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jakes3resin · 22 days

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Blondes Have More Fun

Anyways, this is probably the closest I'll ever get to writing Crack fic for this fandom, so enjoy Blond!Bucky and his ability to drive Buck and the entirety of the 100th wild with his smile and hair! Also personally I think Callum looks like a 24 year old when blond, so imagine handsome charming, nearly thirty Bucky Egan running around looking like a baby faced newbie then you'll be half a bowled over as the 100th.

It is a truth universally acknowledged at Thorpe Abbotts that Major John "Bucky" Egan can be talked into anything. Anything. So long as you were convincing and Buck wasn't around to drag him away from the dumber ideas, Bucky was down to play ball.

Curt had once talked him into using a British accent for a whole week, even in meetings with the CO. Bucky hadn't even blinked before adopting an uncannily perfect London accent. It was so convincing that some of the newer replacements had asked if the man was British.

Another time, he got into a howl off with Meatball after Hambone said he didn't know which one was worse. The pair were so loud that no one could actually tell who won. Most were too busy covering their ears. The few that weren't couldn't decide. It was officially settled as a draw, but Benny still refuses to accept that Bucky would ever beat his precious boy Meatball in anything.

There were countless tales of Bucky getting into trouble simply because someone had said within his earshot the six words needed to wreck Jack Kidd's night.

"You know what would be fun?"

The magic words. That or a dare would send Bucky careening into trouble with half the 100th behind him to watch the fireworks. Honestly, most of the time, Bucky was already getting up to his own antics, so convincing him to do something else wasn't exactly hard.

It was one such utterance of the phrase that sparked a wildfire within the 100th Bomber Group that threatened to tear them asunder and send one Major Gale "Buck" Cleven to an early grave. Or prison.

The night was like any other Friday night. Bucky had gone out with Curt and Bubbles. Buck had chosen to stay in for the night reading, and Harry had done much the same. Kidd, the minder of the entire 100th, had gone to the officer's club while the trio had gone to a local pub in the town just off base. So the usual minders of this trio of mad men were missing, and as the saying goes, while the cats are away, the mice will play.

It started as Bubbles's idea.

At least that's what they think it started as. A few too many drinks had left the evening a blur for Curt and Bubbles and a blank for Bucky. That last fact will be important later.

"You know what would be fun?" Bubbles said, or perhaps it was Curt. Or maybe it was Bucky. But it was probably Bubbles. The man was quite the troublemaker, he just hid it better behind soft smiles and manners.

"What?" Bucky leaned against the bar to grin at Bubbles. Well perhaps a more accurate word would be slumped, he'd spent half the night playing some weird darts game that required shots for every bull's eye Tommy made. It was safe to say that the man was on the downhill slide to wasted. Curt kept an ear on the pair as he flirted with a pretty blonde next to them at the bar.

"Being blonde." Bubbles sighed. "All the movies make it seem fun, don't they? And Major Cleven sure is pretty with his blond hair. I bet it'd look really pretty as well on your curls Bucky."

"Sorry, sweetheart, one moment," Curt turned his head to stare at Bubbles. "You think Buck's pretty?"

"And you don't?"

"I do!"

"We know you do, Bucky," Curt sighed and leaned further onto the bar to make eye contact with Bubbles. "I mean, sure, objectively, you could say he is, but I thought you were wrapped up with Croz and Jean?"

"I am, but I still got eyes don't I? 'Sides ain't there something fun about being blonde?" Bubbles leaned against his cupped hand on the bar. "Can't a mind wonder?"

"Yeah Curt," Bucky rose in defense of his friend slinging an arm around Bubble's neck. The move was so uncoordinated that the pair were nearly sent to the floor. "Why can't Bubbles wonder? I wanna go blond, too!"

Curt rolled his eyes at them, but an idea was taking root in his head. An amazing idea.

"Well," Curt grinned. "Why wonder when you can do?"

"You boys aren't thinking about bleaching your friend's hair on your own are you?" A voice cut through the trio's conversation. It seemed the blonde woman from before had been listening in and was rightly amused by the drunk airmen's conversation.

"Cause you'll fry his whole head off in the state you're in, and the world would mourn those curls." She lifted a hand to tug gently on one of Bucky's loose wavy curls. He smiled at her, loose and happy. Usually, only Buck plays with his hair, but Bucky doesn't mind when anyone else does. Buck does though, which Bucky still hasn't figured out.

"Well, how do you suppose we save his curls then," Curt paused searching for the woman's name, "Nora."

"Good job, I half thought you were too drunk to remember my name handsome." Curt smiled, and Nora kept talking

"There's a drugstore down the way. Stocks up on anything a girl, or flyboy in need, could ever need. I'll help you boys out." Nora laughed. "You'll look mighty pretty dyeing those curls blond Major. I wanna see 'em first."

With Nora leading the way, the trio tripped over themselves into chaos. Bucky laughed as Bubbles rambled on about how pretty he'll look as a blond. Curt butting in to say that he'll need to either shave his mustache or bleach it too.

On base, Buck felt a shiver run down his spine as he laid down to sleep. Writing it off as just a chill from the cold British air, the man fell asleep.

Bucky groaned as he woke up. Voices drifted around him. His head felt like it'd be screwed off and used as a bowling ball all night, and as desperately as he wanted to go back to sleep, he knew that now that the sun was up, he was up.

"Curt, if that's you snoring on my legs, I'm gonna kick you off." Bucky pulled his pillow further over his head, trying to block out said snores.

"Fuck off," Came the grumbled reply. An elbow dug into the back of his knee.

"Get off," John whined. Curt huffed shifting just enough to let Bucky free his legs. "Why didn't you go to your own bed?"

"Yours is comfier." Bubbles murmured next to the pair, and Bucky really was starting to wonder what the hell they all drank the night before.

"It's the same cot as everybody else." Bucky grumbled, finally sitting up. Bubbles and Curt immediately swooped onto the space he abandoned. "Rude. You just want me for my bed."

"But it's such a lovely bed, sweetheart," Curt buried his face in Bucky's pillow, not even glancing at the man he was stealing from. Bubbles seemed to have immediately fallen back to sleep.

"I'm getting breakfast," Bucky yawned, stretching his arms above his head. "Meet me there when you idiots wake up. I'll sneak you in."

"Sir, yes, sir." Curt's hand flopped into a mock salute that had Bucky rolling his eyes.

First things first, breakfast. Or at least coffee for his hangover.

Getting dressed as quickly as he could, Bucky didn't even waste time checking how he looked in a mirror. He went to smooth down his mustache only to curse when he found it missing. Thinking Curt must have shaved it off as a joke, Bucky groaned but moved on. He didn't even touch his hair after that, just walked right out of his barracks. The only thing that mattered to him was coffee and how he'd get his hands on a gallon of it. It wouldn't be the first time he ran around base with his hair going every which way. No one would bat an eye.

Had he known what kind of chaos he was about to wreck upon the poor, unsuspecting airmen of Thorpes Abbotts, Bucky would have at least styled it a bit. You know, just to ensure maximum chaos.

The bike ride to the mess wasn't awful. The fresh air helped at least. With his sunglasses on, his head felt less like it was going to split open and more human. What was weird was how everyone stopped in their tracks to watch him ride past.

"Is that-?"

"No way!"

"Someone get Kidd!"

"Holy shit!"

"Major Cleven is going to lose his mind!"

"Do you think he has a twin?"

"Hell if I know, I can't believe Major Cleven let him out of the barracks like that."

"Lord help us if there's another Egan running around."

Bucky ignored them. He was way too hungover to parse through what nonsense the boys were going on about, and he simply pedaled faster to get to the officer's mess. He just wanted his coffee.

"Major Egan, sir!"

Bucky glances up from securing his bike and meets the eye of one of the newer boys. Kid barely looks old enough to have enlisted.

"Uh," Bucky searches his memory for this kid's name. Bucky tried to know some of the newbies names, but it was harder than he'd ever admit. "Monroe, right?

"Yes, sir!" The kid squeaked, a bright tomato blush spreading across his cheeks. Bucky winced, the sound drilling right into his brain. "I wanted to say you look nice today, sir. Your, your hair is real nice!"

"Thanks, Monroe," Bucky smiled, thrown by how Monroe managed to grow even redder. He reaches out to clasp the kid on the shoulder. "You alright there? You look like you're gonna faint. Had any breakfast yet?"

"I-I'm fine, sir, thank you!" Monroe was stock still under Bucky's hand, but he wrote it off as nerves. Some of the boys got nervous around the older pilots, especially if they were officers. "I'll be going now! Have a good day, sir!"

In a flash, the blushing replacement ducked under Bucky's arm and ran as fast as he could down the lane. Bucky watched him go, head tilted not sure what the hell just happened to him. He heard a few shrieks behind him but wrote it off as typical background noise. There was always something going on.

"Weird kid." Bucky turned to walk into the officer's mess. He'd have to tell Buck about it when he saw him next. Maybe he'd understand what just happened.

Speaking of, Buck had better have saved him a seat for breakfast. Bucky was not going to battle the morning rush as well as his hangover just to find out he had nowhere to sit.

On the way inside, Bucky ran into Veal. As in, he literally ran into the man because he'd stopped dead in his tracks staring at him. Bucky hadn't even seen the other before he practically bowled him over.

"Veal, what the hell?" Bucky groaned.

"You," Veal stared at him wide-eyed. If Bucky were less hungover, he'd get quite a kick out of this. "You, you?"

"Shaved, I know," Bucky gestured to his face. He turned to keep walking into the officer's mess. "Yeah, Curt had some fun last night."

"Wait, no! Bucky-!" Veal went to grab him, but Bucky just swerved out of the way. Nothing was getting in his way in his quest for coffee. "Bucky! Stop! Don't go in there!"

"Yeah, yeah, Veal," Bucky waved a hand behind him. "I get you're shocked, but come on, man. It's not the first time any of you've seen me without it!"

Bucky rushed in, not paying anymore attention to Veal. He walked with one purpose. Coffee. He didn't care if the other officers stopped and stared at him slackjawed as he walked past. He was a man on a mission.

"Hey, coffee, please? Whole pot if you could," Bucky smiled at the attendant, who blushed scarlet before running off. Thrown but not deterred, Bucky just shrugged and turned to find Buck. Maybe he'd be able to steal Buck's coffee.

He found Buck seated near one of the windows with his back facing Bucky. Jack was at his table, but otherwise, it was empty. Bucky started over.

Jack saw him first and choked on his grapefruit juice.

"Oh shit," Jack choked out. Buck leaned over to check on him.

"Alright, Jack?" Bucky grabbed the seat next to Buck. Jack just stared at him, eyes wide. Bucky tilts his head confused. "Buck, what's with him?"

Buck turns and freezes. Bucky stares at him. Buck stares back.

"Buck?" Bucky reaches out to shake him.

"You," Buck starts but doesn't finish. His wide blues eyes stare at Bucky's face.

"Coffee, sir!"

The attendant from before arrives with Bucky's requested pot of coffee and a cup.

"Thanks!" Bucky smiles up at the other. The attendant trips backward. Buck turns and glares at the other man. He flees.

"Buck, what the hell?" Bucky nudges Buck. "Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"

Buck turns to stare at Bucky again, a clench to his jaw that Bucky's knows means he's holding something back. Jack seems to have started breathing normally again.

"Your hair!" Jack says. Bucky reaches up to touch his hair. Sure, he didn't style it this morning, but was it so bad? Monroe said it looked good!

Speaking of, why was everyone focusing on his hair today?

"What about it?" Bucky's genuinely curious now. Buck's still staring at him, eyes bright, and now Jack seems to be wishing for death.

"Its-!"

"Pretty."

Bucky turns to Buck. It's his turn to stare wide-eyed at the other. A blush rises up to his cheeks. Buck's not one to mince his words, and a compliment from him feels akin to a hundred.

The entire mess hall goes quiet as Buck stares at him. Bucky smiles at him. Buck goes rigid, and Jack chokes on his juice next to them. Again.

"Bucky!" Curt slammed his hand against the window, happy as a clam and utterly sober. Bucky hates that Irish constitution of his. "Let us in!"

Bucky stands up to hoist open the window. Jack's still too busy choking on his juice to stop him, and Buck seems to have frozen solid. Bubbles and Curt fall through seconds later. The pair immediately start talking over each other happily, and Bucky is starting to wonder if he was the only one who woke up with a hangover.

"God, you should hear the scuttlebutt going round!" Curt cackles as he launches himself into the seat across from Bucky. Bubbles nods next to him, already munching on a piece of toast Bucky thinks used to be Jack's.

"Anything fun?" Bucky dumps creamer into his coffee. He moans as he takes a sip of it. God, coffee really was the best hangover cure. Bucky doesn't notice how quiet the mess hall got until Bubbles finally answers his question a minute later. Odd.

"Just how pretty your hair looks now Major," Bubbles smiled at him. Bucky reached for his hair again.

"Is it really so different?" He asks. Buck makes a noise next to him like a dying chicken, and Curt cackles.

"Blond really is your color, Bucky! You look like one of those pin up posters running around like that!" Curt reaches across the table to tug on one of his curls, drawing it down into his eyesite. Buck bangs his knee against the table with a swear. Bucky would fuss over him, but he's reevaluating his whole morning with this new information.

"Oh!" Bucky gasps. Now he feels silly. "That's why Monroe complimented me outside?"

"Pardon?" Buck's voice comes out strangled. Bucky swings his gaze back to him. Buck's blue eyes are nearly electric, and Bucky gulps.

"Monroe? Cute kid? Brunette replacement with a billion freckles that disappear when he blushes?" Bucky rambles. Curt cackles again as Jack buries his face into his hands. Bubbles grabs a slice of Buck's toast this time.

