#honestly a liquor legend

[chromosoid]

sometimes the winds of shit be whistling

[spookypete-94]

I Know You

Vampire!GhostxFem!reader

Follows the old wives tales and legends of vampires.

Reader makes friends with Ghost, but does not realize he is hunting her in a game of cat and mouse.

SFW for now, and perhaps make a NSFW chapter later down the road.

CW: blood, biting, swearing

Happy Halloween!

It was not a common thing that Y/N visited a bar after work by herself, but after the shift she had just completed at her job, it was more than deserved. Holding her head in one of her hands, she swirled her drink, mixing the liquor in further with the base. The burn satisfied her throat on the way down. She set down the empty glass waiting before she got up to get another one.

Before she can even stand to approach the bar, another drink is sat down next to her, and a large man is sitting down in the seat next to her.

"Hello?" She asked, not expecting someone to join her.

"Saw yours getting empty, brought you another."

Turning to fully look at this man, she sees that he is rather large. Fit for sure, his arms looked tight in his long black shirt. He wore a black mask to cover his face, thick blonde hair on his head. The skin she could see was almost a milky white. So very handsome.

"Thanks. I think?" She said, still confused. "I honestly did not come here looking for someone or a hook up if that is what you want."

"Didn't say that's what this was." Eyebrows lifted at her boldness, smiling cheekily under his mask at her response.

Realizing maybe that come off wrong and rude, she sighed. "Sorry, I had a shitty day and don't mean to take it out on you."

"Yeah? Need to talk about it?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, "got into it with my boss. Might not have a job yet, I don't know." Her shoulders shrug arms crossing across her chest, trying to show that she wasn't worried about it.

"Looking for a job then?"

Her eyes narrowed, not sure she liked what he was implying. "Watch yourself," she warned, "I already told you I'm not here looking for a hook up, even if you would pay me for it."

This made him chuckle, her warning amusing to him from someone from her stature. "Not a job like that, sweetheart. I need a maid." The way he called her made her squeeze her legs together tighter, and her mouth went dry.

"A maid?" Her voice hoarse.

"Like a house maid. I'm not home all the time and need someone to clean and take care of my home. I'd pay you, and depending on what your living situation is, you can stay with me."

"With you?"

"There is a guest home you can stay in."

This offer was appalling, to say the least. She didn't even know this man... but pay and some place to live? It would cut her expenses nearly in half.

"I don't know you."

"Then get to know me. If you would like, you could come see the property."

"What is your name?"

"You can call me Ghost."

"Ghost? The fact you won't tell me your real name isn't helping you here. There are plenty of other women here that could be your maid."

"None of them as beautiful and bold as you. Your name?"

He was so smooth, so persistent, made her heart sing. But the fact he was flattering her and flirting with her as well made her flush. She rushed her name out to him.

"Just come look at the property and decide. You don't want to, I'll leave you alone."

Maybe it was the liquor... maybe it was the way he spoke to her, but she agreed.

"Fine," she said, finishing the drink he set down beside her, setting the glass down and sliding it across the table so she could stand up. Before she can fully lift herself up, Ghost had pulled the chair out from behind her, allowing her to better turn herself out to leave.

"Thank you," she said, looking to him. Who said chivalry was dead? But the real icing on the cake was the hand on the small of her back that guided her out the door of the bar and towards his blacked out car in the parking lot. He even opened the passenger door for her? A girl could get used to that... she thought.

"So, why do you go by Ghost?"

"Just a name I was given a long time ago." A short answer that still seemed to suffice her. It was like he had her under a spell... Things she would never let anyone else say to her being enough, let alone getting into a mans car, she had no idea his intentions.

In reality, Ghost had been watching her for a long time now. Waiting for his moment to swoop in and use his ability to charm and captivate her. Calling in to her job today and making a fake complaint about Y/N to her boss, knowing it would start an argument and make her vulnerable. Stalking her, following her on the way home, delighted to see her walk into a bar where he could cause a somewhat normal interaction that would not alert her. Y/N's smell was delightful, sweetly blended with her blood, but now anxiety leaked into it from her hard day, making her scent that much stronger to him. His heart pounded, excited to be able to taste her in his own home. The idea of his teeth piercing that tender flesh of her neck replaying in his mind over and over on the drive home. Satisfied that his charm spell was still working in making her passive in his passenger seat, like she had zoned out.

Y/N watched as they left the city, driving out further into rural area. Trees turning colors and leaves blowing across the road from the turning season distracted her.

"Pretty out here," she said looking out the window.

"Sure is," he said looking at her out the corner of his eye, tongue dancing across his teeth.

They pulled up to a large black gate that opened for him, allowing him in. It looked like a beast welcoming her into it's mouth as it shut behind them... if only she had a fucking clue.

"Wow," she said, stepping out and looking up at the large cathederal type building. "You live here?" Gargoyles guarded the peaks, their faces watching her every movement as if they were alive.

"For awhile now."

The tour started outside the property, him leading through what looked like an over grown garden.

"You haven't had help for a while..." she stated, looking around. Again, another realization that would have raised a red flag for her... but this seemed alright given by his next answer.

"Haven't found anyone I like or trust enough." His voice purring next to her ear.

"Let me show you around inside, and then maybe we can discuss your contract."

He opened one of the many doors on the house, letting her in.

"Let me take your coat," he said, slipping it from her stepping forward, inhaling her sweet scent one more time. She complied, letting him slip it off of her and down her arms, hanging it on a dusty coat rack behind her. She sure would have her work cut out for her if she took him up on his offer.

He seemed to cut the tour off of the house early. It was a lot of ground to cover anyway, and he was starting to get antsy.

"Let me show you my office," he said, opening a door and leading her in. "Have a seat." He said, gesturing to a couch. "Would you like a drink? I can grab you one."

"That would be nice," she said, sitting down on the couch, arm swung over the side, turning to face him.

"I will bring you one, be right back," he said, carefully closing the door behind him and disappearing towards the kitchen.

She looked around, noticing that this room, his office, was by far a little bit cleaner than the rest of the house. Telling her he spent more time in here. There was still dust and cobwebs, but it seemed less due to him using more of the space. Looking around, she noticed a sheet over what looked to be a mirror, making her more intrigued about the place. Standing, she strided over to his desk, fingers running over the top to wipe away then thin layer.

Maybe he really wasn't here all that often... she could stay here and have all this space to herself and not have to deal with this strange man daily. Unable to control herself, she opened the drawer of his desk, the very top one in the middle. In the drawer, she found a picture of a group of men in military attire. The largest she could tell was this man that had brought her here. She turned the photo over.

To Simon, it was addressed. Thank you for your courage and duty to the Task Force 141. - John Price

Next to it was an old piece of paper. Something that looked important, like it belonged in a frame.

Simon Riley January 1st 1885. It read at the top. Was it a birth certificate? Finally, her heart and fear rushed up. Placing the items back inside and closing the drawer quickly, she approached the sheet and pulled it off the mirror, leaving it exposed.

