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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

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

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

word count: 17.2k

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

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Harry hates clubs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the f—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re going to hell.”

“I’m already there, mate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, boomer.”

“You’re older than I am!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the culture shock hit.

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

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

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Precisely his point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So how do you like your new home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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rogue-durin-16 · 3 years

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THINGS NEVER GO AS PLANNED (Part V/VII)

"the perfect excuse"

Summary: After Fred's death, George and Y/n lean on each other to carry on. This wasn't the most brilliant idea, though; George was pretty much in love with the girl, and Y/n— well, she had been dating Fred prior to the Battle of Hogwarts.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Genre: angst mostly

Tags:

Suggested by: @crispykittywitch

Things never go as planned: @sarcasticallywitty15 @beautyschoo1dropout @s1ut4georgeweasley @sunshineandshadowss @missmulti @weasleywh0r3s @andreaareynoso @georgeweasley19 @dianarte

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa

Warnings: language, drinking, makeout getting spicy

A/N: idk what happened here, this was not planned I'm just horny ig??? Anyway have this part that was definitely not meant to unfold like this but hey, I'm not mad, so enjoy <3

Prologue: the aftermath

Part I: sleepless nights

Part II: candy floss

Part III: shock therapy

Part IV: wrong name

Part VI: the downfall

Part VII: apart

Epilogue: I still love you

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

I checked myself in the mirror one last time before heading to the kitchen. There was no actual need of dressing up nicely, since we both would be spending New Year's Eve at the flat, but since Ginny, Ron, Harry and Hermione were coming, we decided to clean up for our guests.

"Hmm, smells good." I leaned on the doorframe, observing George finishing cooking.

"These past five months' messes paid off." He joked, grabbing a kitchen rag to clean his hands. "Can you keep an eye on it while I go get read..." He trailed off automatically when his gaze landed on me. "Woah— okay." He cleared his throat, eyes slightly widened at my outfit, and I couldn't help but enjoy a bit too much his attention. "You look really good— is that the new blouse?"

"Yup." I replied, a coy smile dancing on my lips as I stepped to him and picked the kitchen rag myself. "C'mon, go clean up nice for our guests."

It only took him a couple of minutes, since he might have had his suit ready.

"Mind lending a hand with the tie, love?" He requested, stepping into the kitchen with his attention on the shirt's cuffs which he was buttoning up.

Damn, he looked so good; it wasn't even fair.

"Y/n?" He chuckled, finally looking up.

"Uh— yeah! Sure." I threw the rag over the counter and led my hands to the tie, taking my time to make the knot; maybe I wanted an excuse to have my hands on him.

We stayed in silence until I was finished; it wasn't an awkward silence, but it wasn't comfortable either— it was, in fact, stifling.

"There you go." I more like whispered instead of talking, sliding my hands down his chest briefly. His eyebrows were knitted, trying to decipher my demeanor; his hands caught one of mines before they fell limply on my sides, and for a second, I thought he was about to do something really stupid —something I had wanted to do for the last three months—, but then the bell rang and we stepped away from each other, going to receive Ron and Hermione as if that moment hadn't happened at all.

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

GINNY'S P. O. V.

I took a sip of my brandy as we laughed at Ron's joke, my eyes drifting to Hermione and then to Y/n's lap, where Teddy rested, giggling and blabbering nonsense at George's hand movements and funny faces.

George had confided me quite ashamed that he fancied Y/n about two years ago, but I knew the looks he gave her were of something more than a little crush, if you may.

Had I not known Y/n, I would be worried she was projecting Fred onto the younger twin, but the girl knew better than that, so when we got to experience how their domestic life unfolded during New Year's Eve, I felt nothing but happiness at the way Y/n laughed at my brother's jokes, or how she stared at him in pure adoration as he played with Tonks's and Lupin's baby.

"You're getting him waaay too exited, mate." Harry chuckled, extending his arms for Y/n to hand him the toddler. "He needs to go to sleep."

Teddy, who we had put to sleep in Y/n's room shortly after dinner, had woken up right before the New Year came to us, and, since he refused to go back to sleep, Y/n took on the task of entertaining him. George joined as soon as he witnessed Teddy's hair going rainbow-like at Y/n's actions.

"Actually, I think we all need to go to sleep." I said, leaving the glass on the table.

"Boo, you're supposed to be the youngest!" Y/n whined, earning a laughter from the rest.

"Ginny's right, though." Ron stood up and all of us followed his lead. "It's really late and I don't want mum to see us drunk when she wakes up."

"Not a good impression to make on your future mother-in-law, oi, Granger?" George's tease made Hermione's cheeks flush, murmuring an 'idiot' before giving him a hug. "Take care, all of you." He added after he and Y/n had hugged everyone goodbye.

The five of us exited the flat and apparated in the Burrow's yard in silence until Harry asked, "are they together now?"

"We don't know." I confessed with a grimace.

"Well, together or not, they're definitely fucking."

"Ronald!" Hermione exclaimed, slapping her boyfriend's arm.

"I just said what everyone else's thinking." He defended himself, and none of us could deny it.

READER'S P. O. V.

We began to pick up the dirty plates, glasses and cutlery in order to take them to the sink and leave them there to wash them tomorrow.

"Oi, look what I found." George wiggled a firewhiskey bottle at me from the living room.

Without thinking twice, I grabbed the half empty ice cream tub I had just left over the counter, a couple of clean glasses, and I made my way to George.

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

"—and that was only in our... Third- no- fourth! year?" He finished the story, joining me in the giggling; I didn't doubt the story was funny, but I was sure it seemed ten times funnier because of the alcohol. "Wait- where were you back then?" He knitted his brows in confusion.

"A year below you." I laughed.

He snorted. "Below me," he took a look at his empty glass before reaching for the bottle with a laugh "hell, I wish."

I couldn't help but laugh too. "Sure you do." I wouldn't have laughed if I were sober, but then again I highly doubted he would have said that if he were sober. "Y'know- you can have me below you anytime you want, Georgie." I replied between lazy giggles, leaning on him so he would pour more firewhiskey into my glass too.

A loud snort left George, triggering one of my own. "Sure, darling." He loosened his tie and tossed it to the floor. "Why's it so hot in here?"

"Mmm... Must be 'cause of you." I threw my head back to stare at the ceiling. "Or... maybe's just the alcohol." I groaned at the feeling of my head spinning, and sat upright again to chunk the now full glass in one go. "I'm hot too."

"Oh darling... You can't even imagine how much— I mean... Every day— but tonight you look partic... particular...ly? Dashing." George was leaning back against the armchair's feet, his eyes closed, his cheeks flushed and an amused smile dancing on his lips. "Why must you be so bloody perfect?" I found myself staring a bit too much at the ginger. "There's still a conscious part of my brain that knows I shouldn't be saying this shit." An idle chuckle left his chest and one of his eyes peeked open. "I'm gonna blame the alcohol, aight?"

Right, the alcohol —The perfect excuse.

I laid my glass on the floor and got up, stumbling towards him. "Oi, careful— you don't wanna trip and fall." He laughed, steadying me with his hands as I plopped down on my knees besides him. "We won't make it to St. Mungo—" With one hand on his shoulder and one on his cheek, I went for it, cutting him mid-sentece in the process.

It was one hell of a sloppy kiss, and I was so concentrated on doing it right that I didn't even hear the moan I sent into his mouth.

What the hell are you doing?, My mind screamed.

I attempted to pull away, but I felt George's hands on my sides, clutching my clothes in his fists to tug me flush against him. I took the cue and did my best to climb onto his lap and straddle his legs without losing balance.

What we were doing felt terribly wrong, and, the morning after, we would regret this little slip so much, but in that exact moment I could only think that his lips tasted like fire whiskey, strawberry and chocolate, and that the quiet moans slipping through them between the kisses were loud enough to quiet down everything in my head.

I stopped to take a breath, resting my forehead against his; our eyes locked, pupils blown out.

Heavy pants left our lungs, as if we had just run a marathon. It felt like the kiss had made a bomb go off, one that we had unconsciously been building up those past months.

It took an instant of looking at each other to know we thought the same; we wouldn't get this opportunity ever again, so at that point, we might as well carry on and pray for it not to be too bad in the morning.

This time it was George who smashed his lips against mines, teeth clashing and tongues going in each other's mouths. The situation was escalating quick; a tad too quick, I daresay.

He cursed and mumbled something about too many clothes, proceeding to pull his shirt over his head with my help, given that he could only do so much with that amount of alcohol in his sistem.

I could do even less, though. It was proven when I first attempted to get rid of my blouse.

I struggled to unbutton it, an awkward, dizzy silence falling among us before his hands travelled to mines "Wait... Lemme..." He frowned, finding that simple task as frustratingly difficult as I did. "Bloody..." A browned off grunt left his swollen lips.

"Tear it." I mumbled, letting my hands roam over his chest.

"You sure?"

I hummed, somehow impatient. "We'll fix it tomorrow." I captured his lips once more.

We'd fix it tomorrow.

I felt his hands fisting my shirt by the cleavage before giving it a firm tug, making my gasp; I wasn't expecting all the buttons to come off in one go, given his drunken state.

I didn't even have time to discard the piece of clothing before his lips attacked my neck, shutting my brain off instantly due to the sensation.

"You want this?" He whispered in my ear, his hands going up from my thighs to my back until they reached the clasp of my bra.

Not trusting my voice, I nodded vigorously, making the world shake around me so hard that I had to shut my eyes.

I felt a feather kiss on my shoulder and his fingers unfastening the bra; he was doing his best to be smooth, which wasn't a lot, but I could tell he was trying hard.

"You're so sweet." I blurted out as his fingertips ghosted over my skin while he removed the top from my body.

He tried to reply something, but articulating kept getting harder and harder as we went deeper into it, so he gave up on words and so did I; at least until his fingers slid between my legs and started to tease me through the fabric of my remaining clothes.

"Bed." I whimpered, unconsciously rocking my hips against George's hand whilst my own travelled to his crotch, feeling his erection and consequently earning a moan from him.

"D'you think we'll make it?" He inquired, already retreating his hand briefly so we could stand up.

Soon enough we were stumbling to my room, hands all over each other, bumping against the furniture and walls due to not being able to stand upright.

When we fell on the bed and tossed the rest of our clothes to the floor, it began to dawn on me how bad this was going to be.

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

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

My head was pounding violently in my skull; that's most likely the reason why I woke up. It took a moment for the blurry memories of the previous night to flash into my mind.

"You feel... so good..."

"Fuck- George— faster, please..."

"Y/n— I'm-"

"No." I shoot up, not acknowledging that Y/n was still asleep by my side. "Fuck no. Nononono." I ignored the terrible headache caused by the hungover and, grabbing my clothes, I exited the room. "No fucking way." I kept mumbling to myself, stalking to my dorm to throw on some fresh clothes.

I sat on my bed, my hands running through my locks, bringing back the memories of Y/n's tugs on them in the process.

"What the fuck did I do." I almost choked on the sentence.

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

Text

Under the Mistletoe

pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warning: smut, cursing, fluff

word count: 8,467

a/n: I didn’t want to edit this last night so lmao... sorry!!!!! anyways, this is super cute and yall should like.....read it :D

Synopsis: The mistletoe tradition is known by all, and if used correctly it can end in a sweet moment. Too bad Todoroki Shouto believes that people fuck under the mistletoe and not kiss under it.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

“So you’re telling me that when two people meet under a mistletoe they have to...” Shouto trails off as he looks at the green plant nestled in between his fingers. “They have to—”

“They have to fuck, yes,” Kaminari nods his head.

His arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes closed as he nods. His words, of course, are a flat out lie, but to Todoroki Shouto it seems as if his friend is speaking the truth. “It’s why it was never put up during our Christmas celebrations at school! With some of you guys not turning eighteen until after Christmas and all. That could have turned out to be child porn or something!”

“I haven’t had sex though,” Shouto huffs as he throws the mistletoe towards the blond who yells as it hits his head. “I don’t think I want to be caught underneath it. Didn’t Mineta wear a hat with it attached to it last week though?”

“Yeah, but that’s the only way Mineta can get girls, plus didn’t you see how the girls avoided him like the plague?” Sero pipes in, a large grin on his face as he takes the mistletoe and throws it above Kaminari’s head.

Shouto, however, sees this as a substantial poof.

“Bro, are you telling me you wanna fuck?” Kaminari winks as he looks up at the mistletoe.

“No, I just don’t think you’ll ever get to smash without this either!” Sero laughs as Kaminari slaps the mistletoe from Sero’s grasp.

“Would you fucking bastards GET OFF YOUR ASSES and come fucking help out?!” Bakugou roars as he enters the living room where the three men were sitting around.

Shouto stands up first, his eyes looking at the mistletoe that lays innocently on the floor. White people were pretty weird for starting that tradition.

Of course, it wasn’t to say that Shouto didn’t want to meet anyone under the mistletoe! Had it been a tradition where he would get to kiss someone it would be different, but fucking? Having sex only because you were caught under a plant was a bit too much.

“Todoroki-kun, are you okay?” Midoriya asked as he walked while hold two tables to put up for the dinner. The boys of the since graduated class 1-A were in charge of hosting the first annual Christmas party. Of course on because Iida volunteered them all.

Shouto nodded his head as he smiled strained, “I’m going to be avoiding the mistletoe all night.”

Midoriya looked at the fallen plant as he quirked an eyebrow, “Really? I thought it could be a great idea to get— mmph?!”

Shouto’s eyes widened as he saw Kaminari, Sero, and Kirishima covering the One for All user’s mouth. They began dragging him away, their mouths at his ear as they whispered at him.

“Todoroki-kun, Kirishima-kun!” Iida yelled as he brisked over with red cloth in his hands, “I need your help in spreading snow out in front of the house! It hasn’t snowed enough yet!”

“Iida, what do you think about mistletoe?” Shouto asks as Kirishima jogs over to them.

“It’s a weird tradition,” Iida admits as he rubs the back of his neck. “But there’s too much to do, and the girls will be here within an hour!”

“Don’t worry bro,” Kirishima laughs as he slings an arm around Shouto’s shoulder. “Just avoid the mistletoe! Unless... you want us to send y/l/n-chan your way!”

Shouto couldn’t hide the flush the built on his cheeks at those words. The joyous laughter of Kirishima’s teasing didn’t help either.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Shouto stared at himself in the mirror.

Iida had insisted on formal wear tonight. He believed their first Christmas celebration outside of U.A. was a cause to ditch the Santa gear. It was definitely weird celebrating Christmas with his friends and not wearing the Santa suits.

But Shouto chose a dark navy blue suit, a white button-up, and a slim black tie. His fingers buttoned one of the buttons on his jacket before putting in silver cuff links. He was ready.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Shouto placed his clothes into the designated room. It seemed, however, that he was the last one ready as everyone else was sitting at the grand table. It had been beautifully prepared by Sato and Tokoyami. The aroma of the cooking food filled the air causing Shouto to sigh, he was quite hungry.

“Bakugou, where’s the mistletoe?” Shouto asked his ash-blond friend who was walking around with his hands shoved into his pockets. Shouto watched as Bakugou groaned as he whipped around towards him.

“What makes you think I would fucking know, hah?” Bakugou grunts as he rolls his eyes. “It’s hidden for a goddamn reason, you’re not supposed to know!”

“Would you help me look for it?” Shouto asks as he rubs the back of his neck.

“HAH?! Why the hell would I look for it with YOU, half and half bastard?! Are you trying to—?” Bakugou’s mouth was then taped shut. Shouto watched on in confusion as the ash blond’s attention was stolen by Sero; who was now running away in his white tux from the storming blond.

“Why aren’t they just being bizarre!” Aoyama dramatized from Shouto’s left. Glancing over, Shouto chuckled at his friend dressed in a literal suit of armor that was blinding to the eye. “Now, are you confessing your feelings to Mademoiselle y/n? Christmas is the most romantic time to do so!”

Before Shouto could speak to the smirking blond, Iida bursts into the dining area with coats in his arms.

“The ladies have arrived!” He announced.

Shouto watched as six girls entered the room talking amongst themselves.

They all wore Christmas appropriate formal dresses, and yet his heart fell as he was quick to see that you weren’t there.

Where were you?

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

“I know I’m very late!” You exclaim into your phone as you struggle to shove the dark red evening dress over your body.

You weren’t supposed to have stayed as late at work as you did.

Missing the bullet train back to your apartment, you had completely missed the preparation for the party. Lucky for you, your neighbor had a useful quirk that let him do makeup and hair in ten minutes. So after offering him your soul (a promised meeting from his favorite Pro Hero Froppy), he agreed to do it.

The formal wear, however, was a bit too much in your opinion.

One month ago Iida had sent out appropriate outfits to gather ideas of what to wear for today. To put it simply he wanted a full-blown ball gown for a party for twenty-one of you.

So there you sat in your room, pulling the dark red dress into place. It had a semi sweetheart neckline, the bodice was made of soft velvet, and the skirt was multiple layers of red lace. Overall it was cute and simple. Slipping on your white heels you grabbed your coat and presents for your friends. Placing your phone to your ear you raced out to where the taxi was waiting for you.

“Iida won’t let anyone eat until you’re here! And I’m positive Bakugou is going to kill Midoriya out of a hangry fit if you don’t get here quick!” Mina once again tells you as you give the taxi driver the address.

“It’s not my fault villains decided to be villains where I work! Had it been my decision I would’ve been there with you guys! Plus it’s starting to snow,” you sigh as you pinch the bridge of your nose. “Tell Iida you guys can start eating, I’m not offended!”

“Girl, I told him that one hour ago, and again right before I called. Trust me, we’re not touching the food until you’re here!”

“Wow, you didn’t even want to wait for me?” You tease as you watch as the taxi drives into familiar areas.

“You know I’m teasing, besides loverboy here won’t let anyone eat until you get here too~!” Mina giggles in her sing-song tone.

“Don’t call Shouto that!” You groan as you try to calm your flaring cheeks. “We’re friends!”

“Friends who have the sexual tension that brings god to her knees! And the romantic chemistry that makes the cutest couple tremble in jealousy!” Mina exclaims. “Don’t worry, we saved you the seat right between him and me!”

“Mina!”

“Oh, gotta go! Bakugou AND your precious Shouto~ are demanding an update, see ya soon cutie!”

“Mina—”

The line went dead as you puffed out your cheeks.

Sometimes Mina was too slippery for her own good.

The rest of the taxi drive was quiet. Your taxi driver most likely wanting to get you out as soon as possible to go home themselves. Your eyes focused down at your cellphone that was getting text messages demanding your location.

Most of which was spam from Kaminari and Uraraka who seemed to be the most starving. Sighing, you shared your location with the class’s group chat for the next twenty-four hours. So they could track you for the next few minutes it would take for you to get there.

kaminari: i dont think ive ever been this excited to see y/n in my life… ever… and im 98% sure i had a crush on her 0.0

you: omg i told you guys you could EAT stop HARASSING ME

sero: tru lets blame iida

iida: You all would have been very upset had we eaten without you! Besides, this is our family so we have to wait, it’s only polite. - Iida Tenya

mina: …

you: …

midoriya: …

kirishima: i thought someone ingrained it into iida that he doesnt have to text… like that…

momo: I believe it is okay, Iida-san! It is confusing to know who’s texting on this chat! Sincerly, Yaoyorozu Momo

bakugou: hurry the FUCK UP Y/N

you: id rather die

“We’re here,” the driver sighs as they turn around. “That’ll be 2,000 yen.”

You smile in gratefulness as you pull out two 2,000 yen. ��It’s a tip for working on a holiday, thank you!”

“Happy holidays.”

“To you as well!”

You stepped out of the car and closed the door behind you. Your eyes fluttering as you watch the snow fall in front of you. A shiver runs through your spine as you pull your coat tighter around yourself. Holding the presents closer to you, you walk down to the front door. You take notice of the heaps of snow in front of the lawn and grin. Although you had no evidence, you bet Iida made Shouto and Kirishima create snow unknowing that it was going to snow this much.

Opening the grand door, warmth and the waft of cooking food invaded your senses. Removing your coat, you heard chairs scraping against the floor as a small mob of people raced to greet you.

“Merry Christmas!”

“Season greetings!”

“I’m so fucking hungry, thank Santa you’re here!”

“Move bitches I get the first hug!”

“Let me grab her coat first!”

It had been a while since you had last seen everyone. But in this moshpit of who you would consider being among your best friends, it warmed your heart. “Thank you, Iida,” you smile as he nodded in response.

“You followed the guidelines quite well, you look great!” Iida compliments as he turns to put your coat away.

“Of course she looks great, we all went out together to a dress shop!” Jirou sighs as she pulls you into a hug.

You greeted everyone, hugging them all as you went until you finally found the one person you wanted to see. His hair styled slicked back and his hands rested in his pockets as he smiled at you. Your face felt like it was heating up as you stepped closer to him.

“Merry Christmas, Shouto,” you smile as the dual-colored man smiles at you. You pull him into a hug.

“Merry Christmas, y/n,” he mumbles into your hair. “I’ll take those from you?” Shouto offers as he grabs the bag with the presents.

“Thank you,” you say letting go of the bag.

Shouto nodded as he turns on his heel to put the presents away.

“TIME TO EAT!” Kirishima and Kaminari roar as everyone starts making their way back to the dining table.

“Just to let you know, there is a mistletoe somewhere here, in case you want to make a move,” Mina whispers in your ear.

Oh, this dinner seemed like it was going to get increasingly harder to stay composed.

xxx

“It’s present opening time!” Iida exclaims as he ushers the class into the living room where the tree and presents resided. “Please have a seat, Yaomomo and I have organized the different piles for everyone! Until you have been seated will you receive your pile!”

You were talking with Tsuyu as you entered the living room. Your eyes shining as you took in a beautifully decorated living room.

“You boys did an amazing job at decorating!” You exclaim as you grin, the night had been going perfectly so far.

Dinner had been lively and hilarious. Old banter and topics bleed into the night’s conversation made your heart ache for the old days. It seemed so long ago when you spent every day for three years with these guys. You missed it.

With Mina at your left who discussed her new fighting style. Shouto at your right who talked about his life at home. His family had finally was becoming something he loved completely. While you two had late night discussions talking about it no one else knew about it. It was invigorating to see Shouto grin and laugh in conversations. His old dense self was still ingrained in him yet he’s grown so much since his fifteenth year. You were proud of him.

You watched as Tsuyu took a seat on the couch, her eyes trained on you as she spoke. You moved to sit next to her until something shoved you to the side.

“Oh, that’s my seat!” Mina exclaimed as she sat next to Tsuyu, her smile large as your eyebrow rose. “There’s more, don’t worry!”

You turned around and saw a seat near Midoriya who was near Tsuyu. It seemed you could continue your conversation about her position as a Hero Commander. Midoriya would like that conversation as well.

“That’s my spot!” Uraraka shouts as you were about to sit down. You sighed as you stood back up, your eyes raking the couches for a place to sit.

“There’s a spot by Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya said pointing at Shouto. Shouto was sitting on a seat that was a bit too large for one person, but too small for two.

“Thanks,” you smile as you walk over to Shouto. “You mind if I squeeze in next to you?”

Shouto looks at you, his eyes intense as he shakes his head, “No, go ahead and sit.”

You sat at his left with a grin. Your body pressing into his left arm as he concentrated on Iida, and with a nudge, you captured his attention. “I hope you like the gift I bought for you,” you whisper as Iida begins handing out the piles of gifts to each person. Ojiro helping as they were big.

“I don’t think I could hate anything you could give me,” Shouto whispers back as he grabs his pile from Iida.

“Random panties I find on patrol?”

“I’d be honored you thought of me.”

“That’s so gross, Shouto,” you laugh as you take your own pile from Ojiro.

“You’re the one touching random panties from the streets of Japan!” Shouto retorts as he helps you settle your pile onto the floor.

