#butterflies make me think of color and opals

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Was talking in the tags of one of my posts about like Killer in Stage 1 having a comfort item during his Good Ending, likely something Color crocheted for him, to help with his anxiety, fear, and to help him stay grounded and stuff when Color isn’t around.

And I was thinking what could the crocheted item be, needed to be something killer could carry around comfortably but also something he could possibly hug? Maybe something that could wrap around him, like a crochet snake. The easy answer would be a crochet cat, but im thinking of some variety—something that would remind him of Color too. What do yall think it could be?

[telomeke]

I was tagged by @colourme-feral at this post here, @he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle at this post here, and @wen-kexing-apologist at this post here. Thanks for tagging me, guys! 🥰

My schedule is usually too packed with work these days for me to spend much time on Tumblr, but I have a window of time right now and I'm definitely doing this one, especially because it was so much fun reading yours. 😍

So–

coffee or tea – COFFEE. I am an absolute addict; two or three cups at breakfast, one at lunch, a couple more in the afternoon. But will have a cup of tea every morning as well because I heard it's good for you? | early bird or night owl – BOTH. Love starting my day when there's no one about, but my natural body clock keeps me up later and later. So some days I'm up at six, others I'm off to bed at 3AM. Is it any wonder I look tired all the time? 😂 | chocolate or vanilla – BOTH. Vanilla as a flavoring for most things (LOVE vanilla ice-cream and vanilla cake) but I'm also a chocolate FIEND and can chow down pounds of it at a time. So if I'm having chocolate I want a full-on, unadulterated, deep, dark, decadent chocolate experience. Not dulled and diluted in cake or cream form. I will make an exception for the fudgiest of brownies though. | spring or fall – FALL. Love the colors, the whiff of smoke in the air sometimes, the chance of some late sunshine that missed the boat for summer, and the chill ever-deepening in the air. It's rarely sodden the way spring can sometimes be, and I hate a wet spring with a late-winter thaw.

silver or gold – BOTH. Silver to wear, gold to buy. | pop or alternative – POP. I love a catchy hook, and some indie music can be too tuneless for me. | freckles or dimples – BOTH. Freckles (especially on red-heads) are cute, but then when I saw Fluke Jeeratch (formerly Pongsakorn) smile… well! 👀😍 | snakes or sharks – SNAKES. They're beautiful, but there's also danger humming below the surface and that just adds to the allure. As for sharks, well, I liked eating them – and not just the fins in soup – but it's not politically or environmentally correct (I've been told) so I don't anymore.

mountains or fields – MOUNTAINS. I've had a few wonderful mountain holidays. Love the cool, crisp air. | thunder or lightning – THUNDER. There's something sexy about that crack and rumble. Lightning is just scary. | egyptian mythology or greek mythology – GREEK. Greek gods and goddesses, so beautiful and always nude. LOL | ivory or scarlet – SCARLET. Some days my favorite color is a bold, bright red (not every day, though).

flute or lyre – FLUTE. Something about the brightness of the notes makes me synaesthetically see the sunlight dancing on a clear stream as it runs over polished stones. Love it whenever I get cross-sensory experiences. | opal or diamond – DIAMOND. They're this boy's best friend, LOL, because I love a bit of sparkle (though I don't dress with bling, except for my cufflinks). | butterflies or honeybees – BUTTERFLIES. They're just so pretty. | macarons or éclairs – MACARONS. Pierre Hermé my beloved! (I have a sweet tooth, can you tell? 🤣) Plus macarons are one of the traditional pastries that are naturally gluten-free. I'm partial to lychee rose ones, and rich chocolate ones (if they get the fudginess right). But vanilla is too mild for this. Another one for the vanilla v. chocolate duel!

typewritten or handwritten – HANDWRITTEN. I think handwriting does reveal personality and how your mind works, to an extent. So I love not just reading it, but also reading into it. Then again, I do love the clack-clack of a manual typewriter though. | secret garden or secret library – LIBRARY. A secret garden would be cool to discover and experience, but beyond that – the bugs would bother me too much to want to spend much time in there. Whereas I could disappear for days in a library. | rooftop or balcony – BALCONY. But not for the reasons you might think. Balconies are rarely comfortable unless the weather's good and you have a nice view. But they help shade your interior space and keep it cool when the weather's too hot. Most rooftops are service spaces so they don't actually look very good, with a fair bit of grime. (Have you SEEN the real rooftop of Tinidee? No wonder BBS filmed at Chana City Residence instead.) Plus flat roofs will eventually leak, which is a huge hassle to repair. | spicy or mild – SPICY. Prik kee noo my beloved! Also cili padi/cili api/siling labuyo. It's my way of remembering my late mom, who loved her chillis packing the most searing heat.

opera or ballet – um, BALLET? I've been moved to tears by dance before. But opera just sounds like loud wailing to me, so I've never been for a performance. I suspect I may have a Pretty Woman moment of my own when I do though, since there are some arias I like. | london or paris – PARIS! J'ai deux amours – mon pays et Paris… (Joséphine Baker is a legend for a reason.) London is a cool city though, but for sheer range of experience (from the gutter to the stars) it's still Paris by a whisker. | vincent van gogh or claude monet – MONET. I love the Impressionists, and a visit to Monet's house and garden was the highlight of my trip to Normandy. That and the cider. 🤣 | denim or leather – DENIM. Leather's uncomfortable to wear, unless it's for shoes.

potions or spells – SPELLS. I think I prefer my magic more action-packed, in the moment and with immediate results. | ocean or desert – OCEAN. I'm a Waterboyy at heart, and have many joyful memories of holidays by the sea as a kid. | mermaids or sirens – MERMAIDS, for the same reason as previous. Plus sirens are half-bird, and I am slightly ornithophobic when I get up close to any avian. | masquerade ball or cocktail party – MASQUERADE. I love fancy dress and costume parties. And I find the small talk at cocktail parties both daunting and boring.

Onward tagging:

@visualtaehyun @ruthsic @delesaria-blog @solitaryandwandering @twig-tea

@suni-sun @nihilisticcondensedmilk @neuroticbookworm @lovelyghostv @grapejuicegay

@airenyah @pandasmagorica @waitmyturtles @belladonna-and-the-sweetpeas @hyp-no-tic

@writerwithoutsound @hughungrybear @dreamenormous @sparklyeyedhimbo @callipigio

@pickletrip @kinyeee @breezy-bird @dribs-and-drabbles @dimplesandfierceeyes

@recentadultburnout @blmpff @bengiyo @lamonnaie @kattahj

@zimmbzon

No pressure if you don't want to play. And if I didn't tag you but you do want to play, please do so! Please tag me so I can read your responses as well!

Here's a clean version if you're going to play: 😍

coffee or tea | early bird or night owl | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold | pop or alternative | freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre | opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees | macarons or éclairs | typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library | rooftop or balcony | spicy or mild | opera or ballet | london or paris | vincent van gogh or claude monet | denim or leather | potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens | masquerade ball or cocktail party

‌

[shadowetienne]

Tagged by the wonderful @onlyoneofsideblogtrashheep, thank you!

coffee or tea l early bird or night owl | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold | pop or alternative I freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre I opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees I macarons or eclairs | typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library | rooftop or balcony | spicy or mild I opera or ballet | london or paris I vincent van gogh or claude monet | denim or leather I potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens I masquerade ball or cocktail party

Low pressure tagging: @redeim, @guzhufuren, @rieloving-mess, @yongsooist, @cyanidecravings, @henlex, @lesbianhanguangjunji, @qazastra, @tolkpopfan, and anyone else who thinks this looks fun

Some explanation of my choices for fun, and a spare copy for doing it yourself under the cut...

Extra Copy

coffee or tea l early bird or night owl | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold | pop or alternative I freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre I opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees I macarons or eclairs | typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library | rooftop or balcony | spicy or mild I opera or ballet | london or paris I vincent van gogh or claude monet | denim or leather I potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens I masquerade ball or cocktail party

Explanations

coffee or tea l Coffee makes me ill (sometimes even just the smell), and tea is one of my favorite things in the world

early bird or night owl | I can be both, neither, or wildly oscillating between the two. It's not unusual for me to wake up between 4:30 and 5:30 am, it's also not unusual for me to still be up.

chocolate or vanilla | Don't like either, but some things I like despite them being choclate and I despise vanilla.

spring or fall | Both are solid, but my allergies are better in fall, I like the vibes, and I tend to like the weather a little better. Also I have a fall birthday.

silver or gold | I think silver jewelry looks better on me, also my skin tends to like it better.

pop or alternative I Not a strong preference, I like music across many genres, but pop tends to be recorded in clearer quality, and one of the side effects of synesthesia that involves tasting sound is that electronic distortions can be sand to the mouth, get less of that in pop on average

freckles or dimples | Both! But I probably tend to notice and appreciate freckles more consistently.

snakes or sharks | I'm year of the Snake! Snakes are so cool! I have way to much info to infodump about snakes (talk to me about snakes?). Sharks are also cool, and I did get to help an injured shark give birth when I was at marine science camp in middle school, but I'm not as excited about them.

mountains or fields | I love mountains, I live in a place with many! Fields are less interesting to me in general, but can be pleasant.

thunder or lightning | They go together, but sometimes flashing lights hurt me.

egyptian mythology or greek mythology | All mythology is fascinating, but we need to even out the mythology retellings and incorporation out there, stuff needs to catch up to Greek (looking at publishing industry about this), and Egyptian mythology is cool!

ivory or scarlet | ivory looks better on me, but neither is a favorite or a disliked color.

flute or lyre I I love wind instruments in general. Both together is great though!

opal or diamond | Opal is my birthstone! Also just a really cool rock, it makes rainbow!

butterflies or honeybees I Like both, excellent pollinators, but honey is the best, so got to give it to honeybees

macarons or eclairs | Can't eat either, make me ones that I can eat and I'll have an opinion

typewritten or handwritten | I tend to think by making notes by hand

secret garden or secret library | Both! But got to go with books here.

rooftop or balcony | I'm afraid of heights and balconies usually have railings at least.

spicy or mild I I grew up on Sichuan food with my foster family, I love spicy.

opera or ballet | Both are great! Opera tends to be an incredible synesthesia experience though because I taste sound and especially voices.

london or paris I Honestly there are other places in each country I'd be more interested in visiting. I went to London as an adult though, and was a pretty little kid when I went to Paris, so experiencing Paris as an adult could be interesting.

vincent van gogh or claude monet | I'm mostly blind, I can see more than pretty colors in Van Gogh's work, both are incredible artists though.

denim or leather I Leather. I have a complex relationship with denim and while I wear jeans regularly picking ones that aren't sensory hell is a trial.

potions or spells | picked somewhat arbitrarily, but I like cooking and making syrups and jams, and mixing drinks, so it seemed apropos

ocean or desert | I was just at the Ocean! My skin dries out if you look at it funny. Ocean all the way, i spent 4 years in a desert (inland from LA), and never want to again.

mermaids or sirens I Both are cool, but sirens for more ominous singing.

masquerade ball or cocktail party | Both can be great, but masks and glasses fight each other

[topperscumslut]

situationships be like im dissociating on ur couch at 7am and i haven’t slept meanwhile ur sleeping peacefully in ur bed in the other room. i’ll always be in love with u no matter how far away you move and how long it’s been since i’ve touched you. your lips are my favorite thing in this world. you’re my best friend and we’re just friends but then why were we cuddling and making out all night. u refuse to kiss me or touch me first bcuz u love me too much to lead me on or hurt me so i swear ur not leading me on or hurting me even tho that’s exactly what ur doing. i’ve written three full songs about you and dozens of other random scattered lyrics in my notes app. i love showing you my favorite movies. it’s my ex’s birthday but i’m here with u, the guy i told him not to worry about. ur all my therapist and mother and groupchat and diary and our other coworkers ever hear about. no one’s ever loved me like this before. what are we? i cried in front of you for the first time tonight. we said “i love you” for the first time tonight and i’m not sure if we meant as friends or more. i’m sleeping in ur hoodie. i’m a little tipsy and ur all i can think about. ur moving in two months and i will never miss anyone more. i’ll love u til my dying breath. i love how ur stubble feels on my face when we kiss. i miss the tiny bruises u left on my thighs when u pulled my body into urs. u still give me butterflies. i have a photo album of memes to send u. we’re each other’s #1 best friend on snapchat. ur why i always have a bottle of pheromone perfume on hand. casual by chappell roan is on repeat. i want to take you to the cemetery where i write all my songs about u. i’ve only ever taken one other person there before. u own my whole heart. the sun is coming up thru ur blinds and i still can’t sleep. my heart hurts. will u come with me when i get my ribcage tattoo? u look like my celebrity crush did in the 90s. i’m wearing ur favorite cow print hat while i write this. i eat every bite of food u make me when we close together even if i’m not hungry. we’re like the same person but also polar opposites. i think i knew u in another life in this same little town. we ruled this whole fucking city together. i think you’re my twin flame. i swear ur eyes look like the most beautiful eclipse i’ve ever seen whenever you look at me cuz ur pupils dilate so much. i can see how much u love me in ur eyes. i wanna cuddle u while we fall asleep but u say that’s too far. i told u some of my deepest secrets my second or third time ever meeting u. no one has ever gotten me off that fast. i wrote my first ever love song about you. i miss the way things were last christmas. i love hugging u in the parking lot at 3am. every song on superache reminds me of u (well besides family line). every song pete wentz wrote about mikey way reminds me of u. every song dodie wrote about jon cozart reminds me of u. tuesday is my favorite day of the week bcuz of u. i see us in every romance movie. i wanna get matching tattoos of our first inside joke of many. when will u want me to leave ur place tomorrow, well technically today? my therapist is in for an earful. the sky is the color of ur eyes. i love opals now bcuz they’re ur birthstone and they remind me of ur eyes. i love ur eyes. baby blue has replaced pink as my favorite color. i cried for two days straight when u accidentally unadded me on snapchat and then laughed my ass off with you when you apologized and told me it was a misclick. i hope ur 23rd birthday was ur favorite. i’ve never felt this way before. i’ll never look at the color crimson the same. we have the exact same myers briggs and enneagram type. my favorite memory is smoking a joint with you on ur back porch in my oversized ghostface tee from spencer’s, or maybe u going down on me. i would follow u to the west coast. what if we made a pact to marry each other if we’re both still single by the time i’m 30 haha just kidding. how do you feel about me? everything is so fucking bittersweet.

we’ll love each other til the earth stops spinning and the sun explodes. honestly? i think we could survive even that.

[thecpdiary]

A Farida Haque Poem

"I am chained to the wind.

I am bound to a tree and I hear sap buzzing

up and down, up and down.

It warms me, especially when it snows.

Who was it, I wonder who fettered my ankles?

How foolish, I thought, to never ask.

But when you’re happy, foolishness can be forgiven.

I am chained to a rock.

While songbirds spin a web of bright strains around me, reeds whistle and cataracts of butterflies go about their fragile business.

Laughter of children carries me about and my rock becomes a cloud.

It is love that chains me to a rock.

I said to it, keep me grounded.

And the rock loved me back.

Some days, I am not happy.

The wind sweeps me over calderas of war.

How can it expect me to disown blackened babies far below whose mothers lie still,

eyes turned to opals?

Weep I must, chained to humanity.

How can I disown distant sorrow and silences of death?

They grow into me they become me I exhale them as prayers I become nothing —

it is as it should be.

I am chained to humanity.

The wind smiles.

Generosity of time and hope —

a hoary alchemist whose hands dance to music we can never hear and make balms, which rest a while

on weary warriors then gently turn into vapors and are gone —

their work is done.

Who resets my hourglass when the last grain of sand sinks into oblivion?

I never think to ask,

for I know what comes in last can be the first to be reborn.

I begin to honor every life lost celebrate those yet to be

and that is how I reclaim a transformed heart.

The tree and I, we celebrate for it is a triumph of sorts to forget.

It is autumn and green-gold leaves drop like blessings.

It is time for sap to rest.

Too often we exhaust ourselves for what, I ask the tree.

Its answer is a weary sadness.

The vagabond wind ah, such capriciousness —

tugs me along.

I taste sweet waters of icecaps.

Air is shards of blue icicles which my breath turns liquid and it drips from my thirsty fingers.

The wind’s labors are written in stone.

Brother rock, sister wind.

It often drags me through fields upon fields of red and purple wildflowers

then gardens full of barbs and I say to myself, you are invincible!

You are invincible, Calderas of war forgotten.

When you’re happy, better to not question terrains…

Most days, fragrant light of colors walks with me.

And today,

I saw one sleepy folded flower.

I knew a whole galaxy swirled inside it.

How foolish, I thought to want to own it.

I waited for sunrise.

Imagine if you can, dewdrops in a panicked dance slowly become phantoms…

And together, the sun and I, we set the galaxy free."

Farida Haque

[get-away-sticks]

I think I wanna make another side blog dedicated to the current project I have going on. I posted about it on the Butterfly Boys one, but for those who don’t follow me there, it’s an Invader Zim longfic. I’m a fic writer who thirsts desperately for validation like a bird in a desert, so it’d be a nice way to build hype, I think

I also currently have a playlist in the works that I’ve dubbed the soundtrack. Because I’m generic and name every chapter with a lyric from a different song, I’m compiling them all into one nice little place on YT. I’m also making a Spootify version, but that one’s gonna be incomplete until some of the songs on YT get crossposted there

Would anybody be interested in that side blog if I made it? I know that people don’t really care much about The Opal Crown, so like...? It’d just be progress reports, hype posting, mini excerpts and, eventually, chapter announcements (since I’m not posting anything until at least half the fic has been written). I’d also have to wait to make it until I have the picture I want the pfp to be. A friend of mine who made my AO3 icon might be doing some art of the MC from chapter seventeen, so it’d be nice to have that as the icon on Tumblr too

If anybody cares to know, the MC is, and I can finally admit this shamelessly, very much an SI-OC (Self-insert original character). They aren’t exactly like me, of course, but they’re nonbinary, sort of submissive in a bad way for a good long while before character development sneaks up on them, an actor who loves horror, feminine clothing, masculine terminology (boyfriend, king, prince, et cetera) and the color blue. I had fun putting them together though :0 I’ve been listening to their playlist on loop for a while lately to get motivation to write

[cherub-silence]

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Rules˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

18+! No exceptions! This character and the lore are derived from 18+ materials. If your age is not listed on your blog or in any of your information I will ask just that you’re 18+ and you don’t have to give any more detail than that.

Dark and NSFW themes may be present! I will do my best to tag trigger warnings but this is my general warning for the blog. I have a full list of the tags that I do track on this post, just ask if you need anything added.

Absolutely non-selective, any and all interactions are encouraged! No prior messaging is required whatsoever but it’s always appreciated! I’m very friendly :) 

Non-private, all threads will be shared via Tumblr posts, I do not rp through DMs or any other platforms. Please understand that it’s what I'm comfortable with and not something I see changing anytime soon.

If you’re interested in interacting please check out the Verses! All writing, threads, and plots will take place in Verse 1 unless otherwise specified.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Info ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

🪻Summary🪻

I go by a couple nicknames and my blog URLs, I'm comfortable being called Art, Apidae, Api, or Cherub. I’m 21+ NB (They/Them), in CDT/CST time zone. My main blog is @eternal-apidae

🫧Writing🫧

Native English speaker, but I will probably make some grammar/spelling mistakes. I keep most posts formatted, abusing the read-more and post-cutting features, because I prefer how it looks and to keep dashes from getting overly clogged. I cut all posts after 10 reblogs. I also post all starters and NSFW under read more. Replies are medium to long, but I don’t require anyone to match my length, just please don’t reply with one-word replies, it doesn’t give me a lot to work with.

🪻Shipping🪻

I will not hesitate to ship our muses if you’re interested but it will never be required. With all the themes and plots I'm interested in for my muse, there are plenty of options.

🫧Plotting🫧 

I absolutely love plotting, and I am always willing to hear how you’d be interested in our muses interacting. My DMs are always open. In the event that we have started a thread, plotted, or rp meme, that I lose interest in I will reach out to you to see if there’s anything else we’re both interested in.

🪻Activity🪻

Highly active and typically quick to respond. I’m mostly active during the day and tend to get busier in the evenings but my sleep schedule is wonky enough that if I have time you may get a reply in the middle of the night.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Bio˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Name: Opal, she doesn’t remember her birth name Gender: Female Face: (tw link is for an artbreeder render) [🪻] Age: 18-25, usually 22 Zodiac: Cancer Height: 5’0 Body type: Pear [🪻] Skin Color: Pale  Eye Color: Silver [🪻] Hair Color: White Voice: Light and musical, with a Swedish accent [🪻] Scars: Several all over her body the most prominent are the ones on her knuckles and fingers from working in the kitchen, the ones on her back from a cat of nine tails, and discoloration on her wrist and ankles from shackles  Sexuality: Omnisexual Biology: She has gemstones embedded into her skin, attached to her nervous system. She has two on her chest above her breast and two on her rib cage below, there are six going down her spine, one on her tongue, and one on her clitoris. She has also had a full hysterectomy, so she does not menstruate and is unable to get pregnant [🪻] Occupation: Sex worker / Housekeeper  Hobbies: Playing music, writing poetry, reading, partying/clubbing, doing makeup/painting her nails, flower arranging, songwriting/singing, butterfly taxidermy  Characteristics: Creative, Diplomatic, Introverted, Friendly, Nervous, Polite, Quiet, Sensitive, Shy Hogwarts House (we do not support jkr in this household but I think they’re good character identifiers): Hufflepuff and Slytherin [🪻] (Divergent) Faction: Raised Abnegation, but would choose Amity Languages: Raised speaking English and Swedish, was later taught German, French, Japanese, and Russian Instruments: Violin, Harp, Kalimba, Flute and Piano Skills and Training: Housekeeping, Culinary arts, Secretarial duties, Translation, and Entertainment  Scent: Illicit by Jimmy Choo [🪻] Favorite Color: Purple Favorite Food: Italian, specifically Alfredo  Favorite Drink: Tea, her favorites are Oolong, Chamomile, English Breakfast, and Chai

Style: Conservative/Professional, but just a little bit slutty. Typically keeping her stones covered unless she wants the attention

What’s in Opal’s purse? (just a thought experiment that got a graphic so I decided to add it)

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Verses˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

・❥・{Verse 1}・❥・

As a Jembax Opal has an Owner/Master, they are sometimes cruel and don’t particularly care for Opal other than making sure she performs her duties well. They are powerful, they can have political or business connections. They are rich and upper class. With this verse, Opal is used to the finer things in life simply for upkeep, name-brand clothing, manicured nails, and simple but expensive jewelry. She is something to show off, a glorified housekeeper, entertainment, and a sexual object. This life has made her very unhappy so she turns heavily to alcohol and drugs to numb herself. Since her Master doesn’t care much once her daily duties are taken care of she tends to sneak out to bars or to party. With this verse, Opal tends to meet people through her sneaking out or through her Master’s grand parties to show off.

