#they are so hard to draw and are draining away all of my ink but its worth it. bc I love them

[boneinator]

I love being in niche fandoms 😁😁😁 (SOMEBODY KILL ME NOW.)

(reblogs > likes !!)

[strawbs-arts]

Hello! I don’t have much art to post yet other than these sketches (going through Art Block!! D:), so I compiled a huge lore post explaining my version of the Welcome Home Magical Girl AU! Yahoo 👍

Magical Girl AU:

Wally: paintbrush, art magic, artist/apple

Julie: yo-yo, plant magic, flowers (both)

Frank: net, butterfly magic, butterfly (both)

Poppy: shield, healing magic, chef/plus sign

Barnaby: hammer, elasticity, clown/heart

Eddie: scissors, paper magic, paper/spade

Sally: staff, weather magic, sun/stars

Howdy: bag, item conjure, clover

(order: weapon, magic, theme/brooch shape)

* Home is the mascot and the source of most of their magic, which is kept inside fancy shaped brooches that fit character’s themes. Their brooches allow them to transform into magical girls!

* They fight monstrous goop entities that have suddenly appeared from a mysterious place, while trying to live their day-to-day lives in their neighborhood! The setting is about the same with more fantasy magical girl aspects.

* Everyone gets the standard magical girl abilities (enhanced strength, jump ability, durability, senses) plus a signature power & weapon. They can change the size of their weapon as they wish.

Wally - Wally is the leader of Welcome Home’s Magical Girl team! He has the ability to manipulate art by controlling paint, crayons, ink, and graphite. Typically, he uses his trusty magic paintbrush, which has everlasting and color-changing paint on its bristles. He can make any drawing, whether his own or someone else’s, into come to life as he wills. He’s mainly in the backlines painting creatures and items to help his friends, or just painting appealing shapes on the ground!

In a last resort situation, Wally can summon an ocean of black paint that will gradually swallow and drain the life everything in its path, even himself. While using this magic, he will be in an unresponsive state that can only be stopped under certain circumstances [force, death, or Wally just has to force himself out of it]. Paint hands will also arise to protect Wally from harm, but they can be destroyed or blown away, although they will respawn within a few minutes. The paint will immediately disappear and stop its effects when Wally snaps out of it. Eventually, Wally will be able to master this power and control this form.

Julie - Julie has the ability to grow and manipulate all plants, but she typically sprouts flowers and roots all around. Her weapon is a yo-yo that she uses to grab things, whack ‘em, and turn it large to roll somebody over! Julie is the first to spring into action when something goes awry in the neighborhood, usually followed by Frank (who’s always dragged into the fight. Poor guy!).

Frank - Frank’s ability is butterfly manipulation: he can summon swarms of them to disorient enemies, and he can also “see” through his butterfly’s eyes to spy. Frank’s magic also allows him to take on the physiology/abilities of butterflies, such as flight, cocoon generation, and poison spit. His weapon is a bug net, which he waves around to ensnare and smack monsters!

Poppy - Poppy is the main healer of the Magical Girl team! As is her role, she has the ability to heal all injuries and ailments. Her healing magic can also bless food, so you can take a bite out of her seed treats and feel better instantly. She hates battle and prefers to stay on the sidelines to heal her friends. In tense moments, out comes her mighty shield that’ll protect her and her friends from any sort of danger!

Barnaby - Barnaby’s ability is elasticity, which means he can stretch himself as far as he wants. It’s a useful power for grabbing things a little too far away, slingshotting, or just being plain silly. His weapon is a large squeaky hammer—even with its usual soft squeakiness, it could still hit hard with a bit of momentum from wound up arms (just like Popeye)! He can perform all sorts of crazy feats with his bendy puppet limbs!

Eddie - Eddie is the neighborhood mailman, of course, but when he’s not handling packages, he’s working alongside his friends in their magical girl escapades! He has the ability to generate and manipulate paper: it can fold and move according to his control. For more precise crafts or battle, he uses his magic scissors to snip away! Before he de-transforms, he always makes sure to create more paper for his letters and envelopes.

Sally - Sally has the ability to control the weather! Her powers can draw out different weather conditions, sun, rain, snow, (you name it) and direct towards a certain area too. Her weapon is a staff with a sun-shaped topper, modeled after the shining star herself. Sometimes, during one of her stupendous plays, she summons thunder for dramatic effect—which she quickly changes back to sunny before the wind and rain can destroy her whole stage.

Howdy - Howdy has the ability to create any object he desires. Technically, His main “weapon” is his bottomless bag, but he typically uses his other creations to support his neighbors. Although in desperate times, his bag can still totally pack(aha) a punch! Most of his creations stored in the bag, which he knows like the back of his four hands. He’s the only one who can even navigate it!

Random notes and trivia:

* Wally’s power doesn’t work on photographs, printed artwork, clay, and fibers (RIP he can’t control his funny cardboard cutout.. Eddie probably can though)

* Wally’s paintbrush can be used as a blunt object

* Julie can accelerate the growth of a plant, but its fruits/vegetables will taste lackluster so it’s better to just let it grow by itself

* Frank’s summoned butterflies are not alive unlike the various bugs in the neighborhood.

* Frank’s cape opens up like wings when he flies!

* Eddie is the only neighbor allowed to have a sharp weapon

* Howdy and Eddie can both produce paper

[evilmageclub]

29, 20, 7(for inspo):)?

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

wow this is such a hard question.. i just had a little skim through the 4 things i posted this year and there are too many contenders (none as short as a line or a passage) but im gonna say this from the false rings chapter 6 flashback. not as grounded in moment to moment sensations as the stuff i tend to like about my writing but i think it is a neat little summary of why the flashbacks are there in the fic

They had been at war for ten years. It felt like nothing—was nothing, a single dark blot on the most recent page of millennia still being written. Samot’s task, as he viewed it then, was to conquer finality itself… so he would not, and could not, believe in permanent damage. Whether it was Samol’s tired disapproval across his living room couch, or Samothes’ larynx splintering under his teeth on some forsaken battlefield—passing passion, passing cruelty. Or perhaps an adult Maelgwyn sitting in a war tent clutching that mask too tightly in his lap, with a patch of stubble on his upper lip as he spoke that almost made him look older than Samot; who in any case had never felt much like a father, though it would take him years more to give up on being one. Samot had spent too long too far removed from Nothing. Before he had teeth to draw blood or a tongue to apologise for it he had known, until time and a cavalcade of mortal loves had made him forget, how all things must end. Only natural that what tormented him most in the hours after Samothes’ death was not that it had happened, but that it could not be undone.  Why this time? Why, among all the endings they had inked into the fabric of history and folded away like keepsakes, did it have to be in a lonely forge by their child’s hand? If he had known. If he had paid more attention to the whispers among his mages or on the city’s canopied streets. If he had known that Tristero had abdicated his throne. If he had known, he would have done it himself and done it right.

there are also a lot of bits i like from the first section of my secsam from last year, which counts as having been posted this year. i had a lot of fun getting lush w the descriptions and sappy about young love

But there is little of the wolf in Samot here, now, as he drains his drink faster than any mindful man should and rises from his seat to look out over the railing. His cloak rests forgotten on the back of his chair, and in its absence the gossamer-silk of his tunic takes flight in the mountain wind, jade and silver flowing forth as he leans forward on tiptoes to take in the view of the city. Yes—Samothes knows he is besotted, and he can conceive of nothing worse than the thought of seeing Samot’s curiosity blunted, his desires turned cold. So he teaches Samot to build towers of stone and beautifully outfitted classrooms, he casts letters in brass and allows his work to be reproduced, disseminated, explicated; he visits mortal bars, and bares himself before Samot’s barbed questions, all of which feels a bit like turning his own skin inside out and hanging it on display for the world to read his soul. Which is to say, of course, that it is unlike anything he has ever felt, and he would lay down his tools and surrender his every creation before letting Samot lose faith in him.

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

I don't do a ton of rereading because it leads me down an editing rabbit hole sjdgdf but i have reread many bits of false rings quite a few times because i wanted to keep a degree of continuity and by the time i was on like c6 i had Fully forgotten what i wrote in 2021. sometimes it is good and im pleasantly surprised!!

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

god funnily enough i dont use song lyrics much at all. not a conscious choice but i think my aversion to it comes from the same place as my dislike of quotability used as a measure of writing quality. not a fan of pithy soundbites

but!! the most frequently occurring artists on my samsam playlist are serpentwithfeet, florence and the machine, and the cure (: i did once post and delete (bc it felt underdeveloped, but never fear the same idea got massively elaborated and turned into a flashback in false rings) a samsam fic with title 'i want the sky to fall in' from want by the cure, which is a samot song

[noxtms]

dear rachel ; we are pleased to inform you that your application for KEIRA QUIRRELL has been accepted to 𝐧𝐨𝐱 ! daisy edgar jones is now taken. you have twenty four hours to submit your account, or else your role will be reopened !

⧼   daisy edgar jones, demi woman, she & they   /   downhill by lincoln + the first time that your grandmother’s unjust anger fills the house and forces you to tears, you are found lying beneath your bed, the last remnants of your upset still clinging to your lashes. he draws you out and sits cross legged on the floor before you, taking your tiny hands between both his own and rubbing slow, comforting circles into your palms. “you look just like your mother,” he tells you, gently, and all it does is make you sniffle, “it’s not a bad thing. it’s just hard, is all, for your grandmother to see her so alive on you.”   /   when donna tartt wrote, in short, i felt my existence was tainted in some subtle but essential way. i suppose it’s not odd, then, that i have trouble reconciling my life to those of my friends.   /   years later, when you’re old enough to read a room and keen enough to pick up on distaste before a word is ever said, you’ll still manage to feel the sharp shock of surprise when a wizened strangers lip curls. “you’re the splitting image of her,” she sneers, and it feels like a slap in the face. her one clear eye looks you up and down is unimpressed by what she finds. you feel, for the first time in so very long, the sudden urge to shrink into a corner and hide yourself away from this particular brand of study. “the innocent batting of those big doe eyes, that butter-wouldn’t-melt smile... she was a nasty girl. i remember her well. no doubt you share her same embittered nature.”   /   kurt vonnegut once said: never trust a survivor, my father used to warn me, until you find out what he did to stay alive.   /   he finds you when you’re alone. has taken up the habit of it, though you wish he’d put it down again. he doesn’t often break his silence, and these days there isn’t all that much more for you to say to fill it up. he clears his throat and you look away from the distant moon that hangs low in the sky. he opens his mouth, seems like he’s about to speak, then looks down at the ground and says nothing at all until the grandfather clock at the end of the corridor has ticked its way through the slowest minute of your life. “you remind me of her,” it seems wrenched from him, somehow, like he isn’t quite sure how the words made it from within to the open air. you prepare yourself for the worst you know will come, the way it always does, and instead, so quiet that you barely hear him, he says, “i’m glad. she was always the better of us both.”   /   when rowan hisayo buchanan said, years later, i smugly told a room of students that we’re all unreliable narrators of our own lives, as if that wasn’t a terrifying thing to say.   /   at the end we are left with a girl, changed now, unsure where the rot crept in but painfully aware of its presence with every shaking inhale of breath. there is a girl and there is a flickering fluorescent light overhead, harsh and unforgiving, casting shadows over the flowered tile long faded by the sun. the girl sits inside a stained clawfoot tub, still fully dressed, freezing water beating down atop her head as she scrubs the tainted skin of her left arm in a frenzied haze, a begging for the relief of running ink that never comes. the girl won’t stop until she sees red. maybe not even then. she’ll hope and pray and believe with all her ruined heart that her sin can be washed down the rusted drain - if not today, then tomorrow. if not tomorrow, then six months from now. if not six months from now, four years down the line. so on and so forth. the girl is built of the mistakes of her father. she’s the a living, breathing monument to the errors of her mother. she knows she can’t outrun them, but by merlin, she’s willing to try. she knows she might never find salvation, but under the right fluorescent yellow light, anything can be holy enough to save her.   ⧽   ━━   hey, isn’t that KEIRA MONET QUIRRELL? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the TWENTY FOUR year old half blood WITCH is a RAVENCLAW alumnus who has gone on to be a CURSE BREAKER. i’ve heard they can be quite OBSERVANT & ASSIDUOUS, but i don’t know… they came off very RETICENT & COVETOUS in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it?   [   rachel, twenty three, gmt, she / they   ]   * pettigrew surname

[untothebreach]

I truly think I've reached the end of my alotted Good Art.

I feel incapable of communicating anything anymore... even having feelings that show in my work. It all feels so contrived and stretched and fake, it's such a struggle to make, when it should be fun or at least cathartic or interesting - should flow like water, or feel like the molding of clay or the hewing of stone, not the slow drag of nails across soft inner skin and pricks of pain in wrist joints.

I want to be able to SAY things with my work. To make stories that are like poetry, to create scenes and poses that speak louder than words. I used to be able to do it so easily, drawing constantly. I made characters sing off the pages, drew poses and expressions, in ink and color and comics, and loved them all.

But now... it's like there's a well that's been run dry, and even when I've given it a rest the wellspring just never came back like it should. Something in me snapped, at some point - during college, I think, or while I was PA'ing - and never came back right after I graduated. Something got taken from me, stolen away by the universe, and now all I can feel is acid jealousy in the back of my throat every time I see someone make what I cannot. It's a reminder of how inferior I am, how worthless a failure I've become. I've stagnated, become hard and rigid and boring and worthless, even with a year of unemployment - so many months I could've been making new things or learning or bettering myself, and I have nothing to show for it because I will never be as good as the people who have it in them to care and push and practice and work and grow. I'm too lazy to be successful, to easily bored and interested in my own comfort to ever truly be able to thrive or tell stories the way I want. I care too much about what other people think, but without what other people think how can you count what you make as worthwhile? Is it really storytelling if you're the only person who reads it?

No. Story is a connection, and I'm simply incapable of doing that right now. Let alone considering the fact that I wouldn't be able to draw it even if my life depended on it. The lines are stiff, the faces off, everything skewed and misshapen.

I hate my work. I hate myself and how incapable I am of getting any better. I hate my hands that feel like they're betraying me and the mind that doesn't seem to work. I hate my achy heart and hous bitter and jealous it's become of everyone and everything around it. I hate myself for not being able to fix this, not being able to get better or be better or make anything anymore. I feel so useless and powerless to stop it, watching myself crumble into dust with nothing to do but watch my life and all the promise it held go down the drain while I claim to be living my dreams.

I just wanted to tell stories... and now I can't even manage to just do that.

[sunfish-studies]

Celebration

✄・・・ Feathery Ink [Karasuno Manager Series]

➜ Pairing: Karasuno x Manager! Reader

➜ Warning: none

➜ Notes: This is a separate series from Crisp Leaves. Similar to Crisp Leaves, manager in this story will be portrayed as a girl. She will be tall. This is just my appreciation towards tall girls, you guys are amazing.

Previous:  ‹ Cogs › | Next:  ‹ Let The Games Begin! ›

↷ SUMMARY ↶

Last day of training calls for celebration for everyone’s hard work, so it’s barbeque time!

“All right, meat!”

“I’m starving!”

While the boys freshened up after practice matches, the managers were already on the move to prepare for the barbeque. Since there were quite a lot of people, the coaches decided to held it on the backyard of the gym, where the sharp hill stood just beside it. The coaches helped setting up the grills while the managers divided to cater different things.

Yachi decided she would get the utensils they needed; paper plates, chopsticks, paper cups, trays for rice balls, and other things. Shimizu would cover for the rice ball making, Yukie and Eri were in charge on cutting the vegetables in bite-size, Kaori and Mako would clean the vegetables before it was cut.

Meanwhile, you’re in charge of preparing the condiments and sauces, unwrapping the meat cuts, and arranged them on a bigger plate. Aside from that you had to make sure the meats searing on the grills weren’t charred.

“[Name]-chan, please replace me for cutting the onions,” Eri sobbed, reaching out to you with grabby hands.

“Alright, senpai,” you giggled in reply because Eri was clearly needing a break and watching the meats seared was a great break for her. Quickly, you stood on her place and started slicing the tear-induced-menaces after washing your hands.

It didn’t take long for you to suffer the same fate as the Ubugawa’s manager–the first seven slices went through without a hitch, but when you reached the tenth your eyes started to sting and blurry from the pain. Then tears began trailing down your cheeks, and you wiped it you’re your shirt sleeve.

“D-Don’t cry, [Name]-san!!” you looked up, seeing Hinata with his place face quivering on his feet. “W-what should I do!?”

“It’s fine, Shoyo-kun, it’s just the onions,” you sniffled pointed towards the bowl full of it. “It hurts my eyes.”

“I can take your place, Otohaku-chan!” Lev popped up beside Hinata.

“Instead of cutting the onions, you’ll chop your fingers off,” Yaku deadpanned before offering. “Here, let me do it.”

“No, it’s alright, Yaku-san,” you shook your head. “It’s time for you to have a break, not working.”

Being persistent sometimes has it’s perks, it took numbers of rejection to finally have Yaku gave up. You knew he was just trying to help, but you didn’t want to rob his time relaxing. When all the preparations were done, the boys were already surrounding the grills with hungry faces. Coach Nekomata gave them a light speech along with praises for their hard work over the week, and they dived to grab on the meat straight from the grill.

“THANKS FOR THE FOOD!”

Just like Kaori, you brought a plate of rice balls to offer and managed to witnessed Yukie’s enormous appetite. She practically inhaled four rice balls in one go and you’re not the only who was dumbfounded from it.

.

.

Konoha and Komi almost had their souls went to heaven from the frightening circle Nishinoya, Tanaka, and Taketora made. Well, they did elbow each other to encourage one another getting close or at least having a talk with Shimizu. The girl walked pass them holding a paper plate with food–looking extremely gorgeous and she didn’t even try.

“That was scary,” Konoha muttered underneath his breath. The three finally stopped because of Karasuno and Nekoma’s captain scolded them–the three immediately shrunk.

“They really had their guard up, huh,” Komi added, feeling his energy drained from such a scary encounter.

“Uhm, excuse me,” the two turned to look over their shoulder and that’s when they noticed–Karasuno’s other first year manager who’s Bokuto constantly talking about. The owl captain wouldn’t shut up about her much to their annoyance and now they knew why.

“Would you like some rice ball?”

“Sure,” Konoha replied dumbly.

“I’ll take two,” Komi followed with a daze. You placed one on Konoha’s empty paper plate and two for Komi upon his request. Smiling at them, you proceeded to excuse yourself so you could offer to someone else.

Following your figure dazedly, they noticed how the light shone even brighter and basked you in a beautiful glow. That’s when they thought of a conclusion.

A goddess just graces us mere mortals! They screamed in their head.

.

.

You tried to calm Yachi down from her traumatizing experience being surrounded by absurdly tall boys (“Titans, [Name]-chan! Titans!”). Thankfully, all of them were nice enough to made room so your friend could reach for some meat. Yachi almost cried in happiness from the real taste of meat.

From the sidelines, Shimizu and the other managers were watching the two of you while talking about the boys sometimes.

“How much are you going to eat?” Kaori questioned because Yukie was having a ridiculous amount of food towering on her plate and she just kept munching away without care.

“The third-years in Karasuno all seems pretty mature,” Mako commented.

“Our ace is weak-willed, though,” Shimizu smiled sheepishly.

“What? Really?” Eri replied in surprise. “Even though he looks that scary?”

“Though, I think that’s still better than our simpleton ace,” Kaori commented. “Still,”

Their eyes were directed towards where the said simpleton ace was standing and placing meat until it towered on your empty plate.

“Eat more, [Name]-chan! Or you won’t get even taller!” he stated.

“And eat more vegetables!” Kuroo added, placing cabbages and carrots to your plate, adding even more food.

“Have some rice balls, too.” Somehow, even Akaashi participated in this whole fiasco and put a rice ball onto your plate. Now, there’s a ridiculous amount of food on your plate.

“…I can’t eat this much,” you commented, staring at the food filling your plate.

“Nonsense, I don’t see you eat anything even when the others are,” Akaashi stated. “You’re too busy handling other things nonstop.”

“Have a break will you,” Kuroo patted your back. “Everyone’s having fun and you should too.”

“Have more meat, [Name]-san!” Hinata said.

“You can have my share, Otohaku-chan!” Lev followed and you immediately shook your head.

“At least he and Akaashi took care of our baby manager well,” Kaori sighed in relief.

“[Name]-chan is close with Fukurodani’s captain and setter, huh? Even Nekoma’s captain,” Mako giggled. “She’s drawing everyone in.”

“Well, it’s rare for a first-year to be as tall as her,” Eri grinned. “The boys are especially poles so it’s probably great not to strain their neck once in a while from looking down.”

“Karasuno’s pretty lucky to have her, huh?” Yukie said after swallowing her food.

“Yeah, we are,” Shimizu smiled.

.

.

“Did you have fun?” Sawamura asked you when you’re helping other managers to clean up the remaining plates left behind on the table along with other scraps littering around. He picked up a few paper cups and placed it into the trash bin.

“Definitely,” you answered without hesitation. “Everyone’s so nice, it’s probably the most fun I’ve had.”

“Thank goodness, then,” he gave you a smile.

“I’m really glad I joined the volleyball club,” you commented, grinning.

“And we glad to have you here,” the captain chuckled and replied.

Everything was over by the time the sun started to sink into the horizon–time truly flew by when you enjoyed it. Since Miyagi was quite a distance from Saitama, they needed to depart first or they would be back extremely late at night. Yukie and Eri were fake-crying and joking about refusing to let you go–in the end, you’re all exchanging numbers so you could keep in touch.

“Did you have fun, Otohaku-san?”

“Coincidentally, you asked the same question as my captain, Akaashi-san.” The Fukurodani setter, like before, helping you on carrying the extra luggage in hand although you did tell him it’s only until you reached the stairs. “And to answer, I am. These one week of training camp is fun. Somehow, I don’t want this to be over.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll meet again,” Akaashi replied. “At the Spring Interhigh.”

“I’m sure we will, Akaashi-san.” you smiled. “And thank you for helping me with luggage.”

“[Name]-chan!!” Bokuto bounded over with a grin plastered on his face. “We’ll be waiting at the nationals!”

“Karasuno, Bokuto-san. Otohaku-san doesn’t play volleyball.” Akaashi deadpanned.

