#pretty hair sunkissed skin and the outfit!!!!
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official_theboyz: Love Paris 💚
#chanhee#the boyz#tbzinsta#pls everything about these pics!!!!#pretty hair sunkissed skin and the outfit!!!!
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The Consort's New Clothes
AN: In response to my own prompt in the BG3Kinktober23 collection.
Once again I have decided the Ascended Astarion can be soft- as a treat.
And since I have corrupted @how-masterful this is now both dedicated to her, and her birthday fic for the year (I couldn't come up with any other ideas, but I hope you still enjoy it!)
Prompt:
Assended Astarion cannot help but mark his pretty little Tav as all his. He needs to mark her with his bites, dress her up all pretty -or even better in his clothes-, and put a nice collar around her neck.
Everything to make sure everyone knows she is his.
Word Count: 1616
Warnings: smut/lemon, clothing kink, sharing a bath, vampire bites, spawn!Tav, collars, soft yandere
Description:
Getting ready together with Astarion was a common occurrence these days. He wanted the two of you to always be presentable when you left your shared chambers. Of course trying to find a suitable wardrobe for the Ascendant Vampire's Consort has been proving difficult. At this rate you'll just have to wear his clothes with a raw bite mark to show you're his.
Warm water and the sweet scent of your lover enveloped you. Wet hair clinging to his bare chest as you shifted closer, shoving your nose against his neck. Inhaling the woodsy sunkissed citrus scent that he applied so generously that it had sunk into his very skin. The little energy you could manage to muster all used up, you once again went limp in his arms. Soaking in the heat the water provided as his hands shifted to better press you possessively into his chest. Tracing little circles around the scars from his constant feeding, and subsequent transforming bite. The same spot that he always bit you, right along the crook of your neck. Somewhere that if needed could be hidden with a high collared shirt. Fortunately you had found little need to hide the sign of your connection to Astarion recently.
The rumbling purr of vibrations that you felt against your temple roused you from your almost trance.
“What do you think of this one, little love?”
Humming pleasantly at the endearment you didn’t want to open your eyes. Wanting to remain forever in this blissful cocoon of comfort. But if he wanted to hear your opinion then you would take on the burden of opening your eyes.
The spawn standing before you in the bathroom was rightfully averting her eyes from your naked forms. Glancing down her body you took in the long flowing dress, a gaudy shade of red that almost looked more burnt orange. The slit was in an awkward position on the skirt that was more on the front of the skirt than the side, raising far too high as well.
Lazily you replied back your answer to Astarion, who waited patiently for your answer.
“If this is the first one that has shown enough promise to want my opinion I don’t believe that this designer is going to live long. I’m almost insulted.”
His gleeful laugh had you rushing to look up at him. To catch the pure smile on his face, adoringly gazing at the light in his eyes.
“Oh, trust me- there have been far worse! Now go change again,” he shooed the spawn out with his dexterous hand. Calling out after them, “and tell that fool to show us something worthwhile this time!”
“I’m sure that he saved better for later, Astartion. Or at least that he will have one decent outfit.”
“Tav, you are just too sweet,” he cooed.
Tilting your chin up for a soft kiss. Lips hovering millimeters away from your own. Leaving you in anticipation until you let out a little whine. Only then did he reward you with the gentle press of his lips to your own. The creak of the door interrupted to your displeasure when it caused him to pull away. Cursing his paranoia that had led to the soft creaking of every door to your shared private chambers- so that any possible attack could be heard the moment it was attempted.
Huffing you looked back at the spawn again to see a much more appealing outfit. Ignoring the spawn’s lack of pants you looked over the stylish doublet. The shine of the clasps appealing to the part of you that enjoyed anything that glimmered. Frowning when you recognized it as obsidian.
“It’s better,” you admitted. “But I worry about the longevity of the clasps when made of obsidian.”
“Couldn’t even make a full outfit either,” Astarion growled.
The spawn trembled at his clear displeasure, terror filling their eyes as they feared being punished for the designer's faults. At your pout he took a deep breath, loosening the hands that had started to dig into your skin.
“I certainly paid them more than enough for these abominations. I expect better, I expect perfection.”
The sound of his teeth grinding together sent a chill through you.
“Next one,” you told the frozen spawn.
She gratefully obeyed your order. Almost tripping over her own feet to flee the room.
Holding Astarions face in your hands, gently rubbing his jaw. Loosening it from its tight, clenching position. Slowly his body relaxed- though his anger towards the doomed designer remained.
“How am I supposed to find a pretty outfit that shows off that everyone should be envious that you are mine from a mere glance alone, when all of these so-called designers are completely tasteless idiots! None of these outfits come close to helping to accent your beauty. I’ve looked at thirty four of his useless mockeries of clothing fit for an Ascendant Vampire’s consort, love. Thirty four!”
Starting to work himself back into his fury again with each word. Soothing him you pressed playful kisses to his jaw line, lightly nipping every time he started to clench. Once the anger receided again you guided his head to your neck. Lips pressing against the one spot that would remind him that you had a clear sign of ownership forever on your body.
“I might as well dress you in my own clothes and be done with it.”
Teasing nibbles against your neck solidified his improving mood.
Both of you turned together to look at the newest offering the spawn was dressed in.
“I actually like that one,” you quietly muttered.
“For tonight? That’s hardly good enough for tonight, when I plan to introduce you to all the new spawn I’ve created to serve us.”
“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement with him. It wasn’t good enough for introductions where it needed to be clear that you were his most treasured spawn and consort. So you justified your words with a simple, “it's cute.”
“Well if my treasured spawn likes it...”
His words tickled your skin. Fanning a desire in you for anything he would offer to you. Shivering and trembling as his fangs moved to rest against your skin, against his bite marks. The anticipation had you on the edge.
“Please.”
“Tell the designer that this creation is acceptable. He can take the rest of them back with him. “
You could feel the scrape of his teeth against your tingling skin with each carefully said word. Feeling the spawn’s presence still there, waiting to be dismissed with almost as much anticipation as you held for him to sink his teeth into you.
“And tell him that the next batch he shows us better be suitable,” the threat dripped off of every perfectly pronounced letter. “Well? I do believe that you have a message to deliver.”
The second you heard the door click closed you caved.
“Astarion, please,” you begged.
He bit down.
Rising out of the water, soft bubbles sticking to your skin. Back arching as pleasure flooded into you. There was a high pitched ringing in your ears. Wait no- that was your continuous whines as the pleasure removed all thoughts from your head.
It was bliss.
His teeth left your skin, and any sense of strength you had left with them. Astarion had to hold you up. Otherwise you were likely to melt until your body was submerged under the water.
“Feel good, my treasure,” he teased.
“Feel so-,” you slurred words halted as your breath hitched. Astarion had filled you in one smooth thrust, “so good.”
He took his time. Slowly fucking you just how he liked to when you both had just started to stir from trance in bed. Sensual, tender, lovemaking. Guiding your slowly diminishing mind into the most delicious of submissive spaces. All conscious thought fled when he filled you with his seed. You didn’t need to think, he would take care of you while your mind was on sabbatical from reality.
Lifting you out of the water was easy for him even when you weren’t intertwined. But still connected by his softening cock in your body, it was simple to carry you out of the water. Feeling something soft being rubbed against your skin. The only thing you could truly focus on while being dried off was him. Your love, your everything.
In graceful motions- only graceful from practice- he dressed himself while keeping his cock warm in your cunt. If anyone were to stumble in on you they would assume that he had been dressed the whole time. Hair still dripping he roughly toweled it as dry as he could manage to get it. Damp but for the moment no longer dripping.
His soft undershirt- the one that he had been wearing earlier that still smelled strongly of him- was pulled over your head. With gentle hands he pulled you off of his cock, helping you stand on shaky legs. Too blissful to command your legs to hold your weight. Leaning against him as he put his cock away.
You felt content.
Something was secured around your neck. Firmly tightened, but not too tight so as to cause discomfort. The cool chill of a duplication spell washed over you, looking over to your doppelganger. Looking debauched, yet carefully cared for. Hair starting to curl as it dried, soft white shirt reaching just far enough to be decent. The smallest amount of Astarion's seed dripping out onto your thigh where it could just be glimpsed. A dark collar surrounding your neck, and making the bite mark stand out even stronger against your skin. Happiness warmed the still blood within your veins. The embroidery on the collar matched Astarion’s outfit. He had to have done it himself, it was beautifully done.
He dispelled the duplicate as he spoke, leading you towards the door to head towards your introduction to all the new spawn he had recently created.
“There we are, a very nicely fucked and dressed consort. You look beautiful, darling.”
You were and looked like you were his.
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Miracu-class girls are done! It took less time than I initially anticipated, thank goodness. Let's talk re-write's and re-designs shall we?
Sabrina so freaking cute, give the girl her hat. It was probably a gift from Chloe. For her redesign I thought she would be the kind to dress in cute blouses and flowy skirts. She has tennis skirts in every color for every occasion. As for her re-write- anyone who saw how I changed Chloe probably will guess that their dynamic is drastically changes as well.
Sabrina met Chloe when they were in their tween years, Officer Roger having worked security for the Bourgeois on multiple occasions. One day he had to bring his daughter into work and Chloe found her wandering the halls. When a kidnapper tried to abduct Chloe, Sabrina sprayed him with pepper spray her father gave her and then kicked him in the dick for good measure. Chloe then declared that Sabrina should be her full-time body guard, and she technically is being paid to hang out with Chloe. But Sabrina would have done it with or without the money since Chloe is actually very endearing once you figure out how she works.
Alix is next! Alix's violently pink hair could not be ignored, so I kept it (albeit a little less saturated) Also she is in fact still short. Her outfits are probably all variations of sports gear unless she has an event to attend at the museum. I also tanned her up since I imagine she spends a lot of time outside, girl is sunburnt. She is actually a year ahead in history, having gotten too bored with junior level classes. So she's friends with some of the seniors too. I won't get into Bunnix anytime soon but- let's just say it's a lot more tragic than cannon would ever admit. The rabbit's powers are changing, and Alix still has to live with that.
On a lighter note, Juleka, as stunning as ever. Tall queen. She is a year behind since her lack of participation in classes ultimately tanked her grade in several subjects. Her band director was more then happy for her to stay an extra year though, since she is trained classically as well as electrically on the bass. She may not like talking, but she has little fear of performing when the music can do the talking. Her twin brother actually graduated early, and he's working now to help pay for the band the two want to start. Her design doesn't change much from her cannon one other than the fact I switched her ripped leggings for lace ones. I imagine she actually has many outfits in this color pallet, since Chat Noir quickly becomes her favorite hero.
Mylene, okay the change I made here is pretty obvious. I debated for a long time on whether or not I change her skin tone. And when I did the line art? Wasn't planning too. But changed my mind last second, since I thought it helped the color pallet more. This would imply she is mixed, with her dad looking pretty much the same as cannon. it's hard to tell her unless you look closely but I gave her freckles that just cover every inch of her. She is Sunkissed. He character isn't super different, she is still easily startled, but she knows what she believes and will fight for it no matter what.
And finally, Rose! The lovely Rosey! The flower child! Her nonspecific illness still definitely happened, but I like to think she has actually recovered. I do not know enough about most chronic illnesses to make any sort of specification on what she has so nameless headache disease it is! She struggled a lot as a kid, but now she's planning to start a non-profit to help kids who are going through hard times of their own. She definitely still has her down days, the fact that she nearly died so young is not something she is quick to forget. But she will do whatever she can to give other people hope, sinee she knows all too well what it feels like to be hopeless.
As for her design, she had a bucket of pink upturned on her. She did have to have her hair shaved as an affect of her illness but now it's growing back faster than ever. She gets it cut every time it gets past a certain length to donate it.
Luka is next!
#miraculous ladybug#miraculous redesign#miraculous fanart#sabrina raincomprix#alix kubdel#juleka couffaine#mylene haprele#rose lavillant#akuma class#sabrina raincomprix redesign#alix kubdel redesign#juleka couffaine redesign#mylene haprele redesign#rose lavillant redesign
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For a prompt: honestly, I’d love to see more of outsider’s perspectives of Ava and Bea, like you did with the shopkeeper and her wife.
[tbh this has basically everyone u would want to see!! lol - 10k
ao3 here]
//
yasmine
camila and beatrice have been video chatting often lately, and have figured out something encouraging, you think. you try to understand everything, but it seems like, especially when jillian is on, they're speaking a whole different language. sometimes you're a little blown away by the both of them still: camila is brilliant at anything to do with technology, and kind, and funny; beatrice is brilliant at, well, just about everything, and, even though she's been working steadfastly to research how to get ava back, she still has sunkissed skin now, light hair and freckles. sometimes you see a flash of a tattoo on her wrist.
it hadn't really surprised you, to see ava lean forward while the whole entire world was ending and kiss beatrice — a little awkward, for you, but mostly achy. you haven't ever cared about sexuality, but you definitely don't when it comes to the two of them: because there's harm and then there's duty and then there's love.
one day you're sitting with camila, pretending to read more than actually reading, when beatrice facetimes. you know this because, honestly, sometimes you're a little nosy. it's fine; you helped save the world and sometimes the ocs, with incessant and constant training, gets kind of dull.
when camila answers, beatrice is crying. from what you can see, she's in a sports bra, you're pretty sure; you're scared, for a moment, that she's hurt, or that something really bad has happened, but then she's laughing and say, 'ava's here; ava's here,' and camila starts to cry.
'she's — she's okay?'
and then, a literal fucking miracle, ava's face — the same as you remember; so pretty and with a friendly smile — pops up on screen.
'holy shit,' camila says, and then she's laughing too, her eyes filling with tears. 'hi, ava.'
'hey,' ava says, then crams in next to where beatrice is sitting on the couch, practically on her lap, but you can't really begrudge them. beatrice is in a pair of sweatpants and, indeed, a sports bra; ava has, ostensibly, changed from whatever outfit she came back in, because she's wearing a big soft t-shirt and a comfortable pair of shorts. maybe that's what she wore in — wherever she was, but you're pretty certain those are beatrice's clothes. 'yasmine too, hello.'
beatrice is still crying and smiling and ava leans into her side, runs her fingers gently under her eyes to dry her tears.
'— how?' is the only thing camila gets out: are you okay?; do you remember us?; do you want to kill us now?; how long have you been gone?; are you still the ava we know?; what is going to happen to this world now? sits in your chest, but ava just shrugs.
'i heard bea, all the time.' beatrice blushes slightly, but she just tucks her face into ava's arm from a moment. 'and all of you too. but, bea, the strongest. i think it had something to do with her being in the ocean, maybe? and the city of angels.' she turns to beatrice. 'a little on the nose, don't you think?'
'oh yeah,' camila says, 'that's it, definitely the only reason.'
beatrice rolls her eyes but ava just smiles. 'and because she loves me, i suppose.' she scoots even closer to beatrice, who sighs happily. 'something just — spit me out, i guess. right in bea's living room. which, if i do say so myself, is way better than cat's cradle, no offense.'
another miracle in a series of miracles beyond belief. 'wow,' you say, and there's a beat of silence before everyone is laughing again, camila wiping tears.
'anyway, maybe you can come to us, tomorrow?' ava asks. 'i don't — i would like to stay here, if i can. if that works. at least for a few days.'
'you're — you're healed?' you can't help but ask.
ava nods. 'lots of scars,' she says, but then shrugs, and beatrice runs a gentle hand up and down her spine. 'but yeah, i'm good, as far as i can tell. not old as fuck, either, which rocks.'
'we can come tomorrow,' camila says, then starts crying all over again. 'i can't wait to see you. both of you.'
ava grins. 'yeah, don't come too early, though. i have plans.'
beatrice really blushes then, coughs into ava's shoulder.
'i will be sure to let beatrice know before coming,' camila says.
ava's smile is way too bright, all of a sudden, and beatrice groans and you kind of want to cover your ears before ava says, 'that's what i'll be doing tonight.'
'goodbye, ava,' camila says, even though she laughs. 'i love you, so much.'
ava leans into the camera, like she wants to reach through it. 'i love you too. i am — there are no words for what i feel, seeing you all again. and how much i missed you.'
'well, have fun tonight,' camila says. 'please don't tell me any details when we visit tomorrow.'
'this one time, i'll spare you.'
'thank god.'
//
keiko
you meet her on an otherwise unremarkable monday afternoon. you're running through your forms before the advanced adult class you teach, and when she walks in, you notice her immediately: muscular in a cutoff tank, in a way that's unassuming and speaks to years of training specifically in martial art, a calm expression on her face. her hair is back in a meticulously neat bun, and, when she sees the wall of bo you've spent a few years collecting, her shoulders relax and she lets out a big breath. vanessa is at the front desk and, while she's the best to go out in weho with, she's not the most knowledgable.
'hi,' you say, stepping up beside the desk. 'i'm keiko.'
she offers her hand and shakes firmly, calluses similar to yours. 'beatrice,' she says. 'pleasure.'
'can i help you with anything?'
'i'm hoping to join a dojo.'
'well,' you gesture to, in fact, the dojo behind you, 'you've come to the right place.'
she grants you a small smile.
'we have classes, all levels. would you like me to show you around?'
'that would be wonderful, thank you.'
and you had shown her around; you had sold her a monthly trial membership — a few advanced adult classes and some time for open practice — and a gi and obi — she'd calmly informed you that she's a black belt, and when she came in the next afternoon for the advanced class you teach, you had felt immediately embarrassed when she runs through forms with the kind of power and ease you had only seen a few times in your life, even at the olympics and world championships.
'that was a great class,' she says, far too kind a compliment for someone who is probably the one person you've met since you retired a few years ago who could beat you in a competition.
'you are — incredible.'
she shoulders the compliment with reluctance. 'i haven't trained in quite a while.'
'that is honestly insane.'
she laughs, after a moment. 'a much needed mental health break,' she says. 'but it felt good, to return to this, in this way.'
'do you — i saw you looking at the bo the other day,' you say, and you don't miss the way her hands twitch. 'would you like to use one? i have to clean and close up, anyway.'
she hesitates, but then, 'are you sure?'
'absolutely,' you say. 'pick any one you want; you can train over there, it's got the best view of the ocean.'
'that's very kind.' she's solemn, and a little quiet. 'thank you, keiko.'
she walks, barefoot and at home in her gi, and runs her hands gently over each bo. she picks a medium length one, black and sleek and heavier than your favorite, and then takes a deep breath and starts moving so beautifully you can't even quite follow it. it's mesmerizing, and you watch until she slows and then sets the bow on the ground and, to your surprise, sniffles. she wipes tears off her cheeks and you quickly start cleaning, granting her as much privacy as possible. she takes a deep breath and then takes the bo and walks back over to the wall.
'if i find one of my own,' she says, 'can i store it here? it's all right if not, of course.'
'you're more than welcome to do that.' you don't quite know what to say to her, the most talented martial artist you've ever seen in your life, who never competed at any events you know of, randomly in your dojo, who had just cried running through forms with a bo, small and coiled tightly. 'and, honestly, you don't have to feel like you need to come to classes. you're more than welcome, but i think you're beyond anything i would have to teach you.'
she laughs after a few seconds. 'i really did enjoy it.'
'maybe thursday we could spar? i'm here in the morning.'
she seems to weigh it, but then she nods. 'that sounds fun. thank you, keiko.'
you get to know her quickly: the way she moves and her favorite forms and the first time she throws you, you lie on your back in a little bit of shock: you haven't lost in years. she just stands calmly and offers you a hand. 'who are you?'
she just laughs.
you get to know her, as the days go along. you get lunch, one day, and you flirt with the host and the waiter — 'i love cute boys,' you say, 'what can i say?' — which amuses her.
'my partner is a flirt,' she says, but the smile slips from her face before she can stop it. she clears her throat. 'she's very sick, right now,' she says, quickly, as if to avoid your questions. 'but, still,' she says, sitting up a little straighter, gathering herself, 'a flirt.'
you learn not to ask about her partner; you learn that she surprisingly loves pepperoni pizza and beer; you learn that she's rich and lives in a beautiful house on the beach, but she's generous and lowkey, especially compared to everyone else in los angeles. she works in tech for a firm in spain — the details vague, but that's tech anyway — and, when you offer to let her teach a kids class, she smiles gently and accepts. she's patient and seems to enjoy correcting their form and teaching them kata one step at a time; she encourages them and makes sure to teach, quietly, that the goal is never, ever to harm, only to protect. she's one of your best friends, quickly, and is also impossible to beat whenever you spar. she goes out with you and your friends in weho one night, gets very drunk and turns down what feels like an entire club of women, and then tells you, on your couch at home while you give her a glass of water, that her partner’s name is ava, and that she’s kind and smart and beautiful and loves to dance. she doesn’t cry, but she curls up, small and sad; you haven’t mentioned it since.
one day, beatrice texts you, early in the morning, Hello! Ava's treatment worked, so she's back with me now, for the foreseeable future.
it's very businesslike, but she's always a stiff texter, and you know how excited she must be, how relieved.
Hopefully forever, she sends, and you know you're right.
you meet ava a few days later, hanging onto beatrice's side when she comes to the dojo after a few days off. you realize, in one flash of a moment, clear and sacred, that you really have never seen beatrice smile before — not until ava looks at her when she takes her bo off the wall with the softest expression. devotion; adoration. love. beatrice blushes and returns it, a smile in full force so powerful it knocks the air out of you slightly.
you also realize that you've never seen beatrice show off before, and you decide, right then and there, you're never sparring while ava is watching. you can lose, sure, but being humiliated is not on your to-do list. when you tell ava that, as she watches beatrice in a little bit of a daze, she just laughs. 'she's incredible.'
'yeah,' you agree as beatrice swipes the bo along the ground so hard you think she could break an ankle, then stands without a breath in between. 'she is.'
//
ray
the second time you meet ava, she's in a tiny bikini, bright orange, with a wispy gossamer coverup that you're sure beatrice bought just for her. it kind of makes you laugh, and it's barely warm enough to be out without a sweater, let alone in a bikini, but ava waves when you come in from the whitewater. bea is still waiting at the outer break, exhausted this morning for reasons that made her blush and you had laughed, delightedly.
'your girl is taking forever to catch anything today,' you say.
ava almost glows, you think, at your girl. 'we didn't get much sleep last night,' ava tells you with a wink. you grin and high five and then offer her a spot on your towel after you unzip your wetsuit and pull it down to rest along your waist.
ava is beautiful. you had wanted to know her, for months, and finally, she's here — young and so, so pretty; small and surprisingly muscular. you would never say anything, but you know she had been sick, and there are scars all over her body, puckered and angry still, shiny and pink. you know bea doesn't care, and you don't either, but ava moves a little gingerly and you fight the urge to ask if she needs help. she settles, eventually, legs stretched out in front of her and her palms behind, leaning back into the sun, face turned up toward it. she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in, then slowly lets it out.
you notice beatrice about to catch a wave, and you're happy when ava seems, like a sixth sense, to open her eyes just in time. bea is talented: balanced and strong and had learned to surf on a short board and relatively big swells quicker than anyone else you'd taught; when she’d shown you her bo one day — mostly because it was just out on her coffee table — you had been both very turned on and a little terrified. she’s the most gifted athlete you know, and so it’s no surprise when. she rides the biggest wave of the day all the way in, kissing the lip a few times, and ava sighs.
'she's so hot, jesus christ.'
'no comment.'
she laughs. 'we didn't get a ton of time together, really, before i... got sick.' she pauses, looking at beatrice collecting her board in the whitewater. 'she was scared. but now, it's like —' she shakes her head — 'i just love her so much.'
'yeah,' you say, a little teary for your friend. 'i can tell you, without a doubt, that she loves you too.'
ava grins, then stands and walks toward beatrice, who lets ava pull down the zipper of her wetsuit with gratuitous hands, a kiss to the nape of her neck, and then grabs beatrice's hand and laces their fingers together. 'wanna come over for breakfast?'
'i would — yeah,' you say, 'i would really love that.'
you step in, quickly, once ava cracks an egg so hard it goes all over the counter and beatrice only looks on in adoration.
'you're a disaster,' you tell her, but she just shrugs. ava is still in her bikini and cover up, and beatrice's hands sit on her hips while you fry some eggs and chop up vegetables to make a passable pico. she smiles into the crook of ava's neck and they make you a little breathless: a happiness that quiet; a love that big.
//
ayanna
you've been working at this coffee shop for a week now, and every morning, the hottest woman you've ever seen walks in, clearly just from the beach, and orders the same thing in a british accent that makes you want to groan. you're new to this part of los angeles, which is bougie as hell. it's mostly white influencers who order overly complicated drinks for no reason, but the pay is above minimum wage and your manager has worked with your class schedule easily enough.
plus — beatrice.
she's quiet, exceedingly polite and always tips at least twice of what her drink costs. she smiles and has freckles and you burn your hand more than once sneaking a glance at her strong arms and tattoo on her wrist and, eventually, a new one on her shoulder and collarbone that you had seen because she's decided to make your 6:42 am better by wearing a cutoff tank and shorts today.
'good morning, ayanna,' she says, and it's fucking electrifying that she knows your name, even if you have a nametag on your apron — it still counts.
'hey, beatrice. how were the waves this morning?'
she leans against the counter, just slightly, and you will yourself to keep your cool. 'how much do you know about surfing?'
'nothing, really.'
she laughs, not unkind. 'well, in that case, the outer break was far, which means i had to paddle a lot, but the waves were beautiful. can't regret it.'
'uh,' you say, super smooth, 'regular order?'
'yes,' she says, 'and can you add a chocolate croissant? oh, and an olive oil coffee cake. thank you.'
beatrice doesn't seem like the kind of person to eat a croissant and a coffee cake for breakfast, but who are you to judge: that sounds awesome, frankly. you tell her your total and she tips, like always, excessively, and then collects everything with a kind smile.
'have a great day,' she says, and you're too flustered to say anything other than an extremely eloquent, 'same.' mohammed laughs at you from where he's unpacking more to-go cups and you flip him off before you greet the next customer.
/
it's a few days later when your routine gets broken by another beautiful woman, who seems a little in awe of this stupid, trendy coffee shop, but beatrice wasn't in yesterday and it's already 7:19 and she hasn't been in today. it's not that you expect her, really, but she is the best part of your shift, so, whatever. you can have a harmless crush if you want.
'hi,' this new person says, and then reads your nametag. 'ayanna, what's up?'
your mind blanks, because you're pretty much face to face with an angel: she's small and lively and has pretty, delicate features and her hair is pushed back beneath a bright pink beanie, just at her chin. her hands, playing with a small, elegant black wallet, are delicate too. 'nothing,' you get out, 'just, you know, work.'
she smiles. 'yeah, i'm a bartender. opposite end of the day, but i get you.'
you glance down at your screen, just to have something to do other than stare. 'so, what's your order?'
she gets out her phone and reads off iced coffee with cold foam, and then locks it and inspects your pastries. 'can i get one of each? i want to try them all.'
you laugh, something fond and a little ridiculous about that, but you say, 'sure thing. what's the name?'
'ava,' she says. 'thanks.'
mohammed rolls his eyes at you while he gets the iced coffee ready and you put each pastry neatly in a to-go box, because ava is right there and you certainly hadn't needed to get her name. but whatever, she's gorgeous and it's early. ava tucks the box of pastries under her arm. 'ava, tell me which is your favorite the next time you come in.'
ava seems delighted by this. a good sign. 'sure thing,' she says, and then waves.
/
the next morning, it all comes crashing down. there's horrendous traffic, even at 5 am, and you barely make it on time. there's a rush of rude ass customers way too early, and you spill a shot of espresso down your apron.
but, then you see beatrice, and it's wonderful, and perfect, and so great: you're ready today, to ask for her number; you can do it. but then you see ava walk in right behind her after holding the door open, and it's like slow motion when ava bumps into beatrice's side and laces their fingers together and places a sweet kiss to her shoulder. you know there are flowers that sit there, under her hoodie, gorgeous in their greyscale, and ava seems to know as well.
'ayanna,' beatrice says, the biggest, most contented smile on her face, 'good morning.'
you nod and smile, although you're a little crushed. 'hey, beatrice. and hi, ava.'
'hello!' it's way too early for this kind of cheer but it's a little infectious.
'this is my partner, ava,' beatrice says, as if it wasn't horrifically obvious.
'back from quite the business trip,' ava says, looking at the pastries again. 'very remote, no sweets. gotta make up for lost time, you know?'
beatrice blanches a little but ava looks at her sweetly and she recovers. 'can i get my usual, and whatever chaotic order ava wants?'
ava laughs. 'my favorite was a tie,' she says, 'between the chocolate croissant and the olive oil coffee cake. which, i know, beatrice, you had said, but whatever, okay?'
beatrice smiles. 'okay, ava.'
they both, despite their bickering, are so tangibly happy your spirits lift. you'll take the L, if you have to, for people to have what they clearly do. they overtip, as always, and then take their leave.
'ouch,' mohammed says. '0 for 2 this morning.'
you sigh. 'more fish in the sea, i guess. gotta keep the faith.'
he laughs. 'that's the spirit.'
//
jillian
'okay,' ava says, sitting up as best she can with a grimace, 'if bea can't get into bed with me, what about you?'
you spare a glance for beatrice, who only rolls her eyes in amusement and underlying sadness: ava is in pain, to the point where she can't walk, can barely sit or lie down. she's on muscle relaxers and pain medicine so she's comfortable, but it's complicated and tedious, to try to fix her spine — or, more realistically, stabilize it — without killing her.
'how about we see how you're feeling after surgery?'
ava groans. 'that's so boring, jillian.'
you walk to her bedside and take her hand, squeeze it gently. 'ready?'
ava takes a deep breath, braver than anyone you've ever known in your life, time and time again. she looks at beatrice, who bends down and kisses ava gently. ava tucks a strand of beatrice's hair behind her ear and then cups her face. 'in this life.'
beatrice nods. 'in this life.'
'i love you, bea.'
beatrice kisses ava's forehead, eyes closed in reverence. 'i love you, ava.'
ava looks at you and then nods, teary and afraid. 'ready.'
other than your son, you have never been as determined as you are now. you control all of the tech to make sure ava is fully sedated but still alive, that the halo is dormant enough to allow the surgeons to work on her spine without it healing their interventions immediately. it's kind of a miracle, you think, that it all works — but, then again, it seems that ava is prone to miracles. it goes smoothly, without a hitch. ava will have chronic pain and limited mobility, at least some days, during flares — but it will be manageable. it will be livable.
beatrice is asleep when you bring ava back into the room, wheeling the bed as quietly as possible. she stirs, exhausted, from her chair, and you get to tell her — and then, after, a crowded room of ava's people, ava's family, waiting nervously — that it had gone as best as it could. you were sure she was alive, and that she'd wake up, and that, as far as you can understand, her pain would be significantly reduced. ava deserves more than that, much more, but it's what you can give.
you wake beatrice gently, a squeeze to her shoulder. you tell her first, because ava loves her: 'she did great. everything went as perfectly as it could.'
beatrice sniffles and then stands and hugs you. 'thank you,' she says, strong and calm and trembling with the force of it: the love of her life, safe and cared for.
'hot,' ava rasps from bed, and beatrice laughs and lets go of you and hurries to ava's side, takes her hand.
'hello, darling.'
ava lifts her hand and cups bea's cheek, and then wiggles her toes under the blanket. she grins up at beatrice, then grins at you. 'it worked?'
'yes,' you say, and it can't bring back your son and you can't fix the world, heaven or hell, but this — this — you can do: 'it did.'
//
mary
'hey,' you say, softly, when you notice beatrice start to stir on the couch. she presses her nose into the pillow behind her head, then the couch cushion, and then reaches up and rubs her eyes, scratches above her ear, and scrubs a hand over her face and blinks dazedly.
'a new shift?' beatrice looks around at the walls and windows darkening, trying to gain her bearings. she's in a hoodie and shorts, comfortable and soft, a pair of pale pink socks on her feet, her broken leg in its brace propped on a few pillows. ava had carefully draped a soft blanket over her, but beatrice had thrown it mostly to the side in her sleep.
'we're not working, beatrice.' you say it kindly, though, and offer her a glass of water with a metal straw ava had shown you proudly in one of the drawers in their kitchen. she sips greedily, without any embarrassment — maybe she's on pain meds enough to not care; maybe she's known you for so, so long it doesn't matter; maybe she's been shown a degree of love you have known only once.
she pats your hand. 'i know.' she wrinkles her nose. 'where's ava?'
'i threatened her to take a walk.'
beatrice laughs. 'glad to know she still understands who the best of us is.'
you want to argue with her — you're the best of us, beatrice; you always have been — but her head lolls to the side on the cushion and her eyes are fluttering open and closed. 'i like your haircut,' you offer instead. you wonder, with pride, what she's learned about herself, what she's let come forward that she's always known.
she smiles softly. 'yeah?'
'yeah. you’ve got a great soft dyke vibe going on. looks good on you.'
you’re not sure about the word, but you love her and you understand. and — she grins. ‘that’s the goal. androgynous and comfortable. i — i’ve grown into what i want, i think.’
'speaking for myself, i love to see it. it’s a whole vibe.’
‘yeah.’ she looks down and fiddles with her phone case for a second, not coordinated like usual. 'hey, so, feel free to tell me to fuck off forever, if you want, but one of my best friends is... basically the best.' she squints, focusing so intently and still producing a mildly incoherent sentence. it’s charming. 'i know there's no one that could — i know, mary. i know. but i think you'd like her.'
your heart aches, because beatrice lost ava but she came back; because beatrice has hurt all the same. and shannon wouldn't have wanted you to shut yourself off from the world. 'she's hot?'
beatrice laughs delightedly, pushing herself to sit up further. 'very, very hot. if you need backup, just ask ava.'