・❥・{Verse 2}・❥・

With this verse, your muse may be Opal’s Master by purchasing her from a previous Master. She can be traded for money, favors, belongings, or whatever her previous Master was willing to negotiate with. For whatever reason your muse has decided against creating a new Jembax and simply wants to bargain for her. Being a pre-existing Jembax she’s not as valuable as a custom-made Jembax, but her considerable appeal is how trained and educated she is. Her biggest downside is that she has been a Jembax for many years and had many cruel Masters before your muse and is quite depressed and may even go through withdrawal due to her previous lifestyle. With this verse, your muse owns Opal and can use and set any expectations for her that they see fit.

・❥・{Verse 3}・❥・

As a Jembax Opal is not considered a free person, after many years of obedience she has finally snapped, whether your muse had any influence in that decision or not. She is considered a fugitive and anyone helping her will be as well. Being on the run is not something Opal ever wanted so it’s not a decision she takes lightly, she’s moody and regretful about whatever has caused her to take this path. The only work she can find is a brothel willing to turn a blind eye but they will not do anymore to help her and will turn her in if she causes too much trouble.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Tags˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Non-thread

[OOC] - everything on the blog that isn’t an rp thread

[~Opal Blogging~] - everything that Opal would post

[~Thoughts~] - text posts that Opal would like

[~Aesthetic~] - pictures Opal would find appealing or that relate to her 

[~Music~] music Opal would play or sing

[~Poetry~] - poems that Opal would write

[~Wardrobe~] - items that would be in Opal's wardrobe 

[~Portrait~] - a tentative face claim of Elle Fanning, because she’s the actress I’d pick for Opal but I don’t think she looks exactly right

Prompts

[~Open Prompt~] - any and all open rp memes, plots, or wanted threads

[~RP Prompt~] - rp memes I reblog

[~Wishlist~] - plots I’d be interested in

[~Character Prompt~] - character questions or writing prompts

Threads

~AUs~/~Fandom thread~ - the au or fandom that best suits the thread’s content 

~Thread name~ - the prompt name, name of your starter, or a random name I come up with

[Examples]

Content warnings

tw alcohol mention - these threads mention alcohol but it may or may not be being used at the time 

tw alcohol - these threads contain alcohol use

tw drug mention - these threads mention drugs, prescription or otherwise, but they may or may not be being used at the time

tw drugs - these threads contain drug use, prescription or otherwise 

NSFW - these threads will contain smut, including noncon and dubcon 

tw violence - these threads will contain violence, including anything from assault to physical abuse 

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Links˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Since you’ve made it this far! Here! Have some links!

(You don’t have to check these out, but AO3 has the original author’s information on Jembax and Refsheet has a full gallery of all the commissioned art of Opal)

🫧📝💟 AO3 💟📝🫧

🪻☔️📝 Refsheet.net 📝☔️🪻

🫧🍾💟 Pinterest 💟🍾🫧

🪻📝💿 Spotify 💿📝🪻

[gigglealongshiney-shadow-watcher]

Opal scooted closer to her. "I wish you could find your unity too. At least I can remember it. It tortures me to remember the loss, but I had it once." Her eyes briefly twinkle. "Can you see memories of those who love you like Pokey? Maybe it would help you be less lonely."

One of the bubbles landed on her finger like a butterfly. This one was in full color.

"Milly I promise you're gonna be ok! We just-we just have to keep going!"

"I can't, I can't do it! Without Sadie there's nothing left for me. Go without me, I'm staying for her."

"Milly don't be crazy, we can't lose two people tonight. I know it's hard, but maybe someone can make a cure! We need every pair of hands we have."

"I'm not a pair of hands, I'm her wife. I'm not going anywhere without her."

"..."

"You can still outrun this, just go."

"I don't want to kill you, Milly."

"Then get out of town, and then you won't have to see us again."

"Fine. Fine! See If I care! Go throw away your life!"

"Well? Run away."

"I can't. I can't do it. Milly, you have to run!"

"Fine."

"MILLY NO PLEASE! COME WITH ME DON'T GO!"

"RUN, GO WHILE YOU CAN! I'LL LEAD THEM AWAY!"

"...Dammit."

Opal blew on the bubble, and it floated away. "Other lives only I can remember now. Who knows if the mind this one belonged to still thinks." She looked around at the many other memory bubbles. "Every drop leads to a more complete whole." Opal asks casually, only thinking out loud. "If one could hold the whole of humanity, are they divine? Or are they humanity itself? Or are they nothing at all? Maybe they are simply a tiny planet."

She coughs. "I'm sorry, you're crying and I'm being mean. Is there anything to help you?" She looks much less burned now.

(Apparently, since the original post got so long that it started falling apart, we are continuing this roleplay via a new and shiny fresh post. Enjoy! @gigglealongshiney-shadow-watcher)

Endless. That’s what the darkness is. Webby didn’t expect anything less. The dark left you uncertain and afraid of what might come and get you when you weren’t looking. This was also true of goddesses, it seemed.

Yet again, Webblin had not been comfortable in any sort of black in a long time.

The presence set itself heavy on her chosen form, smelling as sickeningly sweet as it had on the battlefield.

...

If only she knew that young girl’s name. That would make locating her - the real her - far easier.

As she keeps going in a direction that even she can’t identify, sound and feeling returns in drips and skips, as if on a warped record. First, there’s the tingle of warm sun, and something other than the barely present floor - which feels as cushioning as fresh grass for the briefest of moments. Bright, bubbling, laughter bursts from nowhere, echoes of two children who the world no longer knew. Webby lets herself smile.

Then, just as quickly, rat-tat-tat-tat, bang, crash, the thick and looming iron scent and shouted orders from a battle long since won. Animal roars punctuating the horrified screams. Music sticks in Webby’s head. She shakes it away with grit teeth and keeps moving, bare feet scraping against red-and-blue-stained concrete.

[carrotmakar]

fic recs january 2021

hi guys!! okay so i got to thinking and i’ve seen a lot of these posts around so i made my own!! i think that fic rec masterposts are such a great way to support writers and get more people to have the chance of seeing fics!!! plus i’m leaving a bit of feedback too :))

if you know of any fics that you’d like to share a little love on / you’d like me to read so that i can reblog and give it a little love, send me an ask with the title and the author’s url!!! 

so here it is, all the fics that i read in january 2021 (and the very end of december but i’m including them anyway)

total number of fics listed: 92 (series counted as a single piece)

@moonchildstyles

aster / tattoo artist harry aster | daffodil | sweet pea | gardenia | poppy

i read this entire series at like 8 am after not sleeping the night before and oh my god i was literally so soft!! like this is so fucking cute i literally felt like i was going to throw up the entire time (in the best way yk) like omg the butterflies i got from this series? unmatched. also, i feel that it’s necessary to add the part of this that made my heart absolutely explode: Harry’s thumb stroked her jawline, a smile molding his features. “Y’not a baby love, unless you want to be my baby. And I like you a lot, too. And stuff. like okay kill me <3

citrine / witch harry citrine | opal | lepidolite | sodalite | carnelian | angelite

alright so h is literally so sweet in this one!! he’s so gentle and lovely and i truly fell in love with him in the very first few paragraphs. and he’s so out of tune with everything but he’s trying his best to understand and just... sigh. “I’d look forever for you, if I had to.” love love love this line so much it’s literally the perfect way to tie everything together

chiaroscuro / vampire harry chiaroscuro | sfumato | craquelore | non finito | fresco | renaissance 

this is very creepy during the first chapter but in such a good way!!! i literally found myself gasping and i barely ever vocally react to a fic unless i am squealing at the fluff or crying but i vocally react to lindsee’s fics literally they are so good pleaseee. and omg the growth throughout this fic truly is impeccable i swear.

@gucciwins

adore you

okay this is so cute!!! loved every single word of it!!! there was a bit of angst at the very beginning that had my heart hurting but it was all mended by the end!!! the dad!harry content was absolutely immaculate omg i literally loved reading about atticus!!!!! i absolutely love long pieces and i think that this piece was the perfect length!! there were so many things that were packed in there but it didn’t seem rushed or jumbled or anything like that!!!!

@soysauceharry

watashi no sakura

okay first things first, i love japanrry in any form so i knew just by looking at the description that i was going to love this regardless of what was in it. to be honest i didn’t expect him to have a penny board that he used to get everywhere but there’s something so cute about that to me. throughout this entire fic, i was so amazed at the way that their relationship moved along so naturally and at such a good pace. i feel like there’s an art to making things move along at the right pace, and you definitely have that down!! i truly loved this fic so much and will probably be coming back at times to reread!

@havethetimeofyourstyles

143

i am very in love with this!!! boxer!h is so freaking yummy plus it’s so well written that i can feel everything, which is so amazing. i love that i’m able to feel all the emotions and picture everything while reading!! my heart broke a bit for harry while he was sad and just looking for love in any way he could find it. like mega sigh. also, i love the way that the characters are introduced. like, y/n doesn’t come at the very beginning but it’s so natural when she’s finally introduced. and omg the interactions that they had??? the reassurances??? *chef’s kiss*

baby, it’s cold outside

before i even started reading this, i knew i would love it!!! teacher!h has a special place in my heart for some reason i truly love him so much!! oh my god the yearning in this piece is so heartbreaking!!!! i literally read through the entire thing thinking that i was going to cry because of how much i could feel y/n and harry yearning for each other. sigh this is so cute i will definitely be rereading (most likely multiple times)

bright & blooming

ahhh this is literally so cute i live for the long distance friendships + only seeing each other over the summer!!! that is literally so amazing to me that you love someone that much to wait all year to only see them for a month!!! and this was such a good representation of the love and yearning that come with that!!! and i absolutely adore the way that you described each of them and their nicknames for each other!!!! love love love!!!

where the world takes you

this is my study abroad dream!!!!! the loveliness of them meeting and drunk!harry is just so sweet i love it so much!!! and the way that the flashback is in the middle and explains everything is so genius!!! and the full circle of it all makes me so happy!!! also the way that i cried at the end of the four months!! like that was heartbreaking but everything was pieced back together as it went along!!!

extra credit

this is prof!h so you know it’s great!!! i am such a sucker for this au i swear. this was so cute!! the way that everything progressed and the confession and the tension!!!! and then the “Yours.” at that one part had me screaming!!! and the way that he literally had a plan oh my god that’s so cute!!!! i love their dynamic so much!!!

deep sleep

this is so :) :( :) :( if that makes sense!! like i love love love dad!harry but there are just a few things that make me want to sob <3 i absolutely adore it though!!!!! it’s very sweet how mr. styles comes out here comforting as he should!!!!

beautiful inside & out

this is so sweet oh my god it’s beautifully written and i really felt everything that was going on!! personally, i’m not a person of color, but i think that this piece truly was written so wonderfully and it’s very lovely!!!! the insecurities made me literally want to cry, but the way that h was there to comfort was very nice, it made me so soft!!

admiring

this is so sweet!! the background snippet in there is so well done i love getting to know exactly how they met!!! and the way that harry’s being admired is just!!! so good!!!! like i love the descriptions and the feelings connected to that!!!! the entire thing is just so cute!!

for your eyes only

i shed tears reading this!! like it is so sad but also so happy!! i know that makes no sense but there was just a sense of my heart breaking and then it being put back together again and i love that!!! definitely a fantastic use of ‘if i could fly’ which is one of my fav one direction songs so that’s just a plus honestly!!!

@greenorangevioletgrass

to feel good

miss ava!!!! coming out strong with your first harry fic!!!! it’s so lovely, so pure, so sweet!!!! the memories that are included make everything that much better!!! the flashback really fills out everything nicely!!! the interaction that the two of them had at the end was so comforting to read like... that’s literally one of the most wonderful endings i’ve ever experienced on a fic like this!!!

@adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy

demon!harry  angel!y/n -  a total of 51 blurbs, drabbles, and one-shots demon!y/n - a total of 8 blurbs, drabbles, and one-shots

yeah okay so there are...... a lot of things here so i’ll do a demon!harry + angel!y/n feedback thingy and a different one for demon!harry + demon!y/n demon!harry + angel!y/n: he’s such an asshole but he’s... already kinda turning soft like... he’s already got the little simp showing through!!  “ When it comes to love, if it doesn’t hurt, it isn’t fun.” i’ll cry right here right now what the fuck is this?? sigh. “Tell me…” He gulps thickly, licking his burning lips in anticipation, “tell me you want me. Tell me this— whatever this is— tell me it’s real.” yeah that made me almost scream literally shut up andrea. also not me reading this and literally sobbing at some of the pieces like... no <3 “I promise on my soul— as damned as it may be— that I will not let anything bad happen to you. I swear.” i literally want to set myself on fire what the hell the things your brain comes up with literally what the fuck. i literally read all 51 pieces in a day and cried a million times but they were just because i’m soft for simprry. demon!harry + demon!y/n: okay so i am writing this after i’ve read the first two pieces and.... that escalated quite quickly i would say!!! if you like smut, you’ll like this!!!!!! if you like smut just go to andrea she’s got you!!!!! and we see some more simprry but not full swing because he doesn’t want to admit that he’s wrapped around her finger!!! and the way they’re not exclusive but they’re each other’s? *chef’s kiss* 

@jawllines

harry is the bad boy cliché of y/n’s dreams, she just doesn’t know it yet

this is so very sweet, so very soft!! all the pet names have me crying omg it’s literally one of the cutest things!!!! the way harry is so soft for her and he’s just so sweet and so obvious about his feelings even though she doesn’t completely see it is so sweet!!!!

harry’s a porn star and y/n is new

i love their dynamic here!! they automatically click and everything between them is so genuine and lovely!!! the way that they care about each other so immensely even though they haven’t known each other that long is so beautiful!!

harry is y/n’s dominant 

okay obviously this is like... smut but it’s so much more than that!!! their relationship is so sweet and lowkey domestic even from the very beginning and i love the trust that they have in each other!!! very cute!! and the ending was so so perfect!!!

y/n works in a roller rink and harry goes there to read

literally so sweet!!! the shy, kinda introverted h is to ide for!!!! and the way that they’re so cute together ahhh!!!!!! and i absolutely love the way that they support each other and are falling for each other before they even admit that they are!!!!

harry’s a vampire and y/n never dresses for the weather 

i love how when they met it wasn’t on great terms and he couldn’t get her off his mind so he was like “no, stay away!” but he was already so whipped for her and then!!!! when he asked how to be warm for her??? that made me so soft i literally thought i was going to cry.

harry and y/n are best friends and y/n isn’t his “type” (or so she’s heard)

this is so absolutely soft!!! they’re so whipped for each other and don’t even know it!!! and miss y/n hearing things made my heart break but all was well at the end!!! love love love!!! the entire dynamic that they have is so fun plus there were peeks of jealous h so that’s always a win!!!

y/n and harry don’t really mesh well, until they do

we love a bit of an enemies to lovers moment!! and the whole “y/n’s being a good friend to jeff, that’s it” and the tension and the drunk cuteness and literally all of it, it’s so wonderful!! harry being a softie is one of my weaknesses and although he’s a bit mean at first, he redeems himself!!

harry’s on the football team and y/n steals a dog

this is absolutely so cute!!! y/n has such a beautiful little personality and harry feeling things with her even though his “reputation” is different than hanging out with people like her is so great!! and the way that he takes up for her and the way that she comforts him is so lovely!!

harry is y/n’s grumpy neighbor and he has a secret part 2

this is actually the second time that i’ve read this fic tbh!! it’s just so good!! the dynamic of him trying to stay away from her because it’s dangerous for her to be too close to him and then him trying even harder to stay away from her and hide his feelings only for her to make a move is golden.

y/n pretends to be harry’s girlfriend

okay this one hurt a bit at first. i wanted to flick h in the forehead at first for trying to make someone else jealous with y/n but he redeemed himself as he does so i shall let him off the hook this time haha. i think that the way that they progress is so sweet plus!!! everyone loves a good fake dating au!!!

werewolves exist... pt. 2

this is the first werewolf au i’ve read in a while and it’s actually really good!! i love how everything progressed and the way that harry was like.... this isn’t supposed to happen like this!!!! it’s all very cute and it’s very enemies to lovers-esque even though they aren’t enemies lmao

y/n delivers sweets and harry lives on the side of a mountain

this made me so sad tbh like... the fact that they treated harry so bad just because they judged him before they know him makes me so sad and i really wanted to punch some people but it’s a fictional universe so i can’t actually do that lol. but the way that y/n was with him made me so soft i really love this piece

y/n is on harry’s tour crew and harry just think’s she’s lovely

y/n is so sweet in this piece!!! it makes my heart hurt when harry gets overwhelmed and snaps but thankfully everything is well in the end and he gets his act together so that he can realize what is truly important!!!

harry is y/n’s criminology instructor part 2

this dynamic is an automatic yes and that’s on my love for this au. anyway, the way that he was like “it’s just a kiss” made me absolutely want to scream but i didn’t and thankfully i didn’t write him off as a prick because he’s actually so sweet and he takes care of her and loves her and just... he’s everything.

harry used y/n as a model for his art final

i wanted to smack harry upside the head so hard when he kept talking about his crush when y/n just wanted a good partner. thankfully he finally saw the light and realized that the only thing he wants is y/n by his side because y/n is there for him and cares about him and loves him

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

Baby, some people are meant to be loved and others just naked

So take what I’m willing to give, love it or hate it.”

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

A/N: alright SO!!!! the original part 3 ended up being at the cusp of 50k words (because i have no self control) and that is a LOT to read in one go so it’s getting split into parts 3 and 4! which means!! double update laidese and germs!!!! part 4 will be posted this SUNDAY, AUGUST 16th at 5PM PST/8PM EST :D we hope you enjoy this chapter, feedback is greatly appreciated, and please please PLEASE!!! if you like it, reblog it!!! and if you want, go nuts in the tags!! every single one is read!!! it keeps content creators motivated 💌leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ took the liberty of making an incredible playlist to go along with our story, so feel free to check it out and see if you can find any clues as to what’s in store for the characters 👀without further delay, here she is...buckle up 👁👁this is gonna be quite the ride

ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist

word count: 24.2k

content/warnings: cheeky banter over texts, The Crew dragging Niall to shit, more banter over a glass of cheap wine, vampire!harry showing up to “interior design” sessions looking like a runway model, some fwb smut, degradation kink, very mild mentions of blood, and some ugly tapestries that somehow lead to sexting

///

Y/N definitely puts Harry’s number to good use. Very good use.

In fact, during the span of the next month or so, Harry reckons that she pulls up his contact on her phone so often that she probably has him listed on speed dial. The assumption is dramatic and probably incorrect, on behalf of his arrogance, but with how much time they start spending together, it’s hardly a stretch.  

It all begins exactly a week after their first time meeting. 

Harry still hates clubs. 

He hates them more than he did last week. He hates them more than he did yesterday, more than he did this morning, and even more than he did a minute ago. He fucking despises them. 

And yet, as Harry stands here before the mirror in his enormous double-sink bathroom, fiddling with his damp hair as his flouncy dress shirt hangs unbuttoned from his broad shoulders, he’s absolutely positive he has never hated clubs more than right now. 

Niall got to pick the venue this time. He’d texted his choice in the groupchat (which is respectfully named Dinner Plans) about four hours ago, making sure to get the word out decently early so that everyone could start making their preparations, all in order for the crew to be on the move by nine P.M. 

It’s now nine thirty-seven, and everyone is fully set to leave at the agreed upon hour. Everyone except Harry. 

This, however, is not uncommon. He’s always the one that takes the longest to get ready, no matter how soon he starts. No one can remember an instance where Harry has ever been ready on time— which says a lot, considering most of the gang has years of memories from which they can pull. Mitch especially. With almost a century of friendship behind them, not once has the older vampire ever seen Harry stick to a deadline. His flare for being fashionably late is less a flare, and moreso an irritating burn. It always throws off their game a bit, but at this point, everyone has gotten used to the seemingly young vampire’s theatrics. 

So on this Friday night, there isn’t much more to do other than mold to his habits; Harry answers to no one except himself and it’s been that way for decades now, for a reason he’d rather not reminisce. He doesn’t owe anything to anyone, especially since he’s the one that always takes charge of getting them where they need to go, as well as getting them inside said destination. Complaining about their leader wouldn’t do the gang any good for a number of reasons, especially because Harry rarely ever listens. It is what it is— he’s just the way he is, and they’ve all learned to live with and respect that.

The funny thing? Harry does it on purpose, though his friends aren’t aware of it. He drags out the process of getting prepared simply so he can put off having to step inside one of those circus acts people refer to as clubs. He goes as slow as possible and does as much as possible, spreading seconds into minutes, and maybe— if he’s insistent enough and feeling particularly pesky— an hour. His record is an hour and twenty-eight minutes, which he wears with pride, much to his group’s unamusement. 

Harry knows no one will ever say anything about his annoying tendencies, unless they’re willing to volunteer themselves to take the reins for the night. Vampires are alert and productive, but only when they want to be— which is usually only when it benefits them— and only if they can muster up the patience for it. And frankly, none of the creatures he associates with have the patience required to deal with security, driving, and other obstacles the way Harry does. He’s indispensable, and therefore, everyone puts up with his shit. Quid pro quo has never been more effective. 

So here Harry stands, now thirty-eight minutes past the original time sorted for departure, carefully combing volumizing mousse into his slightly wet curls and spinning each ringlet around his index finger to give them the definition and bounce he’s so well-known for. Here he is, finishing up his post-shower routine as all of his friends mill around downstairs in his living room, waiting for him to come down so they can pack into his car and head out for the weekly hunt at whatever establishment has been deemed fit for the night. And here he is, taking his sweet time so he can be the signature pain in the ass that everyone hates to love. 

Once Harry has thoroughly coated all of his hair with the fluffy white cream, he pulls out his hair-dryer from the cabinet below his sink, snapping its accompanying diffuser into place and flipping his head upside down. He carefully scrunches his curls to his roots with the attachment, moving in thoughtful circles as he hums to the rhythm of a song he can’t be bothered to remember the name of. Staring down at his polished jet black heeled boots, he absentmindedly taps against the porcelain ground to the beat of the music, sighing wistfully as warm air circulates its way across his scalp. 

Harry turns his shoes to the side, admiring the detailing along the back of the heel. Across the curved surface is the word SUCKER, bedazzled onto the article with multicolored jewels, glitzing beautifully under the fluorescent lighting of his bathroom. The shoes had been a gift from a friend with connections in high places; more specifically, connections to the man who sits on the throne of the Gucci brand. Harry hadn’t questioned the present when he’d received it— only an idiot would bat a cautious eye at such a luxury. He’d fallen in love with them the second they landed in his palms, decked out in a gorgeous satin box and wrapped with sparkly black tissue paper. The only words that had dared leave his lips were, “Fuck, I think I just got hard.”

The shoes had fit like a charm, and he had wanted to save them for a special occasion. But given that he has hundreds of years worth of special occasions lined up for his future, he’d shrugged off his pickiness and yanked them out the back of his closet for tonight. What better way to show them off than at an overhyped disco hall? 

