#the loose shirt and tie combo go hard

[onesmolbean49]

He is so pretty…💛

#Toshinori Yagi #All Might #MHA #MHA fanart #My Hero Academia #BNHA #BNHA fanart #Boku No Hero Academia #Anime #I love his goofy bangs #the loose shirt and tie combo go hard #he’s so pookie #silly old man #my art

[elmuvahva]

let me talk about leo and donnie’s matching clothes pLEASE

plus a lil bit of mikey and raph near the end :>

so we all know the obvious ones like in ‘repairin’ the baron’ and in ‘man vs sewer’

but i want to talk about the little things hehe. starting with the two mentioned above anyways lmaooo

yes they’re matching but i love the little differences they add on. leo wears a blue undershirt, fully going ride or die with his blue theme, while donnie goes for a white undershirt for a more classic look.

i think that says a lil but about their characters and how they thought to present themselves to april’s mum (who they thought they were meeting). they both wanted to look good hence the stunning matching outfits, but leo also wanted to be himself (hence the blue undershirt), compared to donnie who wanted to appeal to april’s mother (hence the more classic look with the white).

in man vs sewer, they are both wearing the singlet and board short combo, however leo opts for simplicity and ‘laidbackness’ keeping the bare minimum and keeping his shirt loose and untucked. donnie on the other hand goes further and adds the extra decorative shirt to really hammer home the ‘i’m not a useful member of society’ and the holiday/break vibes he’s trying so hard to feel. he also chooses to tuck his shirt in, which i think is just a personal stylistic choice, one which extenuates and shows off the board shorts more and one which mirrors his belt that’s a part of his usual outfit.

now onto snow day :>

at a brief glance it doesn’t seem like they’re matching but you’d be wRONG! they’re wearing the same shoes, pants and scarf, however they choose different jackets and headgear according to their personal tastes (i also wanna point out how donnie’s pants are more boxy/puffy at the bottom to fit with his whole rectangle theme, while leo’s are tucked in firmly, providing a more angular/triangular look).

leo chose a sirius black looking leather jacket bc why wouldn’t he lmaooo. it very much screams leo in the sense of his faceman attitude and his ‘confidence.’ he also chose a beanie which provides a more hippie, laidback and cool vibe.

donnie, ever the nerd, matches his jacket and headwear, as they both have the light purple fluff. donnies jacket is also much more practical and feels like something you’d see skii-ers (how tf do you spell that), hikers and snow-bikers wear. he’s also wearing the ugliest fucking hat /lh that’s reminiscent of what those occupations also wear.

so what we can take away from this is that leo will look cool whatever the weather and donnie will dress for the practicality of the occasion.

now in the clothes dont make the turtle there are A LOT of matching outfits, not just from donnie and leo, for example, in the images above, all the boys are wearing classic black suits with white button downs, however they all style them differently.

i’d also like to note the slight differences on the collars of the suit jackets (leo and donnie’s are matching, mikey’s is more rounded with a lil point and raph’s mirrors his spikes).

they all style their suits differently by using different ties. leo goes for a black and blue striped tie, which i think showcases his sense of style and his playfulness in comparison to raph, who decides to play it safe with a classic one-toned tie.

mikey goes for a cute bowtie bc why wouldn’t he he’s adorable, and it also fits in with him being the youngest and ‘the baby’, as bowties are most commonly worn by kids.

donnie decides to completely forego the tie altogether bc he doesn’t need it, he’s already stunning 😩 lmao but i actually think he’s just really playing into his emotionally unavailable bad boy image.

there’s also these matching monstrosities for god knows what reason

and it’s not super matchy, but raph and leo also both rock the singlet under the open button down shirt (though the colours are swapped and leo pops the collar causes he’s an idiot /aff)

and lastly!! these outfits. now at first glance, you’re probably thinking ‘elva what the fuck are you going on about’ BUT just hear me out!!

they both have ripped aspects to their outfits, leo’s at the shoulders and donnie’s at the waist. it’s obviously not an intentional match but i think they just subconsciously did it :>

they’re also both wearing head accessories, though in totally different styles (leo with his backwards cap to look ‘cool’ while donnie adorns a beanie to complete his LA hipster vibe)

ugh i’ve met the image limit for this post so here’s the link to the post that continues my rambling lolol

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #elva infodump #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt movie #save rottmnt #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #unpause rise of the tmnt #unpause rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #unpause rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt casey jones #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt leo #rottmnt fandom #rottmnt infodump #infodump #save rise of the tmnt #rise of tmnt #tmnt 2018 #tmnt leonardo #tmnt donatello #tmnt #tmnt raphael #tmnt michelangelo #teenage mutant ninja turtles

[universitypenguin]

What does a regular weekend look like for princess and Lloyd? Are they the type to try out new restaurants that open up in town or are they more inclined to go to the mall and do some damage at the shops (me thinks Lloyd likes to spoil princess rotten so he doesn’t mind dropping any amount on her 🥰🥰) or maybe they’d do something romantic like get couples massages, etc 🥰🥰

On the weekend, Lloyd does like to hit the shops.

It’s obvious from the way he dresses that Lloyd Hansen is a bit of a clothes horse. Nothing pleases him more than a new shirt, pair of shoes, or piece of jewelry. He grew up in a rural area where there wasn’t much offered in the way of fashion, which is why he enjoys retail therapy so much nowadays. His favorite shops are Hart Schaffner & Marx, Tom Ford, Ralph Lauren, Balmain, Loro Piana, and Brunello Cucinelli.

What he really likes, though, is taking Princess along on his shopping excursions.

Lloyd’s initial plan was for the outing to be an indulgence for her, but he quickly realizes that’s not how she operates. Princess is the kind of person who window shops, thinks about her options, reconsiders, goes back and tries it again, and then if she still likes the item, she buys it. He thinks this is an insane way to shop. She informs him that this process ensures that she wears everything she owns, loves the clothing she actually buys, and rarely has to clean out her closet. Still horrified, Lloyd offers her the services of his professional organizer, at his expense. He has someone come in every couple of years and do a closet reset. They even handle the donations. Princess is shocked to discover that kind of service exists. Because it’s hard to persuade Princess to buy, shopping trips usually end up in the men’s stores.

Lloyd is charmed to realize that Princess has excellent taste in men’s fashion. She knows the difference between a New York and Chicago fit suit. Her eye for color helps pick the best tie and shirt combo. She also coordinates jewelry with the outfit’s color palette. Lloyd previously relied on fashion magazines to direct him on how to mix patterns and textures, but she does it naturally. He has to admit, he looks even better than when he takes her input.

Aside from clothing, the kind of shopping he loves most with Princess is jewelry shopping. Lloyd enjoys his rings, watches, tie clips, cufflinks, and even the odd necklace now and again. But the real reason jewelry shopping is his favorite is because of the store layout. You see, the men’s jewelry is located in the back, and the more popular women’s jewelry is kept at the front. Therefore it’s only natural that after walking in, you should stop by the display case at the front. Lloyd insists on it. He keeps a tally of what you’re drawn to, which cuts, color of gemstone, and metal tones. Jewelry isn’t something you buy for yourself very often. So, he makes it a point to give you these things, and he needs the data provided by these visits to choose well. He gets Princess jewelry on your anniversary, birthday, Christmas, Valentine’s day, and at least twice a year for no particular reason.

Lloyd is also a dedicated fitness junkie. Princess… isn’t. She’s willing to hit the gym on occasion, but it’s pretty much based on whether or not she feels like it. Lloyd prefers to exercise outdoors whenever possible. He usually jogs the Mount Vernon trail near his house. To accommodate their divergent interests, he rents Princess a bike. Lloyd jogs fast but with the advantage of wheels it’s easy for her to keep up.

Another thing they like to do on the weekends is go to Lloyd’s cabin. He likes having a place out of the city away from other people. It reminds him of where he lived growing up and he thrives on the peaceful isolation of the woods. Not having neighbors also gives the advantage of not needing to worry about how loud you were… Once that idea sinks in and you cut loose, Lloyd really wants to go to the cabin. Almost every weekend. Of course, you do other things at the cabin too, besides having sex marathons. You take short day hikes, go stargazing, and use the firepit to make s’mores.

Lloyd is a great cook. Princess isn’t.

To try and even up their skills they sign up for a Saturday evening cooking class. This gives Lloyd plenty of time to golf in the morning, hangout with his friends, and relax before they go. After the class, Princess can at least say she knows how to cook. When Lloyd goes on a business trip without her, she won’t be eating out every night. However, there’s clearly one person in their relationship who enjoys cooking, and whenever possible it’s him doing it. Princess happily does the dishes after Lloyd makes her dinner, because who wouldn’t be glad to be doing only half the chores they regularly had to? Plus, she’s eating better than she ever has in her life.

Cooking isn’t the only interest Lloyd brought back from Europe. He likes wine. One of his favorite spots is Tarara Vineyard in Leesburg. He likes the Jefferson Vineyard in Charlottesville and takes Princess on weekend trips to Rhode Island and upstate New York. He enjoys the wine tastings, while Princess is in it for the free gourmet lunch. Now, wine tastings are a bit rich for Princess’ blood. She mostly enjoys them because Lloyd’s commentary and reactions are so amusing. Her view on wine is less adventurous than his. She likes what she likes and that’s what she’d prefer, thank you very much.

What she does like are bookstores, record stores, and coffee shops. She has her own record player and a small but growing collection of vinyl records. Princess loves to visit art galleries and natural history museums, particularly the ones that have lots of fossils. Botanical gardens are high on her list. She goes to the D.C. gardens at least once a month to sit and relax. She’s gone to the Tudor Place gardens, which were established by Martha Washington, to the Meadowlark gardens, and visited the botanical gardens in Richmond.

For a simple low-key weekend at home, though, her perfect day would start with going to the farmer’s market with Lloyd. They buy fresh produce and have a picnic in the park, followed by a movie night. On other low-key weekends, Princess likes to be pampered. She enjoys going to the spa with Lloyd for couples massages, facials, and mani/pedis. Princess gets a body polish treatment and wax, while Lloyd has some minor laser resurfacing done.

He might only be forty-two, but prison ages you. Lloyd Hansen won’t be caught with premature fine lines and wrinkles, thank you very much!

#penguin replies #lloyd hansen fanfic #lloyd hansen imagine #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen x princess #lloyd hansen x fem!reader #Lloyd Hansen x female reader #Lloyd Hansen x reader #lloyd hansen fluff #the gray man fanfic #the grey man fanfiction #chris evans character fanfic #chris evans characters #lloyd hansen au #chris evans characters au

[professorspork]

u should like!! toootally drop blake and yang outfit references for ur newsbees au. for like. research purposes

!!! okay I can't tell if you're asking this for fanart reasons (EVERYONE SHOULD FEEL VERY FREE TO DO THAT) or for spank bank "my thirst requires an accurate theater of the mind" reasons (VALID) but

this makes me UNHINGED and i plan to be SO THOROUGH so THANK YOU FOR ASKING

i have put this under a cut to spare you all but i think you should click on it and admire the gilded age urchin chic

first of all, let me say that Newsies Are Beautiful. They have never met two clashing patterns they didn't want to combine and I think they are perfect in every way

that said

the classic Jack look could certainly use some tailoring before it's truly ready for the Yang prime time

these numbered fellas give us a better place to start when it comes to I WANT MY NEWSIES TO NOT BE SWIMMING IN CLOTHES TWO SIZES TOO BIG YES I KNOW THE VERITAS OF THEM SCROUNGING FOR WHATEVER BUT ALSO. THIRST.

Fella 1 is a pretty bang-on Yang and you can tell that was his intention because he's growing out his hair, bless. sleeves rolled to show arm, shirt unbuttoned scandalously to show cleavage, open vest, neat cap, high socks. the lower half does lose points for the striped socks that remind me of the Wicked Witch of the East's feet sticking out and the fact that he's clearly in tap shoes as opposed to work boots like his friend Fella 3

Fella 2 gets EXTRA sock points for the argyle and the vest-but-no-collar combo which is very Nora. He also has a neat cap, which Blake always does because she's hiding her ears.

Fella 3 has a sloppy cap but is otherwise a bang-on Blake; kempt and tidy in ways Yang never is even though they are essentially wearing the exact same thing. Blake knows how to button buttons and Yang pretends she forgets every day

Fella 4's rocking the henley and suspenders combo which serves any member of our cast, a fucking classic

Fella 5 is wearing a tie he is trying so hard he wants to look nice at work, 100% a Jaune move

sir that-- that's not how crutches are supposed to-- SIR--

this Crutchie exhibits excellent Newsie styling in a very Yang color palette. high socks, mixing of patterns, rolled sleeves; excellent. the slightly fancier waistcoat, actually buttoned, isn't something Yang would go for but certainly wouldn't be amiss on Blake, Ruby, or Velvet

Ruby also, of course, wears a signature red scarf instead of her cloak:

like her scarf and hat just absolutely dwarf her, she's WEE SMOL

above we see our previous example Crutchie not leaping through the air, and his outfit remains exemplary but for the backwards cap, which I shan't abide. the Jack to his left-- what with his WIDE open shirt, tight undershirt, rolled sleeves, and suspenders, is very Yang.

good Yang looks can also mean THE SHORTEST SLEEVES EVER, TO SHOW OFF THE GUNS:

both excellent choices, and of course our lower fella (TURN THAT CAP AROUND YOUNG MAN) has got his bandana going, which is Quite Yang

all the guys in the background there are gold too tbh

look at this king in this fashion pose but also YEAH WHY NOT BANDANAS ON THE ARMS BANDANAS EVERYWHERE the yang xiao long story

^^ this outfit, on the other hand, is pretty exactly spot-on for Blake immediately post haircut/makeover

Weiss, I'm sure you've already guessed, is a Classic Katherine:

she's buttoned-up, she's fancy, her shit matches and she's the only one in a skirt.

the only thing where my brain gets REALLY SPECIFIC is the finale so uh. spoiler warning I guess for screenshots of the Newsies film and vague references to a plot resolution if you're reading the AU without having watched it

but the finale looks are ICONIC and non-negotiable

button shirt OVER henley OVER bandana and nothing's buttoned? suspenders on but hanging loose from the hips? hell yes.

i actually even managed to make that dirt smudge on David's tummy plot-relevant to Blake and that was completely subconscious and I didn't realize I did it until looking up these screenshots but there you have it. and by this point Weiss gets to be a little more loose and dressed-down, a la Sarah

in conclusion they're in love look at those heart eyes oh my god

#newsbees au #fic what i wrote #rwby

[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

[dreamties]

Slashers W/ a Soft Pastel S/O

A/n - So this one actually wasn’t requested, I just thought it would be super cute. And what I mean by “Soft Pastel”, I mean being into soft/pastel/kawaii fashion, I just didn’t know how to phrase it. Since there’s so many subcultures.

Trigger Warning: Slight Cursing (I say f*ck)

Also- these are gender neutral, but a few describe you in skirts/dresses, so if you’re not comfy with that, just skip that part or the whole thing?? :/

I might do more like this for other types of alternative fashion- like punk or something? Or a S/O who has a lot of body mods, I think it would be fun.

Characters: Billy/Stu, The Lost Boys, Helen Lyle, Daniel Robitaille/Candyman, Brahms Heelshire, and Amanda Young.

I didn’t add Michael Myers, but can do so if y’all want it. I just think he’d be very indifferent about it...didn’t think that would be very fun to read.

Billy Loomis + Stu Macher

Stu would be the most like into your outfits

Billy? Not so much. he just thinks you look cute in everything.

but if you did more guro-kawaii looks? they would both be all over that shit. 

it combines more of the grotesque in with the cute- which is just perfect for the boys. they get to see you dawned in all sorts of blood, guts/gore, bandage patterns/aesthetics.

and maybe even tying in different monster-ish elements. 

like wearing funky white or other unnatural colored contacts, really intense makeup(especially around the eyes), and fuck it, maybe you’re wearing faux demon horns.

I think they’d find it kinda hot. if we’re being perfectly honest here.

Now- would you able to get them into it as well?

Stu will ask you, with excitement reverberating throughout out his body and his voice. of course he want’s to at least try it!

so many clips in Stu’s hair. you haven’t even had that many in your hair before!

he may also wear rings sometimes. he thinks all the colors and designs are just so fun!

and on the other hand...

