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filthforfriends · 2 years

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Call Me Damia

Read parts 1-3 on my Masterlist

DILFiano CW: morally grey age gap and power dynamics

Word count: 4.6k

Unsure what to do with yourself in anticipation for fall quarter, you began shopping for your dorm room. You watched high school graduates with their mothers debate whether a magenta or mint colored silicone ice cube tray was best. Your mom was permanently M.I.A. and dragging your dad along would just be torture for you both. So you go alone.

It was bullshit that all freshman had to live on campus. It also seemed ridiculous that there were so many dorm room necessities. As if the space wasn’t small enough already, now you can organize your socks by length into color-coded bins from Ikea that you had absolutely no room for. Realistically, you only got this cynical when you were hungry. So, you left the store playing an sonically insulting remix of another remix to get some food.

Past a block of fancy cafes was a taco truck usually open this time of day. You were walking so intently that you almost missed him, sitting alone on a patio. It was like some magnetic pull. He looked up even though you hadn’t called his name.

“Y/n!” There was a moment of uncertainty before he broke out in a full smile. “So wonderful to see you.”

“Hey, Damiano!” Your heart flutters embarrassingly.

“Oh, you don’t have to call me that,” he dismisses. He’s gotten some sun, beauty even more striking with a glowing tan. Slacks, black leather boots, a tank top, and his blazer hanging over the chair. He’s refined and so sexy. Damiano waves you over and you’re more than happy to abandon any future plans in exchange for his company. It's not like he didn’t occupy your every other thought anyway.

When you come to the edge of the table you notice three things. First, he’s wearing new cologne. Second, there's a small book under his right hand like he was reading. Third, he’s wearing new jewelry, which doesn’t include his wedding ring. You try your best not to be thrilled.

“What brings you here?” He looks exhausted, but happy.

“I was about to get some dinner, actually,” you answered, fingers crossed behind your back.

“Will you join me then?” Behind his closed lip smile there's a secret that lies just between the two of you. Buying your daughter’s long time friend lunch when you run into her at a cafe. How chivalrous and admirable, how appropriate. Fate had gifted both of you such an excellent ruse.

“I’m not interrupting anything?” you inquire, coy. What you mean is I’ll have you all to myself?

“I’m all yours.” Besides touch, there is nothing more intimate than having your mind read. Its electrifying to know that he can see through you. To be naked in front of Damiano was a thrill. He was looking, unabashedly, his expression revealing that he appreciated what he saw. It was such a filthy thing to do in front of other people.

He gestures to the chair across from him, reminding you to sit down. These were the moments when your youth caught up and embarrassed you. Damiano was looking at the menu, so you tried to make yourself more poised. Put your hair up, adjusted your blouse, and took off your jean jacket even though it was breezy. When you finally sat he was looking at you with his eyebrows raised, taking a sip of white wine.

“I thought you looked fine before.” There's not a hint of teasing in his expression and you don’t know what to do besides blush crimson. “But this will make it easier to sneak you wine.” He gives you a wry grin, wiggling his eyebrows to make the moment lighter. “Too bad there’s no vineyards nearby, I’d take you wine tasting.” We can’t ever talk about this again. You were branded by those words.

“You changed your mind?”

“I’ve decided to trust you transgression. I’d like for you to trust mine, but that's your choice.” Daminao sits back in the chair, folding his hands.

“I do.”

“That was a quick decision.”

“Well you have more to lose.”

“Ah ha! You trust the situation, not me.” He waves an accusatory finger.

“I suppose so,” you muse, drumming your fingers on the table for theatrical effect. “You’ll just have to earn it somehow.”

“And how am I to earn your trust?” he takes the bait and you’re thrilled.

“If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.” You repeat his words from your last discussion with a smirk instead of a laugh.

“That’s not a real answer!” He sits forward, totally engaged in your verbal sparring match.

“Oh really!? Pretty irritating huh?” You tilt your head to the side flirtatiously, resting your chin in your palm. Damiano gets the reference and throws his hands up in the air!

“Fine! I give up!” His body language is just the opposite, leaning towards you as much as the table will allow, smiling wide.

“So easily?” you taunt.

“How am I to make it up to you then?”

“Well there's plenty of things you can do to please me,” you venture. Even though you’re maintaining an enticing, confident exterior, internally you’re begging Damiano to meet you halfway. His chest heaves and he rolls his bottom lip under his teeth before biting it, like he’s trying to keep something at bay.

“You’re making this very difficult for me.”

“You already said that. I’m officially requiring a different excuse each time.” Damiano looks away and lets out a groan in the place of a response. That sound throbs in your cunt beyond what you can endure.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” you coax.

“No.” He spoke through gritted teeth, hands balling into fists before releasing. His leg starts bouncing. Anyone watching could tell that Damiano was trying to hold back, fighting something that was almost stronger than his moral fiber.

“Why did that make you so nervous?” you push. He holds up a hand, signaling you to stop. The realization hits, that he has an entire life at stake: kids, a career, his whole reputation. He can’t be careless, so you can’t be careless. Verbally accosting him in public wasn’t the way to go.

“I’m sorry, let me find a waiter.” As you stand, your wet underwear rubs against your pussy uncomfortably. What took half an hour with other men, only required a conversation with Damiano.You walk towards the indoor portion of the restaurant, trying to salvage this meeting of happenstance. He catches you by the wrist.

“You’re okay,” he says emphatically, meaning you’ve done nothing unforgivable. He’s earnest wide-eyed to convey his point. You take a deep breath, and he mirrors you. One helping the other regulate. When you pull away to seek out a server you catch Dami’s hand in yours, stroke your thumb over the back of his hand for an inappropriate amount of time. Nail in the coffin, you brush your fingers over the tan line his wedding band left. It's totally self indulgent, but the hair stands up on his forearm in reaction. There's too many places you want to feel his touch. Not just between your legs, but cupping your stomach, playing with your nipples, around your throat, gripping your thigh, bruising your hips. The desire is dizzying and you have to take another breath together before letting go. There's nothing more compelling than lusting after someone so hard you can barely function, and feel them do the same for you.

By that point a waiter has noticed you standing and briskly walks over. You’re glad it's a man, with short red hair and porcelain skin marred by acne scars. Watching a woman gawk at Dami would be too painful of a reminder. He is not yours. He will never be.

“My apologies, I didn’t realize your date had arrived,” he stammered, as you sat down. Dami doesn’t correct him.

“We’d like the wine taster and another menu.”

“Oh, yes, sorry!” Foolish of you to assume that gender would keep anyone from fawning over Dami. His tone is patient, and you realize why. Damiano is so acclimated to people falling in love with him that he gives them a moment of grace to collect themselves.

The waiter places a single sheet of embossed paper in front of you, the type of menu only fancy restaurants have. The prices are exorbitant.

“Can I take your order in the meantime?”

“Give us a few minutes,” he answers curtly, ever the gentleman. The server realizes his blunder.

“Of course, my apologies,” he spluttered.

“I’ll just have whatever he’s having,” you interrupt, getting this awkward exchange over with for everyone’s sake. Damiano takes a beat to give you a sly smile, pausing the entire interaction to admire.

“You’re sure?” He says the words like it's something intimate, no insistence or condensation.

“Yeah, I trust your judgment.” Trust. Another bit of language carrying a secret only you two could decode. There was nothing in your life more riveting than having secrets with Damiano. Everything was boring to the point of obsoleteness in comparison.

“So what did you mean earlier, about your name?” You ask as a peace offering, when the waiter walks away.

“I just meant that, um,” he chuckles, and grimaces. Dami hangs his head like he regrets bringing it up because now he has to explain himself. “Damiano is very formal.”

“So what name should I use instead?” He's visibly relieved that you didn’t ask what it meant to be informal. “Dami is what your family,” and by that you mean wife, “calls you.”

“My friends call me Damia.” He answers with quiet confidence, but then his face changes. “Not that we’re necessarily friends and if it makes you uncomf -”

“We’re friends. Especially considering how much we’ve taken care of Icarus together, and all the dinner parties,” you trail off. Damia visibly finds your tact soothing. “Personally, I think the lack of intergenerational friendships is to blame for a significant portion of the world’s stupidity.” Damia chuckles, and the wine tasting tray arrives. Its four small glasses on a wooden board with indentations for the base of the glass so nothing goes sliding off and onto the floor. The restaurant is fancy enough to have a sommelier, and he stands at the head of the table. You try to mirror Damiano exactly, so no one will suspect that you’re actually 18.

“The first two are both cold soaks from the Bien Nacido Vinyard. All our wines are sourced in state. This glass on the far left is a 2008 Cabernet Sauvignon with light notes of oak and a velvety mouthfeel. It has been very successful in our local tastings and even won -” Despite your best efforts, you tune out the jargon in favor of observing Damiano. He’s nodding along, totally engaged with the sommelier’s lecture.

You use the opportunity to admire his profile, searching for little details no one had bothered to notice in years. There's a small scar halfway between his cheek and perfectly sculpted lips. Maybe a couple nearly imperceptible marks at the top of his cheekbone. A few eyebrow hairs were astray. Smile lines. It was entertaining to try to find imperfections on Damiano. Like Where’s Waldo, but way harder because this man in front of you was art of the finest caliber.

“So,” he sighs, trying to hide his relief that the lecture is over and the sommelier has gone inside. “What's the first rule of tasting wine?” He places both elbows on the table and rests his chin on top of his folded hands. Every gesture is elegant. Even better, you’re the sole recipient of his attention which makes you feel feverish the same way a sunburn does.

“Don’t use it like mouthwash,” you quip, in reference to the other night. He snorts, unclasping his hands because you’ve provided an interruption he wasn’t prepared for. Now Damia is flustered by the memory and shaking his head, like he can’t recall his train of thought.

“Thats – thats, sure. Why the fuck not?” He dissolves into laughter placing his face in the crook of his arm. Everything is hidden but his smile, and there’s a weightlessness in it you’re unaccustomed too.

“Rule number one: don’t swig the wine,” he proclaimed, still grinning. “Which makes rule number two: swirl, sniff, sip.” He picks up the first glass, and you follow, picking up the second. You mirror him, swirling the wine languidly in a movement that comes from the wrist, trying to emulate his easy elegance. When Damia lowers his nose into the glass and breathes in deep, you do the same. When he sips, your gaze fixes the way his lips curl over the lip of the glass, caressing it. Even the way he pulls the wine into his mouth is sensual. You forget to drink for a moment.

It just tastes like the wine you’re used to consuming, but not gross. All the bitterness of alcohol is gone. What term goes with oak and velvety? You’ve already used lush.

“What do you think?”

“It’s well-balanced and…round,” you try. This is apparently an acceptable answer because Damia, hums, nodding.

“Switch.” You exchange glasses, and Damia keeps his eyes on you. Using both hands, he rotates the glass so your lipstick mark is facing him. Carefully, he puts his lips exactly where yours were and takes a long drink, all while holding your gaze. It’s sweet torture, and your hand shakes were it rests on the table. Damia is exacting his revenge.

Glancing down at the rim, there are no marks left from his mouth, and you’re at a loss. Damia isn’t even hiding his enjoyment while watching you squirm. He’s smug, biting his lip as he shamelessly looks you up and down. Unfortunately, you’ve got a competitive streak and no reputation to ruin by being obscene. Using just the tip of your tongue, you trace the rim of the wine glass, placing it back on the tray without taking a sip.

“Do you want to know how that one tasted?” you challenge. Sitting back, cocky, would be the easy way out. Instead, wipe your lipstick off on the back of your hand and take the third glass. Damia is perplexed but takes the fourth, and you sip at the same time. Only after you’re done drinking does he understand. With no lipstick, there are no marks for him to follow. Check mate.

You look at Damia expectantly, genuinely unsure of how he’ll react. You extend your glass to exchange, and with only a moment of hesitation, he takes it, swallowing hard. Feigning composure, you take sips of wine as he bargains with himself, probably giving away more than he’d like to in the process. Finally, Damia looks at you, passion aflame in his eyes, and licks the rim of the glass. Watching his tongue is better than actual sex you’ve had. You rub your legs together, trying to relieve some of the pressure in your cunt. When he sits back up you stare, each waiting for the other to make a move.

“What do you think?” There's a lot of ways you could go with this. The sexual tension in the air is so thick that you decide to give the both of you room to breath.

“They taste exactly the same,” you deadpan. Damia laughs with his head thrown back, taken by surprise that you’d interjected humor.

“They do not!”

“Yes they do! You’ve been lied to,” you dramatically insist, cackling. At one point in his life, Damia probably laughed easily, but that part of him was far from the surface. You were determined to coax it forth again. Eventually you both fall into an easy silence gazing at each other, lent forward against the table. In the most intimate of circumstances, words aren’t necessary. Kiss me for fucks sake. Kiss me, I dare you, and see if I don’t deliver my response tenfold. You stare at his lips, unabashed. How far you’ve come from that first spark.

“My eyes are up here.”

“I wasn’t looking at your eyes,” you tantalize, meeting his gaze. “But I wish I could do that more often.” It was a vulnerable omission.

“You’re too honest.”

“You want to lie?”

“Never lie to me,” he snaps, with so much heat behind his words that it's scary. You lean into that fear, excited by it. Damia is startled by your reaction, and you see you’ve finally made some leeway. He’s revealed something about himself that wasn’t polished and perfectly calibrated.

“Having dinner with you was a terrible idea. I won’t even make it to my entree before spontaneously combusting.” You don’t take offense, because of the mutual understanding of what it would take to ease the tension.

“Should I get our food to go?” He sighs, but smiling softly like he's made a compromise within himself.

“Fine, but what you think is going to happen isn’t.”

“Okay,” you shrug your shoulders amicably. Even as you try to remain casual, getting your take out and the check from the waiter, your heart is pounding. The anticipation is so overwhelming that your reaction time is delayed, like you’re listening to everyone from underwater.

Getting out of the cafe and into the street is a relief. It's easy to just move with the crowd, everything feels less momentous. Damia is deep in thought, placing his feet carefully. You don’t want to interrupt, but the silence is both comfortable and totally suffocating.

“Where are we going?”

“Uh, I was gonna walk you to your car,” he murmured. Damia looks up for the first time, trying to place himself in the surroundings.

“Well we passed my car a couple blocks ago, so why don’t I walk you to your car?”

“Alright,” he chuckled, smile reappearing. He looked down at your hand, and you at his. You both thought so hard about what it might be to touch, for this to be allowed, that you could almost feel the warmth of his skin. In this crowded plaza, a dozen people could recognize you.

Damia threw his arm over your shoulders, in a way that could be misconstrued as comradery. He pulled you closer to him, and turned his head.

“I wish I could hold your hand, too,” he whispers. It nearly breaks you. Fending off the tears takes all your will power. It was the moment you knew that his affection went beyond your young figure and lively conversation. He felt tenderness for you.

“I’m in the parking garage,” he tilts his head towards the big cement structure. “So…”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” you confirm. Whatever may have been calmed from a stroll through the plaza was aflame again as you realized the privacy you’d have. The place was practically empty, and the light was soft as the sun set. A stroke of genius hit right as you passed the stairwell.

“Damia, come on!” You were already up one set of stairs when he responded.

“What? I’m not running up the stairs with takeout in my hands.”

“Be spontaneous for fucks sake!”

“Lemme put it in the car!”

“You’re gonna miss it,” you screech, running up another flight. When you hear Damia’s boots on the metal grating you smile so hard your cheeks hurt.

“What the fuck am I running up the stairs for, y/n?” You wrench open the steel door to find the top level of the parking garage empty. Perfect.

“What the – oh my god.” Damia interrupts himself in wonder. The colors of the sunset splay themselves across the sky, so over saturated that the world looks like a dream. You drop your stuff in the corner and run out into the center of the parking lot, arms open. Damia follows behind, huffs disbelief as he marvels at the sky.

“How did you know this was up here?” he shouts in awe. Orange and yellow hues hit his olive skin with a beauty to potent it ached.

“The sky?” you tease, the wind blowing your jacket open.

“‘The sky,’” he mocks, jogging towards you with a mischievous look in his eye. Damia grabs you by the waist, spinning in circles as you screech in delight. When he sets you down you’re left in a fit of giggles, trying to catch your breath.

“Rooftops have the best view,” you pant. “This is the only one that doesn’t get the cops called.”

“Ah, so you’ve found this out by trial and error then?” he retorts, playfully. Straightening up, you don’t let Damia create distance. Getting close enough to kiss was half the battle. You throw your arms around his waist and pull him in, so your abdomens are flush together.

“Kiss me,” you beg. “For fuck’s sake just kiss me.” Even as his hands are placed loosely on your back, he shakes his head.

“I can’t,” he chokes, with absolutely no conviction, not even enough to physically distance himself.

“Why? Because you’ll feel guilty?” His eye brows knit together in surprise.

“Well…yeah,” he puzzled.

“You already feel guilty. When we hadn’t even touched you felt guilty. So if you’re going to feel like shit no matter what, whats the fucking point of holding back?” Damia processes your words, then lets out a harsh breath and looks away. Steeling yourself, you pull back.

“Fine, I –” Something clicks inside him, or maybe something breaks, snaps clean in half after a crappy marriage and millions of people with a negative opinion. Damia wrenches you towards him, so forcefully you instinctively put your hands up to catch yourself. However, a millimeter away, his grip on your waist stops the collision. Your noses are pressed together, and he steps completely into your space. Damia is holding you so close that the only thing not touching is your lips. Forehead, sternum, chest, abdomen, and his arms coiled tightly around you.

He’s waiting for you to initiate the kiss, but there is so much sensory input so suddenly that your brain is effectively short circuiting. You could taste his breath, smell not just his cologne, but his body, feel the bridge of his Italian nose where he rubbed it against yours affectionately. His erection pressed into your thigh, such a contrast to how angelic he looked with his eyes closed.

Damia is holding you closer, tighter than you’d ever fantasized, and you start trembling in his embrace. Your hands flutter from clavicle to shoulder, and end up with one palm on his cheek. He smiles and snuzzles into it enthusiastically, even though the contact was so innocent. Damiano is touch starved.

You kiss him as fiercely as you can without knocking teeth, keeping your mouth soft but demanding. The hand on his face moves to his hair as the wind tangles it around your fingers. You expect some tepidness after all that apprehension, but you get the opposite: the sensation that he’s finally let go. Damia pushes his hand under your coat and grips your waist. His other comes to the back of your neck and the base of your skull, guiding. He’s not kissing you like an inexperienced little girl. He’s kissing you so passionately that a hand has to support your head.

Trying to channel all those days of denial into the embrace results in you letting out a whine without meaning to. Shuddering with pleasure, you kitten lick his lips before each kiss. He responds by opening his mouth, and pushing his tongue against yours. Instead of searching your whole mouth, he slowly massages your tongue, not too forceful, but enough for it to be sensual. This is how experienced men, adult men, kiss, you realize. His grip is tighter than boys you age would dare, yet it's perfectly measured. The hand on the back of your head somehow doesn’t register as aggressive. It’s undoubtedly the best kiss of your life.

Your free hand frantically grabs at his blazer, trying to pull him infinitesimally closer. The words that beg for more come out as a whimper, and Damia rewards you with a moan of approval. Seeing how much you like tongue, he tilts his head to kiss you deeper. His clothes, the movement of his hands, even his smell is mature. This could never be mistaken for a kiss at prom, Damia had raw sexual energy like you’d never encountered before.

It wasn’t just your pussy that ached, pounded with arousal, but your entire groin and lower abdomen. Everywhere your bodies touched was burned by the heat of your chemistry, heartbeat thundering in your ears. You started shaking, aroused to the point of tears. When he felt the trembling worsen, Damia moved his hands as if to pull away. Desperately, you used your grip to hold him close, made a noise of approval and kissed with even more vigor to prove a point.

He made the kisses slower, sexier, less tongue and more passion. You took to stroking his hair with your hand, which he liked very much. Again Damia moved away, and again, you gave chase.

“Mm, air,” he said into the kiss.

“Shit, sorry,” you gasped, lips parting. His chest heaved and his mouth was red around the edges, your presence evidenced.

“Is that enough air?”

“You’re insatiable,” he chuckles, still breathing hard. “Sorry, this isn’t the stamina you’re used to.”

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” you huff. Admittedly, it is hard to catch your breath when there's no breathing room. You loosen your embrace, cursing the need for oxygen.

