#And mirrors and sparklies and just - yes! Many good and fun things!!

[sysig]

Pretty clothes for you! ✨ (Patreon)

[judesmoonbeauty]

Vogel’s Extravagant Leisure Time - All Characters Inclusive

Not 100% Accurate. Cybird owns everything. This is their twitter campaign that is available for viewing on the X account.

Post #1 Nica: So, now that there’s three of us free with free time, what are we going to do? Darius: I was thinking of playing a game of giving each of the Crown members a nickname. Ring: ….What great way to kill time. Are you a genius? Nica: That’s the height of boredom. OK, let’s start with the Self-Righteous Monarch.

Post #2 Nickname Target #1 💟William💟 Darius: He’s so flawless I can’t choose one♡ Nica: Red King Ring: Piano Man Nica: Dari, you really like William don’t you. Darius: Yes♡ Ring what’s Piano Man? Ring: I saw him playing the other day. It was good. I want to listen to it again. Darius: I want to hear Will’s performance too.

Post #3 Nickname Target #2 🐈Liam🐈 Darius: Mr. Beautifully Shaped Cat Nica: Smooth Talking Stage Actor Ring: Sparkly Pink. Nica: But I can’t see past the sparkling pink. Ring: …Because he’s flashy? He looks sparkling. And, his hair is pink and cool. Darius: You look like a child looking up to a hero, Ring. Ring: Ah, n-not really…..it’s not like I particularly admire ….him.

Post #4 Nickname Target #3 🦊Harrison🦊 Darius: Mr. Troublesome Fox Nica: Lie Detector Ring: Droopy Tear Mole Ring: Harrison Gray. Is he troublesome? Darius: Perhaps. He might seem aloof, but I think he’s quite compassionate. Having a kid like that makes things nice and unified. Nica: Ahhh, well then my hard-work has increased.

Nickname Target #4 🍎Elbert🍎 Darius: Mr. Greedy Beauty Nica: Bisque Doll Ring: The Desired Nobleman Darius: A bisque doll is rather blunt, Nica. Nica: Elbert was looking at a butterfly in the garden the other day, and I thought it was a real bisque doll. Ring: …..Maybe someday, we can talk about butterflies together. Nica: What was that, Ring. Ring: N-no…..nothing!

Nickname Target #5 🪞Alfons🪞 Darius: Mr. Lewd Illusionist Nica: Shameless Mirror Man Ring: Perverted Mirror Nica: Ahaha! “Perverted mirror”, that’s a bit much. Ring: I- no different than you calling him “Shameless Mirror Man.” Darius: When I look at both of you, there are times I realize, you really are twins. It’s amusing. Nica & Ring: Really?

Nickname Target #6 ⌛️Jude⌛️ Darius: Mr. Ruthless President Nica: Extremely Heinous President Ring: The Angry One Darius: I get the strong impression that he’s a President. Nica: Hey, Ring. That evil looking guy probably has a lot of money, next time why not ask him out to treat you to a meal? Darius: It’s as if my family doesn’t eat. Ring: Sorry, I eat a lot, but…it’s never enough.

Nickname Target #7 🔫Roger🔫 Darius: Mr. Double-Crossing Doctor Nica: Muscle-Glasses Doctor Ring: Dog Loving Brother Darius: Roger has a dog? Nica: According to my intel, it seems he has one kept at home. A corgi named Ale. Ring: Her butt is plump and cute….I wonder if they’ll let me play with it if I ask. Darius: I want to play with it too. Nica & Ring: ……

Nickname Target #8 ⛓️Ellis⛓️ Darius: Mr. Dangerous President’s Assistant Nica: President’s Personal Assassin Ring: Kind Bean Pole Ring: Ellis Twilight’s an assassin? Nica: That’s right, he approaches as easily as breathing and then- whoa! Ring: ! T-that surprised me…. Nica: Ahaha, what’s with that face? Just like you when you were a kid! Darius: Yes, both of you should make sure you don’t get killed.

Nickname Target #9 💀Victor💀 Darius: Absolutely not, I don’t want to give one♡ Nica: Long-Haired Eccentric Guy Ring: Energetic Cooing Pigeon Nica: I’d like to pursue an investigation of Dari’s secret dislike of the Queen’s Aide, but Ring what’s with the cooing pigeon? Ring: He’s amazing. He can send out pigeons at will, and there’s lot of them. Nica: That can’t be true!/Das kann nicht wahr sein!* Darius: Ah, that sort of thing irritates me.

Final Post: Darius: Ha~♡ It was fun to see so many cute Crown members. Ring: As usual, I don’t understand Dari’s meaning of cuteness. Nica: Hey, let’s go now, I’m hungry. Darius: -Before that. Did you two notice that I’ve been dropping hint the entire time?

Ring: Hints? Darius: The initials related to the cursed from the Alice In Wonderland group. Nica: Ah, ahaha, I see. Certain words pop up in the order they were targeted. Ring: I am the only one who doesn’t know what you’re talking about? Darius: Maybe something fun will happen if you solve the mystery.

*I'm not sure if I translated this line correctly or not.

Tags list: @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @sh0jun @letter-from-afar

Divider: @/natimiles

[sunflowerkiwis]

Speak Now

Harry Styles x Reader | Platonic!Taylor Swift x Reader

Word count: 682

There’s hardly a plot to this so bare with me; You bring Taylor out to perform with you and mess with the crowd a bit.

Unedited—and it shows.

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

If there is one thing y/n and her fans have in common, it’s analyzing everything. They all know: almost everything she does is for a reason, it all comes with sharing a strong friendship and fanbase with Taylor Swift. Every capital letter, every number thrown in, every song cover—everything meant something to her, therefore it meant something to the fans. So, having this knowledge… why not mess with them a bit?

“They’re gonna freak out,” Taylor said from her seat in the hair and makeup chair.

“In a good way,” Y/n looked at her, attempting to put in her earrings, “they love you, sometimes more than me, i think.”

They both laughed before Paula, Y/n’s manager came in, letting her know she had ten minutes before being on stage.

~~~

“Well,” Y/n looked around the crowd, no words could describe the feeling she felt on stage being able to bring so many people together and create a safe space for everyone to be themselves and have fun. “Hello, Sydney. How’re we doing tonight?”

Cheers and whistles erupted making her chuckle. She spotted Harry in the area reserved for family and gave him a smile and a wave, making the crowd freak out again.

“You are a gorgeous crowd, Sydney. Beautiful—loud, too.” Cue the noise. “Now, we’re gonna do a song that I’ve wanted to do for a while. It’s by a very close friend of mine and I just enjoy this song so much because of the message it puts out and how…” she paused, trying to figure out how to relate to this song when her very loyal and committed fiancée was in the crowd. “How relatable it can be at times, with… with certain people.”

She stepped back, grabbing her guitar from a crew member. The fans grew confused at her introduction of the song and the new, very different guitar. This one was a dark, sparkly purple, and the way she was unsure of how to introduce the song as she kept glancing to Harry in the crowd? Something was up.

“Sydney,” Y/n started strumming the guitar, a familiar tune to those who were fans of both her and Taylor, “this is Speak Now, by Taylor Swift.” Cue the confusion. “I am not the kind of girl who should be be rudely budging in on a white veil occasion… But you are not kind of boy who should be marrying the wrong girl…”

Even louder cheers came along as they saw the familiar face walking across stage to where Y/n was standing. “I sneak in and see your friend and her snotty little family all dressed in pastels,” Taylor sand beside Y/n. “And she is yelling at a bridesmaid, somewhere back inside her room, wearing a gown shaped like a pastry.”

Y/n chuckled before joining her later, still strumming her guitar. “Don’t say yes, run away now. I’ll meet you when you’re of the church, at the back door,” she sang with a little too much emotion for someone in a strong and happy relationship—engaged, nonetheless.

She shot Harry side eyes at every snarky line like “And the organ starts to play a song that sounds like a death march” and a smirk at “You wish it was me—don’t you?”

She gave her all into those four minutes, knowing entirely too well she had no business relating to this song at all, which, obviously, she didn’t. But as they say, it’s for the plot.

~~~

“Should I be worried?” Harry came up behind her, hugging her waist.

“Not unless you have some hidden bride in a pastry dress,” she raised a brow at him through the mirror.

“Counting you, or…?”

Y/n rolled her eyes and turned around to kiss his cheek. “Can’t to see all the divorced parent tiktoks tomorrow.” She joked. Having Harry Styles and Taylor Swift in the same room was bound to get brought up at some point in the next 24 hours—maybe less.

Harry frowned, seeming genuinely confused. “Pardon?”

“‘S what they call you and Taylor.”

“…Why?”

“Oh, boy…” It was going to be a long night.

[amethystpath-writes]

Double-Date: Spiderman Edition (Part 0- Prequel)

NOT A PR0MPT

******

Hero was pacing. Of course she was- she always was. “You’re sure he won’t be there?” Her makeup was already on, smooth foundation and...whatever the sparkly stuff was on her cheeks and nose was (VSidekick prided himself for even knowing the first one). Hero wore a floor-length, sparkly, navy blue dress, one that accentuated all the parts both she and VSidekick loved. All that was left to do was to walk out of the bathroom and through the front door.

“Yes, I’m sure,” VSidekick said. He met Hero’s eyes in the mirror. Was he telling the truth? Not entirely, but when did he ever do that? He was Villain’s sidekick; there had to be at least a little villainy in him. And anyway, it was good for Hero. She was too uptight, too strict about things.

“You checked his schedule?” Hero crossed her arms and lifted a brow.

“Well, no, but why would Villain be going to a five-star restaurant when he has a chef at home?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he found out about us and he’ll show up to destroy-”

“He’s a casual person, just like you- maybe even more so than you. He doesn’t enjoy fancy places like what we’re going to, and like I said, he has a chef.” As if that were casual, VSidekick realized. Still, Villain stayed at home when he wasn’t parading around, destroying things.

“Living casually? You say that as if the right side of your body isn’t half-numb from the fireworks he set off inside the mall. He’s irresponsible, not casual.”

There it was. “He had better intentions than to just blow everything up. No one was supposed to get hurt- it was just supposed to draw attention.” Maybe there were a couple times Villain did things for fun- but it didn’t happen often! VSidekick sighed. “Look, I know he won’t be there, so there’s no worries. And, he has no reason to destroy the restaurant- hasn’t talked about it anyway, so we’re safe.”

Hero sighed.

“We’re all prepared and you look beautiful. Let’s just go, okay?”

***

“How many times do I have to tell you that Golden Rod’s is Hero’s favourite restaurant?” HSidekick asked as Villain stepped out the front door.

“And how many times do I have to tell you that I already did the calculations to prove she wouldn’t be there?”

As reluctant as HSidekick felt, she still sat in the passenger seat when Villain opened the door for her. When he sat in the driver’s seat, she asked, “How many times do I have to remind you that there’s a margin of error?”

Just because Villain found a small percentage of running into Hero at the restaurant didn’t meant that they wouldn’t run into her at all. There was still a chance that they could. And as HSidekick pointed out, there was a margin of error. Meaning, some of the calculations, the data...whatever...some of it was off, which made the likelihood of running into her even greater.

Villain sighed, putting the key in ignition. “Think about it yourself. I know there’s a possibility she’ll be there, but it’s so slim that it’s almost nonexistent. It’s a long drive and she has better things to do,” he explained. “Plus, she only ever goes out to eat with you.”

That was a good point. Who else would Hero have to eat out with besides her very own sidekick? No one. She didn’t have any romantic partners. So, she wouldn’t be out- especially not out at a restaurant.

“It’s not that I don’t want to go- I do.”

“It’s your favourite restaurant, too,” Villain said. “Indulge in it.” He started the car and began reversing out of the driveway.

“Yeah. I just...what if Hero is there, for whatever crazy reason, and she sees us, and then-”

“And then what? The worst that happens is she drops you, and then you have me. And VSidekick. He wouldn’t be opposed to having an extra pair of hands around the manor. You can do the dusting.” He looked over at HSidekick with a joking smirk. “We’re going to have a nice dinner, okay?”

HSidekick nodded. Hero wouldn’t be there; if she told herself that enough, it would become true.

******

Continue here.

Master taglist: @faeruine 

To be added to the taglist, comment here!

[shingia]

✗ HQ BOYS DOING YOUR MAKEUP

-> this random idea popped in my head recently and i thought it was pretty cute so here it is ( ͡❛ ‿ ͡❛)

-> general plot : basically, you broke your arm and need them to do your makeup for you 

-> suna, akaashi, tsukishima, semi, bokuto, kenma

— SUNA

• he’s living his youtuber fantasy, let’s be honest here

• and by that i mean that he records every step of the process. he also does this thing where he shows the products to the camera with his hand behind to make the lens focus

• i’m pretty sure he would sit you up on the counter and make you wrap your legs around him to keep him close (bye i’m evaporating)

• getting your eyeliner right on the first try is a huge flex for him. getting it even on both eyes is an even bigger one

• and he brings this up every time you’re mad at him

• « ok yeah i forgot to make dinner. but that eyeliner from last week tho… »

• most definitely has a playlist playing in the background, and you get to choose the songs because you don’t have anything else to do

• he only realizes how much he enjoyed doing this after many hours, and he probably ends up asking you to do it again at like 1am or something

• and if you accept, watch him go above and beyond to do better than the last time, because this time he is committed

• even if he knows you’re not going anywhere btw, he doesn’t really care he just wants to take a few pictures of you before you take it off and go to bed

• (he made her promise not to say anything but he definitely asked his sister for advice just because he wanted to impress you)

• oh and, he puts too much lip gloss on purpose, because he obviously has a good idea to take half of it off :)

— AKAASHI

• obviously he immediately accepts - with your arm in a cast, you could ask him anything and he’d do it in the blink of an eye

• he insists on watching a youtube tutorial because he’s not confident enough to do it without any guidance, and he follows it diligently from a to z

• he’s probably the slowest of all but that’s just because he’s scared of messing up

• and also because he thinks you look really pretty when your face is so relaxed, he can’t help but give it a few kisses every now and then

• after every stroke of the brush, he takes a step back just to make sure that it still looks good - and it does

• he also starts humming at some point, and he would be very pleasantly surprised if you started humming with him

• he refuses to use the eyelash curler because he thinks it’s absolutely terrifying (i have to agree with him)

• however, he asks a lot of questions about the rest of the products because he’s genuinely interested and wants to learn new things

• but tbh i don’t think he would be completely clueless, for him the basics of makeup is just general knowledge

• he also keeps a few samples of your products in his bag in case you need to do touch-ups during the day

• also he cleans the brushes when he’s done <33 what a king

• and he definitely offers to do your hair afterwards since he knows you’re struggling with it too

— TSUKISHIMA

• « not doing that, no way. ask someone else » is his first reaction. but it’s just because he knows he’s going to be terrible at it

• but he accepts after a few minutes of negotiation (because he wants you to stop whining)

• so you drag him to your bedroom and sit between his legs by the window to have a better light ; honestly, it’s ideal work conditions

• surprisingly enough, he does a very good job with eyeshadow. which means that his confidence is now through the roof

• but it all goes back down in a second when he gets started on the eyeliner

• he tries to avoid this step by telling you that you would look much better without - but you really really want to see him try, so he has no choice but to give it a chance

• it looks awful

• he gets it right after his fifth try tho, but your eyes are very irritated

• because he put so much effort into this eyeliner wing, he spends the rest of the day making sure that you won’t rub your eyes and ruin his work

• although he will never admit it, he thinks it’s actually a pretty fun thing to do and he wouldn’t mind doing it again

• but he would rather do it on a day where you don’t have anything planned, because he could start making out with you without hearing that « we don’t have time for that »

— SEMI

• oh it’s definitely not the first time, he’s already pretty experimented

• which means that you don’t have to check on everything that he does, just let him do his thing and you won’t be disappointed

• he probably asks you to show him your outfit so that he can do a makeup with matching colors <3

• there’s one thing that drives him absolutely crazy, and it’s dark red lipstick. so brace yourself because he will put it on you no matter what

• oh and, remember that tongue thing he does before his serves ? yeah well he does that when he’s applying the lipstick as well

• i think he would eventually want to try bolder makeup looks, and if you’re too shy to wear them outside, he would !hype!you!up! until you change your mind

• if i’m being honest : your makeup has probably never looked this good

• it’s pretty frequent that he ends up putting on some eyeliner on himself, and he wears tf out of it

• since he can get pretty protective, he’s usually not a big fan of other people praising you. but he won’t mind if someone ever compliments your makeup

• but what semi loves more than makeup itself is that he gets to take a very good look at your face from every possible angle

• and he loves to discover new things about you, like a hidden mole next to your ear or a dimple under your lips for example

• honestly he knows your face so well that he could probably draw a realistic portrait of you without looking at any reference picture

— BOKUTO

• really really excited about it, and also honored to know that you trust him enough to do that !

