herself from the flush that she knew was creeping over her skin, and It was going to take a while so she pulled out her phone, “can we listen to music?”

“Go for it.” Calum said, focusing on his lines. He didn’t talk during tats anyways so music always helped.

Some old rock music began to play from Lily’s phone and Calum smirked, “nirvana.”

“You like Nirvana?” Lily asked.

“All the old stuff is great.” Calum said.

“Nine inch nails is pretty good, Nirvana, Guns and roses-”

“Where have you been all my life.” Calum teased.

Lily smiled, a tingly feeling in her stomach almost distracting from the needle.

A particularly sensitive spot made Lily grab at the side of the chair and Calum noticed. His jaw clenched. Pain was part of tattooing and he never felt bad about it but there was something about Lily being in pain and him being the direct cause, even though it was his job, that was hurting him.

“Deep breaths sweetheart.” Calum said before he could help himself, the term of endearment slipping out before he could stop it.

Lily sighed, “can you distract me?”

“The music isn’t distracting enough?” he asked.

“Not really.” Lily winced, “shit, why did I think the inner thigh was a good idea? I knew it would hurt like a bitch-”

“It will look great.” Calum assured her.

“It will.” Lily agreed.

She could feel his breath again and she tried to focus on that but as she felt the butterflies in her stomach, she realized maybe that was not the best idea. Having him so close to her, just inches away from where she was positive he could just bury his mouth and send her over the edge in seconds-

“What the fuck?!”

Calum pulled the tattoo gun away, looking at Michael who had just entered the shop, “Michael! Jesus fuck man you can’t just be surprising people who are in the middle of giving tattoos!”

“Shit, sorry,” Michael apologize, “it just… it looked like you two were… well, Calum it looked like you were-”

“Michael. Don’t say it.” Calum warned.

They all knew what he was implying.

“I’m going to continue alright?” Calum asked, drawing Lily’s eyes to his. She nodded.

He started up the gun again and pressed it to her skin, again Lily winced and Michael walked over. “That looks sick already.” he stated.

“Hold her hand.” Calum instructed.

“What?”

“Hold her fucking hand.” Calum said again.

Michael reached out and took Lily’s hand which she immediately squeezed. “So Cal, flowers, since when did you start doing flowers?”

“It’s what she wanted.” Calum answered.

“I just didn’t know you were a fan of flowers.”

“Chrysanthemums are dope Mike.” Calum said.

“You’re wild.” Michael laughed.

Michael pulled up a chair and sat with the two of them for the next three hours, successfully distracting Lily while Calum worked quietly. It was nice to listen to Michael talk because Calum could feel himself straining against his pants and he needed a turn off, like Michael’s voice.

Calum was finishing up when Michael had to go, once again leaving Lily and Calum alone.

“So do you have a skirt or something?” Calum asked.

“No?”

“Oh.”

“Girls don’t just carry around skirts.”

“Right.”

“I mean, you’re going to be really sensitive and your jeans might hurt-”

“Fuck. How come I didn’t think of that? I’m such a shit tattooist.” Lily groaned.

Calum wiped her skin to get the remaining ink away, cleaning the area, “let me put the bandage on then I might have a shirt in the back you can wear as a dress because you’re small.”

Lily stayed quiet as Calum smoothed the see through bandage over her skin. He stood up and went to the back, returning a minute later with a shirt that he handed to Lily, “here.”

She looked at it, “Zeppelin, you have good taste.”

Lily stood up on wonky legs, grabbing the hem of her shirt as she lifted it over her head. Calum looked away but the brief glimpse of a matching black lace bra made his breath catch again.

“Okay, I’m decent.” Lily said in a quiet voice.

Calum looked at the way the shirt hung like a dress down to her mid thigh. She looked adorable slipping on her adidas. She could make any outfit work.

“Still hungry?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure I can’t force you to take money for this?” Lily sighed.

“No way. How do you feel?”