'ava thinks everyone is hot.'
'true. but, most of all, me.'
she says it with such stoned confidence it's hard to even tease her. 'okay,' you say, 'when should i meet your friend, then?'
beatrice gets out her phone and slowly clicks through a few screens, then squints. 'she'll be here in twenty minutes for dinner.' she holds her phone close to your face, not at all steady, but you do make out your name and then ray making the best birria ever (for ava) one right after another.
'should i stay for dinner, then?'
she grins. 'i think i'm falling back asleep. so you should definitely stay. she could use some company.' she stares into space for a minute. 'let me send ava a voice note so they know not to pester you when they get back.'
'maybe a text?'
beatrice just shrugs and sends a meandering three minute long voice note, sort of explaining the situation but mostly proclaiming her undying love, and so you follow up with a coherent text saying, beatrice wants me to meet your friend. if things are going well, can you not third wheel? you owe me, and ava responds with a, FUCK YEAH!!!!! you're the best and ray is the best!! bea is a genius, and then, i'll make up so many totally valid excuses to leave you two alone, and, finally, the patio is very romantic. dig into bea's stash of very expensive wine and whiskey too, in my honor.
you laugh, and tell beatrice that ava was excited about the idea.
'speak of the devil.'
ava puts her tote down when she gets in the front door, a bouquet of flowers poking out from it. 'mm, not quite.' she kisses bea on the top of her head and then proceeds to do the same to you, although you swat her away. 'try god's favorite angel instead.'
'i will never.'
beatrice looks at ava, adoringly, too much for you to stomach sometimes. 'want to go to the balcony? i can nap out there just as easily as in here.'
'totally,' ava says. 'mary, have fun with ray. you can text me when the birria is finished and i'll just pop by to grab some for us. but she really is awesome, even just as a friend.'
'a spontaneous blind date,' you say, although you do have a few butterflies in your stomach. it doesn't feel wrong, to go on a date, although you do feel sad, and longing, because you had something beautiful and it didn't last. but, still: 'this better be as fun as you promise.'
'it definitely will be,' beatrice slurs, and ava looks at you amusedly.
'okay, you're way too high to be trusted in this situation. let's go.'
'i don't need help,' beatrice says, although it's a full task to watch her sit up and get her crutches from their resting place against the side of the couch. but she does it, slowly and unsteadily, and ava puts a careful hand to her low back when she wobbles. but then all is well, and beatrice tries to wink at you and fails, and it makes you laugh. 'have so much fun, mary.'
you promise to try, and you pick up the book ava had been reading earlier, pretending to do something with your hands as you hear them bicker as they very, very slowly make their way up down the hall, but eventually a door closes and it's quiet. hey shannon, you pray, as you often do, i might kiss someone else soon. sorry. but i think you would be happy in this life, especially if she's hot. ava is annoying, but so good; you would be proud of her. beatrice you're always proud of, i know it. i love you, in the next.
it settles something inside you, and when ray lets herself in their front door, your breath catches a little: she has a mess of black curls cut to her ears, and tattoos down both arms, a linen button up only fastened halfway up her chest, a few chains sitting there. she's smaller than you, and she tucks her sunglasses into her shirt and then smiles.
'hey,' she says, 'i'm ray. she/her pronouns. beatrice sent me a very incoherent voice note that her "hot friend mary" was here, finishing out a business trip, and that i should woo you by making dinner tonight.' she holds up her grocery tote. 'hopefully you're mary, because you are in fact very hot.'
you laugh. 'well, i don't know about the last part, but i am mary. beatrice and i go way back.'
'amazing.' she settles, familiar, at the kitchen island. 'do you like to cook? beatrice and ava are disasters.'
'i love to cook.'
she grins. 'good,' she says. 'birria is their favorite, so it's good to know, if you'll be around for a bit.'
she's beautiful, and her forearms are strong and her hands quick when she starts to lay out the ingredients. you tell yourself to be brave: beatrice and ava and their big house full of love, overlooking the ocean. so you stand next to ray, elbows bumping for a moment, and she smiles at you in a way that makes you feel electric. 'i think i just might,' you say.
she nods down at the onions she's setting aside, but her smile doesn't fade at all. 'well, if you want help looking for a place, let me know. unless you want an insane house like this, in which i can't help at all.'
you laugh. 'it is beautiful, though.'
'yeah,' she says. 'i love it here.'
you think, as you let ray explain tasks and her great-grandmother's recipe, as you open a few windows and hear ava's laughter waft in from outside, like the sweet spices you add to the meat, as ray squeezes your hand, just once, after you finish chopping cilantro.
you might kill ava when she comes in to get their plates a few hours later and quips, 'oh good, you're already betrothed. congrats!' before walking away. you throw a chip at her that falls disappointingly short, but she laughs, and you think you just might love it here too.
//
angela
you're finding a table on the patio of your favorite wine bar when you see beatrice sitting at one near the railing, alone, writing in a journal. there's a part of you that doesn't want to interrupt but she's quiet, whenever she stops by for lunch with ava, and she reminds you a little of noel.
she looks up when you stand near, and then genuinely smiles. 'angela,' she says, and stands very properly; it's a breath of fresh air to see young people with manners still. 'what a nice surprise.'
'i can see you're busy.' gesture to her journal. 'so please feel free to say no, but would you mind if i joined you?'
'not at all,' she says, and then pulls out a chair for you before sitting back in her own and closing her journal. 'to tell you the truth, i haven't even ordered any wine yet.'
you laugh, charmed immensely already. 'well, shall we split a bottle? they have my favorite chardonnay here, if you like that.'
'i — yes,' she says. 'ava is working this afternoon, so that would be wonderful. i appreciate your company.'
she's a kid, you realize, all over again with a pang in your chest: when ruth had told you that she had invited someone in her early twenties to come to water aerobics, but then you had met ava and all of your frustration had gone by the wayside. 'likewise.' the server comes, one of your favorites, and asks happily if you'd like your typical glass. 'a bottle, instead, tommy,' you tell him, and he salutes with a grin, which makes beatrice laugh.
'you like this spot?'
'i do,' you say. 'it gets good light.'
she seems to understand what you mean, because she leans back and lets the sun rest on the planes of her face peacefully. ava hadn't stopped talking for days about beatrice cutting her hair, months ago, even more excited than when she herself had shown up with pale purple hair — ridiculous, in a way, but she had been happy and young and so you grant her it all. beatrice's has grown out a bit by now, which ava still talks about, and her muscles, and the freckles across her nose, all exuberant young love — but you can tell, you've always been able to tell, when someone feels comfortable in their skin. the utter joy of being a space where someone can become.
'i love the light here,' she says. 'i grew up in london, and then switzerland, so i've come to appreciate the sun.'
'my wife wanted to move here for that reason alone.' you laugh. 'we met in oakland, but she was so set on los angeles.'
beatrice seems deeply unfazed by wife, and thanks tommy for pouring her wine after you taste yours. 'how long were you together?'
'fifty-four years,' you say. 'married for fifty-two of them.' you roll your eyes. 'legally, for eleven, but i never cared much for that distinction.'
'of course,' she says. 'and, not to sound trite, but i'm sorry, for your loss.'
and it had been a profound one: you had no idea how to get up each morning, until ruth had dragged you to this ridiculous water aerobics class. so you smile, gently. 'noel was a light in this world. the breadth of that love — i wouldn't trade a single minute.'
she swallows, glances down and swirls her wine. 'i can only hope to have the same, with ava.'
you reach out and squeeze her hand. 'if it's all dependent on love, i'm certain you will. ava adores you.'
she sighs, looks into the sun again. 'i used to be a nun.'
you can't help but laugh. 'did you really?'
beatrice nods, and waits a moment before she laughs too. 'it seemed like the only thing that would keep me safe, from — from myself, i suppose. but then, of course, i met ava. a divinity, i suppose, more than i could've ever imagined, really.'
'noel was a reverend,' you say, and remember the benedictions she prayed at your feet: her neat suits and short hair and round-rimmed glasses as she got older, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes when she smiled.
beatrice smiles. 'would you like to tell me about her?'
you would, very much so, and so you do: you met at a protest when you were nineteen and she was twenty-one, and you kissed her two nights later underneath an apple tree just starting to blossom. she put you through law school, working three jobs, and when you finally got a job at a firm and ferociously worked your way up — for her — she went to divinity school. you had many children — beautiful boys in love with each other; beautiful girls in love with themselves — pass through your home, often showing up at noel's church with no family anymore. you fed them, and you had to watch so many of them die. and then — and then the world healed itself, in one particular way, and it was never easy; it has never been easy. you married noel once, in your garden, with your friends, and you married her again in her own church, years and years later, the rainbow flag outside and the stained glass the same kind of holy. it has been hard, and sorrowful, but it was worth it. the joy was worth it.
you see the gentle set of beatrice's shoulders, the way her chest is flat beneath her shirt, and you know she understands.
she sniffles and wipes under her eyes and then squeezes your hand tightly. 'i don't quite know what to say, but — thank you, for sharing. what a beautiful love.'
you clear your throat. 'yes. but, noel made me promise not to live a boring life, or to withhold any of my love. so if you have any aunts who might be interested —' you wiggle your eyebrows — 'please let me know.'
she laughs. 'unfortunately, i don't. but i'll be on the lookout.'
you make a big show of acting disappointed. 'well, i know you're taken — not that that has always stopped me before — but i'll take pity on ava. i like her.'
beatrice blushes, all the way to the tips of her ears, and you grin.
you finish your bottle of wine together, and she tells you about judo and aikido and about ava's new interest in geology; she asks about your greyhound rescue, malcolm, and his newest sweaters. she pays the bill, despite your protests — it's a particular joy of mine to use my homophobic parents' trust fund for queer gifts and adventures.
'bring ava, for dinner sometime,' you say. they have a house on the beach and a love that's so safe, so bright — but the world harms and harms and harms, and they are your children too.
'i would love that,' beatrice says, quiet and grateful. 'i would really love that.'
//
dakota
training service dogs is, in your opinion, the absolute best job in the world. your organization focuses on multi-purpose dogs, for medical and psychologic assistance, often both. it's a challenge, especially if handlers aren't fully equipped. but sometimes, it's your favorite thing ever.
when you first meet ava — and beatrice — you're charmed immediately. ava has a cane but sits down on the floor without hesitation to take korra into her lap, who immediately pinch bites but nuzzles into ava's arms anyway. 'bea,' she says, 'oh my god.'
'her name is korra,' you say, and beatrice laughs, just once, when ava perks up. 'she's small enough that you could change it, if you wanted to, but —'
'i love legend of korra,' ava cuts in. 'bisexual heroine! sick back tattoo. hot brilliant rich girlfriend.' she soots beatrice a wink, which makes her blush. 'i am not changing a perfect name for a perfect girl.'
'well then,' you say, 'do you mind if i sit with you and walk you through the plan?'
'oh,' ava says, 'i can get up. i just got excited.'
you wave her off. 'i like to play with her too. she's so sweet.'
'bea,' ava says with a grin, relieved that your decision was exclusively about the dog and nothing to do with her disability, 'you wore your old jeans just for this occassion.'
beatrice sighs, but she sits without any hesitation and melts, a little, when ava puts a squirming korra in her arms. 'hi, sweet girl,' she says, and runs her hand along korra's soft head and her feather-light spine. then she looks at you, 'do you mind if i record you? just audio. i know you'll give us all the instructions, but i find it helpful to have all forms of processing available so i can understand best.'
ava shoots you a glance sideways, trying not to laugh, but you keep it together. 'sure.'
beatrice and ava come in every session, five minutes early, with korra making incredible progress. eventually, ava comes by herself and happily explains that she's learned how to drive with hand controls on the days she needs to, which is fucking awesome. when you tell her that, she laughs and nods.
korra is a rockstar with her positive reinforcement training, and ava reports every time some new milestone she's reached. you'll work with the both of them for at least another year, but — 'you've done such an incredible job already, ava.'
ava shrugs, scratches behind korra's ears where she's happily sitting by ava's chair, calm and panting a little because she'd just worked on some difficult commands. 'i love to learn.' she shrugs. 'and i really love korra. i guess it's just — it is what it is, right? life and pain and whatnot. and, anyway, she helps.'
korra licks your hand when you offer her a small bite of a hot dog, and you swear she smiles at you. 'yeah, i know she does.'
//
marcus
Just do me a favor and look over the project before you roll your eyes at me, ekugbe texts you. admittedly, she is one of your favorite architects to work with, but she's also your ex. It's a good friend of mine, she follows up with, as if that's a plus. whatever. It's something you'll find meaning in, I promise.
it's annoying, because she's probably right, you think, and then she's definitely right when you open her email a few hours later and see detailed, gorgeous plans to redo a house on the water so that's it's ADA accessible. it's sleek and all clean lines, perfect materials planned; the owners, beatrice gu-knight and ava silva, you read, had clearly spared no expense in their plans, and, inevitably, ekugbe's mock ups are beautiful. you sigh. I'll meet with them, you text. you type out, But not because of you and then erase it, mostly because you sister keeps telling you that you don't need to send out more negative energy into the world.
you call beatrice's number the next day, and she's very proper and very british, and when you meet her at the house later, you're kind of in awe at how stunning it is already.
'we bought it as is,' she explains, 'but my partner, ava, needs it to be accessible for wheelchair usage now.' she doesn't sound sad, not a single regret at having to change one of the simplest, most well-designed and amazing houses you've ever seen. she's inches shorter than you but commanding still, straight backed and quietly confident, dressed in simple linen pants and a t-shirt, a cardigan thrown over her shoulders, a dark green beanie and lighter green glasses, barefoot — rich in the understated way that some people in los angeles are, palpably and casually, and you know that anything you need will be there for you, right away.
'i'd like to keep the doors to the patio, for sure,' she tells you, leading you on a tour. they space is designed to be indoor/outdoor, with doors that open all the way to a small hot tub and a giant patio. 'i'm sure you saw the blueprints ekugbe drew up — and, by the way, sorry, i know you have a complicated past, but she really did say you were the best, especially with projects like this.'
'it's totally fine,' you tell her, and when you see the release of tension in her shoulders, you genuinely mean it. she explains that they'll want to move the primary bedroom and bathroom onto the first floor, down a hallway that currently has two offices. you've contracted on many houses this big before, so the space is something of a blessing. 'that won't be a problem, especially since it doesn't look like the wall between them is load bearing.'
'great,' beatrice says. 'that's what ekugbe told me, so it's good to make sure.'
you go through the rest of the house: they'll need a wheelchair lift along the stairs, which won't be hard to install because it's just one staircase, straight up to a big enough landing that there won't be any issues. she wants to redo their kitchen and bathrooms entirely, so that everything will be reachable and safe. it'll be a huge project, but one you feel — even though your head is spinning at changing a house like this — is important. is a labor of love.
'ava and i will be here for the next two weeks, and then in europe for a few months. what do you think a reasonable timeline is for you? i would like to set up a rental for us, if you need longer than that.' it's not snooty, although the words are. it's matter of fact, just a series of tasks and logistics.
'as long as materials come on time, especially if we order them now, i should be able to do it in that timeframe.'
'wonderful,' she says, and clasps her hands in front of her chest, an endearing gesture. 'well, please send over anything to sign and payment methods, and let me know a start date.'
'will do.'
'also, marcus?'
'hmm?'
'can i help you blow the wall out?' she grins. 'i've always wanted to. i have four black belts, if that helps.'
you just laugh. 'yeah, sure. why not?'
/
ava sits in her chair, pretty, in the same linen pants that beatrice had worn the other day, which is kind of funny and kind of sweet. she looks significantly more sad than beatrice about the state of their house, though, as you lay down tarps in the office to protect the floors.
'i swear i only agreed to this because bea promised you'd let her use a sledge hammer.'
'it'll be beautiful, when it's done.'
she sighs. 'i really do believe you. just, a bummer, you know?'
'my brother uses a chair,' you tell her. 'i like projects like this. and, plus, this house is amazing no matter what. your patio almost brought me to tears.'
she laughs. 'yeah, we fell in love with it right away.'
beatrice walks in in a cutoff tank and work pants, practical boots, and ava groans.
'best roleplay of my life,' she mumbles, and beatrice rolls her eyes.
'thank you for letting me have a little fun, marcus.'
'of course.'
'do i need a hard hat?'
'definitely not,' you manage without laughing, and hand her a sledge hammer.
ava watches, riveted, as you and beatrice go at the wall a few times, and then beatrice pauses and looks toward ava. 'want to get a few hits in? it's very cathartic.'
ava hesitates.
beatrice just pauses, patient, and then says, 'unless your back is hurting, i know you'll be strong enough. it's not that heavy.'
ava grins and wheels forward eagerly, lifts the sledgehammer and then nods. beatrice offers her her safety glasses and then backs away to the threshold of the door. ava swings, just fine, and gets a good chunk of the wall to break off from where beatrice had already been working, and she laughs and looks back at beatrice with a happy, relieved expression.
eventually, your crew takes over, and beatrice and ava take their leave to a rental for a few nights before they go do whatever they're doing in europe. the house comes together beautifully, it really does.
at the end, you call ekugbe, maybe for drinks.
it surprises you, the light you're able to let in.
//
mari
'do you think i'll be faster than bea?'
you laugh, show ava where to put her hands on the wheels of the racing chair for maximum and most efficient torque. 'with practice, for sure.'
'gross,' she says. 'why not right away?'
'it just takes a little getting used to. but i'm certain you will, if you enjoy it.'
'well, you're ripped, so i'm enjoying it so far, that's for sure.'
you roll your eyes; you know both beatrice and ava well enough to know that ava's flirting is fun and entirely harmless. but, still, she's beautiful, so you allow yourself to preen nonetheless.
ava lets out a big breath. 'okay, let's fucking go, right?'
'i'll ride next to you for now, and then you can race beatrice.'
'sick.' she pushes a few times and picks up some speed, and you watch exactly what you'd felt yourself the first time you'd gotten into a chair like this: a big smile spreads across her face as she rounds the corner of the track without any problems. when she slows down you do too, and you're worried for a second before she just sniffles and wipes her cheeks. 'this is... this is so fun?'
'yeah,' you say. 'it's kind of the best.'
'as a kid, after i got hurt, and then, you know, after things started to get worse for me lately, i — i didn't think i could do this, ever. it's just — i feel so full. and so fast!'
'i didn't think i'd get to do this either, after i got hurt.' you'd had a complete spinal cord injury, when you were twenty, a car accident that wasn't your fault. your whole life had changed, in a split second — a track scholarship and rock climbing and snowboarding and judo evaporating, just like that, when you woke up from surgery, or at least that's what you thought. but your big sister had sat by your bedside and researched inpatient rehab, and financing, and outpatient rehab, and then, a fucking miracle in your life: paralympic racing. it's led you to do everything you loved before, just creatively, and, 'now i have four gold medals, so, here we are.'
'yeah,' ava says. 'here we fucking are!'
you reach over and high five her, and you look over to where beatrice is sitting on the bleachers; even from far away you can see her gay ass little smile at ava's joy.
'also, the gold medals?' ava says. 'extremely hot.'
you laugh. 'do you ever stop?'
ava shakes her head. 'hardwired, i'm afraid.' she frowns. 'unless, of course, you're uncomfortable, in which case i will stop immediately.'
'oh, no,' you say, 'keep going. it's fun.'
'i'm an excellent wingwoman, at any time. you just let me know.'
'i'll take you up on that soon, i'm sure.'
she laughs and takes off again, getting the hang of her form and how to lean into turns. eventually, she calls beatrice down from the bleachers; beatrice is probably one of the most terrifying athletes you've ever met, but ava's pretty fast already. they race a few times, laughing by the end, trash talking incessantly, beatrice eventually leaning down to kiss ava, both of them sweaty.
'last one back to the bleachers has to do the dishes tonight,' ava says, and takes off full tilt. she barely stops in time before ramming into the stands, but beatrice is laughing too hard to come anywhere close. it's joy, you think, in the hot sun. real joy.
//
mother superion
'so,' ava says, fidgeting in front of you, shifting from one foot to the other, rocking up on her toes. she's gotten older, a few years enough for you to be able to tell the subtle differences.
'yes, ava?'
'okay, i know this is stupid and antiquated, but, well...'
'is this a crisis of any kind?'
she shakes her head.
'then just breathe.'
she takes in a deep breath and lets it out, then sits on the bench next to you when you pat the space. 'i love beatrice.'
'i know.'
'i, well, i guess i'm asking you if i can marry her? i want to propose, and i'll do it, whatever you think, but — it would mean a lot, to me, to have your blessing.'
you hold out your hands and wait for her to take both. there is something holy in her back, something that you had thought was the most sacred thing in the world until you met her. but there is something holier, consecrate, in the way she loves — beyond the highest order you have ever known. in the way she loves you all, and life, but especially in the way she loves beatrice, one of your favorite people in the world. she died for it. you know, in a way that makes you ache, she would do it again.
but the war is over. the war is over, and you have watched them both become.
'there is nothing in this life that would make me happier than to bless your marriage, ava.'
'oh,' she breathes out, runs a hand through her hair, long now, with the tips dyed pink — just for fun! — and then smiles. 'okay. well, great. just gotta get bea to say yes then.'
you don't want to be unkind — you can feel the halo humming with ava's very genuine nerves — and so you don't laugh. instead, you ask, 'do you have a plan? a ring?'
ava lights up, and the halo's hum shifts to comfortable, warm. they'll go to switzerland, she tells you, and pulls up a picture of the ring on her phone — simple and elegant and handsome, all at once. she wraps you in a hug as you tell her so.
'i love you, ava,' you say.
she sniffles. 'i really love you.'
you feel the halo against your hand, through her sweater. 'please send me a save the date.'
//
'ava,' you say, as ava paces around their bedroom. 'bea is going to be right out there, waiting for you. after everything, you cannot possibly be nervous about this.'
she shakes her head. 'about marrying bea? definitely not.' she's in her dress, flowy lace and cotton, off-white because i'm certainly not a virgin, she had said while she was looking, and than had laughed and winked as you had rolled your eyes. 'i'm worried about the halo going off.'
you want to laugh, so hard, but it actually is an issue: most of ava and bea's friends and family don't know anything about the halo, mostly for their protection. 'i'm sure you can get all the glowing out on your honeymoon.'
ava does laugh, then, relieved. 'that's for sure.'
and it's beautiful: you get to stand in front of the altar your friend built for her partner, and you get to pray for their whole lives to be full of this stunning, soft love. they say their vows, and beatrice cries the entire time, which eventually makes ava cry, and then you cry, and then you all laugh.
'by the power vested in me by god, and the state of california,' you say, 'i now pronounce you wives.' ava laughs, delighted, and turns to bea, then looks at you impatiently. you roll your eyes. 'go ahead,' you say.
ava wastes no time, leaning forward to capture bea's lips in a sweet kiss, which beatrice lets linger long enough for a few good-natured wolf whistles from the crowd. ava kisses bea's forehead and they smile, alone in their own universe, before turning to everyone. there are cheers and you're pretty sure everyone was crying.
you get drunk on champagne at the reception and cry even more when you see beatrice in her tang jacket, when she tells you that you were right: there's no shame in loving ava; there never has been. and, a miracle, ava is hers. there are things more certain to you than faith.
'your marriage is going to last annoyingly long,' you tell her. 'i'm sure of it.'
she holds you tight. 'i'm sure of it too.'
//
salma
your aunts are the fuc—freaking coolest. not only do they visit often, but you get to visit them in california, where they live in a big house on the beach and sometimes take you to disneyland. your aunt bea teaches you to surf, and your aunt ava teaches you how to make a bunch of virgin cocktails — which you find very fun — and they both sit and do puzzles with you whenever you want, even if your brother gets bored.
your grandmother — you guess, you never met her and you've never even talked to her, but she was your dad's and beatrice's mother — dies one day. you don't really care; she apparently was a huge asshole to your aunt when she was little. your dad picks you up from school like normal, and you wait impatiently for asaad to make his way out.
your dad takes you to get ice cream and then tells you that she died. you don't care, which is maybe bad, but you don't owe her anything. people can be mean for no reason, to someone like you, to someone like your aunt bea, so you don't care.
your dad is quiet for a few days, and then your aunts visit. you do a little double take when your aunt bea takes her beanie off and her hair is shorter than you've ever seen it, but you hug her quickly, as tight as you can, your head reaching the middle of her chest — when your cat died in third grade your mom had taught you about grief, how it lasts a long time and it's okay to feel, how different cultures have different ways of expressing it. you hug your aunt ava too, and she ruffles your hair and cups your cheek. 'what's up, beautiful?' she says, and it makes you feel it, from someone so pretty: beautiful.
when you get older, your aunt bea will help you change your pronouns, and pick a new name — peace, you decide on — and she calls you her niece, which you love. when you get older, she'll be even more amazing to you, the way she's so kind in a world that hasn't been, the way she loves your dad and your brother and your mom, the way she loves your aunt ava.
for now, it's late and your aunt ava is asleep in the guest room, and your dad had kissed your forehead and gone off to the bathroom he shares with your mom. you go downstairs to get a glass of water, and you see your aunt sitting on the couch, peacoat rumpled and very still and, if your dad's breath was anything to go by, probably pretty drunk.
she looks up when she hears you, and then smiles gently, a little unfocused. you sit next to her, rub your hand along her buzzed hair with a laugh, and it gets her to laugh too. 'you look cool.'
she kisses your forehead. 'that's very kind.'
you play with her fingers, with the ring there, warm even though it's cold outside. 'you know,' you say, 'you've made the world safer for me.'
the sound that leaves her is between a laugh and a sob. you want to be smaller, just for a moment, so you could climb into her lap like you used to when she was little.
'i'm really sorry your mother sucked balls.'
then there's definitely a laugh: 'did aunt ava teach you that?'
you grin into her shoulder. 'i can neither confirm nor deny.'
she tugs you to her, buries her face in your hair for a moment and then wipes her cheeks.
'i'm glad i'm like you,' you say, the best you can for now.
'oh, darling,' she says, then swallows so she doesn't start crying again, you're pretty sure, 'i'm so glad. you are such a light in this world. don't let anyone let you believe you aren't wonderful.'
'i won't,' you say, a prayer, like you kneel and understand with your mom; a promise.
'and, you can always call me.'
'ew, on the phone?'
she laughs. 'or text, if you must.'
you burrow into her side even further. 'i'll call, aunt bea. i always will.'
//
g-d
of course, if there's anything you know, it's blessings.
you know beloved; you know holy. people call you by different names, all falling short, all trying to grasp at you. you know beloved, and worship, and belief.
you look down on them sometimes, because you can. ava — her name the familiar of eve; the meaning in a sacred language, life; something divine against her will in her back; one of your children who had faced more cruelty than she should have — laughs, every day. even on days that hurt for her, she smiles and she laughs and there is a love there: for your world, for its waves and the sun and stars and moon; she, too, sees that it is good. beatrice, gentle and unsure and certain, prays to you still, and to ava, which you don't begrudge her. she worships every day, the most faithful on earth.
of course, there are things you let run their course, the small joys and small miseries: swimming in the ocean, chocolate cake, the first fall of snow; traffic jams and broken wrists and lilith. there are some things even you can't entire shift: ava's broken back and the heaviness in beatrice's mind sometimes. but you watch them, from time to time, in their house on a beach that brings them wonder, when they visit the mountains and fall asleep in front of a warm fireplace, listening to a record that skips before you step in and turn the machine off.
you'll let them grow old together, of course — greying hair and ava's impatience with politics and beatrice's stiff knees in the cold. there's time, for the halo and for all of it, but ava died to save the world, once. ava died for love, and she lives for it too.
in this life, they say to each other, quietly and often. you let things run its course but you step in, from time to time: you will give them peace. they'll want more of them, greedy, and perhaps you'll let them — and the next and the next and the next.
but, of course, this life, this life — you make sure it's a good one.
#wn#warrior nun fic#avatrice#avatrice fic#outside pov#butch bea 🥺🫡#they are simply happy!!!!!!!!!#prompts
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👕 for any of my kids :3
KATYA!!! Oh Ekaterina! Mino's been wondering when you'll be coming over! She's so excited for the picnic + drinks she's planned for the two of you! A nice gorgeous spot overlooking a valley of wildflowers she loves so much, only a little bit away from Westcrown. It's hotter than what Katya is used to, but Mino is enticing her with this huge jug of sangria she's prepped. The two of them have a lot of "wine"-ing and whining to get out of them I'm sure! It'll be in nature and away from the annoying bustle of the city, perfect Tishka too!
Top: First thing, Katya, is that Cheliax is hot, and it's pretty humid around Westcrown. Coming from the white north and then Sarkoris, Mino wants to make sure you're not going to die of a heatstroke. She also knows that with your druidic kind of lifestyle, you favor a more sustainable natural look... which pairs well with not dying of heat! The only thing will be not getting sunburned, but she has plenty of suncream to help (and I'm sure Lann will go crazy for a little sunkissed skin with your fiery hair!) With all that, Mino has found this hand-braided cotton top in neutral tones. It'll keep Katya cool and look sexy as hell, especially with her hair spilling all over it and her tattoos.
Bottoms: Then, this skirt will work SO well with the top! It's long cut is reminiscent of Katya's long robes, but is made of light material and open and breathable so she's not sweating up a storm. It's made from multiple recycles fabrics in earthy prints that are super cute and playful, and the tie waist means Katya can wear it at whatever waist-height she wants. High-waist look? Or, low-riding look to expose those wide hips a little...? Whatever she wants and feels comfortable with!
Shoes: These sandals aren't just ridiculously cute, they're handmade leather! Durable! ADORABLE! And nature-y! They'll kill with the rest of this outfit and pretty much any summery outfit Katya can put on. Ever thought about painting her nails?? Mino can help with that. A deep lovely green, maybe?
Hair/Hat: Ekaterina, it'd be a sin to hide that hair beneath the summer sun. That being said, it's hot and you're more suited for cooler climates. For that, Mino has found you this jute sunhat! It'll help cover your shoulders a little more and keep your flaming tresses a little in order. The natural brown of it also really works with the rest of this look!
Other Accessories: Aside from the sun cream, Mino procures this super cute crochet shawl! The color is a little brighter than what Katya would normally go for, she thinks, but it's also really close to Mino's own feather colors and she thinks it'd be really funny and cute if they matched for the day :3
#ask game#ask meme#outfit ask#oc: ekaterina#the girlies are getting together for some sangria and gossip~~~~~#far away from civilization so they can laugh and enjoy the outdoors and get away from their troubles!#camping beneath the stars with tishka keeping watch giggling about their loves and lives :3
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A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE. Repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. If you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own!
NAME: Derek Hale
NICKNAME(S): Der
AGE: 34
DATE OF BIRTH: April 24th 1989
ZODIAC: taurus
SPECIES: werewolf
SEX: cis male
NATIONALITY: American
PARENTS: Talia Hale (†); Jared Hale (†)
SIBLINGS: Cora Hale; Laura Hale (†)
CHILDREN: none
INTERESTS: music, books, cooking, cars, horse riding,
PROFESSION: NYPD police officer
EYES: shades of green
HAIR: pitch black
SKIN: clean, sunkissed
FACE: expressive brows, beard, eyes, lips the usual
POSTURE: pretty straight, not too slouched rather leaned back at times
HEIGHT: 1,83m
VOICE: medium deep? I don’t know.
SIGNATURE OUTFIT: either dark jeans, dark shirt, black leather jacket or dark jeans, white shirt, leather jacket
SIGNIFICANT OTHER: @the-heros-sidekick , my forever love
COMPANIONS: @tinyactress
ANTAGONISTS: Ramón, River, Archer, Devin, Fabi, capitalism
STRENGTHS: loyal, protective, passionate, devoted, selfless
WEAKNESSES: stubborn, impulsive, possessive, forgetful, self-deprecating
COLORS: brown, black, maroon
FRUITS: mangos, cherries, apricots
DRINKS: coffee, tea, water
ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES: preferably wine
SMOKES: no
DRUGS: no
DRIVERS LICENSE: yes
tagged by: @the-heros-sidekick
tagging: @tinyactress @ghculism @concreete-jungle
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A Safe Place To Rest Your Head – Tamerlane Usher/Candy, Morella Usher
A/N: Day 7 for @flufftober Fluffspring 2024. First GIF made for me by @whoreofthecottage
Implied smut but nothing massive.
Morella smiles as she rings the doorbell, cake perfectly balanced as she waits for Tamerlane to answer the door. Madeline, Tamerlane’s aunt, is already working on buying Candy, Tamerlane’s favored hooker, call-girl really, from the man who owned her debts. Once they had them, the woman would be free to marry as she wished. For now Candy had a week to spend with Tamerlane, bought and paid for but never pushed for anything, she chose how much she gave and Tamerlane will never not love the woman with a gentle love that is far purer than Candy’s pimp could ever understand.
Tamerlane answers the door, smiles at Morella as she lets her in then blinks when she sees Candy. Her voice soft.
“Candy?”
“She’s yours… for the week.”
Morella’s answer comes from the kitchen where she’s setting the cake to stand, moving to kiss Tamerlane’s cheek.
“Enjoy, Darling, Happy Birthday.”
Candy follows Morella to the door, locks the door and peels off her coat, hanging it neatly beside Tamerlane’s own before padding into the room, heels already set aside. She’s the same as she was before. Pale, slightly tan skin, sunkissed more than anything, brunette hair with a soft fringe and slight curl, she looks softer now, less made up. She wearing simple emerald green pajamas, the smile tugging at her lips as she moves closer to kiss Tamerlane softly.