"And he stopped you?" Buck's jaw was doing the thing Bucky knows only happens when he's pissed. But why would he be mad? Bucky tilts his head to stare at Buck, curls flopping down into his eyes now that Curt's untucked them from behind his ears.

Buck clenches his fist.

"Yeah, he and Veal both stopped me before I walked in." Bucky reaches over to grab Buck's hand. "You okay?"

"I'm fine John," Buck reaches up to tuck his loose curls back behind his ear. His hand lingers, and Bucky fights the urge to press his cheek into Buck's hand. "You look real pretty."

"Yeah?" Bucky sits up straighter, leaning into Buck's space. "How pretty?"

"Like a daydream." Buck whispers, voice low. His blue eyes won't stop staring, and Bucky can tell his blush is spreading by the volume of Curt's laugh.

Oh, Bucky could just kiss the other.

"Yeah, Nora did a nice job on your hair!" Bubbles pipes up having polished off Buck's toast. "We should write her a thank you card!"

"Nora?" Buck twitches.

"The girl who dyed Bucky's hair, of course!" Curt chimed in reaching for Bucky's coffee. Bucky batted his hands away, holding desperately onto his cup. "Pretty girl too! Kept running her hands through Bucky's hair saying how nice it was."

"I think nows a good time to stop that." Jack shoved his last slice of toast in Curt's mouth.

Buck's hand was still hovering over Bucky's cheek.

"Oh, now I remember!" Bucky leaned towards Curt and Bubbles with a bright smile. "She kissed me on the cheek before we left, right?"

Buck pushed his chair away from the table with a screech. Jack turned back to his grapefruit juice with a sigh.

Buck stormed out of the building, and it was through the combined efforts of Curt and Bubbles that Bucky didn't run after him. They could hear yelling through the still open window.

"Oh shit!"

"Everybody run! Major Cleven's pissed!"

"Who flirted with Bucky this time?!"

"Buck calm down, whoever it was they probably didn't mean anything by it!"

"Outta my way Crank."

"Buck, c'mon if you go to jail, who'll stay by Bucky's side?"

"Only gotta go to prison if I get caught."

"That's right-wait, Buck, no!"

Bucky sipped at his coffee. Jack sighed and turned to Bucky.

"Would you please go stop him? I'm not explaining to Harding why one of the 100th murdered a civilian, a fellow Major, and a replacement."

"Buck wouldn't do that," Bucky rolled his eyes.

Jack stared at him, judgement clear in his eyes. Bucky shifted under his gaze.

"Fine," Bucky groaned and pushed away from the table. He refilled his cup of coffee. "He wouldn't, but I'll go stop him."

Curt and Bubbles chirped their goodbyes as they waved down an attendant. Bucky mourned his pot of coffee as he glanced back and saw Curt gleefully pouring it into a cup.

Stepping put in the sunshine, Bucky reached for his sunglasses. Finding Buck would be easy. He simply turned in the direction of the yelling and started walking.

He ignored the boys all watching him and whispering. Now that he was walking, he could see his reflection in the windows of the buildings he passed. His normally brown locks were now a bright blond. He felt a bit foolish for not seeing it earlier, but hangovers tended to narrow one's field of vision to only what's necessary.

"DeMarcooo!" Bucky called out when he saw the other walking Meatball. "You seen Buck anywhere?"

"Just missed him," Benny yelled back. He pointed to the left of the barracks. "Went that way!"

"Thanks!" Bucky called back with a smile. A few of the boys around him erupted in whispers.

"Nice hair!" Benny yelled with a grin. Bucky rolled his eyes and kept walking. Buck couldn't have gone too far, right?

He found Buck only a few minutes later outside of one of the barracks the replacements were quartered. He was leaning against a wall talking to someone.

"Buck!" Bucky jogged over. As he got closer, he realized that the person Buck was talking to was the kid from earlier. "Monroe! Good to see you again so soon!"

"Major!" Monroe squeaked, eyes bouncing from Buck to Bucky. "Major Cleven was just reminding me about a few chores that I forgot about! I'll get going! Sirs!"

The kid ran off before Bucky could stop him. Buck watched with a satisfied gleam in his eyes, and Bucky huffed out a laugh.

"You know, you don't have to act all jealous to get my attention," Bucky pulled Buck to him by wrapping an arm around his waist. "I'll still only ever look at you."

"Just making sure everyone else knows that." Buck replied, voice low and serious.

Bucky reached up his free hand to drag him down into a kiss. Buck melted into his touch. Bucky laughed into he kiss as he tried to keep his coffee from spilling all over the two of them. He pecks the corner of Buck's mouth and pulls away.

"So you like the hair?" Bucky scrunches his nose into a shit eating grin.

Buck wiped that grin off his face with another kiss. Not that Bucky was complaining, of course.

Later that night, after making sure Buck didn't actually murder anyone, Bucky found himself in front of a vaguely familiar drug store.

"Well Major, I take it your boy liked the blond?" Nora grinned, pink lips spread into a devilish smile. She leaned one hip against the drug store counter. "Surprised you made it back here. You boys weren't exactly stone cold sober when you left."

"I always remember my bets, darling. I'll forget a lot but never those." Bucky laughed and set his hat down on the counter next to her. A single blond curl fell down into his eyes. "Now, what's this about makeup?"

"Oh, Major, you'll look lovely in something peachy."

#please ignore the fact that a small country town in England during ww2 had the necessary products for this during rationing #nora is an oc that exists solely because i have heard horror stories about people not knowing how to use hair bleach #and knew these three fools would burn Bucky's hair off if left unattended so thus NORA #everyone falls in love with Bucky #and blond Bucky is a bombshell no one survives #curt is only surviving because he thrives off of the chaos #internally he is also screaming about how pretty bucky is caude im a curtbucky stan as well #mota #masters of the air #buck x bucky #clegan #john bucky egan #gale buck cleven #bucky egan #john egan #gale cleven #buckbucky #my writing

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saintsenara · 7 months

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I don't know if you are still doing the ship game. What do you think about Drarry? I apologise if you have already answered it- I tried to see if someone else has asked but I may have missed your response. It's a very popular ship and there are lots of well written fics by incredibly talented authors that I have enjoyed. But when I take that aside and look at the pairing just on its own, I struggle to articulate my thoughts on what I actually think about the pairing.

thank you for the ask @sarafina-sincerity!

i do read drarry, but i think it’s probably fair to say that i don’t read drarry because i expect it to make sense.

i like it fluffy and stupid, to be enjoyed after a hard day at work when i want something which is crammed full of fuck-buddies-to-oh-wait-this-is-serious tropes which doesn’t require too much effort to engage with.

and so the fics i tend to read aren’t drarry which really grapples with exactly how difficult it can be to make harry and draco work as a stable couple while still feeling true to their canon characters. [they’re not fics which dive into how they would be as an unstable couple either, which is - frankly - because i prefer to see harry in toxic messes with other people.] i like a bit of of out-of-character nonsense - i love to tune into a fic in which draco is assertive and witty and sophisticated (even though in the books he’s an insecure little bitch whose jokes always flop) or in which harry is passive, preternaturally adoring, and speaks like a therapist (even though in the books he’s a reckless feral cat with the emotional awareness of cardboard) or in which ron and hermione come around to it really quickly. i think they’re fun!

but arguing that drarry could make sense as a happy relationship when the characters are as they are in canon is difficult. indeed, i think that it’s even more difficult than making many of the completely implausible-sounding harry-centric pairings work (and, indeed, draco-centric pairings, taco nation rise up). and i think it’s worth dissecting why.

the first reason is that, much as umbridge is often the villain that readers have the most visceral reaction to (and much as the thing about snape which seems to most upset readers is when he’s a bad teacher), the fact that draco is just some guy at school actually makes the pairing harder. unlike something like snarry, in which a semi-mystical connection between the two is set up by the narrative, or tomarry, in which an overtly mystical connection is, drarry is just two lads who don’t really get on.

indeed, despite a tendency to explain their vibe in the books as sexual tension, harry gives no indication of particularly caring either way about draco while they’re at school. he thinks he’s annoying, pretentious, rude, and cowardly, but - outside of half-blood prince - he is not ever actually shown to escalate those feelings into being particularly obsessed with him. harry doesn’t watch draco constantly or follow him around or devote a huge amount of time to thinking about him when they’re not together of his own accord; and when he does do any of these things, it’s usually because draco has provoked him into it by seeking him out and/or being explicitly bigoted. even in half-blood prince, harry’s obsession with draco is external to the man himself - it’s rooted in his attempts to block out his grief over sirius, his anger at the death eaters who killed his godfather (lucius malfoy among them), his suspicion of snape, and the things he is learning about tom riddle.

draco, though, is obsessed with him. harry spends seven years living rent free in his head; he tracks his movements, he can barely make it through the day without seeking him out to try and get some attention from him, he clearly talks about him all the time (he needs no prompting from ‘crabbe’ and ‘goyle’ to bring him up during the polyjuice scene in chamber of secrets). he also obviously does have some level of respect for harry - he acknowledges, even if it’s through complaining to his father, that he’s a good quidditch player, for example - and, by the end of the series, he clearly does regard harry as brave. whereas, when it comes to more positive emotions, harry pities draco, but he never seems to like or admire him.

as a result, i always prefer drarry in which draco is the more feral one, but the default dynamic seems to have harry chasing him, rather than the other way round. i would also like to see more authors work with how likely draco would be to put up for long with having such an obvious interest in a man who is only ever likely to be ambivalent towards him in return

[and also a man who is quite likely to expect to become his partner’s priority, rather than the other way round. one issue with a lot of harry’s relationships, whether his canonical one with ginny or a fanon alternative, is that the role he occupies in the story means that he tends to relate to people he knows not as equals but either as people he needs to protect or people he needs to protect others from. in a relationship with draco, he is likely to pivot from the latter to the former, and i can’t imagine that draco - who thinks of himself as a protector as well, especially in his relationship with his mother - is going to particularly enjoy this. this is why i like middle-aged, have had decades to calm down, widowed or divorced drarry - it feels like it has more chance of being equal than the school-age or immediately post-war stuff.]

harry’s indifference-bordering-on-dislike towards draco does stand in contrast to how he thinks about other male characters that he’s frequently paired with. to return to snarry and tomarry - harry is shown to admire snape at numerous points prior to the end of half-blood prince, his interest in the prince’s textbook reveals that he and snape have a shared intellectual compatibility, and - above all - harry understands and empathises with snape’s background and experiences. similarly, harry is shown to admire voldemort at numerous points, the narrative sets them up as being very similar, and - above all - harry understands and empathises with voldemort’s background and experiences.

[harry is also obviously physically attracted to tom riddle, while draco is not - although this is, of course, not an insurmountable issue - obviously his type. the men harry finds attractive in canon are all tall, thin, and dark-haired, and draco is always described by the narrative in terms which suggest that harry thinks he’s ugly. the same is true for lucius malfoy.]

and i think that one explanation for the above is that a lack of shared background is one of the major stumbling blocks to drarry which doesn’t exist in the other two pairings. i love an auror partners trope-fic as much as any other girl, but - in reality - draco never needs to work and never gives the impression of being career-minded or finding career ambition valuable. harry is certainly rich enough not to need to work - and the fact that he has a pureblood name and resembles his pureblood father gives him an amount of class protection in the wizarding world which means that drarry is nowhere near as socially unequal as something like dramione - but he evidently finds the idea of working valuable, not least because he wants to achieve recognition for something other than being the boy-who-lived.

but draco - who likes being thought special on the basis of unearned things like his family name - would struggle to understand this. and, in return, harry would struggle to understand how draco’s adult life - something i suspect he would see as one of tedious luxury - is driven by a sense of duty to his family and his peers. after all, harry believes in the value of found family and earned loyalty, and loathes any expectation that he should be deferential to people just because of who they are.

of course, i don’t think this would prevent them being together. it would just cause a tension which would either see everything crash and burn (hot) or which would require growth from both characters which takes a certain lightness of touch to pull off. there are lots of drarry authors who do one or both of these in their works, of course. but those authors are very rarely trying to portray harry and draco as (to begin with, at least) a good or healthy couple…

but with this said, i also think that some common criticisms of drarry wouldn’t actually be a big deal to either harry or draco.

the most significant of these is the fact that harry is morally righteous - yes - but that this manifests itself in an expectation of loyalty from other people, but not an expectation of purity. in post-war drarry, i think it’s entirely reasonable to say that harry’s belief that the malfoys turned against voldemort because of loyalty to each other (something he finds valuable, and clearly considers to be the appropriate way for a family unit to behave - look at what he thinks of percy weasley, for example), as well as lucius malfoy’s extra-canonical willingness to help harry and the ministry by informing on all his former associates (which, according to jkr, results in him being spared azkaban and harry thinking that’s fine) enables him to let go of draco’s past, and to have a relationship without the weight of that history hanging over them. i don’t think he ever becomes fond of lucius - although i think he is likely to feel slightly more warmth towards narcissa - but i also don’t think he would expect draco to estrange himself from his family or completely change as a person in order to consider him worthy of his affection.

[this is, for what it’s worth, something which makes dramione an impossibility for me - even if draco is capable of redemption (which, like everyone, he is), i don’t think she’s ever forgiving him or considering him changed enough to be worthy of her, and i don’t think she should have to.]

draco may not, however, consider this acceptance as much of a gift as harry might. above all because i believe sincerely that harry would never feel bad about the sectumsempra incident. draco is clearly someone who holds grudges, and i think that this would always be in quite profound tension with harry’s remarkable (but also entirely self-interested) ability to decide he’s going to let things go.

i also think that harry is going to be able to handle draco’s more negative characteristics better than he’s sometimes given credit for, since all of them - especially his tendency towards jealousy, self-aggrandisement, and moping - are things he shares with ron. and, like ron, i think draco is going to be surprisingly good at dealing with harry’s impulsivity, his tendency to brood, and tendency to form knee-jerk judgements. these seemingly opposing personality traits are actually quite nicely balanced.

and, of course, the big one: love is strange and unpredictable; forgiveness can be easy just as often as it can be difficult; everyone is capable of redemption; people can choose to be together despite significant odds against them; choice is much more interesting than fate; and fluffy drarry is unbelievably entertaining.

my final statement, though? people are sleeping on dron. ron and draco have all the right ingredients - above all, the fact that they’re narrative mirrors - which makes things like snack bang. the potential for drama and intrigue and destabilising love is right there. harry simply cannot compete.