Hearing the door knob turn, she rushed and sat down on the couch, looking up at Ghost - hoping she didn't look surprised. Two drinks in his hand, she could see a startled look on his face.

"You alright?" he asked, her smell changing to him.. laced with adrenaline and hearing her heart pound faster. He was going to have to make his move and fast, the urge rising again within him.

"I'm fine... I'm just worried about my current job is all still. Keep thinking about it," she lied, looking up at him through her lashes, hoping he would buy it.

"Oh." he said quickly, pushing the door shut behind him with his foot. Approaching her, he set the drinks down on the table, taking the seat next to her on the couch. The close proximity of Ghost, next to her, made her rise from the couch walking across the room. Choosing to not raise his suspicions, she made it look like she was looking at the artwork on the walls.

"You collect paintings?" Noticing a lot of the works on the walls were old.

"Family started a long time ago, just been adding to it."

She heard him get up off the couch. Turning her head, she watched the mirror out of the corner of her eye. And just as she assumed, there was no figure, no reflection. Her heart spiked again. Ghost noticed the fear, noticed the fear of wanting to bolt, and before she could, he had her pressed against the wall.

"Where you goin' love?" He asked into her ear, making goosebumps raise on her skin. His hands guided her hair off her neck gently.

She whimpered, trying to push him back, unable to do so. He leaned above her, the mask hiding his malicious smile. He tugged it down, exposing it... and his long canines that glimmered. How pretty... she thought.

He leaned forward, kissing her, pushing her back into his spell. It worked... making her love dumb once more. He baited her with his tongue slipping in out, wrestling with her own. Ebbing it as he pushed her further into the wall, craning her neck carefully with his hand, prepping her to place his mark.

His tongue left her mouth running over her jaw line, heading slowly in the direction of her neck.

He placed a careful bite, tasting his meal before sinking his teeth.

"Such a shame, because you really are a smart and beautiful woman," he taunted getting ready to drain her of the life force running through her veins.

"Simon Riley." she said. His taunt relighting the fire that burned in her.

"What?" he asked stunned and frustrated.

"Simon Riley." Just like that, he could no longer mark her. It wrote among the old testaments, old enough they are now considered legend, just like himself. He leaned back to look down at her, her smile wide knowing she had won.

"How-"

"I found your name in the desk. You're a vampire. That's why you wouldn't give me your actual name. It holds power over you, doesn't it? I hold power over you now. I know you." she taunted.

He growled, teeth still pronounced. How could he of failed? How did she see through it all?

She chuckled this time, matching how he did earlier at the bar.

"I find it funny, really. A vampire that goes by Ghost. How interesting." Her hands ran up his arms to his face, stroking over his cheeks now. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes. Sympathy struck her, feeling bad for him.

"Bite me if you must. Just don't kill me." She said, her voice quiet, putting trust into him.

With that, he was over her again arms on either side of her head on the wall. "You sure, love?"

"I'm sure. Just don't kill me." She repeated.

"You really are something else..." he said, biting her neck lovingly, this time making her give a small moan. He inhaled her smell again before he disgraced her neck. He placed his teeth slowly against the skin before sinking them in. Y/N winced, the feeling intense at first. She fisted his shirt, pulling him closer and looking for comfort. He slowly drank from her, watching as he did to make sure to honor her wish of not killing her.

His hands left the sides of the wall, gripping at her waist, holding her up as she started to feel wobbly against him. Just a few more gulps, he thought, before carefully letting her go.

"You alright, love?" His voice raspy, panting as he tried to catch his breath from greedily draining her.

"Uh-huh," she said, slumping against him.

Grabbing underneath her legs, he picked her up and carried her over to the couch, laying her down on it to rest and replenish herself.

"Thank you," he said, leaning down and kissing her again. Allowing her to taste her own blood. Tired from her heart trying to make more and catch up, she left her, unable to answer, head rolling over to the side to sleep. Ghost traced the bite marks, now starting to turn a blue and purple on her neck.

"Sweet, sweet girl." he said out loud, completely baffled at why she allowed him to do this to her. His eyes roved over her form laying on his couch like one of the paintings on the wall. A work of art.

[semperama]

Soak + dosh please

This is way too long for tumblr and I'm sorry, but it totally ran away with me. Also there is going to be a Part 2, I promise. Also I'll put it on AO3 later when I can think of a title lmao. Please forgive me because I have no idea how to write Josh yet, but this was fun!!

----

It’s probably crazy for Daniel to be in the back half of his 30s and still feel like a fucking imposter all the time.

He opens the door to Josh tossing a football back and forth from hand to hand, mouth curved into a grin, and has to bite down on the inside of his cheek just until it hurts, just to make sure this is real. He heard a story once—maybe an urban legend—about a man who was in a coma and thought he lived a whole entire life, great job and wife and kids and the whole nine. Sometimes he thinks that could be him. F1 driver, friends with fucking—movie stars and NFL players. It’s all a little much when just a minute ago he was a kid with goofy hair and crooked teeth and a sense of humor no one got.

“Hey,” Josh says, with his stupid handsome face. “Good to see you, man.”

Daniel steps back to let Josh in and wills the blood vessels in his face to fucking cool it. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he jokes. Another thing to be self-conscious about, this stupid-huge house that’s always empty. It’d be great for parties, but Daniel’s never thrown one.

They should have made other plans, Daniel thinks. A concert. A movie. A bar. Hanging out at home—who does that? Teenagers?

“Humble indeed,” Josh says with a chuckle, elbowing Daniel in the ribs as he walks by. “They don’t pay you anything to drive those cars, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m barely scraping by.” Daniel settles into the banter, grateful for it. “Can I get you anything? I have water, stale bread, maybe some mouse droppings…”

Josh throws his head back at that one, his laugh sending electric tingles down Daniel’s spine. “No beer hidden anywhere?” he asks, and Daniel grins at him, indulgent.

“I think I can rustle one up for you, maybe.”

He waves Josh out to the patio and then heads into the kitchen to grab two bottles out of the fridge. It’s the middle of the season, just a couple weeks until he has to be in Austin, so he probably should be sticking to clear liquor if anything, but who’s here to judge him?

“Did you bring that for me?” Daniel asks when he emerges into the sunshine, nodding at the football Josh cradles in one palm as the takes the beer bottle from Daniel with the other.

The corner of Josh’s mouth tilts upward. “You just about creamed yourself last time we tossed the ball around,” he says. “I figured I’d make your day.”

“My year, more like.” Daniel can’t deny it; Josh has his number on this one. “I don’t want you to be bored, though. You do this for a living.”

“You ever get tired of racing?” Josh asks.

Daniel chuckles, shaking his head. “Touche.”

There’s no grassy field behind Daniel’s house to play in, but they make do with the long strip of pool deck, all the chairs pushed to the side. At first, they just toss the ball back and forth lazily. That’s honestly enough for Daniel, just watching the satisfying spiral of the ball and feeling the slap of leather against his palms. It’s warm and breezy and Josh keeps grinning at him—he could do it all fucking day.