“Just agree with me once, Akaashi!”

“Well, whatever he said,” Kuroo piped up, approaching the three of you. “Made sure your team go to the nationals so we could meet again and make the battle came true.”

“I’ll do my best, Kuroo-san.” Then Kuroo reached out to ruffle your hair, it’s been a while since he did that and you weren’t even going to lie about enjoying it. The cat captain was similar to an older brother now.

“Off you go then, [Name],” he removed his hand from your head. “And don’t miss me.”

“How could I when I have your phone number, Kuroo-san?” you snickered. “You’re probably going to bombard me with chemistry puns at 10pm.”

“Then, I’m gonna call you every day so you won’t have to deal with Kuroo!” Bokuto declared before laughing victoriously.

“Please block his number immediately, Otohaku-san,” Akaashi stated. “Or you won’t be getting any sleep. His talking is endless.”

“Why, Akaashi!?” the said boy whined.

“Aside from that, be careful on your way home,” Akaashi decided to ignore the captain and gave you a small smile.

You returned his smile. “Will do, Akaashi-san.”

With that, the whole week of summer training camps has come to an end. The whole team watched you guys drove away into the other way back to Miyagi.

.

.

“You have a match tomorrow, don’t you?” former Coach Ukai questioned, brows creased from the insistence of your combi. “That’s probably enough, then!”

“One more! Just one more!” Hinata pleaded.

“We’ll finish after this one!” Kageyama added.

Two days of practicing to prepare for the preliminaries, just a day before the match Sawamura dismissed them early to get some rest. Since it would be impossible to use the gym unless getting an earful from him, Kageyama and Hinata needed to look for another place. Former Coach Ukai lent them the court only for a bit, just until the others who wants to practice comes.

And you were there to hold a leash if they’re being stubborn or something.

“This is the last, alright?” you scolded the two. “We shouldn’t bother the others who wants to practice here. And you should rest before the match.”

Thankfully the older man letting them had the court just one more time and you couldn’t help but feeling grateful of it. You sighed before turning to face former Coach Ukai and bowed down. “On their behalf, I apologize.”

“It’s fine.” Former Coach Ukai dismissed it. “Their eagerness is a great thing, but even eagerness isn’t going to magically give them energy. It would be bad if they burnt out even before the game started.”

“[Name]-san! Can you throw us the ball?” Hinata called out.

In the end, the two managed to successfully killed the quick–and sure enough, it also impressed former Coach Ukai which added more reassurance that your team would be more than okay to face the entire preliminaries and became champions.

[kohanayaki]

.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 3

Continuing the story of how you and Sirius became friends; as James and Remus grow closer to you, Sirius continues to treat you coldly until a late night encounter makes him question everything.

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2   CH 3   CH 4   CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

________________________________________________________

Ch 3 .:Resistance and Reconciliation:.

~Previously~

“I'm not going to bother making friends with someone whose family is so wrapped up in blood politics they forget to be human beings first. Trust me, I've met their mother enough times to know.”

“Did you ever ask them about it?” Remus pressed.

“I don't really need to, do I? They're a (L/n). Open your eyes, Moony!”

Remus' brow furrowed, a shine in his eyes akin to sympathy as he regarded Sirius.

“Perhaps it's you that needs to clear your vision, friend.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1974  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sirius sat on the stone ledge on the window of his dorm room, looking out towards the Black Lake. He could see the push and pull of the wind as the thin branches of the ash trees bowed gently with the rhythm. In the reflection of the glass he could see James and Peter behind him experimenting with an altered set of wizard's chess, complete with fire-breathing knights and bishops that threw daggers, while one of Remus' records spun in the background.

Despite everything he could have been thinking about at the moment, his thoughts, irritatingly enough, drifted to you. He frowned slightly as he leaned his shoulder against the window, annoyed that you occupied even a portion of his mind. He just couldn't understand you. Somehow you had turned James, who had once openly proclaimed you his sworn enemy, into something close to a friend in the span of a year. You had no qualms with pranks pulled on you, yet you were fiercely protective when they were directed at others. You were always smiling, yet your temper took no prisoners. If you weren't a Slytherin you might even be attractive.

The thought made him bolt upright. Where the hell did that come from? He almost laughed. No. Absolutely not. He was Sirius Black, he could get anyone he wanted in this bloody school, and he certainly wasn't going to busy his mind with you. What the hell was wrong with him? It's not like he noticed the way you smiled to yourself when you were reading, or the fact that the sound of your laugh got stuck in his head like a song—

No. Stop it. Get your head straight, they're evil.

Sirius exhaled deeply, rubbing his tired eyes with his hands. For some reason that thought didn't sit right in his brain, and the longer he sat with it he came to a horrifying conclusion:

Maybe Remus was right.

The only time you'd really been nasty to them was when they'd instigated it first, or whenever they had a go at Snivelus, which had become less and less frequent; Sirius suspected because of your tentative friendship with James. He'd always just assumed you were like the other Slytherins he'd come to know. There's been hearsay circulating around you, especially given your family's reputation, but you yourself hadn't really done anything to prove the rumors. Maybe you really weren't like your family at all. Maybe you were like him. . .

Suddenly, he caught movement in the corner of his eye, not from his friend's reflections but from outside the window itself. A figure emerged from the lamplight of the castle gate, making their way towards the edge of the forest. If the green lining of your school robes and (h/c) hair didn't peak his interest, the flash that he saw of your face as you shot a quick glance over your shoulder confirmed it was you.

Sirius' mind began racing as he watched you disappear into the foliage, and suddenly every thought that had given you the benefit of the doubt vanished. He'd heard the rumors about the gatherings in the forest, everyone had. He'd even caught Snape practicing dark magic there himself one of the first nights they'd used the Shrieking Shack passageway.

He jumped off his perch by the window and grabbed a sheet of parchment and a quill, drawing a rough outline of the perimeter of the forest. He labeled the Black Lake so his spell would have a going off point and pressed his wand to the still drying ink.

“Revelare Popularis,”

The enchantment was a work in progress— a technique he'd learned from a seventh year. It wasn't exact, but it was enough to tell him if anyone else was in the forest right now. His eyes darted across the paper as he scanned his makeshift map, and the color drained from his face as he saw names suddenly appear in a cluster by the lake: Mulciber, Wilkes, Avery, and Malfoy.

Was this it? Were you really one of them? 

James looked up from his game as he saw Sirius grab his leather jacket off where it hung from his bedpost.

“Going somewhere?”

“(L/n) just went into the forest,” Sirius said, “I'm following them.”

“Why, Sirius?” Remus said sardonically, having had enough of his unusual grudge against you, “We're not really ones to talk when it comes to sneaking around the forest at night, now are we?”

“He's got a point,” James said, “I mean, what do you think you're going to see?”

“What do I think?” Sirius scoffed, pushing the paper into Jame's hands, “what does it look like?”

James looked down at the parchment blankly.

“What am I looking at?”

“A variation on Revelio,” Sirius explained quickly, “if you have a location in mind it shows you who's there, but only at the time the charm is cast.”

“Are you kidding me?” James' jaw nearly dropped, “You're just now showing this to us? We could have been taking advantage of this spell to dodge Filch this whole time!”

“I'm serious.”

James had to fight hard not to make a joke out of that one.

“If (L/n)'s meeting up with those guys it can't be for anything good,” Sirius continued, “and I'm gonna find out exactly why.”

Before any of the boys could get another word in, Sirius took off running down the corridor. James groaned, rebelling against the urge to slam his head into the wall.  

“I've got to stop him before he does something stupid,” he said, pulling a coat on over his shoulders, “You with me, Remus?”

“Probably not the best idea,” Lupin reminded him, “the moon's full tomorrow. I won't turn, but in the direct moonlight I may get a bit. . . well, you know.”

“Right,” James sighed, running a hand through his hair in distress, “Peter?”

The boy jolted as he was addressed, his eyes quickly cast down to his twiddling fingers.

“I. . . w-well. . .”

“Fine,” James said, waving them off in annoyance, “I'll go at him alone.”

___________________________________________________

You took a grateful breath of the crisp night air, letting the wind whistle through your hair and clothes. You loved your common room, but it could feel constricting at times, especially when there were nights as beautiful as this taking place.

Your eyes drifted up to the moon, smiling at the sight of it. It was nearly full, only a sliver of white missing from the very edge of the sphere. The sight alone was enough to make you feel more at home in your own skin, an inexplicable sense of comfort washing over you. You hadn't been able to really let loose and just run in so long. You'd made doubly sure no one had followed you into the forest, but you still gave your surroundings a quick once over. You jumped as the sound of leaves crunching suddenly asserted itself behind you and you lit your wand quickly, turning to see who it was.

“. . . Black?”

“Sorry, were you expecting someone else? One of your pureblood friends, maybe?”

The confused look on your face only made his anger flare.

“Don't act coy,” he asked harshly, “just what are you playing at?”

Your back straightened in surprise, taken aback by his words.

“Excuse me?”

“I've seen you talking to my brother, Rosier, Snivelus, and all those other Slytherins. Don't think I don't know what you're doing,” the words flew out of his mouth before they had time to pass through his brain, every irrational irritation he had regarding you spewing out of him at once, “I've had to sit through it, you know. All those dinners where my parents talk blood politics with all the fanatics who think just like them. I've listened to your mother brag all about your pure blood line and how her child is 'so eager to carry on the family traditions'. So whatever you're planning by getting close to James, I'm not going to let it happen.”

You felt like you were frozen in place, staring at him as your throat tightened into knots.

“My mom?” you said, voice suddenly small, “Sirius. . . my mom passed away when I was little.”

Your words hit the Gryffindor like a truck.

“. . . what?” he asked dumbly, his brain delaying slightly in processing what you'd just said.

“She got sick. . . an experimental spell gone wrong. If you met someone with my family's name that spoke like that, it was probably my aunt. My cousin goes to Ilvermorny. That's the child she's talking about, not me. The divide between purebloods and muggleborns is even more severe in America, if you can believe it. . . ”

Sirius faltered, this new information going against everything he'd heard and thought he knew about you and your family.

“But,” he hesitated, “your father—”

“Put up the image he had to in order to keep me safe,” you said. You knew he was documented as being very open about his pureblood pride and distaste towards muggles, but it was a cover more than anything, “Since he stopped speaking with my aunt and moved us both away from the estate, she's acted as the new head of the (L/n) House, and that was years ago. . .”

You trailed off awkwardly, not feeling very self-righteous in your explanation.

“I know my family doesn't have the best reputation. . . that's probably why you hate me, huh?” you chuckled humorlessly, wincing at how harsh the words came out. But if you were honest, you were hurt that out of everyone in their group, Sirius was the one that didn't even seem to want to give you a chance. You were the one who had extended the olive branch in the first place on the condition that they ease up on Severus.

“Hate you?” Sirius echoed hollowly, feeling guilt creep up on him like a shadow, “that's. . . shit, no, that's not—”

“Everte Statum!”

You gasped as Sirius was suddenly shot backwards, his body flipping wildly through the air from the force before being slammed against the trunk of a nearby tree. His head spun, heavily disoriented as his vision shifted in shades.

You had drawn your wand on instinct, looking around for your attackers when you saw a black-clad figure lift their hood, revealing a long mane of white hair that stood out starkly in the night.  

Malfoy.

“Well, looky here,” Mulciber taunted, revealing himself behind you, “we've caught the two biggest blood traitors of the last century having a touching little moment together.”

Laughter echoed from the trees, Wilkes emerging from the shadows. You took up a defensive position as their group surrounded you.

“Now, let's not be hasty, Mulciber,” Lucius said, “their father may have disgraced their house, yes, but they didn't have a choice. It's not too late for them to make the right one now.” His lips turned up into a snarl as he regarded Sirius, “get away from that blood traitor, (L/n), he'll rub off on you.”

You grit your teeth hard, preparing to cast a spell when Malfoy put his hand up in a silencing gesture, the pretentious little prat.

“Ah, you don't want to make any rash moves either, (L/n),” he said, looking to your left. You followed his gaze to see Avery coming out of the foliage, grappling with someone under his arm.

“Potter?!”

James smiled weakly as Avery held him in a choke hold, a bit of blood dripping down the side of his head.

“Hey,” he said, humor still light in his voice, “So, this didn't exactly work out as planned.” He groaned as Avery's elbow was driven into his stomach, effectively silencing him.

As soon as you tried to move towards him, Lucius had his wand pointed at you.

“Let him go and get lost, Malfoy,” you said lowly, “you've taken this far enough.”

“You've been avoiding us, (L/n),” Lucius said, ignoring you entirely, “Snape may have come up with some rubbish excuses for you earlier, but you can't keep running from this.”

“If practicing curses on first years and terrorizing other people is how you plan on using magic, then I don't want any part of your little cult,” you spat, “face it, Malfoy— you lot need me, but I don't need you.”

Lucius exhaled sharply, his genuine surprise at your resistance replaced quickly with anger.

“Think about what you're doing, (L/n),” he said, his eyes narrowing dangerously, “don't be a fool like your father.”

That did it.

With a growl you unleashed an orange bolt of energy from your wand, your Stupefy hitting Lucius square in the chest. Mulciber was quick to retaliate with a jinx of his own, which you quickly nullified with a shield charm. Shock flashed across his expression at your casual use of nonverbal magic, and he recovered one second too late.

Sirius was back on his feet, petrifying Mulciber and swatting Wilkes away like a fly with the knockback jinx before either could cast a spell at you. You and Sirius found yourselves back to back, fending off Lucius as he continued to direct a steady stream of curses in your direction. Sirius managed to create an opening for you and you turned to where James was being held.

“Evanossa!”

A flash of blue hit Avery, who shrieked in horror when he saw that the arm he was using to hold Potter had turned gelatinous, fingers drooping down like melting ice cream. James wasted no time paying him back in kind for roughing him up earlier, sending him flying into the oak tree and using the water from the Black Lake to freeze him there before joining you in the fray.

“Expelliarmus!” he called out, sending Wilke's wand spinning out of his reach and leaving only Malfoy against the three of you.

Lucius faltered for a moment as he stared down your group of three, but held fast.

“Leave it, Malfoy,” you said, “it's over.”

He growled under his breath, taking up an obvious offensive stance, but you were too quick.

“Ebublio!”

Lucius gasped as he suddenly found himself encased in a giant bubble, his knockback jinx ricocheting off the inside and hitting him in the back of the head. He pounded against the bubble in frustration but found it to be thick as Plexiglas and just as strong, unable to pop it. Suddenly, he was hoisted into the air as you raised your wand higher, directing him farther and farther away until he was hovering directly over the Black Lake.

“Let me go this instant!” he growled.

A devilish smile graced your features.

“You got it.”

“No, wait, don't you dar—AHH!!”

You turned your back on him, your breaking eye contact promptly bursting the bubble and sending him flailing into the water a few feet below.

You chuckled as you sent a few quick counter-jinxes out from your wand, restoring Mulciber's range of motion and liquefying the ice that trapped Avery.

As soon as Mulciber was unpetrified he took off running towards the Lake where Lucius was furiously treading water, tripping over his feet as he dragged Wilkes along with him. Avery limped after them, defrosted but still chilled to his bones (which you had been so kind to also restore).

“I'd fish him out quickly if I were you,” you called after them, “the giant squid is more active at night.”

“You're out of your mind, (L/n)!” Avery turned around and yelled, but with fear evident in his eyes, “You'll live to regret this, mark my words. The Headmaster—”

“Would love to know who cast the first spell, I'm sure,” you said darkly.

Avery stammered out some lame response under his breath before turning around and running after the rest of group, retreating.

Sirius turned to look at you, awestruck and chocked full of adrenaline. Maybe you really weren't so bad after all.

“That was. . .” James trailed off, grasping for the words and blurting them out as soon as he found them, “Brilliant, (Y/n). You're bloody brilliant.”

You felt your face heat up, not expecting that. You and James had stopped trading insults and threats (serious ones, anyways) and your teasing had become well meant, but neither of you had crossed the threshold of actually paying the other a compliment before.

“Thanks, Potter,” you said, unable to fight the smile on your face. You turned to Sirius briefly. “I hope this cleared some things up for us,” you said, “I'd really like to try and be friends, so. . .”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, wanting to kick himself at the way you turned him into a monosyllabic neanderthal with just a look. You gave him a small smile before turning back to James who was trying desperately to hide his limp and aching rib cage.

“Alright, let's get you to the hospital wing, Potter,” you sighed, “you look like a cheap action star in a muggle movie.”

“Uh,” James said nervously, “better we not. If I go to Madame Pomfrey three times in one day she'll never let me hear the end of it.”

“And who's fault is that?” You huffed, slinging an arm over his shoulder and helping him walk, “at least let me patch you up, then.”

Sirius followed some distance behind you, watching as you walked James back towards the castle and laughed at his occasional jokes. This one night had just turned everything upside down for Sirius. This whole time he was sure that he didn't like you because you were a blood-purist Slytherin and he was jealous that you were taking his best friend away from him; but the way you had stood up to Lucius and his goons made your position on blood politics very clear, and the tight feeling that struck Sirius' chest as he watched you cozy up with James made him reevaluate just which one of you he was jealous of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sirius?”

The man blinked, slowly coming back to reality. You were looking up at him in concern, your head resting lightly on his shoulder. It took an embarrassing amount of his willpower to keep from leaning forward just a few inches and kissing you.

Could you pick a worse time, you numbskull? He thought, mentally smacking himself for even thinking about it.

“Are you okay?” you asked hesitantly after he stayed silent.

“I'm alright,” he insisted, giving you a reassuring smile, “just. . . thinking about how far we've come.”

His answer surprised you, though not in a bad way.

“I suppose we have,” you smiled back, “this is a far cry from you scowling at me from across the Great Hall over your breakfast.”

“I did not scowl,” Sirius scoffed playfully, nudging you away with his shoulder.

“Right,” you grinned, “scowling, glaring, glowering, whichever you prefer.”

“I said I was sorry,” he said, putting his hands up in mock surrender, although you both knew you weren't really upset about it. You'd long since forgiven him for his initial misjudgment.

When your light laughter died down, your head found itself lulling to the side again, tiredness taking over your mind as you rested against Sirius once more. When you tilted your head up to look at him he had a surprisingly pensive look on his face. Your eyes traveled across his expression, his gray eyes almost taking on a deep shade of blue in the shadows of his room. You noticed how much younger he looked when he was smiling; it was in moments like these when it really set in how long you had known each other, because you could see the years in his eyes.

Your own flickered down to his lips in spite of yourself and Sirius' heart skipped a beat, fearing you could feel it racing in his rib cage. When had you turned him so soft? He chuckled inwardly. Long before he had fully come to terms with how he felt about you was the answer. Even when he was in Azkaban, with two of his closest friends dead and the world convinced he was at fault, even if he had to live with the fact that he would never see you again, he still thought of you, and that kept him alive, sane— himself. But now you were here in front of him, and he was terrified that at any moment you would vanish into thin air and he would find himself back in that horrible cinder block cell, face to face with a dementor as it took his last memories of you away from him.

Your hand squeezed his, almost as if you had read his thoughts— as if you were assuring him that you were real, and you weren't going anywhere. You noticed him leaning in closer, even if he didn't, possessed by some invisible force. You were nearly about to meet him halfway when you were suddenly startled apart by the sound of quick, heavy-footed steps bounding down the stairs.

You both looked at each other as if you had just awoken from some sort of trance, instinctively putting some distance between yourselves as you shifted away awkwardly.

“I. . . I should probably get to bed,” you said, your face warm.

“Right,” Sirius said, reluctantly getting up from his seat at the edge of his bed, “I've kept you up long enough, I'm sure you're tired. . .”

Before you left his room you turned over your shoulder, a small smile on your face.

“It's really good to see you again, Sirius,” you said earnestly, “we should catch up for real later.”

“Definitely,” he said, a bit of his old self reflected in that smirk of his, albeit forced.

You steeled yourself, turning the doorknob and closing the door behind you gently before you did something to ruin the friendship you had just gotten back after over a decade. You shook the thought aside, your head hurting. You really did need to sleep after today.

You were about to head into your room, but something in you didn't feel quite right. You'd definitely heard someone go down the stairs, but you hadn't heard the front door open or close. Dread pooled in your stomach at your gut feeling, and you found yourself inexplicably making your way back down the stairs.

The house was eerily silent now that its residents had either gone off to bed or disapparated until the next meeting in a few days time. You'd left Sirius upstairs, and you knew Harry was staying here for the time being until school began, but everyone else had gone home. So then why did you still feel someone else's presence so acutely?

You stared at the empty hallway leading to the front door, taking a cautious step forward; the image in front of you didn't feel real. The colors were too saturated, the edges too sharp, and the surfaces too smooth. And that's when it hit you. The smell of rain. Leather-bound books. Lavender.

You froze, staring at the seemingly empty space in front of you.

“Severus?”

The potions master didn't dare make a sound, thinly veiled behind his invisibility charm but clearly not well enough. He was standing not three feet in front of you, taking in the sight of you as if it were the last thing he would ever see.

He panicked slightly as he felt you reach out to him with your mind, shutting himself off expertly. Your hurt expression as you were unable to detect anything pained him, but he wouldn't dare think that he deserved to say anything to you. What was there to say after everything he'd done?

Your gaze roamed the empty hall, and for a moment he could have sworn you stared him right in the eyes.

You knew he was there.

The moment lasted no longer than a second before you looked away, turning to go back up the stairs. As soon as your back was facing the front door you heard it open then close gently, and the tears you had been fighting to hold back finally spilled over.

Read chapter 4 here !

Taglist:  @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi​

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

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

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

word count: 17.2k

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

///

Harry hates clubs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the f—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re going to hell.” 

“I’m already there, mate.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, boomer.” 

“You’re older than I am!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the culture shock hit. 

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

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

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Precisely his point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So how do you like your new home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[kater1n]

Soulstain

Author’s Note: This fic is inspired by @sarcastich’s soulmate!AU prompt here and is dedicated to @starkerdestroyedmylifee as my first follower on Tumblr. I hope you both like it!

Warnings: accidental voyeurism, story typical violence, minor character death

You can also read it on AO3.

