#seventy one gin

[anatomyofjamesyates]

colorized

[camillerowep]

October 1, 2023 — Camille Rowe, Arnaud Vaillant and Sebastien Meyer attended Mert Alas’ and Seventy One Gin’s secret party to celebrate Paris Fashion Week!

[emcads]

biggest difference between me and esme is definitely our taste in alcohol

[luveline]

I love anything strangers to lovers with James, something with him maybe coming to a muggle pub with the guys and coming over to talk to you, trying to be all suave but entirely relying on everything muggle studies has taught him and like mixing weird things up but he’s still so endearing you kinda don’t care

ty for requesting❤️

James is holding Remus’ hand when he sees you. They’re being touchy and weird because there’s nobody around to see it but strangers, aware that it’s a little too touchy but uncaring. The drinks they’ve had makes it less overly friendly and more this man is my best friend in the whole world. 

He sees you and abruptly drops Remus’ hand. 

“James,” Remus says, pulling his hand back. 

“Sorry, but– but look!” He gestures to you, leaning down as though this might stop you seeing him before he’s ready. 

You’re really something. In a group of friends two tables and what looks like fifteen chairs, too many bodies, you’re hanging back with your glass held to your chest, giggling at someone’s loud joke. You’re so pretty James feels it in his chest, like woah! Like, he has to talk to you. Maybe it’s the way you’re smiling as you laugh, he loves it. 

The longer he looks, the more convinced he becomes. 

“What are we looking at?” Sirius asks, back at the table with a new drink. 

Remus quickly takes it. “It’s who are we looking at,” he corrects. “There’s a girl over there James likes the look of.” 

“She’s gorgeous. I’m going.” 

Neither friend tries to stop him. James isn’t drunk nor stupid, and he’s not a bad flirt. Not that every girl he tries to talk to wants to talk back, but he isn’t disrespectful or grim. 

He tries not to overthink it. 

“Hi, ladies,” he says, directing his hello to your little gaggle off the main group. You sit between two other women, all smiling politely as he speaks up. “What are you guys doing out tonight?” 

“It’s my birthday,” you say. 

“It is?” he asks, surprised. “Happy birthday! You aren’t wearing a badge?” 

“It’ll poke holes in my shirt.” 

He nods solemnly. “Well, never mind it. Are you having a good night?” 

“I would be, if the person feeding the jukebox would stop playing Bee Gee’s,” you say. 

Feeding the jukebox, James repeats in his head. He looks around for some sort of animal but doesn’t find one, nor does he spot any games of Bee Gee’s. “People are terrible pet owners these days,” he says. 

You laugh like a riot, so he must’ve said something right. “Only an animal would play disco!” you agree, standing up suddenly. “I need another drink. Are you coming with me, or did you fancy someone else?” 

James grins. “I’m coming with you, please.” 

He sees the little twitch on your smile that shows you’re pleased; you aren’t as confident as you’re trying to appear, and your question had been a brave one. James will try to reward your courage. 

“Do you come here often?” he asks, following you through tight tables and down a step to the bar. 

“Only on birthdays.” You grin as he shields you from a passerby. “What about you?” 

“Here? Never in my life! It’s quaint though, I love the taps and the posters and the pork scratchings!”

“They don’t have pork scratchings at home? Where are you from?” 

He shrugs. “Somewhere awful. They don’t have birthday girls half as pretty as you are back there. Did you get anything nice for your struggle?” 

“What, the struggle of getting older?” You lift your chin. “Do I look like I’ve struggled? In ageing?” 

“You look like you’ve been deprived of a drink. What’s your favourite?” 

“Can you guess?” 

James slows with you, just shy of the bar. What a peculiar thing to ask. Maybe muggles play this game, maybe this is a flirting ritual. James chooses the prettiest drink for a nice looking girl. “A French seventy five,” he suggests. 

“What’s that?” 

“Gin and champagne, mostly.” 

“I don’t know about that one.” 

James grins. “A cherry spritzer, then. Ice, a little sugar, cherries on the rim. You look like you like cherries.” 

James buys you a cherry spritzer with extra cherries —it’s your birthday. You say thank you twice and sip it at the bar as he nurses a cold dark thatchers, your elbows touching. James briefly notes how you compliment one another in the mirror above the wines. He tries to catch your eye in it, but gets distracted when the TV box above it changes colour. 

“Do you watch the football?” you ask, noticing his gaze. 

“Oh, yeah. Love football. Weird shape for a ball, but. Do you like it?” 

You take a second to answer, “Well, what about rugby?” 

He’s more familiar with rugby, they talked a great deal about it in muggle studies. “I love rugby! All the scrums and scrimmages.”

“Do you play?” 

“Um, no.” 

“Well, you must play something.” 

“Are you flirting with me?” he jokes. 

“You look active!” 

“What do you like?” he asks, happy to change the subject and learn more about you at the same time. 

“I like lots of stuff, mostly books. Oh, I like karaoke,” you say. “I’m not very good.” 

James knows what karaoke is. “I bet you are. It’s about patience, right? Filling in all those little boxes. I can’t get behind the numbers part, I’m terrible at arithmetic.” 

You look at him like he’s grown two heads. You don’t mean to, he can tell, because your expression immediately clouds with guilt, and then something kinder. He likes fondness on you, and he loves for it to be directed at him. 

“I’m terrible at maths, too,” you say, smiling, nearly shy. “Do you want to get a table with me?”

“Did I say something wrong, before?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

It’s much later with his hand behind your neck when he realises the numbers game is sudoku, not karaoke. He laughs against your open mouth. You ask him what’s so funny, but the warmth of your breath on his lips has him forgetting.

(James was a tad weird, you think that night, his phone number on the back of one of your birthday cards and your lips still fizzing, but he’d been earnest even in kissing, and for that you can’t complain.)

[honeymvnt]

White Mustang [18+]

Barry Seal !femxreader¡

Words count: 3.2k

Warnings: SMUT, that’s all

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ ──────────── 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚

You hated this city. You hated this place with all of yourself but you couldn't get rid of it, nor you could escape from it.

Being a girl in the late seventies wasn't easy anyway and when everything around you seemed to be rotting into the past, dwelling against what was making America so great after the Second World War you were trying to look forward for a better life, for a better something you've been reading about in books, seeing on television or in the magazines.

Your parents weren't helping with the whole situation either: you hated staying by their rules especially your father's and the more you tried to gain your own confidence, the more they were bringing you down, suffocating your dreams, your little silly fantasies about a bright future towards the 80s, towards the inner cities, the ones that were growing compared to the ones where you were forced to live.

But the day you met him, everything changed.

You were trying your best not to make it sound like fairy tale, or an old Hollywood movie but he did make you feel that way and with time it turned out to be as unreal as you feared it would've.

Since that day he was all you were thinking about and you couldn't do anything else besides waiting for him again, waiting for him to come back to you has he had promised.

Barry, god of a man he was with that attitude, that mysterious aura that was surrounding him, that captured you so intensely that left such a sweet taste on your lips, like a liquor you couldn't get enough of.

When you met him in that shabby bar (which was also the best one, considered the others) you couldn't take your eyes off of him and for some reason he had seen you too even if he wasn't supposed to.

He had tried to avoid you, he had to. You were too ridiculously young and he was out of your league, not just because of the big evident age gap between the two of you but he did seriously look like someone who wanted to stay alone, unbothered. Yet he had found you particularly intriguing and just so different from the rest of the people in that quite small place.

The way you were moving, showing more elegance than arrogance for a girl as pretty as you, was certainly a quality he didn't forget to grasp when he looked back at you and you caught his lips between his white teeth. Compared to how your friends were acting he was intrigued by you only, almost fascinated by the fake innocence you were showing off, somehow, around him.

"Is the White Mustang yours? " You asked before you wrapped your lips around the colored straw hanging out from the tall glass of coke you were drinking from.

He looked directly into your eyes, breaking through you with his own green ones, slightly covered by some dark strands that were giving him no peace that night.

The corners of his lips raised a little as his body moved to face yours and one of his hands moved away from the cold glass of gin he had been sipping since when he walked in and put it on his thigh.

You tried your best to keep your eyes in place and avoid the half opened shirt, the leather shiny belt wrapped around his waist so jealously, his parted lips and you maintained your eyes in his.

"Yeah" he replied with a smile, tilting his head to catch the group of loud friends behind you.

"Are those your friends? Right there?"

You followed his gaze and looked behind yourself, noticing how embarrassing the view was, how annoying their laughs and chatting were now that you were trying to talk to him.

"Yeah..." you faced him again and you caught his smile while he looked at them, as if he was trying to recall a memory from the past.

He was difficult to read but brutally honest if he had to be, that' something you found out later that night.

"Why aren't you with them?" He said turning his body around to finish his drink.

The wave of excitement he was able to crash on you with just one gaze was something that you've never experienced before and that you've been dying to feel over and over again.

You eyes landed on the pair of sunglasses that were hanging from his belt before you could look back at him

"Dunno" you said with all the honesty you had and it was true. Frankly, they were just an excuse to stay away from your house, from your parents; an excuse to be able to let your thoughts wander freely, without that heavy guilty feeling pushing down your throat until when your stomach hurt.

"Too bad, you should go back to them" the man put the empty glass on the counter, before he slid his hand into his pocket and dragged a few dollars out of it. You stared at him, studied his every move, from the way his hands wrapped around the glass, to the way he struggled to find the money in his expensive trousers.

