#mauve : can write lyrics
Text
I JUST WANT A LOVER
RATING: R/smut (graphic sex, alcohol use, cigarettes)
WORD COUNT: 6.8k (i'm getting back in the swing of things, okay!!!! sorry this isn't my normal 20k lmao) (also like 75% smut) (i make no apologies)
CATEGORIES: one night stand!harry
PT. 2 | MASTERLIST | TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK
a/n: i know it's been about twelve billion years, but thank you for bearing with me. i had the urge to write some smutty smut, so i did — not sure how consistent i'll be, but i'm back, baby!!!!!
“You know, it’s not nice to stare.”
You glanced up and realized he was looking at you, having fully caught you investigating him. “Had to see what my shot partner was like.”
“And what do you think?”
“Hmm…” You let your sentence hang while you figured out what to say, your tipsy brain scrambling for something flirty but not too weird. “Decent, but concerned you won’t be able to take it without a chaser.”
He chuckled, leaning his hip against the bar so the two of you were even closer. “What happens if I can’t?”
His arm brushed against your side, and you tried to not pay attention to it too much. It was taking every fiber of your body not to freak out and overthink this, because this was the first man since your ex to flirt with you in a bar—or even come up to you in a bar— and he was hotter than your ex by a landslide. Which was both flattering and also frightening. “I won’t let you follow me to the dance floor,” you answer him, plucking what little courage you had and employing it, praying it didn’t fall flat.
But he smiled. “And if I can?”
The shots arrived, and he picked up them both, handing yours to you, your fingertips brushing. “Then I’ll let you dance as close as you want.”
or
Y/N is newly single and Harry's really into her
You’d come out at the request of your best friend, but to be honest it didn’t take much to get you out there these days. The breakup with your ex had occurred a month and a half ago and since then you decided you were done being sad, and wanted to have fun. Fun that you hadn’t had in months. Fun with your best friends in the smallest amount of clothing you could get away with, and lips lined in a deep mauve that always made you feel like the baddest bitch in the room.
It was working too. You could feel your confidence and happiness creeping back piece by piece, every time you were dancing in a bar, screaming lyrics to your favorite songs and sweat slipping down your back, you felt one step closer to the person you remembered being. A person you had loved being too—full of life, the person people called when they wanted to have a fun night, the host of many a party, the best dance partner, and the perfect person for a heart to heart over pizza at the end of the night.
“I missed this!” Your friend Abbey said when you’d walked into her apartment with a bottle of gin earlier that night. She swept you into a giant hug and you couldn’t help but smile. “Like, I know I’ve seen you recently, but I missed going out with you—missed being happy with you.”
“I missed it too,” you’d replied, and meant it.
Now you were in your favorite bar in the Lower East Side, waiting impatiently at the bar amidst the many other patrons, tapping your phone on the counter to keep your mind busy. The combination of old Britney Spears songs pounding through the stereo and the rush of alcohol in your bloodstream made you full of joy, and a little more wild than usual.
“Gin and tonic and a fireball shot,” you requested, and he nodded before turning around.
“Fireball, huh?” The voice was deep and smooth, and you couldn’t help but turn around to discover who the owner was. He was tall, at least six foot, with dark brown hair and light green eyes, tattoos littering his arms. There was a ghost of stubble on his jaw, which only made it looked more chiseled.
He was so fucking hot it seemed unnatural. “Yeah,” you replied. “Feel like being a little crazy tonight.”
His lips curled up at the corners at that, and he took a step toward you. “Sounds like fun.” He raised his finger, grabbing the bartender’s attention, and requested a shot as well.
You took his distraction as an opportunity to study his side profile. His hair curled slightly around his ear, and his nose curved up ever so slightly at the end. There was a dash of freckles on his cheeks that you could barely make out in the low lighting. As your eyes traveled down to his clothing, you decided that he was ripped—his arm muscles bulged ever so slightly in a delicious way. He was so attractive it felt illegal to even be looking at him, much less talking to him. And having a drink with him, apparently.
“You know, it’s not nice to stare.”
You glanced up and realized he was looking at you, having fully caught you investigating him. “Had to see what my shot partner was like.”
“And what do you think?”
“Hmm…” You let your sentence hang while you figured out what to say, your tipsy brain scrambling for something flirty but not too weird. “Decent, but concerned you won’t be able to take it without a chaser.”
He chuckled, leaning his hip against the bar so the two of you were even closer. “What happens if I can’t?”
His arm brushed against your side, and you tried to not pay attention to it too much. It was taking every fiber of your body not to freak out and overthink this, because this was the first man since your ex to flirt with you in a bar—or even come up to you in a bar— and he was hotter than your ex by a landslide. Which was both flattering and also frightening. “I won’t let you follow me to the dance floor,” you answer him, plucking what little courage you had and employing it, praying it didn’t fall flat.
But he smiled. “And if I can?”
The shots arrived, and he picked up them both, handing your to you, your fingertips brushing. “Then I’ll let you dance as close as you want.”
“Deal,” he replied. The two of you bumped glasses, tapped them on the bar, and threw them back, the alcohol burning your throat. You watched as he, much to your excitement, didn’t struggle with the shot in the slightest. He just set the glass back on the bar and found your eyes. “Looks like we’re dancing, sweetheart.”
The term of endearment lit up your spine, and you tried to not smile too widely. The bartender came over and asked if it was on a tab or closed, and the man told him to put it on his tab without a beat—and that’s when you got his last name. Styles. Sexy, frankly.
He turned back to you and nodded toward the back of the bar. “Lead the way.”
The Motto by Drake was blasting through the speakers and this was the tenth song you two had been dancing to. Your gin and tonic was nearly empty, and your right hand was thrown around Harry’s neck—that was his name. Harry. It was said in your ear with his lips far too close to your skin for you to not fantasize about how they would feel on the rest of your body, the melt of his accent curling around you like a fire. His hands were on your hips, fingers curved around you so he could move with you with ease, and the two of your alternated between staring into each other’s eyes with such intensity it made you have to resist the desire to kiss him every time, and the bar around you.
Your back was sweaty from the heat of the dance floor, but the backless shirt you were wearing meant the material wasn’t sticking to your skin. Harry had informed you about a minute ago that the shirt was “one of the hottest things he’d ever seen” and that had made you smile coyly, or at least you’d hoped it was coy. You were enjoying the way his skin felt on yours, the press of his fingers, the warmth of his breath on your cheek.
It had been a while since you’d done this—let yourself flirt with a stranger, bask in the excitement of someone’s desire—and it felt so damn good. You dropped your head back, letting your hair fall backward, singing the lyrics you knew by heart. As you did it, you felt the tightening of Harry’s fingers on your waist, and you smiled to yourself. In return, you wrapped your fingers in the bit of hair at the nape of his neck, scratching ever so slightly. This made Harry’s grip tighten again, and you liked knowing that you were affecting him as much as he was affecting you.
You let your head fall forward, gaze meeting his. It was burning into you, his eyes gliding from your face down your body to the rise of your breasts. The pressure of it, of his interest and desire, felt good, and in that moment, you couldn’t help but feel a deep need to kiss him. The prospect of touching your lips to his, which looked so plush and inviting, a dark pink that looked far too kissable. The need burned at your chest, and you decided there was no reason not to give in. Tonight, you decided, you were saying yes to things that made you a bit nervous, and seeing what happened. So, you pressed your torso flat against his and leaned your head back, tugging at his with your fingers so your mouths met in harmony.
It was like all he waiting for was permission, because the minute your lips touched he moved, wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you even closer, the other moving upward, his hand cupping your throat gently. His lips were soft and plush, just like you’d hoped. You loved how they moved against yours with obvious desire, begging and pleading with you through the kiss. When he brushed his finger along the column of your neck, you let your tongue dart out, brushing against his lips, which he parted for you, and you swept into his mouth, finding his tongue.
The kiss was messy and needy and exhilarating. From the press of his lips and the way they parted and pulled at yours, to his arm that was locked around your waist, fingers pressing int your skin, or the hand that was splayed at your neck, his fingers curled int your hair and the base of his palm on your throat.
It was, in all honesty, how you’d been wanting to be kissed for months. With desire, to feel needed and craved by another. It set your body on fire, and made you throw any apprehension you had to the wind.
“Air,” you mumbled, pulling your mouth away. “I need air. And a cigarette.”
He just smiled, nodding gently, and then threaded his fingers in yours, tugging you through the crowd. You hadn’t necessarily invited him to follow you outside, but you hoped he would get the hint—and he did, thankfully. There was a door in the back of the bar, a security guard standing next to it. Harry nodded at him, pointing at the door, and the guard pushed it open. It led to an alley, which had some other people down the way, but this section was empty. Perfectly, beautifully empty.
It was quiet outside, the thrum of the bass from the music inside seeping out, and the honk of taxi cabs melding into the perfect sound of New York at nighttime. You leaned against the rough brick of the building, the bare skin of your back cooling against the brick, which felt glorious.
“Cigarette?” You asked, reaching into your purse to pull out your pack and lighter.
“Sure,” he answered. “But I only need half of one.”
“Share one with me then.”
He smiled, and nodded. You placed the cigarette between your lips and lifted the lighter, flicking it so the flame appeared, lighting the end. You took a deep inhale, holding the cigarette in your teeth lightly as you exhaled out the sides of your mouth around it, placing the lighter back in your purse. Then, you took the cigarette from your mouth and offered it to Harry.
There was something so erotic about watching him smoke the same cigarette that had just been in your mouth. You couldn’t help but stare at his mouth curved around it, the smoke leaking from his mouth as he exhaled. You wondered if he thought the same when he watched you smoke.
“So,” you said as you held the cigarette between your fingers after taking a puff. “What’s your story, Harry?”
He stepped forward and pressed his hand to the brick at the side of your head, before leaning in and wrapping his lips around the edge of the cigarette that you still held between your fingers and taking another inhale. “I work in a record store and record some music on the side. Live a couple blocks from here with my friend Michael. Moved here a couple years ago.” He nodded to you. “And you?”
“Live in the village, work in marketing like everyone else,” that made him chuckle. “And have been here for three years.”
“Like it?” He asked, and you nodded.
“I do. I don’t think it’s forever, but I doubt that’s surprising. But I can’t imagine living anywhere else right now.”
He took another inhale of the cigarette before agreeing. “I know what you mean.”
“Are you here with friends?”
He nodded. “My roommate and some other people.”
“Will they miss you?”
That earned you a smile, and a shake of his head. “Why, what do you have in mind?”
The cigarette, shot, and gin and tonic are fueling your confidence because you pressed towards him and whispered in his ear, “your bed, preferably.”
He looked at you for a beat and then pressed his lips to yours, his free hand that isn’t touching the brick wrapping around your waist and tugging you toward him. It was a fight for dominance, this kiss—heated in a way the other one hadn’t been. It was full of desire and need and curiosity, that curiosity of finding someone new and leaning what they like and how they like it. You couldn’t help but let out a breathy moan when he tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth, and that sound made Harry press himself into you, his erection obvious against the material of your skirt. It made you wrap your hand holding the cigarette around his neck, making sure to not singe his beautiful curls, and curl your other hand in the waistband of his jeans.
Your finger brushed against a sliver of skin above his boxers and below the hem of his shirt, and you heard the sharp inhale of air he took in as you did it, pressing firmly against you and deepening the kiss. You wanted him in a way that you’d forgotten how to feel, and it lit up your whole body, making you absolutely uninterested in pretending you weren’t incredibly into him. You tugged his lip between your teeth and sucked gently, before licking across it. He responded by tucking his chin and brushing a series of kisses down your neck, pulling and nipping at the skin in a way that had you digging your fingers into his skin.
“Can we go,” you said, more a statement than a question in the way the words tumbled from your mouth. You couldn’t do this much longer or you’d end up begging him to fuck you in the bathroom of this bar.
“Fuck yes,” he answered, placing a searing kiss on your lips. “Need to say goodbye to my friends and close out the tab. Meet me at the bar?”
You nodded, and the two of you headed inside to say your goodbyes. You found your friends, explaining the situation in excited tones, and kissed them all goodbye on the cheek, promising to text the address you ended up at. And then you went in search of Harry, easily finding his mop of curls poking out amongst the people at the bar. You headed right for him, and when he caught sight of you he reached out for you, tucking you into his side, his arm around your waist.
“Let’s go,” he mumbled into your hair after he signed his name on the receipt, and you followed him out of the bar and into the night.
He kicked his bedroom door shut and walked to you in two paces, tugging you to him. Your lips met messily, all the pent-up tension from the evening and the walk here coming to a head. You decided to not mess around—you wanted to feel his skin desperately. The buttons of his shirt, a soft silk that was sweaty in the best way, came unbuttoned with ease, and you pushed the shirt off his shoulders, exposing his skin. It was tan and scattered with so many tattoos that you wanted to explore, but didn’t feel like you had enough time.
“I love your tattoos,” you said, your voice cutting through the sexual tension and silence in the room. Your fingers brushed across the swallows on his chest, and you saw his muscles tighten at the touch.
He didn’t acknowledge your statement. Instead, he was too busy staring at you. “Y/N,” he said, breathlessly, “can I take this off?” His fingers were playing with the hem of your shirt, and you nodded with ease. The material was pulled over your head in mere seconds, leaving you in just your skirt and boots. His fingers were on your skin immediately, cupping your breasts, lips brushing along the slope of your shoulder as he pulled on your nipples.
Your head fell back, a quiet “fuck” leaving your lips as his fingers moved across your skin, leaving a searing fire in their wake. He took advantage of the space, sucking on the skin at the base of your neck, nipping and pulling and you threaded your fingers in his hair and tugged gently. “Bed,” you exhaled, and he nodded, walking you backward until you fell onto the mattress.
He leaned back and unzipped your boots for you, dropping them to the floor and then removing his own shoes. You pulled on the clasp of his belt, freeing it from his jeans, and then popped the button, pulling down the zipper. The thought crossed your mind that he was the first man you’d undressed since your ex, but you didn’t let the thought linger for too long. Instead, you busied your mind by pushing down his jeans and tugging him on top of you, finding solace in his lips.
The kiss he gave you was deep and full of need, and you drank it in, loving each second that it held you. His fingers tugged on the zipper of your skirt and you wriggled to let him free you from it, leaving you both in just your underwear. You moved up the bed, pulling him with you, and tugged him down on top of you.
Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pulled him in, your centers meeting and both of you let out a moan. Hooking up with someone new was always an interesting experience, that edge of apprehension and unsuredness, but this was feeling more and more comfortable by the second for you. Maybe it was the way his fingers felt on your skin, the way he didn’t stop touching some inch of you. Or the kisses he placed on your lips and then your skin, or the way his breathing hitched when you rolled your hips.
He was hard against you and you loved how it felt, how the friction felt against you. His tip was nudging at your clit through your underwear and you could feel how wet you were getting, and you wondered if he could tell too. You hadn’t done any of this in a little while, but you wanted him. Craved him in a way you hadn’t lately, and you wanted more. Wanted to feel the weight of him on your tongue and the press of him against you, that glorious feeling of being held by someone and the crash of an orgasm that exhausted your bones in a way nothing else did. How it made the world slip away for a second.
“Can you roll over?” You asked, nosing gently at his jaw.
“Yeah, ‘course,” he answered, flopping onto his back. You were on him in seconds, straddling his waist and swiveling your hips in a slow, tantalizing circle that had his hands reaching the curve of your waist. The pressure made you grind into him deeper and the moan that fell from his lips was intoxicating. You didn’t know how much more of him you could take, the pressure just building and building and building inside of you every time he kissed another inch of your skin.
Harry was fucking obsessed with you. This random girl he’d found at the bar who he couldn’t stop staring at. The curtain of your hair that fell around him as you bent forward and scattered kisses down his torso, making him inhale sharply, the feeling surprising in all the right ways. His fingers were pressed into your waist and he let them drop to your thighs, enjoying the softness of your skin and how he could grip them and pull ever so slightly to make your hips move over his cock, the friction feeling heavenly.
He needed you in every way, and he was simply wondering what you would be willing to give him because at this rate he would take any scrap or morsel of you.
And that’s when you suddenly shuffled backward and hovered over his thighs, lips ghosting downward to the top of his underwear. Fuck, you were going to go down on him. Would he survive? He wasn’t sure.
He lifted his hips and let you tug down his underwear, the sweetness of the kiss you placed on his hip bone catching him off guard. Harry lifted up onto his elbows so he could watch you as your fingers brushed along the length of him.
“You’re pretty,” you said, words dancing across his skin like another one of his tattoos.
“Yeah?” He answered, fingers winding through your hair. “Think I’m pretty, angel?”
You giggled—fucking giggled—and it set him on fire. “Very,” you informed him. Then, you ran your tongue up the length of him and swirled your tongue around his tip, the sight making Harry drop his head back and moan again. It felt so good, the warmth of your mouth and the caress of your tongue, the way you were delicate yet intense.
“More,” he mumbled, “please, Y/N.”
You didn’t hesitate before spitting on the length of him and rubbing your hand up and down, creating a ruthless pace that had him panting, circling your tongue over his tip repeatedly, making every inch of his cock light on fire. Then, you dropped your hand to his balls and gently rolled them as you took him in your mouth, and that’s when Harry looked back at you, not wanting to miss this moment.
Your eyes were on him, watching his response to your actions as you sunk lower and lower on his cock. When his tip bumped the back of your throat he groaned, and it took every inch of his willpower not to buck his hips at the sensation. And then you pulled back a bit, and then back down, creating a rhythm, your lips wrapped around him, tongue gently licking stripes up the underside of him as you worked.
It was heaven, your mouth. He hadn’t been with someone in a while, and you were unexpected but oh so perfect. He couldn’t stop looking at you, at the sight of his cock disappearing into your mouth over and over again, the sight of your eyes watering ever so slightly when you took him particularly deep, the bit of drool at the corner of your mouth. You were fucking drooling over him. It was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
When you pulled back and swirled your tongue over his tip and then sucked, he couldn’t hold back—he bucked his hips ever so slightly into your mouth. “Fuck, sorry,” he mumbled. But you just nodded, widening your lips and stilling where you hovered.
His eyes about rolled back in his head.
“You want me to fuck your mouth, angel?” You nodded, and Harry didn’t waste another second.
He curled his fingers through your hair and pressed his hips up, using your mouth and you let him. You even moaned at one point when his tip brushed the back of your throat. It was like you loved this, loved the feeling of him using your mouth, and that made him even more intrigued by you. When you started sucking on his tip when he pulled back, he decided he couldn’t take this anymore—he was going to come if he didn’t stop.
“Gotta stop,” he said, pulling your head off him. “Gonna come if I don’t.”
You looked up at him and smiled, before wiping your mouth on the back of your hand. “Liked how you felt,” you mumbled, crawling up his body toward him. He grasped your hips in his hands, and looked up at you, catching your eyes and smiling.
“Liked it too,” he said. “Come ‘ere.” You lowered your mouth and kissed him, lips intertwining perfectly. Then you started grinding back and forth on his cock, and Harry realized how wet you were through your underwear—fucking dripping, in fact. “Roll over for me,” he requested, and you did as he said with ease.
He hovered over you and fingered the waistband of your underwear. “Please,” you mumbled, and he smiled, before pulling the material off with ease. You were, in fact, glistening with arousal and Harry loved the sight. He pressed a kiss to your knee and began to bend down because he wanted desperately to go down on you, but you started shaking your head back and forth. “No,” you said, “Want you to fuck me. Please.”
The please got Harry. “Yeah?” You nodded, and Harry moved closer to you, letting your legs fall to either side of him. “Wanted to go down on you, but I guess that’ll have to wait.”
Your hands swept up his sides, brushing along the tattoos that rested there. Harry pulled away just enough to reach his bedside table, grabbing a condom. Quickly, he ripped open the package and rolled it on himself, pumping gently, eyes glancing over your body spread out in front of him. Your breasts, perfectly large in all the ways he loved, the curve of your waist and the skin he was deeply enjoying holding onto, your gentle but wildly talented hands, the soft waves of your hair that smelled far too delicious to not bury his face in. It was like you were out of a dream.
“Harry,” you said, hand reaching for his thigh and tugging gently. “Please.”
The begging really did it for Harry—he hated to admit it, but he fucking loved it when girls begged for him. Made him feel so wanted, so desired, so needed, which is exactly what he craved from sex. “Coming, I promise, love.” He rose up on his knees and nudged your thighs a little farther apart with his own, creating space for himself. Leaning over you, he caught your eyes as he nudged your entrance gently. He knew he was big, and he didn’t want to assume it wouldn’t hurt, so he was going to watch your expression to see how it felt.
And what he saw made him keen. The way your eyelids drooped ever so slightly, your tongue darting out to lick your lips. Then, he felt your hips brush down a bit, slipping more of his cock inside of you, and a gentle moan slip from your lips. “More,” you requested, hand winding around his bicep and gripping him.
Harry didn’t make you wait a second longer, he pushed forward, watching your eyes to make sure it didn’t hurt, and it never did. You just shut your eyes and your mouth dropped open, no sound coming out. You felt like heaven—wet and warm and snug, and Harry remembered why he absolutely fucking loved sex.
He pulled out slowly, and when you tugged slightly on his arm, as if to say Hurry up, he answered with a swift thrust in, groaning at the way your walls gripped him. You answered with a moan of your own, the words, “Feels so fucking good,” falling from your lips.
That spurred him forward, and he built up a rhythm that was brutal in pace. You liked it hard, that was obvious, and Harry happened to love it too. He had missed sex and this pace was dizzying in all the right ways. The feeling of your thighs wrapped around his waist, keeping his hips close, and the sight of your breasts bouncing as he fucked you was too much for his brain to process. He couldn’t figure out what to watch. The sight of his cock entering you (which he really liked looking at) or your breasts, or your stomach which he for some reason had the desire to bite gently, the skin stretched there tantalizing. Your face was a dream too—the way you looked at him with desire and need and pleasure so obvious, the moans that left your mouth without a filter, not caring in the slightest who heard.
Harry grabbed your thighs, tugging them up so your hips lifted off the bed and thrust in, hitting a deeper spot that made his head spin—and yours.
You were losing your fucking mind at this sex. He was fucking you like, truly, no man had fucked you before. Full of power and need and dominance in all the ways you loved. The feeling of his eyes on your skin had your body on fire, and that mixed with the way his cock was stretching you out just had your brain melting away. You couldn’t decide on what to pay attention to, but currently his tattoos and the ripple of his biceps was enticing you. The black ink made you curious, and you wondered if you asked if he would tell you their stories.
His hands slipped to hold your hips, pulling you in toward him, fucking you onto him and it made your eyes roll back, a heavy groan ripping from your throat. Missionary, you decided, was underrated. Harry knew how to fuck someone in missionary good, and you wanted it again and again and again. With your ex, you always craved the variety of positions as something to keep you engaged, but right now you had no desire to change your position. All you wanted was more intensity, more pressure, just more.
“More,” you begged, squeezing his arm.
Harry responded with a smile, and then he lowered your hips before rotating them to the left, your right leg draping over your left. He shifted behind you ever so slightly, nudging his cock back inside of you, and you gasped at the depth of the position. You could feel him in your fucking stomach it felt like, and it made you scrabble for his skin, gripping the forearm connected to the hand that was holding your hip as he fucked you. “Good?” He asked, hair falling into his eyes as he bent forward slightly, using the leverage to fuck you harder, driving into you at a brutal but delicious pace.
“So…fuck…good,” you answered, words a struggle in this position. You were so wet and your abdomen was tightening, a clear sign that your orgasm was rising inside of you. That wasn’t something that surprised you, though—you’d always been someone who came with ease, especially in intense sex. So you let it build, let your walls tighten and spasm around Harry.
It had Harry’s grip tightening. The feeling of your walls fluttering around him was a clear sign your orgasm was building, and Harry couldn’t wait to feel it. He wanted to watch you come, to know that he was the reason why. He still had plenty of stamina left—he’d always had plenty of energy when it came to sex—so he decided after you came if you still wanted to have sex, he would happily keep going.
“Fuckkk,” you let out, head dropping back and eyes shutting, hair spread all over his duvet. It was a gorgeous sight, and Harry drove into you faster, the sight of your tongue slipping out onto your lip spurring him on. Then he felt it, the way your walls clamped down tightly and the grip you had on his wrist tighten significantly. You were dripping all over him, and it felt so fucking good that he knew he needed to pause for a second, so he pulled out, turning you back onto your back gently.
Your eyes opened and found his with a smile. “Good?” He asked, and you nodded. “Want more?”
“Hell yes,” you answered, and he chuckled.
Then he dropped down, ducking his mouth to your waiting pussy, the sight of your wetness smeared all over your skin and the smell of your come filling his sense. He licked over your exposed skin, picking it all up with his tongue, and you moaned, obviously sensitive. But instead of stopping him, your hands found his hair and pulled him in closer, making his nose nudge against your clit. You were so. fucking. hot.
He went to town on you, licking inside and then over your clit, which he discovered you particularly liked. He worked his tongue in circles that had your head thrashing, mouth dropped open in a moan, hands a death grip on his hair. Thankfully, he’d always had a thing for that. When he pushed a finger inside of you at your request, that made your eyes roll back, and he fucked you with his fingers, first one and then two. He found your g-spot with relative ease, brushing against it and taking joy in the way your thighs tightened around his head.
Going down on you was so fun; like a new mystery he was taking deep joy in discovering all the secrets of.
You didn’t let that go on for too long, though, pulling on his hair with desperation after he’d been fucking you with his fingers particularly fast. “I’m going to come if you don’t stop, and I’d really like you inside of me again,” you said, and that made him stop immediately. He was not going to miss that opportunity.
He dropped your thighs from where he’d been holding them and moved back to his old spot between your thighs. He spit into his hand and ran it up and down his cock, getting ready to be back inside of you. To his joy, he got to watch your fingers slip down to your clit, brushing in a circle that made your hips buck up towards him.
“Ready?” He asked, and when you nodded, he pushed back into you. Somehow, you were even tighter—likely from being close and having adjusted to his fingers. It felt glorious, and he wasted no time finding a brutal rhythm. He tugged at your legs, pulling them up, so your calves draped over his shoulder, which made you scramble for skin.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—Harry,” you moaned as he thrust into you, hands reaching for his collarbone.
He was close too, the sight of you on the edge and this feeling dizzying him. “I’m close,” he mumbled, and he watched you force your eyes open.
“I think—fuck—I think I might squirt. Is that, shit, is that okay?” The way you stumbled over your words made him smile, and so did what you said. It was a treat, something he’d never expected, but holy hell did he want.
“Fuck yes it is,” he answered, bending forward slightly so your thighs strained. “What do you need?”
“Fingers,” you replied. “On my clit. And a towel below me if you don’t mind your duvet getting wet.”
The prospect of leaving your pussy sounded downright unfathomable, so Harry decided he didn’t give a single shit about the state of his bed. He had plenty of blankets. Who cared about a duvet. “It’s fine,” he told you. Then, he reached between your legs and brushed his fingers over your clit, which made your pussy tighten immediately and your hips buck.
It was like you couldn’t control yourself, the way your hips moved. Harry had to stay incredibly close, so he didn’t slip out, but he didn’t mind. He loved how you felt around him, all consuming and deliciously wet. He wanted to see you squirt more than anything, so he was staving off his orgasm until after you finished, but the effort was torture. The distraction of rubbing your clit was helping, but he didn’t know how much longer he could last.
“Gonna come for me, love?” He mumbled, words tumbling from his fucked out brain. “Wanna see you squirt all over me.”
That, it seemed like, did the trick. Your walls tightened immediately, and Harry felt the rush of your orgasm immediately, coating his lower body in wet. The sight of it, mixed with the load moans spilling from your mouth and the sight of your hand gripping your breast, pulling taut on the skin did it for him. It put him over the edge, and he stuttered, his pace faltering as he came into the condom, gripping your thighs as he rode his finish, the feeling of your squirt making his finish even more intense than usual.
Panting, he gently pulled out of you, letting your thighs fall to the side. “Holy shit,” he said, chest heaving.
You laughed gently, hand dropping to the bed. “Holy shit is right.”
He looked down at your pussy, where a large area around it was wet from you squirting. Harry had only had one girl squirt on him before, and it had been a while ago, so he’d forgotten what it felt like. And how much he fucking loved it. “That was insane.” He looked up at you. “You doing okay?”
You nodded. “Just a little sticky.”
He laughed. “Want to take a shower?”
“Please,” you answered. He reached his hand out for you, and you took it, letting him help you up. When you got to sitting, he pressed a gentle kiss to your nose. The gesture made your heart warm, especially after how vulnerable you’d been with him. You hadn’t done that with every guy you’d been with, and you weren’t fully sure why you trusted him with it, but you were happy you did. Your mind was floaty, drained from most thoughts, and your body felt light in all the right ways.