“Touche, Shouto,” you grin as you shove him with your shoulder, “touche.”

“Because it is Uraraka-kun’s birthday coming up, she should go first!” Iida suggests and everyone agrees.

“Oh, I need to tell you something,” Shouto whispers as you cheer on Uraraka who is lifting a gift over her head.

“What is it?” You ask turning your head towards him.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he whispers before focusing back in onto Uraraka. She lifts out multiple bags of strawberry mochi with a triumphant scream.

“You look handsome tonight, too.”

It doesn’t take long before presents are being opened and you’re feeling content pressed into Shouto’s side.

From Aoyama, you got a crystal mirror that sparkled in the light. The poem about the North Star engraved into the back of the mirror.

From Mina, you got workout clothes specific to a dance class you and the girls were planning on attending together. They were in your favorite color and came with a jacket with your name stitched into it.

From Tsuyu, you got a plushie. It was of your favorite animal and held lots of tiny little snacks that you could carry during a patrol.

From Iida, he presented you with a pair of exercise shoes you had been needing for a while. After all, sparring with Bakugou and Midoriya left your old ones disintegrated.

From Uraraka, she bought you a charm bracelet that had two charms on it already. One of the U.A. building and another of a small group of girls.

Ojiro gave you got a new winter coat. It was white, waterproof and insulated. Your jaw on the ground as you tried it on because it made you look like a marshmallow and you adored that.

Kaminari gave you got his mixtape. On the cassette were a bunch of Kaminari originals he had been promising you for years now, and now you had a copy. That and a gift card to your favorite restaurant.

Kirishima gave you a new ankle and wrist weights. Something to help with your manly journey to becoming the best hero!

Koda bashfully announced that you were getting an all-inclusive trip to an animal and tea shop. Something he gifted everyone in the class, and an event you girls were quick to plan.

Sato gave you a free pass to let him bake you anything you wanted. Another gift given to all the girls, and another gift you girls were excited to use.

Shoji had gifted you a massage gun. Something you had enveloped him in a hug for minutes afterward because it was something you had been meaning to buy.

Jirou’s gift was in a white envelope, two VIP tickets to your favorite band. A very discounted item because her parents knew them and the fact that she was a Pro Hero too.

Sero’s gift was something that made you laugh, it was a high-quality blanket. Soft to the touch, with the ability to keep you warm in a blizzard! It had a class picture printed on it photoshopped with Kaminari’s wheey face onto everyone’s picture.

Tokoyami gave you a picture album with the class’s best memories. It also had many more blank pages for your own pictures.

Hagakure bought you a new set of makeup and brushes. Brushes that you had been eyeing the time you two had gone shopping together too!

Bakugou bought you a new outfit. It was definitely an outfit for warmer weather, and he got annoyed when you went to hug him.

Midoriya made you a present. It was two notebooks full of analysis and suggestions that you had asked for when sparring. You wanted to continue improving and Midoriya was definitely going to help you.

Mineta bought you a gift card to use at a local lingerie store. On the one hand, it had a lot of money on it, on the other hand, you wanted to destroy it.

Momo blushed as she stood up, her grin wide as she looked at everyone. She apologized about being able to properly buy everyone an honest gift as she had been busy these past few months. Nut she promised she made up for it. She had paid off everyone’s apartment/house rent or price. Or in Iida’s and Shouto’s case their groceries for four months.

“This is for you,” Shouto whispered as he handed you a thin rectangular box. “I didn’t want it getting smashed so, I held onto it. I didn’t forget to give you a gift.”

Your eyes focused on the gift that was wrapped in red and silver wrapping paper. Your fingers gently taking it from him as you nodded. Shouto had been giving everyone else gifts with things that reminded him of them. It had some of the most hilarious items to date. But the box told you nothing, no hint, no clue. The attention of the group was on Aoyama who was modeling the new outfits that were gifted to him.

His eyes bore into you as you opened the gift, your eyes widening as you opened the box. “Shouto…” you trailed off as you looked down at the simple yet gorgeous necklace that lay in the box. It had a single diamond on it, yet you knew that it was more expensive than anything you’ve ever bought in your life. “W-What?”

Shouto remained silent as he gently pulled the necklace from the box, he asked you wordlessly to turn around so that he could place it on you. You complied as you shifted in the seat.

“I promise I looked everywhere else for you before choosing this!” Shouto admits as his warm fingers push your hair to the side. The cold chain presses into your skin as you look down at the jewel. “But no matter what I looked at, this was the only thing I liked for you. So, no, I don’t regret or worry about buying you this because I know it was meant to be yours.” His breath teased your exposed skin and it took everything within you not to melt as he fixed your hair.

Not knowing how to thank him, you pulled him into a tight hug, your arms holding him near as he returned the hug. Your lips pressed gently against his cheek, “Thank you, Shouto.”

You pull away and look back to your friends who were still focused on Aoyama who did a spin. Your fingers grazed the shiny jewel, and you lay your head against his shoulder as you consume the fashion show laid out for you.

Xxx

“You’re confessing to him, right?!” Mina hisses as the girls called an impromptu meeting seconds before you were "about to kiss Shouto" on the couch.

“Mina-san, she was about to kiss Todoroki-san right before you ripped her from his grasp!” Momo sighed as gave you an apologetic smile.

“Y/n has liked him since high school! Her first kiss with Todoroki-kun is not going to be while Bakugou is modeling his clothes!” Hagakure defended Mina as she crossed her arms.

“First off, I was not going to kiss him,” you defend yourself as you point a sweeping finger at your friends. “I was going in to get lint in his hair!”

“There wasn’t lint in his hair,” Tsuyu chimed in to which everyone agreed.

“Leave her alone!" Jirou waves her hands, to which you thank her. "She was going to take the lint out with her teeth! To show him what that mouth do!”

Jirou snorts as you shove her.

“Do you see that rock on her neck?! You know she’s not gonna show him only what that mouth do, but also what her—!” Uraraka snickers as she was interrupted by the kitchen door opening.

“Y/n?” Shouto asks, his eyes wide as he sees that you’re flustered and pointing your fingers at them all. “Um… I was wondering if we could talk?”

“Right now?” You squeak as you smooth over your dress. “Of course right now, um, yes let’s go!” You declare, glaring at your friends as you walk towards Shouto. Grabbing his hand and dragging him out of the kitchen the door closing behind you.

“They put up the mistletoe outside right?” Momo whispers as she looks at Jirou who gives a thumbs up.

“Yes, Kaminari said they convinced Todoroki to talk with y/n outside.”

“Does… does Todoroki-kun even know what to do under the mistletoe?” Uraraka asks as she realizes her sheltered friend was still learning new things to this day.

“The boys must’ve explained it to him,” Hagakure insists as she nods. “You can’t fuck up explaining that you kiss someone under the mistletoe. Besides, they want them to get together too!”

Xxx

“Fuck, it’s cold,” you shiver as you wrap your jacket around you.

“Sorry,” Shouto apologizes as he grabs your hands in his. Heat immediately spreads through your skin. He was warming you up, the cold winter air is ignorable, as you and Shouto walk towards the edge of the porch. “There wasn’t any room in there that was private enough, and I needed to talk to you about something important.”

“Oof, don’t tell me you meant to give this necklace to some other girl named y/n,” you tease as you rest your back against the snow-covered railings. “If so, I’m going to need to fight both you and her for it.”

“No, no,” Shouto chuckles as his thumb rubs smooth circles into your skin. “But it is about the necklace.”

You nod your head as you squeeze his hand reassuringly, “What about it?”

“It’s not… too forward is it?” Shouto asks as he takes his right hand to brush your hair from your face. “If you think it’s too much I can take you to return it for something else you’d like.”

The worry and concern that are heavily etched into his face make you laugh softly as you shake your head. “Even though I can’t give you something as great in return, I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”

“What do you mean? I liked your gift.”

“Shouto, it was a two paid in full all you can eat meals at that soba joint you love, of course, you were going to like it!” You tease as you think back to the hole in the wall you had introduced Shouto to a few months ago.

“Yes, I have to starve for a week to make the most of your gift,” he teases and you snort as you shove him. Your eyes roll as you focus your attention back onto him.

Wait, what was that?

Your eyes flew back up to the ceiling as you saw the powdered with snow mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. Your jaw dropped as your heart rate spiked. The hands that were in Shouto’s felt sweaty as you ripped your hands from his.

“What’s wrong?” Shouto asks as he follows your gaze up to the ceiling.

“Mistletoe,” you breathe as your eyes widen. This screamed like a setup to you, but how could the girls know the two of you would have made your way out here?!

“Oh.” Shouto’s voice nearly squeaked.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Shouto whispers, his cheeks glowing in embarrassment or from the cold, you had no idea at this point. “If you’re okay with it, um... I’ve never done this before.”

You lick your lips in anticipation and the feeling that Shouto wants to kiss you back. Your heart hammers in your ears as you smile. “It’s okay, I have,” you laugh gently.

“... you have?”

“Yeah!”

“O-oh…”

“It’s okay, it’s something I try not to remember,” you input as you shake your hands. His disappointed, flustered, and jealous aura screaming at you as you cup his cheeks. “You’re the one I wanted to meet under the mistletoe anyways.”

His hands slip through your jacket, holding your waist in his grasp as he lets out a shaky breath. Shouto’s eyes rise to lock on yours finally, and you nod at him.

“Wait you want to do this outside?” Shouto whispers as you near him.

“You’re supposed to do it under the mistletoe,” you mumble as your lips connect with his. Your lips end all arguments that he has as Shouto stills.

The kiss was slow, your eyes closed as you gently coaxed his stiff lips to move with yours. Shouto moved with you smoothly, the kiss gently growing in passion as he pulled you in closer. The kiss burns you as your lips languidly move against each other. Your hands moving from his cheeks to tangling into his gelled hair.

It was perfect, and you found yourself pulling away, ready to confess your feelings for him. But Shouto didn’t seem to be on the same page as his lips pressed against your throat. The feeling of his heated and soft lips against your colder skin made you suck in a sharp breath of air. Your head tilting backward as he peppered clumsy yet attentive kisses against your skin.

“S-Shouto,” you moaned as your fingers grabbed onto the collar of his jacket. This wasn’t what you were expecting from him. Nor was it something you believed to come from a visit under the mistletoe. Your peaked breaths soon calmed, they smoothed into soft and shaky moans as his teeth teased your sensitive skin.

Shudders flew through your body as his tongue caressed your skin. your mind was sinking into a sinking pit that is until he trailed his tongue to the cleavage of your breasts.

“Shouto!” You squeak as you shove his jaw up, his eyes locking on yours confused and drowning with lust.

“What’s wrong, love?” Shouto asks as a strand of hair falls into his eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Is this how you meet everyone under the mistletoe?” You pant as your mind is racing too many thoughts a second, you can’t keep up as there is a heat building in you. A heat that begged you to get over your shyness and just let him kiss you in such a lewd way. But this wasn’t Shouto, it couldn’t be.

“I’ve never been under a mistletoe before,” Shouto mumbles as his lips press together. In this brief hesitation, it seems that he remembers something. “Who have you… met under the mistletoe…”

Your face warms as you sigh, it wasn’t a memory you much enjoyed.

“It was Bakugou, but only because the damn store owners were so insistent on it!”

This confession made Shouto still. His eyes turning a near black with emotions you hadn’t seen on his face in quite a while.

“Shouto? Are you okay--mmph?!”

His lips were back over yours immediately. His bruised lips fervently danced against yours as he held his right hand to the back of your neck and the other firmly onto the small of your back. His kiss was demanding, sultry, and overwhelming.

Your questions of his emotions out of your mind as your ass hit the porch railing. The cold snow burning through your dress made you cry out, and Shouto’s tongue presses into your mouth. Your back arches as his left-hand leaves your body. It slams against the railing and the snow melts, and the tongue in your mouth warms you as you shudder in his hold.

Not wanting to be manipulated like this, you ignore how your body feels like it’s melting in his hold. Your mouth suckles onto his tongue. Your hands fist into his hair, making him moan into your mouth as you tug on it sharply.

You can feel the falling snow hitting your cheeks, but your body temperature has spiked so high that it melts before it can make complete contact.

Ripping your mouth from his, your lips trail down his neck, nipping and sucking hickies onto his pale skin. The harsh pants that escaped his mouth and the shaking of his form further incited you as your painted lips met the collar of his shirt.

“Should we go back to my place?” You ask as you pull away, your hands fisting around his tie as you look into his lust-fueled eyes.

“I thought you said we had to do it under the mistletoe?” Shouto questions, his upper lip in almost a sneer as he uses your hands to loosen his tie. Your eyes widened as he stripped off his jacket. He placed it onto the railing that was turning the snow into steam whenever it made contact. “Did you take Bakugou home after finding yourself under the mistletoe with him?”

The words were a near snarl, his eyes angry, his face jealous.

Some part of you wanted to utilize this. You wanted to use this surplus of emotion Shouto was emitting to get him to fuck you against this railing. Another part of you, a louder part of you, demanded to know what was wrong.

“Why would I bring Bakugou home?” You ask as you take Shouto’s flushed cheeks in your hands. “It’s mistletoe, not a porno.”

Shouto blinks once, twice, thrice.

“W-What?”

“Mistletoe, not porno,” you repeat confused. “Shouto, you’re supposed to kiss under the mistletoe.”

It’s then that Shouto’s body freezes. His eyes widening as he stares at you.

His face flushed, lips were swollen from kissing, and hair messy.

“You’re… you’re not supposed to fuck?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he shakes his head.

The small sentence causes your heart to beat wildly as you stare at him, your hands moving from his cheeks to your mouth. “NO!” You squeak as Shouto takes a step back from you, his head dropping.

Coldness envelopes you as Shouto nods his head, “I’m sorry for forcing myself on you, y/n. I… I should go.”

You watch as Shouto turns on his heel, his back stiff as he walks towards the door.

Everything in you screams at you to make him stop, pleading that you pull him back and say you’ll still fuck him. The kissing itself had ignited a fire within you. And there was nothing else you wanted but Shouto to subside the need and desire that had built within you.

“I like you,” you reel as you find yourself taking several steps forward as Shouto’s hand touches the door handle. “I have feelings for you, and when I found out that I could kiss you tonight I took the chance! I know you might be feeling a whole bunch of different emotions that I can’t list. But I want to let you know that I wasn’t letting you do that because of the mistletoe, Shouto! I genuinely really like you and I was going to let you fuck me against the porch railing I was that ready.”

Shouto is frozen at the door, his back tense as his hand drops. You watch in what feels like slow motion as he turns around, his eyes locking on yours. It clicks, his confession is silent as he walks back towards you.

The world has gone silent as Shouto cuts the distance between the two of you before you could react. His mouth pressing against yours as you’re sent walking backward. Your hands grasping his biceps as you’re pressed against a familiar railing.

“I like you,” Shouto gasps against your lips. “Fuck, y/n, I like you so much.”

You don’t answer him as you instead sink your teeth into his lower lip, a groan leaving his mouth as you pull away. His eyes flash dangerously, something new stirring within him as your lips come crashing together again. In a tangle of lips and tongue, his hands leave your waist and grab your ass through the fabric of the dress. The cold is ignorable and the jacket around you is making you sweat as you moan into the kiss.

The melodious sound escaping your mouth stirs Shouto on and his leg slips between your thighs as you arch into him. His leg presses indescribably into your crotch, so you do what you must and grind your hips against his leg.

The grip on your ass tightens as Shouto begins to guide your hips into wide circles against his leg. The grinding pleasures you. The slowly building pressure overwhelming you as you whine against his mouth. His name escapes your mouth like a prayer, soft and hopeful as your mouth suckles against his tongue.

“It’s too hot,” you whimper as you pull away, Shouto trying to follow you with his mouth as you tilt your head. His wandering lips press against your neck and you sigh as you shift to take off the jacket.

“You’re going to get sick,” Shouto warns. His hands leave your rotating ass as he tries to slip the coat back over your shoulders.

Taking his hands and instead press them onto your breasts. As his eyes shifted to your breasts, you dropped your coat to the floor and you stare at him with a growing smirk. “Then you better fuck the cold away.”

His eyes take you in and he slowly nods, his hands groping your breasts as he growls in response, “Don’t think I won’t.”

“Big words for a virgin,” you moan as warmth spreads throughout your body.

“Those are fighting words for someone who’s at my mercy,” Shouto snaps as he pinches your side.

A pained moan escapes your lips as Shouto’s teeth sink back onto your neck. His tongue then lashing out to smooth the wound that was left in its place. He continues to mark your neck as your gasping praises and grinding hips gives him the confidence to continue. His touch is intoxicating and you find yourself whining for more, begging that he do more. Finally, with a deep chuckle, Shouto pulls away from your neck, his lips red and raw.

His eyes trace your body as his hand’s trail from your breasts back onto your ass. Your eyes widen as he picks you up as if you weigh nothing, his hands massaging your flesh as he places you onto the rail. A low sigh escapes your lips at the feeling of the warm wood underneath you.

Your chest heaves with your quickening breathing as you see that this position gives Shouto the perfect entrance to fuck you out here.

There wasn’t much you could do outside. With snow blanketing the world, your friends indoor, and both you and Shouto craving the other there was only so much you could do. Fully expecting Shouto to start unbuckling his pants, your eyes shot open as he lifted the skirt of your dress. His heated fingers trailing up your cool flesh.

Trembling you watched as his fingers reached your panties. His finger stroking your folds as your hands held tightly onto his shoulder. Your pussy aches for more. Your panties soaked from the thigh riding and the being so overwhelmed with emotions for Shouto.

You can do nothing as you feel your panties being peeled from your skin. The soft fabric trailing down your legs and you watch as Shouto looks at them before pocketing them. A smirk overcomes his facial features as you watch him. He takes your wrists in his right hand and moves them behind your back. Your eyes widen as a familiar sound hits your ears.

“I might be a virgin, but I’m not a prude,” he whispers into your ear as cold ice encloses your wrists. “You have only a few minutes to get yourself to cum against my fingers, or else… well, I don’t want to find out.”

Unintentionally, you whimper in both pleasure and pain as the coldness seeps through your skin and your pussy throbs at the threat. Should you heed his command or make him recant. As you contemplate that, you rub your legs together. The slickness of your essence much more noticeable without the fabric in place, and you moan.

Shouto smirks as he looks at your moving legs, and he takes his left hand to trace your inner thigh, teasingly, barely touching your skin. Your eyes flutter as they brush against your slit right before he plunges two fingers into your wet heat. Cursing his name, your walls tremble against him as you press your forehead onto his shoulder. His fingers are warm, but your heat is even warmer.

“Is something wrong?” He feigns innocence as his fingers curl against your wall. They circle within your cunt as you whimper lewdly.

“N-No!” You stammer. The freezing sensation of the ice is almost ignorable with his fingers beginning to push within you. He nods as he begins to move his fingers slowly. Your body squirms in his hold as he increases his speed. Soon his fingers pump within you at unimaginable speeds, your head throwing backward at the pleasure. Your hips find themselves bucking against his fingers as you mewl.

The ice begins to burn as his thumb brushes against your clit.

Your eyes clench close as you surge forward. Your lips pressing against his as you attempt to stop your loud moans. Shouto swallows your moans as he continues to pound his fingers in you. A third one soon entering as his thumb flicks against your clit.

So close, you’re so fucking close.

You can feel the pressure building in you, the coil tightening as you cry out his name, pleading for him to make you cum. Shouto muses at your desperation but does not relieve you of your desires as his fingers leave your cunt. You cry at the expulsion, your pussy craving for him to reenter your needy cunt.

Instead, your wrists are set free from their icy cage. Your skin feels like its burning as Shouto places his fingers into his mouth. He's licking your essence off his skin and you whine at the visual.

“I decided that I want you to come around my cock instead,” Shouto chuckles as you glare at him.

“You’re a dick,” you whine as you watch as Shouto loosens his tie after removing his jacket.

“You’re the greedy one who wanted to fuck right here,” Shouto hums as he unbuckles his belt. You stare at him feeling your pussy throb at the impending sex.

Your eyes fall onto his cock as his pants bunch at his knees, and your mouth dries at the sight of him. Eight inches and thick, his hand fists against his length, low grunts escaping his mouth as he steps near to you.

“Are you okay with this?” Shouto asks as the head of his cock brushes against your wet folds.

You nod your head as you shudder at the sensations that run through your veins, “Yes, are you?”

He nods too as he grunts softly. He begins to grind his cock against your folds. The increased pressure than what he was doing before makes you moan as he coats himself with your juices. Your hands hold onto his biceps as he continues to move his cock between your folds. teasing your clit instead of penetrating you and you whine in protest. The stimulation of your clit appreciated but you wanted him to fill you up.

“Will you just fuck me already?!” You rasp as you pathetically circle your hips against his length.

Shouto chuckles as he locks eyes with you, “Maybe.”

Your mouth opens to argue, but you’re cut off by him pushing himself into your needy pussy without warning. His length barely fits entirely within you, and his girth causes your head to spin as he stretches you out. “FUCK!” You hiss as your head presses into his collarbone.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Shouto shudders as your walls spasm against him, overloading him with sensations as he tries to calm himself. “Y-You’re so fucking tight.”

“Move, Shouto,” you beg eagerly needing more friction from him. “Please fucking move.”

With a grunt of confirmation, Shouto rolls his hips. You curse as his hips move outward before bottoming back into you. Your hips move in time with his, and intermingled moans resonate within your now joined mouths. His thrusting picks up speed the more comfortable he gets. His moving hips slamming against yours as you cry into his mouth. His hand grips your waist as he pulls you from the railing, one of your legs hooked around his waist as the other shakily stands. He slides his other hand down your back so that he can cup the bottom your ass. It’s a stretch and it adds to his vigorous thrusts into your cunt.

The feel of Shouto’s pelvis slapping against yours is your remedy — you’re craving him even more and he is well aware of that fact.

You’re swelling with euphoria and lust when he decides to amp up your pleasure by bringing his right hand to your clit. His fingers circle against your clit with his ice-cold touch, it shocks you as your heated body jerks under the new temperature. With the added temperature play, it feels as if your body is breaking under his will. Your pussy clenching at sensations he’s giving you. Your hips rolling against his pounding hips, and he moans in return to how your walls clench against him.

Your head lolls to the side as you’re overwhelmed by the blazing heat in your core. The pressure of your cunt heavily evident throughout your entire body. You needed to keep it together, you wanted to keep going. The head of his cock finally comes to press against your sweet spot as he shifts your hips and you shriek.

“Fuck! Please, right there!” You beg as Shouto shakily nods, his hips coming to snap into that same spot over and over. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you’re no longer able to speak. You’re completely overpowered by his snapping hips.

“Will you come for me,” he groans out, his voice a pleading hope.

Your head nods frantically as you're unable to trust your voice. The action satisfies Shouto as he hisses lowly. Faster and harder, his fingers switch from pressing small circles to large figure-eights on your clit, while his hips slamming faster into you. You can’t handle the pleasure any more, and you feel your high coming.

“Shouto,” you gasp as he presses a kiss against your mouth again. His hands moving to lift you up, you can only cry in pleasure as he slams your back against a pole. His hips continuing to snap into you at insane speeds. You’re not able to keep up as sparks ignite in your veins as he slams into you over and over.

Your orgasm hits your body and it’s as if you’re falling away into ecstasy. Your mind spinning and dazed from the continuous world-altering sensations. You cry out his name as he still continues at his unmerciful pace. That is until he suddenly pulls out and drops you onto your shaking legs.

Whining at the loss of his cock, and the fact that you’re now on your feet, you open your shut eyes and stare at him unable to speak.

“Turn around,” he growls. You can’t believe he wants you to go for his own orgasm with you in a whole new position. Was he really a virgin you question as he fists his cock as you reposition yourself onto the railing. Your chest presses weirdly onto the wood as your knees buckle, and you look over your shoulder to see Shouto raising the skirt of your dress.