You were so infatuated by him that your eyes never left him alone, not even when he walked past you as if you were nothing, as if the conversation never happened, as if he'd never seen you before. You found it extremely captivating, almost irritating.

The man approached the door and simply stepped outside, not looking back and you wished with all of yourself that he was going to but he didn't. His keys were swinging between his fingers as he approached the car but you couldn't let him go.

The once sweet taste he had made you feel on your tongue when you first met his eyes was now replaced by an annoying bitterness that you hated.

It was unexplainable how he had made you feel so much in such a short time and yet, knowing how wrong this was, you felt great distress at the thought of not being able to see him ever again. Stranger to the risk, when you heard his car starting, you rushed outside and stood there, uncertain if what you were putting yourself through was going to be good for you.

He smiled when he saw you as if he knew that you would've done such thing. You weren't so unpredictable as he thought you were and it made you feel really good. Bluntly, and weird to say, it made you feel understood, unlike how others were vieweing you.

"Wanna go for a ride?" you caught his teeth shining between his lips and his sunglasses lowering over his nose so you could see how bright his eyes were.

You took a deep breath of relief and quickly opened the car's door to sit next to him before his hands slide on the steering wheel and you both left the parking lot.

The sun was slowly lowering down the horizon when he drove next to the coast, making you admire the breathtaking view on your right. You could feel the warm light kissing your skin, the breeze of the ocean wrapping around you when you decided to expose yourself out of the car and sense the freedom on your face.

He noticed how your knees were siking into the soft material of the seat, your hands gripping the car, your hair swining all over the place and he didn't even look ahead you, to see what you were seeing, he was looking at you every now and then to catch up with the road.

You looked back at him with such a smile that Barry had to fight the urge to just stop the ride and kiss you but he had to wait for it just like you. 

The sound of the waves crashing against the cliff was making you feel so free, a kind of freedom you really never experienced before and when you felt his hand holding your dress a little, you faced him with a smile stamped on your face.

You didn't hesitate to take a good look of him as well and your eyes could't move away from his body, how tensed it was and how badly he was trying to compose himself. His hands were gripping the steering wheel and he cleared his throat before noticing your glare. 

That stare you gave him in that bar earlier, piercing into his green eyes just like you were doing right now was only making him struggle to keep himself composed and you noticed it straight away.

You smirked when you observed that he had sped up the car and the wheels were slipping on the smooth road way faster than before, it wasn't that difficult to read him anymore so you decided to take advantage of the situation. Your tongue smoothly caressed your lips before you adjusted yourself on the leather seat, which was a little sticky by now, and slowly moved towards him.

Barry quickly looked down at you and his grasp loosened when he realized what you were about to do. Your hands slide up his clothed thighs, towards his waist to unbuckle his leather belt and lazily opened it, letting the sound of it sending shivers down your spine.

"Eyes on the road" you teased while your hands worked their way into his pants and took his length out. His breath got stuck in his throat and his muscles tensed when you suddenly started to stroke it. Just the sight of the pre cum glistening on the tip of his cock was making you drip wet and when you couldn't even contain your own excitement his hand slowly moved to the back of your head and caressed your hair, making you quiver in anticipation.

"You really want me to stop this car, don't you?" he teased back as you bit your lip, trying to see his eyes behind his dark sunglasses but they quickly moved to the road again before you could even reply.

Your hand kept stroking him slowly, from the tip to the base, squeezing it slightly just to hear how heavy his breathing was and see how badly he was trying to hold himself back from bucking his hips towards your hand and feel more. Before he could even catch his breath your face moved even closer to his cock and the sight he had right down his lap was the best view he has ever seen.

You smiled while your tongue gradually licked and wet his lenght as your hands rested on his thigh and your mouth started to drool already when a loud groan left his lips and his hand kept holding the back of your head.

"Use that slutty mouth you've got, c'mon" he grunted through his teeth, looking down at you when you started to swirl your tongue around his cock and suck it slow enough to make the both of you moan in desperation.

"Fuck...." Barry breathed out, gripping the steering wheel with a hand, trying to keep the car straight while his other hand was holding your hair away from your face. 

"That's it- you're doing so well" the sound of his voice alone was making you even more aroused and you couldn't ignore the wet feeling between your legs as you were trying to press your thighs together. His eyes glanced down at you when he heard you gagging miserably around his cock, before he noticed how needlessly you were trying to suffocate the growing ache between your thighs.

"I'm gonna take care of you" he whispered while your hand started to stroke him again, faster and harder than before, just to get him to the point where he couldn't take it anymore and when you saw how close he was you pulled away, smiling proudly and licking your lips as if you thought that that was a smart move... maybe with a guy your age, definately not with him.

Barry watched you sitting back down on your seat without saying anything for a bit, catching his breath while he kept driving but his hand moved towards your dress and he raised it all the way up.

"don't move" his tone was firm, almost urgent as his fingers found the side of your underwear and slid it down your thigh. The whole thing was making you even more excited than it already was and just the way he wanted to touch you to get his revenge was all you needed to get even wetter.

"Take them off" Barry ordered you, looking at the road and then back at you "I said take them off, or you can't even do this?" if it was supposed to offend you it only made you want to tease him even more so you slowly slid your underwear down your thighs and his hand immediately took them and put them into the pocket of his jacket.

"I keep these" he said before his hand returned between your legs "and you keep it quiet" you looked back at him with your lips parted but when you suddenly felt his fingers rubbing your folds a gasp hit your throat and your hands held the seat for dear life.

"What have I just said?" he brought his hand towards your face to force you to look at him back and after a slight squeeze of your cheeks you found the guts to reply "to keep it quiet".

"Good girl" he smiled and let go of your face to bury his hand between your legs and spread your wetness all over your folds before sliding a finger into your smooth core. You bit your lip as hard as you could, holding his wrist with the same urgency he was finger-fucking you. 

When he added another finger you knew you weren't going to last any longer and Barry ejoyed to see you begging him with your eyes or with your hand squeezing his wrist so tightly as if he was going to let you cum so beautifully after teasing him that much.

"plea-" 

"don't you dare" he said, speeding up the pace until when your back was basically arched from  the seat. One more thrust and you were done, one more and you could leave that car and him as well but right when your walls clenched around his fingers he smoothly took them away, trailing your wetness all over your thighs as he stopped the car along the side of the road.

"I said I was going to take care of you..." Barry brought his hand behind your back so you could stand up and follow his movements. "But you changed my plans" he finished and gestured you to sit on his lap.

A smile spread across your face as he held your waist with both of his hands and guided you down his cock. You bit you lips to ignore the delightful feeling that was washing over you so soon and that almost made you feel embarassed for needing him this much. 

"oh my- god" you moaned when your walls stretched to welcome him inside of you so sleekly. It took you a bit to adjust to the size before your hips met. You were holding yourself on his shoulders and the excitement was killing you along with the constant ache that was now hitting your core.

You started to move up and down his lap; his cock already twitching deep inside of you, your knees shaking while his hands were guiding your sloppy movements to meet his.

"C'mon darlin'..." he moaned, wrapping a whole arm around your waist to bring you even closer and feel his thrusts hit your deepest spots as your eyes fell shut and your grasp tightned on his shoulders. Your moans turned into desperate cries when your walls painfully clentched around his lenght, miliking it further and further.

"there you go" you finally took control of your movements and started to ride him even faster while his hands were roughtly touching all of your body, spreading waves of excitement through your whole system. Barry smiled at you when he noticed how much more confidence you started to gain to reach your own orgasm. While you worked your way he couldn't ignore how hot you looked and whne you bit your lips he captured them in his.

That kiss, was the cherry on the cake and when both of his arms wrapped around you, your cries became louder and louder until the point where his moans were nothing compared to yours.

"let go for daddy" he said close to your face to maintain the eye contact with you when your body swallowed all the tension and your muscles violently contracted against him to finally let your release squirt all over him. 

"Oh... my god" he came right after you, shooting his seed deep inside of you with a loud and painful moan that made shivers run up and down your spine before you could rest your head on his shoulder.  

"breathe babe, you did amazing" Barry wrapped his arms around you and gently kissed the side of your head while you tried to catch your breath. He had no idea how much those little things he was saying were affecting you and the inner child within you that never received such praises. He felt how tightly you were hugging and how calm your heartbeat was against his when he talked to you. 

You could tell all of that caught him off guard but he didn't hesitate to hug you tighter and you needed that hug more than anything else.

The ride back to your place (where you told him you were living) was quieter as your head rested on his jacket, against the car's door and your legs folded against the seat while the radio played and the sound of the ocean was filling your ears.

When he slowed the car you realized that your house was near and, to make sure that your parents didn't harass you with questions, you quietly hand Barry his jacket and tried to take your panties back but he held your hand as a chuckle left his mouth.

"I keep these, remember?" you smiled at him and left the car, heading to your place but Barry didn't hesitate to follow and the smile that it brought you made him smile too when he noticed it.

"are you up for another ride?" he asked as you approached him again.

"we will see"

"I'll take you out of this town" those words made your heart pound even faster, as if he knew what you needed and actully he did. He saw in you that spark of adventure that he was looking for and you saw in him someone who could truly take care of you and make you feel worth it.

"Forever?"