He led you to the shower, turning on the hot water for you and pointing to where the fresh towels and soap were. “Going to change the sheets,” he said, giving you a kiss on the lips before leaving you to it.
You stood under the shower, letting the warm water fall on your skin. It brought you back into your body. You used the soap and washed up, cleaning all the aftermath of sex from your skin. Then, you stepped out, grabbing a fresh towel, and sat on the toilet to pee, before heading back to his room.
The bed was freshly made, the wet duvet gone from sight. Harry was still naked, tucking a blanket onto the bed when you walked in. “Feel better?”
“Perfect,” you answered. “Thanks for letting me do that.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’m going to take one myself—help yourself to anything you need.”
He patted down the hall, leaving you alone in his room. It was fun to be left alone in a boy’s room, allowing you to snoop just a bit. You explored the framed photos on his dresser and bedside table, finding out he had a sister, and found some photos of him and some friends, boys you thought might be his roommates. His cologne sat on the dresser, and you made a mental note of the brand and scent name, deciding that you’d make the next boyfriend you had wear it because you loved the way Harry smelled.
A book you’d never read before sat on the bedside table and you picked it up, curious. You were reading the inside flap when Harry re-entered the room, causing you to look up. “It’s good,” he said. “The book.”
“Good to know.”
“So.” He pushed the door shut and gestured to the bed. “You’re welcome to stay the night—it’s pretty late. But if you want to head home that’s totally fine too, happy to call you an Uber. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
He was sweet, you decided. That much was clear, from the way his green eyes gleamed with honesty. Sometimes guys would say all that just as a way to pressure you to leave, but this time you truly felt like he didn’t mind either way. “I’ll stay if you’re okay with it.”
Harry smiled at you, and you knew you’d made the right decision. You weren’t quite ready for the night to end, and you didn’t really feel like putting on your clothes and sitting in a stranger’s car right now. “Of course—need something to sleep in?”
“I, uh, usually sleep naked,” you said.
That made Harry split a wide grin. “Knew I liked you for a reason.”
You returned his smile, and as the two of you got into his bed, you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen next. If this was just a random hookup or maybe turn into a multiple time thing. Because honestly, you wouldn’t mind if it happened again. You were even curious what this boy was like during the daytime, if you were completed truthful with yourself. And as you laid on his pillows and he asked you questions about your life, seeming to be genuinely interested, you couldn’t help wonder if maybe he felt the same way.
fill my inbox with your favorite moments, lines, things you’re having ~feels~ about, or other concepts you’re dreaming up for me!!! missed you all <;3
#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry styles x reader#harry styles fic#harry styles concept#harry styles one shot#harry styles drabble#harry styles writing#harry styles x mc
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You can:
use either or both prompts as given
use either or both lists for prompts
use the name of either or both lists as a prompts
complete as many or few days as you want
write, draw, craft, or anything else!
There's no deadline and this is just for fun. I'll reblog this with links to the lists if you want to explore.
What's RainbowFic? We're a community of original fic writers on Dreamwidth using prompt lists named after colors (for a very VERY loose definition of color). Our lists range include song lyrics, quotes from books and tv, themed words, contrasts, and a whole lot more (we have over 400!)
Text version of the list under a readmore
Text version:
Day 1: Royal Purple #11 Further beyond / Iceberg #12 Snowman
Day 2: Lilac #25 Freesia / Opera Mauve #20 Curtain call
Day 3: Lavender's Blue #2 Mermaid / Periwinkle #14 Enamel heart pendant from a garage sale
Day 4: Caramel #8 Gummies / Vert #16 As the lord/lady asks
Day 5: Midnight #6 Furtive / Psychedelic Purple #15 I know I'll never be the same
Day 6: Lotus #19 Truthfulness / Ignition Yellow #10 There are some nights I wait for someone to save us
Day 7: Green Go #21 Rideshare / Gold #12 The only way not to think about money is to have a great deal of it
Day 8: City Street #4 Highway / Greenstick Fracture #9 I got the velocity and now all I need is the mass
Day 9: Paprika #8 We've got something kinda funny going on / Harvard Crimson #14 Library
Day 10: Danish Red #2 The Snow Queen / Amaranth #5 Stars
Day 11: Pull Me Over Red #1 Parking ticket / Daffodil #5 Flowers
Day 12: Fluorescent Pink #19 It doesn't matter who they are, I won't forgive anyone who tries to stand out more than me / Parrot Green #13 Call
Day 13: Crane White #18 Tell your daughters do not walk the streets alone tonight / Spirits of Saturn #15 Overgrowth
Day 14: Cherry #12 Grapes / Skylight #4 Smoking on the fire escape
Day 15: Calcite #4 Soft/Hard / Burgundy #2 Varietal
Day 16: Yellow Submarine #17 The long and winding road that leads to your door will never disappear / White Opal #2 Dream
Day 17: Tigers Eye #8 Eerie empty spaces / Moonlight #1 Liminal
Day 18: Baby Blue #4 Sling / Red Dress #5 You need to find a new solution, adaptation or retribution
Day 19: Gunmetal #14 Crossbow / English Violet #3 Since I cannot prove a lover, to entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain
Day 20: Heirloom Silver #2 Heirloom / Brown #5 Brown bagging
Day 21: Coomassie Blue #1 Repressor / Folly #14 Relax, I saw it on TV
Day 22: Fuzzy Wuzzy #3 Hugs /Alien Green #6 This is where you pucker up and kiss my ass
Day 23: Fawn #4 Cat / Grand Ink #20 With a mug of hot tea and some Vicodin in my bloodstream, I look up from my book to watch the bugs outside the windows
Day 24: Royal Blue #2 Queen / Spirit Purple #19 Screw the binary gender system
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@mauvecompany: Hello. This is Mauve company
We would like to inform you that we have signed an exclusive contract with artist JAY B. Based on deep trust, we have been continuously talking about the contract, We decided to become a precious home for artist JAY B! Our company will support JAY B to sing, write lyrics, compose, act, etc. We will provide full support so that JAY B can develop his capabilities through various activities. Please give lots of support to artist JAY B who started a new chapter. Thank you
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mauve, azure, lime and tangerine if you wish !
COLORFUL INTERVIEW
[ mauve ] give one random headcanon about your muse / one of your muses.
they say write what you know, and i try to stick to it when it comes to portrayal interpretation / inspiration. barret wallace, along with corel town as a whole, are based on old portuguese colonies, with main inspirations being cabo verde/angola, with barret's native language being portuguese creole.
[ azure ] is there a specific character or type of character you want to write but never have? why?
i really do respect the people that can pick up easy going characters, or characters that exist solely to have a good time or joke around. they have a place, and sometimes i wish i could be a part of it however i have a bad case of Must Think About Everything All The Time and even when i try to joke i take it at least a little bit seriously. at my core im an angst/horror writer i feel...
[ tangerine ] do you speak other languages? if yes, which?
so, depends on how far you stretch the meaning of "speak"...
my mother language is russian, tho i was home taught and very loosely at that so while i speak it ok, my reading is on a 6th grade level and my writing is non existent. i am trying to at least use it more with my parents via texting, but without predictive text i wouldn't be getting anywhere.
the "native" language i grew up around was continental portuguese, so this is what i'd actually say is my native tongue - its the language i speak every time i leave my house, ya know?
then there's english, which i learned as an edgy 13 year old desperately translating breaking benjamin / three days grace lyrics through google translate so i could understand the actual meaning in them... now look at me now! i use it to bully people online with feelings >:y ( and make friends i guess )
spanish.... i'm giving myself a solid 6/10 on, i'm understandable and the more i talk the better my pronunciation is.
french is a 2/10. i have beef with and only speak as little as necessary in order to check clients in. which is annoying because theres a lot of really good french music out there and i sorta vaguely understand it, but my brain refuses to absorb any of it out of spite for my 8th french grade teacher :\
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tag gamed tagged by @mahjongroom (poses)
last song listened:
im saying three songs. try to stop me
HOW DOES IT FEEL by doopees. i really love this song in general but it reminds me a lot of my dear cesare, less the lyrics and more how theatrical and expressive it is. which may sound silly for a character who doesnt express much outwardly but it means everything. to me
friends in low places by worthikids. i love narrative songs i love cesare the somnabulist i love gothic themes i love when people die and come back. also reminds me of (mumbles) but thats a far stretch
20,000 degrees by mauve. emo music has me in a beartrap atm
currently watching:
im not really watching anything. i finished the terror s1 if that counts. it was pretty alright, love mr fitzjames
EDIT ive been watching kamen rider w again. i like it :) love kamen riders costumes tbqh
currently reading:
im reading a book i bought for a friend called dark matter by michelle paver and im only a couple pages in and im really worried ive made a mistake and bought a shitty book 😭 going to read further but maybe the type of writing just isnt for me? but i really dont trust these character descriptions so far. unsure yet, but it was recommended by a mutual (hi veronica) so ill try to keep faith and hope to god i dont have to buy another. or ill just stop and read annihilation instead
current obsession:
read this as ocd obsession at first and not like what you are into right now and was like isnt that a little personal 😭. anyways trepanation counts i think
i tag uhhhhh. @ousama @giant-goldfish and @greaterhorrors if you dont like doing these you can ignore this and just imagine me saying hello like this: hello!
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Rules: Tag 5 people you want to get to know better!
@paxny @hcrogasm @valkilmerr @autopsy-mauve @bbr1
Thank you so much for the tag @mvrckd !!! I'm sorry I am sometimes not the best at getting to these in a timely manner.
Relationship Status: positive self talk positive self talk who knows what the future holds?
Favourite Colour: pink
Favourite Food: My mom's spaghetti (specifically), gyoza.
Song Stuck in Your Head: "Talia" by King Princess. You have no idea how close I came to making that "The Night We Met" Icemav gifset with lyrics from "Talia" instead.
Last Thing You Googled: "book of kells"
Time: 20:25
Dream Trip: I want to go on safari and stay in that hotel where you have breakfast with giraffes. With my BFF and maybe my sister and my cousin, idk.
Last Book You Read: Crazy Hair by Neil Gaiman (my niece will be three next month)
Last Book You Enjoyed Reading: My memory: I have never in my life read a book, ever. Um ... Trail of Lightning?
Last Book You Hated Reading: I don't finish things I hate. I give them 10-20 pages, and then if I hate it, I'm out. The last thing I stopped reading because I wasn't feeling it was Bone Black. I didn't hate it, but we weren't vibing.
Favourite Thing to Cook/Bake: Chocolate chip Oreo chunk cookies by crepesofwrath who has apparently just disappeared from the Internet?! I'm just discovering this. Ughhhhh there were so many amazing recipes on that site.
Most Niche Dislike: Don't touch my hair.
Opinion on the Circus: My best friend is a circus performer! Modern circus is full of amazing athletes and artists. People who are able to make a living from circus (especially outside a solid gig like Cirque du Soleil) are the most hard working, inventive, creative people I've ever met. I've gone with Nina to training several times, and I swear to God it is the most grueling thing I have ever seen a human being put themselves through. And in addition to being in peak physical condition, they basically have to run their own businesses. They have to write contracts and make deals with clients. They have to do accounting and taxes. They have to know everything about the safety needs of their craft, and they have to be able to ensure those needs are met every single time they perform, because almost no venue on earth can be trusted to do it properly themselves, and it can mean life or death. They make their own costumes. They do their own makeup. They do their own choreography. They do their own photography and their own promotion. They are constantly learning new skills and styles. I think modern circus is absolutely amazing and everyone who has the opportunity to see it should. I really encourage you to visit my bestie's website for an idea of what modern circus really means.
Do You Have a Sense of Direction: No. No. Not at all. I was late to my own high school graduation, even though I had left more than an hour early because I wanted to spend time with my friends, because I got lost driving to the venue. That I had been to the day before.
( p.s if anyone wants to do this feel free to snatch this as if I’d tagged you as well )
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@prophezeiung : LAZULI & MAUVE .
remember : not trying's all i'm good for,
and i really dunno how to make anything matter
besides, pretending's gotten a lot harder
now that you're asking for more.
not trying wasn't the whole plan
but it's the only thing that got me anywhere...
silence as a presence,
when the guitar sings the rest of your song for you
and body follows the beat even if it doesn't want to,
head nodding at all the right moments while the eyes stay closed.
voice isn't more than a whisper, because mauve
only belts out the final project, when she really feels it
down to her toes.
here, she sings, you're always wondering if i'm giving my all, is that even fair ?
keeps it as that ; a slow, melancholic question
that ends the first draft of a song
more than she'll never say to cerise, or any of the girls.
« it's shit. » she drawls it, voice too slow for the expected tempo of the insult
it's like she kept the words under her tongue
just long enough to know them by heart
the thing with mauve is that she could tell you anything
and you'd believe her : she doesn't have the rhythm of liars
prefers her violence slow & meaningful.
eyes open to stare at lazuli, an inquiry without question mark
« what about your verse. let's try that. »
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Day 15 - Memory
Year: -82K.C.
The late night's twilight draped its shadows so comfortably over the mauve-hued forests of Ashenvale. Pools of moonlight seeped through clearings in the dense canopies above, speckling the familiar groves with warm tones of Elune's light, the goddess's presence always embracing her favoured children. Those very 'children' occupied themselves within tree homes hidden away from worn paths among these forests. And, despite the time, the forest was very much alive with kaldorei traffic and the sounds of nocturnal creatures. The very livelihood of the kaldorei people saturated such a peaceful summer night.
On the balcony of a tree home near the western shores of Ashenvale, a middle-aged, raven-haired kaldorei woman lay among a nest made entirely of plush pillows. Fae'leas Spiritsong hummed softly to herself as her delicate fingers plucked the strings of a lyre, sending a comforting melody to lull her two twin children into a soft slumber. They appeared no more than six years of age, with wild black hair similar to their mother's and bright, curious faces. Feanah, the older sister of the two, clung to their mother's left side, looking up to Fae'leas with brilliant eyes of silver while she listened to the lyre's notes with heavy asthmatic breath. Kenorian, the younger brother, clung to Fae'leas's right side, looking not at his mother but the stars and leaves above. His eyes did not share the kaldorei glow and were instead coated in a thick milky hue, announcing the child's blindness. Yet, just like his sister, he was enjoying himself all the same.
Darnassian fluttered from Fae'leas's lips as the lullaby's lyrics began; the Spiritsong's early morning prayer to their goddess. The children's innocent voices would eventually join their mother's the moment the familiar words sounded.