• so get ready to spend the next thirty minutes sat on the bathroom floor surrounded by literally every product you own, because bokuto is very curious about a lot of things

• he is so frustrated to see all the different eyeshadow colors and not getting to use them all

• so he’ll probably ask to do your makeup another time just because he’s really intrigued by ‘this sparkly purple shade’

• he’s also very interested in touching all the different textures of your products, so he tries them all on the back of his hand (which looks like a mess by the end)

• he has a hard time finding the angle he’s most comfortable with so he probably moves a lot

• one second he’s sat in front of you, the next he’s behind your back and tilting your face up

• i think he would definitely squish your cheeks with one hand while putting lipstick on with the other

• he also needs constant approval on his work so he keeps a mirror within reach and waits for you to confirm that it looks good every now and then

• you might have to lie to him on his first tries tho, because he’s definitely not a natural (but that’s ok, he’ll get better)

• however, he is always proud of his work and shows you off 10x more than usual for the rest of the day

• and he gets really sad when you take it off in the evening (cue sad puppy eyes)

— KENMA

• if kenma’s going to do your makeup, he’s going to do it right

• both sat on your bed, he’s holding your head still with one hand on your cheek. and don’t you dare sneeze, smile or breath too loud : he needs to focus

• he is so concentrated that he even sticks the tip of his tongue out, and he has a frown on his face the whole time, like a painter working on a million-dollar canvas

• especially for mascara, he’s so scared to poke you in the eye that he requires absolute immobility

• and yes, he will get mad at you if you start to laugh or move too much, i mean come on he’s trying to do serious work here!

• but he just looks really cute when he’s so focused <3 you can’t help it

• however, he goes back to being his laid-back self as soon as he’s done. and he spends a lot of time staring at you for the rest of the day because he’s lowkey proud of the result

• also, don’t let him do your makeup in his bedroom, because the light coming from his setup is probably terrible - so you’ll have to drag him out i’m sorry

• he might lay you down on the couch and straddle you so that he can rest his elbows when he leans forward to reach your face

• oh and : seeing you wear « his » makeup and his clothes simultaneously drives him absolutely crazy

@toworuu @catwithangerissues

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

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?”

[the-fiction-witch]

No y/n.

MOVIE DEATH OF A SUPERHERO

COUPLE DONALD X READER

RATING SWEET

I sat on the bean bag chair I usually sat in doing some comic drawings trying to get the light shading angle right, I felt her hand sneaking closer as she sat on her bed.

"No y/n" I warn her before she even tried

"Awwww your no fun" she pouts going back to curling her bright pink wigs hair

"Why do you wear those anyway?"

"For steaming, part of the brand identity. That and it conceals what I really look like" she explained

"How many do you have now?"

"Like sixteen, or so"

"Why?"

"I can't dye wigs. Well I can but then you can ruin them so I buy different colours and styles" she explained "pretty please?"

"No y/n" I laughed "your not putting one of your twitch girl wigs on me"

"Just to see?"

"No"

"Even the short green one?"

"No" I told her

"Even just while I curl it?"

"No!"

"Fine. Meanie"

"I'm not being unreasonable here y/n" I laughed "just because my actual hair hasn't come in yet"

"It has a little" she smiled messing with the slightly fuzziest on my head "I shall miss the smooth kisses" she smiled kissing my head "your eyebrows are gonna take forever though"

"Oohh I know."

"I could just like draw them for you?"

"No y/n"

"I'll use a proper eyebrow pencil and stuff not just like a sharpie duckie"

"Maybe. I'll think about it" I told her going back to my work I felt her hands again "no y/n" I told her

"Be fun!" She yelled sitting one of her wigs on my head the bright blue one "you look like a really confused emo boy"

"Take it off" I warn her

"Fine, I think the red might suit you" she smiled swapping it over

"No the shape doesn't work with your face" she says

"If your gonna put one on my head out one on and let me live" I told her

"Uuuuummmmmm.... Ah!" She smiled swapping again to her long blonde and brown dip dyed one "perfecto!'

"I look like a hippie"

"Just wait" she says getting a hair tie doing a little bun right at the back in a way it was almost impossible to tell it was there making the whole thing much shorter "see"

"This is.... Okay" I told her

"Can I do our eye brows to match now?"

"Fine," I sighed "but no contour I fell into that trap the other day I had six pounds of make up on my face and that highlighter stuff doesn't come off I was sparkly for days"

"Yay!" She giggled getting her make up suitcase, no joke it's a suitcase it had wheels! And sitting down so she could work

"Can I still draw?"

"So long as you don't move. Yes" she smiled as she began to work "can I atleast do a little concealer under your eyes, you kinda got dead eyes"

"I know. Side affects. You loose your hair. Loose weight. And you look dead"

"Just a little bit?"

"Fine. But I see highlighter or eyeshadow come out that make up suitcase I swear to God I will hold you down and tickle you"

"Fine, boring boy" she says sitting and working on... I honestly don't know for a good while "tada!" She smiled showing me her little mirror and I admit I didn't look that bad, better then when I tried to draw my hair back with sharpie on a mirror like I'd borderline consider going out like this. Maybe. If it was dark.

"I miss my hair" I told her

"Awww duckie, it's okay it's coming back just might be a little while till you can really see it again, but till then your welcome to borrow my wigs and I'll happily do your eyebrows"

"No it's fine I don't want to wasting your stuff on me, but for fun it's okay"

"Can I do the rest of your make up now?"

"Fine" I sighed putting my work away

[purple-krystie7]

A Night to Remember

Glamrock Freddy X GN Reader Fluff fic

The Pizza Plex has it's annual Prom Night, and you are both nervous and excited to see someone special.

Ah prom night, a time you remember fondly as you look at the flier in your hand. Pretty dresses, fancy suits, nice music, great food, and fun times. Being the biggest and bestest place in your town there was no doubt the Mega Pizza Plex wasn’t going to let an opportunity like this slip away. They advertise a huge prom party extravaganza for the teens every year, and this is the first time you are experiencing it in your first year working there. You would love to join in if you can, hoping speeding up your work gets you to be off early.

“Hello? Earth to y/n?”

You’re snapped out of your daze by a female voice, Vanessa, the nighttime security guard is waving her hand in front of you.

“Oh I'm sorry, ness!” You quickly fold the paper and put it in your pocket.

“No problem, just try not to daze off too much” she chuckles “you going to the party tonight?” She nods towards where you stashed the flier. You nod back in response.

“I’m hoping to, if I can get everything done in time to get ready.”

“Huh, didn’t take you for a person who liked to party, no offense of course.”

You snort, “pff none taken, I am more of an introvert as they say, but it sounds like fun! Plus free food, drinks and candy? Hell yeah!”

You both laugh

“Well, I'll be there monitoring so no funny business, you know what I mean” she winks at you and nods towards Freddy, who is across the main floor helping with decorations.

“I have no idea what you mean!” You tease back, slightly blushing.

You both chuckle once more before parting ways, you continue to set tables, put up decor and what have you, checking your faz watch for the time every so often. It’s a pretty tedious job with how big the place is, but with the many staff you are sure it will be done pretty fast.

A couple hours later, while on a ladder finishing up your area, you hear large footsteps come up behind you.

“Great job y/n!!” A familiar sweet voice cheers.

“Thanks fre-'' while trying to turn around on the ladder you lose your footing, starting to fall. Thankfully you land in the arms of Freddy.

“Oh dear! Are you alright y/n?” You look up at him a bit dazed and he tilts his head “Good thing I was here!”

He lets you down, letting you gain your senses

“Oof sorry there fredster, that scared me, thanks for catching me!” You see a look of relief on his face.

“Of course superstar! Anyway, are you all finished?”

You nod and look around. The place looked amazing. Sparkly stars in gold and silver hanging everywhere, beautiful lights, balloons, it was perfect.

“Oh, what is this?” While you are still admiring you and your coworkers' hard work, Freddy bends down to pick up a paper. Finally turning back to him you realize it's the folded up flyer you stuffed away.

“Oh! That's mine! Was keeping it”

Freddy nods and hands it back.

“Does this mean…I will be seeing you tonight?”

Your face slightly flushes, “uhm..well yes, i’ve gotten all my work done for the day so..”

His face lights up, beaming at you and ears wiggling.

“That's great superstar!! I can’t wait to see you!”

He puts his hand on your shoulder, patting it, then turns around and heads for his room in rockstar row

Your heart pounds from the interaction but you try and shake yourself out of it.

You pop your earbuds in and clock out, pack your stuff and head home to get ready.

Parking into your spot later that night, you see all the giddy teens laughing and cheering as they enter the plex. You take a big breath and flip your mirror up to check one last time. It wasn’t the party in general you were worried about. It was Freddy. Ever since you started working with him, you got pretty close. You hate admitting it to yourself but you fell hard. Vanessa was the first to point out your blushing, giggles, and daydreaming, though you always jokingly denied it, at first you did eventually let her, and only her, know how far your feelings went. You both got closer after that and she would always give you info about what she observes of him during the night. Freddy’s mannerisms and charm were so entrancing to you, despite being an animatronic bear, you looked past it and saw almost a real soul behind his bright beaming blue eyes.Of course being both a coworker and human, you resigned yourself to the fact that he most likely would not feel the same way about you, which while making you ache, you came to deal with.

Realizing you again, were fantasizing about him, you shake your head. “Man…I really have it bad for a damn robot..” you murmur. Finally opening your car door you step out, slowly walking towards the building's entrance.

Upon entering lots of people turn their heads, making you freeze. “Oh no..did I over do it?”

As Vanessa had commented on earlier, it was true dressing up for something fancy wasn’t something you do overly often, not wanting to stand out in a crowd.

“Hey y/n! You made it!” Vanessa walks up to you, slightly dressed up herself to match the attire, but still branding her signature badge.

“Oh, y..yeah I did haha!..” You stutter as people turn their heads back to what they were doing prior, you let out a breath.

“man…you look great, no wonder people turned their heads, I thought some kind of royalty walked through the door or something!” She teased, nudging your shoulder.

“Ness c'mon…” You blush at the compliment as you both walk further towards the main atrium. The decor is even more beautiful at night with the lights illuminating the decor.

You see Monty, Chica, and Roxy all dressed up nicely and talking, and decide to walk up and chat.

“Hey guys! You look great!” They turn their heads towards you and all smile back at you.

“You look amazing as well y/n!” Chica beams “I'm so surprised! You need to share your tips with me!”

You chuckle and nod your head “Thanks Chica.”

After a bit of small talk you decide to brave yourself and ask the question that’s been on your mind since finding them.

“So…where’s freddy?” You tilt your head slightly trying to just appear ‘normal’ with the question instead of desperate .

“Oh, I think he will be out soon, said he had some more things he needed to finish or somethin” Monty responded. “Said it was important.” You nod, and Vanessa winks and giggles at you from the corner of your eye, causing you to nudge her to shut her up.

Suddenly spotlights from above aim at the stage as the announcer voice booms over the speakers.

“Ladies and Gentleman, boys and girls! Freddy Fazbear!”

The stage rises from below and from behind the lights and smoke appears the man himself. He is decked out in a nice black vest suit,with red accents, and a spiffy tie adorning his signature lightning bolt. All you can do is stare, of course he is usually attractive but hot DAMN did he look good. He steps towards the front of the stage, waving at the teens cheering and clapping, mic in other hand.

“Hello superstars! How is everything going so far!” The crowd cheers and he chuckles

“I am so glad you are enjoying yourselves! Prom is a very special event for you guys, and I’m so glad we here at the Pizza Plex can offer our services to make it the best prom ever!”

A spotlight appears on you and the group.

“Of course, it wasn’t done alone! Please give it up for my friends Roxy, Chica, Monty, Vanessa…and y/n!”

Your heart was racing as attention was brought on yourself again. You wave shyly with them as the crowd yells out ‘thank you’s’ and ‘you rock’s’.

The light finally disappears and aims back onto the bear. “Alright, that’s it from me! Please enjoy the rest of the night!” He places his mic back into the stand and heads down the stairs, heading towards your group. The first person he gets his eyes on is you, you are sure of it, he is staring directly at you and you could just melt.

“Y/N…I’m so glad you could make it!” He puts his hand around your waist and you are internally screaming. What’s with the close contact all of a sudden? You aren’t complaining but it was certainly unlike him.

“Oh..y..yeah! I couldn’t miss it for the world!” You grin up at him nervously.

The energetic music calms and a slow dance song follows after.

“Ah…perfect..” Freddy silently says then turns to you “y/n…may I have this dance?”

What?! Did he just..ask me.. You almost blurt out your thoughts, but thankfully it stays in your head. You of course take his hand and walk towards the floor nervously. Some kids let out awws as you are led by him.

Placing his hand on your hip, you follow suit and put your hands on his shoulders.

“So…y/n..how are you enjoying the party?” He softly says to you with a sweet smile on his face. You are pretty sure your face is full red at this point, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Ah, well it’s been quite fun so far! I’m not quite a party girl as it were but…it’s nice…this is nice.” You smile back at him. Swallowing hard, you decide this may be a good time to just tell him.

“I wanted to ask you something..”

Both of you say the same thing, causing a pause then big laugh from both of you.

“You first..” You nod to him. He spins you around effortlessly and dips you, shocking you but making you giggle as well.

“Well…” He brings you back up and takes a breath “Y/n, I…Think I may be In love with you.”

Your eyes widen. Did he just say that? No way am I dreaming?? Your silence concerns him and he furrows his brows. “I..I’m sorry, that was quite sudden, and I understand if you-” He looks back towards your face. “A..are you ok?”

Tears are starting to form in your eyes and you are smiling wide.

“Freddy…funny thing. That is exactly what I was going to tell you..”

Now his eyes are wide.

“R..Really?” You nod and look down.

“I’ve been feeling like this for a while now. It was something I tried to just keep to myself as I thought you would never feel the same so..”

He brings his hand up to cup your cheek, wiping a rogue tear. “Oh starlight, I do feel the same, it took me a while to think about it as well…I am me, But I do love you.”

You hug him hard, and he picks you up, twirling you around, both happily laughing. Some of those around you have stopped to watch and clap. Then chanting starts to erupt.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” you and freddy are both blushing at this point, but look at each other, and finally, you kiss. It’s electric and just as amazing as it had been in your dreams. It feels as if you are both floating. As you separate the crowd cheers, joined by the group.They congratulate you both.

The night continued on, you and Freddy having the time of your lives. It was sure a night to remember.

[scribblingfangirl]

CANDY CANES & SPIDER WEBS | Julie and the Phantoms - Luke Patterson

not my gif!

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Author’s Note: First things first, let’s not start the scene in reverse but with the mention that: Yes, I am aware that Halloween was a few months ago, but since I’m stuck studying for two upcoming exams and procrastinating on my Billy Russo fic I mindlessly wandered through all of my unfinished and forgotten WIPs and found this one - and it spoke to me! So, I hope you have fun with this little, weird and late Halloween thingy.

word count: ~ 1.2k

summary/prompt: alive!AU (2020) - Luke has to wear a Dirty Candy outfit and gets scared by a fake spider 

warnings: english is not my first language, therefore, typos and long sentences (this was not beta-read), tw: a teeny tiny mention of being puffy (said in a joking manner and later on confirming that she (you) feels amazing in her (your) body) [if that’s inappropriate for many people I will of course take this fic down and/or change it to something else]

.•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•.

The entire school was decorated. From the halls and classrooms (yes, much to the suffering of a certain brunette lead guitarist, even the music room) down to the cafeteria and the gym. Black cloths were covering the windows, fake spider webs were put up in all sorts of nooks, crannies and corners, bowls with candy could be found all over and the lights were dimmed. The music was so loud the vibrations did not only move the floor but the bones of the students as well. Well… maybe it wasn’t just the volume, but the fact that the music came from a certain band called Julie and the Phantoms and it was almost impossible not to move your body to their tunes. Or maybe they just felt bad for the lead guitarist who was struggling to jump around in his... rather sparkly Halloween costume. 