“It hurts a little but you were right about not having the added pressure of jeans.” Lily said, “so… let me grab my stuff then we can get food.”

Calum cleaned up the station while Lily put all her clothes into her bag, taking one look at the tattoo in the mirror and admiring his handy work. She couldn’t wait till she could take off the bandage and see it clearly but she knew it was beautiful.

Calum met her at the front of the shop and locked up. The night was warm, the first breath of summer having swept over the city that day, lingering in the air.

They walked in silence down the street to the shawarma place.

They both ordered the same thing, once again proving how much they had in common. When Calum pulled out his wallet, Lily thrust a twenty at the man at the till, “I’m paying for all of it.” she stated.

“Don’t take her money-” Calum warned the guy.

But Lily glared him down, “sorry man.” the vender said, taking the twenty.

Calum sighed and the two of them waited for their wraps to be made. When handed the warm food, Lily stated: “there’s a park close by and we could sit on a bench and eat or something.”

“Good idea.” Calum said.

They began to eat their wraps as they walked, staying mostly quiet but Lily was oddly okay with that. She usually got fidgety with silence and at first, that had applied to Calum, but sometime in the past little while, the awkwardness that usually came with lack of conversation had disappeared.

They sat on the park bench and ate, chatting a little. Easy conversation about apprenticeships. Calum was confident that Lily wouldn’t need as long as the others had which made Lily’s heart race. “You’re really talented.” he assured her, “wouldn’t surprise me if you’d be good to go in under a year actually.”

“I didn’t realize you could just choose how long the apprenticeship is.”

“Well, I mean, usually there are rules, but I think at the end of the day it’s based on my decision. And I could offer you a job at the parlour so that way, its sort of still like an apprenticeship.”

“You’d hire me? Just like that?” Lily asked.

“You’re really good Lily.” he stated, “I knew it the second I saw your application. And so did Michael.”

They chatted about how he got into tattooing.

They chatted until it began to get cold and Lily began to shiver. She pulled out her large denim jacket and seeing her in two things that were way too large was almost too much for Calum in some odd way.

He tried not to look at her but it was very difficult.

Especially her legs. God, he adored her legs already.

“So I should get going.” Lily said when it got to be around ten.

“Yeah me too.” Calum said as they both stood.

Again, there was an awkward moment of whether or not they should hug.

Calum’s self control disappeared as he wrapped his arms around the smaller artist, pulling her against his chest. She hugged back, cheek pressed against his front for a moment before they both pulled away, “get home safe.” he said, voice low and crackly as he cleared his throat.

“I will.”

They turned and went their separate ways with smiles on their faces.

----

On Monday, Lily walked into the shop with a short little leather skirt that, once again, had Calum’s pants getting insanely tight. She breezed in with a smile and a wave to Ashton and Michael who were gawking at her from the reception desk, walking straight to Calum. “So I took the bandage off!” she grinned.

“Let’s see.” Calum said, scooting forward on his stool with a smile. And then, Lily simply lifted up her skirt, completely flashing him a new, adorable, red and black lace thong that took Calum’s attention a moment too long before he had to force his eyes to the tattoo.

“How’s your aftercare?” he asked.

Lily rolled her eyes, “my aftercare is on point Hood.”

He chuckled, “stop flashing me.”

“Fuck, right.” Lily pulled down her skirt, red spreading over her delicate collar bones.

The first few hours were insanely difficult for Calum. It was like every spare moment, his brain would think about those god damned lacy panties.

Instead of taking a lunch break, Lily went up front with Ashton. Calum’s gaze was on her, watching them chat. He didn’t even notice Luke pull his chair over to be next to Calum as Calum waited for his next client.

“So you shouldn’t be looking because in a way, you’re her boss but I can look for you.” Luke stated.

Calum rolled his eyes but tore his gaze away, knowing Luke was right about some things and unfortunately this was one of them.

He had to be professional.