“I’m home, pretty girl… now, do you want to unwrap me?”
Tamerlane nods, meekly, then removes first her sleep pants, the pajama pants soft to the touch, then the shirt, her eyes roaming over the straps of Candy’s second layer of clothing, a second set of straps hinting she wasn’t done unwrapping yet.
This layer, softer, less obvious, barely covers the last layer. A soft camisole. Still emerald green. Tamerlane’s fingers twitch then, the urge to keep going pulling her hard. A small whimper escapes her before Candy smiles.
“Keep going, Sweet girl.”
The camisole slips up and off, set aside to reveal a bodysuit, lace, simple emerald green lace. This she touches with soft reverence, her eyes meeting Candy’s.
“Mine?”
The plea is soft and Candy smiles and nods.
“All yours, sweet girl… for a week, maybe more.”
Later, Candy’s limbs entwine with Tamerlane’s. Lovemaking, tender, lingering, is set aside for rest. Tamerlane had allowed Candy to gift her sleepwear, simple emerald green camisole and shorts, Candy’s own a simple emerald green outfit, covered in small gold flowers, matches her first layer from before, allowing Tamerlane to rest easy. The gift of love, simple and sweet, is all Tamerlane ever wanted and Candy gives it freely.
#tamerlane usher#candy#verna#verna tfothou#verna the fall of the house of usher#fall of the house of usher#the fall of the house of usher#day 7: giving someone a present#fluffspring2024#candylane#vernalane#candy/tamerlane#tamerlane/candy#verna/tamerlane#tamerlane/verna
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✎ ( sponsor ღ Okinawa Sakura Matsuri ) ՞₊˚๑
· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·
★⸝⸝ :uzu: haruka outfit - FATPACK
★⸝⸝ #Mewsery Saku Hairpin
★⸝⸝ KREAMY. blooming cotton candy
★⸝⸝ .HEOL Kitty Bus Stop FP
ღ I'm wearing the super cute Haruka Outfit by Uzu, this is a full outfit rigged for Legacy, LaraX and Reborn, the fatpack comes with full hud with solids and textures to create your unique style.
Saku hairpin by Mewsery is a beautiful accessory and it's perfect for the season, it comes with a super big hud to mix and match and a unique cherry blossoms design.
Kreamy brings us their new adorable Blooming Cotton Candy this one comes with full cotton candy and a little piece with cherry blossoms, both in left and right versions with hud to change texture colors.
And by Heol, in my background you can see the fantastic Kitty Bus Stop. The set comes with bus stop, street lamp and bench available in day and night versions.
✤ ʟᴀɴᴅᴍᴀʀᴋ
✤ ғʟɪᴄᴋʀ
✎ ( sponsor ღ Planet29 ) ՞₊˚๑
· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·
★⸝⸝ A R T E - Sophia Skin - Blush
★⸝⸝ Sakura Beauty - Kira Eyeshadow & Lipstick Fatpack
★⸝⸝ Sakura Beauty - Kira Nails Unpacker
ღ Planet29 is here again! With tons of amazing items and surprises. I'm wearing the new ARTE skin set. Sophia is a beautiful soft skin Velour compatible in Blush, Porcelain, Rosekiss, Snow, Sunkiss and Valley. Including skin and ears layers anda also some pretty details.
I'm also wearing the stunning new make up by Sakura Beauty. Kira Eyeshadow & Lipstick comes with applier for Lelutka EvoX only, with 8 tones for the lips and 9 eyeshadows, and I'm also wearing the matching Kira Nails, available in Blue, Green, Orange, Pink, Red, Salmon and Yellow. You can see a closer look of all 3 items in the comments and blog.
✤ ʟᴀɴᴅᴍᴀʀᴋ
✤ ғʟɪᴄᴋʀ
Ahri ღ
✎ ( outfit & hair ) ՞₊˚๑
· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·
★⸝⸝ VCO ~ CHIRO Hair
★⸝⸝ VCO ~SOO HAIR BANGS SET
✎ ( extras ) ՞₊˚๑
· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·
★⸝⸝ {S0NG} Bloom Eyes
★⸝⸝ LeLUTKA Prim Head 3.1
★⸝⸝ eBODY - REBORN
✎ ( backdrop & pose ) ՞₊˚๑
· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·
★⸝⸝ FOXCITY. Photo Booth - Cherry Blossom Road at @Sunny Photo Studio
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Pretty In Pink
Post #318
Pretty In Pink
***SPONSORED***
Outfit: *NEW* !C Dawn Blogger Pack {Wearing Reborn} {Shoes Included} *For Saturday Sale* @Mainstore
Backdrop: *NEW* * TentatioN * Backdrop #5 @Mainstore Also @MP
***OTHER CREDITS***
♥Head & Body♥
Head: LeLUTKA Briannon Head 3.1 @Mainstore
Body: eBody Reborn v1.69.3 @Mainstore
Skin: TRES BEAU-Sunflower Skin [2.1] {Lelutka EvoX} @Mainstore
Body Applier: VELOUR-The “Ipanema Body” {Reborn} {Sunkissed} @Mainstore
♥Hair & Accessories♥
Hair: Truth Hair-Opium Hairstyle @Mainstore
Nails: Angelic Beauty-Mia Nails {Reborn} @Mainstore
Purse: Majesty-Bedazzled Heart Bag {Diamond} @Mainstore
Earrings & Necklace: YUMMY-Chloe Layered Necklace Set {Wearing Reborn} @Mainstore
Sunglasses: Moncada Paris-l'aveugle Eyewear {Pink} @Mainstore
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you’re someone i just want around: IV
“I had a few, got drunk on you
And now I’m wasted
And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of
How you tasted.”
— Medicine, Harry Styles
A/N: if i said i’m apologizing for the way i left off ch3, yes i did ❤️ no i didn’t ❤️ it was fun ❤️ as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! and if you enjoy the piece, please reblog it!!! it keeps content creators motivated!! without further delay, hope you enjoy what’s in store for Sherlock and Watson this chapter cause it’s uhhhh quite a bit of uhhhh ~stuff~ 😌
harry’s condo : ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist
word count: 26.4k
content/warnings: a mild addiction to sexting, some pretty sparkly lingerie, a very interesting photo, a strange but satisfying gift, rough sex and degradation, pillow talk about the validity of the men in Twilight, the satisfying gift being put to even more good use, Y/N going over to Harry’s apartment for the first time, mild mentions of blood, and an impromptu Hamilton re-enactment amidst more lemon blueberry pancakes
///
For the next three days, the sexting grows more frequent.
Harry feels somewhat humiliated by it, really. He’s an adult— a full-grown, two hundred and nine year old man— and trading nudes with a simple girl shouldn’t be getting him as worked up as it does. He should know how to handle his hormones better, and the thing is, he usually does. But no one in the last few centuries has made him feel as desperate as Y/N does; he hasn’t felt this helpless for someone since he was alive. The vampire just wasn’t prepared to handle the needy responses she so easily yields from his body and he’s horribly rusty on how to skate this thin sheet of metaphorical ice. It’s like he can feel it cracking and crunching beneath his feet, but he has absolutely no power over how to stop it. Any minute, it’s bound to take him under, and he has no choice but to allow himself to drown in it.
The following seventy two hours are full of so many dirty promises and explicit images, his phone might as well be a porno hard drive.
After coaxing Y/N into a few orgasms through the phone and receiving just as many in return, a dangerous game is set into motion that Harry knows is probably unhealthy not only for his self-worth, but for the sensitivity of his anatomy. He can only get off so many times before his joints are begging for a break.
He wakes up Wednesday morning with a stiff ache running along his inner thighs and ebbing across the underside of his balls, but there’s an undeniable contentment stewing behind it. He doesn’t truly mind the throb, comforted by the fact that Y/N is probably facing similar issues at the moment. He finds himself smiling coyly as he flips an omelette onto one of his marble-print platters, recalling the events from the night before.
According to what he’d heard on the other end of the phone, present throughout the array of shaky gasps, cracked whimpers, and wet sounds of pleasure that had echoed from the speaker, Harry had made Y/N squirt.
That was a tremendous stroke to his already huge ego. The idea that he’d been able to make her cum so hard that she’d soiled her brand new sheets had been circling around his head for the last couple of hours, fluffing his confidence. It’s a milestone achievement, to be honest. He’d done something that very few men have the skill to achieve in person, meanwhile he’d done it just by using his voice and extensive imagination. The arrogance he’s sporting right now is more than justified. His cheeks are starting to ache from how hard he’s grinning.
The vampire is so lost in his recollections that he nearly misses the chime of his phone, the unique ringtone that beeps out being as welcomed as ever.
Harry scoops up his device while spooning a piece of his green pepper and mushroom egg dish into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he swipes into Y/N’s text conversation. He smoothers the giddiness fluttering in his stomach; he’s not a child.
As it turns out, he’d killed those butterflies for no solid reason because the instant her message pops up, they come right back to life.
Morning! Thought I’d show you what I’m planning on wearing to work today.
Harry roughly swallows down his breakfast at the attachment following the caption, a shiver coiling down his spine. “Fucking hell.”
The photo is a mirror shot, taken in her tiny bathroom. It’s a full body image where she’s clad in a matching set of bra and panties, the material sparkly bright red lace. The bottoms are high-waisted, hugging her tummy and hips in a way he deems perfect, the lace decorating her skin beautifully. The bra is see-through, so he has an unrestrained view of her chest and he doesn’t know why, but he thinks he might love the way her breasts look in lingerie more than without it. Make no mistake, he’ll willingly drool over her no matter what, but there’s just such a refined beauty in seeing her figure in such an elegant piece. She’s like a present set out for him to unwrap, preferably with his teeth.
Then he notices the garters and the next forkful of food lodges in his throat. They hug around her legs deliciously, the bands settled midway down her thighs as the straps run up the sides and clip onto the hem of her panties. Yeah, he would definitely use his teeth.
After gawking at the artwork for a minute, Harry finally gathers himself enough to type back a decent reaction.
I’m pretty sure that outfit doesn’t apply to the workspace dress code.
Y/N shakes her head in amusement at his response, giggling softly as she finishes shimmying into her black skinny jeans, buttoning them over the skimpy lace.
I’ll cover up for the sake of the customers. But it’s just such a nice set, I figured someone else should get to appreciate it with me.
Harry sets his utensil down on top of his plate, omelet only half eaten. His appetite has molded into a very different type of hunger. He pads out of the kitchen, feeling the ten AM sunlight filter through the glass wall of his living room and warm his bare chest and back. He heads for the bathroom that branches out of the entrance corridor, coming to a stop right in front of its mirror. He begins to clean up his appearance, combing his bed head into a presentable state (he hadn’t slept, per usual, but rolling around his pillows last night while he indulged fantasies about Y/N had done his curls in something fierce), fixing his royal blue briefs along his hips and dragging the waistband down to show off the dip of his prominent pelvic bones.
Once the immortal is done, he taps back with eager strokes of his thumbs.
I can’t believe you’ve never worn that for me. That’s a criminal offense. Literally worth capital punishment.
Oh, really? Capital punishment? And who are you to decide my verdict?
I’m the executioner, obviously. I’m in charge of dispensing the verdict and I promise you, I’ll see to it that you get what you deserve. It’s my civic duty.
Y/N scoffs at his quip, tugging her navy polo shirt over her torso and quickly running a brush through her hair. She puts it up into a neat ponytail, sighing lightly as she stares at her tired reflection. She wishes she could ditch work for the day and entertain more conversation with Harry, but she literally can’t afford to.
Well, you’re gonna have to wait while I go perform my own type of civic duty. Making the world a better place, one grilled panini at a time.
Harry’s lips jolt. She’s so clever and witty, he doesn’t know how she could possibly be from such a dull, monochrome town.
I understand. Justice calls. But before you go, can I send you a picture of what I’M wearing today? Could use a few style tips.
That’s pretty ironic coming from someone whose last name is literally ‘Styles.’
I know, I know. But even fashion icons have their insecurities sometimes.
Fair point, nobody’s perfect. Lemme see your OOTD, then.
The outfit of the day appears to be no outfit at all, according to Harry’s picture. It’s taken on a mirror, like her own, and it depicts him standing with one hand holding his phone in front of his face while the other seems to be doing jazz hands down his body playfully. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of deep blue briefs (probably because he’d completely ruined the maroon pair he was wearing last night, if his broken moans and heavy panting had been any indication) and they hug his frame flawlessly. The fabric is bunched around his lean thighs, tiger head tattoo peeking out to accompany the rest of the collection, which includes all the inkings running the length of his left arm as well as the butterfly and swallows across his torso. His v-line is evident as ever, dipping below the elastic band teasingly. His chest is broad and his biceps are taut, despite the fact that he’s not even flexing. He looks like a Greek statue and Y/N is positive the higher powers designed Harry with that specific thought in mind.
Y/N doesn’t realize drool is gathering in her mouth until it tickles the inside of her bottom lip. She snaps her jaw closed, clearing her throat sheepishly. Over a minute has passed of her just ogling and she can feel heat layering across her cheeks. She knows Harry probably has the cockiest expression on his face at the moment, obvious in the tone of the next comment he delivers.
Damn, it’s that bad, huh? Guess I’ll have to change.
No, it’s perfect. Simple, but effective. Very professional.
Why, thank you!
My pleasure.
Here, take this as a token of my appreciation. Hopefully it can help get you through the day.
This specific photo is taken from an above point of view, as if Y/N were looking down at Harry’s body along with him. His pectorals and stomach muscles appear more defined, tattoos darker and skin more evidently sunkissed. Lower down, there’s the obvious outline of what lies within his boxers, snuggled up against his thick thigh and tempting her to let out a soft whine. Then, resting casually against his abdomen is his free hand, sporting a thumbs-up that gives a purposefully goofy vibe to the risky image. He’s such an idiot.
The mortal’s answer is just as silly and lighthearted as his gesture.
Thank you, I’ll keep it locked in my heart forever.
I wouldn’t want it any other way.
That’s the first interaction of many that further opens the door to their virtual sex life. Things hardly stay that innocent.
That night when Y/N gets home from work, they undergo another round of phone sex. It starts off the same: cheeky banter that leads to cheeky pictures that eventually leads to utter filth.
And that’s how they spend the next few days— taking care of each other’s needs digitally until Friday rolls around. There’s plenty of those encounters, but there’s definitely favorites.
A session during one of Harry’s self-care baths, when he puts her on speaker and she talks him through tugging one out while the scent of lavender salts— which he’d chosen because they smell like her— leave his heated skin feeling soft and supple. Another instance where he makes her orgasm while she has gotten bored watching a scary movie marathon on her couch, the screams of the horror film mere background noise compared to all the sweet nothings Harry huskily mumbles into her ear, his dominant voice filtering through her headphone and instructing her on how to make herself feel good.
Harry messages her at three A.M. at one point, wide awake as ever, all of his thoughts occupied by the concept of Y/N laying on her tummy between his thighs and sucking him off at a slow pace. He can practically see her small hands wrapped around his girth, stroking up to meet her pretty lips, her tongue lapping at his tip eagerly as she whines around a full mouth. She’s always just so eager. Even at the crack of dawn, she’s awake by some miracle, and happily willing to delve into that fantasy with him. Her soft, timid tone drifts across the shells of his ears, explicitly sketching out how she’d take him all the way down her throat until she gags, and how she’d kiss all over the head of his prick just to smear his precum over her lips to then lick it off, and how she’d rock against his lap fast and hard while he takes her nipples between his teeth. How she wouldn’t stop until he’s dripping down her thighs and groaning into her throat. How she’d let him fuck her as many times as it takes to tire himself out.
Harry obviously repays her, and it comes in the form of him painting out a scenario where she’s gotten home from a long day at the café. He tells her about how he’d be there waiting for her in nothing but his underwear, sitting back on his elbows in her bed, touching himself over his briefs just at the thought of pleasuring her. About how he’d lay her out and taste every inch of her body with his tongue, and how he’d run his teeth across her inner thighs tenderly while his fingers play with her clit, and how he’d have her ride his face deep and sloppy until she’s shaking and sensitive. How he’d tie her to the bed and toss her legs over his shoulders while he pounds her into the mattress, marking bruises across her neck as she sucks on his fingers and tightens around his cock like “the snug little thing you are.”
They even take their fun out of the confines of their houses and into public settings, just to give it an adrenaline high. Those situations are foreplay; it’s how they prep each other throughout the day for when they’re both finally alone and can truly help one another to the fullest.
It happens Thursday on two occasions.
First, to Y/N, who is sitting in the backroom on her lunch break, though she’s barely touched her food. She’s much more interested in what Harry has to say. Much more interested in how he says he wishes he could be there with her right now. That she could sneak him in through the back door of the restaurant and they could lock themselves in that tiny supply room, making sure no one would disturb what he’s about to do to her. That he would drop to his knees and drag her jeans down her legs, pressing damp kisses in the denim’s wake, biting hickies in the areas he knows she loves to receive them. He would mount her knees over his shoulders and bury his face between her thighs, looking up at her through heavy lashes as he licks into her desperately. He would have her grab onto his curls and guide his tongue just the way she likes it, and she’d have to bite into her cheek to keep from getting caught.
He talks about how he’d take her against the supply shelves, one hand clamped over her mouth while he pants praise into her ear, her body jolting roughly upwards against the surface as she clings to his back. How he’d hold her up with the other arm and slam her down onto his cock, cooing things like, “Gotta keep quiet for me, sweetheart. Can’t make you cum if we get caught.” and “Such a filthy girl, sneaking me in here just to fuck you. Baby just wants to walk around the rest of the day full of me, doesn’t she?”
That fantasy leaves her in a bothered haze the rest of the work day. It’s bad enough that she almost drops her tray three different times and has to ask multiple customers to repeat their orders.
Y/N gets back at Harry, though. That revenge is the second occasion.
The vampire had mentioned that he would be going out with his friends that evening to a bar and she takes full advantage of that. When the picture comes through, Harry nearly spits out his Manhattan drink.
He’s sitting in a booth surrounded by his entire group and he’d been talking shit with Niall about golf. The vampire doesn’t care for the sport, but Niall loves it, and Harry loves getting on Niall’s nerves, therefore it’s all pretty self-explanatory. Mitch and Adam join in, with Mitch obviously supporting Harry, when he randomly decides to check his notifications. Even in the shrunken little banner, Harry can immediately tell the photo is graphic. Xander asks if he’s alright, telling him he looks freakishly pale and to get his eyes under control because they're in public. Harry blinks the red from his irises, hurriedly excusing himself and clambering up from his seat, jetting across the restaurant towards the restrooms. It’s occupied, much to his luck, so he settles for simply pressing his back against the wall of the corridor, leaning his head against the bricks and taking deep breaths to calm the raging in his stomach. He gingerly opens the message and his knees nearly give out.
The image is taken from the back, probably using a timer. Y/N is wearing one of her big tees and another pair of cheeky lace panties, but this time around, they’re pastel peach and crotchless. She’s bent over with her ass up and spine arched, knees parted for balance, her shirt bunching downwards due to the angle. Her arms are pulled behind her back and her chest is flushed to the bed, wrists crossed submissively as she gazes at the camera over her shoulder. There’s an unmistakable sparkle in her eyes and he can tell she had sent this now on purpose just to fuck with him, knowing good and well that he was out and occupied.
The shot is more than he can handle and he has to swallow down the urge to stomp out of the bar, get into his car, race to her flat, and make her rethink her decision. Preferably, in the form of harsh spanks and overstimulation. He can see everything— the intentional rip at the crotch of the panties are meant for that sole reason. The closer he looks, he comes to realize that she’s wet, which in turn means she had been touching herself. She’d set this up perfectly, knowing that he’d easily be able to deduce that fact and that it would haunt him for the rest of the night.
The monster releases a quivering exhale, typing back slowly and carefully, sight bleary.
You’re going to regret that.
Pinky promise?
///
When Harry arrives at Y/N’s apartment the next night, as he has for the last three Fridays, he doesn’t saunter up to her door and bang on it angrily. He doesn’t grab her by her hair and drag her into her room, how he’d intended. He doesn’t even have a single cinch in his sculpted brows.
Instead, he raps softly on the door with one jeweled knuckle and waits calmly.
The human goes to answer, her stomach twisting in excitement at all the possibilities of what punishment she might face for her antics. A small, sly smile buckles the corners of her lips at the thought, her fingers trembling as they wrap around her cold doorknob. She expects to find a furrow-browed, intense-eyed, red-faced Harry behind the threshold, who would shove past her, nab her by the arm, and throw her onto her bed. She expects him to yank his belt from around his hips while a distinct darkness swallows his emerald irises, his mouth curling into a sinister grin. She expects him to roughly command she get on her hands and knees, his palm finding the back of her head to shove her face-first into the sheets while he rips her panties down her legs and drags the cool leather of his accessory over her backside tauntingly.
What she gets is something— and someone— completely the opposite.
When her door swings open, Harry is standing standing there, sure. But instead of looming over her with flaring nostrils and cruel intent, he’s decided to lean against the door frame with his arms folded casually. His body is completely empty of tension, his ankles are crossed offhandedly, and a small, bright red paper bag full of sparkly black tissue paper is hanging off his wrist. His expression is a relaxed facade of indifference, lips set into his usual signature smirk, no explosive emotions present whatsoever.
That startles Y/N. This has to be an act; it feels like the calm before a violent storm and it has her shifting in her socked feet. Did he...Did he forget what she did?
There’s no way he forgot. It was too brazen a move to dismiss.
Harry steps forward into her home, comfortable enough that he no longer has to wait for an invitation. Y/N moves to the side to let him through, hesitantly closing the entrance behind him, contemplating the man as if he were a ticking bomb. She does a quick sweep of his physique, looking for some other clue as to what he could be plotting, aside from the mysterious gift bag in his hand. He’s wearing a pair of flared denim jeans, a white tee with a royal blue cartoon bee printed in the center along with the words Enjoy health! Eat your honey! surrounding it, his white Vans, and an oversized colorful patch-work cardigan. The outfit is surprisingly domestic compared to his usual taste, but she finds it’s easily one of her favorite fits on him. He just looks so boyish adorable.
The human comes up with nothing suspicious, glancing back up to lock eyes with her guest. Harry beams at her innocently and she knows for sure he’s planning something, but she can’t place what.
“I got you this.” The vampire speaks up first, holding out the paper bag towards Y/N with his index finger, bouncing it encouragingly. “Take a peek.”
The girl accepts the gift gingerly, giving him one more hard look before breaking away to investigate what lies beneath the tissue paper. She pulls out a small cardboard box, her eyes squinting slightly as she reads its print and surveys the label. The image on the surface appears to be of five silicone finger gloves, each about the size of a thumbtack, tiny metal plates embedded into the pads. She’s voicing her curiosity before she’s even finished studying the container.
“What...What are these?”
Harry rolls his eyes jokingly, tapping the object for emphasis. “Read the fine print, love.”
Y/N focuses on the region he’d pointed out, reciting aloud. “‘Vibrating silicone finger gloves. For the use of personal pleasure or with partners.’”
Then it all clicks.
“Oh my God, you got me— what?!” Y/N’s head snaps up in shock, mouth parted and brows creased. “Harry, what?”
The young man laughs airily, gently opening the seal of the box in her hands, which she is now holding as if it were a weapon of mass destruction. It’s such a weird present to give in general, moreso all out of the blue, so she can’t be blamed for her reaction.
He uncaps the packaging, rummaging through its contents and pulling out two of the tiny rubbery gloves. They’re transparent and ribbed, obviously meant to deliver as many sensations as possible, and they’re about two inches in length. He slips them onto his index and middle finger, making scissoring motions for the purpose of symbolism, but mainly just to watch Y/N fidget. “I remember how you said you don’t have sex toys because you’d never really thought about buying any, so I went and picked these up down at my favorite shop. Jessi said they’re good for beginners.”
“Jessi?” Y/N’s voice is tight. She’s not sure how to respond to this; she’s never been in this situation before. No one has ever just given her a sex toy as if a were a candy bar. “Who’s Jessi and why do they need to know about my sex life?”
“She’s the manager.” Harry says matter-of-factly. He doesn’t seem to find anything strange about this encounter. “She helped me pick out my first pocket vag, so I trust her with my soul. Here, look. You just slip them on and—” He makes finger thrusting motions in the air, wiggling his digits playfully. “Big O. Not as good as what I can give you, obviously, but close enough.”
“Harry, you do realize this is a little…odd, right?”
The boy blinks at Y/N blankly. “What? Why? Sex is literally the basis of this whole thing.” He signals back and forth between them with his gloved forefinger. “It’s really not that weird at all, if y’think about it.”
“I just...it’s like…”
Her argument fizzles to an end the longer she stares at him. He has the most wholesome expression painted across his handsome features, his eyes glossy with excitement. He looks genuinely elated about the present and she can’t find it in herself to question him any further. As unorthodox as this may be, it’s the first true act of kindness anyone has shown Y/N since she had moved to California. It’s the first time anyone has given the girl anything without her having to request it. She comes to the realization that Harry really is the only friend she has at the moment, and she refuses to pick and prod at that, lest he retract from her on the grounds that she’s ungrateful. Yes, this is a little atypical, but so is their whole dynamic. In his own twisted way, this is how Harry shows his friendship.
The more she ponders on it, she starts to understand that this truly is something she should accept. He went out of his way to get her this gift, which solidifies their acquaintanceship. It’s sweet.
“You know what, never mind. Thank you! I love them.”
The giddy smile that cracks his face melts her heart. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”
Harry then softly grasps her hand with his, tugging her down the entrance hallway, his intentions set on her bedroom. His voice takes on a deeper sultry twang, the corners of his mouth twitching suggestively. “Because on my way here, I was thinking, yeah? And I figured: who better to teach you how to use these than the person who picked them out.”
“Of fucking course.” Y/N huffs in amusement, shaking her head but allowing herself to be guided forward. “I should’ve known you had an ulterior motive.”
“Heyyyyy!” Harry’s whine is offended, but the coy simper dimpling his cheeks ruins any defense he could possibly try to spin. “This isn’t an ulterior motive, it’s simply a supporting one.”
“Right.” Y/N states flatly, shuffling forward slowly as he backs down her corridor, momentarily glancing over his shoulder to orient himself. “Buying a fuck buddy a sex toy is totally selfless and mutually exclusive of the agreement.”
Harry takes a turn and crosses the threshold into her bedroom, releasing her arm and instead, he opts for wrapping his fist into the loose material of her large Transformers tee, twisting the fabric around his knuckles and giving it a sharp yank. She stumbles into his chest and almost drops the box.
The vampire gazes down at her with half-lidded eyes, long lashes tempting and plush lips the color of roses. “I never said it was mutually exclusive. I just said it wasn’t meant to be evidently inclusive.”
He takes the box from her grip, sliding it onto her nightstand so that any obstacles between them are eliminated. He beckons her closer with a flick of his wrist, feeling heat erupt across his chest as her palms slap down against it to steady herself. She’s always so warm, almost like a furnace. It’s a nice contrast to his ever-present coldness.
Harry’s cupped fingers nurse the slope of her jaw, tilting her chin up to level his, Cupid’s bow ghosting over her own teasingly as a grin threatens to betray him. His accent is thick, heavy with condescension. “Now do you want me to fuck you or not?”
Y/N gulps audibly, the sudden jump in her heart rate causing Harry’s cock to give a foreshadowing twitch in his designer jeans. Her eyes soften with a form of weepy desire, head nodding in his grasp.
Harry’s top teeth catch on his lower lip as he appraises her from over the crest of his defined cheekbones. “I don’t think I heard you, pet. Must be the AC draft.”
The mortal’s eyes fall shut as she composes herself, a shaky sigh faltering past her nostrils. She tips forward onto her toes, connecting her itching mouth to his. Harry allows it, listing his head to the side to grant her more access, his free arm roping across the dip of her spine and pressing her front flushed to his. The kiss is soft and heated, full of drunken tongues and muffled whimpers. It’s tame compared to most of the others they’ve shared, but Harry likes it. It’s sloppy and intimate; only the beginning of what he knows will be a long night.
Her words sting the ridges of his lips, hot and bated. “I want you to fuck me.”
Harry speaks into her mouth, tone gentle but packing a punch. “Get my belt off for me, will you? I’m tying you to the bed tonight.”
He doesn’t have to ask twice, a dark chuckle vibrating across his tongue when her fingers immediately begin to fumble with his belt buckle.
Once Harry has looped the leather tightly around Y/N’s wrists and has knotted them to one of the wooden railings of her headboard, he sits back on his heels to admire his work. Y/N is splayed out across her mattress with her arms suspended above her head, bare thighs clasped in anticipation as her t-shirt gathers around her waist. Her hands are curled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she watches Harry leisurely shrug off his cardigan, keeping eye contact with her the whole way through. His tattoos stand out against the buttery light of the single lamp on the table, tanned arms flexing sinfully.
He shifts around, laying down onto his stomach and coasting his palms up her quivering legs, kissing over her kneecaps and along the crease of her inner thighs, bunching her shirt further up her body as he goes. As soon as he spots the first garter, he blacks out for a millisecond, vision washing red.
“Fuck, wait— did you…?” His voice is strained and desperate as he shoves the rest of her clothes up her torso, pulling her shirt over her head and letting it rest at her elbows. He hums appreciatively when he’s met with the full cherry-colored lingerie set from a few days ago, garters and all. “God, you did.”
Y/N’s gaze falls timidly, a sheepish smile brushing over her face. “I thought you’d want to see it in person, since you seemed to like it so much.”
“Mm...” Harry struggles to swallow, fingers hooking under the straps that clip to the hem of her underwear, pulling the fabric from her skin and letting them snap back into place. He revels in the tiny noise she lets slip, the pads of his digits now toying across the frilly bands encircling her upper legs. After a thoughtful heartbeat, Harry speaks up, wistful but vehement. “I’m going to make you soil your sheets again.”
Y/N bucks a tad at his promise, wrists stressing against the leather belt, but Harry’s practiced enough bondage in his lifetime to know she won’t be getting out anytime soon. He parts her knees open with his palms, dragging his silicone-covered fingers down her clothed clit and tutting when she lets out a stuttery gasp.
“Always so sensitive, aren’t you, angel?” The vampire pets at her core patiently, heat pooling at the base of his abdomen as he feels her panties damped with every stroke of his touch. “Christ, you’re already soaking through.”
“Want more.” The girl’s plead is strangled as she actively forces herself to keep her legs wide open, knowing that if she were to allow them to snap shut, Harry would only pry them apart again. “I’ve been thinking about this all week. Please.”
“All week?” Harry drags tongue across the inside of her thigh, nipping at the flesh tauntingly, the amber specks in his eyes glittering amidst his lashes. He continues to rub through her underwear, drinking up all the little noises streaming from her throat. “Tread lightly, dove. You’re swelling my ego.”
“I just…” Her hips give another jerk when he wriggles two rubber-clad fingers into the crotch of her bottoms, spreading her open just a bit and grinning against her skin at how wet she’s become. “I just need it hard tonight, Harry. Need you to leave me sore.”
“I always leave you sore.” The monster reasons mockingly, taking one of the garters between his teeth and tugging, releasing so it stings her like before. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”
Y/N trembles out an exhale, gathering herself enough to give him what he wants. “I need you to fuck me like you hate me.”
Harry grabs onto either sides of her panties, slowly peeling them down her legs and then scooting closer forward, planting an open-mouthed kiss right onto her bare clit. She mewls in return, her restraints creaking the bed. He continues pressing messy wet pecks to her cunt, feeling her tense up each time his soft lips suckle her fervently.
“Is that why you sent that picture?” Harry wonders aloud, pausing his motions and raising one eyebrow at her. “Because you wanted me mad?”
The human nods, face wracked with guilt. It’s cute that she feels bad, especially because Harry had, in actuality, enjoyed her little stunt. Seeing her bent over like that, in a position that shows she couldn’t wait to please him— that she couldn’t wait until Friday came around so he could do to her whatever he deemed fit...It was the best form of edging he’s ever experienced. But for the sake of giving her what she wants, he’ll bite the bait.
Harry rises up onto his knees, parting her thighs further as he fits himself between them, the pads of his gloved digits dancing across the thick of her damp clit. He bends down until his nose smudges over hers, the breath of his low words hot against her parted mouth.
“Well, it fucking worked.”
Harry taps his index and middle fingers against his palm in one quick flick and the tiny metal plates situated along the tips purr to life. He sinks knuckle-deep inside of Y/N, cold rings catching on her folds as he curls upwards to get at that special spot that resides along the pit of her tummy. The moan she releases it so raw and broken, it sends a zip of lightning through his veins.
He fucks her like that for a while, with his strong chest poised against her heaving own as he marks love bites onto the cleavage spilling from her lace bra, his skilled fingers pumping into her at a harsh pace that has her legs shaking on either sides. He thumbs over her clit messily, the silicone molds sending waves of vibrations through her clenching walls as he relentlessly toys with her g-spot, her arms thrashing against his belt. Fragmented sounds of bliss freely stream from Y/N’s mouth without shame, his name intermingling amongst the whimpers as her head throws back against the headboard. Harry grips her throat in one hand, holding her to the sturdy surface as his other bobs between her thighs roughly, the bed groaning as a result of their intense actions. His wrist begins to ache from how hard he’s going, but the tears trickling out from the corners of Y/N’s eyes and the way she’s panting into his mouth are enough to keep him going.