But eventually he gets antsy, wants to make sure Josh is still having fun, so he starts trying to make things difficult, prancing back and forth, sometimes running to the other side of the pool. It feels better when Josh is laughing at him. It feels like he’s pulling his weight.

“Come on, really throw one,” he says, holding his hands up in preparation. Josh chuckles at him, pulls his arm back, hesitates, and then lets it fly. This time, when it hits Daniel’s hands, the sound is loud, echoing. It fucking stings.

Daniel wants it again.

“Is that, like, your maximum?” he asks as he lobs it back.

Josh grins and shakes his head. “Nah, man. I don’t want to hurt you. You gotta be able to hold a steering wheel in a few days.”

“Oh, come on,” Daniel says, hopping from foot to foot and shaking out his arms. “You won’t hurt me. I can take it.”

Josh quirks and eyebrow at him. “You sure do talk a big talk, Ricciardo.”

All the blood rushes to Daniel’s face. He can only hope he’s already red enough from exertion and the sun that Josh won’t notice. Josh seems so fucking implacable, but Daniel’s been soaked in sweat and breathing hard for a while now, his t-shirt clinging to his chest. He pinches the fabric and unsticks it, letting some of the breeze in, but doesn’t help much.

“Just once,” Daniel says, unable to help the pleading note in his voice. “I want to know what it’s like.”

Josh walks over to the table near the house where their sweating beer bottles sit and takes a long swig. Daniel watches the bob of his throat, watches him lick the moisture from his bottom lip when he sets the bottle back down. When he turns back toward Daniel, he starts tossing the ball from hand to hand again, putting a spin on it, the silence stretching until it makes Daniel’s skin prickle with discomfort.

“Alright,” Josh says at last, “but I don’t want to hear your crying if it hurts.” He beckons Daniel with two fingers. “Come here. I need to show you how to catch it first.”

“I know how to catch it,” Daniel says, but he jogs over anyway.

“You know how to catch a ball thrown by a buddy,” Josh says. When Daniel stops a couple feet away, Josh lunges for his wrist and drags him in closer. “You don’t know how to catch a pass thrown by one of the most powerful arms in the NFL.”

“Fuck,” Daniel says, embarrassingly, out loud. He jerks his wrist out of Josh’s hand and wipes his palms on his shorts. “Fine, fine. Show me, then.”

Josh tucks the ball into his armpit, then cups his hands together, a foot or so out from his chest. “This is the way you have been catching it,” he says. “Which is good if you’re a professional receiver. But this time—” He brings his hands to his chest and turns his palms upward— “let it hit your chest first and kinda fall into your hands.”

He motions for Daniel to show him, and Daniel mimics his hand placement as best he can, hands cupped near his stomach. Josh rolls his eyes and puts his hands under Daniel’s, nudging them upward and squeezing, molding them into the shape he wants. His fingers are softer than Daniel thought they’d be, maybe a little callused but still gentle. Daniel can feel his heart thundering against his ribs, and he can only hope Josh can’t feel it too, close as he is.

“And, uh,” Daniel says, voice cracking, “what’ll happen if I don’t to it right?”

“Oh, nothin’ much.” Josh grins, winks at him. “Just a broken finger or two, maybe. But I hear you already have some experience with that anyway.”

Daniel lets out a nervous, high-pitched giggle. “Christ.”

“I’m just messing with you,” Josh says. “I’ve never broken anyone’s fingers.” He pushes on Daniel’s shoulder, like he’s trying to wrestle some of the tension out of him, then points past Daniel’s ear to the far side of the pool. “Go to that corner over there. Then put your hands like I showed you. I’ll put the ball where it needs to be, and you’ll be fine.”

If Josh keeps talking like that, Daniel’s pretty sure he’s going to embarrass the hell out of himself. His shorts are too loose, too thin, and he’s already half hard in them. He wonders, sometimes, if players get like this during games, if it’s normal to be turned on by the perfect tight spiral or the smack of leather against your skin. He’s not sure if it’s the game, the thrill of it, or if it’s Josh, all that power right up close, all of it focused on Daniel.

He turns and jogs back over to the far side of the pool, getting as close to the edge of the deck as he dares. Sweat is dripping into his eyes, and swiping a forearm across his head doesn’t help much. After this, a cold shower. He fucking needs it.

“Alright,” Josh calls to him, “you ready?”

Daniel puts his hands in position and looks to Josh for approval. “Like this?”

“That’s fine,” Josh says. “A little higher, maybe.” Daniel brings his hands up another inch, and Josh nods at him. “That’s good. Now…don’t move.”

The windup feels like it takes forever. Daniel watches Josh’s arm, the bulge of his bicep, the way the muscles of his forearm shift as he brings the football up past his ear. His feet jig a little, his body arcs back. The expression on his face—it’s like he’s already so fucking pleased with himself, and he ball hasn’t even left his hand yet. Daniel wants to reach down and adjust himself, but he can’t move. He isn’t allowed to move. Josh told him not to.

Then, suddenly, the ball is shooting through the air, so fast Daniel can’t even track it like he should. Good thing Josh is a pro and didn’t need Daniel to track it. It hits his chest right where it was supposed to, so hard it nearly knocks the wind out of him, and his fingers curl around it instinctively, hugging it into his body.

“Holy fuck, mate,” Daniel says in disbelief. His palms are still stinging from the last throw, and now his chest aches, and—he feels like he’s losing his mind, but he wants more. It’s still not enough. He wants to catch ten more passes like this. Twenty. He wants his whole chest to hurt, his whole body to be one big bruise.

“You okay?” Josh says, and suddenly he’s right there in front of Daniel again, prying the football out of his hands. “All good?”

“Yeah, I—” Unthinkingly, Daniel reaches down and lifts up the hem of his shirt, looks down at his chest. He expected—maybe was hoping—to see a mark there already, but the skin is just a little red, a faint starburst in the center of his breastbone.

“You’ll have a hell of a bruise there tomorrow,” Josh says. He pokes the spot with two fingers, and the throb of pain makes Daniel’s dick throb in sympathy. If Josh looks down, Daniel’s fucked.

Of course, Josh does look down.

“Hmm.” The sound comes from somewhere deep in Josh’s chest, and this time Daniel’s whole body throbs. “Is that for me? Or the ball?”

That nervous laugh bubbles out of Daniel’s mouth again. He feels so fucking unsexy right now, like he’s in one of those nightmares where’s he’s shown up to school in his underwear. “I dunno, dude,” he says. “You get a personal demonstration of the talent of someone you admire and see how you react.”

“Mhm,” Josh hums again, thoughtfully this time. “No, I know.”

He touches Daniel again, pressing his thumb against the spot on Daniel’s chest and rubbing gently. Anymore of this, and Daniel’s going to have to climb out of his own skin. He takes a deep, shaky breath and pastes on a smile, then steps backward so Josh’s hand is hovering in midair, nothing left to touch.