Billy, the guy that basically wore the same outfit for an entire movie? who’s closet only contains jeans and white t-shirts? trying out your style? i don’t think so lol

if you do- somehow- get him to try...

then you might have pressured him into it a bit? very jokingly, of course. 

“C’mon, humor me, babe. Stu’s already dressed and everything!” You try giving him puppy eyes to seal the deal.

“Fine!” Billy says, grabbing the garment and a few clips from your hands. He shuts the door too harshly behind him.

A short silence is shared, before you and Stu burst out laughing. “Do you think he’s mad at us?” You’re hardly able to get it out. Of course he was, but in his own odd way appreciated this adventure.

He comes back a moment later, his white t-shirt replaced with a pastel red one, an especially gory character printed on the front. and a red clip barely hanging on to one of the side pieces of hair in front of his face. You try to suppress a giggle at Billy’s messily put together look.

for the love of gosh- don’t actually laugh when he appears. he is very outside of his comfort zone, and he’s only doing this because he loves you and Stu, and just,, don’t add this to his list of reasons not to try new things.

whatever your reaction ends up being, you’re absolutely obligated to tell them how attractive they look in it(even Billy who looks hella dorky).

(my art)

The Lost Boys

the comparison between their dark, punk-ish style and then the sweet baby pinks and blues, and soft lavenders that adorned your form?? 

it’s just too sweet.

they are completely enamored by your style- even if certain vampires (and I’m not naming any names, but I definitely mean David) may not show his love for your look as openly

Marko- he’d get one cutesy patch for his jacket, so he has like a little piece of you everywhere he goes. also...he genuinely ended up really digging your style? but not enough to abandon his punk look completely. he is still totally dedicated to that.

the other boys will absolutely mess with him about the patch though

all in good fun!

David’s not letting you near his hair with any extra clips or accessories. 

Dwayne enjoys the quiet intimacy shared between the two of you. just sitting together, you might be styling his hair( super loose ponytail or braid- admit it, it would be so cute! and helpful so his hair isn’t always in his face!)...anyways, you’d use a colorful hair tie, and a few clips to help pin back his hair. 

he probably won’t go out with the clips in, but if it’s just the five of you at the cave? he’ll keep it in until it’s time to sleep. 

he loves seeing how happy and accomplished you look after finishing with his hair tho.

Paul is hands down the most likely to get into the whole look and go out in public with it on. 

makeup? hell yeah. it won’t be as intense as yours, and he probably only does the eyes and maybe some shine. sparkly vampire time

hair accessories? all of them

would try combining his look with yours, to have a perfect mess of it.

a light, light  blue mesh top, slightly darker blue jacket(with slight accents in pink, purple, white or black), and his usual sort of white jeans(?) would still look great with it. he’s absolutely rocking that look.

you are ecstatic to finally have someone else to share your passion with! (much harder to find similar folks when you’re a vampire,,)

Helen Lyle

she’s so used to the plain life around her, and she’d been living before you- you were such a breath of fresh air.

of course, you’re darling personality also drew her into you- but your fashion sense? it fascinated her.

she’s not trying it herself anytime soon, but she appreciates the fact that you enjoy it. 

the most she would ever try is a very natural makeup look. and a coat or two of a pastel color of her choice.

she would love watching you get ready. not so much help out though- she just likes seeing the way you approach things. how you choose to pair certain pieces with one another.

she’ll ask questions to better understand your interests! not that it’s weird or wrong that you’re into it, she’s just a very inquisitive person.

you’d wear a lot of blue though- because you know Helen likes that color.

imagine wearing coordinated looks for different events and such. so, when you go with Helen to help out with her Candyman thesis, you might wear candy-themed attire. (of course in this universe,, she wouldn’t die! so no worries of that! you get to keep you’re gf).

if you do gift her something, she keeps it on her bedside table(or dresser). so she can still admire it, and still serves a purpose. fun décor!

all around though- Helen would be very chill, but captivated, about you’re interests.

Daniel Robitaille - Candyman

 his life is so dark and gruesome, and he loves seeing you all dressed up. 

and while he’s dead- long dead- and isn’t really apart of the world in the same sense that you are- it gives him this happy sense of hope for the world.

because there’s this very small thing, that you hold close to your heart, that makes you smile.

Also!!

even if they’re apart of a super awful, traumatic, part of his past- the bees are just a part of the family now.  

so cute yellow/spring/bee themed outfits?? yes. ohh definitely, yes.

As for him dressing up? He’d feel hesitant.

he’s filled with immense joy around you, but is almost scared with someone altering part of his attire or self in any way(rooted back to, again, past stuff).

but part of loving is to take the person as a whole, bad parts, good parts- insecurities- the entire package. and trusting one another.

he has his whole faith in you not to do anything bad.

and so, it becomes a habit for the two of you to spend mornings together, chatting and getting ready. well, you’re getting ready, it’s more for the quality time together for him.

things are little different for Daniel. for many reasons. 

one, he has very short hair. so the clips don’t really work there..

two- he only has one hand, and he’s “working” a lot with the appendages he does have. rings won’t work out because they might fall off- and he’d hate to lose something of yours.

three- he’s not a big makeup fan. he’s happy enough watching you put it on.

and then for his actual attire- he needs the coat to cover his insides. it’s also, in a way, his uniform.

you’ve settled on two things.

making homemade necklaces that can easily hide under his big coat (either sweets or honey/bee themed).

and sewing little patterns on the inside of his coat. other’s wouldn’t be able to see it, but he would know it’s there.

Brahms Heelshire

imagine being super into sorta ‘sweet lolita’, pastel/soft colors, bows, the big skirts, all the sorta ruffles(?)

 and then especially if your shorter than Brahms(which is really,, not hard to do unless you’re insanely tall cause he’s,, 6 foot 3.)- and he thinks you look like such a doll? 

but like,, in a nice way. 

I think he’d get pretty excited if he got to help you set up your outfits!

especially if you praised him for picking out a good combo, or organizing correctly.

and some of Brahms movements are a bit awkward, he’s spent most of his life in the walls and the attic...but imagine turning on his music, and just dancing with him. having him twirl you in his arms a few times.

Brahms loves having your hands through his hair. and if hair accessories means he gets more of that love and attention? then yes,, yes he will wear them.

he just likes feeling taken care of, and along with your usual duties, you help him figure out the soft fashion styles, and how to make it more appealing and suitable for his own tastes.

because- as you insist- you want it to be something he enjoys just because he does, and not just for the closeness. though you can’t deny you love that aspect, too.

i can tell you one thing right here, though. you’re never getting makeup on him. he does not like taking off his mask, even if you’ve been in a relationship with him for a while, he still hides his face a lot.

you’d offered to do his makeup once, since he was staring so intently as you did yours. you’d made the mistake of reaching for his mask. you’d usually ask before doing so, but sometimes you’d slip up.

You apologize profusely, offering your arms out to him for a hug. “There, there, Brahms.” You smile, giving him a slight squeeze of affection. 

he does take your stuff sometimes. 

it’s a little annoying when you think you’ve lost your favorite accessory or dress or etc and then you just realize,, oh, it’s my favorite wall boy again. thank gosh you love him, so you’re not really upset or anything.

he just likes having little reminders of you, it gives him reassurance. upon other warm and fuzzy feelings.

if you’re able to find time in your day though, you’ll make cute little trinkets or bracelets for him. you’ll gift them or purposely leave them out for him-  so you’ll still have some of your stuff when it comes to getting ready the next day.

in short- he’d much rather look at you than partake on his own. 

Amanda Young

she’s never seen anything like this! :0

everyone she knows, herself included, tend to wear more dulled, plain clothes.

she’s immediately very intrigued by your attire...sort of want’s to try it, but is a bit self conscious and embarrassed to ask.

So!! you start out with small things, and fairly early on you both realize that she loves when you decorate her hair with accessories. 

gifting Amanda a pair of little pig clips!!

or little stud earrings- those would be fricking adorable on her!

and she’s just so happy,, wtf

you dress mostly for yourself, but the more you’re in a relationship with your gf- the more you want to dress for her as well. 

you can see this little sparkle in her eye when she sees you, and you want to keep seeing that look for as long as you can.

you slowly get her into it. your relationship and Amanda’s interest in your style just gives her so much light in an otherwise dim world.

if she did get into it, I think she’d do more creepy/cute. as a way to sort of cope with past trauma. that this sort of “bad” thing (the creepy) can still coexist with the good (the cute). she admires that quality.

just very sweet partners, who happen to love similar types of fashion 

#billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #billy x reader x stu #billy loomis x reader x stu macher #poly!ghostface x reader #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys david #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys paul #the lost boys marko #helen lyle x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #amanda young x reader #the pig x reader #slasher x reader #slasher x s/o #slasher imagines #slasher x s/i #slasher #slashers #slasher movies #scream #the lost boys #candyman #the boy #saw #requests are open #headcanons #fluff #daniel robitaille x reader

[vhsrights]

first “i love you” / love confession - @sapphicinephile

Love Isn’t Bound by Languages - Jemily

WC: 1612

IT’S FINALLY DONE. :)

“Kiss the cook? Don’t mind if I do, but only if the pasta turns out good.” JJ made strong eye contact, hoping that Emily caught on to the weight of her words.

“Oh, well then. I guess I’ll be getting kissed tonight. Lucky me.”

The door settled into place with a soft click and JJ walked to the side, removing her coat and shoes. She had brought the ingredients for their wine and cooking night. Fresh tomatoes, herbs, and pasta rustled around in the tote bag. They had opted to make pasta that Emily had suggested, remembering her time watching the cooks in her childhood kitchen. JJ had readily agreed because she was never one to turn down food and wanted to see Emily’s prowess in cooking. Speaking of the brunette, she wasn’t visible as JJ moved slowly through the apartment.

Warm candlelight engulfed the room in front of her. The skylight windows provided an unrestricted view of the world beneath her. It was humbling in a way that Jennifer couldn’t describe. She stood high in this tiny apartment, watching the people below her bustle about their lives, unaware of her gaze. Pulling her eyes away from the outside, JJ meandered around the apartment’s living room. Her eyes slowly perused the sparse art that was on the wall. It gave the apartment an air of grace, but one that felt fake and inauthentic to the woman that she knew lived within its walls.

“Jen.” The way that her nickname sounded, full of elegance, drove more butterflies into JJ’s stomach.

“Em, hey. I got the groceries. Are you ready?”

JJ turned around and was met with Emily. The woman looked unexplainably gorgeous in her casual flannel, t-shirt, and sweats combo. JJ felt her thoughts stutter as she took in the brunette. She couldn’t move as Emily glided past her, her gait full of confidence and aimed towards the kitchen.

“Hey, Jen. You coming?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry about that.” JJ turned around and followed Emily while blushing.

She was glad that it had been cold outside, giving her an excuse for her tinted cheeks.

“Alrighty, so first things first. Here is your apron.” Emily pulled out an apron that had “It’s not burnt! Just Crispy!” and JJ laughed. “Hey, I thought you’d like it.”

Emily fake a pout as JJ grabbed the apron and tied it around her waist, still giggling. The cloth somehow still managed to hang loose. Emily noticed and ignored her rapidly beating heart before speaking. She hid her hands in her pockets as they fidgeted increasingly harder to keep her guise of calmness.

“I can help you tie it, Jen. Here, I got it.” Emily pushed off from the counter and circumvented the blonde.

She grabbed the string of the apron. Her hands barely brushed against JJ’s waist yet sent jolts through both of them. Not wanting to prolong their closeness for fear of her heart’s desires, Emily deftly tied the bow. Luckily, or “unluckily”, there was a second set of strings to be tied around JJ’s neck. Of course, she had picked the apron with two sets of ties. Silently reprimanding herself, Emily pushed JJ’s hair to the side. Her hands hesitated as she worked up her nerve.

Stop making this weird. The longer you wait, the more off you’ll seem to Jen. Get it together, Prentiss. Jeez, you’re like a teenager with a crush.

“Em, you okay? Can you tie it?” JJ could feel her heartbeat in her throat, trying to suppress her nerves from bubbling up.

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s done.” Emily made haste in finishing the knot and answering her, pulling away to soothe her racing heart.

She grabbed her own apron and threw it on. This one didn’t have two ties. Lucky Emily. JJ began to giggle once more as she pulled the ingredients out of her tote bag, leaving Emily confused.

“What?” She truly had no idea what JJ was giggling at.

“Did they have a sale at the punny apron store?” Emily looked at her with ample confusion. “Kiss the cook? Don’t mind if I do, but only if the pasta turns out good.” JJ made strong eye contact, hoping that Emily caught on to the weight of her words.

“Oh, well then. I guess I’ll be getting kissed tonight. Lucky me.”

Two could play at this game. The words were no different from their usual banter. However, where they were, about to cook, made it a whole other playing field. Neither woman was one to back down from a competition. The two moved easily around the kitchen, shifting past each other as if they had been doing it for years. Emily’s straightforward instructions left nothing to be desired and helped the women accomplish their dish in the perfect amount of time.

JJ may have nicked herself with the knife a couple of times, but what’s art without a few hiccups. Italian music serenaded them softly from the background. It was like a scene out of a cheesy romantic movie, one that Emily pretended to hate but secretly loved. Both women stole plentiful yearning looks at each other. They caught each other’s eyes and were quick to tear them away.

“Jen, can I get a taste of that?” Emily rested her hand softly on JJ’s hip, leaning over her side to sip the sauce.

“Sure. Here.” JJ felt the warmth of Emily’s body behind her. She had to focus to keep her hand from shaking as she lifted it for the brunette.

Emily tasted the sauce and all but moaned at its illustrious flavors. JJ was extremely thankful that the brunette was standing behind her. Her cheeks had flushed at the sound and her body froze. God, she is trying to kill me. She set the spoon to the side and turned her focus back to the food, as much as her mind would allow. They worked in perfect harmony for the rest of the time; joking, laughing, dancing, and cooking together.

Emily eventually plated the food with JJ’s help. The women marveled at their creation, eager to dig into the dishes. They high-fived before separating one final time. JJ set the table and Emily did some basic cleaning in the kitchen.

“Rossi could never,” Emily smirked mischievously as the two sat down to eat.

“Oh, of course not. We are the new Papa Pastas.” JJ encouraged the joke, thinking to their older teammate’s staunch relationship to pasta.

The food not only looked enticing, but it also tasted heavenly. Both women didn’t speak for the rest of the dinner time, enraptured by their dinner. Emily and JJ occasionally glanced over at each other, conveying their content and other emotions. Neither own wanted to acknowledge the beautiful domesticity of the moment. This was something that both women wanted to do for the rest of their lives, held back by the barrier of unspoken words. Time passed on and the women moved from the table to kitchen, easily washing and putting away dishes for a later time.

Eventually they settled on the couch, heavily poured wine glasses in hand. The evening had gone perfectly.

“Wow. That was so delicious. I think that I owe a thanks to your mother’s cooks. That recipe was perfect.” JJ sipped her wine as Emily watched her with love in her eyes.

“Absolutely. They make me remember that simpler time. My world was so small, and they helped me get through each day.” JJ beamed, noticing the ease and tranquility that had erased the lines of strain and overworking from Emily’s face.

“Speaking of world, I have a question.” Emily thought of her question and smiled.

“Go for it, Em,” JJ spoke, with her interest peaked.

“If you could shout one thing from the rooftops, in any language, and to everyone in the world, what would you say?” Emily watched the light grow in JJ’s eyes.

The blonde’s eyes widened and her mind froze. She had been learning Italian in her spare time, trying to build the courage to use with Emily. She had only needed to learn one phrase, but the rest were useful as well. Now was her shot. Waiting a short second before inhaling deeply, JJ spoke the only phrase in Italian that she fully understood.

“Sono innamorato di Emily Prentiss.”

Emily stopped. Her brain went into overdrive. Translating and retranslating the phrase, hoping that it meant what she understood it to be. I am in love with Emily Prentiss. Her heart was beating in her throat and her thoughts were hazy. She set the wine glass down and looked at JJ, really studying her. She only saw love and admiration, not finding the joke or deceit that she imagined. This was really happening.

“Sono innamorato di Jennifer Jareau.”

The words rolled off of her tongue smoothly as they had done many a time before. Except now, Jennifer would actually hear it. JJ let out the breath she had been holding. I am in love with Jennifer Jareau. It was unbelievable, but her mind began to whizz through things to say.

The only thing that came out was, “Really?”

“Yes. From the first time I spoke to you, and so much more since then.” JJ couldn’t help but smile with all of the hope and love that was bubbling out of her.