Earlier during the week, the principal had made an announcement, saying that everybody had to wear at least some sort of Halloween costume to be invited to the schools annual night of terror. Of course, Luke being Luke was not even thinking about the possibility of separating himself from his beloved sleeveless shirts and/or his flannels. Which is why he was very adamant on dressing up as you on Halloween. 

“Going as your significant other is going as someone else as well!” 

“Fine…but only if I get to choose your outfit.”

“Deal.”

Much to his dismay, he seemed to have forgotten that, in contrast to himself, you did not only own band-shirts, flannels and vans, and looked rather dumbfounded when you handed him the mountain of clothes you chose for him.

“That’s…. no. A definite no from me. This sparkles and has sleeves.”

“I’m sorry, what? There must’ve been a miscommunication. Last time I heard you wanted to go to Halloween as your girlfriend… and well, said girlfriend does not walk around like a wanna-be rockstar from the 90s all the time but is also a member of a girl group called Dirty Candy. So, say hello to a wonderful blue glittering crop top and matching see-through blouse! At least you get to keep your sneakers and the colour matches your eyes. Now chop chop! You promised Julie to fit in one last rehearsal before tonight!”

You could've sworn that you heard him mumble “And that’s why you don’t mess with your enemies” before he closed the bathroom door behind him. Five minutes later you were almost crying from laughter.

“I can’t believe it actually fits you, at least more or less!” you giggled, looking him up and down as he twirled uncomfortably in front of the mirror, staring disbelievingly at himself. “Wait… does that mean that I’m puffy or are you just small?”

“Do not worry Y/N. Even though you obviously actually are the Witch you're dressing up to be, I love you the way you are”, he answered quickly, pecked your lips and ran out of your room, hoping to bypass the looks from your parents. “See you tonight! And don’t be too jealous when I make Dirty Candy look good for once!”

You opened your windows and watched him struggle into the car. Before he could drive off you frowned, as you realized that he never actually answered your question. “Hey! Wait! You are small, right?!” But he just dismissively waved out of the car window as he disappeared from your view.

“He called you puffy?” a shocked Fynn shouted at you over the loud music.

“No, I said it as a joke, but he didn’t exactly call himself small” you shouted back. 

"I mean, come on girl! My body is amazing!"

“Nevertheless, that screams for revenge!”

Expectantly you raised your eyebrows and smirked, it was Halloween after all. A night of mischief. “And… oh mighty Flynn. What exactly do you have in mind?”

“Wait and see, wait and see”, she chuckled evilly. “I hope you’re not afraid of spiders.”

An hour later the gym was filled with the steady beat of Flynn's music as she took over as DJ for the rest of the night, while the four band members fled into the safety of the music room.

“They can’t do that! My poor six-string! So broken! So dirty!“ Luke whined as he wiped off the fake blood someone had accidentally spilled onto the guitar when they were pouring it out and smearing it all over the room and windows. 

Alex nodded absentmindedly. “This is a mess… I don’t want to be the cleaning personnel tomorrow. All this, just for one lousy night?”

Reggie threw an arm around his friend and patted his shoulder soothingly. “I’m sorry Willie couldn’t make it tonight, but you know what? Julie and I can be just as fun!” he said, linking his other arm with one of Julie’s and dragging both of them outside, into the corridor leading to the gym.

Turning around to face Luke you let out an exasperated sigh and threw your hands to your hips at the scene in front of you. He was sitting, legs crossed (which worked surprisingly well somehow, considering he was struggling to rock out on stage just a few minutes prior), surrounded by the other guitars and basses inspecting them for more fake blood mishaps. “Really Luke? How come you care more about instruments made out of wood and metal, than about a real, warm and loving person waiting for you?”

He didn’t even look up. “I care about you!”

“You wouldn’t even kill a spider for me, but for your six-string, you would touch real spiderwebs”, you protested, suppressing a giggle, when Luke promptly stood up to take some steps towards you and walked right into some fake ones, moving his arms all over the place to get rid of them. "You look like a blue disco ball."

“I do not and I would for you!” he corrected you, as he finally was able to get rid of the majority of the spiderwebs and made a motion to hug you. “The spiders should know better, anyway. I’m the one with the big hands and feet and they’re the wee ones with all the breakable legs!”

As his arms were almost enveloping you, you quickly put a fake spider onto a piece of spider web on his shoulder that he had missed and pushed him away. “Ew! Don’t touch me, you’re sweaty and... bloody! Go wash away the sweat and the spiderwebs first. And while you’re at it, gently pick up the spider on your shoulder, please? Before you throw my clothes into the cleaner and kill the little wee one with the breakable legs.”

“Sp… spider?” It seemed as if he turned his head in slow motion and when he saw the black thing just slightly outside his peripheral vision, he screamed.

He probably didn’t even think clearly when he started to jump around, frantically patting himself on his shoulders. After a while, he just took off the blouse and crop top, threw them on the ground and started to stomp on it. Breathing heavily he then said: “Did I just scream like a woman?”

“Don’t flatter yourself”, a giggling Flynn said, coming in through the door, followed by Reggie, Julie and Alex who were doubling over at the sight of the topless guitarist. “You might have been wearing the clothes of a woman, yet you still screamed like a little girl.”

Now you couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore either. “Do not worry Luke” you mocked him, “I love you just the way you are. Small and full of fear.”

[yeojaa]

one of the first things ive ever read of yours was the 'read 6:45' it made me bawl my eyes out during 12 am 😭 could i please request a follow up drabble for it?

[ read "i love you.” read: 6:45 pm ]

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  general.  tags.  frustrating among us play, kook being cute, etc.  wc. 0.9k.  beta reader.  n/a.  author note.  i’m so sorry this is so late but i hope you enjoy this!  i wanted to keep it kind of light and silly, since the original was...  sad and then silly?  also, this was heavily inspired by this twitter post.

Dating Jungkook is kind of like free-falling from an airplane.  (Not that you’ve ever done that.)  It’s exhilarating and fun and sometimes, downright terrifying.  You suppose it comes with the territory of being with someone like him - effortlessly cool, collected, capable of turning every no into a yes. 

You’d seen it in action during your time as friends.  Watched him woo women and dunk on dudes, somehow scrap an A in a class you both attended where you’d barely gotten a B.  (You’re still a little salty about that.)  He’d even, somehow, wormed his way into your favourite bartender’s heart, on speed dial any time you and your girlfriends had a little too much fun.  Really - just do things you’d formerly thought impossible and with that dumbass grin on his face, confidence rolling off him in waves. 

You really shouldn’t have expected you’d fare any better, be able to deny him when so many others had failed. 

“Babe.  Babe.”  There’s that goofy smile, bunny toothed and adorable.  “C’mon— it’ll be funny.”

You level him with a look in your mirror - one that screams no, it’s not - but he just keeps beaming at you in the reflection, eyes so sparkly you want to tear your own hair out.  “Maybe to you,”  you retort, slicking brow gel on, mouth rounded in a little ‘o’. 

“No!  To everyone!”  Your boyfriend is insistent, curling across your back like drapery, chin resting upon your shoulder.  He bats his lashes at you, sways you back and forth in his arms.  

“A third imposter is so stupid.”  Also, because you’re bad at impostering as is.  (You always forget which room is where and you can never answer when people ask which fake tasks you’ve been doing.)  You don’t think you could properly third imposter if you tried.  “Just win the old-fashioned way, you dummy.”  Not like Jungkook isn’t already stupidly good at fooling everyone, going so far as to admit he was the imposter and yet somehow still win.  

“But it’s funny!”  Which you suppose is what it comes down to.  Your boyfriend doesn’t particularly care about winning - it’ll likely happen anyway - but he wants to put your friend group through hell.  Make them all doubt each other as he cackles maliciously in the background.  

(Because he does that.  Laughs so long and hard it’s embarrassing, arms thrown around his head as he revels in the chaos he’s unleashed.)

“Whatever.”  It’s a lost cause.  Once he has his mind set on something, it’s nearly impossible to turn him off the idea.  Whether it’s craving corn pizza at 3 AM, forcing everyone to try the bald head Snapchat filter, or doubling his one-rep squat max - he’s as stubborn as an ox.

“Are you kidding me!”  

You watch in horror - anger, exasperation - as your little blue character gets shot through the head, the eggplant imposter tearing off in the opposite direction.  You don’t know the map well enough to know how likely it is your body will be found or how easily someone will figure out who the murderer is.  Are there cams on this map?  (God, you really need to pay better attention when you play.)

All you know is frustration, glare furrowing your brows.

Somewhere, past the closed door of his bedroom, you hear Jungkook laughing.  He’s like Ed the hyena, snickering loudly, clearly pleased.  Then your body is reported.  By your boyfriend.  Your purple-suit wearing boyfriend.

(He’s with Taehyung, dressed in green with a little companion chasing after him.) 

“Who killed my girlfriend?!”  He has the audacity to sound devastated, voice pitching three octaves as he all but shouts into his headset.

There’s a chorus of not me’s from the group, people discussing among themselves who could’ve possibly killed you in cold blood - left you to rot in the tree room.  (That’s what it’s called, right?)  No one even seems to notice how quiet Jungkook is now, likely tapping the tips of his fingers together like an evil genius.

You want to scream, shout, send him straight to the shadow realm.  You cannot believe he’s getting away with this, playing the part of an indignant boyfriend so well.  It’s absurd, really.  

“I can clear JK.  He was with me.”  Of course Taehyung’s in on it.  That, or he’s just as chaotic as his friend.  (Both are believable.)  You’ve seen the blond accuse everyone under the sun, playing third imposter better than the goddamn imposters themselves.  There was something about him, his uncanny ability to cast doubt on anyone. 

(Conversely, he could make anyone believe him.  And by anyone, you meant Jimin.  The two never turned against each other.  Ever.)

“I didn’t see Jimin anywhere,”  comes Yoongi’s slow drawl.  It sounds like he’s just woken up from a nap, syllables rounded and sleepy.  You wouldn’t be surprised if Jimin had been following after his hyung and Yoongi had simply been too tired to notice.  Something something life of a bartender something. 

“I saw Jimin across the map right as it happened.”  There’s Namjoon, ever the reasonable one, humming thoughtfully.  (Reasonable, but still suspicious.  He was notoriously bad for drawing out votings, calling emergency meetings again because he hadn’t had a chance to consider every possibility.)  “And he wasn’t near a vent, so I think he’s okay.”  A pause,  “but you never know.”

There’s a collective groan - Hoseok’s bubbling laughter cuts through it - and the next round begins. 

[georgesbestieboo]

Confessions Pt 1.

Hello my loves! few things before we get started! 

The pairing you will read here is an original character of mine with Bucky. She is the biological sister of our beloved Natasha Romanoff, was also put in the red room but later than Nat since she is a couple years younger. Also, the timeline is the comic timeline just to make it a bit more interesting, meaning, Natasha was born in 1928 and Calina, (My OC) was born in 1934 but since the Widows carry their age VERY well Nat will remain the age she appears in the movies and Calina will appear to be 26. 

Summary- Bucky and Calina have reunited years after they were the red room lovers, can they become lovers once more or will fear get in the way? 

Warnings- A bit about self doubt/disliking body, mentions of torture nothing explicit though, slight swearing, possible spelling and grammar errors (I did check but there are always those things that slip past you) 

Calina was not one to party, she would rather spend her Friday nights curled up in her bay window, a fuzzy blanket draped across her lap, a good book clutched tightly in her hands and a warm cup of chamomile tea steaming on her night table. But no. Being an Avenger meant getting dragged to all the famed, insane, and overwhelming parties of Tony Stark and to be honest she hated them. The earsplitting music, the drunk, sweaty bodies pressed together, the...the people, it scared her shitless. Alas, here she was getting dragged to the mall with her best friend and sister Natasha Romanoff in search of a party dress.   

“Come on! It’ll be fun!” The redhead promised, pouting her lip as she held open the department store door. 

“I don’t know Nat…” Calina trailed off eyeing the endless racks of sparkly dresses that certainly were not her. “You know this isn’t, me” The assassin’s eyes just about bugged out her head as she pulled a dress with such a plunged neck seeming like it was barely attached. Natasha instantly swatted the thin material away, taking her hand as she led her towards the back. 

“It used to be though,” She winked “Remember those days, Lina? Partying till dawn, drinking so much we’d see the stars, and-oh!” A short but joyous laugh escaped both lips as they thought about the nights they had spent after they had eventually both escaped the Red Room. 

Calina’s laughter soon died out and her face became serious, “Yes, but, that was then. This, this is now” 

“Oh don’t be such a sourpuss” 

“I am not a sourpuss, ew you sound like Alexi” 

Natasha shuddered. 

***

“Absolutely not” Calina declared the second she slipped the dress over her body. 

“Oh come on!” Nat sighed from the corner of the fitting room. They had been at this for almost 2 hours, every dress tried on ending up on the same, ever-growing pile of fabric on the floor. “This one looks good!” 

Calina shook her head hearing none of it. “Nope, nope, nope. It’s too…” Her fingers slid across the scratch rime stones. “Glittery” 

“Glitter is nice though!” 

“And it’s so…” Her eyes trailed over her exposed figure in the mirror, her hands coming up to cover the neckline dip that reached her stomach. “Low” 

“And that’s hot, so I don’t see the problem” 

Turning to face her sister Calina crossed her arms, “Why can’t I just wear one of your dresses?” She whined “You have like, a million” 

Natasha stood, scoffing. “One, you never wear a dress twice, and two, we need a dress that hugs your beautiful curves perfectly,” She pretended to make an hourglass outline of Calina’s body with her hands, the spy rolled her eyes. “I wanna make Barnes drool when he sees you” 

Ah, the truth comes out. 

“I knew that’s what you were trying to do!” Calina yelled, pumping her fist back. “I knew there was an ulterior motive!” The older woman smiled shyly, 

“You got me, but hey! In my defense you and Barnes flirting with each other all the time and neither of you doing anything is annoying, I just wanna give you two a small push” 

“We do not flirt all the time” 

“Yeah, yeah you do” 

“Молчи” Slipping out of the uncomfortable dress and breathing a sigh of relief she couldn’t help but groan, her eyes taking in all of the discarded clothes. “This isn’t going to work, Natalia, I look horrid in all of these” She squeezed her stomach as she stood before the mirror in her bra and underwear, her fingers pinching away at her skin, wishing it hugged her body tighter. Natasha’s heart clenched as she watched her sister doubt herself, something she had hated The Red Room for taking the idea of beauty from her mind. They had taught her that she would never be pretty, that she would never be enough, that she could never be loved. What hurt, even more, was knowing that her beloved sister still was haunted by those teachings. Those words constantly hiding in the shadows, waiting for a crack in her walls just to seep in and poison her mind. She slowly approached her sister, carefully pulling her hands away from her stomach and holding them tight.

“You are beautiful,” She whispered “Inside and out. Don’t let them control your head” Handing her the last dress they had left to try on she gave a small smile “Just try this last one on and if it doesn’t work, then I won’t make you go” 

“Fine” Slowly taking the dress from her sister’s hands she began to step into it, the silky material sliding snuggly up her body as she wriggled her hands through the thin straps. She heard Natasha gasp but she couldn’t bring herself to look in the mirror. 

“Look up младшая сестра, you look beautiful. This is the one” 

“Are you sure?” 

The woman chuckled, “Yes now hurry up and look” 

So she did. 

And my god did her heart flutter. 

She actually looked pretty. 

The dress was a deep sapphire blue, with cross material over her chest showing a bit of her stomach. The neckline dipped just enough to show the curve of her breasts but not too much as to make her uncomfortable. The dress was satin and tight, the shiny material clinging to each and every curve making her actually like her body for the time being. It stopped about mid-thigh a bit shorter than she preferred but everything else was perfect so she could let it slide for one night.

 “I like it” Her eyes were bright with excitement, something her sister had not seen in her the other in a while. “I think James will like it too” She added sheepishly attempting to hide the heat that went to her cheeks.

 “Ha! I knew it! You still like him!” Nat danced around the small dressing room triumphantly.

 “Okay, okay, don’t make such a big deal about it” Calina huffed. “Of course I still like him” Her mind wandered to the first time she had met Bucky, long ago in the Red Room, the soldier teaching her many ways to kill. Romantic, I know. But it was more than that, at the time he was The Winter Soldier, yes but he had a soft spot for the ballerina. Disobeying his strict orders to sneak in and see her during the night, spending it under the moon talking about everything and anything, sharing light kisses. It didn’t last long though, soon the authorities found out, ripping her soldier from her grasp. As the years went on she never forgot about the handsome, yet the broken man she met once upon a time. They didn’t meet again until the day on the bridge where he attacked everyone but her to find out later that he had recognized her instantly giving Hydra a run for its money as he tried to get back to her. 