--

Peter doesn’t notice until he’s washing up and some of the splatters won’t come off. They’re small, faint, and look just like the acrylic paint he’s been using all afternoon. It’s not unusual for him to have rainbow flecks up his arms, ink between his fingers, charcoal smudges on his nose. Your stereotypical artist. But these won’t come off no matter how hard he scrubs.

Peter drops the nail brush in the utility sink, stunned.

It’s soulstain.

He’s only seen it on other people. You only get it after you’ve met your soulmate. Some people never get it at all. These splatters, whatever they are, belong to someone else. It means that the water still dripping down Peter’s hands is on someone else’s hands, too, right now, somewhere in the world.

“May!” Peter yells, voice cracking on the vowel.

He can’t believe this is happening. Peter doesn’t even know who it is or when it happened and he’s so excited right now that he might pass out.

May runs into the makeshift art studio they converted from the apartment’s laundry room. Her hair is half up, makeup partially on. She’s getting ready for another twelve hour graveyard shift at the hospital. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Look!” Peter shoves his hands in her face.

She takes an exasperated step back. “What am I looking at?”

“They’re not mine.” Peter breathes, lowering his arms to inspect the splatters again. They’re red, but soulstain always appears muted. Peter can’t decide if the color is more ruby or scarlet. He touches one of them tentatively. It doesn’t feel like anything. It’s just there. Existing.

Wow.

“Really?” May bends forward, squinting behind her glasses. “That’s not paint?”

“N-no. At least, it’s not mine. Maybe they’re an artist too?”

And wouldn’t that be something. Peter tries to imagine it, working all day next to someone, side by side, in this cramped little room while they create beautiful things together. Playfully flicking a watercolor brush at them and then darting away. Drawing lopsided hearts on their cheek with the leftover charcoal on his fingers.

Peter’s chest squeezes. He wants that. He wants that so bad.

May squeals and pulls him into a hug, dancing them around in circles. Peter laughs and pushes her away. He’s still wearing his apron and it’s always a mess after a session.

“I’ll get paint all over you.”

“I don’t care. This is so exciting!” May cups his cheek in one of her hands. “I’m so happy for you.”

“I don’t even know who it is.”

And he really doesn’t. No idea. It has to be someone he met today, but they could have just passed each other on the street when he went out to buy coffee. Over eight million people live in New York. It could be anyone.

May plucks a paintbrush from the bucket of clean water next to the utility sink. She presents it to him like a queen bestowing a sword to a knight. “Use this and ask.”

--

Tony hates blood. It’s sticky and hard to get out of your clothes and it smells. Usually he leaves extraction to Natasha, but she was unavailable. In Tokyo to deal with some Yakuza. So Tony had to get his own hands dirty.

The man strapped to the chair in front of him groans, head hanging limply against his chest. Blood and other fluids drip down to swirl into the rusted metal drain built into the concrete floor. Tony’s lip curls and he turns away.

“Take care of that.” He says to no one in particular, waving a dismissive hand. It’s not his problem any more. Someone else can deal with it. He doesn’t care who.

Pepper offers a rag when he exits the room. It’s damp. “And? Did you find out who stole the shipment?”

Tony wipes his hands clean as he walks, the sound of Pepper’s stilettos following him down the hall. “Justin Hammer, as we suspected.”

“He must be getting desperate to go this far. Do you want me to arrange a meet?”

“No.” Tony shakes his head, tossing the dirty rag on the ground. Housekeeping will find it later. “That’ll just tip him off.”

Pepper delicately steps over it without a word as Tony stabs the button to call the elevator. It dings open immediately. “So what’s our next move?”

“We make an example of him. I don’t want more shits like Hammer getting any ideas. It’s time to remind this city what it means when you fuck with the Merchant of Death.” Tony leans back against the elevator walls. They’re lined in velvet.

“Penthouse, sir?” JARVIS asks over the intercom. “My scans detect biological matter on your suit.”

Pepper answers for him. “Yes, thank you, JARVIS.”

Tony closes his eyes and listens to the elevator music on the ride up. It’s an instrumental cover of AC/DC’s Dirty Deeds. Tension radiates from his shoulders the whole way.

“I’ll wait for you here, shall I?” Pepper says when they arrive at the penthouse, taking a seat on the half-moon couch. Her laptop is already open and on and she begins typing without waiting for a response.

Tony stalks off to the bathroom. The shower is running and the room is full of steam when he enters. A fresh towel is folded on the counter next to a sweating glass of whiskey. Pepper really is worth the millions he pays her.

He strips and throws the whiskey back in one shot. The liquid burns down his throat, scrubbing him clean from the inside. He steps into the shower and lets the scalding water also burn him. Eyes closed, the water sprays directly onto his face, through his hair, and down across the scars crisscrossing his spine. A satisfied rumble vibrates in his chest.

Tony needed this. Next time he’ll just wait for Nat to come home. He’s never had a taste for hitting someone who can’t hit back. It feels dirty. Even if it is necessary sometimes.

He only notices the message when he pours soap into his hand. The words are small and carefully painted down the length of his forearm in neat cursive.

Hi, I’m Peter Parker. Who are you?

Tony blinks water out of his eyes and stares. This cannot be happening. He’s too old for this shit.

Pepper’s mouth falls open when he storms back into the living room, naked and dripping all over the marble foyer. Modesty is the last thing Tony is concerned with right now. She’s seen worse.

“Pepper,” He barks, “Find out who Peter Parker is immediately.”

--

Peter obsessively checks his arm the rest of the day. The only sign of his soulmate had been the rivulets of water that sluiced over his entire body right after he wrote the message, an echo of a shower. Peter watched in rapt fascination and bated breath, waiting for a response that never came.

He eventually forced himself to sleep, trying not to think about what the silence might mean. Hoping he’ll wake up to something.

He doesn’t.

In the morning his arm only contains the remnants of his own words. They flaked away during the night, littering his bedsheets with indigo paint chips. Peter swallows his disappointment. It’s bitter and tastes like rejection.

Maybe he should write a new one. Maybe they didn’t see it. Maybe-

Peter stops anxiously ringing his hands together in his lap. The sunlight filtering in through his bedroom window highlights a dark shadow on his knuckles. It’s mottled purple. Bruised. Peter rubs his thumb over the knuckle of his pointer finger, where the discoloration is the worst.

His soulmate is not an artist like him, then. That wasn’t paint sprayed up his arm yesterday. It was blood. His soulmate punched someone. Repeatedly, for their knuckles to look like this.

The concept should scare him, but it doesn’t. Not even a little. Peter just wishes he could help. It probably hurts.

--

The kid paints ice cubes across his knuckles. Tony watches them appear, one by one, while his hand grips the steering wheel of his Audi e-tron. They’re misshapen and partially melted. Realistic. He tries not to find it cute.

Pepper produced a file on Peter Parker late last night with only a confused frown. An adult by law but really just a kid, living in Queens with his aunt. Their age gap is laughable. It’s larger than Peter has been alive. And according to the file, he’s a good kid. The best. Impeccable grades with an even more impeccable community service record. An art prodigy.

Tony won’t go near that with a ten foot pole. Not even he’s that messed up. Tony would ruin him.

So he did the only sensible thing any man could. He locked the file in his safe, swore Pepper to secrecy on what little she knew, and drowned himself in whiskey. Covered the question on his arm and tried to forget Peter Parker’s pretty face. It mostly worked. Once Tony finally passed out.

He has nothing to show for it this morning, except for a foul mood and a fouler headache.

Something starts to form above the ice cubes, along his middle metacarpal. It’s an impression of lips, full and gently pursed into a kiss. As if to take the pain away from the bruising. Tony nearly swerves into oncoming traffic.

This kid is going to kill him.

He flips an illegal U-turn, ignoring the cacophony of angry horns. His meeting with Rhodey can wait. He needs to invest in a pair of gloves. Now.

--

It’s been two months. Every day Peter sends something new, nothing long, just a tiny snippet. He mixes up the placement and the media. Sometimes it’s a watercolor mandala on his thigh with a few encouraging words in the center like have a good day or thinking of you. Sometimes it’s ink doodles between his fingers, stick figures waving hello or shooting stars trailing behind make a wish.

And every day it’s the same. No response. Silence.

Peter eats a bit less, strains to smile a bit more, and perseveres. He has to. There must be a reason why they’re silent. Even if it hurts, even if Peter doesn’t understand it and his heart is a little broken, they’re soulmates and Peter has to remind them that he’s here. He’s not going away. He won’t.

He’s currently sitting on the bathroom counter in nothing but his boxers, painting a bouquet of wildflowers on the bottoms of his feet. They’re pressed together in the basin of the sink while Peter works. The stems run along the arches and broaden into blooms across his toes. The brush tickles, just a bit, and Peter struggles not to squirm. He’s meticulous, methodical. Doesn’t let himself think that this gift will probably go unanswered too. Because gifts should be freely given without expectation.

He’s so engrossed in the painting, humming a tuneless song to himself, that he doesn’t notice the soulstain until movement in the vanity’s reflection catches his eye. A movement that’s not his. Peter pauses mid-brushstroke and glances up. There’s a shadow of a hand sliding up his bicep, and then another gripping onto his waist.

Oh, no-

More soulstain appears. First a mouth and then what looks like teeth, nipping at the skin below his collarbone. Peter’s palms darken as his soulmate touches the other person back.

No, no, no-

The wood handle of his favorite paintbrush snaps in half. The broken pieces clatter into the sink basin, next to his feet still covered in wildflowers.

The mouth slides lower, leaving a trail of coral lipstick, and bites again. And again. Hickeys slowly bloom across Peter’s chest. His eyes sting as he watches each appear. He can’t look away.

Please, no-

The hands caress everything in their path, leaving behind residue of a clear substance on Peter’s skin. Slipping lower and lower while all Peter can do is watch in mute horror. Until the shadows disappear beneath his boxers. Until that mouth is probably tasting Peter’s soulmate right now.

He whines, high and distressed. Shattered. He finally squeezes his eyes shut.

He doesn’t want to see. Doesn’t want to know.

He’s not sure how long he sits there. How long he waits for it to be over. He’s terrified of opening his eyes too soon and seeing it again. At least May is working another graveyard shift. If she found him, if she saw him like this, begging under his breath for it to stop-

Peter opens his eyes. The hands are gone. Only the hickeys remain as a reminder that it happened at all.

Relief washes over him, quickly followed by a wave of white hot fury. It floods his veins, straightens his spine. His jaw clenches so tight that it aches. Peter swipes a shaking hand over the bottoms of his feet, smearing the wildflowers as he coats his fingers in the oily paint. He drags it across his chest, over and over until he’s covered in a muddled mess of colors like a tragic Monet.

Then Peter finally let’s himself cry.

--

The messages stop. Tony shouldn’t miss them, shouldn’t want them back. But god help him, he does. They were the one spec of brightness in the never ending darkness of Tony’s life.

Sure, he might have taken them for granted at first. Hid them away under layers of clothing. Tried to pretend he didn’t secretly covet each one in the privacy of his bed at night and think about the person on the other end. Busied himself with publicly destroying Justin Hammer and anyone else associated with Hammer’s pathetic gang (it didn’t take long; Natasha and Pepper are nothing if not efficient). When it was over, when Hammer sniveled and swore retribution, Tony drank so much that he couldn’t think anything at all.

And then the messages stopped.

Tony knows why. Knows what he did. Knows exactly what fucking someone else would do to someone like Peter Parker. And he did it anyway. Did it on purpose.

Tony didn’t think he would regret it this much.

--

Peter picks at his food while MJ and Ned chat about college. Ned no longer has classes on Fridays (something about Professor Vanko disappearing a few months ago without notice and his university couldn’t find a replacement) and MJ is home for the weekend from MIT. They unceremoniously kidnapped him for dim sum the moment MJ arrived back in town.

“How’s the showcase coming along, Peter?” Ned asks around a mouthful of pork bun, shoving an elbow into MJ’s side when she mutters gross.

“Ok, I guess. It’s taking longer than I would have wanted.” Peter hasn’t been happy with any of his pieces lately. They’re not coming out right. They feel stagnant and stale and uninspired.

MJ tilts her head. “Isn’t it only a few months away?”

“I can’t wait!” Ned grins when Peter nods. There’s something green in his teeth, like a piece of bok choy or seaweed. MJ points it out with a grimace before Peter can warn him. Ned flushes and uses the camera on his phone like a mirror to remove it with a fingernail.

“May gave us advanced tickets. She said the gallery is already sold out.” MJ casually stirs her matcha milk tea with a compostable straw, swirling the yellow boba at the bottom into a miniature whirpool. “She also said she has an extra.”

Peter’s lungs constrict. He hasn’t told them, so he attempts to play it off. “May might bring a date.”

MJ stares. Her gaze is flat. Damn. He clears his throat nervously and maintains eye contact. He really, really doesn’t want to talk about this.

And then her eyes widen, shifting diagonal on his face. Ned sees it too. He quickly snaps a photo with his phone and shows the screen to Peter.

“What the heck is that?”

It’s blood. Dark and fresh, oozing from a gash that’s just split open along the top of his left cheekbone.

“I-it’s nothing.” Peter stammers, jolting out of his chair. “I have to g-go.”

He ignores their protests as he runs out of the restaurant.

This isn’t the first time something like this has happened. He’s noticed other injuries before. Like the bruises on his knuckles. Or the faded scars crisscrossing his back. Those were the worst. Most of the time they’re small, nothing serious. But the injuries occur often enough that Peter suspects his soulmate has questionable hobbies, a dangerous job, or both. And May’s a nurse. He knows what a graze from a bullet looks like.

Heart pounding, Peter ducks into an empty alleyway. He strips down to his briefs behind a dumpster, mindlessly tossing his clothes onto the ground so he can inspect the rest of his body.

Nothing. There’s nothing else. Thank god.

Peter’s knees are like jello. He’s been angry and jealous and confused but-

It appears so suddenly that Peter swears he can actually feel it. A hole punches through the front of his abdomen and out the back. It immediately erupts with blood, cascading down his hips and dripping off his knee like a crimson waterfall. Peter moans in alarm and covers the wound with both hands as if he can stop the bleeding.

For a moment Peter’s not sure what else to do. He just stands there, frozen and hyperventilating. Useless. His mind is vacant with panic. Then the blood begins to flow through his fingers and Peter realizes his soulmate must be holding the wound, now, too.

It spurs Peter back into action. He grapples with his jacket on the ground, frantically rummaging in the inside pocket to pull out the mini sketch pad that he takes with him everywhere in case he’s struck by inspiration. Attached to it is a ballpoint pen. His fingers tremble so violently that he can’t remove the cap, so he rips it off with his teeth.

The ink skitters and jumps across his skin in his haste to write, inconsistently flowing from the nib. There’s at least enough to form mostly legible words on the back of his hand.

Where R U?

Peter’s tries to keep his expectations low. They might already be on their way to the hospital. They might not even be conscious anymore. At least Peter knows they’re still alive. Soulstain disappears when you’re dead.

So he waits.

And waits.

Almost ten minutes pass before the first letter appears on Peter’s stomach, bloated and painted in his soulmate’s blood. It takes almost five more for the message to be finished. A location.

The breath Peter’s been holding surges out in a dizzying whoosh.

--

Peter is prettier than the photo in Tony’s file. He’s flushed and sweaty and real as he bursts through the back door of the pub that Tony is hiding in. His eyes are frantic until they settle on him, collapsed on the sticky parquet floor. Tony’s back is resting against the bar counter, suit jacket and white dress shirt hanging open over his chest. He holds a half empty bottle of Tullamore DEW in one hand and a lit cigar in the other.

If Peter is shocked to learn that his soulmate is both a man and a much older one at that, it doesn’t show on his face. He drops to his knees by Tony’s side, breathing heavily from exertion. “What happened?”

Tony’s wry isn’t it obvious earns him an unamused frown. Even that expression is attractive. Tony likes how the corners of his lips pull down and his nose crinkles. Despite his best effort, all it took was one minute in this kid’s presence for Tony to be summarily charmed.

Without asking for permission, Peter lifts up a corner of the bar rag that Tony doused in vodka and pressed against his abdomen. He winces at the sight of the jagged hole, even though Tony knows he’s already seen a mirror of it on his own body. “Why didn’t you call the police?”

Tony snorts and Peter’s frown deepens. His eyes are a warm, doe brown, reflecting sparks of gold when they catch the dim light leaking in through the boarded up windows. Tony turns away and knocks back a long pull from the whiskey bottle. It sloshes in his unsteady grip and some of it spills down into his neatly trimmed beard. Tony tells himself it’s the blood loss making him lightheaded.

“Ok, no police.” Peter mutters, replacing the rag over the wound. “What do you want me to do?”

Tony wants to invent a time machine and prevent this clusterfuck of a day from ever happening. Wants to jump Ivan Vanko before he jumped them. Wants to forget the memory of Maria Hill’s dead body crumpled in the street where he left her.

“Do you have a phone?” Tony asks instead. His is broken. It took the bullet meant for his heart.

“Um, yeah.” Peter digs a flip phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. They’re ripped at the knee and discolored with what looks like old paint. “Here.”

Tony dials Pepper’s number while puffing on his cigar. The smoke tastes like hickory and clove and adrenaline. She picks up on the third ring.

“Who the hell is this?”

Tony rolls his eyes. She must be terrified. She never swears.

“Relax, Nagatha Christie. I’m fine.” Tony pointedly ignores Peter mouthing you don’t look fine. “Come get me.”

He hangs up and texts her the address with instructions to bring Helen Cho, thumbs leaving bloody fingerprints on the keyboard. He thinks about wiping it off before handing it back to Peter, but decides it’s not worth the effort. He’ll buy him a new one. That brick dinosaur should have died in the Cretaceous Period.

“Make yourself comfortable. The cavalry will be here soon.”

Peter cautiously slides into position next to him on the floor until his legs are straight and pressed into the flesh of Tony’s thigh. His cheeks are flushed an adorable shade of pink.

Fuck it.

Tony slings an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer. His smaller frame fits perfectly against Tony’s side, like a puzzle piece slotting home. Slowly, carefully, Peter rests his head on Tony’s bare chest, right over his heart. He sighs happily and Tony shivers.

They sit quietly together for a time, comforted by the sound of their own breathing. Tony lets his mind wander, as it often does. It doesn’t take him long to conclude that he will never let Peter go. He knows when to admit defeat. It feels a lot like love.

Peter’s curls tickle as he cranes his neck to look up at Tony’s face. “Who are you?”

Tony leans down to whisper his name against Peter’s lips.

--

[lovestrucked-again]

Render Your Heart | J.Jaehyun

(Jaehyun’s Tattoo Edit - @rrregan​) Summary: Growing up beside your brother’s best friend forces you to keep your crush a secret. But who knew, the way you’d expose yourself was when you asked for help from a dropout high school student. When your lie of an excuse gets caught and your long time dream becomes a reality. Careful though, don’t get caught. 

Genre: smuT Pairing: bad boy!Jaehyun x reader (ft Taeyong big bro) Word count: 5.8k

Warning: Jaehyun has tattoos (sleeves, chest), hard dom!Jaehyun, fingering, rough, orgasm denial, dirty talk, explicit content, wet and messy sex, begging, orgasm control, spanking, humiliation, praise, punishment, teasing, nipple play, cum licking/swallowing, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, marking, cock worship, blowjob, throat fucking, hair pulling, gagging (on cock), cum swallowing i think i said that, rough sex, cockwarming, belly bulge, thrill sex? risk of getting caught, safe systems because that is very important to have, also safe sex please this isn't something you should follow

a/n: Yeet. I drank 2L of water writing this.  Also thank you @hyuckiesgf​ for helping me read thru this <3. _____

“Y/N?”

He slowly slides the paperwork off your lap, exposing your legs in the short skirt you’re wearing, the almost non-existent breeze from the fan now hitting your skin, leaving you feeling very naked. His arm swings across your shoulder, closing the gap between the two of you sitting side by side against the couch.

“Y-yes?” You stutter out, your head turning to see his hand resting so close to your face.

“So why don't you tell me what you really want?"

You gulp down the saliva forming in your throat as you watch his hand fall to your legs, the veins from his wrist bulging out as he gently squeezes your thigh for a response. “Hmm? What are you talking about?"

His left hand creeps up your skin, sliding up the inside of your thigh as he tip toes up your skin, tracing his fingers very softly, gliding closer to the hem of your skirt, “You want me to believe you called a high school drop out for help, on a university assignment?”

His hand climbs closer to the inside of your thigh, and the background noise coming from the TV is no longer audible to you. Your figure frozen suddenly, feeling all the tiny details of his touch, the texture of his fingertips, trailing along the inside of your thigh, going up and then back down, moving around in an eight pattern.

“Why’d you call me over?” He murmurs, his eyes focused on your parted lips, watching as they fall open slightly.

“I-I wait – hold on.” Your mind runs in a mess as you stutter out a random string of words in an attempt to think.

The hand on your thigh suddenly halts, no longer gently squeezing and fluttering along your skin. “I’m waiting?”

You realise the nerves from your stomach, from the touch in your thighs, from the dim lighting in the midnight timing, were all connected directly to your pussy. His touch, causing your pussy to self-lubricate and swell at its own volition, in strict disobedience to your control.

“It’s not what you think.” You mumble.

“Is it not?” He whispers, flipping himself to face you. His free arm flies to the back of the couch, using it to support his weight as he leans forward, keeping you encircled by his body. Your eyes glance over to the side, following the abstract shapes tracing up his forearm. The simple black tee rising higher up his arm, exposing his pale skin – mostly obscured by the smooth paintings in ink that wind up his biceps. “What are you staring at baby?”

Abruptly, your breath hitches, your pussy simultaneously releasing a gush of wetness at the nickname, the darkness of his eyes staring down at you. His fingers press against the damp spot in your panties as his breath goes to the crook of your neck. Your cry of alarm being quickly muffled as you bite down on your tongue in resistance. His breath tickles your neck and your hands clench onto the sheet of paper you’re holding, scrunching it up unknowingly.

“Should I stop?” Jaehyun removes his face away from your side, moving to face you, letting his gaze fall on your lips.

Your mind spins around in circles as the inner conflict begins. The two of you had always flirted but took nothing seriously, not wanting to mess up the relationship he had with your brother. Taeyong would also never approve of it, his own wish was for you to find a more responsible guy who didn't have so many bad influences. Which was also hypocritical considering his own nature.