“It was the same for me. I fell for you, so hard that I guess I didn’t see you falling for me too. So, can I?” JJ pointed at Emily.

“Can you what?” Not realizing that she hadn’t taken off her apron, Emily looked down.

Kiss the Cook.

“The pasta was beyond amazing, so I have to keep my promise.” JJ giggled and Emily rapidly agreed.

Emily pulled JJ in for a kiss. Their lips met and the world stopped around them. It was the perfect end to their night.

That night, JJ and Emily truly learned that love isn’t bound by languages.

#jemily #prompts #writing #i love you confession #userjemilyology #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #cm

[cyhyr]

Summer of Whump Day 29: Choices

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: E

Pairing: Mizuki/Umino Iruka; Uzumaki Naruto & Umino Iruka

WC: ~1900

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con

Notes: Oral sex. Threats of raping a child. Dissociation. Mizuki. Gaslighting. Naruto doesn't really show up in this piece, but he is so very vital to the scene so he gets a mention.

A/N: Remember how I've mentioned that Mizuki should come with his own warnings??? This is just. Bad Touch Mizuki from start to finish. There's no teaser because it's got trigger potential from the first line.

A/N 2: Combo with my Bad Things Happen Bingo Board square: Forced to Beg

~

“Naruto’s asleep already. Please, Mizuki, not tonight.”

Mizuki lounges on the bed, cocking his head to the side. “And this is my problem…?”

Iruka bows his head, his breath coming shallower and his head already going fuzzy. For the past few months, Iruka hasn’t been able to stay properly present during sex with Mizuki. The feeling of growing dissociation crawls under his skin. It hurts, but also… doesn’t?

Worse, the dissociation is beginning to occur outside the bedroom. Earlier, Mizuki tugged on his hair while they were watching TV with Naruto—next Iruka knew, Mizuki had turned the TV off and was snarling with Naruto to go to bed and his eyes were unfocused and his head felt like he had just been put right-side-up after hours of hanging over an edge. He knows he’s worrying Naruto; hell, he’s worrying himself. What if it happens at the Academy? During weapons practice, when he needs to be—?

“I’m generous, so I’ll give you a choice,” Mizuki drawls. He grins, a smirk that turns Iruka’s stomach. Gods, when did nights with Mizuki become so full of dread? “You can choose a night of pain, or a night of pleasure.”

Iruka stammers. Pain or Pleasure? For Mizuki, that’s the same thing! That’s no choice! He shakes his head, trying to keep the smarmy look Mizuki’s giving him from creeping down his throat. He tries again, “Mizuki, I really don’t—”

“Of course, I don’t need you for this.” Mizuki looks meaningfully over Iruka’s shoulder.

To the spare room where Naruto sleeps.

Iruka stiffens, all sensation of the situation forcefully back on him. “You wouldn’t,” he says, horrified; the worst part is that he’s honestly not sure where Mizuki stands on that level of morality. He takes half a step back towards the door, “He’s a child.”

“So? He took our innocence when we were children; I don’t see why I can’t return the favor.”

Gods, Mizuki means it. Mizuki’s stronger than Iruka; if he really wanted to hurt Naruto, Iruka couldn’t stop him. He… oh fuck, oh fuck, Naruto’s not safe here what is he supposed to—

“Pain? Or pleasure?” Mizuki asks. He puts his palms on his thighs like he’s readying to stand up, and sighs, “Or I can leave you alone and go wake up the demon.”

“No, please,” Iruka steps further into their room, hands out as if he could stop Mizuki. He has to keep Naruto safe—whatever else happens tonight, Naruto needs to be safe. “I…”

Gods, which would be worse—pain, which he’d have to sustain for a few days; or pleasure, which he’d carry the feeling of for weeks? If Naruto woke up, which would be harder to explain? Pleasure, which Naruto sort-of already knew about (he doesn’t like it by any means, but Naruto understands that Iruka and Mizuki are involved); or pain, which he is pretty sure Naruto also knows about and definitely doesn’t understand.

It is an easy decision, really.

He drops his hands to his sides, and bows his head. “Pleasure,” he mutters.

“What was that, Iruka?” And oh, the way Mizuki draws out his name is slimy and rolls a chill down his spine. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, predatory gleam in his eye. “A little louder, I think. And I wanna hear you beg.”

Iruka gulps. He steps closer, but Mizuki holds up a hand to stop his advance after three steps. He inhales, calms himself. For Naruto. “Please, Mizuki, will you give me a night of pleasure?”

“C’mon, Ruka. You can do better than that.”

Iruka takes a deep breath, drops to his hands and knees—stay present stay present stay present—and crawls slowly forward as Mizuki allows it, saying, “Mizuki, Love, I need you. Please, please,” he stops in front of Mizuki’s spread legs and looks up at him through his lashes. “No pain tonight, please. I want... I want a night of pleasure with you.”

“Very good.”

Fuck-fuck-fuck that’s gonna make him slip—

Mizuki pulls him up onto his lap and kisses him. “My sweet, good boy, wanting pleasure from me.” Iruka’s head lolls to the side and Mizuki licks at his neck and gropes his ass. His mouth is dry, his breath is coming fast; what was he doing, here? Kissing Mizuki, but there was something else… “Look at you, pliant and perfect. No one else wants to see you like this, but I do so enjoy having you be good for me. My sweet, good, slutty boy.”

Iruka checks out. It’s too much. He can’t—

They kiss for some time, and then he tells Iruka, “Beg me to touch you.”

“Touch me, Mizuki, please,” he whimpers against his lips, “please touch me.”

Mizuki lifts Iruka's shirt over his head and throws it away. He keeps one hand on Iruka’s ass and with the other he starts pinching Iruka’s nipples. Iruka tucks his nose against Mizuki’s neck and whines, but frots in his lap anyway. Once his nipples are aching and tingly, Mizuki draws his hand down his front to his crotch and—

And snarls.

“What, am I not enough?” He pushes Iruka out of his lap, where he falls back onto the floor in a heap. “Are you seeing someone else, is that it? Went to see someone else earlier so you think you don’t need me???”

Iruka shakes his head, bowed and looking at the floor. “No, no, Mizuki, only you I swear.”

“Then why aren’t you hard yet?”

“I don’t—I’m sorry—please, I just want you to feel good. Please love, let me help you feel good. Let me be good for you.”

“If I wanted a whore who can’t get it up, I’d wake Naruto.”

Iruka snapped back. Shit, Naruto, he fucking lost himself and Naruto is still—fuck. He shakes his head. “No, please, he’s—”

“Shh, pet,” Mizuki threads his hands through Iruka’s hair, now loose around his shoulders and when did that happen? He pulls on his hair enough so Iruka is kneeling straight up; he can’t fight the whimper that escapes his throat from the pain of his hair pulling on his scalp. “You don’t want to be the reason he wakes, now do you?” Mizuki murmurs into his ear.

Iruka shakes his head as best as possible.

“Good boy,” Mizuki says; Iruka fights off the growing desire to slip away. Mizuki lets go of his hair and motions for Iruka to sit back a little. Iruka does so. “Now,” he says, “beg me for the honor of sucking my cock.”

Iruka flushes. “Mizuki…”

“I won’t wait all night, Iruka. I could go tell Naruto it’s just something ninja do for each other and you know he’ll be happy to—”

“Stop it, stop, please.” Iruka shuts his eyes to hold back tears. “Please, don’t bring Naruto up again. I’ll… I’ll be good.”

“I know you will,” Mizuki coos, pushing fingers through his hair again. “Now, beg.”

Iruka takes a shaky breath, steadies himself, and says, “Please, Mizuki, let me blow you.”

“More.”

He hitches a quiet sob. For once, he wishes he could slip away. He doesn’t want to be here. This is humiliating. But for Naruto… this is for Naruto, to keep him safe.

“I…” He’s drawing a blank, staring at Mizuki’s clothed erection and fearing for Naruto’s innocence, he can barely breathe, and the longer he kneels here staring the more his head goes fuzzy. Iruka can smell him— normally it’s nice, but tonight it turns his stomach. Mizuki yanks a fistful of his hair and Iruka suppresses a yelp at the last second.

“I won’t keep telling you what to do,” he hisses. “If I wanted to do that, I wouldn’t have given you the choice to protect that damn monster. Beg me for the honor of sucking my cock, and if I have to remind you again, I’ll tie you up and gag you so you can listen while I go fuck the demon. Is that clear?”

Iruka whimpers, “Yes, please, please, Mizuki I’m sorry I didn’t—I mean—” he forcefully stopped himself, took one (last) deep breath, and said, “Please, Mizuki, let me blow you. I’ll be so good, nice and wet, just like you like it. I—I want it so bad please let me do this for you.”

“Yeah? You’ll let me pull your hair and fuck your throat?”

“Anything, Mizuki,” Iruka whimpers. “Anything to get a taste of y-your cock.” He's proud that he made it through that only stuttering once.

Mizuki pulls out his dick and pumps his hand over it a few times. “You’re still missing something,” he says, teasing.

Iruka’s mouth is dry, and he wants to be anywhere but here, but he bows his head against the pressure Mizuki has in his hair, pushes away his pride, it’s to keep Naruto safe, and says, “Please, let me have the honor of sucking your cock.”

“Fuck, baby, what a good boy I’ve got,” Mizuki says as he feeds him his dick. It’s wet, it’s messy, but Mizuki’s finally moaning happily, so it can be… it can be good. He fists his hands into his own thighs to keep them still, aware he never was given permission to touch. Mizuki thrusts long and hard, Iruka’s jaw going achy after long minutes of continuous use. Mizuki pulls harder at his hair so his head tips back and he chokes, but Mizuki gives him breaks in-between fucking his throat.

“One last choice,” he grunts some time later. “You want me to come down your throat, or on your face?” He pulls out for a few seconds, jerking his dick in his fist while he waits for Iruka to answer.

In his mouth he’d have to swallow, and then he’d probably throw up—he usually does. On his face, he gets weird looks from the jōnin at the mission desk the next day, as though even after he showers they can still smell Mizuki on him.

Throwing up would wake Naruto though.

“My face,” he says, his voice ragged and wrecked. Then he remembers the game of tonight, and continues, “Please, please come on my face, mark me all over so I can’t go anywhere without smelling like you, I’m yours, Mizuki, please—”

“Shut up, fuck,” Mizuki hisses, and then warm come splashes on his cheeks, eyes, and lips, his chin, and drips down his neck.

He looks down at Iruka and smiles, and Iruka wonders if everything is going to be okay. He pets his hair gently with one hand; Iruka leans into it, grateful for a nice touch after all that. Then, Mizuki pats his cheek and says, “Go clean up. I still wanna fuck you. This was a good warm-up.”

Iruka, to his own surprise, doesn’t cry while in the bathroom. He checks in on Naruto when he’s done, still snoring away and sprawled across the bed with the stuffed frog Iruka had bought for him three years ago. He closes the door quietly, and glances over at his own still closed bedroom door.

He quickly activates a seal on Naruto’s door, which illuminates the hallway in a clear blue light for a half-second. He’s never had to use it, but it’ll fade by morning; no one besides Naruto, Sandaime-sama, or himself will be able to get through that seal while it’s active.

Iruka goes back to Mizuki. He can worry about himself now. Naruto is safe.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump29 #choices #bad things happen bingo #forced to beg #umino iruka #mizuki #my writing

[missmitchieg]

The Phantoms, Triple Threat, Nick, & Caleb Covington as Pokemon trainers

Julie’s Pokemon: Sawsbuck (Bambi), Lurantis (Bloom), Mismagius (Magician), Pikachu (Sparkler), Solrock (Sunshine), Meganium (Long-Neck)

Julie’s a loving, gentle trainer that gives every Pokemon that comes her way a nickname and lets them out every once in a while to relax and play in a forest but goes hard in battles. She never loses. Her Pokemon never lose.

She’s good friends with every nurse Joy and officer Jenny and loves meeting new friends along the way to becoming a real Pokemon master. She never forgets her daily check-in calls with Ray and Carlos. She also keeps in touch with her best friend, Flynn, and loves the pictures she gets from her.

She likes to give her updates on “that cute but mischievous boy with the Gyarados and the Charizard“ that she’s pretty sure has a thing for her but she’s too shy to ask. Even if he seems to just “pop up“ wherever she goes after they met outside of a gym.

She genuinely laughed in Caleb Covington’s face when he tried, and failed epicly, to intimidate her. She thought it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. Then she proceeded to beat him in battle. In public. Humiliating him. She hates him, and Team Rocket, and everything they stand for.

Bloom and Magician usually prefer to be out of their balls and walk and float around with her. She likes that about them. Sunshine and Lon-Neck seem to be closest with each other, but love the rest of the team as well. And they never run low on food or berries to munch on while they make pit stops on their journey.

Julie usually likes to wear a purple t shirt or sweater, a matching purple headband, white pants and sneakers and a black jacket. She always has a charm bracelet with 6 charms: A Poke Ball, a Great Ball, an Ultra Ball, a Master Ball, a Love Ball and a Friend Ball.

Luke’s Pokemon: Jolteon (Bolt), Charizard (Blaze), Gyarados (Bayou), Poliwrath (Polly), Zapdos (Tazer), Beedrill (Honey)

Yeah, Luke’s a bit of a genwunner. What’s it to ya? He knows what he likes and he knows what’s good. And yeah, he might have gotten himself in trouble with more than one officer Jenny more than twice for trying to steal a potion or two. (Nurse Joys always hate him so he’s learned to stay away from centers.) So he’s a rebel. Sue him. At least he cares enough to get them for his team.

Unlike those awful Team Rocket people that, rather than loving and caring for Pokemon like the epic, amazing, awesome creatures they are, they hurt them. Luke hates Team Rocket with all of his heart and he makes that fact known. He’s only ever met two, and they both sucked. One yelled at a kid’s Geodude and the other made a Togepi cry. Hard. He took it upon himself to comfort the little Togepi and feed him some (stolen) Pokemon food until he smiled and skipped away like nothing had happened.

Anyway, he loves being a trainer and exploring places with his Pokemon and he loves forest picnics (of stolen food, usually) and watching his Gyarados hide in waterfalls to jump out and scare people off. He also likes to keep tabs on “that girl that gives her Pokemon nicknames like a (pretty) dork” (Which is a thing he totally didn’t steal from her. He was already calling his team those names.) and tell the few friends he has about her.

Charizard and Jolteon have been with him since the very beginning of his journey, as a little but strong Charmander and Eevee and he loves them (and everyone else) like crazy. Zapdos tends to come out of his Ultra Ball without warning to spread his wings. Poliwrath is a big fan of swimming in lakes when they find them.

Luke generally wears a blue tank top with a black vest hoodie, jeans and black boots. He’s never seen without his blue knitted beanie (”My mom knitted this, so I’m wearing it forever.”) or the pink, red and blue friendship bracelet Reggie had gifted both him and Alex with before they went on their journeys. (”Reggie and Alex are my best friends, so I’m wearing it forever.”) Luke’s bracelet has a Master Ball charm and he loves it.

Reggie’s Pokemon: Eevee (Foxy), Braixen (Fire-Starter), Vulpix (Curly Top), Cyndaquil (Volcano), Teddiursa (Baby Bear), Togetic (Angel)

Reggie’s not necessarily too concerned with being a Pokemon master. You see, he’s more inclined to just have a good time and explore and let his Pokemon just be and give them all nicknames. He’ll sometimes pop into a Poke Mart just to say hi and grab a potion or two, mostly to not have to bother nurse Joy about his Eevee, who prefers to be carried around like a baby, (And who he doesn’t want to evolve into anything. Same with the rest of them. He’s very content with his “baby” team, thank you.), or his other Pokemon, again.

He likes hearing about his friends crazy adventures, though! And he likes hearing about their love lives, even if they’re both too shy to do much about anything. He likes telling his friends about all the stuff he sees in his town, like the old guy selling Pokemon food and the little girl that “just has an Arcanine, a Flareon, and an Infernape already! How did one little girl manage that?”

Reggie thinks he’s really lucky he’s never met a Team Rocket member, considering everything he’s heard about them from Luke, they suck. He’s honestly started to genuinely hate them by emotional osmosis at this point.

Reggie likes to dress in red and black flannels, white or grey t shirts, black jeans, black sandals, his own friendship bracelet that has an Eevee charm and a black jacket when the weather calls for it.