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy

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soloorganaas · 1 year

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giving you two, you can do both or choose one: 1) what ship do you hate most? 2) rant about [pairing] for wolfstar - i want to hear what you don't agree with the fandom on about them

hehehehehehehehe

remadora. no explanation needed. whilst i'm here everyone who hates them too go read a grave mistake

ALRIGHT HERE WE FUCKING GO

atyd it's an incredible story, but it's not the ONLY story, and the way its characterisations have in so many fics and fanons replaced actual canon is infuriating. remus is portrayed as toxic, aggressive, manipulative and cruel; sirius is cowardly, manipulative, over-dramatic, emotionally immature and just plain stupid. this is either completely inaccurate based on the books, or an over-exaggeration of some of their canon traits. the interplay between their individual traumas is so so simplified to become two long decades of toxic miscommunication, and they're just plain mean to each other. if this was just one story, ya know, you take it or leave it like anything else. but the way these characterisations have been exaggerated or simplified even further from canon leads to characters that are literally unrecognisable. if its an AU, okay, they're always going to be different in different contexts. but if you're telling stories that are deliberately supposed to be based in canon, exploring those ideas, and then the characters are literally nothing like the books, then imo thats shitty writing. and the utter refusal of at least some fans (literally the entirety of fucking tiktok) to acknowledge this and produce better work is infuriating

so much of this fandom is mind-blowingly talented. jfc. i have improved my writing tenfold by reading wolfstar fic. so this sort of subsection irks me extra bc of that, when its ignoring the incredible work over the past two decades, and not least the amazing stories being published rn

the bimboification of sirius this is such a knock-on effect of atyd smh

sirius is dramatic as hell. my boy comes straight out of azkaban and his first instinct is to go approach harry late at night as a massive fucking black dog. he tries to kill peter by breaking into the gryffindor dorms and lunging over ron with a knife. he finds out harry's broom broke so he mail orders the most expensive broom on the market with the help of a fucking cat when he is literally a wanted criminal. he finally confronts harry by dragging his best friend through the whomping willow by a broken leg and then leans hardcore into the mass murderer vibes with slightly incoherent rants and attempts to kill a rat as his first intro to harry. he goes on the run on a famously dramatic and haughty horse/bird and spends a year in tropical islands and caves instead of just fucking apparating to his ex's house and hanging out there. his emotions go from 0-100 in 0.5 seconds and he would deck half the order if it wasn't for remus holding him back

i think its pretty safe to assume he was just as dramatic as a teen, albeit in a more cocky rich kid way than traumatised ex-convict way. i think its a fair characterisation that he would be overwhelmed by a gay life crisis and feelings for remus and handle it in a pretty dramatic way

but that doesn't mean, however, that he is (a) nothing but a drama queen and (b) a bimbo. he's dramatic, he's not stupid or shallow or whiny. he is one of the absolute smartest characters in the book, and is so committed to his principles and friends he'll literally die for them. he's incredibly competent and self-reliant, to the point of keeping himself alive for years on end in extremely harsh situations. he's generally either intensely focused on the task at hand or lost in his own head. he's not goddamn whiny, or dumb, or constantly desperate for the attention and validation of remus

remus getting irritated at sirius for being ✨too much✨ yeah honestly im gonna blame atyd for this one again but also the general ableist trait of mocking people for being A Lot when those people are most of the time neurodivergent-coded.

remus fucking adores sirius. this entire fandom is based on this premise lmao. in the books they respect each other so much - remus is the only one sirius listens to, sirius is the only one to whom remus will let his emotions show and be forthright with. remus never gets angry or annoyed with sirius just for feeling a lot - he is in fact the only person to validate him and back him up. he gets annoyed when he's being an ass

he would never be irritated at sirius for being passionate or unconstrained or letting his creativity run wild or spewing out whatever thoughts were in his mind or just being full of life and fire and enthusiasm and daring. considering the kind of person remus is and the dynamic in their relationship, those are the things he would LOVE about sirius. whilst being perfectly comfortable calling him out when they lead him to be annoying or rude or irresponsible

tl;dr sirius being extra doesn't make him the idiot butt of everyone's jokes and remus being reserved doesn't make him judgmental of sirius's larger personality

prongsfoot in wolfstar fics

james isn't just sirius's "best friend", their relationship is essential to who sirius is and the fact he can even become and emotionally open enough person to fall in love. he is just as important to sirius as remus is. i really dont think i've read many wolfstar fics (that delve deep into the characters, i dont mean fluffy/smutty oneshots etc) that show james as more than a 2D sidekick or how his friendship with sirius impacts sirius's relationship with remus. i can understand why the prongsfoot fandom gets so mad tbh lmao

#this is why it takes me 3-5 business days to answer them it's one question and i have a phd thesis #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #atyd #hp meta #ch: we choose who we really are #otp: i'm mental about you #hp #anti remadora

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thatthoughtatthebackofyourmind · 9 months

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In Defence of Albus Dumbledore:

Look. I know this is an unpopular opinion, so I’m going to write this here because putting it anywhere else (like at the bottom of the fics which have inspired this frustration) would seem mean, and it would probably end up coming off as unintentional flaming, which I would never do to anyone ever. Also, as I’m less frustrated with individual works than I am with an entire situation, it wouldn’t really be fair to direct it at one specific person.

Get ready. This is going to be very ranty and long and I can't promise not to get off topic and onto a tangent a few times.

I understand that we all have grown up a lot since first reading Harry Potter. I get that once we realized how grey a few of Dumbledore’s decisions actually and the ways in which they affected the characters we love we all felt rightfully upset.

But can we please stop being so narrowminded about it?

There are plenty of redemption fics out there. A lot of them are works that redeem characters like Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, Draco’s parents, various Dursleys and loads of other people. I’ve seen fics that have Sirius confronting the realities of his juvenal behaviours and having to atone for past wrongs. I’ve even seen (but admittedly never read) fics that redeem Voldemort himself.

But the least popular person for a redemption story in fanfiction by far seems to be Albus Dumbledore.

I get it.

He was supposed to be an infallible genius who did no wrong and he let us down. But please.

Can we all please just admit that we’re using Dumbledore as a stand in?

The hatred we as a fan community levy at Dumbledore is influenced by so much more than his actions in cannon.

It’s the dissolution we feel at growing up. The need as young people to bite back at overbearing authority. It’s the conviction that leaders should never be allowed to fail if failure means the death of innocent people. Even though we can all recognize on a personal level that our failures are typically unintentional and are definitely what make us human.

Of late, it’s very clear that Dumbledore is a stand in for the betrayal we feel at JK Rowling’s anti-trans standing.

We all loved her so much.

She gave us this world.

She promised it to everyone.

And then she said that it was all a lie, and that it was never meant for some of us anyway.

The parallels are clear.

While we were first reading, we loved who Harry loved. Simply because he loved them, and we loved him.

When we grew up, we started acknowledging the ways in which the characters mirrored people in real life, and we chose the people we found the most familiar to love instead. Personally, I understand the reason I read Severitus so often is because I had a largely absent father who I idolized as a child, and that father was a bit of a rockstar like person. Dark, intelligent, and cruel when he wanted to be. Artistic, genius, condescending, and amazing.

As an adult, I still long for his love and approval. Learning that Severus was capable of so much good at the very end of his story, that he was in fact good all along, even when he looked exactly the opposite, gave me hope that my father was too. Even though I now understand that redemption for my father is just a fairy tale it’s still a story I hold close to my heart. A story I long for. It’s a possible happy ending for both a lonely child and a jaded grouchy adult.

Albus Dumbledore was different.

This was a man that we trusted to have everyone’s best intentions at heart. We were told he was safe. We were told he was the smartest man in any room. And then he failed us. And we looked back at all he had done, and rather than seeing the good he had tried to achieve, all we could see were the mistakes he had made.

I firmly believe that the reason that so many people hate him so strongly now is because we all loved him so much first. Like Harry, we all believe that he was incapable of mistakes. His mistakes in cannon aren’t any more morally condemning than anyone else on the light side.

Keep in mind that I said, “in cannon.” I feel like I need to distinguish that. In cannon, though Harry asked if he could stay at Hogwarts during the summer, he never told Dumbledore about living in a cupboard under the stairs. His letter was addressed to there, but we have no way of knowing whether it was physically or magically written on the envelope. And besides, that letter was signed by Professor McGonagall, not Dumbledore. Harry also never mentioned to him the Dursleys withholding food. Or locking up his trunk so that he couldn’t do his homework. He made it clear that they disliked him, that they thought him a burden, but think. Really think. Dumbledore is the head of a school full of children. How many children misunderstand and exaggerate even in their own minds how much their families dislike them.

Let me be clear; when I say kids exaggerate I don’t mean in terms of abuse. I only mean typical things such as, “My mom’s always grouchy when she gets home from work and she never notices that I’ve tried really hard by cleaning the bathroom if she told me to clean the kitchen before she got home and I decided to do the bathroom because I wanted to clean it instead of doing the dishes and now she’s yelling at me that she just needs me to help her sometimes, and I don’t feel like that’s fair because really I do. Look, I cleaned the whole bathroom by myself! And I straitened up the living room too! The only thing I ‘forgot’ was the kitchen and now she’s acting like I do nothing. This means she hates me and appreciates nothing I do. I am clearly a burden to her, and I should go live under a rock so that she doesn’t have to deal with me anymore.” Really, your mom probably isn’t saying you’re a burden. Your mom is more than likely overworked, over-tired, and almost certainly depressed in a society that doesn’t cater to mental health awareness, and on top of all that she was raised by a generation that was allergic to admitting and self-regulating their true feelings so she can’t articulate that and she’s instead taking her frustrations out on you.

This is wrong, and she shouldn’t do it. But consider. Why didn’t you want to clean the kitchen? Was it because you had a long hard day at school and you’re overworked, over-tired, and definitely depressed in a world that doesn’t cater to mental health awareness, and all you really wanted was a break from the hardest job and you just wanted to compromise by doing the ones you felt emotionally and physically able to do? Because I promise, that’s probably exactly how your mom feels about the damn dirty dishes that she’s going to have to deal with before she can make dinner after being cussed out and yelled at by customers and or bosses all day in between doing her actual work and that’s the real reason she’s yelling.

Because, though a lot of teens believe otherwise, parents are still just people and the feelings that overwhelm kids still overwhelm adults just as badly. And they’re even less likely to know how to help themselves because they didn’t grow up with the internet where everyone shares their feeling and gets back validation and advice, so they mostly just believed those feelings were personal failings that indicated something broken specifically only in them and that they should learn to live with it and never tell anyone ever because complaining is for babies and liberals. Okay, maybe that last bit is a little too specific to my own mother, but you get the idea.

It’s a cycle that’s been going on for years. Hopefully, we can eventually all learn how to communicate peacefully and compromise on chores sometimes so we can end it someday. Or everyone can just switch to paper plates, and then we’ll worry about how we’re killing the planet later and no one will have to do the dishes ever again.

The point is, while that isn’t the best parenting style, and it can cause issue’s with your familial relationship as you age, it isn’t technically abuse. And it especially wouldn’t be considered abuse in the 90’s while Harry Potter was taking place or the early 00’s when it was being published.

Harry was not bruised when he arrived at Hogwarts. He didn’t show obvious outward signs of abuse. He never told any adults what his life was like at the Dursleys at all. He really didn’t even say much about it to Ron or Hermione either. Mrs. Weasley sent him treats for his birthday, which was a sweet motherly gesture. Hermione and Hagrid did as well but think about it. Do you believe for a second that if Molly have-another-serving, can-I-get-you-some-more-bread, try-the-potatoes Weasley honestly thought the Dursley’s were starving Harry that she would first wait until the end of July to send Harry anything, and then only send him sweets? She would scale the Dursleys’ house and stuff a full six course meal through the bars multiple times a day before she let that boy live off stale birthday cake. When she asked if the Dursley had fed him enough she meant it in the same way she always meant it, in the if ‘I can feed the world I can love the world’ way.

Hagrid sent him rock cakes, but again, think about it. Hagrid had shown up with a cake for Harry’s birthday the day he first delivered the letter when he couldn’t have yet known of the way Harry was treated. He just wanted to show Harry he was loved and missed.

Of the people who sent him food, only Hermione really knew Harry didn’t get to eat his fill at the Dursley’s and she still only sent cake because all she knew was that he was being forced to diet with Dudley. Which is why she sent him the kind of food one would eat if they weren’t on a diet instead of true sustenance. A fourth of a grapefruit as a meal is not a diet, no matter what Petunia called it. And if he had told Hermione specifics, she likely would have told Harry that, but again, he didn’t tell anyone specifics.

Everyone knew that Harry was unfavoured by the Dursley’s and that they wouldn’t be celebrating his birthday, and he wouldn’t receive cake or presents, but they really didn’t know much else. Ron and Hermione only understood he was being starved in the way most naive well-fed kids from happy families can understand. It sounded cruel, and they did try to tell people, but because they didn’t understand the full gravity of the situation, they couldn’t properly communicate to trusted adults that Harry was actually experiencing abuse. Plus, Harry tended to downplay it even to them.