“Look at me.” Harry squeezes her jugular tighter, garnering attention. She forces her eyelids open, inhales hiccuping when he braces his cool forehead to hers, his irises the color of a forest at midnight, pupils blown out of proportion. His teeth dig into her bottom lip just to feel it swell, a growl stirring the gravel in his chest. “Is this what you wanted?”
“Y-Yes.” Y/N boggles her head feverishly, glimpsing down over her sweaty cheeks to see the way his veins are chiseling along the forearm that is flexing between her drenched thighs. “Fuck, it’s so g-good.”
“Yeah? How about we go a little higher, hm?” Harry scrapes the pads of his fingers against that spongy place inside her, pressing the vibrators down and the motion clicks the toy into a higher level of intensity.
Y/N writhes in his grasp, back arching off the headboard as deeper, more concentrated rumbles lap throughout her body. “Harry— I— that’s— God, just please!”
Harry takes ahold of her jaw as he continues finger-fucking her without remorse, his short breaths warm against her burning lips. “That’s my girl. Taking it hard and loving every second.”
Y/N’s eyes lull back into her head. She doesn’t know why, but hearing Harry call her his girl satisfies her in a manner so deep, she didn’t know it existed. Just hearing him recognize her as his— as something he claims for himself, almost like an extension of who he is— stirs a foreign form of fulfillment in the back of her mind.
“I’m—” The girl chokes on her sentence, finding it difficult to concentrate with so much pleasure coursing through her system, as well as with Harry painting hickies across the side of her strained neck. “I’m gonna cum.”
The immortal’s voice is stern and authoritative. “No, you’re not.”
“I am, I can’t hold—”
“Yes,” Harry’s grip firms, pace sharpening into unapologetic slams, “you can. And you will. If you cum before I let you, you’re not getting anything else from me for the rest of the night. Do I make myself clear?”
Y/N’s cunt tightens around his fingers, warning him that she’s about to peak. “Harry, I’m sorry—but— but I—”
“Do I make myself clear?”
Y/N has no hope that she can keep it in, but she adores the darkness swirling in Harry’s eyes at the moment and she’ll do anything if it means getting to witness it for a while longer. “Yes.”
“Good.” She winces when she feels his teeth skim her earlobe, his whisper dripping with arrogant amusement. “I told you I’d make you regret it.”
And he really does keep his oath. Minutes simulate hours as Harry continues to flirt her just along the seams of relief, pulling her back every time he sees her about to tip. Whenever he feels her begin to spasm around his slick fingers, he gives her a cautionary quirk of his brows accompanied by a testing, throaty, “Don’t you fucking dare.” or a simple, silent shake of his head. By some miracle, she manages to reign herself in every time, but each ruined orgasm makes it harder and harder to stifle the next. She doesn’t know how many times it happens; she stops counting after four.
After what feels like decades of torture, Harry finally releases his hold around her jugular, allowing her to properly gulp air for the first time in a while. He sits back against his heels, pulling his hand from between her thighs with a sarcastic sympathetic hiss. “Poor thing.”
He watches as a trail of her juices strings from his digits to her cunt, eventually snapping in the middle as he lifts his hand to study his work. Her release drips down his knuckles and palm, gleaming in the dim lighting. A mildly sadistic glint washes over Harry’s irises and for a split second, they look almost red, but Y/N dismisses it. Her brain is too fogged to trust right now.
The boy’s sight flickers past his hand to where Y/N lies limply, wrists bruised from the bonds, arms quivering weakly, and legs trembling in overstimulation. He’s never seen her look more beautiful than now.
He locks his bright eyes to her exhausted own, watching them shatter to pieces when he pushes his drenched fingers past his pillowy blushed lips. His lashes flutter as her taste washes across his tongue, sweet and decadent as always, a soft groan thrumming deep in his throat. God, he can only imagine how delectable her blood must be at the moment, honeyed by the plethora of endorphins he had repeatedly coaxed into her. He can't wait to feel its warmth fill his mouth later tonight.
Harry removes his fingers with a wet pop, licking across the back of his hand with finality and giving her a daring once-over. “Do you still want my cock? Or are you too sensitive for it, darling?”
He sounds so conceited and self-assured, it causes Y/N’s pride to flare. She wants to make him eat his stupid words.
The mortal licks her chapped lips, wetting her dry throat and clearing it softly, wiping away the sweat on her forehead with her shoulder. “I still want it.”
An impressed expression decorates Harry’s features. “You think you can take it?”
Y/N’s jaw clenches with dedication, her thighs spreading open a tad more and she wills herself not to flinch. Her chin cocks upwards. “I know I can.”
Harry’s brows kink challengingly, a borderline evil smirk sewing onto his face. “Let’s see, then.”
As it turns out, Y/N can take it. However, she knows for a fact she won’t be able to walk right for at least the next week.
Harry lowers his jeans and kicks them off, reaching into his navy briefs and tugging himself out, giving his length a few pumps for good measure as he shifts forward toward her. He flips the girl onto her belly as easily as he’d turn a sheet of paper, tying one arm around her hips and lifting them up as he slides a pillow below. He situates her accordingly onto the cushion, her ass slightly elevated to give him more range of depth. He pats at her backside lightly, telling her to part her knees and she does so obediently, gripping onto the leather strap around her wrists anxiously when she feels the bed shift with his weight. Harry lowers himself over her body, the tee covering his broad chest soaking up the thin sheet of sweat on her back. He moves all of her tangled hair to the side, burying his fingers into her roots and yanking her head back cheekily. He runs his nose across her damp cheekbone and chuckles when she jumps slightly at the feathery sensation.
“You’re pretty stubborn, aren’t you?”
Y/N gnaws on her bottom lip as she struggles to swallow, throat taut from the angle he’s put her in. Her voice carries a confident bite, despite her compromisable position. “I like to think I am, yeah.”
“Well, you know what that makes you, right?” Harry murmurs as he lines himself up with her entrance.
“Mm-mm. What?”
The vampire presses a lingering kiss to the tittering pulse in her temple, feeling it thunder below his skin as he forms his next comment slowly with an ominous edge. “It makes you a brat.”
He feels her heartbeat trip.
“And you know what I do to brats?”
Y/N shakes her head as much as his dominant grasp will allow, body tightening in suspense.
“I fuck them until they break.”
Y/N learns that he’s telling the truth. The first thrust Harry delivers is swift, hard, and unbelievably deep; it causes her to let out a choked scream that no one else has ever drawn from her before, except for him. It’s like he can tap into certain aspects of her body she was unaware of; parts of her waiting for the right person to come along and reveal them. She feels that stroke rip into her tummy, but the pain of his size is something she’s become accustomed to in the last three weeks. She hardly feels it anymore; it had molded from a sharp throb to a dull ache, due to how often she’s experienced it.
Harry doesn’t waste any time, quickly picking up a sloppy, adamant pace that has her hips bouncing against the mattress. He twists her hair around his fist, mouth pressed to the side of her head as his hot pants of exertion send a prickling through her scalp. His other forearm keeps him anchored to the bed as he pounds into her with absolutely no hesitation, the sound of skin slapping, cracked whines, and raspy grunts filling the tense atmosphere of her chilly room.
“Is this what you were hoping would happen when you sent that slutty picture?” Harry grits out, short nails digging into the comforter beneath. “Wanted to get me all riled up just so I’d do your back in?”
Y/N mewls weakly in response, hands clinging to each other within the makeshift cuffs.
“If you wanted me to fuck you like I hate you, you could have just asked. I’m more than happy to give you whatever you want. You don’t have to tempt me.” The vampire gives a particularly deep slam, laughing breathily when the girl’s back instinctively arches forward, paired with a watery yelp of, “Oh!”
Harry’s tongue grazes across the shell of her ear, teeth catching the skin. “But since you did, I’ll give it to you just— like—that.” His thrusts match to each word, fingers coiling harder into her locks. “You deserve it. Especially when you had the nerve to act like such a spoiled little brat right to my face.”
Y/N’s not sure what emboldens her to speak, but her snarky remark is already halfway down her numb tongue before she can stop it. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”
Harry hums tauntingly, circling his hips in long strides that urge a series of fractured whimpers to scrape out of Y/N’s sore throat. “Say it again. Go ahead, say it. I want to see you try.”
She remains silent, spine shuddering as she bites down on her tongue to avoid making any more noises that might condemn her.
Harry roughly cranes Y/N’s neck to the side, buttoning their lips together in a filthy kiss that has her cheeks boiling. “That’s what I thought. The only thing that sharp tongue is good for is licking down my cock.”
She gasps against his mouth shakily, tears of sheer bliss gathering along her waterline. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”
Harry can tell her comment holds no true malice behind it; she’s too sweet on him— too whipped on what he gives her— to ever mean it. She’d only said it to provoke him into a power dynamic struggle. But the thing is, Harry’s dealt with feeling powerless before, so he had spent years teaching himself how to win. How to always win.
“Am I, now?” His next line dismantles her entire plan. “Would an asshole let you cum?”
And just like that, her whole demeanor crumbles. “I take it back. I’m s-sorry.”
Harry releases her hair and nips at her ear mockingly, beginning to withdraw himself. “Oh, I think it’s a bit too late for that, minx.”
“No, no! Harry, please. I’m sorry. Genuinely. I promise I won’t say it again. Just…” She tugs helplessly at the belt restraints, trying to twist around to look at him directly. Her voice is wringed out. “Just please.”
The boy pushes a few stringy curls out of his eyes, pressing his tongue into his cheek coyly as he glances down, suggestively smoothing one hand over her ass. He gives it a firm squeeze, lifting his palm teasingly and feeling her tense in anticipation. “Do you want it?”
Y/N glimpses at his bejeweled hand with hunger, then back at his eyes. “Yes.”
“Tell me you want it.”
“I want it.”
“Sorry, I seem to have forgotten what ‘it’ was, exactly. Jog my memory, will you? What is it you want?”
Her irises harden in spite at his shit-eating comment. He’s well aware of how shy she can be when it comes to admitting she wants a spanking, and he’s playing that to his advantage. He’s swimming in the way she squirms.
“I...I want you to spank me.”
He tsks, shaking his head as he twists his HS rings around to face inwards. “You forgot something.”
Y/N’s fingers tighten into begrudging fists. “I want you to spank me, please.”
“There’s a good girl.” His low, accented purr sends electricity through her nerves. “You’re so cute when you beg.”
Harry’s hand comes down swiftly, digits fanned out so that all of his rings print across her backside. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to leave a satisfying sting. He loves the way she jolts forward with a hushed curse of surprise, and he adores seeing the shape of his initials marked across her clammy skin. It’s poetic, almost.
“So pretty.” His mumble is wistful as he massages deeply over the region he had just bruised, but it holds unyielding authority. “Whose is it, doll?”
“Yours.”
“And don’t you fucking forget it.” The creature lifts one palm to do it again, pausing once more just to rev her further. He reaches forward with the other, shoving her face-first into the mattress to get her back to straighten out. “Look forward and don’t make a single sound.”
Y/N obeys, but manages to sneak a peek at his reflection through the waxy wooden surface of her aged bedframe. He looks so good perched behind her with bare heaving shoulders, looking down at her exposed figure over the crests of his sharp cheekbones, brows furrowed into a starved expression that gives away he’s enjoying this probably more than she is. Her voice comes out small and weak. “Yes, sir.”
Harry’s entire face tightens at the word and she feels him throb against her backside.
“Now beg me to let you cum.”
///
The next morning when Y/N’s eyes flutter open to the grey light streaking in through her curtains, the first thing she senses is a pair of eyes staring at the side of her face.
She turns her stiff body over toward where the sensation stems and sure enough, she’s met with a pair of sea glass irises filled to the brim with humor. Harry’s laying on his side with his hands tucked below one of her pillows, tousled ringlets sticking up in wild tuffs (thanks to the activities they’d engaged yesterday), he’s completely bare since he likes sleeping nude (though he’d had the decency to cover himself with sheets from the waist down), and his voice is slower and raspier than usual (a result of being dormant for the last eight or so hours).
“You drool in your sleep.”
Y/N tucks her hands against Harry’s cold pectorals, snuggling deeper into his chest and pinching at one of his nipples in playful revenge. “No, I don’t.”
“Yes,” he reaches up and shoos her hand away, proceeding to wipe at the side of her mouth, where dried spit had accumulated. He makes a theatrical gagging face, cleaning his thumb off across the collar of her t-shirt. “You do.”
Y/N sighs in exasperation, making a bold leap to a different topic to avoid talking about her embarrassing sleep habits. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you staring at people while they sleep is weird? Like, serial killer weird?”
Harry tucks a few matted strands of hair behind the human’s ear, thumbing over her cheekbone tenderly. He hardly ever indulges in such actions, simply because they’re typically reserved for actual couples, which he and Y/N are definitely not. But last night— after he had finally finished being a prick and allowed her cum along with him, and after she had fallen into the bed with exhaustion taking her under, and after he’d had his greedy fill of her blood for the week— he’d gotten bored of playing on his phone. He’d burned through three cold case documentaries on Netflix and played enough Mario Kart to memorize the race charts; it had grown old quickly, and he eventually just locked the device and placed it on her nightstand. He spent the next hour staring at her hideous ceiling, and the one after that fantasizing about taking down her tapestry and burning it in the oven. And finally, after hours of mindless daydreams and letting his eyes chase the city lights dancing across the walls of her room, he had settled onto his side and watched her sleep.
Harry did it simply because he had nothing else to distract him. He figured it would eventually bore him enough that maybe— just maybe, if he was lucky— he would fall asleep alongside her. But he didn’t, so he just ended up gazing at her slumbering face until dawn. He had been surprised by how oddly beautiful Y/N looked sleeping— how relaxed and tranquil, with her features soft and skin seemingly made of flawless porcelain. That intrigue had bled into the moment they share now, resulting in his touch drifting down the curve of her jaw and across the faint dimple on her chin. He follows the slope of her neck and admires the smoothness of her flesh with the ridges of his fingertips, hearing her breathing stutter ever so slightly. His heightened senses make it feel as if he’s running his digits over velvet and the only concept he can compare it to is touching forbidden artwork at an exhibit. It’s exciting, but he knows that if he keeps going, he could end up getting himself into a crock of shit.
When the pads of his fingers land on two prominent purple bruises he’d forgotten existed, he’s broken from his soft stupor. He retracts his touch as if she were made of iron, forcing himself to ignore the pout that automatically plumps her delicate lips.
He clears his throat awkwardly, a tight chuckle stringing his vocal chords. “Staring at someone in their sleep seemed to work just fine for Edward Cullen, though.”
Y/N snorts sharply, rolling her eyes up towards her headboard. When she sees his belt is still hanging off of it from the night prior, she hurriedly glances back down, pretending not to have seen it.
“It’s funny you say that because as I recall, he literally admitted to being a murderer. I believe his exact words were,” she exaggerates her voice into an angsty cry, grasping at her chest dramatically, “‘This is the skin of a killer, Bella!’”
Harry bursts into boyish giggles, falling fully onto his back and swiping his palm up his face, fingers remaining perched over his closed eyes as he laughs. He sighs airily, shaking his head as an afterthought. “What a moron.”
“Truly. His dad was hotter.”
“Way hotter.” Harry agrees passionately, burying his hand into his messy curls, attempting to comb out some of the tangles. “And he was a doctor. What a man.”
“Bella really fucked that one up. She had a midlife crisis over choosing between a sad vampire who looked like he had chronic constipation, and a yappy dog with a shirt phobia. All when Carlisle was right there. Brain damage, honestly.”
“A moment of prayer for the mentally incapacitated. Couldn't be me!”
“Couldn’t be me, either.”
“Fuck, yeah.” Harry throws his hand up, inviting Y/N to give him a high five. “To good taste.”
She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”
An instance of comfortable silence suspends between the pair of lovers, filled with the soft thrum of the air vent and the distant chirping of birds outside Y/N’s windowpane. She traces her index nail over the wings of the swallow tattoos along Harry’s collarbones, seeming to be deep in thought. She then speaks up once again.
“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.”
“You know what? I’m happy you mentioned that ‘cause— full disclosure here— I’d ride him like a fucking bull.”
Now it’s Y/N’s turn to explode in a fit of giggles, nose scrunching and eyes crinkling shut as she loses herself at Harry’s graphic confession.
“Why are you laughing?!” The fact that he sounds genuinely appalled only spurs her sounds of glee. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t take that chance if you got it. Like, okay, he’s an airhead, yeah? I’m aware. But fuck’s sake, look at his body. I’d happily let him beat me at arm wrestling if it means I get that celebratory dick afterwards.”
The mortal manages to calm down a handful of heartbeats later and Harry feels strangely proud of how he’d made her pulse spike.
“You’re valid for that, don’t worry. I couldn’t have said it—” A single giggle interupts her sentence, but she reigns it in before it can spiral. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Literally. There’s no way to express it better than exactly how you stated it.”
Harry smirks softly up at the ceiling, folding his free arm behind his head as the other wraps securely down Y/N’s back, absentmindedly rubbing in gentle soothing circles. “My mind. It’s amazing, innit?”
“It’s definitely something.”
Another span of cozy quietness fills the atmosphere of the room, longer than the last. Harry doesn’t mind. He finds it appeasing, and he continues to delight himself with running his touch up and down Y/N’s spine. He’s not sure how much time passes, but he’s aware that it’s probably a bit. His theory is supported by how he witnesses the beam of watery light that filters over the duvet gradually fade from silver to a sunflower yellow, indicating full daybreak.
Even then, he doesn’t say a word, too caught up in this innocent bubble of domestic bliss to pop it so suddenly. He just lays there and listens. Listens to the birds harmonizing with each other across the branches of the tree outside. To the steady breaths that fill Y/N’s lungs with cool air, faltering past her nostrils in the same manner and fogging the metal of his cross necklace. To the faint sound of footsteps trotting down the staircase outside her apartment, and to the vague spritz of the sprinkler system going off at the front of the complex. To the distant honking of car horns in traffic, and to a random conversation between two friends as they walk past the pavement just under Y/N’s balcony. He hasn’t felt this at ease in eons.
Harry just allows himself to grow in tune with the world around him— a world he’d been convinced was against him for the longest time. A world he was convinced stole his happiness and replaced it with the shackles of a blood-driven afterlife, for no other reason than because he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and met the wrong person. But now, he feels like he’s in the right place, at the right time, spending it with the right person— or at least a half-decent person— and he doesn’t want to let it slip between his fingers so soon. He wants to bask in it, even if he knows it’ll pass.
And eventually, it does pass, and Y/N is the one who brings it to an end.
The girl slowly peels away from Harry’s side, his lips dipping downwards slightly at the loss of the warmth she radiates. He thinks she’s about to get up to probably go use the bathroom or to make breakfast, but instead, she just bends her upper body over the edge of her bed to retrieve something from the floor. She comes back up with the box he’d brought her the evening before (which had ended up on the ground as a result of her bed rocking violently), setting it in the small space between their laps. She then returns to her place cuddled into his torso, looking up at him with an expression that Harry can only interpret as expecting.
The vampire glances down at the container and then back up to Y/N’s face, raising his eyebrows curiously, voice tinged with comedy. “What did I say about bringing sex toys to the dinner table?”
Y/N stares up at him flatly for a second, fighting off a smile. “I just wanted to thank you again. It’s nice of you to bring me a present, even as strange as this one.”
Harry sucks at his teeth, waving a hand dismissively, blinking down at her with slyness sparkling around his pupils. “What are friends for, if not for buying you vibrating finger gloves and then fucking you with them until you cry?”
Despite having been acquainted with Harry’s crude humor for three weeks now, it still manages to make Y/N’s cheeks sizzle. It could also be the fact that this is the first time Harry has openly accepted Y/N as a friend. It’s the first time he’s ever mentioned her name and that word in the same sentence, meaning that she can now shake a weight off her shoulders— a weight that had insisted he was only using her for sex, that he would eventually grow bored of her, and that he would throw her away once he was done. It’s good to know that’s not the case, and that the friendship aspect of their agreement is true to its name.
“Right.” Y/N’s smile is full of so much genuine warmth, Harry feels like she could outshine the sun. “What are friends for, if not that. Thanks, Harry.”
He wonders what she’s thinking, and he finds himself wishing that he had the one valid trait that idiot Edward Cullen possesses: mind-reading. But he doesn’t have it, so he simply returns her gesture and skates the conversation how he best deems fit. “You don’t have to call me ‘Harry’ all the time, you know?”
Y/N’s brows cinch in entertained confusion. “What would I call you, then? Sherlock?”
Harry scoffs lightly at the inside joke, shrugging one shoulder casually. “I mean, you could, if you want to. It might take some getting used to, but I think I can shoulder a full-time second identity. Just for you.”
“How chivalrous.”
“You ain’t ever met a man like me, sweetheart.” He boasts in an over-the-top American southern accent, prying another round of laughter from Y/N, similar to the one before. “But you could also just call me ‘H.’ It’s what most of my other friends use.”
“H.” Y/N repeats, getting a taste for the new nickname. It’s simple, unlike him, but it somehow fits. She then recalls something from a show she’d watched when she was younger and she can’t help but bring it up. “So, like, just your first initial? Like in Gossip Girl?”
Harry’s face immediately drops at the comparison she makes to the cringey teenage soap opera. “You know what, I take it back. You’re not allowed to use it. Illegal. Banned. By an official court. Gavel and all.”
“I’m just making a point!”
“Yeah, a shitty one.”
“Oh, whatever. You’re just mad I debunked your little hipster alter ego. ‘That’s a secret I’ll never tell. Xoxo, H.’”
“Restraining order.” Harry pinches at one of her love handles, an evil grin dimpling his cheeks when she squeals. “Actually, nevermind. We’re going straight to the electric chair. Immediately.”
“You don’t get to decide my punishment, remember?” Y/N slaps at his wrists, trying to ward off his attacks but failing miserably. “You’re just the—stop!— just the executioner.”
“That’s right. I get to strap you to the chair.” Harry finally lets up on the tickling, his lighthearted grin taking on a slightly seductive hue as he momentarily glimpses upwards towards where his belt is hanging. “Though you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Fuck off.” Y/N smothers her palm against his face, breaking eye contact as she feels her ears bristle with heat.
“Mm, exactly.” Harry gnashes at her hand playfully, but she manages to yank it away before he gets a bite in. “You can’t even admit you like being called a whore.”
“Hey!”
“What?” The vampire gives her a cocky look, wagging his head knowingly and then mimicking her voice in a higher pitch. “‘I’m just making a point!’”
“You’re a dick, you really are.”
“And yet you still ride mine, so who’s the one with the real issues here? Specifically, daddy issues.”
“I’m done with this conversation.” Y/N huffs, returning her attention to the box beside her thigh, muffling the twitching across her lips.
She takes the cardboard into her hands, tracing over the small flap used to pry the top open. Harry watches her with interest, pondering as to what could possibly be scurrying around her skull that she seems so caught up with the context of the gift. He’d gotten it because he knew they would both benefit from it. It’s as simple as that.
“You know,” she starts, but her gaze remains glued to the box, “I feel kinda bad ‘cause, like...You got me this gift, I have nothing to give you in return.”
Harry’s face contorts into a silly frown for a moment, tone humorous. “It’s fine, Y/N. You don’t have to give me anything back. I got it ‘cause I knew we’d enjoy using it together, and because this way, you have something to play with when I’m not around. And you can send me videos of said instances. It’s truly a win-win. A double-ended gift.”
“I suppose.” She mumbles softly, continuing to pick at the lip of cardboard sticking out. “But I feel like it’s only fair that you get to use it, too, don’t you think?”
And then the reason she’s insistent about this dawns on Harry. The way she’s avoiding looking at him directly, how her heart rate is slowly ebbing upwards, how she is gradually scooting closer to his body, how he can feel her thighs are clasped tightly below the comforter. How the scent of honey and lavender has intensified. How she keeps glancing towards where the sheets are crumpled messily around his hips in a haphazard attempt to remain civil.
When the monster speaks, it carries all the arrogance brought forward by his discovery. “If you wanna give me a handjob with the toy on, just say so.”
The human’s head snaps upwards, her expression one of utter alarm at his lewd comment, but he can see right through her act. It’s obvious that was her intention all along— the desire in her eyes is poorly masked. She looks so adorable, pretending not to know what he’s referring to, her palms gripping the box slightly tighter than before.
Harry twirls a strand of her hair around his finger nonchalantly, giving it a jesting tug. “I just find it funny how much of a horny menace you can be.”
“What—?”
“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”
“What do you—?”
“Y/N,” Harry sighs tiredly, giving her an omniscient look, “I’ve slept with you enough times to know when you want something. It’s written all over your body language and you’re pretty shit at hiding it in your eyes. Just admit you want to and I’ll let you.”
The faux shock slowly melts off her face, replaced by sheepish humiliation at being so easily sussed out. She chews on her bottom lip pensively, struggling to sew together the appropriate words to communicate the very inappropriate activity she wants to engage in. Harry has to withhold from leaning down and taking a bite from her tempting mouth.
She inhales a deep breath through her nose, puffing it out slowly and tapping her fingers across the box nervously. Her voice pipes up so softly, it’s almost inaudible. “I want to give you a handjob with the toy.”
Harry gently cards his fingers into the mussed roots along the back of her head, using that hold to guide her sight upwards until it meets his. He leans down, smearing his lips over her own, feeling static pass through the ridges of their skin. “That’s all you had to say, darling. Go ahead, then. Make me cum.”
Y/N swallows thickly, lashes fluttering bashfully as she pastes her mouth to his in a soft kiss. It’s a simple action with just their lips and nothing else. No tongue, no teeth, no sucking, nothing sloppy or desperate— not yet, anyways. He can tell she does it as a way to ease herself into this. She wants to, that much is arousingly obvious, but for some crazy reason unbeknownst to him, she’s still shy about it. That’s what happens when you come from a conservative raising: you get intimacy issues. He of all people— with his Victorian era background— would know.
The hand Harry has cupping the nape of her neck shifts over a smidge, ending up splayed across the side of her face. His palm rests on her cheekbone and his fingers in her locks, his wrist cradling the back of her skull as he patiently deepens the kiss. His chest begins to heave slightly, a familiar sensation already frothing at the trench of his stomach. Harry can feel Y/N’s clumsy movements as she unboxes the vibrators, digging through the packaging and trying to slip them on blindly, not wanting to break away from his embrace. The way he’s flirting his tongue along the inside of her top lip is just too consuming to leave.
After a few seconds of grappling and a string of annoyed curse words, Harry giggles lightly into her mouth, nudging the tip of his nose across the bridge of hers. The jade tint in his irises is waltzing with amusement, all at her expense. “Sometime today, love.”
“I know, I’m sorry, I just— I can’t— they won’t—” The mortal releases an irritated growl into their kiss, reluctantly splitting away when it becomes clear she won’t be able to get the rubber gloves on without giving the task her full attention. “God, I’m such a...Sorry.”
Harry rolls his eyes in mirth, pecking sweetly along the angry creases present over her forehead and between her brows. He thumbs over her cheek affectionately to soothe her nerves, his other hand scratching distractedly at the back of his neck. He filters curls through his fingers as he waits, bicep jolting in the process. “It’s fine, I’m just teasing. I’m not going anywhere, babe.”
“Thanks. Just give me—” The girl pauses her actions for a second, jutting her chin back up towards him and locking the vampire into another quick kiss, solely for the purpose of keeping him interested while she figures herself out. She breaks away again, returning to her mission. “Just give me a minute.”
Now that she can see, Y/N successfully wriggles all five of her fingers into their designated molds. She prods at them gingerly, copying Harry’s actions from the night prior, using that experience as a manual. The mini-vibrators purr to life, a buzzing sensation trickling down her fingers. She glances back up at an awaiting Harry, who gives her such an easy, good-natured smile, she instantly reaches up and glues their mouths together again.
“You’re so eager.” The boy grins into the kiss, jumping a bit when he feels her tittering fingers duck beneath the covers around his lower torso. “It’s hot.”
“I just want to make you feel good.” Y/N mumbles, one palm braced to his strong shoulder as the other rides down his bare abdomen. She can feel his grip on her hair tightening the closer she gets to his cock. “That’s all.”
“Guess I’m just the luckiest— shit.” Harry’s quip is interrupted when Y/N wraps her digits around his length, giving it one slow, testing pump. His jaw drops open and he begins panting into her mouth, the corners of his lips ticking upwards into a smirk as an intense pleasure swells between his thick thighs. “Jesus fucking Christ, that feels— fuck, that’s incredible, oh my God.”
“Yeah?” The human asks timidly, gazing up at him dreamily from below her lashes as his eyes lull back into his head. “Not too much?”
Harry loves how attentive she is— how she’s checking to make sure he’s alright before continuing. If he had a heart, it would surely be glowing right now.
Harry gulps down the lump in his throat, voice more strained and needy than she’s ever heard it. “No, I’m good, I’m good. Keep going.”
Y/N gradually sinks her palm back down to his base, feeling his cock twitch desperately as the vibrators work their magic. She slowly slinks back up to his tip, thumbing over it carefully, pressing the toy on her thumb pad right over his slit. The garbled moan that emits from Harry is a sound her ears will never forget. It’s a sound she wishes she could record and listen to on a loop.
“Fucking hell, don’t— please, just— oh—” Harry stutters through a plead, voice bleeding, naked chest now heaving wildly against her own. His hips buck forward into her hand, but she maintains a steady grip, keeping the vibrator pressed to the center of his cock’s head.
“Don’t what?” She whispers into his mouth, suckling at his Cupid’s bow and reveling in the little broken noises he pours onto her tongue.
Harry’s breaths are shallow and pained, the grip on her hair stronger than she thought possible as the fingers of his opposite hand yank at his own feverishly. He’s barely able to choke out his next sentence. “Don’t stop.”
“I won’t.” Y/N begins to fish for a solid rhythm, her strokes setting into medium pace and gauging the receiver's reaction. “How’s that?”
Bright colors web across Harry’s eyelids and he feels like his soul is being torn from his body. “Y-Yeah, that’s perfect, baby. It’s so good— you’re so good.”
“I am?” Y/N swipes her thumb over his tip again, and when he whimpers brokenly against her lips, she does it again. It urges the same exact reaction, but more shattered. So she does it again. And again, and again, and again. And each time it happens, his hips jerk more violently, chasing her intoxicating touch. She can feel Harry’s precum drip down his length and leak between the cracks of her fingers.
“You are, you’re just so fucking good to me.” Harry’s spewing words at this point, brain half conscious, half floating in bliss. Whatever dam of common sense holds his mind together crumbles, all of his thoughts rushing out in the form of jumbled phrases and cracked whines. “You get me going like nothing else, pet. You get me going so easily, it’s embarrassing. You make me cum so hard, it feels like I’m touching h-heaven. And your mouth— God, y-your mouth. It’s the best I’ve ever had. It’s so soft and warm, and your lips are so pretty and silky. I could kiss you for hours. And your tongue— you know how to use it so well. You lick me once and I’m already on edge. And every time you get down on your knees, I think I’m gonna pass out.”
Y/N sighs shakily at Harry’s string of confessions, staring up at him with wide eyes as his own stay shut loosely, long lashes perched on his rosy cheekbones, handsome features slack with euphoria. She doesn’t halt her motions, continuing to pump him excitedly. The girl passes her thumb over his tip every time she gets to the top, and gives a hard squeeze every time she thunks down against his base, twisting her wrist as she glides back and forth between the two points of reference. That combination seems to work well, evident in the steady stream of vulgarities falling from Harry’s swollen lips as he thrusts upwards to match her pace. His groans splash across her tongue, traveling down her throat and burning into her stomach. She wants him to cum probably more than he does.
Y/N glimpses down, watching her sheets tent as she works Harry over, the outline of her knuckles pressing into the turquoise fabric. It’s such an erotic scene and she knows it’ll be branded across the front of her brain for years to come. She cranes her neck back up to look at the vampire, her breath catching in her lungs. He looks so pretty with his dark pink lips parted in pleasure, his damp ringlets matting along his sweaty hairline, his structured jaw ticking, and his usually sharp traits softened by ecstasy. She’ll do anything to make that image last.
“Tell me more.” Y/N murmurs, swimming in the praise he is so willing to dish out.
His eyes flicker for a heartbeat and in that instance, they look oddly darker than normal. Almost crimson, but she knows it’s due to the shadow of his lashes. The words that spill from his mouth next make her forget all about that occurrence, his voice melodic and dark, sticky against her wet lips.
“Your hands are one of my favorite things about you, I think. They’re smaller than mine and I love how your fingers don’t touch when you wrap them around my cock. I love how they leave my back raw with scratches, and I love how they look tied to the bedpost. I love it when they press flat against my chest when you ride me, and how you lean back on them when I’m on my knees with my head between your thighs. I love how they yank at my hair when you’re about to cum, and how they grip my upper arms when we make-out. I love how your nails dig into my thighs when you're going down on me, and how they look fisting at the sheets when I’m taking you from behind. And I love how they feel tugging me off, like you’re doing now. I just love how perfect they are— how perfect you are.”
Y/N is left speechless, Harry’s monologue ringing in her heated ears as he gazes at her intensely amidst heavy, barely-cracked eyelashes. His broad chest gasps for air and he takes it upon himself— despite his wrecked appearance— to smush their mouths deeper together, pooling moans across the roof of her own.
“I’m—” His breathing throttles, voice coming out softer than she’s heard it in the last three weeks. “I’m gonna cum.”
Y/N nods her head numbly, strokes becoming lazy and fast, eager for him to finish. “I want you to. I want you to cum for me so bad. Please?”