Shouto doesn’t ask to insert himself in you again. Your fingers grip the railing as he slams back in and you let out a sharp cry as you seize forward.

He starts up a brutal pace with his hips slapping against your ass with each and every thrust. Your hands move to your mouth as you cry as you rock forward with every thrust. His hips remain steady as his pace accelerates. You watch on a dazed high as snow falls onto your moving hair. Your fingers shoved into your mouth like a gag as he grips your hips. You use all of your willpower to push your hips back against his to meet him thrust by thrust.

Slowly, he starts to vocalize more and more. His lips moaning your name and crying out. He keeps one gripping hand on your hips while the other slips to your clit. Your mind snaps as he begins rubbing meticulous shapes onto your puffy nerves.

You can tell he’s close.

He’s chanting your name against your spine like some mindless prayer to you. His hot breath fanning onto your exposed skin. The hand on your hip grips you tighter, definitely bruising your skin. So you grip the railing with one hand and the other remains in your mouth.

“Are you ready?” Shouto growls while nipping at your skin. “Ready to take my cum?”

“Yes! Please, Shouto!” You choke out from your fingers, the pleasure and overstimulation reaching their tipping point once again.

“Then fucking come.”

Your toes curl as you let out a sob of pleasure. Your arm is unable to support yourself anymore as you let your torso slam against the railing. The circles on your clit finally stop and your abused cunt clenches around Shouto’s cock. Your body reaches its second orgasm of the night, and Shouto arrives with you.

He cries out a “Fuck!” and your name as his speed spills within you. It’s the loudest he’s been all night, which makes you whine at the sound of your name being said so vulgarly from his mouth. As your cries become breathless pants, you press your hands against the railings. The saliva on your fingers turning cold as the two of you stand still for what feels like some time. You feel him slide both of his hands on top of yours to intertwine with yours as cum spurts out of his cock, filling you up.

He rubs circles on top of your hands with his thumbs as he slides himself out. The feeling of him gone makes the both of you whimper at the loss of each other’s fill. You feel some of his cum seep out, and you shudder at the emptiness your cunt now feels.

You slowly stretch back up, your body hurting and now quickly turning cold with the lack of his heat.

Shouto is two steps ahead of you as he grabs your tossed coat from the floor and wraps you tightly within its fabric. “There,” he smiles as he pulls up his own pants, his face still flushed for different reasons.

You giggle as you shake your head, “Did I really get dicked down because of mistletoe?”

A snort escapes Shouto’s lips as he nods, “You did.”

“Well, I do like you, Shouto,” you whisper as he finishes dressing. “It’s not just because of the mistletoe.”

“I know,” Shouto whispers as he takes your cheeks in his hands. “And now this is me asking you on a date and if you’d like to be my girlfriend.”

Joy fills your heart as you laugh softly. “I’d love to be,” you say as your lips meet his in a gentle kiss right under the mistletoe.

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

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peterxwade24 · 3 years

Text

Broken Hearts and New Beginnings

Chapter 3

Originally written for Maribat March 2020 day 28, prompt Highschool (plus bonus prompt Sweetheart's Dance).

(This chapter is titled “Goth Girls and Boys” on AO3.)

Marinette scowled at the boys who approached her, she may be at the dance but she wasn’t here because she wanted to. She remembered why she came and her scowl lessened.

~~~

Marinette looked at her friends. “You want me to go where?”

“The sweetheart’s dance at school.” Adrien started, looking pleadingly into Marinette’s cold blue eyes. “Please Bug. Roy’s going to be there.”

Sabrina and Chloé looked at Marinette with pleading eyes while Nino looked at her indifferently before he shrugged.

“We’re going to wear pretty dresses.” The girls chorused excitedly.

Marinette sighed and nodded. “Okay. Sure. Fine. But you all have to pick your own colours and fabrics.”

~~~

Marinette looked down at her dress, a high-low pastel pink dress covered in black lace with one sleeve. She paired it with her favourite black high-top Converse and a pair of pastel pink tights. She wore a black choker and several black piercings littered her ears. Her sickly green coloured heart (which had started to try to mend itself) hid in her hair once again.

She looked out at her friends, Sabrina in her short dress with a black, strapless bodice and a lavender skirt which swirled around her as she danced with Chloé. Chloé wore a form-fitting, floor-length white to yellow ombré gown with bell sleeves and an off-shoulder neckline. Her blond hair was pulled back in a simple updo to match Sabrina’s simple curls. The two girls were twirling and spinning, their laughs filling the gymnasium and lifting Marinette’s spirits.

She looked at where Nino stood, beside the snack table, and smiled at the way his suit fit him. It was a dark navy blue suit jacket over a pair of dark navy blue dress pants with a white button-up shirt under a black and orange spotted tie with an orange pocket square. She looked over to where Adrien stood, dancing with Roy, and nodded. Adrien wore a black three-piece suit with a blue pocket square and an orange and blue striped tie.

Marinette let out a sigh as she settled into the bleachers, grateful she’d made her own dress comfortable with ample padding. She didn’t turn to look at the person who sat down next to her, simply noticed that whoever it was wore charcoal coloured dress pants. “Whoever you are I don’t want to dance with you.”

He let out a laugh. “I don’t want to dance with you either. So don’t worry. I just figured you’d like some silent company.”

Marinette looked at her silent companion out of the corner of her eye. She took in the countenance of the boy, his strong jawline covered in scars, and she recognized the boy next to her. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you too old to be at a high school dance?”

Jason let out a friendly laugh and shook his head. “I’m a senior. Timbers is sixteen and I’m nineteen. I’m just an old senior.” He shrugged before pulling out his phone.

The two sat in silence, watching their groups interact and mingle, before a popular song was played. Marinette’s girls approached them and grabbed her hands at the same time Tim and Conner grabbed Jason’s hands.

The nine teens danced for hours, mostly against Marinette and Jason’s will. They spent most of the rest of the night dancing.

---

Marinette and her friends arrived at the school not too long after the Wayne clan. For the first time since they arrived in Gotham, Marinette and her girls wore matching outfits. Marinette wore a pink short-sleeved dress with black criss-crossing lines with a white shirt collar and cuffs with gray tights and her black high-top Converse. Chloé wore a yellow short-sleeved dress with black criss-crossing lines with a white shirt collar and cuffs with gray tights and her yellow high-top Converse. Sabrina wore a purple short-sleeved dress with black criss-crossing lines with a white shirt collar and cuffs with gray tights and her dark purple plaid high-top Converse.

Adrien and Nino simply wore a pair of blue jeans and a dark blue or dark orange long-sleeved shirt with dark gray socks and their dark orange or dark blue high-top Converse. They stood protectively behind Chloé and Sabrina, while Marinette stood protectively in front of all four of her friends.

The Waynes wore mostly jeans and tees, but Jason (who Marinette was definitely not paying more attention to than the rest of them) wore a worn, brown leather jacket over his shirt and his jeans had rips and tears, as though they were well-loved, and (instead of the sneakers his brother, Conner, and Roy wore) he sported a pair of combat boots. Jason, whose face was covered in scars that Marinette wished would go away, turned to look at Marinette. He offered her a smile and waved at her.

Chloé held back a snicker as she watched Marinette’s face flush in embarrassment. She nudged Sabrina and gestured to Marinette before turning around and drawing Adrien and Nino’s attention to the front of their group and the four of them held in snickers. She turned back to the front of the group and she watched as Jason’s green-tinged blue eyes trailed up and down Marinette’s form and she felt pride in not only herself for helping Marinette through it all but also in Marinette for accepting her help all those years ago. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that things could have happened differently if she hadn’t looked into those blue eyes all those years ago and saw the light leave them, if she hadn’t looked at that once happy red heart and seen it broken in two.

Chloé looked around, at the little family they had built, and looked ahead, towards the group of boys. They had built this for themselves, it had started with Marinette and Chloé but it grew into a five person family. Chloé brought her hand up to her face and brushed away the tears that were flowing down her face like rivers through a valley. She must have made a noise because Marinette turned around and her face twisted in anger.

“Who made you cry?” Marinette’s voice was deep and reminded Chloé of the other girl’s father. Chloé placed her hands on Marinette’s shoulders and smiled.

“I just realized how much I love you, and this family.”

#maribat #ml crossover #mlb crossover #ml x dc #mlb x dc #Broken Hearts and New Beginnings #BHaNB

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spiltscribbles · 4 years

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Can I request 7, 9 or 78 for pynch? I liked all of those, haha -- uncertainglobalfuture

~Notes: Thank you SO SO much gorgeous<3 This came out way to soft lmfao. |

A Reblog is worth a thousand stars<3 | Buy Me A Coffee?

~78. “Just please be my best friend right now, and not the person I confessed my love to~

When Adam’s seven years old his first grade teacher asks him why he never has a lunch. He tells her he forgets to get up early enough to make it. Three weeks after that she asks him where he got that nasty bruise on his left arm. He tells her he had wiped out on his bicycle. Two months after that she keeps him inside for recess and asks him to join her and Principle Jenkins for a little while. Adam didn’t mind, he never could make a friend as easily as the others— too distant and too reserved and too withdrawn for the lot of them. But then they start asking about Adam’s home life and parents and whether he needs help or not, all rinsing hands topped off by tense smiles that don’t touch their eyes.

Adam stays aloof— doesn’t bother to panic. He’s been trained by his mother for countless years on how to reply to these sort of probing questions. Has long mastered the owlish blink to his eyes, and diffident smile to his lips. Knows exactly what to do so that they could pretend that there’s nothing out of the ordinary. He knows full and well that none of them actually want to tackle this conversation, and knows that it’s pointless because he’s a Parrish, this is all there is.

This’s all there ever will be.

He doesn’t tell either of his parents about the meeting, is too afraid of their reactions. Besides he doesn’t see much of a point when only a week later they’re packing up and leaving this small town in the dust just to settle in another with the same pasted grins and eyes that slide off from truths that are too ugly to confront.

On Adam’s first day of classes in Henrietta elementary he comes to the conclusion that not everything is stuck being the exact same when a boy with cornflower eyes and dark curls pads up to him and tells him that he’s Adam’s assigned buddy.

“What’s a buddy?” Adam asks, pinning him with a one eyed squint, totally incredulous.

“’S someone who shows you round the classroom and playground.” the other boy answers with an imperious tilt to his head. “Duh.”

“I Don’t need a buddy,” Adam glares at him. He doesn’t yell because Robert yells and Adam hates it when he yells.

“Who peed in your cereal?” The other boy, Ronan Lynch, asks sourly, indignant hands on his hips.

“I don’t need a buddy,” Adam only reiterates, spindly arms wrapped tight against his chest, his jaw set and stance rigid.

“Fine!” Ronan huffs with an emphatic stomping to his foot for good measure. “Hope you get lost with all the big kids then!”

“Fine!”

Later that afternoon, during free time, a blonde boy Adam doesn’t even recognize gleefully shoves his gross ball of slime into Adam’s face with an emphatic gusto. Adam only escapes the situation when Ronan storms over towards them to interrupt.

“Get lost Tad.”

“Can’t hog the new kid Ronan!”

“Uh-huh! Mis Sanchez made me his buddy.”

“Oh,” Tad only pouts, totally put out, before ambling off with his aforementioned ball of slime.

“Uh, ah thank you.” Adam says, wide eyed as he stares at a still moody looking Ronan.

“Wasn’t to help you! Me and Noah need someone to play trains with us, now c’mon.”

He pivots around, marching towards the back of the room, and Adam is only sorta shocked that he actually follows suit.

Adam isn’t sure how, but impossibly— remarkably— Ronan Lynch never quite leaves his orbit for the rest of that year, or any of the ones that follow.

He isn’t sure if they’re friends, has never had a friend before, which might be sorta embarrassing considering he’s in the fourth grade now. But in Adam’s defense no one else really caught his attention, certainly not keeping it for as long as Ronan has somehow done.

If Adam’s forced to think about it, he thinks that they are.

They sit besides each other for class every day, and Adam isn’t even annoyed when Ronan pulls funny faces his way instead of listening along. Yesterday for kickball Ronan chose Adam first, even before Gansey or Noah, and Adam has only ever liked adventuring outdoors with Ronan, even if it meant scraped knees and dirt on his pants that he shakes off the best he could before going back home to the trailer park.

But even still, it couldn’t hurt to ask him, right? It’s a simple question that calls for a simple answer. It’s just to double check that Adam’s not just some leach grabbing for anything he can.

Robert hates it when Adam asks questions, tries teaching him to stop being so god damn nosey about everyone’s business. Adam’s never seen it like that. Question yield answers, and answers usually make someone smarter, so without questions the world would just be stumbling around, utterly ignorant to everything. He much prefers how his first grade teacher had called him inquisitive, it makes Adam feel smart, proper, like he isn’t just annoying everyone, more like there’s a purpose to it.

That said, Adam knows that he’s inquisitive as all get out, so he doesn’t even think twice before asking Ronan point blank the following day at recess if they’re friends or not.

Ronan scrunches his nose at him, lips curled morosely.

“Stop being a weirdo and come play four square with us.”

Adam reasons that’s as much of an affirmation as he’s gonna get, and decides to only shrug before following him to play along.

The first time Adam goes to Ronan’s house for a school project, it’s a sunny autumn afternoon, and they’re fresh faced sixth graders. It’s the last year before embarking on the looming threat of junior high— A practice trial of sloppy make out parties and getting buzzed off cheap wine coolers swiped from someone’s parent’s licker cabinet— Gansey’s determined to make it the best year yet, and of course Ronan enthusiastically agrees because he and Gansey are really brothers in all but blood, so of course he’s going to entertain all of Gansey’s grandest of whims. And Noah always loves a good tie.

Adam still thinks it’s miraculous that they’ve adopted him into their little, mismatched brotherhood. That just as often Gansey looks at Ronan for a joke, he glances to Adam to ask a question with a furrow between his brows. And Noah says that Adam’s the only one who could keep up with him on a skateboard, even if his is a pathetic hunk of plastic he had bought for a quarter at a nearby thrift shop. And Ronan—

Well Ronan’s a different beast entirely.

He’s loud and abrasive and yells when he’s feeling to passionately and curses like a sailor even before they’ve hit teen hood. On paper he’s the precise sort of boy Adam never wanted to entangle himself with, the sort of boy that might’ve scared him in another universe. In a universe that Ronan wasn’t his assigned buddy on that fateful day, and a universe where Adam didn’t see how he doted on his brother a year behind them in school, and how he always fed the birds outdoors with bread from his lunch, and how he sometimes looks at Adam with such caution and care that it makes him blush.

No, Adam hates the thought of that world, and he refuses to think on it for any longer.

“C’mon ’s just a bit further of a walk,” Ronan tells Adam with a slight tug on where he’s got a hand encircled around Adam’s smaller wrist.

The first thing Adam thinks of when he finally sees the mythic Barns is that it’s a castle from a storybook.

It’s all sprawling fields filled with daisies and a large, but cozy looking house that’s got the backdrop of such blue, blue skies behind it. There are even vines that snake up its entrance, a rosebuds that accent the doorway.

The inside is much of the same, a managed mess with coats slung on the sofa and family portraits hanging on the walls, and the scent of fresh baked cookies wafting in the air.

It’s a home, loving and lived in and ringing out with warmth.

There’s a pang to Adam’s heart. He’s never felt the chasms that divide his and Ronan’s lives so acutely.

“Love,” a low, melodic voice crows from what must be the kitchen. He recognizes it to belonging to Ronan’s mother, the golden and beautiful Aurora.”Is that you?”

“Yeah Ma!” Ronan shouts back, crass as ever and making it so Adam winces back. “Adam’s here too, we’ve got a biology project to do.”

“Oh how splendid,” Aurora says with genuine mirth as she steps into the living room, splattered in flower and glowing with pure delight.

“Sorry for the intrusion ma’am,” Adam mumbles even though his own mother cuffs him on the back the head every time he does so.

“Nonsense,” she admonishes with no real heat, just fond exasperation. “Now Adam darling, how does quesadillas sound for dinner?”

Adam pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, feeling his cheeks flush as he averts his gaze. “I won’t stay for dinner ma’am, I don’t wanna be a bother.”

“Course you’re staying for dinner dummy.”

“Ronan, language,” Aurora chides, but the reproach sounds more like a formality than anything else. “Adam sweetheart we have more than enough to go around, you’re more than welcome to stay. In fact you’re the only friend of Ronan’s that hasn’t come around for a meal, and I know Niall would love to get to know you along with me.”

Adam feels his cheeks heat even brighter. He knows that she didn’t mean anything by the fact that they have more than enough to go around. It definitely wasn’t intended as any sorta dig, it’s just the way wealthier folks speaks. They’ve never needed to want for anything. Besides, it would be awful of him to stay here and eat their surely amazing food when he knows there’s a three day old meatloaf that his parents would be heating up tonight.

“I should ask my Ma.” Adam says mildly, a sneaky out. He’s sure his parents won’t let him stay past dinner time, and at least this way he won’t inadvertently insult Aurora.

“We’ll make her say yes,” Ronan squawks, indignant at the thought otherwise. Because of course he is, with the parents he got, Ronan probably can’t even fathom eating leftovers or being made to finish all the household chores or being ignored up until either of his parents feel like a good yelling. “Ma, I know he’s skinny but trust me he eats like a freaking maniac. I don’t even know where he stores it!”

“I’ll make so many you boys won’t know what to do with yourselves,” Aurora chortles, and Adam isn’t sure if he imagines the soft, sympathetic look she tosses his way or not, but prefers not to marinate on it. “Adam there’s a phone in the kitchen, you can call your folks from there.”

Shockingly, his mom says that Adam can stay.

“Your dad’s at a poker night, so come back before he does and don’t forget to walk Luanne’s dog tomorrow morning or else the doe’s coming from your pocket.”

Adam’s so stunned he doesn’t even have it inside of him to remind his mother that he doesn’t have a scent to his name.

The rest of that afternoon is spent roaming Ronan’s truly massive backyard, and playing a game that Matthew’s made up using a kickball, a spoon, and two eggs from the chicken coop. Later on Declan helps them with their diorama, and he and Ronan are allowed to eat in his room while watching an old black and white movie in the small television he keeps atop a shelf cluttered with about a thousand other nicknacks and broken toys.

And it’s wonderful.

“He’s just such a prick.”

Adam doesn’t have to ask who Ronan’s talking about.

He’s working beneath an old Ford truck in the small auto repair shop that he somehow finessed getting a job inside of even though he’s only fifteen and a sophomore and frankly, always fucking exhausted.

It’s become the norm for Ronan to ditch Gansey and Noah and join Adam in the dingy, rundown garage on his work nights, mostly just to keep him company. Sometimes he’l bring over homework and read the chapter for whichever class they’ve got the next day, and sometimes they just chat and listen to the old rock station playing from the speakers. But tonight’s one of those rare nights when Ronan is well and properly pissed, so he’s just slamming a bouncy ball against the wall over and over again while ranting about Declan, and Declan’s stupid new internship on the hill, and his stupid new girlfriend, (The third fucking Ashley in a row! Can you believe that!) And has now moved to berating Declan’s slicked back hair and clothes and his know-it-all attitude.

“He’s just such a— A—“

“Prick,” Adam says, snarky as all get out as he slides from under the car and moves to dry his hands from the oil that’s leaked onto him. “You’ve said— Like a thousand fucking times.”

Ronan pouts, arms crossed against his chest. “Well I don’t lie Parrish.”

The corner of Adam’s mouth quirks up reluctantly. “But you do pout, quite moodily too.”

“Oh piss off,” he hisses venomously, flipping him the bird for good measure.

Adam only rolls his eyes at his friend’s antics.

“Is this really because you think Declan’s a prat, or ’s it cause he’s moving out for a whole semester.”

Ronan glares at him with the ferocity of a thousand suns, and a weaker man might’ve shuttered back. But as it is, Adam is not a weaker man, and besides— He’s been on the receiving end of that look, and a thousand other even more menacing ones a countless number of times, it’s part and parcel of being Ronan’s best friend.

“You bite your whore tongue Parrish.”

Adam laughs, appreciates that even when he’s bone weary, Ronan can always do that. Make him feel lighter and dazzling and smile like they were still kids and things sucked, but they just sucked a little less.

“You’re gonna miss’m.”

“I said shut! it!”

“Ronan loves his older brother, oh this is good! I can’t wait to tell Gans!”

“I will punch your lights out you little runt!”

“Oo, big words from a big man.” Adam waggles his brows, unimpressed.

“You don’t know the people I know Parrish, I can get you offed with a snap of my finger!” Ronan says, laughter glittering in his pale eyes. The same color of the blue sky that first day Adam visited the Barns.

“Hah,” Adam snorts, finishing up closing shop for the night. “You know me, who’s a workaholic. Gansey, who’s too busy getting off to old dead kings to care about any sorta espionage mission. And Noah, who’s stoned about 98.5% of the time and built like a twig. You’ve got nothing.”

“I feel like I should be affronted on Noah’s behalf,” Ronan notes contemplatively.

“Oy, can you think on this great moral dilemma on the way to the McDonald’s drive through? I just got paid this morning and have been craving their fries from the dollar menu.”

“Oh fine you heathen,” Ronan huffs, acting oh so bereft. “Who gives a shit about my problems when your stomach is obviously much more important.”

Adam tsks as they meander to Niall’s old BMW that Ronan begged to keep, declining to buy a entirely new vehicle like Declan had gotten for his fifteenth.

“Oh and this provisional license means that I can’t have you in, so if any coppers cruise by just duck down like you’re giving me some road head, yeah?”

It’s Adam’s turn to glare at him. “Keep it up and I’ll have to tell Aurora bout your potty mouth you delinquent.”

Ronan’s smile goes sharp at that, like something very lethal and very dangerous. Adam pretends it doesn’t go straight to his gut.

“Naughty Parrish. And here I was all prepared to save you like a damsel if the coppers actually did stop us.”

Adam scoffs. “Please, that’s not a favor to me, you’re so thirsty to get arrested, it’s pathetic.”

“Well a pretty little thing like you wouldn’t last a day in the slammer,” Ronan goads, pulling the car into gear.

“You’re an idiot, and a prick.” Adam tells him bluntly.

“Tell me something I don’t know beautiful.”

Adam rolls his eyes so hard that he’s afraid he might’ve sprained something.

“Fine, you’re lip piercing makes you look like a douche.”

“But it’s so bad ass though!”

“Yeah, to like ten year old white boys in the suburbs.”

Ronan clutches his fist to his chest, feigning distress. “Parrish you’ve wounded me, I’m bleeding out! A curse to you and your family! And your family’s cow too!”

“Eyes on the Road maniac.” Adam scolds, trying his damndest not to let his mirth show.

Ronan buys himself half the menu and pays for Adam’s happy meal under the guise that it would be too difficult to have separate orders. But he conspicuously doesn’t ask for the receipt, and Adam tempts down the flicker that wants to fight him on it.

They end up on a cliff overlooking town, devouring their food in a sickeningly short amount of time before lying back on Ronan’s car, staring up at the constellations while the radio plays an acoustic song about love and slow dancing and Adam is too busy staring at the infinitesimal space that’s dividing their pinkies on the glass to pay attention to anything else.

“You— Erm, you have nice hands.” More than a bit surprised, Adam flinches back and quirks a brow at him in question. “They’re, erm rough, and you’ve got long fingers,” Ronan explains, his face going bright red and his bottom lip worried between his teeth.

“Is that right?” Adam asks, a slow smile gracing his lips as he gazes over at Ronan’s sharp profile being kissed by starlight.

“It is,” Ronan says, giving one, quick nod and not daring to look over at Adam quite yet. And God, he’s such a mess.