When Dumbledore speaks about knowing Harry would come from a less than happy home, you can tell he is picturing a world where Harry is liked second best to his cousin. Where he never feels fully at home. Like an overextended visitor in a relative’s house. He thinks they’ll treat him like the weird cousin who came to stay and never left rather than an immediate family member.

He isn’t picturing Petunia Dursley slinging a frying pan at Harry’s head. Or refusing to let him drink his fill of water on a hot summer’s day spent weeding her ridiculous flower garden. Or an overly restrictive diet enforced on an already undernourished body simply to make Harry’s morbidly obese cousin feel better about his doctor changing his eating habits.

I think we’ll all agree that feeling less than welcome by stuck up relatives sucks, but it’s better than whatever Voldemort’s loyal leftover followers will do to him if they manage to track down the person responsible for their dark lord’s downfall.

I understand why a lot of people feel like Dumbledore should have just put Harry under the Fidelius Charm and hid him rather than sending him to the Dursley’s but consider: If Dumbledore trusted Sirius the way he must have done to not betray James and his family, then it makes sense that he felt Fidelius was no longer an option. He fully believed Sirius was the secret keeper. Sirius, the Potters, and Pettigrew were the only ones to know of the change. It’s likely that after learning that the Death Eaters had convinced Sirius to betray the Potters he was jaded enough to take it as a sign that no one could be a trusted Secret Keeper. No matter how much they loved the person under protection.

He also likely would have insisted on a trial for Sirius had Sirius himself not told everyone that he was the one who killed James and Lily while descending into hysterical laughter. We know what Sirius meant, (he felt responsible for them dying because switching to Peter at the last minute had been his idea) because we read the third Harry Potter book, but Dumbledore didn’t have that same advantage. All he had was the word of an apparently mad man. A man who had just tracked down another dear friend and apparently killed him and 12 innocent bystanders in a fit of insanity.

Why, when last he had heard Sirius was the Secret Keeper, would he doubt a verbal confession from a man who did nothing to try and save himself from Azkaban? The Marauders never told anyone of their animagus abilities. No one but Sirius could have understood what Peter had done. Why do we expect Dumbledore to have known better?

So, instead of Fidelius and hiding Harry away for his entire childhood, he gave him the best protection he could think of under the circumstances he had been given. He sought to give Harry a normal life and to keep him safe from the remaining Death Eaters.

Dumbledore understood that fame was power, and that power could corrupt even the best of people with the strongest of minds, so he kept Harry away from the limelight. He also understood how fickle people where about fame. This was the right decision even if the Dursley were a bad choice in guardians. We saw proof of this numerous times while Harry was at school. His fame only ever seemed to bring him more hardships. In book two they said Harry was a dark wizard because he was a Parselmouth and that that’s how he overpowered Voldemort. In book four even some of Harry’s friends refused to believe he wasn’t just a glory hound and that it hadn’t been him who entered his name in the tournament, but rather someone trying to kill him. In book five, almost everyone refused to believe Harry was telling the truth about Voldemort’s return. Every single time Harry’s name entered the limelight, it was in a way that harmed him. Imagine how much earlier it would have started had he grown up in the wizarding world. They would have been debating his kindergarten finger paintings if they could have.

Why does the entire fandom also assume that Dumbledore thought of himself as the wisest most all-knowing man in any room? The only people who canonically acted like they believed that about him were the Golden Trio, and they were enlightened otherwise multiple times throughout the books as they grew up. Just as everyone learns new truths about trusted adults they thought of as perfect as they grow.

The fact is, Albus Dumbledore has always been just a man.

He was a great and powerful but flawed man who wanted more than anything to make sure that evil could not prevail. He obviously still holds plenty of shame and guilt over his dealings with Gellert Grindelwald in his misspent youth. We have surmised that when he looked in the Mirror of Erised he likely saw his sister Ariana, or something as equally heart-breaking which he recognized as his own fault. He fully understood that he was just a man. He encouraged everyone to understand that fact about Voldemort as well.

He was not a god, and he didn’t pretend to be.

Not in cannon anyway.

Fanon Dumbledore, on the other hand, tends to be anything from a meddling idiot to a full on manipulative dark lord complete with moustache twirling and nefarious intent. Which, I believe, further influences and enforces the fandom’s collective bad opinion of him. Most of us haven’t reread the real books in years. It gets hard to remember at some points what was something he did in canon vs. what was something he did in fanfiction.

Every other character seems welcomed to grow in the world of fandom.

Severus was canonically a willing Death Eater in his youth, a bully to children in his care in his adulthood, and a petty grudge-holder who couldn’t let go of the past. We accept that we can’t fully know how much of his behaviour towards the students was an act to fool the Death Eater’s children, but we can assume it definitely wasn’t all of it. Still, he gets plenty of redemption fics. He had literal access to Harry’s traumatic childhood memories but still saw no signs of abuse because he was too busy trying to keep a 15-year-old child from gaining any ammunition about his own past.

Looking back, it seems obvious that as very few of Harry’s childhood memories were shown in the Occlumency scenes, he likely wasn’t as bad at clearing his mind as either he or Snape assumed, but it was also possible that Severus didn’t see those memories because that wasn’t what he was looking for. The memory of Harry getting chased up a tree by Marge’s dog as the rest of his family watched and laughed should have triggered at least a couple of red flags, but Severus was typically determined to only see the bad in Harry, so he overlooked it.

James Potter who is often thought of as the better choice for Lily was also a bully. And he spent years relentlessly pursuing a relationship with someone who had never given him any indication that his advances were welcome and had in fact outright told him the exact opposite of that many times until he finally wore her down and convinced her to give him a shot. That’s gross, unacceptable behaviour but I guess it is technically better than dating a budding racist that sees you as the exception to his views on your people, so James is rebranded as a lovable hero who changed after having a slightly misspent youth rather than a mean spirited bully who likely grew bored with his main target once he no longer saw him as competition (there would have been no reason to bully Snape if Lily wasn’t friends with him anymore after 5th year which was conveniently around the time he began to “grow up”) as well as a pushy loser who wouldn’t take no for an answer even though Lily said it multiple times. (There’s also the point that once Snape knew about Lupin being a werewolf, James likely wouldn’t have bullied him anymore so as not to provoke Snape to reveal the secret and get Lupin thrown out of school and possibly killed.)

Ron told Molly outright that the Dursley’s were starving Harry and had fixed bars on his windows to trap him after weeks of being concerned when he didn’t reply to Ron’s letters, and she still ignored it, assuming instead that Ron was exaggerating and never even tried to check with Harry to learn that he wasn’t.

Remus spent a year teaching Harry individualized lessons to repel Dementors and never once asked him why he was so sad that they affected him in ways that none of the other students experienced. I mean really, he couldn’t have been the only orphan attending that school so Remus couldn’t have thought it was just that. And Neville’s backstory was nearly just as sad (and just as well known to Remus) and even he didn’t faint like Harry. Yet, he didn’t question Harry once.

Sirius (who is also a bully and a petty grudge-holder) never wondered why a child would want to move in with an escaped prisoner who he had never met before that had just mangled his best friend’s leg and tried to commit murder in front of him instead of the relatives he had been with his entire life. Even when until that very night he had believed that prisoner wanted to kill him?

Arthur actually met the Dursley’s and saw Vernon’s rage at magic when he came to collect Harry for the Quidditch World Cup and he still questioned nothing.

Half the Order found Harry locked inside his bedroom with locks affixed to the outside of the door, and all they did was give vague unfulfilled threats to Vernon and send Harry back. You could blame that on Dumbledore, but I think that’s ridiculous. They were not under Imperious. They made their own decisions. Every adult there had a responsibility to that child, and they all failed him individually.

Yet time and time again I see Dumbledore condemned so overwhelmingly in the very fics that redeem and or absolve these other characters of those very actions.

Even McGonagall, who knew from the start that the Dursleys were awful people, never pulled Harry aside as his head of house and asked him anything about his home life. And, as I stated earlier, her name was the one on the letter addressed to the cupboard under the stairs. She also made it very clear that she wasn’t someone for Harry to confide in by constantly dismissing any concerns he presented her. The way she reacted about the Stone was ridiculous. And her non-concern over the amount of detentions Harry received from Umbridge followed by the ‘have a biscuit’ scene rubbed me the wrong way. And yet, of late she seems to be revered in the fandom community as some kind of badass grandmotherly character. All because she protested one time about leaving Harry with the Dursleys and then never brought it up again.

It’s getting a bit ridiculous. I’m exhausted by the way the fan community continues to rewrite cannon to fit their dissatisfaction with our once trusted role-model JK Rowling through Harry Potter’s once trusted mentor Albus Dumbledore.

Just once I would like to read a Harry Potter fic without having to think about the various ways in which JK Rowling let us all down. And with everyone rewriting Dumbledore as the ‘real villain all along’ I can’t help but be taken out of the fic and forced to relate it to reality.

#anti dumbledore bashing #pro albus dumbledore #albus dumbledore

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lololollywrites · 5 months

Text

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you for the tag, @discordantwords!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? I have 10 as of now (7 for Sherlock and 3 for Harry Potter, though the HP fics were either begun or completed in 2012 (first posted on ff.net)... in other words, before I knew about JK's raging transphobia. I finally finished a HP WIP in 2020 that I had abandoned years ago, after my resulting disillusionment, because I decided that my work didn't deserve to be in vain. I'm so glad I did!

2. What's your total A03 word count? 168,333

3. What fandoms do you write for? On AO3, just BBC Sherlock and HP, though I have Smallville, Supernatural, and even a Gilmore Girls fic on my ff.net account (the earliest of them written in 2006) that I will NOT be linking here. 😂

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? (Since I've only been posting Sherlock fics on AO3 since September 2021, there's not a ton of variation between these):

The Waning of Withdrawal

Of Sweat, Sociopathy, Scars, and Secrets

Never Been Better

Pressure Points

Genius is a Star Whose Light (is Soon to Sink in Endless Night); I think I may change the title soon since it's so unwieldy)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Yes! Mainly because I love when authors reply to mine - it acknowledges my gratitude and can open a line of communication. Plus, I just get so excited by every single comment notification that I need to squee and send hearts to the sender.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? None of my Sherlock fics have angsty endings, though that was my original goal for Never Been Better. It originally ended with Chapter 1, but I added two more chapters upon popular demand to fix things. :) It's a classic Sherlock-leaves-John's-wedding-early fic, so I'd intended to explore what may have happened within canon as sort of a missing scene/character exploration. Ultimately, however, I decided to throw a bone to poor Sherlock and disregard canon events.

However, my Harry Potter fic The Burn of the Phoenix, which I migrated to AO3 in 2020 after it's huge reception on ff.net back in 2012 (it's a 13k-word oneshot with 273 reviews and 951 favorites, though I'd definitely not write it the same way today), is definitely angsty. The end is hopeful, but ultimately... I killed Harry Potter. So. 😂 The ending, as it doesn't miraculously entail Harry coming back to life, can certainly be considered angsty as well. The entire fic is from Dudley's perspective as he learns of Harry's death (an alternate version of canon) and attends his funeral.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? As described above, all of my fics have happy endings! Though I'd say the one that's most unabashedly happy with minimal lingering pain and turmoil is Cold Inside. Genius comes close, but Sherlock is horrifically injured even despite happy news that comes in the last chapter so there's still an uphill battle ahead.

8. Do you get hate on fics? No, though I did get a very direct comment on The Waning of Withdrawal - the first time I ever wrote smut - that said the following (the "At all" was particularly harsh):

"I loved the fic and the way you formed everything with the comforting,and the understanding,the guilt and stuff and angst in the main part of the fic but I'm not a huge fan of how much detail went into their love part and stuff.. Not saying it's bad! I'm sure some people absolutely love it but I'm personally not a huge fan of the sex scene. At all."

(Luckily, two other commenters jumped in to my defense!) It seems innocuous enough, but I'd included an A/N that said it was my first time writing a love scene, despite it being brief, so "please go easy on me". The rating and tags were appropriate, too, so it seemed a bit out of the blue. That one little comment knocked my confidence for a while and made it impossible for me to re-read the fic without cringing.

9. Do you write smut? Just two of my Sherlock fics so far are rated E for smut. The Waning of Withdrawal, as described above, and Cold Inside, which has a lengthy sex scene in Chapter 4. It was so much harder than I thought to write - there's nothing quite like meticulously editing writing comprised of graphic depictions of anal sex, haha.

10. Do you write crossovers? No, nor do I usually enjoy them. I really admire the creativity, but tend to prefer fics that are plausible and in-canon; it's just a preference (with exceptions, of course!) That being said, crossovers that could happen between comparable universes - such as Sherlock and Hannibal - really appeal to me in theory.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No, but I'd be so thrilled!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, nor do I have a beta. I'm sure it could improve my work, but I feel horrifically self conscious during any editing process that involves another person. It's something I need to work on!

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? Sherlock & John and Arthur & Merlin are pretty neck-in-neck. I don't have many Merlin bookmarks, as it was my prior obsession before Sherlock, but I've been delving more into the Merlin fandom lately. Writing for it just seems harder for me - accounting for historical accuracy (though the show isn't historically accurate at all, it's just an entirely different universe) and the bounds of Merlin's magic would be tricky. Maybe one day.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? HAHAHAHAHA so... I did use to write more than one fic at once, waaaay back in the day, but have long since learned my lesson. I refuse to have true WIPs anymore - I only develop one idea at a time - and don't even publish a story until it's complete or almost complete (and fully outlined). Why? Well, there's one WIP I will NEVER finish. It's a Supernatural fic on ff.net with 6 chapters (out of a planned minimum of 10), first published in March of 2007 and last updated in February of 2008. Ooops.

It most recently received a review in 2015, which reads as follows: "WOW! ...update any time soon?...PLEASE...k"

Yeah. So. Never again for me.