“That’s better,” he pants in relief. Damia takes a couple steps back and turns his body away from you, signaling that the makeout was over.

“Thank you.” This was far more than you’d anticipated, and even if it was over, you were so grateful. He turns back towards you, grinning wholeheartedly. Maybe you’d misread the situation. You try resuming the embrace, and Damia doesn’t outright reject you. But his kisses are conciliatory, oh so gently telling you no. Of course you listen, even though the loss in intimacy is brutal.

“Should we go back down? I can drive you to your car.” As you followed Damia back to the corner where your belongings were deposited, he held your hand. You appreciated the gesture, but wished your fingers were laced together. Meanwhile a wave of anguish overcame you. This couldn’t be over. He may never touch you again.

“Wait!” In a moment of desperation, you fall to your knees in front of him. He didn’t want kisses or sex, so you could give him this. Damia inhaled sharply, a hand hovering over your head, fingertips brushing your hair. He hadn’t decided yet, so you try to convince him. Pushing up Damia’s shirt, you kiss and lick above the waistband of his boxers. The muscles of his stomach react to your lips and his hard cock jumps.

“Sweetheart, please stand up,” he begged.

“Do you want me to stop?” You looked up, had never seen a face so conflicted. The vein in the middle of his forehead was prominent, and his mouth was set in a grimace.

“I need you to get up because if you start I won’t have the strength to stop you,” Damia confesses. I want you, but I don’t want to. You nod, wordlessly, and pull his shirt back down. He extends a hand to help you stand up, and pulls you into a hug. The wind feels so much colder.

“Thank you,” he whispers, voice laden with emotion.

“For what?” You keep your tone low, even though there's not a soul to overhear. Secrets are always told in whispers.

“No one’s kissed me like that in a decade.”

Notes: I think if you just take a deep breath the emotions will subside. Thanks for reading! Please tell me your favorite part! This is some of my favorite writing in weeks so I'm super excited to post it, but the next part won't be this long. Also extra reminder that the reader is a character I'm creating, not me.

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musings-on-aching-flowers · 2 years

Note

Hi.....if you don't mind me asking, can I ask your top 5 favorite characters from TGCF? And your top 5 (or top 3) favorite moments from the novel? Sorry if you've answered this question before....Thanks....

Hi, you’re totally fine, thanks for asking!! Sorry it took me this long, it’s been a while since I’ve checked tumblr!

My top 5 favourite characters from TGCF would have to be:

1. Xie Lian

To me, Xie Lian is such an interesting character, especially in his growth into who he is as a character during the events of books 1, 3 and 5. His story arc is extremely compelling, as we can witness how his life experiences have shaped him from his initial naivety, then to his flinty cynicism (which is honestly hard-won at that point) until finally we get his gentle compassion, like wood that has been sanded down. He may not necessarily be the kindest, most compassionate person, and he’s made his fair share of mistakes and then some, but all those experiences in all those 800 years he’s been around have made him able to still view humanity as something worth saving.

I also love the dichotomy of his nature; he is non-confrontational, but when he draws his sword his martial prowess is unmatched, he was born a prince but had a single-minded focus on cultivation, and so on.

(Also STARember draws him devastatingly pretty in the manhua - how could you not love him?!)

2. Hua Cheng

I will confess that I am an incorrigible romantic, and I love Hua Cheng’s utmost devotion to Xie Lian. In all those years, his devotion is true, unwavering, and unconditional, and yet even with such dedication to his Dianxia that it literally tethers him to reality, he has managed to grow into himself and his own as a fully realised individual. He has found purpose other than the sole pursuit of Xie Lian, which I really admire about him.

What Hua Cheng teaches us as well is how love can change you in such a positive way. His love for Dianxia pulled him from the brink time and again, and helped him keep moving forward even despite the immense pressure he received throughout his whole existence, especially in the early days what with being ‘cursed’.

3. Yin Yu (and 4. Quan Yizhen)

I really love these characters. The part where Xie Lian brutally murdered Yin Yu over his exceedingly average appearance just took me out, but I also think he’s a very realistic and relatable character: the Oikawa Tooru to Quan Yizhen’s Kageyama Tobio, if you will - because sometimes hard work alone can’t beat natural talent and drive. I also appreciate that he never had bad designs on Quan Yizhen - sure, he was jealous, but he didn’t want to actually hurt him, rather preferring to focus on himself and what he was doing, and the events that transpired to his banishment were more a result of bad luck and circumstance on his part. I like Quan Yizhen too, he means well and he’s sweet and he's utterly persistent about something when he wants to be, and I wanted to ruffle his curly hair every time he was in a scene.

5. Yushi Huang (Rain Master)

Every time Yushi Huang came into the scene I was overjoyed. I really like her ascension story, and I love the elegance and gentle grace with which she carries herself in every scene. I think it’s amazing that her role is so important in the Heavens that even Jun Wu wouldn’t dare to make a move against her, and I equally thought it was hilarious whenever Pei Ming would get embarrassed over having to be saved by her. What an icon.

...As for my favourite moments in the novels, I don’t think I could rank them but here are my top 5:

the scene in book 5 where Xie Lian and Hua Cheng kiss on the massive Dianxia statue ‘to exchange spiritual power’ and Feng Xin and Mu Qing are appalled, Quan Yizhen confused and Pei Ming goes ‘Ho ho’

the scene in book 5 where Jun Wu makes Xie Lian contact Hua Cheng to assure him that everything is alright in Heaven and the ensuing conversation has Xie Lian experiencing 800 years of embarrassment at once

the scene in book 3 where Xie Lian is dressed as a woman with a child-sized Hua Cheng running from the group of cultivators and he boards in a cannibalism hotel run by Qi Rong, with Jian Lan and Cuocuo chased by Mu Qing in disguise staying across the hall

all the scenes of the book 3 Brocade Immortal arc where Hua Cheng is bopping around disguised as Lang Ying, but especially when he gets revealed because Xie Lian tries to make him write something

the post canon scene where Xie Lian accidentally curses himself to be in extreme pain whenever he thinks of Hua Cheng but even still he refuses to be apart from him.

Thanks again for the lovely ask! I hope you have a good day :) <3

#tgcf #tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing #hua cheng #xie lian #yin yu #quan yizhen #yushi huang #the rain master #hualian #tgcf meta #my meta

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filipinoizukuu · 3 years

Note

hello mr simp do you have any thoughts on the leeks 👀

FIRST OF ALL. THEY CAME SO FUCKING EARLY??? BRO I WAS ASLEEP

SECOND OF ALL

holy SHIT YALL

Okay, it's no secret that I'm an All Might stan. I LOVE All Might. Very very much. Not just as a simp, but genuinely, I enjoy his character SO MUCH.

--And unlike what some people may think, I'm not totally blind to his flaws. I know he sucks as a mentor and that he's done way more harm to Deku than good. He's.... not perfect. in every sense of the word. The whole point of AM's character is that he is a DEEPLY FLAWED individual— but at the end of the day, still good.

This new chapter gave me SOOO many new feelings. I'm not gonna lie to y'all and say I was a Stain apologist beforehand because I wasn't. I disliked Stain to a certain degree, but I also knew he was morally grey enough that I was able to still quite appreciate him as a character. This chapter was about EVERYTHING to me because I honestly did NOT expect Hori to go in this direction and for things to happen the way they did. It was too good to be true! Too fanfic-y! The disbelief I felt when I read what happened was on par with when Bakugou and Deku had that apology and kinda-hug in the rain!

But this disbelief is not because it was a bad thing.

I think the writing in Chapter 326 is phenomenal. The moment that All Might was really beginning to lose hope in not just himself as a hero, but himself as a PERSON... we finally hear the opinion of someone who would abso-fucking-LUTELY make or break the last of his spirit.

Stain is, as much as his views are pretty agreeable and his label is that of a vigilante, still a pretty shitty guy. He's tried to kill literal kids who got in his way, even if said kids made pretty dumb decisions. AM hearing what he has to say is absolutely mind-boggling to him because he knows all of that. He knows Stain is a shitty person and that his worldview is perhaps terribly skewed. He knows Stain has spent a hot minute frying his brains down in Tartarus and isn't good at making judgment calls. Knows that for all intents and purposes, Stain's opinions are not to be trusted.

But the thing is... Toshinori also knows that Stain, regardless of the soundness of his mind, is telling the truth.

Regardless of how fucked-in-the-head Stain is, we as readers are able to acknowledge that he isn't blinded by hero worship. Sure, he's bitter, cynical, and quite the absolutist--but Stain is still clear-headed enough to be able to see AM's flaws for what they are and accept them, ultimately proving to Toshinori that the power of All Might was never his own but rather the legacy that he inspired.

The society MHA takes place in is flawed. We all know this. Heroes, as a concept, had been corrupted into being purely about good and evil. Purely winning fights for money or fame or the abstract concept of victory (coughs Endeavor and the no.1 spot coughs), making heroism as we know it about flashiness and power instead of mercy and the desire to help others.

All Might symbolizes the ideal version of the Hero Society. He represents doing the best you can. Being a hero until you reach your limits, and then going even past that. He symbolizes pure intention and the desire to be a hero not for material gains but because of the pure want to make society a better and safer place. Stain refers to Kamino Ward and the statue as a "holy land" because he believes that through and through, AM's only had the purest of intentions and morals. To him, Toshinori was like a deity that had no fault in making society what it was in the present because that accountability fell on the generations of heroes that failed to fulfill his legacy.

The point being, Stain understood that All Might was fundamentally not about 'being there' for everyone 24/7, but rather the message his presence had sent.

All Might's monologue at the beginning of the chapter essentially boiled down to the ideas that:

A. He regrets not being there properly for Deku

B. His image was a delusion that ultimately led to the downfall of hero society.

To break this down, his problem with Deku is his inability to be a competent mentor. It shows that he has led him down dangerous and horrible paths (Deku's stubbornness to do things by himself and his 'dark' arc post-war), and is unable to bring him back into the light even if he tries. It was only when Class 1-A had intervened that they were able to get Deku to rest and let people tag along, after all, which is why Toshinori was far too embarrassed to follow him into UA's walls even after everyone had come out with umbrellas.

Stain disproves this in two ways.

First, he says that it was never about All Might's ability to actually be there for people. The whole point of what inspired Deku to be the inherently good-hearted "true hero" he is today is because of the values that AM's brand had instilled in him as a child. AM's biggest positive impacts came from behind the screen where he was used as the proof that true heroes can and do exist. Deku does want to be exactly like All Might, yes, which is why we see Toshinori leading him down the same path that he walked--but the underlying message of this is that the very first thing All Might gave him even before OfA was the courage to help fix society.

I do believe Deku is an innately compassionate person. Most people in the series are. However, what makes All Might's smile so uniquely impactful to what it did to Hero Society is the way it gave people courage to help people. Less hesitation. Less bystander syndromes. The ability to move without thinking. Because you can feel the want to help a person, but the courage to be nosey and actually do it? That's portrayed as something AM's image teaches people.

The second way he disproves AM's insecurity of dragging Deku down is that he makes it clear that this pain is somewhat of a necessity in reforming society. He says, interestingly enough, that this is but the 'middle process' in reforming society. This spills over to how he addresses Problem B, but what Stain is essentially saying here is that this sort of brutality and isolation that Izuku faces is impermanent. A phase. It implies that even if Deku is struggling and Toshinori is unable to help him, it is something that needs to happen before they re-realize the ideal heroes All Might's image is meant to create.

The second problem in regards to how All Might feels about current society (how it's collapsing because of him, etc. etc.) is more interestingly addressed. There are many things that Stain says--like how Toshinori doesn't need to actually be the one to fix society with his bare hands. The current society is not his fault because of the fact that it is not finished developing. I'm not sure if I can go so far as to say that Stain means this in the sense of the Scorched Earth method of tearing everything down to build it back up better-- but I can say that Stain still has faith in society to rebuild after this period of chaos.

This rebuilding starts with the old generation of heroes correcting what they messed up (i.e. Endeavor v Dabi) and more importantly, paving the way for a better generation of heroes that was inspired by All Might's image. Heroes that are led by people like Deku, who is defined by his proclivity to help without thinking. The violent deconstruction of society is about exposing society to the raw truth of All Might's image that not everybody can be as strong as him-- which is why we have to take care of each other.

When the lady comes in to remove the sign and start cleaning the statue, it's symbolic. It's a clear metaphor that the past few chapters are the turning point for society as a whole, and how people are starting to remember what real heroism is. From the distrust that was seeded in society ever since LoV had surfaced, we are seeing that trust being returned TEN-FOLD now that people can see not only the mask of a hero's smile, but also the person underneath.

I think it's some really neat symbolism here too about how Deku, who's metal mouth guard was literally all about representing All Might's smile, is shed.

This is hero society dropping their masks. Letting people see them for as they are. Toshinori revisiting the statue in this form makes all the more impact because he shed his mask ages ago during the Kamino Bust, so this is him coming face to face with the image he's created and seeing the differences between them, and how his image continues to live on even after he's almost completely Quirkless. The lady cleaning the All Might statue shows off the fact that things can be repaired again--that society can be clean (hehe stain pun) again.

It's interesting to me here how Stain offers the information from Tartarus.

He doesn't care anymore about his life. It's evident. He disagrees with what the LoV is doing, but believes enough in Deku to think that it's time for him to retire the mantle of 'Stain'. Unless this is another test, it's very odd for me to hear that Stain is offering a blade and his life to someone he isn't even sure is All Might.

But the impact of this action reads loud and clear.

This is Stain taking pity on All Might. This is him realizing that All Might too is a person behind the hero. That Toshinori Yagi is incapable of doing anything past the image he had already created. By offering that knife and information on Tartarus, Stain is giving control back to Toshinori. He is giving AM the chance to do something big again to help society's reconstruction. To be a part of the revolution that he so badly deserves to see. That knife is essentially an exit ticket from the sidelines, and one last chance for All Might to be able to see what his image has done for people.

I personally think that the main reason Stain is willing to die then and there by Toshinori's hand, despite not being sure that he is All Might to begin with, is because of the final impact it creates that it isn't about Toshinori Yagi's true power as a person, but the image of All Might. It is because he looks like the symbol of peace, that Stain (the literal HERO KILLER) feels comfortable laying his life in his hands and giving away valuable information.

If that isn't a great testament to the power of AM's image, I don't know WHAT is.

I guess all I have to say is I absolutely love what Stain did in this chapter. Everything felt so incredibly symbolic and emotional and as someone who absolutely ADORES All Might and what he stands for in the story, this felt like a cool balm after seeing Deku tragically reject his bento box a good few chapters ago. I have a few more opinions about symbolism, and how I think Deku's generation of heroes is going to stray from the old gen, but I think that's a discussion for another time.

Thanks for reading 'til the end!

#asks #anon #bnha meta #mha meta #all might #toshinori yagi #yagi toshinori #stain #mha stain #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha spoilers #bnha spoilers #mha 326 #bnha 326

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luwritesomething · 2 years

Text

DODGE MASON HEADCANONS !!

i don't think i will ever get over andrew dodge mason. like,,, he is just such a realistic, well-portrayed character, and i- i just love him a lot, okay? and i also believe mike had the opportunity to mirror himself on dodge and that makes the character even better. he could have been a plain, boring someone but he is actually interesting in so many levels. so, nobody requested this, but i needed it. so here are some of my dodge headcanons.

warnings: pretty sure there's swearing because it's me huh, there's also mentions of what happened with his dad.

• dodge has no social media

• that's actually canon but i thought it was important to reaffirm it

• really likes country music

• even though he is the kind of guy that doesn't really listen to music too often

• and when he does, he doesn't put it on full volume

• he appreciates his eardrums, thanks, not like most of us

• is very superstitious

• like VERY

• boy goes absolutely wild at signs of bad luck

• whistles a lot

• and always has a song stuck on his head

• problem is he can spend a whole week with the same song stuck on his head

• dayna hates him for it because she always ends up with the same song on her head

• when he was like really really little he was jealous of horses and didn't like them much

• you know, they always got his father's attention, and then dayna's

• he then learned to love them.

• oh he is an animal lover

• body positivity

• and respect boundaries

• he's so sweet

• really likes singing on the rain, and,,,

• and dayna and him used to watch it on a loop every time it rained during summer when they were little

• dodge has such a great relationship with her

• and with his family in general

• his dad was the most complicated one

• he has a bracelet that reads acab

• and under acab it puts "all cats are beautiful"

• dayna gave it to him

• doesn't really like cortez but,,

• doesn't like tea

• BESTEST MARKS AMD GRADES

• his coffee is *chef's kiss*

• kind of boy that pulled allnighters in order to study

• he very cynic. and does have a bit of a superiority complex because he thinks he has everyone at carp figured out

• he can admit his mistakes, though, which is important

• he beats himself up a lot

• like A LOT

• i mean he even blames himself about his dad,,, like what

• he probably lives in somewhat between denial and acceptance about dayna

• probably either believes in love at first sight or doesn't believe in true, genuine love at all

• dodge really likes philosophy and he always aced those exams

• i mean by my headcanons he actually aced all his tests but philosophy is probably his favorite subject

• has a lot of strong opinions on a lot of things but since he is so quiet and private,,,

• the kind to buy a small cottage or farm in the middle of nowhere and live there forever

• favorite color is black

• but he looks so good on that baby blue tee

• okay sorry that wasn't a headcanon

• likes rainy days so he can stay in his room and do nothing

• but also likes to stand in the rain and get absolutely soaked

• he did this a lot when he was a kid, his mother got soo mad.

• doesn't really watch any tv shows or anything

• i mean if they're on, okay, but he doesn't really spend time watching tv or shows

• probably reads a lot

• and works out regularly

• he drinks his coffee black

• dayna is sure he just drinks it that way to make it fit into his mysterious, tortured and tragic guy aesthetic,,,

• but he actually quite likes it

• when he was little dodge used to be scared of thunders and storms

• until one day his father told him "andy, there are storms because thor is angry. but thor is a fair avenger and god, do you really think he would hurt good people?"

• he stopped being afraid of storms in a heartbeat

• this gets me to,,, his father always called him by his first name

• either andrew or andy, mostly andy though.

• sometimes i think about transmasc dodge a lot.

• dislikes white chocolate

• looks like the kind of guy who is either allergic to peanuts or addicted to them

• dodge may have a bit of a cold entrance and welcome but he is rather sweet and fun to be with

• he is very witty

• and sarcasm is his second name at this point

• deep down he knows he wants to form a family with someone. he's a romantic dude

• oh, and yeah, he is very romantic

• with like small gestures mainly, and won't admit it, but he is a romantic partner

• would probably watch pride and prejudice a lot and denies he likes it

• and would roast the fuck out of mister darcy

• meanwhile still liking him.

• he'll forever be grateful to ray for stopping him of doing something crazy the day of the joust

• dodge is touch starved

• PROVE ME WRONG

• he also does this reassurance touch to himself, like, especially with a partner from time to time when he is zooming out to his loneliness, he would gently touch his partner in like, the hip, arm, hand, waist, wherever, to realize and acknowledge he is not alone

• PROVE ME WRONG x2

• please give this baby love

#dodge mason #andrew dodge mason #panic #panic amazon #mike faist #mike faist dodge mason #dodge mason headcanons #panic headcanons #andrew dodge mason headcanons #somebody give this baby a hug

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italeean · 2 years

Text

Gomen, Yama

Timeskip to the first year of college. Yamaguchi and Tsukishima are living together to reduce the expenses, but things get complicated when they both get stressed because of finals.

NOTE: (it would be the author’s note if I actually were an author lol) This is my first fic, so I’m sorry if it’s not as good as the other authors’ ones. Suggestions are always appreciated, anyway. Also, I’m Italian and English is not my first language, so suggestions about grammar and syntax are always appreciated, too ^^

DISCLAIMER: This is a tickle fic, if it's not to your taste I don't suggest you read it

Yamaguchi was more than convinced that after high school he wouldn't have been able to see Tsukki anymore. He would've never imagined that the guy known for being salty and cynical would confess to him AND ask him to live together as college students "to reduce the expenses" (or at least that's what Tsukki claims to be his only reason...).

The first year of college went amazingly for the new couple, until finals came around.

Both of them were a bundle of nerves and everyone who walked into the house could literally feel the stress.