Tentative, Adam links their pinkies together and tilts his head so that he’s resting it on Ronan’s shoulder, hearing it when Ronan lets out the breath he seems to have been holding in for quite a while now.

“Right,” he says in a near whisper.

“Is this good?” Adam asks, only teasing him slightly.

“This is fucking fantastic Parrish.”

“You know that I—“

“I hoped as much,” Ronan admits, a bit flushed.

“But everything’s just so crazy right now,” Adam continues to explain, focussing on the velvet skyline and the full moon pouring over the pair of them.

“Your folks,” Ronan surmises, his jaw set and his open fist clenched so tight that his knuckles go white.

“Ro— Just please be my best friend right now, and not the person I confessed my love too. Please.”

“Course Adam, of course,” Ronan says worriedly, hurrying to collect him into his arms. “Whatever you want, whatever you need. I’m here.”

Adam’s entire body goes relaxed, and he puts a gentle hand over Ronan’s heart. “This, this’s all I want.”

The smile Ronan gives him in turn is blinding.

Adam’s mother tells him early on— tipsy and slurring as she puts him to bed after one of Robert’s moods— not to expect much from this world, this life. She tells him not to get his hopes up with the folly of making it big one day. Of leaving the dust and brimstone that molded him in the first place, tells him it’s a wasted effort.

“You’re not better than us Adam,” she says his name like she meant something else entirely.

She says his name like she means plague, like she means ruin, like she means tragic. She says his name like she sees all the twinkling possibilities she once dreamt of touching slowly collapse right in front of her, like it was his fault that she’s fettered to a life composed of cold silences and loveless touches and being stuck existing in the underbelly of society. Like it’s his fault the light in her eyes fractured day by day until it shattered permanently.

“The teachers don’t know what they’re talking bout, think you’re just some quiet, bookish kid.” She continues to bellow, tiny fists knotted in the material of the threadbare blanket he’s wrapped within. Adam feels nauseous at the scent of beer masking her hot breath. “They don’t know how much of a pain in the ass you are! How you just keep revving your father on for the fun of it! How you’re a fucking disappointment.”

Adam apologizes because he thinks that’s his only option. His mother snarls like she can’t stand to look at him for any longer. And nothing changes because nothing ever does.

But now, sitting in Ronan’s beloved BMW— bloody and battered and barely conscious— Adam thinks he can maybe, finally escape it.

The next time he opens his eyes he’s in an abrasively white hospital room, and he can’t hear out his left ear, and everything aches. But Ronan’s besides him, and that makes everything bearable.

“I hate them,” is the first thing Ronan says when he realizes Adam’s awake and has already pressed the button for the nurse to come in.

“I’m not going back,” Adam tells him, more convicted than he’s ever felt before.

Ronan squeezes his hand in silent thanks and it’s the first time Adam notices that Ronan’s broken three knuckles from the impact against Robert’s face, and he’s surprised that he’s only worried that Ronan’s hurt himself.

Them falling into their relationship was one of the more natural changes in Adam’s life. He hadn’t realized how gradual, how fated their romance actually was. How it’s been building for nearing on a decade.

How Ronan had always chosen Adam first since childhood— through it all. How Ronan is one of the only people Adam has always trusted implicitly. How jealous Ronan had been freshman year when Adam took Blue to homecoming and how relieved he became when Blue and Gansey began going out later that year.

Adam knows that he and Ronan aren’t some sort of soulmate love story, that they can get on each other’s nerves and have fights and disagreements too. But that makes it just the more real, makes it something solid and tangible and something Adam can’t imagine living without.

But the night his Harvard acceptance letter comes is only three months after Niall’s death after a drunk driver had hit him on the slippery January streets. Ronan’s already decided to stay home after graduation to watch out for his Ma and to keep the farm going.

“I can go somewhere closer by,” Adam tells Ronan that night, tangled in one another and Adam’s threadbare sheets in St Agnus, his hearing ear against Ronan’s chest and the pair of them shirtless and clinging onto each other like they needed the closeness to breathe.

“Don’t be stupid Parrish,” Ronan says in a excruciatingly soft cadence, one of his fingers tracing small hearts down Adam’s spine. “You’re gonna go off and be brilliant, and I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Promise?” Adam asks lowly, his voice thick with emotion and his own hands beginning to tremble.

“I’d wait for you for forever and a day.” Ronan tells him with such conviction that Adam’s left speechless, only tilts his had upwards so he could capture Ronan’s mouth and snog him nice and thorough.

“God I love you.” And it’s the first time Adam’s said as much with so many words, but he’s not afraid, not anymore.

“I love you too Parrish.”

Buy Me A Coffee?

#pynch #adam parrish #RONAN LYNCH #THE RAVEN CYCLE #SPILT INK #cowboyformitski #this is so late #But ILY BUBBY

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scripttorture · 4 years

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1/? I have a character who has been caught up in a war between planets ever since he was a child. He was out into hiding from the age of 10 to 16, before watching his younger brother killed by the person prosecuting them and elder sister sell her planet (she's heir basically) to save his life and swore herself loyal to the person to save herself.

2/? (She isn't loyal, but she'd be killed otherwise.) The character is then sent to grow up on a different planet, with his mother who figureheads a resistance against the people who took the characters sister and killed his brother. That's basic backstory continuing the character eventually gets captured again, and it taken to a prison. The character is tortured in the prison bc he killed several very important people and cut off the hands of another. 3/? Its seen (by the torturers i suppose, or at least the woman ordering them to do so) as rightful punishment. I havnt quite hashed out exactly what the torture is other than he definitely by the end has rather severe nerve damage in his hands from the shackles and chronic pain/weakness in one of his legs from something or another. Anyway the characters sister was put in charge of this prison, 4/5 and has no choice but to stand by and watch as the character is tortured. She does her best to make sure he isn't killed and the character knows she has no choice but to let them hurt her bc she is just as much of a prisoner as him, albeit in an entirely seperate way. She could stop the torture, and she could get him out, but she would be killed for it and he knows it. Im just wondering if he would blame her, 5/5 because she is in charge and could stop it. But she would be killed and it would likely end with them both dead. She cares for him when she can which isn't often bc she isn't exactly allowed too. Would he blame her I suppose? She has never hurt him, but lets it happen.

Alright I understand what you’re going for here.

It’s not the kind of situation that’s common enough for there to be systematic studies. Most of the time torturers and their victims don’t have a close relationship. It’s much more common to find cases where they were strangers or acquaintances prior to torture then close family or friends.

This doesn’t make this a bad idea. It just means that there aren’t definitive answers. I’m working from a handful of anecdotes and extrapolating from other things.

Even if this was a more common situation I don’t think you’d find many definite answers because individual variation would probably play a huge role.

Torture changes things for survivors in a lot of unpredictable ways. While we know the possible symptoms what any individual ends up experiencing is unpredictable. And how well people cope with mental health problems, and how that in turn impacts their relationships is dependant on the person. Someone’s personal experience, friends, support network, work, general knowledge and a host of other things can effect these sorts of outcomes.

Having that person also be tangentially involved in the survivor’s torture complicates things even further.

What I’m trying to say is that there are a lot of plausible outcomes here and I think that makes this a writing question rather then a realism question. So the real focus is: what works best with the character?

Blame is definitely possible in the scenario you’ve created but it doesn’t have to be straight-forward or simple.

For instance the character might blame her while knowing logically that there’s nothing else she could do without putting both of them in more danger. And that could make him feel conflicted about blaming her, possibly feeding into self-blame as well. He could openly blame her, or he could hide his feelings for a variety of reasons.

He might feel angry, that she’s ‘safer’ or that she can’t protect him. Or just because she ‘stands by’ and watches him at his worst. He might even come to hate her.

But it’s also possible that he wouldn’t associate her with the torturers or guards and would view her more as a fellow (though perhaps favoured) prisoner. He might pity her. He might feel sympathetic towards her plight.

He could plausibly have no strong feelings towards her at all.

Whatever emotional response you think is best it’s important to tie it to what’s come before in the story.

However you look at things he’s been away from his sister for a long time. It’s not clear to me how much time they spent together growing up (they could have been apart since he was 10 from the sounds of things).

If they spent a lot of their childhood apart they may not have a close relationship to begin with. I don’t think that would make a particular response more likely but it could mean he has a less intense response to her presence generally. If they weren’t close before then he might not feel her presence is particular significant.

If they were close then I think it’s a good idea to look back over the story. Read their interactions again and try to get a clear picture in your mind of what their relationship was before.

Whatever happens you’re writing the process of how that relationship changes. And it’s really helpful to have a clear idea of where you’re starting from first. I personally find it helpful to have a clear idea of where I want to end up as well but some people prefer a more exploratory style where they find out where the characters end up as they write.

It doesn’t matter which approach works better for you, what matters is that the intervening steps, the process of the relationship changing, are clear and understandable to your readers. And preferably pack a heavy emotional punch as well.

So if blame is the result you want (if it isn’t use this as an example and apply the same process to the emotional response you want) think about what aspects of their relationship could feed into that.

If they had a competitive or slightly antagonistic relationship then it might feel natural for him to place some blame on her. After all it’s probably an established pattern from their relationship. If he saw her as a protector and relied on her to keep him safe then this might feel like a huge betrayal.

If they had a really loving, tender relationship then you might want to lean in to the illogical nature of the response. It might even be a good idea to have the character acknowledge (internally or verbally) that this isn’t a sensible response. And yet this does not make the feeling go away.

With a more distant relationship did he feel like she betrayed her people or her family by ‘giving up’, regardless of how desperate the situation was? Or did he (as a kid raised in the rebellion) mostly view her as a prisoner?

If he saw her as a prisoner and felt pity for her would that vanish as she stands by while he suffers? Or would it seem to confirm what he already thought; that she’s helpless, powerless.

Find some part of their previous relationship that you can tie to this new set of feelings. Or acknowledge that it’s not a sensible response and have the character deal with more complex feelings as a result.

Mostly try to resist the idea that there’s a ‘right’ response for your character to have.

Try not to suggest in the story that there is one ‘proper’ response for a survivor to have. Because they are a varied bunch. People can live through more or less the same thing and come out with very different attitudes or perspectives as well as symptoms.

The response you write should be the one that works best with your characters and the story you want to tell. Don’t feel you must use blame. Instead think about whether it adds to your story: does it create interesting character moments, obstacles for the characters or feed into the plot?

You’re the person who knows what’s best for the story and what will work best with the characters. Be open to multiple options. Take your time and think through what works best.

For the character himself it’s possible (may be likely) that he’d already have some trauma symptoms before he’s captured.

I get the impression you’ve probably already seen the Masterpost on common trauma symptoms, but here it is for the new readers. :)

For the physical injury pattern you’ve got multiple options.

I think that really severe nerve damage suggests something more then shackles. Unless something went wrong.

The easiest way to get both injuries in your character would be a suspension torture that was more common historically. Victims had their hands tied together in front of them, were hoisted anywhere between a few feet and two meters in the air and then dropped.

This causes nerve damage in both hands and could cause breaks or fractures in the legs. Either could lead to chronic pain.

Suspension without the drop would still cause nerve damage in about 15-20 minutes.

Nerve damage is less common with restraints but it is still possible. Ratcheting cuffs that can tighten are more likely to cause nerve damage, especially if they’re applied too tightly over a long period.

Other dangerous things that can happen with those sorts of restraints being too tight- Broken wrists and reduced circulation leading to painful swelling in the hands (look up ‘finger milking’ in my tags for more information).

Over longer periods (multiple hours with the cuffs tight enough to cause swelling in the hands) blood clots might form and that uh… really dangerous. Basically if large blood clots start forming in a limb due to reduced circulation then they either block the blood vessels (which kills the limb and leads to amputation) or the clot gets swept back into the body when the restraints are removed. The clot usually then lodges in the brain or the heart causing a stroke or a heart attack respectively.

I’d say suspension probably works better for your purposes.

Standing stress positions can lead to chronic pain in the legs. But it often also effects the back and usually effects both legs.

Falaka might work. It’s beating the soles of the feet with an implement. Depending on the implement it can be clean, scarring or even lethal. With a harder implement like a wooden stick it can lead to fractured or broken bones in the feet.

But even when falaka is performed in a ‘clean’ manner it can lead to chronic pain. It causes a thickening of the tendons in the soles and also causes tiny bone fragments to detach inside the feet. It’s unclear how long these bone fragments stick around but they’re detectable by MRI for a few months with the right method.

You could also just go with the idea of the leg injury being the result of a specific attack or accident. A broken knee perhaps, after a beating or a fall. Not all injuries in torture scenarios are ‘deliberate’, in the sense that they weren’t necessarily intentional. Because torturers are not as in control of the situation as they’d like people to believe.

I think I’ll leave it at that for now, but if you have any further questions don’t hesitate to come by when the askbox is open. :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#writing advice #tw torture #sci fi ask #writing survivors #writing witnesses #torture survivors and relationships #effects of torture #injury patterns #nerve damage #chronic pain #falaka #suspension #stress positions #restraint torture

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worstloki · 4 years

Note

hi i have a prompt: the hulk smash isnt enough to free loki from the mind stone, thanos/the other die with the chitauri. loki is still under the stones influence but his boss is dead, and being enthralled to No One In Particular is stressing him out so the stone decides to make the avengers his New Boss™ (bc while the tesseract is his one true love, All Infinity Stones Are Friends Of Loki (AISAFOL)). the avengers are Very Confused by lokis sudden and inexplicable desire to please them.

(This post got quite long, so I’ve put a barrier to stop unwanting eyes from having the travesty take forever to scroll down. You’re welcome.)

He suspected there were only two beings currently in the vicinity to toss him around like a ragdoll, and the mean green fighting machine was definitely the one he would prefer.

When the Hulk grabbed hold of Loki’s ankle he was hopeful that the Other’s hold on him would break, after all, hadn't ‘cognitive recalibration’ broken Barton from its influence? He did not try using magic to soften the blows as he was hit against the ground.

Loki felt the connection break, felt as the watcher’s eyes were pulled away and he could finally breathe without scrutiny. Which was fine, until he did a basic physiology check (to make sure he wasn’t hit too hard on the head) and found the mind stone still holding on to him. It was urging him to serve a commander he had no contact to and the irony of this was not wasted on Loki. The sceptre’s touch would soon fade. Probably.

He lay on the ground, savouring his victory: The Chitauri were mindless and would soon be easily defeated, the mind stone left near the portal to close, the fact that he would soon be back on Asgard, but most importantly, that Thanos was far far away from him. Loki would not be so easily captured again.

When he tried to pull himself out of the ground, (and yes, there really was a body-shaped hole were he had been left which was honestly impressive even for himself) he found the Avengers standing over him. Show offs.

This was fine though. Thor would not leave his brother on Midgard and wouldn’t have any way to get back to Asgard since Loki was the one with knowledge on how to use it. He would likely stand trial and be sentenced to death. Which was also fine (he knew several loopholes that he could exploit to avoid a death sentence).

Stark was the first to talk, “Alright you Ben Solo knockoff, get in the fancy handcuffs” he said. Perhaps not your best analogy, Loki was about to say when he felt his exhausted back straighten and found himself actually walking towards the man - something that he had in no way decided to do.

The fact that he had followed the instructions calmly just left everyone else more confused, if all 6 Avengers tensing up was any indication. So, it appeared the sceptre’s touch would not, in fact, be fading soon.

He felt himself hold his hands out for Tony to attach the handcuffs. They were Asgardian and would surely restrict his magic, which would definitely not be the best thing for him right now since he was trying to cut the Mind stone off.

The handcuffs were put around his wrists and, feeling his magic start to suppress as they touched his wrist he jerked his hands back out. He told me get in the handcuffs, he smiled at the thought, but he did not specify for how long I would have to keep them there.

He noticed after the Widow had caught onto his neck and slammed him to the ground that moving too fast would be seen as a sign of hostility, and was too busy figuring out how long he would survive on loop-holes before Earth’s heroes realised he was at their command, to resist being pinned to the ground. Thor placed Mjolnir strategically on Loki’s sleeve to keep him down - his sleeve, as if ripping through it wasn’t an option - the oaf either didn’t consider him a threat anymore (which was good) or hadn’t wanted to place it elsewhere and risk injuring Loki (which was also good), This amount of good luck was awfully suspicious.

“Why, brother?” Thor asked, as he stared down at Loki. Loki couldn’t exactly ignore the only thing he could see other than the ceiling and decided to give him an answer for the apparently sincere concern Thor had on his face.

“Because, Thor, I would rather he at least took me out to dinner first-”

Loki couldn’t see them but he knew at least Tony and Romanov would find the remark enough to smirk at despite the circumstances and Bruce and Steve would also find it amusing (even if they would not admit it). Barton’s sense of humour was a bit less dry but he could try something for that later. To Thor’s credit, all he did was act confused and turn away. He didn’t really care about Thor’s reaction. In fact, thinking about it, was finally being free putting him in a good mood, or was it the stone that was still doing something in his head? He was almost certain his sudden interest in what the Avengers thought of him was not natural… but he couldn’t say for sure, so mulling over it was pointless.

“I apologise for my brother, it seems his sense of humour took a hit in the fight” Thor told his team, “If one of you could hold his other hand I shall bound his wrists and mouth myself -”

“I don’t think you’ll need to do that,” Tony stepped forward, coming into view, which was awfully kind of him since Loki could literally only see Thor and the roof as he laid on the ground and wasnt bothered to get up, “He’s Loki, right? I read up on him a bit and he mostly avoids stuff because of the wording people use… combine that with the fact that he walked over to me when I asked, but then didn’t let me tie him it seems he’ s actually a pretty chill guy and wouldn’t object if I ask him to hold still long enough for me to put them on”. No one answered.

“That is a crazy outlandish theory, even for you man…” Hawkeye said, probably to break the silence. Loki considered his options and they were to either a) Not do anything and let Tony test out his theory (which would be true and then the Avengers would realise that he will do whatever they wanted happily and not end well for himself) or b) say something now that could convince Tony not to try it (which, considering Tony and his curious streak, would be pretty hard to pull off…).

He found an uncomfortable position in which he could hold himself up and face the Avengers while keeping his left arm pinned down. He settled for option b and hoped the norns were feeling kind today.

“Hello, I’m Loki, I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced but long story short I was tortured and then forced into trying to subjugate your planet - sorry about that by the way - but I’m mostly back now and would rather not put the handcuffs on for the previously stated reason but also because I’m healing up a serious head injury at the moment and those cuffs restrict the healing.”. The injury part was a lie of course, he just didn’t enjoy his magic being meddled with (and was trying to get rid of the mind stone which refused to leave) and Thor wouldn’t leave him at the mercy of Midgardian healing knowledge… the rest of it was true enough, with the omission of Thanos, a threat Loki would only mention to the only one probably able to do something; the Allfather.

“I’m calling BS,” Clint said, barely after Loki had closed his mouth. Rude. “The guy is literally infamous for lying, and he also had that sceptre that he used to mess with peoples brains, and he was trying to bring an alien army through that portal thing, and he has no proof that he isn’t making this all up. So.” he finished off eloquently.

They all shufted to the other side of the room and lowered their voices, presumably arguing over whether or not to trust him. Typical. This is what good telling the truth does.

Thor still stood with him though, and was trying to attach the handcuffs. Loki decided to store them in his pocket dimension just to make sure Thor didn’t accidently succeed. Thor pulled out another pair. Loki neatly placed those in the pocket dimension too. Loki could do this all day.

The Captain, (their semi-leader? Loki was unsure how Tony and Steve had split the responsibility but it seemed to lean either direction at random) cleared his throat and addressed him, “We’ve decided the handcuffs… won’t be necessary since we don’t want to submit you to a hospital- ”

“And because you wouldn’t be able to eat without your hands,” Tony cut in, presumably inviting him to the dinner Loki had mentioned, and got matching glares from Steve and Natasha in returned.

“But, we have also decided to test out Tony’s theory on how you lie because there’s no harm in not trying. After that you’ll be questioned by SHIELD and sent home.” Steve continued. He failed to mention what would be happening to the tesseract or mind stone which Loki thought was funny; as if Odin would let them keep three infinity stones on this planet. The thought that Odin may not even know what the sceptre and tesseract actually were crossed his mind but he dismissed it.

Clint stepped forward and said, “Do a backflip,”. There was an expectant silence that followed as if they all thought he would obey the absurd command.

“You realise I am stuck to the ground, do you not? Even if I could do a backflip, I wouldn’t be able to like this.“ When the silence grew heavier and Clint’s ears had turned as red as they could get Loki decided to continue, “Also, I can’t do backflips.”

The silence grew even heavier than before - if possible - and Loki watched as Barton received glares from basically everyone.

He decided he should take advantage of this to suggest something that would be useful to himself and them. “How about you ask me not to attack any of you as we leave the tower?” He prompted.

Natasha decided to speak instead, “Do not attack any of us indefinitely. In fact, while you’re at it, why don’t you magic me up some coffee.”.

The request was simple enough. He hadn’t planned on doing anything to harm them anyways. All he wanted was to get on Asgard and wait for the mind stone to wear off. “Done.” Loki said, then, holding out a cup of coffee that appeared in his hand (it was from the café across the road, where ‘Nick Fury’, some guy whose lack of an eye reminded him of Odin, had been about to take his first sip) he offered the cup to her. He even winked and added a pleased to be of service thinking she would actually accept the coffee. Of course, she did not.

“I’m afraid I don’t like the way the Director takes his coffee.” she said, a dangerous shine in her eyes, “Why don’t you drink it instead? I’m sure you’d love to drink the whole thing in one go.”. Natasha smiled nicely, as he said “whatever you say” and did just that. He hadn’t had coffee in a while so he might as well take the chance to taste it while he had some on him anyways. It was hot, sure, but he could use magic to prevent it from burning him. He drank it in one go.

There was no sugar in it. Loki hates coffee. He knows he hates coffee but its not like he had much of a choice. It was fine though. As long as he willingly does everything they asked the stone wouldn’t have to come into play and take over for him. To hide their control he wouldn’t just have to do everything happily and for the purpose of ‘because I wanted to do it anyways’ but he would have to do it convincingly.

That’s not too hard. He was a good liar after all. He could easily answer SHIELD’s questions then get to Asgard without them figuring it out…

“I cant explain how but it appears your theory was right, Stark, he’ll do whatever you ask if he is physically able to do. Good job on figuring it out.” Natasha said, winking at Loki when she was finished.

If he manages to get away now they’ll stop believing the true story he told them before. If he confirms that the stone is still affecting him they’ll know for sure that he has to do whatever they say. He watches each of them as they go through the stages of confusion, awe, disbelief and then settle on ‘confusion but with an attitude that says we are going to take full advantage of this discovery’. He stares at them in silence because he knows the only action he could take that won’t change any ridiculous demands they make will only confirm him as guilty for the crimes he (technically didn’t!) commit.

Well, #$&*, he thinks.

#I cannot write very well but that wont stop me from trying #With the benefit of hindsight quotes would've been funnier #but also I felt like it deserved a bit of context?#Thanks for the suggestion!#prompt appreciated!!

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 4 years

Note

for the kiss prompts, first date, on the sidewalk, with a janus ship of your choice~

So uh...👉👈 this was supposed to be Rociet but Logan snuck his way in as I'm taking a lot of comfort from his character lately XD I have another one started for Roman so you might be getting a two for one special with this prompt; regardless I hope you like this one!

Breathe and Relax

Summary: Logan has been an appreciated, steadying presence in Janus' life since college; the way he finds out he's Logan's comes as a pleasant surprise.

Warnings: none, but if you need one tagged don't hesitate to ask.