“Anyway.” Daniel steps out of his shoes. He tugs his shirt off the rest of the way, refusing to notice whether Josh is still looking or not. “I gotta get out of this heat. You coming?”

He’s a coward, but he doesn’t wait for Josh’s answer, only steps around him and takes a flying leap into the pool. The cool water closes over his head like relief. He floats there, weightless, until his lungs burn.

[thegamingcatmom]

Let’s say that the people in the town that the sisters live in start noticing MC when the denali’s start dating her. How exactly are they gonna explain the relationship, considering people know they’re sisters. Especially when they get married. Are they gonna say that MC is only dating one sister?(of course it’s tanya cause “she’s older an saw MC first”)

Honestly? I don´t think they´d feel the need to explain themselves to anyone, simply because it´s nobody´s business. And if someone were to ask them about their relationship, they´d just be brutally honest about it. Why shouldn´t they be? It´s not like the sisters are actually dating each other.

(Besides, they´re the origin of the Succubus legends - they know no shame, lol.)

I HC the Denalis as very open-minded, free-spirited people. They try to live their undead lives to the fullest, and that includes a "healthy" (we all know there ain't nothing healthy about them rn, lol) sex/love life. They´d never feel ashamed for who they are or who they chose to be with, and if someone has a problem with any of that, well-

Who cares?

All they need is each other. Everyone else can just kindly f off, pls and ty.

.

However, can I just say I love how deep your ask actually is? It´s so great to see some of yall coming up with your own scenarios and ideas, just sort of spinning the story further for yourselves. Seeing that kind of passion is truly rewarding. 🥰❤️

Like, the sisters interacting with the town´s ppl is something I´ve been thinking about as well only today actually. At some point, being seen by the public will become inevitable since they do need groceries and other stuff, now that they gotta take care of a hooman. So, I´ve been kinda wondering how that could go down, especially when it´s their very first "outing."

Somehow, I can´t imagine Tanya being overly fond of the idea, lol. If it was up to her (which...it kinda is, lel), then MC would remain sitting or lying down somewhere all day, looking pretty for her and only her, pls and ty. Like...she´s not good at sharing. At all. So, no grocery shopping for MC in the foreseeable future. 💀

I also really like the idea of Irina being forced to babysit while the others are out doing...something, lmao. Ofc this won´t happen until it can be assured that MC´s face will remain intact, but ye. I think it´s a hilarious thought and I might actually use it at some point. 🙃

OR:

Kate and MC on a shopping trip.

Can you imagine the absolute chaos as Kate just keeps throwing stuff into the cart cause "ye, looks like smt a human would use", some of them things MC has never seen before, didn´t even know they existed, and the stuff just keeps piling up and-

Meanwhile, MC´s over in the liquor section like-

💀💀💀

.

.

.

BONUS - What do yall think:

How "famous" are the Denalis (and the sisters in particular) when it comes to the town´s ppl? 😏

.

Thanks a lot for your ask! 💋

[hyumjim]

Whiskey sour or Moscow mule these are 2 old standbys for me. 21 year olds take note. Moscow mule is much better but there are places where they will be confused by it and it’s possible to make a bad MM, and MM can be made with vodka or gin, so there’s variation there which means they might ask you a question, which can be scary. Also if you’re in a reputable establishment you get a fancy copper cup that’s nice as hell. Now, A whiskey sour honestly kind of tastes like fucking shit but it is very drinkable it’s like a bad soda. Like a calypso, it’s fuckin mingin’! Also a martini is a fuckton of alcohol made drinkable, it kinda tastes like water that’s a bit nasty, and it come with olives and you can eat them, and you will feel sophisticated like sex and the city. But WATCH OUT because this can get you sooo drunk so quick, it’s like a long island iced tea in a classy disguise, and the olives will not save you so ONLY HAVE ONE MARTINI EVER. Ok maybe I shouldn’t be giving alcohol advice. But listen. Do not ever order a Long Island iced tea you will fucking throw up black out and die and you won’t even enjoy yourself beforehand. If you want to get drunk and stay awake just have a vodka Red Bull, it’s tasty and you will feel like the cast of Jackass, and caffeine or other stimulants will always make you feel drunker faster so TAKE NOTE and WATCH OUT. Fucking drink water for every drink you have if you don’t want to be sick. You DONT WANT TO BE SICK so drink water bitch. My final message: People will say all kinds of things, “beer before liquor make u sicker,” “you shouldn’t mix types of alcohol” etc. I think this is all urban legend bullshit. The reality is that if you have more than one type of liquor and you get sick it is probably because you were DRINKING A LOT. if you DRINK A LOT then this will be BAD FOR YOU and it really does not matter what kind of alcohol it was because YOU POISONED YOURSELF. (Very sugary drinks do tend to make you feel worse in the end though on account of the sugar.) Keep track of how much you are drinking and when you know you are drunk, STOP AND HAVE WATER. it will not make you feel worse and you will not be less fun to be around. Take it easy but FUCKING TAKE IT. BUT TAKE IT EASY!

[pricemarshfield]

oc favorites and aesthetics

i was tagged by @a-treides and jackie i'm so sorry it's been like. a whole month. expect me to spam ur notifs now that i'm actually clearing out my inbox again LMAO. talking about my beloved tav below the cut, tagging anyone who'd like to talk about their ocs!!

Name: Tav Khoury

Universe: Baldur's Gate

Favorite Book (and why): sorry but it is a tour of tempest. pre-game it was probably some bawdy, more-legend-than-truth history book but after she finds a tour of tempest and where she is lugging around that thing Everywhere. that came with her to the nether brain. she brought that to the epilogue even if the game didn't let me Favorite Song: song of balduran until It happens. after that point, if you point out she used to like the song, she will get Violent. post-game she chills out about it but it isn't her favorite anymore Favorite Piece of Clothing They Own: helldusk armor <3 when it's mechanically, narratively, AND aesthetically good? we're cooking with gas now babyyy Favorite "little treat": i don't think she has much of a sweet tooth. the butter bun camp supply looks SO fucking good so let's go with that (unrelated, someone stop me from doing a zine of camp supply recipes because i do not have the time or skills for it but the idea did just strike me) Favorite person in their life: do not separate her from astarion because they will both get exponentially worse IMMEDIATELY. Dream home (if there were no obstacles, financial or otherwise): something roomy, full of neat magical items she probably does not have any legal rights to, and near enough to the ocean that she can smell it. crucially she will get bored and depressed if it's super safe so it has to be like. on a fault or in a hurricane-heavy area or something. she has issues <3 Dream Life: honestly she's vibing. renowned adventurer? check. talos' favorite but avoiding the obligations of a chosen? check. bard who gets to tell her own legend? check. pretty boyfriend? check. weird psychosexual dynamic with a higher power (other than her god)? check. living in an area/situation explicitly described as not safe by the narrator? with the exception of not living in baldur's gate anymore (she'd LOVE to be back), she's living her best life right now!

and then fantasy aesthetics, bolding what applies:

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐘.         chipped   nail   polish.   glitter  highlight.   tall   trees   with   smooth   bark.   tangled   hair.  the   taste   of   cinnamon   sugar.   talking   too   loud   and   too   fast.   overgrown   flowers   in   your   hair.  crumbling   buildings   reclaimed   by   nature.    flirting.   walking   home   at   3am   with   no   coat.     platonic   hand-holding.   blowing   smoke   out   of   your   nose.   dragonfly   wings.   chaotic   good.   freckles.   fairy   rings.  secret   meetings.  gender   nonconformity.   leather.   smudged   eyeliner.   forbidden fruit.