The real problem was how differently the two of them managed the situation. While Yamaguchi needed more quality time and affection to feel more at ease, Tsukki had the tendency to isolate himself from anything and anyone, including his boyfriend, which created an even more tense atmosphere.

One night, after another afternoon of studying nonstop, the green-haired guy decided to prepare a nice meal for the both of them to eat, put on a movie and prepare a blanket fort to spend at least one night away from the evil textbooks.

He thought it was a nice thing to do, but unfortunately he didn’t get the same response from his boyfriend.

When he entered the bedroom, he found Tsukki submerged by books and notes (as expected). When he first tried to call him, he didn’t even get an answer, so he tried again. “Um... Tsukki...? I-I made some dinner and put on a movie... and I thought we could watch it afterwards and maybe spend some time toget-” “WILL YOU EVER SHUT UP?” said Tsukki in an annoyed tone and with a higher volume than usual “I’m trying to study here and you’re all around the place being clingy. Am I the only one who has exams here?!”

“G-gomen Tsukki...” was all Yamaguchi managed to say before exiting the room with tears in his eyes, trying his best not to let them fall and make the situation worse. He wasn’t feeling hungry anymore, so he decided to make a plate for his lover, cover it and then watch the movie on his own. Unfortunately, as thoughtful as he was, he had put on Tsukki’s favorite, so it actually made it worse for him. The poor guy had no other choice than to cry himself to sleep in the blanket fort.

Around 10.30 pm Tsukki was startled by a grumble of his own stomach, so he decided to get something from the kitchen. He imagined that Yama was there, too, trying to get some studying done. It would have been the perfect occasion to apologize.

He was quite surprised to find a plate clearly for him but no Yama in the kitchen, so he forgot about the meal and went looking for him in the living room, where what he saw made his heart clench.

Yamaguchi was lying in the blanket fort, sleeping with the gravest expression on his face and his freckled cheeks stained with tears. The taller guy knew immediately it was his fault, but he didn’t feel like waking his lover up, so he opted for sneaking his way in the fort to spoon him.

“Mhmm... T-tsukki?” said Yamaguchi with a yawn. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up. Can I come in?” asked Tsukki in a sorry tone. “Yeah, sure” said the freckled boy, sounding too reluctant in his own head.

“Umm... actually I have something to say, could you turn around?” asked the blonde. He thanked God when he saw his lover shifting to do so. “Go ahead” said Yama. “Well... I’m sorry for being so harsh. I’m very stressed and I took it out on you, even though you didn’t do anything to deserve it. I know it’s not a valid excuse, but can you please forgive me?”

Yamaguchi’s face lightened up with joy, but he decided to take a little revenge on his partner and mess with him a little. “No.” he said trying to sound cold, and then turned around to keep his smirk hidden.

However, Tsukki knew his childhood friend and lover far too well to be tricked like that, but he eventually decided to play along. “No, huh? Then I must be in big trouble. Whatever can I do to earn my wonderful, amazing, cute sweethart’s forgiveness?”

“Mmmmph I’m not cuteee” replied the now-blushing boy. “Whaaat? Nonsense. I’ll prove it to you, and I think I found the perfect way to do both this and make you forgive me” said the salty guy with a smirk that made Yamaguchi feel shivers running down his spine, even without seeing it.

“W-wait Tsukki you don’t need to do thaahahahahahat nohohoho” Yamaguchi began giggling when he felt his sides squeezed so lightly that it tickled like crazy, but it was still bearable. Tsukki smiled fondly; he didn’t need to see his boyfriend’s face to know he had his eyes squeezed, the cutest smile ever and his adorable cheeks tainted with a more intense blush. “I know I don’t need to, but I want to, sweetie” he stated worming his fingers to Yama’s tummy, which was more sensitive than his sides.

“Eep! Tsukkiehehehe naahahahat my tummiehehehe” cried the laughing guy, “Here you go again trying to stop me... forgive me, admit you’re cute and this all stops.” said the blonde as if it was the easiest thing in the world. To up the game even more he began kissing and nibbling his boyfriend’s neck, even daring to go up to the ears every once in a while.

“NAHahaha sthaAHAhap TsukkieeEEP” squeaked the now red-faced guy with tears beginning to form in his eyes. “I think you didn’t understand how this works, maybe if i go there you’ll get it” smirked the middle blocker evilly. “Nonononono not therEHEHEHEH HAHAHAHHAHAHAHA NAHAHAHAHAHAH” screamed Yamaguchi when he felt a finger twirl around his belly button and then dip into it.

“Oya? Is this your death spot? Have I found your giggle button? Although this is closer to screaming than giggling...” “HAHAHAHAHAHAHA TSUKKEHEHEHEHE PLEHEHEHEAHAHAHASEEHEHE ANYWHEHEHEHERE BUT THERHEHEHEHEE YOU’RE EHEHEHEVIL HAHAHAHA” begged the freckled guy.

“Evil?” gasped the faking-hurt tickler “I guess I’ll need to teach you what real evil is, darling”. After saying that, he got up and straddled the pinch server, taking his sweet time admiring his lover’s red face and his expression of both dread and eagerness. However the contemplation didn’t last long, as he moved his hands to Yama’s hips and lowered his face to pepper kisses, blow raspberries and even nibble around and over the belly button.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NAHAHAHAHAT THAHAHAHAHT I FORGIHIHHIVEHEHE YOHOUHAHAHA STHAHAHAHAP” cried the smaller guy, now at his limit. “Aaaaaand?” asked Tsukki now only lightly scribbling at his boyfriend’s sides again. “Ihihi’m cutehehehe...”

After hearing that, Tsukki got off and started cuddling his lover, facing him. “There there, was that so hard?” he said teasingly. “Tsukkiiiii why are you always like th-mmph” the pinch server was interrupted by the sweetest kiss his lover had ever given him.

“I love you, Tadashi” said Tsukishima sincerely. “I love you too, my sweetheart”. Now it was the blonde’s turn to blush as his boyfriend watched clearly amused, even though he couldn’t suppress a yawn and scooted closer to his sweetheart.

Finally the two of them began drifting off in each other’s arms, without a care in the world, the books long forgotten.

#tsukkiyama #tsukishima kei #yamaguchi tadashi #haikyuu!!#t-word #first fic HELP

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siryouarebeingmocked · 2 years

Text

Dr. Strange 2: Witness the power of this fully armed and operational Disney VFX budget!

I liked the movie. The multiverse/magic stuff looks great, and if you watch Strange 1, then Far From Home, then this, you can see a pretty clear progression.

As someone whose knowledge of Sam Raimi is literally just "Saw all 3 Spider-Man movies and Darkman," I appreciate his directorial flourishes. You can tell he's flexing here, especially with the bigger budget.

I like Wanda and Strange’s arcs.

I do have some issues with America, though.

SPOILERS

There's an LP channel called Spoiler Warning. They once MST3K'd Mass Effect 3, and mocked the halibut out of the blatant attempt at pathos in the first level. "But Shamus," Josh would snark, "a kid died!"

In case you aren't familiar with the game, Shepard tries to save a random little kid hiding in a vent. The kid refuses to come out. Then later, as Shep leaves, they look down and see the kid, hopping on the last shuttle out of Vancouver.

The big bad space squid enemies laser it, and then Shepard has bad dreams for the rest of the game. Because a generic kid died.

And that's what America is. She's A Kid. Extruded teen product. Servicable. She the meat and potatoes of characters.

The movie examines Strange's pride. In the first movie, he was an egotist who thought it was All About Him. In this movie, he doesn't, but he still thinks it's on him to fix the problems-

Sorry, I just had to take a moment to make sure they didn't mix up a few script pages from Iron Man 2.

Kid sidekicks are supposed to bring out new character traits in the main protagonist. Robin contrasts Batman's dark grittiness (Well, except for Damien and Dick, where Damien was the dark one and Dick was the lighter one.). Jimmy Olsen contrasts Superman by just being A Guy who keeps getting caught up in super-shenanigans.

America can't use her powers on command-

Sorry, I just had to take a moment to make sure they didn't mix up a few script pages from Into the Spider-Verse.

And the climax of her arc is to learn how awesome and powerful she actually is-

Sorry, I just had to take a moment to make sure they didn't mix up a few script pages from Captain Marvel.

Jokes aside, "believe in the me who believes in you!" is a perfectly...functional plot here. It works. She works. It’s...kind of a contrast with Strange’s arc? But she's a pretty flat character. Maybe if the movie started with her trusting only in herself. I don’t mean the weaksauce stuff we got, I mean straight up paranoia. She only trusts herself, which is a dark mirror of Strange’s arc. And Wanda’s too! She’s only going with Strange because she’s out of options.

Now, the cynical part of me says this is because of woke shenanigans. The optimist says it might be because they want to give her a full arc of her own in some other series or movie. Or because they already had two major character arcs in the film.

Incidentally, it turns out America’s power has been taking her to the ‘correct’ universes all along. Which includes universes where good things happen to her. Which explains why she’s so relatively-well-adjusted.

Incidentally, America is gay in the comics. I hoped they wouldn't try to include a subplot about a 15 year old's sexuality. And they didn't.

They did something...else.

So, in this film (and maybe the comics) America is apparently from an idyllic, peaceful lesbian(?) commune-

Sorry, I just had to take a moment to make sure they didn't mix up a few script pages from Wonder Woman.

-and accidentally knocked her moms into some unknown other dimension when her powers kicked in-

Sorry, I just had to take a moment to make sure they didn't mix up a few script pages from Inhumans.

Oh, right, Inhumans. Black Bolt is on the Illuminati. I was hoping for the Tom Cruise as Superior Iron Man. John Krasinski as Reed Richards was

They also finally gave Professor X the iconic yellow wheelchair. Maria Rambeau is Captain Marvel, like her daughter was in the comics for a while.

(Aside: I loved Monica in Nextwave as Kermit to the team's Muppets, and know nothing else about her regular appearances.)

And they bought back Anson Mount as Black Bolt, which was

Was it fanservice? Yes. Was it fun? Yes. Was Reed Richard useless? Yes.

Oh, and it bugged me how many shots seemed framed specifically to show off America’s Pride pin. Which I could ignore if it wasn’t that new racialized version I dislike*. Maybe it’s in honor of her moms, idk. She is also, quite possibly, the most special person in the multiverse, because there is apparently only one of her, likely for plot reasons.

These minor things aside, yeah, worth a few bucks.

* Ironic how a flag about bringing people together is now implying some LGBT people are more important than others.

#marvel #mcu #spoilers

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goldencherryhazz · 3 years

Text

Touch

A/N: I went a little wild with this one, it a little messy but I hope you enjoy. Notes would be much appreciated, pls don’t copy my work! And as you can see I couldn’t think of a title lol.

Warnings: smut, masterbation, degradation, daddy kink, squirting, pure filth!

You know Harry didn’t like it when you played with yourself, the only acceptation he would make was when he was on tour but even then he would get you to FaceTime him so he could watch and guide you so that you would have the best orgasm, he always wanted to control your pleasure and to be fair any appendage of his body was ten times more pleasurable than your own. His fingers were longer and thicker and reached spots you didn’t even know existed, his tongue did wonders and flicked your bud just the right way, his cock was a whole other story you could only describe it as magical and you would never argue against that.

In your defence you knew that Harry recording vocals for his album this week and he was tired from countless late nights at work, he would always be frustrated with himself if he didn’t get a note for a song pitch perfect, and then he would just get mad at himself trying it over and over again but still not happy with it, then Jeff and the team would force him to go home after a while in fear that he would wear his voice out and have to go on vocal rest and the fact that he was probably going to burst from his pent up anger, and when he got back home he would just want to cuddle and go to sleep so you thought you would take care of yourself before he got back.

Once he did get home he had calmed down slightly, driving always seemed to calm him down for some strange reason. He got inside aiming to go straight to bed where he thought you would be, but when he goes past the bathroom he heard a small whimper, he had to do a double take at first but when the same sound comes from you again he was ready to burst through the door but decided to wait a few minutes to let you have your fun, because after this you wouldn’t be cumming for days.

Your moans start to get a little louder through the door and when he hears a loud shout of his name, well the preferred name you always called him when it came to doing anything sexual (‘daddy’) he burst through the door knowing you were probably about to cum, to find you sat on the edge of the bathtub fingers buried deep inside your head thrown back, which slowly lifted up in shock. You hadn’t even heard him come in the house, you thought you would of had plenty of time but you had obviously lost track being so lost in pleasure. The stern look on his face told you that you were in deep shit, so you opt to remove your fingers from your pussy and put both hands in your lap.

‘Well what do we have here baby’ he saunters in coming to stand right over you from your perch on the bathtub, he immediately noticing the pool of your juices on the floor.

‘Harry I didn’t’ you started before he made eye contact, the fury in his eyes was enough to shut you up.

‘First of all it’s daddy to you, and secondly how many times did you cum?’

‘Sorry daddy, I came twice’

‘hmm twice to many baby don’t you think, I see you squirted aswell didn’t you’

‘Yes d-daddy’ his eyes boar into yours and you couldn’t help but feel slightly intimidated.

‘You know daddy doesn’t like it when someone else touches his pretty little peach don’t you’

You nod, ‘my pussy belongs to you daddy, I’m sorry for touching myself’ you say quickly knowing that any excuse you had as to why you were playing with yourself wouldn’t work.

‘Hmm, now that’s what I like to hear’ he couldn’t help but get slightly hard at that but he quickly thinks about something else to not give you the satisfaction.

He averts his eyes to the floor quickly taking in the pool of your clear juices once again, a cynical smirk overtakes his features which instantly made you panic knowing he had something brewing up in that head of his.

He looks back at you ‘I want you to clean up your mess for me’ he says reaching his hand up to your jaw his thumb resting heavy in your bottom lip making it snap back when he released it again, ‘don’t want you to use a towel or anything like that, want you to use that pretty little mouth of yours, do you think you can do that? He asks even though you didn’t really have a choice.

‘Yes daddy’ you comply getting down on you knees still only wearing a t-shirt, hissing as the cold tiles make contact with your bare legs. You lower your head so your nose is just above your juices your hair falling onto the floor which is quickly resolved when Harry crouches down beside your form and grabs it and makes it into a makeshift pony tail at the back of your head before lowering you head down practically pressing you face into the wetness almost a signal to start cleaning up.

You lips start smacking against the tiled floors, the slurping sounded quite disgusting and made the heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment, but you knew he wouldn’t let you out of the bathroom till you had licked up every last drop.

‘Such a filthy fucking whore aren’t ya, doing anything daddy says’

Your hair being yanked slightly at every word to accentuate his statement as you hum again the floor, not being to come out with a proper respond without it being muffled.

Once Harry sees you are done he pulls your head up by your hair so that you are sat on in your calves, your chin slightly wet, your eyes had this fucked out look in them from being that submissive for him. He kissed you on the lips for the first time since he caught you, dipping his tongue into your mouth to have a taste, the kiss ends just as quick as it started just as you were starting to enjoy having his lips on yours, he runs a finger along your chin collecting the remainder of your juices and then dipping it into his mouth before moving to stand up.

‘C’mon come to bed where you can dream about cumming, cause if you think I’m touching you for the next week you can think again, you’ve been a very bad girl’

Before you even got the chance to get up off the floor he was already walking to the bedroom, he was angry from earlier and you had just added fuel to the fire and he had contained it very well if he said so himself. At the same time he couldn’t keep the small smirk off of his face, cause he was definitely going to have fun with you.

//////

Fast forward 3 days and your clit was throbbing and in desperate need of a release. To make it even worse Harry had had a few days off so the teasing was constant, he walked around the house in little to no clothes, made sure to leave the bathroom door slightly open to make sure you heard his moans when he jerked himself off in the shower almost loud enough that you would hear even from the living room. The way he would spoon you when you were cuddling or in bed, he would shuffle around and press his cock right between your ass cheeks so that you felt him even through layers of clothes.

The sexual deprivation was driving you insane to say the least. You were currently in bed reading a book Harry doing the same, well you were reading that was until you caught the sight of your boyfriend, before he was sat with his legs straight out infront of him but being the fidget-bum his is he had now moved his knees towards his chest and spread them slightly his feet planted on the bed. The fabric of his shorts tightened over the area between his legs, outlining his cock and balls perfectly, his thighs looking deliciously thick, the muscles of his tattooed arm flexed as he flicked through the pages of his book, the shirt he was wearing was practically skin tight making you ogle his figure at the head of the bed, from you spot on your belly further.

You don’t realise your shifting your legs together as you watch him, your panties now getting undeniably wet, trying to relieve some of the ever building pressure, the movement catching Harry’s attention.

‘What are you doing darling’ he looks at you knowingly.

‘Nothing’ stopping the movement of your legs, shying away from his gaze, staring at the words on the page you were currently on but not actually reading them.

‘Staring at me weren’t you, rubbing those soft little legs together’

‘Can’t help it, you look really good sat like that’ she says innocently.

‘What about a the rest of the time, do I not look good then’

‘Course you look good, it’s just- I can see the outline of you cock really good from here, making me soo wet, pretty sure I’ve ruined these panties by now.’

Well to bad baby, shouldn’t have been a bad girl the other day’ he retorts going back to reading planning on ignoring her desperate pleas.

‘Pretty please daddy, will you touch me’ making him huff and look back up at you, getting a little frustrated.

‘Oh it’s daddy now is it, you have your own fingers don’t you baby?’

‘But it’s not the same as when you do it’ she also knew that if she did touch herself again it would only prolong her punishment, but at this moment in time you was close to loosing it with how horny you were.

‘Well that didn’t stop you the other day did it’ he points out.

You whine ‘no baby don’t you get all bratty with me, I could’ve had you over my knee spanking your ass right now, would’ve made you feel it for days, but I bet you would have loved that though, cause you’re such a filthy girl, aren’t you’

‘Answer me, are you a filthy girl?’

‘Yes daddy I am’

‘Good now we have that established I am going to carry on reading, and I suggest you stop speaking before I have you over my knee, is that clear baby girl’

‘Yes daddy’ you say submissively doing as he said.

20 minutes had passed when an idea popped into your head, you had been warned not to talk and you knew the consequences but your mouth was moving before you had time to process it.

‘Daddy can we touch ourselves together, I-I mean like masterbate together’ you explain even though Harry already knew what you meant.

He looked at you in annoyance, but in his head he was absolutely pining at your suggestion. Getting to watch you touch yourself all spread out for him, and him doing the same. The past few days had also been torture for him too, he tried to replicate your touch when the was running his hand up and down his cock in the shower, but it wasn’t even close to the way your soft hands would stroke him, he had to resist pounding into you multiple times from just watching you do daily tasks, yesterday you were bending over the dining-room table to reach the vase of now dead flowers to put a new bunch in, you were wearing leggings so when you bent over he got a perfect view off your ass, he really wanted keep you bent over it as he pounded you into the table, he had to take himself to the small gym he had set up in the basement to calm himself down.

He closed his eyes and let out a angry sigh. He hated how much he was caving right now. He was adamant he wasn’t going to let you cum for the next week but your suggestion was too hard to resist. So if he wasn’t touching you he would still be carrying through with his punishment. Right?

He hadn’t said a single word yet, and you were almost certain he was going to say no, but when he marked the page he was on in his book and threw it down into the bed it brought a flicker of hope within you.

‘C’mere’ he murmured, making you scramble up the bed kneeling between his spread legs.

He cups your cheek ‘you were a bad girl the other night, made daddy upset. Didn’t think I was good enough, that I couldn’t satisfy you’

‘Daddy you always satisfy me, make me cum so fucking hard, no ones ever touched or fucked me the way you do’ you say truthfully.

‘And who do you belong to’

‘You daddy, always been you’ this tips him over the edge his cock hardening making a tent in his shorts.

‘That’s a good girl, now I’m going to let you cum, but on one condition, we don’t touch each other whatsoever, still gotta keep up with your punishment even if you did say all those nice things to daddy’

‘Okay, thankyou daddy’ a wave of relief washes over you, itching to just get on with it now.

‘Strip for me then’ you immediately start shuffling out of your clothes as if he had read your mind.

He does the same, moving to the middle of the headboard so that there would be more room, once you are finally naked and turn your head towards Harry again you gawk at him, he looked soo hot with his legs spread, his pretty cock hard up against his belly, he looked delicious. You catch yourself staring, quickly snapping out of it, moving to sit across from Harry replicating his position only being inches away from his form, your juices had made your pussy nice and slick practically glistening.