16. What are your writing strengths? Based on the comments I receive, I think my strengths are characterization and dialogue. Oddly enough, these are two of my insecurities, but I think that my hyperfixation on both (knowing that I need to consciously work on them) has led to vast improvement.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I often have a difficult time coming up with the initial premise, and am not nearly as creative as many of the writers out there I admire. Ideas usually come without me trying - such as late at night or in the shower - so I jot them down whenever that happens. That's all that seems to work for me. FTH was great in that it took a bit of the burden off and allowed me to elicit prompts from bidders instead.

I also struggle to weave incredibly complex stories. I don't think I'll ever be one of those writers who can write 100k-plus fics full of twists and turns. My plots tend to be more narrow, focused, and immediate.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? As cool as this is - and I may be able to do this with Spanish, as it was my university minor - I wouldn't want dialogue to read as clunky or unnatural to a native speaker or to impede the flow of the prose (I'd want to add translations when possible in parentheses so as not to discourage readers who are not bilingual, unless the dialogue is short and can be translated in an end note).

In Genius, I have excerpts here and there in Serbian, but I ultimately use English to express longer Serbian dialogue (between <brackets> rather than "quotation marks" to indicate the difference in language being spoken and with the acknowledgement that translations are never 1-1. For me, this also helped preserve Sherlock's personality and ensure it could shine through.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Smallville! Way back in 2006. It was terrible; I killed Clark in an alternate version of S5's Hidden. I'm not sure what used to be the appeal of character death to me. You'd never catch me writing it now.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? It's hard to choose, but I have two answers for different reasons. The fic I'm most proud of writing is Genius. I worked SO, SO hard on the story outline, plot, and the symbolism and clues thrown in throughout. It's my longest and most complex story so far at 51K words, too.

The story I believe to be my best is Never Been Better; specifically, its first chapter. I don't think I've since written a more in-character version of Sherlock or a starker portrayal of his emotions.

I also have a huge soft spot for my Harry Potter fic The Truth at Last, which is the first fic I ever posted to AO3. It marks a huge improvement in my writing from when I first started it in 2012, as I was able to return to it in 2019/20 with a more mature perspective.

I'll tag anyone who hasn't yet been tagged and would like to join! (Sorry for the lack of creativity there - I'm always afraid I'll forget someone).

#20 questions for fic writers #my fics #AO3

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temptaetions · 1 year

Text

game night! - m.list

synopsis: there's never just one way to win a game, and foul play isn't always to the disadvantage of the opponent. seven games and plenty of outcomes - game night is always full of fun.

status: ongoing.

rating: 18+. MDNI. please read each set of warnings for each production before reading them.

a/n: i do not own any of the original photos used. that being said, minors DO NOT INTERACT. this series and/or certain fics will not be for everybody, and i don’t expect everyone to enjoy all of them. i want to acknowledge that there may be triggering topics, such as pregnancy and child birth mentioned across all fics but mostly in taehyung’s. please do not read these fics if you are uncomfortable with any of the warnings or bases, and feel free to send me an ask (my anons are off) and we can talk about it if you’d like! that being said, practice safe and consensual sex, real life is nothing like fanfics. be safe, everyone.

— restless sea - kim namjoon

↳ synopsis: you and namjoon are really two peas in a pod - even with your busy schedules, you find the time for each other. however, when you take a new job in france, namjoon finds it difficult to make a decision.

↳ game: battleship

↳ genre: breakup au | x fem!reader | angst

↳ pairing: producer!knj x fem!baker!reader

↳ rating: 18+. minors do not fucking interact.

↳ warning(s): breakup, alcohol consumption, smoking. heavy kissing, heavy petting, crying, mutual pining.

↳ what to listen to: restless sea - louis futon, opia | sweet nothing - calvin harris, florence welch | please keep loving me - james tw | i don’t know what love is - lady gaga, bradley cooper | kusanagi (instrumental) -odesza

— wild card - kim seokjin

↳ synopsis: a friendly competition is what brought you and seokjin together in the first place. after seven years of mario kart, poker, and many others — seokjin is ready to make you his one and only. oh wait, uno!

↳ game: uno!

↳ genre: established relationship au | x fem!reader | fluff

↳ pairing: chef!ksj x fem!sommelier!reader

↳ rating: 18+. minors do not fucking interact.

↳ warning(s): swearing, alcohol consumption, heavy kissing.

↳ what to listen to: ain’t no mountain high enough - marvin gaye, tammi terrell | what a wonderful world - louis armstrong | like water - wendy | alcohol-free - twice | fallen - mýa

— twelve points - min yoongi

↳ synopsis: your professions stop you from feeling anything too deeply, and you find that your relationship is advancing at a snail’s pace. however, after a few months of walking the tightrope, you both decide its time to speak your truth.

↳ game: scrabble

↳ genre: new relationship au | x fem!reader | fluff | angst

↳ pairing: attorney!myg x fem!private investigator!reader

↳ rating: 18+. minors do not fucking interact.

↳ warning(s): mentions of cheating (not between canon pairing). swearing, alcohol consumption, smoking. light kissing, heavy petting.

↳ what to listen to: middle of the night - monsta x | you calling my name - got7 | lilac - iu | follow you - bring me the horizon | rock with you - seventeen

— luxury tax - jung hoseok

↳ synopsis: no matter how many dates, soft kisses or hands being squeezed, hoseok’s mattress was truly all you did see. your eyes were always covered, sometimes your chest covered in hot wax. however, if you wanted a boyfriend, you’d have to pay the luxury tax.

↳ game: monopoly

↳ genre: friends with benefits au | x fem!reader | smut | angst | fluff

↳ pairing: bobarista!jhs x fem!bobarista!reader

↳ rating: 18+. minors do not fucking interact.

↳ warning(s): swearing, alcohol consumption, smut [between jhs x reader: body worship, heavy making out, breath play (m. receiving), 69 (mostly m. receiving), thigh riding, subtly loving aftercare]. sex-fueled confession.

↳ what to listen to: teenage dream - katy perry | the sweet escape - gwen stefani, akon | only girl (in the world) - rihanna | wannabe - spice girls | the feels - twice

— party girls - park jimin

↳ synopsis: after jimin ended your relationship at a party, you turned to friends to help you get through it. when your supposed best friend invites jimin to her birthday party, you feel a twinge of hurt when jimin’s hand lightly brushes yours during the game of twister.

↳ game: twister

↳ genre: exes to friends with benefits | x fem!reader | angst | smut

↳ pairing: fashion major!pjm x fem!theatre major!reader

↳ rating: 18+. minors do not fucking interact.

↳ warning(s): swearing, alcohol consumption, smoking, breakup. smut [between pjm x reader: passionate kissing, degrading, shit talking, manhandling, body worship, breast play, fingering (f. receiving), unprotected sex (against a sink), subtle aftercare.]

↳ what to listen to: i miss you - blink182 | blow - jackson wang | idea - taemin | scream - usher | gimme more - britney spears

— sweetest devotion - kim taehyung

↳ synopsis: ever since you met in the summer of 1996, taehyung was enamored by your light. nights came and went where you talked under the stars and the days he heard your laugh echoing through the castle were good. your eyes sparkled like midnight rain and your voice was sweet as honey, and your love bore fruit, as you both prepared to bring a new addition to your family.

↳ game: candyland

↳ genre: royalty au | parents-to-be au | established relationship au | x fem!reader | fluff

↳ pairing: king!heir!kth x fem!queen!reader

↳ rating: 18+. minors do not fucking interact.

↳ warning(s): swearing, smoking, alcohol consumption. heavily described: pregnancy, childbirth, simulated labor, braxton-hicks contractions, at-home/water birth. lots of crying, and kissing.

↳ what to listen to: i’m with you - vance joy | only love - ben howard | i am woman - emmy meli | so this is love - emily watts| sweetest devotion - adele

— nomination - jeon jungkook

↳ synopsis: after years of rivalry, you find that the only person competing against you to be your dorm’s resident assistant is jungkook, you decide to finally give into your stomach-churning feelings after a game of mafia. sure, you often ignored the flutter when his brows scrunched at the perfect score on your exam, but it doesn’t mean you’re made of steel.

↳ game: mafia

↳ genre: rivals to friends (with benefits) to lovers | x fem!reader | smut | angst | fluff

↳ pairing: linguistics major!jjk x fem!political science!reader

↳ rating: 18+. minors do not fucking interact.

↳ warning(s): swearing, smoking. smut [between jjk x reader: they almost fuck in a closet but get caught ; rushed kissing, crying (from pleasure), oral (f. receiving), squirting, degrading (m. receiving), jk has a split tongue, dick piercing, secret mommy/mistress kink (m), unprotected sex, post-orgasm confession, gentle aftercare.] angst, fluff.

↳ what to listen to: primadonna - marina | last friday night (t.g.i.f) - katy perry | taste - lee know, felix and hyunjin of stray kids | lovegame - lady gaga | euphoria - bts

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fresiants · 1 year

Note

thank u for answering my previous asks you're a darling <33

but once again angered. wtf do they mean with "someone had to bully blood supremacist snivellus" excuse me wasn't james bullying him just for existing?????? didn't sev become a death eater later on towards the end of his school days, so how do they justify the way his golden boys were treating him with something that only took place WAY later???? this whole argument seems like a foul excuse to absolve the marauders from the part they played into pushing severus farther into darkness. it's all "stop bullying" and "don't take slightly what bullying can do to a person" until it's severus, right??? they shunned him and made him feel so powerless, probably also teared his self-esteem to shreds over and over, got his only friend in the world against him. i? i don't care how much they must have changed or how "young" they were. if they can defend james and sirius' bullying by appealing to how young they were, the same away i can defend severus. he was too young when he made a bad decision and had solid terrible experiences that pushed him towards it. the system of the wizarding world, hogwarts, even dumbledore failed severus, and the golden boys worsened it all, so the whole justifying bullying here is disgusting.

Thank you <3

Unfortunately, from my observations, there are many people in the Marauders fandom who have not read any of the books. Their fandom grew very quickly due to certain fanfics like ATYD. I mean... I saw a teacher using ATYD as a class assignment/project once. I've also seen many people recommended this fic to non-HP readers, leading to a negative perspective toward Severus Snape's character. The fic literally described him as a snobbish, wealthy pureblood, which is the complete opposite of his character in the canon.

Those who have read the canon would recognize that being a "pureblood supremacist" is not a valid reason for bullying Severus. In fact, James had been bullying him since their first year, long before Severus showed any interest in the Dark Arts. Their animosity began when they met on the Hogwarts Express — only because Severus expressed an interest in joining his mother's house, Slytherin.

They have no problem tolerating James's bullying, but not Severus's, as they believed it was acceptable to bully someone of the same age, but not someone younger. However, they refused to acknowledge the severity of James's bullying compared to Severus's. Although Severus was often harsh towards his students, it is worth noting that he never resorted to physical violence against them. The only time he ever laid hand on a student was during SWM, and that was only because Harry had invaded his privacy by looking into his memories without his consent.

In contrast, James physically bullied Severus all of the time. Choking, body-bind, public humiliation.. not to mention he also sexually assaulted him in front of the whole school AFTER HE WAS ALMOST KILLED BY ONE OF HIS FRIENDS.

You see... I was surprised to see many people defending James's actions by insisting that he wasn't sexually assaulting Severus, but rather just bullying him. As if bullying is an acceptable and harmless behavior. However, what James did to Severus was undoubtedly a form of sexual assault, but it seems that some people refused to acknowledge it simply because Severus was a male. Apparently, exposing someone's genitals to the public is deemed acceptable, as long as the victim doesn't have a vagina.

#ask

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fozmeadows · 3 years

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race & culture in fandom

For the past decade, English language fanwriting culture post the days of LiveJournal and Strikethrough has been hugely shaped by a handful of megafandoms that exploded across AO3 and tumblr – I’m talking Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Dr Who, the MCU, Harry Potter, Star Wars, BBC Sherlock – which have all been overwhelmingly white. I don’t mean in terms of the fans themselves, although whiteness also figures prominently in said fandoms: I mean that the source materials themselves feature very few POC, and the ones who are there tended to be done dirty by the creators.

Periodically, this has led POC in fandom to point out, extremely reasonably, that even where non-white characters do get central roles in various media properties, they’re often overlooked by fandom at large, such that the popular focus stays primarily on the white characters. Sometimes this happened (it was argued) because the POC characters were secondary to begin with and as such attracted less fan devotion (although this has never stopped fandoms from picking a random white gremlin from the background cast and elevating them to the status of Fave); at other times, however, there has been a clear trend of sidelining POC leads in favour of white alternatives (as per Finn, Poe and Rose Tico being edged out in Star Wars shipping by Hux, Kylo and Rey). I mention this, not to demonize individuals whose preferred ships happen to involve white characters, but to point out the collective impact these trends can have on POC in fandom spaces: it’s not bad to ship what you ship, but that doesn’t mean there’s no utility in analysing what’s popular and why through a racial lens.

All this being so, it feels increasingly salient that fanwriting culture as exists right now developed under the influence and in the shadow of these white-dominated fandoms – specifically, the taboo against criticizing or critiquing fics for any reason. Certainly, there’s a hell of a lot of value to Don’t Like, Don’t Read as a general policy, especially when it comes to the darker, kinkier side of ficwriting, and whether the context is professional or recreational, offering someone direct, unsolicited feedback on their writing style is a dick move. But on the flipside, the anti-criticism culture in fanwriting has consistently worked against fans of colour who speak out about racist tropes, fan ignorance and hurtful portrayals of living cultures. Voicing anything negative about works created for free is seen as violating a core rule of ficwriting culture – but as that culture has been foundationally shaped by white fandoms, white characters and, overwhelmingly, white ideas about what’s allowed and what isn’t, we ought to consider that all critical contexts are not created equal.