Once they were reunited she knew she had her James back. While the road to trust and recovery was rough, she was by his side the entire time, holding his hand as they walked back from hell, getting through their ongoing trauma together. Calina’s feeling resurfaced, and the team knew his did too, but for two of the world, greatest trained assassins they were completely oblivious. 

“No shit” Natasha smirked, pulling Calina from her thoughts. “Now, let’s go max Tony’s credit card with this dress and then get finish getting ready at the tower. Sound good?” 

Finishing getting back into her street clothes that consisted of her over-sized jeans a sweatshirt of Bucky’s she had stolen months ago. Taking her sister’s outstretched hand a smile tugged at her lips. “Sounds good” 

***

Bucky groaned as a knock echoed throughout this floor. Shuffling to open it he was met by Sam who had a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “I know something you don’t” He sung, pushing past the super soldier and plopping himself down in his living room. 

“I don’t remember inviting you in” Bucky deadpanned, holding his face in his hands. 

“-I just ran into Nat and Calina downstairs” 

“Cool do you want a metal?”  “Will you let me finish?! Goddamn” Sam snapped “Anyways, they’re getting ready for the party tonight. Keyword their, more than one, meaning Calina is actually attending tonight” 

Okay, that caught Buckys attention. “Lina’s coming? She never comes to the party’s?” He would know. Every time Tony threw a party, Bucky would always bring her up a plate of food, staying with her for dinner but eventually getting dragged back down to mingle by Steve even though he wanted nothing more than to stay with the girl. 

“I know, crazy right? You should totally make your move tonight, man!” The Sergeant glared at Sam. 

“Why would I do that?”

“You flirt with her all the time. You’re always touching her. You follow the woman around like a lost puppy-”

“Do not”

“-You guys have such strong chemistry anyone in the world could see it and-and! Not to mention, you guys dated before, right, in the Red Room?” 

He grit his teeth at the mention of that cruel place, thinking back to the torture they had to endure. “I’m not sure if you could call it dating, we didn’t do dating in the Red Room.”

 “But you loved her then?” 

“Of course I did” He sighed, running a tired hand through his unruly hair. Calina Romanova was his light, his steady, constant shining star. The person he fought for, the reason he even lasted as long as he did, the reason he never gave up because after all the memory wiping sessions, her smile was always in the back of his mind.

While he had forgotten everything, even himself, he never forgot the time they spent together, hoping, praying, he could hear her laugh one more time. And after 36 years, he finally could.The weight of all he had done lessened as she ran to him just before Steve had reached his apartment, he remembered it like it was yesterday.

 **Flashback**

She stood in his kitchen, the Widow suit he knew oh so well clinging to her skin as her fingers skimmed over his dusty table. “Hello James” She had whispered, her familiar accented voice standing up the hairs on his back. She stood to face him, her bright blue eyes boring into his as she smiled softly. “I’m not here to hurt you. You and I were...friends long ago I-I’m not sure if you remember me but-” 

He couldn’t believe it 

“Солнышко” The nickname he had not used in so long rolled off his tongue like he used it every day since they last parted. He couldn’t help but grin as the girl who danced around his dreams stood before him. Slowly, he approached her, his right arm reaching out to cup her face as if to check if she really was here and not just one of Hydra’s evil tricks. “Is it really you?” A tear slipped down her cheeks as a laugh bubbled throughout her chest. “You remember me” Bucky pulled her to his chest, the woman instantly responding by wrapping her arms around his torso tightly, afraid to ever let go. They held onto each other as if the world around them was crumbling down, after all these years they were finally able to hold one another again, tears stung in both of their eyes as they crushed each other into the embrace. “Of course I remember you, Calina” He murmured into her hair, breathing in the scent of Cherry Blossoms and crisp fall nights he had oh longed for. “I’ve missed you” He admitted.

“And I, you”

Then of course Steve Rogers had to burst in with the whole German Special Services on his ass, but ever since then, she hasn’t left his side. His soulmate was placed back into his life.

 **Flashback ended** 

 “Yo, Buck, you still with me” The man shook his head, attempting to shake away the memory seeping to the front of his mind. 

“Yeah, sorry” 

“It’s good, but you really should talk to Cal, its getting annoying watching you two make goo-goo eyes at each other and not do anything about it. So either you say something or I will” He warned, waving a finger as he dramatically excited the floor. “Oh, and you might wanna start getting ready!” He called from outside the door. Bucky rolled him but made his way to the dark blue suit he had laid out days before. 

“Here goes nothing”

~~Translations~~

Молчи- Shut up

младшая сестра- Younger sister

Солнышко- My sun

A/N Okay! I think that went well, let me know what you think and leave a heart if you enjoyed it! Thank you so much for reading, part two should be up soon but I’m on Vacation, although I will try my best to update quickly. feel free to leave recomondations! Lots of love and know I’m so proud of you! 

~Celeste 

[blackberry-gingham]

This is a bit personal but how about beatle x reader headcannons/imagines of how the boys would react to their reader feeling self conscious about their body

No problem at all! So, I've seen this trope done quite a bit on other headcannon type pages for other fandoms, and since body insecurity is something very serious to me that I myself use to (and still do) deal with, I wanted to try and take this a little deeper then "you're sad, they tell you you're beautiful, the end", so I'm sorry if these get a touch angsty, but I promise everything works out ❤️

Also, I'm so sorry this took so long dear! These are somewhere between headcannons and my usual imagines, so I hope they're alright enough to make up for the wait! And remember, you're amazing and wonderful, just the way you are ❤️❤️❤️

George

Personally, I feel like George is sort of ?? forgotten ??? Of all the boys

By that I mean, like even non Beatle fans know Paul and John, and they might know Ringo just bc that name stands out, but George???

I mean, ik back before I was a fan I could never remember who "the fourth one" was

So anyway, even tho he's kind of in the background compared to the other three, that doesn't mean he's not sensitive to how the others are treated/feeling

At the end of the day I think he'd be his usual self and a good, sympathetic ear to insecurity issues

When he finds out, it's kind of an overtime process

He's use to bringing you snacks and take a little break like that with you, especially after a long day of recording or practice

But lately, you've been... Strange about it

Either straight up turning him down, or picking at the food and not really touching anything

He asks what's wrong, as gently as he can, seeing as he honestly already suspects the answer

You and George have been together for a while now, and he's always been easy to talk to, and understanding if you don't feel like sharing, so you feel that you can be honest

"I'm just... Trying to watch my figure, you know?"

He just kind of looks at you, confused at first

"Why?"

His face is hard to read, and yet still manages to turn to a completely different, very serious, emotion

"Has someone said something to you?"

You now have his full attention as he puts aside his guitar

You assure him that no, it's just a personal thing

"Oh", he nods

"Yeah", you nod

You're not sure how this makes you feel. Perhaps you're glad it's over, but you can't help but feel... Shunned?

But before you can ruminate too much, George brushes off his lap as though he's about to stand

Instead he sits back and looks at you

"Come here"

His voice is serious, but not quite stern

Invitingly, he becons you over and nods towards his lap

You look from his face to his long, thin legs

At first you decline, brushing it off almost as a joke

You look to your own legs

He can't be serious?

He asks you again, "Come on, I want to show you something"

At this point your curiosity is peaked

You get up and approach cautiously, as though he might run away

When the moment of truth arrives, you slowly, s l o w l y, begin to sit

Tired of waiting, George hooks his hands under your knees and pulls you forward

You fall onto his lap with a little thud and you figure this is it, expecting him to shove you off

Instead, when nothing happens, you dare to peak your scrunched up eyes open and see his smile waiting for you

He leans in for a gentle kiss, all the while his hands are resting on your thighs

His legs are like iron, not uncomfortable to sit on, quite the opposite actually, but strong in a way you hadn't expected

When the kiss is broken, he slides his palms up and out until they're resting on your hips

His callused fingers tickle a little, even through the fabric of your clothes

"So um, what were you going t-?"

He shushes and you, and picks up your hand in his

George brings the heel of your palm a mere inch away from his lips

He pauses just for a moment, making direct eye contact with you, before turning back to his work

He presses a trail of kisses along the inside of your arm, to the crook of your elbow, and up your bicep

You shiver, tensing as he goes up

But he doesn't recoil, or hesitate, or do anything of the sort

He gives equal love and attention to every inch of your flesh as he goes, only stopping at your shoulder to make sure you're still alright

As though giving permission, you bite your lip and give a subtle nod, curious to see what happens next

George releases your arm, now dedicating both hands to massaging your hips with all the thumb dexterity of a skilled guitarist

Next he moves along your shoulders, dropping down just a moment to give some attention to the bump of your collar bone

When he's done there, he lingers on your neck, gently kissing and sucking up and down before settling in one spot

After a moment, he starts humming a familiar tune against your skin

"Do you this song?", His voice is just a whisper

"Hm?"

"It's one of the first songs we wrote together"

George pulls back again to look at your face...

"As much as I love you for what's out here"

...Then presses one more kiss to your lips

"I love you even more for what's in here"

He kisses your forehead

Finally he pulls back one more time, and the way he looks at you is as though all the love in the world is inside those eyes

"Never forget that. Promise me"

You seal your promise with a kiss

John

Ok so I think we all know John struggled with an eating disorder(s)

So he knows the whole nine yards of what it's like being "overweight", "underweight", somewhere in between, and still never being good enough for everyone else

I mean John is basically infamous for having been body shamed and criticized out of all the boys, particularly in the early years

So all this to say, he knows how awful it feels

To wake up in the morning, try to get dressed, and take forever to choose an outfit because you hate how everything looks on you

To look in the mirror and be unable to stand your own reflection

To think once, twice, and yes, even thrice before enjoying your favorite little snack, or even just a regular meal

He wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy

And when he finds out that you, the most lovely person in the world, feel that way...

Oh, his heart breaks

All the boys would take this quite seriously of course, but John simply has a certain... understanding that the others don't

He finds out one night on a dinner date with you

You've picked at everything all night, hardly a bite

This is starting to form a pattern, and rest assured, he has been noticing

At the end of the meal, he asks if everything was alright in a way that references much more then the food

"Oh yes, fine", you force that same smile you always give when he asks that question

He waits until you're both in the comfort of your flat to breach the topic

You see, John is a man of many faces

The first layer is prickly and aggressive, the second is a mischievous joker, the third a sweet, but anxious individual

And under all those masks, the real John, is the most compassionate and loving man you've ever met

So when he does ask you what's really going on, he's very serious and very gentle

He wants you to know that you're safe to tell him anything and that he wants to help with whatever is so very clearly bothering you

It's tough to get it out, but John is patient and encouraging all the while and you manage it

You're surprised to hear that he suspected as much

John tries to go a little deeper, asking of there's anything particular that makes you feel this way or if it's just a constant thing

Regardless of your answer, he offers you what advice he can, from both personal experience and what he learned from his therapy sessions

John's not too great at comforting speeches, but he'll be damned if he doesn't do everything he can to make sure you know just how much he loves you

He loves you for your heart, and how patient and kind you are with not just him, but everyone

He loves you for your mind, and how you too can have deep conversations about topics that are important to you both

And perhaps most of all, he loves you for your personality and how you can poke a bit of fun, just like he does, and you aren't afraid to put him in his place when he's being an arse

"Is there anything I can do for you love?"

You smile, feeling just a bit better after his speech

"How's about a cuddle?"

John grins cheekily, "Now you're talking!"

He half tackles you from his seat beside you, turning your seated position into a reclining one

You can't help but laugh playfully as he easily picks you up in a bear hug and slips under you so you can rest on top of him

He presses a kiss to your cheek

"How's that?"

You smirk back

"It's a start"

John gasps in mock disbelief at your remark

You just wrap your arms around his shoulders, snuggling against him

"Well then, I guess I'll just have to keep it up"

At that, he nuzzles the side of your face, glad to see you finally feeling relaxed

John give you one more squeeze in his strong arms, holding you close

You two spend the rest of the evening cuddled up and cozy until you fall asleep in each other's arms

Paul

Now it's no secret Paul has always been the "pretty one" of the Beatles

I mean heck, even in the freaking cartoon he has the least goofy and caricature esque face of all the boys

But personally I would imagine that he's felt a certain pressure from time to time to keep up his looks!

It would be quite draining for everyone to have this flawless image of you and then expect you to live up to it 24/7, so in that regard he understands struggling with feeling less then perfect

And certainly with feeling subpar when others just expect far too much!

The night it comes out, the two of you have plans to attend a soiree of sorts

Music, lights, dancing, champaign, the hosts are pulling all the stops and it'll be absolutely a black tie affair

You've got a very fancy dress for the occasion that you got as a gift from Paul some time ago, it's all sparkly, exquisite, and your favorite color to boot

And it... "fits"

As in, you can zip it up and move and breathe comfortably in it, but it just....

Paul finds you standing in front of the full length mirror, mascara beginning to run quietly down your face as you tug and smooth and pull the dress in varying places

He's honestly a bit panicked and confused at first. After all, he does hate to see you upset, let alone cry

"is something wrong love? Do you not like that one? There's plenty of time to change!"

"it's nothing! Just an eyelash"

You try to laugh it off and hope that he'll just leave you alone

You see, Paul has been talking about this shindig for weeks in advance

It's hosted by a good friend, many more of which will be in attendance tonight

Not to mention he hardly ever gets to do something nice away from the press, so you're trying very hard not to ruin things for him

Paul walks over to you, concern written all over his face

"No really, what's wrong?"

You try to wave him off, but he takes you gently by the shoulders and looks you square in the eye

He looks around your beautiful eyes, searching, and it almost feels as though he can read your mind

At last he says "You don't want to go?"

With that, you just can't manage to hold a brave face any longer and the tears come rolling down

Without another word, Paul guides you to a seat on the bed and returns swiftly with some tissues

He dries your eyes as best he can and thumbs a soothing circle on your hand, giving you space to tell him what's on your mind

When you've had the chance to situate yourself, you tell him that you don't mind the party it's just that the way you feel in that dress, in fact, in all your dresses is just...

Paul nods understandingly as you trail off, and the two of you sit in silence for a moment

You're concerned you've upset him and ask as much

"What? No, of course not love!"

"But I know how much you want to g-"

Paul shushes you and brings a hand up to stroke your cheek

"I don't care about some stupid party, nothing matters more to me then you. I mean that"

He tilts his head and smiles at you

"Tell you what? We'll just skip it and have some fun right here!"

For a moment you're afraid he's doesn't mean it, but there's a childlike gleam in his eyes and grin on his face that tells you he not only means it, but is excited at the prospect

You're still a little doubtful that you haven't made him upset, but Paul reassures you until you're able to take him at his word

Absolutely relieved, you agree and wipe away your last few tears

"Good. Now let's get this off you, eh?"

Paul helps you take out your jewelry as well as undoing the far too complicated latches, ribbon, and zipper on the back of the dress

His delicate fingers slide up and down the length of your neck and back reverently as he works, planting gentle kisses to the nape of your neck every so often

With the hardest part over, and ever the gentleman, he gives you space to slip it off and put on something more comfortable

When next you see him, he's putting on a sweet and slow record, something like what you would've probably heard tonight

He's removed his suit jacket, tie, and shoes and when he turns to see you in your adorable PJs he smiles at you like you're the belle of the ball

"Ahem, may I have this dance?"

He bows low and offers you his hand, peaking up at you for just a moment to shoot you a playful grin

You laugh at his silly antics and give in happily to the charade

Paul leads you in a steady waltz around and around the room, the two of you stealing kisses and suppressing laughter all the while

When the record comes to an end, you both collapse on the couch and catch your breath

By now, you're fully confident you've had more fun just now then you would've all night had you gone

After a minutes rest, Paul hops up from his seat

"Just a minute, I forgot something... Wait right here!"

He darts off around the bend and when next you see him, he's carrying two flutes of champagne

Paul takes a seat beside you again and hands you yours

"I was saving this for when we got back, thought we could leave early and enjoy the rest of the evening alone"

You smile, touched by the thoughtfulness and still riding the high of the previous activities

Finally, you propose a toast

"To my amazing, lovely boyfriend"

Paul smiles at you with adoration. You mean so much more to him then a mere toast could describe

"To my love, the most gorgeous dance partner in the world"

Ringo

Idk if this is/was a thing, or if it's just something I've noticed, but Ringo seems to be the butt of the joke, particularly in regards to his appearance, a lot

Like he's the "short" one and he's got that nose

I only ever see him take it like a champ and all in good fun, and laid back as he is, it doesn't seem to hold him back but I'm sure he'd understand feeling insecure about ones body/looks

But for you to be insecure???