Ships: Lociet, Logan x Janus

WC: 1,558

Logan had always been wound rather tight. It wasn't as if that was a particularly bad thing most of the time, having the presence of mind for proper time management was a very good quality to have. Group projects were always a daydreamers nightmare with the man, everyone's skills and time taken into account (with little exceptions) and put into a schedule that made it easy for everyone to follow as long as you did actually follow it. Janus remembers college fondly sitting back in amusement as the other students tried to argue against the raging nerd and his binders but eventually it was well known by even the teachers that if you wanted a group project done and done right and done early you went to Logan.

As organized as he was, and still is, it made sense for things to slip through the cracks. One could only account for so much and he certainly couldn't be blamed for not being able to predict the future. Not that the stubborn man would ever listen to the little bit of logic Janus could add to his mindset every now and again.

"I just don't understand why it had to happen today of all days! It's completely unprofessional for any standard of etiquette, not to mention if I were someone else and didn't have all of the paperwork organized beforehand I would be at even more of a disadvantage! I accounted for weather and traffic for two days from now, not today, but now they're going to think I can't handle the job because I can't handle a change in plans, which I clearly can't and-"

Janus slowed his quick pace as the other continued to rant, watching as he frantically fixed his tie and tried to smooth his hair at the same time. The power had gone out this morning, resetting Logan's clock and making him wake up late and subsequently missed checking his email until even later where he had found the appointment for his job interview had been moved up due to scheduling complications. He had called Janus while trying to gather everything nearly crying in frustration, to which he had of course rushed over to help and had a cab waiting to drive them to the lab. Then of course traffic had backed up and rather than waiting for it to clear Logan had quickly paid and tipped before making his way down the block to the research lab himself, just barely restraining the urge to sprint.

They were nearly there but as the other continued to ramble and shake his pace only quickened, nervous energy visible from a mile away. Fortunately Janus had been friends with him long enough to know a spiral when he saw one. "Logan, come here."

"What?" Logan stopped and whirled around, breathless and tense as Janus approached him. Taking the briefcase from his hands he took them into his own and gently rubbed the knuckles as he looked earnestly into Logan's eyes.

"Breathe." Taking a deep breath to demonstrate, he held it for a moment before releasing it, watching Logan to the same. Janus smiled as he closed his eyes, face relaxing as he took measured breaths along with him, the tense muscles in his hands finally relaxing in Janus' secure hold.

Taking them away he ignored the soft whine the other let out. "Relax."

He reached for Logan's tie, straightening it just so and carefully smoothing out the slightly rumpled shirt. Logan tracked his movements while he fixed his polo cuffs and threaded gentle fingers through his hair to neaten his current windswept appearance. Smiling Janus settled his hands on his shoulders before leaning forward to press his lips to Logan's forehead.

"You are handsome." A kiss to his left cheek. "And intelligent." Another to his right. "And you are going to do amazing things even if you don't get this job." One more to the very tip of his nose. "Which you and I both know you will because of how hard you worked for it. A few minor set backs isn't going to stop you."

Catching the look of pure adoration in the others eyes Janus blushed furiously and leaned down to hide his face, shoving the briefcase into Logan's hands and turning him around in the same movement. "Now, shoulders back, head up and move! You're going to be late and I have no patience for another breakdown."

Hearing Logan's laugh was like getting front row seats to an orchestra, loud and booming with enough emotion to set Janus' chest aflame. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he watched Logan make his way to the doors with much more confidence than he had shown before, taking another visibly steadying breath as he pushed the doors open and disappeared.

-----

"...and I was the one that had to tell them what they were smelling was chlorine gas, which meant that entire section of the building had to be evacuated until it was sorted out. Honestly how half of them ended up with degrees contradicts all logic."

Janus snorted through his pizza as his boyfriend ranted on about his coworkers. It was funny to think a year ago he wasn't sure if he would get the job at all and now he stood as one of the only competent people there. His sudden blush thankfully went unnoticed as he realized that a year ago they had still only been friends, though he supposed that's when the pining may have started. They had both been oblivious idiots back then and hough they still were the difference was now they were officially on their first date at a hole in the wall pizza joint with good reviews and better service.

The continued to swap stories and rants, occasionally flying off topic when a particular phrase or topic reminded them of a side project they were working on or a book they wanted to read (which led to them agreeing a library date would definitely be next, as unoriginal as it was). When their plates were clean and the waiter tipped and they could no longer find an excuse to stay, Janus felt himself being tugged by the hand down the block, much to his flustered amusement.

"Did you forget something at work?" He asked in confusion seeing where they were headed.

"Not exactly." Logan's cryptic answer did little to sate his curiousity but he kept quiet as they neared the building. Suddenly they stopped and Logan dropped his hand, an action he tried not to pout over as the other began looking around. Janus smiled, biting down his concern as he was gripped gently by the shoulders and steered a couple feet back before Logan nodded in satisfaction.

"Breathe." Janus huffed out a laugh at the request, taking a steadying breath nonetheless. His hands twitched with uncertainty until Logan took them into his own, grip soft and sure as he rubbed the knuckles. "Just relax."

"Logan-"

"I wanted to thank you-"

The both laughed as they started to speak over each other but Janus tipped his head to the side in question. "Thank me for what?"

"For everything. You reigned me in at college and helped me through my worst moments. You helped me study and let me talk to you about things you didn't really have any interest in. You were my first friend and the only one who stuck around after graduation." He chuckled quietly. "Janus you even helped me get my dream job."

"I hardly think I was any help with that. You had the qualifications for it."

"I woke up late, the interview time was moved, everything was going wrong but you helped me walk in looking as confident as I needed to be to get it."

"I-" Janus let the sentence hang as Logan leaned forward slowly, allowing him to pull away if he wanted, which he definitely did not.

"You're handsome." A kiss to his left cheek. "And intelligent." A kiss to his right. "And you've helped me more than you'll ever know." One more to the tip of his nose. "I feel so very lucky to be finally dating you."

Janus' face burned as a feeling of deja vu settled itself in the back of his mind. Had he really remembered?

He watched as Logan flicked his gaze to his mouth, blushing furiously. "I was too nervous to kiss you then but...may I now?"

"If you don't I'm breaking up with you on the spot." Logan laughed outright before leaning forward again.

And oh.

Careful fingers threaded through the hair at the base of his neck, pulling Janus forward as his own hands flew to Logan's waist. It was simple, chaste and sweet and Janus' mouth still tasted like pizza but it was their first kiss and it was perfect. Standing in the dark in front of a research lab that had questionable safety regulations with what he could tell was gum stuck to his shoe and Logan in his arms pressing their foreheads together and Logan looking at him with as much adoration as he had a year ago and Logan gently stroking his thumbs against his neck and Logan Logan Logan

Everything settled at once as Janus closed his eyes to breathe.

And relaxed.

This work and others are also available on AO3!

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #thomas sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #deciet sanders #fluff #fluffy fluff #prompt request #kiss prompt #false writes #ao3

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give-me-back-my-rhodey · 4 years

Text

Law vs Morals - AUgust Day 19

Title: Law vs Morals

Author: Purple_ducky00

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Violence, slight mentions of period homophobia, major character death (of old age)

Pair: Pepper/Tony, eventual Pepper/Rhodey/Tony

Link: Read on AO3

Summary: Police Chief James Rhodes is adamant on taking down the Stark mob. When he gets kidnapped by the Starks, he starts to see all they do. Can there be some gray in the world of black and white?

Written for @endrega23 I hope you enjoy it!

+++++++++

The Stark family has ruled New York City for the better part of the 1800s, growing stronger as each successor took their place as the head. Howard followed Montgomery, strengthening their hold by marrying Maria Carbonell and taking over the Carbonell family business as well. Anthony, or Tony, now sits on the seat. Rumors of his cunning and ruthlessness precede him. No one steps onto his territory without him knowing. Anyone who tries to go against his rule is taken care of immediately.

The problem with this is, no one can pin anything on Stark. Any mobster caught is more afraid of their boss than the police and will not say a word. Police Chief Rhodes devotes his life to taking down the Stark family. The only problem is that most of his cops have been bought by the mobster. It’s up to him alone to find evidence on the man.

Stark himself is a bit of a recluse. He doesn’t go out much, and when he does, he goes big. All eyes are on him, and everyone knows where he is and what he’s doing. It’s very hard to accuse him of any wrongdoing when the public loves him. Rhodes has met him several times. Stark greets him happily, even giving him the nickname of ‘Rhodey’. Rhodes can admit that if he did not know that Stark was a criminal, they’d probably be good friends.

Rhodes once got a tip-off telling him to keep an eye out for Stark’s wife. A high-society woman, Mrs. Stark is seen at all the social events wearing the latest gowns in fashion. Graceful and beautiful, she is always the star of the show. Rhodes often wonders if she knows her husband deals in criminal affairs. Rhodes tails her for a few days, but nothing she does seems out of the ordinary. He finally gives up and goes back to his normal routine.

Another tip-off leads him to bring down Tiberius Stone, Stark’s competitor. Stone himself cannot tie Stark to anything either, but he feeds Rhodes with a lot of rumors and information. “Potts, well Mrs. Stark now, is not as genteel as she seems. She is deadly, officer, deadly. She runs more of the operation than Stark himself. They say that he told everyone who works for him that whatever she says goes. She’s the real kingpin here.” He also rattles off places that he assumes Stark uses as fronts for his real business.

Chief Rhodes goes by foot as there are no available carriages and he’d prefer to be inconspicuous. Taking it upon himself to search the buildings, Rhodes stumbles across a dead body, brutally beaten and mangled. He’s ready to call it in when something hits the back of his head, and he falls, unconscious.

He wakes up in a nicely furnished room, handcuffed to the headboard of a bed. Struggling to get free, he doesn’t notice the person sitting next to him until they clear their throat. Rhodes yells. “Let me go, you bastard!” Until he realizes that the person sitting next to him is a woman, that woman being Mrs. Stark. “Pardon my language, ma’am.”

The woman frowns down at him. “Don’t patronize me,” She says. “I wanted to kill you immediately. You had better be thankful that my husband likes you. Now that you’re awake, I’ll get him.” She pushes down a button and calls. “Send Mr. Stark to the hold, please.”

A few minutes later, Stark rushes in the door. “Rhodey!” He smiles, face beaming. “It’s so nice to see you again!”

Mrs. Stark rolls her eyes, muttering, and Rhodes pulls against his cuffs. “What do you want from me? Why am I here?”

“I don’t really want you to be here, but it was either keep you here or kill you, and I don’t want to see you killed.” Stark’s eyes get sad.

“Don’t go playing the victim here, Stark.” He growls. “Everyone knows you’re a criminal. I am going to get out of here and take you down.”

“Tony, I told you he’s not going to cooperate,” Mrs. Stark sighs.

Tony holds out his hand to her. “Pepper, I don’t want to kill him, please.”

This comes off weird to Rhodes. Tony Stark, the invincible head of the Stark gang, is pleading to his wife to spare the life of the only cop who’s been trying to bring him down for the past decade? What is going on here? He watches as the couple share a conversation with their eyes. Mrs. Stark sighs again and shrugs. Tony turns back to Rhodes. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to stay here. Collateral damage and all – I’m sure you understand. Please know that you may ask for whatever you want, and it shall be given to you. You’ll be treated like a special guest. But you'll have a guard with you at all times so that you can’t escape.”

“Why don’t you just kill me?” Rhodes sinks back on the bed.

Tony sits beside him. “Because, Rhodey, I like you. And I never want to see you dead.”

“What are you going to do if my men start looking for me?”

“Rhodey, be serious. First off, I have all your men on my payroll. Secondly, did you tell anyone where you were going?” Stark tilts his head. Rhodes has to admit that he has a point.

The Starks assign two guards to Rhodes, a thin teenager who is exceptionally strong and a stony faced man with a prosthetic arm. The teenager likes to talk. He tells Rhodes how Mr. Stark saved him and his aunt from being thrown out on the street because they couldn’t pay rent. He goes on about his friends, his boyfriends, and the food he had for breakfast until the other guard, Barnes, asks him to shut it.

“What about you?” Rhodes asks snidely. “Did Mr. Stark save your life as well?”

“No, but he saved my wife's. I was already working for him when she was caught by the police. She smuggled her way over here from Russia, and they didn’t like that very much. Mr. Stark paid them off before they did anything vile to her. I am forever grateful for that.”

What is this, the time for sob stories? Rhodes scoffs. It wouldn’t surprise him that Stark would pay them to tell him these things. For some reason, Stark always wanted to be on his good side. Maybe he wants to win Rhodes over, too. It won’t happen.

The Starks find out not too long after that Pepper is pregnant. Tony removes her from any field work until she comes to term. He doesn’t want her, or his unborn child injured in any way. The redhead works behind the scenes a lot more now. As Stark is very busy, she spends a lot of time sitting with Rhodes. They play chess and checkers while Pepper puts her feet up. She usually wins, but there are a few times Rhodes is able to eek in a victory.

As he resides at the Stark mansion, he starts to notice things. Tony spends most of his time in his workshop, either developing new weapons for his men, or more often than not, manufacturing things to help people in their daily lives. He overhears one of Stark’s men asking what to do with the Keener family. “She’s late on her payments once again, sir.”

“It’s not her fault they won’t hire a single mother. Let her live there for free. It’s not costing me anything. Besides, Harley comes here a lot of times after school. I appreciate his help. Leave them alone and work over the rich assholes who won’t pay their workers,” Tony replies.

Pepper funds many orphanages and homes for the poor. Between the two of them, the Starks are building a respectable neighborhood around them, something they wouldn’t have been able to do without their drug and crime money.

One day, when Tony comes in from a stroll, Rhodes mentions this to him. Tony smiles. “Now you’re getting it. Tell me, Rhodey, which is better? Me, robbing the extremely wealthy of the funds they’ll never use to help build up the city or having men in power who only strive for their own greatness? Who hire police officers who will imprison the misfortunate because they have no home and take advantage of the unarmed women? I hope you realize that just because something is legal, it’s not always moral. And vice versus.”

“Is that how you sleep at night?” Rhodes scoffs.

Tony sighs. “No, how I sleep at night is with my darling wife in a very comfortable bed. You’d be welcome to join if you’d like.”

Rhodes is taken aback. Stark just said that so… casually. Doesn’t he know he could get killed for that kind of comment? Homosexuality is a taboo, and those who have those feelings didn’t dare speak in public about it. Rhodes knows; he is one of those persons. In any other case, he would have brushed it off as a joke, but… he can’t stop thinking about it. He’s not sure if it’s Stockholm Syndrome or not, but his feelings towards Mr. and Mrs. Stark have definitely changed.

Thinking of them as friends and not enemies, he often seeks out their company now. Pepper and he have long conversations about art, strategies, and even fashion. He accompanies Tony to his workshop every now and again. He learns about simple mechanics and the newest technologies. They have settled into a very easy camaraderie.

Now, Tony makes that comment. Rhodes can’t deny that he finds both husband and wife very attractive. He decides, after a long night of debate, to leave the comment as it was said and not think of it again until…

One night, he knocks on Pepper’s parlor door for their usually book reading. Like most times, she doesn’t answer. He slips in the door only to find her and Tony getting it on. They don’t pull away when they see him, and he backs up, stammering. “I-I’m sorry. I’ll just come back later.”

“Join us?” Pepper asks, head thrown back in pleasure.

They must have been serious. Rhodes thinks. “Are you sure?”

“Would we have asked were we not sure?” Tony queries. “We want you here, Rhodey, but we understand if you would prefer to leave.”

“No, I will stay.”

++++++++ When little Morgan is born seven months later, Pepper introduces her to both of her fathers. Rhodey becomes part of the business. When Pepper stays in the background tending to Morgan, he takes control of the next moves. He and Pepper band together when Tony takes care of the baby, which is more often than not. She has him wrapped around her finger.

Rhodey loves Morgan. She’s not his child by blood, but she’s his child. No one dares to tell him or her otherwise. He teaches her how to defend herself at a very young age. It is not a secret that she will be even more powerful than her predecessors.

The trio stick together as laws change, as Morgan grows, as they grow old. Pepper is the first to pass, falling sick with the flu. Rhodey is next at the age of eighty-five. Tony passes not long after, handing the reins of the business to his daughter. Although she grows more powerful than her parents, tales are still told about the trio that ran New York.

#pepperony #eventual pepperhony #james rhodes #Tony stark #pepper potts #19th century au #tw violence #tw major character death #major character death but of old age #tw: period homophobia #au_gust_2020 #i write!

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toysoldiers-rwby · 4 years

Text

Deleted Scene

Show Your Teeth Ch. 3

A/N: I had to remove this scene because it derailed from the plot too much. its around 3k so I might touch this up as a oneshot, idk. unedited, unfinished

Rating: Explicit. Minors turn away! (tagged as thoorist)

Fiona/Winter/May

Tags: nsfw, wet dream, sexual tension, praise kink, temp play, threesome

Dinner was… odd. For one they weren't up in Atlas Academy, eating a care package Klein and Weiss sent or causing trouble in the mess hall. They were on the floor of Robyn's apartment, surrounding a stained and uneven coffee table.

Eating food that was dropped off by a mysterious Thief capable of hacking into Atlas' network.

And it was peaceful.

With two of the hottest heads in Atlas Academy.

Fiona gave her elites worried glances. In her head she could hear Winter huff and puff about eating evidence. While Winter wasn't as by-the-book as Vine this was the only clue they had to find the Thief that *hacked into Atlas.* And as a daughter of one of the richest families she could be poisoned or drugged. May would normally be barking over every little thing, such as Robyn sitting too close or staring too long at Fiona. Instead they were… docile.

They lived up in Atlas all their lives. This was their second time in Mantle. Everything they wanted was at their fingertips while Mantle had to scavenge for their scraps. Including fighting for the attention for the people that was supposed to protect them. The Thief had to trick them in kill Grimm!

Fiona sighed and slipped another piece of stuff chicken into her mouth. She kept her worried glances on her teammates and listened to the only conversation. Robyn and Joanna was talking about logistics and timing, the planning it would have taken the Thief to make the food and deliver it.

"There's no way they made the food," Robyn said. She plucked a stuff mushroom from the center and held it out to Joanna. "This takes way too much time!"exp

"It's called meal prep. If you'd stop passing me all the cooking jobs you'd know," Joanna said with a slight grin. Robyn frowned, glaring lightly before tossing the mushroom into her mouth. Joanna held up an empty plate. She pointed to the restaurant logo on it. "These were stolen and the restaurants around here definitely don't cook like this."

"It is too good to not be homemade," Robyn gradually conceded. "But she must live-"

Fiona heard the sharp whine before everyone else. Her ears immediately pointed at May as she twitched a little. The noise completely caught Winter off guard. She nearly dropped the spool of fire Dust she was playing with, head jerking to look at May. The usually angry women whined again, pitching low into a groan as her eyes tried to fluttered open. She was awake long enough to snuggle into Winter's shoulder and immediately fell back asleep, mouth open and soft snores coming from her. Fiona grinned and giggled behind her hand. For such an elite she was wore herself on her sleeves.

"At least she finished her plate," Winter said with a soft sigh. She looked conflicted, wanting to relax but her guarded blue eyes wouldn't stray from the Mantle pair for long.

"Maybe you three should take my bed…" Joanna muttered. Winter's cold demeanor slowly shifted to Joanna in that calm furious way. The biggest tell this time was the bright heated glow from the spool of fire Dust. "I'm- I'm crashing with Robyn," the giant quickly explained. "My bed's bigger and I know you three are stressed right now."

"Plus you two are the most overprotective people we've met," Robyn added with her arms crossed. Fiona nodded in agreement before she could stop and stuck her tongue out when Winter frowned at her. "Would you two really let Fiona sleep in the living room in a stranger's apartment while you elites kick me out of my bed?"

Winter blinked. Fiona could sense the tension fading from the Schnee's body. Her body didn't actually relax but the dimming glow of the fire Dust gave the illusion of it. Winter ate one last stuffed mushroom. "Huh," She said. Robyn and Joanna waited for more acknowledgement or appreciation but Winter only closed her eyes. Signaling the end of that conversation.

Robyn scowled and Fiona stepped in to try and pacify her, "Thanks. It's… it's been tough but I'm sure it'll better now that we have a fourth member, right?" She looked at her teammates.

May was drifting into deep sleep and Winter was softly glaring at her partner.

"Ideally," Winter replied only after Fiona cleared her throat. Winter picked up May and Joanna guided the trio to her room. Fiona tried not to imagine all the hard muscles in Winter's back and arms as she set May on the bed. She just moved her partner around so effortlessly…

"Sorry we don't have any extra clothes or toothbrushes for you," Joanna mumbled.

"Oh, I think I have some actually," Fiona said. She concentrated and flexed her hand, recalling the memories associated with the object.

It was a conversation after a surprise trip out of the Kingdom when a Search and Destroy suddenly became a Search and Rescue. Thankfully it was a success but the elites would not stop complaining about their hair. Or maybe it was a break in the usual routine that pissed them off?

Fiona manage to exude two toothbrushes and… a hair brush with long blue hair. "Damn it, May," Fiona sighed. "I guess it's a good thing she's asleep."

"She usually doesn't tire so easily…" Winter said softly. Fiona leaned to the side to see her hand linger through May's hair as she brushed it out of her face. Fiona started her suspicion count then, even if she had several ones before it. "Maybe Weiss and Klein are right. We need a break."

"Or a date," Joanna mumbled too softly for the humans to hear. Fiona's ears perked up. She silently gasped up at Joanna who tried not to blush and fidget. Joanna cleared her throat, "Maybe you three can go shopping tomorrow? To blend in better."

"That's a good idea," Robyn said walking up and showing her Scroll. It was a map of the neighborhood. Specifically an oval encompassing the… street Fiona blew up and Robyn's apartment building. "The Thief had time to swing by their home and beat us here. They're fast but we should start our search here."

"Agreed," Winter said with a nod. She slipped her usual tie loose and undid a few buttons on her shirt and cuffs. Obviously undressing for bed.

Robyn smirked. Fiona could tell another sly remark was on her lips but Joanna quickly shoved her friend out of the room, "Goodnight! Bathroom is on at the end of the hall!" Winter sneered watching the pair retreat to Robyn's room and quietly closed the door behind them.

Fiona closed her eyes, ears wiggling in their direction, "I wasn't going to insult them," she could hear Robyn pout. "In fact I had very nice things to say."

"Do you really want to get between whatever those elites have-" Joanna cut herself off with a sigh. If Fiona's answer was 'Yes, I'd love to get between the pair of sexy elites' Robyn was probably in the same boat. She could imagine Robyn's smug face and Joanna's tired exhaustion. "I will kick you out of your own bed if you don't behave."

"Yes, ma'am," Robyn said with a laugh. The sound made Fiona's ears flutter and her eyes slowly opened. It was… soft and gentle in a way she didn't expect for such an arrogant women.

Fiona finally closed the door and when she turned to the bed she saw a nearly nude Winter hovering over May. This time Fiona treated herself to Winter's sculpted muscles, the old light catching her pale skin and highlighting all the right planes as she breathed and shifted. Fiona only wished she was in her usual night lace. Maybe had her hair down completely down but it gave Fiona odd butterflies knowing it was done by May.

Hearing the door clicked close Winter glanced over her shoulder, revealing a frown, "May still has dirt and rubble on her clothes." Fiona walked over and May's shirt and pants. She concentrated. Separating closely touching objects was always harder. She focused on the coat and shirt, the little bits of rocks and dirt. She imagined May out of the designer cloths- standing nude in their dorms.

Her semblance activated, clothes absorbing into her and leaving… May in her a simple bra and boyshorts. Fiona exuded May's clothes with a relieved sigh. She was _never_ doing that again... not while she was teased and pent up. Fiona tried shaking out all the small rocks before folding them neatly next to Winter's cloths and finally slipping out of her own thick clothing. Feeling the difference Fiona made a quick list of what shops to drag the pair to in the morning. Hopefully Robyn would have some proper coats for the pair. She closed the lights and finally got in bed.