Harry’s hips writhe in a tell-tale sign that he’s about to tip. His whimper tastes sweet on her tongue, the meaning behind it pure syrup to her ego. “You’re the only one who makes me feel this good.”
The mortal whines gently in return, eyes falling shut as she feels him grow heavier in her palm. “You’re the only one I want to make feel this good.”
The knot of white hot pleasure in his belly begins to unravel, his entire spine shuddering as a result, all strain beginning to wash out of his system in spurts if blissful electricity. He can feel his orgasm racing up his prick, pulling his composure along with it. He gives one last jerk against Y/N’s cupped fingers, feeling her press her vibrating thumb over his slit one more time for good measure. When the first milky ribbon spurts out, that’s when he feels it.
Harry’s eyelids fly open in alarm as black veins protrude along the whites of his eyes, all his muscles contracting at once, defense mode activated. Y/N’s lips are on his neck.
His first instinct is to do what he always does and guide her away from that sensitive, highly forbidden area. His fist tightens in her hair and he’s about to yank her back up to his mouth when suddenly, the icy tension present in his veins disappears. It’s replaced by a soothing warmth, which travels through every crevice in his body and kindles his climax, his impulsive hatred for being touched in that specific region funneling away completely. He can’t remember a time where this has happened before.
Harry’s grip loosens hesitantly as he treads into this unexplored territory, allowing her to continue suckling along his throat. The sensation would usually garner a reaction similar to that of a molten metal brand being placed on his skin, but now— for some startling reason— he doesn’t feel any contempt. He just feels relaxed and cradled in the best way imaginable. The impact is pleasant this time around, and he finds himself wanting more of it. So, he lets her give him more. He lets this strange girl kiss and gasp and lick against his jugular while she finishes getting him off, his own desperate sounds of need bouncing around the brick walls of her bedroom. He lets her coax wave after wave of cum out of him, feeling it splatter against her bedspread and coat over her hand. He whines and grunts into the hair along the crown of her head, tears blearing his eyes as her scent of sugar and flowers clouds his mind. And when his release finally sputters to an end, he lets out an elongated groan so deep, it makes his chest ache.
“Fuck. You’re...You’re an absolute angel.”
Y/N draws her hand out from beneath the bed sheets, turning off the vibrating finger pads by pressing them against her palm. She looks down at the milky substance covering the toys and before Harry can make even a sound of encouragement, she’s already licking it off each individual piece. The girl looks up at the vampire as she cleans every trace of him off her fingers, swallowing it all down with a doe-like tint across her hazy gaze and murmuring a soft, “You taste good.” over a full mouth. Harry just watches silently, heavy breathing slowly starting to even out. God, she really is such a fucking godsend.
The next couple of minutes list by in a blur, all of his focus taken up by the feeling of unsettlement pricking at the back of his brain. Why had he let her touch him there? Why had he let her touch him in a place no one has since before his death?
Y/N puts the toys back in their box, putting them off to the side to thoroughly clean later. She reaches down, bunching up her bedspread in her hand and wiping Harry’s pelvis, thighs, and tummy down until he’s decently clean, as well as whatever is left on her hand. She then snuggles up to his side once again, laying her head into the crook between his arm and pectoral muscles, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully along with him. The irritating red tint across Harry’s chest, stomach, and neck gradually fades away, and he barely flinches when he feels her sponge her lips against his Adam’s Apple. She lulls the tip of her middle finger up along the vein of his cock one more time for finality, smiling slyly when he hisses in sensitivity.
The immortal tilts his head down to appraise her, sniffling lightly and allowing a weak, watery smile across his raw lips. His tone is feathery and detached. “That was…Christ.”
Y/N giggles softly, nodding along to his unspoken opinion. “It was fun. Really fun. We should do it again sometime.”
Harry splutters into a drunken laugh, mind still floating around the room. “I don’t think I could survive that again.”
Y/N grins up at him cheekily. “Pussy.”
Her friend breaks into an expression of utter offense, cheeks still slightly rosy. He shoves her head roughly as vengeance. “Hey! Piss off. Don’t blame it on me, blame it on the male anatomy.”
The girl shakes her head up at him, eyebrows shrugging mockingly. “Excuses, excuses.”
“Whatever.”
A moment passes, and then Y/N speaks up again, her index finger poking playfully into the center of his bare chest, right over the butterfly tattoo. “Also, you’re washing my sheets. Your mess, you clean it up.”
Harry grins against her forehead, scratching lightly at the back of her scalp. “Fair enough…Wait, is that why you wanted to do this? ‘Cause you knew I’d soil your sheets and you could force me to do your laundry?”
That hadn’t been her motive at all, and Harry knows that, but she plays along anyways for the hell of the joke. “Perhaps.”
“Wow. I feel used.”
“Too bad. Go do it. Now. Before it stains.”
Harry stares at her like she’s sprouted a second head. “I literally can’t walk right now! I can’t feel anything below my waist.”
Y/N lifts the comforter off her body, symbolically showing off the bruises his fingertips and rings had left the night before. “Well, neither can I!”
Harry reaches down and touches the marks, chuckling to himself. “How unfortunate. Who’s gonna make breakfast, then, if neither of us can even stand?”
“We could UberEats some iHop.”
“Who’s gonna get the door?”
“Well, I can’t solve everything on my own, now can I?!” Y/N slaps his hand away from her body. “Contribute! You’re the lead detective, after all.”
“I am, aren’t I?” Harry cocks his head to the side in recollection, remembering his role in their imaginary dynamic duo scenario. “And because I’m the lead, I say…” He ropes his lean arms around the human and buries his face into her warm neck, pulling her close and intertwining their legs together, trapping her to the mattress along with him. “I say we just bum around for a bit longer. Just until one of us can actually muster up the strength to leave the bed.”
Y/N makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, but makes no apparent attempt to leave his embrace. “Fine.”
“Mystery solved, then! Elementary, my dear Watson.”
“You’re so dumb.”
The pair stay cuddled for a bit, with Y/N’s hands loosely gripping Harry’s forearms, tracing across his mermaid tattoo absently. She wanders in her thoughts for a period of time, lost in the sensation of Harry’s warm breath fanning down her neck, his hot lips pressing small kisses behind her ear every once in a while. She likes their morning after routine; it’s innocent and fun and sharing moments like this makes it easy to forget her troubles. She wants more of this, and she finds herself trying to come up with ways to convince Harry to spend the night more often. This is only the fourth time he’s stayed until morning and she wants that number to grow.
An idea dawns on her and she’s voicing it before her inhibitions can kill it off.
“Do you...Do you maybe wanna stay over the rest of the weekend?”
Harry draws his face from the alcove of her soft neck, eyebrows poised in curiosity. “The rest of the weekend?”
“Yeah!” Y/N shifts her gaze up to look at him, hope swirling around her pupils. “Like, spend the rest of today and tomorrow over, and then leave tomorrow night ‘cause I have work on Monday. Does that, like...Does that make sense?”
“Yeah.” Harry says slowly, mulling over her offer, thinking back to his schedule. He doesn’t think he has any commitments this weekend that would require him being home— none he can’t cancel easily, anyways. He’d told Mitch he’d go see him play again at the pub later today, but it’s the same set as last time, so he doesn’t think his best friend would mind if he missed it just this once. Niall was planning a barbecue at his place on Sunday, but the Irish bloke does one almost every other week so it’s nothing Harry can’t make up. Plus, what type of idiot would pass up two day’s worth of amazing sex? The more, the merrier.
Y/N watches the vampire’s expression carefully, trying to interpret whether her request was out of their boundaries. She doesn’t want to make him feel like she’s trying to tie him down or suffocate him, she just wants to spend a bit more time in his presence, rather than through a phone screen. Her tone comes out dismissive, with just the tiniest hint of panic. “It’s okay if you can’t, though. Like, if you have other plans and stuff, I totally get it. Or if you just don’t want to, that’s fine, too! I just thought it’d be a fun little thing we can do since we already talk so much on the phone and everything, so I guess I just kinda figured you wouldn’t mind—”
“I get it, Y/N.” Harry interrupts Y/N’s unhinged word vomit, voice amused and nonchalant. “I think I’d like that, yeah.”
Y/N blinks in giddy surprise. “Really?”
“Well, don’t sound so shocked.” Harry laughs lightly, fingers toying with the pearls laying across his clavicle. “The sex is pretty fucking good and I’m more than happy to have it at my disposal.”
“Right.” Y/N gives him a deadpan look, shaking her head at his bluntness, reaching forward to fiddle with the chain of his cross necklace for the sake of having something to distract her from smiling like a fool. “Great, then. I have some old boxers that I know will probably fit you and an unopened pack of toothbrushes under the sink, so I think you’re set.”
Harry’s lips purse at the mention of the men’s underwear, brows creasing a tad. “You just casually have men’s boxers laying around?”
“They were my ex’s and I kept them out of spite. But don’t tell anyone, I don’t wanna get locked up for robbery.”
The tightness in his chest— which he hadn’t even realized had formed— melts away. “My lips are sealed.”
“Good, or else I’d have to kill you.” The girl states darkly, a theatrical seriousness to her appearance.
“Oh no.” Harry wails sarcastically, knotting a fist into her oversized tee and pulling her closer, connecting their lips and grinning into the kiss. “I’m shaking in fear.”
Y/N gives in without much of a fight, hands still clinging to his forearms, a smile of her own creeping across her cheeks. “Asshole.”
“The only thing I’m relatively afraid of is my dick falling off. You have the sexual drive of a rabbit.”
“Oh, like you’re any better?”
“I’m innocent in all this! You’re usually the one instigating. I’m just a mere pawn— a poor, unsuspecting nun led astray.”
“God, I can’t believe I let you fuck me.”
///
The following weekend, Harry officially invites Y/N over to his house.
It had been talked about in passing a while back, and he figures it's only fair considering all the time they’ve ever spent together has been solely at her place. Plus, he could tell she was curious to see what his living situation is like, which is valid. You can tell a lot about people through their home, and when you’re sleeping with someone on the regular, you want to learn as much about them as possible. It’s important to know who you’re getting into bed with. Literally.
Harry’s proud of his condo. He keeps it clean, he keeps it organized, and he keeps it styled in a manner that combines his Victorian gothic roots with modern day aesthetics. The floorboards of the apartment are made of waxed light-wash wood, most of the expanse of his living room covered in a furry dark grey rug. The lightness of the ground is contrasted by the matte mahogany walls, of which the largest is covered in Harry’s collection of first edition artwork. He had picked out every single piece himself throughout the span of the last two centuries, ranging from modern digital technique canvases to nineteenth century oil paintings, all arranged in neat alternating rows from oldest to newest. He can’t help that he’s such a stickler; his mom had raised him so.
Though his art wall is his pride and joy, the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline comes in at a close second. Harry loves the city, despite the fact that he was born in a seemingly irrelevant town whose only redeeming quality was the bustling public market. Urban regions are just full of so much life, excitement, and potential, which are all concepts he never really got to explore before he transitioned. Cities represent everything he wanted as a young man, when he thought he had prosperous years ahead of him and an entire life left to build; they represent diversity, unique experiences, and endless possibilities. When that was stripped from him, he began to bounce around different countries and cities all over the world, seeking a place that would fill the hole his dreams had left behind. Los Angeles fit that space like a puzzle piece.
That glorified window just means more to him than anyone could possibly know. Sometimes at night, he’ll just stand by it with his arms relaxed across his chest, watching the city gleam and glitter as individuals from all different backgrounds go about their business, blissfully ignorant to the beautiful concept that they all contribute to something much bigger— a concept that only centuries of wisdom could reveal. When he’s not wracked with jealousy and spite, looking out that window and witnessing the world change and evolve is therapeutic, in a way. It allows Harry to live vicariously through others who get to have what he never did.
Aside from his art collection and the glass wall, the chandeliers that hang from his cavernous ceiling are third on his list of treasured possessions. They’re special and no one on this earth owns anything like them; Harry made sure of that. They were created by a Swedish interior designer Harry commissioned about ten years ago, so they are custom-made in every aspect of the term. They took months to construct and finalize, which is hardly difficult to believe, given their grandeur. Each chandelier is made of two extensive layers of delicate golden chains, all arranged around a wire center, connected by light bulbs at each peak. It gives his home a chic, avant-garde atmosphere that mirrors his personality down to the last chain link.
The rest of his flat is tailored to compliment these three major determining factors. The wood paneling all around his apartment is carved with intricate, loopy designs, his two rounded coffee tables are made of the same marble that resides across his kitchen counters, and his kitchen sits directly under the second story ledge with elongated fluorescent poles embedded into the room’s ceiling, eloquently highlighting the creme walls and polished detailings of all his appliances. His sectional couches are made of an off-brown leather, covered in large rectangular couch cushions with a checkered print embroidered across the pillow cases, and weighted fleece blankets litter some areas of the elegant sofas. A wide staircase leads up to the second floor, made of grey glass steps and metal railings.
The top story of his condo is less Victorian era, more modern composition. The ground is dark maroon carpeting, and the ledge leads to one singular corridor that splits into two seperate rooms at either ends. One is the master bedroom, and the other is an accompanying bedroom which he uses for storage. His room isn’t anything extravagant, per se. It’s big, but his decor is minimalistic, covered in all different muted shades of blacks and greys, from the comforter on his king-sized bed to the tall dresser. A fifty inch flat-screen is mounted on the wall, but he hardly uses it since the one in his living room is larger; it’s only really there as an ornament. Starburst lights hang from his ceiling— smaller, downplayed versions of his chandeliers— and his walk-in closet stands parallel to the entrance of his bathroom.
The humongous bathroom was meant for two people, pretty obvious in the double-sink set up, but he doesn’t dwell on it much. He isn’t one for dating, and he’s just happy to have that luxury because it comes in handy the morning after one night stands. He has a jacuzzi-like bathtub, lined with water jets and all, and a big walk-in shower with a large overhead panel instead of a regular showerhead. The whole room is made of dark marble and porcelain, and he couldn’t possibly adore it more. Some of his best experiences had happened in this room, explicit and otherwise.
In the end, Harry has every right to be arrogantly proud of his apartment. It had taken him months to decorate, years to fill with fond memories, and an immortal lifetime to find. He loves it with every trace of his soul, even when others disagree. Namely, Niall, who had mocked his sophisticated relics and old-timey architecture from the first time he’d set foot past the threshold; “You went the dark gothic route? Really? Way to feed into the stereotype, Dracula.”
But no matter what anyone says, this is who he is, and he couldn’t be happier. After decades of migrating and aimlessly searching the globe, he’d finally found a place he could call home, and absolutely no one could take that from him. Especially not some Irish moron who doesn’t even know the definition of “foyer.”
How Harry manages to afford his flat is a whole other intriguing tale.
It had come up in a pillow talk conversation with Y/N once, and he had told her the story he feeds to any human who asks. He’s a regional manager for an offshore company and it’s mainly a lot of online work. Handling duties through business emails, videochat meetings, job portals, and things of the such. It paints a valid image as to why he’s home all the time. He also claims to be the company’s lone contact stationed in California, so he handles all of the responsibilities that would normally be bestowed upon three or four people. This paints a valid explanation as to how his imaginary position would tether such a high pay grade, which justifies his luxurious living arrangement.
That story is part of the truth. Harry does indeed have ties with corporate businesses. That is, ties to their CEOs’ pockets. It’s surprisingly easy to get past secretaries and security dressed in a nice suit and thousand dollar leather shoes, especially with the help of compulsion and Harry’s golden charisma. Thanks to those tools, he has managed to convince some of the biggest leaders in corporate California to quietly deposit generous sums of money into his bank account once a month. And with his persuasive supernatural abilities, he convinces them to write it off as regularly scheduled charity donations in their minds. That’s how he makes a living for himself— by scamming the rich. Xander likes to take the piss and call him a sugar baby, but Harry sees himself as more of a modern day Robin Hood, instead.
Mitch says his charade is unlawful, but considering how corrupt the business world already is, the vampire feels next to no guilt. The one percent have always taken advantage of those poorer than them— that was obvious even back in Harry’s time— and he doesn’t see anything wrong with taking advantage of them right back, now that he has the means to. How’s that saying go? “Fuck the bourgeoisie” and all that.
Everything taken into consideration, Harry’s pretty excited to show Y/N his condo. Watching people’s faces break into awe the second he turns the lights on always gives him such a deep surge of satisfaction. It makes all the hassle worth it.
The immortal is currently sitting in his vintage car, flicking through his Spotify playlist to find something to entertain him while he waits for Y/N to finish her shift. He had offered to pick her up, knowing that it’s what any courteous host would do, and she had appreciatively accepted, telling him she’d be out by eight P.M. It’s seven fifty-three now and Harry had arrived around seven fifty, taking the slot right in front of the cafe’s entrance so she can spot him as soon as she walks out. These ten minutes are the longest he’s ever had to endure, which says a lot considering he’s endured tons of patience-testing moments in his two hundred years.
Harry swipes his thumb down the glass screen of his phone, sampling songs left and right to see what will stick. After listening to the first few chords of an array of forties dance music, seventies rock and roll, and twenty-first century bubblegum pop, he settles for Rodeo by Lil Nas X. Harry has a very intricate taste in music— it’s one of the traits he’s most proud of— and Mitch often tells him he’s too snotty when it comes to his preferences. He’ll admit it freely that, yes, he can be a piece of work musically, but just because he thinks the industry peaked in the seventies doesn’t mean he hates modern music. He likes most of it, including rap, and Lil Nas X happens to be one of his favorites, much to everyone’s surprise. Most of the artist’s songs are eccentric not only lyrically but also instrumentally, to the point where it’s almost comical— who names a song Panini, of all things?— but the music is catchy and Harry can let loose to it easily.
The vampire also happened to meet the musician, on one occasion. He ran into him at a club and after a few drinks and some banter, somehow ended up getting invited over to a party at the celebrity’s Malibu mansion. That night is a blur, definitely due to the copious amounts of alcohol and psychedelics, but Harry remembers they had fun and that the guy was worth a listen. In fact, he was the genius that came up with the theme for the rapper’s Rodeo music video.
A light knocking on the passenger’s seat window brings him out of his memories. Y/N stands outside, hugging her arms loosely over her tummy, decked in her usual work uniform of a navy polo and black skinny jeans. When the two lock eye contact, she gives him a soft wave and a tired smile. Harry lifts two fingers in greeting, returning her polite gesture and swiftly lowering the window. He leans forward across the center console, his grin taking on a playful hue, voice carrying the same effect.
“Uber for Y/N?”
The girl snorts and rolls her eyes, but plays along, reaching forward and jiggling the handle of his black Cadillac symbolically. “That’s me, yes. Open up.”
“Eh, eh, eh.” Harry tuts, wagging a finger in her direction and then making a motion that tells her to back away. “I’m gonna have to see some ID. It’s one of our new safe driver policies. Gotta make sure you are who you say you are, miss.”
Y/N’s expression drops flatly, eyes half-lidded as he smiles up at her brightly, batting his eyelashes innocently. “Open the door before you end up sucking your own dick tonight.”
Harry’s shit-eating face falls so fast, it causes her to burst into laughter. A soft click vibrates through the handle below her fingers. “I’ll waive the background check. Just this once.”
“Yeah, I figured as much.” Y/N taunts, yanking the door open and ducking into the shotgun seat, gently tugging it closed behind her.
Once the human is situated in her spot, she releases a lengthy sigh, sinking down against the cushions as she grabs her seat belt and clicks it into place.
Harry puts his cell phone down into the cubby hole below the stereo set, setting the car in reverse and slinging an arm behind her headrest to get a better view as he backs out of the parking space. His gaze momentarily flickers to her slumped form as the car retreats slowly, tone curious. “Long day?”
Y/N glimpses over, giving him a quick once-over and taking in his olive green Nike jumper, ripped denim boyfriend jeans, and pastel yellow Vans. He looks so boyishly cute, which is ironic given the premise of tonight’s rendezvous. The shoes (which he had worn the night they’d met all those weeks ago) and the position he’s in (perched above her with his sharp jaw and neck flexing as he cranes his torso to look for oncoming traffic) flashes her back to the first time she had been in his car. They had been way less acquainted, she had been much less relaxed, much more nervous, but the encounter very much carried the same exact intentions. That recollection makes her lips quirk a bit. The pair had grown so comfortable with each other since then, that Friday evening feels like it happened decades ago.
“Yeah.” Y/N murmurs softly, gladly indulging a deep inhale of the vanilla and tobacco scent she had become familiar with, allowing it to soothe her nerves and wash away the stress of a hard day. “I’m just happy it’s over and that the weekend’s finally started. Wanna forget all about it.”
“Well, that’s what I’m here for, love!” Harry plops back into his seat, shifting his car into drive and gifting her his famous brilliant smile, dimples winking to life as he taps his ringed fingers across his steering wheel humorously. “I’ve made you forget your name plenty of times before; I’m pretty sure I can erase one shitty work shift just fine.”
Y/N scoffs at his pompous claim, reaching up and prying the hair tie out of her locks, looping it over her wrist and shushing her stiff roots. She tucks strands behind her ears, the corners of her mouth twitching in endearment at the giddiness of his aura. “Just drive, Sherlock.”
The mortal isn’t surprised to find that building in which the vampire lives is one of the tallest in the city, and that it’s basically smack in the center, as well. One look at Harry and anybody could immediately tell he thrives off being the center of attention, so of course his home is a direct reflection of that. Refined boy, refined personality, refined environment. It’s practically a law of science.
Once Harry’s car is parked and the ignition rumbles to a smooth stop, Y/N unbuckles her seat belt and goes to unlock the passenger’s side door. Right as her hand is wrapping around the handle bar, the door swings open of its own accord and she just barely manages to stifle a blood-curdling scream full of shocked fear. When her eyes focus, Harry is standing there holding the door open for her, features painted with cocky amusement.
“How did you—?” The girl whips around to look at the empty driver’s seat, eyebrows cinching in bewilderment as she turns back to face him. “How did you get around so fast?”
Harry shrugs his shoulders offhandedly, reaching one bejeweled hand down to aid her out of the vehicle. “I did track when I was younger. Made me a fast walker.”
Y/N hesitantly takes it, body language still slightly tense from the jump scare. With his help, she gradually climbs out, the door shutting behind her as she sweeps her sight around the parking garage in wonder. This is the first time Harry has ever invited her anywhere, let alone to where he spends most of his life. She doesn’t want to miss a thing. Even the simplest aspect can tell you a lot about a person.
Y/N jerks a tad when she feels her friend’s cold fingers slipping down her palm, sifting between her own. She glances down at their intertwined hands for a second, a warm glow bursting through her chest. She’s always admired how his are so much bigger.
Harry tugs her forward toward the elevator at the other end of the parking lot, bottom lip caught between his teeth in a sly smirk. “C’mon, Watson. Let me show you around.”
Y/N stumbles after him, allowing the boy to guide her to where she needs to go as he weeds through cars effortlessly. She suddenly chimes up from behind, asking a random question to fill the leftover silence their footsteps spare. “That car next to yours had such a weird license plate. What the fuck does ‘craic’ mean?”
Harry chuckles knowingly, perfectly aware of whose car she is referring to. “It’s this odd thing Irish people say. Utter rubbish, honestly.”
A comfortable quietness fills the air of the elegant elevator as it shoots up towards the twenty-fourth floor of the skyscraper, the only other sound being the gentle lullaby of a nameless tune wafting through the speakers above their heads. Harry finds himself studying Y/N as she looks out at the city through the glass walls, the lights of the exterior buildings casting a beautiful buttery gleam across her relaxed characteristics, along with a radiant glint over the surface of her glossy eyes. Despite the slightly smeared mascara staining her waterline and the inherent frizziness her hair carries after being pulled into a tight ponytail all day, Harry finds that she looks nice. Pretty, even.
The girl senses him staring, craning her head to return his gaze, the edges of her lips lilting upwards lightheartedly. He returns the gesture, peeling away to focus on something— anything— else. He deems the control panel a worthy replacement.
As the numbers on the dial drag by, Harry finds himself absentmindedly thumbing over Y/N’s knuckles. She doesn’t seem to notice or mind, so he continues doing it, massaging the crest of each bump and pressing down gently along the troughs. He enjoys the sensation of her silky warm skin heating his icy own, and he ponders whether she likes how cold his touch is, or if she hates it as much as he does. He expels that notion from his mind; he refuses to let such a stupid concept upset him. He just keeps caressing her hand, restraining his mind from ambling too far into its meaning. It’s just to pass the time.
He keeps the movements going until their ride skates to a joltless halt with a sharp ding! and then he steps out, having to give his full attention to leading her down the long corridor to his flat. Y/N is so caught up in drinking up her surroundings, she almost bumps into the creature when he comes to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance of what she can only deduce is his home. Harry drops her hand, much to her disappointment, fishing into his back pocket for his keys. He patiently filters through his keychain, picking out the right one and working it into the lock, a soft click emitting from the mechanism.
Harry pushes the door open with his palm, standing off to the side just outside the threshold and tilting his head towards it, posture bowing slightly. “Ladies first.”
Y/N thanks him quietly, taking a cautious step forward into his hallway. She can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at his gentlemanly tendencies; she rarely meets anyone as respectful as Harry seems to be and she finds his old-timey attributes to be refreshing. Helping her out the car, taking her hand to guide her through the parking lot, rubbing at her knuckles innocently, holding the door open for her— it’s all such an archaic form of chivalry she wishes she’d see more often these days. She doesn’t know if it’s a British thing, if he had just been raised like that, or if he simply does it to get laid, but she’s thankful for it either way.
With one last glance at her friend over her shoulder, she begins wandering down the dark narrow path unsurely. The sound of the door slinking shut behind her and Harry’s footsteps ease her.
She stops once she senses the corridor open up into a larger space, which she guesses is his living room. A soft gasp escapes her at the sight before her. The whole area is washed in darkness, the only source of light stemming from the large glass pane that stretches from the floor of the apartment to its tall ceiling. Dozens of buildings and cars glimmer below, the breath-taking image of the lively city looking almost like a snapshot from a professional movie. It’s absolutely gorgeous and she feels like she could stare at it for eons.
A chilly hand suddenly presses along the dip of her spine, ushering her forward an inch or two, Harry’s invisible voice and warm breath hitting the shell of her left ear. “S’cuse me, dove.”
The boy reaches behind her for the light switch and the condo bursts into radiance with one simple flick of his wrist.
“Oh...my God.”
Harry’s home is something straight out of a luxury catalogue. The light floorboards and the mahogany panels. The massive leather couches and hand-sewn cushions. The extravagant chandeliers and glass staircase. The marble kitchen and generously packed liquor shelves. The ginormous wall of priceless artwork, littered with pieces from all different eras of history. It feels like stepping into a decor wonderland.
“Not too bad, huh?” Harry pipes up playfully, anchoring her back into reality from the floaty stupor that had consumed her mind.
“Not too—? Are you kidding?” Y/N sputters incredulously, whizzing her head to the side sharply. “You were keeping an entire Four Seasons royal suite from me?!”
Harry belts out a bundle of childish giggles, the edges of his eyes crinkling and the tip of his button nose twitching. “I never thought of it much, to be honest. I’d grown to like your place.”
“Right. Because a creaky mattress and a kitchen the size of a broom closet is so much more satisfying than chandeliers and a fucking glass wall.”
The vampire glimpses around his flat indicatively. “Okay, I see your point.”
“Exactly.”
Y/N drifts forward, running the tips of her fingers across the backrest of the aged leather sofa and along the corners of the throw pillow, doing a slow circle at the middle of his home, taking everything in a second time around to make sure it isn’t a mirage. “Fuck, this is incredible. Is your boss looking for any more regional managers, by any chance?”
Harry follows after her, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his boyfriend jeans, chewing along the inside of his cheek to suppress a proud smile— a result of her explosive reaction. “I’m afraid my position is the one and only, sorry.”
Y/N droops her shoulders in exaggerated contempt, presenting a shitty English accent to tease him. “Bollocks.”
It garners the designated feedback, her tummy somersaulting at Harry’s exorbitant laughter.
The boy comes to stand before her, cocking his head to the side questioningly towards his kitchen. “Can I offer you a drink?”
Y/N glimpses over at his bar area, eyes dancing over his extensive array of fancy bottles. “Oh, please do.”
Despite only having known Y/N for a few weeks, Harry has gotten quite acquainted with her tastes, even outside of sexual matters. She doesn't like the taste of alcohol, but she likes its effects. And he likes them, too, if he’s being honest. Her blood always begins to smell more appetizing after just a few sips and the way her cheeks heat up so easily when she’s buzzed always makes his breathing trip.
He works his extensive skills, pulling from his liquor cabinet and mixing flavored liquids and syrups until he comes up with something that he thinks the girl will enjoy. It’s fruity, with hints of peach, lime, and strawberry, but also warm and fulfilling, with a rich whiskey and a few dashes of bitters. He plunks in a couple of ice cubes and mixes it together with a bar spoon, tapping it against the rim with finality and swiping it over his tongue in a quick taste test. He’s pretty happy with his concoction.
Harry glances up to where Y/N is leaning against the armrest of his couch, her legs crossed before her as she stares at one of the abstract paintings mounted on his wall. It’s an original, as are the rest of them, which he had purchased some odd seventy years ago from a barely known artist whose talent had gone to waste in the world. It’s a deconstructed sunflower, with the color palette inverted and the strokes of the brush uneven and jagged. Odd and complicated, but beautiful, nonetheless. Its complexity is what makes it significant.
The vampire slowly wanders over from his kitchen, holding her drink in one hand and a cloth napkin in the other. He takes the spot beside her along the armrest, speaking wistfully as if recalling a fond memory. “It’s a flower.”
Y/N nods slowly in recognition, peeling her gaze away with the corners of her lips jilting. “Mmhm, a sunflower.”
Harry’s brows jump in shock. Barely anyone ever guesses the identity correctly. He’s found that as time passes and humanity becomes more reliant on technology rather than cognizant knowledge, society in general has reduced to a more pea-brained state than ever. As a result, the amount of people who can interpret and understand the meaning behind complex artwork has greatly diminished, unfortunately, so he’s pleasantly surprised to find that one of the few who still possesses that talent happens to be the girl he’s shagging. “Wow, that’s a first. It’s so unusual, no one ever really gets it.”
“I guess I just have an affinity for the unusual.” His guest quips, giving him a jesting shrug of her eyebrows and a suggestive grin.
You have no idea.
“You underestimated me, Holmes.”
“That I did. My sincerest apologies.” Harry returns her joking simper, proceeding to then dip an index finger inside the stout glass in his grasp, bringing it up before her face. “Taste.”
Without breaking eye contact, Y/N parts her lips and allows him to coax the wet digit in, the tangy flavor of the mixture making her taste buds tingle. She encloses her mouth around his finger, lulling her tongue along it slowly with a mischievous glint shining across her irises.
Harry’s prominent jaw clenches as he watches the scene unfold, breath bated and a moan threatening to betray him. She truly wastes no time.
He gradually pulls his finger from her tongue, struggling to clear his throat, missing its texture already. “How is it? More syrup? More biters?”
Y/N gazes up at him drunkenly, though it’s definitely not from the liquor. Her lips quirk cheekily as a result of how visibly frazzled she’d gotten him. “It’s perfect. Better than anything I’ve had at a club, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah?” Harry taps his opal ring against the bottom of the lowball glass, trying to reign in his previous composure. “Think I could be a bartender?”
“You don’t hit me as the type of person who has the patience for it.” The girl remarks wittily, slinking her head to the side and biting back a giggle when Harry makes a face at her.
“You make a valid point, I suppose.” The vampire responds with an airy sigh, nodding in surrender. “The stupid blabbing from drunk morons and impending fear of being vomited on would be too much for me. I wouldn’t last a day.”
“You wouldn’t last a single night, let alone a whole day.”
“Alright, pipe down!” Harry deadpans, bumping her shoulder with his vengefully. “You’re bruising my ego.”
“It’s humongous,” Y/N snorts, shoving him in return, “it can take a few hits.”
The pair sit there in silence for a suspended moment, just taking in the expanse of the art before them. Harry then turns his torso towards her once more, bringing the drink in his grip up to her mouth. “Here, have a proper sip. Put my all into it.”
Y/N obliges, looking up at him with her signature doe-like air of trusting innocence, allowing him to tip the hem of the cup against her mouth. The cool beverage filters through her taste buds and down her throat, the sweet and sour mixture leaving an enjoyable tingle in its wake. A few streams of the liquid bead out of the corners of her lips and Harry impulsively gathers them with the side of his index finger, the napkin in his other hand completely forgotten.
As he goes to pull back in order to clean up, Y/N leans forward and traps his digit between her lips like before. This time, there’s a more insistent sultry hint sparkling around her pupils.
“Christ...” Harry pants, watching Y/N work her way down his forefinger with a silent groan hinging on his teeth.
He doesn’t deny himself from indulging the dirty action this time around. Her mouth is as soft and warm as ever, sending chills racing down his spine despite the sweater hugging his body. His mind slips for a second, reminiscing in all the other ways he’s felt the inside of her mouth before, a faint red tinge splattering across his cheekbones.
Y/N draws his finger out, kissing messily across its length and over the pad, looking up at him through tension-heavied lashes. She doesn't speak a word, but her intentions are clear in the electricity between them.
He can’t hold back any longer, his next comment coming out as a pained growl. “God, you’re such a filthy little thing.”
She hums softly in the back of her throat at his explicit compliment, suckling at the center of her bottom lip needily. “I like being your filthy little thing.”
Harry swallows thickly in order to keep himself somewhat tame, fangs suddenly pricking his tongue in warning.