"If you want" he smiled and shrugged as the car stayed next to you.

"we will see"

"pack your things, I'll be here tomorrow"and with this Barry drove away, leaving that sweet taste your tongue when you first met his eyes again.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ ──────────── 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚

for my girl @dxddycruise I hope you like it 🎀

[temptress-writes]

🪩 Disco Snow

A/N: soft, groovy seventies Harry.

C.W: DRUG USE. Just my usual nasty shit. Rough, spanking, choking, drug use, spit kink.

Word Count—6.8k

Enjoy x

* * *

Miami 1977.

Chemicals.

Blow.

Tangy, burning, and exciting.

They infiltrate your mind as you bend over the marble countertop in your kitchen.

You slowly come to a stand, wiping your left nostril. You feel your nose tingle and seep into a numbness you know will soon mirror in your throat.

Amber gently bumps your hip, taking the rolled-up bill from your fingers and smoothing out the line of powder laid out for her. She snorts it with a sigh of relief, straightening and flicking a smile your way.

"Feels groovy, huh?"

You roll your head back with a grin, feeling the buzz in your veins already. "So good."

"Let's go, disco chic!"

Miami. A bustling city with a nightlife that thrills you. A deep contrast to the person you are during more acceptable hours.

For tonight, you switched out your sleepwear for your favourite orange bell-sleeved mini dress. Your feet are settled into your white knee-high platform boots.

Amber's done your makeup in hues of emerald green, and orange lipstick to match your attire. She fiddles with the hem of her blue mini dress as you hail a cab to the curb and set on your way to the club.

The Hall of Mirrors.

A club infamous for its disco music, great alcohol, and acceptance for anyone. It's where you frequently go to have a good night, much like most in the city. It's where anyone of any sex could go and rely on the building to hold their secrets. Withhold judgment.

The Hall of Mirrors is no stranger to your secrets. To your nights of sneaking down dark hallways and slipping to your knees for a man, or into a supply closet to taste a woman on your mouth. Tripped out on pills or lines of snow.

The music calls to you before you even go in. The bouncer knows you well, allowing you entry without so much as a second glance. The club is packed, which isn't unusual. The collection of disco balls hang from the ceiling, the strobe lights reflecting tiny fragments of light from them. They bounce across every inch of skin, every section of the walls. The pattern heightens your sense of lucidity, red, pink, and purple semi-circular wallpaper that you know will begin to distort as the night progresses.

And as if you need a reminder of how much you're dying for a drink, you taste the stark sugar slipping down your throat. With a grimace at the strong taste of it, you pull Amber to the bar.

Cameron, one of the bartenders, waves at you, mouthing your usual? You nod, pleased when she places two gin and tonics on the bar top in front of you and Amber.

It's all feels like a blur. It always does during the buildup. The drive to the club, the quenching of thirst with gin. The night doesn't truly start until you're on the dance floor.

"Bottoms up, chic!" Amber yells over the bass of the music.

You cheer your glasses together and down the contents. The ice clinks against your teeth, but your gums are so numb you barely feel it.

"Let's show these bitches who own the dance floor!"

The two of you squish and squeeze past dancers to get to the middle, soon finding a rhythm along to The Hustle. Unashamed, you yell out the words, swaying and throwing your best moves her way.

You can feel the effects start to energise your body. The way it seems to make you feel unstoppable, sexy, otherworldly.

You wrap your arms around Amber's neck, letting her turn in your hold and rub against you. In any other setting, this would harbour attention from others that one could only deem as judgmental. But not here. Not in the Hall of Mirrors. Here you are free and open.

It's a sensation of effortlessness. You feel limitless. One with the music, one with every soul in the building. After a parade of songs, you and Amber pull away from the dance floor and slip into the bathroom, refreshing the buzzing high in your veins before heading back out.

And then you see him. It's an eerie sort of feeling. It's a dance floor, it doesn't necessarily have the best lighting and there are so many people. But it's almost as if you're meant to see him. A flash of light illuminates his existence momentarily before the strobe fades away and appears elsewhere.

What you notice first are curls. Dripping waves parted in the middle of his head that spiral along his forehead, sticking to the skin with perspiration. A jeweled hand comes up to brush them away from his vision before he erupts in a dimpled smile at his friend. Even from here, you can make out the shape of his bunny teeth.

And then he spins in a circle and throws some finger guns. From there, your exploration veers south. A low-cut black tank top, exposing two swallows fluttering their wings against his chest, a cross pendant nestled safely between them.

His broad shoulders sport more ink and your eyes dart across every bare inch of skin and you spot a smattering of tattoos along his arms.

As if to contrast his more intimidating attire, from the hips down is bubblegum pink. Flared pants that hug his hips and accentuate the length of his legs. He lifts his leg, the bell-bottoms sharing a glimpse of his footwear. Patent black leather books with an impressive heel. Already so tall and towering, you admire how he's wearing them as a fashion statement and nothing more.

He holds his friend's hands, arching them high in the air before swirling his hips and yelling along to the song. His friend, lanky and shaggy-haired, pulls away and gives his best shot at the robot.

Amber clicks her fingers in front of you. "You good?"

You blink, steering your vision away from him and back to her. "Yeah, buzzing now!"

And you dance like no one is watching. You try to drive your attention away from the man who clearly hasn't seen you.

Sweaty. Hot. Snow.

Your body feels like a live wire, the music thrumming in your veins.

Your feet are throbbing but you don't care. Your vision floats back to the man and a sense of delight washes over you at the sight of him. He's closer to you now, bumping his hips to the song. Your brows raise when he grinds his bum up against a man's crotch.

Amber doesn't question when you inch towards him. It's subtle, and you keep dancing and swaying and singing.

You look up at him again and every cell in your body freezes. He's looking at you. And there's this moment when your eyes lock that the music fades. Like a bubble encases you and almost mutes it. It's very brief but still so staggering.

Suddenly, you're all bubblegum and curls.

His lips curl up into a devastatingly beautiful smile at you. He's still dancing, you're still dancing. But you're smiling at each other and suddenly bubblegum flares and chocolate curls are moving towards you. He slips past people and your dancing doesn't slow as he approaches.

Amber, so out of it and not picking up on the interaction, leeches to a man next to her and swirls her hips against him.

Up close, the man is even more stunning. Your eye line is at his chest and you spy a light dusting of hair and a film of sweat.

He grins down at you and your cheeks blush bubblegum.

"Who can do the best sprinkler?" He asks you, having to yell over the music. His accent is deep and wispy. Of course, the man with one of the most daring outfits in the joint would be British.

"Oh, it's definitely me." You offer with a sultry smile.

"Confident..." He nods, resting his hands on his hips. "I like that."

"What, you think you can out-dance me?"

He throws you a playful glare, waiting for the chorus of the song to drop before throwing his arm around in a sprinkler movement. His other hand around his head while the sprinkler, jeweled fingers, splay towards you.

And you can't help but giggle, hiding it behind your hand but the glint in your eyes is far too telling. His expression of pure joy dropping into one of unamused horror.

"Let's see it then, foxy."

You laugh, shaking your limbs out and showing off your best sprinkler move. He sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly. You wrinkle your nose and shrug your shoulders up at the piercing sound.

"We have a winner!" He shouts, hands waving through the air and alarming a few people around you. You lightly shove at his chest, your cheeks hurting from laughing so much. "Does the sprinkler queen have a name? The people need to know."

You feel very shy, suddenly. As if the influence of the power has been overshadowed by him. You give him your name, not missing the way his lips curl around the letters as he recites it to you.

"'M Harry."

Harry. Smooth. Bubblegum.

"It's nice to meet you."

His fingers come up to toy with the flared sleeve of your dress. "Love the threads."

You gesture to his pink pants. "Yours, too."

He clicks his tongue, grabs your hand, and spins you in a circle. "You flatter me. Let's throw some shapes, foxy lady!"

You grab his hands, encouraging him to shimmy with you. He's a great dancer. Tall and unashamed, moving his body without thought and doing the most ridiculous dance moves. You feel so hot and you're not sure if it's because of him, the dance floor, or the snow you snorted before.

Harry spins on his heels, forming peace signs with his fingers and waving them in front of his eyes. You mirror him with a grin and he admires the way the disco ball reflects off your face and ignites your beauty. He feels like he's been kicked in the chest. What started as a chill night out and a boogie became so much more once he saw you.

Your orange dress, tangerine and inviting. Your green eyeshadow, an exotic lagoon he's lost in.

He brings you closer, pressing you flush against his body and moving his hips with yours. His hands squeeze at your hips and if this were any other man, you'd be slapping his touch away.

But Harry is soft and colourful. Endlessly endearing. You can tell he's confident and sure of himself and that's probably the sexiest thing about him. Aside from his bare chest and tattoos. And his hair. And his smile.

"You skiing the snow tonight, little fox?"

You nod, your head feeling like a bobblehead on your neck. Your spine is tingling and the way he's looking at you is making every limb feel like jelly.

He grips the side of your neck, holding you close and resting his forehead on yours. It happens so quickly but he's so confident and you're so comfortable so you don't mind.

"Keep a lookout, yeah?"

You give him another nod. You're always so sure of yourself and now this one particular stranger is leaving you speechless. But what else can you say?

He slips his fingers into his tight tanktop to produce a small clear bag from the confines. He wiggles his brows at you and looks around you briefly before opening it up.