[To the tune of this song: [XX]]
Up above us, in the twilight,
Watching over, with your foresight,
Shield us closely, send your guidance,
Elune, please bless us with your presence.
Mother Moon, with soft embraces,
Hear our prayers, please hear our wishes,
Take our worship, lunar goddess,
Bless our minds, please grant us solace.
As you watch us, while we slumber,
What you think of, we all wonder,
Hear our song, our nightly praises,
Protect us from more darker ages.
Queen of night skies, our sanctuary,
Pick us up when we are weary,
Vanquish death, renew our spirits,
We can live if you can will it.
Fae'leas' allowed the finishing notes to flutter from her lyre before she held her sleepy children close. “Good morning, my dears. Sleep well.”
@daily-writing-challenge @howlingowl-wra
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Skin to Skin - John Wick x Reader
summary : coming home after a rough night, all John wants to do, is hold you close, with no barriers between; skin to skin.
warnings : so much fluff omg. nudity, sex talk. x f! reader.
words : 2.5k
Notes : guess who’s 84 years late to @toomanystoriessolittletime ‘s birthday challenge? :) prompt is the song Yellow by Coldplay. I tried to add only small hues of the song in to keep the story as original as possible. song lyrics are >bolded<. please leave a comment, anon or not if you enjoy! it means so so much and helps me write.
Steph, I freaking adore you my wonderful amazing german friend. you deserve to be celebrated regardless of a birthday or not xox. hope ya like it!
‘Tell me the story about how the sun loved the moon so much, he died every night, to let her breathe.’
The moon sat heavy that night; bold, grey, silvers spilling into your eyes that searched, hoped, prayed he was alright. It sat in the inky blackness of the night; painted as the hallow inside your heart.
John hadn’t come home yet, hadn’t so much as called you to tell you he’d be in later than usual.
The cloudiness is killing you, suffocating you; the unknowing is killing you. John’s profession proves cold, stoic, chilling graves and pungent fingers. On his hands, lays the sin he’d never consented to; the daggers he sends are ones he’d never wished to carve.
Your John, pleads, begs, reveries of a life far away from the murk. Far away from the dark clouds that cave around your happily ever after, the grim that taints each semblance of normalcy he desperately craves.
There’s something special about the moon, a vulnerability the sun doesn’t know.
The moon sees everyone at night, at most vulnerable. The moon is often the last thing we cease to; something everyone, every single one, of us, can see. No matter where, no matter how.
If John isn’t home, resting his weary bones beside you; he’s out there.
Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere…
Looking at the moon, too.
You fear that someday, some day sooner than you’d ever dream, John won’t bid goodnight to the moon. You fear that someday, somewhere, he’ll be consumed by the same inky blackness; that someday, your John, won’t come back to you. Potent, haunting thoughts chill your every bone tonight;
but you’d only told the moon.
The crisp of your soft sigh is deep, dragged. It hosts unease; withers within your throat, staring out to the big, mean ol’ moon. In a sea of silky sheets, you sit undone, awaiting the return of your love. Somehow, someway, he’d always make it back to you.
You whisper to the stars that it’ll stay true, that soon, he’d succumb to your waiting arms, lose himself in your embrace the same way,
the moon melts into the sun, each and every morning.
Your thoughts interrupt, a perk of ears hosted by the singed creak of the crème bedroom door open, you’d almost forgot what true, utter, gratitude feels as, before the wash of relief of this moment.
Relief comes in tides, in wavelengths that crash over the uneased shores of your thoughts. In this moment, the sea sinks back to where it belongs, the waves calm, and the moonlight reflects off the inky blackness in vibrant, tranquil, stillness.
Stood in the tall frame of the bedroom door, your John, positions in dreary boned stance; the pitch black suit he wears accents the grim to his features, the most telling of the day’s worries play out on his sunken expression, weary orbs that drown into yours, silently pleading. A glimmer of a smile graces his face, yet it holds nothing but the icy unease, the fatigue that courses through his veins.
Your John, looks exhausted. Everything from the strong, sharp cut of his jaw, to the thin fullness of his lips and the gentle limp in his composure. It all writes as a sheer agony, his limited portrayal letting you know that tonight, would write itself out as one of those nights.
Something ripples in his eyes; something sad, something craving an ounce of sweet, at last. “John, baby?” A quiet croak as you frown, forcing your rasped vocal chords to inquire. Peeling the silken bed sheets off your worrisome frame as you crawl his way to the foot of the bed, John sighs a heavy exhale, crisp suit jacket discarded to the vacant love chair to the corner of your shared bedroom.
In this bedroom, John and you have shared the sweetest of remembrances. Soft, quiet giggles in the dark, gentle, loving touches in the midnight gleam. Within these very walls, you’ve whispered confessions of love a thousand times, never enough.
Some nights, peace triumphs, quiet kisses and tender holds are all the gray walls know.
Some nights, however, it feels as if the nightmares that follow John, claw into your skin. Some nights, escaping the dark becomes tough; and all you can do,
is hold him.
Remind him what it means, what it feels to be human.
You weren’t sure what tonight would play out as. All you know, is hold him you will; kiss his each bruise you will.
Love him, you will.
His laboured sigh is dense, heavy, and his eyes fall downcast when your arms find him, walked up to his towering frame. Your gentle hand rests to his cheek, and you breathe in slow, calm whispers. Much to your gratitude, few fresh cuts litter his face, but the wounds that pierce deeper, are the ones inside.
You don’t know what happen today, what had hurt him more than usual.
And you won’t ask.
You know, you understand. That some wounds never heal, and some scares only burn, the more toil they see.
“Can we…” His tone is gravelly, thick with need. As your hand plants to his chests, and the other says situated to his cheek, you gently coax the skin under his eye with your thumb, soothing. Arms wrapped around your waist, the cold chill of his hand that rests to your hips sinks into your heart seams.
Whoever, whatever did this to your John, you’d wish a thousand moonless nights upon.
A thousand curses fly with the wind their way.
“Can we lay?” John jadedly asks, honey brown eyes soaking into your soul, and you swallow a lump that makes camp in your throat. You nod gentle, a warm smile his way; something that nurtures, soothes his broken soul.
“Of course.” Kissing light to his jaw, you begin to slowly work on the worn out clothes that embroider his skin. The shock of your soulful touch elicits a soft, content sigh off his lips, his own hands never leaving the delicate curves of your body.
Often, on tiresome nights, and days where he needed to feel something; the only antidote that would suffice, would remedy the hallow that carves home inside each crevice of his soul was, laying with you.
With no barriers, no limits. Skin to skin,
sulking within the safe corridors of the arms of the women who owns his entire soul. Safe, within the touch of you; the only other that knows of all the pain that subsists within him.
Perhaps, just as the silver moon; John has a side that isn’t shown to others. He has a dark, guarded side, that no one, no one other than you knows.
And perhaps that is why he feels so deep, longs to be so thoroughly, intimately connected to you. Because you are the only one who really knows him, loves him despite it all.
Gently peeling off his pearly white dress shirt, the buttons come undone within the reach of your fingertips, the skin underneath revealing scars, old and new peppering his skin. The scent of his musky cologne, barely radiating off his skin kisses your nose, and you delicately discard the seams of the fabric off his body. John only stands, watches you undress his body, watches you drink in everything that is him. Gently, you kiss a freshly littered, deep purple bruise that paints to his chest, lips pressed against the skin for a moment longer. Slow, and soft, your hands begin to undo the heavy buckle of his belt, unravelling each inch of him as a beautiful gift.
Which he was; your John, was a gift. Something you’d thank the sky for each day.
As you work his bottoms, John’s hefty hands begin to unstitch across your top, fingers travelling up the hem of your shirt before removing it from your body. His eyes savour your skin, goosebumps layering each inch of your being when he moves closer, slower, deeper, gently reaching behind to unhook the clasps of your bra that shield your modesty from him. Upon removal, John sighs, seeing the beauty that makes home within you. The silk of your satin skin, the swell of your perfectly beautiful breasts; the exquisiteness of what was his.
As you finish removal of his belt, your delicate fingers peel his slacks and boxers off his skin. Smiling slight when his bare, broad and handsomely dark figure stands with you, your eyes brush over his glorious, exposed manhood, hiding underneath a beautifully dark bush of hair; butterflies sparking within your mid, reminiscing on the way his weight, his throb feels inside your aching walls; the way your body yearns for him even after you finish.
and you take his bulkier hand in yours, guiding his bones to the safe haven of your shared bed. Silky sheets prove inviting, comfort of cotton pillows and endless security lure a much somnolent John their way.
Tightening a soft squeeze to your lover’s hand, your eyes connect to his, certain, assuring. Gently guiding him to lay on the mattress, you whisper a quiet ‘relax, baby’ into his ear, watching the way his bare form climbs into the sheets, heavily exhaling as he pulls the covers up.
To your frame, his inquisitive eyes glaze over each inch, intently watching at the way you softly, unhurriedly peel off your own bottoms and lacy underwear, showcasing to him the vulnerable, delicately intimate sight of your unadorned body and naked breasts, before unravelling the sheets beside him, and climbing in.
John’s arms habitually open for you, the brush of his callous skin against yours as he draws your figure proximately close makes your head swim and your lips part, gently kissing a fresher, deeper mauve bruise into the soft skin under his neck.
Only this bruise, is composed out of nothing but pure, unconditional, love.
As your arms loom around his neck, his lips embed a small, loving kiss to your forehead, sighing against the skin. He’s big, beautiful, and warm. His hold is the warmest, purest form of,
yellow.
“You’re tense, baby.” A hand cupped to his cheek, your soft padded fingers barely scratch his beard, voice quiet, guarded above a whisper. Sighing deeply, John’s chest heaves a deep inhale, against yours. With a timid, gentle nod of acknowledgement, John only shakes his head, wanting nothing more than to just bask. Bask, with you.
“Baby, you’re so stiff.” You offer an index to his chin, lifting his eyes to lock with yours. Slow and soft, your spare hand travels to the space between your intertwined bodies, to his manhood, wrapping your hand delicately around the girth of his cock. With a few tender, measly, gentle strokes to his shaft, you whisper. “Do you want me to…?” You propose, more than willing to shower him with relief; to allow him to completely relax if he needed it. John sighs to the feel of your hand on his cock, caressing.
“Fuck…” He exhales, eyes closing as his arms tighten around you. “Feels amazing.” He confesses, yet interjects with a draw of your body closer. “But it’s alright, sweetheart. Later.” Breathe hot against your neck, he rests within you. “I just want to hold you right now.” With his head falling lower, he buries his face into the safe dip of your breasts, kissing a soft peck into the delicate skin. “You’re all I need.” He barely whispers, breathing in the saccharine scent of your skin. Raking soft tugs into his chocolate mane, you nod, holding him closer, tighter, feeling his skin, warm and proximate on yours. John relishes for a moment, before his gaze moves up to look at you, and he sighs. He sighs deep, and his head moves back up, lips offering a soft peck to yours, before his eyes gaze into yours.
For you I’d bleed myself dry, for you I’d bleed myself,
dry.
Staring into your warm eyes is a remedy of its own; a symphony of its own. He thinks, that truly, if the moon loves him, do the thousands of stars, speckled in the dark even matter? If the moon loves him,
if the moon
loves him.
His moon; loves him. His moon, loves him so much, that her eyes well up with tears, knowing he’s safe, within her arms.
Your fingers bury in his hair, reaching softly in to trail your fingers over the rough skin of his neck, stopping at his defined adam’s apple. Leaning closer, you allow your fingers to trail up his stubble ridden chin, before settling on his parted lights. Known, you feel him kiss to your delicate finger tip, his eyes habitually closing, sighing when your legs tighten, tangled to his, and your hold on him firms. Lazily, you draw circles to his chest, smiling, breathing with his heartbeat completely synced with yours. He looks beautiful, like this. Exposed, bare, vulnerable; yet completely safe, willing to be seen.
And you think, you wonder. You know; that all the pretty, golden stars, they shine for him.
This, was true intimacy. Moments such as this, where sex wasn’t needed, chases of orgasm nothing close to what truly mattered. All that triumphed, all that was dire need, was the feel of his skin on yours, and yours on his. The reminder that you are real, as is he.
It’s true, look how they shine for,
you.
His feelings are real, what he’s been through is real.
But, only, solely as real, as the feel of his skin on yours. The feel of the love that also runs in his veins; the feeling of life you bring him when your bodies collide, when your warmth envelopes him.
John’s hand brushes to your hip, just above the delicate swell of your bosom, and you know what he wants. Knowingly, you lean in close, one last time, to allow a soft, love soaked kiss to his pink lips, and a gentler, easier one to his stubble ridden cheek, before you turn in his embrace, your back pressed to his chest.
And as always, as true to a hundred times before, John’s arms tighten around you further, pulling your body in as close as could be, before nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, where he’d speckle a few kisses, sighing. And there he rests, with his face buried between your skin, and your hands holding his that rest to your mid, soft legs tangling with his tired, worn out ones. In complete, simple silence, you both relish in the tune of each other’s silent breaths, skin to skin, relishing in the symphony of your love.
The world ceases to exist in moments like this, the inky blackness doesn’t matter. All that matters, is you and him, and your combined energy, strong as a supernova.
And perhaps, you should crumble for better reasons.
But could reason compare
to this man you call yours? He brings the light of a hundred suns to their knees, the black of a million nights turns yellow.
And for him, you’ll crumble a billion times.
You’ll paint each ounce of him yellow.
because you think- you know,
you love him
more than the moon, and all it’s shining stars.
➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴
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sins of my youth. 003
Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3
Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.
A/N: Hey all! Enjoy the chapter. Billy trying again to woo Evie. They strike up a bet. TW: Pica. Light fatphobia. Taglist open :)
Chapter 3: To The Devil
“Hey, Karen, here for the two o’clock?” Evie was jotting down slanted notes at reception, crossing the name off. Mona’s salon smelled of mousse and hairspray. Fans blared to keep the air moving. Karen beamed back.
“I am. Need a touch up.” She touched her waves to give them a flick. "I'm so jealous of your curls, how do you get them to sit like that?"
"Genetics, I'm afraid. Ah, I just dip myself in water and pray for the best." The dry humor she was known for. "Mom has them too, if only she didn't inject a gallon of product into her hair every morning."
"Water. Innovative. Your secret is safe with me." Karen paused to laugh when Evie grinned, nodding as she finished the notes.
“Seat four, Claudia’s getting your stuff ready now.” A smile beamed.