‘God you’re so wet haven’t even touched you, shit you’re such a filthy little slut’ he groaned, desperately wanting to reach out and run his fingers through your folds to get a taste.

‘Open’ he instructs quickly placing his fingers onto your mouth.

You were about to say something about the no touching rule but decide against it cause in reality he was going to do whatever he wanted anyway. So you let his fingers enter your mouth and happily suck on them, humming as you do. Just as quickly as he put them in he retracted his hand and brought it down to his throbbing cock, spreading the wetness from your mouth up and down his length.

‘What now daddy’ you ask knowing that if you did anything he didn’t want you to do he would probably stop all of this immediately, so you decide to teed carefully.

‘Touch those pretty tits for me’ he says going straight to tugging his leaky cock. So you bring your fingers down to your nipples, the coldness of them making you hiss when the come into contact instantly hardening them, you slowly begin to tweak the nubs between you thumb and index finger.

‘That’s it, just like how daddy does it except he’d have his mouth on you tits sucking and biting them marking you up just the way you like’ he says knowing this was getting you even more riled up.

After a couple of minutes he stops you ‘now I want you to tease that sweet cunt of yours, don’t you dare put a finger in your tight little hole until I say, is that’s clear’

‘Yes daddy’ you say making eye contact with him as you start to touch your clit.

The sight could have made him cum right there and then, his beautiful girl touching her perfect pussy like daddy had told her to, it got him impossibly harder as he was now moving his hand up and down faster, circling the sensitive head every once in a while.

Moan after moan was pouring out of your mouth, rubbing deep circle into your clit, the sight of your boyfriend getting himself off at the same time was incredibly hot.

‘You can dip those finger into your sweet pussy of yours now baby, doing so good for me’ he was desperate to see your face morph into one of pleasure.

You moan again at his words instantly slipping two finger inside of you, not having to be told twice. You bury them to the hilt curling them up, hitting your g-spot, the sensation making you bite your lip to suppress you moans but it was no use as one escaped you and your eyes roll back. You start building a rhythm which was subconsciously at the same time as Harry ran his hand up and down his length.

‘Go faster sweet girl, just like daddy does’ you whimpered already getting close to falling over the edge, you feverishly grasped the sheets trying to keep you body up.

‘Nobody does it like you though daddy’ you were never able to replicate the actions of his fingers and the way they worked at your cunt.

Harry groans and moans had increased as he got closer and closer ‘shit I’m gonna cum’ he says his cock twitching, a long purple vein bulging as his hand now stroking himself faster then before, you really wanted to lick up the underside of his length you practically drooled at the thought.

‘Can I please cum with you daddy’

‘No baby, daddy’s gonna cum first. Wanna cum on that pussy of yours, seeing as I can’t cum inside you. C-can you spread you folds for me, can you do that for me’ he slurred out inching closer to you.

You do as he says removing your fingers then spreading you folds for him ‘want you to cum on my pussy daddy, want it soo bad’ he reaches his spare hand to fondle his balls and with a few more pumps, that mixed with your words he was done for ‘shiiit I’m cumming’ he shouts rope after rope landing on you cunt and thighs, the sensation of his warm cum on your pussy making you feel all fuzzy and bringing you to the brink once again.

His legs start to shake from the oversensitivity, his hand slowly riding out the waves of his orgasm, eyes clamped shut, his mouth still hung open soft moans tumbling out of it. ‘You good daddy’ you ask as he finally opens his eyes again.

‘Hmmm, made me cum soo hard, such a filthy little thing, look at you pretty pussy covered in my cum, looks soo good baby’ he swipes some sweaty curls that he’d fallen onto his forehead.

‘Can I have a taste daddy’

Course baby, as long as I get one aswell’

You quickly bring your fingers and collect the mixture of you twos juices, bringing them to you mouth, humming at the taste that now laid heavy on your tongue, you replicate the action again but this time bring your fingers to Harry’s awaiting mouth, he took your finger in sucking in them greedily, his soft moans making shiver run up your spine.

‘Can I cum now daddy, please daddy’ you whimpered.

‘Been such a good girl for daddy, been waiting for soo long, bet your poor little cunts aching by now. Make yourself cum for me baby’

You instantly plunge your finger into your hole, Harry’s cum making you even slicker but sticky all at the same time, the area between your legs must have looked a mess, but Harry thought it was the most hottest and beautiful things he had seen, his cock getting excited again but he would deal with that in a bit.

You fingers move inside of you at a quick pace, even adding a third the sting of the stretch morphing into pleasure. ‘Tell you what baby, if you squirt for me we can cockwarm later, promise I won’t make you clean up the mess like I made you do the other day’

You whimper, how could you deny that it was impossible in fact, the last part would have made you laugh but you were too caught up in pleasure ‘okay daddy, I’ll s-squirt for you’

Your fingers were now going frantically fast, and when you feel like a balloon was forming in you lower belly you cried out in relief ‘found the spot haven’t you, gonna soak the sheets, gonna soak me angel’ he moaned. You were seconds away from your sweet release when you threw your head back breaking eye contact with Harry which he didn’t like one bit ‘look at me baby, wanna watch you fall apart, gonna cum for me, cum for daddy’ and with that you couldn’t hold it anymore your orgasm collapsing on top of you, the balloon inside you also bursting resulting in you squirting over the sheets and part of Harry’s lower half ‘thankyou daddy, thankyou, thankyou, thankyou’ was all you managed to get out, Harry swore he could have cum at the sight of you, fingers still slowly moving in and out of you pulsating cunt, trying to come down from your high. You looked utterly fucked out and it boosted his ego knowing that the majority of you pleasure was coming from him and he hadn’t even touched you. You eventually collapse flat in the bed not being able to hold yourself up any longer, still out of breath like you had tuna marathon.

‘Fuck you’re soo hot baby, came soo hard and squirted like daddy told you, now you get to have my cock in your tight little cunt later cause you’ve been such a good girl for daddy’ you moan at that.

‘Mhhh love being your good girl, don’t know if I like being your bad girl more though’

‘Let’s stick to being good shall we, don’t think I can handle not being able to be inside you and it’s only been 3 days, think I would shrivel up if I have to do it again.’ He chuckled making you laugh tiredly. Soon you feel him crawl up between your legs before leaning over you until you two were face to face. ‘Kissy’ he asks puckering his lips making you smile wildly, leaning up to kiss his plump lips, the both of you feeling as if you were on cloud 9 now indulging in one another as their lips pressed, and tongues danced with each other.

Maybe all that torture wasn’t soo bad after all.

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writingonsaturn · 3 years

Text

Better Unsaid

a/n okay this has been all over the place!! it was originally going to be a blurb and darker and closer to smutty (so keep your eyes out for that??? lol), but then I made it softer and the concept got away from me and it got soooo much longer than expected lmao and i still dont love where it ended so maybe part 2?? i have the idea i just dont know lol

summary: Reader is a princess and Anakin has been her guard during the most public season for the past two years (not the most logical thing but just go with it lol, it gets explained better in the fic) and after a near death experience the two are conveniently forced into a....

ONE BED TROPE ONE BED TROPE *cough cough* ONE BED TROPE WITH ONE PERSON HAVING TO WAKE UP THE OTHER BC THEYRE HAVING A NIGHTMARE,, :)))))))

His smugness is the only thing about him I can consider ‘ugly’. And because I am so desperate to not have feeling for Anakin, the Jedi who has been assigned to protect me through coronation season (which lasts for most of winter), for the last two coronation seasons, I hold onto my distaste for that side of him. Which is why I suppress my laugh as he waits for my reaction with that confident smile.

“Come on, that was funny.”

Rolling my eyes, I let myself sit on my bed. I can’t tell if he’s actually funny or if my evening has been so boring that his sense of humor has started to become appealing to me due to comparison. In short, the suitor I was forced to spend an entire evening with lacked personality so much I’m starting to find Anakin funny.

“You’re much more entertaining than this evening’s suitor.”

Anakin’s expression shifts slightly, his assured grin dropping slightly. “Another miss?”

“You have no idea.” I relax slightly, taking a moment to be glad that I completed my father’s request and now I can just enjoy the time I have with Anakin. “I know my father’s desperate to make sure my marriage is useful for our people and that he worries about this selection process because he always thought my mother would be here to help, but sometimes I wish he wouldn’t rush it so much. It feels like all he wants me for is to marry me off in exchange of finance or weaponry or something diplomatic.”

“You’re more than that.” His response is so soft I think I might have missed it if I needed it less. I curse myself for feeling so validated by him. His words shouldn’t mean anything to me. After all, he could easily just be saying that because agreeing with my father will just make me more unpleasant to be around.

I smile politely while avoiding his eyes. I keep my hands on either side of me, fighting the urge to fidget. “Thank you, Anakin.” My words sound weak in my own ears, so I’m sure he notices my shift in mood. “I’m tired today, I think I’m going to go to bed early.” Normally, I’d be able to shrug off these kinds of things, but the beginning of Coronation Season makes me irritable. The anniversary of my mother’s death hits me harder each year.

“Y/n.” My name comes out so velvety I can’t find it in myself to interrupt him. “You are more than someone meant to be used as some kind of royal currency, and I mean that as more than just a...friend.”

I let his last word linger. We’ve tried so many titles that never seem to fit right. He’s the chosen one, one of the most powerful Jedi to exist, and the Jedi assigned to protect me each Coronation Season because that’s when my mother was assassinated. He’s my guard, but we’ve spent too many nights laughing together and talking about everything and anything. And I guess now he’s my friend, even though sometimes when he looks at me in a certain way or sits too close to me or reaches for my hand to guide me somewhere I can’t breathe right.

“Anakin, you know I love when you’re here, even though sometimes you drive me insane. And I appreciate your kindness, but your words can’t change the truth. That’s how my father sees me and he’s not exactly wrong. I’m not a son, I haven’t been raised to lead an army or lead much, and--”

“I’ve seen you in meeting after meeting, convention after convention. I’ve witnessed the way you handle real problems and I know how you care about your people. You’d make a great leader, you don’t need a husband to be valuable.”

My chest swells, feelings I never let myself think about mixing with thoughts of Anakin that I’ve spent so long trying to avoid. “That settles it, you’re my favorite person.”

He grins, the look warm enough to melt the odd lump in my throat. I fight down a smile as he steps forward. “And I wasn’t before?”

“I take it back--your head’s big enough without the additional praise.”

Rolling my eyes, I lean back slightly in order to recreate the distance he so easily destroyed. “And I thought you had finally warmed up to me, princess.”

The use of my title makes me skeptical. The last time Anakin used it was when he was trying to ease me so that I’d walk around the palace garden so he had an excuse to do the same. It was beyond late and I was half asleep, but he had os much energy he was desperate and just needed to do one more thing. I felt bad that his schedule revolved so heavily around mine (and when he softens his eyes and says please, I’m left incapable of saying the word ‘no’) so I agreed.

“What do you want?”

Anakin dramatically clutches a hand over his heart. He throws his head back slightly as if he’s just taken a fatal blow. “When did you turn so cynical? I’ve been back for three days and I’m starting to believe you’re a different person now.”

Yeah...he’s definitely getting ready to ask for something that’s more trouble than it’s worth. Then again, everything with him seems to be worth it in some capacity. Even if it’s just that one smile he gets when he’s truly content and doesn’t think anyone’s looking.

“Mhm,” I mumble, still fighting a grin, “so you’re not going to ask me anything?”

His lips part slightly as he exhales. I watch the way his eyes narrow at my victorious expression. “I don’t have anything to ask of you, but I do have a small request. A request so small you won’t have to do anything but say yes.”

Suspicious. Too easy. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You just said I was your favorite person. Remember that.”

I’m too tired for his coyness. I’d rather him make his ridiculous request now so that I can be in bed within the hour. Though I can’t pretend I don’t normally feel better after letting him drag me along on whatever ‘adventure’ he just needed to complete while also not letting me out of his sight. I used to tell him that I wouldn’t tell anyone if I wasn’t under supervision for an hour or two a day, but he dismissed the idea immediately. That’s been the cornerstone of everything.

“What is it?”

He sighs once, tilting his head slightly. The way his eyes soften tells me he’s already won at least half the battle. “They still haven’t caught the attempted--” Anakin pauses, something behind his eyes darkening. I know what he’s remembering. Last night, an assassin had gotten closer than they ever had. I had almost been shot in the garden, Anakin had barely pushed me to the ground in time. A fact he’s been beating himself up for since, especially considering that no one has been able to find my attempted killer yet. “They were so close to you. They were within palace limits and they disappeared like they never existed. Who’s to say they don’t work here and are waiting for the next moment you’re exposed? Who’s to say they aren’t here tonight, waiting for me to retire for the night?”

I didn’t realize how my near death experience had been so personal to him. He, like everyone else, was beyond frantic after it happened. But my father put an end to verbal worry before it could truly begin. He said the best thing we could do was act like everything was fine as the assailant was searched for. Anakin hadn’t been particularly cheery after my father instructed the guards to focus their search on known enemies instead of prioritizing venting the staff closest to me. I comforted him as best as I could, but he didn’t feel like speaking about it and I had to worry about the suitor meeting my father wouldn’t let me cancel.

“Anakin, you’re right next door to me.” I have to fight the urge to reach for him. “I was fine because of you, and I will be fine because of you.”

He sighs once, his expression not easing. “And if the person is silent? The attacker could easily work in the palace, but no one wanted to direct the search inwards.” His words are more strained than I’ve ever heard them be. “I think it’d be smart for me to stay in here. I know you’ve refused having a guard stay in your room or outside your door, but...” Anakin sighs. “Your safety would be more assured.”

Him staying in my room? The only line I’ve ever been allowed to draw, and I’m actually considering letting that go. If he seemed even slightly less sad, I wouldn’t even consider it. It’s not a good idea. I’m already too attached to him. “Anakin--”

“I’d feel more assured.”

Damn him. Stupid, extremely sweet Anakin who makes saying no to him impossible. I stretch my arm forward, letting my hand squeezes his forearm gently. “There’s no reason to not feel assured.” He doesn’t ease, the cloudiness behind his eyes remains stubborn. “You’re still worried.” No reaction, the haze that’s taken him isn’t letting go. “Fine--but tell no one or my father is going to take to posting guards at my door every night.”

...I guess there are worse ways to spend a night. Which is kind of a problem since I’m trying to...enjoy Anakin less. Ugh, I even sound dumb in my head. “I promise, princess.”

Ugh, he’s adorable. “You’re intolerable.” I stand from he foot of my bed and pull back the covers on my bed. He doesn’t reply, something dark still playing for him. I watch him move to face the door. Wait--is he doing what I think he’s doing? “No, you’re not going to stand there all night. You need sleep.” He has the audacity to give me an annoyed look. “I already didn’t want to do this so now you have to listen to my conditions.”

He raises an eyebrow, his lips pressing together oddly. He’s trying to gauge something from my expression, perhaps he’s looking for buttons to press to get his way. I guess I look as stubborn as I feel because instead of arguing he just sits on the floor. What? I watch him cautiously, trying to figure out if this is some weird argument trick.

“What are you doing?”

“What you asked.”

And just like that I’ve put myself in a position that I will no doubt regret terribly the second common sense returns to me. There’s no way to deny that Anakin and I are closer than we probably should be. We’ve felt like friends first since the day we first met. I can’t think of any reason to not offer to let him sleep in my bed except those stupid budding feelings I refuse to label.

It’s not like I actually like him. I can’t--I’m going to be married to some nobleman and he’s prohibited from ever forming attachments. I’m not even sure if we’re allowed to be friends. Having actual feelings for him would be so, so pointless. It would just lead to heartache and the ruining of the one genuine relationship I have. I’m just a tiny bit confused right now because he’s objectively really attractive and he’s always there for me. Always there to make a joke after a particularly rough meeting. Always there to offer me a supportive smile. Always there to humble me when I teeter on acting like my father.

Anyone’s heart would flutter at that, so it doesn’t mean anything. And if it does, I need to squash any budding feelings now before I mess things up. Which is why I should keep him at arm’s length until I get it together. But is that fair to him? And what if doing that is making things worse? What if it’s just reinforcing the idea of having feelings?

This is ridiculous. I’m going to get over this if it kills me. It’s just a bed and it’s only sleeping. I’m meant to be able to lead an entire union and I can’t sleep next to someone and act normal?” “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

The second the words leave my mouth I regret it all. What’s wrong with me? Did I seriously think I’d be okay?

I hear his soft exhale, “I’ll be fine. I’ve slept in worse places than on your marble floor.”

His voice sounds so weighted I can’t help but feel bad for not noticing that he’s still bothered. Whether he’s upset about his near miss or the fact that my father didn’t take his advice, I don’t know. But something’s wrong. The easy thing to do would be to just let him sleep it off. The smart thing to do would be to leave him alone until tomorrow.

I think of all the times that I’ve been upset and Anakin had refused to let me go to sleep angry or sad or overwhelmed. “I know, but it’s really not a big deal. It’s not like we don’t know each other. I mean, last Coronation Season you buttoned me into more gowns than my handmaid. And I owe you for saving me from one of the worst suitors I’ve ever had.”

“I’m starting to think we need to develop some kind of signal.”

The tiny bit of lightness that’s returned to his voice makes all of my internal struggle feel worth it. “You always seem to know.”

“That’s because when you’re reaching your limit, that one line appears between your eyebrows.”

I didn’t realize I had such a tell. I try to remember the way that the suitor drawled on and on about how amazing he was and how he couldn’t wait for the day he had a bride to bear his children and plan (tedious) social events. My hand moves to my forehead, trying to feel the crease Anakin mentioned. Can everyone tell when I’m growing tired? Am I that transparent?

Anakin’s slight laugh steals my attention. He’s facing me again, his elbow holding his head up on the foot of my bed. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t--I don’t think i get a crease between my eyebrows when I’m irritated.”

I hear him stand. I don’t realize he’s approaching me until he’s so close I could touch him without even needing. to stretch. “No, when you’re irritated you raise your eyebrows slightly, because that’s when you’re at your most sarcastic.”

“Really?”

The corner of his mouth tugs upwards. “Just like that.” I force myself to keep my expression blank. “When you’re reaching your limit, your eyebrows crease here.” His finger taps the space between my brows so gently I almost don’t realize what he’s doing. “And when you’re trying not to laugh--which is often, because you refuse to admit that I’m funny--you press your lips together in a way that forms a dimple here.” The knuckle of his pointer finger brushes against the bottom of my cheek.

I bite my tongue to fight the warmth spreading across my face. “I didn’t realize i was so transparent.”

“I can’t always tell what you’re thinking.”

“I’ll take it.” Maybe if I was less tired, I’d argue a little more. “You know you’re not that difficult to read either.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I can tell when you’re just being stubborn for the sake of it. I can see it in your eyes and you’re doing it right now.”

His expression harshens slightly before softening. “Y/n--”

“I’m not wrong.”

He sighs once, stepping back. I watch him pace around my bed before taking a seat on the edge of my other side of the bed. “Are you happy now?”

“Happy that I won? Absolutely.”

Anakin halfheartedly glares at me. “Careful, add a crown and a robe that trails down a throne and I’d feel like I was speaking to your father.”

“Careful, another side comment like that and I’ll ‘accidentally’ kick you off the bed in the middle of the night.”

“Not if I kick you off the bed first.”

I trace a thoughtless pattern on the fabric of my bedsheets. “What are you? Twelve?”

“I’m older than you.”

“Barely.” I continue the thoughtless pattern tracing as I fight the sleep from my eyes. “Your comebacks are usually more creative than that.”

He exhales, relaxing slightly as he rests his back against a pillow. “I’m tired, like you claimed to be.” His eyes flutter slightly, a bit of his exhaustion showing. “Go to sleep.”

I should. I’m too old to think I can put off a tomorrow I don’t want by just staying up. This is stupid. I’m too old to think I can put off the anniversary of my mother’s death by going to bed. She had been taken from us on castle grounds, killed by a revolutionist who viewed my mother as a class traitor. I still remember the way she slumped to the ground, her blood staining the snow beneath her. I remember the way the guards were so busy chasing her killer no one thought to keep me away from the body.

“Y/n?”

I scratch the back of my arm in hopes of banishing my thoughts. “Yes?”

“You’re being quiet.”

“You said to go to sleep, that tends to be a quiet thing.”