Jaehyun watches as your eyes flutter shut, your body involuntarily moving up for a stronger presence of his touch. He follows along smirking, deciding to press a little harder as he finds your sensitive clit.

“Fu-ckkk” You draw out, your body sinking deeper into the couch.

He towers over you, his shoulders squared and blocking your view from anything behind him. His dark eyes sweep over you, his gaze trailing from where his finger presses, up to your naturally pink lips before he lets out a low, deep, exhale of desire.

“Can I continue?” He whispers, leaving a soft kiss at the corner of your jaw.

Your hand still holding onto the paperwork is now crushed, the sheet mushed into a ball as you dig your fingers into it. Your other hand leaves the couch, reaching out to his chest, flattening weakly against his muscles. “Jae- th-this, fuck, we ca-cant do this.”

“Why not?” He pauses for a few seconds, waiting for an answer, but nothing forms out of your mouth, only the lifting of your hips to meet his touch yet again.

His drawn back to your clit when you can’t respond, gently pinching at it through the fabric as you let out a stifled moan. Your palm weakens against his chest as your strength drains from your body, achieving nothing. You may as well try pushing a whole truck instead. Jaehyun wasn’t budging, his muscle and strength, his chest and shoulders, alarmingly hard. And truth be told, you weren’t trying to get him off.

You knew you were slipping, losing your grip on your rationality as you moan out again feeling his fingers tease your clit through the thin material of your underwear. As your body relaxes into the couch, your skirt slides up, revealing the little amount of skin left unseen, all the way to your panties. His weight is still barely on you but his leg wedges between your knees as he kisses closer to your parted mouth.

“What about my brother?” You stutter out, your eyes squeezed shut at the sudden contact.

Jaehyun’s lips brushes against yours, forming a smirk after hearing your words, “Taeyong? He won’t know,” he places a soft peck, “unless you tell him.”

It sounded safe right? Jaehyun wouldn't tell him and there’s no way you ever would. You nod along to your thoughts, but within the next second, Jaehyun is devouring your lips. His hand which previously laid against the couch, now cupping your cheek as his other hand continues to rub you through your panties.

Your arousal grows as you realise how screwed you were if Taeyong saw this, how you probably looked so helpless pinned underneath his best friend’s figure. Jaehyun continues, both stimulating you and checking the level of your arousal. The ripples of lewd, mind numbing pleasure racing through your body making you panic, as you constantly try to detect the sound of the shower in the background. Waiting for it to stop and for Taeyong to come trampling through the scene. Your pussy was oozing and throbbing, obeying his fingers and his crushing desire as you panicked for your life.

You had yearned for his touch and sensation and savagery, and he was giving it to you, just like you had imagined it, and you felt herself melting under his assault. Your cries diminishing and becoming more like beseeching moans as he slips his fingers under your panties, parting it to find your slit.

“Fuck your so wet for me.” He groans, pausing in between your frenzied kiss. There’s only the sound of your soft gasps for breaths against the wet kisses before you realise there’s no other noise.

“Jae the showers stopped.” You mumble against his lips, bringing both your hands to his chest, pushing him back only slightly.

“Then we should hurry, shouldn't we?” The frantic moan that escapes your lips are left to mean anything: fear, urgency, or imploring lust, desperate to relieve the tension in your lower stomach.

You begin to whine and whimper into his mouth, begging him to hurry before you’d be forced to stop in order to spare your life and what little dignity left you had in front of your brother, but Jaehyun continues to take his time.

“Jae-” Your rational mind tries to tell you that if he was going to keep this up, you might come, that you may lose all your self-respect to the combination of his touch, your helplessness and the thrilling shame of being so close to danger. What is he going to think of me? If he knew this rough treatment, this anxious feeling of being caught, can make me climax? What would he say?

However, the low groans coming from Jaehyun as he plays with you, teasing your entrance, was begging you to forget everything. The humiliation that was increasing seeming to connect directly to the spot between your legs as you felt your pussy spasm desperately, sucking on empty air, aching for something as he slides across the moisture.

As you move your body up, desperately for his finger to enter, Jaehyun stops moving, pulling back his face so you see his eyes clearly. “Stop grinding your hips at me,” he growls, “you’re going to make me cum.”

Your pussy clenches involuntarily at his words, releasing another gush of wetness. “Isn’t that the point?” you stutter, your body deflating a little against the couch, dropping your hips which were previously moving in line with his hand.

“Not right now.”

Before your able to ask what he means, his weight is off you, immediately leaving the couch in search for something. You stay seated, dazed in confusion as he picks up the scattered paperwork on the floor placing it neatly on the coffee table.

“Grab your jacket.” He tells you.

“Why?” you ask, your mind still in a muddled mess.

“We’re going out.”

As you hear the knob of the bathroom door handle fumble, you quickly bring down your skirt, hurriedly standing up and pretending to be busy. Taeyong walks out with a towel in his hand, his eyes glancing between the two of you as he ruffles his wet hair.

“Where are you guys going?” He asks, having heard the last spoken sentence.

Jaehyun throws on his beaten leather jacket, letting it hang loosely over his frame, “You never taught her how to change a flat tire?”

“U-uh no? Was I meant to?” Taeyong asks, confused at the sudden topic.

“Well now I have to.” Your eyes dart over to Jaehyun, meeting his gaze as he signals you to follow along.

“It’s cold and dark outside” Taeyong shrugs, clearly unbothered by whatever was going through his best friend’s mind, “but whatever, suit yourself.”

Jaehyun grabs you by your wrist as you trail along. The sudden change in temperature instantly hits you as you step out the front door. He doesn't say anything but you peek around his body which leads you, waiting for him to glance back at you and say something. But he doesn't.

“Where are we going?” you ask, having to jog slightly to keep up with his strides.

“To finish what we started,” he simply replies.

***

There’s no hesitation left as he unlocks the front door to his apartment - so conveniently located in the apartment building next to yours. His jacket is shrugged off before you’ve even had a chance to slip off your shoes, the front door slamming shut automatically by its weight. Your core flutters as you notice the sound of just your heavy breathing, trying to remain calm.

“Why are you acting so shy suddenly?”

You look over at him, removing your gaze from your feet to look over, gulping as you see he had also removed his shirt within the little time you had just entered, “I’m not.”

He chuckles at your confident reply, gesturing you to come over, “It’s not like this is your first time over.”

“Well it’s my first time coming over for something like this.”

“Like what?” He asks amusingly.

“You know what I mean.” You mutter, your feet dragging you closer to him so your standing just inches apart. He holds a smug expression on his face as you’re forced to look up at him to match his gaze.

“Mmmm I don't think I do,” he murmurs, bringing your hands around his neck, making you stand on your toes to reach comfortably around his height.

“Asshole,” you mumble, breaking his gaze. You stumble back a little as your hands leave his neck, realising how close you’re standing.

Jaehyun wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you steady, “Be careful.”

The pull closer towards him brings you face to face with his inked skin and your attention goes to the patterns in front of your eyes. Your eyes follow the delicate shapes and lines along his shoulder which start from around his collarbone, down to the centre of his chest where the tattoo meets to form a flower. You can’t help but imagine how he’d look if he was entirely covered, the gap between the inks being marked by you. What you’d do to suck on his skin and mark it yourself.

“You can touch them Y/N, they don’t hurt” he chuckles, watching your eyes waver.

You shut him up when the contact of your lips brush against his skin, softly sucking at the vines on his collar, then trailing your tongue towards the ink down the middle of his chest. You bring your attention back to the clear patches of skin around his collar, deciding it’d look better with some of your artistic touches.

“Fuck,” Jaehyun hisses as you teasingly graze along his flesh before biting at it softly. The hand around your waist tightens and you can feel his nails digging into your skin. His free hand slides up underneath your shirt, between your closed bodies. You nip and suck at the uninked patch, moving your head back every so often to see the dark colour forming a mark.

His hands leave their spots, deciding to remove your shirt and you help him, guiding the fabric over your head, exposing your bra, and then your naked midriff as you feel the pulse in your throat beating in a growing excitement.

"Mmm... Beautiful. Just fucking beautiful" he hums. You feel yourself blush, heat rising at his approval. It was insane to you, and without reason, but you desperately wanted to please him. "Baby, I could fuck you all night long and not get tired," He grabs at your breasts, going at them hungrily as he begins to kiss and pluck at your nipple with his lips through the sheer fabric of your bra.

“Please,” you mewl, weak from pleasure. His hands cup your breasts as he gently pushes you backwards, until your back hits a wall and he stands looming over you.

"Mmm..." he grabs your bra, pulling it up over your breasts, then attacks them with a vengeance, sucking, licking, squeezing one while he devours the other. His need and passion so intense, so overwhelming you can hardly breathe.

He lets go of your breast and his right hand goes back under your skirt, finding your soaked panties and pushing the crotch aside. He pushes his finger into you and you cry out, arching up against the wall as you try and support your weight. Your legs spreading eagerly as the sloppy sound of his fingers filled the room.

"Please," you whisper, "Please..." He fingers you till you feel yourself start to bear down the looming orgasm and then he stops suddenly.

You watch as his hand flies to his zipper, your breath hitching as you gaze at the bulge straining against the thin material of his jeans. He catches your gaze and decides to move slower. He moves with excruciating ministrations, his fingers gliding over the waistband as he undoes the first button before sliding the zipper down. Through lust hazed eyes you watch as Jaehyun strokes his cock, covered by the thin material of his boxers, the fabric stretched for release. Eventually, he kicks of his jeans, the more apparent tent now restrained only by a single layer.

“Eyes up princess,” He smirks, watching your eyes flicker back up to him. You reach down desperately, wanting to touch him. Jaehyun grabs your arm, pulling you back as he finally removes the last layer, letting his cock spring free, hard and angry, arching up in its full arousal, erect and proud. The moment you see his entire length you let out a low moan.

“I just want to touch it,” you whine, freeing yourself from his grasp.

“You can,” he pushes your shoulders down gently and you immediately sink to the floor in eager when you realise what he’s implying. “Show me what a hot little cock-sucker you are and get me good and hard, baby. Good and hard.” He takes a handful of your hair and pulls you closer, his other hand holding his dick up like a weapon, aimed directly at your mouth.

The sticky velvet head of his dick presses against your lips and you can smell him, the scent of soap and denim and male sexual musk. You lean forward at the sight just as his heavy cock slaps against your lips and you obediently open your mouth, taking him inside.

He exhales a grunt of excitement and you feel his hands in your hair, pushing your head down impatiently as he lifts his hips and thrusts himself into you. His cock slides into your mouth and fills you: hot, thick, and pulsing with life, and you hear him groan in animal pleasure as you sink down on his thick hardness.

Your lips suddenly turning wildly sensitive as he tugs at the strands in your hair, grabbing your head and fucking his cock into your mouth, pushing the fallen strands of hair out of your face so he can see you getting fucked.

"Fuck!" he moans. "Oh fuck!"

You continue sucking, slobbering, pushing your head onto him and pumping, pausing only to slurp up the streams of saliva that poured from your mouth and down his shaft. You can hear your own guttural moans and sounds of obsequious sucking, and when your neck starts to ache and your lips grow tired, you just hold your head and mouth still, letting him use you, letting him thrust his angry cock into your throat and making you choke and gag.

"You're going to make me cum, baby!" he moans.

As the words leave his lips, you suck harder, jaw no longer slack, wanting him to cum in your mouth. But he wasn't ready to give it to you yet. He digs both his hands into your hair, prying you off as his cock pops out your mouth, slimed with spit and twitching with pre-orgasmic spasms. Jaehyun quickly grabs his cock, squeezing his length to stop his immanent ejaculation as you cry out in frustration.

“What are you doing?” you whine as Jaehyun leans down, wiping the substance off your lips. You were desperate for his cum in your mouth, and he was denying you.

“Not yet.” As his head rolls back, you continue to stare, watching him squeeze and clench his dick and the watery pre-cum roll down the angry purple head. You pounce on it, reaching forward to scoop it up in desperate need with a single swipe of your tongue, savouring its flavour before swallowing thickly.

“Fuck Y/N!” He yells, painfully sensitive and reacting instinctively by shielding his cock and pushing you away gently.

You barely move, your hands quickly falling to your side to keep your balance. If he wasn't going to let you have his cock, you were going to satisfy your oral need another way. You watch as his breaths become heavy, his own attempt of calming himself down. Your eyes are still glued to his cock, wrapped tightly around his hand as your gaze travels up his length, noticing his balls hanging in attetion.

Immediately, you crawl forward, ducking your head to come up from below as you lick and kiss at the hanging bottom, your wet lips running over them.

“Shit!” he moans, his hand squeezing tighter against himself as he watches you in shock. You were shocked yourself but you were more concerned about your eager need growing in the pit of your stomach. You slurp and suck gently at his cum filled balls, grabbing his cock from his hand as he lets go. “You’re such a bad girl.”

But as you begin to pump up his shaft, Jaehyun pulls you up by your upper arms, lifting you off the floor and picking you up into his chest. For a moment your mind goes blank, suddenly forgetting where you are.

It’s not until you feel the soft fabric of the bed sheets under your skin that you realise you’re in a different room. The dim light shining through his open bedroom curtains on your left and the reflection of your body in the mirror on your right.

Your arms climb to your chest, covering yourself in instinct as you notice him staring. “What is it?” you whisper.

“Why are you hiding them?” he asks, crawling up to your face, his hands at the side of your head.

“Because.”

“because what?” he asks, his breath reaching your lips.

“Because I want to,” you sass back. You can feel his body leaning against your crossed arms and you fight the urge to move.

“So much attitude,” he chuckles, attacking you with kisses. His tongue glides through your lips, meeting yours and his hands find your shoulder, pushing down lightly to keep you still beneath him. Your palms go to his back as his chest meets yours, bringing his body down closer to you in the midst of your kiss.

Jaehyun’s tongue is questing and inquisitive; learning the corners of your mouth with practiced flair, drawing sensual noises from you. Sounds you didn't know were capable of leaving you. Tentatively, you reach your arm up around the solid anchor of his arm and your rewarded with a deep growl of pleasure from your partner.

All you had now was need, this basic elemental need, and you wanted him to take you and do things to you. You wanted him to take everything you had to give, because nothing seemed of any value unless he wanted it. Jaehyun notices your change quickly as you fight back for power, your hands gliding to his chest, pushing him. You flip him over, rising onto your knees so you’re now straddling his lap. He makes no effort to stop your strength but continues to pull you close with his lips, waiting for whatever you wanted to do next.

But you pull away from him, the constant thought that plagued your mind being asked, “What happens after this?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, confused.

You sit up properly, his hands resting at your hips to keep you steady. You hesitate before responding, deciding between your words, “Is this just for fun?”

There’s a moment of silence, his eyes showing the gentler side of his emotions, “Do you want it to be?”

You pause for a second, weighing your options. Of course you wanted it to be more, you had fallen for Jaehyun the moment you saw him, but you were sure he only saw you as his best friend’s younger sister, “No.”

Jaehyun smiles at you, bringing your fallen strands of hair behind your ear, “Then let’s work something out.”

You feel his body shift and your suddenly thrown to your side, landing softly on the bed with a thud. In the dark room, you can hear him shuffling before his hand reaches for your skirt, tugging them down in a swift movement along with your underwear. You let out a squeal in surprise but he ignores it.

He walks over to the side of his bed, patting his lap as you crawl over to his side. He guides you over, placing you over his knee, your bottom naked under his hand as you shiver in anticipation.

“I think you know what’s about to happen baby,” he murmurs, stroking the back of your thighs. You let out a choked mumble, your ass clenching as you wait for the sound. “Didn't I tell you no before? I told you not to keep throat fucking my cock but you continued,” he hums, “and do you know what happens to those who don't listen?”

“What?” you squeak

“They get punished.” He squeezes your ass gently, watching it fill his palm, “Here’s how this works, red for stop, yellow for slow down and green for I’m okay.” He pauses, waiting for your response, “did you hear me princess?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter out, heart beating rapidly as you laid vulnerably over his knee.

His gaze darkens, as you respond, his voice coming out almost two octaves lower, “Repeat it Y/N.”

“Red stop, yellow for slow and green for okay,” you automatically reply.

“If anything’s uncomfortable tell me okay?” Jaehyun coaxes with a gentle whisper.

He draws his hand back and you close your eyes for what’s coming. The slap of his hand on your ass amazingly loud in the room, the sharp sting and burn immediately felt. You yelp at the contact, clenching your ass for the next slap to come.

“Count them for me baby.” He purrs, pausing for you to answer.

You let out a shaky breath, “One.”

Another slap comes. You draw in a breath, mumbling out the tally “Two.”

“Count them properly or we start again baby,” he warns.

And another, “Three.”

“Four.” The heat starts to sink into your pussy, radiating through your body.

“F-ive.”

“Maybe you should have listened to me?” he hums in response – another harsh spank following his words.

“Six.” you whine out, crying in pain. As each slap continues, the arrogance you had from earlier drifts further away, the sting of his slaps sinking into your pussy and causing your muscles to clench and clit to throb.

“Your ass fits so perfectly around my hand.” He praises, rubbing the skin delicately after the seventh spank. He shuffles back against the bed, sliding you over with him.

He grabs you by the arms again, lifting you up easily over him and lowering you down between his parted legs. You stare at his stiff cock so close to your entrance and your eyes widen as you watch him move.

“Time to do some work princess,” he orders, hands tightening around your waist.

“You want me to ride you?” You ask, unable to hide the hint of power you could feel rising in your chest.

“Don’t take that fucking attitude with me,” he warns, his hands digging in the side of your skin, “Or we’ll continue our counting.”

You didn't fight him, desperate for something to fill you below. Jaehyun had handled you so easily, like a doll, lifting you up and holding you by the arms, kissing you, nuzzling his face into your breasts as you arranged yourself around him. At the slight contact your pussy makes with the velvety head of his cock, you moan, wiggling your hips back and forth to work the head of his cock between your folds.

He holds you up, not letting you sink down any closer until you groan in frustration.

“Jae just let me!” you scream, frustrated as you claw at his hands holding your body up.

He chuckles in response, beginning to lower you and you feel yourself stretch and spread around his invading length. Then, he lets go of your arms, gripping onto your ass instead as you whimper out in pain from the soreness of before. But that was the least on your mind, finally feeling in charge of fucking him and taking him inside. Every movement of your hips has you taking his cock deep into your pussy and Jaehyun grunts in delight, his hands pulling your body deeper around him.

“Fuck such a tight little princess.” He groans. His cock is huge, and hard, and it split you painfully, but the pain was just what you wanted, the perfect price for the pleasure you desired. He pulls your body towards him, his hands bringing you to his lips around your neck. Jaehyun took advantage of your busy mind, slowing the kiss down, drawing the moment out until you were leaning heavily against him, dizzy.

Your pussy was melting, your juices running down his shaft in an obscene display of need but you were loving it, the wicked sense of control you now had, doling out his pleasure as he moans and gasps simultaneously as you sink down on his cock.

However, when you’re only still half-ready, he begins to thrust up impatiently into you, burying his cock into your hilt and you break your kiss to sob. He was filling you, packing you with his length as you gasp, leaning your forehead against his, feeling so totally fucked and consumed by him.

"Sit up” he growls, " I want to see my cock going into you."

You groan at the dirtiness of his words but obey, pulling yourself up as you watch his eyes flick down to where you see yourself stretch in a tight ring around him.

“So perfectly made for me,” he grunts as you slide down. Jaehyun brings your breasts in his hands, finding your nipples and rolling them between his fingers slowly, pinching and increasing the pressure till you gasp, your pussy spasming around him involuntarily. Your vaginal muscles clench from the immense size, making its long journey in and out of his now conquered territory. “Keep going princess, show me how much you want me,” he growls.

You rise up again, feeling the sweet suck of his cock leaving you, then push back down against him, filling yourself up, grinding to rub your clit against his shaft. Jaehyun moans, sighs, and grunts with pleasure as you continue in a working rhythm, starving to feel his hot release into your pussy. His fingers still tugging at your nipples, bounced in his hands as he bounced on him. But your body grows exhausted soon after your first climax, unable to keep up the same pace as before.

“Fuck I c-cant,” your voice trails off, your thighs weakening as your legs were giving out in support.

Jaehyun doesn't miss his cue, his hand reaching for your ass and the other for your neck as he flips you over, you’re back hitting the sheets with a soft thud in the midst of everything.

“I got you baby.” He whispers, his cock still buried in your pussy as he nudges between your legs. He doesn't move, waiting for you to regain your breath as he gently holds your legs against the sheets, helping you calm down the tremoring of your muscles. “What colour?” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Greenish-yellow,” you mumble, “just give me a second.” Jaehyun hums in response, waiting patiently for your response as he holds still inside of you. He nuzzles against your hair. You take a few more moments, breathing deeply before you’re ready, “green.”

He takes no time in returning back to his movements. He pushes your knees up to your shoulders, fucking you hard, deep and with brutal passion. You grip onto the surrounding bed sheets, his full length of his cock sliding in and out of you faster and harder than you could’ve achieved by riding him.

Jaehyun buries his face into the arch of your throat, peppering kisses into your flesh as you gasp out for air with every thrust. His lips trail along the side of your collar before wrapping around the skin, lightly suckling at it. He tugs at the thin skin between his teeth and you feel the slight pang of pain as he bites down softly. Nevertheless, he continues – sucking and biting as many hickeys he can into your skin, gripping onto your opposite shoulder and tilting your head for further access to your neck.

“Your mine now, all mine,” he murmurs against your skin, “whose are you princess?”

“Yours,” you squeak, voice coming out at a higher pitch than usual.

You can feel the building tension, feeling his cock knocking against your hilt as you move, your stomach bulging with his length. You grasp at him, trying to reach for his bicep which holds your knees up, wanting to tell him you were close, but you couldn't move, couldn't say anything. You can only lie there with your mouth agape, eyes shut as he continues to dive in.

“Fuck I’m going to cum.” He groans. But you were already drowning in your own torrent of orgasm, crushed by the relentless fucking and his deep grunts. You feel his cock throb intensely inside you before it begins to spit hot waves of cum into you.