He just??????

When Ringo finds out, he's honestly the most bewildered of all

He finds you sat against the wall, hunched up and crying, half clothed, and a mess of clothing strewn around you

Usually whenever something's bothering you, you know you can bring it to him.

He's always there for you, after all

So to see you like this, he's absolutely terrified that something truly awful has happened

In that moment, thanks to his roaring adrenaline, he goes from rock star to olympic sprinter and dashes to your side so quickly it's as though he teleported

"What's wrong love, what's wrong?"

He holds your face up to look at him and quickly checks over you to make sure you're not injured or sick in some way

When he sees the pain in your eyes, he's nearly crying too

He wants so desperately to help you, and take all your troubles and worries away this very moment.

Even if it meant he had to shoulder the suffering for you, he'd do it in a heartbeat, no doubt

You feel rather embarrassed to be caught like this, and even worse still to see your boyfriend so upset on your behalf

This takes you back to square one, crying and nonverbal for a bit longer

Luckily, Ringo catches on that him getting upset is only going to make you more upset, so he settles himself and holds you until you're ready

When you are ready, you manage to choke out your insecurity, trusting him as you always do

And when he hears you're insecure about your body, or even your looks in general, he is just....

Ringo.exe has stopped working

Mind, it not that he doesn't understand your feelings!!

It's just that you are so completely and absolutely beautiful and kind and so much more to him, that he simply cannot fathom the idea of holding the opinion of you as any less

"is it the clothes? Because forget the damn clothes" He takes a handful and throws them up and away, like confetti

"I'll buy you a whole new closet if you like! W-would you like that?"

He smiles hopefully at you, as though you truly would like that, and it'll solve all your problems

You simply shake your head

And, after moment, Ringo starts to understand

He sits with you silently for a moment, the gravity of your feelings is so important to him that he's not sure plain old him has something good enough to say

But he knows he wants to say something

So, he meditates on it for a moment, and decides he can only tell you the truth

"Well... you know that I love you, yeah? Sometimes I wonder how a guy like me got so lucky to be with a right angel like you.... And so do the lads"

He laughs that deep, silly laugh you love so much

"Why, I think you're the loveliest girl in all of England er uh, no, all the world!"

That earns a little smile from you

You're about to respond when you catch a shiver

You're only down to your undergarments after all, and it's a bit drafty

Ringo notices and before any mention can be made, he sets to work at removing his sweater, eager to make sure you're cared for

It seems to be putting up a bit of a fight, but he manages to come out on top

"Er uh, will this be ok? I know you're fed up with clothes right now, but I don't want you to freeze neither"

He's genuinely concerned about your feelings in the subject, even as he holds the garment out to you

Buuuut... It's cozy and oversized on you, plus it smells comfortingly of him, so you take it

"Hey, that looks better on you then it does me!"

He laughs again, the state of him made a bit more comical by his now frizzed up mop top

You point the issue out to him, grinning yourself, and he shakes it out like a dog

Which, of course, only makes it ten times worse

For the first time that day, you laugh, and it's the most beautiful sound Ringo's ever heard

Feeling a bit better now, Ringo helps you stand and offers you some tea downstairs

You take a few steps, and then stop feeling the draft give rise to some goose bumps all up your legs

"Maybe I should get some pants..."

At the mere suggestion, Ringo looks at you like he has a bright idea and immediately goes to undo his belt

You burst out laughing, and stop him

He's confused at first, but when he realizes his own absurdity in his effort to be helpful, he can't help but laugh a little too

In the end, you come to the conclusion that a blanket and a cuddle on the couch will do nicely instead... Which is exactly what you do

Ringo spends the rest of the day keeping you entertained, warm, and covered in kisses

[carelessannie]

maybe it goes like this: tony courts peter (part 7)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Epilogue

Read on A03

Read the Stuckony backstory

Word count: 5.7K

Pack focus. This means Clint x Peter x Annie (OFC), Clint x Steve, Steve x Peter, Bucky x OFC, and Steve x Tony x Bucky x Clint x Annie x Peter (wow)

It all goes to hell, because, of course it does. But it’s exciting to fix it, because everyone is falling in love.

Major warnings: D/S Au, A/B/O Au, subdrop, almost a fight bc Clint is aggressive

---

maybe it goes like this:

“So… have you heard from him yet?”

Annie sighs, rolling her eyes, and refrains from shaking the precious Omega standing behind her,

“Not in the past three minutes, Peter.”

“Sorry, I just—”

“I know, you’re nervous,” she tries to drop the tone, squinting in the bathroom mirror to finish her eyeliner, “why don’t you just call him? Or your boyfriend?”

In the reflection, Peter pouts, crossing his arms, “I tried, but both went to voicemail. He should have been done by now.”

Annie takes care to sweep perfectly symmetrical wings across each upper lid, before exchanging her eyeliner for a brighter tube of mascara. It’s taking a lot of effort to ignore Peter as he stresses over their evening, but no one has ever called her a quitter.

Peter continues his spiral in her silence, “What if they got into a fight? Could he be dead— is there a chance Steve killed him? Or what if he dropped again, and there’s no one there to help him? What if they’re in the hospital—”

Enough.

“Peter, stop it,” Annie finally turns away from the mirror and grabs Peter by his shoulders, “if any of those things happened, one of their packmates would have called by now. I know we have to leave soon, but there’s really nothing we can do, okay?”

Peter’s eyes tear up a bit and he sniffles, looking down at his outfit, which currently is one of Clint’s shirts and a pair of leggings, “Annie, I’m not— I’m not even dressed yet.”

“Let me help you, okay Pete?” she steers him out of the bathroom and towards their wardrobe, picking up her phone to try calling again as they sort through possible outfit choices for Peter.

The phone rings— once, twice, three times— before,

“Yello.”

“Clint Barton! Do you know how many times we’ve tried calling—”

“Annie! Holy shit, Annie— is Peter there? Do you have me on speaker?”

She shakes her head in disbelief while pressing the speaker button, making sure Peter can hear too.

“Is that Clint?” Peter asks, pointing at the phone. Annie nods, and Peter gasps, “You asshole! I tried to call you so many times, where on earth have you been?”

“I’m so sorry, Omega, honestly— the conversation with Steve went longer than I expected and I’m driving back now. But please, I have to tell you— I’m compatible with him!”

Both Omegas exchange a look, clearly confused and doubtful of their Beta.

“What does that mean, Clint?”

“It means I’ve got a chance. I thought I’d hate him, or be forced to put up with him for your sake. But, honestly… he’s pretty amazing. I can tell he cares a whole freaking lot about his pack and I think he’s in this for real.”

Peter reaches out to grab her hand, and Annie can’t help but smile back.

“Did you tell him your history?” Annie prompts, pulling Peter next to her so that they can sit close together on the floor.

She can almost hear Clint waving his hands around, animated in his response. “Yeah, I shared most of it with him and it made him cry, honest to god. I also told him he could catch his mates up to speed—”

“— oh my god, did you see Tony?” Peter cuts in, eyes lighting up as he wrings his tiny hands together nervously.

“Yes, needy Omega, I saw Tony. I gave him the flowers, and we had a little heart to heart, too. Real sexy, you know—”

“Shut up, Clint!” Peter squeals as Annie breaks down into helpless giggles at seeing his face light up pink, “does that mean you talked to all three of them, then?”

A small pause, “... no, actually that was kind of awkward. They said that… it seemed like… they had just finished a scene together when I showed up.”

“Oh, shit.” Annie breaths.

“Yeah, Tony definitely didn’t know I was coming,”

Peter covers his mouth, eyes going wide, “Oh god, I’m so sorry, I literally can’t believe I forgot to tell him. That sounds so horrible, C!”

There’s a chuckle on the other end, “Don’t worry, Petey, no harm done. I’ll be home soon, and we can head back out there, okay?”

Annie gives Peter a small kiss on the cheek before standing, grabbing her phone, saying, “sounds good, see ya Clint,” and hanging up without another word.

She spins, taking in Peter’s lost expression and the clothing scattered around their closet.

Okay. Motivation.

Peter yelps as Annie hauls him up by his armpits, “Time to get ready, Peter. C’mon— you are gonna look absolutely stunning tonight.”

Finally Peter’s expression melts and a genuine smile breaks out over his face. He pulls Annie closer, leaning in for a quick peck on the lips— careful to avoid messing up her lip gloss.

“I adore you, Annie,” he whispers, “— these boys are not gonna know what hit ‘em.”

She reaches up to twist one of his curls playfully before returning a smirk,

“You’re damn right.”

---

“I don’t see why I have to be in the backseat. I clearly called shotgun.”

Clint has been whining ever since they left their apartment, insisting that he was severely wronged by his insolent Omegas. Both of those Omegas are having fun ignoring him— turning up their music and talking louder to drown out his voice.

It took a half hour for Clint to get home after his call, and by some miracle, all three of them were dressed and ready to go with time to spare. Annie had spent time curling Peter’s hair into perfect ringlets before finishing his makeup with sparkly-pink eyeshadow and gloss. Both of them were ready and dressed before Clint got home, and had pushed and prodded the bewildered Beta into a nicer button up with dark jeans and combat boots.

Annie is proud of her and Peter’s outfits, of course. Not many Omegas can pull off pink like they can, and her powdered pink coat goes flawlessly with Peter’s pink polka dot button up. But even more than their outfits, she is proud of how put together their chaotic Beta looks.

After catching Peter glancing back in the rearview mirror for the third time, she decides to say something.

She turns down the music, “You look like a snack, Clint.”

Peter snickers as Clint looks down at himself in bewilderment, “I swear, I’ve never seen these clothes before in my entire life. But, thanks. I guess.”

Since Peter insisted on driving, he can only glance quickly to try and gauge Clint’s expression.

“Those boots are yours,” Peter says.

“Yeah, but when did you guys even have time to buy me clothes?” Clint’s back to complaining, and grumbles sneaky Omegas under his breath.

Annie turns, lightly slapping the inside of Clint’s thigh where he’s sprawled across the backseat, “Hush and take a compliment, Beta. I think I speak for both of us when I say we want to climb you like a tree.”

Peter gasps, swatting at her with one hand, as Clint’s eyes go wide.

She continues, “I mean, it has been awhile since we’ve had a scene, and the mention of Tony’s pack has me—”

Clint leans forward, posture straightening as he grabs her chin to silence her, “— you feeling horny, Omega?” he purrs, a feral grin taking over his face.

“M— maybe.”

“Have I not been taking care of you, Annie?” he moves closer, and forces Annie to turn almost completely in her seat.

“... Clint.”

He grips harder, “Try again.”

“Fuck, Beta. Please.”

“— guys, can this wait—” Peter tries to interrupt, but is quickly shut down by Clint growling, low.

“Sweet Omegas, is that why you dressed me up? Feeling all needy and shit?” he releases his hold on Annie’s chin and moves back to his seat, relaxing again before letting out a sigh, “but you’re right, Pete. This can wait.”

The silence is charged. Both Omegas wiggling in their seats in response to Clint’s dominant display, and Annie whimpers— a small sound that causes Peter’s breath to catch in his throat.

“Aw, Annie. No— come here,” Clint leans forward again, and as she turns he catches her lips in a lingering kiss, licking into her mouth quickly and coaxing a grin out of her.

“Don’t want you to drop, gorgeous. You know I’ll take care of you both, right? Love you so much.”

She pecks him on the lips, satisfied to see some of her pink lip gloss stain his mouth, “Love you, Clint. And you do look amazing tonight.”

“Thanks, pretty Omega,” even though it’s dark in the car, she can tell he’s blushing by the way he ducks his head bashfully.

Annie turns back to face front and catches the slight pout on Peter’s face. She crosses the center console to kiss behind his ear, and enjoys the surprised squawk from the younger Omega.

“Annie! I’m driving!”

Clint laughs, and reaches forward to rub Peter’s shoulder, “We love you too, Petey-pie.”

“Shut up.”

Both of them crack up as Peter shakes himself free. Annie intertwines their fingers and Clint settles back into his seat, quietly staring out the window at the oncoming traffic. She feels a small squeeze and looks up, exchanging a reassuring smile with Peter.

The rest of their drive passes in relative silence, and soon they are pulling up a long, winding driveway into what Annie would swear is a rainforest jungle.

As Peter navigates around the property, he explains, “Tony said that he bought this land right after Steve and Bucky courted him. A lot of it is a nature preserve, and it backs right to the Jamaica Bay. I know all of them wanted to stay in Brooklyn, but Tony absolutely refused to live near anyone, so they built this house together with the hope of living here with their future pack.”

Both Annie and Clint are glued to the window. They watch as the looming trees suddenly part, revealing a modern, sharply-angled, and breathtakingly enormous house. There are at least three stories, and the whole structure seems to be built into the surrounding forest, with a noticeable extension out into the bay.

“Peter,” Annie breathes out, still stunned speechless.

“I know, that’s how I felt earlier.” Clint replies, still looking out at the quickly approaching home.

Peter hums quietly, but Annie can see him shaking slightly. As they pull up and he parks the car, she gives his knuckles a kiss, “Peter?”

He turns and she catches a NervousDistress scent radiating off of him.

That’s not good.

With a quick look to Clint, they both jump out of the car, rounding the side to Peter’s door, and pull the startled Omega out of the driver’s seat.

“What are you— hey!”

“Come here, nervous Omega, and let us hug you,” Clint pulls Peter in, wrapping him in his arms, as Annie turns the car off. She joins the group hug and lets Clint wrap his arms around both of them.

After a few moments, Clint pulls back, gently scenting both of them for any lingering distress. Instead, he groans, “Damn, you two smell like fuckin’ ice cream. So sweet.”

Peter giggles and Annie leans up for a kiss— earning one from Clint first, then Peter.

“Feel better, Peter?” Annie asks, pulling away to look at his face.

He shrugs, “Yes, I just need to trust Tony to do his part, and… I think I’m just really excited to see him again,” he ducks his head, and Clint places another kiss on top.

“Let’s go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Ew, Clint, stop.” Both Omegas complain as Clint tows them towards the entrance, knocking firmly on the door.

They are still arguing about the merits of cheesy nicknames, when the door swings open.

“Tony!” Peter shrieks, throwing himself forward and into the larger man’s arms.

“Hi, baby,” Tony coos, picking his Omega up and spinning them around, “you look so pretty, Pete. You all do, honestly. Such a pretty pack.”

“Thanks Beta,” Peter stretches up to give him a peck on the cheek, and then freezes.

“Peter? What—” Tony puts him down, and Annie watches as two figures approach them in the hallway.

She hears Clint growl behind her, and immediately her eyes turn to Peter. She can only see the side of his face, but his eyes are wide, pupils dilated, and he sucks in a quick breath.

“A— alpha,” he moans, swaying on his feet.

The larger man— Steve, probably— steps out of the shadow and pushes Tony to the side, looming over Peter and reaching to grab his neck.

There’s an echo of growls, one behind and one ahead, before Peter collapses to his knees.

“Fuck no!”

Clint reacts suddenly, pushing Annie behind him. He jumps forward and aims a blow towards Steve, who’s still looking down at Peter, eyes glowing red. Before the hit can land, both Tony and Bucky step forward, blocking the attack on their Alpha and tearing Clint away.

Tony grabs Peter, pulling him to his feet, and pushes him into Annie’s arms.

“Down the hall, to the right. Settle him in the living room and we’ll handle this, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before grabbing Clint and dragging him back outside, hopefully to calm down. Annie struggles to carry the larger Omega down the hall, and thankfully neither Steve nor Bucky are anywhere to be found.

When they finally reach the living room, she drops Peter in a large nesting chair towards the corner and searches for blankets. After finding a few, she wraps him in them and climbs into the nest, throwing the others over top of them to enclose the space.

“Petey?”

No response. Shit.

She moves them so he’s facing her fully, and tries to shake him awake. It seems like whatever happened actually knocked him out, and she checks his eyes, his breathing, before holding him close.

“Petey, you have to wake up for me.”

It’s hard not lacing her words with a dominant tone, but the direct order seems to reach him and Peter’s breath picks up.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart, c’mon.”

His eyes blink open wide and he looks around frantically.

“— Alpha?” he whimpers.

“No, Peter. It’s me. Tell me what you need, Pete.”