I can feel his eyes on me. “Since when do you listen to me?” Not trusting myself to actually reply, I only offer him a hum of acknowledgement. “I know you’re not half asleep.”

Folding my hands on my lap, I avoid his gaze. “It’s tomorrow.”

I don’t know why I trust him to understand my vague response, but I do. His silence stretches over us like a thin blanket on a cold night. Maybe he doesn’t understand what I’m implying. I can always correct him tomorrow, when my eyelids are no longer as heavy as my heart. The more seconds that pass in total silence, the more I think that maybe he’s fallen asleep.

I wouldn’t be surprised, Anakin has seemed tired recently, like some additional weight he won’t share with anyone has been thrust onto his shoulders. A small part of me rolls in guilt. I need to be a better friend, just because I’m suddenly a little too aware of him doesn’t mean I can shrug him off and ignore him.

My hand almost flinches away from the feeling of something surprisingly warm touching my pinky. When I realize that it’s just Anakin and that the contact was probably accidental, I force myself to ease. It’s not like we’ve never touched before, I don’t understand why I’m making it weird. Sitting in my bed in the dark doesn’t change anything. His hand turns slightly, pressing into mine a little more assuredly. Biting my tongue, I turn my hand slightly, exposing my palm. And just like that, our fingers intertwine.

“She would have been proud of you.” His voice comes out so low I barely register the words.

The words shouldn’t mean much to me--he never knew my mother and has no way to know what she wanted me to be.--and yet I find comfort in them. I smile, turning my head towards him. “You didn’t even know her.”

He rolls his eyes slightly, relaxing further before squeezing my hand once. “Who wouldn’t be proud of you? You’re kind and smart and decent to be around when you’re not telling me what to do.”

My heart swells in my chest so much I’m surprised it doesn’t burst. Could he be cuter? “Yeah...now I’m sure you’re my favorite person.”

“Now you’re sure?”

The smugness in his voice has me rolling my eyes. “Don’t make me regret saying that.”

“Maybe in the morning,” he says easily, “now go to sleep. There’s nothing worse than escorting you from meeting to meeting while you’re tired.”

“I’m not that bad.” Even in this darkness, I can make out the way he raises an eyebrow. “Shut up--I’m going to sleep, but not because of you.”

He lets out a slight huff. “You’re impossible.”

The desire to respond to his comment is not enough for me to win the fight against the weight of my eyelids. The moment my eyes shut, I feel powerless to anything that isn’t sleep. I let myself fall into a weightless sleep, my only tether being the Anakin’s fingers around mine.

A distant noise yanks me from my sleep. I’m too drowsy to do anything but register the sound. I hear another similar...whine? cry? I can’t tell and I’m too asleep to figure it out. I almost fall asleep again, but a third distressed sound keeps me from it. I wipe my eyes lazily with the back of my hand as I try to sit up.

Squinting, I make out a figure on my bed. It takes me a moment to remember Anakin and how I fell asleep. Our hands are still together and no light is peering through my window so it can’t be that long since I fell asleep. Another disgruntled sound carries itself throughout the room. I shift slightly, leaning over Anakin cautiously.

Golden brown curls are beginning to stick to his forehead and his eyebrows are drawn together sharply. He’s having a nightmare. I shift even further forward before cautiously placing a hand on his shoulder before squeezing him gently.

“Anakin,” I whisper, “it’s not--it’s not real.” His eyebrows draw together even more harshly. I shake him a little more stubbornly. “Anakin, wake up--you’re having a ni--”

My forearm is grabbed so suddenly I barely register it before I feel my back shoved into my mattress. I blink twice. His dark eyes are frantic and the look on his face is far from the gentle, easygoing expression I’m used to. He’s breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling from above me. I swallow a slight panic and something I don’t understand as I try to keep my eyes on his face and my thoughts away from how close he is. Anakin pries his fingers from my forearm one by one until only his palm is touching me.

“Y/n, I--”

“It’s okay.” Honestly, I’m more worried about his uneven breathing than the way he grabbed me. I can’t imagine everything he’s been through or how justified his nightmares are. Anakin moves his hand away from me. I don’t sit up until he’s off of me and sitting with his back against my headboard. “It’s okay--I just--you were having a nightmare and I thought I should wake you.” He doesn’t react. I turn my body further, keeping my back straight. Anakin doesn’t move, and the longer he stays still, the more I feel like I should say something else. “Do you want talk about it? Or do--do you want to talk about something else? Or go to sleep? Or get some water? Or--” The far off look behind his eyes silences me. I scoot forward slightly. “You’re okay, Anakin, I promise.”

His head turns at that, his eyes searching mine for something I don’t understand. “I thought...” He cuts himself off by swallowing once.

I shift a little more, trying to find anything normal in his expression. “Thought what?”

Anakin’s hand is on my arm so quickly I don’t even register his movement. I let his fingers press into my skin. He’s holding onto me like I’m a figment of a dream and he’s beginning to wake up. “I thought I’d failed.” He exhales, the sound heavy. “Failed you and that you’d--I thought I had lost you.”

A lump rises in my throat, thick and unmoving. Cautiously, I place my hand over the one still gripping my shoulder like a lifeline. “You didn’t. Nothing happened, it was just a dream.”

His gaze falls to the ground before he repeats the last of my words. “Just a dream.” There’s a hollowness to his voice I don’t understand.

I exhale, carefully running my thumb over his knuckles. “Yes.” He doesn’t say anything but his expression hardens again. I let us sit there like that for a long minute. “I promise.”

“You can’t promise things like that.”

I sigh, unsure of where to go from here. “Bad dreams are only bad dreams.” He doesn’t reply. “I think you should try to get some more sleep.”

Anakin is unresponsive. I shift back, but before I can transition from almost being on top of him to just sitting next to him, he pulls on my arm to keep in place. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“You almost died today, y/n. I was right there and if I had been a second later--”

“But you weren’t.” He doesn’t ease. “You were there and I was fine. Don’t torment yourself over what could have been. You’ll drive yourself crazy.”

“If anything ever happened to y--”

“It’s not going to,” I whisper, ignoring the way his hold on my arm tightens even further, “Especially this time a year when I have a pretty good gau--”

He tilts his head slightly, eyebrows drawing together and a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Pretty good? Really?”

“Someone needs to watch your ego, chosen one.” This time when he tries for a smile, the look has some strength behind it. Relief pools in my stomach. “Now get some sleep, tomorrow’s a busy day and when you’re sleepy you’re beyond irritable.”

Anakin lets me pull away enough to lay down, but he doesn’t follow. Not for a long second. When he does, his movements are impossibly rigid. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as carefully as I can manage.

“Y/n?”

I regret turning my head immediately. I didn’t realize how close he was. It would take no effort from me to make our lips meet. Wait--why am I thinking of that? I’m not allowed to think of stuff like that...especially not about him.

“Yes?”

He lets out a breath before moving his hand. I don’t understand his hesitation until I feel his hand cupping my cheek gently. “What if next time I’m not enough? What if next time I lose you because I’m not strong enough?”

I never thought my death would be such a personal thing to him. Sure, I knew that we had some kind of bond, some kind of friendship, and that my death would bring sadness. But I never imagined I’d matter enough to him that thoughts of my death would be frightening enough to slip into his subconscious and become a thing of nightmares.

“You are enough. Nothing is going to happen to me and if it does it’s not going to be because of you.” Anakin’s lips press together in a way that implies serious uncertainty. His thumb brushes across my cheek so unexpectedly I almost ask him what he’s doing. The intensity behind his eyes is enough to burn me. “Was your dream really that bad?”

He lets out an uncertain breath as his eyebrows draw together. I don’t miss the way his jaw clenches. “It’s more than the dream. I...y/n, princess,” he tacts on, a hint of humor returning to him, “you’re more than a mission to me.”

The admission is so soft I can’t help but smile. “I know, Anakin, we’re--”

“You’re more than a friend to me.” I don’t know if my blood freezes in my veins or if my lungs don’t contract when they should or if my heart literally skips a beat, but I know something in me completely stops at his words. “I--”

“Don’t say it.” I don’t know how I managed to cut him off so sharply and I’m a little disappointed when I do, but it’s the right thing to do. Thought of the code that’s so important to him have clouded half the immense shock and joy swelling in my chest. “What you’re trying to say...I um, I want to say the same.” I try to drop my gaze but he tilts my head up slightly with his hand. “But we shouldn’t, you know that.”

"You want to us to pretend that nothing’s different? You want me to escort you from meetings with one suitor to the next every Coronation Season until you’re married off?”

“No, I’m not saying that. The point is that I’m not saying anything.” His eyebrows draw together in uncertainty. “Isn’t it enough for now, for both of us to just know? If we say it...that could mean bad things for you. And I don’t want to be a bad thing for you.”

“You could never be.”

It’d be so easy to believe him. To believe him and to let him say what I never imagined I’d be able to hear and damn the consequences of tomorrow. “Can we just refrain from verbally saying anything until you’re sure?”

“I’m sure right now. I’ve been sure since the first time we ever walked in the garden together. The night after the first Coronation Ball I escorted you to.”

I remember that night well. The way he hadn’t scolded me for needing air or taking off my uncomfortably high heels to walk in the grass. “If you mean it, you won’t say it yet. I refuse to get in the way of what you’re meant for.”

His thumb runs my cheek entirely, stopping at the corner of my mouth. “Are you capable of not disagreeing with me?”

Rolling my eyes slightly, I place my hand over his. “Probably not.”

Anakin exhales, his playful irritation clear in the sound. “You’re impossible when you’re tired.”

“I am not tired.”

“I can see the sleep in your eyes.”

“I can see it in yours too.”

He pauses, eyebrows drawn together cautiously. “I’ll go to sleep if you do.”

He must be more tired than I thought if he’s compromising with me so quickly. “Deal.”

Neither of us close our eyes for a long second, we just watch each other with wide eyes. It still doesn’t feel like he’s eased, but he’s come back to me so much more than he was earlier. I’ll make sure to check how he’s feeling in the morning. The first morning after we’ve...I don’t know.

I’m trying really hard not to get excited because anything that’s been not said could be taken back so easily. That’s the point--but it’s hard not to let my heart get ahead of my rationality. I’ll just take the good for what it is for now and tomorrow we can figure out the rest. Even though he’s not allowed to form attachments and my father really wants to marry me off to foreign royalty.

Tomorrow. This can begin to be solved tomorrow. My eyes shut and I let myself roll fully onto my back. The second I’m comfortably settled, I feel Anakin shift against the bed. I’m too tired to open my eyes until I feel a weight placed against my chest.

I open my eyes on instinct, less surprised than I should be when I see Anakin’s head resting against my chest. Before I can speak, I feel his arm rest against my side. “Anakin,” I breathe, my hand moving to smooth his hair out of his face the way I’ve wanted to for so long. “What did we just talk about?”

“You said not to say anything,” he mumbles comfortably, “I’m not saying anything.” ...It is kind of the ideal compromise. Especially since I’m too tired to find reason and he feels so warm. “I can feel you overthinking. Go back to smoothing my hair before I have to rise and stand at your door so that your handmaid comes to wake you. Something tells me she’d be glad for the excuse to get rid of me.”

That might be the most dramatic thing I’ve ever heard him say. Selma is the most patient woman in the palace. “Selma would never report anything involving me, I can’t believe you don’t like her. She’s the sweetest woman I’ve ever met.”

“She’s the one that doesn’t like me,” he says, “she always watches me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m planning on stealing you away.”

Too tired to fight my smile, I go back to smoothing his hair out with my fingers. After a moment, he lets out an exhale that relaxes his entire body. “Goodnight, princess.”

“Goodnight.” The word is barely a mumble as I feel sleep tug against me for the second time tonight.

It’s strange, but my excitement doesn’t diminish my tiredness, it just makes the prospect of rest feel so much fuller. Safer. Because there’s so much to sort out and grieve but it’s okay, because we have the time and everything feels okay because Anakin is here, right beneath my fingertips.

#anakin skywalker #anakin #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin x you #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x y/n #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars imagines #star wars fic

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hintofelation99 · 2 years

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I think it would be fun if Kate babysat Bruce, Ollie, And Hal at the same time because Bruce doesn't like Ollie and Hal, but Hal and Ollie are both friends who can be extremely petty with each other too. So imagining the the children version of their beef is hilarious.

Honestly the school yard politics of this would be amazing, bc Ollie and Bruce would absolutely be little masters of childhood politics. Meanwhile Hal just wants to chill with some cookies and finger paint. Both of which Kate does not have.

So instead Kate spends fifty minutes googling whether or not it is ethical to give kids wine if they're actually just deaged adults who are acting like brats. She's very disappointed to find that google lacks the necessary answers to her philosophical questions. This is especially disappointing because she specified the type of wine, and she was even generous enough to expand her search to include champagne. She did put her foot down at hard liquor. Aterall she doesn't share her liquor with Bruce on a good day, so why the hell would she share now? Eventually Kate settles on giving them one of her favorite dry red wines. She pulls out a Merlot and a Pinot Noir, and as she's trying to decide which one to go with she hears a demonic screeching sound from the living room.

Grabbing the Merlot by it's neck she runs into the room just in time to see a screeching Bruce bite Ollie. Kate takes a step forward, then stops. She gently sets the wine on her dry bar then rushes forward, ripping the two boys apart.

"Bruce Thomas Wayne and Oliver... Something Queen! What the he- heckerdoodle are you doing!"

A teary Bruce stomps his foot and shoots Kate a deadly glare, "He said I'm mean, ugy, and stoopid too!" The insult makes Kate pause, with an eyebrow raised. She makes a confused noise of... agreement? Not even she knows. Kate stares for a moment, lost in thought as she regrets every life decision that lead to this exact moment. It takes Bruce's indiginant yell of "Katie!" to make her realize that she's expected to offer some form of guidance. It takes another moment for her to smother the innate and childish urge to agree with Oliver. But after several silent chants of 'don't make the child cry, don't make the child cry,' she gathers herself enough to speak.

"Uh, well, Ollie. Why did you, uh, call Bruce mean, ugly, and stupid?"

Oliver glares at Bruce through teary eyes, his cheeks splotchy and red from anger "Because h-he said th-that I-I c-c-couldn't-" the child pauses to take a shaky, hiccuping breath, "I c-couldn't come to h-his birfday." The accusation is emphasized with the popping of snot bubble. Kate briefly remembers her own mother, wiping snot from her teary face, and all she can think is how disgusting motherhood must be.

Biting back her shudder of distaste Kate looks between the two boys, "How about this? Bruce, you're uh, nice, cute, and smart. And Ollie, you can go to his birthday!" Her solution is immediately met with loud cries of disagreement. Bruce insisting that he's not cute, while Ollie yells that he doesn't want to go to Bruce's birthday.

Kate groans and walks back to the dry bar, opening the Merlot and taking a long sip she decides to try something new, "Why don't we play a game! Hide and seek, you both hide and I will seek." Once again her solution is not appreciated. The boys share a cynical look as both immediately turn down her suggestion. She takes another sip of wine and starts to suggest something new when Hal runs into the room. He crashes into the coffee table and knocks over a vase, the rug bunches beneath him as the boy attempts a quick stop, and Kate watches in horror as her living room is destroyed by one of the pint sized terrors. All of the commotion comes to a head when Hal freezes next Bruce. With one finger hovering centimeters away from Bruce's forehead, the green clad gremlin loudly sings "I'm not touching you!"

And like that all hope of a quiet evening is gone, all three boys reacting to Hal's proclamation in different ways. Yet no matter the intial reaction it somehow ends with all three boys throwing tantrums and fighting. Kate groans and sinks into the couch, wine bottle in hand. She rubs her temples, desperately trying to fight off the budding migraine.

Then a truly wicked idea strikes her. Kate stands and starts to gather her things, already planning a fun night out on the town as her fingers fly across her phone screen. With one last smile at the hastily typed message, Kate hits send.

Maybe it's a bit devious, sending out an SOS just to get out of babysitting, but Jason and Tim could use the bonding time.

#kate kane #batwoman #batman #hal jordon #green lanter #bruce wayne #oliver queen #green arrow #mypost #ask #it's a bit long #kate babysitting

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zodiacrant · 3 years

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🍩My experiences with each Moon sign🍩

(Cause yall are messy)

I have done this a few times before but for Sun signs and did rank placements but never shared my thoughts and experiences with the Moon signs.

Now I know how this goes, so if you get mad or sad then go off I guess. Aint the first time I get cursed out or attacked in this bitch. Plus, I am a Cap moon so naturally I won’t do well with some Moons and I will be nitpicking everything about everyone.

🍩Aries Moon🍩

My dad’s moon. Yup, that tells you alot without me even starting. Having our Moons in Square shit was hard to say the least. It took a long time for us to be on middle grounds and because I don’t feel comfortable talking about my problems here I will continue on. The Aries Moon that I really like and can think of is Rihanna, so I would say it’s unfair to make a whole judgment but from what I saw and heard they’re not exactly the best to be around. So I give them a 3/10 for being bold and having nerve.

🍩Taurus Moon🍩

Now this Moon right here I know people from ( a close friend and my sister, plus some others) and I don’t have many strong opinions about it. As a Taurus Sun, it can be a challenge to work with a Taurus Moon. I am stubborn at my core and they’re stubborn with their heart, so everytime we disagree it’s like a rope pulling contest. Way too stagnant for me but I think that’s because of my other placements and they don’t take any advice or open up no matter what. On to the good, I never disliked someone with this placement. No matter how much of an asshole they can be, to me it is difficult to hate them or stay mad at them. They’re warm, kind, and sweet but a bit aloof and naive, also they don’t like to touch and hug as some people might think. I will give them a 8/10

🍩Gemini Moon🍩

(⚠️TW⚠️ mention of rape and erratic behavior)

I only had one best friend with this placement and I don’t I want to meet any more, and I am at peace with that if they resemble her in any way. She was a maniac. She loved to lie, create drama, blow shit up, act crazy and basically be shocking. I do find similarities with Gemini Sun where they do shit for reactions but with her, she will take it to the next level. Lie about being raped, act possessed, or pretend that she is being followed. It’s not fair to associate her with people who share the same Moon as her but that was y’all’s representation in my life. She was erratic so it’s difficult to see where her Moon was in effect and where she was just off. I’ll give them a 1/10, would not recommend until proven otherwise.