He continues to fuck you as you come, your pussy milking his cock as he shoots into you again and again, his face now buried against your breasts. He was still thrusting as you come down from your high, his member deflating but still insisting in sliding in and out on the slippery bed of your mixed juices. Slowly, you float back into reality, your body still uncontrollably spasms as the thick cloud of ecstasy still clouds your mind.

“Jae n-no more,” you whimper, feeling him retreat from your sensitive walls as the overstimulated pain and displeasure kick in. Jaehyun listens immediately, moving his weight from you so his hovering over your sweaty figure, your hair sticking to your forehead.

“No more baby,” he tells you, his hand skimming over your waist and then to your belly. He pushes down lightly and you feel a rush of cum leak out and trail down to your ass. He climbs off, panting still as he rolls over beside you, bringing in your exhausted figure to his chest. Your clammy skin and his comforting presence washes over you as he runs his large hands over your back soothingly, whispering loving words.

The ringtone of a phone from the bedroom floor snaps Jaehyun out of his trance, and when he tries to move you cling onto his arm. “Don’t go,” you whine.

“I’m just going to answer the phone,” he coos, “I’m not leaving.” He places a soft kiss on your forehead before climbing off the bed to search for the source of noise in the pile of your thrown off clothes.

The ringing finally stops and you watch as you make out the outline of Jaehyun’s shadow placing the phone against his ear.

“Hello?” Jaehyun doesn't say anything else for a while, just listening to the person on the other side of the call while he runs a hand through his hair. You throw your head back against the pillow and sink further into the scented bed sheets when you realise who the caller is, letting out a muffled groan. “We’re coming back now.”   _____

Feedback always welcome! 

[volleychumps]

Hi! I really love ur writing and if u still do requests, can you make a scenario where the reader is an artist and asks kuroo, akaashi and tendou to pose for them (maybe naked hueh uee) thank you so much! ❤❤❤❤❤

c u t e- I used the aspect of paint in a lot of them tehe hope you guys don’t mind <3, the endings to these btw? Kinda hot ngl 

Plus these are kinda long to make up for me being gone for a bit aha 

Asking Them To Pose For Your Drawing w/ Kuroo, Akaashi, and Tendou 

warning(s): slight nsfw themes

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

Kuroo

“Knock knock!” 

“Um, hi Kuroo-senpai?” You say it like a question, startled from washing your paint brushes as you quirk an eyebrow at the feral captain leaning against the doorframe, jacket slung over his shoulder with a casual feel to his actions. You cock your head as he whistles, situating himself with the stool before finally meeting your eyes with a grin. 

“Yeah, so Kenma couldn’t make it.” 

“Could he not make it or did you steal this from him?” You sweat drop, a knowing grin tickling your lips as you make small-talk with your friend, hearing the feigned gasp of shock in your ears as you mildly meet his eyes. 

“I’m offended-” 

“Kuroo-senpai, you said no when I asked.” You hum, looking around for your apron before glancing back at him. “Sudden change of heart?” 

“I didn’t say no, I asked what was in it for me.” The captain protests as you resist the urge to palm your face, crossing your arms as you stand in front of your easel. 

“Nothing. Other then helping me with my piece, nothing.” You sigh, tying your hair back while narrowing your eyes. “So will you please tell Kenma I didn’t cancel? He’s willing.” 

“Oho kitten, I wouldn’t say nothing. I get to stare into your pretty eyes while you get to stare right back? That’s something.” Kuroo replies easily, jacket falling to a heap next to the stool as you will your eyes not to follow the clothing. 

“...right.” You roll your eyes at the captain’s flirtatious nature, still a little glad you were able to get your first-choice pick in the first place despite the slight hassle it took. 

“Don’t trip over yourself in excitement-” 

“Aaaand we’re starting.” You step behind the easel, beginning to situate your paints. You go to look around the easel when you’re done, eyes becoming owlish at the sight of Kuroo in the process of pulling his school pants off. At your shriek, Kuroo stops mid-way before lifting his head, a lazy smirk crossing his face before he tilts his head, 

“What are you doing?!” 

“This...this is a nude kinda thing, right?” 

You stare at him blankly before turning around abruptly, trying to keep your head straight before sighing heavily with a hand on your forehead, cursing the heat beneath your skin. How did you end up here?

“Just...I’ll give you three seconds to get all your clothes back on.” 

“All of them?” Kuroo’s voice is whiny as you grow more agitated.

“Yes.” You snap, biting the end of your thumb, feeling an unsteady beat in your chest. The sex appeal of Kuroo Tetsurou was insanely high, and most of it came from his actions- not to mention your little crush on him that had been tame for the most part, unexpected situations like these causing said crush to grow immensely. 

Still, you didn’t think he could be that bold. 

“Sir, that is not all your clothes-” 

“I’m sweaty though.” Kuroo shrugs, winking once before taking a swig of a water bottle, and you’re left dumbfounded before he stops mid-drink, a grin tickling his lips. “Are you gonna keep staring at me or get started? Or should I pour this water on-” 

“I-I’ll get started.” You huff, picking up your first art utensil to begin drawing, instructing him on how to pose. Surprisingly, you get past your embarrassment easily, your face falling to a relaxed nature with a slight furrow to your brows. 

Kuroo couldn’t help but admire the way your hair fell into your face out of it’s knot, a paint-stained hand coming up to brush some of it out of the way while smearing some on your face in the process. He liked messy. 

And that’s just what you were right now, messy and doused in color. 

You gave special attention to the sharp look to his eyes, spending more time than you thought you would after a few looks. When you go to look again, you blink in confusion to see he was no longer in his seat. Before your irritation could grow at his lack of following directions-

“That is some talent.” 

You yelp, spinning around in your seat to face the dark-haired boy who reached an arm out to steady your piece, looking down at you with a lazy grin as he saves your portrait of him, his bare chest pressing to your back while one of his muscular arms remains outreached to your side. Trapped, but not really trapped as his hazel eyes seems to pin you there, your breath hitching in your throat. 

His hands go to smudge at the paint on your face, frowning as you flinch away in embarrassment, tone falling to a serious one. 

“Tell me if I’m crazy, sweetheart, but do you like me the way I do, or am I just batshit insane?” 

At your stutter, the heat that flames your cheeks, and the rattling of the paintbrush as it hits the floor- 

Kuroo grins, cupping your face with a paint-stained hand before closing the distance, one of your hands resting on his chest as you kiss him back shyly. He lets go of the easel to cup your face with both hands to deepen the kiss, grinning when he feels you smile into it while the colors smudge your heated skin- 

the brush rattling to a stop as you pull back, sighing at the feel of Kuroo untying your apron. 

Akaashi

“Need help?” 

Your hands still from behind you to lift your head, smile crossing your face as the setter examines the art room, blue-eyes falling onto yours with a small greeting one of his own. His eyes fall to your hands in the midst of tying your apron as you laugh, spinning around. 

“Be my guest. Thanks so much for doing this, Keiji.” 

“I owe you, Y/N. Ever since high school started you’ve been the only one to keep Bokuto-san on his feet at games.” 

“A kiss on the cheek always gets Bo going.” You giggle, not noticing the ways Akaashi’s hands had stilled for a second before going again. “He’s like a kid, you know?” 

“Such a great kid. Wow.” Enthusiasm drains from his tone as you laugh.

“Keiji.” You begin to scold, only to feel the tightening of your strings as Akaashi hums, spinning you around by the shoulders as his blue eyes seem to keep you in place for a second, taking in your features with your hair pulled back. 

You chuckle nervously. “What?” 

Akaashi hesitates, sighing before letting you go and looking off to the side. “Is this where you want me?” 

“Akaashi, it might take a little bit-” 

“Akaashi?” 

“...Keiji.” You correct yourself, smiling at the way the furrow between the setter’s brows disappeared. Standing before him, you adjust the way you want him to pose, tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth as you did so. You grin when you achieve what you want, sitting in front of your easel while picking up your ink. 

“You ready? I need you to stay that way for awhile.” 

He nods, doing as he’s told as you immerse yourself in your work, ten minutes later that immersed expression becoming one of irritation as the setter takes his chance to speak. 

“Is everything alright?” 

“Clothes are a bit hard for me...don’t worry about it though- Keiji what on earth are you doing?” 

You blink, bewildered as the setter’s shirt gets flung to the side- your eyes following the material as Akaashi settles back into the pose as if nothing had happened, tilting his head at the pink that floods your cheeks. He hides his smirk with his hand at your flushed expression. 

“Better? That should be a bit easier, right?” 

“Keiji- to put it nicely, what the fuck-” 

“Shush.” Akaashi rolls his eyes playfully at your words as you try to keep your thoughts level, the look of Akaashi’s toned arms and chest complimenting his v-line perfectly. He was the perfect model. 

A perfect model you had to hide hidden feelings for with the sake of your friendship in mind. 

“Don’t call me a pervert.” You warn, voice uneasy before going back to your painting as Akaashi’s smirk only grows. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

The heat from your cheeks fades as time passes on, the portrait coming out quite nicely with only the minor details to fill in that can be done without the model. You give him a thumbs up after about an hour, the outline finally done and ready for color as you set your ink down. 

“Done?” 

“Finally done.” You stretch, Akaashi falling to a more relaxed position with a short exhale, causing you to frown before pulling an icy water bottle from the fridge nearby. He looks up when you press it against his cheek, meeting his tired stare with a warm one. 

“Thanks for doing this, Keiji.” A tinge at your chest. “You’re a really good friend.” 

Akaashi stills at that word, not being able to stop the downward tug at his lips as you untie your apron before beginning to turn around so your back is to him. 

“Want to get some food? My treat-” 

“Y/N.” 

Toned arms reach out before he realizes it, wrapping gently around your waist to hug you to him, a surprised sound slipping your lips as the setter’s lips speak against the small of your back. 

“A-Akaashi?!” 

“Akaashi?” He whispers softly, and you shiver at the feel of it before biting your lip. You never would have imagined this situation would fall in your favor. 

“Keiji, what-?” 

“Remember when you asked me to stay like that for awhile?” He murmurs, holding you a little tighter as the messy-haired boy feels a surge of confidence at your nervous tremble. “Let me do the same.” 

You stop trembling, letting out a breath you knew you were holding before turning around, your hands resting on Akaashi’s shoulders as he looks up at you the way he always looked at you. 

With love. 

“How long?” You ask softly, the side of Akaashi’s lips quirking up ever so slightly as his arms drape around your waist naturally. 

“Since the start of our first high school year.” 

You smile, Akaashi easily pulling you into his lap as you tense up at the movement, heat flooding your cheeks yet again as Akaashi clasps his hands under the small of your back, blue-green eyes taking in your ink-stained features. He listens patiently for your response, and your voice is quieter than ever as one of your fingers trace his chiseled jaw, ink on your fingers leaving a small trail.

His chest was hot as your lips hover over his. 

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I don’t want to be friends anymore, is it?” 

“Then what do you want to be?” Akaashi’s voice is dazed as you smile, hands resting on his bare chest. 

“Best friends.” 

Akaashi rolls his eyes, putting a hand on the back of your hair to kiss you with a fervor unkown as the ink on your fingers leave marks on his bare skin as he speaks against your lips. 

“Best friends don’t do this.”

As his hand gently tugs your hair out of it’s knot, his tongue slipping into your mouth as his shirt remains forgotten against the wall. 

Tendou

“Yoo-Hoo~” 

“Tendou, you’re late.” You sigh, looking up from adjusting your easel as the redhead pouts, coming over to help you adjust it. Tendou slips both of his hands into his hoodie pockets, frowning when he sees that you were still wearing your school uniform. 

“Hon, you’ve got paint stains already on your uniform.” 

“Don’t hon me, Satori.” You retort, mixing some colors on a pallete before narrowing your eyes at your best friend who replies with an easy grin before you look down again. “The art club sent the aprons to get washed, but I need to get this piece done-” 

“Boo you pulled out my real name.” 

Tendou ignores your shocked look when he snatches the pallete from you, holding it up arms reach before draping his hoodie across your face. You take the hooded material off with a glare, the redhead smirking in his shirtless glory back down at you. 

“Wear it. I don’t like it anyways.” 

“How kind, considering you probably stole it from Semi-” 

“Details, details!” Tendou waves it off as you shrug the material on, the scent of Tendou filling your nose as he hums, helping you tie your hair back for you in a way that was almost sweet-

“Tendou, you know you’re ass at doing my hair.” 

“You act like guys are supposed to know how, missy.” 

“Good thing you’re not a guy to me, mister.” You reply, lying as if you weren’t completely and helplessly in love with your best friend. Tendou’s hands freeze up before he pulls your hair through the final loop, clearing his throat before crossing his arms to face you seriously. 

“My body is ready.” 

“Just go sit down!” You push him, Tendou’s cackling filling the air as you roll your eyes, still smiling widely at his antics that interrupted the awkward silence. Settling down in front of your easel, you face palm at Tendou’s stupid-ass pose as he looks at you as if he had just won a prize. 

“Like this?” 

“Satori, I will walk out this door-” 

“You must be real fun at parties.” 

“It’s hard to be fun at parties when you’re the fun one at parties, so I have to be the responsible one.”

“Touche.” 

You shake your head, actually beginning the drawing and getting really far, despite Tendou’s annoying tendencies. 

“You starin’ at my abs? Should I feel harassed or complimented?” 

“Y/N...is that...a blush I see?! Because of lil old me?” 

“Y/N...Y/N I bet you’re feeling a tickle on your cheek.” 

“Y/N, you’re hot when you draw-” 

“Satori!” You groan, an hour of Tendou’s shiteating comments finally coming to a stop as you turn the portrait on him, tired look in your eyes from both him and the concentration as a proud grin crosses your lips. 

“I did it.” 

Tendou blinks at how well-drawn the portrait was, swallowing back his compliments. Was he really that...attractive? 

“...Bout time, I’m hungry.” 

“At least say something!” You swat at his bare arm, Tendou laughing chaotically as you groan and walk over to the sink, pouting over-dramatically as Tendou sighs in response. 

“Sunshine, don’t do this.” 

“Tendou I spent an hour drawing your ugly ass-” 

“Ugly ass? My ass? Ugly? Excuse me-” 

“-at least be grateful.” You finish with a huff, and Tendou stalls when you pull his hoodie sleeves up. The hoodie had been rightfully his in the first place, and the sight of you tugging the sleeves up to wash your hands had the redhead wetting his lips at the sight. The hem of his hoodie draped around the upper portion of your thighs, just covering your school skirt that gave the illusion of his hoodie being the only thing you were wearing. 

And that was all it took. 

“What do you want to eat, you jerk-” 

You’re cut off at the feel of Tendou’s arms wrapping around your waist from behind, the redhead digging his face into the juncture between your shoulder and neck with a sigh. His bare back presses against your clothed back as your chest begins to pound. 

“Satori.” Your voice comes out as a whisper as Tendou’s mumbles into your skin. 

“Do you really not see me as a guy?” 

You freeze. 

“What would it take, huh?” 

His hold tightens. 

“Can I make you fall for me the way you made me?” 

The seriousness of his tone had you turning gently in his hold, your thumb swiping over the redhead’s cheek as you eye him, fragility in your eyes. 

“Are you being serious right now, Satori?” 

“Depending on your answer, yes and no.” 

You roll your eyes, smiling as Tendou pulls you in closer by tightening his hold, your noses brushing as your voice falls to a hush. 

“You don’t need to make me fall.” Your voice falls to a hush as you smile, kissing the tip of his nose softly. 

“Because you already did.” 

And then you were placed on the counter, Tendou stepping between your legs heatedly to cup your face with one hand, his other one gripping your waist tightly as his lips capture yours. His touch was fierce and hungry, lips moving against yours like a man starved as you merely whimpered into his mouth. 

He pulls at the material of the hoodie, whispering almost angrily against your lips as his hand slides up your bare thigh.

“As much as you look all cute in my hoodie hon, let’s get it off.” 

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

General Works: @takemetovalhalla @savemesteeb @kasandrafaye @dreebbles @yams046 @aprettyfruit @therestless101 @dai-tsukki-desu @lifeisntjustblackandwhite @curiouslilbeast @wisepandaslimeland @deadontheinsidebut @lmkjimin @h0ngh0ngh0ng @theworldupthere @itz-tooru @orangegiraffe7 @let-me-have-my-own-name

[defcravings]

show me -  | im changkyun

wc: 4.4k

genre: suggestive with sexual mentions

synopsis: y/n is a makeup artist on changkyun’s ‘god damn’ MV shoot, when the rapper takes a sudden liking to her; she becomes more involved in the shoot than she anticipated. 

pairing: changkyun x reader

5am was not the ideal start time for y/n, especially in the cold and with no coffee. In hand carrying 5 alarmingly large cases of makeup and costume through the staff entrance of the set for the shoot; silently assuring yourself that you ‘would get coffee or so help her god.’ Being the first one here you flicked on all the lights and threw down the cases of makeup that were slowly making you feel like your fingers were going to fall off- with a clatter on the table you exhaled and rubbed your now very sore fingers. you loved her job as a makeup artist, but it was hard to like it this early in the morning; and once again, without coffee. 

you began shoving boxes round the room to clear space for the fitting and hanging the clothes up on the railing beside the mirror until you heard a familiar voice singing a very joyful ‘good morning y/n.’ You flashed a look in the direction of the door to see Jules, the head stylist in her puffy jacket (which looked like it would swallow the entire 5ft1 woman whole) duffle bag on one shoulder and gripping 2 cups of what looked like Starbucks coffee.

You stood up throwing your hair back behind your shoulders, taking the cup from Jules who extended it towards you. ‘You ready for today?’ Jules questioned, taking a sip from the cup she hugged in her hands. ‘I am now’ you said gesturing to the coffee you’d been thinking about from the moment you sat in the car on the way here. ‘Thanks for filling in by the way, Soo was really worried about leaving us without a makeup artist but her little one is really sick. I really owe you one’ Jules chuckled, setting her jacket down and picking up the makeup case and opening it. Soo was the whole reason you got into makeup, she was the head makeup artist at the company you worked for- granted you were a little nervous to be deemed ‘head makeup artist’ for the day, but with her daughter being as cute as she is, you could forgive her for being ill. ‘No no it’s fine, call it even for the coffee’ you smiled rolling out the makeup brushes.

A few more members of the team came into the studio and began to help you set up. 8am rolled around and your client was expected to arrive anytime, in the meantime you went over the makeup brief and sat on your phone scrolling aimlessly. ‘Morning everyone’ a deep voice said from the doorway. Your head whipped round to see the unfamiliar face smiling towards Jules. His black long hair draped over one eye; as he stretched out his arms to hug the little too excited Jules. ‘Oh good morning love!’ she sang, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Changkyun, this is y/n’ she said extending her arm out, gesturing towards you who was now stood up, coffee cup in hand for comfort. ‘Soo had to look after her little one, so y/n is going to look after you today. she’s well on her way to being head makeup artist’ Jules sang like a proud mother. You just stood there and chuckled at her. Changkyun paused for a moment, looking you dead in the eye before slowly putting his hand out for you to shake. You uncomfortably swallowed before shaking his hand back and gave a closed mouth smile staring him back in the eyes. ‘Nice to meet you, y/n’ he replied slowly, with a hint of sultry. His eyes dropped slowly over your body, not unnoticed, but somehow not unwanted. Hands still touching, Jules clapped, pulling you both back into the reality of being in a room with other people. ‘Shall we get you changed then?’ Jules said, ushering Changkyun over to the clothing rail. You began to feel your ears burning red and your hands run cold. He knew exactly what he was doing. And my god, it was working. 

Watching his take off his jacket while Jules held up countless outfits against his chest, deciding which one would capture the concept of the shoot. After much deliberation they settled on a mesh shirt with a beige jacket over the top. Changkyun cast a look over in your direction where you leaned against the makeup table trying to act as casual as you could; as he pulled his oversized black shirt over his head revealing what can only be described a the body of a god. his gaze never leaving your’s. your breath hitched as his shook his hands through his hair; leaving everyone in the room making noises of approval and gawking at his body. ‘we need to draw the tattoos on you before we put this one though’ Jules said hanging the shirt back up and looking over towards you. ‘y/n do you want to get started on that before we dress him? just do whatever you think would match the theme’ Jules continued, Changkyun smirked, knowing exactly how this was going to go. 

‘oh, okay yeah.. um, come sit here’ you said awkwardly motioning over to the couch that was placed in the middle of the room. he flopped down spreading his arms over the back of the sofa, as you slowly walked over; tattoo pens in hand. you couldn’t even bring your eyes up to meet his yet you could feel his stare casting itself over your entire body. suddenly wishing you wore a bigger shirt. softly you pulled the cap off the pen and cleared your throat, desperately trying to look him in the eye but failing miserably. ‘so um.. I was thinking, maybe something on your neck? is that okay?’ you uttered quietly, playing with the cap of the pen to ease your nerves. ‘I like that.’ changkyun replied, his gaze still running over your upper body. somehow it didn’t feel like he was talking about the tattoo. ‘okay.. can you um just..’ you trailed off as you gently turned his face away by his jawline and shuffled in a little closer to get a better handle on his neck. you cold hands touched his warm skin, immediately repeating the feeling of blood draining from your face as you placed the pen on his neck. your eyes flicked over to the mirror that faced the couch; where you saw changkyun looking directly at you, smirking as he saw your eyes meet. your heart felt like it was beating out your chest, becoming very worried he could hear it the same as you heard it in your ears. 

around 10 minutes passed and you’d finished the first tattoo and you moved onto the next one; on the upper side of his bicep. this job was becoming a bit of a gift and a curse. the rest of the staff carried on organising, which should have made the situation feel much more relaxed, yet it didn't seem to make any difference, you still felt like your heart was about to burst out your chest. until he spoke. ‘do you have any?’ he murmured. you almost didn’t hear it. you shifted your eyes from your work to his face to see if it was directed at you. his dark gaze was staring back at you, taking you by surprise. ‘any what?’ you murmured back at the same level, looking back at his arm. ‘any tattoos?’ he responded. you swallowed slowly, how on earth did his voice make you so nervous? it cast goosebumps all over your body yet made you feel like you were burning up; it was almost repulsive as he knew what he was doing, but you didn't want it to stop. 

a moment passed as you replied ‘yeah.. I have 3′ you steadied you breath trying to sound relaxed, like you weren’t going to explode. ‘what are they?’ he questioned, his voice beginning to sound softer as the conversation began to flow. you pulled away from the tattoo and gently pushed your hair over your left shoulder; turning your upper body the same way. ‘so.. I have one here’ you said softly, showing the back of your shoulder to him. his eyes were low as they took in all of your back, not leaving the mark on you until the last moment when you turned back to face him. his gaze flicking back up to meet yours as you turned to the other side to gesture to one on the side of your ribs, pulling your shirt up just a tiny bit to reveal the next trace of ink. his now hunched over body dangerously close to your exposed skin; causing you to suddenly stop, lowering your shirt back down and locking eyes with him. ‘and um, I can’t show you the other one..’ you trailed off, picking your pen back up. you could tell he was still looking at you. ‘why?’ he queried, in an extra low, extra sultry voice. the smirk on his lips growing larger as he began to guess as to why it was something you couldn't show him. he thought seemed to excite him. and equally, it excited you. ‘its um, in a place I can’t show you..’ you chucked softly, hoping it would break his intense gaze. to your dismay, he remained his harsh look. ‘show me’ he practically growled, his voice as low and the pit in your stomach. your eyes quickly shifted round the room, noticing that everyone had now left. ‘I can’t..’ you replied with a little chuckle. this response seemed to peak Changkyun’s interest in the matter. ‘show me where on me then’ he whispered slowly reaching for your hand and pulling it towards his body that was now shifting to his slouched torso and parted legs. your heart began to race, with the knowledge of where the tattoo was and knowing where you were going to have to touch him. this was less than professional, but somehow you didn’t care. he placed your hand on his chest trailing it down towards his abs. your fingers lightly leading the way until he reached the base of his stomach. 