Harry flips his head right-side up once again, ruffling his fingers through his soft, shiny curls to check for any wet patches or stringiness. He rolls up the wire to his styling tool and puts it back in its designated spot, grabbing his favorite paddle brush and attentively filtering it through his hair until he gets the tousled waves that he’s grown so fond of sporting. He musses them until he’s satisfied with his appearance, nodding at himself casually in the mirror as he proceeds to wrap up the last few necessities he has left. 

Harry buttons his blouse, admiring it in the fogged mirror. It’s a flowy sheer black piece with holographic threads sewn through its expanse, the fabric continuously shimmering with every shift of his muscles from underneath. He leaves the last three holes empty to better show off the dark butterfly inking on his lean chest and the swallows suspended in flight along his collarbones. He doesn’t really have to leave the shirt open, given that the material is see-through to the point where it leaves very little to the imagination, obvious in how all the tattoos along his arms are clearly visible. But he does it either way— he likes it when people stare. He’s got the assets, he might as well flaunt them.

Harry loosely tucks the hem of the shirt along the brim of his high-waisted beige slacks, which he’d ironed with precision to an ideal fold. He opts out of a belt tonight, wanting to display the array of elegant buttons that line the front of his pleated trousers. The pants hang slightly flared around his ankles, and if someone’s interests were intent enough, they might catch a glimpse of his favorite socks underneath the cusps, the words FUCK IT printed across the dark cotton fabric. He always makes sure to have an aspect in his outfit that could make for neat conversation.  

The vampire pulls out one of his drawers, ghosting his fingers over his collection of jewelry before picking out a pearl necklace and his father’s gold-plated cross necklace, as well as a colorful array of rings. He makes sure to retrieve the most significant two, as always— his lionhead amethyst daylight ring and his mother’s opal. He never goes anywhere without them. 

After he’s slipped on those accessories, bending and stretching his fingers for good measure and feeling everything settle into place, he picks out the gold cross earring that matches his necklace. It used to be part of a pair that belonged to his sister. As he watches the gold twinkle in the artificial light, he briefly wonders what happened to its twin, but pushes the thought away before it leads him down a path of pessimistic speculations. 

Harry loops the dangly piece through his earlobe, sighing through his nose as his gaze jets around his entire look, searching for any possible faults he could tend to that would prolong the inevitable— another night of drunken morons and thick synthetic smoke. 

Harry decides to fold the cuffs of his shirt up to his elbows, knowing that it makes his veiny forearms look appealing. He rummages through his selection of colognes before deciding to go with his trusty Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, spritzing a bit along specific pressure points on his neck where a pulse would otherwise be present, following along with the insides of his wrists. The scent of cloves, sugar-frosted vanilla, and cedar wood envelope him in a warm ambiance. After that task is complete, he fusses with his necklaces for a minute or so, settling the cross between his pectorals and resting the rosey pearls across his clavicle, fingering at their smooth surface in thought. Much to his defeat, everything seems to be in order, down to his freshly lacquered black nails. It’s not his fault he’s nearly flawless. His long— and unfortunate— extension on life had given him a plethora of years to work himself into a state of physical perfection. There’s only so much one can do to their appearance before it becomes superiorly stagnant. 

Harry tunes his heightened hearing for a second, listening in to the conversation his friends are entertaining on the first level of his condo. Niall’s voice is the first one that comes through, unsurprisingly. He’s always the loudest and has zero filter, present in how he’s freely ranting about Harry’s exaggerated mannerisms as he paces back and forth across the floor, footsteps heavy. No one seems to be paying him any mind— As usual, Harry thinks to himself, snorting softly— because everyone appears to be caught up in their own personal lives, too lost in gossip and exchanging opinions to give the Irish vampire any thought. 

None of his gang seem bothered by his lack of rush, but Harry knows he can’t keep them waiting forever. Fridays are the day they’d all collectively agreed to hunt together and it had been as so for almost twenty years. Being the leader, Harry can’t let his childish distaste for nightlife get in the way of what’s best for the group. He needs to hunker down on his selfish inclinations and be a responsible friend, or else a human might not be the only person Niall sinks his fangs into tonight.

With one final lingering stare at his reflection, Harry goes to retrieve his phone from its face-down position on the dark marble counter, simultaneously reaching for the light switch to begin powering down his apartment for the next couple of hours until he returns. Hopefully with a pretty girl hanging off his arm and less of a burn in the back of his throat. Although Harry may be cynical, he’s also practical; if he’s going to have to spend eternity on this planet, he may as well try to conserve enough energy to make it bearable. After decades of adjusting to electricity, the last thing Harry wants is to return to candlelit rooms and going to bed in time with the sun. 

The sudden chime that shrieks from his device causes him to jump a tad, brows furrowing in mild confusion for a few reasons. First, because it’s such an odd coincidence that right as he went to grasp it, his smartphone had gone off; it’s almost spooky. Second, because anyone who would normally dare message him at this hour is currently sequestered downstairs on the cushions of his sectional sofa, waiting for him to emerge from his room. Who else could possibly need to contact him this late, especially at the beginning of the weekend? 

Harry flips his red iPhone curiously (yes, he’d bought it in red for the purpose of irony), peering down at the unknown number shining back up at him from the screen. 

The text is simple enough: Hey, accompanied by three disco ball emojis. 

After a few seconds of blank blinking and adamantly searching through his mind for a clue as to who this could be, the answer smacks him square between the eyes. The memories come to him in quick flashes. 

A bald bouncer with a stupid name. A two-story room with seven foot tall speakers and a bar nuzzled in the corner. A group of loud, tipsy girls in stilettos and glittery dresses. One girl, sitting amidst the ruckus looking alone and indifferent while everyone around her gave into inebriated chaos. Mitch urging him to go talk to her. The overwhelming smell of honey and lavender. Gentle caresses placed across the tattoos painting his arms. Pretty lips the color of fresh blood, drained glasses of liquor, and witty banter exchanged between suggestive glances and cheeky grins. Shouldering through a crowded dance floor with the young woman in tow. Settling her into the passenger’s seat of his Cadillac and feeling heat explode across his cold cheeks when she’d yanked him down by his collar, kissing him like his lips were her only source of air. 

A quaint apartment complex, flickering lights in a corridor, and a worn couch. A warm mouth, smudged lipstick, teary eyes, and the gentle, shaky echo of, “I want to make you feel good.” High-waisted silk pants discarded on the floor, a cream lace blouse, and pastel pink lingerie. Thighs squeezing his head as her sweet taste spilled across his tongue. The mortal’s bare back pressed to his chest as he worked his hips roughly into her, mumbling dirty promises against her ear. Sugary whimpers and needy pleads. The warm, tangy flavor of her blood filling his mouth and sedating the burning in his throat. Childish giggles shared in a tiny flat, her warm fingers sewing between his icy own and tugging him into her room. A sleepless night full of steady breaths and only one heartbeat. A stupid tapestry and an ugly popcorn ceiling. A late morning strewn with sarcastic jokes mumbled over the rim of a coffee mug. Pulling his favorite t-shirt over his head and inhaling the sweet smell that had been glued to every thread. 

Making a drastic decision and typing his information into her phone. 

Harry doesn’t mean to speak aloud, but the name slips down his tongue as easily as he’d drawn moans from hers. “Y/N.”

It’s not like he didn’t remember her, because he did. And it’s not like he hadn’t thought of her since, because he had. But it’d been in passing and barely relevant— faint recollections in the form of fleeting seconds. 

He’d thought of her a couple days ago, when he’d been wandering around the mall with his friends. They’d passed by a candle shop where, among all the mixed scents, there had been the unmistakable aroma of lavender and honey somewhere inside, smelling vaguely like her. She’d unwillingly made her way to the forefront of his mind when he’d gone to do laundry, picking out his baby blue Marc Jacobs t-shirt from his hamper and feeling his eyes dilate and fangs protrude— a result of animalistic instinct. As it turns out, she had left a bloodstain along the inside of the yellow collar of his tee. It was dried and crusted over by the time he found it, but the effect it had on him remained the same as the night he’d drawn it fresh from one of her arteries. He’d chucked the garment into the wash carelessly with hardly any hesitation. 

The girl had even elbowed into his brain during an important self-care session. He’d been sitting in his glorified bathtub— which, in shallow honesty, is just a jacuzzi— with his cock twitching in his palm while his head hung over the edge, an orgasm teetering along the trench of his stomach as he’d repeatedly thumbed over his tip. When he’d finally coaxed himself into a climax, moans running freely across the empty halls of his home, the image he saw in those short moments of pure bliss was of her. It was Y/N, sitting in front of him with her hands clasped between her bare thighs obediently, his prick running along the length of her warm tongue as her eyes pleaded for him to cum. 

But, as he’d stated before, the picture had only lasted a handful of seconds. As soon as his high had died down, it had disintegrated to ash, and he’d been left with a slightly startled mental imprint in its wake, which had faded away within minutes. He hadn’t thought of her since. 

That is, until now. Until the surface of his jade eyes are reflecting the message his phone had just received at nearly ten P.M., her identity obvious in her choice of emojis. 

A disco ball. The exact same character he’d assigned himself beside his name in her contact list. It was an inside joke; a result of the hatred they both shared for clubs, juxtaposed by the fact that they had met in one. It was a cute determining factor in their minimal acquaintanceship, and he’s always a sucker for a good paradox. 

Harry continues to stare down at the text message, trying to conjure up some type of answer. She couldn’t have caught him at a better time, quite literally. She could be his saving grace tonight, if he plays his cards right. Maybe if he swoons her enough, she’ll invite him over again, and he can avoid another night full of shit-faced idiots and blinding strobe lights. 

After careful consideration, he swipes open into their new text conversation and taps back a reply he deems appropriate, satisfied with how it shows his personality— the same one the mortal girl had been so taken with upon their first encounter. 

Well, this is awkward. I don’t remember giving my number to a disco ball.

The vampire waits idly for a response, watching as the message delivers and is immediately marked by a read receipt. He doesn’t know why, but he likes that she has them on. 

A swift pause follows— in which he has no doubt she’s probably attempting to come up with some type of witty remark to his— and then the three grey bouncing bubbles pop up, signifying that she’s typing back. His device bloops with her response, vibrating in his large palms.

Funny as ever, I see. It’s Y/N, from the club last Friday. 

Harry’s slightly disappointed by her humor-lacking answer, but he’ll keep the interaction going for curiosity’s sake. Some people are fun in person and just not that bright virtually. Can’t always have it all.

Oh, hey, Y/N! So are you translating on behalf of the disco ball that wanted to talk to me or…?

He can practically see her eye rolling up at the grungy ceiling of her room and that notion makes his lips twitch. 

Ha. Ha. Hilarious! But no, I’M the one who wants to talk to you, actually.

Harry can feel her sarcastic tone through this specific message and that gives him hope. Maybe she does have social networking skills. 

Oh. Well, give the disco ball my best regards then, will you? Don’t want it to think I’m being rude and casting it aside.

The creature can’t see it, but now Y/N’s lips are the ones jolting as she sits on her bed in nothing but a towel, damp hair beading water down her naked shoulders and back.

How caring of you! I’ll pass on the message.

A full grin begins to edge across Harry’s cheeks as she returns his banter just as easily as she would face to face, dimples threatening to indent into place. That’s more like it. 

His fingers poise over the keyboard, mind flicking through the different scenarios he could steer this conversation towards. He has to be perceptive and respectful, but also keep her entertained. He figures asking about her intentions is the best route to take, but he’ll do it subtly. Being too direct could come off pushy. 

So...what gives me the honor of basking in your presence tonight, hm?

He adds a thinking face emoji to the end of the text as an afterthought. He rarely uses emoticons, but now is as good a time as any to start, especially because he has to seem like someone who belongs to her generation, rather than a Victorian era immortal.

Well, you said if I wanted more interior design advice to shoot you a text so...here I am, seeking your expertise.

Harry allows himself to break into a wide simper at the shrouded compliment. It goes right to his ego, just as he likes it. She’s smart. 

My expertise, huh? I take it that my taste in wallpaper left you pretty satisfied last time, then?

A similar grin buckles Y/N’s face at his playful smugness and she bites into the side of her index finger to try and suppress it. After a moment of thought, she releases her digit from between her teeth and taps back. 

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

Harry scoffs coyly, leaning his shoulder against the lightly fogged black marble wall of his bathroom, his friends and plans for the night all but forgotten. He’s having too much fun flirting to pay anything else much mind. 

My pleasure, love. I’d be more than happy to give it again, anytime you need it. Just make sure to fill out the customer service survey my boss emailed you. I’m shooting for a raise and could really use the brownie points. 

“Cute.” Y/N murmurs to herself in amusement, her chest fluttering as a result of the pet name, alongside how well they’re getting on. It’s almost like no time has passed at all. Almost as if they’re friends. 

She’d been nervous to reach out, fearing that he’d see it and ignore her— or worse, leave her on read. Needless to say, this is going way better than she could’ve hoped

Already filled that out. Gave you five stars and everything. Would’ve given you six if it was allowed. 

Harry shifts his weight against the surface he’s using for support, chuckling softly as he gnaws along the inside of his cheek. He feels like a teenager with all of this borderline childish back-and-forth. He’s not mad about it, though. It’s pretty enjoyable. 

Thank you so much for your input! It’s taken into deep consideration. VERY deep consideration, if I recall correctly.  

Warmth pours into Y/N’s cheeks at his innuendo, and she somewhat hates that he can get her all flustered without actually being present. He’s really good at this. A true lucky strike, to put it in his own words.

I’m glad my standards are held so highly, especially since I’m trying to book another advising appointment with you. 

Is that so?

Very much so. How about tonight, if you’re free? I’ve got a dire situation with some wood paneling that I just can’t handle alone.

The vampire’s irises flare crimson red in triumph. It looks like he won't have to put himself through another mortifying ordeal tonight, after all. 

I’m on a tight schedule, Y/N. These expertise are highly sought after, yanno?

Y/N snorts at his pompous joke. “Moron.”

Another text comes in from Harry before she can even think of a response.

However, I think I might be able to squeeze you in for a help session today. Say in about 10 to 15 minutes? 

With newly brightened eyes, Y/N gives the message five repasses to make sure she’d interpreted it correctly. She can’t believe he’d agreed, especially at an hour when most people already have weekend plans cemented for the night. And by the length of time he’d given her to prepare, she’s extremely thankful she’d decided to shower prior to attempting a booty-call. 

Sounds perfect. Do you need me to send you my address or do you remember, by some miracle?

Don’t worry about it, pet. I have a pretty good memory of that night. You made it hard to forget. 

Another layer of heat crawls up her neck and into her ears. She knows this is a casual thing, at best, but for some reason, the idea that he had deemed her unforgettable makes her entire body feel like it’s glowing. She tries to brush it off, chalking up his compliment to how they’d seen each other barely a week ago so of course he remembered. It was fairly fresh in both their minds. 

But Y/N is from an area where she was just another face in the crowd— another timid girl in an ocean of a hundred small-town carbon copies— and she’d certainly never referred to herself as anything particularly special. To have Harry, who is such a refined and attractive person, who most likely has dozens of hook-ups under his belt, call her that? Of all people? It just hits differently. 

She shakes herself out of her head, remembering that a very interesting boy is waiting for a response on the other end of her phone.

Alright, then. See you in 10 to 15 minutes, Mr…? 

Y/N comes to the realization that she doesn’t even know his last name. She doesn’t know the last name of the guy she’d let into her house and between her legs. God, if her parents could see her now...They’d blow California into a crater. 

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles. 

She immediately recognizes the reference, chewing at her bottom lip to keep a tab on a girly giggle. It’s probably not healthy how easily he reduces her into such a dopey puddle. 

Alright, then, Mr. Harry Styles. See you soon?

Very soon. Can’t wait to show you the wood samples I just found.

With a sly smirk dimpling his cheeks, Harry pushes off the elegant stone wall of his luxury bathroom, locking his device and absentmindedly tapping it along his palm as he does a quick mind-sweep of the interaction he’d just had. He’s going to get his needs taken care of—both intimate and carnal— by a girl with whom he meshes with so well, no less. This night has taken an unexpected turn for the better, and he’s never been more thankful for making such a rash decision the morning after a one night stand. 

The shrill boom of an Irish accent breaks Harry out of his flirty stupor, the sound bounding up the stairs of his flat and echoing off the tiles in his bathroom. “Harry, did you fucking desicate up there, you prick?!”

The vampire’s head snaps to the side towards where the sudden intrusion is originating, clearing his throat softly before answering, mostly to anchor himself back into the present. He’d been too busy floating in a daydream bubble to give his friends any proper attention. “I’m on my way down!”

Harry flicks off the light switch to his master bathroom, heading into his dimly lit bedroom and scooping up his wallet from its usual spot on top of the dresser. He tucks it into the wide front pocket of his slacks along with his cell phone, rounding the king-sized mattress at the center of his space, footsteps muffled by the thick maroon carpeting across the ground. He stops under the doorframe, giving his room one last calculating glance to make sure he isn’t leaving anything important behind. Once the creature is sure he’s set, he reaches over and slides the switch meter all the way down until the hanging lamps on the ceiling fade to black. 

Harry clambers down the glass and metal staircase, passing the collection of original paintings organized across the expanse of the largest wall in his home. His friends spot him from the huge couch once he’s halfway down the steps, and of course Niall is the first to make his presence audible.

“Fucking finally.” The blue-eyed vampire groans in exasperation, shooting up from his seat beside Xander, arms falling across his lean chest. “I thought you’d died. Really died.”

Harry dismounts the last stair carefully, heeled boots making a soft clicking sound against the polished light-wash wood of his floorboards. He pushes a few rogue curls out of his eyes, the corners of his mouth jilting upwards teasingly as he regards the fellow immortal. “If I have to keep staring at that shitty paisley button-up you’re wearing, I just might.”  

Niall’s irritated expression shatters into one of sheer hurt, hands fumbling with the silk fabric of his shirt, lips melting into a pained pout as he contemplates it sadly. His tone comes out whiney and defensive. “Hey! I really like this one!”

Harry side-steps the boy, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Your fashion sense makes me question my friendship with you.”

Niall’s face pinches with anger, thick brows furrowing as he roughly swats the brunette’s wrist away. “And your dickhead attitude makes me question mine.” 

Harry’s jade eyes dance with evil glee as he returns his palm to where it had been resting before to give a curt squeeze, his rings playfully digging into the muscle beneath Niall’s top. “And yet here you are, sitting on my couch, waiting to get into my car. Funny how that works, innit? We benefit from one another. Mutualism at its finest.”

The Irish man shrugs himself free of his friend’s hold once again, glaring at him with darkening eyes, but there’s no true malice behind it. “More like parasitism.” 

“So are you two gonna kiss now or what?” Mitch’s soft, mocking voice butts in as he drifts up beside Niall, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark denim straight jeans and his long hair tied back into a low ponytail. He’s wearing a light-wash Rolling Stones t-shirt he’d gotten at a concert he and Harry had attended back in the eighties, along with a pair of scuffed up sneakers. Pretty casual for a club— too casual, in Harry’s opinion. “The sexual tension is killing the audience.” 

The green-eyed boy cranes his sight back onto Niall, raising his eyebrows in question and puckering his lips. “What d’you say, Ni? Wanna kiss this little disagreement better? I’m down.”

The pale young man makes a gagging noise, stepping away. “Don’t know where your mouth’s been. But if your bed fellows have anything to say about it, it’s nowhere good. I’m going to respectfully decline.” 

“There was absolutely nothing respectful in that response.” Adam chimes in, chuckling as he bumps Niall’s shoulder with his own, hands clasped casually behind his back. “You need to work on your people skills.”

“My people skills are fine.” Niall quips back sarcastically. “Harry just isn’t a person, he’s a demon.” 

“Technically, we all are.” The curly-haired vampire points out, walking over to his matte leather couch and retrieving a pin-striped, grey-black fitted blazer from its backrest. He tosses the jacket over his shoulders, shrugging it on and fixing the material over his torso, the curves of the piece accentuating the strong muscles of his back and the dip of his slender waist. “I just don’t care to hide it, really. Especially not when it comes to Niall’s taste in clothes. Which is rubbish, by the way. If that wasn’t clear before.”

“It was.” Niall deadpans, gaze half-lidded and petty.

Harry fixes the sleeves of his coat around his forearms, smoothing out any wrinkles and buttoning the cuffs. He momentarily ducks into the kitchen, his enhanced eyesight spotting the small digital time-stamp of the oven even from across the room. He has less than thirteen minutes before he has to be at Y/N’s flat. He should’ve suggested a longer time span.

Harry turns back around to fully face his crew, situating his collar into place by folding it along the back of his neck, appraising their expectant appearances. They’re all waiting for him. He’s the one driving, after all. 

The immortal clears his throat, hands dropping to pat at his blazer pocket, making sure that his keys are in his possession. He sighs lightly through his nose, a knowing grin trying to force its way onto his lips but he keeps it at bay, wanting to maintain a straight expression to garner less backlash for the news he’s about to break. 

“I’m not going.”

The pause that fills the atmosphere and the blank faces his friends dote are almost comical. Harry bats his eyelashes at them without a single twitch or jerk of his features. He wants them to understand he’s being serious.

After at least ten heartbeats— a guess, considering no one in the room has one to provide an accurate measurement— a raging exclamation explodes from behind the other three vampires in front of him. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Harry watches in mild amusement as Xander stomps up from behind the group, shouldering between Mitch and Adam and sticking him with a glower dark enough to instill fear in any living being. But Harry is hardly living, and he’s definitely not scared of a vampire who’s practically a newborn. Xander’s the youngest of them in terms of the immortality scale— he’d transitioned back in nineteen ninety-six when he was thirty, which gives the illusion that he’s older when in reality, he isn’t— so Harry’s strength easily outmatches his. Xander is basically the puppy of the circle, and he’s certainly yappy and annoying enough to support that title. His lack of age and wisdom is also probably why he’s the most explosive. 

Harry kinks an eyebrow up at the taller, tanned man, looping only one button through its designated hole in the middle of his jacket. That will allow him to show off what lies beneath it while also making sure the article won’t be a pest in the windy California night. “I’m not kidding. Something else came up that...peaked my interest.”

Xander’s fists momentarily clench by his sides and he then folds his arms across his lightly heaving chest, trying to hide his anger away along the insides of his elbows. He spits his words through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his cadence level. “What could have possibly come up so late that you only let use know after we waited for you for over an hour?”

Harry can’t stop himself from smirking this time around, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards with condescension. The statement that he produces is all too familiar to Xander, given that it mirrors the reply he had used on Harry exactly a week ago, when the leader of the group had asked him what his intentions were once they’d gotten inside their club for the night. “I have a date.”  

Xander’s entire face flushes a faint shade of cherry red. His forearms tighten across his body, tone more strained than before as he actively wills himself to remain calm. “A date?”

The shorter vampire smiles at him with fake innocence, working his every nerve like it’s his job. Harry doesn’t know why, but pissing Xander off is always such a delectable pastime. “Yup. With a girl I met last week, actually.”

“You don’t go on dates.” Niall pipes up, looking around at the other men in the room in confusion, almost as if his comment should be obvious. “You rarely even spend the night. Said so yourself.” 