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐑.    computer   errors.   a   shiver   down   your   spine. haunting   beauty.   hard   liquor.   crowns   of   thorns.   shadowed   alleyways.  decaying   plant   matter.  shattered   mirrors   and   broken   glass.  corrupted   memories.   stopped   clocks.   the   scent   of   stale   cigarettes.   tattered   black   hoodies.  walking   your   friends   home.   the   crescent   moon.  the   sea.   a   graveyard   on   a   foggy   day.   cold   rings   on   cold   fingers.  absolution.   looking   out   the   window   of   an   airplane.   soft   kisses.

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇.      graffiti.   pretending   to   know   what   you’re   doing.   worn   paperback   books.    growing   up   too   fast.   parsley,   sage,   rosemary,   and   thyme.  lace   and   combat   boots.  moth   wings.   candles   on   every   surface.   a  weathered  deck   of   cards. turning   the   music   up.   fireflies   in   jars.   calloused   fingers.  drawing   on   your   skin.   sunlight   filtering   through   clouds.    petrichor.   a   dying   rose   in   a   jar.   wearing   a   crystal   pendant. illusions   and   spells.   black   cats.   mint   gum.   chapped   lips. dirt   under   your   fingernails.   the   cycle   of   life   and   death.

𝐓𝐇𝐄      𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅.      murders   of   crows.   frost-bitten   leaves.   wolves   howling   at   midnight.  knocking   on   your   door.  leaving   food   out   for   stray   animals.  the   twang of   an   acoustic   guitar.  honey.  tiny   red   buds   on   trees.   claw   marks   on   the   walls.   golden   eyes.  slightly   too   long   stubble.  sharp   canines.  soft,   thick   fur.  hunger.  a small  cottage   in   the   middle   of   the   woods.   knitted   fingerless   gloves.   sleeping   on   the   forest   floor.   always   finding   your   way   back   home.

[drgmissioncontrol]

I wonder whatever happened to old Smokey. I knew him for a short time- we were both on the picket line against galactically mandated liquor laws. This was before my time at Deep Rock, you see. Even then, he was a legend.

Can’t have died, could he? Hasn’t been too long- few centuries, maybe. Saison really was the peak of his career, though. That newest trash, what, ninety years back? Drizzled Fizzle? Just dreadful on the malt, honestly.

I’m not drunk enough to start thinking about all my old acquaintances. I’ve got a barrel of Dragon’s Breath somewhere around here that I think it’s time to crack open.

man remember the old crispr flamethrowers? The ones that were a derivative of the chemical throwers from the marine APCs? Those things were fucking lethal man, too bad they had to be decommissioned.

Oh, that brings back memories. Didn’t they run an accompanying beer in the Abyss for a while? Smoky’s something-something?

Absolute heaven, that. Hearty, tasted like brisket smoke, and got you drunker than a dog. Good old days of Deep Rock, back before it all got so bloody complicated.

Thank you for the flashback, Miner. Rock and Stone.

[kittymsmithwritesstuff]

Hi!

Can we get some more (platonic) maggie headcanons with other legends?

Thank you!

Hey, sure! Since you didn't specify any legends in particular I'm just gonna do three that came to mind so:

Loba, Wraith, Pathfinder

Loba:

-Loba thinks Maggie is a bit of a psychotic bitch. Respect.

-Maggie's first impressions of Loba were similar as Bangalore; that is to say, she thought she was a priss. And honestly, she still thinks she is, but like, a respectable priss.

-Loba can freely talk about robbing literally anyone and Maggie just encourages it or comments on her own exploits, which contain a lot less finesse and sweet talk and a lot more knives.

-Loba recoils visibly from salty licorice whenever it is offered.

-Loba caught Maggie up on her Lifelong Trauma™ and Maggie has gone out of her way since to make Revenant's life as uncomfortable as possible. Loba is both touched and impressed by her ability to make people, whether flesh or metal, hate being alive.

-Loba will share her bougie alcohol with Maggie and Maggie never says no.

-Being a merc at heart, Maggie has done a couple contracts for Loba, usually the messier ones. Neither of them ask too many questions, and both always keep up their part of the deal.

-Maggie thinks Loba is involved in way too much bullshit drama. She used to try and get her to stop being so around-the-bend passive aggressive, especially because she's also privy to some of Bangalore's side of things, but Loba is stubborn and, to Maggie, young and foolish. Now she mostly grins and bears it, which is a bigger sign of affection from Mad Maggie than almost anything else.

Pathfinder:

-He's too nice and it weirds Maggie out

-If she had to pick a robot, though, it'd be him. He's kind of fun to mess with, in the same way it's fun to mess with a kid that doesn't know any better.

-He thinks Friend Maggie is scary, but she said she won't hurt him if he's on her team.

-Honestly they don't really bond, he's more into hanging around his established friends and Maggie just doesn't have the patience. She's not cruel to him, but she can be short.

-She did kick Revenant off a cliff and not revive him when he was picking on Path, though, so Pathfinder likes her overall.

-Mirage and Wraith are constantly having to correct him on some of the bullshit Maggie tells him.

-Examples of "Bullshit Maggie Feeds Pathfinder for her Own Entertainment" Include, but is not limited to:

"No, Path, Redbull cannot actually give you wings and it would fry your circut boards"

"No, Path, Benjamin Franklin did not invent Rock n Roll"

"No, Path, Marilyn Manson didn't remove a rib to suck his own dick....probably."

"No, Path, if you throw a Nessie doll into the water it does not grow into a real Nessie."

Wraith:

-She doesn't interact with Maggie much outside of the Games, kind of avoids her. She saw the chaos from her and Fuse's fights and decided that, while she'll be civil, even a little friendly, she won't initiate contact with either. They're both in the wrong, they're both in the right, she just doesn't want to be involved.

-She does end up hanging around her as a consequence of her hanging around Rampart and Rampart being around Mirage.

-She thinks it's kind of sweet that she's as attentive to Rampart as she is. She's pretty sure Maggie doesn't realize herself.

-Maggie thinks Wraith's abilities are cool as fuck. Also freaky as fuck.