He focuses on her then, lips opening and closing before he’s able to speak, “Need’ta come up, Omega. Please.”

Annie strokes over his brow, “Okay, Pete. I’ve got you.”

She uses one hand to block his eyes and the other to peel back the blankets, looking around for someone to help, and sees Bucky in the kitchen.

“Bucky, help,” she whispers, hoping the other Omega can hear her across the room.

His head shoots up as he takes in the situation, and he swiftly walks over. He looks into her eyes, sees her hold on Peter, and drops to his knees next to the nest,

“What do you need, Omega?”

She has to stop herself from reaching out to touch him, and instead keeps her eyes on Peter, “Please tell me you have apples, bananas and carrots? Or crackers?”

“I do— do you want them sliced, Omega?”

“Yes, thank you,” she agrees, turning back to Peter as Bucky hurries back into the kitchen. She cradles his head, keeping one hand over his eyes to block them from the light, and lets him curl in closer to her as he floats.

“Sweet Omega,” she whispers, pulling him closer, “so good for me. So good, Peter.”

“Here,” Bucky says gently, and offers her a plate with slices of each food. He also hands her a bottle of water.

“Thanks, Bucky. Can you dim the lights? Maybe light candles if you have them?”

“Of course.”

He walks away to lower the lights, and Annie finally takes her hand off of Peter’s eyes. He blinks up at her, adorably confused, and gives her a small smile.

“Apple, Peter,” she says, pressing the apple slice up against his lips. He takes a small bite and she watches as he chews and swallows before offering another.

Once the apple is gone, she holds up the next fruit, “Banana.”

He takes the softer fruit in one bite, and Annie notices his eyes clearing up and he tightens his grip on her arm.

“Last one, Peter. Can you tell me what it is?”

“Carrot, Annie,” he says, smooth and steady, chewing the carrot slice while maintaining eye contact.

After he swallows, she hands him the bottle of water. He drinks it slowly, taking in the room and turns his gaze back to her.

“What— what happened?”

Bucky comes back over to them and looks to Annie for direction. She motions for him to join them in the nest, and they both move over as Bucky climbs in, pulling the other Omegas to nestle into his side.

“What do you remember, Peter?” Annie asks, reaching over to hold his hand on top of Bucky’s chest.

“I… I’m not sure. I remember being in Tony’s arms, and then— did I meet Steve? And someone attacked him? I don’t know Annie, I just remember floating and then coming back up.”

Bucky makes a pained noise, “Stevie reacted to Clint’s challenge, an’ his display caused you’ta drop.”

“Display, what—”

Annie sighs, “Basically, Clint saw you react to the new Alpha. His hindbrain registered that as a threat, and he growled— challenging Steve. I think Steve must have released some type of Alpha pheromones, because my mind went hazy too. After that, both of them were growling and you kneeled for him.”

“For— Steve?”

“Yeah, Pete. He pushed Tony away to get to you and Clint attacked him. That’s when Bucky and Tony took control and split everyone up. Nothing happened to you— to anyone, okay?”

Peter still looks devastated and pulls his hand away, sitting up in the nest, “I can’t believe. I just— submitted like that. I didn’t even do that with Tony, but with a random Alpha—”

“Peter, hey,” Bucky grabs his hand, trying to calm him down, “it’s instincts, darlin’. Steve is really dominant, and in this setting— with everyone on edge and feelin’ horny and stuff— honestly… I’m a little pissed we didn’t plan better. Especially after Clint came by earlier.”

Annie sits up then, drawing Peter closer to her to sit across Bucky’s lap, “He’s right, Pete, none of us have ever dealt with a Dominant Alpha meeting a Submissive Omega before. There’s no way we could have anticipated how Clint was gonna react.”

They sit for a few more minutes before Bucky stands up, “I’m gonna check on Tony and Clint— I think I have a plan for tonight.”

It’s a few more minutes that the two Omegas can sit in silence, eventually moving from the nesting chair over to the couch and preening each others’ hair and makeup. There’s a sound from down the main hallway, and a figure comes barreling towards them.

Annie throws her arm over Peter and yells, “Hey!” to get the person— Clint, it’s freaking Clint— to stop. He falls to his knees, only a foot or two away from them, and crawls the rest of the distance.

“Petey, I’m so sorry. Sweet Omega, I had no idea— I didn’t mean— I’m so so sorry, oh my god, I completely freaked out and ruined your night, please—”

“Beta, come here,” Peter opens up his arms, and Clint falls into them, clawing at Peter’s back and scenting him thoroughly, “it’s okay, C, I understand. I forgive you.”

Annie looks up to find Bucky and Tony standing, bewildered, in the entrance for the living room. She gestures towards the couch next to them, a clear invitation to take a seat, and Tony quickly moves to sit next to Peter and pull him into a hug after Clint releases him.

“So— Annie, Peter,” Bucky starts, shifting on his feet, “I have an idea, and our Betas have agreed to it.”

“What is it, Bucky?” Peter asks, surrounded now by both Tony and Clint, and looking beyond satisfied.

Bucky looks off, down the hallway behind the kitchen, “I think we should go to my nest. The— the three of us. Omegas, I mean. And meet Stevie there.”

“But… why?”

“It’s neutral,” Tony chimes in, “and Peter needs to meet Steve somewhere safe. Bucky’s the only one who can really bring the dumb Alpha out of his head— so the nest seems like the best idea. And a balance of chaperones that are all Omega should help ground everyone present. It’s a good idea.”

Annie stands up, crossing her arms, and looks at the two Betas, “You’re serious? You’re both completely okay with this, and anything that could happen in that room?”

Tony nods, but it’s really Clint’s reaction that she’s waiting for. The Beta also agrees, nodding slowly, “I told you I would try.”

Peter gets to his feet, wiping off his pants, and offers his hand to Annie. He then walks towards Bucky and offers a second hand, “Lead the way, Omega,” he says, grinning at them both.

Bucky gives a tug, and pulls them down the hallway. They pass the kitchen, a few other rooms that are all closed, and turn a corner. On the right side is a set of french doors with curtains— bedroom?— and the left—

“Holy shit.”

“Oh my god.”

Bucky steps away from them to gesture to his nest, the large fixture taking up the majority of the space in a room that could have otherwise been a large library. Or a sunroom.

Two of the walls are windows— they stretch from floor to ceiling and meet at the arched apex of the ceiling where a large, twinkling chandelier cascades down, filling the room with warm light and extending over the white canopy that dominates the center of the space. Twinkle lights surround and flow around the nest— dropping over and under the structure— and a few smaller lamps sit strategically both outside and inside.

The nest itself seems to be slightly elevated— giving the illusion of floating in the center of the room on a simple wooden palette. There are vines and ferns sprinkled around the base, and Annie can see the legs of at least one table that reach underneath the canopy. It’s a cloud. It’s a dream.

There’s definitely someone inside.

“Bucky, this is… amazing.” Annie is still frozen with Peter in a similar state beside her.

“C’mon,” Bucky finally reaches back and snaps his fingers, breaking them out of their trance. He grabs Peter first, kneeling up on the entrance to push back the curtain and let Peter in. Annie ducks down, following Peter through the opening.

Okay, the meeting in the hallway earlier did nothing to prepare her for the giant, hulking Alpha in Bucky’s nest. Even with his head down and neck exposed, Steve is a sight to behold, and by far the most dominant Alpha that Annie has been around in her entire life.

Strong hands grab her from behind, and Bucky settles both of them near the entrance to watch.

Steve has his eyes down still, throat exposed, as Peter inches forward. They all freeze as his scent changes to CuriousInnocentDistressedOmega, and finally Steve looks up.

The sound that comes from Peter is not quite a whimper. He turns his head to the side and makes it again.

An invitation.

Steve moves immediately and folds Peter into his arms. He makes a low reassuring noise, and Peter just melts, a high pitch chirp leaving his lips before his body goes limp. Steve has a tight hold on him, and turns their bodies to settle the tiny Omega underneath him. Almost in sync, they bare their throats and scent each other.

Annie scoots closer to Bucky, letting him wind his arms around her as she rests between his legs, against his chest. He stretches his legs out, and she turns slightly to add her legs to the tangle.

There’s a small sniffling noise, and both Omegas look up. Steve is still holding Peter close— but now they’re eye to eye, and Peter is crying. Annie immediately sits up to separate them, but Bucky holds her back, whispering for her to wait.

They watch as the Alpha and Omega cry together, sharing comfort and tears, as they continue to scent-mark each other.

“Is it uncomfortable to watch your Alpha connect with another Omega like this?” Annie whispers.

Bucky, still behind her, just draws aimless circles on her arm as he responds, “We talked ‘bout it. Doesn’t feel weird— just feels right, ya know?”

She nods, “It definitely looks right.”

And it does. Annie thinks about her mom and dad— how many times she’s envied their bond and the love that they share. Even then, they are a VersAlpha and VersOmega couple and they’ve never been able to build the pack that they want, even though their relationship has been full of love and their pack is strong.

With Steve and Peter… it feels like watching a King and his Queen. It feels like the ocean meeting the shore, like stars in the sky, like pen on paper. The perfect balance, opposites fated by biology, Alpha and Omega.

It feels right.

Annie is crying now, and notices it when Bucky reaches up to wipe one of her tears away. She leans into him, moving her hair and exposing her neck for him to scent. He intertwines their fingers around her waist and she can feel his nose, his mouth, pressed against her sensitive bonding glands.

In an uncharacteristically dominant move, Bucky lifts one of his own wrists for her to scent. She pulls it closer and sniffles at his pulse point, enjoying his warm Milk Chocolate and sweet Orange scent.

“Oranges and Strawberries,” he breathes, tickling her neck.

“Chocolate and Caramel,” she takes one more inhale before turning in his arms, letting the other Omega stare into her eyes.

She licks her lips, “I’ve missed your scent. I can’t believe how compatible… I mean, you know— how good—”

Bucky chuckles, playing with a piece of her hair, “I can’t believe how compatible we are either, darlin’.”

Damn, he’s sweet. Annie can feel her face heat up, but she’s helpless to look into his eyes, steel-blue and darkening by the second. He’s holding her so close, and he’s so warm. She closes her eyes, letting a quiet purr build from deep in her chest.

There’s a soft press on her lips, and she gasps, fluttering her eyes open to see Bucky pulling away from her face with a shy smile.

“Sorry, sorry, I thought—”

“— why’d you stop?” Annie asks, returning his smile.

This time she sits up, pushing into his space, and locks their lips together. His hands clutch tighter around her waist as he tilts her head back, deepening the kiss. His lips move slowly, sweetly, and she keens into the feeling, opening her mouth a little more, inviting him to take.

Instead, he slows the kisses down further, releasing her waist and brushing his fingers over her eyelids, her cheek, and she rests her hands on his chest. He pulls back after one last kiss, lips red and bruised, and a smile lights up his face. She hums her approval, sure her face looks similar, and moves one hand to brush back the hair off his forehead.

“Wow.”

The voice breaks the spell— Peter and Steve are staring at them, mouths agape. Annie pushes Bucky away and he laughs, trying to catch her around the waist before she can escape. Peter giggles, still so cute and tiny in Steve’s monster arms, and Steve can’t help but laugh along.

Okay, so maybe making out in the nest wasn’t a great idea.

She looks back at Bucky— head thrown back in laughter and eyes bright with joy— and honestly she doesn’t care. She feels her heart soften, almost literally, and pulls him in for one more kiss— ignoring the protests coming from the back of the nest. Bucky’s lips taste like heaven.

Once they break apart, Peter crawls over, nudging her to change places with him.

“Real quick, Annie. You haven’t even met him yet.”

“Okay, okay— pushy Omega.”

Peter immediately snuggles into Bucky’s arms, and the two turn to watch as Annie shuffles over to where Steve is still seated.

He gives her a hesitant smile, and offers his hand, “Hi Annie, I’m Steve.”

She looks down at the professional handshake he’s trying to give her and back up to him in disbelief. Boys are idiots. Shaking her head, she crawls the last few inches and sits squarely in his lap, offering her neck, “Hi Steve, I’m Annie,” and she guides his hand back around her waist and his nose into her throat.

There’s a moment where she can tell he takes over, and she lets herself relax in his strong grip. He nuzzles into her neck, scenting her deeply, and she slowly leans down to do the same.

Oh. Oh no.

“Oh, oh my god, Steve—” she mewls— yeah, fucking mewls— into his skin, and is horrified to feel his pulse under her tongue.

Annie, you are fucking licking this man. Get yourself together.

No. He tastes delicious.

And it’s true— Steve tastes like actual Summer Storms and strong, Espresso Lattes, and she cannot keep her mouth off of him.

The other two Omegas are chuckling from the other side of the nest, and she huffs in irritation, trying her absolute hardest to pull away from this Alpha’s body.

“S— sorry, fuck. I can’t believe. You’re just... you’re just so—” get it together, Annie.

“Hey,” Steve thrums, and she looks up into his deep, blue eyes, “I’m flattered— no harm done. For the record... I think you smell delicious, too,” and he winks at her, making a point to squeeze her tighter before they separate.

“Peeeete,” she whines, falling back to look at her packmate, “we’re marrying them, right?”

Peter giggles, “Seems like we might be.”

ProudSatisfiedContentAlpha absolutely saturates the nest, and all three Omegas turn to look, suddenly thirsty for Steve’s Coffee.

Bucky moves first, putting the smaller Omegas behind him and moving quickly to his Alpha. Annie watches as they share a quiet moment, before both men turn towards them with similar fond expressions.

“Sorry, uh— let's go see our Betas, okay?” Steve asks, ushering them back towards the entrance.

Annie and Peter stumble out of the nest, waiting to be led back to the living room. Bucky is careful to turn the lights out and straighten the nest, displaying the care and importance he obviously places in his home. Steve loops his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, pulling him in for a quick kiss, before giving him a playful shove to get them moving down the hallway.

It’s clear the Betas are laughing and enjoying each other’s company as they arrive, and Annie heads quickly to Clint’s side, ruffling his hair and accepting a kiss on the cheek. Steve sits in an unoccupied loveseat, but Bucky doesn’t go to join him. Instead, he and Peter exchange a few words and Bucky sits next to Tony, ducking under his arm.

The room is quiet— only a few whispers between Tony and Bucky— and Peter turns to settle onto Clint’s lap. Annie lets him go, watching as Peter scents— no, scent-marks— him thoroughly, rubbing the combined scent of Alpha and Omegas into his skin. Clint’s breathing picks up and he looks at Peter, confused.

“Omega, what—”

“Hush,” Peter grabs his face, whispering intensely, “you are going to ask that Alpha to scent you, and you’re gonna go sit on his lap. Don’t you dare come back to us until you smell like him, do you hear me?”

Clint looks properly chastised as Peter hops up off his lap, grabs Annie’s hand, and pulls them to sit with Bucky and Tony on the couch.

They watch Clint’s internal crisis as he walks over to Steve’s seat, obviously uncomfortable but oh so stubborn and determined.

He stops in front of Steve, who looks up in question, “Steve.”

“Clint.”

“I need… Can I— can I formally scent you?”

Steve actually looks shocked, “I… yeah, of course, Clint. Whatever you’d like.”

Clint looks back at them— Bucky flashing him two thumbs up— and steels himself, grabbing Steve’s shoulders before climbing onto his lap. Steve raises his hands, obviously not expecting the submissive posture, and looks to their couch for some direction.

Both Bucky and Tony give him a shrug. Helpful.

When Clint settles in, wiggling a few times, Steve bares his throat and lowers his eyes in submission. Every person in the room gasps, and Bucky might even let out a small, hysterical laugh.

Clint doesn’t say a thing. He leans in and gently presses his nose to Steve’s pulse point, audibly inhaling. His body visibly relaxes, and he pulls Steve in to scent him in return.

Annie settles back against Peter, letting the three men fold her into their embrace. The room feels light and heavy at the same time. All six packmates are relaxed— breathing in each others’ scents and eyes closed to the warmth of close bodies. The joy of shared kisses.

Behind her, there are soft sounds of kisses and whispered promises being exchanged. In front of her, her best friend and future Alpha are wrapped in an intimate embrace, crying and clutching at each others’ faces.

There’s a hand on her shoulder, and she turns to face Peter’s half-lidded, giddy expression,

“I love you so much, Annie.”

He leans down— kissing her head, her eyelids, and her nose— and holds her close as he presses a tender kiss onto her lips. Both of their eyes close, and they smile into each others’ mouths. Peter gives a small nip to her bottom lip as both of them break apart laughing.