Harry shrugs one shoulder indifferently, checking his reflection in the closest section of the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline, the lights of the cars and buildings below twinkling otherworldly. “I guess it’s less a date and more a booty-call, to be honest. I only agreed ‘cause it’s easier than having to drag my ass to that horrid club you chose to spend hours trying to find someone. This meal’s already prim, proper, and served. And I know for a fact I’ll enjoy it, so there’s no real harm.” 

He turns back to Xander, the man’s peeved reaction tickling him more than he thought it would. “What was that you said last time, Xanny?”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Oh, yeah! I'm just grabbing a to-go box for my already prepped meal.”

Harry’s friend’s cheeks dye a deeper shade of crimson, dark veins webbing across the iridescent whites of his eyes for a flickering second. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Harry counters the angry expression with a bright smile, his dialect dripping with arrogance. “Girls dig it. And you seemed to dig it, too, if I recall correctly. Remember? You might not. Post-orgasm amnesia and all that.” 

Xander takes a measured inhale, releasing it slowly and allowing his anger to ebb away gradually, ignoring Harry’s blast from the past. His next question is physically directed towards their ex-chauffeur, but is truly aimed at the gang as a whole. “Who’s going to take us, then?”

The curly-haired vampire shrugs his shoulders once again, uninterested in the topic that is quickly growing old. “You could take Niall’s car. Problem solved.”

The whole clique lives in the same condo complex, mostly due to convenience. It’s already tricky for vampires to find others of their kind, so it’s a miracle that they’d all managed to end up together in the first place. And it’s an even bigger miracle that they got along well enough to form a tight-knit coven, which is the closest thing any of them now have to family. Living in close proximity is the ideal way of maintaining that rare bond, plus it allows them to help each other in staying safe and keeping their urges in line. 

Since they all live in the same building, Niall’s car is in the garage right beside Harry’s, so transportation shouldn’t be an issue. They just always take his vehicle because he’s the only one that actually enjoys driving. 

“Are you mental? Like actually, genuinely insane?” Xander sputters in appalled shock. “Niall drives like a lunatic!” 

“Oi, piss off! Maybe you should learn to drive then, huh? Instead of having all those guys you shag take you everywhere.”

Xander ignores Niall’s insult, putting his palms up in disgust, backing away. “I refuse to get in a car with him behind the wheel. Dying once was good enough for me.”

“Did I miss the memo?” Niall snaps, glimpsing around at all the monsters standing around him, attitude tight with annoyance. “Y’know, the one where you all just decided to shit on me tonight?”

Harry bursts into an airy cackle, listing his head to the side as he gives Niall a humorous once-over, his dangly cross earring dabbing across the crisp cut of his coat’s shoulder blade. “You don’t necessarily make it hard, love.” 

Niall’s jaw clenches as he narrows his icy blue eyes. “Xander’s right— you are an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, he’s also right about you driving like you’re on tranquilizers.” Adam sighs, running a palm up his face, using his index finger and thumb to massage either of his temples, despite the fact that they lack a pulse. “I guess I could drive? I hate it, but Mitch hates it more, so I’m our best bet. Better than Road Runner over here.” 

“Yeah, just keep talking about me like I’m not present. That’s fine. I’m spitting venom in all your drinks tonight.” 

“Well,” Harry boasts abruptly, interrupting the game of verbal ping-pong happening in front of him, taking a quick peek at his phone for the time. As much as he loves causing some good-natured chaos between his friends, he has less than ten minutes to make it to Y/N’s apartment on time and traffic’s a bitch at this hour. “I have nothing to do with this anymore, so I’m just gonna take my leave. You lot have fun figuring this out.” 

He swivels around on his heel, striding away with his usual haughty air straightening his back, heading towards the corridor that leads to the front entrance of the apartment. The softly lit hallway swallows his silhouette and for the first time since he’d left the secluded confines of his bathroom, he allows a giddy smile of excitement to tweak his lips. Just for a second and not a moment longer. If his friends had seen it, they would’ve taken the piss.

Niall’s accent cuts through the air, prickling at his ears as the glossy, cold doorknob comes into contact with his even colder fingers. “I can’t believe you’d abandon us just to get laid!”

“Lock the door on your way out!” 

///

When a sharp knock echoes across Y/N’s flat, she nearly screams. 

Her nerves have been on edge since the last text she’d received; only after reading that final cheeky message had the reality of the situation hit. 

This isn’t her. This isn’t her at all.

Inviting a total stranger into her home and into her bed was something she’d never experienced before last week. One night stands were very few and very far for her— she could count all the ones she’d had on a single hand, and even then they had been with people she had known to some extent— and it was due to the fact that this type of situation is slathered in mystery and unsureness. Giving herself up in such an intimate manner to someone she wasn’t acquainted to in some shape or form…It comes with a certain amount of risk, both physically and emotionally, which is why she hardly ever engaged in such activities before Harry.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with having that type of exhilarating fun in your life— she praises the women who can go around so confidently and express their sexuality however they please— but she herself had been raised under a roof that was moderate and conservative, and that environment had molded her into the person she had grown up to be. Those traditional concepts ran through the core of her being, and no matter how hard she tried to shake them, they refused to break loose. They weighed on her shoulders, constantly making her second-guess her motives and desires, most of which go against the status quo that had been implemented into her brain from a young age. This— whatever this is— is a huge step for her; it’s the first attempt she’s made to take over her own life and go against the grain she’d been accustomed to her whole existence. 

From the second Y/N had arrived here in Los Angeles and set a foot off the plane, she had been alone. Everyone who cared for her was miles and miles away and she was starting a new chapter on a completely blank page, with no one to guide her hand as she wrote. For the two months she’d spent settling in and trying to meld into her new environment, she had gone at it with a sense of emptiness hollowing the pit of her stomach. No one was there to comfort her during the rough patches, and no one cared enough yet to assure her that things would turn out alright. No one had bothered to tell her she was safe and that nothing would hurt her. No one made themselves available the way people did back home. 

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago. 

Their encounter had been purely for sexual gratification, but during that short time they shared, she vividly remembered him telling her that she could trust him. It was a preposterous statement to make— asking someone to trust you when you didn’t even know their last name— but the gaze in his emerald eyes had seemed so genuine and encouraging, and his voice had been so gentle and soothing, and his touch had been so delicate and consoling...That strange young man— with the pretty curls, intriguing tattoos, and dazzling smile— had somehow managed to untie the knot of unease that had been sitting in her belly for the last couple of weeks. She’s stumped on how he’d managed to wriggle it free; the only thing she can effectively say took a part in it was his eyes. There was just such a glass-like quality to them that reminded her of a mirror. It was like they were reflecting all her emotions back at her, using their familiarity to compel her into a state of mental peace. She’d appreciated it more than she’d let on. 

Something tells Y/N that this is the reason she had contacted him. She wanted to feel that safety net he had provided her with once again. She didn’t need an emotional connection from Harry, she just needed a bit of mental relief. She wanted something to take her mind off all her troubles. Something to distract her, even if it was only for a few hours. And with the way Harry had handled her last time, she knows he’s more than capable of helping her reach those goals. 

Y/N doesn’t think anyone has ever made her feel how Harry had that semi-drunken Friday night. She’d been with a few other people before, and had even been in a long-term relationship with someone she had once thought would end up being her husband, but none of those men came close to this peculiar stranger. 

In the town she was from, it was typical for people to marry their high school sweethearts. It was a small region where everyone either knew one another or knew of one another, so it wasn’t difficult to find someone that could fit into the role that needed to be filled. The person she had found was a boy by the name of Bradley, who she had begun to date their freshman year of high school. 

They’d met through mutual friends and he’d invited her to their first ever homecoming dance, where she had felt like everything was falling into place almost like in a movie. He was cute, with hazel eyes, sun-bleached hair, and freckles that jolted every time he laughed. He was polite, funny, and treated her with enough respect and dignity to keep her hooked for a while. Things had gone pretty well the four years they were together in high school; their relationship wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exciting either. It was just...secure. He was there, and he was willing to give her his attention, and that’s all that really mattered to her at the time. She thought that was all she needed. 

Then graduation came and went, and so did Bradley. He left for college, set on the intention that they would make long distance work somehow. To keep a long story short, it hadn’t worked out how they expected. As the months passed, she noticed he started to separate himself from her more and more. The video chats are what disappeared first; what used to be a daily FaceTime call turned into a weekly one and then, if she was lucky, a monthly one. Phone calls followed the same fate. Texting became a chore rather than something to look forward to and she could feel him slipping, which left her feeling helpless because he was in another state, far away and too out of reach to appropriately solve anything. Energized conversations slowly faltered into five-word messages, which eventually teetered into barely any communication at all. 

When Y/N heard the news that he’d cheated on her, it didn’t even come from him. It came from his roommate. Things ended swiftly after that, which was the saddest thing of all. Almost five years of her life, completely gone to waste. Handling the pain was a whole other misery she’d had to shoulder, alongside the embarrassment and humiliation, which stemmed from the fact that she was aware her peers had heard about the whole ordeal. With the help of her family and friends, she’d eventually gotten over the heartbreak. The weird thing is, she doesn’t think she loved him. She loved the idea of him— loved that he represented everything she had been raised to seek in a relationship. They’d grown up together, their families knew one another, they shared the same friends, they had common hobbies. It was like a match made in heaven, though after it broke off, she quickly came to the realization that it hadn’t been made in heaven at all. Made in a test tube was a more fitting analogy. 

Y/N’s love life after that painfully slow cliche disaster consisted of random boys around town she recognized from school and work. The hook-ups were fleeting and hardly satisfying, but at least they were something. She soon found out that she could do better on her own, but whenever she craved someone else’s touch, she was grateful to have anyone she could get. She’d mainly stuck to the same guys for the sake of consistency; it was easier having people she already knew how to please and vice versa, though she’ll admit it was mostly a one way street. Men can be so clueless sometimes that it’d be funny if it wasn’t so irritating. 

Then Y/N had skipped town and closed off sexually for a while. She had stayed shut down until Harry had walked into her life with that stupid sly smirk and his unorthodox— yet surprisingly attractive—fashion sense, sipping straight tequila like a fucking psycho from the cup in his jeweled fingers. He’d waltzed right onto the stool beside her at the bar, right out of the club with her hand in his, and then right past the doorframe of her apartment, kindly gifting her the best sex of her entire life. He’d worked her every desire with a certain skill and awareness she had never experienced (not from any of her past lovers, and definitely not from Bradley’s vanilla tendencies), dismantling her body as if he’d known her for decades, leaving her sore and aching in a way she didn’t know was humanly possible.

And now here Y/N is, pacing back and forth from her small living room to her even smaller kitchen, chewing along the knuckle of her forefinger as she tries to tie down the jitters running amuck in her belly. 

She repeatedly smooths down the dress she’s wearing, claiming that it’s to get rid of the wrinkles, but in truth, it’s to wipe the dampness from her palms. The outfit had been a birthday present from her cousin the year before and she’s rarely worn it since the move, which is a direct result of her lack of socializing. She only ever really leaves her home for groceries and to attend work, neither of which call for a pretty sundress and strappy tan sandals. Despite having gone out to the club a few times, the dress doesn’t fit that scene either. LA gets a bit chilly at night and she has yet to grow accustomed to the city’s weather. Wearing this after-hours would surely end with her acquiring a mild case of hypothermia. 

The garment is a light blue baby doll design, littered with tiny daffodil prints of varying shapes and colors. It stops about three-fourths down her thigh, fluttering outwards in layered flares, its bandeau-style top held in place by thin straps of the same fabric. She figured she’d deck herself out nicely; from the one interaction she’d had with Harry, she can tell he’s a person of refined taste. It was evident in his expensive clothing and his wide variety of precious rings. She doesn’t know why, but there’s a toiling in the pit of her tummy urging to impress him. 

Y/N’s hair has been freshly washed and blow-dried, her legs thoroughly shaved into silk, and she’d applied a light layer of makeup, done in anticipation that anything heavier would likely end up smeared across her face— a result of sweat and Harry’s dominant persona. Simply reflecting on his commanding sensual presence makes her self-pedicured toes curl in her sandals. 

Y/N hadn’t been sure on how to prepare for his arrival. She wasn’t versed in advanced hook-up culture— her raunchiest experience was in the backseat of someone's 2004 Toyota Corolla. She doesn’t want to get this wrong. Going overboard would make him feel smothered and awkward, but underselling would give him the impression that she doesn’t have any respect for him, save for what lies between his legs. Those are the last two things she wants him to gather from this. 

She’d settled for pulling out a bottle of red wine that had been a house-warming present from the landlord. Not too shabby, but not too loud. And who doesn’t enjoy a cup of half-decent wine on a Friday evening, right?

Y/N had just finished arranging two glasses— which she’d found at the thrift shop down the street for a steal— onto the counter of her kitchen when that swift rapping sound had broken through the tense air of her home, echoing from the front door and causing a yelp to lodge in her throat. 

Ice shoots through her veins. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She takes a handful of penetrating breaths, concentrating on how the cool air feels expanding her lungs. The technique aids in calming some of her nerves, grounding her just enough that she can will herself to move without her knees giving out. Y/N tentatively makes her way down the corridor that leads to her front door, heart hammering against her ribs. She shouldn’t be this riled up— he’s literally already been inside her. There’s pretty much nothing she can hide from him at this point. 

On the other side of the door, Harry is blissfully ignorant to the panic attack threatening to overcome Y/N. 

The vampire leans his shoulder against the frame of the somewhat raggedy door, arms crossed over his thick chest as his gaze bounces judgmentally around all the patches of peeling paint. He chews at a piece of gum— which he’d popped into his mouth on the drive over to make sure he tastes as delectable as always— in slow, lazy motions, jaw flexing as he unconsciously pops an array of tiny bubbles with his teeth, waiting for Y/N to emerge. 

Harry glances up at the flickering light bulb in the hallway of the complex, nose scrunching in distaste at the annoying flashing. She really needs to get a better place, he thinks, reaching up and dragging the pad of his middle finger along the curve of his bottom lip, absentmindedly wiping off a bit of extra chapstick that had colored outside the lines when he’d applied it. He always tries to keep his mouth soft, especially when he knows he’s going to be using it. Plus, the vanilla bean flavor pairs well with mint. 

The sound of a seal cracking open yanks his attention, the door before him slowly swinging inwards. Cool air pours from inside, bathing him in a scent that his frenzied instincts had been subconsciously craving the last couple of days. Harry cranes his neck over his shoulder, spitting his gum out and not bothering to watch where it lands. He turns back just as Y/N’s familiar figure comes into view.

The first thing he notices is the dress. 

Fuck, the dress. 

It’s nothing too fancy, just a casual sundress, but it fits her like it was made specifically for the purpose of testing his restraint. He rakes his gaze up and down her body shamelessly, much like he had on the night they met. 

The light blue background and rainbow miniature floral print compliments her skin tone nicely, making it stand out below the dingy light hanging above their heads. The piece lands about halfway down her thigh, fanning around her legs slightly in frilly folds, tempting him with that bit of innocent exposure. An image of him ripping the dress up her thighs races across the forefront of his mind and he can feel his fangs momentarily break through his gums.  

As Harry draws his sight upwards, the minimal throbbing between his legs only amplifies. The dress cinches just below her bust, accentuating her chest, and he comes to the painful realization that she’s not wearing a bra underneath; she doesn’t need it due to the bralette-like top. One simple tug of his index finger would leave her completely bare and that conclusion causes a sweltering itch to erupt along the back of his throat.

Harry’s irises finally come to rest on her face, finding that the rest of the human girl’s look appears just as it had last week. Minimal makeup, no accessories, and the smell of chamomile shampoo strung through her hair, though it’s easily smothered by her natural scent of flowers and sugar. He also finds that while he had been blatantly undressing her with his eyes, she had delighted herself in doing the same. Watching her gawk at him hungrily caresses his ego immensely, evident in how the edges of his mouth kink. 

Y/N doesn’t mean to ogle, she really doesn’t. But from the instant he’d come into view, standing there propped against her threshold with his ankles crossed and his lean arms folded over his strong chest, she couldn’t control it. He just looks so fucking good— better than last time, which she didn’t think was plausible— and she gets the feeling that he knows he looks borderline godly. 

Harry’s clad in what appears to be a sheer mesh flouncy button-up with holographic threads speckled through the material, shimmering under the dim atmosphere of the hallway. The last three holes of the shirt are left open, exposing his tanned pectorals and thoroughly inked chest. Last time they had been together, she’d been too distracted by the aching between her thighs to properly notice the swallow tattoos along his collarbones and the giant butterfly at the crest of his stomach. But now, she stares at them freely as they expand and contract with his easy breaths, her mouth beginning to water. 

The blouse is covered by a dark pinstriped blazer, the crisp shoulder blades of the jacket complimenting his broad frame as the curves dip along his waist alluringly. The loose top is tucked in along the brim of yet another pair of high-waisted trousers, though they are creme-colored instead of copper. The ironed pants give way to a pair of glossy black heeled boots, which are bedazzled along the back of the two-inch elevation, the jewels twinkling in the shape of a word that she can’t make out at this angle. 

Harry’s collection of luxurious rings and necklaces adorn their usual spots and she gets the impression that he never leaves home without them. His gold cross earring sways back and forth lightly, her warped reflection cast across its surface and staring back at her numbly. 

Harry breaks through the haze his physique had cast on her brain.

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.” 

A shiver slithers down her spine at the deep baritone of his voice, English accent slathered across every syllable and dripping with suggestive teasing. She’d forgotten how sultry he sounds, even when he’s not actively striving for it. 

Y/N’s attention jets up from where it had been pasted to his body, the expression across his handsome features one of snarky self-assurance, which tells her she’d been caught. Indents cave into his cheeks, twitching with glee as he bats his lashes slowly, eyes going half-lidded in amusement. He looks so sinful with those shiny ringlets curling around his small ears, framing his sharp jaw and kissing the nape of his neck, alongside those raspberry red lips and the emerald hue sparkling around his pupils. She can’t tear herself away.

After an elongated second of silence on her part, Harry raises one of his sculpted brows expectantly, letting her know he’s waiting for a response. Heat overflows Y/N’s cheeks and buzzes across the shells of her ears.

“H-Hi. Uh— Nice to see you. Too. Nice to see you, too.”

An odd sense of déjà vu flags in the back of her skull and she’s reminded that this is exactly how they’d met the first time around— with her making an utter fool of herself, much to his entertainment.

The crescent above his top lip curves upwards as a result of his grin widening. He taps the tip of his elegant shoe patiently against the cement ground, arms shifting against his chest and she can see the way his biceps strain the fabric of his coat. He’s just so fit.  

Harry’s tone comes out playful and lighthearted. He doesn’t need to be invited in again since she’s already explicitly allowed him in before, but he asks anyways, out of courtesy. “Can I come in? Or are you planning on taking me dancing or summat?”

The laugh that escapes Y/N is dense with a nervous edge, but it’s better than a stuttering jumble of incoherent words. She moves out of the way, flushing her back to the wall of the tiny entrance corridor and leaving just enough room for him to squeeze by. “Yes, come on in! Sorry.” 

“You’re alright, darling.” The tall vampire steps forward into the mortal’s home, turning sideways as he does so, chest pressing against her own. He glances down at her lips for a flash of a moment, then back to her eyes. “Thank you.”

Y/N’s grip on her doorknob tightens. She looks up at him through her lashes, bottom lip barely trembling. “No problem. Thanks for coming over on such short notice.” 

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth, pressing it to the inside of cheek as he absorbs the mildly erotic image of Y/N decked out in a frilly dress, glancing up at him shyly as her chest heaves slightly against his own. “Well, I couldn’t leave you to handle that pesky wood paneling all on your own, now could I?”

A smile ghosts over her delicate lips as she shuts the door and locks it, not breaking eye contact. “How generous of you. My hero.” 

Far from it, love.

Y/N slips out from where Harry had wedged her to the wall, beckoning him after her with a gentle turn of her head. The creature tucks his hands into his front pockets, following her down the narrow stretch. They drift past her room (he makes sure not to look in and spare himself the horror of seeing that dumb tapestry) and past her bathroom, into the expanse of her living area. It’s just as small and cozy as he remembers it and he can’t stop himself from scoffing lightly as his sight drifts over the couch. Good memories. 

“Would you like some wine?” Y/N’s question carries softly from inside her kitchen. She’s already gripping the glass bottle in her hand, attempting to pull out the cork, and she hadn’t thought of needing a wine-opener until now. Fuck. 

Harry makes his way to join her, passing underneath the archway and taking the spot across from the girl. He leans his lower back on the counter, hands remaining perched casually in his slacks. “I’d love some.”

“Great.” She huffs, twisting stubbornly at the spongy cap with all the might she can muster, the rough surface scratching her palm. “Let me just— just get this open.”

Harry’s head lists sideways as he wards off a chuckle. “Want some help?” 

Y/N releases an irritated grunt, shoulders slumping a tad as she fails to get the top loose. She holds out the bottle towards her visitor, titling it from side to side in surrender. “Be my guest.” 

The immortal pulls his hands out from his pockets, taking the container from her grasp and the human notices how they dwarf the bottle. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. 

Harry wraps his ring-clad digits around the cork, giving it one easy twist and Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off as she hears a pop tinge the air. Harry offers her the wine and cap in return, licking his lips to avoid laughing in her face. Supernatural strength always delivers. 

“How…?” Y/N’s owlish eyes flicker back and forth between Harry’s cocky expression and the object in his hands. “How did you even...?”

The brunette gives her a nonchalant shrug. “Guess you loosened it up for me, Thor.” 

She gingerly takes the beverage and its accompaniment from his outstretched palms, blinking at him in mild shock. Her slight unease is swiftly phased out, however; a result of his cute banter. It was probably just a lucky coincidence. “I guess so.”

Y/N pours out two glasses of the dark red liquid, handing one to Harry, feeling her heart skip a beat when he wraps his hold around the stout flute and their fingers brush. He stays like that for a heartbeat, with his icy digits sifted between hers, the amber specks in his irises glittering like diamonds. Then, the moment is over and he pulls away slowly, guiding his drink up to his plush lips. She hates how he can leave her so breathless without a single hitch. 

The girl watches as Harry takes a leisurely sip of the alcohol, his gaze dancing around her kitchen curiously as she finishes recapping the bottle and scooting it into the corner of the counter. 

A thought dawns on her as soon as she focuses back onto the boy before her. Harry looks weird. He looks so weird standing in her small, dingy kitchen with its worn wooden cabinets and fake marble tabletop. He looks so out of place, dressed head to toe in designer brands and fancy fabrics, hands and neck decorated with posh jewelry, and the unmistakable smell of an expensive cologne wafting from his masculine throat. And he most certainly is out of place when it comes to who he’s associating with. He’s out of Y/N’s league, not only physically, but in his behaviors, as well. It’s so obvious it almost hurts. 

Yet here Harry is, looking polished and stylish, while she’s sporting a mere sundress that was probably bought off the clearance rack at Kohl’s. It just doesn’t mix, and she finds herself wondering why he’d chosen her in the first place. When she had voiced similar concerns the day they’d slept together, he had told her it was because she was timid and he wanted to see if he could break through that. But Y/N isn’t stupid. There has to be some other reason. Why else would a rich bachelor pay attention to a small-town runaway in a measly floral—

“I like your dress.”