“Thanks, sweetie. You’re mom in back too?”
“Yeah, fixing the music, she’ll be out in a sec.” Evie flicked a page and peered around. Yellow walls with baby blue trim. Similar to a dollhouse her mother made once. Too many plants to count, but that was Evie's fault.
She did rounds and cared for each one. Even the new bloom of begonias in one of the back rooms hanging just out a window. Twisting silk petals all blushed and unfurled.
Evie watered them, let the soil grow damp. Listened to the thumping of a dryer full of towels behind her in the cramped space. A rhythm she could write a song to. She saw a fallen petal and plucked it up. Felt the baby smooth texture between her finger pads.
Lifted it idly to her cheek. Let it caress her skin in one graze. It comforted, the mere touch of it. And the calm stillness that followed as if someone was holding her welled euphoria. The petal ran her lips, she felt in control of her senses. This touch that was warm and ticklish. Evie gave a shuddered breath and just wondered.
Wondered.
Evie spent too much of her life wondering.
The petal touched her tongue and she half expected it to melt like a chocolate. Rich and silky. She rolled it damp around her mouth. Chewed for an earthy twang. Looking at the flowers. Feeling them across her running palms. Gently bouncing into place before she swallowed. Evie turned quick, jolting back into her skin for one fleeting moment.
She was aware again. She was here. Still patting her cheek to stay grounded. Maybe the flowers would bloom a dainty beauty inside her. A delicate sensibility that’s evaded her all this life. Another flower petal plucked.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
Fingers pulled a begonia clean. Chanted the little game in her head.
He loves me.
Swallowed. There was a slight of guilt. She’d stolen the power from this living thing and brought it into her own being. That washed away. She was carrying it now. Patting her cheek again to console herself.
No one noticed Evie hidden in the back room. Indulging in control. It felt like a dirty school girl secret. Evie dipped her fingers into the wet soil. Sighed and let the earth fall back into the plot. She brought them up to see the filth. Thought to lick herself clean.
“Evie, can you bring the broom out?” A voice had her heart bursting. Evie yanked the watering can close, feeling the weight of liquid slosh. Her mother was next door fussing with music still. Blissfully unaware. Their usual relationship.
“Y-Yes!” She felt this shame etch her spine. The rush of being caught doing something she shouldn’t have. Which Evie Fenny was already no stranger to. She washed the evidence away and snatched a broom handle. “Coming!”
“Thanks, honey.” Claudia took it and let Evie go about her business. Watering the last few pots at reception.
The bell dinged right behind her as she stretched to water a pot above the door hanging from the ceiling, tip toeing upon a wooden stool.
Billy stood there, face at ass level and didn’t stop her. Not that he minded the view. A pink frilly apron over her violet dress. Black tights and belt to match. Big shiny hoops dangling caught the light above her, illuminating dark hair with a halo. Curls shifted and she eyed Billy Hargrove at the same time the music blasted back up. Dolly Parton of course.
Here you come again
Just when I've begun to get myself together
"Angel...what a view." His bright eyes scanned, full of glittery stars. Tongue crossing pink lips in a vaguely obscene way.
“Billy?” She hitched a breathy gasp and stumbled. Braced to fall on her ass before an arm swooped out to stop her. Muscles pulled Evie into a chest. A very cologned, hard chest. Those damn stars danced like she was in a movie, draped into Billy with the watering can clutched tight. Shifting around. Air sent their hair up and the door shut.
Dolly’s lyric timing was really the worst.
You waltz right in the door
Just like you've done before
And wrap my heart 'round your little finger...
Billy and his long lashes. Fluttering so pretty at her. Pulling her flush into the metalwork of his hot body. Evie lost herself.
Swept up in his arms with no words. No synapses obeying her body’s commands. She choked there looking like the cover of a romance novel. Blushed at him. Flowers in full bloom.
“You won’t soak my head if I make a joke about you falling from heaven, will you?”
There he is. Evie rolled her eyes and found her footing.
“Oh, but I will.” Hands pushed him to arm's length. No thank you followed.
“Hon, you alright?” Claudia had dropped her shampoo bottle. Few women echoed the call, eyes on the gorgeous boy who just strode in. Evie was quick to step from him.
“Fine, fine, I’m…” Evie brushed herself awkwardly and went around the reception counter. Mostly to put distance between them, setting the can aside. Billy followed after to lean against the wood so she kept her voice low. “What are you doing here?”
“I got bored.” He crossed his arms there to shrug, dressed to the nines and hair all done up. Eyes flicking. “Nice apron.”
Evie scowled at him.
“If you’re asking me to that party again, the answer is still-”
“Billy! How nice of you to visit, I hope I see Susan in here again soon.” Mona swept toward them. Both teens leaned out from each other. Billy flashed his teeth, all charm.
“She’s never felt better since coming in for the new do. Made my old man crazy.” He ignored Evie glaring at him.
“That’s what I love to hear.” Mona came up to pat his cheek. Billy slid his eyes to her daughter. “What can we do for you?” She touched golden hair to sweep it aside. Mona was just the friendly sort. “You know, we do boy’s hair too. All the time. You look like you take care of these darling curls.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, but actually I was just walking by and I saw Evie in her apron and thought we’d hit that burger joint for lunch.” His shiny teeth flashed to smile so Evie cut in.
“And,” her voice rose, “I was just carefully explaining to Billy that we’re super swamped today. I couldn’t possibly go. Shucks.”
Both Mona and Billy peered to see exactly three customers getting their hair done. No one outside. The appointment book near empty too.
“So busy.” Evie pressed her teeth, eyebrows lifting for her mother to get the hint. "Extremely."
She didn’t.
“Oh, no, Evie. It’s your winter break." Arms waved at her daughter. Near ready to give Billy Evie's hand in marriage. "Go have some fun with the nice young man.”
What a laugh.
“Are you sure? I can stay...literally all day here. I can move in here and never have to leave ever. Never. Ever.” Evie was getting her apron snatched off by her mother. A couple shoves got her around the counter.
“No, no. Go, shoo, have fun with a boy. Good to see you, Billy. Tell your parents that I said, hi. Have Susan bring your little sister in next time. What I wouldn’t give to style that pretty red hair she has.”
“I’ll let them know.” Billy actually held the door for Evie as she shrugged on her coat. Another heated expression before she huffed and went out. Ire. He can work with that. “Bye, ladies.” A wink.
“Bye, Billy.” Came the chorus. Both teens grinned all the way to the end of the window before hands snatched Billy’s collar when they were out of sight.
“What the hell are you doing, Billy?” Evie shook him by the leather jacket. Even the scrunching snarl at him was cute. Actually had his taller, broad frame pressed into a brick wall. Made Billy pause to observe her face. Mauve lips frowned deeper.
This was a cruel thing and she couldn’t stand it. This back and forth. These sides of Billy that only came out when it suited him best.
“Making it up to you. Christ, just fucking let me. Easy...” He shrugged off, going around her. She was being difficult about this, maybe rightfully so, but it still gnawed at him.
“C’mon.” Billy went on. Not bothered by the cold in his white button up shirt and jeans. Tucked and tight. The gold saint chain bounced against his chest as he walked. Hard, intent steps with a lazy wave. “You like burgers? Who doesn’t, I’m hungry.”
“I don’t need you to make it up to me, Billy.” She trailed after him. “This weird game you’re playing really doesn’t interest me.”
“This town is so fucking boring. You know that?” He spoke instead, clicking his tongue and looking beyond them. “Got nothing to do, why not hang out? We’re neighbors.”
“When have you acted like a neighbor?”
“Right fucking now, Angel.” Blue eyes shifted to spot the right building.
He was such an ass and she was still willingly walking beside him.
“Ask Tommy or Carol to hang out.”
“No one likes Tommy or Carol, would you want to hang out with them in your free time? Fucking annoying. Carol wants to fuck me and Tommy? ...You know, he might want to fuck me too. I'm the whole package.”
“So, you’re with me because I’m not annoying like them and I don’t want to fuck you?”
Billy turned sharp to see her at the crosswalk. Golden curls swept up. Almost offended.
“Who said you didn’t want to fuck me?” The shit asked it so genuinely too. "I never said that."
“Literally me, just now.” She pressed the walk button because he had her under a spell and Billy went before it changed. “Ugh.” Evie, ignoring her better judgment, paced after him. Street was empty.
“You’re plenty annoying, Fenny.” Billy strode inside the diner and didn’t wait before he grabbed a table. Slapped a plastic menu down across the way until she moved to take the offered seat. A waitress appeared from nothing, but Evie figured Billy just had that effect.
“Know what you want, sugar?”
“Number three. Coke. Cheese Fries. Jalapenos on the burger and on the fries. And whatever the lady wants.” He stole an ashtray and dug for a smoke, not looking at either girl. Few people eyed them and Evie gave in.
They were both still pretty hungover and she didn’t want to make a scene. Which Billy knew well and used to his advantage.
“I will have the exact same thing.”
“Are you sure?” The waitress looked Evie up and down as she said that. Oh, so carefully. Evie paused to tense up, acutely aware that she didn’t look right across from this gorgeous, golden boy.
The thought hadn’t even struck her until it was pointed out, that’s what sobered it painfully.
“Yeah, she’s sure. We’ll take a large chocolate milkshake also. Two straws.” Billy snapped, flicking his menu up. The waitress bowed her head and hurried away. Evie’s jaw hung open while he played with his lighter distractedly. Eyes flicked up. “What, are you catching flies over there?” He lit a cigarette and her mouth shut.
“I’m in the fucking Twilight Zone.” Elbows hit the table
“That stuff you said Heather liked...” Billy tapped his ashes. Ignored the waitress when she set Cokes down. “That was about you, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Museums and horror flicks. Noted.” He shrugged. “You into that poetry shit? Always writing.”
“Song lyrics.” Evie took a breath and answered slower. This was weird. It was weird that...it wasn’t so weird all the sudden. Billy did what suited him. Blue eyes lingering on her then darting all over. He sat back with one boot up on the seat. Actually listening. Smoking. Present. “I play guitar and sing."
Yeah, he heard her guitar from his window every other night if it was open.
"You're always writing too," she went on, "I know it isn't school work." Observant.
"I'd rather write some shitty story than listen to a lecture about nothing in class." Billy's ashes hit the tray again. “Are you going to be the next Dolly?”
“My mom would love that.” She broke to laugh at herself and sip. “More Kate Bush or Stevie Nicks.”
“Thank fuck, one Dolly is enough.” He snuffed his smoke out. “Why won’t you go to the party with me?”
“Why do you suck with rejection?” She asked it bolder than intended. Half expected Billy to get upset and walk out. Smoke etched out his pink lips when he chuckled, catching his tongue between teeth. This girl was all four seasons in one spitting firecracker.
“You got a wall up bigger than your mom’s hair, Evangeline.”
“I built it myself, William, thanks.” Evie smiled sweetly that time, gazes locked. He twitched at the use of his birth name. A beat of staring before food arrived.
“Will that be-?”
“Yeah, we’re good.” Billy plucked a fry up, watched melted cheese string from it before he chewed and the waitress saw herself off. “Don’t tell me you’re not gonna eat like normal in front of me.”
He caught Evie picking up a knife and fork. She shot him a look. Dropped them and stole the milkshake to sip. Passed it over for him before she went for the burger.
“There you go.”
“Stuff it.” She grabbed a fry and watched him take the biggest bite he could. Cheese drooped out the bottom. “Hangover miracle, huh.”
“Hmm.” Billy was too busy chewing. Evie took a bite, sipped more coke and decided to engage this.
“Can I ask why your dad moved you across the country during your last year of high school?”
“New bullshit job.” He went at his fries, smearing them around cheese to eat with crunching jalapenos. “Wanted to start his white picket fence over since it didn’t work the first time and he thought he could spite me in the process.”
Billy licked his thumb, eyes elsewhere.
“I’ll bet he just wanted away from memories of my mom.”
Evie paused carefully. It was the first he’d spoken of her.
“Oh.” She pulled for a napkin, eyes on her food. Peculiar how quick he got real with her here. Billy Hargrove was usually putting up thick layers of artificial bullshit. Plastic cheese on greasy fries.
“Didn’t help that I was in and out of fights.”
“That changed?” She reached for the milkshake. “So, your mom-”
“Did you really get into a fight last year?” Billy had finished the burger and was now going at his fries again, gestured so she slid the milkshake back.
“I don’t remember it well.”
“Bullshit, Fenny.” He smirked to himself. “I’d know. You see red and you remember how it tastes every single time.”
“You’re the expert.” She shrugged, wiping her greasy fingers on napkins. Left a few bites of burger because a voice drilled to do so. Same with the fries. “He was a jerk and...my parents just got divorced. I was upset. I let him have it. Everyone got dramatic about it because I’m Evie Fenny and not Randy Savage.”
"So, how'd it taste?" Billy looked at her eyes and saw them flash.
He’s had enough! Students kept chanting that in her ear. Pulling Evie and her clawing talons out of the huge football player under her knees. She breathed pure smoke. Hair flying all directions. Felt the coolness of dewy grass and warmth of blood crusting her fingers.
"It was like..."
Descending upon Tannen like thunder. Heavy rain and cracks of lightning followed by a boom. Thunderous applause too. She stared back at Billy with a dreamy expression. Recalled cowering through rainstorms as a little girl. Into the closet where she felt safer.
Her father, Jack, always found her. He’d sit next to her in there and bring her close under one arm.
“Don’t be scared, little mouse.” Never could make out his smile in darkness.
"It's...hot metal. Lava pouring down your throat trying to harden inside you." She got real too and Billy's lip lifted. Soft as can be. "Like it's making a cast of you in that specific moment of rage."
Evie blinked out of the memory. Watched Billy stare again before he pushed the milkshake back to her side. A peace offering. She accepted and drank, let lipstick print on the candy cane colored straw.
“I’m going to ask you out.” He decided gentler. Intent. “New Years Eve. Seven on the dot. You can show up in a nice dress when I knock and we’ll go. Or not.”
“You might want a back up girl.” Evie sucked in her cheeks, eyes had to leave his to see the table. Thighs pressing. He'd definitely just undressed her.
“No need.” Billy crossed his arms to shrug. “Don’t want one. Already asked the girl I want to take. C’mon, Fenny, quit hiding and get out. What are you waiting for?”
“I’m not hiding.” Evie shook her head, chest sinking. “You’re the one hiding.”
“Me?” His shoulders rose. Got all puffy like a peacock.