The mortal scoots closer to him, sifting her fingers between his around the drink and bringing it upwards, downing the last couple of inches in one go. She draws the cup from his grasp, reaching over to set it down carefully on the coffee table before turning back and snuggling deeper into his heaving chest.
Harry scoffs in amusement, but he can feel a certain charring scratching at the back of his throat. “Drinks like that are meant to be savored, darling. You’re not supposed to just pound them.”
Y/N stretches her neck upwards, taking his earlobe between her teeth, lips wet and cold from the alcohol. His lashes flutter when her warm breath hits his skin, contradicting the sensations from before.
“Why don’t you let me worry about how I drink, and you can worry about a different kind of pounding.”
And that’s all it takes, really. That’s all it takes for Harry to completely drop any self-control he has left.
The creature jars his face towards her, large hand shooting upwards to grip her jaw firmly, holding her in place as he crashes their mouths together. It’s all tongue and clacking teeth, desperate whines and stuttered gasps. Y/N’s hands fumble for something to tether to while Harry takes it upon himself to grasp at her opposite hip with his free hand, yanking her onto his lap. She buries her fists in the cotton fabric of his jumper, balancing her knees on either sides of his parted thighs. The boy’s fingers coast from her jaw down to her throat, tightening ever so slightly. The action is minimal, but it reveals that flare of dominance Y/N has become addicted to.
“Do you want it here?” Harry rasps against her eager tongue, smirking into the kiss when he feels her start to rock along the bulge that is beginning to tent his denim pants. “Do you want me to bend you over the couch and fuck you, baby? With the chandelier making your skin glow? Where we can put on a show for the whole city to see?”
It’s a tempting offer and his words obviously have some form of impact, seen in the way Y/N’s grinding takes on a hungrier, deeper pace against his clothed cock.
“I want…” Y/N finds it difficult to voice her desires, the responsible party being the manner in which Harry glues cracked mewls onto the roof of her mouth. “I want it in your bed.”
She doesn’t know why, but she just wants him to take her some place where the moment they share is intimate, unseen by the prying eyes of others. She wants to christen his bed exactly how he had done hers; she craves that strange connection, for some reason. Y/N isn’t naive, she knows she’s not the only person Harry has had in his home and in his sheets. But she wants that experience, nonetheless, even if it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She knows she’s not his only, but at least she’s one.
Harry slowly breaks their kiss, brushing the tip of his nose across her own in a small comforting gesture. He blinks at her groggily, the copper specks in his eyes glitzing under the golden hue of the lighting. When he speaks, its soft and low, almost as if he doesn’t want to risk another soul overhearing. “Okay. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”
Y/N almost doesn’t get anything she wants, given that she nearly kills herself on the trek up the stairs, courtesy of her weakened knees and wobbly ankles. Harry just barely manages to save her, but he finds the occurrence too hilarious to spare her the embarrassment.
“Stop laughing, it’s not funny!” She exclaims indignantly as he helps her up the last few glass steps, clinging to him like a scared puppy, her hands still shaking with adrenaline. “I could have died!”
Her shrieking only makes him laugh harder and he nearly keels over, palm clutching his stomach as if to keep it from popping. “I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just— your face when you— and how you tripped sideways— I—”
Y/N shoves him hard towards the corridor where his bedroom lies, but it’s hard to maintain an angry demeanor when the young man’s giggles sound like bells and when he looks so cute with his curls flopping across his forehead. “Dickhead.”
They’re almost at his bedroom door when Harry grabs onto her wrist, tugging her roughly so that she lurches forward into his chest. He plants a wet kiss onto the bridge of her nose, expression entertained. “Stop being such a bad sport. It was pretty funny.”
“Yeah, okay.” She huffs begrudgingly, glancing down impatiently at his plump lips as he walks backwards down the hallway with her in tow. “You can invalidate my rage once you have a near death experience yourself.”
The irony of it all.
Harry kicks the door open, ghosting his mouth over Y/N’s and watching her sight do a quick sweep around the area. “Welcome to my lair.”
The human likes his aesthetic. The room has different hues of the same color, so it all ties together nicely, and the hanging lights look like miniature versions of the two large ones downstairs. The bed is huge, which is a relief because for once, they won’t have to actively worry about accidentally rolling off the edge mid-fuck. “It’s nice. Very chic.”
“Thanks.” Harry reaches up and cups either side of her neck with his palms, dragging his damp lips over her chin and down the center of her jugular, smiling against her skin when he feels her shiver. “It doesn't have a bookshelf wall like yours, but I make due.”
“Yeah.” Y/N wisps out weakly, leaning her head back as he speckles his mouth across that sensitive point on her throat he discovered ages ago. “I bet.”
She feels Harry’s touch travel down her torso, cold fingers suddenly smearing across her love handles beneath her work shirt. His grip tightens at the hem with the intention of pulling the polo off, breath hot as it washes over her collarbones. “Wanna find out just how good I make it work?”
Y/N’s arms instinctively raise on command, her reply shaky and fragile. “Yes, please.”
Harry makes it work. He makes it work so fucking well. He doesn’t need crazy positions or any vibrating toys to make her feel good; he just knows her so thoroughly by now that he’s able to tend to every single one of her needs like it’s his sole purpose. The sex is missionary, with her splayed out across her back upon his mound of feathered pillows, her thighs clamped over his hips as he slams into her at a harsh, curt pace. Her calves are tied around the backs of his thighs, her nails are carving memories into the broad expanse of his shoulders, they’re both panting curse words and encouragement into each other’s mouths, and he’s cradling her to his chest as if he wants to absorb her heartbeat right through her ribs. If only obtaining one were that easy.
Y/N allows her head to fall back against the cushions, drawing away from the prolonged kiss only because she needs air to continue. Harry’s lips busy themselves elsewhere, running down the valley of her chest and toying with one of her pebbled nipples. Y/N’s back gives a sharp arch the second he brushes across the sensitive nub and the taunting coo he releases goes straight to her core.
“Liked that, darling? Like it when I kiss you there?”
The girl’s lashes have fallen shut, her eyes lulling around in their sockets as he maintains a steady rhythm between her thighs, ramming into her with so much force, the headboard is knocking into the wall. It’s loud and intense enough that Harry has to fit one of his palms between the railings, bracing the weight of the bed in order to prevent a hole from forming.
Y/N’s voice fills the dense atmosphere, so shattered and raw, she can hardly understand herself. “It feels so— so good, H.”
“I love it when you call me that. Sounds so pretty coming from your lips.” The vampire’s tongue flicks over her nipple a handful of times, dark veins momentarily webbing over the whites of his eyes at the cracked whimper she lets loose. “And of course it feels good. I always make you feel good, don’t I? Always make my girl cum so—fucking—hard.”
Y/N’s trembling fingers card into the curls along the nape of Harry’s neck as he thrusts to his words, twisting them around her knuckles and swimming in the throaty groan he pours over the clammy skin of her breasts. Her whisper sounds distant and dreamy. “Please...Please don’t stop.”
Harry gazes up at her through heavy lashes, lapping at her chest more fervently, accent thick and deep. “I won’t, baby. Not until I have you dripping all over my sheets.”
After a few more minutes of fractured moans bouncing around the panels of the room and the noise of wet skin slapping together, something catches Y/N’s bleary eyes. She wills past the blissful fog in her mind, focusing on the intriguing object hanging from one of the railings of Harry’s bedpost, swaying back and forth wildly due to his strong tempo.
“Are those...Are those handcuffs?”
Harry’s attention jumps to where hers is pinned, his powerful stride coming to a gradual stop. He’s heaving and shuddering above her, ringlets matted to his jaw and across his temples, cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of cherry red. His Adam’s Apple bobs once and he gives a short nod. “Y-Yeah. I’ve had them for a while...”
The hope dripping from his voice is practically palpable and Y/N interprets it easily. She glances down at him as he takes quivering inhales against her chest, his eyes bleeding lust. Her mumble is so quiet and soft, he wonders how it’s possible for her to make some of the preposterously loud sounds he’s used to hearing whenever he’s buried this deep. “Use them on me. Please?”
Harry bends to her request without hesitation. He locks her wrists into the restraints, sponging a kiss onto each before giving them one hard tug to check for security. He then regains his rough slams, but with more fervor than before.
The monster sits back onto his heels, groping her waist roughly and working her against his thighs, watching welts form on her flesh along the pads of his fingers. Y/N unconsciously begins circling her hips to match his speed and the fractured groan that rips out of him makes her walls tighten. He looks incredible looming in front of her, head toppled back between his shoulder blades, bouncing to his every ram. His throat flexes with the weight, jaw taut and inked pectorals glistening with sweat under the dim lights dangling from his ceiling. “That’s it, pet, just like that. Love the way you ride it. You’re so fucking tight and warm and...and just— Christ, just fuck me.”
She wishes she could frame this moment in time and drag it out forever.
Harry swings his head forward again, blinking the blurriness from his vision to take in the image before him. Y/N just looks so fucking gorgeous like that, tied down at his beck and call, her chest bouncing pertly as her fingers bunch around the chain link, thighs clinging to his waist as she chews her bottom lip raw in an attempt to control her noises.
The vampire ducks down, connecting their mouths in a sloppy kiss that cajoles her into spilling all the moans she had been withholding. He feels them trickle down his lungs and diffuse into his bones, flames lapping across his insides as their foreheads bump and noses smudge, ragged breaths intermingling. “Let it out for me, hm? Wanna know how I’m making you feel, don’t care who hears.”
As if that isn’t enough, there’s an instance where Harry’s animalistic senses suddenly enhance and he comes to the realization that the metal cuffs have made a tiny laceration along her skin.
A thin trail of blood travels down her suspended arm, but she doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in the pleasure Harry is pounding into the pit of her stomach. So he simply leans upwards and licks the sweet droplet clean, feeling heat spark across every fiber of his being. He laps up the entire stream and then presses a tender kiss to her palm for good measure, grunting out a gentle, “There’s a good girl.” when she whines at the affectionate gesture.
The release Harry is getting from between Y/N’s legs mixes with the ecstasy her blood brings, and it shoves him over the edge in a manner he hasn’t experienced since that first time they slept together all those weeks ago. Since the first time he tasted what lies in her veins, while also simultaneously getting to taste the indescribable relief her body so readily brings him.
After all is said and done that night, something peculiar happens. After they both milk their orgasms for everything it’s worth, and after Y/N gives into exhaustion in his arms with her wrists bruised and a content watery smile on her face, and after he gets a heftier drink from her neck and heals the two little puncture wounds with his own blood...The most bizarre, unexpected event occurs.
Harry falls asleep soundly for the first time in months, and all he dreams about is how Y/N tasted.
///
Y/N wakes up the next morning to her body covered in Harry’s Nike jumper, to an empty spot beside her in the messy duvet, to a familiar tune tinging her ears from a distance, and to a satisfying ache between her thighs.
As soon as she cracks the bedroom door open, the smell of pancakes wafts in through the chilled morning air. Specifically, lemon and blueberry pancakes. Her grandmother’s lemon and blueberry pancakes.
A shiver runs down Y/N’s spine the second she sets a toe along the cold glass panels of Harry’s staircase. She takes a deep breath, pulling the extra length of the sweater’s sleeves over her fists and tugging the hem of the article downwards as if she could convince it to cover more than just half her thighs. She carefully works her way down the steps, flinching at the iciness that travels up her legs with every motion. When she finally thunks down emptily onto the light-wash floorboards, her body has grown accustomed to the temperature. As she pads across the furry rug in Harry’s living room, she finds herself wondering why everything connected to him is always so unusually cold— colder than any normal person could withstand. His touch, his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, his chest, even his thighs; everything is always freezing, and she doesn’t understand how he can bear it. It’s such an odd affinity to have.
The human gradually wanders into the vampire’s kitchen, peeking inside the room from behind one of the archway’s walls. What she sees throws her for a loop.
Harry is cooking breakfast, as she expected from the sweet scent she’d awoken to, but he’s doing it in a manner she never really expected from him.
Music stems from a portable speaker he has situated at the center of the marble kitchen island, blaring loud enough to fill the entire giant home with high notes, guitar chords, and acapella riffs. The young man is dancing across his kitchen as he cooks, clad in nothing but a set of black Calvin Klein briefs and a pair of fuzzy magenta socks. Y/N rakes down his body, admiring the crimson and purple love bites she had left on his chest and the raspberry red scratches zig-zagging across his back, the marks flexing with the movements of his muscles. They’re strangely faint, for some reason. Practically barely there.
She chalks it up to the fact that maybe she hadn’t bruised him as much as she’d thought.
Y/N forces herself to keep her mind from straying onto anymore explicit topics; it’s probably not even ten A.M. yet. She needs to get herself under control.
Grooving while in the kitchen isn’t necessarily weird (she’s guilty of it herself), but Harry’s dancing techniques very much are. The only accurate depiction of it is that for a boy in his twenties, he dances like an old geezer in his eighties. His moves are choppy and old-schooled, almost like what you’d expect to see in a nineteen fifties disco hall, and watching him ebb and flow across the tiled ground to choreography similar to that of Dirty Dancing and Footloose... It would send anybody into a fit of laughter. Especially since Harry is so tall and lanky, so how he manages to move in such a way is beyond her understanding.
Aside from that, his choice of music is baffling, as well. Not only because she recognizes the soundtrack, but because she would have never expected someone like him— with his cocky behavior and overly-confident caliber— to be into these types of songs at all. She always pegged him for the seventies rock and roll type.
“You like Hamilton?”
Harry’s actions creak to a halt and he whips around towards where the disturbance had stemmed, spatula clutched in one hand and a marble plate stacked with pancakes in the other. His face breaks into a bright smile, voice slathered with dramatic friendliness. “Well, look who finally got up! I was starting to think you were dead, Sleeping Beauty.”
Y/N narrows her eyes at him mockingly, walking over to the kitchen counter and propping herself onto her elbows, chin in hand as she watches him set down the platter of food before her. She tips forward onto her toes, taking a deep inhale of the homey, sugary smell, letting it wash over her in flashes of childhood memories. “Are these like the ones I make?”
“Lemon and blueberry, yeah.” Harry bobs his head casually, turning around to place his metal spatula down into the sink, as well as to retrieve a glass bottle of maple syrup from one of his cupboards. “They’re pretty close, I think. I’ve never seen you use a recipe or measuring cups or anything when you make them, so I kinda eyeballed it to the best of my ability. Hope I did your nan justice.”
He pours a decently-sized glop of syrup over the mountain of treats and Y/N watches excitedly as it trickles down all the layers. He then pushes back from the table, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through, continuing to whistle along to the tune of Satisfied as he bops the cabinet closed with his hip and sets down an extra pair of forks and knives beside the plate.
Harry cuts a neat triangle out of the pancake at the top, pointing at her with his fork as he shrugs his brows nonchalantly. “And to answer your question from before: yes, I do like Hamilton.”
“Hm. Interesting.” Y/N murmurs, going cross-eyed as Harry offers her the forkful of food in his possession, poking at her mouth playfully and getting maple syrup all over her lips. She opens obediently, allowing him to feed her the piece. “You don’t really seem like the type of guy— oh, wow, these are actually really good!”
Harry bites into his lower lip with his two front teeth, a proud smile dimpling his cheeks as the light draft from the air vent ruffles a couple of his sex-mussed ringlets across his forehead. “Yeah? You mean it?”
The mortal nods her head vigorously as she finishes chewing and swallowing, wiping away some of the leftover syrup from her top lip with her middle finger and sucking it clean. “Yeah! You hit it spot on.”
“Aces. I should be on The Great British Bake Off.” Harry makes a small, celebratory fist bump next to his hip and the childish gesture makes Y/N snort softly.
“Like I was saying, you don’t really strike me as the type of guy who would be into musicals.” The girl comments, watching her friend cut another triangle out of the first pancake and pop it into his own mouth.
The vampire chews thoughtfully for a second, lifting one shoulder offhandedly and swallowing fully before talking. “I’m really not, to be honest. But this specific musical is pretty good. The songs are catchy.”
He nudges the other pair of utensils across the counter for emphasis, silently inviting her to dig into the dish along with him. She accepts, slicing down the other side of the stack as he leans forward onto his elbows, mimicking her stance. He gives her a curious glance. “What about you? Do you like musicals?”
Y/N shrugs, poking a few chunks of food onto her fork. “Not really, but I had a major Hamilton phase back in college. That’s why I recognized it.”
Harry hums in understanding, picking a blueberry off and chewing it slowly, a sly smirk beginning to tweak the corners of his mouth. “So were you, like, a nerd back then?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say a nerd, but I had decent grades and was pretty quiet.”
He swallows down audibly, blinking impassively. “That’s literally the definition of a nerd.”
Y/N returns his flat expression. “Fuck off.”
Harry throws his palms up in peaceful surrender, but he still has that shit-eating grin present. “Alright, fine, fine...It’s okay if you were, though. You were probably one of those cute ones, y’know? With the clunky glasses and innocent goody-goody face.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh, and with one of those short little plaid skirts?” He releases a pained groan, clutching his chest and closing his eyes for a second. She has no doubt he’s sketching some type of graphic image of her in his mind. “God, I bet you looked so good. Do you still have it? Can you wear it for me?”
“I said shut up!” Y/N reaches forward and stabs at his tummy lightly with her fork, ignoring the warmth crawling up her neck and across her cheeks. “Fucking perv.”
Harry smacks her utensil away with his own, giggling lightly as she tries to prick him again, continuing to fight her off. “I’m just asking a question! For science!”
Y/N twists her fork around his, trying to outmaneuver him into dropping it. “How could my fashion sense in college possibly contribute to science in any way?”
The vampire easily catches onto her play, slipping himself out of her grasp and trying to trap her makeshift sword down against the tabletop. He purses his lips into a simper, glimpsing up at her through his lashes and quirking his brows cheekily. “Biologically, of course. It contributes to my solo reproductive activities.”
“You are vile.”
“Really? ‘Cause you seemed pretty happy to help with said activities last night.”
Y/N drops her fork onto the brim of the platter, reaching up to massage at her temples and keep herself from swatting Harry’s eyeballs out of their sockets. “I’m finished.”
“Yeah,” the jade of his irises glimmers coyly as he sets down his utensil beside hers in a ceasefire, “you definitely finished.”
Harry chuckles boyishly as Y/N drags her palms down her face, trying to hide away how flustered he’s getting her. She decides to change the subject, not caring to steer the conversation smoothly at all, but rather jumping to another topic right away. “So does this mean you have all the lyrics memorized? Since you like them so much?”
“I do, yeah.” Harry taps his fingers against the marble counter to the beat of the song currently playing. “Do you?”
“I was obsessed, so of course I do.” Y/N reasons, her own digits following in tune with the immortal’s. “I think Non-Stop was probably my favorite to sing. It made for a good shower concert.”
“Well, it’s settled then.” Harry quips happily, reaching for his phone and tapping across the screen. “We’re duetting this. Right now. C’mon, Burr.”
Y/N’s motions stop, shyness creeping in from the back of her brain. “Oh, I don’t know, Harry. I never really—”
Her refusal is interrupted by the beginning of the arrangement mentioned, the notes blasting through the speaker as Harry purposefully turns up the volume to drown her out. He taps at his ear symbolically, mouthing, “Sorry, I can't hear you!” and he doesn’t even attempt to ward off the evil grin creeping across his face.
“Harry, I’m serious—”
But it’s already too late. Harry juts his hand out in front of him, pointing at his companion with a theatrical edge as he begins to serenade, picking up the slack of her part.
“After the war I went back to New York. A-After the war I went back to New York. I finished up my studies and I practiced law. I practiced law, Burr worked next door!”
He looks at her expectantly, urging her to jump into the next half as her assigned role. Y/N muscles down her hesitation and recites the lines timidly with her brows creased in hesitation, but at least she’s participating. “Even though we started at the very same time, Alexander Hamilton began to climb. How to account for his rise to the top?”
Harry joins her in the next stanza, grabbing her hand midair in encouragement, trying to shake her out of her rut. “Man, the man is non-stop!”
Y/N is surprised at how well they sound harmonizing together, and she can feel her discomfort slowly begin to melt. She watches as Harry freely boasts his solo with absolutely no remorse, making grand gestures as he slides down the side of the counter, his movements dragging her along.
“Gentlemen of the jury, I'm curious, bear with me. Are you aware that we're making history?” The boy taps at his chin to symbolize that he’s thinking, acting out the story the lyrics construct. “This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation, the liberty behind deliberation.”
He points at Y/N once again and she does the supporting vocals, gradually beginning to gain more confidence. “Non-stop!”
“I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, with my assistant counsel—”
Harry doesn’t even have to cue Y/N this time around; she picks up her half immediately, falling into line with him flawlessly as if they’ve done this a million times before. “Co-counsel. Hamilton, sit down. Our client Levi Weeks is innocent, call your first witness.”
Harry quickly rounds the corner of the kitchen island, giving her body a grand spin as he draws closer, coming to stand right before her. She gives him a fake exasperated look to match the attitude her character depicts, shaking her head in disapproval. “That's all you had to say.”
“Okay…” The creature yanks Y/N forward into his bare chest, leaning down and flirting his lips right over hers tauntingly, eyes half-lidded in amusement. “One more thing—”
“Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room?” The girl rolls her eyes dramatically, shoving past Harry’s shoulder and she finds it humorous how these lines fit so well, almost as if they were actually directed at him, calling him out on the arrogance he always seems to dote. “Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude may be your doom.”
Harry swivels on his heel, following her as she scurries outside the kitchen entrance, running into the living room.
“Why do you write like you're running out of time?” Y/N grabs onto one of the couch cushions, pretending to scribble over it with a fake pen. “Write day and night, like you're running out of time? Everyday you fight, like you're running out of time.”
Harry swipes at her from across the couch, trying to grasp onto the jumper she’s wearing. “Keep on fighting in the meantime.”
Y/N ducks out of the path of his grabbing hand, chucking the pillow forward and it bonks him square in the face. She sticks her tongue out at him as Harry scowls dully, climbing onto his sofa and scuttling towards her on his hand and knees.
She jumps just out of reach, diving across the other end of the furniture. The vampire throws his weight to try and tackle her to the sofa, but she just barely escapes. He ends up toppling over the backrest due to his over-abundant momentum.
“Non-stop!” Y/N waves her middle up at him triumphantly as he pushes himself up off the ground, giving her a challenging look as he takes off after her once again.
The pair continue to sing back and forth, with Harry chasing Y/N around the living room and kitchen as he belts out his part of the song, Y/N always somehow managing to slip from his grasp as soon as her turn hits. They’re a mess of giggles, silly faces, and boisterous actions as they reenact the play and neither can recall a time they had ever had more fun. There’s never been an instance when they felt so comfortable with another soul that they are willing to run around half-naked, screaming lyrics at each other in their underwear, not caring who sees or overhears. It just feels so second-nature.
A section of the song comes up where a woman is singing and Harry immediately takes up the part, placing his hand on his bare hip and standing in the most feminine fashion he can possibly muster, fanning at his face. “I am sailing off to London, I am accompanied by someone who always pays.”
The exaggeration makes Y/N bend over laughing and her distraction allows Harry to nab her. He pulls her into his embrace by her forearms, cackling through the following stanza as she wriggles and squirms to try and get free. “I have found a wealthy husband who will keep me in comfort for all my days.”
Y/N finally gives up on trying to thrash herself free, going limp against his chest and glimpsing up at him with begrudged annoyance, but a fond smile is unmistakably buckling her cheeks. Harry leans down, singing right in her face just to flaunt his victory, their noses brushing. “He is not a lot of fun, but…”
And then, there’s a shift in the ambiance between them.
Harry gazes down at her as she giggles up at him from his arms, full of so much genuine warmth and excitement, she could power the entire city if she wanted. Her shoulders are heaving slightly as a result of all the running, there’s still faint traces of black mascara smeared under her waterline and down her cheeks from the previous evening’s exertions, she has some acne scarring littering her cheekbones that look fairly recent, and her hair looks like it could nest a family of at least ten birds. But despite these imperfections, Harry finds himself feeling oddly endeared by it all. These flaws are all things he’s gotten used to and has grown to treasure in Y/N. They make her who she is. They make her witty, and they make her clever. They make her fun, as well as trusting. They make her likeable, and energetic, and kind. They make her a good friend and a generous lover. They make her... her. Harry gets the feeling that if she didn’t have all of these traits— if even one was missing— this little arrangement they have going wouldn’t have flourished the way it did.
Yeah, maybe he would have slept with her once or twice more just to scratch an itch, but he most likely would have let it fizzle to an end after the fact. Her personality paired with these small details— albeit, not all entirely attractive— that make up her existence play a key role in the dynamic they share. And he wouldn’t trade them for anything else— wouldn't trade Y/N for anyone else. Not anytime soon.
A warm surge travels through his chest, filling his veins like kerosine, heating him from the heels of his socked feet to the tips of his ice cold fingers. An unorthodox swelling sensation twists inside his ribs, right where his heart used to beat, and he finds himself reciting the next line in a soft voice packed with more emotion than he’s shown or felt in the last two centuries.
“There’s no one who can match you, for turn of phrase…”
Y/N seems oblivious to all of the unsettling experiences he’s undergoing, her amused expression not changing in the slightest. Harry allows the rest of the song lyrics to pass by, the lump in his throat too heavy to fight. Instead, he just keeps staring down at Y/N with brows frowning in confusion, his breathing coming out bated and shaky, and that knot in his chest continuing to tighten until it becomes painful. He gets the sudden urge to kiss her— to feel her lips press to his and feel her give into him the way she always does. The way she has for the last four weeks. He doesn’t want it to be sloppy or desperate or sexual; he wants it to be intimate, soft, and caring. He wants it to be special. Something they share. Something only they share.
Then, that moment passes. That flicker of weakness that had leaked through vanishes and Harry feels like he can breathe properly again.
He breaks their locked eyes, releasing Y/N from his hold and taking a swift step back, coughing awkwardly to try and rid the tickling sensation in the back of his throat. He scratches at the nape of his neck nervously, fiddling with his baby curls and attempting to piece himself back together after that unexpected and unwelcome intrusion of his innermost feelings. Though, he doesn’t know if that spectacle even files under the category of emotions; from what he remembers, they aren’t supposed to tangibly attack you in such a manner. It felt more like a violation— like someone had gone in and started poking and prodding at his subconscious with a metal skewer.
“Harry…?” Y/N inches closer to him, concern prevalent in her voice and across her features as she stretches her hand out caringly. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.”
“I-I’m—” His voice comes out higher than usual and quivering, so he coughs once again to get it under control, taking another step back. He's scared that if she touches him, that horrible burning sensation will come back. “I’m fine. Just...Just forgot the lyrics.”
“Oh, okay…” The girl doesn’t sound convinced with the answer, but she lets the subject falter anyways, her hand dropping back down beside her thigh. “Just checking.”
“Yeah, I got that. Uh, thanks. But I’m all good now.” He holds up a clenched first and juts out his pinky, wiggling it for significance. “Promise”
Y/N scoffs gently at his playful deed. “Alright, then.”
Harry eyes her attentively as she returns to her previous spot in front of the plate of pancakes, retrieving her fork and starting to pick at them like before, as if nothing had happened. As if Harry hadn’t just almost had a cardiac arrest, despite the fact that the organ responsible had crumbled to dust ages ago.
“Are you gonna eat anymore?” Y/N signals down at the stack of pastries before her questioningly. “Because if you don’t get some now, I’ll eat them all myself. Don’t think I won’t. They’re better than the ones I make and—”
The vampire suddenly feels like bile is rising up his throat and his words spew out before he can think to stop them, though he’s not so sure he would.
“Do you want to stay over the rest of the weekend?”
#harry styles x reader#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x you#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#harry styles smut#smut#harry styles series#vampire!harry#harry styles#1d fanfiction#1d fic#one direction fanfiction#one direction smut#one direction fic#1d smut#ysijwa#harry styles one shot#harry styles dirty imagine#harry styles dirty one shot#harry styles dirty fanfiction#harry styles blurb#harry x y/n#harry x reader#harry x you#harry styles au#vampire au
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A request for matchup please!!
Zodiac Sign; Leo
MBTI; ESFP
Pronouns; she/they
Preferred gender; Girls - BSD
Likes; Shopping, music/singing, sleeping (who doesn't), helping others and movies
Dislikes; Discrimination, mean people, c r i n ge
Height; 5'3
Love Language; Physical touch and quality time
Aesthetic; pink 50s?? mainly anything blue and pink
Physical Appearance; I have black straight hair. I mainly wear bright coloured clothes. I have fair skin and green eyes.
Personality; I am pretty cheerful but tbh, can be the opposite of that too, people say I am quite bipolar. I like supporting others, especially my friends and enjoy learning about sociology. I am quite sarcastic ngl.
I match you with...
Akiko Yosano!
🦋 she’s an ISTJ so definitely! a spectator and performer does make a pretty cute dynamic and ig you liking singing has its perks! while your alone she will literally love to hear your voice, maybe try singing her fav songs? she will be smitten jksdah
🦋 SHOPPING!! you both love it, she will go shopping with you - you guys can try outfits of each other, pls it’s so adorable I feel lonely. You guys will also go out and see movies shdajk probably comment on the characters and their acting
🦋 You guys cuddle and sleep together! Pls this is too soft for me, if one of you had a bad day, you guys will cuddle even longer. Her soft skin with you, it really depends on you if you wanna be the little or big spoon, she just wants to be with you so doesn’t mind <3
🦋 I guess you can help her in the ADA! You like helping others and she does too, that will be quality time for you two :D // you can treat the small injuries
🦋 Your sarcastic comments make her laugh and stuff, your cheerful personality cheers her up - since people are mainly scared of her, its good to know someone who isn’t and enjoys her quite a lot. If you’re sad, she’s gonna be there if ya need to vent
🦋 (Personal comment but you’re beautiful), she absolutely loves your eyes. People mainly tease you for looking like Ranpo ig but yeahkjsh
🦋 If you wanna share your interest in sociology, she will definitely listen!! Anything tbh
🦋 Leo x Saggitarius... Yes. The two fiery couple which can also just be the definition of fluff. You both probably love discovering stuff so hell yes! Dates are hella romantic from both of your sides.
Songs
🌷 Gorgeous - Taylor Swift
🌷 Sofia - Clairo
🌷 I like me better - Lauv
🌷 Sunkissed - Khai Dreams
🌷 Back to You - Selena Gomez
🌷 I wanna be your girlfriend - Girl in Red
🌷 Monster - Half Shy & Olivia Olson
Messy Layout
#yosano akiko#bsd akiko#bsd#bsd yosano#akiko yosano#wlw#sapphic#x reader#reader insert#cute#comfort#anime matchup#anonymous#aeshetic#anime#dazai x y/n#bsd atsushi#chuuyabsd#yosano layouts#headcanon#osamudazai#bungou stray dogs#x y/n#mbti aesthetic#kiyoxd requests
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Laces - Valerius x Female MC Lemon NSFW Under the Cut
Valerius x Female MC. JulianxMCxAsra implied. 3600 words. Smut under the cut if you want to skip to the good stuff.
You enter the palace conference room, preparing yourself for a court meeting with a diplomat from a neighboring kingdom. Everyone, Friends and Courtiers, already present and spread out amongst the room socializing until the Countess is ready to begin.
You were wearing black satin pants with side lacing crisscrossing through silver fasteners. The black strings were tied in bows at the top of your thighs. A rose red blouse that exposed your shoulders underneath a black waist cincher that matched the pants completed the look. Not your usual style, but the looks you receive as you entered the room told you it was the right choice.
Julian looked in absolute ecstasy as you approached him, Asra, and Portia, who gave you a thumbs up. You two had picked it out last weekend at the market.
“Y-you look… I mean...Is it satin. It looks good. I mean you look good. NO! I meant…” Julian flustered his pale skin turning crimson.
“What he means to say is you look beautiful this morning,” Asra said kissing your cheek,”And every morning.”
Portia clasped her hands together in joy.“Ooh! MC I told you! You look good girl! Just look at Ilya’s face. He’s as red as a tomato!” Portia teased.
“Shutup Pasha, I am not!” he retorted. Ilya smoothed his hair, trying to regain his composure. “But um, yes. You do look nice.”
“Nice? Not beautiful, stunning, the most amazing woman you’ve ever seen?” you teased.
Julian smiled, and struck a dramatic pose. “Oh curses upon me! I have offended our exceptional lady. Forgive me, my lady. You are in no doubt the most radiant, striking, voluptuous creature to have ever walked the earth. A pox upon me for my incompetence!”
“You are forgiven dear doctor,” you replied dramatically, holding out your hand.
He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it, wiggling his eyebrows. The four of you burst into a fit of laughter, then slid back into your normal morning conversation.
Suddenly you get the feeling that someone is watching you.
Valerius stood at the end of the table, eyeing you from his wine glass. You smile at him in greeting, and he motions for you to come forward. You sigh, having to leave your friends for what no doubt will be a less than pleasant conversation with the Consul. “I’ll talk to you later guys,” you say, as Asra grabs your hand and kisses you as you walk away.
Taking a few steps, Valerius greets you sighing, “ Good Morning, Magician.”
“Good morning, Counsul Valerius. Is there something you needed?” you asked, hoping to make this as quick as possible.
“Perhaps,” he said as you felt his gaze raking over you. “I must say your outfit is very...interesting.”
Oh gosh, you exhaled, here we go again. It’s too early for this shit.
You put on a polite smile, “How kind of you to think so, Valerius. If there was nothing else-”
“I meant it in earnest. Black is very becoming on you, a total improvement from what you wore at the last meeting. I congratulate you.”