Y/N glances up at Harry from where her mind had fallen, startled by the sudden interference in her dark thoughts. She’d been tracing across the slope of his structured jaw, mesmerized by how it would grow taut every time he swallowed down a gulp of his beverage. 

She had ambled so deep in her head, she barely manages to mutter a passable answer. “Oh, thank you! I’ve had it for a bit, but I barely wear it.”

The edges of the vampire’s mouth quirk around the rim of his glass, creases wrinkling along the corners of his bright eyes. “It suits you nicely. A beautiful dress on a beautiful girl.” 

Y/N’s belly somersaults, a sheepish giggle running along the undercurrent of her next mumble, so low it’s hardly audible. “Thank you. Again. Thought I’d bring it out for a special occasion.” 

Harry’s eyebrows jump upwards at her comment. He draws his wine glass from between his lips, resting it against his hard stomach and gifting the human a cheeky once-over. “So I’m a special occasion, now, am I?”

Y/N looks down at the straps of her sandals, fighting off a grin. She shrugs one shoulder offhandedly, bringing her cup to her mouth and taking a long drag of the sweet liquor, feeling it wash across her tongue and leave a warm glow in her tummy. “Maybe.” 

Harry hums teasingly in his throat, tapping his pinky pensively along the bottom of his glass, opal ring clinking against the crystalline surface. The color of his drink makes the black polish on his nails stand out almost artistically. “I’ll take any compliment I can get, especially from those pretty lips.”

Another wave of heat flushes across the apples of Y/N’s cheeks. “You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”

The monster tips back another swig of wine, savoring the notes of wild cherry and pomegranate in its palate. Not bad, especially for what he can tell is a ten dollar bottle. 

He cocks his head to the side, irises glitzing knowingly amidst his long lashes. “I think we’re both aware that I most certainly know how to flatter a girl.” 

Y/N’s stare snaps up to lock with his, the faintest whimper stringing her vocal chords. If it wasn’t for Harry’s heightened hearing, he would have never known it’d happened. But he does, and he can feel the throb between his thighs spike as a result. The sounds she makes are just as wonderful as he remembers.

The sexual tension suspending in the room is practically palpable. After a bundle of her heartbeats— which is gradually rising in intensity— echo in his ears, he decides to speak up again. 

“I’ve been thinking about you.” 

The statement can be taken into so many different contexts and that’s why Harry chose it. She could interpret it as innocent admiration on behalf of a smitten lover, or as another layer of sensual praise. It’s versatile, successful either way. 

Y/N blinks at him exactly three times in surprise. “You have?”

She’d been thinking about him, too. Non-stop. And now that she knows it’s mutual, she doesn’t feel so nervous anymore. It reassures her that they’re on the same page of this messy novel written about their undefined association. Or that they are at least within the same chapter.  

Harry bobs his head in confirmation, indulging another sip of wine, letting it filter through his taste buds slowly. His glass is almost empty. “Mmhm. Walked past this candle store at the mall the other day and they had one burning that smelled just like you.”

His confession is sweet and it makes the tips of her fingers tingle. Y/N copies his action, taking another gulp of her beverage, attitude airy and inquisitive. “Is that so? And what do I smell like?”

Harry’s response is immediate and confident, almost as if he’s spent time thinking on the subject prior to today. “Honey and lavender.” 

Y/N nods her head in wonder, laughing gently. “That’s oddly specific.” 

Harry feels like he’s been smacked between the eyes with an iron rod. That was an idiot move. Absolutely moronic. 

He just now comes to terms with how intimate the comment he’d made had been. It suggests that he’s pondered on this topic, which gives the impression that he could be more interested in her than he actually is. He doesn’t need this loose connection turning into some type of cliche romantic comedy; he doesn’t have the space, patience, or emotional stability for it. And certainly not with someone he’s only fucked once. 

The vampire clears his throat, figuring that he can clean up this metaphorical spill by throwing a bit of crudeness at it. “Then yesterday I had a donut, yeah? One of those cream-filled ones. And when I took a bite of it, all the cream just came oozing out and I was like, ‘hm, this reminds me of someone…’”

The slightly endeared expression on Y/N’s face crumbles to dust, voice shrill and indignant at his lewd analogy. “You fucking perv!” 

Harry sputters into a round of boyish cackling, nearly wheezing when her foot reaches over and strikes him on the shin. He clasps over his stomach with his free hand, head falling back in glee as her features pinch in embarrassed disgust. He manages to speak between bursts of giggles, water gathering along his tear ducts due to how hard he’s laughing. “I’m just being honest!”  

“No, you’re being a gross little fourteen year old asshole!” Y/N exclaims incredulously, but she can’t keep herself from joining in on his boasts of amusement. 

His laughter is contagious. It’s loud and unapologetic in a manner she rarely sees in anyone and he just looks really fucking cute with his dimples jolting and smile lines creasing. It’s hard to stay mad at him, though it’s not like she’d truly been upset in the first place. 

Harry reigns himself in, inhaling deep breaths and wiping at his tears with the back of his large hand as a joyful groan rumbles in his chest. A few more giggles sneak out when he sees Y/N’s flat expression, but he manages to stifle the rest. His tone is jesting, poking fun. “If it makes you feel any better, I was respectful enough to wipe the donut down with a napkin, as well.” 

“Fuck off.”

Harry grins down snidely at the last inch or so of alcohol left in his glass, bringing it to his mouth and downing it all in one go. He places the cup down carefully on the counter behind him, his arms finding their way across his stomach, fingertips momentarily tapping at his elbows. He appraises a playfully grouchy Y/N, pursing his lips to hide a smirk. 

He watches as she takes another small taste from her drink, her pulse lulled by its contents. She’s not drunk by any means— not even buzzed— but it had helped calm the tittering in her throat that Harry had been able to detect earlier. She’s relaxed now, all anxiousness washed away by the small serving of liquor and his inappropriate (and extremely funny, if he does say so himself) jokes. 

The creature thinks it’s proper time he gets what he came for. 

“I really am glad you reached out, though.” Harry starts, an easygoing smile nudging across his alcohol-swollen mouth. “Truly.” 

Y/N snorts sarcastically, attempting to hide how his comment had made her pulse sharpen. He’d heard it anyways. “Oh, are you? Truly?”

Harry pushes himself off the edge of the counter, slowly sauntering over to Y/N, who instinctively draws back further against the tabletop behind her. She ogles at him from below heavy lashes, glass still perched between her tinted lips, excited anticipation written all over her body language. He can practically feel the heat radiating off her, rising a few notches the closer he gets. 

“Yeah.” Harry’s arms unfold, one stretching over her shoulder to prop his palm against the cupboard behind her head, the other fiddling with the seam of his blazer. He slides his forefinger and thumb along the single buttoned hole, giving it a rough tug and allowing his jacket to spring open. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun interior designing with anyone. Not for a while.” 

Y/N glimpses down at where his coat had parted, drinking up the sight of his lean torso behind the see-through material of his shirt. Now that he’s nearly pressed against her, his scent is stronger than before, burying her under smoky notes of vanilla and seasoned firewood. A familiar heat pools between her clasped thighs. 

When she pipes up, it’s shaky and whispered, covered in a dreamy undercurrent. “Yeah, me either. It felt...nice.”

Harry’s irises flash crimson for a millisecond, but she’s too occupied gawking at his tight stomach to notice. His dialect takes on a low, seductive twang, the breath of his words fanning across her face. All she can smell is wine, mint, and...vanilla chapstick? 

“It felt really nice.” 

Y/N’s view drags up to land on his lips. They look as soft and appetizing as last time, tempting her to just drop her flute onto the floor and replace it with his mouth. “Extremely nice.” 

An outside force suddenly tips her glass upwards and she realizes it’s Harry’s fingers. He nudges her cup until the liquid inside funnels towards her mouth, his intentions set on helping her finish it off. She drains the wine obediently, staring up at him dazed and moony, feeling a few drops escape along the sides of her mouth and tickle down her chin. The jade-eyed boy then gently pries the glass from her fingertips, reaching over and placing it inside her sink to be handled later. 

Y/N’s hands fall flat against his thick chest, feeling it rise and fall steadily below her grasp as he takes a step forward, their bodies completely flushing together. His palm trails up the exposed sliver of her thigh, diving a couple of inches below her dress and giving the outer area a hard squeeze. He doesn’t go any further; he won’t until she explicitly asks for it. He’s a prick about a lot of things, but never consent.

Harry leans down, running the tip of his cold nose along her clenched jaw, his warm tongue peeking out to collect the streams of wine that had dripped out. The contrast in sensations makes her knees buckle and what he murmurs hotly against her skin doesn’t help in calming those motions at all.

“Wouldn’t mind making you feel that nice again.” 

Y/N’s mind stalls, overwhelmed by his touch and smell. She can feel him sponging tender kisses at the corner of her mouth, and she can feel the palm of his hand massaging at her thigh needily. She can feel his breaths quickening in pace the longer he’s around her, and she can feel the foundation of a moan building in his lungs in the form of small vibrations, which run across her palms and twitch her fingers. She can feel everything; she’s never been more hyper-aware of her surroundings than now. And all because of this one mysterious young man. 

When Y/N finally speaks, Harry feels relief flood his system, though it is swiftly replaced by intense desire. 

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.” 

That’s full permission if he’s ever heard it. 

Harry’s other hand drops from its spot against the cupboard behind her, joining its partner on her opposite thigh. He coasts his palms fully below her flowy dress onto her hips, a lascivious simper crawling across his cheeks at the lack of extra fabric beneath her clothes. “No panties tonight?”

The human swallows heavily, shaking her head as she leans it back against the wooden cabinets, giving him access to her throat. At the sight, the vampire’s fangs protrude, cutting into the inside of his lower lip as venom fills his mouth. He wills himself to maintain control. It’s difficult, considering his sharp eyes can make out the chiseling of her arteries pumping blood just beneath her delicate skin, but he forces composure into his behavior nonetheless. With all of the lights on and Y/N completely sober, he knows he won’t get away with another mid-fuck stunt like the one he pulled last time they were in this position. 

Instead, he distracts himself with what he can draw from her at this very moment— another unbelievable orgasm. 

“Such a filthy little fucking thing.” Harry growls, smearing his lips down the center of her jugular, nipping love bites into her flesh but making sure not to split it open. “S’that how bad you wanted it when you texted me? So bad that you didn’t even bother to wear anything underneath?”

Y/N whines softly when he passes over a particularly tender spot along her neck, shuttering against his chest. “Y-Yes.” 

A low chuckle rolls from Harry’s wandering tongue as he hones in on the area that had coaxed such a delicious reaction. “Fuck, that was such a pretty noise. Are you sensitive here, baby?”

Y/N nods with fervor, running her touch up his pectorals and over his strong shoulders, diving under his coat and fisting at the mesh that strains across his muscular back. Her eyes roll closed, her next confession coming out in the form of a feathery sigh, legs parting wider for him to comfortably fit in between. “I just...I just need you.”

Harry eagerly accepts the invitation, sifting between her thighs and hiking them up onto his hips. The fact that he can suspend her so effortlessly, almost as if she weighs nothing, makes the pit of her tummy boil. “You need me now, d’you? How much, doll? Want you to tell me how much you missed my cock.” 

The young woman winces ever so slightly at the crude word and it amuses him to no end. “So fucking much, Harry.” 

He can confidently say his name has never sounded sweeter than when it trickles from Y/N’s tongue. 

When he speaks, it’s packed with all the pent up turmoil radiating deep in his abdomen. “Did you think about me the way I thought about you?”

Y/N’s reply falls breathily from her mouth without any hesitation. “Y-Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

A cocky hum tinges the air on his behalf. “And why’s that?”

“Because…” The girl struggles to swallow, finding it difficult to match how easily brazen he can be. She pushes through. “Because you fucked me better than anyone else ever has.” 

The compliment is one Harry gets often, but for some inexplicable reason, it hits so much deeper coming from Y/N. “Mm. Poor baby just needed to get properly rawed, didn’t you?”

“Had no idea how badly I wanted it until you came along.” 

A dark chuckle rolls from the creature’s lips at her bluntness. He repeatedly passes his textured tongue over the pressure point on her throat, flames igniting in his chest when she releases another watery, desperate mewl. “God, look at you. Practically already dripping. Like it when I play with you like that?”

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

And so Harry keeps going, and he doesn’t stop. Not at her neck, and not anywhere else. Not until she begs him to hours later, when he’s whittled three orgasms out of her trembling body, each one more intense than the last. 

The first one takes place right there on top of the kitchen counter. He boosts her up onto the table, bunching her pretty sundress around her quivering thighs— as he’d fantasized prior— while she fumbles with his trousers. He tends to her every breathy whimper as she eases him out of his briefs, marking his teeth all over her throat with the assurance that his blood will fade the bruises by morning. He tears his jacket down his broad shoulders, panting into her mouth as she undoes all the buttons that line his elegant iridescent shirt, moaning softly when she breaks their kiss to paint her hot lips down the expanse of his heaving chest and tight stomach. Y/N ducks down as far as her angle will allow, wanting to taste as much of his skin as she can. She wants to memorize its salty smoothness for as long as she lives. 

Harry watches her with bliss-drunken fondness twitching his mouth, head falling back to hang between his shoulders as a low, “Such a good girl.” rumbles from his throat. His ring-clad fingers tangle into her locks and scratch at her scalp lightly, strained exhales encouraging her to keep going as she delights herself with tainting love bites all over him. He yanks the girl back up by her roots, grabbing her hips and roughly scooting her forward towards him, clammy foreheads pressing together as he fixes to fill her up for the first time in what feels like eternity. 

The monster’s voice is as dominant and thick as she likes it. “Eyes up here. Want to see you come undone while I fuck you.” 

The way he spreads Y/N open makes her choke out a scream like nothing else she’s ever heard. Harry simply clamps one of his palms over her mouth, continuing to ram into her at a harsh stride, gasping against her ear with every thrust as she rakes her nails across his back. “Gotta keep that pretty mouth quiet. Thin walls.” 

The human feels like her heart is going to break through her ribs and what she doesn’t know is that with every passing beat, Harry feels it tenfold. And it’s driving him fucking insane— she drives him fucking insane. Especially when she looks at him with that glossy, begging gaze, biting into the mound of his hand as he slams his hips inside her so hard, the glasses in her cupboard shake. “Like it when I give it to you rough? Yeah, I thought so. Just like that? Harder? Say please…Christ, you’re a fucking angel.”

Y/N is dirty. So fucking filthy, and Harry loves every second of it. Loves that anything he throws out, she returns with as much enthusiasm, if not more. Loves that she can take his cock as hard as he’s willing to give it, which says a lot, considering his stamina and strength usually surpasses most humans. He’d met very few mortals who can match his sexual prowess and she happens to be one of them. She not only takes it, but pleads for more. She doesn’t just seek her own pleasure, but insists on delivering his own. And though they’re polars opposites at their core— she’s timid, physically standard, and boringly normal, whereas he’s confident, attractive, and unusually superior in every sense of the phrase— they fit together better than he’d ever care to admit. They’re perfectly compatible, down to their personalities and their intimate needs. 

As Harry stands there— fingertips leaving welts across her waist as he grunts brokenly against her throat, stretching her out like she was meant to take him this deep, her moans sounding like classical melodies to his ears— he thinks that maybe...maybe he’ll keep her around. A friends with benefits situation would be the most ideal. And to quote his own clever motto from before, it would be mutualism at its finest. 

The alliance would be nothing emotional; simply for the sake of providing each other with requited relief, as well as providing Harry with a convenient feeding arrangement. Neither of them would have to submit themselves to going to those terrible clubs, they both already know what the other enjoys, and the banter they share is pretty fulfilling. Plus, her blood is one of the sweetest he’s ever had. Whatever magic lies in her veins tides over his cravings in a fashion he’s never quite experienced. They both get what they want and don’t have to deal with the disasters of real commitment; neither are in a place in their lives where they can shoulder such a big responsibility. Harry is emotionally unavailable, as he has been for the past two centuries and as he intends to be for the next dozen. Y/N has just started anew in a place where she has so little to give and so much to lose, dating is the last thing on her mind. A casual no-strings-attached arrangement would be a perfect gift, bow and all.

And with the way they make each other cum multiple times that night— once on the counter, and twice on that trusty old couch— there’s not a single doubt in Harry’s mind that this is most definitely mutualism at its peak. 

///

During the span of the next few weeks, Harry learns a lot about Y/N. It’s surprising how informational someone’s sex habits can be. 

The second week after they had met— and the first since their second very heated, very satisfying encounter— she shoots him a text on Wednesday, of all days. 

Harry isn’t doing anything particularly interesting when he receives her message. He had gone to see Mitch play at the bar that had recently booked him as a semi-permanent gig, sitting in the booth furthest in the back from all of the ruckus, fingers tapping along the waxed table to his best friend’s skilled jazzy guitar chords. Mitch always teases Harry about how he doesn’t have a job, which the vampire always waves off. Working for money is stupid and unnecessary; any materialistic wants and needs that plague him, he can get with the help of compulsion. Therefore, what’s the use in condemning himself the horrors of customer service or a constricting office cubicle? 

His best friend is halfway through his set when Harry’s device vibrates against the sticky surface before him, tittering fingers coming to an abrupt stop. He flips over his iPhone, eyes flickering over the screen, a coy grin spreading its way across his blushed lips. Y/N’s contact beams up at him in return. He’d set her profile as just her name alongside three disco ball emojis, for the sake of their little inside joke. 

I’m getting off work a bit earlier than I thought today and was wondering if you wanted to help me with my ceiling fan.

Harry bites into his bottom lip to muffle a chuckle, shaking his head lightly as he stares down at the comical request. 

That’s odd. Last time I was there, you didn’t HAVE a ceiling fan.

Y/N sits on her lunch break in the backroom of the cafe where she’s employed, a veggie wrap halfway suspended towards her mouth when Harry’s text bloops in, pointing out her embarrassing mistake. She blinks at his correction blankly, eyes closing in faint humiliation as her true intentions are now painfully clear. 

After a second of recollection, she types back some damage control, though it hardly has an impact. Harry’s already chortling to himself just thinking about how contorted her face must look at the moment.

I’m aware, thank you. I meant I wanted help picking one out. I’ve got a few tabs saved as potentials. 

He decides to be a little shit about this whole thing, continuing to mock her.

You could just send me the links right now and I can tell you which one I like. You know that, right?

Y/N knows that. She also knows, by the tone and texture of his response, he’d only mentioned that alternative to be annoying. He knows she’s not talking about ceiling fans, and he just wants her to chase after him. Unfortunately enough for Y/N’s pride, she’s more than willing to.  

I just think your opinion would be much more valuable and effective in person, since you’d be able to help me search for other ones at the same time. We’d cover more ground. Two heads are better than one!

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

I personally think so. A dynamic duo for the books, honestly.

A soft round of applause cuts through the air around the vampire, signaling the end of Mitch’s performance. Harry glances up to see his best friend mounting his guitar back into its case, smiling bashfully at the crowd and nodding his head in thanks to all their praise. Harry coins his luck; things couldn’t have wrapped up at a better time. 

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

Y/N stops mid-chew through a bite of her meal, cheeks puffed as the corners of her mouth twitch at his nerdy reference.

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7. 

I’ll see you there, then. 

See you there. Also, why do YOU get to be Sherlock? Seems a bit sexist. 

Harry rolls his eyes at her quip, smirking to himself as he types out his final response.

Well, first and foremost, I’m literally English. Secondly, last time I checked, I’m always the one in control. And frankly, you seem to like it that way. See you at seven, darling.

And at seven on the dot, Harry’s outside her apartment. His friends would be amazed at his punctuality. He only shows it when it’s worth the trouble.

The creature walks up the steps to the mortal’s complex with his Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, keychain tucked into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, and his tan Chelsea boots clicking against the cement ground. A light wind whips his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt against the broad muscles of his back, drawing a soothed sigh from his lungs. He loves the California weather. 

He gives her door three swift knocks with his ring-clad knuckles, stepping back from the entrance and clasping his large hands behind his back as he waits. 

When Y/N answers, Harry tilts his chin down a smidge, looking at her over the brim of his chic black glasses with his signature dazzling smile dimpling his cheeks. He lists his head slightly in a formal greeting. “Detective.” 

The girl’s irises flit up to the ceiling as amusement twitches her lips. She plays along. “Nice to see you again. Detective.”

She moves off to the side, beckoning him to come in and he gladly takes the offer, striding into the flat and down the narrow corridor he’s grown quite familiar with. Y/N follows him back into her living room, gaze quickly drinking up his appearance. He’s casual today— less jewelry, more comfortable clothes— and he works the normal fit as effortlessly as he works his fancy brands. Especially with those tight dark jeans. They hug his thighs in a fashion that should be illegal. 

Harry twists around on his heel to face her, reaching up to remove his sunglasses and tucking them along the collar of his tee. A handful of curls fall across his forehead, framing his face and sculpting his jaw, as usual. A sweep across Y/N’s physique tells him everything he needs to know. 

She’s still in her work clothes, clad in a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of dark skinnies similar to his. Her hair is down, though the strands have a dent that suggests she’d been wearing a ponytail. Her mascara is smudged a tad under her seemingly tired eyes, but her attitude is as bright and lively as always. She appears messy, but he likes it. It’s a type of unconventional beauty that’s natural and genuine, which he can appreciate.

He contemplates her with a certain slyness that makes her shift in her socked feet. 

“I got a message earlier. Sounded kinda frantic.” He drifts closer to the human, a sultry tension growing taut between them. He glances upward for an instant, as if recalling a thought. “Something about ceiling fans…?”  

Y/N chews into her cheek to keep from giggling, allowing him to press his chest to hers. He slowly begins to back her up towards the shabby couch, which has seen this interaction happen one too many times. “Yeah, I’m thinking of getting one. Figured it’d help. It just gets really hot in here sometimes, y’know?”

“Mmm…” Harry thrums in agreement, deep in the back of his throat. His hands crawl onto her hips and grasps them somewhat roughly, index fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans as he leans down to brush his soft lips over her own. She’ll never grow tired of the electricity that passes through them every time their mouths touch. It kindles her needs unlike anything else. “It does get pretty hot in here sometimes. Especially if you’re working up a sweat.” 

He pushes her further towards the sofa, movements gradual as she drifts backwards, careful not to trip her. She glimpses down at where their lips are flirting, breath hiccuping when he licks his lightly in anticipation, his tongue just barely grazing her Cupid’s bow. “Absolutely. A fan would definitely help relieve some of that stress.” 

“Yeah.” Harry nudges the tip of her nose with his own, feeling her grab at his biceps for security as he continues inching her backwards blindly. “It can work wonders for when you’re all pent up, too. Especially when you’re really tight, which I know for a fact you are.”

The backs of the girl’s knees hit the edge of the couch and she topples into its cushions. She sits up onto her elbows, sheer need inking into her irises as he patiently begins to undo his belt. His long, nimble fingers work with ease and he seems to be in no particular rush, which pricks at her nerves because she feels completely the opposite. She’d been thinking about him since Friday night— or rather, Saturday morning, when he had actually stayed for breakfast that time around. 