Alex’s Pokemon team: Sobble, Psyduck, Entei, Rapidash, Lapras, Starmie

So catching the Entei was kind of an accident. He’d just been exploring around a volcano looking to try and catch a Rapidash (he got it) when the volcano erupted and Entei appeared. He had (somehow) managed to calm the rather disgruntled Pokemon and catch it with a Poke Ball and Entei loves being part of Alex’s team, as do the rest of them. The Lapras was an accident, too, but that’s another story for another day. It involves a very grumpy, greedy hunter and Psyduck’s chronic headache.

Sobble, Starmie and Psyduck all just kind of felt drawn to him. He wasn’t going to question why an anxious duck with a permanent headache, a water lizard that always looked distressed and a star felt like sticking around him, but he loved them all equally. He loves updating his friends, Luke and Reggie on his adventures and catches (and the cute boy with the Blissey and Bellossom he met in a Poke Mart and keeps bumping into “on accident”*) or just calling to talk about nothing when he misses them.

(*It’s so not an accident.)

Alex likes to wear pink t shirts with a grey or black jean jacket, blue jeans, a white snapback and black sneakers. He never takes off his friendship bracelet and is very careful to not snag it on a twig or door handle or lose the Starmie charm.

Willie’s Pokemon: Blissey, Bellossom, Slowbro, Snorlax, Garchomp, Aromatisse

Earlier on in life, Willie had been pretty certain he wanted to be like his dad and become a real gym leader, but over time, he grew to like the idea of being a Pokemon doctor. His parents were a bit surprised by the news of their boy wanting to be a doctor, but they wholeheartedly supported his dreams and let him go to school to be a doctor, getting semi-regular updates from him.

Now, he’s often seen picking berries from trees and walking into Poke Marts to grab whatever he’d run out of that week, always happy to see the store clerks or say hi to a friend whose Pokemon he helped heal. (He especially liked when he ran into that Cute Blond Boy and he sometimes walks into stores just to talk to him even if he bought supplies just the day before, but shh. Cute Blond Boy doesn’t need to know that.) He also liked to offer grumpy, angry people a couple bites of Blissey egg to make them happy just because.

Willie usually likes to be comfortable and wear orange and white tie dye t shirts or orange and yellow floral t shirts, blue jeans, white sandals, and his hair loosely tied in a bun. After meeting Cute Blonde Boy, though, he started incorporating snapbacks and sneakers into his wardrobe. He liked how they looked on Cute Blond Boy better, though.

Flynn’s Pokemon: Liepard, Torracat, Delcatty, Pyroar, Lillipup, Persian

Flynn is honestly more of a Pokemon photographer than anything. She likes to hang around fields and forests to see the Pokemon roam free and take pictures or just watch while her big and little wildcats (Her favorites.) and her puppy (Accident. She doesn’t know how she fell so hard for the little pup.) either play or lie next to her and nap. She sends her favorites to her best friend, Julie and talks to her over the phone all the time. She likes hearing about her adventures and her cute boy and give advice on how to talk to him.

Flynn has only ever encountered Caleb, Dante and Fuego twice and she hated him instantly. The first time, she saw him snap at a little boy holding a Growlithe plushie. She had instinctively sicced her Pyroar’s flamethrower on him, yelling at him to leave the kid alone. The second time, she saw him physically grab a girl’s Hoppip and stomped toward him, commanding her Liepard to use Fury Swipes on him. She watched him struggle to walk away afterwards, gently handing the Hoppip back to the little girl and pointing in the direction of a Pokemon center just in case “her little friend got hurt when the mean guy grabbed her”.

Flynn is always seen wearing some kind of wildcat print in her outfits. Whether it’s the orange tiger t shirt and blue jeans combo with matching tiger boots she loved to put together, or the leopard print dress she saved for special occasions. She and Julie have always worn their matching charm bracelets with nothing but pride and love.

Carrie’s Pokemon: Mew, Sylveon, Dragonair (Shiny), Alomomola, Clefable, Audino

Listen, Carrie Wilson may be a pink princess, but don’t mistake her love of girly, glittery clothes and only having pink Pokemon on her team as her being weak. It’s not “she loves pink and glitter, but she’s strong and smart“, it’s “she loves pink and glitter AND she’s strong and smart“.

She simply has an aesthetic and an image to maintain and she maintains it, while having a team of strong fighters. She caught her Mew when all she had was a Sylveon and a couple of Pokeballs (What, like it’s hard?) and she’s proud to have a Mew, who prefers to float around her or piggyback her rather than be stuck in a ball, on her team.

She thinks it’s hilarious that Caleb assumed she would be at all scared of him. And assumed that she would lose to him. Carrie Wilson never loses a battle and she doesn’t plan to make that a habit of hers anytime soon. It’s simply not what Carrie Wilson does. Carrie Wilson instills fear into the hearts of weak little men, and has fun doing it.

But she’s always nice to little girls like her who love pink and love to beat boys in battle. She even gives girls strategic advice and runs into stores to buy them potions, poison heals and more just because. Little girls love her for it and she loves the little girls she comes across like her sisters.

Carrie wears a bedazzled white t shirt with a picture of a Love Ball on the front, a pink (faux, of course) fur coat, a sparkly pink tiered skirt with matching pink high heels. She saves her favorite pink and silver crystal dress for only the most special occasions.

Nick’s Pokemon: Cubone, Elekid, Wartortle, Chimchar, Pidgey, Butterfree

Nick is an aspiring baseball player, just like his dad. He’s not the best in battle, and he has to make quite a few emergency trips to Pokemon centers or clinics when he’s out of potions, but his team still loves him and fiercely (Well, as fierce as a tiny dinosaur, a ball of electricity, a turtle, a chimp, a pidgeon, and a butterfly can be.) protects him from danger.

Like that time when he accidentally angered a flock of Zubat by kicking a rock a little too hard and startling them awake. Emolga and Chimchar had to come to his rescue and they managed to get away relatively unscathed. Or that time he’d been found by a sweet old couple that offered him a warm meal, some Pokemon food and a bed for the night. After he’d been ambushed by a massive colony of angry Beedrill for walking too close to Beedrill territory.

Nick liked to wear a yellow t shirt with his dad’s baseball team, The Electabuzz, white shorts, black sandals and a white vest. He was always in either that or a regular white t shirt with a Poke Ball, blue jeans, and white sneakers.

Caleb’s Pokemon: Seviper, Grimmsnarl, Gengar, Skarmory, Umbreon, Spectrier

Caleb’s a member of Team Rocket. No one there really likes him or takes him seriously except Dante and Fuego, but he’s convinced himself they all do. No one, not even Dante and Fuego, is really sure how he managed to catch the Spectrier (or any of his team, because they don’t really like him much, either), but they also haven’t bothered to ask and he can’t really be bothered to tell.

He’s totally not friends with Dante and Fuego (yes, he is) and he totally doesn’t love them like sons, what? He doesn’t have a heart. (Except for Dante and Fuego.) He steals from stores and scares kids just by existing near them. Except Julie, Flynn, Carrie, and Luke. They’re not scared of anything. He’s more scared of them.

He hates the standard “bland, boring and ugly” Team Rocket uniform. With a burning passion. So naturally, he decided to dye the white parts of his uniform purple and cover it in glitter, replacing the hat with a much more his style top hat. He had gotten in trouble for the modifications to the outfit initially, but he didn’t care much. He was evil, but he wasn’t boring. And his boss had just sighed and decided he could get used to the non-regulation uniform after all.

#julie and the phantoms #julie molina #julie molina headcanons #alex molina #alex molina headcanons #reggie molina #reggie molina headcanons #luke patterson #luke patterson headcanons #flynn #flynn headcanons #nick danforth-evans #nick danforth-evans headcanons #carrie wilson #carrie wilson headcanons #Caleb Covington #caleb covington headcanons #jatp headcanons #This headcanon got super elaborate somehow #i don't know what happened here #it was supposed to be short

[leelem0n]

Weight Loss Q&A

Someone asked some questions about weight loss so I thought it might be helpful to some other people. 

1. Do your nipples get smaller as your boobs get smaller? I worry mine won’t shrink and it’ll look strange. No, they stayed the same.

2. Does your FUPA (relating directly to your vagina, not your lower stomach as some associate with your FUPA) get smaller over time as well? Yes, but if you're very obese then you may need skin surgery.

3. Will a buffalo hump decrease? If it is caused by obesity, yes. If it's caused by poor posture or other skeletal defect, no.

4. What do you do in the in-between phase where you’re not fitting your old clothes anymore but don’t want to buy a new wardrobe just to have to do it all again when you’re at your target weight? Great question. I usually wore my big shirts and then bought some leggings. You may need to buy some things for work depending on the uniform, and in that case I would recommend a second-hand shop so you don't spend a bunch.

5. Is the in-between phase as hard to get through as I think it is? I’m sure some people feel that it’s a motivation to keep working hard, but I feel like it could be a huge struggle in the moment to see your body becoming disproportionate and awkward looking until you reach your target weight. Was that a struggle for you and how did you hype yourself up during? Your body wasn't disproportionate and awkward as you gained, it won't be as you lose. It's not like you only lose weight in one section as a time. You keep your same proportions but just reduce overall size. To keep myself motivated, I just told myself that quitting won't get me anywhere good.

6. Do people treat you differently during and after? I myself am guilty of being negatively jealous of people around me losing weight because I wish it were me instead, but have never said anything about it. Do you have people in your life that aren’t afraid to say those things to you, and how do you cope? Yes and no. For the most part, people treated me differently because I saw myself differently. Being really obese, I had absolutely no confidence and, like you, I was mad at everyone else for being slimmer than I was. Once I lost weight, I didn't magically gain confidence but I did stop being jealous of everyone else's body because I felt I started looking like everyone else. Me not being bitter changed my whole demeanor and made it easier for people to approach me and be friendly with me. I was a fat bitch. I hated myself and hated everyone. When I lost the weight, I also lost a lot of that anger/bitchiness, so I was much friendlier and more relaxed, meaning it was easier to make friends and talk to people. No one wants to talk to some angry person scowling in the corner, after all.

7. Relating to 6, are you treated better as a smaller person? Do you feel that after losing weight you’ve received more positive attention from strangers? Yes, and while part of it is related to 6, part of it isn't. At first, that really bothered me. I was the same person, right? So why are they kinder to me NOW? I realized that being as fat as I was, not only did I look miserable (because I was miserable), but I also realized I just looked...sick. Unhappy. Bothered. I was happier to eat snacks than I was to interact with others, and it's because I had a problem. Just as you wouldn't want to approach someone shooting heroin or lying in a gutter drunk, you don't want to approach someone slowly killing themselves with food. A slow spiral to the grave is just not something humans tend to want to be around.

8. Do you have any advice for overcoming or coping with body dysmorphia and realizing that you aren’t as big as you used to be? If you have body dysmorphia, you have body dysmorphia. It is a mental illness and will not go away just because you lose weight. I still have body dysmorphic disorder (BDD). I've had it no matter what size I've been. It sucks. What can help is to measure yourself periodically with a measuring tape to prove to yourself that you are the size that you really are. Another thing that helps me is to crop out or cover my face in photos. It makes it easier to "see" my progress in my photos if I remove/hide my face. This "trick" also helps a friend of mine who also has BDD. But, you know, as bad as BDD is, you kind of get sick of it. And there are days when I've started saying, "Yeah my legs are disgusting blobs of amorphous goop but, fuck it, it's fucking hot so I'm gonna wear shorts. Fuck BDD."

9. How do you hold yourself accountable and stick to the diet and exercise changes? My biggest struggle is getting started and staying on track, any advice is welcome. Two ways. First, it must be sustainable. If you, say, go on the Cabbage Soup Diet, yeah you're not going to be able to keep that up. If you find a rigid diet plan that has foods you don't normally eat while also cutting out foods you culturally enjoy, no, you won't stick to it. You need a sustainable meal plan that has enough variety and wiggle room to accommodate a normal life. Second, it's just logic. I can't use "motivational images" or videos. I just tell myself, "If I quit now, I won't make the progress I want." It's simple but it works. Another thing is, "Yeah, the pizza would taste good but that's a lot of running to get rid of it. Am I ready to do that?" If so, then yeah, have the pizza. But once you start seeing foods as "This will help me reach my healthy goals" vs "This will slow my progress", the choice becomes much easier.

10. Does your sex life change, negative or positive? Does your partner or hookup care about any loose skin? Most people don't really give a shit as long as they get to have sex haha It sounds kind of crude, but that's the truth of it. If you have a lot of loose skin, it might be a good idea to forewarn them so they don't jump back out of surprise (not disgust), but that's about it.

11. Is it possible for the tightness or elasticity of your vagina to change when you lose weight? Or your ability to get wet and finish? So this is an interesting one. I noticed that I had to do more kegels because there wasn't as much fat "pushing" on the vaginal walls, if that makes sense? As for wetness and orgasm, no, it's the same.

12. What do you do if you reach your target weight and don’t like the way you look? What if you preferred your larger self to your smaller self? I will never, ever, ever, ever prefer my larger self. Ever. I can't imagine you would, either, especially with BDD. So, yeah, I got BDD, I'm gonna hate how I look no matter what, right? But the feeling is very, very different. Even if I hate how I look because of BDD, here are all the reasons I prefer being smaller:

I eat less food, so I save money. If I eat out, I can be satisfied with half the meal and then I have the other half later...two meals for the price of one.

I can move around!! I don't have to LURCH off the sofa to get up. I'm not struggling for breath after walking up three stairs. I can easily walk around when I'm on vacation...and walk all day...and not be aching and drained of all energy

It's way, way easier to buy clothes, even buying online is easier. Cheaper, too! Plus, there are way more styles to choose from.

My feet aren't always aching. My back isn't killing me constantly. I don't have that 24/7 low-grade headache+nausea combo. I have medical issues unrelated to previous obesity, and it's way worse if I'm heavier

I can breathe more easily in any position. I don't have to stop breathing to tie my shoes!

I'm at a lower risk of heart disease, stroke, cancer, etc...which is important to me since I'm already at a higher risk of stroke and cancer (for unrelated reasons).

If I suddenly have a medical emergency (hit by a car, suddenly collapse for some reason), I don't have to worry that bystanders can't move me. When I was at my heaviest, it would have taken at least two VERY strong people to try to lift and move me, but more likely four average people (or more) to try to move me. Now, I can be easily moved if in an emergency

So I hope you can see that even if you still hate your appearance, it's way better having lost the weight.

13. How does extreme weight loss affect tattoos? do they shrink or become distorted at all? It depends on where they're at. Mine were on my arms mostly, and I'm pear-shaped so even with skin surgery it never affected my arms. Sorry, I can't answer this from experience.

14. Is it easier to shave as the surface area decreases? 1000000000% easier to shave and wash. Not only is there less area, but you don't have to dig under your folds.

15. This one is very specific, but do your ankles become smaller? I feel like my ankles are big but the bone and tendon seem to be the same size, so I worry that my ankles will stay big as my legs get smaller and then it will look weird. Your bones don't change in size, so if your ankle bones are big then it's likely you're "big boned" in general and will look proportional. But, even if you just happen to have, like, super big ankle bones, I guarantee that you'll prefer being slimmer with big ankles than your current self. I did this, too, I tried talking myself out of weight loss because "What if I don't like how I look after?" and no no no do not talk yourself out of it.

16. Do you have any areas of your body that seemed to not change or lose weight? Where, and does it bother you/seem disproportionate? I'll bring up my arms again. Granted, I do a lot of weight lifting and my arms are more muscular than average, but they do look disproportionately larger, which would be okay if they had more definition. BUT, I also have BDD and other people have told me that my opinion of my arms is all in my head. Again, it doesn't bother me enough to say, "Oh, damn, I should just regain allllll that lost weight so my arms look smaller by comparison."

17. For those who have had their excess skin removed, are you satisfied with the surgery outcome? I’ve been finding that most surgeries make the body look very boxy and shapeless, which has scared me away from it. Do you think it depends on the surgeon, or is that just the way it comes out regardless? This is a great question. The fact of the matter is we fucked up. We stretched out the skin. It'll never, ever look "normal" again. Ever. And we have to accept that. I didn't realize that, so when I got skin surgery I was really disappointed that my legs looked the same-but-smaller. But I had to realize it was my fault, not the fault of the surgeon. You will almost certainly never look "normal", but you won't look, like, freakish if that's what you're afraid of. The only reason you worry about this is because you're fixated on the body (same as me), but for the average person they honestly can't even tell.

