#a random stranger just know that it is probably my favorite compliment I have ever received and thinking on it makes me happy

[artificial-condition]

To the girl who told me I was pretty in an Albertsons Starbucks in New Mexico—find me I wanna talk

#my thoughts #seriously the timing of that compliment could not have been more perfect #I didn’t want to go into the store because I felt like a hot mess #we had camped the night before and I hadn’t brushed my hair because I accidentally packed up all the brush before I did it #and I was in my comfy clothes because we had a long car ride ahead of us #so I was feeling self conscious and to get a compliment of such high status hit me hard #it wasn’t that my shirt looked good or anything it was just saying that I myself was pretty #and in such a raw state of myself it made me feel so good #and she was so pretty too!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #so yeah if you were a Starbucks barista in Albertsons in Taos New Mexico end of may/beginning of June last year and complimented #a random stranger just know that it is probably my favorite compliment I have ever received and thinking on it makes me happy

[vengeful-velvette]

Hey stranger!

So a couple of days ago you asked what my list would be for least to most brattiest hazbin characters would look like, and i’m incredibly curious as to what your list would be!

This concept is really fun to me omg I really want your opinion on this 🤔

Hey random stranger who I have never met before! Fancy seeing you in my little ask box.

Here are my own thoughts regarding the tier list, also ranked from least to most to build tension:

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- Charlie: I'm glad we both agree that Charlie is at the bottom of this list lol. She's just too sweet! I feel like she doesn't even think to brat either, like she thinks "we're both enjoying this, why would I tell you to stop or not listen to you when I want to?"

I also feel like Charlie really enjoys sweet sex, like she just doesn't understand how someone can enjoy being called derogatory names during sex. She probably also says "I love you" during sex and wants to hold your hand.

At the absolute worst, she'll get embarrassed (especially when you two are first dating) and put her hands over face to hide from your sweet words.

Though, I do think that she has a hidden animalistic side to her (did you see in in the finale? 😳 I'm a dom, but oh, that got to me), that I bet that even she's unaware of. I imagine that she finds this out about herself when you two are play fighting in bed and wrestling each other around. You're able to pin her to bed and as you tease her; "Not so powerful now, are you princess?" She can't help her eyes from going red as she snarls at you.

Which of course shatters all playful energy as you reinsure her that you weren't scared - you actually found it really hot. (Also, fun fact, but as much as I go crazy about Velvette, Charlie is actually my favorite Hazbin character. Idk, she's just so cheerful, hopeful, apologetic, and nice in a show filled with loveable assholes that I couldn't help but get attached. I love her, she's my baby girl.)

- Sir Pentious: I'm glad I'm not the only one who doesn't see him as the least bratty character ever, lol. He's just so precious! I imagine him as being extremely shy in bed and extremely reactive. Even the most chaste kiss can embarrass him.

I also think he isn't used to hearing compliments since he's visually very more animal-like than most sinners, so some people are little put off by his appearance. So hearing you call him your "pretty boy" and "darling snake" has him flushing and squirming.

I also doubt that he could handle any mean words. It just absolutely kills his confidence. Though I do think he will find some embarrassing enjoyment in being teased, I think that it could never cross into actual mean words. He absolutely loves to please, though, and it's honestly really cute seeing him try to pleasure you even though he doesn't really know how to. What he lacks in skill, he definitely makes up in enthusiasm, though.

- Vaggie: Man, three in a roll that's exactly the same, lol. But I totally agree with you, I don't think Vaggie is much of a brat. I think she also doesn't like not pleasuring her partner (because my girl has self worth issues), so I feel like if you told her to lie down and relax while you pleasure her, it wouldn't take long before she's trying to touch you and get you off too.

That's really the only way I can see her "bratting", and I bet that after awhile with you proving to her that you want to please her, that it brings you pleasure, she eventually relaxes.

- Lucifer: I know you put him up higher, but to me, Luci would never not crumble immediately in bed. This man has a praise kink a mile long and loves to hear you call him your "good boy". Though, there's a reason he's placed here and not all the way at the bottom.

While I do think that the first few times (or, more accurately, first 50 times) he's a blushing mess who crumbles immediately, I feel like after a while he starts to gain some self confidence (and internalized the idea that he wouldn't fuck everything up with you if he messes anything up), he feels a lot more comfortable teasing you back and bratting.

I still think it's laughably easy to get him to crumble, but an attempt is still made!

- Rosie: I know you said you didn't know where to put Roise, but I do! Gosh, I love Roise so much. Every single one of her lines is my favorite. I ultimately find her to be a rather sweet character, hence why she's pretty low on the list, but I still think she has a bite to her that can make her seem brat adjacent.

Like, if you're up for it, she will totally bite you until you don't have a single unmarked bit of flesh.

- Cherri Bomb: Now we're getting into "slightly a brat but can turn it down" territory. I definitely think that Cherri has some spark in her, but I also think that it wouldn't take much to flip her over and make her show her stomach. She's kinda explosive in that way, in the sense that she's hot and quick in the beginning, a bit very quickly flizzes out.

I also think that she's not really used to pleasure? It's implied in the Addict music video that she used to have a lover, but based on her facial expressions, I don't think she really likes him all that much? Or it's complicated, at least. But judging purely by his looks and the fact the two still aren't together, I'm assuming that he wasn't that great of a partner and Cherri isn't used to getting more pleasure than she gives.

- Husk: I think he's actually a bit of a brat. You've seen him bristle whenever someone pets him in the show, I think he's kinda predisposed to ruffling up when you call him your "pretty little kitty" or pet him (even though he really likes being your pretty little kitty). I feel like he's prone to get embarrassed very easily, and this means he can be quite bratty when you lay on the compliments a little thick.

I do think that Husk would get a little off on the humiliation aspect, but it takes him a bit to really accept this fact about himself that bratting to you is easier.

I agree that he's probably used to pleasing his partner during sex, so that probably adds to his brat score as he tries to wrestle control away from you to make you feel good, too. Though, after a while, I think Husk realizes that he feels truly comfortable with you taking care of him (while calling him your pretty kitty) and won't brat as much.

- Alastor: since Alastor is canonical asexual, and I like to include this fact, I don't think he gets the same out of sex as non-asexual characters do. What I mean by this is that he isn't so interested in the physical sexual experience, but how sex can lead to many situations he isn't familiar with. I do think he finds those situations entertaining and thus finds enjoyment in them.

For example, in @/prince-liest fic Station 66.6, Now Playing: The Irreversible Ruination of Your Self-Respect (that I think everyone should read, really it's so good), introduced me to the concept of Alastor really like prey/predator play because he has some deer instincts in him. I really, really, really love that idea!

I think Alastor likes experiences like that, ones he isn't accustomed to. Especially when he you mix that with sex, something he usually has no interest in, but adds a neat layer to the whole thing.

Because of this, I also think he's somewhat of a brat. Mainly, he really wants to see what you will do to him if he says "no", will you force him? How will you force someone like him to do something he "doesn't" want to? I can see him as a sub who likes to make their dom work to get their submission, as it feeds into his massive ego.

- Velvette: she's so used to barking orders all day long that it can be hard to turn that aspect of her "off". So she can be quite bossy during sex. She doesn't really understand that you want to take it nice and slow tonight and will start demanding that you hurry it up as you eat her out.

She thinks she knows best, so she isn't shy in voicing her opinion when she thinks you're doing something too "slow" or "softly" or you're being a "tease". She absolutely hates being called a brat, too, and huffs and puffs and pouts when you call her one.

- Vox: I'm glad we can both agree that he's extremely bratty, lol. He definitely has this image in his head that he's some big shot dom, and probably doesn't even realize he's a sub until he meets you and you take him apart bit by bit. The only reason why I haven't placed him higher is because of how fast he crumbles when you have him underneath you. I wouldn't go into too much detail because I think you already nailed how Vox can turn into a dom, to a brat, to a squirming sub.

- Lute: I know you don't see her as a brat, but I definitely do. I see her as someone who can be pretty bossy in bed. I can also see her as someone who loves being "forced" into submission. She's a fighter! She wants to wrestle into you pin her to the bed and force your fingers into her cunt before shoving your fingers into her mouth to make her "taste her desperation".

I also thinks that she gets really embarrassed by sweet words, and thinks that you're just teasing her when you say she's your "adorable little angel", and thus isn't afraid to bite back at your words.

- Adam: I'm glad he's at the top of both of our lists lol. Yeah he's a terrible brat, and he doesn't really have the excuse of "wants to please you too" or "wants to be forced into submission" like other characters. He's just a brat! He wants all the pleasure for himself, and he wants it right now! I feel like the biggest struggle is actually getting him to try and please you. (Maybe you even have to lock him up in a cock cage to get him to behave - woah who said that?)

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Sorry, this is kinda half "tier rank of least to most bratty characters" and half "random smut headcanons I have". Also some of these characters got wayyyyy longer parts because I have!!! Lots of Thoughts!!! About them!!!

Anyway, I hope you like my tier list!!

#hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin smut #my post #my smut #oh shot i forgot Emily #i love Emily #she'll probably be around the Sir Pentious area

[sage-green-matcha]

WE’RE NOT REALLY STRANGERS - ETHAN LANDRY 🃏

“Tell the other person to close their eyes and to keep them closed” Playing the “we’re not really stranger” card game with Ethan Landry!

Content includes: fluff! Card game, Softie! Ethan Landry, shy duo!

<3

<3

<3

You lay on the couch of Ethan’s apartment, sighing as you continued to add details to the Google slide. “You know y/n, it doesn’t have to be pretty, just copy and paste the information” you frowned. “I like it pretty, looks like we put more effort into it” You switched the background color to a deep blue, a smile on your face as it matched the other slides.

“I’m getting so bored of this” you mumbled, changing fonts and adding colors, copying and pasting pictures onto it. “How about we take a break? We’ve been working on this for the past hour” You looked down at him, a thankful expression on your face. “I was hoping you’d say that” You shut the laptop, Ethan sitting on the couch next to you.

“We better get a perfect A, we’re putting way too much unnecessary effort into this” The 20-slide Econ assignment was almost done, with only a couple of things left to add. “What do you wanna do?” He asked, chin resting on the side of the couch. You shrugged, looking around his apartment.

“Do you like card games?” You nodded, watching him as he went over to the game closet, pulling out a red box. “What’s that?” He placed the box on the coffee table, the box reading “We’re not really strangers” at the top. “Basically, it’s just a bunch of questions that we get to ask each other to get to know each other better, fits since like…we’ve only really hung out for projects like this” You nodded, agreeing. “Yeah, okay” you smiled, Ethan explaining the rules as he shuffled the cards.

“Okay, uhm I’ll ask first?” “Yea,” he pulled a card, reading it out loud to you. “What was your first impression of me?” You hummed, thinking back to the first time you’d met him. “I think…I thought you were cute, a bit awkward I guess. You seemed really smart so I’m glad I got partnered up with you” Ethan blushed at the compliment, thanking you before you pulled the next card.

“Who do you think is my favorite artist!?” Ethan knew you loved music, and he already knew the answer. “Taylor Swift…?” “Yea! I like how you know that” you bit back your lip, cuddling up to the shared blanket.

“Okay…do you think I like hot Cheetos?” Your eyes turned into lines, pointing at the empty bag of chips. “No Ethan, I think you love Cheetos” He rolled his eyes. “It’s a very solid chip, they’re good” he laughed, smiling at you. “Do you think…that I’ve ever been in love?” You watched as Ethan examined your face, eyes squinted. “I think…that no you haven’t, but other people have probably been in love with you” You turned your head, Ethan biting back his lip.

“What makes you say that?” He shrugged. “You Just have a very loving personality, it’s the first thing anyone picks up on” You blushed and he pulled out a different pile of cards. “Round two is…connection…what’s the biggest mistake you’ve made?” “That’s deep…” he nodded as you thought. “I think it’s probably…hm. Oh, I know. Not sticking up for myself in things that have impacted me, like a lot”

“Like what?” “Like…I was bullied a lot as a kid, I think that kinda messed with how I turned out” he frowned. He could never imagine people bullying you. You were so sweet and caring. “Okay…hmm what non-domestic animal describes you? And why?” You already had an answer in mind, Ethan thinking with his hand on his chin. “A cat?” You shook your head. “That is so wrong” “Really?” You nodded, “You give hamster energy” he looked at you confused. “Well…I guess that kinda does make sense” he was really random and quiet, but he was also smart.

“What’s the worst pain you’ve been in that wasn’t physical?” You felt comfortable with Ethan, so you decided to open up with your mental health issues, if he thought you were crazy then that would probably be the worst pain. “I think…when I was in this really dark place, it was a couple of summers ago but uhm. My mom was sick and I was just depressed…like suicidal” You played with the rings on your fingers, sinking yourself into the couch. “I’m sorry…are you okay now?” His heart hurt for you, looking at you with doughy eyes. “Yea! Definitely, being around people that I care about helps a lot” You smiled at him, trying to give him the indication that it was him you were talking about. “I’m glad”

“What would your younger self not believe about your life today?” You put down the card, snuggling closer to the blanket as the gears in Ethan's head turned, thinking for a minute. “Maybe the fact that I actually have friends?” He laughed and you smiled. “Really?” He nodded. “I never really had friends, I was always really quiet as a kid and- and like shy” he scratched the back of his neck.

“What’s your least favorite personality trait in a person?” “I really dislike pretentious people, like get over it. You’re not better than anyone” You shrugged and he nodded his head, agreeing. “Think of someone that you admire. What made you think of them specifically?” You were the first person that popped into mind, his face flushed as he began to speak.

“The person, they’re just so sweet and, like” he sighed, not able to put his feelings of admiration towards you into words. “They do their best at everything. They go above and beyond even when they don’t have to. It’s like they’re the perfect person and they have such a beautiful personality” he could rant to you about yourself forever.

You just smiled, nodding your head as he described this mystery person. He must have a crush on them, the way that he was going about it definitely showed signs, a small frown on your face. It was the last question of the connection round, going into reflection.

“If we were in a band…what would be our name?” He smiled. “Like, the Econ girls or something” “But I’m not even a girl!” You broke into a small fit of laughter. “I like Econ girls, that’s our band name” he nodded, excepting his fate as an Econ girl.

“What part of yourself do you see in me?” “Honestly, nothing…you’re too perfect” you scoffed. “I’m for real…I don’t think I could compare myself to you” he fiddled with his hands, avoiding eye contact. “Really? Okay, draw” he picked up the card, placing it on the table.

“When this game is over, what will be something you remember about me?” You pretended to think long and hard, already knowing the answer. “Everything, I liked getting to know you better” Ethan felt his heart pump out of his chest, trying to hold back a smile as you pulled the next card.

“What do I need to hear right now?” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, glancing at you and then at the pile of cards on the table. “That the person I thought of first was you” You could’ve screamed, and so could Ethan. His face was flushed as he waited for your response, your eyes just wide as you tried to calm yourself down.

He watched as you held back a smile, your attempt failing before you hid your face in your hands. “Another one?” You nodded, Ethan with a smile on his lips. “In one word, describe how you feel right now” The universe was working with him, all the cards playing out perfectly. “Happy..?” You questioned, nodding to yourself. “Yea, happy”

You pulled out one of the wild cards, pulling out the paper and pencils from inside the box. “Write a message to each other and give it to each other, open it once you have left” You tapped your pencil against the table. Tucking your hair behind your ear as you started to write.

Ethan watched you, attempting to sneak a peek but it didn’t work, trying to come up with what to say to you. The tension could be cut with a knife, smiles hidden as you wrote. “You done?” He questioned and you nodded, folding up the piece of paper.

“Look Into each other's eyes for 30 seconds. What did you notice?” You scooted closer toward him, your body nervous as you looked into his eyes. You always knew Ethan was pretty, but seeing him so close made you realize he was way more than just pretty. His eyes were a pretty brown color, creasing at the sides when he smiled.

His lips looked so soft, so pillowy. The perfect shade of pink. You started to even get a bit insecure about your own. Ethan on the other hand took the opportunity to examine you even more. He knew everything about your face, every detail, every mark. He felt his heart beat faster as you looked at his lips, looking back into his eyes with your lips agape.

The two of you got closer, Ethan’s light breaths on your face as he took your jaw into his hands, pulling you closer to him. Your body melted into him, your lips pressing against his without a warning. Heat filled your body, butterflies going crazy in your stomach. He tasted so good, so sweet. And the feeling of his lips on yours was addicting. His hand pushed to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him if that was even possible.

He pulled away, taking in the sight of your puffy lips, your face flushed in a pink blush. “One more? For good luck?” You nodded and he read the card to himself, instructing you to close your eyes. Your eyebrows furrowed as you waited. 5 seconds, then 10, then 15.

You felt him kiss you again, confused but not mad about it. His hand was on your waist, pulling you on top of him. The feeling of his kiss was like hundreds of fireworks going off inside of you, euphoria filling your whole body. Just the feeling of his hands running across your skin made you shiver, pressing your hand against his chest.

You pulled away and he handed you the card, reading it out loud. “Tell the other person to close their eyes and to keep them closed…wait 15 seconds and kiss them” You shook your head at the card, Ethan pulling you into his side. “I liked that game” “I did too” Before you left you exchanged letters, opening it frantically in your car as you recalled the night's events.

Y/n, you’re the person that I was talking about, but I think you already know that. I'm happy I decided to play this game with you. You make me feel safe and I really like you…It’s easier to express my feelings in letters, but I hope I get to show or tell you in these next couple of rounds.