It's unlikely anyone would be sober enough to cause a problem with it. But he's more avoiding drawing attention to it because people will flock to him for a hit.

He thumbs the bag open, his eyes lifting to meet yours before he throws you a wink. Lifting the pendant sat between his defined pecs, he gathers a small mound of snow on the longest bar of the cross.

"Ladies first."

The chain being around his neck means he can only bring it so far to you. You lean forward, pressed right up against him, and nudge your face up so you can snort the prepared powder.

You sigh through a smile as it seeps into your bloodstream. It refreshes your high. Your energy unmatched as you start to dance to the music again. But this time it's right up against him, his core tucked up against you. Bubblegum and snow.

His hand reaches out to wipe a bit of excess power decorating the edge of your nose with a soft giggle. He gathers his own smidgen of power and snorts it before putting the bag away.

And then you're dancing. Your ass works in sweet little circles against his crotch and you rest your head back on his chest, looking up at him to let him know. Let him know that you feel him against you, growing for you.

Hard bubblegum.

Melting snow.

He twirls you, bringing his hands onto your shoulders and using his feet to find a beat with the music. More Than a Woman starts playing and you both let out excited yells. He pulls you into him again. He can't help but spin you so your ass is against him. He wraps his arms around you, your hands tangling with his where they meet at your chest.

When you start grinding back on him, his hands melt down to your hips to roll them back. Gooey bubblegum.

You watch him, his hair parted in the middle with curls falling down his forehead. He smiles down at you, a slow, lip curling, dimple encased smile. It's earth-shatteringly beautiful and when he licks his lips, you feel it resonate directly between your thighs.

His hand comes up, running up your sternum and to your throat. He can feel your heart beating under the skin, fluttering just as severely as his is. His fingers grip your chin and he leans down. His nose brushes yours and your ass presses deliciously firm against his crotch and then you really feel him.

Your eyes flicker from his, down the strong line of his nose and to his lips. Bubblegum pink, plump, and inviting.

He lets out a soft moan and then he's kissing you. It's soft at first as if gauging your reaction. Maybe he's seeing how you like it. If you want it rushed. If you want it slow and patient and controlled.

Your hand wraps around his neck to hold him there and you open your mouth to flick your tongue against his lower lip. His comes out to meet yours and he tastes phenomenal. Like vodka and cranberry juice and lust.

Harry turns you in his hold and grips your ass in two strong hands. He hauls you upwards until your center is against his. He's hard and even through his pants, you can feel the impressive size of him.

The chorus seems to mirror the newly found excitement in two souls. Climaxing and exciting. You're dancing as if it's your love language. Melting into one person and obsessed with how his body feels against yours.

You can't help but kiss him again, obsessed with the way his lips cradle your bottom one. The way he nibbles on it a little bit. The way he moans against you and screws his hips up to you.

Your eyes open to meet his and over his shoulder, you can see Amber giving you an enthusiastic thumbs up.

His finger comes up to brush your lower lip before he kisses you again with a needy hum. You're not even thinking when you grab his hand and pull him towards the bathroom. You only register his warmth and his arousal and how you want to be closer to it.

He can sense your urgency, and you're both high as shit, two pairs of boots clicking against the floor. You're giggling messes of arousal as you lure him towards the bathrooms and try to find an empty one. There's a powder room, which seems all too fitting. It's deep mint green, luxurious for such a small space. The walls are orange swirls that wave in your vision.

You drag him in and close the door, automatically flipping the lock but he raises a brow when you unlock it again. His curls are askew, your orange lipstick in smudges on and around his mouth.

"Risky move, little fox."

"Shut up."

You're kissing him again. You press him up against the sink, his dick hard against you. He moans as you suck on his tongue and pull him as close as you can get him. His arms wrap around you, his hands fisting the material of your dress at the small of your back. It lifts, scrunching up and exposing your ass.

He grips the bare skin on his hands, rolling your center up against his. His fingers dip between your cheeks, slipping forward until he's brushing your clothed cunt with his fingertips.

You release a soft whimper and roll your warmth along his touch. You're already so wet, you can tell. And so can he.

But before he can explore any further, you're dropping to your knees. Harry swears under his breath as you palm him through his bubblegum pants, so hard and ready for you. You stare up at him, his pupils dilated from the snow and from you.

You pop the single button and pull the zipper down, suddenly not feeling very patient. Your attempt to inch them down so you can play with him further is stunted.

"These are so tight."

He offers a sweet little laugh into the air, pulling his pants down for you, his rings clinking as he does so.

When you finally set your eyes on him, it's then that you feel intimidated for the first time. He's not wearing underwear and for some reason, that alone is already so fucking hot. He's huge. In every aspect. In width, in length. The tip of him is the same colour of his lips, a rosy hue deepening the more turned on he's getting.

You slide forward, wrapping your hand around him. He's silky, smooth, and hot in your palm. You drag your fist up, a drop of pre-come pearling at the tip. You flick your tongue out against it, tasting the saltiness on your taste buds.

Harry groans at the sight of you on your knees for him. He bends down, cupping your chin and angling you up so he can kiss you. He tastes himself on your tongue and he spreads his hand along your cheek, rubbing it with his thumb.

"Keep going."

His expression is one of lustful encouragement as he straightens and you envelop the head in your mouth with a suck. You use your hand to work the skin, spreading the wetness from your mouth down his shaft.

You take him deeper, allowing yourself to become fully immersed in pleasing him. His hand tangles in your hair, guiding your mouth up and down his shaft.

He moans, deep and dirty and you feel it between your legs. He emits a soft sigh as you take him fully, your nose pressed against his abdomen. You can feel the hair there tickle your skin and you retract and start bobbing against him.

The bass of the music conceals the questionable sounds you're making and Harry's hand tightens in your hair as you work him. He rolls his head back on his neck, feeling the tingling in his spine sharpen and bridge out to every limb, every nerve.

Your mouth is searing hot and wet around him, your tongue caressing the underside of his dick. You struggle around the fullness of him but the way he's looking at you spurs you on. He feels amazing, the way he guides you, pushes you further but never past your unspoken boundaries.

You hold him in the back of your throat and the sound he gives you is almost a growl. It's low, derived from his chest and so fucking desperate. Using his hold on your hair, he pulls you back. You've made a mess of him and yourself. Orange lipstick smudges and your spit.

"Come here, little fox."

You stand, stumbling a little in your heels but he spins you and sits you on the countertop. Your dress slips high up your thighs and he squeezes at them. His touch slides higher and he hisses as he meets the lace of your panties.

Your hand comes down to meet his, encouraging it higher. Closer to where you need him. Harry kisses you, one hand on the side of your neck, the other up your dress.

And suddenly, it's like neither of you can wait anymore. You pull him towards you as he slips your panties down your legs, hanging from one ankle. His kisses move from your lips, a messy trail down your chin, your neck, the swell of your breasts.

Then he's kneeling in front of you, his gaze on yours before it slowly slips between your legs. You're saturated for him and his staring is so fucking intimate. He can't wait to taste you, to feel you.

His hand raises, his thumb brushing your clit. Your thighs tense as he rubs slow circles like he's winding you up. His thumb ventures south and parts your folds, collecting your wetness there and dragging it back up to your clit.

You let out a soft whimper as his pressure deepens. The added moisture from your arousal feeling somehow sweeter in addition to how he's touching you.

"Pretty thing." He coos, looking back up at you.

He withdraws his thumb and sucks it into his mouth with a hum. Without breaking eye contact, he lowers his head and flicks his tongue ever so gently against your sensitive clit.

You sway your hips up at the slight bit of attention, already desperate for more. He licks up your slit, fully tasting you and closing on your clit in a kiss. You gasp and take a fistful of his hair as he works your cunt with his mouth.

He moves lower, tonguing your entrance and slipping it inside of you while his nose buries itself against your clit.

He shakes his head from side to side, fully absorbed in you. He eats you out so intensely. An enthusiasm you've ever felt from another partner. You look down and his eyes are closed, fully enjoying his head between your legs where he's tasting you.

You pull his hair harder and he moans, the vibrations from it sent throughout your lower half.

Harry raises a finger to his mouth, sucking it past his lips to get it nice and wet. And then he slides it inside of you, flicking it up in a hook to press against your g-spot. Your spine straightens at the sensation, and he slips another finger alongside it. You whine out his name as he pulls the tips of his fingers along your sweet spot, pulsing them and building you up to your release.

He moves his whole arm with blinding speed, the pleasure increasing rapidly. No one has ever made you feel this way, a bliss so deep. He knows exactly what he's doing and he knows how insanely good he's got you.

He looks up at you and gives you the cockiest smirk before sucking on your clit. His teeth nibble on it gently before he traps it between them and flicks his tongue along it. You throw your head back, collapsing against the mirror.

Harry pulls you up, spinning you so you're bent over the counter with your ass perked back. He eats you this way, spreading you open to him and pressing his mouth tight against you. His nose is buried inside you, his tongue against your clit again and he slaps your ass. It's a mild slap but you moan nonetheless.

"Again." You gasp out, so close to coming and addicted to him.

"You're a dirty little fox, aren't you?" He spanks you again. Harder.

You turn and look at him. "Is that all you got?"