“Hawkins High King. Billy Hargrove.” She lifted her hands for dramatic effect. Leaned forward to match him in intensity. “Thrashing forth in a billow of hairspray and cigarette smoke. Sun left in your wake along with a trail of broken hearts. You pose for them and they eat you up. There won’t be much left..."
That sentiment kicked Billy in the chest.
"...Everything you say is layered in rage and cheese. It’s mind numbing. I have a wall up, but you put up this flashy front that just blinds everyone. You want their eyes to bleed for you. Get real, Hargrove.”
“I’ll get as real as you want. Ask me anything.” Came the challenge.
“Okay. Why’d you beat up Steve Harrington?”
“Cause he was lying to me and because I hated him.” Billy shrugged, eyes averting. "Because I wanted to taste hot metal. It's home to me."
“Lying? About what?”
“Still don’t know and frankly, I don’t care anymore.” A quick sip from his coke. “Go to the party with me.”
“You just don’t give up.” She peered into her glass. Wanted to eat the ice cubes clicking there.
“Maybe I’m asking you not to give up on me.” There was something almost sincere there like Billy was touching the earth for the first time.
“Why are you trying to trick me?” Evie pushed her cup aside even though her teeth chattered to crunch.
“Trick you?”
“This party thing.” She paused when the waitress returned to clear the table. Leaving the check face down. “You’ve been nothing but an ass to me since you moved in. Ignored me. Probably can’t even recall what I was wearing when we met.”
“Your mom’s hair kinda got in the way when she brought you over.” He joked and didn’t miss her stifle amusement, eyes rolling. “It’s not a trick, we might actually have something in common.”
“What’s that?”
“The people in this hell town aren’t very interesting. Maybe I find you interesting.” His brow quirked. Fingers tapped the lacquer table.
“I don’t find you all that interesting.” Evie smiled that time and Billy matched it.
“That’s fine. You will."
"So certain?"
"Give me a chance.” Billy’s eyes flicked over her before he sat up. Didn’t miss a damn beat. “You wore red button up shirt tucked into a little denim skirt with suspenders. Black tights. Grey shoes. Sunglasses with big white cat frames. That same gold necklace with the music note and dangle earrings to match. You introduced yourself with your mom. Took the sunglasses off and even had gold on your eyelids too. I remember it.”
"Yeah?" Her lips parted with the audible breath he stole. And oh so easily. Evie leaned closer so he followed. Hooded eyes all aflutter.
"Made your eyes look..." Billy searched. "Molten. Volcanic like."
"Molten?" Evie wasn't even hearing herself anymore.
"Just, I don't fucking know, warm like..." The beach. California. Home. Billy lost the thought and licked his lips. "You just looked painted."
"Painted?" Evie had mused then. Entertained now at his odd way of description. Tried not to think about Billy running a wet paintbrush down her bare neck.
"Yeah." Billy breathed slower. Painted. With the autumn breeze and sun in her hair, slowly brushing curls around those full, tinting cheeks. A subject the fucking Pre Raphaelites would have lost their shit over and painted all seasons. He could picture Evie floating in an endless pool being kissed by fallen flower petals. Draped in miles of iridescent chiffon reclined in emerald green grass. Looking straight at the viewer with intensity and still dreaming all the same.
"You had on a black tee. Jeans. Your saint chain. A pair of aviators tucked into your denim coat pocket." Evie peered under the table. "Same boots... You looked like you wanted to be literally anywhere else."
"That'd be the truth. Wasn't you or your mom's chipper greeting." Billy was looking down now. "Just realized I couldn't see the ocean anymore is all. You held out your hand and I ignored it because I'm an asshole. We established that this morning and now I'm making it up to you."
“And you still peeked at my chest." Evie flashed a cheekier smile. "Said your name only after Neil gave you this hard stare. Max sped by on a skateboard, you must have thought I was distracted. But, I caught you.”
“I did check your tits out, sue me. I have eyes. You have tits. The world spins.” He smacked a couple bills down as she went through her pockets. The spell on them both shattered to rain. “Already paid. Let’s go, the waitress is staring at us. We'll make a grand exit, huh?”
“But-” Evie stopped when he grasped her wrist and pulled her up into his side. Spied the waitress scowling as he held her hip and they went out. Got away from the window before she pulled from him. “Get your mitts off me, Hargrove.”
“Still open for questions.” He sniffed and they went back down the street. Another smoke was lit.
“Okay. I'll go for the obvious. Do you think we look funny together?” She crossed her arms when Billy leaned against the side of his car.
“Who cares. You’re making a big deal over nothing. It’s just a party.”
“The world cares. That waitress back there. Kids at school.” She shrugged.
“You.” He clicked his tongue, head tilting.
“I don’t care.”
“That’s why you don’t want to go to the party with me, you’re stuck on what they’ll think.” He pointed with the red hot cherry of his cigarette. “Fuck ‘em. As your Louisiana folk would say: to the devil with false modesty.” He mocked her mother's accent with that.
“Maybe, it’s because you’ve been a jerk to me. That reason enough?” Evie dropped her arms and Billy paused to nod, inhaling. “I don’t know what this is, Billy, but...just stop it. Ask someone else.” She eyed her mom’s salon and took a few steps back. “Thanks for lunch. I gotta go, my mom won’t turn this place over to the evening girl unless forced.”
“Can’t tell me what to do, Angel.” He stood taller. “I’ll bet you another Coke that Mona invites me to dinner tonight. TV included.”
Evie gaped at him.
“A Coke?”
“I’m easy to please. I’m gonna come to your house for dinner. Hour of TV at least.” He cocked his head. So full of pride.
“Why are you dragging this day out?” She turned to face him again.
“I want to meet your cat.” Billy wrapped his lips around the smoke. Exhaled after. “That little creep stares at me from your window day in and out.”
“He doesn’t like boys.”
“Bet he’ll like me.”
“I bet he won’t. He’ll stay in his bed and not spare you the time. It'll hurt your ego.” Evie came to Billy with her own certainty.
Bourbon was old. He liked to sleep, have his ears scratched, and purr. A lot. He hid when company came and keeps a safe distance once wandering out.
“Oh, another challenge. Okay, Fenny. We’re doing this.” Billy came to her, flicking his smoke to crush it under the toe of his boot. Cold wind blew. “When I come to dinner tonight-”
“If.” She corrected.
“When Mona invites me with her beat to hell Louisiana accent,” Billy insisted, “you get to play hostess. If that cat takes a liking to me, you’re going to the New Years party with a Hargrove.” He towered there and studied her.
“And that’s if you can even set foot into my house... It’s not a date. The dance.”
“What do you have to lose here?” Billy offered his hand and Evie eyed him suspiciously. Lips pursed before she reached to take it. His other broad palm came up to prolong it, engulfed hers before he leaned in even closer. Whispering and sultry. “Oh, and literally everyone in that place is already staring at us. We look just fine together, Evangeline. To the devil.”
Evie hitched a breath. Inhaled his cologne and twisted to see many eyes snap aside behind the glass.
“Ah, shit.” She tugged from his warm palms and went inside. Billy, cool and collected, trailed after. He cleared his throat and spoke up.
“I just really don’t want to impose, Angel.” The tone changed and her body locked, turning to question it before her mother replied at reception first.
“Impose?” Mona blinked, snapping a book shut.
“I-”
“Your daughter kindly invited me to dinner, I figured it was too short notice for her lovely mother." Billy made a thing of it to sigh with longing. "Any other day, I’d-”
Evie's entire face scrunched at him. Cheeks red like strawberries when her jaw set.
“Oh, no! You’re always welcome. We’re having Swedish meatballs. Easy thing to whip up. I always make so much extra, don’t I, Evie?”
Evie Fenny hated Billy Hargrove. Officially and totally. Hated his smug little face.
Her tongue clicked at him.
“Mm hm.”
Billy only smiled, winking. Too easy.
“What a wonderful idea to invite him, baby. I’m going to be headed home soon. We might have a late meal. Is eight alright for you?” Mona tucked Evie’s curls behind her ear and flashed a hundred watt grin.
“Eight is perfect, Ms. Fenny.” Billy charmed the entire room. Except the painted, plush storm cloud in front of him. “I also have to say, has anyone ever told you that you look like a brunette Dolly Parton?”
The woman about squealed at him.
“You know, I get it sometimes.” She touched her collar with one hand and pushed at him. “Does your family want to come over for dinner?”
“Unfortunately, no. My dad is taking Susan out. You know, date night. Max is spending the night at a friend’s house. Police Chief’s new kid. So, I’m all alone tonight.”
“Well, not anymore, come over and I’ll get you fed. My door is always open, Billy.” Mona tapped his chin. “Eight o’clock sharp.”
“I’ll be there.” He turned to Evie. Speechless. Voice lowered as he leaned in to brush one knuckle along her jawline. “And I’ll be seeing you, Angel.”
Billy seemed to linger for her to say something more, finger curling into unruly locks.
"To the devil." She uttered with pointed brown eyes. Unable to leave him.
The curl bounced back into place. Billy heard her lungs sputter with need and bit his lip, sly. A final wink just for Evie.
One bell and he was gone.
“Mom.” Evie broke to moan and pull herself back together, following. “Why?”
“Why, what? Let the boy come over for dinner.” She plucked up a comb to put some finishing touches on a woman’s hairdo, nodding to her stylist.
“He’s trouble, you know about him. The whole town does.”
“Sweetheart, we’re always going to be hospitable. Especially to troubled souls. It’s what Dolly and the Bible would have wanted.” That was always Mona's sound advice.
“Christ.”
“Evangeline.” Mona shot her a look. Fussed. “Do not take that tone with the Lord, young lady.”
“I’m sorry, just,” she blew air out her lips and whined, “I can’t stand him.”
“Seemed awful cozy out there or have I gone blind now? All the smiles and nicknames.”
Evie bit her tongue at that because there was plenty Mona chose not to see.
“Billy does that, he tricks you and then steps on you because it’s a game to him.”
“Maybe he’s trying to do better. I know he gotten into some trouble, but what do I always tell you?”
Evie crossed her arms tight, hip cocked. Monotone.
“You’d tell me Dolly would want us to see the light of a clear blue morning.”
“And has Dolly ever steered me wrong?” Mona pointed with the comb before she fluffed the locks up. “Perfect, go ahead and finish this. Good work, dear.”
“Thanks, Miss Mona.” A new hire moved to finish, pushing large glasses up her nose. Mona went around them and Evie followed.
“I know, I know. Be brave and kind. Honest and always open your heart. Blah. I’ll be civil if he is.”
“Oh honey, let a boy be nice to you once in awhile. You might like it.”
“Pssh. Find me one first.” Evie passed her mom to get her bag. “They only get nice when they’re older and mature.”
“I wouldn’t always bet on that, baby.” Mona replied softer than intended. “Cruelty takes so many forms, that’s how it seeps into our lives so easily. It’s a comfort.”
Evie didn’t find something to argue with there. Just watched her mother’s back tense.
Let the words flutter like silken petals on the wind.
To the damn devil.
~~~~~~~
Thanks everyone xoxo! Askbox is open. TAGGED:: @80sbxtch @nottherightseason @orxhidshavana @alagalaska @alongcamedolly
#billy hargrove#Billy hargrove x oc#Billy Hargrove imagine#billy hargrove fanfiction#billy hargrove fic#Billy x angel#writing#SOMY#mine#Angel Fenny
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Denim, brass, mauve. 😃
Denim: Kill the spider or leave it outside
I’d just leave it be. I live in a really old house where we leave the windows and doors open during the warm months, since we don’t need air conditioner most of the time...spiders just seem to hang out in dark corners, killing mosquitoes and flies, so they can live here rent free.
Brass: Least favorite food condiment
This is hard, because I love condiments.I hardly eat anything without putting some kind of condiment on it (pickles, mustard, horseradish, hot sauce, salsa...)
If I had to pick, I guess ranch dressing. I prefer things spicy or vinegary.
Mauve: Any unpopular opinions
I don’t know...first thing that comes to mind is (and I’m not sure if its unpopular or not) that Ed Sheeran is the epitome of “mediocre white dude getting way too many accolades and way too much money for real half-assed song-writing”.
He just oozes sexist Nice GuyTM vibes and my eleven year old niece comes up with more inspired lyrics when she’s messing around at the dinner table, than any of his reductive drivel.
Thanks for the ask @agentrouka-blog
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Versace on the floor
this is my veeery overdue entry to @queens-n-roses 2k challenge! congrats dear 🖤 you truly deserve it!!
before we’ll get to it, I wanted to apologise for my recent lack of new content. I’ve had a lot of trouble passing last semester and I think I’m still trying to figure out how to cope with the aftermaths of it all. hopefully it’ll change soon though.
ANYWAY - this one is inspired by Versace On The Floor by Bruno Mars (listening and/or checking out the lyrics is very recommended here). The dress that I had in mind as I was writing, is Atelier Versace, Fall 1995 (as pictured above). Could be read as both Roger and BoRhap Roger, it’s all up to you loves❣️though not gonna lie, that I had late 70′s Roger in mind 👀👀👀
word count: 3,154 (yeah.jpg)
WARNINGS: SMUT (fingering, edging, just the regular), and some swearing; do not read if you’re under 18 please!!!
~~~~~
Funny how the right dress can make one feel so bold, so unstoppable, so desired. And that’s the way you were feeling that night.
You were looking and feeling like absolute goddess.
How did Roger got it last minute for you remained a mystery, but you were in no way complaining.
How could you. It’s Versace after all.
“You ready?” you heard him yell from the hall as you examined yourself in the mirror.
The gown was utterly mesmerising.
Essentially it was made from thousands strings of diamonds sewn on by hand one next to the other, thicker around the chest but more even as it went further down, leaving just a little to imagination. Tight around your torso, yet descending loosely at the length of your legs. Perfect in every detail. As if it was taken out of your dreams.
As for the accessories, you opted for simple beige ankle strap stilettos - something that wouldn’t cause distraction from your breathtaking gown but would still look great. You were wearing your hair loose, in smooth waves to add a bit of old-age Hollywood chic. For makeup, you focused on giving special attention to your eyes with thick, cat winged eyeliner in addition to matte lipstick in a shade of deep mauve. And a dash of silvery highlighter on your cheekbones.
Again - simple and sexy. Perfect for your well planned party outfit.
Your gaze fell to the corner of your bed where your fur coat was laid out waiting to add final touch of glamour to the look. It was your most favourite one. Roger bought it somewhere during the tour as a gift for you, and you cherished it like your greatest treasure since. That is, until you’ve found the sparkly Versace dress hanging in the middle of your wardrobe 2 hours ago and immediately fell in love.