Yours, Ethan Landry <3

#celebrities #cute #ethan landry #fanfic #jack champion #scream #ethan landry smut #jack champion x reader #avatar #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x you #ethan landry angst #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry drabble #ethan landry fic #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry fanfiction #jack champion oneshot #jack champion fluff #jack champion scream #scream franchise #scream 6 #scream fluff #card games #jack champion fanfic #jack champion x y/n #jack champion angst #jack champion headcannons #jack champion gif

[tohjwcc]

Who am I? INTRODUCTION

Alright, so I've been here for like..half a year now? I actually don't entirely know, but ish 6 months. But I feel like I want to introduce myself. Idk why.

- So. Hi. I'm tohjwcc.. I honestly wanna change it, but I'm scared people won't recognize me if I do haha. So, I guess I'm stuck with it for a lil while longer.

- My personality is complicated. For any camp cretaceous fan, I can easily describe myself as a softer version of Yaz. I have a strong Yaz side, but another big piece of my personality is just quirky and weird and funny (people say I'm funny.. so I hope they're telling the truth lol). But also, I've been told... SO. MANY. TIMES.... That I'm too nice for my own good. I'm kind and nice to everyone. I can't be mean to anyone. At least not on purpose. That is one thing that separates me and Yaz from being completely identical (personalitywise). But ofc there are other small stuff that also separates us two a little but yeah.

- English is sadly not my first language, so any bad grammar or wrong wording could appear, so I apologize for that. I also like to make up new words, so if there's a word you've never heard before, it's probably one of my new creations. Confusion can appear, you've been warned.

- On this blog.. is it a blog? I don't even know. Anyways, on this account thingy I mostly post about camp cretaceous/chaos theory. That is where my main interest is. That leads us to my next.. ugh, me and words. I don't even know what it's called I'm my language. Paragraph, maybe? Let's go with that. That leads us to my next paragraph.

- Favorite shows. I've got a LOT, but the ones that might appear on this account are probably just Jwct/jwcc and the owl house. There's a chance like stranger things and heartstopper could be joining us too. I know nothing. I could be posting/reblogging random crap as well, so nothing is for sure.

- I started watching camp cretaceous when season 3 had been released. I was in my "Jurassic world era", so I had been watching all the Jurassic world movies (ish), so I guess I just wanted to rewatch some of them again, and then I saw it. "Jurassic world camp cretaceous". I was like "OoO". I began to watch it, and fell in love with it RIGHT AWAY. Also, a funny fun fact, I started watching it when I was 12. And now I'm 15. This means I was as old as the youngest character when I started watching it, and I am NOW as old as the OLDEST characters are in the show. This show has been with me through all my teenage years so far. I'm so greatful for this show and these campers. They helped me through so much, and I could never thank them enough.

-The jwcc character i can relate most to is Yaz. 10000%. Like I said before, she is so me. My friend says I'm a Yaz, and she once said I even looked like Yaz, which is cool, but idk how cuz I'm not a brunette haha. But these are the bestest compliments I've ever gotten.

Shoutout to everyone who even bothers to read this lmao. I might add stuff to this later, who knows.

Have a great day ^^

#Yeah.. #Just felt like I wanted to do it #So I did it ^^ #feel free to read. feel free to not read #Do what you want ^^ #i love this “^^” #so cute #^^

[02182023]

how we met

i never thought dating apps worked (yes we met online booo i know) but i used them to go on fun dates after a long on again/off again with my ex of 5 years. i wasn’t sure i even wanted a relationship. i just wanted to be taken out and complimented and adored for the night. when we matched we talked about spider-man (my fav superhero) and then the convo sort of fizzled out. we added each other on insta and left it at that for awhile. we tried to meet up a few times, i ghosted him a few times, but eventually things worked out.. obviously.

first date

i posted a story on insta of this guy’s very creepy/shitty pick up line laughing at it. i didn’t think much of it. then my lovey, who was mostly a stranger at this point, slid up and made a joke about the random guy’s pick up line. we got to talking and he asked if i was free the next night and i decided i was in fact free. so we met up on dec.30.22 for kbbq which i had never had before. there was a long wait so we went to the bar down the street to get a drink while we waited. we talked like we had known each other forever. our bartender came to us and said, “how’s the night going? good? i can feel it.” it made me blush so bad because it was a good night and i was so excited to be connecting with someone the way i was with him. so we have dinner, he cut’s all the fat off the meat and slightly overcooks all the pieces i’m going to eat (something i mentioned to him at the bar was my weird fear of uncooked meat) and we talk. as we were leaving the restaurant he put his arm around me and said “i don’t want to stop talking” so we went back to the bar and the night continued. at the end of the date, he walked me to the car and at this point i had already decided i knew i wanted something with him. so i kissed him goodnight.

talking stage

after our first date we both deleted our dating apps and cut everyone else off. we both really enjoyed each other’s company. for the next two months we went on several dates. he always aligns our dates to things he knew i loved. art, disney, the stars and moon, ect. so to know why this next thing is so sweet for me, you need some background to my previous relationships. i dated a man that was beyond mean, just did not pay attention to me, didn’t know my favorite color or movie, thought i was gross on my period, put me down about my looks, said i was annoying all the time. in the first month of us seeing each other, i had a horrible cold, i bled on myself at his house, i got sick from drinking too much when i was meeting his friends for the first time.. i was nervous. but he remained so calm, patient, understanding. he reassured me it was all normal and okay. he never made me feel ashamed for anything, never called me disgusting or ugly in moments i probably did look pretty gross. it was bare minimum for everyone else but to me it was a sign that i picked someone with a genuine, pure heart.

feb.18.2023

this night he wanted to go to the club with his friends for one of their birthdays and asked me to come with them. i was hesitant, i went back and forth saying yes and no. eventually i agreed. we went out and had such a good night together. we left around 2 or 3am, grabbed some food to bring home. we laid in bed eating fries and talking about how much we enjoyed each other’s company. he just sort of blurted it out when he asked me to be his girlfriend. it made me so happy to hear him ask me that. so of course i said yes. and we’ve been dating ever since obviously.

first ‘i love you’

one of my fav movies is nerve so of course i forced my lovey to watch it with me one night. i am gushing about how in love the characters are and he’s laughing at me because “they just met, you can’t love someone that quickly, it takes time.” when he said that i remember my heart actually breaking a little. because at this point i knew i loved him. i wanted to tell him i loved him soon but i was nervous he wouldn’t feel the same. and his words made me believe he didn’t feel that way. i didn’t say anything, i hid how sad those words made me. so the next night i come over to his place to spend the night and he says he has to talk to me. i was so worried thinking he was going to end things. i kept asking myself what i did wrong or if he just wasn’t into me the way i was him. so we’re laying in bed on our sides, facing each other. and he keeps saying “just one second. give me a second.” now, i nervous laugh, so i was giggling the whole time which made him even more nervous to say what he needed to. eventually he says, “i know what i said about it taking time to know you love someone but i love you.” and when i tell you i wanted to jump up and down and celebrate this beautiful man loving me so badly. but of course i just said it back and kissed him and we snuggled all night.

the past year

this past year with him has shown me so much about what i expect in a relationship and how poorly i have allowed others to treat me. it’s also taught me a lot about myself, how i can be a better person and partner. we aren’t perfect, we get into disagreements, but we don’t scream, hit, degrade, nothing. we talk it out. that’s not to say we don’t sometimes have attitude but we never intentionally hurt each other. we communicate so well, our needs, likes/dislikes about the relationship, our wants. we correct things the moment the other brings up a concern we’re having. he takes me on dates frequently still. we compliment each other daily. we support each other with school, work, life. he spoils me with gifts and affection. we do mundane things together but it always feels like the best time of my life with him. we reassure each other on days we feel insecure or scared. my family loves him. his family loves me. my friends get along with him. i get along with his friends. it just seems we were meant to be apart of each other’s story. we love each other so unconditionally and i think it’s beautiful.

#letters

[homiesliketovent]

so... ive never told anyone this except for, like, anonymous sites. i could tell my s/o or my friends, but thats hard and im kind of afraid to.

so. lets start at the beginning. i had unlimited access to the internet from a very young age. and, when i was 10, or so, i decided to download discord. i started joining servers and talking to people and stuff, and i was totally obsessed with it. than, one time, this random guy from a anime server i was in added me. he started talking to me about my profile picture, my life, and pretty soon he wanted me to send a picture of myself. (not sexual.) i remember getting so excited bc he was being a little bit flirty and stuff, but i was still weary because he was technically a stranger on the internet. so, i put it off for a few minutes.

he asked me how old i was and i lied and said i was 13. (because, as an 11 year old, i thought 13 was old.) he said that he was 13 too. he pressured me a bit to send a picture of my face but i was as resilient as a i could be. my resilience probably lasted ten minutes.

it was okay because i felt kinda felt comfortable enough to send him a picture of myself, but not enough to send a picture of my full face. so, i dressed up a bit so i could be "flirty" or whatever, and sent a picture of myself with my face covered by my hand. he complimented me a lot, but even when i asked him to send a picture of himself, he never would. that should have been a huge fucking red flag.

at some point, i asked him if we were friends because, up till then, i hadnt had many good experiences with long lasting strong friendships. and he said "of course" and reassured me and i indulged in him that i had issues in the past with fake friends. he told me that he would never leave me and stuff like that, and i was so glad to finally have an actual friend. he was so nice to me and i genuinely had a huge crush on him. i was so ready to start this fucking- internet relationship, or whatever, with him. its gross.

i used to keep a list of everything he told me about himself, because i wanted to know him really well, and i dont have the best memory. when i was cleaning my room a year ago, or so, i found it and tore it up. (i knew his name, he liked video games and talking on discord servers, his favorite food was pizza, his favorite anime was fairy tail.)

he would send me random hentai and porn and i always just kind of laughed it off, even though thats so not normal because we were both (supposedly) 13. i never questioned him in any capacity, really. i trusted him completely. so much so that i sent more pictures of myself. one of them was a mirror selfie so he ended up seeing my body. (again, not sexual.) its just fucking gross that he has access to what i looked like as an 11 year old. i think i even sent him a picture of my face that wasnt blocked out by anything. i dont really remember. through all of this, he still refused to send any picture of himself.

anyways, at some point he got banned or his account got deactivated, or whatever. looking back, i think it's def because someone reported him. but i was so mad at him, because he told me that he would never abandon me, and he did. i sent so many angry messages to his deactivated account. at some point, i deleted our whole chat out of anger. i wish i could still go back and look at it though. as said in the title: i miss him.

later i found out that he was a full grown ass adult from someone in a server he was in. im so fucking angry and upset still. im not traumatized, or anything, i can still be on discord servers and talk to men and stuff, but like... every once in a while i still have a panic attack either because of what was happening to me without me realizing, because he's probably jacked off to pictures of me, or because i irrationally think that a whole ass pedophile didn't even want me, so no one ever will. i still think about him a lot and i still miss him for some god forsaken reason.

#vent post #vent #grooming #tw #cw #child grooming #toxic relationship #toxic friendship

[jemmo]

🐰 🦖🌸 for the ask game

Have a nice day 😄

thank you sm lovely 😊😊 have an awesome day (or night, whatever time it is wherever you are) too

🐰 What do you think says the most about a person?

hmmmm i don’t know. i don’t think I’ve ever thought about this. the only thing that comes to mind, and it’s kinda not the best, is when people are stressed. like you can get to know someone all you want, but when you see them stressed or under pressure or with a lot on, and you see how the deal with that situation, I think it says a lot about them. like how they cope, whether they get angry or just act happy to concentrate or retreat into themselves, bc that’s what i do. if im stressed no one will know bc i like to keep it in and sort stuff myself, only if it’s too much will it then spill over and ppl will know. so yeah. that.

🦖 Favorite extinct animal?

gonna be basic bc it’s the only thing that came to mind and say a dodo. cracking beak. you’re sorely missed.

🌸 Best compliment you ever received?

actually this doesn’t make a lot of sense for me bc strangers in public talking to me is probably my worst nightmare, but a few times i can remember total random strangers coming up and complimenting me on wearing something ive made. like being a maker for so long both me and the people around me are kind of used to the stuff i make so you don’t get that wowed response, so to get that from other people is kinda great. it makes you feel like you’ve worked wonders and reminds you why you actually do it, it’s pretty cool.

#can’t believe I can’t think of a cooler extinct animal #but then again im not a dinosaur person

[stayathomesurveys]

073.

When did you last ride public transportation? May, I think.

What’s your favorite things to drink? Zero cal soda, sweet tea.

What are you currently wearing? T shirt, shorts.

Are you a fan of Britney Spears? Sure.

Are you older than 18? Yes.

What color pen did you use last? Black.

Do you ever suddenly jolt awake after sleeping? Mhm.

Has a shelf of yours ever suddenly collapsed? Yeah.

Do you know anyone who does not swear? Yeah, I think.

What’s something that gives you a quiet mind? Nothing.

Do you like the picture on your ID/passport? Nope.

When, or if you believed in the tooth fairy.. what did you think they looked like? A cute little fairy like in the cartoons.

How often do you make spelling errors or typos? I don’t know.

Are you currently listening to music? No, I’m watching Iron Man... for the first time.... ever.

Do you ever wear mismatched socks? Not really anymore.

What all have you gotten into today? I changed my cats’ litter boxes. I watched a couple episodes of Stranger Things. I dyed my hair. 

How much money do you have on you at the moment? I have a few dollars in cash and some change somewhere.

What’s the most random thing in your closet? An electric guitar.

Do you overuse your cell phone? Yeah, sometimes I guess.

On average, how long does it take you to get ready? An hour or so.

Do you like to watch animated movies? What’s your favorite? Someitmes.

Did you have any unread texts when you woke up this morning? What did they say? No. No friends = no texts.

Do you drink energy drinks? What’s your favorite one? Occasionally. Bang or Celsius.

Have you ever taken a survey with over 300 questions? I’m sure.

Do you own a swimming pool? No.

What social media platforms do you use most? Twitter and IG.

What were you last stressed about? Money.

Do you have the same interests that you did as a kid? Mmmm idk.

What’s the best smoothie? Idk, strawberry?

Who did you last raise your voice at? My bf.

Are you a generally happy person? No.

Is your bedroom currently tidy or messy? Tidy.

Do you like to head bang to rock music? No.

What do you get the most compliments on? LOL.

What were you doing the last time midnight came around? Idk, watching Stranger Things I think.

Do you get along with your neighbors? I don’t know them.

What brand is the device you’re using? Microsoft.

What’s something that makes you nervous? Everything...

What’s your Chinese food order? General Tso’s chicken, sweet & sour chicken, beef fried rice, chow mein, lo mein, idk. Depends on my mood!

What does your ideal birthday party look like? I really don’t know. I’ve never had one & probably never will. I don’t even want to celebrate my birthday when it does come around. Just get me presents and a cake and call it a day, I guess. I hate my birthday.

What’s something that you worked hard for? I don’t know.

When did it last storm where you are? Yesterday or the day before.

Have you ever held a spider? NOPEEE.

#survey

[babymetaldoll]

I just want you (Chip Taylor / Reader)

Requested: Yes

Word counting: 3.5K

Summary: What would it be like to be married to Chip Taylor? Would it include a lot of women trying to hit on him?

Warnings: Cursing, spoilers of 68 Kill.

A/N: Hello, beautiful people! sorry, I've been a little absent here, but writing my series has taken most of my time! Also, I feel a little blocked, and my personal life has been a mess. But, here it is: my first Chip Taylor fic. Have you guys seen 68 Kill? I love that movie, and I love Chip so much. He deserves the world. I hope you guys like this little story!

Masterlist

---

It wasn’t like I didn’t know my husband was handsome, ‘cos you had to be blind not to see his face was made by the gods, and all of his features were simply perfect. I just didn’t know every woman would flirt with him everywhere we were all the time.

And they weren’t even subtle about it. No. They made it very obvious when they looked at Chip each time they stopped by his work. They wanted him.

After all those years together, a part of me had made peace with that. I couldn’t stop them. He was hot, he didn’t want their attention, but he wasn’t rude or anything like it. Chip Taylor was a very polite man who was also very blind to the attention his looks gave him.

Chip owned a small pet sitting business that had started to really take off in the last few months. He had some savings that he used to buy a house when we first started dating. He lived there until we got married, and then we bought a bigger place outside the town. That’s when he decided to turn his old home into his own pet sitting business. And it was a hit. Chip is fantastic with animals. He is great with everybody, but pets just… melt with him. I think they can see the kindness of his soul.

Chip Taylor deserves the best things in life ‘cos he is the best man I’ve ever met. I’ve loved him since the day it took him almost half an hour to walk over and talk to me in the bar we met.

- “Every time a pretty face pops up, my brain turns into a potato- he explained, flustered ‘cos he kept stuttering as he asked for my number.

He was too sweet. Too cute. And he loved me. He had a ring that said so. But again, that didn’t stop most women who met him from flirting with him.

- “Here he is. Little Rascal had a great day today”- Chip walked to the front yard with a french bulldog, who kept barking, trying to get an extra treat from him. I smiled from a safe distance, reading a book sitting on a porch while Chip met with the dog owner. And she was as excited as Rascal was.

- “Hi baby! Did you have a good day today?”- the lady held the leash and caressed her dog’s head a few times before returning her attention fully to my husband.

- “Thank you for taking care of him.”

- “You are very welcome, Kim. It’s my job.”

- “No, it’s more than that. Rascal hates strangers, and he has been an angel with you since day one. I tell you, Chip, you are someone special.”