18. Does extreme weight loss have any effect on your hair, positive or negative? Body hair, positive or negative? I wouldn't say it's the weight loss that affects hair but more your dietary change that causes weight loss can also affect your hair. If you're just cutting calories and eating poorly, you'll lose a lot of hair luster and it may fall out. But if you're cutting calories and eating healthy foods, you should notice an improvement in your hair quality.

19. Do you feel colder more often? Does it become harder for you to warm up? Do you sweat less often? I feel colder more often because I'm not covered in a layer of blubber anymore...so I feel colder like any other person would feel cold. It's not harder to warm up, and I sweat less often but I'm still a sweaty person. I just don't sweat aaaaalllll dayyyy lonnnggg like I did when I was obese.

20. What tips did you learn along the way that made it easier that you wish you would have known from the beginning, if any? I think it's mostly a perspective thing: weight loss won't get rid of BDD, eating to lose weight is more important than exercise (but you should exercise for physical fitness), and skin surgery removes excess skin but won't return my body to pre-obesity appearance. Other than that, keeping track and being honest with myself...if I'm eating something, I have to be accountable. I can't say, "It's just a little bit" or "It's not that many calories". I became obese by blindly consuming food, so I can't lose weight by turning a blind eye to some foods I eat.

If this has prompted any of you to ask another question, feel free to do so!

#weight loss #skin surgery #extreme weight loss #loose skin

[kisskissbanggang]

Righteous pt. 3

[<10 min read, ~1.7k words -- Church!Mark x Female Reader -- Smut. -- Temptation, Semi-Public, Semi-Rough]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Finale | Masterlist

The worst part about church was actually going to church, especially on a day during a visit like this where Mark was particularly cute hanging out in the choir section with his guitar. You bounced your knee, desperately waiting for Father Thompson's sermon to begin because the sooner that began, the sooner you could go home. Sparking your curiosity, Mark got up to walk into the back hallway behind the front of the chapel right when Father Thompson began. Usually, about halfway through the sermon, Mark excused himself to prepare communion. You quietly excused yourself from the pew, claiming to need to return a phone call and use the restroom at the end of that back hallway.

You padded quietly along the hall, looking for where Mark may have run off to. You checked the robe room where the Eucharist was also kept, you quickly ducked into the men's restroom, and finally you noticed the light on behind the frosted glass of Father Thompson's office door. You quickly realized as you quietly opened the door that you hadn't been in this room in years. The priest must've been doing well for himself, as he upgraded to a second desk with a computer at the wall behind his main one, where Mark was currently seated, quietly tapping at the keyboard and too distracted to notice you creep into the room until it was too late. You reached over his shoulders, your hands sliding over his chest and making him muffle a yelp. Placing a hand on the back of the chair, you wheeled it around to face you before you paced the room, playfully snooping through drawers and cabinets. He didn't see your eyes light up as you found something, quickly tucking it into your sleeve.

"What're you doing in here?" You asked quietly. The chapel was, after all, just a short walk away.

"I see you're back in town again," Mark glowered, "and I'm asking you the same question."

"Seeing what you're up to, obviously."

Mark let his head slump back against the chair with a sigh. "Father Thompson has a meeting with an engaged couple after mass and I know he'll forget he had them answer some pre-interview questions in an email. So I'm pulling it up for him and printing it out."

"That's awfully nice of you."

"You never called."

"Did I say I would?"

Mark furrowed his brows at you but couldn't resist as you hopped up on the other desk and pulled him close, sliding the office chair so he was between your spread knees. "Are you jealous?" You asked. "Are you jealous of that engaged couple?"

"No way," Mark said nonchalantly, "I know it's not meant for me."

"Oh, that's good. I prefer the whole priest thing on you anyhow." You slipped off the desk and onto Mark's lap. Despite how annoyed he seemed with you, his hands instantly slid around you. You had settled for a modest skirt and blouse combo for church today, and Mark was already absent-mindedly resting a hand right on your knee under the hem.

"Why are you so into this?" Mark asked, brushing your hair back over your shoulder. His actions with you seemed almost automatic by now, some compulsion making him want to touch and caress you the moment you were close enough. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, very aware of the tiniest flinch he made before you tipped your nose down to look at him.

"Because you're fun to mess with..." You leaned in, whispering close to his lips.

"... and because you're sexy..." Mark tried to stifle the shiver that ran through him as your hands ran down his chest, toying with his necktie.

"... and because I've been thinking about how amazing you feel inside me." Mark gripped the armrests of the chair, a blush creeping over his cheeks as he finally gave in and pressed his lips to yours, immediately accepting your lusting tongue. You slowly worked the knot of his tie loose, pulling it off of him and playfully slipping it on over your head.

"Can we at least do this somewhere else?" Mark murmured against your mouth, surprised he could be so hard despite his guilt as you squirmed in his lap.

"No," was the only reply you needed to give, swiftly resuming your ravenous kissing as you quickly slipped something around Mark's neck, right under his shirt's collar. His hands flew to swat yours away and feel what you had put on him as he nudged you off his lap. He froze, eyes wide as he noticed you had just managed to fasten on a clergy collar around his neck.

"What the fuck?" He made no move to remove it, too distracted by you slowly sliding your blouse up over your tits, revealing a lacy bra underneath.

"What, you never tried one on before? I'm not surprised there's extras lying around in here," you laughed softly as you pulled your bra down just enough to lift and expose your breasts, "not to mention it looks really hot on you." Mark was mesmerized as you lifted your ass enough to raise your skirt to your hips. You put a foot up on the armrest of his chair, reveling in how he looked at you as you exposed yourself on Father Thompson's desk.

You crooked a finger at him, beckoning him closer. "Fuck me, Father."

Mark nodded dumbly as he got up, a slave to his own desire and already rock hard as he roughly pushed your knees further apart. You hungrily kissed him again as you wrenched open his belt and pants, making him groan when you pulled his cock free. With one hand he pried your soaked panties aside, the other grasping his tie still around your neck as he sank into you. "Make this quick. I won't be late getting back because of you."

"Oh, Jesus," you giggled naughtily as he filled you, "I missed this."

"Fuck, this is terrible," Mark whined, snapping his hips against you hard. He kept a death grip on the necktie, almost tugging on it like a leash as he groped your breasts. "... Say it again."

An actual feeling of victory washed over you, somehow turning you on even more than you thought you could. You smiled as you laid back on the desk, spread wide as Mark fucked you. "Fuck me, Father," you repeated sweetly.

Mark moaned, desperate and defeated as a shudder ran through him at your words. "Shit, I hate how hot that is." You could feel how much he craved some sort of control of himself, of the situation, of you. You hummed contently as he ripped the tie off of you and quickly tied your wrists together, gripping your binding as he pounded you into the desk. "You're so fucking bad for me."

You whimpered, hooking your ankles behind Mark and enjoying how he slammed into you, his greedy hands feeling your breasts and rolling your hard nipples between his fingers. His thrusts rocked the desk beneath you, everything on it threatening to tip over or roll off. You were so pleased listening to him curse and whine under his breath, so clearly at odds with himself for not trying hard enough to resist you. Despite your improvised restraints, you still were able to reach your bound wrists down so you could rub your clit. Mark noticed this and hauled you back up, clutching you tight as you rubbed yourself closer to orgasm.

"Is that what you want?" Mark smacked your hands away. "You just want to cum on my cock?"

"Isn't it always?" You felt lightheaded with pleasure, the rush of the moment pulling you closer to climax as Mark firmly pressed his own thumb to your clit, making excruciatingly slow circles. "No, no, no," you begged, "I need it. Faster, please, faster..."

"No," Mark smiled meanly as he kissed your forehead, "I like seeing you needy for once."

His slow and steady pace shook you out of the cloud in your mind. Seeing him try to assert dominance set you off. He had to remember who was in charge here. You writhed in his grip, still appearing just as sex-drunk.

"Please, Mark," you drawled, "make me cum. No one does it like you. I've been needing it, please make me cum." Sure enough, your praise stroked his inflated ego enough to make him change his tune. He pulled out, dragging you off the desk and turning you around. He roughly pushed you down onto the smooth surface, his hands caressing your ass and hips as he slid right back into you. His hand slipped around to your front, travelling between your legs and rubbing your clit harder, faster. That pleasurable high was back. Mark leaned down and you felt his teeth grazing over your neck. Without warning, you bit into your bound fists as your orgasm crashed into you, your knees nearly giving out as it coursed through you. Mark held onto you tightly as his thrusts became more desperate. "Cum, Mark," you pleaded, trembling with overstimulation.

"I'm trying, fuck, I'm getting there," Mark panted, almost pained.

You arched your shoulders to raise your torso off the desk and look back at him. "Please, Father, I want to hold your cum for the rest of mass."

Mark let out a shocked groan and his fingers dug hard into you, cursing as his cock erupted. He held you softly for a moment as he let himself come down. He eased out of you and slid your panties back into place, quickly soaking through with his leaking cum. Mark gave you a gentle pat on the butt and untied you before he slumped back into the chair, the seriousness of what he had just done washing over him.

Well, that was his problem. You pressed a sweet kiss to his forehead and gave him a little wave before leaving and suddenly running into a choir member wondering where Mark had gone to. You took the long way around and joined your family back in the pew when Mark finally emerged and slipped back into the choir. He made it back just in time for communion and hadn't missed too much. He looked a bit disheveled, still flushed in the face and his tie back on but rumpled.

You felt his eyes on you until mass was over.

#nct smut #nct imagines #nct fanfic #mark lee smut #lee minhyung #mark lee #mark lee fanfic

[blankdblank]

The Cabin

Day 8!! - Here’s a slightly dramatic Modern AU Thranduil ramble :D

*You are sitting around a campfire. There are stars shining in the sky. Someone asks “If you had the power to change one person’s life, how would you do it?”*

…

“I am gonna burst,” You squeaked in the middle of the third landing between endless flight of steps to your eighth floor apartment making you sigh and say, “Hot pants it is.” Rushing to the heavy door you crashed through it and bit your lip gripping your bag that had split hours earlier in your bow legged trot to the seventh door on the left. A frantic knock on the yellow door was followed by equally as frantic shuffling and a loud thud mingled with a string of curses until the door flung open and the wide eyed towering blonde behind the door stared at you. “Hot pants man,”

Heavily he sighed muttering, “That was a costume, I was mint green.”

You nodded and bounced in place making him look you over curiously, “Green hot pants man, ya, I usually don’t do this, but the elevator’s out and I’m not going to make it another five flights of stairs, can I use your bathroom?”

Smirking at you awkwardly he stepped back pointing at the open door opposite the open kitchen, “Straight through there.”

You nodded and rushed over to it dropping your bag on the blanket and clothes covered couch earning a loud groan form under the now shifting blob making you trot around the couch and straight to the bathroom, “So sorry, gotta go.” The door closed and the dark haired Elf with a knotted half afro hanging into his face glared at his roommate standing by the door angered at being woken.

Thranduil moved closer to him harshly whispering as you flicked on the water to mask your fumbling disrobing mess of a self and bursting dam of a bladder you felt coming, “It’s squirtle girl, and you will not embarrass me like last time!”

“I did not embarrass-,”

His mouth was covered and a finger was pointed at him while he eyed Thranduil’s dark thick brows lifting over his momentary irritated pout, “Elrond, I swear! Last time you told her I’d been looking for a squirter my whole life! She went months without talking to me! Months! Now you will be polite and say nothing!”

Thranduil’s hand lowered and his brows twitched up at the emphasizing point making Elrond smirk and lay back down covering himself again at the flush. A few moments later you were out again when the tap turned off and flashed Thranduil a weak grin when he shot up fidgeting with the ties on the sweats around his waist subconsciously flexing in your stolen glance at his shirtless self. The grin on his face twisted realizing his hair was in a bun on top of his head and he had a face mask on to help ease his dry skin after being in heavy make up for his play role for the past few weeks. “Thank you, again,” Rounding the couch you lifted your bag and patted the ankle of the Elf under the covers, “So sorry.”

Elrond raised his arm from under the covers to give a silent wave stirring a curious grin onto your face as his arm fell down lifelessly again. Again looking up he looked you over watching your mint green highlighted white curl filled loose bun shifting in the tilt of your head to lock your silvery green eyes on his icy blue pair after his glance over your pink leotard under a grey tilted baggy t shirt long enough to be like a dress with black leg warmers in a tilt from your clear rush from your usual lunch after rehearsals for your show. “Your show’s on Thursday, right?”

You nodded, “Ya, double show,” he chuckled awkwardly as you looked over his face again, “Well I can’t wait, we got tickets,” Your brows inched up and he turned his head to the ringing phone Elrond raised his arm to pat around for the receiver he pulled under the covers.

“Hello?”

Wetting your lips you replied, “Ya, I’ve seen your show too. It’s really good. Your part too.”

“I dance with a guy in an Elk costume.” He playfully retorted making Elrond chuckle behind his hand remembering the act popping up seven times in the two hour long play.

You nodded sending your bun bobbing making him smirk at a strip of curls breaking loose across your face you blew away only for it to swing back into your face, “I doubt anybody could get that shimmy jete combo down like you,” making him mouth scrunch up and his head tilt back in a sharp inhale to hide his embarrassment.

Elrond mumbled, “No, we’re not going to the pool party.”

At that you gasped saying, “Pool party, shit!” Turning you grabbed your bag saying, “Sorry, I promised I’d go and bring one of those stupid inflatable flamingos, which I have to buy…”

Thranduil said, “Turin’s shop has some! Elrond call him,” he leapt over the couch parting your lips in his rush to his bedroom, “Meet you in the lobby in twenty!”

Elrond peeked out from under the covers and you glanced at him with brows raised and waved then pointed to the door, “Guess, I’ll be, going…” He nodded, “Again, sorry,”

He shook his head and hung up the phone to dial Turin’s number, “Not a problem.”

…

That was how it began, a masterful friendship, keyword, friendship. A lap top seat offered by your cousin and an advance from a highly flirtatious brunette. The mistake was cleared up within a month but by then there was a third date planned, so friends you remained with his hope that things might change before long. Though somehow it always seemed that you were trains just barely missing one another in the station of life. All through art school and into the beginnings of your careers your lives blended together and a solid support system was formed no matter what.

It was clear for all to see how evident the love was there and after nights out together in your hectic schedules with his acting jobs, your dancing and Elrond’s makeup and special effects careers led you both together and apart to mingle with the rest of your group. Relationships came and went, for the men at least. Elrond, Glorfindel and Elros all settled into their own relationships while Thranduil slammed hard into absolute enamor-ment with his girlfriend quickly leading them to an engagement.

From one wedding to another you claimed your seat and ignored the stares of those around you when your plus one was never claimed. You weren’t alone, you just didn’t want to bring another one of your dates the guys always hounded to their special days, group dinners once a month was enough. They weren’t bad guys, they were wonderful, from doctors to a trio of firemen you had happened across in your very safety conscious part of town you lived in across from their usual lunch spots, they just never seemed to be ready to commit, something you never pushed on because if you were honest you weren’t either. At least not with them.

*

Panic flooded Thranduil and all the way through the planning for the big day it only got worse and it wasn’t until he was ready to throw his tie he couldn’t secure that Elros grabbed him and claimed the tie from Glorfindel saying, “Don’t take it out on the tie that you proposed to the wrong woman.”

Thranduil’s lips parted in a scoff and Elrond added in fixing the buttons over his middle on the tailed jacket, “Come on now, you dated her to make Tiny jealous when you didn’t know the guy she was with was her cousin.”

Thranduil, “I love-,”

Glorfindel, “We’re not saying you don’t love Kiki, we’re saying you love Tiny more.”

Those words echoed in his mind, for twenty four years since that wedding, where his wife should have been the one cast in moonlight in a sea of glowing petals in a melodic choir slow motion agonizing sea of flashbacks replaying through the entirety of his marriage.

*

He did love her, and he was faithful to her. He was the best Husband a woman could ask for both when he was home and when things had to go long distance when his roles took him away from her. She had her freedom as did he and he encouraged her in her avant-garde art shows until she made a name for herself in that world easing her mildly hidden jealousy of his fame to a low simmer until he helped use his name to help build up the attendance on her shows.