You let yourself drown in the folds of your fur, before spraying some perfume on your neck.
Chilly feeling of the liquid running down your chest to the valley between your breasts sent a shiver down your spine. Tonight was about to be great and you could already feel it.
Holding your favourite clutch bag close, you stepped out of the room, closing the door behind you. Turning on your heels, you head to the stairs before joining Roger in the hall where he was all dressed up and waiting. Upon hearing your steps he came to see you.
Of course he was impatient. When he first had seen the dress in the window display, he was convinced that he had to get it for his girl.
What he was seeing completely took his breath away.
In the warm light from chandelier above, you looked like a piece of art, like a shining crystal. His adam’s apple bobbed uncontrollably which you did not miss as you looked down from the top of the stairs.
You’ve never been overly insecure, only given a good reason to, one being surrounded by women of elite level of beauty. But that wasn’t happening tonight, because now you were feeling utterly divine. The only thing missing was a crown, but who needed that ridiculous emblem when you’re living with Roger goddamn Taylor of Queen.
“Fuck, doll.” you heard him mutter under his breath, raspiness of his voice making it sound more like a bold statement. “You look like-“
“A dream?”
“Fuck if only.”
You were almost sliding off the stairs at this point, making your moves as feline and slow as possible, only prolonging his suffering. By the time you stepped on the last step, his leather trousers became painfully tight and his mouth pretty much watered. What a sight it was to watch him so out words to say. The sparkly outfit fitted you so well it nearly looked as if it blended into your skin. You truly were a walking jewel, gleaming with your every motion. The things you did to him by simply looking like that made you feel even more fierce, vain even.
You felt his arms sneak expertly underneath your soft fur before tugging you closer to him, closing the distance between the two of you just enough to feel his hot breath on your neck. Your hips met his own in a sharp crash of bodies but he didn’t stop there. He glanced down again, admiring you all the way from your toes, through your ankles and up your legs, stopping just for a second to let out a dreamy sigh upon seeing nude, lace panties you were wearing underneath the semi see-through material of your dress. With a sharp and a bit exaggerated intake of air, his eyes continued to wander further up, feeding your growing vanity.
The images of what he wanted to do to you, matched his desperate touches. His fingers were cold in comparison to your fur heated body as he dug them into your skin, making you gasp.
“You really are a dream. Wet one if you’d ask me.” You chuckled at his exclamation, placing a hand on his neck, your nails scratching lightly and leaving pinkish marks on his already flushed skin.
“Roger Taylor, do I look like your wet dream?” you teased tilting your head. Your neck looked so inviting, as if it was made for leaving bite marks. Skin gleaming with peachy like glow both from the light of chandelier above you, and the way it worked with diamonds of your dress.
“Like wet dream coming true, love. Twirl around for me.” And you did as you were told, making your hair fly up a little, mussing it ever so slightly. Roger’s hands didn’t leave your sides the entire time, only lowered to the level of your hips to slide smoothly over your bum while you were turning on your heels.
“Maybe we should just call it a day and stay at home instead, huh?”
“Roger!”
“What?” You sighed trying to get out of his grasp, but his grip tightened bringing you even closer, signalling you how hard he’s gotten.
“All this dressing up for nothing?”
“Not for nothing darling.” He whispered in your ear, his breath sending pleasant sensation down your neck and shoulders, as he began to slowly expose your front. Hand moving to the small of your back, the other sliding the fur coat off your shoulder. Peppering every newly exposed inch of skin with hot, open mouthed kisses, he hasn’t given you a slightest chance to shiver with coolness coming from the half-open balcony doors.
His clever fingers made their way up your spine to the top of the zipper while continuing to work on your neck and cleavage, earning a series of involuntary moans. Just as he began to pull it down, your hand shot up to his neck, yanking by his hair in a state of sugary-sweet oblivion. Groan escaped his lips and he nipped more harshly at the skin on your collarbone, leaving reddish marks to cover up later. The zip came to an end right above the curve of your ass, and he had to fight the urge to let his hands wander further down. He had better plans in mind.
Slowly, in so Roger-like torturous manner, he slid the coat off completely, your hand bag hitting the floor with a loud thud before disappearing underneath the folds of fur. Though you really couldn’t care less. You were gradually loosing yourself in his firm yet lingering touches, his tempting words of pure affection, his seductive voice and gaze that could easily burn you alive if you’d only allow him to. Yes, you were a queen, but he could never give away the sheer exhilaration of having you so melted under mere touch of his fingertips.
Being in control was his forte, and the chances that he’d let such opportunity slide were close to none.
“Rog...” you almost begged through breathy series of sighs. “S-stop teasing.”
He only chuckled to place few more wet kisses along your jaw before locking your eyes with his own. The smug on his face was more than evident. Eyes hooded, he admired his work which consisted of your rosy cheeks, a bit smudged lipstick, parted lips, pleading gaze and deliquescent form. You were no longer a walking diamond. Now, you were melting, and one could say that you were the one persuading the other to stay in.
“God, I love that dress.” His grip on your waist loosened, fingers tracing up and down your sides. “But you won’t need it anymore.”
You bit your lip in anticipation, your own fingers coming to rest on his chest. You all but touched the bare skin underneath it, sneaking your fingers between the buttons, but he grabbed your wrist. Inching closer to let his words affect you even more, he spoke again.
“Take it off princess. Take it off for me.”
You took a sharp breath, your gaze suddenly dropping to the ground as he leaned away ever so slightly to give you more space. The expression on your face didn’t go unnoticed to Roger. The shameless rouge of your cheeks turned into bright red blush against the fading shade of your face.
„Hey, hey! Eyes on me.” Roger brought his index finger underneath your jaw in an attempt to regain your attention. All of sudden your previous confidence was gone and replaced by slight feeling of insecurity, so unexpected in such circumstances. “You’re beautiful in it, not because of it, okay? I’ve seen all of you already, and everything’s perfect. Versace or no Versace.” he exclaimed rubbing your cheek with his thumb. His stare was unavoidable and slowly, the concern filled look on your face softened as you noticed his genuine smile. “That’s my girl.”
Finally relaxing with lips pursed together, you put your hands behind your own back. As you slid off one strap, Roger figured out a better backdrop for what was about to come and led you by the hand to the end of a sofa.
“Wait here.”
“Roger where are you going?”
“Wait!” he repeated dismissing you with a raise of his hand before backing to the other room. You overheard him swear a couple times as sounds of desperate rummaging in the cupboards grew louder, until you could make out a content “finally” and he was back with a few candles. Within a matter of seconds he lit up the candles, switched the light off and jumped back onto the piece of furniture in front of your amazed form, waiting eagerly for you to continue.
“Don’t mind me.” he all but whispered as he propped on his elbows and leaned head on the back of the couch, legs spreading wide apart and grin plastered all over his features, accentuating wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. You rolled your eyes but smiled nevertheless. Biting your lip suggestively, you let your hands return to the business. While your fingers skimmed over your shoulders torturously, his eyes didn’t leave your figure. He didn’t stop watching even when he struggled to get out pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his jacket. Smoke filled your vision as eyed you from underneath his thick eyelashes. He was getting visibly charged, stare full of lust and longing. And it only motivated you to keep the game going.
As the first strap was down, the other instantly following, you found yourself unhurriedly scooting the material off, careful not to ruin the dress. Your hips leisurely swaying as if to help your actions, but both of you knew that wasn’t the reason. You wanted him on the edge.
And he was, his hips shifting impatiently in the seat, drags of cigarette smoke more abrupt with every passing minute. So when you leaned forward, your nipples hardened from crisp of the night air, and licked your top lip, hands continuously sliding the dress further down your hips, he could barely contain himself before he’d throw the fag on the floor and pull you onto his lap. Fumbling with his belt buckle, he swallowed hard almost choking on remains of his cigarette. Now it was you watching him trying get out off his unfortunate choice of pants to stroke his already painfully hard cock. You let out a moan yourself at the sight of him groaning with eyes shut closed, fingers sliding up and down his length with ease thanks to fair amount of precum.
„Stop staring and c’mere.” you didn’t even realize how long you’ve been standing in your underwear only, since gown seemingly had slid off completely some time ago. Roger was peering at you from his semi-laying position opposite you, movements of his hand getting more sluggish. You could only obey as he put the cigarette on coffee table, and held out a hand for you to take it. Straddling him you let your hands rest atop of his chest before starting to unbutton the silky-like shirt. Meanwhile he continued trying to get himself ready, groans leaving his lips every now and then. You only unbuttoned the last button and he was already shrugging both the shirt and jacket off his shoulders to rapidly grab you by your hips, closing the space between your bodies with a heated kiss. You gasped into his mouth feeling his cock pressing to your clothed centre, thin fabric of your knickers now far too impermeable for your liking.
Roger sensed your needs and moved stripe to the side to slide two fingers inside your aching core. It was nearly too much after being teased for so long, and your back arched in pleasure. You’ve felt your inner muscles tense when he added some pressure to your swollen clit with his thumb. Your mouth fell open to let out a breathless moan. Roger watched you in complete awe as you unraveled on his lap, while all he did was use his digits. He was absolutely fired up then, stroking his aching cock as you continued fucking yourself on his fingers. But that’s not how that would go, no. In a brisk, you felt empty again as he switched hands on his shaft to jerk himself off more. Coating his member with your hot juices, he let out a throaty moan.
„Tosser.” his closed eyes shot up at your exclamation. You had your arms crossed over your chest and pouted. “That’s not really fair, y’know.”
His toothy grin widened in the dark before he bit his bottom lip. He was truly enjoying himself.
„Ride me.”
„What was that?”
„Ride me like you mean it.” you examined his face for signs of hoaxing but found none. He was dead serious, his eyes flickering with lust in the dim light of candles. You licked your lips again, teeth grazing over your bottom lip and stood up to discard the damp piece of underwear you should’ve lost long ago. Stepping forward, you left your stilettos on the floor next to your panties and knelt, placing your hands on either side of his head on the back of the sofa. Nails scraped at the suede material in a shade of dark chocolate and Roger shivered before swallowing, his eyes wide like marbles, only darker, like sapphires.
Slowly, Roger impatiently guiding his member, you sunk down onto him, pleasant feeling of fullness sweeping over you. The skin on your neck streched so much one could count all the veins, as you threw your head back in ecstasy.
Roger tensed under your weight and let out a guttural moan. His hands shot up to your hips, forcing you to move.
“J-just like that. Doing so well.”
You set up a steady pace but with every passing second your moves were becoming more greedy, more eager. You closed your eyes, focusing on the bare pleasure. Roger’s grip on your sides loosened to eventually disappear, though you were too engrossed in your own actions to care. Hearing a familiar noise you looked down to find Roger lighting up another cigarette, like it was nothing. Upon seeing your frown he muttered a quick “Please continue.” before he took a deep drag. As if to motivate you, his thumb found its way back to your clit. A cloud of smoke was blown in your direction as your thighs shook with a shock of pleasure coming from between your legs. Now you really were riding him, your knuckles whitened from grasping at the sofa and breaths short while you jumped up and down his shaft, almost slipping off a few times in the process.
Your movements were hectic, insatiable even. Roger’s thumb was continuously rubbing circles around your throbbing point, puffs of smoke making the whole image appear even more elated, in otherworldly kind of way. He was motivated to make you come, and it didn’t take you long until your walls were clenching, wettness dripping down onto his lap. He was close, the cigarette suddenly bothering him enough to throw it somewhere on the floorboards. You felt him shudder.
But you could no longer hold back a deep moan that left your mouth, stopping you mid movement. Pure bliss covered your vision and your hands moved down to Roger’s chest, leaving reddened trails in the process.
Your eyelashes were like a curtain, falling quickly after the show, hiding your onyx-like, dark, dilated pupils. All you could hear was Roger’s breathless praises and the blood thumping loudly in your ears. He sat up and you could feel his hips snap up with such force to meet his approaching orgasm. Holding you close, his hands travelling down your bare back, small beads of sweat running down his hairline and forehead. He started kissing and nibbling down your chest fiercely. And then he came, biting on your nipple, greedy hands tangled in your hair, mouth opening as he spurted his hot cum on your senstive walls. His body trembled as he emptied himself completely, his seed mixed with your own cum pouring onto his trousers. Your muscles finally begun to relax, but you stayed in his arms nevertheless, both too tired and content to do so.
He kissed your shoulder tenderly, only now noticing the purple mess he’s made of your skin. Not that he was ashamed of course. He always enjoyed seeing you trying - and failing, to cover his lovemarks.
“Mine.” He breathed, fingers tracing lazy circles on your back as your head rested in the crook of his neck. You extended your arm to place your hand on his cheek lovingly. Roger’s blues returned to yours with a soft smirk and he placed a kiss to the inside of your palm, following by a series of pecks on each of your fingertips.
“Still regret staying in?” He teased earning a huff from you.
“So t’was all? I thought you’ve had more in you.”
His chest vibrated with a laugh.
“All snotty now, aye? Don’t worry, we just getting started love.”
~~~~~
oooof, hope it’s not as bad as I thought
Comments, ideas and words of notice are always appreciated 💜 lmk if you’d like to be on/off the general Roger taglist 🙌🏻
taglist: @rogersdrumkit @rogersfalsettos @erinhardytaylor @cyborgfromthesupermarket @sabbrriiinnaa @wolverinesbeer @simplyvictoria-93 @laubluered @ceruleanrainblues @shae-is-not-ok @i-am-sarah @imamazzellhoe @shishterfackisback @rogerstambourinee @rockyroadthepastryarchy @tanya-is-dead @twistingrealityagain
#qnr2kchallenge#roger taylor x reader#roger taylor#roger taylor x you#roger taylor fic#roger taylor fanfic#roger taylor smut#borhap#queen fanfiction#queen fic#roger meddows taylor#full fic
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OC Tag Game
I was tagged by @inexorableblob !! Thanks this was fun!
I don’t think I ever properly introduced my oc’s on here so I’ll briefly talk about them. In my story I’ll Learn Beside You, Alright? On ao3 there are two main characters: Rory and Marilyn. In a tododeku oneshot I’m currently working on (as of right night now I plan on the title being Home After Rain),the story is in the perspective of Tomoe Nakajima. And to sum up their personalities in a few words:
Rory (age: 19)- quiet, easily tense, dainty, blank-faced, reserved
Marilyn (age:18)- chatty, overachiever, intense, but friendly, jumpy
Tomoe (age: 14)- noisy, immature, calm if not a little short tempered, caring
1. If you could go to one of your oc’s bachelor/bachelorette party, which would you choose (also: who would have the wildest one???)