-The longest discussion they ever had was about Maori tattooing practices and whether or not Wraith should get a tattoo. (she's still undecided)

-Maggie is a good teammate. Octane's energy without his lack of forethought. Wraith thinks she's a powerful player.

-Wraith kind of enjoys the fact she drinks harder liquor than Maggie, even if Maggie can drink more.

-The closest thing to a bonding experience they had was when a bunch of Legends were at the Paradise Lounge and Maggie, somehow, ended up braiding hair. First Rampart's, then Loba's, even gave Wattson's shaggy cut an itty-bitty braid. The other girls egged Wraith into it and, honestly? Her hair looked really nice. It was definitely the closest thing to sweet she'd ever seen Maggie being.

-Maggie did enjoy that moment too, mostly because Wraith is so closed off and it was nice to see the kid live a little.

-Secretly, Maggie hopes Wraith finds what she's looking for. She's seen the bags under her eyes. She's really not sure what's under her skin...but she's pretty damn sure she doesn't deserve it.

[well-fuuuck]

I know only half of the chain are adults, so technically they can't all legally drink but this is just for fun and purely self-indulgent. so, this is a weirdly long analysis of who in the chain drinks, who enjoys drinking, and who hates it

Hyrule - alcohol is a luxury in his time, so the only time he has ever been able to drink is when Zelda let him try some of their fancy royal wine. It was a really bitter and dry wine, and he didn't care for it at all.

Four - in a previous headcanon of mine, I mentioned that his dad drank a lot. So honestly, I don't think Four would ever drink and he doesn't particularly like the idea of drinking in general

Legend - the only time he ever drinks is when he visits Zelda. They drink some wine together, which is a fancy wine due to her being royal but their drinking is very casual. They always get tipsy, but neither enjoys getting actually drunk.

Sky - he won't actively go out to drink, but he has friends that like to indulge (Groose, Pipit, Zelda, etc). When he is with people he trusts, he doesn't mind drinking but he would never drink around strangers or simple acquaintances

Time - idk why, but he gives me Ron Swanson drinking vibes. He will down some hard liquor and not feel a damn thing. That being said, he doesn't actually drink much. Only on special occasions and holidays

Twilight - I feel like he and resistance have had some fun, ok? He only ever drinks with friends, but when he does drink it is to have and not think about anything else

Warriors - I think since he is a captain, he doesn't let himself indulge in the liquid courage too much. Usually a drink or two at most. The first time he got drunk was with Twilight (twi is an instigator when he wants to be), and he had fun, but wouldn't get drunk with just anyone (only people he fully trusts)

Wild - he has never had a drink (from what he can remember, at least) and has only heard stories from people in his Hyrule and Twilight. From the stories of blacking out and foggy memories, he is not a fan. He likes to keep his wits about him, thank you very much

Wind - this boy is a bit complicated tbh, because he is like 14 and has a grandmother, but he is also a pirate. So, I think he has had some sips and tastes of hard liquor, but never an actual drink. But this boy can't wait until he is old enough to drink. He and Linebeck are gonna have fun.

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: II

“You can call me when you feel like

I’m your good time, I’ll be your temporary fix

You can own me, and we’ll call this what you like

Let me be your goodnight”

-Temporary Fix, One Direction

A/N: honestly can y’all believe @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy​ and i finished part 2 within a week like what kind of productive hyper fixated legends are we??? if you haven’t heard, this started as a random concept between andrea and i to discuss at 3am and then we accidentally fell in love with vampirerry and his stupid asshole ways and now we’re here!!! we really hope you like this part, and the next parts coming (which are in the works and begin to dive into harry’s tragic backstory because who doesn’t love a lil pain :)))) just a reminder that if you like this, then reblog it!! not just our work but the work of all content creators!!! and feedback is also greatly appreciated 💌 

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

word count: 15.8k

content/warnings: vampire!harry laughing at a mortal not being able to open a door until he realizes his immportal ass can’t come inside, bloody good sex (literally), face f*cking, female-received oral, harry condemning stephanie meyer’s portrayal of vampires, psychological demolition of a quaint bedroom, and a cocky vampire with shitty taste in coffee

///

If Y/N can’t find her goddamn keys, she’s going to lose her mind.

Of course, she may just lose her mind anyways, given the way the handsome, tall, tattooed, and British (because of course he’s British, of fucking course) stranger whose name she can’t quite remember is smearing his lips against hers in the dim light of the hallway outside her apartment.  All Y/N wants to do is pull him--Henry?  Harrison? --into her apartment, into her bed, and tell him to fuck her until she can’t walk, but the stubborn lock of her door and the strangely bottomless clutch bag in her hand have other plans.

It does occur to Y/N, in a flicker of a drunken thought, that if she took a step back from the man--Hayden? --she may stand a better chance of finding the silver key ring she could swear she tossed in her bag before she left that night, but then the man’s tequila tinted mouth ghosts over hers once more, and the thought burns out completely.

“Y’alright, dove?” The man asks, his pillowy pink lips still hovering over hers as he speaks, low and soft and tantalizing. “Are you going to open the door, or do you want me to take you out here?”

A soft squeak stutters from Y/N at the lewd comment, and the brunette separates from her just enough that she can see the very corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk.

“Sorry.” He says, despite his voice sounding not very sorry at all. “Was that too much?”

“I--no, I just--” Y/N sucks in a deep breath to steady herself, but it backfires when traces of alcohol and his tobacco and vanilla scented cologne catch in the back of her throat. “I can’t find my keys.”

A small chuckle of mirth rolls from the stranger. “You can’t find your keys?  Shall I take a look for you?”

The thought of him-- his name starts with an H, she knows it does-- poking around in her bag which, by her normal standards, is quite organized, but by regular standards, is a fucking mess, brings a heated flush to her already warm cheeks. “No, I can get them, just--” Taking another reluctant step back from him, Y/N digs her hand down into her clutch, blindly pressing her fingers into the corners until she feels the touch of cool metal. “Got them!”

“Wonderful.” The man’s irises glint in the flickering hallway light, emerald glee flashing back at Y/N’s own drunken stare.  His eyes really are hypnotizing, Y/N thinks, with the way the forest shades seem to swirl around in each other, the way they seem to shine and darken over and over, how--

“Are you going to actually unlock the door, darling?” His lilting accent interrupts Y/N’s mesmerized thoughts as his hands smooth over the small of her back. “Or are we back to the idea of me taking you in the hallway?”

As more embarrassment flushes through Y/N’s body, heating every inch of her skin, she manages to shake her head quickly, the motion making her vision spin. “No, sorry, I--sorry.” She clears her throat once, the alcohol making her tongue feel heavy in her mouth. “Here--”

There’s another peal of laughter from behind her as Y/N spends a moment forcing her key into the lock of her door, having to give it an extra shove with all of her body weight before the stubborn mechanism twists and allows her to swing the door open.  With a relieved sigh, Y/N steps over the threshold, noticing that the stranger’s touch has fallen away once she’s inside.