He had to be.

Another week passed and Calum managed to keep his eyes away from the gorgeous blonde and her little skirts. He was almost too good at keeping it professional and his friends noticed.

Luke, Ashton and Michael were at a bar after work when Michael brought it up, “so we need to do something about Lily and Cal.”

“What do you mean?” Luke asked.

“They need to fuck.” Michael stated, “like, I can’t focus with all the sexual tension.”

“Cal won’t act on it.” Ashton said, and they all knew he was right.

Michael groaned, “fuck, I know, we need to make him act on it.”

“How?” Luke laughed.

And that's how Michael's mission began.

His plans were never good.

He took Lily and Cal to a bar then excused himself to go to the bathroom ten minutes in.

He never came back.

Calum had sighed when it became obvious Michael had dipped out, coming up with the only thing he could think of to talk about, “so… netflix.”

Turned out they were both horror movie fans and they’d sat and chatted and agreed about everything for two hours before Calum finally suggested they head out, it was obvious that the yawning girl in front of him was tired from her long day at work.

Calum caught onto Michael’s plan pretty fast and Michael spent many hours coming up with new ways to get Lily and Cal together outside of work.

It was another month before Michael suggested that he needed a workout buddy.

Calum had cocked an eyebrow at him, “you want to work out?”

“Yeah.” Michael tried to sound excited about it but it lacked conviction, “hey, Lily, do you work out?”

“I go for a run every now and again.” she answered, focusing on her drawing.

“A run! That sounds…” for a moment he looked like he was going to try to be enthusiastic but then he broke, “I mean it sounds like torture but I need one I think.”

“Thats something I’d like to see.” Calum chuckled.

“We should all go for a run.”

“I’m in.” Lily said absentmindedly.

Calum’s gaze flickered to her then to Michael who was waiting expectantly. He knew it was another ploy but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see Michael in workout gear. “Fine, I’ll come too.”

“Great! Sunday morning?”

----

Michael did not show up on Sunday morning. He sent a text saying he’d meet the pair half way through their run at the park and that they should go without him.

It was a beautiful morning. The day promised to be hot but the morning was cool, sun shining against the morning dew on the grass.

The two began to jog and stayed quiet as they ran.

It wasn’t a surprise when Michael didn’t show up at the halfway mark.

In fact, neither of them even noticed.

As the morning began to get warmer, they were both sweating and Calum finally suggested they stop. LIly collapsed onto a park bench pulling out her water bottle as Calum took off his shirt that was practically soaked.

He groaned at the feel of the air on his newly revealed skin and Lily nearly choked on her water at his gorgeous chest which was covered in tattoos, and perfectly muscular.

“Your tattoos-” she began.

Calum looked down at her, “you like them?”

“They’re beautiful, can… can I-” she began to ask awkwardly.

“Yeah, look as much as you want.” he stepped forward so he could be closer, giving her a better view as she began with the tattoos just under his collar bones.

He explained each one as she went down, watching her focus completely on the black marks that littered his skin.

By the time she got to his abdomen, Lily was surprised she wasn’t drooling. Completely bewitched by each tattoo and the story that came with it.

There was one particular tattoo, just above the waistband of his shorts, and it was so delicately intricate and beautiful, she couldn’t even help herself as she reached out and brushed her fingers against his skin.

His abs immediately flexed, Calum having not expected her prying digits, Lily pulled away immediately, “oh my god I’m so sorry-”

“It’s fine.” Calum assured her, knowing another anxiety ridden stammering rant was coming on, “I just wasn’t expecting that.”

She was already blushing like crazy and Calum was sure it wasn’t from being hot from the run, “hey, would you look at the time!” Lily said, pulling out her phone, “I have places to be.”

“Yeah me too.” Calum lied.

“Well! Nice run!” Lily stood abruptly. There was no awkward move for a hug, they both simply turned opposite ways and ran.