I would go to Rory’s. I trust her to not do anything too crazy. We’d probably just watch movies with premium snacks and if I got overwhelmed and decided to sit alone in the corner for a bit she wouldn’t judge me.
2. What’s your favorite time of day to write?
The morning! My brain always feels nice and refreshed in the morning and it really helps me with sitting down and writing. I’ll also write at night sometimes. Never midday unless it’s a continuation from my morning writing heh.
3. What’s your favourite ship in your WIP? (platonic or romantic, I get ya)
Well I mean I’ll Learn Beside You is a love story between Rory and Marilyn. There aren’t any major characters that are the same age as Tomoe (Todoroki and Midoriya are aged up in the fic), so she doesn’t really have any possible romantic ships. I really like her friendship with Todoroki though :).
4. How far are you into your WIP?
I’d say I’m about a quarter done with I’ll Learn Beside You. I’m a little less than halfway done with the tododeku oneshot.
5. If you were stuck in a broken elevator for twelve hours, which oc would you choose to be stuck in there with you? (note: you have to be in there for the twelve hours!!! no houdini escape!!!)
Tomoe. We’d try to beat out some song tunes on the elevator walls and have meaningless discourse together. It would be great.
6. What’s your favourite colour?
Mauve. Especially when it has a pink tint. It's *Chef kiss* beautiful.
7. Where would one of your oc’s propose to the other? (if this question isn’t up your alley, replace “propose to” with “surprise attack hug”)
Hmm. I think it depends on who would be proposing. Marilyn would take into account Rory’s hermit-like tendencies and propose when they’re home, maybe a movie night. She’d have it spelled out in the snacks somewhere. However I think it would be more likely for Rory to propose. Marilyn would question herself for too long. Rory would probably propose in the form of some eloquent joke or puzzle. They’d spend the rest of the day laughing and coming up with crazy hypothetical wedding plans.
8. Which oc is most like you?
I think I have an interesting answer for this one! So Rory is definitely the oc most like me. A lot her conflicts as a college freshman are inspired by my own. However Tomoe’s character is similar to how I was in my early teen years. I tend to have main characters I can project onto in some way.
9. Do you prefer writing with ambient noise, music (if so, with or without lyrics), or in silence?
It changes! When I listen to music it almost always has to be without lyrics. However I spend a lot of time listening to lyricless music outside of writing as well. When I listen to ambient noise it’s normally more chaotic like a cafe shop or public transit or something. Rainforests won’t do it for me. Something I’ve noticed about myself is that it’s typically after like 30 minutes to an hour that I’ll turn off the music or ambient noise and let myself write in silence.
10. If you suddenly got the power of teleportation, where in the world would you go first?
Into space so I’d die. No I’m kidding I’d go to Japan. Standard weeb answer I know.
Tagging @scottish-hellhound ,@storyteller-kaelo ,@sundaynightnovels , @thedrowningtsarevna , @fillytoria
Reply or ignore if you’d like. ♡( ◡‿◡ )
#im pretty late late with this one heh#im very sick right now#this was a nice distraction#Ask games#i just realized how stupid it was to say you need no coordination to play soccer#ocs
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BACKSTAGE BENEFITS by LaQuette (Excerpt)
Synopsis:
When show business leads to secret pleasures, how can they resist in this Devereaux Inc. novel by LaQuette.Their daytime partnership sets the night on fire. Who said they can’t have it all? Lyric Smith didn’t become the nation’s most successful lifestyle guru by losing focus. Yet Josiah Manning, daytime television’s hottest—and sexiest—young Black producer makes her do just that. Publicly, Josiah wants Lyric to star in a new talk show. Privately, he’s headlining her sexiest fantasies. But when their explosive chemistry leads to complications instead of contracts, will Lyric find the ultimate partner to help her crush her rivals…or exit stage left alone?
The Author:
About LaQuette:An activist for DEIA in the romance industry, LaQuette writes bold stories featuring multicultural characters. Her writing style brings intellect to the drama. She crafts emotionally epic tales that are deeply pigmented by reality's paintbrush. This Brooklyn native's novels are a unique mix of savvy, sarcastic, brazen, & unapologetically sexy characters who are confident in their right to appear on the page.
Find her at LaQuette.com & at [email protected].
Buy Link:
Amazon:https://www.amazon.com/Backstage-Benefits-Devereaux-Inc-2/dp/133573533X/ref=tmm_mmp_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1637071199&sr=8-1
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/backstage-benefits-laquette/1139481805?ean=9781335735331
Harlequin.com: https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9781335735331_backstage-benefits.html
EXCERPT:
“Are you okay?”
She seemed slightly dazed, and he couldn’t tell if it was because his hand was still lingering on her arm. He was a perfect stranger, and just because he was boys with her play cousin Jeremiah didn’t mean he had a right to touch her or barge his way all up in her mix.
He dragged his hand away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”
Josiah let his hungry gaze slide down her body, then brought it back up to meet hers. “If this is a hot mess,
then I don’t think the world is ready for when you get glammed up. You’re breathtaking.”
She nodded, smiling playfully as her laughter filled the cozy space between them. “You are a charmer, aren’t you? I bet all the Hollywood starlets fall at your feet when you pay them those kinds of compliments.”
He lifted a brow and pursed his lips. “You’d be wrong. I don’t pay compliments easily. And trust me, there’s no one in Hollywood that looks like you, so no, I’m not usually this charming.”
He could see the brown of her cheeks burn into a deep mauve as she blushed. “Then thank you,” she re¬sponded. “And on that flattering note, I’m gonna call a car and head home.”
“Call a car?” His question stopped her mid-turn. “You didn’t come in your own?”
“No, my cousin Amara and I had business earlier, and I hitched a ride with her. But as the family lawyer, there’s no way she can leave now.”
“Then let me take you home.”
Her cute smile as she dipped her gaze and blushed again tore down all his defenses. As a producer, he was around beautiful women all the time. But none of them disarmed him the way Lyric did.
“Is ‘take me home’ just an offer of transportation or a euphemism for sleeping with me?”
Pump your brakes, man.
He wasn’t thinking with his head at the moment, so he simply said, “Whichever you want it to be.”
He braced himself for the slap he knew he deserved. But it never came. Instead, she stepped closer to him, filling his senses with the light fragrance of citrus and coconut she wore.
“Take me home, and I’ll use the duration of the trip to decide.”
Well, I’ll be damned.
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I was tagged by Kally @garglyswoof
Rules: Write the first 10 songs that come up on shuffle (no skipping) and quote your favourite lyrics from each song, then tag 10 people.
1. Never can say goodbye - Jackson 5
And there’s that anguish, there’s that doubt
It’s the same old dizzy hang up
Can’t do with or without you
2. Follow me - Talisco
I imagine what I could do for you
I’m insane, I’m in pain, I’m in love with you
3. First love never dies - Soko
Long time no see
Long time wondering
What you were doing
Who you were seeing
I wish I could go back to it
4. Adeline - Alt-J
Down in Tasmania
Where the devil’s jaws are far too weak
To tear you away
5. House of cards - Radiohead
Forget about your house of cards
And I’ll do mine
(fun fact, if you understand French, “I’ll do mine” sounds like “à demain”)
6. Rendez-nous la lumière - Dominique A
On voit des fumées hautes
Des nuages possédés
Des pluies orange et mauve
Donnant d'affreux baisers
(such a beautiful song, Dominique A is an amazing writer)
7. Je suis - Big Flo & Oli
Je suis une saveur cinq étoiles ou bien le gras d'un kebab
Les flemmards, les couche-tard, les lève-tôt, les râleurs, les regards dans l'métro
8. Det kommer aldrig va över för mig - Håkan Hellström
Som en orkan kan jag svepa bort dig
Men jag tänker aldrig dö, nej
Det kommer aldrig va över för mig
(I totally had to check the translation lol)
9. My sweet wild love - First Aid Kit
Will I know what this all means?
When we’re a hazy memory
With all the colors of a dream
My wild sweet love
My wild sweet love
10. Le grand amour - Albin de la Simone
Affolé par l'épouvantail
De quelle erreur monumentale
L'amour, le vrai, le beau
S'était barré au galop
tagging: @firefeufuego @lyresandlasers @morganight @padmcdala
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sound for Grantaire, sight for Prouvaire, taste for Enjolras
FINALLY GETTING AROUND TO THESE. *cheers* Sorry it took so long!
(If anyone else wants to send me any, here they are!)
Sound for Grantaire
What’s their taste in music? / (If applicable) What would their taste in music be in a here-and-now AU?
Eclectic. If it has a good hard beat, he’s probably there. If it has a raw, grunge kind of sound, he’s there, too. If he can headbang to it, he’s definitely there. (It should probably be noted that Grantaire can and has done this even with classical music.) Lyrics, instrumental, traditional, barely music at all, it doesn’t really matter. If it can drown out the nonsense in his head, that’s all he needs.
On the total opposite end of the scale, though, I also have a very soft spot for the idea Grantaire loving jazz music. Because when he’s not trying to drown out the nonsense in his head, he’s desperate for any way he can find to lance and drain it… and jazz and the blues are perfect for that.
Can they sing? Do they sing? (Two different questions!)
Does he sing? If he’s drunk enough… most definitely. ;D CAN he sing? That depends on the fic ‘verse. *eg* Seriously, though, I generally picture him as having a serviceable enough voice; he can carry a tune, but he’s not going to win any singing competitions. Odds are, it would have been a better voice, but he ruined it somewhat with booze and either cigarettes of his own or too much secondhand smoke from bars. (In Muet ‘verse, though, because that’s a special case, he was a jazz singer/musician. And, as you know, he, uh… isn’t anymore. *eg*)
Can/do they play any instruments?
My headcanons on that one vary. In the headcanons where he’s a jazz musician, he plays a few–blues guitar, harmonica, piano, maybe a little saxophone, too. In other headcanons, I’d say he probably dabbled in quite a few; maybe he was seduced by the image of himself as a cool, suave guitar player or a piano man in a bar or a wild man drummer… but those were fantasies, not realities. He learned enough of each to realize how much work he’d have to put in to actually BE good at them and just kind of… stopped. No confidence. But he will whip out that harmonica from time to time and surprise people with what he CAN do, or he’ll sit down at one of those pianos in the park and play a tune that’s maybe a little simple, but sounds anything but.
Dance?
Well, canonically, yes, right? ^_~ Seriously, though, I generally picture Grantaire as one of those people who is always VERY aware of where his body is. He’s so used to thinking of himself as a clumsy, boorish oaf, that he goes out of his way to not BE in the way. He makes himself small; he shrinks away from physical contact unless he knows it’s welcome. But he hates it. He hates feeling that self-conscious and alcohol makes him brave. So, when he drinks he’s freer with his movements and that spatial awareness combined with that bit of bravery… dancing is one of those things he really is good at. When he can bring himself to do it.
Sight for Prouvaire (OK, so referring to him as “Prouvaire” usually sends me straight to a Muet place in my head, but I”m going to play this straight for a change.)
What’s their favorite color?
MULTICOLOR. AS MANY AS HE CAN FIT IN ONE OUTFIT. Really, though, he doesn’t have a preference. He loves colors. He loves bright colors and muted colors, neutrals and pastels, stark black and white. He’s hardly ever met a color he doesn’t like. But if he had to pick a favorite, he’d tell you ‘mauve.’ Not because he especially loves the color, but because he loves the name. It feels dark and heavy and falls off his tongue like stone. He can’t get enough of it.
Do they have any art on their bedroom walls?
…you could call it that, yes.
When he gets into a writing fever, especially one brought on by melancholy, he tends to fall off the paper he’s writing on. He’ll end up writing on the desk, on his arms and legs, on his friends, on the walls–wherever it feels right to put the words. And when he’s filled up his walls, he has Bahorel and Feuilly over for a painting party to cover them over, giving himself a fresh new canvas to write on. The words are still there, though, and will be there long after he is gone–invisible and forgotten, but still there–and he takes comfort from that.
(If applicable) What would their fashion sense be like if they weren’t limited by money, uniform regulations, animation budget, etc.?
*slightly hysterical laughter* I think… I think I’m going to answer you this way, because I have a feeling that it’s not only an apt description of how Prouvaire would dress, but that it’s one you’ll appreciate… ;D
“Do you know what they call me in the ancient legends of the Dalek homeworld? ‘The Oncoming Storm’. You may have removed all your emotions, but I bet that deep down in your DNA there’s one spark left, and that’s fear. Doesn’t it just burn when you face me?”
Taste for Enjolras
What’s their favorite food?
This is one of my few actually consistent headcanons across fic ‘verses – Enjolras is a salty food junkie. If it’s salty and greasy he’s there a million times over. Fried pickles? French fries? Nachos? Grilled cheese? Mozzarella sticks? GIVE IT OVER.
How are they at cooking? Do they enjoy it?
He’s… passable. -.-;;; He’s not going to poison himself if he has to cook himself a meal, but he doesn’t really enjoy cooking for its own sake. If Courfeyrac is preparing a meal, though, you can usually find Enjolras in the kitchen with him, helping out in whatever way Courfeyrac will direct him to, and looking on with awed admiration. Secretly he loves those moments they spend together in the kitchen preparing food. Partly it’s because he knows how much Courfeyrac enjoys cooking (and how much he specifically enjoys cooking for his friends), and partly it’s because it’s such a small thing he can do to make Courfeyrac happy, and partly it’s because he secretly loves having his friend all to himself like this. This is their thing and it has been since they were young, and Enjolras wouldn’t change those quiet moments with Courfeyrac for anything.
What’s their coffee order?
Enjolras usually stops in at whatever random place he can get something quick and cheap, anything to get him that jolt of caffeine he needs to keep going when he has a million things on his plate. As a result, he usually takes it black and strong enough to peel paint, drinking it down as quickly as he can–like medicine. When he has time to actually drink coffee to enjoy it, on the other hand… he likes his coffee drinks as froufrou as they come, and he’s particularly fond of salted caramel flavored anything.
#les miserables#grantaire#jehan#enjolras#enjolras & courfeyrac#enjolras and courfeyrac's friendship is so. fucking. important. to me#jean prouvaire#les mis headcanons#eirenical.headcanons#writing meme answers#lizardrosen#conversations through replies#aaaaaah~~~~!#this one was so much fun!!#:d#i'm very attached to quite a few of these headcanons actually#^_^#i hope you like them!#long post
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