I know my husband blushed, ‘cos he is terrible with compliments. So he just shook his head and scratched the back of his neck. His shirt raised, showing his very toned midsection. And I swear, I had to force myself to stay put on that chair, ‘cos the way that woman looked at my husband was enough to make my blood boil. I wanted to run over and push her away from him. I wished I could tell her to get her dog and get the fuck out of our property.

But no. I didn’t. Instead, I tried to keep on reading, which was honestly impossible. But at least I didn’t move from my chair. I just stared at that scene, trying to control the urges of smashing that woman’s head against her car.

- “So, do you have plans for the weekend?”- the woman asked him, smiling flirtatiously

- “Not really.”- not the smartest answer, I’ll give you that.

- “Great! that means you can’t say no! I am having a small get-together at my place this Friday. You should totally come.”

- “Thank you, Kim, but...”

- “I’ll text you my address. I’m not taking no for an answer!”

Chip was awkward, he felt pushed to say he’d go, but I knew he didn’t want to. If he did, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Besides, he wouldn’t usually make plans without asking me first. A part of me wanted to run and help him out of that awkward situation, but I knew he had to do it on his own. Yes, he was a grown-up, but after knowing everything he had gone through before we met, a big part of me wanted to take care of him constantly. I didn’t want anything wrong ever to happen to Chip. He didn’t deserve anything bad.

- “Thanks, Kim, really, but… I think I should ask my wife first”- he whispered and smiled kindly at the woman, who didn’t hide the disappointment from her face. I have the feeling she never actually saw the ring on my husband’s finger.

- “Wife? I had no idea you were married, Chip”- he chuckled and nodded as the woman tried to act normal again. But she couldn’t.

- “Yes, I’ve been married for the last ten months.”

- “Just ten months? Well, she is a lucky woman…”

- “Thank you”- Chip petted Rascal’s head and added- “But I am sure I am the lucky one to have her. I still can’t believe she actually married me.”

- “Come on, Chip! Any woman would be happy with a man like you.”

And that was when that woman crossed the line and rubbed my husband’s arm for longer than necessary. He froze and looked at her, not knowing how to get out of that situation. Chip is a sweet soul who still has some significant issues when it comes to setting boundaries.

I jumped from my chair and walked over quickly, with a big smile on my face. The woman turned to me and raised an eyebrow, clearly not knowing who I was.

- “Hello, sorry to interrupt you, boo, but it’s getting late for our date.”

We didn’t have a date that night. But well, now we did.

Chip frowned, confused, and waited for me to explain a little more what I was saying. But, instead, I just smiled and held his hand, making sure that the woman’s hand was as far from him as possible.

- “Hi, nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N), Chip’s wife.”- I said and waved.

- “Kimberly, nice to meet you.”

- “So you are Rascal’s mom. He is a sweetheart”- I kneeled and petted Rascal’s head behind his ears, right where I knew he liked it. Kim just nodded and smiled.

- “Ok, we should go, it’s getting late. Bye Chip”- she waved quickly, walking to her car. My husband said goodbye and wrapped an arm around my waist as I stood by his side and rested my head on his shoulder.

- “We are not going to her “little get-together,” by the way”- I whispered, and he chuckled.

- “Good, ’cause I didn’t want to go either. I actually had plans for the weekend, but I didn’t want to discuss them with her.”- I looked at him, raising an eyebrow, and felt his big hands caressing the lower part of my back.

- “Which plans?”

- “I’m planning to stay in bed with my wife the whole weekend, watch movies, kiss her a lot, and maybe asking for pizza.”

- “You had me at ˝stay in bed,” Chip Taylor”- I giggled and kissed his cheek- “She was flirting with you, by the way.”

- “I don’t care if she tried to flirt. I only have eyes for you, moonbeam”- I chuckled at the cheesy nickname and felt his lips on mine. They felt warm and soft and filled with love.

But it wasn’t always so easy to shake off the thoughts of a woman flirting with Chip. Unfortunately, sometimes it was harder to remain calm. Some women were more aggressive with their flirting. Some were actually way hotter than me, and sometimes that makes you doubt yourself.

I didn’t know Liza or Violet, so I never knew if they were prettier, more intelligent, or sexier than me. I couldn’t compare or compete with them either, ‘cos they were dead. But some random women made my life a little more challenging from time to time.

- “Chip? Chip Taylor?”- a soft woman’s voice interrupted our conversation and forced my husband to turn around, feeling now also her hand on his shoulder. We were at our favorite bar, having a drink, celebrating the end of the week and another successful month of Chip’s small business. We were chatting about our days, sitting at our usual table, when interrupted.

- “Anna Davis? Hi! How are you?! Long time no see!”- my husband stood up and hugged the stranger like long-lost friends reunited. I had never heard of any “Anna” before. I was trying to remember if I did.

- “I haven’t seen you in ages! What are you doing here?”- Anna said and laughed- “I can’t believe it’s really you!”- and so, they hugged again.

- “Hi”- I waved from the table and smiled at the two of them as they moved apart.

- “I’m so sorry, babe. (Y/N), this is Anna, my neighbor when I was in middle school. Anna, this is (Y/N), my wife.”

- “Hi, nice to meet you”- she shook my hand and smiled at me for a second, and then turned to my husband again and continued catching up.

Chip looked happy and excited to see her. He didn’t have many friends, he still didn’t know how to trust most people, probably why he decided to work with animals instead. He had a good relationship with Jim, the boy who helped him clean, and with a few classmates from the community college. But that was it.

- “I can’t believe you are here!”- Chip was beaming- “Are you with someone?”

- “My friends were leaving. I’m visiting one of my best friends, who moved here a few years ago. But she has to work tomorrow morning, so she wanted to go home.”

- “Do you wanna sit with us for a while?”- Chip asked her and turned to me smiling. Of course, I couldn’t say no. Well, he didn’t actually ask; he just looked at me, and I moved my chair to make room for one more on the table.

- “I would love to! Thank you!.”

I loved the idea of meeting Anna, at first. I didn’t know many people from my husband’s past, basically just his parents. The fact she was his friend growing up sounded amazing, and it meant I could finally talk with someone who knew him when he was a kid and could tell me more stories about my husband.

But Anna had other plans. My husband blinded Anna. She basically ignored me, and he was so excited to see her and talk to her, he didn’t even notice I was being left out of the whole conversation.

At first, it was ok. Chip wanted to catch up with Anna, know what she was doing with her life, and all that. So he asked for her parents and family. Apparently, they were pretty close growing up.

- “Remember each Friday we had a secret sleepover?”- she asked and laughed. My husband nodded and sipped his drink.

- “Yeah! I would sneak into your house and watch a movie.”

- “You know, my parents knew you were coming to hang out after curfew. They just didn’t think it was wrong”- she added and laughed- “I’m just glad they didn’t know about the day we tried smoking for the first time!”

Chip burst into laughter, and so did Anna. I just stared at them and sighed. Neither of them explained the story. They were just too caught up in each other to even notice I was there.

Yes, I was feeling jealous of Chip’s long-lost childhood friend. I knew it made no sense, but somehow, he completely forgot I existed when she was there. Yes, it was probably ‘cos he was surprised to bump into her at a bar on a random night after so many years.

But the more I looked at her, the more I realized she was gorgeous. She had long legs, beautiful golden hair, green eyes. The girl could go to a freaking beauty pageant and win it. Besides, Anna wasn’t acting friendly, if you ask me. She kept rubbing my husband’s arm, repeating how excited she was to see him, and saying over and over again how good he looked… it was a little too much.

- “I tell you, Chip, you haven’t changed a bit!”- Anna smiled and looked into his chocolate eyes, and I swear she nearly sighed. I couldn’t blame her. He is dreamy. But he is my husband, and it felt wrong.

- “Neither have you,”- he added and turned to me for a second. I looked kindly into his eyes, knowing he was happy, and that was enough to make me feel happy too.

- “Can I get you another drink, moonbeam?”- he asked me and stood up.

- “Yes, penguin, please”- Chip nodded and blushed as I called him by his favorite nickname and then turned to Anna.

- “Another?”

- “Sure!”

And suddenly, we were on our own.

- “So, how long have you been married?”- Anna asked me and looked at me innocently.

- “A little over ten months.”

- “Just married! Congratulations. You must still be living the honeymoon!”

- “Yes, we are.”- I giggled and turned to look at Chip, waiting for our drink at the bar. It wasn’t hard being stuck at the honeymoon phase with him. Every day, he made every day feel like the first day we were together, even after three years of dating and ten months married.

- “We used to date when we were kids,”- Anna simply said and chuckled - “It was very childish, but I was his first kiss.”

- “Really?”- I smiled at her, making my best not to look jealous at all. “That’s so cute!”

- “He is adorable. He was the sweetest boy growing up.”- Anna added and kept her eyes on Chip. But for a few seconds, I could see the longing in them, and my struggle not to show how jealous I was got a little harder.

- “So when was the last time you saw Chip?”- I asked and kept my eyes on her, reading her expressions. It took her a few extra seconds to stop staring at him to turn and look at me.

- “When I moved out of town when I was fifteen.”- she sighed and chuckled- “Seems it was a lifetime ago.”

- “Ok, here are your drinks,”- Chip appeared and smiled- “Plus, I ordered some more nachos, ‘cos I’m getting hungry.”- I chuckled and held his hand upon the table, playing with his fingers between mine. Chip looked at me and opened his mouth to say something when Anna interrupted him.

- “Remember that summer you broke your arm ‘cos you fell from the tree in Shawn’s backyard?”

And my husband laughed, forgetting what he was going to tell me.

I stood in front of the mirror and tried to fix my makeup. I looked tired. I was tired. It was Friday night, and I wasn’t twenty-three anymore. I was weary, and all I could think of was getting into my bed with my husband and getting good twelve-hour sleep.

But he and Anna were still talking and having a blast together, remembering the good old times. Now, if you ask me, I had the feeling Anna wanted to do more than just talking to my husband, but he was oblivious to any of her intentions. That was until I walked out of the bathroom and saw Anna’s arm wrapped around Chip as they were dancing.

She was dancing with my husband, and he was laughing. Ok, that hurt. It hurt a lot.

I sat at our table and drank what was left of my drink. I stared at them for a moment and evaluated my options. I could storm out of that place, maybe make a scene and yell. But no, I trusted my husband. I knew he wasn’t trying to hurt me or even cheat on me with her. No. He was naive and a little awkward. But by the way Anna’s hands moved on his body, clearly, she wasn’t naive at all.

- “Oh! I’m sorry!”- Anna said laughing when they reached back our table- “I just asked Chip to dance with me ‘cos I love that song.”

- “That’s ok”- I smiled at her and held my husband’s hand tight upon the table.

- “But Chip is such a great dancer! He really knows how to move!”- Anna was asking for it. She wanted to be smacked. But I behaved.

- “He really does,”- I answered and smiled

- “I hope you are not jealous!”- I turned to her and frowned, pretending to be confused

- “Of course not! Why would I?”

- “I don’t know! It’s just that… he was mine way before he was yours and…”

- “He isn’t mine”- I cut her off, and for once, my voice stopped being nice and friendly- “And he is definitely not yours. He is not a dog, Anna, he is a person, and the only owner of his soul is himself.”

Anna stared at me in silence, and Chip wide opened his eyes, surprised by my tone of voice.

- “What I’m trying to say is that… I met him when…”

- “I know what you are trying to imply Anna, you’ve been trying to do it ever since you sat at our table. You feel like you need to prove something, but you don’t. Really.”

Chip held my hand tight and kissed it sweetly. He didn’t say anything to me. He just looked at me with apologetic eyes as I cut him a short smile.

- “Ok, I think I better go now”- Anna stood up and just waved- “It was great seeing you again, Chip.”

My husband smiled and waved as Anna walked away. Then, when he was sure she had left the place, he turned to me. I sipped what was left of my drink and sighed.

- “Sorry if I was rude”- my words were a whisper only Chip could hear.

- “No, moonbeam. You weren’t rude at all. I’m sorry.”

- “Chip Taylor, you didn’t do anything wrong”- I leaned and kissed his lips softly, cupping his face with both hands.

- “I feel like I did.”

- “No, boo, really. She was… clearly trying to get under your belt.”

- “I shouldn’t have danced with her, but she pushed me...”- Chip excused himself and kissed my hand again, as I still held his face and caressed her cheeks with my thumbs.

- “Yeah, you should work on that “No” thing a little harder,”- I whispered and chuckled.

- “Sorry if she made you feel jealous. I had a huge crush on her when we were kids.”

- “She said she was your first kiss”- Chip opened my mouth, but no word came from it for a few seconds.

- “Funny, I told her that just ‘cos she said I was her first kiss, but actually my first kiss was with her cousin Alice.”

I couldn’t hold back the laughter as Chip looked at me with guilty eyes as if that was the biggest secret he had about his past.

- “Well, I bet if I run, I can still catch her!! I need to tell her the news!!”- I said and stood up, just to feel Chip’s arms around me, protectively.

- “Let her think that. We all know who all my kisses belong to now.”

Chip held me tight and close to him as his lips rubbed mine slowly. I felt my head spin as his tongue slowly touched mine, deepening the kiss. I couldn’t help but moan at the sensation of Chip’s sweet and passionate kiss. He made sure to make me feel how much he loved him every time he kissed me. In a weird way, Chip’s kisses always felt like our first and last. I think he was always trying to show me his feelings, ‘cos his previous trauma taught him he didn’t know when a kiss could be the last.

- “I love you so much, Mrs. Taylor,”- he whispered, and the title made my knees feel weak- “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

- “I love you more, Mr. Taylor,”- I replied and kissed his lips sweetly one more time- “And just between you and me, I am completely yours.”- I confessed and giggled nervously.

- “I am yours too, moonbeam. You own my heart, and I only want you.”- he whispered and kissed me one more time.

- “You just want me?”- I repeated, and he nodded, looking into my eyes filled with love- “Of all those women who wanna do you, you just want me?”

- “Which women?”- he asked me, clearly confused

- “A lot of women out there keep giving you the fuck eyes.”

- “What?! No way”

- “Do you think Kim invited you to her house for a small get-together? She wanted to get under your belt, penguin.”

- “But I am your penguin, that means I am not looking for any other woman. I just want you.”

- “Just me,”- I repeated again, and he nodded.

- “Just you, Mrs. Taylor”- I sighed, pleased, and closed my eyes for a second “Wanna go home?”

- “You still have to dance with me,”- I pouted, and he held my hand.

- “Whatever my wife wants.”

--

General Taglist

@spenxerslut @ash19871962 @babebenhardy @meowiemari @archer561 @all-tings-diego

#Chip Taylor #Matthew Gray Gubler #68 kill #chip taylor x reader #chip taylor x fem!reader #Matthew Gray Gubler Fluff #fluff #matthew Gray Gubler fanfiction #fanfiction #68 kill fanfiction #babymetaldoll writes

[ana-benn]

The Enforcer's Gun

Warnings: Smut, mafia AU, Dom/sub, possessive alpha male, gun play, exhibitionism, alcohol consumption (I don't advise copying this part. I've done it and it's a great recipe for a hangover from hell), size kink, thigh riding, object insertion

You'd normally be thriving right now. You had your hair done, a dress that fit well and looks hot as fuck, and honestly you'd spent most of the night getting compliments from random strangers. For all intents and purposes, you were having a good night. Except the one man you wanted to notice how good you looked wasn't paying attention to you.

He was working.

While you could appreciate the fact that he had work to do, you hated how at times like this he could just ignore you. If you'd ever told him that he'd have smirked and informed you that he spoiled you. Which was true, but that knowledge did nothing as you stood at the bar and watched him talking to the owner of the nightclub you were in.

'Contract Negotiations' is what he had called it, but he wasn't exactly in the negotiations business. You flinched as Jordie grabbed the guy by the shoulder and held him fast while Jamie hit him hard in the stomach. You'd learned to find this side of him masculine and entirely too sexy, and you felt the tell-tale slick pool in your panties.

"There you are, you're too good at giving me the slip," Tyler laughed as he saddled up next to you. Normally you'd have Jessi here with you, but she'd just had a baby, so it was you and Tyler. You could've spent time with one of the other girls that'd come, but you didn't exactly like them all.

"That's because you're too busy checking out the sorority girls that just walked it," you quipped. "Why won't this bartender come take my order?" You grumbled as the bartender walked past you yet again.

"He probably saw you walk in with Chubbs," Tyler laughed, signaling the bartender.

"Don't let him hear you call him that in public," you grinned. "He may shoot you."

"Round of fireball shots," Tyler said when the bartender walked over finally. You have him a pointed look and he rolled his eyes, "And a Mai Tai for the lady."

"Plantation rum!" You called to the bartender's back. You rolled your eyes as Tyler laughed at your pout.

"Not everyone is gonna cater to you like Jamie does doll, just the facts," he winked then.

"He's not even catering to me," you grumbled, eyes drifting over to where Jamie was crouched over a bleeding man. Apparently negotiations weren't going well. Or maybe they were, you had no idea. "Why'd he bring me again?"

"You've been asking to come for months," Tyler reminded you.

"And you're baby sitting me because..." You asked.

"Apparently I only do 'pretty things' and this isn't a pretty job. So I got girlfriend duty," he smirked looking down at you.

"Why Mr. Seguin," you gasped in mock outrage. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you were flirting."

"Nah, I like my balls where they are," Tyler shrugged. "You picked a jealous one." Just then the bartender lined up the shots in front of the two of you and set your Mai Tai down before scurrying away.

You rolled your eyes, as Tyler handed you a shot. You clinked them together before slamming back three in a row each. It was a ritual you'd developed when Tyler was on baby sitting duty, and you actually enjoyed the cinnamon burn. You tasted your drink, rolling your eyes as you sipped the tinny taste associated with Bacardi, before grabbing the final shot in front of you and dumping it into the tiki drink.