🍩Cancer Moon🍩

The first that comes to my mind is Taylor Swift and to me she is the ultimate Cancer Moon. It juat makes sense how fast she takes it to the next level with people. Whether getting serious quickly with someone or throwing down and feuding. She just always at a 100. Personally, I never got close with someone who has this placement, maybe it’s because I am a Capricorn Moon myself, but I would say the ones that I have met were nice. I’ll give them a 5/10

🍩Leo Moon🍩

I only had one best friend with this placement but the people I have met with this Moon I still remember. They all had one thing in common and that was being emotionally traumatized and have lost one parent. My best friend was super loyal, very confident in what they believed in and represented, were always there for me and had an amazing ability in motivating others. But they were also super prideful and there’s no coming back with them. Fight once and it’s over. (Yes I am looking at you Jonnie). One of the other people was with me in uni and always had the to urge won up me and my friend. He had scars all over and he doesn’t remember how he got them. But he was super proud of himself and his home country, which I respect and admire. I’ll give them a 6/10

🍩Virgo Moon🍩

I know two people with this placement, my mom and a professor at uni, and oh boy it makes sense that they’re a Virgo Moon. Me and my mom are too alike that we clash strongly at times. She thinks she can do it better and I think I can do it better and we just have like a competition on who done it better basically. From cooking, to how you light the stove, to how you put on clothes, to how you lay down on bed. Both my mom and my professor are super critical and precise, althogh my professor is a double Virgo (Sun and Moon) so she will go even further. They have to do everything as it arises and act like there’s no time and everything is about to go wrong. Like damn sis chill the fuck out for a sec and this is coming from a Cap moon so you know it’s bad. But I really like Virgo Moon, even though people might hate such a personality but I can relate to them in some ways. I’ll give them 7/10

🍩Libra Moon🍩

My only online friend that I talk to all the time got this Moon. Other than her I met only two people and they were something. Okay so for my friend, because I never actually have seen her physically with my own eyes I can’t say how she acts all the time, but she is one of the best listeners I had in my life. She likes to hear me ramble for an hour about a dumb encounter that lasted a second, talking about astrology and some nerdy things and then not so nerdy things. I believe that it’s a Libra Moon quality to be emotionally versatile and attentive. I think because she is a Leo dominant she acts much fiery and fiercely than a Libra would. As for the other people I just thought they were fake. One acted as a friend but then would just disappear so I was over it quickly and the other was super passive and pretentious that I think she shits out plastic. All in all I think it’s a great Moon. I’ll give them a 7/10

🍩Scorpio Moon🍩

One of the hardest Moons I ever delt with but I find that I love them too. My oldest sister had this Moon and she is such a mystery. Because I am a Taurus Sun, it is only natural for me to have a hard time with a Scorpio Moon. Even though she is an extrovert, she rarely talks about herself and her feelings, you will never catch her slipping or show vulnerability. I can see how difficult it may be for her being a Cancer with a Scorpio Moon and have Gemini dominance. But she’s a bitch at heart and I am cool with it. I’ll give them 5/10 cause I am not a big fan of paradoxical people

🍩Sagittarius Moon🍩

A moon that I always babysat. I had two best friends with this Moon and if I was born a second earlier, it would mine too. I don’t know if it’s because of my Gemini Venus or my 0 degree Capricorn Moon but I love Sagittarius Moons. I was fortunate to see some of their weaknesses and for them to trust me enough to be vulnerable. But boy do they get themselves into the dumbest situation because they wanted to see what would happen. I had to babysit them and help them do everything like shopping, cooking, cleaning, assembling furniture, be their body guard when buying weed. (Shhhh it’s a secret). They’re in many ways immature cause they run from things and everytime you try to be real with them, they say “stop being negative”. I’ll give them a 9/10

🍩Capricorn Moon🍩

The grande dame of the Moon signs, sitting at it’s opposite planet. I have met many Cap Moons and honestly we are bitches 😂. The energy of sitting next to a Capricorn Moon is too fucking much like I never knew it’s like that. I noticed the way they stare, talk, walk and sit can be so aggressive and intimidating. I see why people might label us as bullies, cause the energy is definitely there and I myself was such a cunt (still a little but I am more aware of myself now) that I get where both are coming from. Life as a Capricorn Moon is emotionally flat. If wasn’t for my other placements you will never see me even flinch. I think we just take everything and let it process in our head before we let it into our hearts. So to me, we’re not mean, we just don’t see how something might be hurtful. But also that tone and that blank face, goddam! That’s why I try to smile cause bitch no, I didn’t know I was walking with a death stare this whole time. Anyways, I will give us 10/10 cause I am self appreciative like that 😂✌️

🍩Aquarius Moon🍩

I have always tried to understand Aquarius Moon and it was only a month ago that I have realized they themselves are not sure of who they’re. I had one best friend with this placement and three cousins (all siblings). First, my cousins are super competitive with each other on who gets to do what and if it happens that they’re similar in something they will get pissed. The person that was my best friend was like that as well. Only he would drop a an entire hobby, interest, something close to his heart, shit even a personality trait. I find them to be constantly changing and trying, so they shift between one end of extreme to the other until they center themselves. I’ll give them a 4/10

🍩Pisces Moon🍩

Now let’s talk about a depressing placement, in my opinion of course 😅. I don’t know if it’s the influence of Neptune on the Moon or is it the just the demeanor of Pisces, but good god girl get a grip (they call this the five G’s). My youngest sister is a Pisces Moon, and as creative as she is, she is pessimistic and overly cynical. I mean I am all for being critical and real but looking at everything with jacked up black sprayed glasses is just too much for me. Other than my sister I don’t know any Pisces Moon very well but I had a few acquaintances. I noticed that they talked about a specific thing and that’s it. I have found them to be amazing at drawing, painting and have an incredible artistic sense. At times twisted and dark, but I love the art that comes with it. I’ll give them a 5/10

Here’s the tea. It’s Pisces season so remember I am sensitive right now, and also it’s my life and I wish I met someone as amazing as you might think you’re. (Maybe that was a little too aggressive)

Okay love you ❤️

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blockgamepirate · 3 years

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Technoblade’s purpose in the political narrative of the Dream SMP

I can’t sleep so I decided to finally write the post I’ve been struggling with for literal months, except way more casual because I can’t be bothered anymore and also I’m sleep deprived.

So the thing is: to me the DSMP storyline has always been primarily political, probably because I was introduced to it through Wilbur who was definitely going for political, and also because I’m just generally interested in political narratives right now. Obviously I appreciate the character work and the personal relationship stuff, that’s what makes it more interesting than just dry allegory, but when it comes down to it, this story is about politics to me. So that’s the angle I’m going to approach it from.

Also not to spoil the conclusions here, but I’m an anarchist, that’s my lens.

(Obviously all of this is about rp from here on out unless otherwise specified)

Basically the situation as Techno joins the server is this: L'Manburg exists as an autonomous nation and is de facto independent although not officially recognised by the Dream SMP. The self-appointed president Wilbur Soot decides to hold an election and rig it in order to consolidate his power over the nation he founded and he gets his VP Tommyinnit to join in on the plan. Their scheme fails and they end up voted out instead. The new president, Schlatt, immediately establishes himself as an authoritarian figure and exiles Wilbur and Tommy.

A couple of points on what the election arc demonstrates:

1: the appearance of democracy can be used for distinctly undemocratic purposes.

2: even if the elections aren’t rigged, the electoral system could be massively flawed and end up favouring a party that in fact didn’t have the popular vote

3: even if the winning government (the coalition in this case) has the majority vote, that doesn’t guarantee that they’ll actually act according to the popular will.

4: the supporters of the losing parties basically just have to let the majority overrule their wishes, espcially since apparently L’Manburg doesn’t have an established role for an opposition, yikes. That’s actually a MAJOR oversight in the system but I’m not gonna go into that too much.

5: frankly as an anarchist I am just deeply cynical towards representative democracy, and just because you have a token appearance of choice and consent doesn’t mean that it isn’t a hierarchical and authoritarian system. And to be fair, from my point of view this applies even to so-called liberal democracies and progressive parties. Full disclosure: even if L'Manburg was the ideal example of a representative democracy (which it very much isn’t) I would still be opposed to it because I fundamentally do not believe in top down systems, even electoral ones.

6: despite all these flaws, all the characters seem to implicitly accept the electoral system as legitimate. There’s criticism against the actions of individual characters acting within the system, such as Quackity calling out Wilbur for trying to rig the election, but nobody is questioning the system itself.

So at this point I’m sitting there, watching all this go down, and thinking “man, this would be so much more bearable if there was an anarchist point of view being represented in the story.”

And hey, look who IMMEDIATELY SHOWS UP.

Okay, I’m not gonna lie, early installation Technoblade is not the best representation of anarchism. I was mostly rooting for him out of sheer contrarianism initially. I didn’t really even care if it would be another Killmonger/Magneto/Zaheer situation because I’m used to reading against the authorial intent when it comes to these things. Sometimes any representation is better than no representation, even with political ideologies. That’s not to say that him just straight up spouting this hobbesian notion of a “dog-eat-dog world” didn’t grate on me, obviously it did.

That kind of worldview of humanity needing authority in order to prevent chaos and conflict is literally antithetical to anarchism and is the favourite talking point of authoritarians, the least anarchist people there are. It’s literally what people use to argue AGAINST anarchism. I think it’s mostly because cc!Techno obviously wasn’t particularly educated on anarchist thought and was just basically having fun roleplaying with his friends at this point. Which is frustrating but fair enough I guess.

Cynical ideas about human nature are pretty deeply rooted in the mainstream, unfortunately, most people just consider it common sense. And like I said, it’s a huge talking point in the propaganda against anarchism.

(… even though in fact these arguments were originally used against proponents of representative democracy. Hobbes himself was very much a monarchist, the idea of letting normal people vote for their representatives would have been terrifying to him. Like surely the world would descent into a free-for-all war, all against all. Imagine letting commoners have OPINIONS, the horror.)

So yeah, that stuff was pretty ehhhhh. It was basically what I’d expected though: cc!Techno isn’t an anarchist and we just don’t get accurate representation from non-anarchists, ever. What I dared to hope was that Techno’s character would at least stay consistent about his opposition to ALL governments. I was pretty sure that he would, even though it seemed like the majority of the fandom at the time was convinced that he would switch over to Schlatt’s side or something. It would have been a really shitty twist, I would have ragequit immediately. I mean what would have been the entire point of his character then? He might as well have been a random mercenary. Why even have his character be an anarchist if you were just going to make him work for a government?

(ftr this is kinda my biggest problem with the Hypixel Skyblock revolution event lol, honestly I think that was a worse depiction of anarchism than early DSMP Technoblade. I mean the speech was good, but… still became a government official, tho. booooooooo, cringe)

And yes, I was rooting against L'Manburg, obviously, and I would have even if it had meant having to deal with another badly written anarchist villain character. I never understood why people saw L'Manburg as the good guys, they were nationalist and exclusionary and their whole existence was based on trying to scam people for money.

I mean they were definitely funny, they were great entertainers. I have no problems with people rooting for them because they’re fun to watch; I did that for a bit too. But people were starting to get really into the story and talk about Wilbur and Tommy, the corrupt politicians, and the country that literally excluded people based on nationality as the heroes, unironically, which was wild to me. And when Wilbur started his “villain arc” well: people called it a villain arc, as if he hadn’t been pretty much a bad guy from the beginning, constantly just out for money and power and taking advantage of the people around him and then pretending to be the victim when challenged. I mean yes he got worse, but I wouldn’t call it a villain arc, more like just a mental breakdown arc.

More importantly, to me L'Manburg represented so many things I hate about the status quo in real life, and seeing the fandom mostly unquestioningly accept it as good just pissed me off. Still pisses me off tbh. I mean, to be diplomatic I could say that I understand the emotional attachment and the way L'Manburg was built up mirrors a lot of how real nations are built and how they create a sense of patriotism out of symbols and a sense of honour and loyalty, and it’s actually really fascinating how it even works in a Minecraft roleplay. Says something about the human mind I guess. Doesn’t mean I have to like it though.

Anyway, I just wanted to see literally any kind of opposition to power, even if it had to come from a character that was unquestionably a villain, which I fully assumed Techno would be. Because political narratives so often just leave us out, or at best barely mention us. And even from a narrative point of view, adding an anarchist perspective to a political story just objectively broadens its scope and actually challenges people who are used to only arguing along the lines of conservative or liberal, welfare state or privatization, nationalism or multiculturalism, etc. Even if the original work dealt with it poorly, at least it would give me the excuse to rant about it on Tumblr, which is kinda why I revived my old Minecraft sideblog for this. (That and pig!Techno fanart.)

Also how can you have a story so fundamentally about power without its counterpoint: the rejection of power?

(Yes, Dream SMP as a whole is definitely a narrative about power, it’s a huge theme for Wilbur, Quackity, Dream, Eret and the Badlanders at least, as well as obviously the anarchist characters from the opposite direction.)

So yeah, the build up to November 16th for me was mainly about the anticipation for what Techno would do, how would Techno’s character respond to the seemingly inevitable formation of a new government. THAT was the point of interest for me, that was what I was the most invested in. Would we get an actual anarchist opposition as a new side to the conflict or would they just awkwardly drop that whole angle? Or even have him team up with Schlatt like a complete sellout? There was so much potential but I worried they might just waste it.

And I was right to worry since apparently in the original script Techno wasn’t supposed to do anything, he was just there to help fight Schlatt and witness the explosion along with everyone else.

And WOW that would have been so incredibly boring

Not even just from the political perspective, just talking about the narrative in general terms here: imagine November 16th without Techno’s plot points. Not only would it have been boring for Techno’s character but it would have been equally boring for basically everybody but Wilbur and Philza. An anticlimactic fight followed by a big explosion that pretty much everybody had seen coming already. Yes, the button room scene is dramatic and heartbreaking… for Wilbur and Phil. But nobody else was there to see it. For everybody else, it was just a big explosion. It would have been such a huge disservice to anyone watching the other POVs.

Techno’s intervention gave everyone an ACTUAL climactic fight, it allowed characters other than Wil and Phil to witness some actual drama happening and to participate in it, rather than just waiting around for the explosion, while also foreshadowing the explosion. Even better, it provoked SO MUCH discussion in the fandom AND gave a perfect hook for future conflicts to arise. Wilbur’s end was tragic but it was, at the time, final. L'Manburg would have still suffered a catastrophe but it would have been left with just the same exact antagonist as before: Dream.

And at this point Dream’s core goals had barely changed, just his approach was now different. Yes, that makes a difference for the plot, but it doesn’t really change much in terms of ideological conflict. Especially since there really isn’t that big of an ideological difference between Dream and Tommy, because arguably neither of them are particularly big on ideology in the first place, they just have conflicting goals and use different tactics to achieve those goals (well, the tactics aren’t always even that different *cough Spirit cough*).

Techno’s conflict with Tubbo and especially Quackity (and honestly most of the other characters in general) brings in so much more depth to the story, just by introducing another angle, not to even mention how much it brings to focus questions about power and violence. These are themes that exist in other characters’s storylines too but nowhere in the same way or as central as with Techno.

I’m getting kind of ahead of myself here, though.

The real twist of November 16th was the fact that Techno WASN’T a straight up villain, actually. It was a twist to me anyway, because with all my cynicism I just didn’t see it coming, I didn’t expect him to actually start making reasonable criticisms. I didn’t expect him to drop the hobbesian arguments entirely and start making points that actually sounded like anarchism.

I have to assume that cc!Techno must have seen some of the criticisms of his character and been inspired to adjust because the difference is pretty notable.

(Sidenote: I’m just forever kinda sad that Techno’s “I may seem like the villain here” monologue was cut from the video and most people never heard it.)

And I felt SO validated by the way, because it works so well in the story! Everyone is mostly content with the restoration of a status quo of some sort, Schlatt is gone, this is supposed to be the good ending, and then Techno calls them all out and turns the narrative around completely: This was just a coup d'état. This was just the previous political leadership retaking power by force. Why is everyone celebrating the same exact system that lead to Schlatt’s authoritarian rule in the first place?

What he does there is force the audience to question the narrative they’ve been presented so far, that they’ve accepted without a thought. It might not convince them, but they can’t just ignore it either.

Whatever you wanna say about the discourse around Techno on that day, in the ideological narrative THIS IS THE IMPORTANT PART. Not who betrayed who or when is political violence justified, that’s about personal relationships and morality and it’s mostly all more relevant to the aftermath than the event itself. In my opinion, the REAL point in the moment is that the characters and the audience were comfortable with the ending only to be presented with a completely new perspective on the events.

It also recontextualises the finale, including Wilbur’s actions! It’s a much more ambiguous end to the Pogtopia vs Manburg arc and to Wilbur’s original run as the head writer. Wilbur’s “even with Tubbo in charge I don’t think [that ‘special place’] can exist again” is vague enough to be dismissed as just part of his paranoia and internal conflict, but with Techno, there’s a concrete question: what if Tubbo, given the same powers as Schlatt, will turn out to be just a new Schlatt? And suddenly you have to wonder what Wilbur meant by his words too. And was all this foreshadowing something about L’Manburg’s future?

Okay I’ve only made it to November 16th and there’s so much more DSMP to talk about but the post is getting too long and I’m starting to lose my energy. Will I ever make a part two? No idea. But I’ll try.

Standard disclaimer: I’m not the spokesperson of anarchism, other anarchists might disagree with my reading

#technoblade #bladeblr #dream smp #dreamsmp #dsmp #l'manburg critical #c!wilbur soot critical #for courtesy tags #anarchy pog

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snowywrites · 3 years

Text

Monika x Fem!reader

summary: fluffy fic of Monika and the reader on the reader's birthday.

word count: 2.4k

As far as birthdays go, this one wasn't really anything too special. Well, maybe you're being a little too cynical. After all, last year you hadn't really gotten to spend your birthday with any friends- you'd been preoccupied with getting home to watch the newest season of your favorite anime.

This year, however, Sayori had managed to get you into the Literature Club, and it had, not to be dramatic, changed your life. For better or worse, that was yet to be seen.

"Y/N, is everything okay?" Sayori asks expectantly, bright blue eyes examining you with bewilderment.

You focus back on the present, giving your friend a reassuring smile. "Yeah, sorry! Everything's great." And you aren't lying; today for the club meeting, Natsuki had brought cupcakes for everyone to share, Sayori had actually not realized what day it was and so gave you a 'birthday hug,' Yuri had given you a copy of one of her favorite horror novels as a gift, even signed by the author, and yet...

You can't help but give a very small sigh. "I just kind of miss Monika, I guess."

Sayori, Natsuki, and Yuri all exchange glances in their respective chairs at one of the club tables. They then all focus on you with varying expressions: Sayori with mischief, Natsuki with exasperation, and Yuri with knowing amusement.

"What? Don't look at me like that!" You squeak defensively, feeling your face begin to heat up at what they were implying. "I only meant that it's- it's weird being at a meeting without our club president! T-That's all." Not that this could be called a meeting per se- more like a celebration between friends.

Sayori giggles at your reaction, and you hear Yuri whisper to Natsuki, "The lady doth protest too much," which elicits a snort of laughter from the pink-haired tsundere.

You groan, standing up abruptly from your seat and smoothing down your school uniform a bit, self-conscious all of a sudden. As your embarrassment dies down though, you feel a wave of affection for your fellow club members. As much as they tend to tease you about your little crush on Monika, they had made your birthday really special this year, and you were grateful. "Anyway, thank you guys again for everything! I had a lot of fun," you say earnestly, deciding it was probably time to wrap up and head home.

Sayori bounces up to join you, and you bid your farewells to Natsuki and Yuri, gathering up your things and heading out of the classroom.

Sayori glances back to make sure that Natsuki and Yuri are in fact walking away, and then she reaches out to stop you. "Uhm, Y/N...?"

You pause to look at her expectantly, unsure of why she's much less energetic now than she was a few minutes ago. "Yes?"

"I-I was actually supposed to tell you something," your best friend begins, uncharacteristically quiet. You wonder briefly why she hadn't mentioned this before... maybe she had been debating on whether or not she actually wanted to tell you whatever it is, considering how the words are practically being dragged from her at this point. "Ah, well, Monika asked me to, that is. The reason she couldn't come to the Literature Club today was because she was stuck at a meeting with the student council, but..." Sayori exhales in what could be a sigh. "She did still wanna see you for your birthday, so she hoped you could stop by there and wait for her."

You stand there in the mostly empty hall of the school, puzzled at why this news would bring such a reaction from your friend- especially when it makes you feel so fluttery inside. "Oh!" You try not to let it show, but you're fairly certain you're lighting up like a Christmas tree. "I see. Thank you for telling me, Sayori!"

As you turn to leave, you feel Sayori reach out to touch your shoulder, but she retracts her hand quickly. When you look back at her, she's her old self, giving you a big smile. "Yeah, I guess you're gonna go see her, huh? Well, I'll catch you later, Y/N!"

Before you can respond, Sayori dashes off, forgetting to wish you a happy birthday.

Well, that was weird. Then again, Sayori's been pretty off lately whenever you and Monika are involved.

The thought of the brunette is enough to make you forget all about whatever might be troubling your best friend, and you make your way through the school to the student council room with a giddy spring in your step. They must not be out yet since the halls are pretty deserted still.

You risk taking a peek through the little glass window on the door, and your hunch is confirmed. Students belonging to the council are all sitting in a circle of chairs, discussing... well, school-related business stuff. You aren't really sure what they do, exactly.

You catch sight of Monika at the head of them, naturally because she is the president, but you aren't expecting to see her with such an expression.

Usually, Monika seems to you warm, open, patient, and friendly... but here, she looks... not even bored, but more like she's utterly apathetic towards all the conversations going on around her. You've never seen her so uncaring, to the point where she seems almost irritated by the presence of everyone in the room with her.

Maybe she's having a bad day? The thought makes you a bit sad, and you find yourself wondering if she would even want to see you. Do the others in the council even realize she's so unlike herself?

As if to answer your silent question, one of the other students turns to Monika to say something, and when they do, the familiar expression you're used to your club president wearing slips back with ease onto her face. She listens attentively to whatever it is she's being told, and then she smiles and nods, commenting something you can't hear in return.

You watch the exchange, too fascinated to stop watching even if you do worry someone might notice you peeking inside for such a long minute. As soon as the student turns away from her, Monika is once again the picture of discontentment; you even notice her tapping her nails listlessly against the surface of the table they're all seated at.