Right now, the rise of C-drama (and K-drama, and J-drama) fandoms is seeing a surge of white creators – myself included – writing fics for fandoms in which no white people exist, and where the cultural context which informs the canon is different to western norms. Which isn’t to say that no popular fandoms focused on POC have existed before now – K-pop RPF and anime fandoms, for example, have been big for a while. But with the success of The Untamed, more western fans are investing in stories whose plots, references, characterization and settings are so fundamentally rooted in real Chinese history and living Chinese culture that it’s not really possible to write around it. And yet, inevitably, too many in fandom are trying to do just that, treating respect for Chinese culture or an attempt to understand it as optional extras – because surely, fandom shouldn’t feel like work. If you’re writing something for free, on your own time, for your own pleasure, why should anyone else get to demand that you research the subject matter first?

Because it matters, is the short answer. Because race and culture are not made-up things like lightsabers and werewolves that you can alter, mock or misunderstand without the risk of hurting or marginalizing actual real people – and because, quite frankly, we already know that fandom is capable of drawing lines in the sand where it chooses. When Brony culture first reared its head (hah), the online fandom for My Little Pony – which, like the other fandoms we’re discussing here, is overwhelmingly female – was initially welcoming. It felt like progress, that so many straight men could identify with such a feminine show; a potential sign that maybe, we were finally leaving the era of mainstream hypermasculine fandom bullshit behind, at least in this one arena. And then, in pretty much the blink of an eye, things got overwhelmingly bad. Artists drawing hardcorn porn didn’t tag their works as adult, leading to those images flooding the public search results for a children’s show. Women were edged out of their own spaces. Bronies got aggressive, posting harsh, ugly criticism of artists whose gijinka interpretations of the Mane Six as humans were deemed insufficiently fuckable.

The resulting fandom conflict was deeply unpleasant, but in the end, the verdict was laid down loud and clear: if you cannot comport yourself like a decent fucking person – if your base mode of engagement within a fandom is to coopt it from the original audience and declare it newly cool only because you’re into it now; if you do not, at the very least, attempt to understand and respect the original context so as to engage appropriately (in this case, by acknowledging that the media you’re consuming was foundational to many women who were there before you and is still consumed by minors, and tagging your goddamn porn) – then the rest of fandom will treat you like a social biohazard, and rightly so.

Here’s the thing, fellow white people: when it comes to C-drama fandoms and other non-white, non-western properties? We are the Bronies.

Not, I hasten to add, in terms of toxic fuckery – though if we don’t get our collective shit together, I’m not taking that darkest timeline off the table. What I mean is that, by virtue of the whiteminding which, both consciously and unconsciously, has shaped current fan culture, particularly in terms of ficwriting conventions, we’re collectively acting as though we’re the primary audience for narratives that weren’t actually made with us in mind, being hostile dicks to Chinese and Chinese diaspora fans when they take the time to point out what we’re getting wrong. We’re bristling because we’ve conceived of ficwriting as a place wherein No Criticism Occurs without questioning how this culture, while valuable in some respects, also serves to uphold, excuse and perpetuate microaggresions and other forms of racism, lashing out or falling back on passive aggression when POC, quite understandably, talk about how they’re sick and tired of our bullshit.

An analogy: one of the most helpful and important tags on AO3 is the one for homophobia, not just because it allows readers to brace for or opt out of reading content they might find distressing, but because it lets the reader know that the writer knows what homophobia is, and is employing it deliberately. When this concept is tagged, I – like many others – often feel more able to read about it than I do when it crops up in untagged works of commercial fiction, film or TV, because I don’t have to worry that the author thinks what they’re depicting is okay. I can say definitively, “yes, the author knows this is messed up, but has elected to tell a messed up story, a fact that will be obvious to anyone who reads this,” instead of worrying that someone will see a fucked up story blind and think “oh, I guess that’s fine.” The contextual framing matters, is the point – which is why it’s so jarring and unpleasant on those rare occasions when I do stumble on a fic whose author has legitimately mistaken homophobic microaggressions for cute banter. This is why, in a ficwriting culture that otherwise aggressively dislikes criticism, the request to tag for a certain thing – while still sometimes fraught – is generally permitted: it helps everyone to have a good time and to curate their fan experience appropriately.

But when white and/or western fans fail to educate ourselves about race, culture and the history of other countries and proceed to deploy that ignorance in our writing, we’re not tagging for racism as a thing we’ve explored deliberately; we’re just being ignorant at best and hateful at worst, which means fans of colour don’t know to avoid or brace for the content of those works until they get hit in the face with microaggresions and/or outright racism. Instead, the burden is placed on them to navigate a minefield not of their creation: which fans can be trusted to write respectfully? Who, if they make an error, will listen and apologise if the error is explained? Who, if lived experience, personal translations or cultural insights are shared, can be counted on to acknowledge those contributions rather than taking sole credit? Too often, fans of colour are being made to feel like guests in their own house, while white fans act like a tone-policing HOA.

Point being: fandom and ficwriting cultures as they currently exist badly need to confront the implicit acceptance of racism and cultural bias that underlies a lot of community rules about engagement and criticism, and that needs to start with white and western fans. We don’t want to be the new Bronies, guys. We need to do better.

#race #racism #c-drama #fandom #fan wank #fandom wank #microaggresions #culture #the untamed #bronies #whiteness #ficwriting #fanwriting #cultural bias #discourse

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blouisparadise · 3 years

Photo

We frequently get asked what our members favorite fics are, so for today’s rec list, we asked each member of BLP to choose FIVE favorite fics for this list - no repeats allowed. Please keep in mind that this is not a complete list of our favorites - there are so many amazing BL fics out there that we all have a lot more than this! Still, we hope you enjoy. Happy reading!

1) Take Off Your Business Suit | Explicit | 3082 words

“Yes, let me get another chair.” Louis said, leaning up off of the desk. He stood up but before he could leave the office to get another chair, Harry was grabbing his hand.

The words that came out of Harry’s mouth made Louis’ knees weak and heart beat quicken. “Just sit on my lap.” Harry said. Whatever he said afterwards didn’t make it into Louis’ ears as he was moving quickly over to Harry and placing himself on Harry’s lap.

Louis would take anything Harry wanted to give him; hand touching, lap sitting, all of it. Louis hadn't realized he was holding his breath until it came out in a quiet sigh. “Okay so th-this one will be slightly different right?” He asked as he pointed at the sheet of paper in front of him.

2) Quietly Our Hearts Beat | Explicit | 7539 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis and Harry in the universe of ‘A Quiet Place’.

3) A Love Reaction | Explicit | 9968 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis’s staring up at him, head tilted slightly back, and his blue eyes are glassy, locked with Harry’s in an unblinking and gentle gaze. He looks ready to do whatever Harry says, to please him whatever way.

4) To Love Without Reason | Explicit | 8854 words

“Come on in, soldier,” Louis pats Harry’s chest and walks away, leaving Harry to follow behind.

Harry stands in the living room, looking around at Louis’ dwelling. Family pictures placed high on a shelf, certificates of Louis’ practice, and other trinkets that make Harry entirely too nostalgic.

“I have to warn you,” Louis says as he puts the kettle on, the water droplets from his hair trickling down the golden skin of his back. “The door jams if you lock it so you'll have to leave it ajar.”

Harry acknowledges with a soft hum, too entranced by Louis’ glistening skin to form a coherent reply.

5) No Good Unless It’s Real | Explicit | 17021 words

Louis is a very busy farmer who’s just trying to make it to his next nap and Harry’s the new hot vet that’s determined to infiltrate every area of his life.

6) A Springtime’s Wilt, An Autumn’s Bloom | Explicit | 20593 words

Harry is Louis' personal chauffeur, and although he hides his feelings for his boss behind a wall of rigid professionalism, Louis still manages to squeeze through the cracks.

7) Ready To Fall | Explicit | 21220 words

“Ninety and rising,” Nick says triumphantly, as though making Harry’s heartbeat pick up by thrusting an obscenely attractive person in front of his face is any kind of success. “Louis Tomlinson has just walked into our control room and suddenly our dear Harry Styles has lost all ability to speak. Could this be some kind of strange coincidence?”

“I hate you,” Harry hisses, forcing his eyes back into Nick’s direction, uncaring that the mic must have picked it up. “I thought we agreed that you were going to play fair.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nick denies, except he’s holding up a picture of Louis’ face now, sharp cheekbones prominent, soft lashes nearly sweeping against his cheeks as he looks down, and his fucking mouth –

“A hundred and two!” Nick crows, all but clapping his hands together in glee. “The highest it’s ever been!”

“To be fair, I did bend over the desk on purpose,” Louis’ voice comes crackling in the headphones. Harry practically breaks his neck whipping his head around at the sound of it, gaping at him through the glass panel. “You can’t really blame him for getting a little excited about that, can you?”

8) Written In The Stars (That’s You And Me) | Explicit | 22632 words

Louis pushes himself up on one elbow and stretches enough to just barely trace his fingertips over Harry’s jawline. Harry’s eyes drop to track his movements as he does it again. “D’you feel that?” he whispers.

To him, it feels like all of the universe’s magic lives just beneath his skin when he touches Harry with intent. It feels like something special. Louis watches Harry’s lips part and wants to touch that too. He almost does, but then Harry shakes his head. “Feel what?”

9) Middle Ground | Explicit | 23561 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Harry moves to a new town for work where he meets the enigma that is Louis Tomlinson.

10) England Has My Bones | Explicit | 24087 words

The next time Harry thinks about calling, it’s 4.14 in the morning on a Parisian hotel balcony.

11) Like A Siren In The Night | Explicit | 24868 words

“There is an infestation in my home,” Louis hisses, righting himself quickly and pushing his way past Harry, heading directly for the kitchen. He’s rather haphazardly dressed himself, a coat thrown on over a loose flannel shirt and black pants, slippers on his feet.

Harry resists the urge to sigh, closing the door and trailing behind him slowly. “What kind of infestation?”

For all he knows, Louis is going to claim that there’s a ghost infestation. Harry has no idea what the end game is here – all he knows is that Louis has found at least three complaints a week to bring up since he’s been living on Harry’s property, and he’s been living here for six months.

It’s way too many fucking complaints, is what Harry is saying. Especially when most of them are ridiculous to start with.

12) Hold Onto This Heaven (Of Yours) | Explicit | 25213 words

An ode to being too young, too sad, and too in love.

13) The Devil’s In The Details | Explicit | 25372 words

He squeals when Harry smacks his bum as he bends over to pick up his bag, swinging it over his shoulder. Harry smiles smugly at him, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “When are you going to start calling me professor?” He asks.

“When you actually are one,” Louis says with his hand on the doorknob. He cocks his head to the side in curiosity. “Isn’t that how words work? You did study English, right?”

Louis’ quick to slip out the door before Harry can smack him again, his laugh echoing through the hallways as he makes his way to his next class with flushed cheeks and a bright smile.

14) A Trail Of Honey Through It All | Explicit | 27086 words

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

15) You Fit In My Poems (Like A Perfect Rhyme) | Explicit | 27598 words

The one where Harry works in an old bookshop and Louis is the pretty stranger that ends up stranded there in the middle of a storm.

16) Where The Lights Are Beautiful | Mature | 31170 words | Sequel

The accidental bonding A/B/O fic.

17) Once Upon A Dream | Explicit | 33319 words | Sequel

Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.

18) Stuck On You | Explicit | 33983 words

Louis’ life revolves around his stickers. Harry’s life revolves around his job. The universe has decided their worlds should revolve around each other.

19) Coeur De Pirate | Explicit | 34207 words

He tilts his chin up as the Captain strides across the deck, his footfalls falling loudly against the planks. The crew watches them from afar.

Stepping into his space, the Captain wraps an arm around Louis’ waist and pulls him in. He lowers his head to breathe his words against Louis’ cheeks. “I won,” he whispers, “I’ve come to claim my prize.”

20) What This World Is About | Explicit | 34472 words

An eighties American high school AU; there are first times, football games, and feelings.

Alternatively titled: the beginning.

21) Close To Nowhere | Explicit | 34589 words

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

22) Before We Knew | Explicit | 39830 words

Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed onto his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

23) The Space Between | Explicit | 39917 words

Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why.

Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

24) The Sweetest Incantation | Explicit | 40580 words

Harry is a witch who's still working on developing his powers and Louis is a werecat who falls into his life and turns it upside down.

25) Worth Dying For | Explicit | 44906 words

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

26) Tastes Like Summer, Smiles Like May | Explicit | 47519 words

A cold prince, an alpha with nothing left to lose and a kingdom with a secret.

27) Love’s Truest Language | Explicit | 48195 words

The first part was meant as a joke. He didn't really expect Harry to buy anything. It was just Louis’ way of softening the ‘get the fuck out’ blow.

“Where's your order forms, then?”

“I don't want your flowers.” Louis chided before directing all of his attention to the arrangement in front of him.

Harry laughed under his breath as he stood to his full height, “Who said anything about them being for you, love?”

28) Through The Wheatfields And The Coastlines | Explicit | 52855 words

The one where Louis needs inspiration, and a certain cowboy and his lamb are the perfect distraction.

29) Latibule | Mature | 54322 words

A Spirited Away AU of sorts where Louis just wants to heal and be left alone, only for all his plans to be destroyed by the hands of an infuriating British God.

30) Warming Up To You | Explicit | 56227 words

Prompt 111: Louis and Harry are strangers that somehow got stranded during a blizzard. They find themselves in an abandoned cabin and have to cuddle for warmth. Cuddling leads to much more.

31) Feeling Borrowed, Always Blue | Explicit | 68214 words

Louis has been dreaming of his wedding since he was young - he just never expected it to happen like this.