"Really?" Tyler asked with a raised eyebrow.

You shrugged, "I hate Bacardi, you know that."

Tyler just laughed as he threw back his final shot, "Come on I know you wanna dance."

You let Tyler lead you onto the dance floor, one hand securing your drink firmly. You danced with him for a while, forgetting your annoyance at Jamie for working temporarily. You were laughing and having fun, as Tyler would spin you around and sing along with you. It was completely not sexy, but it was fun and comfortable. Tyler was Jamie's best friend, and you felt almost as safe with him as you did your boyfriend. You'd grown to see him like a playful older brother who would tease you and goof around, but the second someone touched you he's fuck them up.

A few songs in though and he leaned into your ear, "I'm going to hit the head. Stay here." You nodded in acknowledgement as he walked away.

In a place like this it wasn't long before the vultures descended, and a decent looking guy moved in to try and dance with you. "Just waiting for my boyfriend," you'd explained.

"It's okay, I am too," he laughed.

You smiled then and danced a little with him then, soon another guy showed up and your partner left. Tyler still hadn't shown up so you decided to go to the ladies room. As you walked out after washing your hands you held the door open with your foot so you could throw your towel away, not paying attention to your surroundings you were startled when rough hands grab you and pressed you against the brick walk across from the bathroom.

You were about to scream when you recognized the bearded face looming over you, "Jamie?" You questioned. "You scared me."

"Did I?" He mumbled as he hiked your skirt up and pushed into your body as a brought a thick thigh between your legs. The immediate pressure made you gasp in delight, as his lips attacked your neck.

"I don't like watching you dance with other men," he growled as you pushed down onto his thigh harder, dragging your soaked pussy along the dark fabric of his pants. Craving the friction and already desperate for him.

"I-I'm...." You were losing what your wanted to say as he again pressed rough kissed over you'd neck, working down into the cleavage of your dress. You moaned softly at the feel, and bucked into his body. His hands on your hubs suddenly stilled you.

"You're going to cum on my thigh little girl," he said darkly. "But first I think I need to remind you who I am."

Suddenly you felt cold metal touch your inner thigh, as his other hand ripped your flimsy panties from your core. He shoved the lace in his pocket as he spread your slick around your weeping hole, before working you open on his thick finger. You responsive body was preening under the attention, and you eagerly bucked into his hand as his palm grazed your clit.

"Fuck baby, you're so wet," he groaned his head falling into your neck. "Whose got you this wet?"

"You do," you moaned out. "Only you."

"Yeah?" He asked, making you whimper as he removed his hand. He slowly worked the cold barrel of his gun into you soaked channel, as he did that he sucked your juices off his finger.

He worked you until the barrel was seated inside you fully. Before he left it there running his hands along your inner thighs and occasionally grazing your sensitive bud. He was teasing you while your cunt quivered around the gun, you felt so full and stretched around it.

You didn't even notice as Jamie pulled out his phone, but when you saw him take a picture of your body split open on his gun you could've cum right then. He smirked when he saw your hungry eyes watch his every move before hiking you up further by pulling your legs over his hips. You moaned as he nuzzled his face into your neck again and worked his mouth over your favourite spot. You knew well that he'd leave a dark bruise there, and you craved it. You craved that mark of ownership maring your skin. Just the idea made you groan with arousal.

You shuttered as your back brushed against the rough wall in the hallway of the nightclub. The exposed back of your dress creating space for the wall to scratch your delicate skin.

"Please you begged," as Jamie's large hands teased you mercilessly, the warmth a sharp contrast to the cold metal in your soaked cunt.

"You want to act like a desperate whore," Jamie growled in your ear, pushing further into your body. "I'll treat you like a whore." He pulled the gun back just enough, before pushing it roughly back into you. "You'll get off on my gun right here, or I'll make sure you don't cum for weeks little girl."

You sobbed. It was rough, and degrading, but it felt like heaven. You wanted to hate this, but the feel of Jamie's hands on you, as he fucked you with a weapon was indescribable. You wanted more, and yet with a flex of his wrist you felt yourself quiver as you orgasmed all over the shiny metal.

"JAMIE," your cried out as waves of pleasure wracked your body.

As you came down he worked the gun out of you before sliding it into the waistband of his pants. He slowly dragged your cunt along his thigh as you just watched, completely blissed out. He grinned at your expression as you went from being in a post-orgasmic haze, to being fully aroused again, to thrashing against him as you came violent with nothing in your oversensitive core.

He let you come down, cooing in your ear has he did so, "Such a good girl for me." He rubbed soothing hands over your arms and back as he just held you.

Once he'd given you a moment to recover he slowly set you down on shaky knees. You watched him as he pulled the gun out and wiped it off, before pulling the clip from his back pocket and reloading it. You gazed at him shocked as you put it together.

"It wasn't loaded?" You asked, causing Jamie to laugh.

"You thought I'd fuck you with a loaded gun? Come on baby, I told you I'd engage your fantasy I'm not putting my favorite girl at risk," he said with a smile. "Now come on your going to keep my cock warm while I finished working out some more details."

He grabbed your hand and escorted you back to where he'd been all night. He was unashamed as he unzipped his cock and impaled you on it, as you stifled a moan as you settled into his chest. You peppered kisses along his neck as you allowed his beard to tickle the side of your face as he spoke. You felt yourself slowly soaking him as your juices slicked out of your body.

Every once in a while Jamie would look at you and smirk as he felt your walls flutter around him. You were on edge and desperate for friction. By the time you were left alone, realizing that the club around you had closed and it was just you and Jamie you were borderline feral for him. You moved to get off of him, so he could take you home and fuck you, but instead powerful hands held you in place. You looked at Jamie, shocked, before he lifted you slowly and brought you back down roughly.

You understood what he wanted and slowly tucked your knees under you. You worked yourself up his cock, before the hands covering your hips brought you back down. Your responsive body trembled at the give and take you were doing with him. His eyes never left you, watching as you worked yourself to the edge again, he wanted to see you come undone.

With no adrenaline in your veins this time your climax came softer, more subtle, you whimpered out as your body quaked around him. Jamie groaned and pulled your lips to his as he reached his own peak. Once he'd calmed himself he slowly lifted you off I've him. Tucking himself back into his pants he slung a lazy arm around your waist before nodding at the bartender you'd dealt with earlier. He threw some cash on a table and ordered him to lock up. You felt you face heat as you realized you hadn't been alone, but ultimately you didn't care.

It had been a good night.

#jamie benn #oh captain my captain #dallas stars #hockey #nhl #dallas hockey #dallas sports #stars dallas #jamie benn appreciation day #jamie benn x reader #jamie benn madia au #jamie benn smut #jamie benn fanfic #jamie benn imagine

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

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

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

word count: 17.2k

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

///

Harry hates clubs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the f—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re going to hell.” 

“I’m already there, mate.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, boomer.” 

“You’re older than I am!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the culture shock hit. 

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

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

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Precisely his point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So how do you like your new home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles series #vampire!harry #harry styles #1d fanfiction #1d fic #one direction fanfiction #one direction fic #1d smut #one direction smut #ysijwa #harry styles one shot #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles dirty fanfiction #vampire au #smut #harry styles blurbs

[crowdedimagines]

just across the hall - harry styles

y/fm = your favorite musical artist 3k of fluff 🥰

The first time he saw her was the day she moved in. He knew that the younger couple that had previously been across from him moved out, but hadn’t heard anything about someone else moving in. She was avoiding the elevator for some reason, lugging her boxes all the way up the several stairs. Letting out a huff as she got to the top.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry’s voice rings out as he grabs the keys from his pocket, “Why take the stairs?”

She looks up from the box she was kicking across the floor with her foot. Sweat beading across her forehead from all of the obvious work she’s doing and the multiple trips up and down the stairs.

“The elevator is broken.”

Harry looks over his shoulder at the elevator he’s just stepped off, it dings as the doors shut.

“Fuck.” She whispers to herself, completely shocked to see it running.

He tries but can’t fight off a laugh at the unfortunate situation.

“Some lady told me the elevator was broken and I need to take the stairs.”

“Let me guess,” Harry pauses to lean against his door frame, “Older lady, small dog?”

“Yeah!” She nods frantically, pushing back the stray strands of hair off her forehead.

“She’s a hag.” He barks a laugh, “She lies constantly.”

“Oh my god.” The stranger rolls her eyes. “That’s unbelievable. I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow! Do you realize what floor we’re on! I’ve been lugging stuff up and down those stairs all day. My legs feel like jelly.”

She leans against her door and lets out a loud sigh.

“I knew New York might be mean, but I wasn’t expecting my neighbors to be so rude.” She shakes her head in disbelief.

“We’re not all so bad.” Harry smiles, letting his dimples grace his face.

“No, instead I’ve got a celebrity across the hall! I don’t want to have to look cute every time I grab an amazon box from my doorstep.”

Harry lets out yet another laugh. He finds it easy to laugh at her comments. It’s refreshing to come across someone who knows him, but is relaxed around him.

“I promise, I don’t judge.” He holds up my hands in defense, “As long as when I do the same you don’t always expect a rockstar to be answering the door.”

“I think I can agree to that.” She smiles finally.

After that, Harry and Y/n don’t see each other that often right away. Harry was away traveling, going home to London for a long visit. She was surprised to notice the other half of her floor was so quiet. Y/n gets settled in the new city with a new job, finding her groove a little better and fully unpacking all of her belongings.

“He’s alive!” Y/n laughs as she sees Harry for the first time in weeks. The first time since they met actually.

“Yeah, I just got back from home actually.”

“Well that’s good, I was afraid I’d scared ya off.”

“Are you still taking the stairs?” Harry asks, noticing they’re both going into their apartments, but didn’t share the elevator together.

“Not always, but I’ve discovered I feel substantially less guilty about grabbing a churro on my way home if I take the stairs.”

“Got it.” Harry nods in understanding with a chuckle.

“Can I ask you another question?” Harry asks, stepping out of his apartment a little.

“Only if I can ask one in return.” She smirks and Harry nods.

“What’s your name?” His cheeks take on a pink hue. He hates that he doesn’t know it, but they never formally introduced themselves when they met. One of the issues being a celebrity, sometimes when people know you they forget that part.

“Y/n.” She smiles.

“Y/n.” Harry repeats back to himself and she nods, “Alright your turn.”

“Why do you live here?”

“What do you mean?” He chuckles.

“Like why this building? You could probably live anywhere in the city, why a building that you still share a floor with someone?”

“These are still nice apartments!” Harry defends with a laugh, Y/n rolls her eyes knowing that he knows that’s not what she meant.

“It’s just me. I used to have a penthouse, but it felt a bit empty if I’m being honest. Here I can still have my privacy, we’ve got nice apartments and a doorman. Plus I don’t spend all my time here in the city. When I’m not touring I’m in L.A and London too. Plus there’s a studio I really like not too far from here.”

“Ohh, that makes sense.” Y/n nods. “Well if you ever feel a little too lonely I’m only across the hall.”

“Thank you.” Harry looks up, genuinely appreciating the offer.

Wordlessly they both smile and wave and go into their apartments respectively. After that they run into each other more often, occasionally sharing the elevator in the morning. Harry on his way to the studio, Y/n on her way to work. They find out random little bits of information about each other.

Harry has also discovered the wall to her bathroom lines up with his bedroom, he’s sure of it. The late night showers, where she spends way too long in there, are filled with singing. Loudly and beautifully she sings whatever comes to her mind, or whatever she heard last before getting in.

The first time he heard it, it kept him up, trying to place the voice until it dawned on him that it had to be Y/n. The voice was enchanting, he could almost feel the buzz through the wall. It made him feel warm and undeniably less lonely.

The second time he stayed up just as late, waiting for Y/n to get home so he could hear her sing. He thought that he was crazy, just jet lagged the first night and his mind was playing tricks on him, but she turned on her water and he felt just as euphoric as the first night. He couldn’t help but wonder if people felt this way while listening to him sing.

He grew to appreciate her voice and the way she would laugh at herself when her voice would crack, or she couldn’t remember the words. That was Harry’s favorite. He loved when she didn’t know the words, because she always knew the notes and that's when she would make things up.

No matter how she crafted her voice, Harry found himself more and more attached to it. It took a few weeks and short conversations getting to know each other for him to be able to bring it up.

“So, you like y/fm?” Harry asks the next day in the elevator, taking a risk.

“Uhh, yeah, I love them. How’d you know?” She picks up her head to look in his direction.

“Ohh, I just heard ya singing them.”

“You what?” Y/n turns fully to look at him, her mouthing hanging open.

“Uhh-” Harry clears his throat, realizing how bad this could come off, “Our rooms are right next to each other, I share a wall with your bathroom.”

It grows completely silent in the elevator, Y/n in complete shock.

“Oh my god.” She mutters, shaking her head.

“It’s not a big deal.” Harry shrugs.

“It’s not a big deal?” She yells a little louder. Not mad, just shocked, “I just found out that Harry Styles has been listening to me singing in the shower!”

“It’s fine-” He laughs.

“I’ll just never shower again-”

“Now stop it, you’re just being dramatic.” Harry nudges her shoulder.

“I’ll just have to play music to drown everything out.”

“No, don’t stop. It sounds nice.” Harry compliments, halting her rambling of ways to avoid him ever hearing her sing again.

“You think so?” She peeks to look up at him.

“I do.”

It takes Y/n a few days to gain the courage to sing in the shower again. Knowing that she basically has an audience now. She debates what to sing, how to follow up everything else, and sing something new. She knows she’s overthinking it as she paces her room waiting to get in the shower. It takes her a few minutes before she’s certain she’s had a good idea.

Falling.

A beautiful ballad, a song that Y/n has admired since before she met Harry all those weeks ago. A performance for him, written by him. She even likes that it might feed his narcissistic side a little.

Harry can hear the water turn on, and he sets down his book. It was a few days ago that she found out about him listening to her, and she hasn’t sung since. He honestly doesn’t know if she’ll sing, but after a few seconds he can pick up on her voice. It’s soft at first, but it builds.

Falling.

She’s chosen to sing his own words. She choses different harmonies as she goes, and sings it in a way that never even crossed Harry’s mind. She’s skilled enough to make it sound enchanting in her own way. He’s fully immersed in her voice, and he can’t seem to pull himself out. He doesn’t want to.

The song ends and the water turns off and Harry feels disappointed. He wants to continue. He wished he had made the song longer just so he could hear a few more seconds of her voice.

The next morning Harry notices Y/n walking out her door and leaving for work. Harry quickly opens the door and slips in between the elevator doors before they close.

“Why are you wearing pajamas?” Y/n asks with a laugh, taking in his shorts and tee shirt and obvious bed head. He doesn’t look like his usual put together self.

“I’m not going into the studio today, but I wanted to catch the lift with ya.” He smirks, looking her over.

“Hmm, how sweet of you. What’re you up to?” She bites back a smirk of her own. It was fun singing his own song last night, and obviously it caused some sort of reaction.

“I need to record your voice.” Harry blurts.

“Excuse me?” Y/n coughs.

“After last night I couldn’t fall asleep last night, so I was up writing new melodies and I wrote a song.”

“You wrote a song.” Y/n states.

Harry holds up a hand with a fistfull of papers, his other hand holding a mug of tea.

“I want you to record a song with me.” His eyes unwavering, staring and hoping just maybe she’ll say yes.

“You're crazy!” Y/n laughs, shaking her head. Assuming this is some joke, there’s no way he could be serious right now.

“Y/n trust me, just sing it and you will understand-” Harry’s cut off when the hum to the elevator stops. The sensation of them dropping stops too. They’re completely still, but the doors aren’t opening.

“What just happened?” Y/n side steps around Harry to press buttons and try to see what’s going on.

“Oh my god, I think we’re stuck!” She states, noticing how they aren’t moving and the lights have switched to the emergency ones. The whole elevator darkens.

Harry reaches around her, as if he could fix it by pressing the same buttons she did. Eventually they get connected to the emergency line where they’re informed that there's a mechanical issue and they can’t get them out until they fix it. It’s going to be a while.

“Well, I hope you aren’t claustrophobic.” Y/n slides down the wall to sit down. Sending a simple text to her boss that she was going to be late, if there at all.

“Nope.” Harry says, popping the ‘p’ as he slides down to sit next to her.

They both sit, ankles crossed, facing the door in silence for a minute or two. Not really sure that the severity of the situation has sunk in.

“So, assuming we get out of here, can I get you in the studio?” Harry asks, an all to gleeful smile on his face.

“Harry, I don’t sing.”

“Well I beg to differ-”

“You know what I mean.” She interrupts.

“What’s stopping you?” Harry asks, genuinely curious. He’s never collaborated with anyone during his solo career, and he wasn’t planning to, but something about this seemed like a perfect fit. Harry couldn’t explain it.

“How do I go back to a normal job after that? After singing a song with Harry Styles and then what? Just go back to work?”

“Who knows. Maybe sign with Columbia and become your very own rockstar.”

“Shut up.” Y/n nudges his side.

“It’s only one song, I promise you don’t have to commit to anything else.” He pleads. “If you change your mind, we’ll go from there.”

Some more time passes and Y/n thinks. It’s hard to tell how long they’ve been in there. It feels like it’s been a while. It’s already been an hour since she texted her boss. Harry doesn’t even have his phone, he wasn’t planning on leaving the elevator and didn’t even think about grabbing it this morning.