‘here?’ he paused the motion and looked up towards you, a smirk plastered over his lips. a smirk that transferred onto your lips too. ‘a bit further’ you whispered, earning a breath from changkyun. his hand continued down past his stomach, onto the waistband of his jeans, causing him to exhale gently. just as both your hands approached the bulge that had now appeared under his jeans, you took control, steering his hand to the side next to his hip. ‘here’ you whispered cheekily, earning a loud yet disappointed exhale from his bitten lips. ‘I see’ he said, releasing your hand from his grip and placing his hands behind his head and leaning back. his eyes moving up and down your body as you stood back up and put the pens away. ‘I'm done’ you taunted, leaning against table looking at him with low eyes. sticking his tongue in his cheek pausing for a moment before pushing himself up; he walked slowly over to meet you. feeling the heat from his bare chest inches away from your small frame. his height looming over you made you feel tiny, and he liked that. he thrived on it. 

his now tattooed bicep curled up following his vascular hand towards your neck, goosebumps coated your arms from top to finger tips. his fingers trailed over your exposed shoulder, hooking his finger under the single strap from your top and and pulling it towards him. the inches between you two vanished leaving your body pressed against his taught chest. he leaned down, his breath trailing over your neck until he stopped at your ear. ‘no we’re not’ he said in a low breathy tone. your heart was beating a million miles per hour, your lips burned to touch his but you couldn’t move. like your entire body had stopped working.

changkyun pulled away, leaving your stunned body stuck in place. finally giving you a chance to breathe. his back muscles moving with every step it took away; making his way over to the clothing rail and putting his mesh shirt on without even looking at you. as if on queue; Jules entered clapping at changkyun in his outfit. ‘oh doesn’t he look great!’ she sang holding his face in her hands. ‘right lets get you on set!’ she said, pulling his hand out the door and onto set. leaving you in the dressing room, trying to rationalise everything that just happened. unsuccessfully. suddenly her head poked back into the room taking you by surprise. ‘aren’t you coming?’ she queried. ‘yeah, yeah I'm coming’ you replied pushing your confused body off the desk and following her out. 

the set looked insane, the lights were low and red creating a really sultry vibe. almost dingy. the room was full of extras talking quietly and milling around, the crew on the other side of the room looking like they were getting ready to begin. a rather tall looking man wearing a directors hat clapped to the room of people and shouted ‘right everyone, we are going to get started! we are going to get the second scene out the way first then we shall start shooting the dancing! okay! changkyun and ara come over here.. changkyun sit down and ara if you could get on top of him please’ he said motioning them to a green couch that was placed in the middle of the room. a tall black haired woman lead the way, she was gorgeous, her short hair grazed her shoulders and her makeup was sexy and sultry. bothered wasn't the word you would use to describe the description, but curious was. you wanted to see how this would unfold. changkyun shot a look over to you, once again a smirk on his face. you desperately wanted to keep your face neutral, knowing what he wanted you to react and not giving him the satisfaction was far more important. with that he flopped onto the couch, his arms over the back. this looked alarmingly familiar. ara gently straddled him, placing her delicate arms over his shoulders, awaiting further instruction. ‘okay great! so your basically just going to be touching him, hands on his neck, chest, hair, things like that. just make it look natural’ the director instructed. the 2 nodded in response. the discomfort this brought you was really beginning to settle in. you sat down on the crew chair behind you and crossed your legs, just watching. 

a lull of whispers filled the room as the crew got into position, leaving changkyun a few seconds to look over at you, hoping this would make you jealous. you wouldn’t give it to him. you couldn’t. pulling your phone out your pocket seemed like the best option. so you did, and began mindlessly scrolling, trying to ignore the very uncomfortable scene that was about to play out before you. ‘aaaand, action!’ called the director, the smoke machines began to spray thick fog throughout the room, a deep bass began to play only adding to the atmosphere. a few seconds passed of you scrolling on your phone trying to ignore it. but you couldn’t help but flick your eyes up from your screen. her hands were all up in his hair and trailing down his neck, her head thrown back leaving her exposed chest and neck to his gaze. wow this was uncomfortable. the discomfort was interrupted by the booming voice of the director ‘CUT’ he shouted, immediately the lights came on and the lull of quiet voices resumed. the pair looked confused, as the director strode over to the two on the sofa. the words exchanged were quiet, making sure that no one else heard. with that he made his way back over to the crew. ‘okay lets go again. aaaand action!’ he called. the atmosphere fell again. and so did your eyes to your phone. this time it lasted a little longer, until the director called cut again. the director lifted his hat to wipe sweat from his brow as he chatted to ara and changkyun. ara nodded strongly and apologised to him and got back into position. 

the interruptions continued another 2 times; causing the previous lull of whispers to become louder from the crew. Jules was stood talking to the producer who was looking rather disgruntled; making you wonder what the heck was going on. A rather worried Jules shuffled back over to meet you sighing as she sat down. ‘what’s going on?’ you queried, trying to sound as disinterested as possible. Jules leaned over to you, trying to make the conversation as unheard as possible. ‘well.. she’s just not quite getting the direction. it looks awkward on camera. I think they're going to call for a break and try again later’ she whispered, eyes flicking over to the now departed duo on the couch every few words. ‘okay guys, go grab yourself a drink and something to eat and we will start again in 20 minutes, sorry guys’ the producer called to the extras who are shared the same confused look as they walked out the room to the snack room. 

the director and producer walked over to ara and changkyun who were now looking over the directions on the paper in front of them. ‘grab your brushes, lets go listen in’ Jules said cheekily dragging you over to the group, to touch up their makeup. you pulled a powder brush out of your waist pouch and some a compact and began to power changkyun’s face. the conversation sounded intense. ‘it’s just that it’s looking a little awkward on camera. you’re both very farm apart, your bodies need to be closer together. more intimate looking.’ he director said awkwardly. changkyun didn’t even seem to be listening. he was looking back up at you, even though you weren’t looking at him, you wouldn’t. not right now. ‘sorry I don’t want to be a pain.. I just can’t imagine what you're asking’ ara said shyly, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. 

‘come here’ changkyun demanded, not breaking his gaze at you. you shifted your eyes up to meet his. ‘what?’ you questioned, lowering your brush from his cheek. ‘like this’ he said calmly, taking your arm and pulling you down onto the sofa. suddenly you were straddling him, brushes still in hand and very confused. before you even had chance to object, one hand was trailing up your thigh to your hip while the other one travelled from your shoulder to your neck as his mouth made its way to meet it. his hot breath marking where you longed for his mouth to plant itself. his lips stopping centimetres from your sweet spot. the crew erupted with praise and woah’s. wishing he would stay there for a few more seconds was too much to ask as he pulled away, leaning back on the coach and removing his hands from your hip and neck. his eyes meeting ara’s shocked face, ‘like that’ he smirked. slowly you stood up, fixing yourself as you tried to come back to reality. ‘yes yes like that! lets go for a take while the extras are eating’ the director said running back to the camera followed by the director. Jules dragged your stunned body back to the crew area as your legs wouldn’t seem to carry you, before you could even say anything to changkyun about how he firstly shouldn’t have done that, or apologise to ara. 

you watched as they got into position again, ran the scene, still as awkward as the last. the sighs and quick cut from the crew told you that they felt the same. ‘okay guys go get a drink and we will see if we can re work the scene’ the producer announced, very deflated. ara apologised and left the room, you couldn’t help but feel bad for her. this was uncomfortable, getting that intimate with someone in front of a whole crew. lord. you pulled your phone out your pocket to check the time. they were running behind. badly. as you locked it and put it back in your pocket you saw the director power walking over towards you. never good. ‘y/n will you do us a favour’ he asked you, sounding a little desperate. this could go one of 2 ways you thought. coffee run.. or something you realllly didn’t want to do. ‘umm.. what is it?’ you asked cautiously. ‘would you just do the scene with changkyun? we are running really behind and don’t have time to keep refilming’ he pleaded. you suddenly realised the entire crew was looking at you. including changkyun. ‘um.. I'm sure ara will be fine after she has a drink just give her another shot, please’ you whispered trying to not be heard by anyone else. ‘please y/n we don't have time, it’ll take 5 minutes max, please i’ll owe you one..’ he said, clasping his hands together pleading. you shifted your gaze over to changkyun who was stood in eye line behind the director, the corner of his lip curling into a smirk. god I hate him, you thought. ‘um.. yeah okay fine’ you said running one hand through your hair trying to calm yourself down. ‘yes okay amazing, get into positions please!’ he shouted turning back towards changkyun. your chest was burning like you were on fire as you watched him walk over to the couch, knowing exactly what was going to happen made it so much worse. 

slowly walking to meet him at the coach and standing over him as he looked up at you with burning desire. you adjusted your shirt slightly before gently straddling him, keeping you distance still. feeling the discomfort erupting. changkyun was obviously enjoying your awkwardness, chuckling as he reached one arm around your hips and pulling you closer to him so your core was now directly on his bulge. your throat hitched as his cool breath trailed down your cleavage, never breaking eye contact. the burn in your chest was spreading through your entire body, every part taking turns to be set on fire. ‘I told you we weren’t done’ he whispered gruffly, knowing exactly what he meant. the moment was interrupted by the director ‘okay right lets go, very natural, just like earlier, y/n just follow the lead okay? right aaaand action!’ he called, causing the entire set to fall silent, waiting for whatever was about to happen. it took a moment before anything happened, soaking in exactly where your bodies connected. the music boomed low as you both became engulfed in a spray of smoke. it felt far more comfortable than before, like no one could see you. 

changkyun’s hand spread flat travelling up your thigh, curving to the contours of your hip, leading up your side. your body froze outwardly, but inside you felt everything. his hand on a path to your breast, taunting you with the feeling he redirected his graze to gently trail over the top of your breast and up your neck. forcefully gripping the back of your neck and planting soft kisses up it, starting at the base and slowly working his way up. taking his time on every spot, missing non of it. earning a soft blow of air from your mouth are you arched your back to meet his hard chest. a breathy ‘knew it’ escaped his lips between harsh kisses up you neck as he reached your sweet spot. 

you couldn’t let him have all the fun. you thought to yourself as you reached down to his belt loops, pulling your cores closer together taking him by surprise. a quiet low groan left his lips as you reached one hand into the back of his hair; gently tightening your grip, keeping him in place. his hands fell from you neck, holding his grip on your hips. you knew this was the reaction you wanted but you couldn’t stop there. taking the opportunity to snake your right hand up his chest to meet his jawline, holding it lightly, leaving his neck exposed. his eyes connected with yours, letting you have full control of him. his rosy lips slightly parted as you leaned towards them. grazing your nose against his, lips inches away from each other. the torment was well received, noticing a small smirk on changkyun’s lips. ‘kiss me then’ he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear. you let out a breathy laugh as you removed the inches between you two, grazing your lips against his. you felt his entire body relax beneath you as he moaned into the kiss; allowing you full control. or so you though, he quickly wrapped a strong arm around your waist, flipping you over so he was on top. his torso baring weight down on you, pulling your legs to wrap around him. hands either side of your face to keep you exactly where he wanted you, leaving you completely submissive to his grip. 

‘aaaand cut!’ the director shouted, pulling you both out of the complete state of euphoria you were just in. ‘fantastic guys, wow that was great. I think that’s it, take 10 minutes and we will start the next scene’ the producer continued, clapping as he stood up out of his chair. leaving the crew to continue to their lull. you slowly looked up at changkyun again who hadn’t seemed to look away. his once perfectly tousled hair now a mess, reflective of yours. you pushed yourself to sit upright on the couch, releasing yourself from his arms. silence. from you both. desperately trying to think of what to say; changkyun began ‘I knew you weren’t done’ he smirked. causing you to chuckle awkwardly, ‘whatever’ you replied running a hand through your hair, putting it back in place. ‘the shoot finishes at 5, I'll see you after’ he said flopping back onto the couch next to you. he wanted you to say yes. you knew that. and you couldn’t have that. not yet. you leaned towards him, watching him think you were going to kiss him again. stopping just inches away from his lips you whispered; ‘we’ll see’ standing up and walking away before he even had a chance to open his eyes. catching a view of you before you left the room, realising his trousers were now getting uncomfortable.. 

[wreckofawriter]

Attention

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Swearing, sexual jokes

Request: @souhmhey Hello! I really like your blaise au and was wondering if you could do a hogwarts ver of 97 with bill weasley/cedric diggory since your requests is open. The reader is a slytherin btw. Thank you and take care!

#97: You are famous and we keep bumping into eachother so the media thinks we're dating

A/n: sorry for inactivity, I have no concept of time. This is a tiny bit off the prompt but oh well. (There is so much dialogue in this fic, I'm sorry.)

You hated attention. You had hated it since the second you had been birthed into the world. The world which robbed you of your privacy. The world which had dug its grimy hands into your life and tugged and pulled until it looked pretty enough to be on display. A world which everyone claimed to wish for, to envy. 

It made you sick. 

You had no right to complain. You knew that you were privileged, your parents had more money than they could spend even if they tried, you had grown up in a mansion which simply could not be called a house. You had the tutors, the vacations, the clothes. You had it all, well all except privacy. 

Your birth was on the front page of a dozen magazines, your face tacked onto newspapers before you could even read. You were so used to the flash of lights that you stopped registering them as strange. 

When you left for some faraway school in the hills of Scottland you had assumed that all of that would go away. That you wouldn’t have to fake smiles anymore or refrain from making the smallest mistake for fear of ruining your parent’s reputation. 

Your father’s status as a quidditch player kept you form that unattainable dream. Whenever he spoke of the sport he told it like some fantasy, something he had done so he could soar into the sky not bring it down onto his daughter. 

You snapped your eyes shut the bright flash of light only worsening your headache. As the faint burn you were all too used to faded you gathered the image of the young boy in front of you.  His mouth was dropped displaying two rows of crooked teeth, his brown eyes wide with amazement. 

Your jaw tightened, “Do you need something?” the tone you used was clearly threatening, hoping to break him from the trance you had unintentionally put him under. The conformity of the boy’s features lead you to believe he was either deaf or stupid. 

“Well?!” You snapped and it seemed to do the trick. 

He blinked a few times, his open mouth giving way for a dopey grin, “You’re y/n y/l/n.” 

You scoffed considering shoving the large camera he was holding down his throat, “I don’t know who you are talking about.” 

“But-”

“Move before I move you myself.” You snarled and before the kid could answer you shoved him aside and continued for your class which you were now surly to be late for. Vector wouldn’t be happy. 

You entered the room already spewing apologies you should have to give. 

The teacher cut you off with a pointed look and you snapped your mouth shut. There were a couple snickers from the class and your head hammered on the front of your skull. 

“You have been late almost every day this week Ms. y/l/n. Is this going to continue all year or should I cut you from my class now?” Her glare was stiff. 

You tried to swallow your mouth suddenly feeling too dry, “I’m very sorry professor it’s just I have to come all the way from potions, and getting through the halls can be difficult.”

Her eyebrows raised, “I don’t see any of my other students struggling to get here on time.” 

“Well, I-” 

“Or do you simply believe the rules of this school don’t apply to you?”  She sneered and giggles erupted around you.

Your cheeks burned and you hung your head, “That’s not what I was saying professor.” you mumbled know your words fell onto emptiness. 

“Ten points from Slytherin. Go take a seat next to Diggory.” 

You let your mouth fall shut nodding obediently as your blood boiled beneath your skin. Eyes followed you to your seat and didn’t leave until the lesson began. Your cheeks hurt, you pushed your hands upon them attempting to cool the burn of embarrassment. You didn’t even spare a glance to the boy seated next o you, his presence barely registering as you tried to convince the earth to swallow you whole. 

You really hated attention. 

Cedric Diggory didn’t quite understand why so many looked his way as he passed in the halls. He was good at making friends, his words always seemed to flow so seamlessly from his mouth, he never stumbled over syllables or tripped on his tongue. He was good with people, they liked him, he never gave them a reason to do otherwise. 

Students envied him, he knew that. He wasn’t oblivious to the fact that girls and boys found him attractive, he wasn’t stupid. People often treated him like he was anyway, as if his popularity had drained his common sense. It was aggravating to try and prove that his worth went past his reputation again and again. 

He always paid mind to you. He was aware of your fame, well your parent’s fame. His eyes like may others had frequently wandered towards you, he had a feeling you hated when they did. Your own were always narrowed into a glare as you did everything in your power to avoid the popularity you had been gifted. 

As you sat beside him, your head buried in your hands, teacher continuing with a lesson he should be listening to he felt sorry for you. Sorry that you were so often painted as a self-entitled brat, sorry for the prying eyes and the whispers behind hands. 

“I could walk you from potions if you wanted.” The words had spilled from his mouth like an overflowing sink.

Your head snapped towards him, eyes hard as steel as you bored into him. “What?” 

Cedric suddenly felt like a fool, something that didn’t happen all that often. He stuttered for a sentence, “I, uhh..” What had he just said to you? It was like his thoughts had been replaced with cotton.”I have the same potions as you, and um you said that you were having a hard time getting through the halls. I could walk with you.” 

“Whatever.” you ignored the part of you that thought it might be a half-decent idea and scoffed, “You would only draw more attention.” 

The Hufflepuff chuckled, “I suppose you’re not wrong.” 

You didn’t answer, eyes now zoned to the front of the room. He let the conversation drop. 

If there was one thing that you hated more than attention it was exercise. You disliked exhausting yourself, the grime, and sweat making you feel incredibly dirty as you jogged the edge of the grounds. Your breaths were labored and you felt awkward as your thighs bummed together. Despite all of the discomfort, your head felt clear. Thoughts weren’t plagued but crisp as you listened to the chirp of birds and your own pants. Finally, you gave out, your legs groaning as you halted bending over. Lacing your hands on your knees, you tried to calm your racing heart. 

“Oh, hey y/n!” 

And your peace was ruined. 

You stood up, stuffing your hands in your pockets and trying not to look as fatigued as you felt. 

Cedric looked so good it hurt. The sweat on his brow giving him the polished look of a deity. His hair was untamed yet adorable, cheeks stained apple red from the exertion. The sun which was peeking above the horizon framed him, making the boys edge hazy and warm. He smiled down at you, his breaths steady as ever. 

You cussed at him not even bothering to lower your voice. You watched his face falter with confusion. “Fuck you.” You repeated, “How do you look so good after running?” 

His grin jumped back, “I just stared, I’m only two miles in.”

You were tempted to slap him, “Only.” you cursed him again for good measure.

“Are you heading back towards the school? I could go with you.” 

You considered his offer for a brief moment, “Whatever you monster.” 

Apparently he took that as a yes because the second you began to jog again he was beside you his pace obviously slowed to fit yours. 

“I was actually happy to run into you.” He hummed.

You frowned, “Why?” it was more of a pant than a question.

He shrugged, “You seem nice.”

There were a lot of things you ‘seemed’ nice was not one of them. The side glance you gave him was question enough and you heard him chuckle a bit.

“I know you think you’re all scary and everything but you’re not that bad.” 

You scowled, “You don’t. Know. Me.” heavy breaths broke what was supposed to be an intimidating sentence. 

He nodded, “I think I’d like to.” 

You didn’t respond and instead tried to focus back into your safe world of exhaustion and exhilaration. You managed to reach the front of the school and practically collapsed.

“Are you okay?” Cedric asked his hand landing lightly on your shoulder. 

Shoving it off you nodded, “I’m going to get water before I pass out.” you heaved, “Feel free to continue your workout, Diggory.”

“Alright, I’ll see you-” the door shut in his face, “-later.”

Your exhaustion kept you from ripping off the heads a group of first-years who wanted your father’s autograph on your way to class. It faded as you made your way through transfiguration and potions. When dismissed you scrambled from the classroom at a quick pace, the last thing you wanted was to be late to Arithmancy again. Being publicly ridiculed once this week was plenty for you. 

You didn’t stop as your name was called behind you, shouldering through a group of students who shot you glares. You heard it again the same voice, closer now and you picked up the pace. 

Your shoulder was grabbed and you spun around with such force your bag fell from your shoulder. Quills and ink crashed to the ground and you swore loudly dropping to your knees to pick up the scattered supplies.

Cedric descended beside you helping gather your things. You snatched them from his hands before he offered and continuted down the hall without even a glance in his direction. His long strides brought him to your side. 

“You don’t have to worry about being late you know.” He offered you stayed unresponsive. “You’ve still got 6 minutes till class.”

You let out a bothered sigh, “Well if I’m stopped then those minutes go fast.” 

Cedric frowned, “Stopped?”