Her jealousy though never did cease when your name came up and from a single mention to Elrond’s wife Celebrian on her thinking of saying something to Thranduil about him having to choose between you that single scoff in their early dating years made it clear who would win. Your shows were non negotiable, your group visits she tolerated that when you were in the room he would be focused on learning more about the changes in your life. It bothered her, at first, but then even she saw it, you were staying away for her, there was little physical contact to none and never pushing any visits or anything close to something that could change any future plans except for five times, and each time was offered to her, not him. Clearly you knew the rules, who had the ring and who had won his heart and after a few years of hearing how little family you had even she had begun to believe that you had thought of your group as family.

Twenty four years however was a long run, and was nothing to be scoffed at, in fact the weight of it hurt all the more as the stress of her career and time apart from Thranduil had sent her into the arms of another. It wasn’t just another fling, it was a slow burn over the years with the gallery owner who showed her art, a shoulder for her when her façade broke before a show. A decade now all she wanted was to complete their perfect life, yet a lazy ovary and a hard kept schedule for her fertility with his latest string of six month filming jobs halfway across the world between two month tiny tv spots only worsened the matters.

A positive pregnancy test however was finally achieved, though only after they had decided to sleep apart to calm down and try to return to their relationship outside of the sexual and reproductive side while they approached having a family through a surrogate and a donor egg. A family friend, Hobbit no less, had gotten the pregnant results without trying it seemed and that must have ticked a switch in Kiki’s lazy ovary, because after eight months of sleeping apart she faced the horrifying aspect of sharing that she had her perfect man and little family she always wanted.

To his credit Thranduil took it well, she had seen him angry, she had seen him furious and outside a twitch of his eyebrow he remained almost painfully calm in the whole matter. The papers were easily drawn up, they had kept separate accounts and all that was left was the house, which they both hated the neighbors in so he kept the deed to the new house they had bought and she had followed through to moving in with her new man to start planning their nursery. All together twenty four years was neatly wrapped up in the minimum two months the courts had demanded, and the dream crib she had wanted was achieved all the easier with a big bow alongside a pair of tickets for the cruise she had always wanted to go on for her and her new fiancé. The perfect husband, and the perfect ex, she wanted a baby, husband home each night and a lovely home perfectly furnished to invite friends and family over to, with her art to escape into.

*

“I’m Pregnant.” The words he had wanted to hear for so long, and yet in his mind, he had been home for eight months and had been away for five before that. Clearly it wasn’t his and with how hard it had been to try and schedule nights to conceive and he really didn’t need to hear who it was, he could tell she had leaned on him. A grin here and there when saying his name, just how she had once said his, he never pushed her away from him, after all how fair would that be when his heart had been breaking over making himself lose you. He had to honor his commitment though, and never make her pay for what she didn’t ask for.

At the table he inhaled and simply stood almost making her flinch if not for his turn away to the office nearby, from which he brought out a pad and pen. All the details were drafted out and for three hours everything was listed and each room was divided to his and hers ending with the arrival of their lawyers that had been called at the beginning of it. To their shock it was already drawn up on legal pads and all that was left was to have it officially printed and for her lawyer to drive her to her new home to share the news while he had to head to work.

She felt bad she had waited till then to do it when he needed to focus. The worry was unnecessary as though it did sting to be cheated on past that all he felt was free. A quarter of a century and he was finally free to tell you how he felt. You had been single for half a year now since a cheating ordeal of your own with a Doctor caught slipping on a different type of glove for someone other than you when you had shared your offer of help to your best friend.

The news was shared and as usual when he was down and out you came to the rescue, planning a weekend trip away for the whole group. Grinning madly he climbed in his car and started to drive eager to get there early even if it meant having to wait hours for even you to arrive in your usually over early habitual ways.

*

An offer was made, Thranduil was struggling and it sort of just exploded out of you, “Use my eggs.” Instantly you had to lay down on the floor of your kitchen leaving the tea you had been waiting for later to calm yourself through the rest of the conversation. Details were traded over the email and when this was through you swore to yourself that you had to break this tie, you had to let him go. This was getting to where you couldn’t breathe and almost on the edge of tears, and now you had said basically that he could have your dream baby and raise it with someone else.

Work had been ruthless lately and sure you had little time for dating, a great thing after your recent discovery about your ex, and yes you wanted babies too, something the hormones to donate only made worse. Sure you would be a part of the child’s life but if you were anywhere close hopped up on hormones on your worst day you couldn’t deny the thought of abducting Thranduil and your baby to run off together somewhere she could never find you. Ring or not, she had what you had burned for inside and out and your patience was wearing thin. Sometimes the strongest way to say I love you is goodbye, or at least that was what you told yourself each night.

The apartment you shared with your ex was now belonging to someone else and halfway to homeless with all packed in a moving truck to fill a storage bin countries away a phone call came from the father you hadn’t heard of since you were a teenager halted you in your tracks. Turning around almost at the border you made your way until at the airport straight to the private airstrip you found your baby half sister being helped off your father’s private jet, little red headed hazel eyed Tauriel all of four years old along with all her belongings were loaded up into your car for the drive to a five star hotel. Just like he’d dropped you when you were a child at your gran’s and never looked back, only contacting you on birthdays and holidays to send checks like his other children before you.

Giddily the three year old bounced on top of the bed while you secured plans to move in to your Gran’s pool house for a short time until you could find a place of your own. Hanging up at the arms looping around your shoulders after leaving a message to Ecthelion about his latest listings you would need to look at you turned to play with your sister and tire her down before dinner and then bed to a film of your choosing. The future you had planned changed rather drastically, but you hoped at least having her here you might be a lot less psycho possessive over the baby you had helped Thranduil conceive.

.

It only took a week for Tauriel to settle into her new life here really as she was just down the street from your friends and their children she bonded with right away in your weekly dinners, the latest of which had you almost screaming. “Divorced? Since when?! We were just at their anniversary dinner!”

Glorfindel shrugged saying, “None of us saw it either, it all went down quietly in the minimum two months, but apparently she’s found someone else,”

Elros snorted and set down his drink he had almost choked on saying, “You’re missing the biggest part,”

Elrond swatted his arm as you twirled your untouched glass of wine between your fingers above your lap, “Apparently she’s pregnant too, getting her dream family finally.”

Thunderously your heart raced and you asked trying to hold back your tears, the expression on your face making the men inch closer to you at how deeply his pain had continued to affect you. They caught the same ‘fix it’ flinch in your gaze and they realized they had to act to stop this plummeting plane crash you were strapped into. You had loved him, been faithfully there for all of them, far from clingy except when you truly needed someone and always you were all in to defend or protect when possible. The marriage was one thing, but clearly at the offer of donating an egg Thranduil should have seen it, he should have drawn the line and yet he didn’t the thought of a baby with you was too much to pass up and he didn’t realize that he wouldn’t be raising your dream baby with you but in fact hurting you by taking it away and out of your reach.

Not leaving it to chance Glorfindel said, “We should go up to the cabin this weekend. Just like in school, to start over the right way. Campfires, some drinks, burgers, smores. Go back to the good old days.”

You couldn’t argue, not when they kept on bringing up past stories and before long they had walked you back to your gran’s and gotten her to agree to watch Tauriel for the weekend for your trip. In their stroll back they had called Thranduil and shared the news himself, only fibbed a bit saying you had brought up reliving your glory days up in the cabin that was your group getaway.

.

Packed and ready you were off in your car, not as early as you had hoped after packing just a bit too much to prep for anything, especially when each time before you had been missing something each time you had gone up there leading to your laughable trio of suitcases the men would no doubt laugh at. Hours the path from the city to the country you drove tapping your fingers and humming awkwardly loud to the song on the radio trying to force yourself to be calm remembering the days by the lake and lounging in the hammock outside the cabin on lazy days no doubt bringing you face to bare pectorals with that recently divorced best friend of yours. Still to get back at him, subconsciously of course, you’d packed that same bikini from that pool party your friendship began in prepping for, tiny and neon that hugged you perfectly keeping his eyes so hungrily on you all night before whatever you did that turned him off of you.

The welcome of the long dirt road through the post card perfect town you passed seemingly readying for something brought you up to a tire track bearing dirt drive through a set of winding hills up to the two story wood cabin resting under an oddly grey sky. Shifting your gaze downwards you spotted a familiar truck mostly unloaded and the front door to the cabin open. Parked beside the truck you opened the door and huffed at the blast of cold air shockingly far from the late summer temperatures from the city surely scared off by whatever storm was coming. Unbuckled you climbed to your feet and closed the door behind you then strolled around the back of it to grab the final two bags from the back of the truck containing blankets and pillows making you smirk.

Up to the door you strolled hearing boot steps coming closer to the open door. At the base of the front steps you looked up seeing a fellow blonde bun bearing Elf, “Hey Hot Pants Man.”

Rolling his eyes that same smirking chuckle broke from him spreading an instinctual smirk from you at his retort, “Bout time Squirtle Girl.” He said grabbing a bag from you turning to look you over in your own long sleeve shirt hanging over the tops of your favorite jeans covering most of your boots, an outfit similar to him except for his flannel and leather jacket over it he hadn’t worn in years you loved to steal from him back in school.

Peering around you said, “Colder than I thought it’d be.”

He nodded and added the bag to the spare room he’d filled with his other supplies making you smirk wider as your not being the only one to over prep. “Yes, seems we’ve beaten a storm in.”

“A, hope the guys get through alright.”

Thranduil chuckled, “No doubt Glori will love flooring it through the storm like the old days. He’d race after a Balrog that one.”

You giggled widening a smile across his face, “Oh yes, just like that one tornado.”

“Yes. Exactly, Celebrian’s in labor and he’s off chasing tornados for the perfect picture.”

You shook your head, “I honestly am so concerned for his parents, how they manage to live knowing he’s out there on his own left to his whims,” making Thranduil laugh in his turn to join you out to your car.

“How’s Tauriel? Elros texted me about her. How, is that affecting things, he said you were thinking about moving.”

You nodded, “Ya,” opening your trunk making him laugh at the suitcases and bags of food you had bought along the way, “Don’t laugh, Mr I packed my whole bed with supplies.”

He shook his head, “Just, like minds. You were saying?” Taking up armfuls to carry in behind you and your supply.

“Well, I moved out, got a moving truck,” at that his heart was racing wondering if you had still wanted to move after this, “Got to the border when my dad called. Was just in time to pick her up at the airport,” you set down the bags of food in the kitchen he helped you put away, “Asshole sent her off alone on a jet. Well, gran let me rent her pool house and Ecthelion is coming up with a list of houses for me to look at.”

Turning again you went to grab your suitcases you brought inside into your usual room. Once again you had peered up at Thranduil at his awkwardly silent self ending when he blurted out, “Take a hike,” Your brow ticked up, “We, we should take a hike. If the guys are going to be late, no use in just waiting around, and we can break into the old pattern after our usual trail. They should be here by then.”

With a nod you replied, “Sure, sounds good.” Grabbing your jacket you pulled it on following him to the door he locked behind you both and led the way off to your usual path with his hands buried in his pockets.

Not long into the walk he stole another glance down at you seeing you reach out to grab a tall stalk with a tiny bundle of white flowers on the end you couldn’t quite remember the name of you spun between your fingertips. Hastily he wet his lips then said, “I got divorced.”

Glancing up at him you nodded, “I heard. You could have said something.”

He shook his head trying to ease the hint of pain in your voice, “It, it’s really hard to describe.” He sighed, “We just, it was the distance, and it all seemed so easy, and then the fertility came up, and my work pressed that harder for her stress on trying to schedule ovulation and all that. She suggested sleeping alone, for months before, to try to, date again I guess, rekindle things. Well, she did relax, and fell harder for the gallery owner, which I support, he was there for her, loves her, can give her what I couldn’t.”

He wet his lips again and blurted out looking at you, “I’m keeping the baby,” freezing in place you looked up at him, “Not, that I never would have, I always was,” he sighed and shook his head then started over, “I wanted you to know, my plans on that front haven’t changed.” With tears in your eyes he inhaled again and you nodded and took another step making him tear his hand from his pocket to grab your arm turning you, “Tiny.”

Facing him again you shook your head and sniffled wiping a stray tear from your cheek, “I’m a terrible person.”

Stepping closer his hands settled on your arms, “You’re nothing of the sort!”

“I wanted to help you. So much.” His eyes narrowed trying to hold back his own ache to cry at your tears, “You wanted a baby, and I wanted to help you. Then I did,” you sniffled again and his lips parted just barely, “Then it hit me, it’s a baby, and suddenly I had nothing to do with it, so I wanted to leave,” Your voice cracked and he moved close drawing you into his chest feeling a tear stream down his cheek finally realizing what he’d done. “I’m such a terrible-,”

“You are not terrible. Nothing of the sort!” Reaching down he curled his fingers under your chin he tilted it back, “I am so sorry. I am the one who should apologize. Just assuming that having a baby with you to raise with someone else, how hard that would be. For Bella, it’s not her egg, she’s been a surrogate before, from a family where that’s a common gift. I should have known how hard that would be for you. This is not just my baby, it’s ours, and the papers are going to say that. As soon as that test went positive I knew it would be hard to have a piece of you and trying to push you into an awkward triangle of parenting where you would be pushed aside when you were the one who gave me this baby. I never knew how hard this would be, and I am so, infinitely sorry for not sitting down to actually think it over, especially for you.”

Unable to think of what to say you nodded and kept walking on and you said, “I found a cute crib.”

Making him smirk down at you as you dried your cheeks with your sleeves. “Oh? Do tell.” For nearly an hour in the dropping of the temperature you chatted strolling closer and closer together all the way under the darkening clouds above all the way around back to the cabin again.

Outside it you looked around saying, “How are they still not here?”

Thranduil shrugged, “Maybe they left a message.” You nodded and followed him up the steps into the cabin saying, “You check the machine, I’ll start on the fire.”

Over to the fireplace he went and crouched while you made for the phone seeing a blinking light on the message machine. Finger outstretched you hit the button and Elros’ voice filled the empty cabin, “Tiny, Thran, ya, turns out there’s a big storm headed out to the cabin and there’s one brewing here at home. Sniffles are going round through our little ones and we can’t leave our Love’s alone in this, so, you two enjoy the weekend, maybe if things pick up we might make it out tomorrow if we can beat the storm.”

The scent of a comforting fire filled the room and you caught Thranduil’s eye with a quick grin, “So, sniffles.”

Nodding back he replied smoothing his palms together trying not to seem too anxious to be alone with you, “Supper then.”

Precooked pot roast, your favorites of his recipes, was put in the oven to warm up and already he was beaming lighting the lanterns along the walls and on the table when the sky darkened even more. Wine from dinner soon bled into whiskey and the bag of smores supplies was too much to ignore anymore. Under the flickers of stars through the spreading clouds a warm fire pit was lit and your giggle filled mess of a conversation continued on between sloppy bouts of feeding one another smores. Only delving into more giggling trips down memory lane as his playful nip at your fingers had come without just a splash more of liquid courage to take it as anything but the liquor fueled accident you assumed it to be.

Up again in a rocking fit of laughter you were seated on blankets and pillows around the campfire with flickers of stars shining in the sky both adjusting the spare blankets wrapped around you for extra warmth. Wetting his lips Thranduil beamed at you brightly as you said, “Miss Marya, and those daily questions on the board. Oh, her favorite,” Thranduil laughed again remembering the one you meant and then nipped at his lip aching to just close the distance and kiss you. “If you had the power to change one person’s life, how would you do it?” Giggling again in his chuckling downing of the last of the whiskey you passed him, looking him over with a lick of your lips in doing so. “What about you? What would you do?”

A single adorable tick of your brow and the bottle fell from his hand at his side to the blanket. Over his shoulders the blankets around him shifted in his cupping of your cheeks, warmly his lips crashed into yours molding against them in the slip of his knee knocking you onto your back. Still holding your cheeks a slip of his thumb dipped between your mouths in a moments pause for him to shift his left leg between yours with his right. And in the darkened gaze up at him and the flick of your tongue against his fingertip the hungry kiss began again with tongues searching blindly for a common rhythm in the mingling of hums. Up around his neck your hands slid keeping him from drawing back again when his hands fumbled the blankets from between you to wrap you around him under his blankets and himself for warmth. A gasping glance up at the clouds releasing a single snowflake was the least clear moment you had in the dip of his lips down the side of your neck.

.

Nestled under the covers a final crack of the dying fire your eyes flickered open in Thranduil’s waking grumble retracting his foot under the covers at the cold, still wrapped around your chest holding you tightly his lips met your neck in your reach up from his back to pull the covers back. “Feels colder.”