“Maybe that old lady isn’t a liar, maybe she’s psychic. She knew this elevator would break.” Y/n says after a few minutes of silence. It dawned on her that that’s how Harry and her first talked all those weeks ago. Her climbing up the damn stairs for the hundredth time that day.

“Too bad she didn’t tell when it would happen. I would’ve chased ya down the stairs instead. We could’ve avoided this whole thing.”

They both let out a laugh.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t sweltering in here.” Y/n groans.

“See, these pajamas aren’t looking too bad right about now, huh?” Harry teases with a proud grin.

“You do realize when they get us out of here, there’s going to be dozens of people. If anyone caught wind of you, probably the news too. But, keep on enjoying your pjs.” Y/n laughs, teasing right back.

Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t like how you weren’t afraid to sass him. You didn’t make anything easy for him, which was different.

Without saying anything Y/n reaches for the papers Harry set down. Reading over the lines, seeing we’re he’s added little scribbles.

“Can you read music?” His voice filled the void. He wasn’t sure if she was just looking over the lyrics of if she could read the music notes too.

“Yeah, I was in choir.” She says, still skimming over everything. For coming up with it in one night by himself, she’s impressed. Not that she would expect anything less from Harry Styles.

“Alright lets give this a go.” She sits up. She’s had a change of heart, based on how beautiful she can tell the song is, and how bored she’s growing. They haven’t run out of conversation, but she needs a change of pace, which is hard to get in a stuck elevator.

“Really?” Harry doesn’t bother hiding how giddy he is, sitting up excitedly too.

“Might as well, we’ve got nothing else to do.”

Harry explains it a little bit better, and what exactly he was thinking in his head for it. They hit a few bumps, but fix things as they go until they have things worked out as best as they can. At least as best they can from inside a dimly lit elevator. Y/n adds notes of her own and plays off his voice with her own, knowing her own voice better than his. After a few tries they find a beautiful mix.

Y/n can’t even ignore how well their voices blend together. Even acapella sounds beautiful, they both look up at each other, realizing just how oddly magical it sounds. They finish the song and neither can speak. They both are struggling to come up with words to explain their thoughts.

A few different times they open their mouths to say something, but stop themselves. Y/n turns to look at him and he’s closer than she remembers. They had to sit close to share the paper, but now it’s like they’re breathing the same air.

Her lips part slightly and Harry’s eyes fail to refrain from dropping down to them. Y/n notices this a bites on the bottom slightly, pulling it in. Harry swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. The tension is building, but neither can decide if they should make a move.

Finally, Harry grins and slowly leans down to connect their lips. Y/n’s hands instantly find his curls pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. She pulls him back down on top of her, neither one of them is going to let this end soon. Both of them had been secretly waiting for this moment since they first met. Harry’s thumb lightly brushing against her cheekbone as they continue their heavy makeout.  

They forget that they’re stuck in an elevator and not in their own world where music is a language only the two of them speak.

The sound of metal creaking and light being thrust upon them makes them finally pull apart. The crew workers give them hands to help them out. Harry lets Y/n out first. There’s a paramedic waiting for them, claiming it’s standard procedure after anyone’s stuck in an elevator. After they both get cleared to go, Harry walks Y/n to a cab.

“I’m off Monday.” Y/n smiles, texting her boss that she will be coming in soon. Harry pulls open the door to the car for her.

“Monday in the studio?” Harry smirks and she nods.

“I’ll be there.” She smiles as she gets in and he shuts the door.

“You better be there, I know where you live.” Harry teases, pressing one more peck to her lips through the open window.

~

too cute lol!! part two??

#harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #Harry Styles

[ackerfics]

all there's left to do is run — mikasa ackerman.

— mikasa ackerman x female reader (historical setting)

— warnings: none

— summary: love story but it’s gay, basically ;> (bc ever since i heard taylor’s re-recording of love story, i could not get this idea off my brain)

— word count: 4.2k  

> we were both young when i first saw you  

The night was sparkling with extravagance and for such a girl like you, the chandeliers all seemed like those stars you read from astronomy books late at night, all burning and showering brightly that you had to look away. Of course, you continued looking up at the lights until your head got dizzy from tilting your head too high. You can faintly hear your mother scold you for doing something so unbecoming for a lady yet you continued adoring the stars in the ceiling of the castle your family owned, decorated to celebrate your tenth birthday. 

Your parents deemed it necessary to force you to wrap yourself in the most voluptuous gown you had ever seen in your life. As the daughter of the only Marquess in your kingdom, you were always expected to be tamed your whole life — dancing lessons that sprained your foot because of a couple of twirls in your ballroom, etiquette that became the reason for adults to scream at you to be better, tea parties that suffocated you with varying reasons, and all those dreaming in your head every time all of these happened. Being the daughter of the third most powerful person in your kingdom meant that these lessons will decide if you will be a good wife. And now that you are another year closer to being a lady of marriage age (being twelve since it was your birthday), it meant these lessons will double the load and will most likely take away your time.

A fact that you always disdained.

You were meant to be so much more. You always envisioned a life in the countryside, if the Fates were kind enough when they were trying to place you in society. You wanted extravagance but never this.

So you sneaked out of the party thrown for you, giggles flittering in the moonlit night and feet bringing you to the rose garden your mother liked to tend to. The flowers in the garden were one of the rarest to be seen in your kingdom, most of them on the verge of extinction, and the more you admired them, the more they shone before you. Dewdrops were forming in almost every petal inside the garden, the rain a few hours ago the culprit in making this part of the estate calmer than it already was. Swaying to the beat that can still be heard from the double doors, you took a single kadupul flower and placed it behind your ear. You were finally free to twirl however you want and you did just that, laughs searing the night as the moment turned into a memory that could never be forgotten. The grass felt cool under you as you draped yourself on the slightly wet terrain, staring into the dome of constellations you wholeheartedly admired.

The stars seem brighter than they usually are tonight.

“Hello, are you alright over there?”

Just like that, your peaceful night was ruined by a tentative voice coming from one of the bushes. You were told to never stray from your parents and ladies-in-waiting whenever you go to the stores, above all — to never talk to strangers no matter how young they are. Children you don’t know are much peskier to shoo away than those meddlers we encounter on our shopping trips, was what your mother grumbled one time. The voice meekly asking for your condition belonged to a girl around your age. Sure enough, a girl came from the shadows, hands clinging on the red scarf wrapped around her neck.

The girl in front of you looked star-struck. She was staring at you as if you held the universe in your small, dainty hands. The young mistress of the Palace of Flowers was a familiar face in all of the servants, seeing as you were a very adventurous child growing up, always dashing through the halls and paying the servants a much-needed visit. During these visits was the first time the dark-haired girl saw you. Though you were dressed in a more casual dress than the spell-binding gown you wore for the night, the girl thought you were the most beautiful person she ever saw. Her breath hitched when she realized you were waiting for her to speak up. Instead, she nearly hid her face in her scarf and dipped her form in a less graceful bow.

“Y-Young Mistress.”

“You can sit with me if you like,” you whispered to her as if there was someone in the vicinity eavesdropping. Your hands were cupped around your mouth so that the girl could hear what you were saying. “I’m whispering because the night is too peaceful to be interrupted.”

“Oh.” The dark-haired girl became flustered in a second and immediately plopped herself beside you, hands on her lap as she looked at anywhere but you. The children serving the family of the Marquess were told to never address the noble family informally. After a few minutes of silence, she cleared her throat to catch your attention, uttering the words that you heard throughout the night. “H-Happy b-birthday, young mistress.”

“Thank you.” The smile you gave her was brighter than the flower you carried in your hair.

The girl was wringing her fingers to calm down the beating of her heart. “I briefly saw you dancing in the ballroom while I was serving the deserts.” She looked at you straight in the eye with a glint of shyness. “You dance so well.”

You giggled, facing the girl with an eager expression. “What’s your name?”

“Mi-Mikasa,” the dark-haired girl answered with wide eyes.

Leaning back, you took out the flower you placed tucking your stray hairs, and tucked it behind Mikasa’s ear. You stood up with a huff, offering a hand to the gray-eyed girl. You slightly bowed as if you were the boy you were dancing with earlier. Mikasa was watching you with eyes full of wonder, her face flushed at seeing the young mistress of the palace bowing in front of her.

“Can I be your dance partner for the night, Lady Mikasa?”

It seemed like the entire garden was meant to be the ballroom for you two when Mikasa finally placed her hand on yours.

“It would be an honor, young mistress.”

> we keep quiet, 'cause we're dead if they knew

“Did you sneak out from your lessons again?”

Three years since your first meeting with Mikasa and she was still the same — tolerating your behavior of throwing away your responsibilities of being the young mistress to enjoy her company. For three years, nobody knew where you disappear off from except for the dark-haired girl’s friends in the village down the hill who work under the head maid of the estate. Your rendezvous with the dark-haired girl always included random things that you came up with but mostly, it was you bringing books and activities you wanted to share with her and Mikasa letting you taste her cooking. At this point, the garden wasn’t enough for the two of you. This made Mikasa open up to you about her safe space, a small meadow down by the lake of your family’s estate. It was closer to where the dark-haired girl was residing and she wasn’t wrong when she said you would love it.

You sat down beside her on the picnic blanket with a huff. “Tell me about it. It was another round of etiquette that I had to master. It sounds like another skill I had to unlock.” The tantalizing smell of buttered bread wafted from the basket laid in front of you two perking you up from your sulking. “You baked bread?”

Mikasa nodded with a small smile, eyes soft as she watched you squeal in happiness. Every day, you grew more beautiful than the first day she saw you five years ago in the kitchens trying to help Missus Springer bake the afternoon treats.

“I tried learning your favorite bread earlier,” Mikasa told you, reaching out a hand to gently brush away the sugar from the corner of your lips. “I hope this was to your liking.”

“Have I ever told you that your cooking is the absolute best, Mikasa?” you gushed with eyes filled with stars dedicated to the girl sitting beside you, leaning forward until inches separated you from the girl’s shocked visage.

The dark-haired girl turned red in the face at the proximity. “About a thousand times now probably.”

You smiled brightly at the information. “And I’ll still repeat it to you until you get tired of it.”

“I will never get tired of it. I will never get tired of you.”

Now, both of you donned an endearing shade of cerise on your cheeks the moment Mikasa finished saying those words. It was a first for the gray-eyed beauty to say such things, you were always the one initiating the physical contact and compliments. However, there was something underlying in Mikasa’s words that reminded you of that night you asked her to dance. You prayed to any deity that she wouldn’t hear how loud your heart was beating. You weren’t children anymore and you were starting to see the tranquil girl basked in another light — the words she uttered were just the catalyst in doing so. Your mother will be out for blood for this. It completely flew out of your head that the distance between you two gradually diminishes as Mikasa also started to lean forward, head tilted and eyes cast to your parted lips.

“Hey,” she uttered your name so softly that it was making your face warmer than it already is, “have I ever told you that you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen?”

Always so blunt that it took your breath away.

“If not, I’ll be saying those words until you get tired of it.”

“Mikasa,” you whispered against the softness of her lips.

You faintly registered the hand that nestled on the back of your neck, bringing you closer to her while burrowing her fingers in the unbound locks of your hair. The scent of first love became apparent as the wind breezed through you the moment Mikasa’s lips found their way against yours in a tryst of forbidden storylines fit for a melodrama. A hopeful melancholy was the words to describe the scenario as you placed your hands gently on Mikasa’s cheeks, reciprocating the kiss she shyly yet determinedly gave you, the colors of a first kiss painting the meadow into a memory that will make you two immortal in each other’s minds.

There were no overbearing mothers, no nosy friends, no responsibilities — it was just you and Mikasa embracing, with the flowers as the witnesses of the start of your story.

> take me somewhere we can be alone

You shook your head in disbelief, lips curled in disgust and hands clenching on the skirts of your dress. “You can’t be serious?”

“You must understand that you are of age now. A husband is everything in a woman’s life, how can you say something so outrageous like not accepting Duke Montague’s proposal for marriage?” Your mother all but screamed her frustrations. Every single lesson of proper etiquette and manners, honing you into a lady worth your status, all came down to this moment. Both you and your mother were seeing red for different reasons after the horrid letter was presented by your estate’s messenger, Connie. Your mother growled your name, “Have you lost your mind?! What possessed you if you were planning on denying this opportunity? Not only does this benefit the family but you as well. You’re going to be a duchess, for heaven’s sake, that position begets luxury!”

“Your mother is right,” your father, the Marquess, tried to soothe the growing tension inside the parlor, though his words sent a blow to your cowering resolve. “You are the heiress of the House and we will do everything in our power to make sure you stay afloat the societal hierarchy. By doing that, we will make sure you’re going to marry the Duke.”

“But—“

“We won’t take no for an answer.” Your father looked at you straight in the eye, hands gripping the armrest of the chair, before saying, “You need to bear a son for our bloodline to continue.”

You abruptly stood up, your mind too fogged to conjure a proper response. Instead of taking out your anger on your parents (which will most likely lead to them taking away your only chance of seeing Mikasa), you made your way out of the parlor. Your mother’s calls resonating through the large palace as your heels clicked on the polished hallways. Upon passing by a large mirror on your way to the gardens, the sight of you in one of your day gowns sent bile rushing through your throat. You looked anything like those trophy wives the men adored to parade. Gritting your teeth, you shook your head and continued to your destination.

It was your regular rendezvous with Mikasa. The kiss that happened that day only drew you two closer rather than creating a wedge between your budding relationship. Oh, how you wish you can turn back time and let it loop only at that memory. A dull ache started to form in your chest at the intensity of the news you were about to tell your secret lover. With shaking hands, the meadow that calmed you the years past became foreboding as each step now led you beside a sitting Mikasa. 

“I heard.”

Mikasa’s words made you stop. She turned to you, giving you a view of her conflicted face. Three years have passed since you shared your first kiss with each other. Three years of hiding in the tall flowers of the meadow and behind curtains. Three years and Mikasa looked even more beautiful than ever. 

“Mikasa,” you weakly pleaded.

“You were always destined for something great,” the dark-haired girl started, her emotions now seeping through the carefully-crafted mask she created while growing up. She fumbled with her words as she threw her hands in the air, visibly frustrated at everything (at herself, at the Marquess and Marchioness, at every noble existing in your kingdom — but never at you). “You’re this heiress people were expecting tremendous things from and I’m just me. You’re so beautiful that it pains me to see you being fawned at during balls. You’re so talented that I’m afraid it will be put to waste by being with me. You’re so amazing to me.”

You pleaded for her to stop, sitting down beside her with your skirts fanning out around you, but Mikasa only continued, “Yet here I am — someone who doesn’t even have a family, who was only adopted by one of the maids in the castle, who recently found out I had an uncle that doesn’t want anything to do with me.” The way she uttered your name was nothing like the caresses you were so fond of. Mikasa placed both of her hands over your cheeks, now wet with tears that you didn’t even notice. “I’m nobody compared to you and that’s the truth.”

She tenderly placed her forehead against yours as your breath hitched from quietly sobbing. 

“I’ll find a way,” you pleaded again.

Mikasa shook her head desperately, trying to anchor you to reality. “No. You have to accept this proposal from the Duke.”

“But it’s you who I fell deeply for, not him!”

“You will grow to love him, flower, your heart is so big and kind that it would be impossible—“

“That’s preposterous!” You threw your arms around her neck, her hands finding their way around your corseted waist. “I’ll find a way to get out of this mess. We’ll go far away and live a comfortable life in a cabin or a cottage. I want it beside a lake, Mikasa. I want to run away with you and make this dream a reality because I can’t imagine a life without you in it!”

Mikasa could only tighten her hold around your shaking form, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Under the afternoon sun, you once again sealed your lips with hers, promises burning along with the feelings you have for each other.

> and my daddy said, "stay away,” but you were everything to me

Mikasa was called to the study of the Marquess. Various scenarios passed through the dark-haired girl, her hand poised on twisting the doorknob. She took a deep breath, never noticing how the maid beside her (most likely the chambermaid of the Marchioness) appeared to have a sinister smile on her face. The churning in Mikasa’s stomach intensified as she opened the double doors and let herself in the grand room. The chamber was the size of their entire house and it took Mikasa a full second to reign herself and not linger her eyes on your huge portrait (you looked regal — a competitor against the Queen’s beauty). Straightening her posture, Mikasa schooled her features into that mask she perfected and faced your father with a stony countenance.

The Marquess didn’t pay attention to the presence of one of his staff. The tea preoccupied with his thoughts, perfectly brewed to his liking and figuring that he would thank one of the kitchen staff for preparing the beverage on such a dreaded day. The older man wiped his mouth with a handkerchief before regarding Mikasa.

“Miss Ackerman.”

“Marquess, sir.”

Your father hummed contemplatively. “Have you heard of the proposal of Duke Montague, Miss Ackerman?”

Mikasa’s eyebrows furrowed at your father’s words. It was phrased like a casual question but the way that he spoke reminded her that she was only a servant living within his estate. It reminded her of the rift between you two and her breath shuddered. Surely, the Marquess had never ventured to the meadows and discovered their secret, right? That would mean you were also in grave trouble and it was all Mikasa’s fault. Still, the dark-haired girl nodded at your father’s question.

“Very well.”

He leaned back on his chair, satisfied at the pliable nature of the girl standing in front of him. He heard many stories of the girl’s family — slaughtered by bandits at the dead of the night when the child was only nine years old (her parents were also working under him), wherein she was then adopted by one of the maids’ family, and now decided to work as one of the kitchen staff at a young age. It was something he didn’t want to happen to his daughter. He also didn’t want his daughter mingling with the help, much less sharing kisses in the meadow just a short walk from the main palace’s gardens. The maid who led Mikasa to his study was the one who witnessed such atrocity. It was the day when they told you that you were bound to be married. It looked like you sought comfort from someone, and the Marquess didn’t expect that someone to be a female help. 