They look up and see Steve and Clint, finally standing and making their way to the couch. Annie opens up her arms to catch Clint as he dives forward, and all of them groan as he gets comfortable in their arms.

Annie glances up, watching Steve. The Alpha looks so proud and happy— and even as Bucky and Tony start to whine about being hungry, it seems as though the only thing Steve wants is to make his pack happy.

And that’s something Annie can get on board with.

[chrissyutimagines]

Damsel in Distress

This is a soulmate au one shot. As per usual, '---------' marks point of view changes, and the setting is on the surface. This one is with a gender neutral reader, starring Butch from @bigoltrashpile. I don't own Butch, and if you want to read more about him please go to their blog. Oh, I've gotten permission to use their characters for a series of soulmate au stories. Stay tuned for more~ It would take a long while tho...

In this dangerous, shady world, you led a quiet, normal life.

Living in a small but cozy apartment, working as a front desk manager at a small hotel, hanging out with a few friends... It all seems normal, except for one thing... You've never been caught in the midst of any sort of chaos, be it a simple bar fight or a massive mafia shootout.

A usually rowdy speakeasy would be oddly quiet with you there, never getting attacked walking down a dark alleyway, a mafia shootout taking place in the area you had just left a few minutes ago... It was like you had some kind of lucky aura that protected you from the dangers of this society. Because of this you have been given the nickname 'Clover'.

You've always gave them a smile and accepted the nickname...

But you knew luck won't always be on your side...

Glancing down at your wrist, you see a short message tattooed on it.

'you okay, doll?'

It was said that those words are the first words your soulmate tells you.

...and by the looks of it, you'd be in quite a bit of trouble when the time comes.

You've received a letter from your friend, whose family is stupid rich, and was invited to a masquerade ball to celebrate the fifth anniversary of their luxurious hotel.

Knowing your friend, they will call you to shop for dresses in 3, 2, 1...

'Ring' Ah. Just as expected.

You pick up the phone.

"Hey Sof."

"OMG! Did you get my invitation?! We're going shopping in a minute! You better be ready by then! Oh! And we need to catch up lately! It's been too long!"

"Heheh! Sof, we were chatting just two days ago!"

"Yeah! Way too long! See you in a few minutes! 'click'"

Typical Sofia. Well, loud or not she's a good friend. And you should better change clothes before she...

'Ding dong!'...arrives.

You sigh and go greet your friend.

"How did you get here so fast?"

"Oh! I was in the car when I called you! Now go change into some decent clothes! We need to get some proper dresses for the ball!"

She herds you into your bedroom and a short while later you're in a high-end dress shop. While you gape at the beautiful yet expensive dresses, your friend starts searching through the various dresses.

"Don't just stand there! Come over here. It's not like you've been to this place before."

"Alright, alright. I'm coming."

The both of you start to pick the best dresses while making small talk.

"...so I just went like- Oh my! This would look amazing on you!"

Sofia holds up a red and black velvet dress, it looks like a dress fit for royalty.

"Oh! Sof, I, I don't know."

"Oh stop worrying about me, your know I don't look good in red. Now go put this on and show me!"

You sigh and let her push you into the dressing room. You try on the dress and twirl in front of the full body mirror in the room. You... Look stunning. You hear intensive knocking on the door.

"Hey, get out here and lemme see how it looks!"

You sigh and chuckle her eagerness, then walked out of the dressing room, giving a small twirl to show off the dress.

"Well?" She was silent for a few seconds.

"...well? It's fantastic! You're getting this one! Now, help me choose a dress!"

"Of course, Sof. Just let me change first."

"I'll wait for you then."

You change and start helping your friend. You soon found the perfect dress for her, which she said was, 'The prettiest dress I've ever seen!' But, you know she's just bluffing, she has always been the dramatic type. You sigh and chuckle, following her too the cashier to check out both of your dresses.

After searching the mask store for a while you managed to find a beautiful, classy, red and black mask to go with your dress. Sofia has also found a sparkly mask to go with hers. You both chatted for a short while before parting ways.

When you got back home, you marked the day of the masquerade and placed the clothing away. This would be a perfect break from your boring routine...

Or would it?

----------------------------------------------------

Butch is sleeping in today... Or he would be if Noir haven't dragged him up. He grumbled.

"come on! ya know 'ow late i worked last night!"

"This Is Important Lazybones! You Have To Get A Decent Suit Tailored Asap!"

"*yawn* why?"

"You Are Going To A Masquerade Ball. We Have Business With The Hotel Owner."

"*sighs* *grumbles* alright, fine."

He begrudgingly went to the tailor and got his measurements. Then Noir dragged him to a mask store to get a 'suitable' mask... Which basically means Noir picked one for him.

When they finally got back, Butch just flopped on his bed and dozed off. This would be another boring, pesky business trip...

Or would it be something more?

----------------------------------------------------

On the day of the ball, you dressed up in the stunning dress and mask you got via Sofia, did your hair to compliment your dress, and put on some red heels to finish the look. You have decided against make up as no one can see it under your mask. Sofia said she wanted to arrive at the ball with you, so she would be here in three, two, o-

*knock knock*

Bingo. You open the door to see Sofia practically bouncing with excitement.

"OMG! (Y/N), you wouldn't Believe how excited I am! Are you done?! Come on!"

"Alright, alright, I'm coming, Sof. Just let me grab my hand bag."

You grab your hand bag and went to the exquisite, grand masquerade ball with Sofia. She excitedly told you all the details of the ball, and from what you gathered, you think this'll be a delightful evening.

But you have no idea what has truly been in stored for you.

----------------------------------------------------

It's the day of the ball, and Butch is, well, being his usual grumpy self. Putting on the freshly tailored suit and the well-picked mask along with a pair of freshly polished leather shoes, he went to attend the ball.

Thinking of the business meeting with the owner made him annoyed about actually attending and participating in it.

But, he didn't know that someone would change his mind.

----------------------------------------------------

The ball is in full swing. Everyone was dancing, laughing, and enjoying the grand ball. You have just finished a few dances, and feeling a bit parched. So you, along with an equally tired Sofia, went over to the food tables for a nice snack break.

"That was *pant* Amazing! Did you have fun? *pant*"

"Ah yes, having fun dancing so much my feet are sore from being stepped on by multiple dance partners." You said sarcastically.

"Oh. I'm so sorry. How many?"

"I lost count after 10." She winced.

"Ooo... That's not good."

"Yup. I'm going to stay here for a while. You can go dance some more."

"Okay. But you rest up okay?"

"I will."

She smiles and waves at you as she went back to dance some more.

It was then that you heard the whispers

"They look like a couple."

"That dress they're wearing matches the suit he wears."

"How do they look so good in red?"

"Are they together?"

Feeling uncomfortable from all the whispers, you ducked in a dark corner hoping to leave the center of attention. It worked, but the action has got you the attention of someone.

"Hey there, beautiful." You instinctively take a step back as the stranger approached you.

"Who are you? And what do you want? I do not want to dance right now."

"Oh we're not going to dance, sweetie. We're going to have some... Fun..."

You tried to make a run for it, but he caught your wrist. You struggle to break free of his hold, but to no avail. You tried to yell for help, only for the guy to clap his hand over your mouth. This is it, you thought. You were going to get taken away by a random guy and be ruined. Tears streamed down your face as your struggles grow weaker and weaker.

Just as you thought all hope was lost, you feel the weight of your attacker leave. Your eyes shot open, and you saw the blurry form of your savior standing in front of you.

"What do ya think yer doin'?!" A baritone voice growled.

----------------------------------------------------

Butch arrived at the ball, and started hanging around to look like an ordinary party-goer. As he was chilling, he heard whispers.

"That suit looks exquisite."

"It matches the dress the dress that person's wearing."

"Do you think they're a thing?"

"It sure looks so."

He feels his anger creep up in him, but was interrupted by a man tapping his shoulder.

"Sir, the owner would like to speak with you."

He groaned internally and followed the man. He will be out of here after business is done anyway. No reason to stay right? He thought.

After a bit, the business is done, and Butch finished what he came for. He grumbled a bit as he emerged from a dark corner in order not to attract unwanted attention. Just as he was going to leave, his eyelights caught a glimpse of red... And that's when he saw them... A beautiful person wearing an elegant black and red dress with a matching mask... Who is also being assaulted by a scumbag...

He's snapped back to reality at that, and immediately used his magic to drag the guy away from them. Anger bubbling up in him, he growled.

"What do ya think yer doin'?!"

"I-I was just taking my p-partner-"

"bullshit! they were struggling!"

"I-I'm s-sorry-"

"shut up. i'll deal with ya later." He uses his magic to bound him and threw him to the side, not wanting to alert anyone else.

Turning back to the person assaulted, he kneels down and touches their cheek.

"you okay, doll?"

----------------------------------------------------

You whimpered, and threw yourself at the stranger that saved you, sobbing.

"whoa, whoa. hey, it's okay. it's over now. yer a'right now, doll. shh..."

The guy held you in his arms, gently rocking you. Slowly, you calmed down, and pulled away to look at him.

"You, you saved me." His eyelights widen, and you tilt your head curiously.

"What? Is there something wrong?" He didn't reply, instead, he pulled up his sleeves and showed you his wrist-bone? Your eyes widened as you read the tattoo.

'You, you saved me.'

You flipped your own wrist to reveal yours.

'you okay, doll?'

You stared at each other with wonder.

"w-we're-"

"-Soulmates..."

You continued to stare into each other's eyes, till a noise coming from your attacker broke the both of you out of your trance.

"Ow! Why is there a glass piece here?!"

"*sigh* sorry, doll. gotta deal with this bastard first." He stands and helps you up.

"ya think ya can stand on yer own?"

"I-I think so..." He smiles.

"good. i'll be back on a sec."

His hand glows red and the guy floats up. Then, they disappeared. You blinked a few times, not knowing what happened. And just as suddenly, your savior appeared. Seeing your shocked expression, he chuckled.

"ya okay there, doll? dun worry yer pretty lil head off. it's jus' a 'shortcut'."

"H-how?"

"mmmagic." You huff, and he chuckles.

"hehe. 'ere, take my hand. let's go to somewhere quieter."

With one hand extended to you, he seems almost nervous. Is this the same guy who pulled the jerk off you? You giggle, delicately placing your hand on his. He closed his large hand around yours, and gently wraps his other arm around you, pulling you close to him. You shivered a bit as he whispered in your ear.

"hold on tight, doll."

You feel yourself being pulled into seemingly nothingness, you clutched on him, needing to feel a sense of reality. Then the both of you appeared on the balcony. You tried to pull away from him, only to feel an overwhelming dizziness and fall back into his arms.

"take it easy, doll. shortcuts can be a bit disorientin' the first few times."

You grip onto his suit, taking deep breaths to regain yourself as he cooed words in your ear, while soothingly rubbing your back.

When you finally recollected yourself, you stood back up on your feet gazing up at his eyelights.

"Thank you. For everything. But..."

"but what?"

"I haven't even gotten your name." He looks stunned for a second, before bursting out laughing.

"hahaha! y-yer right, doll. w-we... pffft... 'aven't even... ahaha!" You giggled with him at how ridiculous that is.

When you both calmed down, he took his mask off and introduced himself.

"the name's butch, doll." You smile, liking his handsome features, then took your own mask off.

"My name's (Y/N). Pleased to be saved by you."

He looks at you with stunned eyelights. His hand slowly reaching up to cradle your face.

"y-ya look... gorgeous... 'ow did i get so damn lucky?" You blush at his words, and the fact that his face is getting closer and closer to yours.

"Y-you're the one looking so dashing in that suit." His face glowed red as your said those words.

"'m only a bag o' bones... yer... yer the true diamond, doll. can i...?"

His breath lands on your lips as his thumb absentmindly smoothed over your cheek. You blush but nod and closed your eyes. You then feel a pair of lips touch yours, you questioned how a skeleton has lips in your mind, but the thought was gone as you feel yourself melting into the sweet and sensual kiss. By the time you both pulled away, the both of you are panting heavily.

"Wow..."

"wow indeed, doll." You open your mouth to ask about a skeleton with lips, but closed it as his answer would most likely be 'magic'.

Then you noticed your clothes...

"...we match."

He looks down at his clothes, then yours. And his face glows red again. You giggle.

"what's so funny?" he said with a scowl.

"Hehe. You're cute." His face glows redder.

"nah. yer the a'dork'able one 'ere, doll." He smoothly take your hand to kiss the back of it, causing you to blush.

"Hey! Pffft. No fair! You can't charm me with puns and smooth words!"

"oh. so i'm smooth an' charmin' huh?"

"H-hey! *giggles*"

After your giggles died down, you sigh and look at Butch.

"So... What now?" He smiles and puts his mask back on, extending a hand.

"we dance. i mean, we look like the ultimate power couple, might as well."

You giggle, and fix your mask back on as well, delicately placing your hand on his.

"Lead the way then."

As he led you back in, the crowd parted as if they expected the both of you. When you got to the dance floor, a slow song starts and the two of you danced. Couples looked at you two with envious eyes, bystanders whispered around you, but the two of you are too focused on each other to care.

You are with your prince charming and he has found his damsel in distress.

Nothing else matters.

There! Sorry that I'm so inactive lately. It's been quite busy... I'll be working on this series and that second story of Dance of our Souls first. But it'll be really slow as well... Sorry... Hope you liked this story!

[evermoreholland]

For Harrison: the reader thinking she’s not good enough at something (job etc your choice) and Harrison begins to ramble about how she’s amazing and everything and accidentally lets it slip that he’s been in love with her kinda something cute like that :) Have a nice day 😊

Perfect Finish | Harrison Osterfield

WC: 741

~

You and Harrison have been best friends for many years. The two of you met at a park nearby your house when you were 7-years-old. You were playing on the swings and Harrison came and sat on the swing next to you. You both played together for the rest of the day and you instantly became best friends.

You and Harrison had been together through everything after that. You didn’t go to the same school, but you lived fairly close to each other and would hang out everyday after school. You met Tom through Harrison, and you became close friends with him as well. Harrison still remained your number one.

Harrison decided to pursue acting as a career and you were really excited for him. He was charming, talented, and sweet. You knew that he would thrive. You decided to go to cosmetology school and become a makeup artist. You had been playing in your mother’s makeup bags for years and then eventually bought your own products. You started by doing makeup for fun on yourself and then started doing your friend’s makeup for parties and school dances. You then took the next step and went to school, and you have your license. You now work at the local salon doing hair and makeup.

Harrison would love when you would practice makeup on him. He didn’t care when you would put sparkly eyeshadow or eyeliner on him, he just loved making you happy. He was happy to be your model.

You were both in Harrison’s bathroom and you were practicing a specific look on him. You had a client coming in the next day for their prom makeup. She requested the colors she wanted and you were practicing on Harrison to make sure you got it right.

“Are you almost finished, darling?” Harrison asked, wanting to take a look in the mirror. You told him to wait until you were fully done but Harrison was getting impatient. He knew the look would be amazing, so he was eager to see it.

“Almost,” you said as you got out your setting spray to set the look in place. You weren’t obsessed with the look you just created, but you wanted Harrison’s opinion. You sprayed the setting spray on his setting. Harrison would usually scrunch his face up because the spray was cold, but he knew better by know. He didn’t want to ruin the makeup.

“Done,” you said as you spun the chair around so he could take a look in the mirror. “Do you like it? I don’t know if I do.”

“You did a really good job, Y/N,” Harrison said as he looked in the mirror with a smile on his face. He would never lie to you, and you know that, but Harrison also couldn’t tell the little things that you messed up on.

“I think it looks awful,” you replied bluntly. You were tend to feel insecure about your makeup looks, especially recently. You gain a lot of inspiration from celebrity makeup artists but you often got sad because you knew you were never be as good as them.

“You can’t be serious,” Harrison said in a serious tone, turning around to face. Harrison hated when you would question your work. He didn’t want you to feel insecure about your talent.

“Harrison, every single makeup look that I have done recently have turned out bad,” you said as tears began to fall from your eyes. You hated feeling like this, but you couldn���t help it.

“Darling, you are your biggest critic, you know? Every single client of yours loves your work by the time you’re finished with it. You’re talented. Please don’t forget that,” Harrison said as he grabbed your hand.

“Thank you, H. Sometimes it’s just hard to think that way,” you replied.

“I know, but just know that I love the makeup and I love you,” he said with a smile.

“You love me?” You questioned, pointing to yourself.