With a confused and heavy glance, Y/N regards the curly-haired boy over her shoulder, turning slowly around to see him standing just outside the step of her apartment.  The hands that had just been groping every inch of her that they could get ahold of are now braced against the doorway, his tanned and inked muscles exposed beneath the sleeves of his blue t-shirt that fits him so perfectly, Y/N thinks she may faint.  Although his smirk is still tugging at his lips, his eyes have shifted to definitive darkness, and his expression has become more guarded.

“Is everything okay?” Y/N asks slowly, her own brows furrowing to match his own. “Aren’t you going to come in?”

The man’s eyes flash once more, and--Harry!  His name is Harry, Y/N remembers, and an alleviant feeling flushes through her veins while she struggles to keep the realization off her face as Harry straightens up to appraise her properly.

As his eyes scan over Y/N’s liquor-loose body, her eyes wide, trusting, and curious, her hair tangled from Harry’s fingers mussing it, a hickey just starting to colour at the base of her neck. The spot sends a flood of venom through Harry’s mouth and he knows that it’s time.  The moment that Harry dreads with each drunken club hookup has finally arrived.  The moment he has to figure out a way to get whatever poor soul he’s chosen as his midnight snack to explicitly invite him into their home.

There are a lot of abilities that come with being a vampire that Harry is thankful for.  The compulsion, he’d learned from his very first day in his afterlife, is one of the most useful and commonly used traits Harry possesses; after all, it’s a lot easier to take a little bite from an unsuspecting college student when you can make them forget it after.  The inhuman strength, of course, and the accompanying speed was handy, but mostly used for fun more than anything else.  When you barely sleep, you end up with a lot of free time, and impossible strength and speed makes for never ending wrestling matches, races, and various sporting competitions with Niall (they’d tried chess once, but Niall only lasted fifteen minutes before his attention drifted to the scent of a nighttime jogger outside the condo).

However, with all the sweetness that comes with being undead, there’s also the sour.  Iron has a tendency to burn the diamond-like skin of a vampire as if they were mere humans being prodded with a white hot brand, which Harry had learned the hard way back in his early days.  Stepping out into the sunlight has the same effect.  While these two issues could be easily remedied by dipping an iron object into gold, or wearing a sunlight ring respectively, there’s still one downside to life after death that irks Harry every time he’s presented with it.

Like every old folklore about vampires he had ever heard growing up, Harry has to be invited inside before he can cross the threshold of someone’s home.

And, as he’d learned over the years, it has to be an explicit invitation.  A beckoning of a hand or head won’t do, nor will a quiet whisper of “Follow me.” No, a resident of the home has to clearly state that they want Harry inside their space, or else he’ll be blocked from crossing under the door frame like there’s an invisible wall that only appears for him.

Given that Harry was raised in a time where proper manners were of the utmost importance, and an invitation had to be extended by a girl’s family before Harry was permitted to step onto the premises of their estate, getting this permission from someone isn’t too difficult for him.  However, if his meal is a little too soaked in alcohol, pulling an invitation from their slurring mouths can sometimes prove to be a challenge.

So when Y/N asks if he’s going to come in with confusion clearly tinging her voice, Harry knows he has to play his next moments very carefully.  He drops his eyelids halfway, giving her a sultry look that indicates every one of his intentions with her (at least, the ones he wants her to know about).  When he answers, his voice is low and drawling, dripping with thirst disguised as need despite the careful cadence of his words. “Do you want me to come in?”

While Y/N’s blood alcohol content is a little higher than usual, she still has enough awareness in her to show her surprise at the question Harry poses.

“Do I--?” She cuts herself off to rephrase her words in an incredulous tone.  Was he serious? “You literally had your tongue down my throat a minute ago, and now you’re asking if I want you to come in?”

Harry-- Y/N keeps repeating his name in her head to commit it to memory-- lifts one shoulder in a quick shrugging motion as he worries his bottom lip with his teeth. “I just want to make sure you’re okay with this,” He says, motioning between the two of them from outside the door. “Before we go any further.  Spoken consent is important, too.”

If Y/N hadn’t already been ready to drop to her knees and do whatever Harry wanted, that one sentence would’ve been enough to pull the reaction from her.  It takes every ounce of effort in her slightly intoxicated body to not tug his pants off right there in her doorway, and instead she takes a deep breath, swallowing down the lump in her throat. “Yes.” She tries to keep her voice as steady as she possibly can. “Yes, I want you to come in, Harry.”

The vampire’s nearly blindingly white teeth flash at her as a smile overtakes his face, and he confidently yet slowly strides into her apartment, his eyes flickering over the interior space, but keeping most of their attention trained on her.

As he steps towards her, Y/N steps backwards, leading him down the hallway, past her bathroom and small bedroom, and to the main kitchen and living area.  For once, Y/N is thankful that she took the time to do a quick sweep of her apartment the day before, as she would’ve been mortified if Harry had seen her half folded laundry spread out on her couch like it normally is.

“Do you, um--” She clears her throat once as she motions to the bar cart in the corner of the room. “Do you want a drink?”

Harry can’t help the small laugh that peels from his lips.  If only Y/N knew, he thinks, as he takes another step closer to her so he can grip her chin between his thumb and forefinger.  From the fluttering of her eyes, stuttering of her breath, and the audible increase of blood rushing through her body, concentrating in the areas that interest him the most, Harry can tell that she likes when he displays a dominant air over her.  Keeping his voice sultry to hide the growing smugness-- not completely, but enough that he doesn’t sound too cocky, Harry asks what’s meant to be a simple question. “You’re nervous.  What’s got you all worked up, hm?”

Tongue unfeeling in her mouth, Y/N struggles to answer as she stumbles over her words, distracted by the feeling of Harry’s ringed thumb caressing her chin, just barely grazing her lips.

“You’re just--I--” She sucks in a quick breath, trying to push down her embarrassment as her voice emerges more breathless than before. “You’re just really hot.”

Ah, the praise.  If the pleasure of swallowing down mouthful after mouthful of warm, sweet blood wasn’t Harry’s literal reason for existence, his most favourite thing in the world would be the way humans fawn over him. The beauty of a vampire is part of what lures a human in, and while Harry has foggy memories of being bashful in his human life, he’s fully transformed that part of himself in death.

“Am I?” He asks, and the snarky remark goes straight to the heat between Y/N’s thighs as he drops his face, his cool forehead pressing against her own flushed skin.

Y/N nods slowly, her nose bumping against Harry’s with every motion. “Yeah, you are.  I couldn’t believe that…” Her cheeks heat again as she trails off, and it’s only the insistent tap of Harry’s fingers against her hip that make her continue. “Couldn’t believe that you were interested in me.  Out of all the girls there…”

Harry uses his grip on her side to tug Y/N closer to him, despite already being only inches apart.  Although her scent had hit him like a train back at the club, here, in her own apartment, the fragrance is ten times as intense.  Y/N’s personal perfume of honey and lavender lingers in every breath he takes in, drifts off the couch, the throw pillows, the books on the coffee table...everything is drenched in her, and Harry almost feels drunk from it.