“You understand that I would have to tell you to stop meeting with my daughter by the meadows.”

The maid at the door was now smiling like Wonderland’s Cheshire Cat. 

Mikasa felt a cold wave rush through every part of her body, her gaze now caught in a daze on the floor.

“If you’re not going to do that, you might as well say goodbye to living in my land, Miss Ackerman. My daughter has an entire future waiting for her and I can’t afford to let it jeopardize right in front of my eyes by some measly servant girl.” The Marquess had the nerve to look sympathetic yet his eyes told a different story by being cruel. “I heard that you found out about a long-lost relative in the countryside so,” the older man paused, “which will it be, Miss Ackerman?”

Mikasa was left with no choice.

> they're tryna tell me how to feel, this love is difficult, but it's real

The slap resounded through the four walls of your chamber.

At the exact time Mikasa was confronted with your father, you were reprimanded by your mother after the maid made use of the scene she witnessed in the meadows after following you out. It was a good thing that the said maid wasn’t inside your room at the moment. You would have thrown the vase on your bedside table at her instead of your mother right now, everything was mentally envisioned of course. You didn’t have the strength to retaliate with your mother, much less lift your gaze to level your eyes with the older woman’s.

“You are an abomination! What were you thinking?! You have been keeping this for how many years? You are a disgrace to the family! You are a lady, for heaven’s sake, and you go brandishing your skirt to another woman. This is a scandal fit for the century! Oh, my, my stress levels.” Your mother then draped herself on the couch at the foot of your bed, leaving you to stand in front of her with your head down. “Stop what you’re feeling for that girl this instant. I don’t want this to travel around the kingdom, unleashing gossip in its wake. A girl! What blasphemy. If only you can show that to Duke Montague as well when you two marry. Maybe I have raised you wrong, your lessons might be lacking in some sense.”

“Mother.” Similar-colored eyes stared at each other, making the room feel smaller. “I will do no such thing. I will never marry a man I know I won’t come to love. I won’t listen to you prattle about hierarchies and social standing. I won’t stop loving Mikasa if that is the last thing I’ll do. I’m so sick of you labeling me as a disgrace if I so ever made a little mistake in those idiotic lessons you forced me to do. I’m so tired of hearing you continuously proclaiming to everyone that I am willing to open my legs to a higher-ranking noble to save my reputation. To hell with that! Call me an abomination for loving someone I truly care about, I don’t care. Mikasa means the world to me and she’s the only person I could ever be real with. Shun me if that’s the only solution but I won’t stop loving the only person who has ever made me feel loved and special in my entire life.”

The silence was deafening and your heaves of breath rang loud in your chambers. Your mother’s posture now straightened, her eyes cold as she dragged her stare over your form. “You’re not to go out of this room until Duke Montague comes to this palace for your hand in marriage. You have no say in this matter.”

That night, you were ready to throw everything you could hold inside your room but a constant tap on your windows made your breath stop. Glancing at the locked doors of your room, you made your way to the doors leading to the balcony. Again, they were locked so you took the vase and slammed it on the doorknob, the sound rattling through your room and into the hallways. You hastily opened the doors and went out to lean over the balcony.

Mikasa’s eyes brightened at the sight of you. She was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt tucked inside a pair of trousers and a dark cloak. Excitement bubbled inside your chest at the prospect of running away with her in the dead of the night.

“Jump,” Mikasa whispered. “I’ll catch you.”

Looking back at the doors of your chambers, you didn’t think twice about slinging your leg over the balcony. You took a deep breath and prayed that Mikasa will catch you safely in her arms. The cold gush of the night breeze sent you shivering as you jumped down the balcony, only to hear the grunt from your lover with her arms securing you to her body. Gray eyes glinted against the moonlight and your mind was muddled with thoughts about her that the only thing you could say was, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Mikasa softly replied before kissing you on the lips. “Come on, Eren already took a horse from the stables.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, letting yourself be carried by Mikasa as she tried not to make a loud noise while walking in the direction of the stables.

The dark-haired girl grinned. “To a place where we can love freely of course.”

> it's a love story, baby, just say, "yes" (we were both young when i first saw you)

“Mikasa, let me tell you a secret that you’re probably tired of.”

A chuckle came from your lover’s lips. “Tell me.”

“I always thought you were beautiful since the first time I saw you.”

“I’ll trade a real secret of mine for that.” She kissed you, basking underneath the sun’s rays. “I have always loved you since I saw you help Missus Springer with the afternoon treats when we were ten.”

“You were there?”

“Yes and I’m so happy I was there.”

“Mikasa, I’m so happy it’s you I fell in love with.”

“I love you more than the stars you always adored.”

#mikasa ackerman x reader #mikasa ackerman x you #mikasa ackerman #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan #rory writes #historical au

[authoressofdarkness]

His Perfect Model - Chapter 1

Tony doesn’t need the money from porn shoots, Lord knows. It’s just a fun, extremely well paying side gig. But when he somehow acquires permanent... ah, custody... of the omega from his latest shoot, he knows he’s found his perfect model. And their fun together is only beginning. It may take him some time to convince Peter of that, but really, he’s not too worried.

Read on AO3 here. Notes, warnings, and Chapter 1 under the cut.

Notes: Hello hello! I'm back again! This is another random plot bunny that I've been fidgeting with for a while, but I was eventually convinced to get it up sooner rather than later, so here it is! This first chapter is very explicit, and it probably will be rather smutty most of the way through. Not sure how long this will be yet or what it will deal with, but just for transparency, there may be talk of past trauma that could extend to noncon, dubcon, kidnapping, human trafficking, and more. I'll tag each chapter accordingly as we get there, but none of it should be too explicit. Also, anyone familiar with GMSTS will be familiar with how I write ABO, but, as simply as possible, omegas have vaginas, alphas have cocks, and betas are what we would consider "binary." Again, I say so ahead of time just in the interest of transparency so I don't accidentally trigger anyone's dysphoria. Aaaanyway, if you've made it through my rambling and are still interested, yay! Thank you for being here, read on, and I hope you enjoy! <3

He tries not to judge.

That was probably why he gets hired for so many gigs. That and his insane amount of talent, but — well. Anyone could have that amount of talent with working with equipment if they tried. Now the fact that he builds his own… that is something special, he knows.

And, really, his technical prowess was what pays his bills more than anything, and is what made him rich. That, and his father’s name, but he tries to keep that part more under wraps. He’d turned away the responsibility that normally came with being a Stark a long time ago; but the intelligence and the mechanical prowess is practically in his blood. Unable to be rejected.

Anyway, the point is, he doesn’t need to do porn shoots; yet he still enjoys taking these side jobs. He always had, even on his way to the top, and he never made any attempt to hide it.

He doesn’t just shoot porn, of course. He’d lend his camera skills to anyone who asks and has the money to back up the offer. But of course the dirty jobs tend to be his favorites. Any alpha that says they don’t like to pose an omega how they like and look at their pretty pussy for any amount of time — and get paid the big bucks to do it — was certainly a liar.

And yeah, he takes some weird jobs included in that. But he doesn’t ask many questions except on the preferences for stylings of the job, and he’s kinky enough himself to never dream of judging the extremism of it, so… yeah, he makes pretty good money.

Today might be testing the extent of it, though.

The scene he is shooting today isn’t particularly extreme or out of the ordinary, on first glance. The omega was to be strapped to a chair with a wand tied in place to tease his pussy, and Tony is supposed to capture it in photo and on video as his torture goes through stages of multiple denials until he’s hypersensitive and begging to stop. The rest was put as to be determined based on the way it comes out.

It is far from the craziest thing he’s ever shot, and he planned it out easily enough, with a few of his favorite toys and set pieces, and he’s easily ready to go.

The weird part starts when the omega gets there.

It’s apparent immediately that this is no porn star. Aside from his experience in the field and the number of them he actually knew from it, Peter doesn’t carry himself like one. He is small and shy, with a lithe, gorgeous body, as Tony can see from the moment the two gruff alphas accompanying him strip him out of the poor excuse for a covering the omega had been wearing. All he was left in then was a slip, and it’s sheer fabric did nothing to hide the pretty nude form underneath.

Most people arrived in normal clothes and then would either change or strip.

The second thing was that he is already bound. Again, unusual. Clearly he hadn’t driven himself, of course, but… this must be a really elaborate scene for him to already be tied up. And the rope isn’t even the good stuff; it’s plain and grainy, certainly hurting his wrists and not at all his color. Tony always used rope that complimented the style of the scene and the person’s skin. It would be a waste not to.

Peter is gorgeous, and he could have used a lot of colors, admittedly. But the boy is delicate and pale — his pussy much the same in the photos — and so he’d chosen a light pink, one that didn’t wash out his already pale form and almost matched the pretty color of the soft bits he’d been paid to pay special attention to. It’s easy enough to match the background of the scene and the colors of the toys and rope together, thematically.

But that aside, all of the choices up to this point were strange. Stranger than he’s used to. But he makes it a point not to say anything. He’s not being paid to judge.

Even if Peter looks almost scared of the two men he came in with. Even if something rings off about this whole gig.

Tony isn’t stupid, but he doesn’t care much for the loss of business — at least — pushing for the truth would cause. So he pushes the thoughts down and finally approaches the omega.

“Hi, princess. Gentlemen.” He kneels down to be at Peter’s level. “My name’s Tony. I’m going to be the one taking your photos, honey. Can I get you anything before we start? A water? Bathroom break?” The omega silently shakes his head. “Alright. Let's get started then.” He holds out a hand to help him up.

Peter takes it, and Tony helps him to his feet and guides him over to the chair. “Now we’re going to start with some photos on the floor and make our way into the chair. I’m going to change out your ropes. I want you to leave the slip on, for now.” It’s white, a nice color to highlight the details of the creamy skin underneath, and doesn’t contrast with his ropes, either.

He cuts the bonds on the omega’s wrists and reties them in front of him with the pink rope, then has him lay down on the floor, propping his ankles up on the edge of the chair so the slip falls back to expose creamy thighs and stomach and the top of that tantalizing slit from above his pressed-together thighs.

Tony suppresses the urge to purr. “Perfect.” He moves behind the chair and starts taking pictures, ignoring the stir of arousal in his gut at the sight of the gorgeous omega as he does, throwing out occasional changes in position for him to follow.

Peter, for his part, is pretty demure throughout all the photos. He’s quiet — whether shy or afraid to speak, Tony doesn’t ask — but he doesn’t look sullen or make any faces to spoil the photos. He just complies with Tony’s directions, usually silently or with an occasional “yes, sir,” allowing Tony to direct and shoot him in a dozen different positions before allowing him to actually sit in the chair.

Feet on the chair. Legs crossed. Legs open. Spread your folds with your bound hands. One leg up, then the other. Knees bent. To your chest, pussy exposed wide without your fingers. Pull the sheer over it for a few shots. Hold the wand to it. Hands above your head. Hold still while I get shots of it resting there. Tied with the rope like it will be in the video. Lick the wand. Close your eyes and hold it there. Take off the slip. Repeat a few sultry shots without it.

Finally, he picks up the slip and helps the omega to his feet. “You can sit in the chair now. Put the slip back on for a few minutes.”

Peter nods and does as he’s told, and Tony watches, unable to help himself. He doesn’t find himself incredibly attracted to a lot of his clients, at least after so long of doing it, and what with his tastes being so specific… but Peter seemed to hit everything on the head, and god, it was a bit of a problem for him. He’s supposed to be setting up his camera right now, but instead he’s admiring the curve of the omega’s spine and his plump ass as he heads for the chair he’s going to tie him to and-

He snaps out of it. He’s going to shoot the video he’s being paid to shoot, and that’s it. No fantasies allowed. At least not until after when he’s jerking off to the memory of this.

He sets up his video camera, then returns to the little omega, waiting patiently for him to come to him so they could shoot the scene. Tony grabs some more of the pink rope, setting about tying the pretty thing down, wrists to the arms, ankles to the legs, back to the back, and the wand added with a loop through the middle tying his back to the chair, letting it sit perfectly against Peter’s pretty pussy. He tops it off with a blindfold, and purrs at the completed look.

“Perfect. I’m going to get a few more shots before we start filming. Just relax.” He can smell the omega starting to get slick, even just from the wand resting against his pussy. He definitely knows what’s coming. Even though it’s not Tony’s idea, or Tony’s omega, even, he’s getting slightly excited at the thought of being in control and being the one to do this to him.

He gets a lot more excited when they actually start.

He does. He can’t help it. From the moment he turns the toy on and watches the omega’s head loll back in pleasure, eyes fluttering under the blindfold, he’s rock hard in his pants, watching, smelling the omega’s slick as he goes from slightly wet to absolutely drenched and dripping down his own thighs by the third denial. And his moans… the way he meekly whines out for alpha and those little cries of pleasepleaseplease! when he’s on the cusp of orgasm… it’s pornographic, there’s no other word for how obscene and arousing it is, matched only by the way his lithe body squirms in his bonds, fabric around his eyes darkening from tears-

By the fifth denial, Tony is convinced he could probably come in his pants right now from this, if he let himself. He’s half-ass tempted to. The alphas that had brought him in have stepped outside, and Peter is slumped as much as he can be and panting in the chair, still blindfolded, just waiting for him to turn it back on. It would be so easy to rub himself to a quick and dirty orgasm out of any of their lines of sight.

He doesn’t. He turns the toy back on and lets his cock twitch and strain in his pants at the sound of Peter’s broken cry instead, finding this edging to be just as satisfying for him as how it’ll probably end for Peter. At least it’s fair.

One of the alphas that brought him in returns sometime around the eighth denial. He joins him off to the side this time.

“How many?” He sounds almost bored, eyeing the crying and squirming omega with minimal interest.

Tony tried to keep his voice even as he answers, despite the arousal threatening to roughen it. “When I turn it on again, it’ll be nine.”

“Good.” He nods, looking satisfied.

There’s a long moment of silence except for the pitiful whimpering of the omega. Tony breaks it again. “How many times am I supposed to deny him?”

“At least ten.”

“And then?”

The other alpha turns to him. “That depends on you, I think.”

“On me?” He can’t hide his surprise. The paperwork had said to be determined, yes, but he assumed it was to be determined based on what Peter could take. “What do you mean?”

The older alpha gives him a once over and purposefully scents the air before answering. “You want him. Don’t you?”

It’s not like there’s any way of hiding it, but his cheeks still tint pink. “Yes. Who wouldn’t?”

“Well, you have a chance at him before anyone else.” The alpha tilts his head. “How much are you willing to pay?”

“Excuse me?” Tony straightens. “Pay for what?”

“Him.” The alpha tosses his head in Peter’s direction.

Tony lets out a little breath. God, is it tempting, but he doesn’t need anyone else used whore, no matter how pretty he may be. “He’s pretty, I grant you, but I’m not paying to fuck an omega used by how many others before me. Thanks, but no thanks.” It sounded crude, but really. Why would he take a risk like that?

“He hasn’t been. He’s fresh meat.” The other male shrugs. “The shoot is for material to advertise him. He goes online for sale tonight… unless you pay me for him right now.”

Tony doesn’t need him to say it flat out to understand that his suspicions were right — there’s definitely something illegal going on here. And he has a choice.

But what kind of choice is it, really? He only knows two people’s names out of what is surely a ring, and in all likelihood, they’re fake names. These two alphas probably wouldn’t have shared this with him if they weren’t confident that he wants Peter enough to take it. And even the fact they were here and they did this shoot would be enough to get him in trouble, even if he turned it in himself. Not to mention the fact that they know his real identity. These two men or someone else would surely come back after him if he tried to turn them in — if they didn’t kill him flat out.

But if he bought Peter and kept quiet… it was better for him, better for business, and surely better for Peter. He couldn’t be as bad as whoever the boy would end up being sold to on the black market.

Tony meets his eyes. “How much?”

The alpha grins, pretending to think about it. “To have first go round at him? A couple grand. I’ll go back outside and let you have him until sundown, if you give us our material and the cash. To keep him? Well, I still want the photos for promotional material, but… a mil or two.”

Two whole million. For a pure, untouched, gorgeous, terrified omega straight out of his wet dreams.