Lily’s heart was racing in her chest. She hadn’t meant to touch him, she just hadn’t been able to help herself. God. He was so fucking hot. She couldn’t even deal with it anymore.

She’d had recurring dreams for over a week of having Calum between her legs like when he was giving her the tattoo, but in her dreams he always had a very different reason for being there.

Likewise, Calum had been so god damned close to letting her explore him with her hands. Her fingers had felt so good. It was insane that her touch had brought electricity coursing through his body like nothing, even the sting of a tattoo gun, had ever done before.

As soon as Calum got home he ran a cold shower, letting the water run over his body but even the shock of the temperature couldn’t distract him. He was in deep already, and he knew it.

----

The others all watched as Lily and Calum interacted the next day.

“The sexual tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife.” Ashton pointed out.

“Do you think anything happened?” Luke asked, taking a bite out of his cucumber.

“I am one hundred percent confident my plan worked.” Michael stated.

“You wanna put money on it?” Luke grinned.

“Fuck yeah, twenty bucks says they fucked.” Michael scoffed.

“Deal.” Luke pushed off of the reception table and walked towards Cal and Lily who were going over the client list for the day. “Cal, I need to ask you something.” he said.

“Go for it.” Calum said, not even looking up.

“Privately.”

Calum sighed, standing and following Luke to the reception desk, “what do you want?”

“We want to know if you finally made a move yesterday.” Luke whispered.

“Fuck are you guys serious?!” Calum groaned, “I am not talking about this.”

He turned and walked back to Lily.

“You owe me twenty.” Luke stated.

“What? No I don’t!” Michael screamed.

“Nothing happened. He’s all wound up still. Nothing happened.”

“He’s got you there.” Ashton pointed out.

“Whose side are you even on you traitor?” Michael glared at Ashton while pulling out his wallet. He handed Luke a twenty.

It had to be, by far, the hardest day for Calum (in more ways than one.)

All he could think about was getting her fingers on his skin again.

He managed to get through most of the day but as the others cleared out until it was just him and Lily, once again, he was in a tough situation.

His last client listened to music with earphones the whole tattoo, leaving Calum and Lily to silence.

He was hyper aware of her as she watched him do the more difficult shading.

He let her wipe away the excess ink and put on the bandage, “you deal with this, I’ll be in the back, there’s a room that needs to be cleaned-”

“The private room? Michael cleaned it after he did that girls tit tattoo.”

“Like I said, it needs to be cleaned a little more.” Calum said.

She watched him go into the back and took the client to the front, taking his payment. The guy left and she locked the front door, turning off the open sign before going to find Calum in the back.

She found him in the private room, standing tall as he wiped down a table. She could only see his back but damn was it a pretty back.

Her heart was thundering in her chest.

She knew what she wanted.

And the logical part of Lily told her that he wanted it too, but the anxious little nugget side wondered ‘what if he doesn’t and you’re about to straight up try to get in your boss’s pants?’

It was a risk.

And Lily did not take risks.

But shit, she couldn’t help herself anymore.

Calum set down the cloth and turned to look at Lily, “you’re done for the day, you can go home.” he said, arms crossing over his broad chest, the tattoos covering his forearms looking absolutely delicious.

“Can I show you my tattoo? Its healed so nicely-”

Calum cocked an eyebrow at her, “go for it.”

He could see the anxiety written all over her face. And she hadn’t tried to show him the tat in a while which he was almost grateful for. Almost. He wondered where this was going to take them.

Lily hesitantly lifted up her skirt and Calum stepped closer to get a better look. Before he could help himself he was on his knees and Lily’s breath caught in her throat.

His fingers brushed over the skin, so lightly that if it wasn’t for the shocks running through her body, she wouldn’t have even been sure if he was making contact.

“Calum, I need to say something.” she said, shocked at her own voice.

He hummed, waiting for her to speak.