“Yes, pretty girl. I have for a while now,” Harrison said.

“I love you, too,” you admitted. Harrison truly was the best and you love him more than anything.

“Can I kiss you?” Harrison asked.

“How about take off your lipstick first? I can’t take you seriously like that!” You laughed.

“Yes ma’am,” Harrison said as he got a makeup wipe. It was nice having Harrison in your life. He always knew how to make you feel better.

[juliandev0rak]

More Like Sisters

Beatrice, Leila, and Ella pick out their dresses for the yule ball and spend the day together. 

a side fic to the main Hallmark Yule Series written by @leila-of-ravens

characters: Beatrice Viano, Leila Lonan, Lysander Lonan, Lachlan Lonan (of @leila-of-ravens), and Ella Sagen (of @leechobsessed)

oh and Julian Devorak (he’s here too)

words: ~3300 warnings: friends being cute notes: 2/3 of beaellaleila are unlucky in love, the remaining 1/3 wants to put clay on everyone’s faces

Life in the Lonan household is never silent. There’s always someone up making noise, or even just the creak of the walls as the house settles in the night. Though she’s had trouble sleeping with all of the noise and excitement, Beatrice finds that having so many people around has become comforting after a few days. She doesn’t know how she’s going to return to her empty, quiet apartment in Vesuvia when she has to go home.

She sits at the breakfast table across from Leila, stirring a large spoonful of sugar into her tea. Bramble sits on her lap, fast asleep despite the lively chatter of the group. Since Lysander has already left for the University, Beatrice finds herself less apt to socialize. She stares sleepily into her teacup and is thinking of grabbing another of the pastries on the platter in front of her when she notices that Leila has turned to look at her.

“Earl grey again, Beatrice?” Leila gestures to Beatrice’s tea. Beatrice blushes behind her teacup and takes a sip to stall as she thinks of a response. Since she’d met Lysander she’d taken to drinking it, even though she hadn’t loved the taste at first, but now it’s become her favorite simply because it’s his favorite.

Beatrice settles with a polite but vague response, “Yes, I quite like earl grey.” 

Leila simply gives her a knowing look and turns back to her own breakfast. Julian sits to her right, drinking a cup of coffee and leaning back in his chair, looking fully at ease. He raises an eyebrow as he watches Beatrice add yet another spoonful of sugar to her cup.

“You sure put a lot of sugar in your tea,” He laughs, and Leila playfully nudges him with her shoulder.

“Don’t be rude to our guests.”

“It was simply an observation, and I’m a guest too!” Julian protests.

“Not anymore you’re not, we live here.” Leila’s tone is light and affectionate as she leans in to kiss his cheek and Beatrice looks away to give them privacy. 

Her eyes drift to Ella and Lachlan who sit across from each other at the other end of the table, pointedly looking anywhere but at each other, just as they had the morning before. Beatrice has been worried about Ella, she’s seemed withdrawn as of late, and Beatrice has a hunch that the youngest Lonan brother is to blame. 

Ella is in dire need of some cheering up, and luckily today’s the perfect day for that. Since they’ve arrived in Umbra there’s been a packed agenda, but the only thing on the schedule today is an appointment with the tailor. It promises to be a fun experience, and then they’ll have the afternoon to themselves to just spend time with each other, something they haven't had much time for yet.

The tailor arrives shortly after breakfast and as Leila leads Beatrice and Ella down the hall to the room where the tailor has set up, she finds herself feeling a bit nervous. When Lysander had asked her to the ball she’d been overjoyed, but once she’d learned she would have to dance in front of everyone she was less than enthused. Her choice of dress seems important, given how many people will be looking at her. As if sensing her apprehension, Leila reaches out to link her arm with Beatrice’s and the three make their way into the room together. 

Leila goes first. She already has an idea in mind, and the tailor picks out a lacey white material to compliment the design. The color is beautiful, and when she shows them the fabric swatch up close Beatrice notices the lace pattern is made up of tiny white snowflakes. It’s perfect, both for the theme of the yule ball and for a tempestaria like Leila. 

“You’ll look stunning, Leila,” Beatrice says, noting how the color of the dress accentuates Leila’s dark hair and brings out her light eyes.

“It’s beautiful.” Ella smiles at Leila as she twirls in the sample dress in the mirror, testing the swishiness of the skirt. It’s the first genuine smile Beatrice has seen from Ella all day, and she’s determined to see more by the end of it. It’s Ella’s turn to go next, but as she steps up towards the mirror her smile fades.

“Do you have anything in mind?” The tailor asks as she takes Ella’s measurements. 

“No, I hadn’t thought about it.” Ella does her best to keep her tone light and polite but Beatrice can detect a hint of sadness. Though Lachlan and Ella are going to the ball together, clearly they haven’t reconciled.

“Ella, you look very pretty in blue, perhaps we should look at blue fabrics?” Beatrice suggests.

“I agree!” Leila smiles, getting up from her chair to inspect a sample of sparkly blue fabric, “What about something like this?” she holds it up for Ella to look.

“Ooh.” Ella’s smile perks up as she reaches a hand out to feel the fabric, “That’s pretty.” 

“It most certainly is,” The tailor smiles, heading across the room to their inventory of sample dresses. “I would suggest a cut like this.” She holds up a dress with a full skirt and delicate, sheer sleeves.

“You should try it on,” Leila encourages her. “That would be gorgeous on you.” 

She agrees and steps behind the changing screen in the corner of the room. Leila and Beatrice turn to discuss the ball preparations, and despite her fear of public dancing Beatrice finds herself quite excited. If nothing else, she loves to plan, and though there’s not much left to do with the event only a week away, she’s eager to decorate the house tomorrow. 

They’d left the door to the room open a crack, and Beatrice startles as the door squeaks open more widely. She’s puzzled when she sees nobody at the door, but then her gaze is brought to movement at the ground to see it was just Bramble coming in. “Oh, hello Bramble, have you come to get a dress too?” Beatrice picks up her rabbit familiar, carefully placing her on her lap.

The girls are too deep in conversation to notice the youngest Lonan brother who happens to peek inside the door at the exact moment Ella steps out from behind the changing screen. Lachlan takes a surprised step back into the hallway, his eyes stuck on the exposed skin of Ella’s back, the way the dress cinches perfectly around her waist. He pulls his gaze away and hurries down the hall, fleeing the scene before anyone has the chance to notice his presence.

“I couldn’t get the zipper up all the way,” Ella says, oblivious to the drama occurring outside the door. She turns around so the tailor can help her and stands before the mirror with an excited smile. “I love this.” 

“It’ll be even prettier in blue!” Beatrice is glad to see her friend happy. Ella swishes around in the dress like Leila had, looking excited and pleased, and very pretty indeed.

Next is Beatrice’s turn, and she has no idea where to begin. The tailor takes her measurements and she wonders whether she should go for something familiar or something new, something that would take people by surprise, something to take Lysander by surprise. She tries to stop thinking of him as she discusses dress design with the tailor, her mind can’t help but wonder what he might think of her choices. 

When it’s clear Beatrice isn’t going to make a choice any time soon, Leila jumps in, “The colors of the yule ball are white, blue, and gold. If you wear something gold, we can match!” 

It’s a great idea, Beatrice loves to be on theme after all. The tailor holds up a variety of samples but none of the golds are quite right, they’re too bold, too shiny, too yellow. Finally the tailor pulls out a swatch of champagne gold, lighter and almost pink in tone compared to the other fabrics she’s looked at so far.

“Oh, Beatrice, that’s lovely on you,” Ella comments as the tailor holds the fabric up to see how it looks next to Beatrice’s face. 

It brings out the rosiness of her cheeks and the golden undertones in her hair, and she has to agree that it’s a pretty color on her. The fabric decided, they move on to the style of the dress. She wants something with a flowy skirt, but nothing so voluminous she could trip over it. Beatrice is a good dancer, but she’ll take no chances with a train or a full ball gown. 

Once the girls have finalized the details with the tailor and scheduled their fittings for a few days later, they’re left with the rest of the day to themselves. The afternoon passes quickly, spent in front of the fire, playing cards and chatting. The topics are light, mostly focused on the upcoming ball and their plans. Beatrice finds the drawing room warm and the couch comfortable and just when she thinks she might doze off on Leila’s surprisingly comfortable shoulder it’s time for dinner.  

It’s just the three of them, and though Beatrice is glad for more time spent with her friends, she misses Lysander. After dinner Leilla announces that she has a surprise for them and they follow her eagerly up the stairs. But when she leads them into a bathroom, Ella and Beatrice exchange a look of confusion. 

“Why have you brought us to the bathroom?” Ella asks as Leila reaches into her dress pocket and pulls out a vial of what looks to be green dirt.

“I thought we could use a little more pampering.” Leila reaches for a bowl stored in one of the storage cabinets.

“Do you usually carry dirt in your pocket?” Beatrice asks, watching in confusion as Leila tips the vial into the bowl and fills it with a bit of water.

“It’s clay, ” Leila laughs, dipping her finger into the bowl to stir it around. Beatrice peers over her shoulder, not quite sure what she’s expecting to happen. “Beatrice could you put your hair up?” 

“My hair?” She questions, wondering what on earth Leila’s up to. When Leila nods, Beatrice reaches into her pocket for a pencil, quickly winding her hair into a bun around it.

“It’s a clay mask, you put it on your face and wait for it to dry before you wash it off. It’s good for your skin.” Leila continues to stir the mixture until it becomes homogeneous, then she lifts her finger up and reaches towards Beatrice's face.

“How… inventive.” Beatrice struggles to find the proper word, it just looks like green mud to her. But Leila hasn’t steered her wrong yet, so she lets her friend spread the mixture on her face. It’s cold, but in a refreshing way, and she catches a glimpse of her face in the mirror and stifles a laugh at the image of her face turned green. Leila finishes applying the mask and turns to Ella who is busy wrangling her hair into a manageable pile on the top of her head.

“What do we do while it sets?” Ella asks.

“We sit, and drink wine.” Leila starts to apply the mask to Ella, who winces from the cold just as Beatrice had.

“I remember where the wine is, would you like me to go get it?” Beatrice offers, already stepping out into the hall. 

“Sure!” Leila turns to look at her, half of her face green and the other her natural color. 

“Maybe bring more than one bottle,” Ella suggests, peering her head around the doorway to watch Beatrice walk down the stairs. 

Beatrice can feel the clay hardening on her face as she walks, and she thinks if she were to smile it might crack. The image reminds her of the scars she’d seen on Lysander’s hands, disappearing beneath the sleeves of his shirt. She’s never dared to ask him about the scars before, they’re peculiar but beautiful in a way, cracked like broken ceramic. She rounds the corner into the kitchen and suddenly comes face to face with the man she’d just been thinking about, busy making a cup of tea.

“Oh, good evening, Beatrice.” Lysander greets her cordially, his lips turning into a confused frown at the sight of her. “What do you have all over your face?” 

“Clay.” She responds, grateful the green mud at least hides her embarrassed blush at being caught looking this way. “It’s supposed to be good for your skin.” 

“It looks strange, but I have heard of the health benefits of clay. You’ll have to apprise me of the results.” He turns back to stirring milk into his tea with absolute focus.

“I’ll be sure to let you know how it worked.” She tries to keep her back turned to him as she grabs two bottles of wine and some glasses from the kitchen. In the few short days of her stay here she’d gotten well acquainted with the layout of the house, she already feels at home here. When she turns to leave she notices Lysander looking at her again and she quickly ducks her head.

“Will you be assisting with the yule ball preparations tomorrow?” Lysander asks, still looking at her curiously.

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it.” Beatrice gives him a nod in goodbye and turns to leave. As soon as she’s out of sight she rushes down the hall, trying not to drop any of the glasses or bottles in her arms. She finds Leila and Ella in the drawing room and tries her best not to slam the door shut behind her.

“Beatrice? What’s wrong?” Leila must notice the slightly crazed look in her eyes. Beatrice sets the wine and glasses down on the side table and takes a deep breath to settle herself. Leila and Ella are both turned to look at her and she realizes she should probably respond. 

“I saw Lysander in the kitchen.” Beatrice sighs, plopping down between them in the middle of the couch.

“Oh no.” Leila reaches a comforting hand to Beatrice’s shoulder, “I’m sure he wouldn’t judge you for your… green-ness.” 

“It was just embarrassing.” Beatrice resists the urge to put her face into her hands, not wanting to get clay all over her long sleeves. “I’m always embarrassing around him.” 

“That’s not true! You’re brilliant around him. I’ve seen the two of you carrying on your academic discussions, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not watching. He likes you, even if he doesn’t know it yet.” Ella smiles at her, reaching to grab her hand. Leila reaches over to the side table and opens a bottle of wine, pouring a glass for each of them. 

“Are you sure?” Beatrice accepts the glass from Leila and takes a sip. “I think he sees me as a friend, perhaps, but surely nothing more.” 

“Beatrice, I know my brother better than anyone and I can tell you that for all of his intelligence, he can be a bit dense. He’s observant, but he doesn’t always see what’s in front of him. Give him time, encourage him.” Leila pats her shoulder again and takes a sip of her own wine.

“So what do you recommend, to encourage affection?” Beatrice asks, once again blushing under her clay mask.

“Dancing,” Ella says almost wistfully. The look on her face fades from happiness to sadness in an instant when she realizes what she’s said.

“Things still aren't going well with Lachlan?” Leila reaches across Beatrice to grab Ella’s other hand, the three girls now linked. 

“I-,” Ella looks as if she might cry for a moment, but she takes a deep breath and collects herself. “No, they aren’t.”

“He owes you an apology,” Beatrice says, trying to keep her voice from conveying the anger she feels at anyone who could harm her friend. While she’s angry at Lachlan, he is Leila’s brother and she feels the need to remain civil.

“He does,” Leila sighs, “He owes you more than that, he needs to make it up to you.”

“Lachlan can’t even stand to look at me,” Ella’s head droops as she stares down at her shoes. Beatrice squeezes her hand in a show of support. 

“He knows he treated you poorly, he probably feels guilty,” Beatrice frowns, “and rightfully so. You’re not the one at fault here.” 

“Ella, how do you feel about him now? Is he worth it?” Leila asks, giving her friend an encouraging smile.

“I thought I hated him for what he did, but I don't.” Ella sighs, “I could never hate him.” It’s not quite an answer, but the message comes across loud and clear- he’s worth it. 

“And Beatrice? How do you feel about Lysander?” Leila turns to look at her.

“I’m- I think I’m in love with him.” Beatrice’s voice is barely a whisper as she finishes the words, she’s admitted it to herself but not to anyone else, not directly.

“That’s wonderful, Beatrice!” Ella squeezes her hand, just as Beatrice had done.

“It doesn’t feel wonderful,” Beatrice murmurs, thinking of all the empty moments spent waiting for him to notice her, to give her some sort of sign that he might like her.

“No, it doesn’t.” Ella agrees.

“I’m sorry,” Leila puts her glass down and reaches around to give both of them a hug. Ella and Beatrice join in until they’re in an awkward sort of hug huddle. Beatrice’s cheek is pressed against Leila’s and the clay mask feels a bit unpleasant, but she doesn’t pull away. “The Lonans are a difficult bunch at times.” 

“But we love you,” Beatrice smiles, trying to ignore the cracking feel of the clay.

“And we all love you, or at least, we all will,” Leila returns the smile, finally pulling back from the hug. “It’ll all be alright soon, I can feel it.” 

“And I can feel my face peeling off.” Beatrice reaches up to touch her cheek and a patch of dry clay comes off in a flake. 

“Mine too, can we wash these masks off yet?” Ella asks, trying to avoid getting any clay in the stray piece of hair that’s escaped from her updo.

“What, you don’t want to keep the green for a while? Lachlan would definitely look at you then.” Leila laughs.

“I think I’ll pass on that,” Ella replies, and Beatrice is pleased to hear her laughing instead of wincing at the mention of him like she had earlier.

“Me too, I’ve had enough embarrassment for the day. But perhaps tomorrow I’ll turn my hair green too.” Beatrice jokes.

“I’m going to miss both of you when you go back to Vesuvia,” Leila sighs.

“Even when we’re gone, it'll still be the three of us.” Ella’s words, and her familiar smile, comfort the pang of sadness Beatrice feels at the thought of returning to Vesuvia.

“The three of us,” Beatrice echoes, “Though an ocean might separate us, we’re friends, always.” 

“Best friends,” Ella corrects her. 

“More like sisters.” Leila grins, and Beatrice agrees.