Tony swallows. It’s hardly a decision. Not when he’s smelling how wet and ready Peter is sitting a few feet away and he knows he could have the money out of the bank as quick as a phone call. It’s not as if he doesn’t have it. “How soon do you want the cash?”

~~~

By the time Peter reaches the tenth denial, Tony officially owns him.

The two other alphas leave with a flash drive with the photos, the money in an account, and the promise that they’ll get the finished product of the video soon.

Soon, but not today, or the next couple, probably. He’s going to be a bit busy.

He fixes the angle of the camera so it’s situated mostly below the neck; the focus of it, of course, on the omega’s creamy open thighs, and the wet pussy forced open between them with the wand. Then he moves around, approaching the omega from the back while he’s slumped in the chair, panting and crying weakly.

He slides the blindfold off the omega’s wet eyes from behind, and Peter immediately straightens, tugging at his bonds. “H-hello? Alpha?” His voice is thick and raspy from crying.

“Hi, honey,” Tony purrs, setting his hands on the omega’s shoulders, enjoying the way he jumps at the touch as he runs them down his body. Deft fingers free the wand from its loop, and Peter sobs in relief.

“Oh alpha, thank you, gods- ngh- “

Peter starts to thank him for removing the wand, but chokes off with a broken cry when it returns, this time in the alpha’s hand. Tony smiles at the response as Peter’s head lolls back into his shoulder, turning it up a setting and shushing him gently at the sob that tears from Peter’s lips again.

He runs his other hand back up Peter’s body and settles it against his chin, grip firm on his throat, forcing him to keep his head back and on his shoulder. He drops his lips to the omega’s ear. “You can sob and struggle all you want to. I’m not going to let you come. And I’m not going to stop torturing you until you stop all of it. Don’t cry, don’t struggle, don’t beg me to let you ruin yourself. When you start saying please and thank you for the pleasure and for what I’m doing to you, and be a respectful, obedient omega, we might stop.”

“It hurts-“ Peter whimpers. “Alpha, daddy , please… I’ll do anything- oh- “ His face presses against Tony’s chest with a tortured cry. His thighs tremble viciously against Tony’s hand, back arching a little over the chair.

Tony feels a pang in his chest, but presses on. They have to finish this video before he starts going soft, at least. “You’ll sit still and be quiet. Here. I’ll even help you.” The hand not holding the wand in place comes up and covers his mouth, holding his head firmly against his shoulder. “Now be good, and I’ll make it stop.”

It takes time. Another few denials, kind of time, but it doesn’t matter. He has as long as needed. He’d given the omega an order, and he’d learn to listen, or they’d keep going all night.

Eventually, shaking and exhausted, Peter goes limp against him, eyes closed, pitiful little sobs audible but no words even trying to come from behind the alpha’s hand, still clamped on his mouth. Tony makes a triumphant little sound, and pulls the wand away. “Look at me, omega.”

Peter’s eyes flutter open, red and wet, fixing on Tony.

“Since you’ve listened, now, we’re going to be done. I’m going to take my hand off your mouth, and I want you to thank me. Don’t stop thanking me, and don’t say please, again, or we’ll stop until you can get control of yourself. Am I clear?” A nod against his hand. “Good.” He lets him go.

Peter takes a small breath. “Thank you.” His voice is barely a hoarse whisper.

“You’re welcome, omega.” Tony presses a kiss to his neck and lets the wand trail back up Peter’s thigh, suppressing a smirk at the way his breath hitches again. “Again.”

“Thank you, Alpha.”

“Good boy. Remember, don’t beg. Just be grateful.” He pauses, then slides the blindfold back on his eyes. He knows they want his full body in this shot, but he isn’t too keen on the possibility of the omega being recognized, either, knowing what he does now. Then he steps away just enough to tilt the camera back up, allowing it to get Peter’s face, and a small portion of his own neck and torso behind him.

When he returns, he takes his chin, turning his head toward the lens. “Look toward the camera, now. Think about how many people are going to see this, honey, and try show them how good you are. Let everyone see how pretty you look when you’re coming, just this once, before I take it all for myself.”

“Yes, alpha. Thank you, alpha.”

“Good boy.” With that, he turns on the wand again.

The omega’s body jumps visibly in the camera lens when the toy finds his swollen clit again. He lets out a broken little cry, but his hips don’t move, even as he starts to tremble again immediately. “Alpha- feels so good, Alpha, thank you- so close, Alpha, so close, thank you- oh god, oh- ngh- “

The force of the orgasm rocks his little body, and he nearly screams at the intensity before going completely limp in the chair again, clearly seeing stars, seeming to have blacked out.

Tony flicks the toy off and lets Peter’s head go, watching it fall to his chest as the omega pants and struggles to regain his senses. He walks over to the camera, taking it off its stand and coming closer.

He trails his fingers from the inside of Peter’s bound leg, up his core, pausing for just a moment to tease that oversensitive little bud, tearing a strangled cry out of Peter that he shushes, and then clear up to his face. He cups his cheek, stroking it as the omega’s unfocused eyes try to open under the fabric, clearly barely holding on to consciousness.

“You know you want one,” he murmurs, just loud enough to be heard. “So come get it.”

Then he shuts the camera off, setting it aside and turning completely back to Peter. It was time to get the omega home.

Taglist: @snowstark @serrabloodsong​

Let me know if you would like to be added! <3

#starker #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #his perfect model #my writing #starker fanfiction #starker fanfic #ironspider fanfic #ironspider fanfiction #ironspider #marvel alternate universe #marvel cinematic universe alternate universe #mcu au #photographer tony stark #nff #starker nff #model peter parker #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker/tony stark #starker moodboard #ironspider moodboard

[kurtstinypurse]

for the prompt meme thing: 18. celebrity!au + 9. strangers to lovers + “i’m rambling again, aren’t i?” pretty pls. for the rambling of it all and us etc

so this is way longer than that prompt post had in mind, but. I needed to give this the length it (and you) deserved!!

-

Kurt shouldn’t be checking his Instagram comments, and he knows it.

In fact, he makes a point not to, usually, because he knows what he’ll find - a sea of half-assed compliments and ass-kissing that, as nice as they are, all run together, and a scattering of rude remarks that will inevitably stick out to him and ruin his day.

And so he doesn’t check them, simple as that.

Well - until now, apparently, and he isn’t even really sure why he’s doing it as he opens the app, goes to his own page, clicks his most recent post.

Maybe he’s a masochist looking for reasons to feel insecure and beat himself up, or maybe he’s a narcissist and looking for an ego boost, or maybe he’s bored, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s home alone on a Friday night, two glasses of wine deep - but that part of it is pretty much business as usual.

But regardless, there he sits, scrolling through the comments on his latest picture - a snapshot of a model wearing his newly finished suit, floral and understated, a design he’s content with every stitch of.

As to be expected, the comments run together. There’s a lot of them these days, a larger following than he ever expected to get, back when he was an up-and-coming designer.

He’s not so up-and-coming anymore, though.

He’s established, made a name for himself and kept it, a big name, actually, becoming one of the most sought-after designers to create custom suits for events in New York - and, ironically enough, for most events in the Broadway world, for premieres and awards shows and the like.

It’s a small connection to the very world he once thought he’d be immersed in, but at the end of the day, he’s happy with what he has.

Kurt is scrolling, and he’s scrolling, and then- he pauses.

A blue verified check mark sticks out to him next to one username, and so he stops to read the comment, finding a name he recognizes, one he hadn’t expected to see.

blaineanderson ✔️ this is incredible! your designs are always great, but this one really captured me. fingers crossed I can wear one of your pieces one of these days!

Oh.

It’s interesting, actually, that Blaine hasn’t worn one of Kurt’s pieces before.

Kurt’s been aware of Blaine for a while now, vaguely tracking his progression from a stand-out off-Broadway to an understudy on Broadway to, finally, a full-fledged lead role.

He’s a hot topic, having been labeled as one to watch more than once, and Kurt knows Blaine attends the events and premieres Kurt often designs for, but they just...never crossed paths.

Or apparently they had, and Kurt’s just been missing it.

He blinks, and he reads the comment again, and he takes a long drag of wine, and he swallows, and he blinks, and he reads it again.

He realizes he’s smiling, down at his phone all alone in his apartment, no one to see it, no real reason to be doing it.

There’s no real reason why he clicks on Blaine’s profile, either, and there’s definitely no reason to explain why he clicks to follow Blaine, but if that wasn’t enough -

He clicks again, and he pushes away all room for logical thought, and he composes a message.

kurthummel: hi! this is really random, but I thought your comment on my post was really sweet, plus if you meant it, I’d love to design for you. anyways, just thought I’d say hello and thank you.

He presses his phone onto the couch cushion beside him, and he drains the rest of his wine, and he goes into the kitchen to refill his glass, and when he’s back - there’s a message there waiting for him already, much to his surprise.

blaineanderson: hey, kurt! this message was really exciting to see! I’ve actually been following your work for a long time now, and...wow. do YOU mean it? I’m not sure I’m worthy of wearing one of your designs, but at the very least, I’m so glad you said hi!

Blaine’s gracious, and he’s sweet, and Kurt already knows he’s handsome, and-

Kurt has had far too much wine.

And he has been single for far too long.

But Blaine… In a single comment and a single message, Blaine has managed to make Kurt feel more special than he’s felt in a long time, and he’s not sure why.

It’s probably the wine.

The wine is also why he writes back again - and another time, too.

kurthummel: of course I meant it! and why wouldn’t you be worthy? I actually happened to see the falsettos revival on opening night, and yours might be my favorite interpretation I’ve seen. I’m a big fan of the show, of course, and being such a lover of broadway, too… I’ve seen quite a few boots at this point, but your whizzer might have tugged at my heart the most. and your voice!

And your eyes, and your face, and your smile.

Shit.

The wine, the wine, the wine.

kurthummel: sorry, I’m rambling...

He wants to apologize for a lot more than that, but he manages to stop himself.

blaineanderson: no need to apologize! I...wow. again. you’re so kind, and it means even more because you’re so talented, too. your visions for your designs are just so thoughtful and original, especially that last one, and so I’m sure your ear is just as well-tuned so…yeah. wow. now I’m the rambling one! anyways, whizzer quickly became such a personal role for me, and I’m so happy to hear that shines through even a little bit. 

And they kind of go from there.

They keep complimenting each other for a while - there’s probably a ridiculous amount of compliments traded, actually, but they’re both doing it, and it feels like a creative exchange, almost, on topic and essentially business-related. It’s meant to be a precursor to business, actually, hopefully culminating in a project for Kurt and an attention-grabbing, show-stopping outfit for Blaine.

But then they just...keep talking, about their careers and how they like the city, about how they got to the city and where they were prior, about the songs they like and the shows they’ve seen and the movies they’d managed to miss.

It turns out they have a lot in common.

They keep talking, as Kurt finishes off his bottle of wine, as he moves to the bedroom and crawls under his sheets, burrowing into the pillows and blankets with no light but his phone screen illuminating the dark room.

At some point, he realizes he’s smiling, and he’s been smiling, to the point where his cheeks hurt, actually, but he just kind of lets himself.

Just for tonight.

-

But then it’s the next morning, and Kurt wakes up to a message from Blaine, and the conversation continues, direct messages scattered through the morning, during Kurt’s commute to the office, at work when he has the chance to sneak a moment on his phone.

And he finds himself looking for those moments to sneak a read of a message or a reply to one, kind of whenever he can.

Which is exactly what he’s doing when his boss, Isabelle, pokes her head into his office.

“Why are you smiling at your phone?” she wants to know, raising a curious, knowing eyebrow when Kurt shoots his head up to look at her, phone clattering onto his desk. “A new guy?”

“There’s- There’s no guy,” he stammers, because there isn’t, at least not the way she means, and he’s not sure why his face is getting hot.

Blaine is nice, and Kurt is nice back. That’s all it is, really - it’s nice to have someone new to talk to, to get to know, especially when they’re so- well, nice.

Isabelle hums like she doesn’t believe him, and Kurt suddenly isn’t completely convinced he believes himself.

Blaine posts a new picture of himself on Instagram that night, a classy shot from behind as he watches the sun set over the city from a tall skyscraper’s balcony, and if Kurt falls asleep thinking about the narrow lines of Blaine’s waist and the way his ass looks in those pants, well.

Kurt’s only human, after all.

-

He’s not sure when things start to change, exactly.

He can’t pinpoint the moment, but their conversations go from friendly and sweet to something more - deeper, first, a gentle delve into Blaine’s complicated family, a brief conversation about Kurt’s mom and his stepbrother, and then just- just more.

He’s sitting at his desk at work, poking at his salad with his fork and grinning at a silly picture Blaine sent him when he realizes - he feels light, and he feels giddy, almost, and he feels towards Blaine a sort of way he thought he couldn’t feel, not anymore.

But he’s feeling it, and he’s been feeling it, and he realizes, too, that he just kind of knows Blaine feels the same way.

It’s in Blaine’s messages, and it’s in the compliments that reappear when Kurt least expects it, and it’s in the emojis he uses, and it’s just-

It’s everywhere, and Kurt sits there, and he blinks, and he blinks, and he chews thoughtfully for a moment, and he decides, yeah.

He’s not going to question it.

It’s that night that Blaine asks for his phone number, and it feels like a step, and Kurt can’t help but wonder if maybe Blaine’s going to ask him out for coffee or for dinner or for drinks - they live in the same city, after all, and they know a ton of the same people and essentially run in the same circles, and it would be so easy, so easy to just take another step forward and make this real.

Kurt should be scared of that - and in the past, he would be, with a string of brief failed relationships and over three years of being fully single in recent history. He has no reason to think - well, anything.

But he’s just...not scared.

He’s cooking dinner when his phone vibrates, and he reaches for it with his free hand, expecting to find some sort of question or invitation, but instead he finds-

A video.

Unknown Number: Hey, you. It’s Blaine. I know I haven’t told you about this, but it’s only because I haven’t really told anyone about it. But besides just singing on stage, I like to try my hand at arranging my own songs, too, and I felt like sharing this one with you. xx

The attached video is just about three minutes long, and it’s of Blaine on his couch, dressed down in a sweater that screams cozy, and he has a guitar in his lap, and he smiles shyly at the camera before starting to play and to sing.

It’s an upbeat sort of song, and Blaine sings about being a king, about thinking he has it all worked out but figuring out he’s wrong, about his kingdom falling apart but being okay, about being foolish and unexpectedly falling in love.

Kurt knows it’s not for him - he isn’t stupid.

But his heart is stupid, and it���s racing in his chest, and his mouth is stupid, too, because he can’t force away his grin, and his hands are worst of all, because when the song is over, he presses to replay it, and then he replays it again.

And then he picks up his phone, and he types.

From Kurt: Blaine, that was… I don’t know what to say! The lyrics were so clever, and you’re so wonderful at guitar, and you know how I feel about your voice. I listened to it a few times, honestly, and I already want to listen to it again. Sorry, I’m rambling again, too, aren’t I? I...guess I tend to feel kind of foolish around you, actually.

From Blaine: It’s funny, I wrote this song almost a year ago with nothing to apply it to. But it’s starting to make more sense, I think. Or maybe I’m foolish, too.

From Blaine: Besides, I love to listen to you ramble.

Kurt breathes out shakily, and he blinks, and he reads the message again, and he blinks, and he smiles.

He doesn’t hesitate, and he knows he won’t regret it.

From Kurt: Are you free tomorrow night?

Blaine’s reply is near instant.

From Blaine: For you? Anytime.

-

It’s only been a week, Kurt realizes the next night as he fusses over his hair in the mirror, picks an invisible string of a thread from his vest.

A mere week since he messaged Blaine, a mere week since Blaine messaged back, and yet-

It feels like so much longer, so much more than that.

Blaine has agreed to meet Kurt at a cozy, low-lit cafe a few blocks away, one of Kurt’s favorite spots that’s coincidentally one of Blaine’s favorites, too.

It’s funny, really, how connected they’ve always been, even when they didn’t know each other yet.

Kurt isn’t used to not wanting to cancel at least a little bit. On every first date he’s been on in the past handful of years, he’s had to practically force himself out the door, force himself to try, already knowing nothing will come of it.

But now, he has to force himself not to leave for the restaurant too early.

Of course, time moves forward as it inevitably does, and it comes time, and so Kurt heads out, and he walks down the street with a rush in his chest, pulling his jacket close around himself, ready.

A breath catches in his throat as he sees Blaine waiting outside the restaurant, rocking slightly up and down on the balls of his feet in an impossibly endearing nervous motion, a bouquet of colorful flowers in his hand.

Kurt can tell the very moment Blaine sees him, too, eyes locking with Kurt still about a block away, and Blaine positively beams, radiant and happy and beautiful, and wow, Kurt made him do that.

Once he gets close enough to say hello, close enough to see all of the colors and the softness and the warmth in Blaine’s eyes, close enough to touch, Kurt is pretty much done for.

He isn’t the type to kiss on the first date, particularly not before actually having the date, but he’s not the type to pay so much attention to his Instagram comments or send someone a direct message out of the blue, either.

As he pulls Blaine close and presses their lips together, Kurt finds he’s never been happier to surprise himself.

-

(A handful of months later, Blaine wears a Hummel Designs original to the premiere of the Waitress revival, an adaptation of the very suit he commented on the picture of - with Kurt on his arm, too, there to stay.)

#my writing #prompt game #my fic #also I was picturing blaine wearing darrens suit from the emmys that one time #bc I like that suit #anyway #this was. nothing but fluff #also I felt very 2012 using a darren song as blaines but. oh well #ALSO JUST PRETEND ITS FAR ENOUGG IN THE FURURE FOR A WAITRESS REVIVAL OK THANKS #BUT ENJOY #klaine fanfiction #klaine fanfic #klaine fic #klaine #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #glee fanfiction #glee fanfic #glee fic #if this is too cheesy blame hayley

[tossawary]

Chapter 24: “Seeing is Believing” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” random favorite lines and commentary. Not a full list or full commentary, but longer commentary than usual to talk about quest construction. 

-

AN: This was... a weird chapter to write. When I started outlining, I had... the conversation with Shen Qingqiu planned... the conversation with Shen Yuan planned... the fact that SQH, SY, LQG, and LFL was the quest party... and the fact that they get the Eye at the end of it. That was everything. 