Fiona didn't realize she was in the middle of her two elites until she was already settled in. She was sure Winter had a crush on May… if that was true wouldn't she want to sleep next to her? Winter caught her confused frown through her Scroll, "I'll be up a little longer and you get restless with stranger's scents, right?"

Fiona blushed and nodded. As a Faunus her senses were sensitive and she was just wired a little differently. Unfamiliar meant dangerous and dangerous sent her flight or fight intincts into overdrive. During a stay in a hotel she accidentally kicked May out bed in her sleep because it smelled of so many people. Joanna's bed was earthy and deep with hints of rain. It was nice but still unfamiliar.

There was a brief light and the sound of a Glyph being summoned. That finally stirred May enough, but only to turn away from it and drape an arm on Fiona. Winter smiled. A lot more open than usual in the dark and obscured through the hard-light screen. She always looked better when she wasn't acting like the perfect soldier. The thought stunned the little sheep long enough for Winter to wrap the scarf loosely around her neck.

Fiona closed her eyes and took a deep breath. May always smelled like flowers for some reason, fresh snow. Her ears wiggled happily. "Goodnight, Win. Don't stay up too late."

"Goodnight. Don't let May drool all over the scarf." Winter said. Fiona giggled, nestling into the stranger's blankets and pillows with a warm and familiar arm comforting her and two blue eyes watching over them.

Even with the scarf Fiona didn't sleep through the night. Her sharp ears picked up noises from the window or a trip to the bathroom. Sometimes there was a small jerk, flight instincts kicking in.

The first time May grumbled and flailed for her hand to hold tight. The second time, Fiona kicked Winter causing her to drop her Scroll onto her face. The third time both her elites groaned and pinned her in. May spooned her tightly from behind and Winter threw a tired arm over the pair, finally giving up on her Scroll.

Fiona wasn't sure if she fell asleep after that. She did slip into a haze, just barely aware of Winter's lace bra against her smaller chest and her cool breath blowing across their shared pillow and into Fiona's cheeks. It created such a sharp contrast with May's warm body, nearly every inch of available skin pressed against Fiona.

Time was measured in breaths and with each breath it sent a shock through Fiona's system. Each breath May nuzzled closer, slowly pushing her to Winter's chest then firmly until they were nose to nose. Another deep breath and they were another inch closer.

Winter sighed, eyes slipping open. They were bright, glowing blue in the dim lights of Mantle. Fiona wondered if the human had enough light to see. Her eyes were wandering yet it always found Fiona's lips.

"Still can't sleep, Thyme?"

Fiona blinked. The aloof tone was far too hot to be real. This was a dream. Fiona closed her eyes and took a deep breath. May shifted again and Winter's cool lips were on hers-

Warm hands were suddenly heavy and wandering. Fiona whimpered as hot lips met her shoulders. Nibbles turn to bites as May's wandered up her shoulder to her neck. The hot and cold from her elites causing her head to spin and blood to rush down to between her legs. Winter stole every moan with a Schnee demanding kiss.

A kiss that so hot it caused Fiona's ears to fan back and forth and body to kneel and arch into her. So hot, her heart couldn't beat and even May's dull scratches were cool. For a moment Fiona only felt hot and wet. A low throb in her clit pulsing with every angry line May left on her hips and abdomen.

"Don't be selfish, Schnee," May breathed. Hot breath cooling the wet spot on her neck. Then it felt like electricity as her teeth sunk in deep. Winter pulled back, finally a moan with her partner. Hearing herself so loud after all the whispers… feeling herself drip and soak for her teammates dragged Fiona's mind deeper into a haze.

"Careful," Winter whispered into her cheek. She tried to push the words into her skin with a kiss there and another inching down her jaw. "Our host might hear you."

"I don't care," Fiona mumbled. May tore her lips away, pulling and pinching skin. Another jolt rocked Fiona's body. Her ass grinding back on May. The Marigold took in a shuddering breath, the hot and solid member taking them both by surprise. "Fuck, May…"

"Keep that up, little sheep," May husk. One of her wandering hands clawed a firm grip on her hips. Even through both their underwear, Fiona could feel a slick hot trail growing between her cheeks.

"And we'll do more than fuck you." Winter finished her hands finally on Fiona only to selfishly pull her away from May and onto her thigh by her ass. May followed fast and hard, being pulled into a kiss by Winter. Her teammate's dick grinded hard on her ass, pressing her wet clit hard on Winter's thigh.

Fiona was seeing stars. Specifically in her teammates bright eyes whenever they pulled away from a breath. Especially when her elites gazed down through long lashes. May growled, frustrated and low as her grinding increased. Winter's hand twisted around, cupping her partner through two pieces of cloth.

At first Fiona cried at the loss but then begged as Winter started slipping both their underwear down.

Then Winter pulled back from the kiss. The grin far too wicked, "Sorry Marigold," was the only warning Fiona had before long slender fingers pushed in-

"F-Fuck!" Fiona cried and arched. Her teeth sunk into whatever was in front of her. Winter's fingers curled and pushed with no resistant until Fiona was squeezing all three knuckles.

"Selfish as always, Schnee," May said. Her voice might have been even but she sounded content. Fiona almost wish she had a chance to catch her breath like May, but then Winter wiggled her fingers and she bit into her chest again, trying in vain to muffle her cry and to still her fluttering ears. She couldn't… not with Winter toying with her. Coiling the low heat in her belly like she was tuning a violin.

Fiona tried to keep track of May's presence. But her world slowly narrowed down to the slow thrusting and two fingers. In and out. Always hitting the front wall. Slowly picking up pace and power until the little sheep was straddling her hips and buckling to keep position.

May would suddenly appear. Hands peeling off their remaining clothing or just as a disembody voice whispering against the back of Fiona's neck.

"Look at her take it," May said. "Think she'll cum before I get to fuck her?"

"Maybe," Winter said. May was barely a presence. Just a warm hand that gripped Fiona's neck and pressed her face into Winter's exposed breast.

"Be good, and return the favor, Fi." May ordered. All three of them groaned when Fiona's tongue brushed over Winter's skin. The cool was a shock and Fiona clenched around Winter's fingers. Winter gasped, back arching into Fiona's mouth. "Good… She ready?"

"Fuck…" Fiona moaned around Winter's nipple. Suddenly all she could focus on was the stretch and soft burn as Winter scissor her fingers as she pulled out.

"Wet enough? Yes. Loose enough," Winter mumbled into Fiona's hair. Slow. Her finger's re-entered Fiona so fucking slow! She tried to buck down but a damn Glyph appeared around her waist to hold her still. "Maybe. You're surprisingly big, Marigold."

"Hm… how about it Fi?" May asked. Fiona felt warm hands spread her wet lips and search. Fiona cried, her clit finally exposed. Then she felt May's cock twitch and pulse against her lips. Up, head brushing against her sensitive nub and down her shaft. Down each vein, down and down until finally May's hips met her ass. Fiona was out breath, panting across Winter's flushed breast. "Too big?"

"I…" Fiona tried to look down but May's other hand tilted her head up. She was locked onto yellow eyes with their lips almost brushing. "Again- May!" Fiona threw her head back, jerking out of May's grip as the Marigold thrusted her hips again.

With impossible accuracy her head brushed against her clit. No matter how fast May was Fiona was breathless when their hips met. The dragging and soft veins, Winter's scissoring and fingering hands- suddenly pulled out.

"No! Please!" Fiona cried. Her hips chased those cool fingers but the Glyph didn't let her move.

"Aw, I think our little lamb was close," Winter said.

"Don't worry, Fi," May said with a growling chuckle. Her lips was back, hovering over her. Finally her dick was lined and pressing at Fiona's entrance.

"We'll always take care of you." Winter finished. Her lips sealed over Fiona's, stealing another moan as May finally-

"Fuck!"

Pushed in. Fiona's ears fluttered and her back arched. The stretch... it was a pleasent and burned all the air in her lungs.

pushed in.

With all the teasing the pair had done entry was smooth. Almost embarrassingly so but even with Winter's warning and fingers, Fiona wasn't expecting the feel of May's girth. May was panting above her. Fingers trembling on Fiona's hips as she kept the pressure consistent. There was barely a jerk when the head completely slipped past the entrance. Instead May had to take pause and gasp for air.

#fiona thyme #winter schnee #may marigold #wip #show your teeth #thoorist

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yas-puckerman · 3 years

Text

WHO: Yas & Lennox ( @lennoxprestonporter ) WHEN: during role swap week WHAT: Yas takes control, light scening with Lennox WARNINGS: smut

The frustration of the week had hit a wall so Yas was glad for the distraction, even in the form of someone she hadn't met before. In fact it made it all the more exciting. They'd hit the bedroom right away and she'd stretched out onto the bed while she watched her new friend remove her clothes and list off her limits as the Switch had instructed. Yas kept her ears sharp to listen to Lennox's response but she wasn't shy in keeping a thirsty gaze. "What you think you would be into?" She followed up with, fielding for a place to start. There were a lot of things Yas could envision herself doing with Lennox but she also wanted to have the woman purring in her hands. There was already the obstacle of the Dominant being out of her element so she figured she'd let her weigh in, keep it comfortable.

Lennox had been slightly disturbed by the idea of the event in the first place; given her past history trust was a commodity that came with great difficulty or not at all, and she didn't know anyone at the school well enough to give that to them. By the end of the week, though, she found herself itching for something to occupy her time. Meditation was good, but one could actually do too much of it and she was on the borderline. The chance to surrender a little, on her own terms, was a very promising way to spend a Friday evening, and Yas seemed like the sort of person to help her explore. "From this side of things, I'm not sure. I can say as a Dominant, I enjoy virtually anything with a strap, rough sex, hard bondage, and denial. From the submissive side, at least right now, I'd like to avoid the bondage and I'm not in the mood to be denied tonight. Which I suppose leaves the other two options," she quirked an eyebrow at Yas.

"Not in the mood to be denied..." Yas repeated and gave a mock whistle that was mostly air. "I'll...keep that in mind." She lied. As a Dominant she should know that was one of the one things to not admit to out loud, it always ran a gamble. "A Strap and rough sex I can get into though." Yas sat up, tugged her shirt over her head, and carelessly tossed it toward the existing pile of clothes in the corner of her room. From under the bed she pulled a shoebox sized box containing a sturdy harness and generously sized attachment. She slid it in Lennox's direction. "Let's start there. Put this on." She instructed and stretched back out comfortably. "What else do you think you'd like? As a submissive."

Lennox knew full well that Yas' definition of keeping it in mind likely wouldn't be what she wanted, but she was putting herself at the other woman's mercy and what she chose to do - so long as it stayed within her limits - was what would happen, simple as that. "I'm glad to hear it, Miss. Those are two very good things." Good sex, in her opinion, tended to leave both partners bearing marks and bites. "Yes, Miss," she nodded, making quick work of the harness before seating the toy firmly in it. "Nothing sensory - I'm not in a place right now where I can play with that. Light bondage, maybe. The kind that's easy to get out of if you have to. Temperature play, too, that could be fun."

Yas' mind drifted all across the board. She thought of ice melting down the woman's chest and pooling at her stomach, wax dripping pretty bright lines down her back, and coarse rope tethered securely from her wrists to her biceps behind her back. Yas cycled through a few different scenes as she watched Lennox secure the strap and return to position. There were endless possibilities. "C'mere." She beckoned with a wave of her hand for Lennox to approach and turned quickly to dig into her side table drawer. Yas pulled out a set of basic cuffs and a chain with a key at the end. "Here." She said, gesturing for Lennox to lean down a bit before looping the chain over her head and around her neck. "How bout light humiliation type talk?" She questioned, absently readying the cuffs to be secured.

Lennox waited patiently as Yas considered her options, glad that her partner was taking her suggestions seriously - one more step toward building trust. The key dangling from its chain was an incredibly welcome sight, and she gave Yas a firm nod once it was looped around her neck. The fear of the cuffs was removed, and she'd be able to relax and enjoy the confinement instead of being stressed the whole time. "Thank you, Miss. And I'm more than okay with that." It wasn't something she had much experience with, of course, since her submissive partners would never have been allowed such an indulgence, but on her last night as a submissive she was happily willing to let Yas take a turn at it. "Completely, in fact."

“Oh, into it into it. Aight. Cool.” The Switch concluded, banking it as an option for an element of their play. Yas took Lennox’s wrist and clacked the first cuff into place, then paused. “What’s your safe word again?” She asked, to remind them both. Though she asked Yas didn’t wait for a response to lock in the next one as well, swiftly getting them in place to bind the Dominant’s wrists together in front of her without any hassle or fuss. Then she stood, first to grab a hair tie from her desk and wrestle her curls into a messy bundle and then rid herself of her pants.

The first cuff shutting around her wrist spiked Lennox's blood pressure, but she looked down at the key where it hung around her neck and let out a slow breath as she reminded herself that she'd be able to get out at any time. "Wolf, Miss," she provided her safeword matter of factly as the other cuff was secured in place. Her gaze turned to Yas as she pulled back her hair and stripped off her pants, and she didn't hide her interest; Yas was gorgeous.

Yas took note of the word again, solidifying it in her mind should they need it. It definitely stood out. She noticed how Lennox was watching her and her smirk was nearly permanent by then. "Stay on your knees and come make me cum with that mouth of yours so we can get started." She said, her voice lowering and eyes darkening. Yas smoothed her hand down her stomach as she beckoned Lennox forward. "From this moment on with the exception of that one word you don't speak unless spoken to, your mouth is for one thing only tonight and that is pleasing the fuck out of me. Understood?"

Lennox felt challenged by Yas' dominance, which was exactly what she'd expected. But the challenge was meant to be the point of the whole week, and so rather than rise to the challenge she gave in and bowed down instead. "Understood, Miss." Truly, not talking would make it easier for her. If they conversed she'd have the urge to say something more, to reclaim her role, but if she was allowed to simply do as ordered then things would be better. She crawled forward as gracefully as she could manage with her hands bound, settling between Yas' legs and flattening her tongue against her slit to trace its length. She didn't ask questions, didn't speak, just went to work.

#lennox porter #f2f: lennox porter #para

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vigilumumbra · 3 years

Text

#MeetingTheLawyer

Mharcus:

{After that strange phone call from Sydney Mitchell, a junior partner to the law firm I had called the other day. It started normal but towards the end it was odd, I had offered her to come here to my home which she will be working and might live here. I had even offered Syd my realtor number but I knew that once Syd becomes my lawyer I will need her here on call and nearby in case something major happens. I couldn't have my lawyer away which then I would have to wait and sometimes that could not happen in my new kind of work.

I had gotten dressed in a fall dark blue-grey double-breasted striped suit jacket, pants cuffed at the bottom in the same color as the jacket; a matching six button vest with notch lapels; basic button down dress shirt with white collar with double cuff shirt, gold cufflinks with my initials on them; a black wool overcoat, a black fedora hat with a white contrasting band about four inches tall wrapped around the base. A dark color tie and a dark pocket square folded in my left heart pocket. Black boots matching the suit I had on. I had a watch chain with watch dangles across the vest from watch pocket to clip. I had my cane but really it was a sword when you pulled the handle.

Nhico drove me to Sal’s about one hour early I had ask Trez twin brother #iAm if I could have the whole restaurant for my lawyer and myself which he didn't seem to mind. I had offered #iAm my help to cook the lunch meal which #iAm gladly accepted it. Once we were done making it I went back out to sit at the table while I waited for this lawyer to show up. I had taken my suit jacket off when I entered the kitchen to help.

Syd:

It was my first meeting and I didn’t want to be late, however, I had the opportunity to view a condo. The realtor I met with had informed me of this “gem” but it was covered in dirt.

It was in no way suitable, and I was not going to be around to do what needed to be done. It was a pass.

The traffic coming back to the main streets took longer than anticipated. Instead of twenty minutes it took 45. When the car finally dropped me off in front of the restaurant it was 20minutes later than when I was supposed to be there, which meant I felt 35 minutes late.

I straightened my red skirt and black blouse. It complimented my pale skin and blue eyes. I took one more look at the door, hitched my laptop bag onto my shoulder and walked in a little more agitated than I should have been.

Mharcus:

{looks at my watch seeing that you were a little late. I hadn’t looked up when you walk in.} You are late. So you planning on always being late to meetings? A simple text would work well.

{I moved the papers to the table next to me on my right side and getting up from my chair when I finally did look up. I almost purred at the sight of you but I push it down. I walk over to you hand extended} I’m Mharcus nice to you meet you,...?

Syd:

I wanted to cuss when you stated I was late, it was noticed. And I wanted to just turn around and haul ass back home. I assumed you were beyond pissed that I was late, I was worried I would lose my job.

When you finally offer me your hand I accept it, shaking it. “It is a pleasure to meet you Mharcus, I am Sydney Mitchell. I apologize for being late, the realtor I met with took me to see a house it was too far and definitely not what I was looking for.” A little frustration in my voice. “Ignore that… let’s get to work.”

I wait set down my laptop bag and get my computer out. As it is starting I prep the other documents. I brought with.

I catch you staring. “What? Do I have something on me?” Self conscious I look down at my outfit for any dirt then I touch my face to see if I feel anything out of place.

Mharcus:

Oh I’m sorry for staring at you didn’t mean it. {clears my throat as I walk back to seat and sitting back down. I saw that you went straight into business moad instead of just sitting here.}

These are my grandfathers will and his business papers. {I hold out the folder that had all of his papers in} I am his heir to all of his estate and businesses. It’s just some information I got about him that in a way throw me for a loop and I need this settled before a big family meeting and that I will need a lawyer to be there preferably my lawyer.

{I wait for you to take the folder to it all over and then we could talk about me putting you on my payroll and hopefully having you on hand 24/7 since of the kind of work I am doing}

Syd:

I pull out and put on my glasses when I accept the folder, most of it had been included in the dossier on the family received from the law firm. They knew more about the business practice, and of course the illegal side. I read the documents quickly. The Will was incontestable, which would be an easy thing to defend should any competitors arise for the new business leader.

I continued with a soft sigh and took some notes on potential problems that I would have to prepare for. “Mmmmhmmm.” I am lost in my thoughts as the noise sounds from my throat.

A small crease in my brows forms as I come to a troubling part. “I see your cousin is next should you fail at any endeavor your grandfather set forth.” Noting that as well.

It would be interesting and quite a few billable hours. Luckily his grandfather was very smart and had excellent advisors.

I closed the folder. “Now that I have that information. What would you like to start with?” I take off my glasses.

Mharcus:

There is another thing you should know before this all gets started. It’s about my grandfather and me as well. {I pick up the other folder that I had on the table next to me and hand it over to you. It had the information I had gotten from my boss about who my grandfather really was. He was not only the head of the mob but also one of the FBI top agents just like myself. Under his papers where the information on me as well}

What is in this folder I need you to protect it with your life. No one can ever find this nor see it. If you ever run into trouble and I’m unavailable you can go to my right hand man Nhico he knows all of this and he was the one who also work for my grandfather.

Yes he would be but that is the thing he can never be head of this family because if he does the FBI will have my cousin arrested for everything that my grandfather built. I mean his business end of things. It was an agreement between my grandfather and the FBI. All of this information is in this folder as well.

Syd:

I look at the folder, my glasses came back on, perusing the information. Most of this was new, but I wanted to maintain my poker face.

“Mharcus, this is quite a bit of information, what trouble do you assume I will get in to? I’m just a lawyer.” My blue eyes land on yours.

The criminal and business worlds entwined in this family. The partners at the firm were correct. It was a big ticket client, and continued one on one care. If they wanted to keep me on the case once the partner returned next week.

I took a few notes from the files. I maintained my cool facade.

“What are your plans for your grandfather’s stipulation for taking over the family?” Wondering if you saw that part about putting a ring on a woman’s finger.

Mharcus:

{grumbles as I remember the little clause in the will. My thoughts on the arrangement with another family. In all honesty I didn’t want to marry anyone because I couldn’t tell her that I work with the FBI unless it was someone I trusted completely, and that sure as shit wasn’t that viper. I had only really had two relationships in my life. The first one I had only used me to get out of her family bullshit. Then I used her for blood and thinking she wanted to be my mate but that didn’t work out well.

The last one I dated knew what I was but never that I work for the FBI. I couldn’t just tell her even if I agree to marry her.} Yes I know about that but can never happen.

Syd:

It seemed like he was allowing himself to succumb to sadness, and I did not like that whatsoever. My clients would not give up.

“Well. If you are unwilling to wed the kingdom your grandfather built will fall to your cousin. From the look on your face I see that is something you would not like.” Frowning as I read the papers again.

“Any others you can think of? The papers do not mention how long you have to remain married. We could get you around that marriage in probably a few short months, and we could create an iron clad prenup.”

Mharcus:

There is one but I could never tell her I work for the FBI even though I would be the head of my family. She would use that against me to take me down from the head of the family. All of the work my grandfather did to build this kingdom would be in ruin by my cousin hands.

{I look at all the papers that had all of what my grandfather built. I couldn’t let this fall into the hands of my cousin. He would destroy all of his work.}

Syd:

“If you marry someone temporarily, secure what your grandfather wanted for you, then divorce. I’m sure a cheating scandal would be ample grounds for divorce.”

Taking a deep breath. Noticing how hungry I am. “It really smells good in here.”

I bite my lip as my stomach growls for attention. I couldn’t believe I was hungry again. I had a decent breakfast. I guess the walking and anger from earlier made me use more calories.

“Would you mind terribly if I ate something? I know it’s rude as we have a meeting, but I can’t concentrate anymore.”

Looking down, somewhat ashamed of myself for being hungry.

Mharcus:

{smile as I move the papers to the table next to us} If I remember correctly I did ask you to meet me here so we could have lunch. {I turn towards the kitchen} hey #iAm do you need a hand in bringing out our lunch? {laughs as I hear him yelling back that he got it and will bring it out soon.}

Food should be out soon. I hope you like it, yes it’s Italian and I help make it so I really hope you like it.

{smiles as the food comes out first with the pasta and a bottle of red wine}

Syd:

The scent of the herbs and spices intoxicates me more than wine would. I groan softly.

“It looks and smells incredible. Pasta is my favorite.” I grab my napkin and lay it in my lap, then grab the fork.

Sense comes to me. “Would you like me to pour the wine?” Wondering what the actual proper protocol is for working lunch with a bottle of wine.

The man iAm smiles and walks away.

“I may start insisting we have meetings wherever you cook in the future because I’ve never smelled anything this incredible.”

I laugh at my own joke.

Mharcus:

{chuckles as I had a bottle of wine in my hands already as I was opening it} it’s ok I have it. If you insist on having meeting with food then there is a place that I can cook while we work but I’m not sure you would agree to it.

{I pour us some wine and then start eating our meal smile as think over what you said} see I am not one for a divorce since it’s against everything we stand in my family. There has to be another way to do it.

Syd:

I see the bottle “oh” blushing softly.

“So long as you feel it is appropriate I am willing to meet most places.”

When you mention you don’t believe in divorce, I try a joke, “you could always have her whacked.”

I believe my terminology may be outdated judging by the look on your face. Even without saying the word Mafia I understood the family involvement. When I take a bite I moan softly.

“So delicious.” I whisper.

Mharcus:

{laughs hard as you say the word} now that is an idea. You would fit in well with me on this. {drinks some wine} well the thing is I will have you on retainer as my lawyer meaning I will need you 24/7. There is a guest house on my property and you will have people serve you full time.

{I just lay all of my cards on the table as an idea came to mind}

There is someone else I have in mind about marrying.

Syd:

I shrug about fitting in. “I’m a realist” I look you over and take a sip from the glass of wine.

I take another bite. “Wait… you’re offering me a guest house?” I blink several times. “What do you mean they will serve me? I’m an employee just like them.”

Slightly confused.