Lifting his head Thranduil squinted into the night then felt his eyes snap wide open at the dip of snow you were both in he looped your legs around his middle. And he brought all your snacks, shoes, clothes and blankets between the two of you in the cocoon of blankets he covered you for the trot through the snow to the front door. Giggling to yourself you stayed in his hold while he pushed the door shut with his foot and reached out to lock it, as if that could keep the cold away from you. Straight to the living room where your former snuggling pit was he set you down and coiled up in his blanket after covering you in yours to relight the fire. Again he nipped at his lip and hurried back to you pulling more of the still slightly warm comforters he’d brought to cover your snow coated blankets he tossed away along the wall and wrapped his arms around you laying at your side.

Swallowing dryly he looked you over and his hand sank from your hip over the thigh you shifted to lay on top of his leg, “Are you busy Thursday?”

With a smirk he hummed back, “I’m fairly certain we’ll still be here Thursday.”

Easing your arms around his neck you sighed back deepening his smirk in the subtle tug bringing him against you again, “What ever shall we do?”

He shrugged and playfully replied, “I’m certain we could think of something. Decorating our home for one,” kissing your cheek sweetly then moving his lips back to your neck to hum again, “planning a nursery,”

“Our home?”

Drawing back he cupped your cheek to lock eyes with you, “Oh you’re moving in with me, you and Tauri both. It’s still all boxes, nothing close to ready for our baby.”

Playfully you smirked up at him, “You really think I would just move in with you like that? I mean, I’m going to need a little something extra to convince me.”

“Oh really? How expensive is this something extra?”

You shrugged, “I might settle for you wearing those hot pants of yours to bed.” Making him roll his eyes and crash his lips into yours again wrapping your legs and arms around him in his move above you again muffling your giggles through his deep chuckle

Truly the storm did pick up, and sure enough well into the next week you were trapped, though to keep as much time to make up for lost time you were still enjoying your break when the guys arrived eager to see if you’d coupled or killed each other after the phones going down due to the now passed storm.

All –

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator​, @sweeticedtea​, @ggbbhehe4455​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @here2have-fun​, @lilith15000​, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac​

X Thranduil - @evyiione​, @sweetlytenacious25​, @tigereyesf​, @pastelhexmaniac

#Theincaprincesswritingchallenge #30daywritingchallengebytheincaprincess #hobbit #lotr #Thranduil x Reader OC #Snowed In

[valiantthewriter]

54 and 90 pleaseee

Oooh such a nice combo. Hope you enjoy

Tony, unfortunately, had to come to Stark Industries to settle some paperwork that Pepper left him with. Being the acting CEO was hard and Tony wished Pepper was back from her (well-deserved) vacation already. He was up to his beard in documents and he barely knew where to start. His intern he was fucking on the low wasn’t helping the matter, dressed in tight slacks and a slim button up that hugged his waist just right. The cute tie just made him look like such a little nerd. Tony loved it.

“I’m working, sweet cheeks. Sit over on the sofa and play a game on your tablet or something. It’s gonna be a while,” Tony muttered, tearing his eyes from the young college student back down to the boring spreadsheet and documents he was comparing. Tony was a genius but this legal jargon was so annoying to sift through. Peter huffed in annoyance and walked up to Tony anyways, coming behind the man to rub his shoulders.

“You’ve been working for, like, ever. Play with me,” the little minx insisted. Tony shook his head.

“Nope. Not gonna work this time, brat. Go sit down.” Tony’s first mistake was looking up at Peter and seeing that pout. Damn it, he was suckered again. “Fine. C’mere, you can sit on my lap until I’m done working,” Tony acquiesced, feeling like that was a fair compromise. He was only planning on doing this for another hour or so before taking a lunch/fuck break.

The fact that Peter was satisfied with such a small thing should have been his first warning. Peter cheerfully perched himself on Tony’s lap, ass directly on his cock, purposefully wiggling under the guise of getting comfortable. Tony sighed, allowing it and continued working. He expected Peter to still, but he kept wiggling until he was rolling his hips like he was riding Tony and now Tony was hard and -

“Okay, that’s it, you little minx. Got lube?” Tony asked, grabbing Peter around the middle and pushing up against him. God, that ass felt delicious. Peter nodded and handed a single use packet to Tony. “Condom?”

“Shit,” Peter cursed, trying but failing to find a condom in his pocket.

“I’ll just have to come inside you. It’s your fault for riling me up,” Tony admonished, “Now get those pants off.”

Peter complied, standing to undo his belt and push his pants to his knees and bent over the desk, crumpling some papers. Tony growled at the beautiful sight of Peter’s still sloppy hole, well used just hours ago when Peter brought Tony his morning coffee. He rubbed at Peter’s puffy rim and dipped his thumb in, feeling how loose and wet Peter was. “Such a pretty hole you have,” Tony praised, tearing open the packet of lube with his teeth and smearing it inside Peter and around his rim. With his clean hand he undid his pants and pulled his cock out.

The young man looked over his shoulder, biting his lip. “Let me ride you, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, voice breathy and wrecked already. How could Tony say no? He leaned back in his seat and gestured for Peter to come take his place. Peter back up and grabbed a hold of Tony’s slick cock, lining them up before sinking slowly onto him.

“That’s it, baby, make it good for me. I’m the boss, remember?” Tony said with a smirk. To be fair, Peter was the boss in this affair but he knew the boy just loved the roleplay. Peter nodded his head and moaned as he began to bounce on Tony’s lap, a loud slapping noise filling the room. “Good boy,” Tony growled, hands coming to rest on Peter’s chest as he stared at where he was sliding in and out of Peter.

They kept the pace for what felt like forever, Peter alternating between bouncing and grinding on Tony’s cock. When Peter began stroking himself Tony started to come undone. “Yeah baby, make yourself feel good. You know I love that,” Tony encouraged, thrusting up now to meet Peter with each bounce. The noise of skin on skin grew louder.

A litany of ‘Ahs’ and mumbled curses fell from Peter’s lips, hips stuttering as he came all over his shirt, staining it with his release. Tony kept thrusting into Peter, coming deep inside the boy, loving how it spilled over and around his cock. He stayed deep inside Peter for a moment, the younger man grinding against him as they came down from their high. The dressed, Peter making a face at the way the cum was dripping out of him.

“Go get me some coffee.”

“Ugh.”

#val writes #anon asks #anon prompts #starker #tony x peter #peter x tony #nff

[dolamrotha]

@theeladydisdain​ sent a prompt from the TROPE COMBO LIST : fake dating + suddenly flustered because of a  Particular Outfit™ (accepting!)

It had started as a one time favor when the ex that had cheated on her invited her to his wedding with a plus one. Any awkwardness had been more than worth it just to see his face change from smug to confused to pretending-not-to-care when he saw her walking in with Éomer. (  Éomer who, by some instinct she did not know whether to bless or curse, had spent the rest of the evening touching her: his hand at the small of her back when they walked, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, holding her hand, holding her just a little more closely than he had to when they danced.)

And then that one time favor had turned into a second favor when another event had needed a date. Then that had turned into a third event, which had turned into a misunderstanding, which had turned into a Thing, and now everyone in the world seemed to think that they were dating....including the woman who had basically helped to raise  Éomer and  Éowyn. She was old, now, and the closest thing that  Éomer had to a grandmother, and she had been so thrilled when she had heard they were “together” that neither of them had any heart to tell the truth.

Instead, they kept on going. They went to family birthday parties together, they went to formal events together, they went to meet Estella and Merry’s baby together. They never really did much of anything, beyond hold hands and kiss cheeks, and still Lothiirle had to remind herself each time that it was just for show. That the fluttering in her stomach needed to die down, because there wasn’t any point. Not to mention the fact that she wasn’t sure she liked the way  Éowyn had been looking at them, lately.  Éowyn, one of the few who knew that they Weren’t Truly Dating.  

Not that it seemed to help matters much. 

In fact, it only seemed to make them worse. The other day, she’d nearly cried when he had put his hand on her knee. 

And now they were going somewhere again, this time to the yearly summer beach festival in Dol Amroth, the one Lothiriel had all but begged the rest of them to attend. 

Though she was second-guessing all that begging, now that she was twisting and turning in front of a mirror to look at herself in the bathing suit  Éowyn had insisted she wear. It was different than her usual. Smaller, for one thing. She tended to prefer something....sturdier. One pieces, maybe with cutouts, something she could run and swim in without worry. 

“If this comes off in the first wave that hits the beach, I’m going to drown you,” Lothiriel grumbles, trying to tie the halter-top more tightly ‘round her neck. It wasn’t skimpy, at least : the straps that made the halter ties were thick enough, and though the cut exposed rather....more than usual, it was at least a decent in-between of what she was used to and what she wasn’t. 

And it was green, instead of blue. 

With a sigh, she lets her hands fall to her hips, pinches at the skin above the line of her swimsuit bottoms with a frown. All this time and she still felt so....soft, when she was in the same room as Éowyn. So ordinary. 

“Okay, first of all, stop that,”  Éowyn admonishes, stepping up beside Lothiriel to swat her hands away. “You look amazing. Second, the way you have that thing tied, you’re going to have a hard time taking it off at the end of the day, so you can stop worrying about that.”  

“I still don’t see why I shouldn’t just wear my normal suit,” Lothiriel sighs, fish-tail braiding her hair with practiced fingers. 

“I told you, if you’re making me go to a beach party, we’re going to coordinate,”  Éowyn says, in a way that makes Lothiriel cast a sidelong glance at her. She’s wearing a suit in a soft gold color, with a white cover-up knotted at her hip.

“You’ve never cared about coordinating before.” 

“I do today. Now where’s that sunscreen you said you had? If I’m going to burn to a crisp for you, I’m not going to do it literally.” 

“On the table,” Lothiriel replies, shimmying into a pair of denim shorts, kicking her feet into a nearby pair of sandals. “But bring it with you, we should probably get going.” 

Why  Éowyn ‘s smile goes decidedly cat-who-got-the-canary at that, Lothiriel isn’t sure...and isn’t sure she wants to know. 

But when they get to the beach, when they clamber out of  Éowyn ‘s car and meet the others in the parking lot, she knows. Because  Éomer nearly stops dead in his tracks. 

Éomer, who isn’t wearing a shirt, and whose swimming trunks should really be illegal. 

“Hi,” she says at the same time that he says “Hey,” and then they both - - at the same time - - stumble through two different versions of “you look great” until they’re both left standing there, awkwardly, toe-to-toe and silent. 

“ Oh, for the sake of the Valar,”  Éowyn says, loudly, making both of them jump. “Help each other put sunscreen on and get over it, everyone seems to know this whole “fake dating” thing turned into “really dating” after the second date.” 

Éomer barely catches the tube of sunscreen that  Éowyn tosses at him. He’s too busy glaring at his sister. 

“We’re going down to the beach to set up,” she says, as Faramir tries to hide his grin. “We’ll meet you down there. And if you aren’t both grinning like the stupid love-struck idiots you are when you get there, I’m leaving.” 

When they go (not without several whispers and glances behind them),  Éomer and Lothiriel are left in silence,  Éomer still holding the tube of sunscreen as though it might explode. “I ah-....do you actually want me to....?” 

“Sure,” she says, in a voice that barely makes it above a whisper. “I...put some on in the car, but I couldn’t reach my back.” 

He swallows so hard that she can see his throat bob, but he nods and she turns around, pulling her braid over one shoulder, heart pounding. 

The lotion is cool as he spreads it across the backs of her shoulders but is hands are warm, and it’s the warmth that makes Lothiriel shiver. He pauses for a minute, and then continues, moving down her spine, then - - with another hesitating pause - - down her back to the top of her shorts. She doesn’t want him to stop, but he does. He has to. “There,” he says, in a deeper tone than usual. “My turn.” 

Her breath is snagged so firmly in her throat that she’s not sure that she’ll ever get it back, and he barely looks at her as he passes her the sunscreen and turns around. Like his hands, his skin is warm. The muscles beneath the skin are hard, though the skin above them seems to jump and ripple as she goes, corresponding to her touch. And Lothiriel has the stupid, inexplicable urge to press a kiss to the back of his shoulder-blade, to stand on tip-toe and kiss each shoulder. To wrap her arms around him and press her face against his back and not move until....

“Done?” 

“Yeah.” 

She caps the tube and waits for him to turn, but for a long, strange moment, he just stands still. And then...

Without a word he turns to her, and her eyes have to skim from his chest to his shoulders before they get to his eyes, and if her heart wasn’t hammering before? It certainly is, now. 

“What  Éowyn said,” he murmurs when she looks up at him at last. “About....us.” 

Much as she wants to look away she doesn’t, only bites her lip...just to watch as his eyes move to her mouth, and to feel like the entire world had shivered underneath her. 

“Do you want that, Lothiriel?” 

“....What?” 

“For this to be real.” 

The breath she takes is shaky, but her hand is surprisingly steady as it slips into his, as their fingers intertwine. And she doesn’t stop him when his hand lifts to her waist and tugs her closer. And all she can think is yes, yes, yes. So many echoes of the word “yes” that she doesn’t realize she hasn’t said it until he dips his head to look at her. 

“I kind of think it already is,” she says, with a confidence in the words that surprises her. But not  Éomer, it seems : he only smiles a slow, warm sort of smile that she hasn’t truly seen before, but only glimpsed. 

“Good,” he says. “Because I couldn’t do this, otherwise.” 

His lips are even warmer than his hands, Lothiriel thinks when he kisses her. Warm and gentle, even as he wraps his arm more fully ‘round her waist to hold her close against him. 

It takes a long time for them to meet  Éowyn and Faramir down on the beach. But when they do, they’re both grinning like the stupid, love-struck idiots they had always been. 

(And Éowyn? She doesn’t stop teasing them about it for two full weeks.) 

#eothiriel #my writing #prompt requests #wow i love me some idiots in love! #in which they were basically Just Dating the whole time and everyone knew it but them #tumblr is apparently eating asks so i'm just making this a text post lol

[8bityeol]

Unorthodox [m]

genre : smut

summary : you broke up with your boyfriend, and yet you still find yourself underneath him.

Your hands leafed through the rack as your eyes looked for the perfect little combo. You didn't have an exact style in mind, maybe something nice and perhaps powder blue. You didn't want something too gaudy and try hard, you'd never forgive yourself if you wore something like that. 

Baekhee was on the other side of the rack also working through the pieces. "I thought you guys weren't together anymore." She said, breaking your stealthy concentration. You looked up at her, "Oh no, we aren't together. You know that."

She sighed and pressed her lips into a tight line. "Well, if that's what you think." You stopped looking. "What does that mean?" "Do you know how absurd this is? You're looking for lingrie that you'll wear when you have sex with your ex. On Valentines day," she said.   You didn't find it weird, in fact it felt normal. You'd broken up with Jongin sometime ago, three months give or take. You'd ended on mutual terms with  both acknowledging that you were better as friends.  "What wrong with that?" you asked. Yes, you were breaking the good old code or whatever, but you liked the situation you had with Jongin. You couldn't imagine  blocking him out of your life, you had history and the hiccups were minor. He hadn't hurt you and you likewise. "It's not normal. You should be going out, finding some new dick," she said, pulling out a black teddy. She held it against her frame and turned to a mirror, posing ever-so-slightly. "How does this look?" "It's cute. Besides, I don't want new 'dick'. I like being single," you said. She blinked rapidly and stared at you with her mouth slackened. "Single, are you really sure? When you pop out three of his kids please don't start going on about being single. You might as well still be in a relationship." "This is a new age thing, just accept it. I don't have feelings per say and he doesn't too.We're just ex's that still appreciate each other." "This isn't going to end well," she said, a conflicted look coming over her dainty features. "Promise you won't hurt  yourself?" You scoffed. "I won't. Now, how's this one?" You asked, pulling up a powder blue set. 