“This is going to be the most inappropriate thing I’ve ever said and I’ve said a lot of inappropriate things, fuck, I swear like a trucker half the time, and this is going to fuck me over so bad but I can’t just not say it anymore.” she ranted as Calum stood. At his full height, he towered over her and it distracted her momentarily, loving how he completely dwarfed her. She let out a shaky breath, eyes lingering on his lips momentarily, “fuck.” she cussed.

Calum smirked, “say what you have to say sweetheart.”

The pet name made her heart leap in her chest and she wet her lips subconsciously, “this is so unprofessional.” she groaned.

“Sounds like you have to get it off your chest. And you’re off the clock.” he reminded her.

“Fuck. I really like you.”

That was all he needed.

Calum cupped her face in his hands, pressing his lips to hers. She melted against him, her hands going to the front of his jeans to pull him flush against her. Calum bit down on her lip and Lily moaned loudly into his mouth. Calum was hard in an instant.

His grip went down to her waist as he pushed her back until she hit the tattooing chair, the impact of her bum against the chair made her groan and Calum’s hands moved farther down, grabbing at the fabric of her leather skirt that he dragged up to her hips, exposing the black panties that had been haunting his dreams since he’d first seen them.

His mouth was hot and needy against hers, teeth and tongues clashing in a fiery passion as her fingers went to his hair, grabbing at the thick, dark curls. Calum moaned into her mouth from the small twinge of pain, his grip tightening on her thighs as he lifted her and set her onto the chair.

It was flat, making it easy for him to set her anywhere he liked as he pulled his lips from hers and tore her panties down her legs, shoving them into his back pocket. “Calum.” Lily whimpered, voice needy. His breath wafted over her as he got on his knees on the ground, putting her legs over his shoulders.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as he studied the tattoo for a moment, pressing a soft kiss to the skin that he had marred forever. It was so hot, for both of them, but Lily was anxiously awaiting his mouth as if her life depended on it.

“Please.” she said in the neediest voice Calum had ever heard. He nearly groaned at the sound, turning his attention to where she needed him most.

Calum closed his eyes as he took his first testing lick, wanting to enjoy every moment, every sound, every motion. Calum loved eating girls out, he never got tired of the control, the power, that being between a woman's legs brought him.

Lily shuddered at the first contact of his tongue against her and all of Calum’s self control that he had been so desperately trying to hold onto went out the window. He put his mouth on her fully, hands gripping her thighs as he sucked her clit into his mouth. A loud moan was music to his ears as he focused on the small bundle of nerves, sucking as hard as he thought she could handle.

“Jesus fuck.” Lily moaned, tugging at his hair.

He loved it when she swore.

He loved being the cause of her swearing.

He flicked his tongue against her clit and she cried out louder, both of their grips tightening on each other.

“Fuck Cal I’m gonna-” but she didn’t get to finish her sentence. Calum sucked harder and Lily fell over the edge, moans and whimpers ringing through the small private room as he body convulsed and Calum helped her through it. She was still shuddering when he pulled away, licking his lips as he stood.

She looked so beautiful, skin flushed, just as he liked it.

He gingerly pushed the denim jacket from her shoulders and it slipped to the ground, then his fingers went to the hem of her shirt, pulling that off too. Lily’s eyes were still closed, still in a post orgasm haze as he slowly undressed her, taking his time as his fingers brushed over the tattoos on her arms.

Lily’s eyes fluttered open and Calum enjoyed the beautiful chocolate coloured eyes that looked up at him with lust. Her hands were shaky as she reached out and began to unbuckle his pants.

Calum pressed his lips to hers, reaching around to unclasp her bra. The second the fabric felt away, the slowness was gone, once more replaced by complete passion and lust as Lily pushed Calum’s pants down fully.

She grabbed his hard on and Calum moaned loudly into her mouth as she pumped him a few times, “condoms-” he groaned.

“Birth control.” she stated.

Calum moaned again, “holy fuck.”