32) Curly Bun Man | Not Rated | 68597 words

I just paid for these Doritos but they're stuck in the vending machine and I know you've been waiting but I am not going to let you buy something until you help me. AU.

33) Waiting On You | Explicit | 76584 words | Sequel

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby.

Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look.

“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes.

Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

34) Through Struggles, To The Stars | Explicit | 80582 words

Louis is a Starfleet captain trying to find his place in the universe. Harry is a prince just trying to do what's right.

35) I Want You So Much (But I Hate Your Guts) | Mature | 83648 words

AU in which Louis gets accepted to play for the Manchester University Alpha-Beta Football Team. The only problem: Louis is actually an Omega. He is determined to make it big in the football world, though, and he can't do that bound to an Omega team. With the help of a faked doctor's certificate and some pretty strong suppressants he is ready to fight for his dream.

That Harry Styles (Alpha, second year and youngest football captain of the A-B team in ages) doesn't seem to like him complicates matters, though.

36) Where You Lay | Explicit | 86038 words

When Louis's upcoming heat threatens his success at his new dream job, he asks the best (and only) person he can think of to help him through it: his best mates' best mate, Harry Styles. Harry reluctantly accepts, and together the two navigate a strange friends with benefits relationship that quickly turns complicated.

37) And Down The Long And Silent Street | Mature | 86090 words

Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis' past finally catches up with him.

38) Swim In The Smoke | Explicit | 101778 words

“What about this, Captain?” Liam asks, nudging the boy kneeling between their feet with the toe of his boot. The boy hisses and swipes at him, slurring out something unintelligible around the makeshift gag Niall had to stuff in his mouth. He misses by a mile and tries again, just as ineffectively.

Harry looks down at him, at the way the sun streams over his face and shoulders, at the way the gag stretches his mouth, lips pink and chapped. He’s lithe and pretty, smudged all over with dirt. They had found him tied up below deck, mostly unconscious, next to a barrel full of gold. He’s clearly a prisoner, but there’s something familiar about him, something that niggles at Harry’s brain. Something he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Put him in my cabin,” Harry decides, turning back to deal with the rest of the loot. The boys screams out jumbled curse words at Harry’s back, muffled by the gag, and Harry can’t understand any of it.

39) The Galaxy’s Edge | Explicit | 113921 words

Things never quite go as they are planned during a simple rescue job.

40) Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices | Explicit | 126057 words | Sequel (WIP)

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#fic recs #blp fic recs #bottom louis #top harry #larry

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celtics534 · 3 years

Text

It Was Rare, I Was There Part I

After way too long of a wait here is the first chapter of my new fic! This plot came thanks to @velvethopewrites who wanted something where Ginny was Harry’s bodyguard. I’m planning on doing weekly updates for this fic, and there should be 5-6 chapters. This story is 100% NSFW starting by the 3rd chapter, just for a little warning. I hope y’all love it, and I’d love to hear what you think :)

Read on: FF.net and AO3

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"It's clear, Mr Potter," Ginny said as she made her way back into the hall of his building. She had methodically checked every room in the small two-bedroom flat before deeming it safe for her client to enter. She did this every time she and Potter entered a new place. It was her protocol as a personal bodyguard. A gig that she had only been doing for a few weeks.

She'd only taken the job because her brother, Ron, had talked her up to Judge Potter. Ron had been Harry Potter's guard for the last eight months, ever since Lily Potter had started presiding over a high-level criminal case and threats had been made against her family (including her only son). So when Ron had requested leave to care for his extremely pregnant wife, the Potters had asked for a recommendation and Ron had promoted her.

Ginny had accepted the offer without hesitation. After a car accident had ruined her professional football career, Ginny had decided to join her brothers Bill and Ron in the family business. Bill had started The Weasley Guard in his late twenties after getting married and needing to find a more practical and permanent job than treasure hunting.

Potter grinned at her, a lopsided one that he probably thought drove the ladies mad. "How many times have I told you, Mr. Potter is my father and you should call me Harry so I don't feel like I've aged 20 years."

Ginny had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Potter was a flirt, she'd noticed that from her first day. Between flirtatious smiles, over-the-top winks, and playful comments, Ginny had been ready to punch the man. Then when he'd done the same to Ron when he'd come to check in on her, Ginny realized it was all in jest. Potter hadn't been trying to make her uncomfortable or angry, but rather make her laugh, or at least be amused by his antics.

Of course, now that she knew it was all in fun; she was amused, but she refused to play his game. It was just as amusing for her to watch his nose twitch when she didn't acknowledge his teasing. She tried to remain stony with him, keeping the professional aura expected from someone in her position, but Ginny being Ginny she never could resist responding with a bit of cheek. "As I’ve told you many times, at least once more, sir."

Potter let out a soft snort through his nose. Ginny moved to the side, a silent gesture for him to enter the flat. As he passed her, he stopped his eyes focusing on hers, his mouth still curled in that amused grin. "I'll get you to come around, Weasley. I got your brother to become my mate and I'll get you to at least blush at one of my endearing comments."

"What you call endearing I call pitiful, so good luck with that."

His lips curled at her deadpan. His smile was so contagious it nearly cracked her resolve. Potter winked at her as he continued into his flat. “Just you wait, Weasley. Just you wait.”

Ginny followed behind him, shutting the door behind her. She moved over to her sentry in the corner of the room. “I’ll be here waiting with bated breath.”

Harry’s laugh echoed around the room as he moved into the attached kitchen. “Well, while you wait, do you want anything to drink or eat?”

This was another thing she’d discovered about him, he always wanted to take care of her. Always offering to cook for her, get her drinks, hell he’d offered to go out and buy a camp bed and place it in his spare room (that was currently used as a study), so she could rest while on night guard. Of course, the offer of a camp bed had come after she’d rejected sharing his bed.

“No thank you, sir.” Ginny kept her posture straight. “I’m all set.”

Harry shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He opened the fridge, pulling out a beer. With ease, he knocked the cap off with the side of the counter before moving back into the sitting area. Within seconds he had his feet up on the coffee table and the Arsenal match on the telly.

And like that, it was like she wasn’t there, which was how it was supposed to be. The ideal personal guard should blend in with the wall until needed. Ginny knew that’s what her brother Bill wanted from them, but neither Ron nor Ginny ever seemed to manage that kind of decorum. Ron because he enjoyed becoming mates with a lot of the guys, and Ginny because… well because she couldn’t ever hold back a cheeky comeback.

Harry was the hardest client for both of them. He was chill and funny (which appealed to Ron), all the while having a sarcastic and witty mind that was Ginny’s favorite personality to banter with. Ron had failed at keeping himself distance from Potter (it had only taken a week for Harry to crack Ron’s resolve). Ginny in turn was doing much better, having made it three weeks.

Ginny’s eyes roamed around the room, looking over the family photos, knick-knacks, and different books strewn across the surfaces. When she’d first arrived, she’d focused on studying the private life of the man she was protecting. She’d discovered his love for mystery novels (that always seemed to have a romance element to them based on the synopsis on the back), he cared deeply for his parents (based on the numerous photos hanging on the walls), and Harry had a fondness for football (especially Arsenal, which happened to be her premier team).

Harry gave a loud cry, making Ginny’s focus turn to him. He was shaking his head at the television, his impressive vocabulary being shouted at the “blind” ref. Ginny had to hold back her laughter as Harry combined a few creative adjectives. He looked over his shoulder at her. “Did you see that bullshite? I swear they’ve had it out for Pépé this season.”

She held her tongue, though every part of her wanted to rage about the poor treatment of the forward. Ginny had literally just been saying the same thing to her brothers a few days ago. But it wasn't professional of her to discuss her football opinions. Though she doubted Ron had avoided discussing Blackpool's standings for more than five minutes while guarding Potter. But Ginny wouldn't be like her brother, she wanted to be better than him and if that meant holding back how piss-poor the refs had been over the last few weeks, she'd do it.

Potter wasn't fazed by her apparent indifference, pretending her silence was her way of agreeing with him. "I mean it's gotta be a payoff or something, right? It's been different refs making the shit calls so it's gotta be coming from a high power… Maybe the Hotspurs owner?"

That was the same theory she'd suggested to her brothers while four beers in. She couldn’t stop her grin from spreading. Harry was still ranting about the Hotspur’s and their blatant cheating when he stopped suddenly, his green eyes wide behind the lenses of his glasses.

His once irritated form shifting to excited surprise. That crooked grin curling his lips “Wait! Did I make you laugh?”

Ginny made her smile turn back into the expressionless mold she normally held. “I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about, sir.”

Harry waggled a finger at her, his tongue clicking in a disapproving way. “Don’t try to pretend, Weasley. You find me amusing, charming, and adorable.”

“If that’s what you care to think, sir.”

He rose up onto his knees, turning his body so he was backward on the sofa. “Tell me, Weasley, what do you enjoy most about this job?” His ridiculously teasing smirk should have grated at her but as before all it did was amuse her. “Is it getting to admire my amazing wit throughout the day? Or is it getting to admire my fit body when I come out of the loo only wrapped in a towel?” The over the top wink he sent her way sealed the ribbing.

She choked back a laugh. His playful teasing had become more daring over the past few days and Ginny had to refrain herself from showing her amusement. After taking five deep breaths, Ginny managed to keep her tone sound indifferent as she said, “I’d have to say my favorite part of the day is when you go off to bed and I get a moment of peace.”

Potter’s mouth fell wide in a surprised, but delighted gape. He slapped a hand over his heart. “My heart’s breaking over here, Weasley. Have you always been this ruthless?”

“I grew up with six older brothers, what do you think?”

He tilted his head back and laughed. The sound reverberated around the room. His laugh truly was infectious and Ginny couldn’t help but smile. After a moment he calmed down enough to look at her, his mouth curled into a wide and happy smile. “I imagine anyone that crosses you comes back with a good lashing.”

Unable to resist, Ginny winked at him. “And don’t you forget it, sir.”

When Harry laughed, truly laughed, his whole body got involved. She'd witnessed his fake laugh, while he was at work dealing with an overbearing colleague. But when he really laughed, like now, she could see the corner of his eyes crinkle and his shoulders shake.

When his chuckles subsided, he was beaming at her, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Don’t worry, Miss Weasley, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget you.” Though his smile was cheeky and sarcastic, Ginny could tell he meant his oath.

A kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttered around her stomach at his tone. This wasn’t the first time something Harry said or did sent a rush of… for a lack of a better term… attraction through her body. It was a fact that annoyed the fuck out of her every time it happened (and it happened way too often for Ginny’s comfort). Sometimes a simple smile from him would cause goosebumps to appear on her arm.

Every time her body betrayed her with one of these aggravating reactions, Ginny berated herself. She would not, could not, feel anything for this man. It didn’t matter if he was impeccably charming, made her laugh constantly, and had a body that would make any straight woman swoon. Harry Potter was off-limits because he was her ward.

Despite her inner chiding, Ginny could feel a slow heat creep up her cheeks. Internally cursing her fair complexion, she forced her words to come out in a nonchalant tone, “For the best, I’d say, you should always remember you have a bodyguard.”

Harry’s lips curled into one of those lopsided grins that was supposed to charm her (and of course it did not that she’d admit it). “You won’t always be my guard, yet I promise you’ll still have a place in my mind and my heart.” Then like he hadn’t just dropped a corny and all too perfect line, Harry turned his attention back onto the telly, leaving her to deal with the new unwanted rush of butterflies in her gut.

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Harry couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was gorgeous. From the freckles that seemed to cover every exposed bit of skin, to her long red hair that was only ever out of a ponytail when she came out of the shower. Not that he was spying on her when she’d come out of his shower the other night! He had just been passing through the small hall when she’d come out of the loo on her way to her temporary room and he’d nearly been struck dumb with how simply beautiful she looked.

Of course, that hadn’t been the first time Harry had felt attraction towards his new guard. Fuck, the first time he’d saw her had made butterflies fill his gut. And when Ron had told him this was his baby sister, Harry had felt the heat spread across the back of his neck. Ron had told him about his sister who had once been on the rise with a promising football career until a car accident. When Ron described Ginny he had made her sound like a brash, thrill-seeking, child who liked to wind people up. But from his first moments with Ginny, Harry had known that there was so much more to her.

She was sweet, caring, witty, and smart. Not to mention incredibly beautiful. Like so attractive that if she wasn't his guard and forced to talk to him, Harry doubted she would even give him the time of day. Sure he wasn't the skinny, dorky teenager he once was, but he wasn't anything impressive at twenty-five. He managed to work out on a regular basis which kept his body in good shape and he'd gotten Lasik surgery to rid himself of pesky glasses, but he was still that dorky guy who had taken his love of historical facts and made it a profession. Not until his second year of uni had Harry believed he would become a secondary school teacher, yet here he was working with a bunch of young teens.

And he especially never thought he'd have such an attractive teacher's aid. Because that is what Ginny had become, so as not to draw attention to the fact she was always with him. Her cover of being his junior had seemed the perfect disguise at the start of her assignment, but weeks later Harry was observing the flaw… the flaw that Ginny Weasley was too distracting for him to focus on his lessons or really anything but her. He couldn't keep his eyes or mind off her as she quietly helped students or graded tests at her back corner desk. It was everything about her. The way a few loose tendrils of hair would fall into her eyes as she worked on assignments. The way her quiet and sexy voice seemed to fill the room as she talked. And of course the most distracting of all was when she took a moment to straight in back after sitting in her chair for too long and she presented him with an incredibly enticing view of her perfect chest. The number of nights he'd dreamed of seeing her stretch without a shirt on…. The way her eyes would be on his as she slowly moved her hand down towards the button of her jeans…

Stop it! Harry chided himself. He needed to knock off these… these randy fantasies of her, especially while they were alone in his very public classroom She was supposed to be his guard and nothing else. Of course, that premise had clearly been decided without his permission because if Harry had it his way —

“Mr Potter?”