“Well if you have someone in mind I suggest buying them a ring. You don’t have a large window.”

Mharcus:

Yes that is true, I am offering you a guest house. {placing down my fork as I look at you smiling, the smile not quite reaching my eyes, had no one even been nice to her before} i know that the window is not large. {the thought of what I was going to do pissed me off, but the little female before me did not need to see that} she knows what I do for the family. She knows how to spend money though {groaning at the thought}

Syd:

He was pleasant to look at, but would that be enough to be in a loveless marriage where he would consistently have the upper hand? Whoever this female was must’ve been much more patient and realistic than me. Despite having a realist nature I still believed in love even though I’ve never been in love, aside from my ex… nope not going there.

My chest started to constrict.

Oh no.

It was a panic attack. Full scale.

Change of subject now!

the constricting got worse. I felt like I was about to pass out.

“Excuse me.” The black circles danced in my eyes.

Without waiting for a response, I push away from the table and run for the restrooms. I was a pathetic excuse for a female. I needed to get back in the game.

I splashed water on my face and tried to compose myself. It wasn’t working well. I was so attracted to him, but he didn’t know me or notice. Hell he didn’t even know when I got to the table earlier. Why was I thinking this way? Ugh!

When I finally gained control I carefully walked out, stumbling when I was close to the table.

“Since you have someone in mind would you like me to draft a prenup? If anything should happen you need to be prepared, there are very expensive assets that would be at risk if it was left to community property law.”

Mharcus:

{I end up hearing your thoughts on and panic, someone- whose name you didn’t think of but a picture of his face was all over the fear response cause this. A woman beater was not good company so there would be an eye kept out for the bastard}

{Back to business, I wanted to laugh at the red headed female but that would make her more self conscious than she already was.} Yes please draft that and have it sent to me tomorrow end of day.

{observing her to see if that fast deadline could rattle her. If I was going to get her on the payroll I needed to test her abilities and willingness to do what was necessary when it was needed}

Syd:

He was giving me a day to prepare a prenup that would be iron clad and include his assets. I smirked at him, he wasn’t going light on me and this would let me prove to him and the law firm that I could handle it, I could play with the big boys and satisfy clients.

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I have all the business information to create the document and I can use a few seldom exploited precedents that would benefit you.” Maybe I could play the part of the evil lawyer?

I dug back into the meal and moaned at the taste, even better going back for more. I would have to try to do more meetings here. After concluding business we shook hands and left- I didn’t recall him paying the check. Did he own that place too? I would have to check the file. I hailed a nearby cab and silently rode back to the corporate housing reviewing some of the documents.

Once to my home I flopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling. A reminder went off on my phone

Fuck.

Tomorrow was my birthday.

#SASBDB end of meeting the lawyer.

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fireintheforest · 4 years

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Behind the Blue, chapter 10

“Ok so the plan is simple.”

“One goes in with the invitation. Introduces oneself as Cyremin of Alinor, and the rest of the evening is spent entertaining guests and finding a window to approach Emmanuel Hawkcroft.”

“When you find Emmanuel Hawkcroft, find a way to sneak out the key for the chest under his bed. Sorcise said the lock is small and copper so maybe the key we’re looking for is similar.”

“Once one gets the key, one will sneak it to Sorcise by asking her to guide one to the restroom or something similar.”

“She’ll then take the key to me with the excuse of taking out the trash that conglomerates in the kitchen. I do my part. Once it’s done, she’ll sneak the key back to you.”

“One plants it somewhere Emmanuel can see it and think he dropped it. The evening goes on as usual, one leaves, we regroup at the inn.”

“We give the client their gem, get paid and we get out of Evermor.”

“And fetch Marcello on the way back…right?”

“…yeah no sure, totally. I was totally going to do that, yeah, sure, of course.”

Saufinril stopped brushing his hair and gave Toivon a pointed look using the mirror in front of him.

“Of course we’re going to go for him!” Toivon said, “That was a joke, what kind of mer do you take me for?”

“One was just checking.” Saufinril replied, putting down the comb and picking up the brushes to apply makeup around his eyes while Toivon sat on his bed, observing him get ready, “And what are you doing during all of this?” Saufinril asked

“I do my part, you do yours. If we do this, we both end with thousands of septims on our bags.” Toivon answered

“Because that’s not sketchy.”

“It’s precaution.” Toivon observed Saufinril, then asked, “Mind me asking, how did you get that carriage?”

“Carriage?” Saufinril asked softly, mouth agape as he traced the paint carefully on his eyelid.

“The one outside. Maroon. Brown horse. What the fuck.”

“Oh. That one.” Saufinril said

That one. Saufinril smiled to himself as he observed the maroon carriage that was in front of a store, pulled by a pretty white and gray horse, its driver asleep in the driver’s seat. That one is perfect for tonight, and the chance was too good to leave behind. Toivon had gone out mere minutes ago, and this was Saufinril’s chance to get a worthy carriage to get him to the event. Like hell would a courtesan travel by foot, or in some hay wagon! The daedra are in the details, and if he was going to be a convincing courtesan, he had to look the part. So he approached it cautiously from behind and eyed around. The people on the street walked here and there, minding their business. Saufinril knelt, as if to tie his shoe, and once he was crouched, lowered even more and dragged himself under the carriage.

Now, under these carriages there was usually a latch or something where he could grab onto…ugh, did he have to grab to the wheel bars? Again? He remembered the last time when-

“And thank you so much!” a feminine voice alerted him to his left. A mustard skirt with fine black stripes approached the cart. Saufinril latched himself to the wheel bars above him and stuck his feet above the bars behind him as the woman climbed, and held tight. The carriage moved as the woman accommodated herself, and then with a couple of tongue clicks of the driver, the wheels moved ahead.

He began to wonder if he was returning to Wayrest when the carriage got out of the city and went behind a hill and a small conglomerate of trees, but breathed in relief when he saw it entering a residence. Low bushes, yellow with some flowers here and there. Saufinril was hanging in there nicely, despite the amount of dust that was raised underneath him from the road (he was definitely going to take a bath after this). The carriage stopped at the front of the house for the woman to get down and go in, then moved on until the clapping of the hooves was no more in dirt, but rather in the cobblestone of the stables. Bingo.

The driver hummed a song to himself as he got down and to his quarters, allowing the stable hand to greet the horse and free it from the carriage. The stable hand put it in the stable and then headed to the end to grab the brush. Just the day he’d washed Neige, they take him out. He’d have to wash him all over again, not to mention the other two and-

A hand suddenly covered his mouth, and an arm circled around his throat and pressed back with strength, blocking his breathing. He clutched the arm, tugging back, trying to scream, but the arms were secure. The stable boy’s body squirmed like a worm, hitting a couple times against the body behind him to no avail: it was someone taller. And the forearm was firm. He tried screaming again, but no air could pass through. He clawed the forearm, reaching back to whoever had caught him, then back to clawing. Black dots filled his vision, then it was a tunnel…

Saufinril pressed on, waiting, until the stable hand’s body went limp, and then dragged the body to a nearby pile of hay, tossing it in and covering it with more hay. That’s someone else’s problem now, by the end of the night he was going to be away from Evermor anyways.

The horses, however, neighed and stomped with nervousness. Too much attention, and he heard the door of the shed open. Without thinking it twice, Saufinril jumped into the pile of hay that hid the body, burying himself in it. His hand briefly brushed the stable hand’s one second as he dug in deep.

“Gustave?” a male voice asked. The driver walked into the stables, and seeing it empty and with the horses whinnying, he went and calmed them, speaking to them in a soothing, low volume. Saufinril stayed put.

“Gustave!” the driver called again. No answer, “Where has he gone to now?” the driver walked out and closed the door behind him. Saufinril waited a minute before emerging from the hay, brushing it out of his hair. The gray horse started to get uneasy again, but a quick shoot of a calming spell solved it with him and the other beasts.

“Alright. Gray horse was already seen by everyone. Let’s pick…” Saufinril looked around and finally decided on a brown horse with white socks. He pulled her out of the stable, hitched her to the carriage, got on the driver’s seat and pulled it out. Now, if his guess was correct, the small hedge was just decorative for the front. Maybe the back had a higher hedge, or maybe it was open. He didn’t want to risk it. Front it is. Here goes nothing.

A couple of tongue clicks, much like the ones the driver had used, and the horse started to move on. No, wait. Saufinril stopped the horse. No way they’d let any cart show up to their beautiful front. There was a driver and a stable hand, this means there’s a help’s entrance. It’s on the back, most likely. Saufinril redirected the horse, made it trot around the stables, behind a bigger shed on the right, and sure enough found the door. He only had to get down to open the gate, get back in, and then took the carriage back into the city.

“It’s a borrowed gift, from a local Breton stable hand.” Saufinril explained, fixing a minor mistake on his eye. Toivon nodded slowly. Damn. The daedra work hard but this guy works harder. He should really work on his own hustle as much as Saufinril worked on his, he mused. One roll in the hay and he got lent a whole ass carriage and horse? Respect.

Saufinril applied the last pin on his hair and said, “Alright, done.”

Saufinril turned around and stood up for Toivon to see him, “And?” he was wearing a flowing silk robe, royal blue and with green and ivory intricate details around the neck, sleeves and back that he had brought from Valenwood for this night. He’d removed his earring and in its place had a silver ear cuff on his right ear, some rings, and the comb with the orchids. He’d styled and pinned his hair in a way to make it seem shorter than it was, ending past his shoulderblades instead of all the way to his lower back, with braids here and there. A very discreet dark blue and gold lined his eyes.

Toivon blinked, “S’alright.”

“Alright? Just ‘alright’?” Saufinril asked, “One is supposed to be a courtesan, the tip of the social pyramid of Artists, art themselves! One can’t just be ‘alright’!”

“Don’t you need to show more skin to be a courtesan?”

“No! What do you think a courtesan is?”

“An expensive escort?”

Saufinril blinked, “Not in the Isles, they’re not! They’re-”

“Art themselves, yes. Fine, you got me, you look divine. Exquisite.”

“Cut the sarcasm, it doesn’t look cute on you.”

“I am enthralled beyond my very being!”

“Toivon-”

“Marry me!”

“Alright, one got the message.” Saufinril turned to look in the mirror again, checking details,

“Yeah, one is ready. One looks well.”

“Come on, you do look good, and you can do this no problem. We’ll meet here when it’s all over. If anything happens, Sorcise will let me know.” Toivon extended a gold invitation, “Here’s the invitation. Are you going to drive that thing over there?”

“No, one has some money. One can hire someone downstairs for the night.” Saufinril grabbed the envelope and tucked it in the pouch inside his sleeve, along with a fan.

“Well, one better get going. Good luck.” He told Toivon

“You as well. We meet back here after midnight.” Toivon lingered for a second, seemingly about to say something, but stayed silent as Saufinril left the room.

The estate came into view just when Saufinril was wondering if they’d gotten lost. It was some kilometers outside of city limits, with a single road lined by pine trees on either side and a lit torch here and there to provide illumination. At one point the trees and road widened to let the drivers turn left, following the roundabout at the entrance, until they got to the front of the gates. At the center of this roundabout was a wide flower bed of snapdragons, begonias, zinnias and marigolds, and at the other side of the road trees stretched far beyond the sight. Two guards awaited at the gates, checking the invitations of each of the guests before letting them in. He took a deep breath. Hopefully Toivon was already in. The carriage stopped at the very entrance, prompting Saufinril to get out, then turned to the driver.

“Thank you so much, one will be out of here at midnight.” He said

The driver gave him a nod and left. All that was left…was showtime. He walked, head high, to the guards.

“Invitation.” The one on the left said, not without a gruff in his voice. Saufinril pulled out the envelope from his sleeve and handed it to the guard, who read it quickly before handing it back and opening the door to him.

“Thank you.” With the reassurance of having passed the first obstacle, Saufinril stepped inside, noticing the rose archway with lit magic lamps that cast a serene light and guided him forwards. And after, lo and behold, Emmanuel’s manor.

This was the front garden, with topiaries of animals and beings. Lamps powered by magic, both on a stick and hanging from above, illuminated the garden. Ground flowers like liriorpes, lilies of the valley, dragon scales, blue star creepers, Mara tears, chamomile and dwarf eyes were scattered around the ground, bringing a pop of color around the paths set by a smooth, white pebble-like gravel. Some people were talking amongst themselves, walking in groups or pairs around the front garden to watch and comment the topiaries, holding a cup of wine. One woman noticed him and motioned to her husband, who turned back to look at Saufinril. Saufinril pretended like he hadn’t noticed them and walked forwards to the inside. Rialas, don’t fail him now.

Said inside was warmer and more energetic than the cool, calm, silent outside. Inside there were jugglers, a live band, a contortionist, some people dancing to the music, others chatting lively, servants going around refilling wine cups, light provided by the magic chandeliers above and the dining table pushed to one end of the room and filled to the brim with fresh fruit, candies of different shapes and sizes, at least 4 different types of cheeses, breads, pastries, boar in blueberry sauce, vegetables drizzled in olive oil and rosemary and a couple meat pies that enticed with their fresh-off-the-oven scent.

Saufinril rescued a dark-colored wine from one of the servants’ trays, and before he even began figuring out who to approach to strike conversation, a Breton man dressed in all black approached him.

“Good evening,” he said with a smile, “Have we, by any chance, met before?”

Saufinril gave him a smile that curled into a satisfied smirk and purred out, “And you are…?”

“Ah, heh. Not the answer I was expecting.” The Breton replied, earning an arched eyebrow from Saufinril. The stranger extended his hand, “Julien Beckingdale.”

Instead of shaking his hand right away, Saufinril gave his wine a gentle swirl, “Charmed.” He replied, holding the smile he hoped was a fraction as entrancing as Rialas’s usually was. Gods, if he couldn’t draw attention by being alluring and beautiful as Rialas, he hoped to at least catch attention by being mysterious.

“You are close to Monsieur Hawkcroft’s family, I assume?” he asked, lowering the rejected hand. Saufinril let his eyebrows arch and his face show some amusement, the way Rialas did when he himself asked a stupid question. “His daughter came to one and asked one to come.” He replied, “One is Cyremin of Alinor. And you are…an entertainer, perhaps?”

“An actor. Emmanuel’s daughter invited me to come, too. Seems like she was very excited to bring as many artists here as possible. I assumed you’d seen her around?”

Before Saufinril could reply, a man with a graying beard and a booming voice approached them, joyfully.

“Monsieur Beckingdale, welcome! And weren’t you spectacular in The Last Goodbye is Bid Tonight, I never cry but I have to admit, you brought me to tears!” he shook Julien’s hand, who graciously accepted the compliments. The man then turned to Saufinril, “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure, but welcome to my manor!”

“Monsieur, let me introduce you. This is Cyremin of Alinor, he comes from the Isles. Monsieur Cyremin, this is our warm host, Emmanuel Hawkcroft.”

Saufinril’s smile widened. Jackpot.

“The Emmanuel! Glad one can meet you early on in the party.” Saufinril said. Alright, so maybe Rialas wouldn’t have said this, maybe he was out of character for having said that, but he had to keep some pleasantries and help Emmanuel feel like this festive-looking Altmer wasn’t going to steal his key to steal his gem.

“The pleasure is all mine. Now, I know Julien here is a talented artist…” Emmanuel said, looking at Julien, who smiled humbly.

“Please monsieur, you give me too much credit.”

“I give you the right amount. But back at the matter at hand, judging how more than a half of the present people here are artists, am I right to say that you are an artist yourself?”

“Naturally.” Saufinril said, giving a coy smirk that exteriorized more confidence than he felt, “From birth. One was born and raised and praised for it in the Isles.” If Lillandril were with him, right now, in this very same room, hearing him utter these very same words, he would probably have a laughing fit.

“You can’t expect less from an Artist of the Flesh.” Another Altmer (oh great) said when he joined the group, emerging from behind Emmanuel and standing to his right. He had one (1) single streak of gray hairs on front of his otherwise honey blond hair and a couple of wrinkles were already forming around his eyes. He had a well-kept, trimmed anchor beard and amber eyes that sweeped Saufinril’s appearance up and down, stopping on the comb with the orchids on it for a longer time.

“Oh, this is fantastic!” Emmanuel’s booming enthusiasm sounded in the background as both Altmer studied the other with cold eyes and a polite smile, “Cyremin, this is my lawyer Armellon, and it just so happens he’s from Alinor too!”

Of fucking course he is.

“Interesting. One would certainly recall seeing…you.” He’d used the pause to look at Saufinril up and down.

“Well, have you been to Alinor recently, serah?” Never in his life had he put the mental effort to remember not to do a ‘sh’ sound at words with an ‘s’ at the beginning, as he’d done his whole life. He silently congratulated himself on the Alinor pronunciation of ‘serah’ instead of slipping into his usual accent.

“One hasn’t sadly. But if you’re that young, serah Cyremin, perhaps one can meet your parents soon? They are around for supervision, yes? You musn’t be older than 82.” he briefly scanned behind Saufinril as Julien and Emmanuel talked about Julien’s play.

No, thankfully they weren’t. “One is young, yes. Fresh. New. Enthusiastic. Beautiful. Desired.” With each word, he took a step closer to the other Altmer until he was just two or three inches away from Armellon’s face, smiling like a cat does when he’s trapped a mouse in the corner and resting casually a hand on Armellon’s forearm as he whispered, “And with stamina.” Armellon might have frowned, but going one shade paler in the face didn’t escape Saufinril’s attention, who winked, removing the hand, excused himself to Julien and Emmanuel, and walked away to a group of women, internally screaming.

#btb #behind the blue #altmer #breton #in which Saufinril ‘teach me how to pickpocket uwu’ stole a fucking carriage and horse #if anyone wants to educate me in the name of the roundabout manors have at their entrances #I’ll be eternally thankful

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rwbyremnants · 4 years

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WARNINGS: BLACK SUN CONTENT. Also, lap-sitting, cunnilingus, tickling, pet play, in-depth kink discussions. Plus this is kind of a short chapter.

Note: Sorry for all the delays! I'm going to try to post more regularly next month I swear, just busy writing and editing this month. Hope you guys are still into it!

=Chapter 6

Two orgasms were enough. When the moans subsided, Winter brought Glynda’s hips to a stop and kissed her throat on either side, then breathed against her skin, "Are you ready to end play fully, Snowmare?"

Still shuddering from the sheer intensity of the finish, the older blonde slowly nodded, squeezing her shoulder a short moment to try and hold her support. Until at last, she whispered, "End play."

“Alright.” When Winter drew back, her face was casual, but her businesslike questions had an undercurrent of need. "Are you okay? Do you need to get off me quickly, or to have any of the cuffs taken off? Otherwise, you can rest here for a minute."

Panting still, she found herself lightly straining against the binds on her ankles. That was her greater need by far, to be free to move however she wanted. Licking her lips, she asked, "The restraints please. Then I can… clean up the mess."

"Hmm… alright, but only if you can bring them back up here. It's a little hard with this thing still inside you." Then she grinned wickedly. "Not that you have to take it out right away… I know sometimes I like to let it linger."

Nodding again, she leant right forward against Winter, pressing their chests right up against one another so she could bring her feet back in her direction for her to work with. But each move was sending little aftershocks of pleasure through her. Some which she didn't want to stop, even after play. But alas, it couldn't linger all day.

Not when Qrow was growing more and more impatient by the minute. His hand had ended up covering the crotch area, attempting to keep it down and not too obvious. But it was just making it worse.

"There," Winter sighed as she finally undid both clamps. She had thought about only doing the one, but didn't want Glynda to accidentally step on or trip over the dangling hazard when she got up. Then she settled back a little more comfortably, grazing her hands up and down her back.

"So. Now you've had your fun; I know you'd been wanting to do this again for a long time. Was it everything you hoped for, or did I let you down?"

"Oh you were more than satisfactory," she agreed, still not having shifted from her position on the member just yet. Still gaining her breath, she held her shoulder. "You were fantastic. I mean, I was uncertain, with Qrow being in the room, but no, it was wonderful. You probably ride him pretty hard."

"…Wait, what?" Qrow asked, only just snapping out his lust filled daze. The erection was still as present as ever, still quite obviously there for both Glynda and Winter to see. "You think I'm the sub? Really?"

"I would," Winter chuckled, smiling warmly over at the clearly horny man. "And we might try it sometime eventually, but for now, he's my Dom, actually. I'm alright being a switch, and could never go full-sub, but you must have heard by now that my preference is the bottom."

"Oh, I have. I just assumed… Look, I thought you and I were both on the same page with him – thinking he’s a boor. My thinking was, if you felt that way about him, you'd much rather put him in his place than the other way around." When she finally found the bravery to get up and off the member below her, she let out a long groan as she rose to her feet before adding, "Besides, he… doesn't seem like someone who could Dom very effectively to me."

"Oh really?" Qrow asked. Thankfully, the fully erect length was coming to an advantage this time. They were still in the room, still out of people's view. He was on enough grounds to make the following challenge: "A drink says I can, right here, right now, Dom the hell outta Snowbird."

"As if Glynda wants to see a male Dom, anyway," Winter chuckled, standing up to slide the strap-on down her legs. "Would you like to get a condom out and see to business? Unless you're really serious about this bet of yours."

"Oh please,” Glynda snorted. “I'd much rather buy a drink than win one so easily. But I suppose your confidence is admirable."

Rolling his eyes in response to that, he ignored her while she began to pack everything away again, including the anklets and wrist cuffs. Although when Winter asked about the condom, he tilted his head. "Wait… even before she leaves the room? Can we do that?"

Nodding at the drawn shade over the window, Winter nipped a napkin out of he bag and did her best to wipe Glynda's essence off the dong. "Well, strictly speaking, we're not supposed to have actual sex in these rooms, but… it's essentially an understanding. If they don't know about it, they can't be held responsible. If you’re asking if we can fuck in front of Glynda…" Her shoulder raised and lowered. "Performance anxiety?"

"So it's a case of 'if someone catches you it ain't the club’s fault', then? Right." But in truth, he had meant the latter. Would she allow them to even do such a thing? Glynda didn't want him involved with her, but this was different. This was just he and Winter scening on their own. But the erect member spoke volumes. He needed to do something soon. And if Winter was offering, now was a better time than any. Reaching into his wallet to pull out a condom packet, he smirked.

"Lemme get your seat ready, then."

"Ooh," Winter cooed with a grin, crossing her legs. Then she looked over to their third party. "Oh, and if you want to watch, you're more than welcome, but… I'll understand if you'd rather not. I just need to get off after all that fun with you."

"Oh, I might take a peek while I tidy all this up." It was so matter-of-fact with her. Collecting all the toys and straps, she was distracted enough.

Distracted enough to not mind when Qrow pushed down both his trousers and his underwear, holding himself erect and ready for Winter to work herself on it. The need for her far outweighed his need to dominate, but that didn't stop him from at least sparing the taunt as he held his member still.

"Sit down, Your Highness."

Lucky for both of them, there was nothing covering the most intimate part of her; just straps on either side. Grinning wickedly, she threw one leg up and over, then began to grind said straps up against his length. "I can't yet," she teased. "My seat isn't shrinkwrapped."

In his haste, he had forgotten the most simple step! Groaning outwardly, he quickly tore the condom wrapper apart, tossing the remains aside as he tried to reach around her to sort business. However, that was giving him an idea.

"Y'know what, Princess?" he asked, lifting the hand with the condom up so she could take it from him. "I think you should face away from me and sit on me that way. Face the one who you just Dommed so she can watch her royal highness get fucked silly."

"You know what I say to that idea?" Grinning, she stood and turned around while he slid the condom on, but before she sat down, she pressed her hindquarters in toward his face. "Kiss my ass."

"God, you disgusting straights," Glynda rolled her eyes and uttered, still mostly minding her own business.