“Yep. It’s always like this at the beginning of the year. The first-years slowly find out who my parents are and want autographs or pictures as if it’s somehow my responsibility to serve them.” Your voice slowly filled with annoyance like a balloon expanding with air, “It’s irritating.”

The boy beside you furrowed his brows, “I can imagine.”

As if on queue a young girl trotted up to you stopping you in your tracks.

“You’re y/n y/l/n right?” Before you could answer she continued, “I was wondering if I could have an autograph from your mother, I saw her in a movie when I was six and I-”

“I’m really sorry but we have to get to class,” Cedric spoke, cutting off the bob child. 

Her eyes widened a bit, “Oh sorry, um bye then.” 

You gave a half-hearted wave before glancing at the boy beside you, “Thanks.”

He grinned, “It’s no problem.” 

Neither of you noticed the eyes which followed you down the hall. 

The Weasley twins had a special talent when it came to being bothersome. And they were sure to use it to their full potential, making a point to leave no one out of their troubles. You included. You didn’t know them all too well but after their offer to buy autographs from you and them sell them for a profit they had always stuck in your head. 

“Ah, but if it isn’t my favorite celebrity.” Fred grinned his arm draping around your shoulder before being quickly shoved off. 

“Well if it isn’t my least favorite red-head.” You respond attempting to return to the open textbook in front of you. 

“It’s only natural that you like me more than him.” George grinned sitting beside you.

“Nah, you’re tied for last.” You mumbled scribbling down notes on a messy roll of parchment. 

The younger twin frowned, “Are you sure I’m not beating him?” 

You looked up at him amusement etched into your features, “Positive.”

Fred popped some of the jelly slugs sitting beside you into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously loud. “So you and Diggory huh?”

You stiffened, glancing up at him. 

“I didn’t think he was your type.” George grinned catching one of the candies in his mouth as his twin tossed it over your head. 

You scrunched your nose, “What?” 

“Oh come on y/l/n, don’t be coy.” 

“No reason to be shy, we all know you and the Hufflepuff prince are boning.” the younger giggled. 

Your mouth went dry, “What did you just say?” 

Fred hummed, “Wow you’re better at acting than I thought, I guess you take after your mother.”

“I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about.” You sputtered.

“Wait really?” 

You nodded.

“So you and Cedric aren’t dating?” 

You scoffed, “God no, where in hell did you get that idea?”

The reflections shot glances at each other. 

“The whole school thinks you are,” George stated plainly.

You slammed your textbook shut in a vicious snap, eyes from around the library drawing towards you. “That fucker.” You hissed and in a second you were on your feet.

You didn’t have to look very long to find the brunette. He was only a few corridors form the library a small group of people huddled with him. 

“Diggory!” Your voice cut the pleasant atmosphere in two.

“Oh hey y/n, I was just looking fo-” Before his sentence could be finished you had snatched him by the tie and began dragging him behind you. 

A series of whistles and calls followed you around the corner where you slammed open a door and shoved him into a small closet. 

“Y/n whats are you doing?” He asked loosening his tie which you had unintentionally sinched around his neck. 

Your hands met his shoulders pushing him back as hard as you could manage. Cedric stumbled, his back hitting the door with a thunk.

“You asshole!” You spat leaning over him, “How dare you?”

Cedric was bewildered, the anger clear on your face in the dull lighting. Your breaths were heavy, the sharp scent of mint hitting him, “I’m sorry what?”

You sneered, “Don’t you dare lie to me Diggory. I know what you did.” You had grabbed his tie again, forcing him to lower his head to meet your eyes. 

“What did I do?” He asked, his cheeks feeling unbearably hot from the close proximity. 

You scoffed, “I don’t know, how about telling the entire school we’re fucking dating?” 

Cedric frowned, “I didn’t tell anyone we were dating.” 

Now it was your turn to look baffled, “Then who did?” 

Before your question could be answered you were falling forward, the door opening the two of you tumbling out into the sudden overwhelming brightness. You screwed your eyes shut in response, your ears catching the sound of laughter and whistles. You were brought your senses abruptly, the crowd gathered around you giggling behind their hands. 

“Damn Cedric, I thought you were classier than a quickie in a closet.” Someone snickered.

You lept off the boy you had been straddling moments before your cheeks burning from embarrassment. Cedric sat up, his own face tinged red as he glared at the Hufflepuff which had spoken. 

You shoved your way through the crowd wishing the earth would open up and let you fall into its core. Or at least those gathered around you. 

“Wait y/n!” 

You didn’t turn instead holding your middle finger in the air, making sure the entirety of the group could see it before you disappeared from sight. By the time Cedric was able to push his way through the crowd to where you had turned you were gone. He cussed letting his head fall into his hands. 

Cedric didn’t see you the entirety of the weekend. You weren’t in the hall for meals or out in the cooling September air where many students were finding refuge. Your absence was annoying, the thoughts of your breath fanning over the bridge of his nose, chest pressed into his only worsening the harbored feelings he had buried. Rumors of your relationship continuted to circulate, the scene caused a few days before morphing into lewd stories which made his cheeks bloom with roses. He felt partially responsible for the trouble caused for you, his friends were some of the most active in the gossip. 

Cedric knew it was only a matter of time before you would be forced to converse with him. You would never skip a class.

You appeared in potions Monday and managed to convince Snape to let you leave five minutes earlier than the rest of the class. There was no escaping assigned seats in Arithmancy. Or so Cedric thought. You had used your extra time to swap seats with another student now all he could do was bore holes into the back of your styled hair from four seats back. You didn’t even give him a chance during meals, eating quickly or simply never appearing, a girl you were with frequently taking a plate with her as she left instead. 

It was aggravating. He knew that both of you barley qualified as acquaintances but having the small amount of progress he had made in your relationship ripped from him less than a week in was cruel. 

Cedric was more persistent than you intended him to be. You didn’t quite understand why, you hardly knew each other. Yet he tried to corner you in hallways and stop you in classes. You supposed he probably felt guilty. You almost felt bad for avoiding him. 

When he wasn’t present in potions you assumed him sick or skipping. So you didn’t find the need to leave early or rush from the room. You should have known it was a trick. The second you left the room you were trapped, Cedric stood directly in front of you his gaze almost daring you to run. 

You sighed rolling your eyes, “Ok fine. You got me.”

“Can we talk?” He asked his hands stuffed into his robe pockets.

“Aren’t we all ready?” You challenged.

He shook his head softly, “Please?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You huffed. 

“It will take thirty seconds.” 

Your eyes narrowed, you knew it would take longer but your curiosity was killing you, what could he possibly have to say? Your money was on some useless apology.

“Fine.” 

You were lead deeper into the dungeons beginning to suspect he was going to murder you where your screams couldn’t be heard until he came to a stop in some far away corridor. 

You crossed your arms tapping your foot impatiently, “Well?”

Cedric felt that unfamiliar twist in his stomach as he looked down at you, his hand scratching at the back of his neck, “Well I wanted to say sorry.” 

You sneered at this, “Are you serious? If this what you dragged me here for then you can just tell your friends that they are dumbasses with no life of their own so they have to stick their nose in other peoples to stay entertained and leave.” 

The Hufflepuff was taken aback, “Oh no that’s not it, umm, you, I mean I have-”

“Spit it out Diggory,” you demanded. 

He nodded, “Right, uh I like you y/n.”

Your eyes shot wide.

“And I was just wondering if you would let me take you out.” He finished feeling better now that the words had been spoken. The moment was ruined quickly. 

“No.” Your answer was plain.

“Oh.” Cedric wasn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t that. 

You sighed, the boy’s face now deflated like a sad puppy. The odd feeling of guilt settled in your stomach, “It’s not because of you.” You assured him, “I mean your talented and hot and nice and everything, it’s just I don’t want to deal with all the shit.” 

His cheeks flushed at the complaint but his lips twitched into a frown, “What shit?”

“Ya know.” You spoke gesturing around you, “Your friends and the rumors and everything. I’ve already got enough on my plate, I don’t need anymore.”

Cedric nodded, understanding, “Then give me a chance.” 

You hummed a question.

“The astronomy tower tomorrow night, meet me there after curfew and let me prove I’m worth it,” he explained.

You blinked owlishly at him, head tilted slightly to the side, “Seriously?” 

“Yeah. One date, no commitment, if you don’t like it can go back to ignoring me and no one will know.” 

His offer was tempting. The way his eyes glimmered with hope only making it more enticing. So you gave in, “Alright.” 

A smile stretched his lips, “Really?” 

You shrugged, “Why not?” 

“You won’t regret it.” 

Part of you already knew that. 

Taglist:

@accio-rogers

@roslea

@k3nz-doodl3

@theseuscmander

@sleepingalaska

@chloe-geoghegan1

Masterlist

[aikrus]

What It Means To Be Dead (Tokoyami x Reader)

Fandom: Bnha Warnings: Mentions of Dying, depression, bullying, abuse, and strong language Words: 2k259 Requested By: Anon <3 Request:  Hi I love your writing! Can I request one where Tokoyami )or anyone you'd like really,) finds a collection of old-ish diaries and letters while cleaning? The person's handwriting is very distinct and pretty (Think 1700's love letter find) but they never mention their name. As they read more of it they find newer entries where Aizawa is mentioned so they ask him about it only to find out the person who wrote them died almost 100 years ago and 'haunts' the school. (Sorry for long request) A/N: I deviated a little from the request, but I hope you like it!

            The night had already came and claimed the land of UA for itself. Shadows overtook the courtyards, and darkness fell across the classrooms, but not everyone had retreated to the safety of their comforters which shielded them from the secrets which the black abyss held so dear. 

After a draining day of learning and training, Tokoyami wanted nothing more than to go to sleep- sadly, it was his turn to clean the classroom. It was annoying and boring and he’d give anything to be able to go to sleep, but fair is fair and he wasn’t the tyrannical type.

And so, he washed the windows and wiped down the desks. He swept the floors and organized the textbooks, and he turned to put the broom back into the small closet in the corner of the classroom. With a heavy sigh, Fumikage realized he should probably tidy up the dirty, dust-filled, death trap that was called a broom closet. 

Narrowing his eyes at the cobwebs, he started to knock them down with the end of the broomstick (Seriously praying to whatever god there is that no spider fell onto his feathers). The room was in worse condition on closer inspection, it looked like not a soul had thought to clean it since the school was built. 

After taking the time to sweep the floors, wipe down the door and the counters, and organize the books, Tokoyami was beyond tired and ready to fall asleep in the still-somehow-dirty closet. No matter how many times he swung at the cobwebs, how many times he picked up the coats and books and papers on the floor, despite the effort he put into tidying up the smallish space, it still seemed to have a weird layer of age coating itself entirely.

The closet felt preserved in time, like the oldness it felt was not just in the items littered about, but in the very walls itself. The things it’s seen, the memories it held, something about the space simply felt... wrong. 

He turned to a corner he hadn’t worked on, inwardly groaning at the amount of work he still had to do despite the time of night. With a huff, he began to organize the textbooks and pages of work sprawled around the space. 

His hands fell upon and old leather book- very different in both appearance and age when compared to the marble notebooks that surrounded it. Leaning over, he saw ten to fifteen more of there journal like collections shoved deep into the corner of the room. 

Tentatively, he peeled open the first book. Looking at the pages, it looked to be the diary of a girl- the beautiful handwriting looked like it belonged to someone who saw the beauty that exists within the written language, someone who stops to smell the flowers, a person who looks at sunsets and bakes goods to say they love you. 

The ink that bled onto the early pages spoke of a student, a girl who wanted to be so much more, someone who wanted to save the world. He became enthralled by the speech patterns, the phrases and swirls of the letters drew him closer, enchanting his eyes to never leave the pages.

------ 

Soon the pages became all he could think about, even after he had to abandon the closet to race to bed. During class all he could think of was the feeling of the crisp paper under his touch. The voices of his friends seemed ugly, seemed to be missing the douse of honesty and beauty he had been exposed to, even when he was practicing all he could focus on was the experiences of the girl who wrote down all her inner thoughts. 

It was like she haunted him, appearing everywhere he went. Like she poisoned him, infecting his thoughts and feelings. She became everything to him so soon, every word had him on edge, every sentence a beautiful stream of imagery that he would give nothing but to experiencing along side her, what he wouldn’t give to see the world through her eyes of love.

As the day ended, he had quiet easily convinced Sero that he should take over his night of cleaning. Sure the actual work was quiet annoying, but he would be rewarded with her sweet words, he had left the book in the corner in his rush to get back to his dorm; he regretted his oversight the moment he laid down.

“Tokoyami, wasn’t your cleaning duty last night?” Aizawa asked, his eyes lazy looking up from the papers he was grading to make contact with Fumikage’s red ones. 

“Yes sir, it was. I volunteered to take over tonight as well,” 

“Mhm, and is there a reason for this?” He raised his eyebrow, dragging his briefcase off the table with him. 

“Cleaning helps me think,” this wasn’t a total lie, reading the journal will calm his raging thoughts of the mystery girl. 

“Just don’t make a habit of it,” his teacher echoed, not having enough energy to further investigate a seemingly innocent interaction.

Tokoyami was much faster with cleaning that day, and he was even faster to sprint inside the broom closet. He grabbed the leather books and raced back to his room, already feeling the warmth her voice provided. 

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

The passages started off innocent enough, complaints about school, fantasizing about a better life, just a teen writing down their emotions. It then morphed into the beauty in everything, words that didn’t release Fumikage’s eyes until they were tearing up from dryness. 

Then, things took a darker turn. Dark thoughts disguised in poems, things others have said to her, representation of her pain in drawings scattered throughout the book. The beautiful world- though still majestic in its own way- turned dark and twisted.

It was painful to read, and yet he couldn’t look away. It was like the book became a part of him- no. It was like he became a part of the book, nothing more than the cracked parchment and spilled ink. It was dehumanizing, but he wouldn’t change his position for anything in the world.

His bed was taken over by the old pages, dating back over two hundred years ago. The writer was in the post-quirk awakening. The world had just discovered the glowing child right before she was born. She was one of the first quirk holders in the world- one of the first one hundred Japanese citizens to have a quirk.

The journals started when she was ten- though that book was the fifth one he read. After that discovery, he categorized them in chronological order to read along with the flow of time. She wrote of the manifestation of her quirk- her parents had been struck with terror when their daughter walked through the wall of their living room to get into her bedroom. 

That was the first moment she realized how different she is. Her life never seemed to go back to the way it was before, not even after the initial shock of what she could do faded from her parents; because, there would always be a new shock, a new ability, and no one was prepared to help her.

He realized, reading more about how the quirkless treated her, that her life would have been much different is she had lived in his time. Hearing the slurs and bullying they  put her through, he wishes she could see how much the world has changed- would she be happy or sad that her bully's became the minority and were mocked in their normal-ness or if she would be ashamed of the people like her.

He was very satisfied that the people who made her life so awful were getting a taste of their own medicine, but he did wonder if that made him a bad person. Tokoyami figures that it really didn’t matter, she was gone so her opinion would never be known. 

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

“Death didn’t feel like I thought it would. Surprisingly, it was reminiscent of when I use my quirk to posses things or people. My body was there, on the floor, but I was floating above it. Much like I am when I leave my body before finding my target. The cold was instantly recognizable- like an abyss with no end.

The only difference I’ve noticed so far is the lack of body to return to, though I can enter it, it acts as an object. While I cannot move it, I can see out of it. It’s therapeutic in a way. Really, this must have been the best case scenario- I could see how everyone reacts, see who really cares about me.

It was hard at first, seeing all theses people, who I believed were simply pretending to care, braking down behind closed doors. It was only my sister- whom held no quirk- that cared. She did everything she could to make my funeral how I wanted it, and she preserved my bedroom the way I liked it. That was a nice gesture, it truly was. 

Now my life has come to an end- my body buried under ground, never to be seen again- I can’t help but wonder what comes next. How long will I be held in this mortal world? Will others be like me, or will I be forced to live alone in the agonizing realization that comes with immortality? I guess I’ll simply have to wait and see,”

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

He had fallen asleep after reading the last passage in the ninth book- where she described how she stayed a student at UA even after death. The names she referenced had been lost in time- Pro-heroes that have long been dead and are now another name on the Hero Memorial wall. 

She had possessed her home room teacher and walked to the headmaster- there she said what had happened. Her headmaster agreed to keep her on as a student, but only under the condition that she wouldn’t unnecessarily possess an unknowing student. It was fair- annoying but fair. They gave her her old desk and she worked along side everyone. When he woke up, the book had moved on its own. 

There was a page opened- an elegant scipt sprawllled at the top but had been smuged since it was written- the only elligable part following what could be assumed to be a name: Phatom-- The Ghost Hero. The script was familiar, but it wasn’t the handwriting the rest of the journal was written in. Beneath it was a drawing of a girl- a girl more beautiful than anyone Fumikage had ever seen. It was a realistic depiction and it looked modern- it was only with that realization which led Tokoyomi to realize this journal wasn’t one he had seen before. Flipping through it, he hadn’t even noticed its sudden appearance. It was the newest one of them all- spanning for the last decade.  He leaned back in his bed and began,

So I guess it’s been a while huh? Here are some general updates: Shouta from class 2-A is an idiot but I guess he’s kinda cute. We picked out hero names today, I wanted to just keep my name but he dubbed me Phantom.. I called him Eraserhead in return. I hope it sticks. 

I’ve graduated from UA more than six times now- but I kinda like it. I do some professional hero work- especially info recall- but I’m worried about how the public will react to a ghost. It would definitely fuck with some peoples religious views. 

It’s better this way. I’ve also decided to distance myself from Shinso- she and I got along great, but her twin brother has been acting weirdly around me for a while. His quirk is amazing, but I’ve seen plenty of unstable students pass through these halls and I know enough to keep my distance. Shouta doesn’t seem to agree- neither does Hizashi. I guess only time will tell.

As for manifesting my physical form- it’s a lot harder than I had hoped. I can become visual for three active minutes or ten minutes with no moving. I’m still not touchable, but I hope that will change with time. That’s all for now- I’ll try to check in soon.

He shook his head- surely those names must be common, but she was in UA and only so many coincidences can happen at one time. He wonders how she was now. Mostly, he wonders if she’s still at UA. They hadn’t announced her as a student, so was she a pro hero now? 

Was it weird to still be in the body of a sixteen year old? There were so many issues with immortality- he wondered how she coped with it. These questions abused him throughout the morning. He thought of how lonely she must be, how it must be so awful to be all by herself.

He wondered why he cared so much- why had he developed such a strong scene of attachement to this girl? The fuzzy feeling in his chest when he saw the drawing of the girl had taken up his entire mind- he needed to know more.

As soon as he entered his familiar class room he marched straight up to his teachers desk with passion in his eyes- “Professor, can we talk after class? I have some questions I’d like to ask you,”

Aizawa glarred at the corner of the room, an annoyed frown tugging at his lips. This was gonna be a long day.

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

A/N 

Sorry for dropping off the planet everyone! This has been in the drafts for a  long time and finally gets to see the light of day. I’ve had some mental health issues (not related to this story don’t worry) and am working on myself. I fully intend to finish the Christmas countdown I committed to and this account is still active, but this will remain on the back burner until I am well on my way to recovery. Requests will remain open for the time being and I will continue to make progress. Thank you for the lovely anon’s in my inbox with constant support and requests, I appreciate all of you. Thank you all and I hope you enjoyed this work <3

[whatifxwereyou]

Ashes Chapter 6: Level-Headed

Pairing: Liu Kang x Reader

You meet Nightwolf. Turns out that he's a really good dude. Liu Kang is still having a tough time but he is seeming at least a bit more like himself. He's got a level-head but now you're the one who can't keep it together. And who could blame you?

A/N: I am just so happy that other people like reading the nonsense I write. I know it's not the best but I'm having fun writing it and it's even more fun getting to enjoy it with people <3 Sorry I'm so sentimental lately. Just feeling really loved and I want to spread that love~

First Chapter << Previous Chapter Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

The next day was awkward but you weren’t biting each other’s heads off at least. You were both too tired, it seemed. Liu Kang had a big red comical handprint on his face that morning but it faded by the afternoon. You were both unhappy but you supposed this might have been progress since you weren’t snapping at each other. Either that or you’d taken ten steps backwards and said things you didn’t mean and had done irreparable damage to your friendship.

By the evening you were drawing close to the spot on the map, or at least you thought you were. “Look.” You gestured to a cabin in the distance. You could barely make it out between the trees. Then there was the howling of wolves and you heard their footfalls running toward you, the shadows of the hulking beasts flittering between the trees. It was only seconds before you were surrounded by wolves enveloped in green mist.

You drew closer to Liu Kang and summoned a sword with your ink. Liu stood at the ready but didn’t summon his fire yet. Neither one of you liked to hurt animals, even when they were aggressive. Besides, the floaty green mist made it seem like you were out of your league with these wolves.

They didn’t attack. Instead the voice of a man broke through their howling and the dogs silenced as he walked amongst them. Tall, with messy dark hair, dark eyes and tan skin, the man’s presence was commanding. This had to be Nightwolf or at least someone in close relation to him.

“What brings you to this place?”

Liu made to speak but you grabbed his arm to silence him. He’d caused more than enough trouble with his mouth the past week and you no longer trusted him. “We’ve come to talk.” You dug in your bag and one of the wolves growled. Intimidated, you felt Liu Kang step before you defensively. You reached into the bag and dug for the wolf charm you’d been given. Then you presented it to the man and the wolves disappeared. The man turned away from you.

“Come.”

You exchanged a nervous glance with Liu who remained tense after you’d interrupted him. He nodded to let you know he was okay and you followed the man into the cabin. “You’re Nightwolf.” Liu Kang wanted to make sure.

“Yes, that is what they call me now. You must be trusted to have been given this location and that trinket.” He addressed you and you offered a polite bow.

“I’m Y/N and this is Liu Kang. We’ve come a long way to talk to you.” For a while, the conversation went smoothly. Liu Kang explained the dragon marking and its significance, showing off his own and having you express that you had one too. He explained the nature of the realms, of Lord Raiden, of the war that was likely coming and that you needed him to speak with Lord Raiden and come train in his temple. You were grateful that Liu Kang had somehow managed to have a civil conversation with someone. One point in the win column against a thousand in the lose column. That was something.

