[Words: 866]
Prompt: Late post! Song titles from my playlist put on shuffle. All three pieces make up one story told non-chronologically.

"Touch" -ANDA

His hands trace her sides until they settle on her hips, his fingers feeling so right playing with the waistband of her jeans. She has her own fingers working knots in his hair, arms looped around his shoulders comfortably. A happy sigh escapes her lips as she kisses him deeper. He returns her enthusiasm slowly, hesitant in the way his warm palms brush tentatively across the skin under her shirt, only grazing her ribs and going up no further.

A growl builds inside her chest. He is going too slow, painfully so; unacceptable. The primal side of her she has been suppressing all day threatens to bubble up and explode. Taking a deep breath, she pulls back.

"We're on our honeymoon," she deadpans. "Touch me already."

"Fluorescent Adolescent" -Arctic Monkeys

She had always thought that all wolves dream about bright smiles and heated flesh, warm summer nights and the electrifying sensation of their fangs sinking to their mate's skin. Her mother was the one that told her otherwise, scoffing at her visions as if they were childish wonderings. Her wise father had waited until his wife went to sleep before sitting down in his daughter's room to explain how it might be her special ability.

There are a few facts in the world; Father is smart, mother's slaps on the wrist hurt, and her own powers failed to manifest on her thirteenth birthday. But then again, she is now fifteen and have been having those dreams for two years. Maybe her power is to see the future or something.

Vivid imagery of tanned skin and blond hair continue to follow her nights, sharp edges of skin highlighted under fluorescent lighting. If she had a nice day, he would smile and hold her in his arms. The times when she goes to sleep feeling upset, he would show up with red pooling under his feet one way or another, his gaping wound dotted with her tears. When she gets those nightmares, she hopes she has stayed powerless after all.

She tries really hard to find him; the blond boy with prominent laughter lines. It has gone to a point where everyone in school pegs her as "the girl who only dates blonds". Not that she has dated much at all. Every time she kisses a suspect, her heart breaks because she knows they're not him. She would recognize his taste and scent on her lips and they're not him, never him.

He is and always will be the best she has ever had. He is out there somewhere, and she will find him.

"Fantasy" -DyE

The world is pretty weird if you consider finding out your best friend is a merman to be an abnormality. That, along with a few dozen other discoveries, like the five year old girl watering flowers is actually a grumpy 500 years ancient fairy, or the club near the pier being a hangout place for supernatural freaks.

He thinks he is dreaming, at first. The punch is colored a weird purple-blue and there is a sweet smelling haze polluting the air (it's incense). And so he pinches himself. (Ow). He is still awake. Then a girl took of her sunhat to reveal horns, of all things. His mouth gapes in shock.

"Who's the idiot?" A girl (this one without horns) strides to the spot next to my merman of a friend, ordering a drink like she knows the barman personally. Her skin is two shades darker than his tanned hide, with freckles sprinkled for extra charm. Dark hair hangs above her shoulders and she is wearing something that would be considered indecent if they weren't in a club three paces from the beach.

Her eyes make a strong impression; one red, one green.

"Who're you calling idiot, Odd Eyes?" He asks back, words almost slurring together.

She glares at him. The barman hands her a beer and she leaves.

My best friend puts a hand on my shoulder. "She's sensitive about that," he says. "A bear clawed her eye on her coming-of-age hunt. It held up with the wolves' enhanced healing capabilities, but the popped blood vessels would be a part of her for the rest of her life."

He feels bad, now.

"I've got to say sorry," he says, swaying blindly to her direction. Maybe there is something in that punch after all—he's not supposed to be this much of a lightweight.

"Wait!" He somehow gets to her, stumbling over to a corner of the room. He trips over his feet when he nears her and he falls.

For a split second, there's a calculating look in her eyes. Then her fist catches his shirt and she guides his mouth to hers.

His eyes widen in surprise, but he isn't complaining. He moved his lips obediently. Shockingly, she flicks out her tongue and the kiss really deepens. She tastes like beer and barbecue. He likes beer and barbecue.

They pull back panting, lips red and gaze lidded. She smiles like a child finding treasure buried under sand, but the glint her eyes is strictly predatory.

He spots fangs in her grin. This time, no hands intercepted when he lifelessly crashes onto her shoulder.