The entire rest of this chapter came together FRIDAY LAST WEEK. 

Huan Hua Palace wasn’t going to be there. The Weeper didn’t exist. The Eye or its previous owner wasn’t at all connected to the Garden Master. The Shadow Cave Wolf Spiders didn’t exist. The murder plant didn’t exist. The mysterious monster showing up at the end wasn’t originally planned either. 

I mean, I had a lot of pre-existing plot threads to tie in and weave with, but ohhh boy! Picture someone lying facedown on a floor like, “I forgot to plan the contents of the super important quest...” 

I was originally going to have the Eye quest a lot simpler, but given the weight “Death of the Author” had when I finally reached this part of the story, that wasn’t really going to do! It had to be bigger than that! It needed oomph! This also felt like a good opportunity to really establish the new SQH-SY dynamic. To explore SY fumbling to find a place in this world without strict character role, especially in relation to settled and well-supported SQH. 

- 

“One attempts to remain dignified,” Shen Qingqiu agrees. “As there is little point in kicking and screaming about how such ignobility isn’t fair.”

“Ha! Is there ever?”

“Not in my experience.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely not cute when I do it,” Shang Qinghua jokes.

Shen Qingqiu’s lips actually twitch at that.

Success?!

- 

AN: I wasn’t going into this fic with the intention of writing any Shang Qinghua and Original Shen Qingqiu almost friendship! But it started developing and it seemed a shame not to explore Shang Qinghua developing a real relationship with Shen Qingqiu (though not a particularly close one) when the man is suppose to be the scum villain (and the readers know that the man might get replaced by Shen Yuan). 

I can see myself writing more Shang Qinghua and Original Shen Qingqiu content in the future. Someone dropped a particularly nice prompt for them in my inbox that I’m looking forward to exploring at some point. 

(I mean, not to say that Shang Qinghua has a type, but Shang Qinghua has a type and it’s handsome, deadly, intimidating, frosty men with a villainous character design and trust/abandonment and communication issues. I could make it work.)

- 

“Ah, well, two ‘ideal’ situations come to mind: severing the personal relationship for good… or, ah, talking about how to do better and trying that. You don’t have to forget or even forgive if you don’t want to! But, ah… there’s got to be a difference between totally swallowing your anger and cutting ties forever, right?” Shang Qinghua says awkwardly. “If there’s… ever going to be anything good afterwards…”

Shen Qingqiu stares at him for a sweat-inducing length of time.

 “Ah, fuck,” Shang Qinghua thinks.

“Sorry,” he says. “Ahhh, I’m just… thinking about something someone told me… in… in regards to some of my own problems. Never mind! Never mind!”

- 

AN: Luo Jiahui really is out here making Moshang and Qijiu get their fucking act together just by setting a better example. 

- 

“Shizun, my apologies for the interruption, but I came to ask Shizun if he would be willing to join our music lesson today? The disciples have missed his playing and are eager to present their improvements.”

“...Very well, unless anyone here would disagree…?” Shen Qingqiu looks directly at the Qian Cao Peak cultivator, as though daring her to object and die.

“It’s an excellent suggestion!” the Qian Cao Peak cultivator says quickly.

The young woman smiles. “And perhaps Shizun could sit in on the calligraphy lesson afterwards? In order to offer his opinion on my progress as a teacher?”

“Fishing for compliments is unbecoming,” Shen Qingqiu says dryly.

“Wait, what?” Shang Qinghua thinks.

- 

AN: So, this has all been happening in the background, but Shen Qingqiu accepted this House of Rejuvenation woman onto his Peak about... 6-ish years ago now? This is kind of meant to parallel Shang Qinghua’s once-secret relationship with Luo Jiahui. 

Shang Qinghua was out here trying to be a better person and Shen Qingqiu noticed; now Shen Qingqiu has his own positive (platonic) relationship with a nameless background character who was meant to die for plot reasons. What a thing, huh? If the story was saved because Shang Qinghua started a domino effect of saving random people who went on to change things? 

- 

After all, as Shang Qinghua said to the kid, besides Peerless Cucumber’s apparent talent for cultivation, he knows that his fellow transmigrator has three very important skills that will serve him well on An Ding Peak! 1) An encyclopedia knowledge for even seemingly pointless bullshit (which is kind of flattering, honestly). 2) The willingness to fight total strangers over seemingly pointless bullshit. And 3) a sharp enough tongue to win.

Peerless Cucumber didn’t find these points as funny as Shang Qinghua did.

- 

AN: Shen Yuan was always going to end up on An Ding Peak. I thought about sending him to Qing Jing or Qian Cao or Qiong Ding... or any other Peak... but that would take him too far away from Shang Qinghua to really explore their relationship and to move him around conveniently in the story. And SY sticking to An Ding seemed to best illustrate the fact that SY is lost and doesn’t know what to do except cling to SQH. 

- 

“It’s not much, sure, but it’s yours,” Shang Qinghua says finally. “You’ll be joining the talisman classes soon, so don’t try anything from a book and then need to request some home repairs.”

Peerless Cucumber nods and puts his stack of manuals down on the table.

“How’s your tutorial mission going?”

“Fine,” the kid says shortly. “Have you found anything for the other one yet?”

“Ah, not yet.”

- 

AN: “Are you winning, son?” meme energy here. 

- 

Ah, now Shang Qinghua recognizes his fellow transmigrator’s expression! That’s the same stunned expression one of his Huan Hua not-disciples, Yu Chaonan, made upon meeting the Bai Zhan Peak War God for the first time. Shang Qinghua assumes that Peerless Cucumber was expecting a man who looked more like a musclebound giant and less like a pop idol (if one with amazingly muscular arms), which is a super common and never-not-funny misconception people have about Liu Qingge.  

“Brother of one of the most beautiful women in this world, bro,” Shang Qinghua reminds his fellow transmigrator, amused. Aha! Now Peerless Cucumber’s vehement disinterest in the harem stuff is making even more sense than before!

Shang Qinghua’s assumption gets 100% confirmed when it comes time for Peerless Cucumber to fly with Liu Qingge for the next leg of the journey. The other transmigrator is so embarrassed and awkward about it that Shang Qinghua’s super direct brother-in-law asks if the young man is alright.

- 

AN: This was so fun to write. Shang Qinghua really can use the Liu siblings to gauge people’s sexual/romantic orientation. 

- 

The map (or rather, the copy Shang Qinghua made of the delicate original map) takes them to a green and grey landscape of leafy trees crawling over a wide network of tall cliffs and deep gorges. Gurgling rivers cut through twisting rock formations. Shang Qinghua can’t see any of these rivers on the map. Or these deathly drop ravines. From the outside, the whole thing looks like a natural maze (holy shit, there could be so many monsters and death-traps in there!), and Shang Qinghua would know those golden robes flying low over the hanging trees anywhere.

“Huan Hua,” Liu Qingge mutters.

“Do you think they’re looking for what we’re looking for?” Luo Fanli asks.

“That’s usually how it goes,” Peerless Cucumber says, before Shang Qinghua can.

- 

AN: I came up with the skeleton idea first. Then I was like... “I should give it three eyes.” And then I was like... “But who IS this dead author? A god? A spirit? What grander implications am I spinning here?” 

And THEN I remembered that I had some ambiguous powerful being force the Garden Master into exile due to a flood. This was because, in the Epic of Gilgamesh, the immortal man Gilgamesh meets in the abyss is the survivor of a great flood. So I was like, “Reduce! Re-use! Recycle! There’s my skeleton!” 

So I wanted to relate the skeleton to water because of the flood angle. Water as a symbol of cleansing/reincarnation is a big thing throughout many cultures. I can’t remember exactly how the crying aspect came up, but I knew there was going to be water in the temple now, so at some point my brain like was, “Bro, this skeleton should totally be crying because mythology vibes.” 

So I built the surrounding land off the idea that there was water flowing from or around this temple. At this point, I had decided that Huan Hua Palace should also be looking for this artifact, so I had to come up with a way to hide the temple, yet have a way for SQH’s party to track it down. 

- 

The damage to the doors is worse: someone once upon a time collapsed a part of the cliff face around the entrance, essentially leaving only the top fourth of the utterly smashed stone doors visible. It’s a wall now and has been for ages. It looks like it would take days to dig through the rubble. Someone has even super helpfully carved, “These doors will never open again,” just above the wreck.

“Guess we’ll have to go in as intruders rather than guests!” Luo Fanli says.

“What would be welcoming us inside a lost temple exactly?” Shang Qinghua asks vaguely, inwardly cursing the fact that explosive mining techniques will definitely attract the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators’ attention and also probably collapse the whole cliff on them.

“We only have to clear a passage for us, not the whole door,” Peerless Cucumber says optimistically. “Is there a special technique for this kind of thing?”

“Aha, not really.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t we just keep following the water?” Luo Fanli says.

“...How so?” Shang Qinghua asks.

“Some of those waterfalls could be passages inside,” Liu Qingge explains, because he and the little sister-in-law apparently share the same brain. He’s already eyeing the waterfall wearing down the giant statue on the left.

- 

AN: Temples in quests need to have traps and obstacles and monsters! Well, not ALL of the did, but this one did. I based the obstacles they faced as much as I could around the whole “Death of the Author” theme, while using this whole quest to explore Shen Yuan, Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua, Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge and Luo Fanli, and so on. 

The idea here with the door is that the “author” is not going to let them inside the temple to take the interpretation of the narrative (the Eye) for themselves. The story is over (the temple is closed for business)! The author is dead! If they want to get inside, they have to break inside or slip inside as intruders. 

This also creates a convenient obstacle to hold up the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators so that our party can be nearly caught later! And shows off Shang Qinghua, Liu Qingge, and Luo Fanli’s twisty lines of thinking. 

- 

Luo Fanli is holding the light and Shang Qinghua passes the other transmigrator to her, while accepting Liu Qingge’s hand for help getting out of the water.

“Ahhh, that was fun,” Shang Qinghua mutters.

Then he notices that Liu Qingge has the Cheng Luan sword out and ready. Shang Qinghua looks through the surrounding darkness, but all he can see are columns and water. For a moment, he thinks he sees something, a prowling shadow at the other end of the cavernous room, but he wipes the water out of his eyes and it’s gone.

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AN: The water in Shang Qinghua’s eyes briefly lets him see a flash of the invisible monsters who show up later! It helps up the tension. 

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Another low growl rips through the darkness and Peerless Cucumber shuffles a little closer to Shang Qinghua. Because that sounded really fucking close and yet Shang Qinghua still can’t see the thing that’s making that sound.

He doesn’t see Liu Qingge lunge at him either. He only feels his brother-in-law shove him into Peerless Cucumber, knocking them into the water, out of the way of something that howls when Liu Qingge slashes at it with his sword. Shang Qinghua rolls off Peerless Cucumber and looks up just in time to see dark blood splatter across the watery floor. Liu Qingge pursues the attacker with a second slash, but only seems to meet thin air this time.

“It’s invisible!” Luo Fanli cries. “Fuck!”

“Behind you!” Liu Qingge snaps, and spins to slash at the thin air beside him. Dark droplets of blood hit the water again and something hisses at him.

Luo Fanli whirls and slashes, searching for an opponent.

“They’re reflected in the water!” Liu Qingge yells at her, standing guard over Shang Qinghua as he gets to his feet again. “Listen for their footsteps and vocalizations! Feel the demonic energy and air displacement!”

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AN: I got this from a list of Dungeons and Dragons puzzles. The idea is that there’s some puzzle that must be solved, but the truth of the room can only be seen in the reflection of the nearby water (or mirror or whatever). 

Which felt fitting for a “Death of the Author” quest! Whatever an author’s intentions, the story is what they actually wrote, so the audience interprets a text without the context of the author’s insight. The truth (of the story) is in the reflection (audience interpretation)! It felt like a fun idea. 

It also allows Shen Yuan to actually contribute to the quest via monster lore and bring up his impaired vision problem. And to confront Shen Yuan with the reality of this world. And to show off Luo Fanli’s fighting skills. And to show off LIU QINGGE’S legendary fighting skills, instincts as a warrior who fights many dangerous beasts, and the fact that he’s clever and observant! 

Liu Qingge is good at what he does! And this is what he does! 

- 

Someone has… angrily… or desperately… carved a lopsided message into the wall.

 “‘If I go blind, so does the world,’” Peerless Cucumber reads.

“...That’s probably not good,” Shang Qinghua says.

“Nooo…” Fanli agrees.

The messages continue as they climb, carved into the walls, the ceilings, the floors. Most of it is illegible. Some of it is just nonsense. Some of it looks like the same kind of historical records carved into the broken tablets. Some of it looks like someone attacked the walls after reading what was written there. There are deep gouges in the walls and cracked marks that would match a giant’s hands.

 “‘The water cleans the lies,’” Peerless Cucumber reads. “‘I am the only one who can see.’ ‘Lies everywhere, lies everywhere, lies everywhere.’ ‘The water cleans the evil.’ ‘I do not have enough tears.’ ‘Everything is nothing now. Everything in vain.’”

“You really don’t need to read them!” Shang Qinghua tells the kid. “It’s fine. It's totally fine.”

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AN: This is mostly here to up the tension, but it’s also here to try and give insight into this being and relate them more to the “Death of the Author” and the “Seeing is Believing” themes. 

I also saw the phrase “If I go blind, so does the world” while I was browsing a list of riddles for D&D campaigns and I was like, “THAT’S SICK, I’M USING THAT.” Really brings the “an eye for an eye” and vengeance vibes. (The riddle was longer than that one phrase, but the answer was “the sun”.) 

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The top of the temple reveals one massive room that looks like someone was alternatively scratching their insanity into the walls and tearing chunks out of the interior design with their bare hands. Overtop of the rubble is that eerie overgrowth. There’s a fine layer of water over the floor. At the center of it all is an incredibly enormous desk, cracked in half, with a robed skeleton sitting behind it, slumped over the top. It’s a little too large to be an ordinary human.

Plus, its skull is a little too long, probably to accommodate the third eye socket in the forehead. There’s something gleaming softly yellow in the third eye socket.

“Is… there water dripping from its eyes?” Luo Fanli whispers.

“It looks like it…” Peerless Cucumber whispers back. “Like it's crying…?”

“Still…? Is it dead or not?”

 “Holy shit,” Shang Qinghua thinks, slightly nauseated. “System, bro, the worst bro I’ve ever known, tell me that we have not been swimming in a three-eyed skeleton’s magical undead tears or something this whole time.”

The shitty, no-good System stays unsurprisingly silent. 

- 

AN: Okay, so the idea here is that this being was someone who recorded history and shared their knowledge freely. This being had the ability to discern the truth of a person - they were extremely perceptive. (The Weeper is either female or doesn’t have a gender, by the way.) 

The Weeper met the Garden Master at some point. The Garden Master was an asshole, a liar, arrogant, etc.. The Weeper and the Garden Master clashed badly, until the Weeper sent the cleansing flood that nearly destroyed the sect and the Garden Master essentially had to flee to a personal abyss. 

The Garden Master sent the plant as a final “fuck you” to the Weeper. The plant caused the Weeper to slowly go mad. The smashed tablets and destroyed temple are the Weeper’s work. The Weeper (not in a great state of mind) had the temple closed themselves once they realized they and their work had been corrupted. This was a “you destroy my (embellished) reputation, I destroy yours (and your entire life)” plot by the Garden Master. 

The idea behind the tears is the whole “water is cleansing” thing. The Weeper tried to clean away the madness using their magical water-related abilities... and it actually worked for a long time. But eventually the madness began to overpower the effects of the magical water. The Weeper’s tears are from frustration and helplessness at losing control. 

The water inside the temple combats the plant’s physical effects. Also stabbing the root killed the plant and essentially broke its mental/spiritual powers. 

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Unfortunately, to get the fuck out of here, they have to go back through the temple. But hey! That’s still a lot better than an extended hike through an underground, haunted desert in darkness! The battle with the now-dead plant caused its growth to writhe around the temple. The vines need to be hacked through sometimes as they travel down through the rooms of broken shelves and shattered tablets.

“So much history lost…” Peerless Cucumber murmurs.

 “He still thinks of himself as a reader - an observer, a visitor, separate from the flow of fate.”

- 

AN: This is... absolutely based on the Heart from the Dishonored franchise. But this sort of item didn’t originate with Dishonored and I need it! It’s a surprise/mystery tool that will help us later! 

The Eye isn’t exactly a mind-reading object. I mean, it kind of is, but it works in a very specific way that I’m looking forward to getting into. 

- 

From there, their path back out of the natural maze is even more careful and stressful than before, now that the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators are actively looking for them rather than the temple. It’s slow-going and stressful and silent, except for when the Weeper’s Eye presses too close against his chest.

 “He is afraid that if he starts screaming, he will never stop,” it tells him, when he’s looking at a pale-faced Peerless Cucumber, as they fly over a particularly deathly-looking drop.

 “Oh, me too, bro!” Shang Qinghua thinks. “Seriously! Tell me something I don’t know!”

- 

AN: Having Shang Qinghua be totally unimpressed by an object like this was very funny to me. He’s the author! He’s a transmigrator! He knows these people well! He already has insight into their situations. 

- 

Shang Qinghua groans, but supposes that Peerless Cucumber would have at least been disguising Liu Qingge from the back. “You tell them that you were tracking thieves who stole something from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect,” he says quickly. “Rule of embarrassment! Admitting something that makes us look bad to a rival makes it sound true. Don’t tell them what was stolen and act really offended if they try to poke into Cang Qiong business. I’ll come back as soon as I get these two out!”

Liu Qingge nods and launches forward into the fight.

“We’re just leaving him?” Peerless Cucumber says, as they do exactly that.

“I’ll get changed and come back ‘looking for him for urgent sect business’ as soon as I’ve dropped you two off in the last town,” Shang Qinghua says. “I’m really good at acting stressed and confused, and at desperately needing an unstoppable wandering Liu Qingge back at Cang Qiong Mountain Sect immediately. Now let’s go! Let’s go! Mission isn’t over yet!”

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AN: Shang Qinghua is, at heart, a liar. I love him. 

#tossawary updates #tossawary svsss #pride is not the word #tossawary commentary