He breaths out a laugh and buries his face against your cunt once more, spanking the opposite cheek, hard. And then your lower thigh, right below your ass. The sting is softened by how beautiful his mouth is against you. He finds your clit again to drill his tongue on it.

"I'm close," You reach back, taking a fistful of curls and hold him there.

"That's it," He coos against you. "Come all over my face."

Your orgasm is an eruption of euphoria. Searing hot pink that melts into bubblegum pop. You cry out his name, your entire body going lax against the counter as you fucking shake.

His mouth never lets up, letting you ride through the pleasure of your orgasm. His mouth is slow to leave you as you come down, his lips kissing the skin of your ass.

You're not expecting it when his hands leave your ass all too quickly. You watch him in the mirror as he retrieves his little bag.

"Stay still." He orders. He taps powder onto your ass, right over a handprint he's left. He ensures the line is relatively straight with his finger, one that he soon after gives you to suck the powder off. And he snorts the line he's prepared, licking the residue off your ass with a devilish smile.

And, for good measure, he slaps you again.

You bite your lip to stifle a giggle, reaching back and wrapping your hand around his dick. You work his shaft and he staggers in a couple of steps closer. The tip of him nudges your ass, his pre-come kissing your skin and leaving it wet.

He moans, moving to grip your hips and fully standing behind you. His cock brushes between your legs and you whimper at the anticipation of feeling him even more.

"You want me to fuck you, sweet fox?"

"Yes,"

"Where are your manners?" He's teasing you now. You both know there's no way he's not fucking you.

He's just making you simmer in the heat he's stirred up.

"Please fuck me, Harry."

He loves how your name sounds leaving your mouth. Orange painted lips caressing each letter, sweet and fiery at once.

"There's a good girl."

You feel his tip slide between your folds, he dips his knees to adjust his angle. One hand around his shaft to guide it, the other on your hip with a grip that almost too tight. He takes a step forward, glides his hips forward. And it's pure ecstasy.

The way he stretches you is heavenly. It's a low, humming burn almost. A buzzing delight of feeling so full. He's so big and thick, tucked right up against your g-spot. It feels so fucking good and he hasn't even moved yet.

You release a hefty gasp as he moans out your name at the feel of you.

His other hand wraps itself in your hair to keep you looking at him in the mirror and then he's fucking you. His thrusts are delicious. He's fluid, like rolling waves to shatter a galaxy inside of you.

Your eyes meet his in the mirror and he gives you a slow smile before slapping the skin of your ass again. Before you can even cry out at the stinging sensation, he's fucking you so hard you have to bring a hand up to the mirror to balance yourself.

He settles behind you, his lips at your ear. Two sets of breath fog the glass of the mirror.

"That's it, watch me while I destroy this pussy."

The Hall of Mirrors. A second home to you, reflective and encasing. Now you're watching this man fucking destroy you in the bathroom mirror. Your pupils are dilated, much like his are. Black holes, targeting each other and threatening to consume each other.

He wraps his hand around your throat and screws his dick deep, massaging your g-spot so perfectly. You're sure that without the stability of the counter holding you up, you'd be a quivering pile of bones on the floor.

"Fuck, and you thought my pants were tight?" He smirks at you in the mirror.

You release a breathless laugh that's swept away when he starts pounding into you. He grunts with every thrust, taking you so hard you can barely breathe. His skin slaps against yours and he squeezes his hand around your throat to hold you still.

The snow is heightening every sense you have. Your ass is stinging more than normal, your arousal higher than normal. But you know that has more to do with him than narcotics. And when his other hand reaches around to rub your clit, you feel that so strongly that you cry out his name and fucking writhe underneath him.

"Take it, little fox. Take it like the good fucking girl you are."

He moves his hips more sharply, hitting that sweet spot inside of you. He pushes one of your legs up onto the counter and he's so much deeper that way. That in combination with the way he's playing your clit is driving you mental. You're so close and he can feel it, feel your walls tremble and tighten around him.

You're gasping out his name, helpless to how relentlessly he's fucking you. He growls as you clench around his dick, his hand on your throat slipping up so he can put two of his fingers in your mouth. You suck on them gratefully, using your teeth to show him how good he's fucking you.

You're so fucking close but he does the unthinkable... he pulls away. Completely. Leaving you empty and teetering on the edge, yanking you back abruptly.

He doesn't give you a second to question him before he's spinning you around and sitting you up on the counter. He steps forward and you scoot towards him, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Your hand takes his shaft once more, pulling the skin in a firm first. He moans and lulls his forehead against yours.

"I was so close." You pout hotly against his lips.

"I'll get you there again," He hums, grabbing the base of his dick and running the tip of it between your saturated folds. "Is this what you want?"

"Please," You lean forward and kiss him. His length nudges your entrance but he makes no move to do anything further. "Give me your cock."

"That's what I want to hear."

He smiles, wrapping his hand around your throat again and sliding inside of you with one smooth movement of his hips. Your mouth drops open at the fullness of him. He's so much deeper this way, and so much more intimate with the way he's staring at you.

"Fuck me, Harry. Hard."

He releases another moan, this one more of a growl, and starts fucking you again. Using his hold around your throat and another hand on your hip. He leans you back a little so he can fully enjoy the display of your body and watch where he's fucking you.

He brings your head forward by your throat, your mouth opening at the force and he takes the chance to spit in your mouth.

"Get your clit for me while I fuck this pretty little cunt."

You whimper, sticking your fingertips into your mouth to get them wet with your spit as well as his. And with a shaking hand, reach down with and rub your clit. You feel the bursts of your orgasm brewing, your walls quivering around him.

It's building quickly and you kiss him again, feeling them tingle in your toes with every brush of his tongue. The door behind him starts to open, a drunk man slurring his words behind it. Harry slams it shut while your hand flies from your clit.

"Ocupado!" Harry yells out, his hips faltering momentarily as he locks the door.

Your cheeks heat at the prospect of someone walking in and seeing you this way. A little in embarrassment, a little in excitement.

Harry senses that you're thrown off and fucks your harder, his fingers finding your clit. "Don't worry about him, sweet little fox. You're so close, let's get you there. I can fucking feel it."

You cry out as he destroys you from the inside out, working you into a pleasured frenzy. His hand pulls the top of your dress down over your tits and they spill out. He squeezes them, pulling at your nipples and biting them.

"Harry, oh my god-"

"That's it, come for me." He growls. "Put me away wet."

Your orgasm rolls through you intensely, staggering. Your hands claw at Harry's shoulders as you shake uncontrollably. His dick is unrelenting inside of you, his fingertips not letting up in the delicious patterns against your clit.

"Fucking shit." He marvels over how you feel, how tight and amazing you feel. He's so fucking turned on by you and his hips keep screwing against you.

You wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his neck and biting the skin there. He smells amazing. Like he's been dancing in a pool of vanilla and lavender all night. As you come down from your climax, you retract and watch where he's fucking you.

"Dreamy little cunt," He babbles, so out of it. "get so wet and tight when you come, don't you?"

"Only for you." You coo, kissing him again. He's already far better than any sexual partner you've ever had. Your walls are still trembling around him and every single tremor sends him closer to his end.

"I'm gonna come so hard- shit, you feel so good."

"I want you to come, Harry."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, I want you to feel as good as I do."

He smiles at you, dimples galore, his cheeks as pink as his pants. And then he pins you to the counter by your throat, spreading you back until you're pressed against the mirror. He starts fucking you harder, messier as his cock throbs inside of you.

"Stunning little fox, so fucking perfect. Dancing in this tiny little dress," His hands grip at your breasts some more.

"Harry-"

"Grinding your ass against me, getting me hard for you. Dirty girl, fuck. You own me."

He's working himself up now, his hand tightening around your throat and forcing you to keep looking at him. He's spouting out filthy words into the air between you, unashamed and doing so much for you. You can't help but reach down and play your clit again.

He gives you a laugh, one almost of disbelief. "You like when I talk to you, hm?"

"So much."

"You gonna let me fuck you again, sweet little thing?"

"You can fuck me whenever you want." Because you both know this is the beginning of something new and exciting.

That sets him off. His orgasm blooms and spreads. Pops like a bubble of gum. He pulls out, working his hand on his shaft so fast it's a blur. You move your hand and watch him in awe. He comes directly on your pussy, mouthing dirty words and breathless moans. His other hand gripping your thigh so hard you know it will bruise.

He watches where he's painted you, his come dripping on your lower abdomen, along your clit and your folds. He's a mess, breathing heavily and working the rest of his high from his length.

Thoughtless, he crouches and licks his orgasm from your skin. You moan as he kisses you there, licking every ounce of his come in his mouth. His tongue teases your clit and your thighs jump at the sensitivity.

He stands, cloudy and slow. And he grips your chin harshly, forcing you to open your mouth. As soon as you do, he's spitting heavily into it.

"Don't swallow."

As you fully taste his come on your tongue, he's kissing you. You moan, tasting his orgasm with yours, his tongue with yours. It's so dirty and unhinged but you can't help but feel fucking feral for him over it.

"Good girl." He praises as he pulls away.

He rights his attire, his movements lagged. Like the only thing he can fathom is you and everything else is a chore.

You stare at him, your panties hanging from one ankle, your pussy glistening and spent from him. Bubblegum obsessed. Chocolate curls addicted.

"Gorgeous little fox. Should we ditch this joint and head back to mine?"