But Nightwolf didn’t seem eager to join you and instead mulled over your information. You couldn’t blame him. This was a lot and some of it was beyond belief without proof. If you hadn’t been thrown into the whole mix against your will, then you would have struggled with it too. You’d had nowhere else to run at the time and had been in over your head with unruly arcana and visions from the past.

“I have a duty here in America. I’ll have to think about it.” At least he was honest.

And reasonable. Leaving everything that he’d ever known was a huge decision. It didn’t mean that he wouldn’t return someday but there was also a chance that he would die. What you did was dangerous. Your lives tended to be short. You held your bag a little closer.

“I’m to bring you to Raiden’s Temple. I won’t leave without you.” Liu was sounding harsh again so you sighed. Maybe that was why Raiden had sent you together. Liu Kang was too grief stricken and angry to do his job on his own and you were too swept up in guilt to stay focused. You balanced each other in a horrible way.

“That decision is not yours to make, friend.” Nightwolf was incredibly respectful considering Liu Kang’s tone but the air became tense.

“I understand your hesitation, but would you give me a chance to try and convince you? You have a little time to think about it but we’re not sure how much. The longer you get to train the better off we’ll be. We have no idea how long before Outworld strikes again.” You tried to play mediator. Liu Kang’s hand grasped your arm and you nearly snarled in anger but somehow managed to get yourself together.

“We don’t have time for this, Y/N.” Liu scolded you.

“We do. You’re being impatient. Take a breath.” You narrowed your eyes at him dangerously.

“Excuse me, then.” He gritted his teeth and walked out the door, slamming it behind him. His temper was out of control. You winced at the sound of the door slamming. You missed him. You wanted him to be okay.

“I’m sorry. It’s been difficult. This war has taken a toll on us all.” You offered an excuse and a smile.

“He seems troubled.”

“He’s a good man, I promise. Just having a hard time right now.”

“You seem troubled.” Nightwolf added with a knowing glance. He was a good judge of character. He was calming and you were grateful for that because you had enough frustration from Liu’s attitude. If you snapped, it would have made Liu Kang’s poor attitude look like child’s play.

“And I’ll be okay too.”

“So, tell me, Miss Y/N. Why do you think that I should help you?”

“Well, it’s not me that you’re helping, that’s why. It’s not us. Earthrealm is our home, warts and all. If we have any strength then we have a responsibility to protect it in any way that we can, no matter what that means.”

“A wise answer.” He smiled and you were relieved. “Is that why you do this?”

“Ultimately, yes.” You had found, over the years, that honesty was the best policy. There were plenty of times where it didn’t work, but Nightwolf seemed to be looking for honesty. You had a feeling he would be able to tell if you lied. “I was sort of thrust into this at first. I had nowhere to go after my mark and so I was brought to Raiden’s Temple, which I fought, and then I was too sick to leave. I fought at first because I didn’t know what else to do. I was lost. But with time and understanding, I found that no matter what other reasons I had, I would fight to protect the place and people that I loved. This is my home, and I am willing to die to keep it safe.”

“But you weren’t at first?”

It felt like a test, and you hoped beyond hope that you were passing. You’d failed enough the last few months, you couldn’t risk another check in that column.

“I was overwhelmed with the scope of the danger and truth of all this. In the beginning, I treated it kind of like a joke because I didn’t understand. I knew, deep down, that it was the right thing to do but I had no other reason than that. That changed, of course. I think it’s normal to want to think it over. Liu Kang thinks it is too, he’s just not himself right now. I hope that you don’t judge him too harshly for his temper. It’s not like him.”

“I appreciate your honesty, Y/N.” He stood and walked to the counter, picking up a clear bottle filled with tan liquid. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“You have no idea.” You laughed and he joined you in having one. As long as you weren’t with Liu, there was no risk of you making another stupid mistake. And as long as one didn’t become ten, the risk of that was even lower.

Nightwolf turned out to be a kind and interesting man. He had struggled with his mark because the mark meant that he was special. You understood how that felt. Embracing the fate of something beyond your control had scared you too, but it had been worth it in the end. You listened to him as he shared his story and you shared a drink. You were a good listener. You always had been, and he seemed to appreciate the ear.

When your glasses were drained, he took them and set them aside which you were grateful for. “There are couches and some blankets that are open to you and your friend. I’ll make my decision as soon as I can, but I make no promises as to what that decision might be. You have been patient with me, and I appreciate that patience. I will do what I can.”

“This is a big decision but time is of the essence. Still, I want you to take that time.” You wouldn’t push him into giving up his life as he knew it to travel halfway across the world. You wouldn’t push anyone who didn’t deserve pushing. You also had the feeling that he was going to help. He seemed like a kind and powerful man whose motives were morally aligned with yours. You were grateful for that. So many with the dragon marking had wound up being scumbags.

“Thank you. Get some rest, Y/N.”

“I will. You too.” You watched him leave and then were left alone in the kitchen. You set your bag down on the smaller couch and walked outside. There was a firepit near the house and several overturned logs that served as benches. You sat on one of the logs and faced away from the firepit. The sky was overcast that night so you couldn’t see the stars but watching the clouds was soothing too.

Then Liu Kang sat next to you.

This was all too familiar now. You watched the clouds and were at peace for a short time.

“I’m apologizing again.”

“Oh. What for now?” You couldn’t help it. The sarcasm came out. He mulled it over as if to be thinking through the list of nonsense that he’d done in the last few days that he had to apologize for. Then he gestured back to the cabin.

“Being a jerk about this whole thing, for one.”

“That is just not specific enough, I’m afraid.” You turned to him.

“Being short with Nightwolf. He deserved time to mull it over.”

“I know he did. You know he did. You’ve got to figure out this temper that you’ve developed, Liu.”

“I don’t know where it came from. I always had such control.” He slumped his shoulders.

“You’re grieving.”

“Yeah, but so are you and you aren’t jumping down everyone’s throats for no reason.”

“Not when you’re looking, at least.” You were still angry with him even if he seemed willing to talk. He’d upset you. An apology wasn’t enough.

“I’ve got to get it together.” He held his head in his hands and pushed his hair back, disgusted with himself. The sound he made would have been funny if you hadn’t been a terrible mixture of mad at him and worried for him.

“Do you know what I keep thinking? What I keep wishing for?”

“Kung Lao to be back?” He said in a tired drone.

“No. I keep hoping that you find peace. I’m crushed by his death, Liu, but you’re broken.” You watched the clouds again. You wanted him to be okay, but you couldn’t be an emotional punching bag for him to figure it out with. He watched you and you could feel his eyes taking you in longer than they should have. He scooted closer. He probably didn’t believe you, and you couldn’t blame him.

“Your being here helps.”

Bullshit.

You laughed in disbelief. Liu Kang radiated with fire and you knew that feeling all too well and scooted a little away.

“Really? Because I feel like I’m actively making it worse.”

“Well, it’s complicated, isn’t it?”

“That’s a good word for it.”

“You remind me of him. You make it real. But also, you’re my friend. You were more than that.” He shrugged, clasping his hands in front of him, elbows on his knees. “We never really talked about it and it made things so hard.”

“We’re talking right now. We’ve talked and yelled a lot the last few days.” You were tired of talking about your grief in vague niceties. You were tired of being comforting. Of fighting.

“Not Kung Lao. Not grief.” He gestured between you and then returned his hands to his knees as if he had more control of them there. “About this.” You sighed heavily. Hadn’t you slapped him real hard about it the night before? “About what it was before you decided on Kung Lao.”

“I didn’t decide anything, remember? We did talk about it, Liu Kang. And you said that it wasn’t like it meant anything. That I didn’t owe you anything. A keep the change sort of comment. Remember?” You didn’t want to talk about it. You were so tired of fighting with him. It felt endless. How could Raiden do this to you? Why? Had you offended him in some way? Had your grief over Kung Lao not been loud and sad enough? “It doesn’t matter what you meant then, Liu, because that was what I was left with and so that was what I believed for years.”

“Except that I did that for Kung Lao. Do I not get to talk about it?”

“Sometimes it’s better to leave the past in the past and move on.”

“Except that it isn’t the past anymore, Y/N.” He grabbed your arm and urged you to look at him. You stiffened up. “I guess that you were hoping we’d just never talk about the other night. You keep running off. I tried to say something in the motel but you shut me down hard.”

“You can’t do this.” You struggled to speak without your voice trembling. His eyes were so dark and sad and full of fire, his lips twitching in a way where you couldn’t take your eyes off of them. “You can’t just bring it up whenever it’s convenient for you. You can’t just… wreck my emotions on repeat because you’re grieving. I’m grieving too.”

“Yeah, well you can’t just crawl into my bed and leave a bunch of scars down my back and then fuck off because it’s convenient for you.”

You were exasperated and threw your hands up in frustration. “We were drunk! Obliterated!”

“I wasn’t that drunk. I remember, Y/N.”

“Yeah, well I was. It was a mistake, Liu Kang. A grievous, drunken error that has only made things exponentially more difficult. I was sad and vulnerable and wasted. I made a mistake, okay? So maybe, just maybe, you can eat some of those lies you told me years ago. It’s not like it meant anything.” You spat with some venom and were surprised with yourself, covering your mouth after you’d said it. Oh, that hurt.

“I’m done lying, Y/N. I was never good at it. You’re not either.” He hadn’t yelled at you, which surprised you. In fact, he seemed to have a level head on more than you did. “It wasn’t a mistake for me. I knew what I was doing. I get that you’re trying to hurt me because you’re mad and grieving.” He said that in such an annoying way that you could have smacked him again. “But I’m saying now what I should have said all those years ago. It meant something. It meant something then and I knew what would happen if I went through with it the other night and I chose to anyway.” Liu was going to kill you at this rate. You were just going to drop dead. “Maybe I needed to feel something other than angry and sad. Maybe I thought I should try and undo something I regretted.”

Why was he so level-headed? Why, in this moment, had he managed to keep back his temper? If you could just yell at each other and hate each other it would be so much easier. But you didn’t hate him, you were torn between wanting to shake some sense into him and kiss him and it was so frustrating. Kissing him would only leave you more hurt but it seemed like the easier option too. You didn’t. You fought it, even if he seemed to be drawing closer. The tension of Liu Kang was so thick you could barely breathe.

“It was a mistake, Liu.” Your words were shaky but you tried to stand your ground. You’d beaten yourself up over this for too long and there he was, making it so much more complicated.

“Was it, Y/N? It didn’t feel like it was. It didn’t sound like it was.” His voice was low and serious and you felt your stomach twist into knots. “Look me in the eyes and tell me it was a mistake. That it was all a mistake. That it didn’t crush you when I said that all those years ago? That it had ever stopped being passionate between us even when we weren’t together. Tell me that. Look me in the eye and tell me that’s your truth and I will drop it.” He grasped your cheek and urged you to look him in the eyes.

You tried.

You couldn’t.

You were going to burst into tears at this rate and then he’d hold you and kiss you and you’d end up making this even more complicated and you couldn’t do that. Not right now. Not when he’d taken everything you’d known as truth and thrown it out the window. “I’m grieving Kung Lao and...” You couldn’t finish it. You couldn’t because it had never been a mistake to you back then. He was the one who had drawn the line in the sand. You’d just believed what he’d wanted you to believe for Kung Lao’s sake. And the other night was not something you remembered. There were only flashes of hot and sweaty lovemaking and all that version of you had felt was pleasure. Liu pulled his hand back and sighed.

“Figures that you would honor his memory more than think about yourself. He’d remind you that you were a terrible liar.”

You wiped your eyes as they betrayed you with tears and struggled to find words that didn’t involve crying or sobbing. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, damnit. You didn’t want to cry because of him. “This isn’t fair. It isn’t fair, Liu Kang. You can’t just… I can’t take much more.”

“I’m not trying to mess with your head, Y/N. I’m not trying to hurt you. You feel guilty but you don’t have any reason to. You think I don’t feel guilty? It’s eating me up. But we owe it to ourselves, don’t we? To figure it out?”

“Why are you being like this? Why now? Why?” You wiped furiously at your eyes. Stupid tears. You were so tired of your eyes being puffy and painful all the time. Stupid Liu Kang and his stupid emotions and his stupid whirlwind of honesty and misplaced anger. Stupid Kung Lao, dying and leaving you to deal with this. Stupid Raiden not sending you alone.

“I think that you turned down Kung Lao’s proposal because you were worried that maybe you still had feelings for me and had to figure that out first.”

That was the last straw. You broke.

You hated that it was partially true. You’d never stopped being attracted to him and that had become painfully obvious. What a selfish reason it had been to turn down the love of a man who had been dedicated to you and you alone. You swore that your heart was shutting down, it was beating so hard. He had you confused. Was that part of the reason? You didn’t know because you hadn’t been given the chance to figure it out. The truth was that you probably would have married Kung Lao. You would have talked about your plans for the future, what he saw of it, what you saw of it, and then accepted his proposal. You hadn’t turned it down because you didn’t love him. You had turned it down because you’d needed to talk. You were less spontaneous than Kung Lao had been. The only reason he’d needed was love and you’d needed to know more details. That was it. Liu Kang was making you overthink in ways you hadn’t in years.

“I can’t do this.” You stood and Liu grabbed your arm before you could leave. His fingers brushed down your wrist and to your hand and he gave you a look as if begging you to stay. It was killing you.

“We can’t avoid this forever.”

“I let you have your time to process this bullshit, Liu Kang and you are going to let me have mine.” He didn’t let you go. His grip tightened on your hand as if afraid to let you walk away, as if you would never come back. “Liu Kang?”

“Don’t go, Y/N.”

“You will let go of me right this instant.” You avoided his eyes. “You have ignored my feelings in favor of yours for long enough tonight. Let me go.”

Liu’s grip tightened but then he very suddenly let go and turned away with a bow of his head. “Of course, Y/N.”

The panic as you marched back inside the cabin and sat down on the couch was killing you. You held your head in your hands. What were you supposed to do with this? You had to calm down, first and foremost. Thankfully, Liu didn’t follow you inside and you had some peace and quiet but your thoughts weren’t much better than his argument had been.

You’d fucked up.

It would have been so much easier if neither one of you felt anything. It would have been easier if he had been as drunk as you had been. It would have been easier if you could continue believing that it really had meant nothing. It had never meant nothing to you. It had crushed you and taken you months to recover from that sadness with no one to talk to about it. You may not have remembered the other night but you remembered him from all those years ago.

The hot nights, the times you’d spent devoted to each other’s bodies, tangled up in his sheets or in yours. He’d made you feel sexy and forbidden, something beyond desire that no one else had ever made you feel. You hated those memories for so long that it was hard to feel any way other than that.

You loved Kung Lao.

But would you have even gotten the chance to if Liu Kang hadn’t said what he’d said? You had this connection, this fire that you couldn’t put out even after years of letting it simmer down. Even now when you’d fought, you had known that if you didn’t get out of there then you would have given into that passion, that instinct. What a mess of a human being you were. You curled up on the couch and this time you didn’t pull your bag close to you. You couldn’t think about Kung Lao when you were like this.

Next Chapter >>

[oligbia]

Kiwi

Bakugou KatsukiXReader SFW, Fluff

TW: Mild swearing 

Based on: Kiwi by Harry Styles 

The dorms were mostly quiet, students had long settled into bed for the night. Another long day of training and learning was to follow the next day, the class content of a hero course student at UA was no surprise a mental drain. The academics were rigorous, the materials being taught quickly. So, it was no surprise you and your friends were struggling to keep up with the various lessons being taught.

The studying had started out like any other night would have. Kirishima, Denki, Sero, Mina, and You all gathered in Bakugou’s room after dinner to study together. It always started with studying, asking Bakugou questions, but eventually it turned into watching Denki, Sero, and Mina horse around while Kirishima tried to keep Bakugou at bay. You had never expected to find such a rough and wild group of friends while attending school, but they were perfect for you. After some hours, Denki, Sero, and Mina all turned in for the night. You stayed around with Kirishima and Bakugou, asking some extra math questions as Kiri watched. You’re laid on the ground next to Bakugou’s desk, legs above your head as they rested against his desk. Your hoodie layed disregarded on his floor somewhere, his room always was warmer than the rest of the dorms. Kirishima was laying on Bakugou’s bed, ideally scrolling through his phone. Bakguou was checking your practice problems, scribbling over them in red ink. A pair of glasses sat on the edge of Bakugou’s nose, adding on a new level of maturity and sophistication. When he was alone with you and Kirshima, it was one of the few times he was much quieter and calmer. The three of you were close friends.

Kirishima stood up from the bed, stretching his arms over his head. “Well, I think I’m going to call it a night. Thank you for the study-sesh Baku-bro. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Bakugou mumbled his farewells under his breath, still scanning over your work. You wave Kiri a goodbye, smiling at him as he left. Kirishima closed the door with a smirk that you and bakugou both missed.

Bakugou turns to look at you. “God, get your feet off my desk, would ya?” He shoots you a slide glance, one that looks even more vicious through his glasses that were resting on the edge of his nose. You groaned, kicking your legs in front of you, repositioning yourself to an upright position. “You missed all of them except one. I really don’t know how you manage to do that.”

You threw your head back, grimacing at the extra work. “I don’t know, math is hard.”

“It isn’t hard, you’re just a bunch of dumbasses.”

You frowed, pouting your bottom lip out. You snatched the paper from his desk, smacking it onto the floor in front of you. Half a dozen algebra problems were in front of you, most of them covered in red pen where Bakugou had marked and circled your mistakes. His writing was slanted and consisted of light strokes. It was the kind of writing you expect from someone who writes fast and aggressively. You took out a pencil and started to rework some of the problems, but kept getting the same answers. You knew that you had made mistakes, Bakguou had written them out, but you weren't really sure what they were. You gave up, throwing the pencil at his wall, crumpling up the paper and throwing it at the ceiling, landing somewhere unbeknownst to you. “I quit! This is dumb! I won’t be a prohero anymore if it means I have to do algebra.”

The last part of your rage caught bakugou’s attention, drawing him out of his manga. He looked at your scowling figure, the steam practically radiating off of you. He felt himself grow angry, he knew you were too good to waste yourself and not be a hero. Unlike most of the other “extras” in class, you had potential. You were someone he thought he could work with- or even work for. He groaned under his breath, trying to figure out what to say. “Only a dumbass would quit over some stupid math problems.”

You turned over his shoulder to look at him, his eyes avoiding yours as he marked his place in his manga and closed it, sitting it back in his bedside drawer. He grabbed the math textbook off his desk and threw it to the floor next to you, it landed with a thump. He sat down next to you on the floor, your knees brushing against each other. He threw a notebook down and flipped the textbook to the page of problems you had been doing. “Do this one step by step and I’ll show you how to do it,” He glared away from you, “or don’t, I don’t care.”

You looked at his face, his glasses suiting his face in quite a lovely way. They made him look more like his father. You scribbled out the first few steps of the equation. “I can do this part. I get stuck here.”

He drew some lines in red ink. “You take the extra number here, and you just distribute it like this…” He led you through the steps of distributing and multiplication, the problem starting to make more sense. You did the next practice problem alone, Bakugou watching the way you bit your bottom lip when you were focused, the same way you did during sparring practice or during a rescue practice. You finished the problem and slid the paper over to him. He checked over it, not moving the red pen this time. “That's right. Good job or whatever…” You threw your hands up in victory, whooping in excitement. Bakugou hit you in the shoulder, shoving you over a little. “Shut up, dumbass, people are sleeping. And I would be too, if you weren't still here.”

You chuckled, and hoisted yourself off the ground. You reached a hand out to him, lifting him up to. He rolled his eyes at your hand, but took it anyways as he lifted himself off the ground. “Well, thank ya Boom Boy. I’ll see you tomorrow, yea?”

Bakugou walked you to the door, quickly checking to see if the hall was empty. It was long past curfew, and while the two of you were just studying, he wasn’t about to deal with the extras bothering him or you. “Tch, whatever.”

You showed yourself out, and Bakugou closed the door behind you. Once you were gone, he started to clean up the study materials left on the floor. He came across the hoodie you had left behind on the ground. He rolled his eyes, making some sarcastic comment about how forgetful you could be. He went to fold it up to return tomorrow, but watched as your earbuds and music player fell out. He rolled his eyes, fumbling with the device in his hands. He noticed it was dead, and figured he could at least charge it for you. In his mind, you would have forgotten to charge it yourself and this was his way of being nice. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to be nice to you, but he felt like he had to be.

During the night, Bakugou found himself tossing and turning in his sleep. He couldn’t get his mind to settle, it jumped from topic to topic. The topic it kept returning to, however, was oddly enough- you. He kept thinking about how you looked laughing at Denki that night, the way you were so comfortable around him, the way you were biting your lip…

He shook his head, noticing your music player blinking a green light. It was fully charged now. He took it off the charger and scrolled through the music on it. Most of it was stuff he didn’t know or recognize. It was a jumble of genres and types, none of it able to be conformed to a certain genre. With little second thought, he slipped your earbuds in his ears and pressed shuffle.

The vocals on the first track felt like something old, something recorded through an old microphone or telephone. The guitar was strong and rhythmic, the groove reminiscence of rock music he listened to growing up. But what he liked were the drums and the lyrics. The drums had a loud kick to them, something flashy he could play. The lyrics had a spunk to them, a little attitude and a little risque- bad ass. They reminded him of you somehow.

He turned the lamp on in his room, padding over to the desk to scribble the song title out on a piece of loose paper. Kiwi.

A few evenings later,  you went to find Bakugou, excited to show him your test score. You had gotten a B on the math test, and it was really all owed to him. What you didn’t expect, however, was hearing a familiar sound coming from his drum set. You knocked one the door a few times, but when he didn’t answer, you opened it slowly. He had headphones in his ears, you watched as he finished the song, dropping his arms, puffing and sweating a little. He was all or nothing, all the time.

“Bakugou, was that Kiwi? Never pegged you as a Harry Styles fan.” You looked closer, his attention finally on you. “Wait, is that my music player?!”

Bakugou’s eyes widened, realizing you caught him. He threw a drumstick at you, it barely missing your head and tumbling into the hall. You laughed as you took off running, calling out for the rest of your friends to come see what Bakugou was doing. Bakugou got up, chasing after you down the hall, his other drumstick and your music player falling to the ground behind him.