Harry started like a guilty child as he turned to look at Henry Samson, one of his students. Henry was a small boy for his age, barely even five foot two, but with enough attitude that his personality made him well over six feet.

"Henry, I didn't hear you come in." Harry cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together. "What can I help you with?"

"Well, sir, I have a free period now and I was hoping that you and maybe Miss Weasley could help me edit this paper I've written for my A levels. I'm working on a thesis about the Ming dynasty and I want to make sure it sounds…" Henry made a face as he tried to think of the right word, but after a few seconds he shrugged and settled on, "good."

Harry smiled at the boy. "I think we can do that, but Miss Weasley might be too busy grading tests to have time —"

Ginny, who could easily hear every word, spoke up from her desk in the back. "I just finished actually, so I'd love to help." Her genuine smile took Harry's breath away. "Unless you need me to do something else, sir?"

God, she truly was beautiful, Harry couldn't help but think as she made her way over to the front of the room. How she moved with such ease and grace. The way her hips swayed and chest seemed to —

Forcing himself to focus, Harry turned his eyes back on Henry, who much to Harry's annoyance, was watching Ginny walk with an excited gleam in his eye. It was clear Henry fancied Miss Weasley. A sudden hot flash of anger bubbled up in Harry’s chest and his tone came out sharper than he wanted. "Well, Henry, do you have a draft we can read?"

Henry’s head whipped back towards Harry. His guilty plain on his face as he stuttered slightly, "Y—yes, sir.” He hurried to reach into his rucksack, shuffling various papers and books.

Harry instantly regretted his coarse words. Clearing his throat, Harry forced a smile on his face as the boy popped his head out of his bag. “So, Henry, why don’t you tell us about your thesis?”

Ginny had reached his desk now as Henry started to explain his thoughts. Harry couldn’t help but glance up at her out of the corner of his eye. She was sitting on the corner of his desk, her attention on Henry, but Harry noticed a furrow in her brow as if she were confused by something. How was something as simple as a scrunched-up eyebrow so cute?

“What do you think, Mr. Potter?” Henry asked excitedly and again guilt coursed through Harry. He needed to stop getting so distracted by her!

With great effort, Harry turned away from Ginny and her adorable brow and smiled at his student. “I think we should read through that paper and see what we come up with.”

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Ginny hadn’t laughed this hard in a long time. The Potter family knew how to make someone feel welcome. If Ginny had been uncomfortable joining the Potters in a Sunday roast at first, watching the ribbing between James Potter and Sirius Black changed that (it was like being at home with her brothers). And of course the welcoming presence of Honour Judge Potter (or as Ginny had been told to call her, Lily). Lily had opened the door to the large house before Harry and Ginny had even made it up the walkway. First, she’d hugged her son, nearly cracking a rib, then Lily had pulled Ginny into an equally powerful hug.

“It’s so lovely to meet you,” Lily had gushed as she’d dragged Ginny into the house. “Between Harry and Ron, I feel like I already know you, but I want the inside scoop.”

Ginny had looked back over her shoulder at Harry in alarm, but her ward hadn’t looked surprised. It had seemed to be that this was a normal Lily greeting (even for her son’s bodyguard).

That had been four hours ago and since then, Ginny had told Lily all about growing up in Devon with her six brothers, listened to James and Sirius needle each other, and best of all, witnessed some of Harry’s childhood photos.

That’s what they were doing now, all gathered in the large kitchen. James and Sirius chatting by the sink with beers in hand while Lily, Ginny, and Harry sat at the island. Lily had excitedly pulled out an old photo album and placed it in front of Ginny’s, flipping the pages.

“And this is Harry in his brand new forward uniform.” Lily beamed down at the photo. Ginny couldn’t help but smile too, Harry had been a rather adorable kid with glasses and a missing front tooth. “He wouldn’t let me wash it for a week because he refused to change out of it.”

“Mum.” Harry groaned, his cheeks turning red. “We don’t need to relive my childhood, do we?”

Lily waved a dismissive hand at her son as her free hand reached for her wine glass. “Of course we do, you were too cute not to share.”

Harry’s groan made both women laugh. Lily reached for the book again, flipping to reveal maybe five-year-old Harry in his twin-sized bed, snuggled beside a great black dog. “That was Sirius’ dog Snuffles. Harry adored the creature. He used to try and climb on the back of the dog and ride him like a horse. The number of times he fell on his little bum —”

If it was possible Harry’s cheeks darkened. “Mum, bum talk has to be out of balance!”

“Keep blushing like that and I'll have to make you an honorary Weasley” Ginny couldn’t resist ribbing him. It was all too fun and honestly (though she wouldn’t admit it) he was cute when embarrassed. “This much red is typically reserved for us.”

Harry turned his flushed face to her, his chagrined expression shifting to a charming bashful smile, and Ginny’s heart thudded hard against her rib cage. Why did she find him so fucking adorable? Fuck! She needed to get control of these… hormones and fast! But God, there was just something — many things — about him that she was just… too into! From that wild hair to his lean, strong legs...

As if just by looking at her face, he knew where her mind had gone, his hesitant smile shifted to a coquettish grin. “What if I want it to be more than honorary, Weasley? I could propose right here, right now.”

His over-the-top wink matched his joking tone and sarcastic smile, but it was his eyes that made Ginny's pulse pick up. The way he was looking at her… she could have sworn he meant his cheeky comeback. There was a heat in his gaze that made her breath hitch and goosebumps spread across her body.

Before Ginny could try and stammer out some poorly put together comeback, Lily smacked her son's arm. "Harry, I'm disappointed in you. I raised you to know that's no way to propose. You need to woo her, like your father wooed me."

Harry's molten look instantly changed to one of horror. "I don't want to hear anything about dad's wooing techniques."

James raised an eyebrow at his son, a satisfied smirk curling his lips. "Your mother has always been impressed with all my techniques but especially of the wooing variety. And you'd do well to follow my lead if you want to land someone as gorgeous as Miss Weasley."

Ginny nearly snorted when the older man winked at her. Everything she'd learned about Harry in the past month was all making sense. It was clear Harry had inherited his father’s flirty personality.

"Please." Harry made a nonchalant gesture with his hand. "Ginny is already halfway in love with me."

At this Ginny couldn't contain her sardonic laugh as she said, "Sure I am."

Sirius and James laughed loudly as Lily hid her grin behind her wine glass. “She’s got your number, Pronglet.” Sirius toasted Ginny with his beer.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course she has my number, she’s my bodyguard. Hell, she even knows where I sleep.” His deadpan started another round of laughter from the group.

“Annnnd…” Ginny dragged out the word, “despite his best efforts, I haven’t joined him in his offer of seeing his sleeping quarters up close and personal.” She winked at James and Sirius who hooted with glee.

“And why would you?” Lily sniffed in mock pretentiousness, “As we’ve established, my son needs to improve his wooing technique.” She set her wine glass down gently before reaching for Ginny’s hand. “On behalf of my son and the Potter family, I must apologize for his poor proposal. I shall work with him before he asks again.”

Ginny couldn’t breathe from laughing so hard. James was slumped against the sink as Sirius slipped to the floor, their laughter ringing out loud in the kitchen. Harry dropped his head onto the counter. His voice was muffled as he spoke into the marble. “I hate you all.”

“Now is that any way to talk to the women you’ve just proposed to?” Ginny asked, making Harry lift his head to see her teasing smirk.

He shook his head, his mouth pulled in an irritated grimace that was counteracted by the amused glint in his eyes. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what you’re supposed to say when denied.”

“Technically she never said no,” James chimed in through his dissipating chuckles.

Harry’s lips slowly curled into a pleased smile. “You’re right, Dad.” He rose from his stool, making his way to stand behind Ginny. His hot breath tickled the back of her neck as he moved to whisper in her ear. “I promise you’ll say yes the next time I ask.” Then his lips were warm on her cheek.

Ginny had stopped breathing when his body had gently pressed against her back, but when his lips pressed to her skin it was released in a rush. She knew her fair complexion was betraying her at that moment, but… fuck… She was completely fucked. Clearing her throat, Ginny made herself focus on anything but him. Turning to Sirius she asked, “So, care to explain Prongslet?”

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Harry walked beside Ginny, his attention constantly wandering to look at her from the corner of his eye. They walked in sync down the cobbled London street to the tube station. Harry had plans to meet his old uni mate at their old pub, and Ginny of course was accompanying him.

Ever since that Sunday roast at his parents’ house a few days ago Harry hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Ginny. The way she’d been with his family, how she’d teased and taunted him, and the way she’d flushed at his touch...

God... and how could he forget that heated gaze she’d sent his way after he’d gone back to his seat…. It had fueled all his nightly wank sessions. Hell just about any thought of Ginny Weasley fueled his wanking material.

He glanced over at her again, having managed to keep his focus on the path for an impressive minute. Her arm was swinging in sync with his and it would be so easy for him to just reach out one finger and touch her. So easy to just lace their fingers.

But he couldn’t.

He didn't dare put it out in the open how much he fancied her. The fear of rejection seized his chest every time he thought about it. But of course, his mind would drift past the moment of awkward admittance to the image of Ginny on her back, moaning his name in his bed… Or Ginny standing in his shower smirking at him as she quirked a finger at him in the most entrancing come hither gesture. But none of that could ever happen… because he was too much of a chicken when it came to her.

Harry had never been the smoothest when it came to women but never before had one gotten him into such a state. Sure he could flirt, and he was rather good at coming up with witty lines, but the moment someone returned his affection he got nervous. With Ginny… with Ginny, it was a whole new level of intensity and anxiety.

But when she had that hard blazing look… the fears dissipated so his only thought was of kissing her. One time he nearly plucked up the courage. They were in his flat, he was grading papers while she stood guard in her corner spot. He’d been humming to the radio, his pen tapping to the beat against the table. The urge to look at Ginny had become overwhelming (as was typical) so he’d glanced up at her through his lashes. Her eyes had been on him and they had been like molten lava and her top teeth had been gently biting her bottom lip. She had been absolutely ravishing there in her full black get up and Harry hadn’t been able to stop himself from taking in her full sight. He’d stood up with no plan in mind other than a drive to take those lips for himself, but the moment he’d risen she’d straightened and the intensity in her eyes faded into nothing. Her expression had become passive so Harry had played off his weakness as a need for water.

He wasn’t always the best at understanding people, but she was transparent to him. She liked him but didn’t want to… or thought she couldn’t. If he had to guess it’d be the latter. He’d guess it had to do with the fact she was his guard, that she wanted to stay professional.

Which in Harry’s completely unbiased opinion, was bullshit.

Who would care if they were to become romantic? Harry knew his parents already thought they were together (based on some raunchy sly comments from Sirius and pointed looks from his mum). But she cared… Ginny cared. And because she thought it to be unprofessional Harry knew his advances would either end in her hitting him or her cursing him… then hitting him. And he didn’t want that… but he also couldn’t stand those heated looks she sent his way. The next time she looked at him with that deep, intense stare Harry wouldn’t be liable for what he did.

Because his mind was so focused on his red-head problem, he wasn’t looking at the ground below him so he didn’t even notice the loose brick until his left foot got caught on it. He started to pitch forward, his arms trying to swing and recover his balance, but before he even came close to landing on his face, Ginny’s small hand closed around his bicep. She caught him with ease and with the momentum Harry was face to face with her. Her lips were curled in a cute, amused smile, like the thought of him falling to his face was all too adorable.

“Best watch yourself there, sir.” Her cheeky tone matched that grin. “We wouldn’t want you messing up that pretty face of yours, now would we?”

Though she had a casual air about her, her eyes were hyper-focused on him, on his pretty face. Harry’s pulse, which had sped up with adrenaline from his near accident, went from fast to rapid. Goosebumps were covering his entire body, all stemming from her tight grip on his bare arm.

There was nothing for it anymore; Harry was certain that if he didn’t do something about it, he’d go mad. Before his insistent and logical thoughts could stop him, Harry moved his body close to hers. He didn’t care they were in the middle of a London street, all that mattered at that moment was her.

He placed his hands on her waist as her grip tightened on his bicep. His eyes stayed locked on hers. Those gorgeous dark eyes had widened with shock and at the same time… he could see her excitement. Her chest rose and fell in heavy breaths as he lowered his head to hers.

Ring.

Ginny’s phone echoed loudly in her pocket, making both of them jump.

Ring.

Before Harry could stop her, Ginny disentangled herself from him, her eyes dropping from his. Harry silently cursed whoever was on the other line of her mobile. If he knew how voodoo worked, he might spend time creating a doll of the person. He closed his eyes as he listened to Ginny greet her caller, her voice lower than normal.

Harry stood there in the street, listening to the sounds of cars passing by and footsteps on cobblestone. Ginny was silent for a long time, merely listening. Then after about a minute, she said in a serious tone, “I’ll take Mr. Potter to the safehouse.”

Safehouse? Harry opened his eyes. Ginny was staring at him, her face void of any emotion. Apprehension bubbled quickly and viciously in Harry’s gut. Something must have happened. To his mother? To his father? Panic made his body shake.

After another thirty anxiety-filled seconds, Ginny ended the call. She let out an uneasy breath before giving him the news that nearly made his knees buckle. “Your father has been shot and taken to The Royal London Hospital. I have orders to take you to our nearest safehouse, right now.”

#hinny #Harry Potter #it was rare i was there #Taylor Swift Inspired title #Harry and Ginny #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fan fiction #harry X ginny #hinny fic

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

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

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

word count: 17.2k

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

///

Harry hates clubs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the f—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re going to hell.”

“I’m already there, mate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, boomer.”

“You’re older than I am!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the culture shock hit.

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

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

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Precisely his point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So how do you like your new home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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