You sit up and throw your arms around his neck and kiss him. "Yes, please."

"I want to enjoy you properly." He sighs against your mouth. "Get you out of this dress. Spread you along my sheets, watch your tits bounce while you ride me."

You breathe out a soft whimper at the idea of continuing this for the rest of the night. "I love the sound of that."

He kisses you, deep and wet. "Make you come until I'm dripping in you."

His length, returned to the confines of his pants once more, twitches against your thigh.

"We need to actually leave this room for that to happen." You muse.

He lets out a loud cackle, cupping the back of your neck to draw you towards him. He helps you fix your dress, your panties stripping from your foot and you raise a brow as he tucks them into the back pocket of his pants.

"Didn't know you'd have much room for anything else in those."

"That cheeky mouth is why you're not getting your panties back."

After another round of kisses, the two of you emerge from the room. And while you're both giddy with excitement from what has happened and what else the night holds, no one else in the club bats an eye. Your underwear feels heavy and scandalous in his pocket as he guides you through the crowded dance floor, both of your hands wrapped around one of his.

Thanks to his already tall frame, and heels, he locates his friend quickly. Who is chatting to Amber. You raise a brow at her with a cheeky smile at the sight of them dancing together.

Harry's friend holds his hand out to you, "Mitch!"

You shake his hand and introduce yourself, projecting your voice over the music. You turn to Amber. "We're going to head off, are you okay here?"

She nods frantically. "Honey, I'm so okay!"

Mitch and Harry exchange smirks and hug goodbye.

"Peace, love, and granola, Mitch!"

The air of Miami cools your skin as you step out onto the curb. Harry lags behind, admiring the curve of you and the skin the low hem of your dress offers. He grabs your hand and spins you in a little circle before giving an ear-piercing whistle to hail a cab.

He's all over you in the back of the car. His lips going from yours down your neck, the swell of your breasts. The hem of your dress hitched up, your legs slung over his lap as he fucking devours you. Savours you. Ravishes you.

His apartment, much like his attire is bold, bright, and brave. Warm oranges and reds. Like a sunset on fire, or the heated and sizzling arousal between you. It cozy and art deco and very much Harry. He offers you a half-assed tour of his home but he's undressing you with his eyes. The silhouette of your dress begging for him to see just how much better you are underneath the material.

And once you reach his bedroom, the large, circular bed is all you can focus on. Mint green bedding. The room itself is impressive, the wall behind the bed sporting what looks like a melted sunset. Orange, pink yellow all mended together to offer an accent. Harry peels off your boots and the yellow shaggy rug is soft against your toes.

He puts a record on to spin, Just One Look playing softly in the air.

Suddenly, you're on your back on the bed. Harry hovers over you, his hand cupping your cheek as if he really can't believe you're real.

Is he tripping on a tab of acid or are you really in front of him? Unbelievably lucid and dreamy. Causing fireworks and sunsets in his tummy.

Your eyeshadow matches his bedsheets, he realizes. Little fox, you're meant to be.

His sheets are crisp and smell of him. The tones of his sheets are similar to the mint green of the powder room as if a continuation of what started in there. Dirty, open, and vulnerable.

Like the disco balls in the Hall of Mirrors, fragments of two glass souls mended together in beautiful unity. Dazzling, luminous. Capturing every fraction of light to reflect it in hues every spectrum can admire.

[rockingrobin69]

Mrs. Miffy’s Home Dining Experience: Eating made simple!

The flyer was an eye-watering orange. Sort of reminded him of Wheezes, if Fred and George were also psychotic murderers on the side.  

Ordering is simpler than ever. Speak the word menu and it shall appear, aglow in the space before you. Magic will direct you precisely to the dish you are currently craving. No more going, ugh, what’ll we have for dinner tonight?

Harry’s crockery was all still packed in who-knows what box. His new fridge was empty. All the places he tried ringing gave up on trying to locate his address. Wards, Hermione had said, at some point in her life, probably.

After you placed your order by yelling the selected number, your food will arrive near-instantaneously with one of our lively staff members. Don’t forget: it’s hot! (or cold!)

His head was pounding. They say that moving house is one of life’s greatest traumas. Which, of course, made him laugh like someone had punched him in the gut, with fucking tears in his eyes, but hey, this wasn’t incredibly easy, either.

Now there’s nothing more to worry about: bon-appetite, and we’d love to see you again at Mrs. Miffy’s Home Dining Experience!

He was tired. He was hungry. Everything seemed thirty times heavier than normal, and his therapist Evil Jean said that this feeling has a name, and he should try to find it. To banish it? To… do something about it. Harry was a terrible client and an awful lazy man and all right, all right, enough with this now. Half out of spite, Harry said, “Menu.”

Jumped three feet backwards when the whole room tilted sideways, and started shrieking—no, it was the images that suddenly popped, violently into existence. Who the hell thought this was a good… swallowed, swallowed, closed his eyes, tapped his chest till his heart climbed back down. Fucking fuck. Deep breath. Okay.

His new flat was half the size of Grimmauld and currently packed with boxes. Gin said that moving isn’t that big of a deal if you know the right spells, but Harry didn’t know anything, and definitely not the right spells. In the eerie light of the dozens of images hovering, it looked sad.

Still there was something in his gut pulling—the magic, right, he’d nearly forgot. Saying the word Menu must have activated it as well, and now Harry found himself pointing at an image which showed… a bowl of fried rice with tofu.

You know what, fuck it. Fuck it, why not. He was sort of hoping for something a little, erm, not that, but fried rice was good and tasty and he was so tired and it might just be the perfect thing. Harry cleared his throat. “Seventy-six!”

Your order has been placed, said a low baritone that nearly made him pee his pants. It came out of the fucking fridge? Probably not on purpose. Then, in an entirely different voice, chipper and high-pitched, sit tight and we’ll be right there to serve you!

Harry paced and paced and paced. Not much room for it, with the boxes, and the chest of drawers he didn’t know where to put, and the stack of letters he tucked in his pocket for fear of losing and then promptly placed on every clear surface as it bothered him constantly bumping into stuff. Moving was… fine, it wasn’t the problem. Harry only wished Ron and Nev and Luna could have stayed. He wished, selfishly, that his friends were as miserable and social life-less as he was, only for tonight. He wished…

The doorbell went off, a jarring sound. Harry jumped (and told himself to quit it), breathed, breathed. Fingers sweaty on the handle, get yourself together, this will be nothing.

“Good evening my name is Draco and I’d be happy to serve you exactly the way you’d like please choose level of interaction from one to three.”

Harry was openly staring. His belly, weirdly, filled with ice. In front of him was—“What?”

“Good evening my name is Draco and I’d be happy to serve you exactly the way you’d like please choose level of interaction from one to three.”

He was taller than Harry remembered. Broad shoulders, narrow waist. Hair falling past his ears, still as blond as ever under the truly-horrendous cap that said Mrs. Miffy’s! in balloon letters. He stood so impossibly still that Harry suspected he must be under a spell or something.

“Malfoy?” he tried in this choked voice.

“Good evening my name is Draco and I’d be—”

“Yes, yes,” Harry stopped him with a hand out, “you said. You… work for… Mrs. Miffy’s?”

A fragment of a question hiding at least five hundred others: you work, and also you’re here, and also you still exist? Because Harry had completely-completely forgotten about him. This tall, slightly shocking apparition of a boy from his youth grown into… this.

Malfoy blinked metre-long eyelashes. “Please choose,” he said in a perfectly bland voice. “Between one and three.”

Stabbing a guess: “Three?”

He nodded and made to step forward, only Harry was still frozen, and still blocking the door. “Pardon me,” Malfoy said.

“No,” stupidly. “I mean—sure. Come in, I mean. I mean—”

Malfoy didn’t wait to unravel the rant. Instead he snuck through the space Harry had made, and stopped in the middle of the would-be living room. Turning around a full 360, blinking and blinking. “You,” he said, “you don’t have a table.”

“Not yet.”

“Right,” eyebrows hiking on his face. “Right, it’s—I can transfigure one of the boxes temporarily.”

Harry shrugged. Getting past the whole shock of Malfoy in his flat, in legitimately the worst ensemble he’d ever worn and still so destructively handsome, pointing at a box labelled STUFF and turning it into a belly-heavy sort-of-table. He even conjured a tablecloth. He even conjured a vase with flowers.

“Would you like anything to drink, Sir?”

Harry was losing it. This was the only explanation. He hit his head on the moving van and is lying on the pavement, unconscious. Malfoy was still in Azkaban and certainly not here.

“Erm, do you—do you have Irn Bru? Only the muggle shops down here don’t usually sell it.”

Malfoy produced a cool box he most certainly didn’t have before and took an orange can out. “Do you need cutlery,” he said more than asked.

“Yeah. Erm, yeah.”

Another nod, and now from a pocket that was far too small and too tight, a complete set with three forks (including the little one for the, fish or, whatever). Malfoy then proceeded to pull out a napkin, and fold it into something that quite resembled a swan.

“When you’re finished with your meal please shout Porter! And I will collect the dishes. Your box—table—your—it should go back to its original form in about an hour.”

Harry said, “Okay.”

“Anything else you might require?”

Blinking and blinking. Harry was losing his mind. “You know who I am, yeah? Is there a… spell maybe that stops you from seeing me, or?”