You didn’t know whether or not to be insulted, so you thanked him and took a seat at the center of the table. It was almost time to begin and you wanted to be ready to take notes.
When Nadia entered, everyone began taking seats. To your dismay,Julian and Asra began arguing about who’s turn it was to sit next to you.
“Ilya you’re being unreasonable. You sat next to her at the last meeting, remember?” Asra grimamaced
“Yes, but yesterday was your turn for date night. And today it’s mine.” Ilya countered.
“This isn’t a date, Julian. We’re at work, and I was here first. To the chair, and in the relationship.” Asra replied smugly.
“That has nothing to do with it!” Julian shrieked.
“Boys!” Nadia snapped, “Take a seat. Now.”
Julian and Asra glared at each other in silence, neither one backing down.
Before you can solve the problem by announcing that they could sit on either side of you, you felt movement next to you and turned to find the source. Odd. Valerius had taken the seat to your right. Usually he sat to Nadia's right at the head of the table.
Your chin dropped to your chest. Placing a hand on your forehead, you sighed. Now you had to choose, before Nadia threw both of them out.
“Now, look what you’ve done Ilya. You’ve given her a headache,” Asra hissed.
“You Both Are giving me a headache,” Nadia Fumed. “Find a seat now, Or I will find one for you out the door.” she pointed.
“MC who do you want to sit next to?” Julian looked at her pleadingly.
You sigh. This was going to take a lot of diplomacy. Normally the three of you got along very well, inside and outside the bedroom. But sometimes, there were incidents like this one that, while flattering, came in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Julian sit next to Nadia,” you ordered.
Asra smiled triumphantly, thinking he won.
“Portia switch places with Asra would you, I don’t want them bickering all day.” You say deflating Asra’s pride.
“Oh yes, I’d gladly sit next to M’Lady.” Portia said beaming, sitting to the countess’ right along with Julain, Asra, both unhappy. You were glad there were a few noblemen between them, or they’d be kicking each other under the table all morning.
To the countess’s left would be the Nevivon diplomat, the President of the Merchant’s Guild ( a tall woman with blazing red hair, sunkissed skin, and so much gold jewelry you thought you’d be blinded), The president of the Dock Workers Union, the Harbor Master, You, and Valerius.
You were still confused at why he was at this end of the table instead of closer to the Diplomat. Maybe Nadia had requested it, perhaps he had offended her in some way. It just felt strange being so close to him.
“Now that that’s settled, let’s all compose ourselves before we welcome our Guest,” Nadia motioned for the servants to open the doors.
A pepper haired man walked in, tall and with a good build. His fine turquoise and white silks swayed as he greeted Nadia, kissing her hand, and taking his seat to her left. Today’s meeting would be about trade. Nevivon wished access to Vesuvia’s fishing grounds, as well as increased sea trade, in exchange for lowering tariffs on Vesuvian exports. You didn’t know what you were doing here. You knew a little about trade as a shopkeep, but not on an international scale. But as a member of the court, it was your duty to be here. Besides you got to learn so much at the palace.
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NSFW. Public Sex/Clitoral stimulation/fingering
As the talks begin, you notice Valerius is still eyeing you occasionally, even when he is addressing the diplomat, or Nadia, or anyone else.
You smile uncomfortably, and shift in your seat.
“I take back what I said to you earlier magician,” he whispers.
“What?” you ask incredulously. You’ve never known the Consul to apologize for anything.
“I take it back. It’s more than an improvement. You’re absolutely breathtaking.” he purred, leaning into you as if to impart some critical information.
You feel the heat rush to your cheeks before saying, “thank you” and snapping your head back towards the diplomat, still reading Nevivon’s proposal. Why did they have to use so many words to say something so simple? Give us your fish, and We’ll lower the tariffs on the goods you export. End of Story.
You feel a hand sweep across your thigh, and for a moment you think it’s Asra playing games with you again. But no. You look up to see he and Julian have found a new way to continue their argument. You watch him sneer, as he reads the note Julian passed him, and prepares to write a scathing reply. Hopefully you’d be able to work it out later.
But where did the touch come from?Asra’s too busy passing notes at the table with Julian to have done it.
You look to your right, finding yourself face to face with Valerius, as he ghosts his left hand over your thigh. You give him a confused look. WTF was he doing???
“Silk?” He asks innocently.
“Satin.” You retort,”As if you didn’t know that.”
“I did.” He said taking a sip of wine. “May I?”
“You didn’t ask before-”
“I’m asking now.” he purred.
Why the hell not? “Fine.” you respond, wishing he’d hurry up and deliver the punchline to whatever joke he was planning at your expense.
His hand moves across your right leg, feeling the material. Despite your feelings to the contrary, you tell yourself his actions are completely innocent.
Its when he pulls teasingly at the string, you realize it’s not.
“Will this come apart if I pull it?” he baited, twirling the string around his long fingers.
“I-I don’t… It’s not supposed to…” You say flustered, brain frozen, still processing what was happening.
“Let’s find out.” he said pulling the string, exposing the bulge of your thigh.
“Pretty,” he murmured into his wine glass, taking a sip as he slides his fingers across the outside of your thighs admiring your skin,
"I didn't know your skin was so soft. How pretty it must look bruised and raw with kisses..." he mused, pinching gently.
You're sitting there frozen. You have no words. Snobby, spiteful, higher-than-thou Valerius literally just undid your pants and started feeling you up. In the middle of trade talks, with everyone still in the room.
With Asra and Julian just across from you. Asra and Julian who were completely oblivious to the situation, too busy fighting with each other. From across the table you could make out Julian’s scrawled “FuCk YoU, ASRA!” to which Asra replied, “ Not even if you begged,” And you knew that that was exactly what was going to happen later.
Which left you alone, with Valerius feeling your thigh under the table. Honestly you should have stopped Valerius right there. It’s not that you weren’t curious, it’s that you weren’t sure what he was up to. And you weren’t sure how Julian and Asra would feel. You three hadn’t exactly laid out the terms of your relationship.
And what did Valerius think he was doing? You didn't even know your pants opened that way, you thought the laces were just for style. But he knew. He’d probably been thinking about it when he was eyeing you earlier.
Even now, Valerius caressed your thigh as he gave his responses during the trade talks. betraying nothing on his face as he leaned toward you, following your gaze towards your lovers. “Look at them, so neglectful. So busy arguing, they can’t even see how needy you’ve become,” he teased squeezing your thigh, still looking into your eyes. “They don’t deserve to touch you. There are so many things I could do to you. So many ways I could touch you…”
If it wasn't for the glaring blush that enflamed your face, people might just think he was informing you about court business.
Looking down from the table, Nadia gives you a concerned look and asks if you are unwell, you look a bit flushed.
You try to stand to tell her yes you are unwell, that you’d like to excuse yourself and go to your quarters. Anything to excuse yourself, so you could figure this out. But Valerius tightens his grip on your thigh, clamping you to your seat like a vise.
"Don't even think of leaving. I'm enjoying this too much, and so are you," Valeius teased. Heat rushed to your core, and you knew you were done for. You wanted this just as much as he did.
"Y-yes. I'm fine,” You lie as Asra and Julian take a break from their war to look up at you with concern. “It's just a bit stuffy in here, I'm a little overheated." That last bit caused Valerius to smirk into his wine glass, taking a sip as he continues exploring the skin of your thigh.
"Tsk. I knew it," Nadia tutted, giving you a heart attack. You were sure she found out about Valerius' hand up your pants.
"Portia didn't I say it was too hot in here? I should have let out the windows earlier, no matter, It shall be remedied." Nadia waved to some servants, ordering the windows to be opened, fans brought in, and iced water for everyone. With that done, Julian and Asra, and everyone else looked away from you, to your relief.
"Good, Pet." Valerius cooed opening the laces a little more so he could reach your inner thigh. You grabbed his hand, purely out of modesty.
"What's wrong? We can stop if you like..." He says thumbing circles into your inner thigh.
"No... I don't think we should- ” You whimper a little too loudly.
"Shhh pet, quieter. They'll hear you" He hissed as a few of the courtiers eyes glanced back and looked away quickly as Valerius looked at them cooly. You apologized quickly and the meeting continued as normal, diplomats discussing trade agreements while Valerius listened and nodded,adding his bit when he needed to to make it look like he was interested. all the while working your inner thigh, squeezing the plump skin there.
"You're even softer there kitten, how I would love to sink my teeth right here," he said pushing his finger into the squish high inside your thigh, "I'd leave little bites and kisses, marking up your pretty thighs. Just so you'd know you were mine.”
You could feel the desire now, his last words making the heat building between your legs unbearable. You ground your hips down into the cushion of the chair, trying to relieve some of the pressure.
"oh you'd like that, would you? My face between those pillowy thighs, marking you? Or would you like me a bit lower..." He said sliding his hand deeper, his forefinger tracing a line against your clothed sex. You bit your lip, stifling a moan.
“Open your legs,” Valerius said so only you could hear, “ I want to see how wet you are for me.”
You were soaking. You just hoped that nothing showed through the fabric, as Valerius traced a line from your clit down to your hole before pulling his hand away, feeling your juices between his fingers.
He tutted, “ All this from a few words, and light touches.” he slid his hand back to your core “So needy, so sensitive. The doctor and his magician really have been remiss." He said circling your clit through your smalls.
"Please, Valerius. Don't I'll come." you begged so so quietly.
Valerius gave you a look of indifference as he took another sip of wine with his right hand, the left deftly pushing aside the fabric standing between you and his ministrations,caressing your folds.
"If you're going to come, be quiet about it, or I'll stop right now,” he warned, his eyes narrowing.
“I don't want this deal to fall through because you let everyone know what a needy little witch you are." He said pulling away. You nearly sobbed from the loss of contact.
You nodded slowly. "I'll be quiet. Please, Valerius."
"Good." he said, draining his glass. “And keep those lusty eyes on me. If I catch you looking at that Hack of a doctor or that bum Magician, you can forget about cumming at all. Understand?”
“Yes,” you plead. Anything.
He slid his hand back through the laces, continuing where he left off.
His fingers were so good, his movements so practiced.
Y-yes… Keep doing that baby…fuck me with your fingers, you wanted to scream.
When you started grinding into his hand he pulled away a little "not too much love. Slowly. Or they'll know. Not that I mind you telling everyone how much you want me. You do want me don’t you pet?”
You slowed your hips, and Valerius pushed his finger inside your first hole. It took all your strength not to keen at the sensation as he fingered you with languid movements. In...and Out. In...and out. As if he had all the time in the world to make you come. As if you weren’t burning with need. Not missing a beat when he was asked this or that about the trade agreements.
Despite what was going on under the table he listened intently,pushing for an addition here, for changes to this clause or that, dictating when he needed to.
Occasionally he would lean in and whisper "you're doing so well, pet. I love it when you’re so good for me."
You were close. So achingly close. Valerius had no idea how much you wanted to scream at the Nevivon diplomat to accept Nadia's terms and leave. Or to Slap valerius for having to argue some insignificant point, just to draw out your torture.
He knew you were close, knew that you wanted to come. "The details matter, pet.” He teased, “I can't let the city suffer just because you want to come."
You cursed under your breath.
Valerius pulled away, nearly causing you to falter and let a whine escape your lips, biting them hard.
"Careful pet, or I'll end this sooner that you like." He mocked.
Noooooo...You looked at him pleadingly.
"I'm glad we understand each other," Valerius answered to the diplomat, while looking you straight in the eye before turning away to finish business.
You were close, so achingly close. Just a few more strokes from his skilled fingers and you would be there. You snaked your hand down from the table to touch your clit, chasing your climax.
Before you could finish, Val leaned back to you and demanded ever so softly, "Hands on the table where I can see them. Keep them there."
You closed her eyes and threw her head back in exasperation. You swore you were going to cry if he didn’t make you come soon.
Valerius chuckled, pleased at your desperation. "It seems the magician and I are in agreement. Raising tariffs against Vesuvian goods would be detrimental for both sides, and would lead to renegotiations or an overall ban on goods from your kingdom. The Countess will be most displeased." Valerius scoffed, smoothly playing off your movements.
"I think it's ridiculous that you even considered coming to my table with that nonsense." Nadia retorted.
The Nevivon diplomat panicked. "Apologies Countess. We hadn't intended to offend your grace. We withdraw our request, in favor of the Consuls suggestion. Tariffs lowered in exchange for guaranteed protection of sea trade by vesuvian navy ships."
"Agreed," Nadia assented.
At this point you didn’t give a flip. Valerius was still working your entrance, the knuckle of his thumb rubbing against your clit. Please, I Need more, just a little more. You would beg him if you could.
"I should do this more often," Val cooed. " I could've used your assistance with that fool from Pranka." He was close enough you could smell the wine on his breath. Sweet and enticing. You wanted nothing more than to kiss those lips. Val caught your gaze, as you licked your lips.
"Don’t worry you’ll taste these lips soon enough. I plan on kissing every inch you once I’ve gotten what I need from this fool.” Valerius whispered, adding another finger.
Ooohhh God...so good...your body cried, as you clenched around him.
“So tight... I can’t wait to feel you clench around my cock instead of my fingers. For now, this will have to be enough.”
He picked up his pace, as you gripped the arms of the chair, to keep from trembling. Thank god the whir of the fans kept anyone from hearing your heavy breathing, and the squish of Valerius’ fingers inside your soaking cunt.
“Remember to keep those pretty sounds to yourself for now. I'll make you sing for me when we're alone."
You nodded, you didn't trust yourself to make words without a moan slipping out. God you wished you were alone now. Head down, ass up as Valerius railed you. If his fingers were this good, you couldn’t help imagining all the other things he could make you beg for.
It seemed like an eternity had gone by before you heard Valerius’ voice again, so close you could feel his breath on your neck,
"Come for me, Sweetling," he cooed into your neck.
You came right then and there, stars forming at the back of your eyes as you crashed. Hands fisting as Valerius continued to finger you through the waves.
When you relaxed, Valerius removed his hand, leaving a trail of your juices on your thigh. He brought his fingers to his lips, and sucked them as if tasting the sweetest of wines.
“Your pussy tastes so sweet,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to eat you out. For being such a good pet, I think I’ll make you come until you pass out.”
A bolt of desire shot through you. You still wanted him, pussy still clenching from your last orgasm.
You had soaked through her clothing. You’d have to change before Asra or Julian noticed. If they noticed. From the looks of them they had made up, and eager to ‘resolve’ their fight at home. They’d be fine without her.
"Don't even think about changing out of those pants.” he ordered, seemingly reading your thoughts. “I want you to think about what a mess you've made for me."
As your brain started to function somewhat, you realized the meeting was close to coming to a close. From what you picked up it seems things had gone well for both sides. As Nadia shook hands with the Nevivon envoy, the council got up to leave.
You and Valerius got up at the same time, and before you could walk away he grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer.
“I don’t want anything getting in my way, later. Make your excuses to your lovers if you have to, but you’ll be in my bed tonight,” he said as he restrung the laces.
#the arcana valerius#valerius headcannons#valerius lemon#valerius smut#consul valerius#valerius x mc#valerius x apprentice#valerius x reader#my posts#my writing#arcana lemon#arcana smut
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forbidden fruit 🍒 | billy hargrove [18+]
summary;
in which a religious girl - gets acquainted with billy hargrove, the newest resident of hawkins.
warnings;
religious reader. swearing. drinking. slight smut. smoking. oral [f receiving]. dirty talk. & soft billy.
author's note;
this is long as fuck, sorry 😭 there is going to be a part two, and maybe it'll develop into a mini series? ugh idk
okay so this is written from a third person point of view, but i couldn't think of a name so i'm using the y/n insert.
so, whatever your name is, there ya go 😊
tags;
@hargrovesprincess @sioxxskywalkerxx
---
this was such a stupid idea and she knew it. pulling at her leather skirt, that barely came to her trembling knee's, it's inevitable that a feeling of harsh regret quickly swallowed the girl's entire body whole.
her mom and dad, who were both in bed and asleep, had the impression that their daughter was over at debs, who was another goody two-shoes, and church-going girl.
that was a blatant lie. instead, she had decided to make her first party appearance at tina's halloween bash.
halloween was absolutely forbidden. although it was her favorite holiday, besides christmas. horror movies? nope, those are the work of lucifer himself. dressing up in some slutty costume for the night? nope, that means you're the town harlet.
these were just a few examples of the ridiculous rules she has had to follow. now that y/n was almost 18 years old, it was getting unbearable being so pure and inexperienced.
in her mind, there was nothing sensational about her. she has a mess of wavy brown curls, that cascaded down her back and nearly reached her bottom.
her skin was tan due to her mother being hispanic, and a set of killer green eyes that sparkled in the sunlight, were courtesy of her father.
there was nothing outstanding about her on a daily basis, she was no sharon tate, but tonight was a different story.
nancy wheeler spent hours on end making her look like a supermodel, and she did an outstanding job much to the disdain and impatience of steve harrington.
she was adorn in an outfit that would give her parents a heart attack and shoes that were about to break both of her ankles if she tripped over one more red solo cup.
she was dressed as a sexy kitten, which is something she has been wanting to do for years now. but, she has never gotten the chance until now due to her extremist parents.
being from an all girl catholic school and only dating boys from her church, male attention was hard to come by. she even noticed a few of the girls checking her out as well.
being the center of attention wasn't a reality in her world, and she didn't know how to handle the sudden change in the way people looked at her.
cat calls and loud whistles surrounded her. and some guy even pulled away from a makeout session with his girl to stare at y/n while she walked past them looking for steve and nancy nervously.
did she look ridiculous, is that why she has everybody's attention all of the sudden? she began to feel conscious about her body being so ... exposed, and needed a drink.
she wasn't a student at hawkins like these people were - and could hear them all whispering about her. trying too figure out who she was, or even who she came with.
it distracted her from the path ahead; and she slammed into an unnecessarily muscular chest.
"oh my gosh, i'm so sorry!"
the impact caused some beer from his can to slosh out all over his exposed chest that was only covered by a leather jacket. though, his chest had already been glistening with sweat.
his hair was a mess of blonde curls and he had sunkissed skin. his blue eyes left her completely smitten, along with the little smirk sitting constantly on the corner of his lips.
when they made eye contact, the room seemed to slow. she was completely speechless, upon the sheer sight of such a captivating person. he was a walking, talking sin.
"don't worry about it, angel."
angel. he just called her an angel. she could feel the deep heat rising to her cheeks upon his little nickname for her.
his voice was deep, brooding and sensual - which caused her heart to flutter maddeningly and her cheeks began to flush cherry red, which only seemed to spur the boy on.
she watched as his eyes, now more dilated and dark than they were a couple seconds ago, scanning over her outfit while his tongue darted out to run across his bottom lip.
she didn't know what to say to him, and opted to twiddle her thumbs while looking at the ground anxiously.
she didn't talk to boys much. especially; not to boys who looked like him. it was like he was fucking photoshopped, everything about him was the depiction of wet dreams.
his aura was oozing masculinity and it did intrigue her to the point of no return; she had to get a taste of this boy.
"i don't think i've seen you around before. because if i did, we would've already known each other pretty well."
his remark made her giggle and she looked back up at his ocean blue eyes, heart hammering within' her chest. what if this was just a joke? what if he was just toying with her?
she didn't know how to flirt. and she wasn't going to run the risk of looking like a total dumbass in front of him.
"i go to the catholic school, so i don't think you have." she giggled, noticing the mischievous glint in his eye at those words, and suddenly he took one large stride closer.
he got a cigarette from his back pocket, lighting it with a zippo. she wanted to ask him for one, but opted to chew on her bottom lip nervously, while watching him intently.
"religious girl, huh? i must say if i knew catholic girls were dressing this way now, my ass would've been in church, a long time ago." he charmed, smiling and showing off a set of perfectly white teeth.
"actually, they don't. this is my first time dressing like this, and my first time coming to a party." she confessed. now, those words sounded more pathetic, when she said them to someone other than her close friends and family.
"i'm billy hargrove. nice too meet you,"
"i'm y/n. it's nice too meet you as well, billy."
he took another step closer, and now she could feel the heat radiating from his sun-kissed skin.
billy extended his large hand out for her to shake; and as she did, billy pulled her even closer. this time their chests were almost touching, and y/n opted to bite on her lip.
he brought his thumb up, running it across her bottom lip seductively, snagging it from in between her teeth. at this point, she felt like she could faint from the simple touch.
"stop biting that lip, angel. you want a drink?" billy asked, and she nodded quickly, needed something to make her feel a little more confident. he led her through the crowd, trying to ignore everyone's glares and whispers.
they approached a table with various types of alcohol. its now dawning on her that she has never gotten drunk and didn't even know what type of drink she would like.
"i've never drank before, so you can pick." she blushed. its embarrassing being so pure. and she was scared that lack of experience in just about everything would turn him off, and make him walk away from her in a fit of laughter.
but, he didn't walk away from her. instead, billy smirked and scanned over the choices. he reached for everclear; which was his first drink and poured a small amount for her to sample.
she took it from him, gulping it down, her face scrunched up and eyebrows furrowing at the bitter taste. he grinned in amuesment, taking the cup from her and pouring. billy, who knew she was lightweight, did not give her much.
which she appreciated, because her legs were warm, and head was swimming already. billy watched her, smiling as she finished her second cup. she went to get another, but billy slapped her hand away.
"in moderation, alright? don't need you puking or passing out. everclear is some strong shit." he inquired, downing a shot of everclear himself, gazing at her intently.
"thanks," she laughed feeling a little bit dizzy. just as she is gaining the confidence make a move on him; the voice of one of his very loud friends had interrupted her attempts.
"hargrove! we got the keg ready, so let's do this shit!" billy looked over his shoulder - smirking at the boy dressed up as the karate kid, before turning his attention back to y/n.
"come with me, let me show you how it's done." he boasts before holding his hand out, which she happily took. their fingers interlocked, sending shockwaves down her arm & straight down to her toes.
they walked out to the backyard, where tons of drunken teenagers surrounded the keg stand, ready for a show. it felt like being in a movie and billy only made it more than surreal and elevating for her.
the loud rock music, the endless cheers, and the sound of drunken laughter and idiotic comments filled the cold air.
she watched from the sidelines while he was crowned the new keg king a title previously owned by steve harrington for the past three years in a row.
she found herself very interested as to how this man can consume that much beer without puking. billy must have been doing this type of thing for years.
the crowd counted along, herself including until billy was done by the count of 42 and the crowd erupted with glee and approbation.
he got up and let out a masculine yell of victory as all the beer he spit out began dripping down his chin and chest.
she found herself clapping along with others, only adding to his ego boost. the alcohol in her system, along with the cheers of those beside her, made this moment euphoric.
billy shoved a cigarette back in his mouth before walking back to where y/n was standing; slinging his arm around her shoulders and pressing her into his side as they went back into the completely packed house.
"that's how you do it, hawkins! that's how you do it." billy concluded while she was practically beaming beside him.
once inside, she followed billy through the crowd to toilet paper that was hanging from the ceiling. she laughed and grabbed some from above his head -- wiping some of the beer from his sleek chest, tempted to touch his tan skin.
"did you enjoy the show, angel?" billy beamed, leaning in so he could move a piece of hair away from her face. she did want to kiss him right then, but her nerves convinced her otherwise yet again.
"yes i did, congratulations on being the new kegking." she smiled, and wiped some beer off of the side of his mouth.
"king in the streets, and in the sheets, doll." he winked and grabbed her hand once more, leading her over to tommy, who was giving steve harrington and nancy major shit.
"we got ourselves a new keg king, harrington." tommy has now announced loudly followed by another boy making a snide comment at steve who had taken off his sunglasses and stared back at them angrily.
the tension between the two boys was overwhelming, so y/n opted to tug on his leather jacket and distract him. its clear that billy was imposing his new role as alpha male in hawkins onto steve, who used to run the town.
as nancy walked away from the scene, clearly annoyed, it was time for y/n to get billy's attention off of steve before a fight breaks out. that was the last thing she wanted.
and quite frankly she was already missing billy's attention and irreplaceable touch.
"billy, do you wanna go back outside with me?" she spoke and was desperate to get billy away from steve, someone would get seriously hurt over nothing, if she didn't.
he nodded, not once taking his eyes off of steve, backing up and wrapping his arm around her once again. and she could feel steve's gaze burning into her back, hateful and judgemental.
she grabbed two more cups of alcohol on their way out and made sure to find a spot away from the crowd, at a table with an ashtray so billy could smoke his cigarette.
she felt the drunken anger radiating from him. he needed to calm down, and she knew just the trick for that.
there were two chairs, but he instisted that she sit on his lap. he was asking her questions about her life, and what her religion entails. billy was genuinely curious about her.
"so, you really can't date unless their from your church?"
"yeah. it's stupid considering everyone there is hideous."
billy chuckled pulling her back against his chest. his other hand was sitting contently in the waistband of her skirt, and the tips of his fingers played with the hem of her panties.
this simple action was turning her on endlessly. billy, with his smug ass self, knew exactly what he was doing to her, and the change in her breathing indicates that fact.
as she finished the last of her drink, it was time to make a move. she was done acting like some nervous school-girl.
which she was, but that was entirely beside the point. she wanted billy to know that these feelings aren't one-sided; that she wanted him. it was time to act on those feelings.
"do you want to go back inside, angel?" billy asked, while his voice seemed to suddenly drop an octave, now sultry and low. did she want to go back inside? absolutely not.
she got off billy's lap, a look of disappointment crossing his features for a split second, before straddling him. his reaction was pure shock, his eyes widening before a grin etched itself across his handsome face.
she didn't give him time to say anything, instead she had leaned forward and captured his lips in a heated kiss. her first real kiss, full of fire, and it was breathtaking.
billy's cigarette was dropped on the ground, forgotten, as one hand came up to grip her waist, while the other laced itself into her hair, tugging her closer against him. she felt his hard-on, and could tell that his size wasn't small.
his tongue ran across her bottom lip, asking for entrance, making her jolt. she obeyed nonetheless, opening her lips slightly and inviting his tongue into her mouth. the feeling was strange, but the best type of strange imaginable.
her hands were pressed flush against his chest, slipping underneath the leather jacket to rest on his stomach. the boy beneath her began to bite her lip, making her whine.
she has never been intimate with anyone and he was now taking over her senses. all she could feel, hear and taste is billy hargrove. was this all a dream? it certainly felt like it.
overwhelming her with the taste of his tongue, and the feeling of his hands groping her ass through the leather skirt. his hands were rough, calloused, and was enough to make her completely weakened.
billy then grinded her against his hard on, and the skirt let him get easy access to her dark red underwear. her hands flew up to clasp his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.
"we don't have to do this, alright?" he comforted, sensing that she was having second thoughts. but she wasn't. the pure bliss billy was supplying was something that she did not want to end anytime soon.
"i want this billy, i really do. please?" she whispered as her hands began to run up and down his chiseled chest.
billy's control slipped away in that moment - and then he picked her up while she giggled in his arms, before taking her to the secluded spot where his camaro was parked.
she laughed as billy fumbled with getting her in the back, closing the door behind him with his foot and set himself in between legs. y/n was nervous, she didn't have a damn clue what she was doing, but she felt safe with him.
he captured her lips again, taking control and shoving his tongue back in her mouth while his hands wandered up & down her untouched body, stopping at her exposed hips.
his touches were soft and tentative, careful not to cross a boundary and scare her away. billy knew that she has not been touched like this before and it only thrilled him more than he was before.
she leaned into his touch; and felt herself growing heavy adoration for the fact that he is being so gentle & patient with her.
billy leaned down to press kisses along her jawline, down to her neck, where he sucked at the sensitive skin. then, a surge of white heat flashed through her body, she arched her back against him and moaned loudly.
his hands slipped under her bra, before his fingers began to tentatively graze over her nipples. billy pinched them and tried to focus on her reaction to see what she liked. it was starting off sensual, he was being careful with her.
and when it earned him another moan, he knew. having a person touch her like this was foreign and intoxicating. its like all her morals were being thrown out the window, she would do anything as long as it meant that he kept going.
"do you like that, angel?" billy whispered in her ear, sliding her shirt off and un-clipping her bra. her breasts were out and showcased to him, a growl falling from his lips. she is stunning in his eyes, untouched and radiating purity.
she nodded, unable to find words and moaning as billy took her left nipple into his mouth, suckling gently. she weaves her fingers through his blonde locks, bringing him closer.
the action was sending little jolts of electricity down y/n's entire body, her toes curling, as billy's tongue flicked over the hardened bud. her core was aching at this point and it was vital that billy touch her already before she bursts.
her hands wandered from his hair down his chest, feeling the rippling muscles, making him groan. one hand stayed on his abs, while the other ran over his clothed hard-on. it seemed to spur his movements on as he thrust his strong hips into her touch, making y/n grip his dick a little harder than before, which he seemed to enjoy.
billy suddenly released her nipple, growling, placing little kisses down the valley between her breasts. all of her life, she was taught to think that this is repulsive. when in fact it wasn't repulsive, this was amazing.
he stopped to bunch her leather skirt around her waist, and his fingers traced her folds through her panties. the moan that left her lips afterwards only served to make a raging hard-on form within' his tight jeans.
he moved her panties to the side feeling her stiffen. she is now exposed to someone for the first time, and could not read his mind. she had no clue what he thought about her and more specifically, her most private area.
"look at that pretty little pussy. you're so wet, angel." billy, who knew what his words were doing, slid a finger gently down her slit, parting her folds, and blowing cold air onto her sensitive clit.
she whined, arching into his touch, his name falling from her lips. all the times that she has touched herself, hasn't felt near as good as this did, and billy hasn't even started.
when he latched his lips around her clit, throwing her legs over his broad shoulders, she almost screamed.
his tongue flicked quick circles around the tiny nub, then switched back to sucking gently, watching while her face contorted in pleasure. he groaned at the sight, sending a series of vibrations straight through her clit.
"oh! please don't stop, it feels so good." she whimpered as one of his thick fingers began to probe her entrance. it's a quite different sensation that she welcomed. bucking into his hand, the finger casually slipped inside her pussy.
she groaned at the feeling, having fingered herself before but with him, it was a completely different experience. he pushed inside of her until his finger was knuckle deep, he was sure to gage her reaction and make sure it didn't hurt her or make her uncomfortable.
"what a good girl," billy marveled huskily; watching the way her pussy stretched around his finger. she took his finger-fucking like a champ, and he was loving this.
his finger knew exactly what to do. rubbing right against her g-spot with slow strokes, curling upwards and feeling her inner walls contracting tightly.
"billy! right there," y/n gasped, moving her hips along with the increasing rhythm of his hand, he was hitting her spot with expert accuracy.
it wasn't going to take much for her to cum, especially with the sounds he was making. like, he gets more out out of this pleasurable experience than she does.
he began sucking on her nub harshly and the pace of his fingers became relentless, one large hand coming up too keep her squirming hips down on the seat.
he slowly added another finger, curling them both up into her spongy g-spot. billy was determined to give her a real and genuine orgasam, which would be her first one. in his mind, this was his way of staking a direct claim on her.
the speed of his fingers, and the feeling of his tongue working together in harmony made the coil snap and soon her legs were tightening around billy's head.
"fuck yes! oh my god, billy!" she cried out feeling that coil in the pit of her stomach snap, clenching around his thick digits violently, her legs trembling as the high she has just experienced made her feel exhausted.
"did that feel good, baby?" he whispered darkly -- coming back up to her face and slipping his tongue into the warm confines of her mouth so she could taste herself.
"that felt amazing. what about you? aren't we going to do it now?" she asked unashamedly, trying to reach for billys pants but he wouldn't allow her to touch him. y/n was the definition of confused. why didn't he want to fuck her?
"another night, okay? i just wanted to make you feel good tonight, doll. we don't need to rush anything." he cooed & she felt herself melting into the seat upon his kindness.
"are you sure?" she whispered - watching as billy put her underwear and leather skirt back into place. "i'm positive, angel. that's only if i can see you again, though?"
"of course you can see me again." she retorted, placing a little kiss upon his lips while he lit up a cigarette. "then it's settled. i don't want to take your virginity while you're still drunk." he comforted, pulling her into his broad embrace.
she sat with him for a little while listening to music and talking. she even tried to drag off his burning cigarette, but instead had a coughing fit, to which he chuckled at her and lightly teased her about.
"told you babe, it's harsh."
"oh shut up. you're harsh."
after he took her home, blasting metallica in the car, billy helped her to sneak back in her window, so she wouldn't fall and wake up her parents. before closing her window; she leaned over the ledge and gave him a sweet kiss.
he was going to go home & jerk off to the image of her orgasming in the backseat.
"i'll see you tomorrow, angel. sleep tight."
"goodnight, billy. don't forget to park down the road."
billy nodded, smirking and watching while she closed her window and light pink curtain.
even then - he didn't leave immediately. he just wanted to kiss her again. to feel her come apart underneath him. it's unusual for him to be so smitten. but y/n sent chills down his spine with her unparalleled beauty and kindness.
this girl is going to be the death of him, that much is for sure.
#billyhargroveimagine#billyhargrovesmut#billyhargrovexreader#billyhargrove#strangerthings#strangerthings2
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The night I turn into Anna
My strict daily routine to get to 45kg no matter how painful and sick I feel. I’m done I’m doing it I am Anna. Here it goes
- Wake up, pee & weigh in.
- write your weight down for that day.
- a litre of water drink it.
- tell yourself today will be a good day everything will be cute fun and you’re Anna.