Y/N had sat on top of her small dining table while he took the seat before her shirtless, leaning forward with his arms crossed nonchalantly over her lap as she fed him bites of lemon blueberry pancakes. The pads of his calloused fingers had drawn random shapes across the warm skin of her thighs, attempting to cheekily slip beneath her pajamas shorts and he’d giggle boyishly around mouthfuls of food every time she would swat his hand away. He looked so fucking pretty that morning, with his curls tangled in tuffs and the vague imprint of her teeth scattered across his grinning mouth, angry red scratches decorating his bare shoulders. That wholesome yet dirty image had left her head spinning for days. 

The sound of Harry’s zipper ripping open blinks Y/N back into the present and she nearly gawks as he grabs onto the hem of his graphic t-shirt and yanks it over his head, arms crossing as he does so. He tosses it onto her playfully, laughing as she smacks it away from her face and gives him a deadpan look. Harry leans forward, propping his palms on either sides of her head and bracketing her in, the unmissable scent of his delicious cologne invading her senses as his dark tattoos ripple over the lean tendons of his stomach and arms. His strangely cold forehead flushes against hers and he nips at her top lip, tugging it between his teeth and releasing. His voice comes out as deep and hypnotizing as ever. 

“Get undressed for me. Want your thighs wrapped around my head.” 

Harry comes to find that for such a reserved girl, Y/N has a pretty intriguing sexual mindset. She’s open to a lot of stuff he’d never expect from a rural-town escapee. Her kinks surprise him, but pleasantly so, considering they cross over with a lot of his own. She’s into choking, which he adores. There’s nothing hotter than feeling her pulse slam against the palm of his hand as his array of rings mark into the delicate skin of her throat. She likes being restrained, which translates into Harry pinning her wrists above her head while he slams between her drenched thighs. It’s difficult to achieve that on the sofa, so they end up rolling across the rug on the floor, her legs tangled around his hips like a vine as he pants into her mouth, damp hair flopping over his forehead and tickling her eyelashes. Ideally, he would have used his belt to tie her hands to a headboard. If they were at his place, he would’ve just reached for the metal cuffs he has hanging casually off the railing of his bed, which he keeps there for easy access. But they’re in her living room, so he makes do with what he can. 

The vampire doesn’t stay over that night, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he promised Niall he’d help him out with a car issue. Apparently the motor is making a weird noise and Harry isn’t shocked one bit. Niall barely has the brain cells to be alive, much less to handle the upkeep that comes with owning a vintage vehicle. He thanks Y/N for a good time as he slips into his tight jeans and recovers his sunglasses from the floor, pulling his tee over the already fading hickies littering his collarbones, fitting his accessory into his sweaty curls. 

Harry leans down to where she lays limply, splayed over the couch where he had placed her after picking her up off the ground (only after he’d made her cum twice). He plants a nonchalant farewell kiss to her parted lips, thumbing over her bruised nipples jestingly and grinning into her mouth when she whimpers. “I’ll see you later, Watson. Let me know which fan you decide to buy.” 

Two days later, Harry’s phone chimes again, this time with the unique ringtone he’d assigned just for her. 

He’s relaxing in his bathtub, submerged up to his chest in hot water mixed with Epsom salts and jasmine bubble bath, his locks sudsy with shampoo. He’s in the middle of shaving his face, dragging the straight razor (his time in the nineteen thirties made him picky towards any other tool, especially those simpleton plastic ones) down his jaw carefully, making sure not to nick the little moles under the corner of his mouth. When his device goes off, he halts all his motions, glancing over from the hand mirror he’s holding before his face. He’d changed her contact name to Watson as homage to their funny little dynamic, but he’d kept the disco balls in their place. He respects the roots of their acquaintanceship.

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

He had a nagging suspicion he’d hear from her today. It’s another Friday night, after all. He’s just happy she’d texted earlier than last time so he can flake on his friends without forcing them to wait for an hour. 

Wow, you chose two day shipping? You must be itching to see me.

Don’t let it go to your head. The only thing I’m itching for is your professional opinion. 

Right. Well, me and my professional opinion are washing up at the moment so give me thirty minutes and I’ll be there, yeah?

Sounds good to me, Sherlock. 

Harry decides on an outfit that falls at the center of his dressing spectrum— something comfortable but not lazy. Something semi-formal. He doesn’t really have to impress her anymore (not that he had to try that hard in the first place) but he wants to look good, either way. There’s nothing wrong with showing off what he has, both physically and wardrobe-wise. He chooses a horizontal-striped fitted tee made of thick cotton, the lines alternating between brown, beige, and a light caramel. He tucks the shirt into a pair of mid-rise corduroy flared pants that are a dark mustard shade, shrugging on an olive green jacket with red and white stitch detailing along the edges, large images of cacti embroidered along its expanse. His pearls, cross necklace, and he opts out of his earring this time. Rings, vanilla chapstick, mint gum. Keys, wallet, starch white Vans. 

Before he knows it, he’s being roughly pulled into her home from his spot just outside her threshold, his cherry-lacquer nails carding into the silky hair along the nape of Y/N’s neck as his teeth skim over the hollow of her throat. The human grapples to push his coat off his wide shoulders, backing further down the small hallway of her flat and kicking the door shut. She holds his head firmly to the sensitive spot in her neck that he’d toyed with a week prior, and he can’t resist the way his eyes blink crimson— a hunting impulse, stemming from the sound of her blood rushing through her carotid artery. He hadn’t fed last time— vampires only need to feed once a week to avoid desiccation— so he surely intends to tonight. 

Harry’s hands fit perfectly around the dip of her spine, pulling her body tight to his as he paints sloppy kisses over her jugular. He gets his teasing words out in between desperate gasps and breathy chuckles. “And here I thought this was genuinely going to be about the fan.”

“Shut up.” 

Y/N makes a sharp turn, tugging him into her room instead of the living room and it dawns on him that this is the first time they’re going to fuck in her actual bed. All those instances of sleeping together and not once had they done anything on the piece of furniture that was intended for that sole purpose. It’s ironically hilarious and he voices that opinion as they stumble onto her mattress. 

“You know,” Harry murmurs into her mouth as she shoves him flat onto the rumpled sheets (she hadn’t made her bed this morning and that’s endearing, for some reason), straddling his lap as she hurriedly pulls his t-shirt out from along the waistband of his trousers. “Out of all the times we’ve done this— which is quite a few— we’ve never done anything on your bed other than sleep.” 

That’s a lie. He’s never actually slept in her bed. After staring at the ceiling blankly two weeks ago for about eight hours, he had been smart enough to grab his phone from his pants the second time around. He spent that stretch of time playing Mario Kart and watching Unsolved Mysteries on Netflix with the volume down just out of human earshot, so as to not disturb her slumber. 

Y/N ducks in order to drag her wet, pillowy lips down the butterfly inking on his tummy and over the spines of the two ferns on his pelvis, licking across his happy trail. He jerks in response, a soft grunt gurgling in his lungs as she uses her index finger to trace the outline of his hardening cock through the velvet fabric of his slacks. Her voice is distant, giggle breathless. “Yeah, you’re right. How counterintuitive.”

Harry swiftly pops the button of his trousers, helping her coax them down his legs, releasing a stuttery moan when she immediately bends down and mouths at his prick over his briefs. The soiled stain forming around the tip of his cock would be embarrassing if he didn’t know she found it hot. 

His tone is tight but humorous as she continues licking at him eagerly through his underwear, nails digging into his inner thighs. “Am I your first?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes for a moment before she realizes the joke. He’s referring to if he’s the first person she’s slept with on her new bed in her new home. “Yes, you are, actually.” 

Harry’s juts his bottom lip out into an overly-sweet exaggerated pout, talking in a honeyed drawl. “Aw, I get to christen your bed with you? We’re practically married now. When’s the baby due?” 

“God, you’re a moron.” Y/N bursts into a fit of laughter as she mounts back onto his lap, pinching at his torso in fake spite and feeling her insides flutter at the airy giggles that escape him. She gnaws on her bottom lip thoughtfully for a second, watching with hunger as he finishes removing his shirt and momentarily sits up to chuck it onto the ground over her shoulder. 

Harry falls back onto the mattress, folding his taut arms behind his neck, biceps flexing with the movements as his strong chest and toned stomach look as appealing as ever. She runs her palms over his tanned skin, feeling the sturdy muscle shift beneath her touch. Shit.

The immortal slinks his head to the side, eyes going half-lidded in suggestive mischief as he sees the way she’s objectifying him. He doesn’t mind; he actually lives for it. “Are you just gonna keep staring or are you gonna fuck me?”

His lewd comment washes warmth across Y/N’s ears and spurs her into action. In less than a minute, she’s fully unclothed, bouncing on his cock with a type of need that boils the pit of Harry’s belly. His fingers are digging bruises into her waist, slamming her down onto his prick with enough force to make the old bed creak wildly. She may be on top, but he’s still the one pulling the strings. 

Y/N collapses forward, anchoring herself onto her forearms on either sides of his head, burying her face in his auburn ringlets. She bites onto her tongue, trying to keep a tab on the atrociously loud sounds threatening to spill from her mouth. They come out as broken whines instead, which Harry drinks up like a glass of aged bourbon. She fists at his roots, jolting with every thrust he gives upwards, her knees digging into his love handles to keep balanced. At this point, she’s barely riding him at all. He’s just ramming himself into her from below as he guides her hips and she doesn’t have an issue with that at all. She likes when he leads.  

His growl comes out low and raspy, riding on a moan, his warm, choppy exhales pebbling her bare nipples. “How’s that, darling? How’s that cock feel?”

Y/N nods her head frantically, not trusting her tongue to form an appropriate response. 

“Tell me.” He grits out through bared teeth, back arching a bit as he feels the knot of white hot pleasure in his stomach twist and turn. 

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

One of Harry’s hands coasts down the small of her back and onto her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. She yelps at the new sensation, pain and bliss intermingling. “Yeah, you fucking can. You will. Use your words. Tell me how much you like it.”

A violent shutter runs through Y/N’s limbs and she instinctively pushes back against his palm. Harry’s eyebrows kink in question as he feels her draw her face back from his hair. One look at her eyes tells the entire narrative: She wants him to spank her. 

Harry slowly lifts his hand from her skin, brows raising a bit higher for confirmation. Y/N smears his lips against his forehead and left cheekbone, bobbing her head desperately, whispering a tiny, “Yes, please.” that sends smoky tendrils of hot air cascading down his straining neck. 

When the vampire’s hand comes down, it’s fast and hard, his cold rings biting into her flesh and leaving welts, the sound echoing off the glossy walls and tall bookshelf in her room. The cry that betrays her could probably be heard down on the main floor of her complex. 

The shattered noise makes Harry sanity slip and he’s lucky she’s too lost in her own bliss to see the way his eyes glow dangerously red. “Fuck, you’re such a slut for it.” 

Harry suddenly boosts himself forward, toppling Y/N backwards until she’s the one wedged against the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into the crook of his sweaty collarbones, cracked cries pooling into the junction of his clavicle as he hikes her roughly up his thighs. He sinks further between her legs until he bottoms out with a loud garbled groan, pushing so deep she can feel him in the trench of her belly. 

“Oh my God, Harry— I— fuck, just—just— oh!”

His pace rises in intensity, strokes messy and unforgivable as he fucks her into the bed, the cracking of the frame warning him that it might give away. “Oh, so you liked that, did you? Like it when I call you a slut and stretch you out like one?”

Harry feels Y/N’s teeth rip into his shoulder in order to evade a scream; a strong shiver pin-balls down his spine as a result. Her voice is absolutely wrecked as she talks over her muffled mouth. “Loved it. Loved it so much. Want—Want more. Please, please, please.”

Harry holds her down firmly to the sheets, pounding into her with a form of unrestrained force he’s never exhibited. She just drives him to the brink like no one else has in nearly twenty decades. “Can you feel me in your tummy, pet? Can you feel how I fill you up?” 

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?” 

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”  

“Hands off.” 

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.” 

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind. 

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.” 

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked. 

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better. 

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts. 

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged. 

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then. 

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level. 

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that. 

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold. 

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him. 

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane. 

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home. 

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him. 

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device. 

I need interior design advice. 

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time. 

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh. 

Genuinely? 

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot. 

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it. 

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl. 

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall. 

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry? 

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide. 

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback. 

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits. 

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall. 

Immature? 

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry. 

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs. 

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks. 

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries. 

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up. 

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her. 

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours. 

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play. 

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex. 

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective. 

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures. 

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet. 

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.  

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.  

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue. 

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs. 

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect. 

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching. 

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh. 

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives. 

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark? 

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache. 

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief? 

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else. 

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her. 

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry. 

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants. 

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants. 

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly. 

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way. 

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot. 

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack. 

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally. 

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background. 

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination. 

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish. 

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes. 

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever. 

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going. 

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours. 

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it. 

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure. 

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core. 

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right. 

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth. 

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now. 

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen. 

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit. 

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders. 

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance. 

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person. 

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

[canarygirl1017]

Ghosted - Chapter 3 (Teaser)

Pairing: Reader / Jungkook, Reader / Taehyung (past relationship, friends to lovers to friends)

Genre:  College!au, fluff, angst, supernatural drama, smut, friends to lovers, emotional trauma, hurt/comfort

Length:  2, 933k words (partial chapter)

Warnings:  language, episodes of anxiety, panic attacks, sexual themes in later chapters.

Summary:  Living in a world full of things only you have the ability to see, growing up with Jungkook has been your island amidst the chaos. But when your best friend makes an impossible request, your friendship is fractured, and your sudden decision to cut ties and move abroad changes everything. Three years later, Jungkook is thriving at university as he begins his junior year. He’s a star athlete, member of a popular fraternity, and every girl’s ideal boyfriend. He tells himself that he’s long forgotten you and the friendship he never had a chance to mend – that is, until you show up on campus as a transfer student with new friends in tow. It’s been three years, and everything has changed, but the biggest change is you. Your new found determination to use your abilities to help the ghosts you used to live in fear of, no matter how dangerous it might be, makes Jungkook fear he’ll lose you before he has a chance to fix what he broke. College AU.

Disclaimer: Just for funsies, I don’t believe in real-life shipping. But I like to write, and I like fandom, so here we are. Please do not duplicate this work or repost anywhere else without permission.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Ghosted Playlist

Chapter 3

“You ready to go?”

You turned to see Taehyung leaning in your doorway. He was wearing flared jeans and a green paisley silk button-down shirt. The open butterfly collar revealed a vintage Chanel gold medallion, and he’d added light green sunglasses to complete his retro look.

Taehyung had picked out your outfit – a short, cream colored wrap dress with an abstract floral design and long flared sleeves. Knee high rust red boots and pin straight hair completed the look, and for once you felt like a match to his fashionable appearance.

You held up a finger as you opened your jewelry box, looking for the vintage garnet drop earrings you’d found to complement the outfit. You slid them in, moving your hair back to admire how they dangled and caught the light.

“Okay, I’m ready,” you said, turning to find him behind you.

“Almost,” he said, pulling a small box out of his pocket.

“Tae,” you said reprovingly as he opened the box and took out a ring. The antique gold setting was beautiful – an oval opal surrounded by a halo of garnets – and it looked perfect when he slid it onto your right ring finger.

“Now you’re ready,” he said, looking pleased as he stood back to check your appearance.

You raised a brow. “When did you even have time to shop for this?” Taehyung’s little surprise gifts were something to which you’d become accustomed over the last few years, and your attempts to discourage him were usually ignored.

He shrugged and as always, his sheepish grin disarmed you. You reached up and adjusted his collar.

“You look like you’re ready for a Vogue shoot,” you said, smiling back. “The poor girls at this party won’t know what hit them.”

“That’s why I have you to protect me,” he replied.

It was Friday, the final weekend before classes started, and the welcoming activities had ramped up in the last week. You and Taehyung had attended some of them and declined others, but you’d committed to the biggest events of the weekend – tonight’s Musical Eras mixer and tomorrow’s Movie Night on the Quad.

The mixer was being held at the Kappa fraternity house, something that had almost made you reconsider attending because you were certain to run into Jungkook again as you had for the last week. While your anger had cooled, you still felt that knot of anxiety in your stomach whenever you saw him, wondering if he’d still be angry or if he’d just pretend you didn’t exist.

So far, his attitude fell somewhere in the middle – when he saw you and Taehyung together at the supermarket, he tried to hide his reaction, but the little muscle ticking away in his jaw was a dead giveaway. A couple of days later, you saw him in the park while you were walking Yeontan and for once, he didn’t look big mad at the sight of you. You were alone and had considered trying to talk to him, but he was with friends. Not wanting to invite public rejection, you waved at the group and hurried away, noticing the little wrinkle between his brows as he watched you go.

Jin, Jimin and Jimin’s girlfriend, Ayeong, had all been by the house a couple of times. Sera had also visited with her mother, accepting Taehyung’s offer of a house tour since Sera’s mother was interested in how the historical home had been renovated. Jungkook was noticeably absent, though Jin seemed certain that he’d eventually come around.

You weren’t so certain of that. In all the years you’d been friends with Jungkook, you’d never seen him so deeply upset with another person. If someone upset him, he might avoid that person for a while, but he always got over it, and you’d never seen him blow up at anyone the way he had with you.

You always thought you knew him better than anyone, and he you, but now you had to acknowledge the reality of this situation – three years had passed, and the truth was, you didn’t know this Jungkook. Worse, he didn’t know you either and you had no one to blame for that but yourself.

________________

Stepping into the Kappa house was like stepping back in time. The large house had several rooms downstairs, each of which reflected a different decade of music, and everyone had taken their costumes just as seriously. You laughed when Jimin and Ayeong met you out front dressed as Sonny and Cher.

“Very nice,” you said, gesturing to Ayeong’s dress.

“Thanks, I love yours too.”

Thought it was still early, the party was already a crush of people circulating between the rooms. Younger guys, probably freshmen, circulated with drinks on trays which they offered to guests.

“Pledges?” Taehyung asked Jimin as he took a beer.

Jimin nodded. “They have to put in an hour according to a schedule and then they’re free to party. That’s as close to hazing as we get here.”

When Jimin offered you a glass of wine, you shook your head. “I don’t really drink much when I’m…” you paused, unsure how to finish the sentence without being weird. “When I’m out.”

You could see that Jimin understood what you meant. “Got it. We have a dry bar too if you want to call it that.”

Ayeong linked arms with you. “I’ll show her. I’m not really in the mood to drink either.”

The dry bar turned out to be pretty impressive, with lots of juice, sparkling water, club soda, and even fruits you could add. You settled for club soda with a splash of raspberry juice and slices of lemon, while Ayeong created a tropical drink.

“I know Jungkook is being… well, difficult. But I just want you to know that Jimin is so happy you’re back,” Ayeong said. “He said you were all friends since kindergarten.”

“Jimin was always one of the sweetest people at our school,” you replied. “It was really easy to be his friend.”

“Not much has changed then,” Ayeong laughed. “What about Jungkook? Jimin says he wasn’t always such a fuckboy.”

You choked on a sip of your drink. “Jungkook is a fuckboy?”

“Well, a nice one? I think he only hooks up with girls who want the same kind of no-strings fun, so there’s never any drama related to it. He’s not the type to get serious though, which is why I’ve told Erin she needs to move on from her crush.”

Fuckboy Jungkook wasn’t something you could really imagine, nor did you want to. You chose not to think too closely about why it bothered you so much.

But once you spotted him across the room talking to a group of girls, you couldn’t shake that image from your mind. He looked good. Really, really good. He was dressed in tight red pants, a black silk button down, and he’d completed his Michael Jackson Thriller homage with a red leather jacket trimmed in black. When he laughed at something one of the girls said, his dimples appeared.

“I’m surprised Jungkook is wearing a costume – he almost never does,” Ayeong commented.

“He kind of stopped wearing them by the time we were in high school,” you said. “But this kind of party, plus a Thriller homage, is pretty on brand for him.”

“Oh, that’s who he’s supposed to be! I’m really bad at guessing all of these costumes.”

You and Taehyung stuck with Jimin and Ayeong, who introduced you to people you hadn’t met yet. Everyone was welcoming, but two hours in you were starting to feel a little overwhelmed by the crowds and the noise. There was also the fact that ever since Jungkook became aware of your presence, you’d felt his eyes on you. You’d hoped his neutral response to you at the park was progress, but you could feel his judgmental stare like a brand.

Every time you glanced over at him, his impassive expression was contradicted by some blazing emotion in his eyes. You reminded yourself that you’d known this would probably be a struggle – that Jungkook would likely be angry with you for leaving. Emmie had even said that no one mentioned your name to him anymore.

You’d just underestimated how much it would hurt.

___________________

Jungkook almost skipped Movie Night on the Quad because he was in a foul mood after the Musical Eras mixer. Seeing you there with Taehyung in your matching costumes had made him inexplicably angry, something Jin called him out on.

“Shouldn’t we be glad that she has good people in her life?” Jin asked him when he stomped around the kitchen the next day, slamming cabinets as he fixed a late breakfast.

“He’s right,” Jimin said. “Plus you know that she and Taehyung aren’t together, right?”

That made him pause. “They look like they’re together.” Fucking matching costumes and all, he thought viciously.

“They dated, but Ayeong said y/n told her it’s been a while since they were together like that. At least six months or so.”

“Who the hell follows their ex-girlfriend to another country? And buys a house?”

“If you took the time to get to know Taehyung, you’d understand that he feels like y/n saved his life. He’s committed to helping her with the ghost hunting because of that, but he also genuinely cares about her. So do Namjoon and Chloe,” Jin said. “They’re all good people.”

“Whatever,” Jungkook muttered, shoving cereal into his mouth.

“Forget it, Jin. He won’t admit the real problem, and we all know his anger default setting when it comes to y/n is because of that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jungkook demanded.

“You’re jealous. You’ve always been jealous of anyone that got close to y/n,” Jimin replied calmly. He crossed his arms and sat back in his chair.

Jungkook grit his teeth. “I’m not jealous.”

“Really? So every time a guy expressed interest in dating her back in high school, and you very pointedly warned them all off, that was you just being what? A good friend?” Jimin rolled his eyes.

“Who? Like Lucas? You’re damn right I warned him off. He didn’t deserve her.”

“What about me?” Jimin asked, a challenge in his tone. “I told you that I liked her our sophomore year, and you shot down that idea so fast I was afraid if I pursued it, it would actually ruin our friendship.”

Jungkook stared at him, shifting uncomfortably. “Because you weren’t serious about it.”

“Says who? I was dead serious, Jungkook, and you know it. For that matter, I think even Lucas was serious about liking her. He never said a word about her that wasn’t totally respectful.”

“Yeah, because he knew I would beat his ass,” Jungkook said.