He took off his shirt while she continued to work his cock with her hands but as soon as the fabric was gone, he grabbed her fingers, tearing them away and instead putting them on his abdomen, on the skin she’d touched the day before.

He pulled her closer, teasing her entrance with the head of his cock.

“Please.” she whimpered, one of her hands going up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his lips to hers.

Lily bit down into Calum’s lip and he smirked at the small spasm of pain coursing through his body. He plunged inside of her and Lily moaned, immediately releasing his lip from between her teeth as she gasped into his mouth.

His hands found her waist, anchoring them both as he began to thrust in and out. His hips were buckling of their own accord, Calum completely enraptured by the small, tattooed, blond sitting on his private tattooing chair.

He moved his lips to her neck, biting down against the skin as her fingers tightened in his hair, her lips near his ear as she whimpered loudly, biting down on his ear lobe.

He sucked at her neck, teeth grazing the skin teasingly.

One of her hands moved to his strong shoulders, nails digging against the skin so hard Calum was sure she would leave marks.

But, as they both knew, they both enjoyed pain.

He was getting too close to the edge and he knew it, pulling out of Lily, she whimpered in protest, only to be harshly dragged from the chair and turned around, hips slamming into the soft leather as his hand went to her back, pushing her front so she was flush against the fabric.

He entered her from behind and they both moaned, the new angle hitting a new spot inside of her that was driving them both insane. His hands on her waist easily moved her body to meet every thrust.

Calum was completely using her, and she was enjoying every moment.

A hand wrapped in her blonde hair, tugging so she was standing, back against his chest. His hand moved from her hair to wrap around her front, briefly grabbing her boob and teasing the nipple. Her back arched and she moaned loudly as his hand moved higher still, tattooed fingers wrapping around Lily’s throat.

Her heart was racing in her chest and with the added pressure on her neck, she was seeing stars. Whiney, high pitched whimpers were leaving her pretty lips and Calum was basking in the noise but fuck, he wanted to engulf them. He wanted to breath her.

But the chair wouldn’t do. It was hot, but it wouldn’t work.

This time when Calum pulled out, he dragged the two of them onto the ground, Lily landing on top. She straddled his waist, wasting no time before she sank down on top of him, her hands finding his tattoos chest to anchor herself as she began to move up and down on him.

His hands went to her waist and he looked up at her in wonder as she found a steady rhythm. Little moans left her mouth as she collapsed forward, lips pressing against Calum’s as one of his hands found her hair.

The hand on her hip tried tried to assist her, urging for her to move faster. It was amazing, but Calum was getting impatient again, wanting all the power. All the control.

He flipped them easily and Lily hissed at the cold of the ground on her back but the feeling was immediately forgotten as Calum picked up the fasted rhythm yet.

Her nails tore into his back and their mouths were close but their lips barely touched as they panted against each other. “Fuck.” Lily said, voice shaky, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Me too.” Calum moaned, pistoning into her like a wild man. They were both on the edge and one more thrust engulfed Lily, her body fluttering and convulsing around him which made Calum reach his high too.

He spasmed a little, giving a few more thrusts as their hands tore at each other, mouths hot and pressed together, tongues clashing.

He slowed down and buried his face in her neck, holding himself over her with his forearms.

Lily’s fingers traced Calum’s strong shoulders, “wow.” she breathed.

Calum chuckled, placing one last kiss to her neck before he pulled out and rolled onto the ground next to her.

They both stared at the ceiling, trying to catch their breaths.

Calum sat up and Lily got a good look at his back. She’d broken the skin in three places but it looked beautiful.

Calum groaned, pulling his jeans on. He stood up and buttoned them. Lily appreciated the beautiful man, clad in jeans, looking gorgeous.

He walked to the sink, grabbing some paper towels. He got on his knees between Lily’s legs and cleaned her up, making sure the tattoo was completely wiped. “Birth control.” he smirked, “fucking love it.”