“You’re Harry Potter,” Malfoy said in the same blank, somewhat-pleasant tone. “We went to school together.”

“We went to—yeah, I mean, sure. You… remember? School?”

“Do I remember school?” Malfoy tipped his head sideways. He was so impossibly handsome that Harry didn’t manage a full breath. “That’s an odd question.”

“Well you’re being odd! Why are you so—like that when you normally are…”

Malfoy sighed, a deep, pained thing, like Harry was the one being ridiculous. “Is there anything else you require, Sir. For your meal. For which you paid.”

“I… want you to fucking answer the question?”

His hair shimmered as he shook his head. “Yes, I remember school. Our headmaster was Albus Dumbledore. Care of Magical Creatures. He Who—the battle—I remember.”

“And…” why, why, why was he pushing, why did it even matter, “you remember me?”

“Harry Potter,” Malfoy said again. Entirely expressionless.

“Yeah. Yes. I, but do you remember our… we weren’t exactly friends. Do you remember—”

“I remember. Is there anything else you require for your meal?”

He felt like pulling his own hair out. “Why are you being like this! What are you doing here! I thought you were sentenced for ten years, what, what, what!”

Malfoy remained impassibly stoic. “I was sentenced for ten years. The parole board decided to release me early for what they dubbed ‘good behaviour’. I promise you I wasn’t good, would never dream to presume. Is that enough?”

“When did—”

“Potter,” Malfoy said, still in the same tone but with tired eyes, “is there anything else you require. For your meal.”

It felt all the kinds of wrong Harry knew. “No, I—I don’t need anything else.” The bland sort of misery behind Malfoy’s face didn’t crumple, didn’t move an inch. He nodded, turned to leave. “Wait—”

Harry didn’t mean to stop him, but Malfoy did stop, back turned and breathing very slowly, very deeply. “Yes?”

“What’s three?”

He did turn now. “I beg your pardon?”

“You said I can choose between one and three, but you never explained… the… interaction level. What does it mean, what’s three?”

“The highest level,” said Malfoy.

“Oh. Yeah. That… makes sense.”

“Thank you for your business,” with a motion so tiny it couldn’t be considered a bow, “we hope you have a wonderful dining experience and would love to hear your thoughts. See you next time!” and he left. Harry stood in front of the once-box-now-table, a plate filled with colourful rice steaming on a conjured placemat (Harry certainly never owned something this nice), a glass of Irn Bru already poured and the fucking, napkin-made swan. Nothing about it made the slightest bit of sense. None of it, at all, made sense, at all. No sense.

Tearing through the crammed kitchen, flinging boxes here and there, looking for… oh, he’d already placed it in what he decided would be the take-out menu drawer. The bright-orange flyer had a whole bit in the back that he forgot he once read.

Mrs. Miffy is a muggle-born witch who always loved cooking and, most importantly, eating. She remembers getting take out with her family with great fondness: “When I was young it felt like the most wonderful thing. A vacation in our own home. [I] felt like we were exploring the world, from the convenience of our own living room!” when she encountered the problem of locating magical houses while trying to order a curry, she knew she had to find a solution. The business came a few years later, with the assistance of Ministry funds to help make Mrs. Miffy’s dream come true. Eating, made simple.

Harry’s head was spinning. He made himself go back to the table (to the, box, that made an actually-not-too-shabby a table), realised he didn’t have a seat. Took the plate in both hands and sank to the carpet, overwhelmed and annoyingly supporting a semi.

Malfoy was working for a muggle-born witch. Malfoy was delivering food. Malfoy was released from Azkaban after seven years instead of his original ten. Malfoy was… hot, and weird, weird, weird, just, the weirdest thing he’d ever met, and a mystery, and a project, and a—no. Right. That way lies madness, he’d already tasted it once. Twice. Malfoy wasn’t a part of his life and it shouldn’t matter, what he did or how he looked.

But the rice was delicious, and somehow exactly what he needed. Harry ate the whole thing, and drank the whole glass, and felt, well, a little less ridiculous, for once. Maybe there was something there after all. Maybe there was something.

He put the flyer back in the drawer carefully. Standing in front of the table: “Porter?”

Half-expecting Malfoy to come back, he wasn’t really disappointed when the plate just Banished out of existence. Wasn’t because he was already thinking, what will I get next?

[runawaywhorses]

Barbara Palvin – Mert Alas And Seventy One Gin Paris Fashion Week Party 10/01/2023

[qatos]

FKA twigs at Mert Alas SEVENTY ONE gin launch in Paris (March, 2023)

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

Mutually destructive (TM)

But don’t worry, they are having fun. Just fair warning, story contains alcohol & other drugs & closely unspecified violence and other terrible coping mechanisms, because they are Isle kids, what did you expect.

Also it's exam season (tm) and I'm not entirely responsible for my mind, so there is that. This is like therapy but cheaper ✨

Anyway, enjoy?

They crashed at Mother Gothel’s place for the night, the old hag having disappeared somewhere or other, though probably to Evil Queens to plot dark rituals involving brutal sacrifice of young maidens or whatever.

Either way, it was not Anthony’s problem, as that mainly meant that her place was free – and that Ginny has invited him and Harriet to spend the night. Or several nights, until someone inevitably remembers they need him and/or (more likely) Harriet to survive and comes looking for them, or until Gothel comes home. Which could take weeks. Her relationship with time was a bit wonky ever since she turned one hundred seventy or so. Anyone’s guess when that was.

But… It’s way past midnight and Anthony’s heart is pounding for all the wrong reasons.

Fucking nightmares.

He wakes up with a start and manages to come to consciousness quickly enough not to scream or accidentally hit or stab any of the girls.

Fucking Isle.

He knows he won’t fall asleep again tonight.

So he carefully gets up from the bed, trying not to disturb the girls – they deserve to sleep, you know?

But before he can make more than a step, he sees Harriet stirring: She was sleeping with one around Ginny and the other carelessly thrown over her eyes, as if to block out the light.

She is now looking at him in between her fingers.

„Ssh, love. Go back to sleep,“ he whispers at her, still softly as not to wake up still sleeping Ginny.

…And she’s glaring at him. How nice.

„Seriously, Harriet. Go back to sleep–“

„I wasn’t sleeping,“ she tells him, voice quite raspy. But then again, that might just be from yelling at the pirates day and night, so Anthony is not gonna argue.

„Where are you going?“

„…Nowhere.“

„Asshole.“

Ginny stirs too and Harriet moves her hand into her hair, and without missing a beat, she accuses him of lying to her and of having nightmares. Like, she is right, on both accounts. She just has no right to say it out loud.

He glares at her too.

And of course, still petting through Ginny’s wild curls, she has the bloody audacity to smile at him – more teeth than anything else – and say: „Let’s go do something.“

He gestures to Ginny: „She’s sleeping.“

„She wouldn’t mind.“

Ginny, apparently minding the sound quite a lot, hides her face into Harriet’s neck and fucking whines still mostly asleep. Harriet only shrugs at that.

Anthony sits back down, keeping his bad leg straight, and leans close to Ginny, his lips almost touching her ear:

„Wake up, Sunflower,“ he whispers, and bites down at her earlobe, just because he can.

Harriet laughs at that, and pushes the other girl off herself, ignoring her groans. She sits up and reaches for something under the bed: Her boots, maybe?

…Nope. A bottle of rum. Obviously.

She takes a swig from it and holds the flask out for him, too: He drinks, but grimaces at the taste. Rum will never be his thing, but it’s cheap.

Harriet just cackles and takes it back. And drinks again, because what else would she do?

„Rise and shine, Sunflower,“ he attempts to wake Ginny up again. He half-suspects she’s just faking it at this point.

And really: She turns around, eyes still closed,but one hand dramatically draped over her forehead.

„Shut up–,“ she groans, „I need my beauty sleep.“

In response, Harriet throws her cape at her.

„I’ll strangle you with that, Captain,“ complains Ginny, yawning exasperatedly „But not now. In the morning“

Both Anthony and Harriet laugh at that, ignoring Ginny hiding her face in the fabric of the cape, even though none of them has turned the lights on.

„Get up, Gin,“ decides Harriet in a voice that is far from her best command tone, „We’re going somewhere.“

She already has her coat and boots on.

„The End of the World?“ asks Anthony. It is quite nice on the reefs, and they can’t see Auradon from that side of the Isle.

He too stands up to get his boots and jackets.

„The Skull Rock?“ shoots Harriet back.

„Ew. Water. Bones..“

„Fuck you. The skull rock is an iconic place of my father’s story and it looks cool as fuck. Aesthetic, Tremaine. You wouldn’t understand.“

„Back to sleep,“ complains Ginny again, and throws her hairbrush at Hariet, who doesn’t even flinch as it hits her.

She deserved that anyway for that comment about aesthetic.

Anthony takes mercy at Ginny, then. Well, mercy… That depends on how one takes that.

He leans close to her, pushing away the cape, and says: „Come with us, Sunflower. I’ll carry you until you wake up…“ he promises her. He just wants to get out of there, you know? Do anything.

„Fine,“ allows Ginny, finally sitting up and slipping her feet into her shoes, „But only because you’re asking so nicely.“

He smiles at her, sacharine, as he helps her into her cape like the gentleman that he is.