Baekhee's words had loomed over you all day. Was it really wrong? Would you end up hurt? You'd almost cancelled your plans with Jongin but in split moment of clarity you decided against it. It was just fun and besides, it would be better than wallowing by yourself on your first Valentines day alone in three years. You checked the time. Twenty minutes till he arrived. You slipped on your dress, it was a dark and flowly little thing that he'd gotten you two years ago. You couldn't help but be surprised that it still fit after all this time. You heard the door rattle. Yes, he still had the key. Zipping your dress, you wandered out of room and began walking down the stairs. You hadn't expected him to come so soon. "I thought you'd be here at ten," you said as you entered the living room. You stopped for a moment, catching your breath as you saw the item he held in his hands. "Oh." "Is it too much? I thought it be odd if i didn't bring anything,"  He stared down at the bouquet of flowers, a group of pretty 'pale' roses. You shook your head. "No, they're beautiful," you said, hugging him as you took the bouquet. "How  did you know I've been needing something to spruce up this place? Are you a mind reader?". "Only slightly so," he cracked a smile as you pulled away. Whilst you propped the flowers into an empty vase, Baekhee's ominous words ... Was it really right for him to bring flowers? He'd done on the previous valentines. Who were kidding, you'd also dressed up for him, like you would if you were still his girlfriend.  You mentally slapped yourself, Baekhee's words were really getting to you and if you kept dwelling on them then you just might ruin the nice evening you'd planned. No one wants to take a sour person to the fair. "Ready to go?" he asked. You nodded, "Let me get my coat.”

You'd barely made it inside the house and your lips were already on his, tasting the sugary remnants of the bubble gum flavored candy floss. The lady at the counter had shaped it into a large heart and bid you both a lovely life together. Really one of you should've said something, but no one said a word of protest.  As he shut the door with his foot, his hand moved under your coat. You broke from the kiss. "Let's go up stairs," you said, pulling his arm from under your jacket. Although hall-way sex sounded particulary enticing, you wanted to actually show off your set. You'd bought it for a reason and it demanded to be appreciated. He rid  of his jacket and you followed suit. He was hot on your steps as you ran up the stairs.  You turned into your doorway, flicking on the light as you stepped into the room. Wasting no time, Jongin had his hands around your waist, his body flushed against yours as his lips found solace in the length of your neck. "Slow down," you breathed into his ear as your fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt. He smirked into your neck, "How can I when you're doing that?" You bit the curve of his ear. "Practice." You pushed his chest from you, moving him towards the edge of the bed and only stopping when the backs of his knees hit the edge and he fell onto the covers.  "Stay there." "I'm listening," he said, eager eyes wandering up and down your body. You could feel heat bubbling in the pit of your stomach as his eyes burned holes into your clothes. First, you undid the tie around your hair. Feeling your heart beat hard in your chest, you turned around and slowly unzipped your dress letting the dark material fall down at your feet.  You could feel the nerves creeping up on you. Maybe this was all too much, who in their right mind dons a  lingerie set for their supposedly ex? Well, you were in the deep end now. You turned back to face him. "Do you like it?" you asked. "Like it? I love it. Come here" he said, holding a hand out to you. The moment you held his hand, he pulled you into his lap you yelped at his eagerness. "So. fucking. beautiful," he muttered as he kissed the fleshy mounds of your chest.  His warm hands grabbed caressed your arse, squeezing the plump  the skin whenever he bit the valley of your chest. Your toes curled in arousal knowing that when morning came, your body would be decorated with the event of the night before. You shifted in his hold, moving your thighs to either side of his. "I don't thank you understand how much you're affecting me right now," he said, voice deep and sensual. "Stop, you're making me blush," you said. He smiled up at you, "Good." His tongue darted out to make a wet circle over your bra, flicking the pert bud with the tip of his tongue. "Jongin, you're gonna ruin my bra," you said as you watched him through hodded eyes. He looked so sinful. He peered up at you, "Why? Are you planning on showing it someone else?" Scoffing, you shook your head. "You never know," "In that case..." One his hands went around to your back and unclipped the bra, making it hang loose around your shoulders. You shimmed out of the bra, throwing it somewhere behind you. His hand immediately went up to knead you breast, and pinching the nipples whenever he felt so. Your hips grinded down on him, the center of your thighs coming into close contact with the steadily growing bulge underneath his trousers. "Please, don't do that" he grinded out, hand forcefully stilling your movements. "You're no fun," you said, running your hand through his hair. His hand moved down from your breasts, to your stomach and then to the edge of your panties. He delved inside your panties, long fingers running up and down your slit. You moved your hips against his hand, enjoying the way the ridges of his hand seemed to mold perfectly to you. You sighed as you felt his fingers prodding your entrance. "Do you like that?" he asked, grinning at you with a smug glint in his eye. You opened your mouth to speak, but he'd pushed his fingers into you. "No answer?"" he said, using his thumb to rub circles against your clit. "You're the worst," you muttered as you began to increase his speed. "In that case.." he said, slipping his fingers out and making you groan. "Shh." You'd begun to argue, playfully of course, but he'd suddenly flipped you around and now you lay on the bed, looking at up him with surprise and arousal. He leant down and kissed down the length of your sternum, making you arch your back into his touch.  "Wait," he said, sitting up. "How do you want me?" you asked as you watched him slipping off his shirt. From this angle, you could really appreciate him. His ungodly tanned skin that seemed to adsorb the light and the lean muscle that lay underneath skin. And of course, the dark line of hair that dissipated under the band of his pants. "It's Valentines day, what do you want?" You bit your lip in between your teeth as your mind raced through the various poses that excited you. Finally, you settled on one, one you both enjoyed. "From the back," you said. He moved off the bed, and stood at the edge of it, undoing his pants in a ridiculously slow manner. He was getting off from you watching him, you could totally tell. Once his pants were rid off, he slid his boxers off and you, obnoxiously stared at his package. "You might as well take a picture," he said. "I might well," you smirked and crawled to the center of the bed, eyes locked with his before you turned around. You felt the bed dipping and you waited in anticipation for the first touch.  And boy did come, it the form of a hard slap to your ass that is. You yelped at the blow, muscles tensing ever so slightly. This time, you were prepared for the next blow, he didn't hit hard, he would never. He knew the limits. His hand then massged the rouged cheeks, feeling the heat from under them. He hooked his fingers underneath your panties and slipped them down your rump and through your legs. "You know you have the best ass right?" he said, massaging the flesh. You looked back him, "I know." Chuckling, he ran a hand down the valley of your arse and then rubbed your clit. You were still somewhat buzzed from the last event and so you pushed against his hand, wanting more. He pulled his hand away and you lay there waiting for him. You gasped into the pillow when you felt him enter you in one movement. Your fingers grasped the duvet till your knuckles began to pale. God, he felt so full.  His hands rested at the crook of your waist as he pulled out and back in till the hilt. "You feel so good," he breathed out, plunging back into you deep. You felt him move again. This time he'd found a steady beat and was moving into you slow and painfully arousing.  Your toes curled tighter, and you lips wet. "Jongin, p-please move faster," you whined, voice ever so muffled by the pillow. "Beg," he said. You felt your body flush. "Please move faster." He moved in hard and deep and you had it in you not to cry out in pleasure. "What was that? I'm sorry, I didn't catch it." "Jongin....please, just," you uttered in broken pauses. He leant down and kissed your back, "Since you asked so nicely." You could only find solace into your pillow and you hoped your neighbors wouldn't be knocking at your door tomorrow. You don't know your knees managed to hold you up, but remained steady as his thrusts increased in ferocity.  You could could only hear his string of curses, the sound of skin against skin and the otherworldly moans that spewed from your lips. His hand delved under you and rested upon your center. He rubbed circles into your clit and felt your own hips beginning to jerk hard and rough and against his own. You could feel it. It was just there, right at the tip of your tongue.   "Ah-" you moaned as you felt your muscles tensing as waves ran over your body. Under the torment of your squeezing walls, Jongin felt his own resolve beginning to crumble. You could only hear him saying your name over and over, like a broken record. You fell into heap on the bed, felling that all strength had evaded you. Jongin fell beside you, his head fortunately hitting your other pillow. Well, what used to be his pillow. You scrubbed the thought from your mind. But, In your after-sex haze you couldn't help but stare at him, like you would've done two months ago. "Are you sleeping over?" You asked. He shook his head, an unreadable looking coming over his features. "I can't, I have work tomorrow." You felt silly for even hoping he might say yes. He had things to do and you weren't the constant in his life anymore as much as you both acted you were.n God what was happening to you? Whatever it was, you didn't like it. "Oh, alright then," you plastered an easy-going smile on your face. He sat up and moved off the bed, "Come, let's take a shower." "Sure," you said. 

A/N 

I love writing girl!exo into my fics (baekhyun=baekhee). Anyways, I hope you all had fun reading this! 

#exo smut #kai smut #kpop smut #jongin smut #exo scenario #exo angst #jongin scenario #kai scenario #kai imagine #kai #exo #jongin #kai fanfic #exowritersnet

[ol-razzle-dazazzle]

1-50 for the ask game and I'm not sorry. ✨

WYV ILY 

ALSO TAGGING MY GF BC IM GAY @perfect-murderer

Under a read more bc long post 

1. Wake her up with kisses lesbian or play with her hair while you wait for her to wake up lesbian- Wake her up (wake her up inside) can’t wake up (wake her up inside) SMOOCH HER

2. X files lesbian or twin peaks lesbian- X-Files, I’ve always been gay for Scully

3. Pit Bull lesbian or corgi lesbian- I’ve never though about this but corgis! they look so happy and small!

4. Sweet tooth lesbian or saturates-everything-in-hot sauce lesbian- I can’t stand spice and I love sweet stuff (like my gf...and lemon candy)

5. Sunflower lesbian or white lily lesbian- As much as I love lily gay symbolism, sunflowers

6. Rose gold lesbian or white gold lesbian- this hit that ice cold I actually prefer rose gold

7. Dunkin’ donuts/Starbucks lesbian or strictly local cafe lesbian- I’ve never had Dunkin Donuts/Starbucks so cafe!

8. Sunrise lesbian or sunset lesbian- Sunsets, they also tend to be the best time to go crab catching~

9. Emily Dickinson lesbian or maya Angelou lesbian- I THINK EMILY DICKINSON (IS A LESBIAN)

10. Dark sexy ball gown or cute bright ball gown lesbian- depends...if the dark one shows too much skin (I tend to not like showing skin personally) then bright, but I love a dark dress as much as anyone!

11. Strawberry lesbian or watermelon lesbian- Watermelon lesbian all the way, though nutella dipped strawberries...

12. High waisted shorts lesbian or loose rolled up jeans lesbian- Loose jeans...I’m too ‘thicc’ and too short for any jeans to fit me comfortably tbh

13. 60s chic lesbian or 60s hippie lesbian- chic

14. Band lesbian or orchestra lesbian- NO THIS IS SO HARD I MEAN...WELL I DON’T PLAY BRASS SO ORCHESTRA BUT I PLAY TUNE PRECUSSION SO BAND BUT I LOVE BOTH BUT I LOVE BIG BAND STUFF BUT I LOVE ORCHESTRA I’M JUST A MUSIC HOE BLEASE I mean prob band

15. Choir lesbian or garage band lesbian- Garage band, most of the choir girls who’ve I’ve had crushes on turned out to be homophobic :/

16. Twirl her around lesbian or get twirled lesbian- TWIRL HER TWIRL HER TWIRL HER but like, if there’s a dip I’m fuckinG DIPPING BUT I LEAD OKAY EVEN IF I’M TERRIBLE 

17. Sit com lesbian or artsy independent dramatic romance film from France lesbian- I like the ‘gal pal’ sweet lesbians but they’re both paired up with guys sadly (COUGH COUGH PARKS AND REC) so probably dramatic? I’m a drama loving bitch

18. Bicycle lesbian or bus lesbian- Mike on his bike and bus lesbian is wlw mlm solidarity (blease ask me about the legend that is Mike) but yeah sadly bus lesbian, I can’t ride a bike and whenever I do I hum the HGSS bike theme and fall. Trains and ships are better

19. Jelly fish lesbian or dolphin lesbian- Jellyfish!!! BUT CRABS ARE PRIME!

20. Biology lesbian or physics lesbian- Biology lesbian by far, gimme that gay bats and crabs and sexual mitochondriac tension

21. Studio Ghibli lesbian or Cartoon Network lesbian- As much as I love SU and OK KO and whatnot, I gotta go with Ghibli (is there a gay Ghibli movie? blease say)

22. Take the spider outside lesbian or scream at her to take the spider outside lesbian- take the spider outside! I always do that, even if I’m scared

23. Serena Williams lesbian or Ronda Rousey lesbian- Serena...those muscles...those legs...she’s absolutely gorgeous

24. Prismacolor lesbian or faber castell lesbian- Faber Castle always, though I have gotten Prismacolor for birthdays and they’re high quality it always seems too...elite for me

25. “Campers are for the weak” lesbian or “I will die before sleeping on the ground” lesbian- Campers are for the weak, but use a damn sleeping bag and tent yo

26. Calling every female character they see their girlfriend lesbian or “Dana Scully isn’t your girlfriend, I am” lesbian- SCULLY I’M GAY but the latter, I wouldn’t want any character to actually date me they should date each other

27. Roller skate lesbian or ice skate lesbian- when I was a wee bean roller skates but like...I always used to fall. So Ice Skates? No yoi but like it’s cold and cute and lowkey holding my gf so she doesn’t trip more like clinging onto her legs as I do the splits and break all my bones

28. “Christmas carols are dumb and over played” lesbian or belting out all I want for Christmas is you at the top of their lungs lesbian- Dumb and overplayed, I will listen to my gf and join her but like,,,tragic shopaholic mother backstories,,,always, always playing, always there. 

29. Buy her something lesbian or make her something lesbian- depends, I love making things but I have like, no dexterity so probably buy?

30. Cherry mojitos lesbian or cherry flavored vodka lesbian- ...I must betray the rat bois...but mojitos. I hate mint but it’s so fucking ~*fresh*~ (I don’t drink but I’ve made ‘mocktails’)

31. Write her poems lesbian or bake her cookies lesbian- Y’ALL ALREADY KNOW I’M A GAY ASS POET MY MAJOR ENGLISH WORK IS LITERALLY GAY POEMS BASED OFF FLOWERS

32. Tummy kisses lesbian or thigh kisses lesbian- t...thigh kisses....////

33. I’ll fight anyone that makes my girl cry lesbian or I’ll psychologically destroy anyone that makes my girl cry lesbian- Both, nemo impune lassit bitch- Edgar Allen Poe

34. Fall asleep in her arms lesbian or rub her back until she falls asleep in your arms lesbian- rub her back until she falls asleep in your arms

35. Floral pattern lesbian or tie dye lesbian- floral pattern, love those rainbows but plants dude,,,

36. Snake lesbian or frog lesbian- *tries not to make a kanako/suwako reference* Snakes, they blep, as much as I love memes. 

37. Send her memes lesbian or “if you call me the rarest Pepe one more time I swear to god”- SEND HER MEMES SEND HER MEMES I WANT TO NUT (Never leave her Unconditionally love her Treat her right)

38. Star Wars lesbian or lord of the rings lesbian- Star Wars, i’m not hugely into either but star wars

39. Spice girls lesbian or 5th harmony lesbian- no clue,,, but probably 5th harmony?

40. Pink hair lesbian or blue hair lesbian- depends, light cotton candy pink but on someone else blue (gimme that dark or lilac purple any gay tho)

41. Maple syrup lesbian or berry syrup lesbian-Maple syrup slorp slorp slorp

42. Vinyl lesbian or cassette lesbian- Vinyl? 

43. Paris lesbian or Amsterdam lesbian- never been to Amsterdam so probably Amsterdam? 

44. Jazz lesbian or swing lesbian- hHHhHHhHHHhhHhH DONT MAKE ME CHOOSe I LoVE THEM BOTH oKAY????

45. Pin stripes lesbian or plaid lesbian- Pin stripes forever, flannel looks good on other people but not my thing

46. Mini golf date lesbian or bowling date lesbian- bowling because there’s usually an arcade and snacks! I usually enjoy the shoot em ups and pinball and I’ll fuking destroy at air hockey and cause copious collateral damage, but mini golf is senseless whacking destruction so if there’s no security cameras mini golf

47. D E S T R O Y her at Mario kart lesbian or let her win lesbian- try but end up losing, but at least I have the cutest character-cart combo

48. Pullover hoodie lesbian or zip up hoodie lesbian- Zip ups forever, but like, not those shitty half crop top zip up shit, gimme an actual hoodie you heathens

49. Band tshirt lesbian or fandom tshirt lesbian- I got pokemon t-shirts so fandom?

50. Love her with your entire heart lesbian or lover her with your entire soul lesbian- uhhh both??? If souls are actual things then souls, bc giving someone your blood pumper would be messy, and I’m a gay ass demon