Even when Qrow merely grinned at the display. Not too long ago, he had that ass filled with all sorts of goodies. If only he could do that again to assert his authority. But not wanting to disappoint, he did lean in, and pressed a kiss on one of the cheeks.

"Thank you," Winter told him in a voice that was clearly pleased that he capitulated. Immediately afterward, she slowly began to lower her hips. "Ready for me?" She didn't even have to inform him that she was definitely ready; the moisture glistening between the leather straps did that all on its own.

He was indeed ready. In fact, so much so, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Even if he hadn't made the bet with Glynda, that didn't stop him from trying to act more dominant toward Winter. Holding both of her hips for himself, he was already pulling her down onto his thick member, sighing in satisfaction now that they were finally getting off.

"O-ohhhhh," she moaned out, feeling the thickness edge inside her. Every inch of her flesh cried out in joy that it was finally getting the attention it had been demanding for almost an hour. "Oh yes… that's so good! Make Princess feel good!"

"Oh, you bet," he growled. Not even allowing her time to properly settle, he was already starting to push her more firmly against him, forcing his cock all the way inside. And then he pulled out again, and then back in, settling into a fast pace to match their mood and need for it.

And gradually, as she zipped up the bag, Glynda began to look over and watch. Even after getting off twice, the show was certainly making her cheeks glow. Meanwhile, Winter was putting on the show that Glynda truly desired. Back arched, hips bouncing up and down, and spikes gleaming in the low lighting, she was the picture of control over herself, even in giving that control to another. A power bottom on top.

But would she be for long? It might well have been what Glynda wanted to see, but Qrow had ideas that would show him as the more obvious Dom between them. Even if the bet wasn't on, he was determined to win.

Looping a hand around her stomach, and then another up to the back of her head to pull her hair back, he held her firmly still. That was until he was suddenly rising up with his thrusts. Each time penetrating harder, building up more speed than before. Enough to make his heart race – and perhaps secondhandedly, Glynda's.

"AHHH!!!" Winter screamed out as her head was jerked back, exposing more of her elegant neck, removing all shadows from her bouncing breasts as she watched Glynda watching her. Even though this had not been her original intention, not entirely… it was a bizarrely satisfying fringe benefit. Having someone else watch her get soundly fucked was such a turn-on that she felt her climax already nearing.

"Look at that, Winter." He was beginning to tease all the more, continuing to pump his member up inside, even as he felt it throbbing. Even though her name was said, it was also a show for their audience. Of whom he noticed was still watching intently. "You might be able to Dom somebody else, but you'll always be the same thing…"

The hand left her stomach and instead headed between her legs, spreading her apart so he could get that bit deeper. Even by a few centimetres or two, it all counted. Finally, he whispered right in her ear huskily, "My, little, cumslut."

Such a word was the only thing needed to tip her over the edge, get her screaming and writhing on top of his lap as she contracted around him, shivering with each pulse of her inner tissue. Oh, how glorious! She could feel her body trying to milk him for all he was worth. She wanted it to last forever.

Not that it would. As her muscles clamped on his thick member, he found himself gritting his teeth, grunting rather loudly whilst it throbbed hard, releasing more seed into the latex. Yet again, he'd dominated sweet Winter, to the point of both of their orgasms. This time, in the audience of another. Holding her there for a short moment, he eventually slumped back against the wall, sighing deeply to try and regain his breath. After being turned on for such a long while, climaxing granted him intense relief.

Feeling the man slide free when his member softened, Winter shivered but did not otherwise budge. She needed a moment to catch her breath, as well. But either way, she was beyond satisfied; how was it he managed to make her feel so scandalously good every single time they fucked?

Then she spotted Glynda blushing and undressed, and arched an eyebrow. "Want to come sit on our laps for a third? I mean, wow, are you insatiable…"

"No, thank you." She immediately cleared her throat, looking away from them both to focus back on her bag again, and stocking everything inside. But it was fairly obvious she was affected by the show.

"She liked watching," Qrow smirked, letting her go and holding her hips instead, still panting.

"Well… I liked watching her. Not you." But her protests weren't doing anything to erase her flaming cheeks.

"Glynda… come here." When Glynda put her hands on her hips, Winter laughed. "It's not an order, just a request; we did end play." When she walked over, eyeing Qrow warily but still doing as he was bade, Winter took both of her hands and began swinging them from side to side. "If you need me to get you again, just say the word. I don't want to leave here with you unsatisfied."

At that question, Glynda smiled shyly and dipped her head. "No… no, I don't think that will be necessary, thank you. I mean… I want it, but you and he have already finished, so I don't want to be greedy."

"That seems to be a sub trait, huh? I usually end up getting Winter twice before I finish myself off." Qrow's unneeded opinion was pitched in, which earnt him a glare from Glynda once more. Not that he cared. He simply patted Winter's thighs, just as a small reminder of who she was still on top of. "C'mon, lemme put it away."

But instead, she leaned far forward and down, kissing the smoothly shaven skin above Glynda's sex. Immediately, the woman sighed with ill-suppressed need, but then she took a step backward. "N-no, don't tease me further. That's unacceptable if I'm-"

"Nothing complicated," Winter cut across her, sliding out of Qrow's lap and onto her knees as she pressed her lips into Glynda's. The elder woman shivered and windmilled her arms briefly before her hands fell to the top of her Dom's head, quivering all over as she weathered the sudden, frantic attentions. "Just some quick head. I wasn’t going to start another scene and I still do not intend to."

Now that Winter was distracted, Qrow began tucking himself back into his underwear and pants, buckling his belt again. But then his focus turned back to the ladies. Although he wanted to stare and watch their third round for the evening, he himself was still exhausted. He knew while the two could probably continue all night if he wanted, he couldn't. And watching the both of them wasn't going to do him much good in keeping to that personal promise.

Standing up, he clapped his hands, heading toward the door. "Well, I'll let you two ladies have fun. I'm gonna just… You know, browse a while."

"You do that," Winter panted in between her tongue's hungry motions. As he opened it to leave, she was already half-throwing Glynda onto the bench to continue their activities, and Glynda wasn't complaining a bit. There was no distracting them. Silently nodding, he left the two of them to their play, closing the door firmly behind him.

The occupied sign was still illuminated, and the cover was still drawn. Perfect; their privacy was secure. Perhaps he didn't fancy watching Winter and Glynda one more time, even if it was still appealing, but maybe he could satisfy his curiosity. What other activities were going on in the rooms? That's what the cover was for, right? To make viewing optional if people wanted to see?

With that thought in mind, he wandered down the corridor, looking at the various doors available. Most were vacant, but it was a weekday. Chances were they'd be completely booked out come the weekend. Although there were a few rooms at the end were also occupied. Two of them also had their visors closed; it seeming like a common occurrence this evening. But at the far end, there was one more room which had its visor open. Taking the opportunity, he spied inside…

And saw a black-haired beauty towering over a blonde man, tied to a rack, spread eagle. She was wearing fishnet stockings and a leather bustier, and high-heeled black boots with stiletto heels. In one hand was a feather, and in the other, a cat-o-nine-tails. As Qrow looked on, she bent slowly down to glide said feather over the inside of his thigh. Right away the boy below her was twitching, muscles spasming as a grin sprang to his face, and he gritted his teeth while trying to close his legs in. Of course to no avail. He only just managed to hear him asking her to stop, through a loud shrieking giggle of course; mostly the door blocked all sound.

But something in particular was catching his interest. For some reason, he found his eyes drawn to the woman, and not for the simple aesthetic reason. There was something about her that seemed oddly familiar.

After a few more seconds of teasing him, she snapped the whip at his flesh, though with such a lazy flick that it couldn't have actually hurt. The idea seemed to be more to toy with him and tease than actually invoke the "SM" of BDSM.

"Oh, ow, the pain. Please stop." Her sub had begun to tease, shaking his hips back and forth to try and draw her in toward him. He wasn’t troubling to keep his voice down, but he almost had to more read lips than actually hear the words. "If I was a prisoner, I'd give this torture a five star rating for comfort! Thought you were gonna mess me up."

His Dom’s muffled voice replied something he couldn’t catch, and she turned back to dig within something out of Qrow's range; likely a bag. When she straightened up, however… she froze.

"Is it my silicone buddy?"

But as her partner giggled, the raven-haired beauty’s focus had turned elsewhere. Specifically, to the audience member currently at the window. But rather than looking with arousal at what was happening, or even with glee, he was instead staring straight at her face. The look upon it could only be described as someone who had just seen a ghost. It had taken him a moment to put the face with a name, since he had only met her a handful of times. But eventually, muffled through the glass…

"Blake?!"

When he said her name, she looked confused. Then she smiled briefly, but the smile fell away as she continued to stare. Then she turned back to the bound man and said, "Um… chipmunk." Apparently, that was a cue to end play, because she quickly followed up with, "Would you excuse me for a moment?"

"Chi- wait, what?" But he was already watching as she headed toward the bag again, presumably to fetch her night gown. "You're just leaving me like this?!"

But Qrow had already moved to one side to give room for her to leave, waiting for her to make her way outside. Just before she did, she pulled the shade down. "Don't worry! You know I won't forget you. And I’ll be quick, I promise." Then she slipped outside, pulling a zippered hoodie on over her arms to cover the top half of herself.

"I… I'm sorry," she whispered once the door was shut and she was facing the scruffy man with the black tie and the mildly-surprised expression. "You do seem familiar, but… how do we know each other, exactly?"

But Qrow's face was only starting to light up more. It was definitely her, out of all the people he could have seen in this place. "You're that emo chick that was around at Christmas that year! You dated my nephew!" That didn't seem to be helping, and simply brought more confusion. That was, until he added, "Well, my niece… Ying? Now Yang?"

"Oh! Oh, aren't you her uncle?" Her expression was slightly more pleased now. "Wow, what a small world! God, I haven't seen anyone from Yang's family since then, other than Ruby… damn. How are you?"

Chuckling a little, mostly out of nerves, he said, "Doin' alright, all things considered. Just getting introduced to this place, as you can see." He held up the small visitor card on his lanyard, giving it a light tap to exaggerate. However he went straight back to asking, "What about you? I did kinda wonder how things went once Ying… y'know."

"Dumped me?" Nodding almost more to herself than to him, Blake leaned back against the nearest wall, stuffing her hands in the hoodie pockets. "Yeah… I was a little upset, and I missed her like hell. But we worked through it, got past it… and now we're friends again, which is great! And I have Sun and am honestly happy with him, so it all worked out."

"Guessing Sun's the guy spread eagle you're about to have your way with?" It wasn't as though he was going to sugar coat it. Not when the evidence was right there, still tied up and helpless.

Grinning through her slight blush, she answered, "Yeah… is it weird that we're talking about this? I mean, obviously we're both at the Clamp for similar reasons, so we shouldn't be kink-shaming, but… is it weird?"

Scratching the back of his head, he looked away as his own blush seemed to form very slightly. "I'm not exactly open about this kinda stuff, usually. Personal preference and my…" For a moment, he cleared his throat, looking to the other side to continue to avoid eye contact. "My… associate's rules."

Both of her hands came up in front of her to ward off further details. "Hey, say no more! I wouldn't want you telling anybody I come here, either - or that it's Sun I have in there! For his sake. But, I mean… some friends wouldn't care. I just don't want coworkers or his family finding out, mostly." Then she smiled. "So, you're new to being a… sub? Dom? I'm having trouble reading you."

"Well, after the display she put on for me tonight, that could be up in the air now. But… let's just say my test drives had me in the Dom seat." Unable to help but point at the door with his thumb, he asked back, "You always the Dom with him or do ya switch it up?"

"Always," she snorted. "I… okay, this is gonna sound weird, but even though I don't like being Dommed, I do like being manhandled. You know, just regular rough stuff, not all… all this!" She gestured down to her fishnets and boots, then up at the spiked collar around her neck. "Guess I'm picky. But we both find it fun for me to go the whole nine yards as his Dom."

The scruffier man simply shrugged his shoulders, unable to help look her up and down to admire the attire. But upon realising that she'd probably get the wrong idea from such an action, he quickly made eye contact again instead, still holding the back of his head.

"Guess everybody’s boat floats for different reasons. I mean, I think I could be a sub, but the main thing putting me off?" Quickly looking over his shoulder just to be extra sure they were alone, he then leant in a little closer. "I don't particularly wanna bend over. For anybody. It's just… not my thing."

"Are you sure?" she whispered back. When he grunted, she immediately followed up with, "Maybe you are. But just saying… I didn't think Sun would like it, either. Most guys are afraid of anal, like it makes them 'gay' or 'weak' or something, and then…" Shrugging, she raised her index finger and wiggled it around. "They turn into putty in my hands. Not all of them asked for it like Ying and Sun, either - I mean, we know Ying was a special case since she's Yang now, but some of those guys were very straight, and very against it before I…. convinced them."

Though he was turning his nose up at the mental image of his niece being handled in such a way, it did seem to get him thinking. While anyone he had ever felt confident enough to talk about sex to before had been opposed to the idea of a man having his behind teased; everyone he saw here seemed to be enjoying their fair share. Odds were that was what Sun was waiting for in the other room. Eventually he shrugged his shoulder. "Well, maybe a finger. And even that’s a big maybe."

"See? That's more democratic. But honestly, if you tried it and didn't like it, that's cool. Just… you know. Don't knock it before you do." Leaning in, she cupped a hand to her mouth. "Don't tell anyone, but… once, Sun wanted to take a double-ended dildo and do some butt-to-butt. It didn't really work that well, and we ended up falling over so much, but… it was kinda fun, for a minute or two."

That was a mental image that did seem to make him chuckle, however. But that chuckling was cut off when a muffled voice sounded through the door. One rather desperate. "Did you plan to wind me up this much then leave me tied up? Don't make me beg! I don't wanna beg for the strap on!"

"Oops!" Blake giggled, covering her mouth with her gloved hand. "Said I wouldn't forget about him… but we haven't been talking all that long, have we?" Sighing, she shrugged and turned back toward the door. "See you downstairs, maybe?"

Nodding while he laughed to himself, he gave a quick thumbs up. "You bet. Have fun smashing your boyfriend's ass."

But before Blake could answer that same needy voice from the room replied instead. "I heard that, jerk."

Sighing as she walked through the door, she growled, "Alright, alright! Nobody likes a whiny sub!" Then it was shut, and the shade was closing him off from the view this time.

Shaking his head as he walked back down the hall again, he couldn't help but chuckle to himself. In a tiny amount of time, Blake, a woman he'd not met for years and years, had convinced him to let Winter try some form of anal play on him, even when he was adamant he wouldn't do such a thing before. It didn't seem so bad, all things considered. All of the men who had tried it had recommended it. So why was he so afraid he wouldn't enjoy it?

But when he neared Winter's room again, he was beginning to realise; maybe it was because he might enjoy it he never wanted to try. As Blake said, afraid of being perceived as gay. But Winter had been broadening his horizons for a while now. Maybe they could grow yet broader.

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

At long last, Winter and Glynda had finished and dressed. Even though she was used to wearing her Dom outfit on the second floor amongst the scenes, she wanted to make a seamless exit once they had enjoyed a drink, so she opted to put her dress back on before leaving the private room. Glynda did the same… though Qrow noticed she never put any underwear back on. It was quite possible she didn't wear any ever, but there was no way of confirming without asking an awkward question.

As they passed through the scenes and Winter stopped to talk to Candy again, who was being idly shocked by a male Dom, Glynda turned to Qrow and asked, "By the way… I've been wondering if you had a card I might hand out to anyone in the community? Male Doms who aren't complete chauvinist pigs are sadly rare."

Having been watching some of the scenes himself, the question caught him off guard. First there was a club like this in the middle of the city, now kinky business cards were a thing? There was far more to learn about this game than he thought. He was a fool to think it was simply fucking Winter a few times a week, it seemed. "Uh… like, laminated cards? Do they have to say if I’m an organ donor?"

"Apparently not," Glynda sighed, eyes roving over the scenes as they spoke. "That's alright. And yes, some Doms like to give out a card, usually just with their cell number and their 'Dom de plume'. I have Cinderella's… not that I'll ever call her again," she added in an undertone.

"Yeah, what’s the story with her?" he found himself asking. The tone Winter took with her when they were talking had him assuming that it was just instinctive jealousy, but now that someone unrelated was doing the same… "I spoke to her when I came in, she seemed… alright, just kinda full of herself."

A harsh bark of laughter escaped the bespectacled woman. "Oh, there are so many things. First of all, she doesn't believe in aftercare. Says it's 'not her job'. That alone is enough to make sure I'm never putting myself in her hands again; even if I didn't need it most times, knowing that she won't comfort me if I have a bad experience…" Her voice got quieter. "Or if I can't come back from subspace…"

Even the least experienced Dom like Qrow knew what “aftercare” was. Although he and Winter had never needed it after their play, he had still offered the service to her. Even if that mean just sitting and talking or general “hugging it out,” as he put it. For someone to shrug it off, it was worse than simple dominating. It was cruel.

But there was that word again, as well. "Subspace?"

"You really are just getting started." It wasn't spoken with any malice or scorn. Glancing around at the scene, and noticing Winter was face-deep in Candy's posterior, she decided to be kinder and chivvy Qrow along toward the stairs that led to the bar.

"Subspace is the mental state a sub can sometimes enter if they're in a particularly… intense scene. When you go beyond simply acting, and really start to feel like you're a lesser being. With pain and pleasure mixing together, it releases epinephrine and endorphins, shooting through your brain and- well, I might be getting too technical. Essentially, you might stop feeling any pain, or at least being able to tell you are. You can drop down into a sort of trance, detach from the reality of the scene. Reality altogether. It's a very incredible and profound experience, scary and exhilarating, but if you can't come back at the drop of a hat, or you come back incoherent and exhausted… you need to be gently soothed until you make it back to normal. Treated like you're made of glass, because even just careless treatment can make it worse, or at least make it take longer to come out of it. Which is terrifying. If you’ve ever heard of sleep paralysis, it can be a little like that: you want to move your body but you simply are not capable, and you panic but it still doesn’t help. A living nightmare."

"Huh…" It was a very odd explanation, but she had broken it down well enough that Qrow thought he understood. Winter had used the word before, but never explained what she meant. But now he had a meaning, he felt he could learn far more. And also how to make the experience better.

"So… if you wanna go for the brass ring, you want to take someone to this ‘subspace’, right? And then bring them out at the end?"

"You do." Then she shrugged. "Well… you don't want to try too hard to get them into subspace, since you might go too far. At least, I wouldn't recommend it to a beginner, or even an intermediate-level Dom. Just play the scene out the way it's meant to be played, and view subspace as a possible bonus if it happens."

"Right… Say, does this happen often? As in, like, planning out scenes from start to finish?" He asked rather nervously, shrugging his shoulders as he placed his hands into his pockets. "Cause so far, I've been winging it. Pun intended."

Smiling slightly, she finally approached the bar and dropped her bag of tricks onto the seat next to the one she claimed for herself. "There's nothing saying you have to plan one out. But a really involved scene can be… quite fun. Today's was a mixture of planning and spontaneity."

"The spontaneity part was me turning up. I know." Standing by her side and leaning against the bar as well, he gazed around at the patrons of the bar again. He still found it a little odd a place like this existed, but everyone was having a good time. Laughing, chatting, a general meetup. Even if the upstairs was filled with scenes and further upstairs was even more intimate acts going on. It was a place he never expected, but would go to again.

"So if we come again, I shouldn't need this, right?" He pointed at the lanyard again.

Turning back from the bartender she had just ordered from, she eyed the badge. "Hmm. Probably not, but it depends on your comfort level. It seems like I wore mine only once, but I've seen some people wear theirs three or four times before they're ready to begin participating. No one would think any less of you." Then she scowled. "Well, maybe Cinderella."

"I'm pretty sure I can handle her," he assured, leaning back against the bar himself to get a drink order of his own. But as he waited for Winter to come back downstairs, he turned to Glynda once again, asking, "How long's Winter been going to this thing? Or is that on a need to know basis?"

"Well… ordinarily I'd say you should be asking her, but she probably wouldn't mind me telling you it's been a little while. Still, if you want any more details than those, you had better ask her after all." Then she nodded toward the curtain that closed off the stairs from the rest of the bar. "And it seems like you can do that now."

Emerging from the curtain was Winter, who was talking amiably to a red-haired man in a white suit jacket and a bowler hat. Trailing behind him was a very short girl with two-toned hair, a collar around her neck and a leash that led from her to his hand. After a few more seemingly-pleasant words, Winter waved to him, and he executed a very brief bow before he went off to one side with his "pet" to secure a table.

Such a gesture had Qrow tilting his head for a moment while he watched, but soon turning back to the barman, calling up, "Better make that two of those, pal." Then by the time she reached the two of them, he was back facing her again, raising an eyebrow as he gestured back to the curtain. "Who was Clockwork Orange there?"

"Well, apparently he likes to be called 'Roman Candle'," she informed him as she came to a stop, slipping a business card into her cleavage. "He's heard of me and wanted to know if I'd be open to him Domming me. Of course, I'll ask around and consider his offer, but…" She glanced to the side.

"But what?" Glynda pressed.

"Well… that 'pet' of his looks a bit young. He assured me she's twenty, and that all she'll be doing is watching, but I'd still like confirmation of her age first." Then she snorted. "He told me she isn't allowed to carry personal effects while in the collar, which is fair."

"A pet that just watches? That seems like a waste of a collar to me, but each to their own, I guess." Shrugging his shoulders, he reached back around for the two freshly prepared drinks. Two more Toasted Marshmallows, both with gin. Qrow's clean night was completely off the table now, it seemed.

Although he never said it, he couldn't help but feel a slight hint of jealousy toward Winter's possible new contact. And not for the reason he thought he would. While she had her freedom and reputation around this place, he was stuck with a lanyard around his neck that warded people off. All except the rope handler who checked him out upon entry, that is.

"Well, I'm sure they do a lot of pet play things, but…" She made a non-verbal gesture to the bartender, then turned back to lean against the bar. "I get the feeling that they don't… you know, interact. Outside of the non-sexual roleplay aspect. I could be wrong, but I guess we'll see if I take him up on this."

Shrugging his shoulders, he handed one of the drinks over to Winter, soon taking a sip of his own straight after. "I'd have thought you of all people would know height isn't a factor to do with age. What's Weiss, like, 4'11”?"

"She's about 5'1", without shoes, actually. But you're right, that's not much of a difference, is it?" Shrugging, she took a sip and smiled slightly at the familiar flavour. "And it wasn't just that; she also has a very youthful face, a slight build. As I said, it's entirely possible she's twenty, but to be twenty and look that young… well, I envy her."

"Well duh, what I wouldn't give to look like anything other than a scruffy old coot with a drinking problem." The sound of Glynda clearing her throat was enough to make him glare in her direction, only for him to add, "Alright alright, less of a scruffy old coot, then. Can’t completely change my spots. Geez, I don't know why I'm still here with you two."

"Because you're a gentleman," Winter teased playfully, flicking at his necktie. "And you wouldn't dare let two beautiful blondes walk to their cars alone in the dark."

"I can take care of myself," Glynda grumbled, though she didn't sound too firm on that point. "But… it would be appreciated, I suppose."

After finishing another sip of his drink, he laughed to himself. "I'm guessing that's the 'I want to leave now' signal, right?"

Laughing, Winter placed her hand on his forearm again. "No, not at all! If you're enjoying yourself, we could linger a bit. It's… oddly nice to get to see you outside of play or bowling." Then she nodded to Glynda. "And you, as well."

"I'm not sure about us becoming… 'friends'," Glynda confessed. "I have tried not to mix business with pleasure at the Clamp. But…" Her cheeks rouged slightly.

"But you can't resist me?" Winter guessed. The rouge only deepened.

#black tie #qrow x winter #Qrowin #rwby fanfiction #rwby smut #rwbyremnants #nsfw-Text

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