And then,as he promised, he quite easily lifts her off her feet and starts walking, only stumbling a little. Which Ginny either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

Harriet, however, barks out a cruel laugh:

„You’re gonna carry her? I thought you were joking!“

And she gestures at him, as if to hand Ginny over.

He gives her a look that would freeze most other Isle inhabitants on the spot. Which, unsurprisingly, doesn’t phrase her at all.

„What!“ she snarls, „You think I can’t carry her? Is that because I’m a girl, Lord Tremaine? Huh?!“

He can see her eyes rapidly darkening even across the unlit room.

„Answer me!“

„No, it’s because you’re–“

„Well, you’re basically a cripl!“ With the bottle in hand, she gestures towards his bad leg.

„I,“ he replies stiffly, „Have had a broken leg just few weeks back. And I was going to say: You are drunk, Harriet.“

She breathes in sharply to argue back, but before she can, Ginny lets go of him, annoyed, and quite loudly announces that if they don’t shut up at once, she’ll poison their next meal. Or, in Harriet’s case, probably a drink.

Anthony clicks his jaw back into the place and across the room, Harriet does the same.

„Let’s go to the Skull Rock, then,“ Ginny decides, and Anthony ignores Harriet mouthing „Told you, Tremaine. Aesthetic.“ to the best of his ability.

„If you two really insist on dragging me out of bed. But I want to go to Maddy’s first.“

So Ginny slips out of the door first, and Anthony follows, and as he walks past Harriet, she brushes her fingers against his, squeezing them for less than a heartbeat, which isn’t quite an apology, but that’s alright, because Anthony didn’t ask for one.

They walk through cold Isle night, shoulder to shoulder, and the few people on the streets get out of their way.

They don’t really talk.

Sonn, they get to Maddy’s – Madam Mim’s „Apothecary“, which her descendant correctly took as free real estate to get all sorts of free proviant. And free samples to cook drugs, as you do.

Ginny doesn’t bother knocking or anything, letting herself into the shop via picking the lock. What else are hairpins for? Honestly–

And besides, Anthony is convinced that Mad Maddy doesn’t sleep anyway.

„Maddy!“ calls out Ginny, „Maddy! A visit!“

Sure enough, dear Maddy drops down from the ceiling, probably, and quite unbothered dodges Harriet‘s knife. Good for her, and that is what she gets for surprises.

She and Ginny greet each other by exasperated kisses on the cheeks, and Athony pulls Harriet back, closer to him. She doesn’t argue and doesn’t stab. She does, however, pocket something from one of the shelves.

He loops his arm through hers as they listen to the hushed conversation, which is carried out in some unholy combination of dead languages.

Suddenly, Ginny turns back to them: „Do you want anything? Angel dust? Pixie dust? Seaweed? Regular weed? Good old crack? Cocaine? Well, not that, probably. Ettie? Maddy says she brewed this wicked absinth–“

He can see the gleam in Harriet’s eyes, and he decides he’ll get her the probably absurdly expensive absinth as a gift sometimes. But now, he speaks before she can: „Maybe another time. Just get me some tobacco?“

Both of his girls make a face at that,but it does distract Harriet, and Ginny does turn back to speak with Maddy again anyway.

After few more minutes, some gold exchanges pockets, and Ginny hides away most of her purchase, tucking it to her bra.

She drops the tobacco into his hand and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like „Don’t kiss me.“

He flashes her his best smile.

„No making out at my shop!“ complains Maddy, shooing them away, „This is a respectable business!“

Yeah, totally. Respectable business. Absolutely.

Still, Anthony is a little surprised Harriet kisses him, hard and quick, all teeth and spite. She then kisses Ginny just the same way, flips off Maddy, and walks out of the door. A bit dazed, Anthony follows after her, but hey. Harriet was never one for rules.

Ginny joins them quickly, joint in hand already. Anthony wastes no time in fishing out a lighter and giving her the fire, the joint held between her lips.

„You gonna share, Sunflower?“ asks Harriet.

„Nope,“ answers Ginny, dragging a long breath, eyes half-lidded, „It’s just weed. You aren’t allowed that, Captain Hook.“

„Why, you–!“

„Quiet!“ shouts some hag or another, or maybe Madam Mim herself. Anthony frankly doesn’t care.

As one, the three of them turn around and yell: „Shut the fuck up!“ in the general direction of the voice.

Anthony then takes the girls hands – it’s night, no one can see, it’s just for a moment – and they walk towards the port, towards the reefs and the skull rock.

They walk around the Lost Revenge, and Anthony can see two figures sitting on the railing of the ship, too close to each other and definitely too close to the edge.

There are sharks circling around, but that has never bothered the two of them.

Teeth flash through the dark as Harriet flips her brother off in greeting.

„Sammy and Murph were looking for you,“ he informs her unnecessarily, „But you seem quite busy, sister. I’ll tell them that.“

„Whatever you do, do not tell Calista you saw me.“

„For a price, sister dearest…“

…And that’s how a bit of Ginny’s angel dust ended up in the hands of Lost Revenge’s Captain and first mate, if you were wondering.

Though judging by noises alone, they might have gotten distracted before they took it, too: Anthony is fairly sure he heard them jump into the sea before they rounded the corner, as to not walk around Hope.

„Swimming with the sharks, such a nice date,“ remarks Harriet dryly, „Love that for him.“

„Shut up, Ettie.“

They get to the Skull Rock without running into anyone else.

More like, no one runs voluntarily into them, which is as it should be.

They stand on the shore above the sea, looking into the deep and hollow eyes of the Skull Rock. Dead place, just like the whole Isle.

Anthony can hardly stand its glare.

They stand still and Harriet drinks again, offering him the flask too, and ostensibly ignoring Ginny for her stunt with the joint. Anthony takes it, and so what if he lets his fingers linger on hers a heartbeat longer?

The wind tugs at their hair and flares Ginny’s cape.

The cape flies away a moment after, when Ginny unclasps it. Anthony looks at her in surprise.

„What?“ she smiles, pupils blown wide already, „It’s hot in there. Lets do something!“

She laughs as if nothing mattered, and maybe it doesn’t, because soon, all three of them are laughing.

Nothing matters, you see?

Nothing matters.

Up until Ginny decides to jump off the cliff.

(It’s not that high, and it was so hot in there, Anthony!)

(Lets do something!)

Harriet is still cackling.

„She just jumped off the cliff,“ he says, unsure if Harriet is, you know, still mentally there.

„Yep.“

Okay, she is.

„In the middle of the night. Near Skull Rock.“

„Yep.“

„High out of her skin.“

„And she wouldn’t share, that bitch.“

„Harriet, she can’t swim.“

„Well fuck,“ notes Harriet dryly before she, too, lunges herself off a cliff.

Oh, what a night…

He peers over the edge, and in the dim almost-dawn, he spots the girls soon, two dark figures in darker sea.

He can hear them laughing, too.

„Anthony, join us!“ shouts Harriet.

„Don’t be a coward!“

„Ah, fuck it,“ he mutters before shrugging off his jacket and jumping down too.

The water is cold, but it doesn’t matter. Not right now, at least – and it seems that all the sharks are still circling the Lost Revenge.

He swims to Harriet and Ginny, clumsy but above water, and he laughs too.

[howlingday]

Ozpin: That's one fruit martini, one gin swap, one Patch Island special, one Mantle Mule, and a strawberry whisky flute. All just for you.

Raven: You forgot something. I also ordered a smile to go with that, too~.

Ozpin: ...Right. Your total is seventy-five lien.

Raven: Really? Are you sure? That seems kinda high...

Raven: (Pulls dress down) Oh no! Just how clumsy am I~?!

Raven: (Pulls dress up) I'm so sorry. In all the excitement, I think I might have misheard you. How much were those drinks again~?

Ozpin: ...Seventy. Five. Lien.

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

Raven: (Sobbing) Kin you fuggin beleeb id, Grow?! He made me pay every damn piece! He might as well have called me flat-chested and told me to kill myself!

Qrow: That's not what he said, Rae.

Raven: You weren't fucking there, Qrow! (Sniffs) What's wrong with my tits?! Are they not big enough?! Are they sagging?! What the hell is going on?!

Qrow: Well, maybe, just maybe, not everyone is always in the mood to look at tits?

Raven: ...OH MY GOD, I AM SO FUUUCKED!

[strange-spaghetti]

With the bar I'm photographing being Seventies themed, they have a drink called "Phil Collins" which is a play off of Tom Collins & luckily it's just gin, lemon, elderflower liquor, & soda water so I can actually get one after the shoot! Stoked 👌🏻👌🏻

[fkatwigsfashion]

FKA twigs and Mert Alas at a Seventy One Gin Launch Party in Paris - March 2023

Wearing:

Pierced Serpent Hoops by Panconesi

[marsmad]

I love that coat ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Seventy One Gin party at Laperouse 05/03/23

📸 gregorylentz, tyrone_dylan, antonin.courant, mertalas on IG

[wildcmbcrsupdates]

bpalvinarg: 📸| Barbara Palvin en la fiesta secreta de Mert Alas y Seventy One Gin para celebrar la #PFW en París, Francia (01/10)

Barbara Palvin via bpalvinarg on Instagram, 10/07/2023.

[fuckyeahcagatayulusoy]

Çağatay Ulusoy, Mert Alaş’ın Paris Moda Haftası'nda Seventy One Gin için yakın arkadaşlarına düzenlediği gizli partiye katıldı.