“You’re right – everybody knew that. Why do you think people steered clear of her? Why do you think Grace hated her so much? I told you that Grace wasn’t as nice as you thought she was. Yet you still held tight to y/n with one hand while you chased after Grace. And I figured it was just a matter of time until you realized how you really felt about y/n, so I let it go. But damn, Jungkook, you need to stop taking out your anger on y/n. Let her explain why she left.”

No one spoke for a moment. Then Jungkook asked, “Has she told you why?”

“I asked her,” Jin said. “But I think she’s waiting to talk to you first.”

Jungkook tried not to think about what Jimin said, but now that he was here on the quad, and you were just a few feet away, it was all he could think about. Jealousy.

He couldn’t deny he hated seeing how close you were to Taehyung. The way the other man touched you, or kept a protective arm around you, pissed him off. The way you smiled at him made him even angrier. Still, beneath the anger was something else – a yearning for the way things had been. No one had ever understood him the way you did, and he missed that connection with you.

It was his fault you left. That little voice in the back of his head kept reminding him that you weren’t the only one to blame for this vast distance between you now. He kind of understood why you’d left, but he didn’t know why it had taken you so long to return.

He kept stealing glances at you rather than watching the movie playing on the large screen set up on the quad. You’d been to the concession stand, and he wasn’t surprised to see you eating gummy bears since that had always been your favorite movie snack.

You looked pretty. Your hair was a little longer now than it had been in high school and fell in gentle waves around your shoulders. You wore another floaty little summer dress, the kind you had always liked, small feet encased in comfortable flat sandals. You and Taehyung had joined Jimin, Ayeong, Erin and Jin on a large blanket towards the front of the crowd.

Stubbornly, Jungkook had opted to sit with some of his friends from the baseball team. He was still close enough to watch you – to hear your voice – to just observe you while his mind sorted through his confusing thoughts and emotions. You had glanced over at him a few times, as if feeling his eyes on you, a silent question in your own. And somehow, he knew that you understood that he needed some time.

At the intermission between films, you went with Ayeong and Erin to the bathroom. Jungkook got tacos from a nearby food truck and when he returned, he noticed that you were the only one missing from the group. A few minutes later, Taehyung was frowning at his phone after making a call that had gone unanswered.

“I’m going to go check on her,” he heard the other man say as he stood up.

Jungkook hesitated for a few seconds before following him. Taehyung had his phone to his ear again, though again there seemed to be no answer.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asked as he caught up to him.

Taehyung turned and scowled at him. Then he sighed. “Ayeong said she stayed back because she got a call from her mom that she needed to answer. Maybe it’s nothing, but she’s been gone for almost twenty minutes, so I just want to make sure nothing happened.”

Jungkook nodded and then they were silent as they walked around the buildings that were still open. The campus was well lit, so it was easy to see the faces of people walking to the dorms or back to the quad. When they didn’t see you anywhere, Taehyung made another call.

“Chloe, I need you to ping y/n’s location and send it to my phone.” He listened for a minute. “Maybe nothing but I can’t find her and I don’t know – I’m getting a weird feeling. Okay, thanks.”

Taehyung’s unease was contagious, and Jungkook shifted from one foot to the other as they waited. Then Taehyung’s phone vibrated, and he studied his screen for a moment before gesturing for Jungkook to follow him. After walking for a few minutes, Jungkook realized they were heading towards a park where students often had lunch or relaxed between classes.

And there you were, a silent, ghostly figure swaying in the moonlight as you hummed a strange tune.

“Fuck.” Taehyung started running.

Jungkook was right behind him. When he reached you, he tried to take your arm to turn you towards them, but Taehyung stopped him.

“Don’t touch her,” he said, a note of warning in his tone. “She’s in a sort of fugue state, and it’s safer if she comes out of it herself.”

Rather than argue, Jungkook walked around to face you, but froze when he saw that your eyes were unfocused, and almost… glowing? It was clear that you didn’t see him, though he was standing right in front of you.

Jungkook’s heart was pounding now. “How do we make her do that?”

“There’s something else here,” Taehyung explained. “It probably tried to communicate with her. Sometimes, if she lets her guard down, or if the spirit is especially powerful, she gets sort of… pulled to the other side. It’s usually because they’re trying to show her something.”

Swallowing hard, Jungkook nodded. “Okay. How do we make her come out of it?”

“We can’t make her, and if we try, it can cause severe shock. She’ll already be in a state of shock when she comes to on her own, so we have to be careful. I’m going to go get the car. You wait here with her and just keep talking to her, okay?”

“Can I touch her hands?”

“Carefully,” Taehyung said. “Don’t pull her or shake her, and don’t try to make her move.”

“Okay.” Jungkook pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Jin, I need you to come to the park right now. The one behind the science building.”

You were still humming and swaying when Jungkook reached out to touch your hand. There was no response, so he carefully took both your hands in his.

“Jesus, your hands are freezing,” he said quietly. “You never dress right for being out at night. You know that you get cold even when it’s not that cold, right?”

He squeezed your hands carefully in an attempt to warm them up. There was no response from you, your eyes still fixed on something he couldn’t see.

A/N: I know it's been a long time since I posted, and I'm sorry about that. If you're still reading, I'll get the rest of the chapter up this week, and there is some fluff in the future as Jungkook and y/n start repairing their relationship. I hope I remembered all the people who asked to be tagged (and got the tags right.) If you’d like to be tagged for updates, let me know.

Tag list: @ggukkieland @jikooksgirl19 @waves-and-woods @kookiesbreaky @koochiekoo @monvieesdaebak

[unknowncountrygirl]

Sand Through the Hourglass Ch. 2

Chapter 2: First Days

Diagon Alley, as it was called, was completely overwhelming and Ben found himself choking on bile more then once. He and his parents had actually been escorted by a different Professor at the school, who explained everything to them and showed them around like they were on some sight seeing tour and life was all happy rainbows and butterflies.

He had to admit though, going inside the wand shop and actually letting the wand 'pick him' had been exciting. He felt a buzz seem to rush through his veins, and it was the first moment that he realized that this was real and it wasn't some sort of dream.

The list for school was slowly collected, and when they returned home, Ben went straight to his room and hid under the covers of his bed knowing he would only be able to hide there for a few more days. Four days to be exact, and then he would be put on a train headed for this Wizarding school, away from his parents and away from his Nana. He buried his face into his pillow, he hated this, and he wondered if there was any going back.

A horrible thought crept into his mind, the realization that there was no going back from this. So he wept. He cried himself to sleep, until his pillow was damp from tears.

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

His parents and Nana dropped him off at the train station. Nana had kissed him gently on his forehead, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. This would be the first time he was more then a few minutes walk from her, and Ben knew that in all honesty, it was harder on her then it was him especially since his grandfather had just passed away a few months earlier.

“I'll write, I promise.” He had told her.

On the train, Ben had found a empty compartment and ran inside, locking the door and pulled down the blinds. What was he thinking, why was he here? His brain yelled at him as he plopped his head into his hands. Laughter could be heard outside along with fond farewell's and his heart began to ache, already missing his parents and his Nana. Ben reached inside his bag and pulled out a book Nana had bought him to read on the train, and pulled out the photo of his family he had placed inside. It was a photo from a few months prior, right before his grandfather passed away.

He held the book close to his heart and let out a long sigh, and said a silent prayer. Please, send me someone I can connect to. I can't do this on my own.

He looked out the window, looking at the parents and students going to and fro, when his eyes were pulled to what he could only describe as an ethereal glow. A young girl, more then likely a first year like him, pushed her cart with her trunk, and a cage that had a kitten inside, and he was drawn to her immediately.

Her hair was pulled back into a braid, almost white, and a silvery tinge to it. Ben had never seen hair that color, and it almost radiated it's own light. Her face was round, a pink flush across her cheeks and nose, and then he found himself feeling what he could only describe as lost when she looked up at him and their eyes met. Her eyes glimmered and glowed, reminding him of his Nana's heirloom opal, and Ben was sure this was a trick of Magic. Because no one actuallyreal looked like this girl.

Then she was gone, disappeared into the crowd of people and his hell began. There was a ruckus in the train, down from where Ben was sitting and he watched as s few kids walked past his cabin. But one girl stopped and looked in at him. Violet eyes, dark hair with the oddest orange streak that looked like a cow had came up and licked her straight on the forehead. He hoped they would make eye contact, and she would move on, but no. She smiled devilishly and opened the door.

“Hello, Mudblood.” He had no idea what exactly that meant, but he could tell that it wasn't a good nickname.

“I-I don't want trouble. Just leave me alone.” Ben tried, knowing he was basically backed into a corner.

“Well you should have thought of that before you came here, and stole a wand from a legitimate wizard.” She told him while she shut the door and drew the blinds on the door. The train began to move, and Ben's nightmare began. He tried to escape but was met with a berage of hexes and jinxs inflicted upon him by this girl that were just painful. He even at one point was able to break away and escape the room, running to hide in a different part of the train. But she just followed and tried to find him time and time again.

He finally was able to make his way into the trunk car and hid in there among all the luggage. He found himself curled in a corner, and cried again. He honestly didn't know how much more he could cry. He knew he would be judged if he couldn't get his emotions and fears under control, but it was honestly all to much.

He looked at the bruises on his hands and arms, and he knew somewhere he was bleeding because there was speckles of blood on the sleeves of his sweater. He yearned for home, for his own bed, for the safety that home ensured.

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

The train slowed, and Ben emerged from his hiding place to finally lay eyes on the castle. His jaw dropped at the majestic old castle that the school was home too, and for the first time he felt his heart flutter for joy.

A boatride and a stern talk by the same witch who had shown up at his doorstep... And they were headed to the sorting ceremony.

“Iris Rosewood.” Minerva McGonagall called, and Ben looked up in time to see the ethereal glow start making it's way forward, and he saw her again, the girl from the train station. He filed her name into his memory bank, Iris Rosewood. His mind supplied the purple and yellow flowers that his grandmother used to grow in front of her house when his Grandpa was still alive.

A low hum fell across the room, students murmured and whispered as the young girl approached the sorting hat and stool. Her hair was now half pulled up into a ponytail at the back of her head, and loose curls twisted and curled around her shoulders and neck.

Despite the whispers, the girl held her head high, more mature at eleven years old then most adults Ben had saw. Her shoulders were straight as she walked up to the podium and sat. The hat had barely touched her head when it yelled at the top of its lungs,

“GRYFFINDOR!”

There was a roar from the Maroon decorated table as the blonde smiled and hopped down to join her new House mates. Her smile reach from ear to ear, and her already radiating face became even brighter as she sat at the table.

He knew very little about each of the four houses, the idea of the Wizarding World was still so new to him and very overwhelming. He understood that Gryffindor was the House of those who's best attribute was bravery, which he knew was not his going to be his house. Then there was Ravenclaw, the house of the wise, something he thought himself to be as he had always had good marks in school. Hufflepuff was the house of those that were loyal, which again he considered himself to be. Then there was Slytherin, the house of the cunning. Again, not something he saw himself as much.

Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff he would surely be sorted into.

He watched a pink haired girl be sorted into Hufflepuff, and a red haired girl into Ravenclaw. A brunette girl with a orange highlight in her bangs and a tall intimidating boy were sorted into Slytherin. Next came a girl with raven hair and glasses, who was after some deliberation, sorted into Gryffindor where she and the blonde girl hugged each other ardently.

Ben watched the girls for a moment, there was something about the blonde... Iris, that just seemed to glow even inside the dimly lit castle, like she was the light keeping the room aglow. He tried to tell himself it was just her hair, or that it was her eyes, a light blue that he could see from practically across the room. That's why she glowed, it was just her hair and eyes being so fair in contrast to the dark lighting and dark architecture of the school.

“Benjamin Copper.” He physically felt his heart hit his belly when the older woman with grey hair called his name to come to the sorting hat. He slowly made his way to the stool and hat, feeling like he was either going to vomit, pass out or both. Probably both.

By shear magic, he managed to make it to the stool and the hat was laid on his head.

“Hmmm... Very interesting, I see, very interesting indeed.” The hat hummed. “You have an exceptionally brilliant mind, overflowing with talent.... Excellent Ravenclaw candidate, but I also see deep seeded loyalty in your heart, loyalty and love so deep, I haven't seen this in years...”

“Please just put me in Hufflepuff...” Ben practically begged.

“Oh no... I see a spark in your heart, a spark that could ignite into a blaze... Oh yes, I know exactly where to put you-”

“Wha-”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

What. The. Hell. Ben's mind supplied as the hat was lifted off his head and the table of maroon and gold went wild.

He had been sorted into the house of the brave. He slowly made his way to the table and sat down across from some red haired boys, he felt pats on his shoulder and knew people were

congratulating him on being sorted into the house but they seemed to be in a fog.

The house of the brave, what on earth was that blasted hat thinking?

“Welcome! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!” The Headmasters voice boomed out, causing Ben to look up to the aged man. “The past few years have seen a great weight lifted from our world. The boy who lived, Harry Potter, is safe. Years from now he will be old enough to attend Hogwarts. For now, it's your turn. Remember, while you are at Hogwarts, your triumph will earn you house points, while rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the team with the most house points will will the house cup. I hope each of you will be a credit to your house...” The Headmaster continued as the feast began.

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

On the first day of class, he found himself in Charms, and soon he found the seat beside him being filled, by Iris. She placed her class schedule on the desk while she dug around in her bag, and he peeked at it. It seemed that he and her shared a very similar schedule.

“Good morning.” She smiled his way, and he looked up meeting her eyes. He managed a smiled back, and then suddenly felt nauseous and looked away. Periodically through class he would glance over and look at her profile, because something about her just seemed... Familiar, and it wasn't because of the train station.

Her features were so soft, so sweet, that she put him in mind of the Princess's in the Muggle stories that people went to war for. Then his brain made the connection, why he seemed so drawn to her... Memories flowed, and his grandfather's voice filled his head, he closed his eyes and relived the memory of him sitting by a fire as his Grandfather read from a book. Galadriel the maiden crowned with a garland of bright radiance. The Lady of the woods, one of the greatest of theElves in Middle-earth, she surpassed nearly all others in beauty, knowledge, and power.

The biggest difference, was that Galadriel had more golden hair, and Iris's hair was much more white-gold, almost silvery, in nature.

The class was attempting to do a spell, and once they were given the all clear to try casting, Iris's wand lit up, creating Lumos on her first try. Ben was stunned, and couldn't help but stare in awe.

“Congratulations Miss Rosewood, you preformed that charm better then any first year I've seen.” Flitwick praised her, and her face lit up as she thanked him.

Ben, to his utter shock, was able to light up his wand on only his second try. His heart beat was loud in his ears, and he felt like he was flying at the joy and pride he felt in himself at casting his first spell.

“I think you're light is brighter then mine,” Iris whispered to him as she pointed her wand tip towards his. He noted her glow was more white, and his had a more red hue to it.

“Why are they different colors?”

“Depends on the core, I think.” Iris explained. “Is yours Dragon heartstring?”

“Yeah.”

“Mine is a hair of my Mother's, so it's like mine.” She pointed to her hair, and Ben nodded. As the class started to light up their wands, he could see different hues of colors. It was noting short of magical, and he found himself smiling, genuinely smiling.

When class was dismissed, Iris left the room rather hastily after class and he headed out after her. He found himself walking behind her, and hoped that she didn't notice him or if she did he hoped she didn't think he was a creep.

She turned the corridor to head towards the potions class and disappeared from his view for a few seconds. Then he heard a symphony of voices.

“Just admit it!”

“I can't!”

“Say I'm the most powerful witch at Hogwarts!” He peaked his head around the corner, knowing who's voice that belong to. He had heard it in his dreams, taunting him and causing him pain.

“It's logically impossible! I've made lists of the most powerful witches and wizards at Hogwarts based on multiple factors. You're less powerful than Professor McGonagal, Professor Sprout, Madam Hooch, Madam Promfrey, every single fifth year. You're just a first year like me.”

“I'm nothing like you.” The Slytherin girl shouted, stomping her foot like a petulant child.

“Get away from her!” Iris shouted, marching straight up between Rowan and the Slytherin girl.

“Who do you think you are!”

“Iris is the one who should be claiming to be the best witch. Professor Flitwick said she cast the best wand lighting charm of any first year.” Rowan defended.

“Iris? Now I know exactly who you are...” Merula drawled, “you're Iris Rosewood. Your brother lost his mind, disgraced his house, got expelled from school, and was never heard from again.”

“Annnd you are?” Iris questioned.

“Merula Snyde. First year Slytherin. The best witch at Hogwarts. I overheard the professors whispering about you at the feast. I suppose you think you're better than me? I should put you out of your misery before you ruin Hogwarts like your brother tried to.”

“Truly, I want no trouble. I'm not my brother.” Iris explained, holding her hands up.

“You don't have a choice.” Merula pulled her wand and stuck it in front of her nose and Ben almost jumped, fearing she would inflict the same pain on Iris she had him.

“You're just afraid I'm more powerful than you.” Iris almost taunted.

“Let's find out who's more powerful right now...” But before Merula could cast any spell, Professor Snape walked out of his classroom where the three girls were standing.

“Rosewood, I knew you would be trouble.” He greeted, and Ben felt righteous anger flow through his veins.

“Professor Snape!” Merula gasped.

“Merula was bullying my friend, Professor Snape.” Rowan tried but Iris motioned that it was ok.

“Get to Potions Class. Be thankful you aren't headed to detention.” He warned, showing Merula into his classroom.

“Thanks for standing up for me, Iris. I've never been very strong. Or good at making friends. I'm glad you and I are both in Gryffindor.” Rowan told Iris.

“Did you hear what Merula said? Why would the professor's be talking about me?” Iris asked her, trepidation in her voice.

“I don't know, but we better get to potions. We're in enough trouble as it is.” Rowan encouraged, and Iris laughed.

“I have a feeling we're going to be in trouble a lot in potions.” The blonde joked.

Ben finally gathered enough courage and followed the girls inside, and took a seat with a couple of the other Gryffindor boys, thankful to be across the class from Merula, and fairly close to Iris and Rowan.

After class, Ben decided to approach Iris.

“You're Iris Rosewood, right?” He asked, knowing full well who exactly she was. She looked up at him from where she was rummaging around in her bag and they locked eyes again. Blue met brown and Ben felt a entirely new sensation of nervousness. They were extraordinarily blue, like a aquamarine gemstone, with little flecks of gold near her iris's.

“Yes. Who are you? We never formally introduced each other in charms.”

“I'm Ben Copper, I'm a first year Gryffindor just like you. I wanted to thank you for standing up to Merula in the corridor earlier.”

“Who told you I did that?”

“I was... watching from the end of the corridor.” He admitted sheepishly. “I've been following her so she can't sneak up on me and if she sees me, at least I'll have a chance to run away. She tormented me the entire way here on the Hogwarts Express. She kept threatening me, and calling a me a Mudblood.” He watched as Iris's eyes flashed in shock when she heard him use the last word.

“That's terrible! I'm so sorry Ben!”

“Merula is obsessed with being the best witch in our year, and she thinks she has to impose her will on us to prove it. I'm just glad that someone was brave enough to stand up to her. I'm certainly not. It's a joke that I was sorted into Gryffindor.” He explained to her onestly.

“Everyone is afraid of something, Ben.” Iris told him and he almost laughed.

“Unfortunately, I' afraid of everything. I come from a Muggle family, so all of this is new and scary to me.”

“If it's any consolation, I know how you feel. I come from a wizarding family and this is still hard for me too. I'll try to help you however I can.”

“Thanks Iris. I'll be seeing you around then?”

“Yeah. I'll see you around.”

He and Iris passed each other on many occasions, and sat with one another in classes here and there, but she was busy with her other new classmates. He on the other hand tried to keep his head down and have no one notice him.

Still, he couldn't help but feel what he would describe as a gravitational pull towards her. He would see her in the library, and even if he couldn't sit with her, he would sit near her. When he could sit with her, he seized every opportunity. Mostly that was Charms, and thankfully he seemed to be quite skilled in that class.

Iris would congratulate him every opportunity she had it felt like, and would ask him for tips on how he would master a spell so quickly. He felt like on occasion it was just to make him feel better, because she was one of the most intelligent students in their year, if not the most intelligent. Still, when she praised him he felt like he was on cloud nine.

[passivenovember]

🌋Harringrove Feedback Fest 🌋(PART TWO, because I am,,,hiding,,,crying,,,)

( @gothyringwald more thanks to you, duder!)

Art:

1. @opaldraws : Everything they make is so soft and perfect. For real, I think they might be my favorite artist in the fandom. This bad boy, an idea I had for kid Billy and Steve catching butterflies, is a work of art that never fails to have me weeping whenever I see it. I just love it so much?? Any time I’m drunk I’ll pull it up on my phone and think how lucky I am to know a person who is able to put so much emotional integrity into their work, someone who provides me with endless warm soup belly vibes from just existing in this space. My laptop is a shrine for your work and ILY opal baby, you’re my little tulip dude. 

2. @juu-riin : JULIE. Their doodles actively make me melt into a goddamn puddle on the floor. My roommates have had to check on me more times than I can count because I legitimately cannot handle it. Can’t stomach the sweetness that they give artistically and interpersonally. This little guy here of Steve getting lost in the supermarket while drunk and the part two live rent free in my mind. Julie, you are an absolute treasure to know. Your work, both the breathtakingly intricate pieces you do and your silly little doodles provide me with endless smiles and I thank you for interacting with me on twitter everyday even though I’m an embarrassing midwestern hick <3 

3. @gravegroves : If you know, you know. No one draws Billy like they do, no one is able to make me physically stop and take a minute to catch my breath with every single piece like they do. This dude in particular takes my fucking soul out of my body whenever I see it. They also singlehandedly reinvigorated my will to work on my Super Dark Times series when they sent a sweet and heartfelt message. Just such a supportive and wonderful human being. Have you thanked gravegroves for their work today? If not, go do it and come back. 

4. @lazybakerart : Their work is so uniquely their own. The use of color--the personal style, the feeling of temperature that is evoked when viewing their work...y’know, for someone who writes I’m terrible at describing their vibe so I guess you’ll just have to go look at all of it?? Especially this piece. I will defend their work forever and forever. Incredible. 

5. @monochromegee : I LOVE MY BABY. Their intricate stuff is SO BREATHTAKING. Forreal, the dufflebags should be paying my baby for their work to use on posters, I mean. Wonderful. Gorgeous use of contrast, light and shadow, and overall use of masculine/feminine energies. This one, I mean?? Shut it the fuck down? What is good? What is well and truly good? Also their cutie things, like her and them. Go away. Leave me alone. Get out of my FACE I LOVE YOU. Anyway. Go support my baby, alright? Tell ‘em Jaz sent ya!

Obviously, there are so many incredible artists in this fandom, like. Staggeringly so. But I wanted to shoutout the people that always manage to open windows and doors into emotion with their talent. 

Thank you all so much for the things you do. I appreciate it.

[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar 2020 🎄

By @frostydaae​

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

It was two days until Christmas. The main streets of Paris were lined with shoppers and merchants alike, dressed quite festively in colors of red, green, and white.  Two young men and a young woman made their way down the road of merchants.  At a glance, one might easily mistake the three for siblings.  The two men were in fact brothers, but the young woman they were escorting had no interest in sharing the brother’s De Chagny title. The younger of the two men led the group in the direction of a jewelry shop. While the young, blonde girl made her way inside, the oldest brother, Phillipe, held his younger brother back for a moment.