The sound of the doorknob rattling causes you to leap backwards in shock, stumbling slightly over your own two feet. The meeting must be over, because someone is stepping out, and then another, and then you're hurriedly dodging out of the path of the entire student body as they file out, talking and laughing with one another as they head down the hall, eventually leaving you alone.

"Y/N?"

Looking away from their retreating figures, you face Monika and find her as she always is with you- curious emerald eyes and a friendly air about her. "Ah- hello," you greet her, trying not to sound as awkward as you feel about your... let's be honest, spying.

"I wasn't really sure that you'd show!" She exclaims, startling you with a sudden hug.

You've actually never gotten a hug from Monika, although you have a ton of hugs to compare hers to- Sayori throws herself at you pretty much daily, and hers tend to be suffocating, always too tight and lasting a bit too long.

From Monika, though? Her hug, despite making your head spin and your heart skip a beat, makes you feel so safe, secure... she's so warm and you can't help but be enamored with whatever perfume she uses.

Unfortunately, you're too stunned to return the embrace in time before Monika pulls back from you, and you could swear she has a faint blush on her cheeks. She doesn't apologize for her impromptu action, though, and you're glad for that.

"Why wouldn't I?" You ask, dumbstruck.

She studies you for a few seconds, and you get the idea that she's trying to detect if you're being serious or not. Eventually she says, "Oh, nevermind that! I am glad to see you, though. I have something I wanted to give you."

'Please refrain from saying something really stupid and cheesy like, 'the best gift you could give me is just getting to see you on my birthday,' you think to yourself. "A gift? You really didn't have to- or, I mean, you shouldn't have-! Not that I don't appreciate it, though...!" You don't typically struggle so much with your words, but you're still a little off your game after the lovely hug. It's like your mind is foggy, your tongue is twisted, and you simply can't think straight. Which isn't really new when you're around Monika, but today it's impacting you even more than normal. Maybe because you two are all alone for once, not surrounded by Sayori, Yuri, or Natsuki, or even any other students for that matter.

Monika gives a soft laugh. "I wanted to. Technically it's two somethings rather than one," she admits.

You find your mind racing as it tries to go over the potential possibilities. A book like Yuri? That would be very fitting, since you'd befriended Monika through the Literature Club.

You watch as she takes a gift box out of her bookbag, offering it to you with a sweet, "Happy birthday, Y/N."

God, you're definitely blushing. Like, fierce blushing. Either that or the school suddenly decided to turn fifty heaters on all at once. 'Geez, pull yourself together!! Act normal!' You internally berate yourself. If there had been any doubt before, it was all erased in this one instant- you were head over heels for your club president.

"Awh, thank you! It's nice of you." You accept the gift, examining it momentarily. As expected of the class star Monika, the box itself is wrapped perfectly. It's even your favorite color, with a matching ribbon tying it shut. Whether or not you're a sentimental person, you recognize that this is the sort of memento that could easily be kept for a long, long time. You glance back to your friend. "May I open it now?"

Monika nods. "Please do!"

You feel her gaze on you as you carefully untie the ribbon and open up the gift box to see what's inside.

She was right, it is more than one thing. They sort of go together though, you realize as you lift one of the presents up to admire it.

In your hand is a necklace. The chain is a light silver, and the pendant contains a pretty stone in the shape of a heart. The stone shimmers slightly as it reflects the light of the school hall.

"It's so pretty...!" You breathe.

"I'm glad, I thought it was pretty too," Monika says. She sounds calm, but when you glance at her you think she's ecstatic, but the expression is gone as soon as you blink, leaving you to wonder if it had been your imagination playing tricks on you. "It's your birthstone, did you notice?"

You hadn't noticed until she'd pointed it out, but it was indeed your birthstone. Monika is just... so very thoughtful. It's really no wonder she's so popular. "Thank you so much!!" You chirp, still somewhat surprised that she would go so far just for a birthday gift for you. You hadn't known her personally for very long, after all.

You set the necklace back down inside the box to bring out the other gift, another accessory- it's the same color as your birthstone necklace, but it actually reminds you of something else.

Yes, it's a big bow similar to Monika's own. If you were to wear it, it could even look like she and you were matching. You could just be reading too much into things, though...

"I.. love them. So much." You have an overwhelming urge to put your thoughts onto paper in order to give Monika the proper thanks that she deserves for being possibly the most generous person in existence, and because you feel like you're failing miserably at voicing just how touched you really are by these gifts. "I almost want to get you something in return...!"

Monika shakes her head in amusement. "It's your birthday, not mine." A contemplative finger rests on her chin as she adds, "Although... there is something you could do for me. If you wouldn't mind, of course."

Perplexed, you respond without giving yourself a chance to think about it. "Anything!"

You're rewarded with an affectionate smile from Monika, but it seems as though she was expecting that to be your answer.

She extends a hand for the gift box that you've already set both the bow and necklace back in, inquiring, "May I?"

Wordlessly, your intrigue piqued, you hand it back to her. She takes the bow out first, stepping closer to you.

It's not foolish of you to have been anticipating a kiss- even now you could very easily initiate one if you so chose, because of how terrifyingly close Monika is to you as she gently pulls your hair back for you, tying it back with the Y/FC bow and even brushing a stray lock of hair from your face after she does so.

While you're struggling to recover from your short-circuiting, Monika takes the necklace and places it around your neck. The brush of her fingers sends sparks of static against your skin, and you feel as if time is standing completely still, and it's just you and her in this world.

The faint click of the necklace as it clasps shut is what brings you back to reality, and all too soon Monika is stepping away from you again, still close but at a much more reasonable distance away.

She appraises your appearance and then smiles softly. "As I thought."

Is she being mysterious on purpose or does being around her just happen to kill your brain cells? "E-Eh?"

"You look lovely, Y/N."

The compliment makes you want to bury your face in your hands in the futile hopes of hiding your blush, but by now it's probably too late for that.

You stutter out your thanks, desperately trying to mend your scattered thoughts, and she once again wishes you a happy birthday, reminding you as well to bring your poetry assignment to the club meeting tomorrow.

As she's leaving, you realize you never got the chance to ask about the strange behavior she'd exhibited during the meeting with the other students.

#ddlc x reader #monika x reader #fem reader #ddlc reader insert #doki doki literature club #imagine #scenario #preference

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sevlgi · 3 years

Text

how it feels

requested: no

group: stray kids

pairing: hyunjin x gn!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

contents: high school!au but there’s not much school involved, best friend!hyunjin, mutual pining, hyunjin’s a hopeless romantic

warnings: none

synopsis: comforting your best friend after a breakup usually doesn’t involve making him fall in love with you, but both of you just want to know what it feels like.

a/n: yes hello please enjoy this fic that i’m randomly dropping in the middle of my hiatus 🙃 i’ll hopefully be able to write a gg fic of some kind for y’all soon! the ending of this is so fucking lazy, sorry

word count: 5.3k

“Why, Y/N? Can’t she just tell me why?”

“I know,” you comfort, rubbing your best friend’s back as he sniffles with his knees up to his chest. It’s hard to see him in the darkness that’s brought by the blanket resting over the both of you like a tent, but in the glow of Hyunjin’s phone, you can see the tear tracks on his face. “I’m sorry, Jinnie.”

He pouts and scrubs yet another tear off his cheek, lamenting, “Why can’t I never fall in love with someone who loves me back? We’re only in high school, it shouldn’t be this complicated.”

Dabbing at his face with a tissue, you sigh, “I guess you have bad luck. Or bad judgement, could be both. There are plenty of people who are dying to love and appreciate you, you know, you’re the one who never spares them a glance.”

Hyunjin shakes his head. “No, those people only think I’m the long-haired guy from the dance team. They would treat me the same,” he frowns tearily. “I just want someone who likes me first.”

It always goes this way for him, you know-- you’ve seen it too many times, the stages of your best friend falling in love with someone who leads him on, enjoys his company for a while before dumping him and his expectations in the dirt. Maybe it’s the undeniable pressure to be the perfect partner that Hyunjin wants more than anything, or maybe he just always ends up liking assholes. But either way, it’s carnage for Hyunjin’s heart, and he never gets used to it no matter how many times it happens.

He’s too sensitive and warm-hearted for his own good, so all he can do after the latest breakup is cry into his favorite pillow on a Tuesday night. If you weren’t so willing to immediately come to comfort him, Hyunjin would’ve been doing it alone, too, and he would’ve cried for far longer than he has.

“Who do I go to prom with now?” he questions sadly, breaking you from your recollections about the many times you’ve done this before.

Unfortunately, all his question does is make you laugh. “It’s a serious question!” Hyunjin protests, scowling at you.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” you say, still chuckling. “I mean, would it be so bad to go to prom with a friend? I’m sure Yeji- wait never mind, not Yeji… I’m sure someone would go with you for appearances’s sake. Or if you don’t mind, just ask Lix, he’s too nice to say no even if he wanted.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” he says, flopping back onto his bed. The clock by his bedside reads 2:33 am, and you can already feel your physics final cursing you. “I want to go with someone I feel something for, you know? It’s our prom, Y/N, I want to feel the prom-ness of promposals and picking out outfits and all that with someone I love.”

You shake your head and push his knee lightly. “Unfortunately, most people our age haven’t even been in love yet, so I doubt many people can help you feel it. But you know what I’m feeling right now?”

“Please don’t say pancakes,” Hyunjin groans, “I’m not waking my parents up to teach us how to use the stove again.”

Throwing a pillow at him, you roll your eyes, “I feel tired, dumbass. And we have finals tomorrow, so how about we invite our friends out to get boba afterwards so we can find you a prom date? You can complain all you like about how the three weeks before prom happens are too short to fall in love, yadda yadda.”

“Fine. But don’t mock me, my many feelings are perfectly valid,” your best friend warns you, and rolls over to turn the light off.

Seungmin frowns when Hyunjin finally shows up at the entrance of the school’s closest boba shop, looking slightly disheveled from dance practice. “Finally. You’re annoying, and late.”

“Jeongin’s later,” Hyunjin objects, plopping down in the spot next to you and accepting the drink you hold out to him. The amount of mango yogurt with boba he drinks is definitely unhealthy (and expensive), but he’ll only groan more about his breakup if you didn’t get it for him. “Why do you literally never complain about him?”

“Jeongin’s cute, and you aren’t.”

The long-haired boy scoffs and sips at his drink sulkily as Felix returns with his own order. “Oh, hey, Hyunjin. I didn’t see you arrive,” Felix smiles sunnily. “Jisung’s not coming today, by the way. Something about having to stay for detention.”

You raise your eyebrows at that new piece of information. “Really? For what?”

“Playing a song entitled ‘Fuck You Bitch’ in Bio, I believe.”

Seungmin snorts in laughter, sighing fondly, “Sounds like him. Anyway, I heard we’re here to solve the problem of Hwang Hyunjin’s prom date. Or… lack thereof?”

“You’re so mean,” your best friend groans.

Ignoring him, you clasp your hands on the table and lean in conspiratorially. “I doubt any of you haven’t heard at this point, but he got dumped, for lack of a better word, and now, like the rest of us, Hyunjin has no prom date. But unlike us, he actually still wants one.”

“I’ll go with you,” Felix offers, still chewing on the straw in his mouth.

You elbow Hyunjin, who pushes you back before responding. “Thank you, Lixie, but like I explained to Y/N, I want to go with someone I’m in love with. I want to know how it feels, you know?”

“I don’t know,” Seungmin deadpans. At Hyunjin’s crestfallen expression, though, he says, “I mean, we can definitely try, but I feel like the rest of the people left in this school are either too young or not your type. And is 3 weeks really enough for you to be ‘in love again’?”

“Knowing me, maybe…? But I think I’d need to know the person already,” your best friend pouts.

Jeongin arrives then, conveniently missing most of the conversation before he squishes in on the end of the booth. “Well, you better not try to fall in love with me,” the youngest grins.

“I’d never pick you,” Hyunjin jabs back. “But out of the people I do know…”

“I volunteer,” you joke.

Your friends snicker, thankfully, but the boy sitting right next to you turns with a thoughtful expression on his face. “Actually…”

“I don’t like that expression,” Jeongin narrows his eyes.

“I think I could fall in love with Y/N in 3 weeks,” Hyunjin says nonchalantly, as if it’s nothing. He completely ignores all the shocked expressions around him.

In truth, as easy as Hyunjin falls in love, he’s also incredibly easy to fall for. You’d never admit it to him, but you have loved him before, with the kind of burning passion that he somehow has with every one of his relationships.

You’re over it, and you have been for a long time, but him saying that maybe he could love you so very easily makes it all come back up to the surface. “For real?” Felix questions.

“I mean, I don’t like you yet--” your heart falls (stupidly)-- “but I think I could.”

“So… what do you want me to do?” you ask.

Hyunjin smiles, so pure and beautiful that you wonder how his girlfriend just left him, and says, “I want you to help me figure out how it feels to really be in love.” He scrambles to interrupt Seungmin, whose mouth is opening. “It’s just three weeks before prom. We’ll just feel happy together, none of the other shit--”

“You are so cheesy,” Jeongin interjects. “And I think you’ve watched too many dramas. Did you pause to think how Y/N feels about your plan?”

You appreciate your younger friend’s considerateness, but the guilty expression on Hyunjin’s face prompts you to say, “I mean, I don’t think I could like you like that, so… sure. I’ll help you.”

“Really?” All three of your friends ask as they turn to you.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “What, you fall in love with me in three weeks for prom, I don’t reciprocate, but we move on as friends? I think it’ll be fine.”

“It never works like that though,” Seungmin doubts. He isn’t as cynical as he seems, but in the presence of overly-optimistic Felix and Hyunjin, he and Jeongin always end up as the voice of reason. Usually, you’re with them, but this time, you’re the one enabling the idiocy of the new plan.

Hyunjin grins, “Then we’ll make it work like that.”

With the amount of time that passes before Hyunjin mentions his plot again, you almost forget about it. The first week is normal in a way that makes you nervous-- you hang out like normal, doing homework in the library with your friends as Minho harrasses Chan, eating lunch wherever you can find a spot. There isn’t really time to be alone, just the two of you, and you aren’t sure how Hyunjin is supposed to ‘fall in love’ with you if it’s just normal.

Of course, it doesn’t last long.

It takes a while for it to set in that when Hyunjin asks you to go watch a drive-through movie with him, it isn’t just so he can show off his brand-new car. It’s a date, and it’s stated painfully clearly in his text from the night before.

However, you don’t realize it until you’re literally getting into his car in front of your house.

“Wait. This is a date, isn’t it?”

Hyunjin chuckles nervously, looking over at you in the passenger seat, and you notice for the first time that he’s put on a bit of makeup, and his car doesn’t smell like Jisung’s hot cheetos for once. “I mean, yeah. I meant it when I said I wanted you to help, and I thought you did too? It doesn’t have to be one if you’re backing out, though, it’s totally fine.”

“I’m not backing out,” you shake your head. You really aren’t-- so far, nothing has happened that would make you want to back out yet, and no freshman-year feelings for your best friend have resurfaced just yet. “I just forgot. You know me.”

“Yeah, I know your goldfish brain,” Hyunjin teases, setting the car in motion. There’s lo-fi playing, and he’s a good driver, so you relax. “You forget everything.”

“I do not! You’re the one who has to be reminded of everyone’s birthday but mine,” you protest. If he wasn’t driving, you would shove him, and you remind him of that, to his dismay.

Hyunjin hums as soon as the two of you fall into comfortable silence, your foot tapping lightly to the music, and with the sun setting on the distant horizon, it’s so familiar. You try to interrupt the peace anyway. “So, what movie are we seeing?”

“10 Reasons I Hate You,” he answers. “It’s a classic, and you haven’t seen it.”

“And you love romcoms,” you finish.

He doesn’t protest, only sending you a small smile. You’re pulling into the theater already anyway, in one of the better rows to watch the movie as Hyunjin turns his radio on and starts fiddling with it. “There’s snacks in the backseat,” he offers, to no surprise.

They’re some of your favorites, though there are also the chips that he can’t live without. There’s a blanket, which drapes awkwardly over the cupholder between the two of you, and a bottle of juice that you place in his lap immediately. “You like watermelon juice more than I do.”

“Thanks,” he says quietly, almost surprised.

You scowl and poke him, allowed to now that you’re safely parked and waiting for the movie to begin. “Don’t act all shocked, we’ve been friends since orientation and I’ve spent more than half my paychecks getting this damn juice for you.”

“Mean,” Hyunjin protests, but he hands you your favorite soda from under his seat anyway. “And shut up, it’s starting.”

He seems to know the intro to the movie, smiling when the first line of dialogue sounds, all crackly over the shitty radio, and you eventually stop staring at him to watch the movie instead. Of course, you can’t keep yourself from asking, “Why do you like romcoms so much, anyway? You’ve never explained to me, for all the ones I’ve watched with you.”

“I like happy endings, I think,” the long-haired boy responds after a short pause to think. “Not to be dramatic, but I haven’t had one yet, so maybe watching other people being happy makes me happier too.”

You nod, taking it as a perfectly acceptable answer. Knowing how sentimental your best friend is, it’s nowhere near a stretch, either, being something that just fits with his personality.

He talks occasionally to tell you a little tidbit that he knows: by the end, you’ve learned about how it’s a modern adaptation of a rather misogynistic Shakespeare play, how the entire movie was shot without sets, and how the scene of Kat reading the poem was the first take. It’s interesting, of course, but you’re more captured by the way Hyunjin’s smile glints in the weak light filtered through the car windows.

The sky is dark when the credits roll and Hyunjin reaches for the steering wheel, almost too dark for you to see anything outside when you’re driving back to your house.

“So? How was it?”

“How was what?” you ask, moving your hands around vaguely. “The snacks? The movie? The date?”

“All of the above?” Hyunjin says hesitantly.

You answer immediately, “It was perfect. You knew that, though.”

“I didn’t really. I mean, I’ve never taken you on a date,” he muses. “And plenty of the people I’ve dated before weren’t even willing to watch a rom-com with me.”

“Then that’s their problem,” you say. “Anyone who isn’t willing to watch a rom-com with you is just an asshole, and I stand by that.”

Hyunjin smiles sweetly. You’re parked by the curb in front of your house at this point, so it’s slightly more easy to see the silhouette of your friend’s face. “That’s nice of you. I dunno though, I wouldn’t want to label everyone who doesn’t like romcoms as an asshole.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You shift a little bit to face him, pausing before you explain, “I think that if someone is so unwilling to try something that means so much to the person they like, then they don’t really like them.”

“I guess. You know, there’s another reason why I like romcoms so much.”

You don’t speak, waiting for Hyunjin to explain. And he does. “I think romcoms give me hope,” he nods. “Like… they make me think that anything’s possible, not just happy endings. Maybe the person who I don’t even have a chance with secretly likes me back, you know?”

“I can’t really imagine someone who wouldn’t like you if you liked them, but I think I get it,” you smile.

“At least you try. See you at school next week?”

“Come on, we both know that Binnie’s dragging all of us out to beat Chan’s ass at bowling,” you sigh, taking it as a sign to open your car door.

Before you make it completely outside, though, Hyunjin’s hand rests on your wrist. “Y/N, thanks for tonight.”

“Anytime,” you respond breathlessly, closing the door a little louder than you probably should.

You do mean it.

“Remind me again why we have to go prom outfit shopping together?”

Hyunjin pouts, peering in the window of yet another shop. His arm rests gently on your shoulder despite the way you jokingly pushed it off at the beginning of the day, but you really don’t mind. “Isn’t it cute to have matching prom outfits? We should be color-coordinated in some way.”

“I mean, sure… but isn’t online shopping just easier?” you ask, raising your eyebrow. “It’s the 21st century, Jin.”

“You’re so unromantic,” he groans, and finally pushes the door open to a thrift store to lead you inside.

You wrinkle your nose at the heavy smell of perfume that hits you as soon as you step inside. “And you watch too many movies. You’ve known me for almost four years, you aren’t going to have some magical moment where you realize you like me just because I put on a sparkly outfit of some kind.”

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll suddenly think that you love me when you see me in a tux,” Hyunjin grins.

You don’t respond to that, and he doesn’t push it, taking it as just another joke of his. Of course he doesn’t know about freshman year, and he definitely doesn’t know about how you still aren’t sure if that crush ever subsided. He shouldn’t know.