Lily laughed, hiding her face with her hands.

He tossed out the paper towels and came to lie next to her again, pulling her to his side so he could wrap his arm around her.

“We are so fucked.” Lily groaned.

Calum laughed.

They were.

“So… shawarma?” Lily asked.

Calum laughed again, “that’s what I was thinking.”

“Really?” Lily rolled over, hand going to Calum’s chest as she looked up at him.

“We’re the same person. It’s kind of weird actually.”

“If we’re the same person, then what am I thinking right now?” Lily asked.

“You’re thinking that after the schwarma, you should come back to my place and we can trace each others tattoos, go a little slower, and I can make you cum more than just twice.”

Lily laughed, “We must really be connected.”

----

When Calum and Lily walked into the tattoo parlour the next morning, each with a black, iced coffee, it was obvious what had happened.

She was even wearing one of his shirts, paired with the same skirt she’d worn the day before.

There was a mark on her neck.

“It’s like they’re not even trying to hide it.” Michael mused.

“He’s so whipped.” Ashton giggled.

He was.

The guys waited until they could get Calum alone when Lily went on a lunch break to finally ask Calum what happened.

“So are you two finally dating or what?” Luke asked blatantly.

Calum turned to look at them and a flash of pain marred his face momentarily, “uh-”

“You okay?” Ashton asked with concern.

Calum’s eyes widened a little and Michael laughed, “did she tear up your back mate?!”

“She did!” Luke laughed, “she totally did.”

Calum blushed and everyone's eyes widened.

Calum Hood never blushed.

Ashton smirked, “So when’s the wedding?”

----

They spend almost every waking hour together that whole week.

Then the next.

The third week, cuddled in his bed, Duke tucked against Lily’s side, Calum finally asked the question: “want to be my girlfriend?”

He didn’t do love. But he’d never met a girl like Lily before. The past weeks had made him rethink everything he’d ever known to be true. About love, life, happiness.

Everything had changed.

Lily looked up at Calum, finger tracing one of the tattoos on his chest, “yeah.” she said, a smile spreading across her face.

Calum met her gaze, cupping her face to bring her lips to his.

He smiled against her lips, “Thank god for your fucking florals.”

-----

It was no shock that one month became two and two became three.

Attached at the hip like twins, always together, they were the perfect fit. It got to a point where it was almost like they knew what the other was thinking.

Lily was a year into her apprenticeship when Calum announced that it would be her last week. They’d gone out to celebrate, Calum and Lily had even disappeared to the bathroom to celebrate a little in private, much to the dismay of Ashton and Luke, and the glee of Michael.

Calum didn’t even bother to ask Lily what tattoo she had planned for him. He trusted her completely.

The day finally came and once the shop closed, everyone sat around with booze while they watched Lily and Calum. “Pick the place baby.” he smiled.

Lily took his right arm and chose the spot she’d drawn the first chrysanthemum on all those months ago. Calum didn’t look as she drew the pattern, not wanting to ruin the surprise.

He chatted easily, unflinching, with the guys as the buzz of the gun softly filled the room.

“How’s it looking Mike?” Calum asked.

Michael leaned over, looking at Lily’s marks, “looks sick.” Michael grinned.

A little while longer and Lily was cleaning the skin, “okay, you’re all done.” she stated.

Calum brought her lips to his for a kiss before looking down at the tattoo.

He had accepted it would be floral, in fact, he’d been excited about finally having floral.

And he wasn’t disappointed. In fact, his heart swelled in his chest.

Two beautiful Chrysanthemums and a Lily. A little, perfect bouquet, just for him.

“The chrysanthemums so we match-” she began to explain.

“And the Lily because you’re you.” Calum finished for her. Lily flushed and Calum grinned, “Can’t get rid of you now can I?” he teased, “I love it.”

And he did.

But not as much as he loved the woman who had marked his body forever.

Not as much as he loved his Lily.

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