“Raoul,” said Phillipe, cautiously.  “I know I have asked you this many times already, but are you sure that this is the path you want to choose?”  Raoul gave a light chuckle to his brother’s concern.

“Phillipe,” replied the youngest, “I am certain.  She is what I have been missing for all of these years.  I lost her once before, and I do not want to risk losing her again.”  Phillipe heaved a sigh and Raoul placed a hand on his older brother’s shoulder.  “I know that things will be difficult.  I know that she is not considered to be a ‘proper match’, but I am ready to deal with any torment that may be thrown my way, and shield Christine from it as well.  I just hope that you can support me in this decision, no matter your stance on the matter.”  Suddenly, a chipper voice was heard from the doorway.

“Come along, you two.  We haven’t got all day!”  Raoul had asked the young ballerina to come along with him to pick out a ring for his (hopefully) soon to be betrothed.  He had figured that since the two were best friends, Meg could serve as a proxy for Christine’s taste in style.  It also didn’t hurt that the two friends had very similar bodies, hopefully making the ring sizing a bit easier.

The two brothers entered in behind the young ballerina, making their way to the various counters, each filled with rows of jewels.  From behind the counter, an older gentleman met them and began to speak.

“Is there anything in particular you gentlemen are looking for today? Perhaps for a nice, young lady?”, gesturing towards Meg.  Raoul chuckled at this comment.

“Yes sir.  We are actually looking for a very special ring.  I am hoping to propose to my love on the upcoming holiday.” Raoul informed the older gentleman.

“I see…”, the older gentleman, Maurice said.  “I suppose you are here to give a woman’s thought then?” He said, addressing Meg once more.  Before Meg had a chance to utter a response, Phillipe butted into the conversation.

“Yes sir, and I’m afraid we are in a bit of a hurry.  This was somewhat of a last-minute decision and my brother’s train to Perros leaves in 4 hours.”  Phillipe said, hardly taking a moment to breathe.  

“Ah, I see.  There is some urgency behind this decision.  Give me just a moment then.”  Maurice disappeared behind the counter for a moment, only to come back with a small tray of jeweled rings.  “These are some of my most lovely selections.  On your left, a princess cut on a silver band.  Here in the middle, an oval cut on a gold-plated band. And on the right, another gold-plated band with a round cut opal.” Meg audibly gasped at the fine jewelry.  Raoul felt himself begin to feel even more nervous about his decision.  

“These are all lovely,” Raoul told the older gentleman, “but our relationship is not as traditional as expected.  I feel like she should have something that is unexpected, just as unexpected as to how she reentered my life.  Phillipe looked at his brother, a bit puzzled at his remarks.  Maurice gave Raoul a look, almost as if he was calculating an equation in his head.  After a moment, he finally spoke up again.  

“Give me a moment to run to the back.  I have something I think may fit the description you’re looking for.”  The three watched as the man disappeared once more, this time for a longer amount.  When he reemerged, he was holding a closed velvet box in his hands.  He sat the box down on the counter and slowly opened it.  Inside was the most perfect opal cut sapphire, sitting on a simple silver band. Raoul instinctively reached out for the item, staring in awe.  

“This ring is one of a kind.  I made it by hand myself over 50 years ago. I proposed to my wife with this ring, and it stayed on her finger until the day she died.” The older man sniffled, and it was apparent that he was holding back a few tears.  “It has been nearly 15 years since her death and I have kept it on my desk every day since.  However, I can tell that your young lady means as much to you as my Charlotte meant to me.”  Tears filled the eyes of the four in the room.  “It is time for this ring’s legacy to live on.”

“Monsieur, are you quite certain?  It is absolutely stunning and would be perfect for her, but I can’t simply take such a prized possession from you.”  The older gentleman chuckled.

“Young man, this ring has been collecting dust for nearly fifteen years now. It would be my privilege to pass it onto you.”  The two men engaged smiles.  “Mademoiselle, I assume you are here as a stand-in for the soon to be bride?”  Meg nodded her head enthusiastically. “Let us see if the ring is a fit then, shall we?”  Meg held her dainty hand out as Maurice took it in his, sliding it onto the young blonde’s finger.  The four all gasped at the near-perfect fit that was before them.  “I believe it is settled then, Monsieur.”  Meg slipped the ring off her finger, handing it back to the elder gentleman who promptly placed the ring back into its box, and the box into a separate bag.  

The two brothers and the not-sister exited the shop, quite content with the purchase they had made.  Meg bade them farewell, wishing Raoul luck as she left.  The two brothers rode in a carriage back to the family’s chateau, where Phillipe helped make sure that everything was ready to go for his brother’s trip to Perros.  

During this time, Raoul slipped the box out of the merchant’s bag, promptly slipping it into his own coat pocket.  Over the entire duration to Perros, Raoul methodically brushed his hand over the box in his pocket, checking every minute or so to make sure that it was indeed still there and had not all been a figment of his imagination.

As the train came to a stop, Raoul felt his heartbeat begin to quicken. He knew he was not even going to propose to Christine until the next day as the clock struck midnight, but the very thought of the event being so soon made him feel anxious.  He retrieved his luggage and ordered a carriage to take him to the Valerius residence.  

As the carriage rolled up to the grounds of the widowed Madame Valerius (or Mamma, as she would insist), he noticed bright green eyes peering out the window, like a child on Christmas morning peering at the white snow.  The carriage rolled to a stop and Raoul stepped out, paying the driver as he removed his luggage from the back.  Before the carriage could even pull away, the young brunette came running down the entryway to the house, tightly embracing the love of her life as if they had not seen each other in decades.  Raoul returned the embrace, just as tight.  

“Raoul!” Christine exclaimed, “I can’t believe that you’re really here! You know you didn’t have to visit me over the holiday.  You could have stayed with your family.”  The two let each other go as two servants began to bring Raoul’s luggage inside the house.  

“Christine,” Raoul said, taking hold of the young woman’s shoulders, “there is absolutely nowhere else I would rather be for Christmas than right here with you.”  As the servants made their way inside, the two shared a brief kiss.  

“Oh Raoul, you being here is present enough for me!”  Raoul once again felt as if butterflies flew around his stomach, knowing that a much bigger present would be coming her way.  The two made their way through the front door, where Raoul was eagerly greeted by Mamma Valerius.  The three shared pleasantries in the doorway before Raoul excused himself for bed.  It had been a very long day, and he would certainly need his rest for the day ahead of him.

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The next morning, Raoul was awakened by his own senses.  The curtains were still closed, but he could see the sun peeking its rays through. He wagered a guess that it was somewhere close to noon.  Feeling his stomach grumble, Raoul quickly dressed and made his way down the stairs, where he saw the two women sitting down for lunch.

“Good afternoon, sleepy-head.”  Christine giggled at her own comment. “We were wondering when you would join us.”

“My apologies, ladies.  I’m afraid the train ride must have been more tiring than I had expected.”  Raoul sat down at the table, joining the ladies in enjoying their wonderful lunch.  After lunch, Christine and Raoul decided that they would like to walk around the small, village-like area.  Dressed quite warmly, they went on their merry way.  

Making their way through the light snow, they ended up venturing a bit beyond the village, making their way into the main town square.  They visited the various shops and made a stop at one of the many cafes, deciding to each get a cup of hot chocolate while enjoying each other’s company.  After leaving one shop, they found that the doorway had been marked with mistletoe as they shared a kiss underneath.

Time grew later and the world became darker as the two journeyed back to the Valerius estate.  Mamma Valerius was already rushing around, preparing to leave for Christmas Eve mass.  Raoul looked at his watch, noticing that the time was just close to 7 o’clock.  They had most definitely not meant to spend that much time out, but they were both grateful for every moment of it.  The two made their way to their respective rooms, changing into different clothing, more suited for a church setting.

After finishing, the two made their way down to the dining room once more, where Mamma Valerius was waiting for them to join her for dinner. The three took their time, enjoying their delicious dinner.  As the sky grew to be fully dark, Mamma Valerius made her way outside to order a carriage to take them into town for Christmas Eve mass.

As the carriage pulled up, Raoul realized that he had left his coat upstairs in his bedroom.  He ran up quickly to grab it, checking once more to make sure the ring remained in the pocket.  The three made their way to the church as many gathered outside of the doors.  For some reason or another, the main church in Perros decided that they would hold their Christmas Eve mass earlier in the evening; perhaps to allow families with small children to still be put to bed at a reasonable time.  

Mamma Valerius sat between the two hopeless romantics during the service, and Raoul could not be more grateful for it.  He could not seem to stop squirming, checking the pocket of his coat as it lay next to him seemingly every other second now.  The three joined in hymns, Christine’s voice noticeably shining through the chorus of those in worship.  There were a few different times that Raoul simply stopped singing to enjoy the beauty of Christine’s voice.  To him, there was no one else in the room but her.  As they were seated again, the two caught a glance of each other, both blushing as they settled back into their seats.  

The time neared 11 o’clock as the service let out.  Many stayed behind to chat with each other, whereas Raoul was determined to make his way back to the estate with time to spare before midnight.  The three rode in the carriage back to the estate, as time seemed to move in slow-motion for Raoul.  He had now gone from not only checking his pocket for the ring box but also checking his watch every few minutes.  Thankfully, Christine had fallen half-asleep, rested against his shoulder, and did not notice his nervous behavior.  

As the carriage jolted to a stop, it took all of the self-control Raoul had to not burst from the carriage and run inside the property.  He remained calm as he escorted the two ladies inside the house.  By then, Christine had woken up a bit more than she had been in the carriage.  As Mamma and Christine made talk about various people they had seen at the service, Raoul excused himself to go and dress for bed.  As he changed into his nightclothes, he sat by the door, eagerly awaiting Christine’s footsteps.  

After a few minutes of waiting, he heard the pitter-patter of delicate footsteps making their way up the large staircase.  He knew that he needed to give Christine a few more minutes in order to change into her own nightclothes.  Raoul made his way to the balcony of the guest room, looking up at the night sky.  He had taken the ring out of his coat pocket and inserted it into the pocket of his pajama pants.  He took it into his hands once more, opening it to look at the beautiful sapphire jewel that sat on top of the silver band.  He thought back on the older gentleman that had parted with such an important memory of his departed wife and Raoul wished that he could be everything that Christine wanted and needed to have his wife adore him as much as Maurice’s wife must have.  Raoul looked to the sky once again.

“Monsieur Daae,” he began, hoping the soul of Christine’s father could hear his words.  “I know I have already spoken to you on this matter, but tonight is the night I am going to ask your daughter to marry me. I know I cannot even begin to replace the role of being the most important man in her life, as I believe that position will belong to you forever.”  Raoul lightly chuckled before becoming more somber. “Monsieur Daae, I love your daughter so much.  I cannot even begin to put it into words the feelings I carry for your sweet girl.  I only wish you were still with us so that I could speak to you, face-to-face.  So that you could share in what will hopefully be her excitement, as well as being able to walk her down the aisle.” Raoul heaved a great sigh.  “I only hope I can make her as happy as you once did.  Thank you for allowing me to do this sir.”  

Raoul suddenly realized how bitterly cold it was outside, so he made his way back into the room, shutting the balcony doors behind him.  He supposed that Christine must be dressed in her nightclothes by now, so he checked his pajama pocket once more for the ring box as he turned the handle of the door.  He made his way across the hall to Christine’s bedroom.  He noticed his hand shaking as he raised it to knock on her door.  He took another deep breath, hoping that would calm him down a bit more, knocking lightly on her door.

“One moment!” Christine’s light voice echoed into the hallway.  She opened the door to reveal herself in a beautiful flowing nightgown colored in the shade of light rose.  “Raoul!” She exclaimed, quickly closing the door.  Raoul became very confused at this but was relieved as the door reopened a few moments later, Christine now wearing a white dressing gown on top of her beautiful nightgown. Raoul cleared his throat.  

“Ch-Christine, would you care to join me downstairs for a cup of tea?”  Raoul asked, a slight quiver in his voice.

“Now?” She replied, a bit surprised.  She glanced back into her room to see her clock.  “Why Raoul, it’s nearly midnight.” Replied Christine as she feigned concern for propriety.  Raoul began to stammer and shuffle a bit.  She giggled to herself and said “Raoul, I jest.  I would love nothing more than to enjoy a cup of tea with you.  Raoul let a sigh of relief out, hoping he had not let onto what he had planned for the evening.  As Christine closed her bedroom door behind her, Raoul held out his arm as Christine took hold of it, making their way down the stairs.

By the time the two had reached the kitchen, Raoul was finding it even more difficult to keep himself from shaking with anxiety.  Christine poured them each a cup of tea as Raoul took a seat in the parlor. For a final time, Raoul brushed his hand across the pocket to check for the ring box.  A moment later, Christine made her way into the parlor, carrying a tray with the full teacups, sugar, and milk, setting it down on the table in front of them.  Christine poured a tiny bit of milk into her tea as Raoul sipped his, hoping to quench some of the thirst his anxiety had brought upon him.  After a few moments of silence, Raoul finally found his voice once more as he cleared his voice.

“Christine…” He stopped in his tracks before he could say any more.  What if he messed this whole event up?  What if he couldn’t find the right words?  As these thoughts entered his mind, he heard a voice that was seemingly behind him say:

“Do not worry so much, child.  You know Christine as well as I do.  Your heart knows the words you want to say.  Lead with your heart.” Raoul whipped his head around, searching for the source of the voice.

“Yes, Raoul?  Are you alright?”  Raoul turned back to face the woman that he loved once more.  

“Yes, my love, I thought I heard something is all.”  Raoul cleared his throat once more.  “Christine, I promised you many months ago that I would guide, guard, and love you forever.  I know they may have seemed like simple words of a fool in love, but I want you to know that I meant every word that I spoke that night, as well as every word I have spoken since.”  Christine looked lovingly into his eyes.

“And I as well, Raoul,” she said, smiling sweetly.

“I am glad to hear that you return the sentiment..  Oh, Christine…” Raoul said as he stood from the couch, walking across the room, his eyes on the clock, which was now only a minute away from midnight. “What I am trying to say is that…” he searched for the right words to say once more.  “Is that I am completely enamored by you and everything that you do.  Your smile, the way you love others, the way you love me.  The way you find a way to turn any situation into a positive one.”  He turned around to face her again as the clock struck midnight.  He stared at her in awe, fishing the box from his pocket as the chimes rang through the parlor.  As the chimes subsided, he made his way to kneel in front of the beautiful woman that he loved.

“Christine Daae,” he began, “will you marry me?”  By this time, tears were streaming down Christine’s face as Raoul opened the box for Christine to see.  She gasped when she saw the ring inside.  It was absolutely perfect in her eyes, although Raoul very well could have presented her with a piece of twine and she would have been just as happy.  For a moment, Christine could produce nothing but sobs from her mouth.  Tears now fell from Raoul’s eyes as well.

“Yes,” Christine whispered. The word was so faint that Raoul swore that he had merely imagined it.  He knew that it was not so as he heard the word many times following the first.  “Yes, yes, yes, yes yes!  A million times yes!”  The two continued to cry as they joined together for a kiss.  This kiss was unlike any other they had shared before.  This kiss was nothing but the purest form of love and affection two people could ever have for each other.  After what felt like a heavenly eternity, the two pulled apart.

“Oh, Raoul.  I didn’t think that this holiday could get any better.  All I wished was for you to be with me.”  She smiled so much that it nearly caused her pain.  “I feel guilty though,” she said as Raoul removed the ring from the box, revealing a perfect fit to Christine’s dainty finger.

“Why is that, my love?” Raoul questioned with a worry in his voice, wiping another tear from his new fiancee’s cheek.

“I have no gift for you that can match what you have given me tonight.” A few more tears fell from her eyes as Raoul wiped each one away, kissing her soft forehead.  

“Christine,” Raoul leaned in for another kiss, which Christine gratefully accepted.  As they pulled apart, Raoul continued to look deep into Christine’s emerald eyes.

“You are my gift.”

[kiribakutrash33]

Still Into You

Rated: G

Pairing: kiribaku

Aged up, established relationship,

Bakugou wanted to surprise Kirishima at their wedding.

*I do not own any rights to Paramore or Still Into You

I've been listening to this song a lot recently and I couldn't help but picture this little scene that you're going to read. Also in this universe paramore doesn't exist.*

Enjoy this little drabble that's been stuck in my head all week!

The wedding was perfect. The day was nice and sunny without being overbearingly hot, there was just a small gathering of their families and close friends. Kirishima and Bakugou had paid to hire extra security but it was worth it not to have the press having a field day with the wedding between the two pro heros. It was annoying enough when the tabloids caught wind of their engagement a year ago Kirishima thought to himself.

On the drive over to the reception Kirishima kept catching himself looking at the wedding band now resting on his finger with a smile. Their matching rings were beautiful in black tungsten with a band of red opal inlay. They had picked a material that would be sturdy enough for their hero work, but Kirishima has picked the red opal. Not only was red his favorite color but the effect of the opal in the light reminded him of Bakugou's explosions and he liked to think that he would be carrying around a piece of his husband with him.

Husband.

Kirishimia still couldn't believe that Bakugou was his husband. When he thinks back to how long they danced around their feelings for each other in their days at U.A. only ever admitting their feelings years later after Kirishima had been injured on the job when he didn't activate his quirk quick enough. Bakugou had refused to leave his side in the hospital.

Their relationships had been solid over the years but they definitely had their share of fights what with Bakugou's explosive attitude and Kirishima's bullheadedness. They always worked it out though. Kirishima had a way of actually getting Bakugou to acknowledge his feelings rather than just stuff them deep down inside and ignore them. Kirishima snapped out if his memories when he realized Bakugou was talking to him.

"Hey I have to go check on something real quick. I'll meet you inside," the blonde said giving Kirishima a quick peck on the corner of his mouth before walking away. Kirishima headed inside to a ballroom full of his friends and family. The tables scattered around the room had black table clothes with red accents, there were arrangements of red roses placed through the room as well as a stage and a buffet style table for all the food. One side of the room was made up pf widows letting in the natural light to brighten up the space. As Kirishima starts making his way towards his and Bakugou's table that had been set up by the stage he stops and chats with some of his old U.A. classmates. Mina and Sero were congratulating him on 'finally tying the knot with Blasty' when he heard music starting up in the background.

Can't count the years on one hand we've been together

I need the other on to hold you, make you feel, make you feel better

It's not a walk in the park to love each other

But when our fingers interlock can't deny

Can't deny that you're worth it

Kirishima's whips his head around to the stage to see Jiro singing and playing bass with Denki playing guitar and Tokoyami on the drums. He didn't recognize the song but it had a pop rock feel to it. His eyes traveled from the band to the man standing on the dance floor looking right at him with his left hand outstretched towards the red head. Bakugou was waiting for him with a small smirk on his face, Kirishima gladly took the blonde's hand and allowed himself to be pulled onto the dance floor.

'Cause after all this time I'm still into you

Bakugou pulled Kirishima into his arms and started swaying to the music

"What is this song? I don't think I've heard it before" Kirishima asks as Bakugou leads him around the dance floor

"Uh...It's our song, well more my song to you" Bakugou responds with a blush starting to dust his cheeks

Did he really just hear that right...their song?

"What?!" Kirishima asked still a little caught off guard.

"I wanted to surprise you with something special. I asked Jiro to help me write a song for you just for this moment"

Kirishima couldn't believe what he was hearing. Not that Bakugou wasn't affectionate or sentimental after all these years together but he was not expecting anything like this.

Some things just, some things just make  sense

And one of those is you and I

Kirishima can't help but tear up at not only the gesture from Bakugou but at the words of the song. It was perfect.

I should be over all the butterflies but I'm into you,

I'm into you

And baby even on our worst nights

I'm into you, I'm into you

Let 'em wonder how we got this far,

'Cause I don't really need to wonder at all

Yeah after all this time

I'm still into you

Kirishima listened to the words of the song and was overwhelmed with so much love and joy for Bakugou he knew everything that they had been through in life was worth it. He ended the song with tears in his eyes and kissing Bakugou with so mush passion. He finally broke the kiss when he heard the cheers and applause from their guests.

He wouldn't have changed a thing about this day.

**************

@anime-obsessed7

[lick-anthonys-heart]

I got tagged in three back to back (woot!) and didn’t want to spam you all, so I threw them all together in this! Thanks @sideways-falling (the vegan goddess), @laynefuckingstaleylegend (the singing goddess), @jamjar88 (the writing goddess) and @thepearlsofsound (the Pearl Jam goddess)

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AIR

i have small hands // i love the night sky // i watch small animals and birds when i pass them by // i drink herbal tea // i wake to see dawn // the smell of dust is comforting // i’m valued for being wise // i prefer books to music // i meditate // i find joy in learning new truths from the world around me

FIRE

i don’t have straight hair // i like to wear jeans and overalls // i play an organized sport // i love dogs // i am not afraid of adventure // i love to talk to strangers // i always try new foods // i enjoy road trips // summer is my favorite season // my radio is always playing

WATER

i wear bracelets on my wrists // i love the bustle of the city // i have more than one set of piercings // i read poetry // i love the sound of a thunderstorm // i want to travel the world // i sleep past midday most days // i love dimly lit diners and fluorescent signs // i rewatch kids’ shows out of nostalgia // i see emotions in colors not words

EARTH

i wear glasses or contacts // i enjoy doing the laundry // i am a vegetarian or vegan // i have an excellent sense of time // my humor is very cheerful // i am a valued advisor to my friends // i believe in true love // i love the chill of mountain air // i’m always listening to music // i am highly trusted by the people in my life

AETHER

i go without makeup in my daily life // i make my own artwork // i keep on track of my tasks and time // i always know true north // i see beauty in everything // i can always smell flowers // i smile at everyone i pass by // i always fear history repeating itself // i have recovered from a mental disorder // i can love unconditionally

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coffee or tea | early bird or night owl (-midday all the way baby-) | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold | pop or alternative | freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre | opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees | macarons or eclairs | typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library | rooftop or balcony | spicy or mild | opera or ballet | london or paris | vincent van gogh or claude monet | denim or leather | potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens | masquerade ball or cocktail party

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favourite colour: Purple

last song: Rearviewmirror by Pearl Jam

last movie: I rarely watch movies, but I think maybe Glory?

last show (completed): The Simpsons (yay lockdown time..)

currently watching: The Haunting of Bly Manor and ITS SO GOOD

currently reading: Total Fucking Godhead by Corbin Reiff, Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens, I’m hate-reading Entice by Rachel Van Dyken, and @jamjar88‘s Butterflies fic!

sweet/ spicy/ savory: Major sweet tooth here, aka my downfall

craving: A warm coffee in my hands as I stroll around the BeltLine, knowing my PhD application is done.

coffee/ tea: My coffee addiction is so out of control...I don’t work to eat, I work to drink this bitter nectar.

I tag anyone that wants to do one or all of them!