He’s too picky to pick something at the first store, you know, so you just follow him around as he flicks through things that are either too fitted or too loose, too patterned or too plain.

It takes three stores for him to finally something that he likes, and he appears from the dressing room with a gorgeous grin on his face. “What do you think?”

“It’s… good. I mean, you look good,” you clarify. Of course Hyunjin looks perfect in anything, but the dark navy jacket over the patterned button-down he was already wearing just seem like they were a combo meant for him.

He isn’t satisfied with your response, towering over you as you slump lower in the chair. “Just good?”

“Hot. Stunning, beautiful, sexy-- is that what you want to hear?” you respond sarcastically.

“That’s exactly it!”

Rolling your eyes, you pick up your things from the chair and say, “Then we’re done? Are you picking this one?”

“Yeah, but what about you?” Hyunjin asks. “Do you already have something, or are we going to get something? I’m still waiting for my kdrama moment, you know.”

You definitely don’t have something at home, but you don’t think you could bear being on the receiving end of the drama moment that your best friend so desperately wants. Something about having him suggest something for you to wear, reacting as dramatically as you know he will, just won’t allow your old feelings for him to sit still.

“I’m good. Let’s check out, and get some ice cream?” you offer to placate him.

Hyunjin grins and offers his arm to you again, practically skipping to the checkout. “Sounds perfect to me.”

“Y/N, what the hell do I wear on a date?”

“How should I know?” You sound listless, flicking through one of the mangas that one of Changbin’s friends left as his house.

“You literally went on a date with your freshman year crush last week and then picked a prom outfit with him,” your friend scowls, tossing a shirt at your face. It’s clean, thankfully, but you still chuck it back at him.

“In my defense, I forgot that it was a date,” you respond, “and shut up about the ‘freshman year crush’ thing. I never would’ve told you if I knew you would use it against me like this.”

Changbin throws yet another piece of clothing in your direction, narrowly missing your face, and you raise a pillow to threaten him with. “You got me into this mess with Felix in the first place, so I think it’s even.”

“It’s not a mess if it’s what you asked me to do,” you complain, “and besides, you wouldn’t stop talking about this date for the past week despite it literally just being something we do together all the time.”

“I like Felix, I don’t like you.”

“Then I’m leaving you to agonize over your collection of colorful track pants on your own,” you warn, and he subsequently shuts up. “There we go. Don’t wear one of those, by the way, even though Felix wouldn’t say a single thing about it.”

“How was the date, by the way? And the three-year-old feelings?” Changbin asks as he continues to dig in his closet.

You hesitate. “It was… nice? Hyunjin knows way too much about Julia Stiles, but he was super enthusiastic and the movie was pretty good. He got the good snacks, too.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he sighs.

“Then what did you mean, Mr. ‘I Love Lee Felix With My Whole Tiny Brain’?” you challenge.

Changbin doesn’t take the bait, unfortunately. “Jeongin told me about the whole plot you and Hyunjin have going on. Are you really dumb enough to think that you can get him to love you without falling for him again, and then leave him after it?”

There’s no way to respond to his question without making a complete fool out of yourself, and so, you simply don’t. Apparently in one of his more coherent moods, Changbin continues on, “I’d say that you watched too many movies, but I’ve seen you avoid Hyunjin’s movie nights. What the hell is going on with you?”

“I mean, have you seen the way he looks when he wants something?” you answer unintentionally. “Obviously you weren’t with us at the at the boba shop, but I’m serious. I couldn’t say no to him, especially when he’s heartbroken.”

“What does he look like?” Changbin asks.

You sigh, “He… his eyes get kind of shiny, almost like he’se about to cry but not really like that. And I don’t really know, he just looks like he’d be sad if you said no but wouldn’t talk about it, and that’s the part that makes you want to say ‘yes’.”

“It sounds to me like your three-year-long crush is still here, then,” your friend replies. “Because I have never felt that way about Hyunjin before, but I know what expression you’re talking about.”

Staring at him like he’s grown two heads, you realize that he’s wearing a jean jacket that shouldn’t have taken so much time to pick out. “That’s a stupid conclusion.”

Changbin shrugs and picks his phone up on his way out. “You can think about it as stupid if you want, but I’m usually not wrong about this. I’m going now, do you want a ride or something? You can stay here as long as you want, though.”

“I’ll walk home, it’s still noon,” you answer. You need to think, anyway.

He walks to the kitchen for a drink of water, he claims, but he picks up his phone on the way there, presumably to talk to Felix like the lovey-dovey fool he is. You wrinkle your noise and wander in the hallway, fully intending to bully Changbin about his crush as long as possible.

But his low voice, echoing from the kitchen, definitely doesn’t sound like flirting. When Changbin strides out, on a mission, it’s obvious that something is wrong. “We have to go,” he says. “Jeongin and Hyunjin got in an accident.”

Fear bubbles in your throat, and you yank the front door open harder than you could’ve thought possible. “What? How? When? Is it just the two of them? Are they okay?”

“Minho says that he doesn’t know yet, he’s driving there too. They aren’t calling the police, they’re apparently fine enough to get us,” Changbin says as he backs out of the driveway. “But we better get there as soon as we can.”

“Then drive,” you exhale sharply, slamming your seatbelt on as if it’ll stop your heart from beating out of your chest.

You leap out of the passenger’s side before the car even stops moving, finding Minho and Chan’s cars both parked at the side of the road behind the silver one that you remember to be Jeongin’s parents’. There’s a huddle of people there, Seungmin and Jisung parting so that you can make your way to the center.

To your relief, both your friends are okay; Hyunjin’s sitting on the trunk of the car, massaging his legs, and Jeongin’s definitely wincing a bit too much when he moves his neck. The car is dented, but not to the point of no repair.

Still, anger clouds your vision.

“What the hell’s wrong with the both of you?” you almost shout. “And what the fuck happened?”

Hyunjin starts, “Y/N, calm down. I was trying to teach Jeongin to drive, and we went a little off course--”

“Teaching him to drive, on the damn highway?” you question furiously. “You barely got your license three months ago, I get that you’re a good driver, but you aren’t a good enough driver for this! Whose idea was this?”

Jeongin timidly raises a hand, but Felix stops you from saying anything more. “Let’s all calm down, okay? Y/N, our friends are fine,” he says, low voice barely audible over the wind whipping around. “Everyone’s alive, which is the most important part here, and we can fix the car, which isn’t all that important. Let’s just focus on getting someone here to help, okay?”

“I’ve called my uncle to come and tow the car, we’re just going to get Hyunjin and Jeongin to the hospital, okay?” Seungmin reassures you. “Changbin’s car is too small, and you’re the better driver, so you and Hyunjin take it. Jeongin will come in Minho’s car with me, and we’ll meet you there.”

You nod stiffly and get into the driver’s seat first, pretending like you don’t notice how Chan pulls Hyunjin back to talk with him.

You shouldn’t have gotten angry; it doesn’t make sense to be angry at all. You should’ve been scared, worried, anything but angry, and so, you can only try to calm your breathing by the time Hyunjin sits next to you and Chan’s car sets off.

“Why are you so mad?” he asks quietly.

It’s the wrong thing to say; you turn your head to him, incredulous. “Why am I mad? You could have died, both of you could have died!”

“And? How many things have we all done together that could’ve ended with us in a ditch?” Hyunjin raises an eyebrow. “Hell, you were the one who decided that it would be fun to jump from the roof into Seungmin’s pool last summer, what’s changed? I get it, it was stupid, but you’ve never been so mad about something like this before.”

You exhale, tapping your fingers on Changbin’s steering wheel as you follow your friends’ cars. “To be honest, I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

It’s completely silent after that, at least until you reach the emergency room.

Jeongin and Hyunjin are fine, thankfully; the youngest has twisted a muscle in his neck, but it’s nothing that can’t heal on its own, and Hyunjin’s knees are merely bruised. Jisung’s the one who tells you, the older two of your friend group apparently dealing with the parents of the injured.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” he asks, patting your arm. “You reacted a little… adversely earlier. Did you and Hyunjin have a fight?”

“Why is it always about me and Hyunjin?” you ask with narrowed eyes. “Can’t I be mad because they almost got themselves killed?”

Jisung raises an eyebrow. “You never get mad when we almost get ourselves killed, that’s Chan’s job. And you were basically yelling straight at Hyunjin, I’ve never seen the guy so scared.”

You exhale and sit back in the creaky hospital chair. You wish you could tell Jisung if there was something wrong, but you honestly don’t know what it is. “I don’t know. Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“You tell me, dude,” Jisung chuckles. “I think you should think about it. I mean, there’s barely two weeks until prom now, you barely have time to back out anymore.”

“Why would I back out?” you stare at him.

He pushes you to stand, and only says, “Think about it yourself. Okay?”

You don’t tap out, but only because you don’t get Hyunjin alone enough to do so.

After your little yelling fest at him, he obviously doesn’t want to just talk to you, despite how you publicly apologize to both him and Jeongin. You don’t sit together during movie night, you sit at opposite corners of your study table in the library.

Until Felix’s parents invite all of you over to take prom pictures, all you get is a stilted silence.

“You look nice,” he mumbles when the two of you get ushered together in a pair. Except for Felix and Changbin, all the others are by themselves, and you wonder why Hyunjin was so hellbent to get himself a prom date when almost everyone else didn’t bother.

He himself looks absolutely perfect, his hair styled to perfection and a slight pink glittering on his lips. The suit that you picked out together is paired with a patterned shirt that you’ve never seen before, and it perfectly matches your own hastily-purchased outfit. Hyunjin offers a flower to you, color-coordinated, and you hold it in one hand with the other on his arm. “Thanks. You too.”

“Okay, smile, everyone!” Felix’s mom grins behind the camera. “Couples, stand closer together a little bit!”

With a (rather convenient) nudge from Minho, Hyunjin’s hand slips onto your waist, and heat rises to the tops of your ears. Felix’s mother is pleased, though, and the photos carry on with the occasional hoots of laughter when Jisung smacks a kiss onto Seungmin’s cheek and gets clocked as a result.

Conversation is never stilted when you’re with your friends, so despite the silence between Hyunjin and you, there’s no awkwardness during the ride there. Silence only falls when it’s just the two of you standing together in the corner of the venue, all the others off to dance or raid the buffet table.

You decide to speak first. “Are you pissed at me for yelling at you? Because I said I was sorry, and I am.”

“I’m not pissed at you,” Hyunjin shakes his head.

“Well, you’re sure acting like it,” you snap. With a sigh, you end up apologizing again, “Sorry. I just… I know that the plot was mostly a joke, just to take your mind off of the heartbreak and stuff. I kind of messed it up.”

“You messed it up?” He stares at you.

“Well, yeah… I yelled at you, didn’t I?”

Hyunjin sighs, almost like he expected a different answer. “No, that didn’t mess anything up. I mean, I got what I wanted, anyway.”

“And what was that?”

“I fell in love with you.”

It’s your turn to watch him, completely shellshocked. The sparkling, multicolored lights of the venue bounce off him like an otherworldly glow, and his eyes sparkle even though he’s avoiding your gaze. Maybe all the people falling at his feet, you included, are onto something. “I mean, it’s not exactly what I wanted,” he blabbers. “I wanted to be in love without it hurting, and obviously that failed, but… I should’ve known that it wouldn’t even take three weeks for me to love you.”

“Hyunjin.”

Your best friend still doesn’t look up, so you just ask softly, “Why does it hurt?”

“You don’t like me back, of course it hurts,” Hyunjin frowns.

“Who said I didn’t like you back?”

He’s quiet, eyes flicking up to you like he thinks it’s Jisung pranking him or something. “Do you mean it?”

“We’re stupid, Hyunjin,” you laugh. “We’re so, so stupid. I had a crush on you since we met, for two whole-ass years.”

“Well, I liked you for almost four, so I think I beat you there,” he says. But there’s a relieved smile on his face, his eyes curving prettily as he reaches for your hand. “Then… do you want to dance?”

“No romcom shenanigans,” you warn, but you allow yourself to be tugged out to the dance floor next to your friends with a smile.

Hyunjin’s grin as you twirl him around under the burning neon lights suddenly makes it seem like everything will just... magically be okay. If you had just been a little more courageous (or a little less stupid), maybe you could’ve seen it earlier.

But good things come with time and patience. And with all the patience you’ve had, waiting for this to happen, the way you finally feel with him makes it all worth it.

271 notes · View notes

omg-im-such-a-masochist · 3 years

Text

WHY SO CYNICAL?

Prompt: Requested, by a lovely nonny 😘

Word Count: Long-Ish

Pairings: Tommaso Ciampa x Reader

Warnings: +18, smut, rough sex, dirty talk, jealousy

Editor: @thenightmareismyreality

Tag: @serpantscorpio8497 , @theworldofotps , @blxxckheart , @aerynscrichton , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sunnyyeoo

Notes: I love this man 🥰💦 If you’d like to check out my previous works, you can find them on my Masterlist 😘

Tommaso Ciampa, now this was a name that could easily trigger both the best, and the worst elements of me. Best because he could make me turn into mush, and worst because he’s the only human that can push my buttons like no one else.

When I first started working in NXT I would have sworn that I was sure we would never get along, but it was actually quite the opposite, we got along almost instantly and it was weird the amount of things we had in common. We became good friends, and yes, that was it. Would I like for it to be different? Yes. Will it be different? No. Simple as that.

Thatcher was also a good friend of mine. We knew each other longer than Tommaso and I did, and our friendship was a lot more intimate.

Ever since we met, he always flirted with me. He never really meant it, it was all in a teasing way. But it was on a daily basis, and Thatcher is kinda known for not toning it down, so his “flirting” can get quite...exposing? Well, what I’m trying to say is that it gets explicit...sometimes too explicit.

“Could you stop talking about her like that in front of me” Tommaso growled, to which Thatcher scoffed

“And since when are you the boss of me, blue eyes?”

“I mean it! Fucking stop.talking.about.her.like.that!” He grunted and left

“And what the fuck is his problem?” He asked me with a frown

“I don’t know, Thatchy...I’ll talk to him” I stated and stood up to go after Tommaso

I had to ran around the whole goddamn arena because he was so fast, I couldn’t get ahold of him

“Tommaso!” I called and ran to him, and when he was at the door that lead to the parking lot, he looked over his shoulder at me, huffed and and walked outside

*What the fuck?* I thought to myself and followed him out

“Tommaso, slow down!” I ran and pulled him by his arm. “What’s wrong?”

“It really doesn’t bother you, does it?” He squinted his eyes in hatred “The things he says, the way he says it. You don’t give a fuck!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked in disbelief

“It really doesn’t make sense to me how can you be so cool with it. Like, the guy says the most absurd things to you and you don’t even blink!” He spat

“Hold up- Thatcher and I are friends and how we decide to express our friendship does not concern you”

Tommaso closed the distance between us “It does concern me when it’s done in front of my face!”

“Why do you even care?”

“How would you react if I did the same to you? If I told you all the time how delicious you look in leggings or how your thighs call for me so bad that I wish to bury myself in between them?” He mentioned the things Thatcher commented on earlier today

“I wouldn’t care!” I honestly responded

“Ok...and how would you react if you saw me doing that with one of the other girls?”

“I wouldn’t care” I tried to hide my discomfort from him, but of course he noticed right away

“Wouldn’t you? Really?” He came closer with a smirk

“No”

“Something in your voice tells me otherwise” Tommaso caressed my inner wrist with a smile “I think you’d be very bothered by it, actually” And suddenly his hand went from my wrist to the nape of my neck “I honestly think that if that happened, you wouldn’t be able to take that cute little pout off your face” Leaning down, he stopped dangerously close to my lips “Something tells me, that you wouldn’t like that at all, would you, Y/N?”

“Why do you care?” I grunted

While chuckling he answered “Because”

“You’re so ridiculous, Ciampa”

“Oh, it’s Ciampa now, huh?” His hand slid from the nape of neck to my ass “So you’re THAT mad?” He pulled me closer to him until our bodies touched “Why would you be so mad if you don’t care about poor old Tommy here?”

“Let me go, you’re starting to annoy me”

“But you’re not annoyed with Thatcher, are you?”

“Why are you picking on Thatchy all of a sudden?”

“Because Thatchy” He said, with a bitter mocking tone “Is starting to get too close to what’s mine”

“I hope you’re not implying that ‘what’s yours’ is me”

“Funny...Last week you got your panties in a twist because you heard some girl in the club talking about how she wanted to come back to the hotel with me for the night” He narrowed his eyes “So tell me, Y/N. Why is it ok when you do it, but it isn’t when I do it?”

“It’s not about that-”

“So what is it about?” He squeezed my ass with his hands “If it’s not about us being attracted to each other and hating when other people go around lurking around what we want” He leaned down to whisper in my ear “You want me, don’t you, Y/N?”

I moaned softly at his low voice, warmth and scent being so close to me

“Tom-“

“No no no, shhhh” He nibbled my ear “Don’t fight it” He hugged me closer

“Fuck” I moaned

“Say it, Y/N. I wanna hear you say it”

“Yes, I want you” I pulled him closer to me by the waistband of his jeans “I’ve always wanted you! Happy now?”

“Very much” He chuckled and picked me up in his arms. Pinning me against one of the back walls of the parking lot

His kiss was urgent, as if he had waited an eternity to do so. His lips soon connected to my neck, my very sweet spot, which instantly made me moan like a bitch in heat.

“Your moans drive me crazy” He pressed his hard bulge against my crotch

“Tom...please”

When he looked up at me, his pupils were so dilated that it made his eyes almost appear black “Again” He growled

“Tom, please-”

Soon after, I felt his hands on the crotch of my leggings. He took the fabric in his hands and ripped it open along with my panties

“Are you fucking insane?” I gasped in shock “How am I supposed to go back-” The words died on my mouth the minute his swollen tip slid in me

“Jesus fuck” He grunted, while biting the meeting point between my shoulder and neck in order to muffle his moans

“Shit, you’re so..” My eyes rolled to the back of my head in pleasure

Tommaso thrusted in and out - slowly at first, stretching my walls to his (very) incredible length.

“Fucking you is so much better than I expected” He stated, while pulling my bottom lip between his teeth

“You’re so much bigger than I expected” I moaned

His boyish chuckle was the reminder of why I wanted this with him. This moment, this intimacy. Yes, we are in a public parking lot and this is the furthest away from a romantic scenario as possible, but it was him. It was WITH him. It was what I’ve always wanted and almost as if he could read my mind, he said

“I promise you next time it will be on a proper bed, covered with red rose petals and lots of champagne” Tommaso kissed me so softly, that it was almost an ironic joke compared to his quick thrusts

“Is Tommy a soft boy?” I giggled

“For you? I’m a fucking simp” He smiled widely while his thumb met my clit

“Does this mean that we’ll become roommates?” I caressed his neck and pressed our foreheads together

“You’re stuck with me now, cupcake” He pecked my lips “Deal with it‘ He cackled

Feeling his body pressed against mine, his arms squeezing me tight and his cock fucking me so good was more than enough to make me cum

“Tom”

“I’m right behind you, baby” He whispered against my lips

My orgasm exploded around him and my vision became blurred. For one minute I could only hear the frantic pace of my heartbeat in my ears.

Tommaso quickly pulled out and shot his load against the concrete wall with a grunt.

“Nice aim” I joked

“Not bad, huh?” He laughed while kissing me

“Wanna go back to the hotel?”

“Oh, you’re that eager?”

“Fuck yes! And I don’t want anyone but me seeing that beautiful ass of yours”

“How do you know my ass is beautiful?” I asked defiantly

“I peeked through your locker room peephole”

"Tommaso!" I gasped and slapped his shoulder

And of course his only response was to laugh

Please, if you’re comfortable with it, let me know your thoughts on this? Feedbacks are always appreciated 🥰❤️

#tommaso ciampa smut #tommaso ciampa x reader #tommaso ciampa imagine #tommaso ciampa fanfiction #tommaso ciampa #nxt smut #nxt imagine #wwe nxt #nxt x reader #nxt fanfiction #wwe x reader #wwe smut #wwe imagine #wwe fanfiction #masochist writes

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

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

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

word count: 17.2k

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

///

Harry hates clubs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the f—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re going to hell.”

“I’m already there, mate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, boomer.”

“You’re older than I am!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the culture shock hit.

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

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

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Precisely his point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So how do you like your new home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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