- make a cup of skinny tea drink it
- get ready in your cute gym clothes literally a crop top and shorts because Anna can wear anything
- go for a walk/run as much as you can do
- drink as much water as you can during your walk
- come home shower and do an extreme beauty routine whatever you can do bleach teeth, hair mask, skincare, exfoliate dead skin, nail care, laser, shave, wax do everything moisturise top to toe EVERYTHING.
- dress in the tiniest outfit you own and have been putting off because it’s out of your comfort zone. I mean like your size 4 shorts you only wore when you were young.
- take a photo of the outfit so you can recreate it in a month when your less (it’s the only way you’ll really motivate yourself) imagine having real transformation pictures.
- get ready look super pretty dolled up, hydrated everything no matter how fat and uncomfortable you feel. Fucking ignore it because you are now Anna now do the best makeup and hair and body you can create like you’ll be walking past your ex or the girl you envy most.
- drink some more water
- now you’re ready to start your day go to any coffee shop you feel like and get yourself an almond cappuccino Because you deserve it and today is your day. Imagine you sitting there so effortlessly big soft brown curls that take up most of your body eyes big and bright because your face is so tiny, soft delicate skin because you dedicate all day to making it that way, makeup so smooth and soft looking with big hydrated plumped up lips and lashes that batter and are the biggest thing on your face, fingers and nails long delicate fragile and so beautiful you catch the waitress staring, long lean tanned arms and legs with a glow from within that looks so sunkissed yet so tiny and jaw dropping, you are extremely hydrated that everything is plump, lively, glowy. You spend your time there on your phone looking up ways to improve your beauty, smiling at people, as you sit there sipping your coffee dressed so effortlessly yet so beautifully and you feel like the prettiest girl in that shop knowing that coffee will be you’re only meal for day but you’re happy because you made it.
- spend the rest of your day working on your skin, educating yourself about beauty, doing laundry re organising your clothes, mopping the floors washing your sheets every day, just getting more and more perfect stay so busy that you burn everything you have no time to think of food because you are so busy bettering yourself and doing everything in those 24 hours to be that perfect girl you can be.
- have tiny amounts of healthy food with vitamins and green teas and ciggerates.
It’s time to take care of yourself properly become what you dream about what you’re jealous of and what you have wanted to be, it’s your time. A new beginning, Anna.
Read this everyday because you have to. You have to actually commit to this to make a change 2019 the year of success you are this girl so start living like her x
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Character Sheet: Korrinth
Character Chart
Character’s Full Name: Korrinth Vareesa Dawnshatter
Reason or Meaning of Name: Her middle name is a famous namesake. Her mother gave it to her not only in recognition of a Quel’dorei hero but also to remind her of their roots.
Character’s Nickname/Alias: Korri
Reason for Nickname/Alias: A shortened version of her name.
Birth Date: July 17th
Physical appearance
Age: Mid nineties
How old does he/she appear: Relatively young yet weathered
Weight: 140lbs
Height: 5′10
Body build: Athletic, voluptuous, dancer-esque figure
Shape of face: Angler, boxy, and heart shaped all mixed together
Eye color: Literal fel-flames
Glasses or contacts: N/a
Skin tone: Olive & sunkissed
Distinguishing marks: Fel runes etched over her arms, shoulders, chest, abdomen, hips, thighs, and shins
Predominant features: Horns
Hair color: Deep crimson
Type of hair: Long & wavy, reaches down past her shoulders
Hairstyle: Usually in a bun
Voice: Melodic & sultry
Overall Attractiveness: 10/10 (Biased opinion). Pretty easy on the eyes.
Physical Disabilities: Can only produce Fel magic
Usual Fashion of Dress: Tattered leather vestments, tank tops and leather pants is where she lives
Favorite Outfit: N/a
Jewelry or Accessories: A few piercings scattered around, mostly on the long part of her ears. A void-walkers binding fitted and worn as an armlet. Sometimes a moon pendent on a simple string or a simple choker with a red gem.
Personality
Good Personality Traits: She’s fairly friendly within reason. Also studious and knowledgeable, especially in her fields of interest. She has a sharp and curious mind and isn’t afraid to speak it.
Bad Personality Traits: She embodies self-pity, she’s very easy to set off, emotionally sensitive, overly judgmental, gets jealous easily, and is somewhat paranoid.
Mood Character is Most Often In: Indifferent and/or hungry
Sense of Humor: Sarcastic teasing. She has a decent sense of humor if the jokes are in her ballpark.
Character’s Greatest Joy In Life: Magic
Character’s Greatest Fear: Becoming a monster
What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil? Finding a cursed book.
Character Is Most at Ease When: Whenever she’s in some type of serene setting or receives positive emotional support.
Most Ill at Ease When: Around strangers, people outside of her caste (Mostly nobility or more elegant people)
Enraged When: Dealing with loss of something she cares about. Though I wouldn’t really count out other sources, she’s not exactly level headed.
Depressed or Sad When: Always
Life Philosophy: Existence is pain.
If Granted One Wish, It Would Be: A reset button
Character’s Soft Spot: Broken creatures
Is This Soft Spot Obvious to Others?: Usually the focus of the affection.
Greatest Strength: Adaptability
Greatest Vulnerability or Weakness: Emotions
Biggest Regret: Becoming an Illidari
Minor Regret: Binding with a Succubi
Biggest Accomplishment: Surviving Antorus
Minor Accomplishment: Become prominent in Fel markings, providing them to several of her kin
Past failures he/she would be embarrassed to have people know about: Finding a cursed artifact that she didn’t turn into the proper authority on the matter.
Character’s Darkest Secret: She’s responsible for her villages death (Murky territory, she’s guilty by association)
Does Anyone Else Know?: No
Goals
Drives and Motivations: Survival, redemption, saving her brother
Immediate Goals: Feeding herself, finding a place to sleep, studying demonic possession, and eradicating demonic forces left over from the invasion.
Long Term Goals: Saving her brother
How the character plans to accomplish these goals: That’s the big question
How Other Characters Will Be Affected: Someone might die, and or be redeemed. Its very up in the air.
Past
Hometown: Dalaran (Outskirts/rural territory in Hillsbrad)
Type of Childhood: Good, well cared for and nurtured
Pets: A feline familiar
First Memory: Watching her father rearrange a bookcase with a spell
Most Important Childhood Memory: Casting her first rune
Childhood Hero: Aegwynn
Dream Job: Guardian of Tirisfal (When she was little)
Education: Masters (Degree equivalent) in several magical fields
Religion: Reveres Elune but not overly religious
Finances: Decently well off
Present
Current Location: Wandering Azeroth
Currently Living With: Whatever wildlife is near her at the time she makes camp
Pets: None
Religion: None (Still slightly reveres/respects Elune)
Occupation: An out of work demon hunter
Finances: Dirt poor
Family
Siblings: One twin brother
Relationship With Them: Not so great
Spouse: N/a
Relationship With Them: N/a
Children: N/a
Relationship With Them: N/a
Other Important Family Members: Possibly some scattered cousins left in Quel’thalas
Favorites
Color: Purple
Least Favorite Color: Yellow
Music: Jazz/classical
Food: Any
Literature: If it’s not runic/magical, then fiction & romance
Form of Entertainment: Books
Expressions: A grin
Mode of Transportation: Portals
Most Prized Possession: An enchanted grimoire
Habits
Hobbies: Sketching, reading, studying
Plays a musical instrument?: She can sing fairly well
Plays a sport?: None
How he would spend a rainy day?: Looking for some place dry/reading
Spending Habits: Conservative, until she has a small sum- then she’ll splurge
Smokes: Occasionally
Drinks: Occasionally
Other Drugs: Sometimes if available
What does he/she do too much of?: Brood
What does he/she do too little of?: Trying to better her situation
Extremely Skilled At: Runic magic
Extremely Unskilled At: Wielding warglaives
Nervous Tics: Tensing & lip twitches
Usual Body Posture: Upright & relaxed
Mannerisms: Sultry & sly
Peculiarities: She sometimes doesn’t know how to react to social situations and will just sort of stand there vacantly.
Traits
Optimist or Pessimist?: Pessimist
Introvert or Extrovert?: Somewhat of a mix (Due to demonic)
Daredevil or Cautious?: Cautious
Logical or Emotional?: Also a mix (Due to demonic)
Disorderly and Messy or Methodical and Neat?: Messy yet organized
Prefers Working or Relaxing?: Studying over all
Confident or Unsure of Himself?: Confident in certain things, mostly unsure however.
Animal lover?: Indifferent (Enjoys cats)
Self-perception
How She Feels About Herself: Horrible usually
One Word Character Would Use To Describe Themselves: Broken
Paragraph Description on How They’d Describe Themselves: “A girl who made several mistakes that cost her dearly. She gave away her life to right those wrongs, but that failed too. Everything she touches or will touch turns to Fel, and there’s nothing she can do about it.”
What does the character consider his/her best personality trait?: Tenacity
What does the character consider his/her worst personality trait?: She wouldn’t be able to pick just one
What does the character consider his/her best physical characteristic?: Her hair
What does the character consider his/her worst physical characteristic?: Any of the demonic augmentations.
How does the character think others perceive him/her? A monster
What would the character most like to change about himself/herself? That whole tethered to the demonic thing
Relationships with others
Opinion of Other People in General: Envious, jealous of their happiness and or chances in life
Does the character hide his/her true opinions and emotions from others?: Opinions no, emotions yes (Unless pushed).
Person Character Most Hates: Herself
Best friend(s): N/a
Love interest(s): N/a
Person Character (Would) Go to For Advice: ....N/a
Person Character Feels Responsible For: Her brother Relivastus
Person Character Feels Awkward Around: Most people at first
Person Character Openly Admires: Khadgar
Person Character Secretly Admires: Jaina Proudmoore
Art Creds: YourImaginaryTwin
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Hiraeth - 2
Chapter 2 - Our Our Friend, Death
Word Count: 5320
Warnings: Minor gore, swearing
---
Etna, California, the interstate sign reads. Three hours we've been stuffed in this car. Three hours I've been itching to at least walk around... and I'm in desperate need to relieve my bladder. Chester's fingers drum against the leather of the steering wheel, he must be ready to stop for the day too. There's a certain... drowsiness you get after being in the car for so long, your body just begs to lie down after being stuck and crammed in this small car for so long.
"Do you think Etna'll be a nice city or a trashy one?" Chester asks me suddenly, my brain is half asleep and barely registers the question. All I can do is shrug and make the 'I dunno' sound.
"I just hope they have a motel we can stay at."
"Every place has a motel, Brad," He side eyes me from his seat, "We've stayed in abandoned ones before, too, remember?"
"I know," I look down at my feet, "Just forget I said anything."
His eyes glance over me, I can feel their stare. My cheeks burn from exhaustion and how humiliating it is to run away from ourselves like this. Our car stays to the right, merging off the interstate and on to a local highway. Nothing but farmland for miles to see, we're still a ways away from Etna, another good twenty-minute drive, maybe. Corn stalks dart along the highway, they're close to being ready for harvest. Either that or they're already prepping for a Halloween corn maze this year. Maybe it's the latter.
"I wish we had some red beans right now," Chester breaks the silence of the drive, "It is Monday, after all."
It's a tradition for him to eat red beans with a hunk of cornbread thrown in the middle every Monday. He said it was what everyone did down in Louisiana, you'd let the beans soak up some spices while you did laundry. Monday was laundry day too, he told me before. The beans would be nice and soft by the time the chores of the day would be done. I don't understand it, I'm not a Cajun man, but I know better than to break him of his culture.
"I doubt they'll have any," I respond, "Maybe... Maybe we should... go down South after we finish off Washington."
"Maybe," He flattens his lips together, "It's... it's different down there."
I don't ask what he means, he doesn't speak too much of his home. He always says something cryptic about it, said the swamp would swallow you whole if you get lost or how the people who live nearest the river were cursed, practicing voodoo to hex the nearby children. Weird, if our lives weren't so crazy ourselves, I would tell him he was being a fool for believing such fairytales.
Slowly, as we drive, more and more buildings begin to pop up. First, there are just a couple of farmhouses, then a service station, then comes to more residential areas. Next thing you know, we're here in Etna. There's not much to say for it, not the city. But the views are amazing, a mountain looms in the distance, visible from every section of the city. I can't take my eye off the white peak of the mountain and how the clouds mimic the shape of the snow that coats parts of the mountain. The rocks are dark, angry looking against the snow. Below the mountain peak is a dense forest, the trees stand tall and dark against the pristine colored snow. I'm lost in the feeling of homeyness that the surroundings give me, I don't even realize the vehicle had come to a stop until Chester opened up his car door.
"You're a weird one, Brad," He half-snorts while looking back at me. He bends down to look at me, still sitting dumbfounded in my car seat.
He doesn't understand the sense of nostalgia I get from being so close to nature. He was born in the deep south. No, not the type of South you're thinking, not the hill-billy tractor lovers, but the God-fearing people of the bayou; the real southerners. He grew up in the outskirts of New Orleans, his small city was entrenched by the swamp. The only trees he knew were the magnolias or the moss-covered cypresses whose roots were engulfed by the muddy waters of the bayou. His vision of nature will always be that of the swampy, musky bayou of his home, not the leaf daubed hearth of the northern forests.
"As weird as they come," I reply back tonelessly. I follow my boyfriend's footsteps and exit the vehicle, slamming the car door shut. Chester winces as I use a bit too much force in doing so, he reminds me suddenly of how much he loves this car.
A local walks by the hood of our car dressed dapperly in a suit and tie. The jacket of his suit reflects a cool, pastel blue, it mimics the color of the afternoon sky. He wears a fedora the color of a cloud, he lifts his hand to tip the front of his cap.
"Yer new around here?" He asks. I realize now that Etna must be a small city. I glance over at the streets, most people wave to one another as they walk down the sidewalk. Close knitted communities are the worst for me. You're an easy target in them. Everyone knows each other and we're the outsiders, if something bad happens, all fingers will be pointed at us.
"We just came in from Redding," Chester smiles warmly at the man, "We were hoping there was a place to stay—"
"Oh, no worries! No worries!" The man has a booming voice, a peal of half-hearted laughter follows his words, "There's 'n old inn down the road, two little ladies run it. Nef and Frankie. They'd be happy t' help sum folks like y'all."
I'm a little confused on why we're in Northern California and this guy speaks like he's from Texas. Maybe he's new in town too, maybe we're not that much of an outsider here.
"Oh," Chester's smile grows flaccid, he nods with the man's words. His outward personality is... disturbing for me. Extroverted people are too... too nosey, love to talk when all I want to do is leave, "Well, I guess we'll be headed that wa—"
"Before y'all leave," The holds his hands up to stop us from going back to the car, "I'd like t' welcome you officially to Etna. Hope ye two stay fer long."
Maybe he's the mayor, that's why he's greeting us as we entered the city.
"Thanks," I speak up, half-assedly. He catches wind of my reclusiveness and quirks a brow. Chester shoots me a glare for sounding so rude towards him, but nonetheless, we buckle back up in our car.
Chester breathes a sigh as we back out of a parking space and head towards the aforementioned hotel— motel, whatever the fuck that guy was saying. I'm already getting a weird vibe from this place, I have half the mind to tell Chester to drive off and we can find a bigger city to hide out in. We're too easy to... spot... Newcomers in this old town that has seen many generations come and go.
We pull into the parking lot of the building named 'Two Sister's Lodge', the sign is worn and faded of color, but the rest of the building seems to be pretty good, aesthetic wise. I'd consider it on the nicer side of hotels we have stayed at so far. Chester wraps his hand around mine, rubbing his thumb over the top of my hand. I look up at him, he's smiling innocently like he always does. I return the gesture and my cheeks dimple at him. We walk hand and hand to the entrance of the hotel and to the front desk. Sure enough, as the sign indicates, two sisters sit at the front desk greeted us with bright friendly smiles.
"Welcome to the Two Sisters Lodge," The lady nearest the desk speaks first. Her hair is dark, her skin is sunkissed and browned, but she wears the color well, "Would you like a room?"
Her name tag reads 'Nef,' her smile is soft and small, yet genuine at heart. She has an... herby smell to her. Pitching together her half-squinted eyes and the bubbly appearance of her attitude, I piece together that she's probably a pot smoker. Even if she were, I wouldn't care, she could be worse. One of our motel managers in a previous city ran a crack den in the back.
"How much do you charge?" Chester asks, not like it matters. Our credit cards get ditched every month, we leave and make new identities before anyone can catch up to us.
"Twenty bucks a night," The other lady says, she seems more... unwelcoming than the other lady. Her skin is pale, pale as the snow that sits atop the mountain, dark circles cover her eyes, "Maid comes in every day to clean the sheets, pick up dirty towels. We've got laundry in house, too."
She wears her hair in a loose, sloppy braid, it rests on her back and follows down her spine. She reminds me of how Chester used to be when I first met him. Unwelcoming on the outside but an actual cutie on the inside. Maybe she just needs someone to help crack her. I assume she must be Frankie, she doesn't wear a name tag, but her outfit fits the color scheme of the hotel and Nef's, so it's obvious she works here too.
"Oh," Chester mumbles, his gaze finds mine. We speak nonverbally, I nod ever slightly, "We'll take a room, then."
"Great," The first sister speaks, "We've got two Queen's beds or two twins--"
"We're sharing a bed," I speak up, her eyes widen at my response and she's left speechless for the moment. I curse myself for saying that, maybe this city is fucking homophobic like some we've stayed in. My worries are put to rest as she offers a kind smile, she writes down something on the nearby ledger before speaking to us again.
"No biggie," She ways it off, "We've got a Queen room, you can see the mountain from the window. Beautiful view."
"Yeah, that'll work," Chester purses his lips as he thumbs around in his pocket for that worn down leather wallet. He flips it open once it is in his hand and pulls out the red credit card. The card holder's name is some guy we made up, 'Chesney Bealleux', it matches our fake IDs for the month. He slides the plastic card across the desk towards Nef, she hands the card to Frankie over her shoulder. Frankie rings up a number on the cash register, dust settles across the keys and fly into the air as she presses the buttons. She hands Nef the credit card and then she slides it back to us, along with a key card.
"Your room is on the second floor, sweeties," Nef smiles, "Stairs are just down that hall. And You just call if you need anything, alright?"
"Wait—" Frankie calls out before Chester and I can walk over to the stairs, "I just wanted to let you know, there's a corn fest going on tonight. It's free and they got free food. You two look like you could benefit from it."
"Do we look that bad?" I tease her, a rose blush quickly fills out her cheeks at my remark. I feel bad, she looks unsettled by my joke, "I'm kidding, what time does it start?"
"It's no big deal," Her words are spoken lowly now, "It starts at six, ends a little before sunset. Somebody said they're having an afterparty when the sun sets though, lots of beer. Plus, uh, y'all been in a car for lord knows how long, it might help you unwind."
"We'll see," Chester intrudes, "We've had a long day, might wanna just sit and relax for tonight."
"Oh, well," She shrugs harshly, "Nef and I will be there, we'd hope to see you goons there."
"You don't even know our names," I speak barely audibly, but she picks up on the words.
"Well," She rolls her eyes, "Let's introduce ourselves— I'm Frankie, that's Nef."
"I'm Brad," I motion towards myself before pointing a finger to my lover, "That's Chaz."
"Nice to meet you." Chester waves with his child-like innocence.
They're... more hospitable than most people we've met in our travels. A welcomed change, for sure. Part of me screams to be elusive like always, but I lock that part away and give in to my human need to socialize.
"So," Nef joins the conversation once again, "Where you two from?"
"Los Angeles." Chaz answers.
That was the truth, it was in Los Angeles that this began. It was Los Angeles where we forged our love. It was Los Angeles that I was attacked by that creature and lay victim to its curse. It was a good home while it lasted, the city suckled and nursed my childhood. It adopted Chester many years ago too. At times I wonder if it will ever welcome us back.
"What're city folk like you two doing in a small town like this?" Frankie knits her brow at Chester's response.
"Got tired of the city life," I answer for Chester, "We don't like to be confined."
She mouths an 'oh' before giving a gentle nod of her head. Her lips tug upwards as another gentle smile warps her lips.
"Seems reasonable," She half-chuckles, "City life just isn't for everybody. That's why I like Etna, it's very calm and quiet. Nothin' bad ever happens here."
"Ever?" I quirk a brow. More guilt creeps in, I remember now that the full moon rises tonight, something wicked might happen tonight.
"Think the only fucked up thing that's happened here was a kidnappin' back in '82, but it all turned out fine."
"Oh," I murmur, "That's... not good—"
"Mmm," She shrugs, "It happens, I guess. But we're a quiet town. I hope y'all stay long."
I frown quietly, I know we will probably have to leave again tomorrow. That's just our fate now, every month is the same. Sometimes we have to leave more, barely staying a week in a city before people catch the drift of us.
"Yep," Chester pops the p, "Well it's starting to get a little late— I think Brad 'n' I are gonna head up to our rooms now if that's alright—"
"Of course, sure," She nods, "Y'all just call us if you need something."
We wave goodbye before we turn towards the hallways. Chester intertwines our fingers as we walk together, he squeezes my palm lightly like he's afraid to lose me. I look over at him with a loving gaze, he makes me forget the worries of the day.
The stairwell is eerie, dimly lit and the stairs creak as you walk up to them. Creepy, reminds me of some stupid 80's horror movie Chester would make me watch every month. He would always bicker at me to just sit and enjoy the movie, but they're always the same.
Chester looks over at me, a shit-eating grin pinned on his lips. He squeezes my hand again, forcing me to look up at him.
"You still owe me a fancy dinner, Brad." He chokes up.
"Whatever," I roll my eyes playfully, "Don't think they'll have any special restaurants here unless you consider Waffle House fancy."
"Waffle House is good, Brad, you wouldn't understand," He adds with a shake of his head, "That was fine dining when I was a kid—"
"That's 'cause all you guys had was a Waffle House—"
"Mmmm, yeah but— It was still very good."
I playfully shove him with my elbow as we reach the top of the stairwell. He opens the door that leads towards the rooms, he extends his arms to tell me to walk in first. The hallway is just as dim as the stairwell, reminds me again of those shitty horror movies. I grab on to Chester's hand again before we continue down the hall. After a moment or two of stumbling around, we finally come to our hotel room. Chester puts the key in the lock, the lock is a bit rusted and it takes a couple of jams to get it open.
Our room is... cleaner than expected. No dust, no bugs. Hell, not even a fucking cobweb. Chester sets our holdall down in the corner, his footsteps sound the empty room. Paper thin walls, fucking great. You can ever every little bump we make, every step and the slightest cough. Chester turns suddenly, facing me.
"Is this okay?" Concern fills his words, his skin pale of color. His eyes are gloss, red lines fill the white area of his eyes, showing the numberless sleepless nights. Tonight is going to be another sleepless night for him.
"This'll do," I force a smile but Chester knows me better, he can see right through me. His features drop and a feeling of guilt washes over, "Chester, it'll do. Don't worry."
"I always worry—"
"I know you do," I huff, blinking my eyes hard in response. I run into his arms, letting his worry wash away as I wrap him in my loving arms, "It's okay."
"What're we gonna do tonight?" He whispers into my ear, I feel his lip tremble against my earlobe. The full moon rises tonight, only a few hours of being human remains for me today.
"We do what we always do," I speak, "Lock yourself in the bathroom and... let me... let me change."
He sighs, though the energy he conveys is one of relief, not fear. We've done this long enough, he worries not about the other people, but instead, he worries about me. He worries I'll end up dead in a ditch, some hunter might come out and spray me with buckshot. He's even made theories of vampires eating me alive. Do vampires even exist?
"Okay," He breathes heavily again, "Okay... Just... Try and be safe tonight, yeah?"
I nod, though we both know I have no control over that outcome. He pulls away from my hold, I watch as he shrinks in his clothes.
"Let's just... Maybe we should— nap or something."
I pose the thought, Chester immediately shoots it down with a forcibly shake of his head. Too much anxiety and adrenaline drums in his blood, it would be hard for him to relax until tomorrow morning when he can wake me up from unconsciousness.
"I don't think I'll sleep," His head falls limp against his shoulders, "You should, though."
"I won't sleep unless you do, babe," I watch as his lips pull into a sneaky smile, he loves when I call him 'babe', "We could just—"
"We could cuddle."
"Oh?" He suddenly takes my hand and forcibly drags me to the bed, "I mean— I don't have anywhere to be... so—"
He doesn't really wait for me to give my verbal consent, he knows I always love to have sweet moments with him. I feel giddy, my heart throbs in my chest.
He gently pushes me down against the comforter. His body shifts on top of mine before he rolls over to the opposite side of the bed. He scoots close to me, our noses touch together, we Eskimo kiss. I bring my hand up and touch his thin cheek, I lean forward and let my lips grace against his. He pushes his lips out so they touch mine, our noses bump into each other. I curse our big noses.
"I love you, Chaz," I murmur into his lips, "More than anything."
"I love you too, Brad," Another kiss follows those words, "I wish we didn't have to live like this. Wish we could just be happy."
I smile though he pegs out the hints of guilt that hide behind my lips. He frowns suddenly, blaming himself for saying such a thing.
"I'm always happy when I'm with you," I touch our lips together once more, I linger near his mouth for a hint of a second, "As long as we're together, Chaz, then we're happy."
He beams towards me, his coffee-stained teeth shine in the dark hotel room. He gets even closer to me, our chests touch together, we can feel each other's heartbeats. They drum as one, finalizing just how much we love one another. I wrap my arms around his skinny figure, he feels brittle in my touch. His own arms stretch and his hands come to caress my cheek. His touch is holy, something that deserves worship. I am the saint in his temple, I cherish his every movement, every touch, every whisper that falls off his lips. All are like a heavenly dream. Perhaps he's the only thing that keeps me only a turn away from becoming a true monster.
He mouths the words 'I love you', a droopiness in his eyes tells me he's ready for a nap. Maybe our little affectionate moment gave him a moment of peace so he could slip into sleep. I reach forward and kiss his forehead and by the time I retract, his eyes are closed and his breathing slow.
"Love you, Chester."
A smile creeps on his lips as the words leave my tongue. A calm before the storm. He shows me his vulnerability, he trusts me with his life, he trusts me enough to see him at his weakest. It had been like this since the day we fell in love since he professed to me the feeling he had. I will never forget that day. I will never forget how our lips danced together that night.
The night approaches, an ache settles deep in my bones. The moon rises soon. I sit on the foot of the bed, my eyes watch over the sleeping figure of my lover. He sleeps in a fetal position, a shiver quivers through him from how cold it is. I hate having to wake him from his peaceful slumber, but I have no choice. He has to be somewhere safe. I lay back down on my spine, my body turns to face my lover. I bring my hand up and softly shake him, hoping he'd be easily awoken.
"Chester," I simper, "Chester, honey—"
He whines before rolling over in the bed, he takes a fist full of the comforter and pulls it over his head. He's like a child sometimes. I try and take the covers off him, but his grip on them is strong. With a sigh, I decide to take more drastic measures. I shake him with a little more force, chanting his name a number of times so he finally wakes.
"WHAT?" He cries out before immediately coming to his sense, "Oh—"
"It's almost time," I whisper. I watch as he rubs his weary eyes, a yawn leaps from his throat, "You've got to—"
"I know, I know," He smacks his lips together while stretching his arms out. He lets the appendage fall limp on top of the comforter, "Be safe."
I force a smile, my eyes turn glossy as the usual guilt from our situation hits me at full force. This is our life now. He chose to stay with me, a fucking freak. I suck on my teeth while I watch my boyfriend finally rise from the bed. He shambles over to my side of the bed, I rise from my spot and instinctively wrap my arms around him in a tight hug. I feel the pain that besets him, as I'm sure he can feel mine too. I let silent tears fall and coat his sleeping shirt. He pulls away from me, his hand caresses my cheek for only a second before he finally leaves to lock himself somewhere safe.
There was no use in trying to lock me up, I always escape. The last time we tried to secure me, it almost cost Chester his life. I broke down a door and trashed the whole room trying to claw at him. I couldn't fucking live with myself if I ever even laid a finger on him with the intention to harm him. So instead, Chester chooses to hide away so the beast won't sense him. It puts others at risk, but what else can we do?
And now, I sit alone in this dank hotel room, waiting for my body to take its unholy, primal form. Moonlight peaks through the paper-thin window shades, the pale light illuminates the room. My vision begins to fade as my mind starts to jumble and the unthinkable pain warps me.
~ ✦ ~
The forest knows death. From the dead leaves that paint the forest ground a musky, rotten brown, all the way to the carrion of freshly killed venison, not even stopping at the bare-boned carcass of a now unidentifiable animal. It never ends, the cycle of death, it continues and continues until we all are left as dust in the wind. Death perfumes the woods, the most primal scent in all of nature. The one thing that is certain in life, it is death.
Two bodies lay against the rotting leaves of the barren earth. Slash marks cover their bloodied bodies, throats torn and innards thrown askew. They weren't unfortunate victims to a starving wolf or bear. No, their meat remains untouched, uneaten. Killed for fun, killed for the thrill. A characteristic common within human nature, the need to feel superior and to give in to your dark urges. However, these markings are inhuman. No mortal man possesses the claws to tear this flesh, nor the strength to break these bones. No, these women were the victims of a supernatural creature, one that hunts when the full pale moon rises.
A tragedy, some would say, but this is just a normal part of life that the forest knows. The forest accepts death, it feeds generations of life. These women, though they lay dying and decaying, are ensuring the survival of many other creatures that call these woods their home. A crow drops down from a barren tree branch and perches down beside the carrion of the corpse. It takes a piece of flesh and eats, absorbing the energy that lays ready to be taken advantage of. The crow flies off suddenly, taking with it another pinch of carrion.
The moonlight has faded, the sky warms as the sun begins to tease along the skyline. Farmers are the first awake, they must tend their crops and slit the ground before another patch of rain comes through. The noise of farm machinery stirs some of the townsfolk who live on the outskirts of town, they are unhappily awoken. The day starts, as usual, children ready for school, parents prepare themselves for work. They are oblivious to the sin committed in the woods. That is until a duo of school children find one of the lady's bloodied jacket thrown far from the body. A metal name tag glistens in the sunlight, a blemish of a bloodstain rims the outer edge.
My lover, Chester, stirs me from my sleep. He gentles shakes my body until I wake, his eyes are glossy and filled with sympathy. No, no, I couldn't have done anything last night, but his eyes tell the whole story. I open my lips to say something, but no words fall out. I just sit there, staring up at my lover with a speechless expression.
"We have to leave," He drips the words into my ears, "I'm sorry."
"It happened again?" A rhetorical question, I know it will only keep happening until the day I die. Chester responds with a soft nod. He tries so desperately to mask his sorrow, he even forces the fakest smile I've ever seen him wear. Maybe he feels guilty for having to wake me up with this news, or he hates having to move so soon again.
"You should shower," He doesn't verbally respond to my question, only tries to change the subject, "You smell like a hound."
I ignore his little comment, only responding by raking him a glare. I stand from my spot on the hardwood floor, my bare body is covered in scar tissue. I wear the scars well, Chester has told me, but I hate every single one of them. I dig at myself during my time as a beast, these marks were from its-- my-- claws. I run my tongue across my teeth, the faint tang of the metallic liquid stings my tongue. I want to believe it is my own blood, but I know better.
I head for the shower, the metal from the showerhead is rusted and the whole bathroom smells like ammonia. I turn the nozzle to get some hot water, but it only gets as hot as lukewarm tap water. I step in, the water turns a pinkish hue as the blood that cascades my body joins with the water from the shower. Chester usually joins me in the shower, but I never let him in when the water runs red like a river of rubies. The water quickly turns cold, thankfully it gave me just enough time to wash the blood off my pale scarred skin. Chester waits outside the bathroom door, he jumps into my arms as I walk out.
"I'm sorry," He sniffles, "I know you hate leaving--"
"Don't be sorry," I move my hands up so I can hold his head, "The fault is mine."
He bottles up a whimper, but he quiets down. He grabs our holdall and we exit the hotel room. We travel down those same eerie steps, into the lobby-- only to find it completely empty. Chester looks over at me with that same look from this morning. It hits, it had to have been them. My lips tremble but I bite down on them to keep him from noticing their emotion. Chester stops walking, his arms wrap around my bone-thin body. He starts up with the mantra of words like 'it wasn't your fault,' 'I'm sorry,' and other white lies that'll keep me from tearing down myself for killing another innocent person.
"Let's just go," I huff. He releases my body and we continue to hurry down to the car before anyone suspects any foul play from us, "I'm ready to leave California."
Chester doesn't say anything as we reach the parking lot and enter our Camaro. A darkness hangs over him, he gets like this every time I kill. I wonder why he puts up with this, I wonder if he's just ready to end it all. He could be free from this right now if he wanted to, he could have me killed or he could just leave me stranded here. Either way, he'd never have to deal with this bullshit ever again. Yet, he loves me too much to leave.
Here we are again, the familiar interstate 5. She knows us well, we traveled her up and down for months now, it seems like every day we get closer and closer to meeting her end. The roads are empty, except for a few late stragglers on the work trail. We speed far away from Etna, it has become another city to feel our curse.
"Where to next?" I ask Chester.
"Ashland," He replies in a toneless way, "It's not too far."
We've traveled up and down California and finally, we have desecrated its entirety. Our next state is Oregon. I want to believe that this could be our last stop, that we won't have to keep running, but both Chester and I know that'll never happen because we can't escape ourselves that easily.
#hiraeth#our old friend death#werewolf#werewolves#runaways#mlm#fiction#story#second chapter#lgbt#supernatural#writers on tumblr#writing#original work#writeblr
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