“Didn’t care about the others.  You--” He catches himself just in time, before the words “you smelled the best” tumble from his open mouth. “You just caught my attention. You looked so shy.” That’s true enough, Harry thinks, as his hand moves from her chin to grip the opposite side of her torso tightly in his large hands. “Wanted to see if I could break through that.”

Y/N yelps softly as Harry picks her up as if she weighs no more than a dandelion picked from a field, and drops her onto the couch behind her.  Although the worn fabric of the sofa is familiar, Y/N almost thinks that she should ask Harry to take her to her bedroom.  And then she gets a good look at Harry standing over her with lust clouding his jade irises and his lips so red she could name a lipstick after them, and every thought of anything besides him leaves her mind.

Harry straightens his spine after he drops her on the couch, his ringed hands easily finding the buckle of his belt to yank it free from his trousers in one swift motion, letting it fall to the IKEA rug below him.  His gaze flickers to lock eyes with Y/N as he fiddles with his zipper, catching and basking in the way her eyes keep falling to the movement.

He can see the neediness that’s practically dripping from her irises just as easily as tears would, and the way she catches her lip between her teeth in impatience forces Harry to bite back a groan.  It’s been so long since he had someone so...so fucking delectable, not just in smell, but in their actions.

“Would you like to do it?” Harry asks the question quietly, dancing his fingers over his zipper one last time before letting go.

Y/N’s answering nod is timid, and her actions are almost trancelike as she slowly reaches towards him, but Harry catches her wrist and grips it tightly before she can reach her goal.

Giving her a stern look, he raises his voice a few decibels louder than it was. “Use your words, then, darling.  Tell me.”

Harry can smell the flood between her legs as a lustful whimper falls from Y/N’s lips, the desperation that’s coursing through her veins amplifying with every passing moment.

“I want to--” She nearly stutters over the words, and takes a moment to collect herself before continuing in a more self-assured voice. “I want to undress you.”

Harry’s responding smile is so big that, if she weren’t slightly intoxicated, and if there was more than just the light of one lamp illuminating the pair, Y/N might have noticed the sinister glint of his teeth.

“Good girl.” His voice is as smooth as molasses when he praises her. “Go ahead.”

Although her hands are clumsy, Y/N manages to work around the button and zipper of his pants until she can ease the fabric down his legs, her desperation only growing as his boxers-- and the clear outline of his hardening cock-- become visible.  The erotic sight pulls a quiet but defined gasp from Y/N as she drags her index finger over the bulge, too entranced in her own actions to catch the way Harry’s eyes roll back into his head at the sensation.

“Oh.” With her heart thumping in her chest, Y/N finally raises her eyes to his. “You’re-- you’re so big, Harry…”

“Is that a problem?” Despite knowing that it isn’t-- and has never been before-- Harry still asks the question, wanting to extract as much praise from the mortal girl as he can before the night is over.  He’s always had a bit of a praise kink, adoring the way humans adored him, but there’s something about the voice of the girl in front of him that makes the compliments sound sugar-coated in the best way.

Y/N’s response is so quick and sharp that it almost pulls a laugh from Harry’s chest.

“No.” She insists immediately, giving a rough shake of her head. “No, absolutely not.”

The sides of Harry’s kiss-swollen lips twitch arrogantly, but the next words he speaks are genuine.  Although he’s a lot of things, certainly, a careless lover is not one of them.

“If it gets to be too much…” He brings a ringed hand to caress Y/N’s hair, his eyes softening for just a moment. “Don’t hesitate to tell me.  I don’t want to do anything if it doesn’t make you feel just as good as it makes me feel.”

And with those words, that same desperation that Y/N had felt when he asked if he could come inside earlier reignites in her belly.  It had never gone out, true, but it had dulled to a dim spark for just a moment, yet with the fanning of Harry’s latest words, exploded into a renewed bonfire deep inside her.  

“God, I can’t believe you’re real.” Y/N half mutters the words to herself as she scoots towards the edge of the sofa, knees bumping against the front of Harry’s bare calves as he takes a step forward.

With his ring-clad fingers still carding through her hair, Harry guides the girl’s head closer to the tent in his briefs, biting back a chuckle at her comment.  God has nothing to do with it.

“I’m real.” He murmurs in a sweet tone. “And now that you know that...what are you going to do?”

Y/N looks up at him through heavy lashes, pressing her trembling lips to the crest of his exposed belly button as a response, dragging damp kisses down his happy trail as she tugs his underwear down his deliciously thick thighs.

“Fuck, that’s it…” The words are strained when they leave Harry’s mouth with a feathery moan, his head throwing back in bliss as he enjoys the teasing actions.

This is always one of his favourite moments, he thinks.  The moment his flings-- his girls, as he sometimes affectionately thinks of them, or his boys-- get their lips around him for the first time.  Just as mortals fawn over his appearance, they worship his naked body, and his pulsing cock is no exception to that rule.  All of his lovers show an eagerness to please him, and Y/N is no different.

When Harry looks back on this moment six months down the road, he’ll curse himself for thinking something so naive, and for believing that Y/N really was no different than anyone else, especially when her smell alone was already enough to send him into a frenzy.  But right now, in this moment, she’s just doing exactly what he wants her to.  And that’s what he needs.

Y/N slowly wraps her hand around his girth, unable to meet her fingers in the middle as she slowly begins to stroke him.

“You’re so…” She searches her (less, but still a bit) inebriated mind for the right word.  Despite hardly having been touched by Harry, her voice is already wrecked. “So pretty.”

The innocuous adjective catches Harry by surprise, but only for a moment before he tugs her hair lightly, stocking the new compliment in the back of his mind for later reflection.

“Give it a little kiss, baby.” He murmurs, the cadence of his voice equal parts soft and dominant. “Show me how pretty you think it is, yeah?”

The request sends a shiver down Y/N’s spine as she complies, watching Harry through thick lashes as she leans forward with lips puckered, gently pressing them to the red and leaking tip of his cock.  Another strained moan rolls from his lips as her tongue darts out to carefully collect the precum gathering at his slit.

“That’s a good girl…” The praise that leaves Harry’s mouth is breathless, half whispered as he wraps her hair around his wrist and pulls her forward. “Y’can take a bit more now, dove.  C’mon.”

Y/N gingerly takes the head of his cock into her mouth, the underside of his length catching on her bottom lip and earning an elongated hiss from Harry.  His own eyes are fluttering as he watches her rub the textured surface of her tongue over him, mewling softly as the taste of his warm precum invades her senses.

The vibrations from the sound of pleasure makes the whites of Harry’s half lidded eyes momentarily tinge blood red as the sensation pinballs up his spine, causing his grip on her roots to tighten.  Harry sucks in a deep breath, waiting until he knows his eyes have returned to a more human-like state before drawing her attention back to him as he speaks.

“You look so cute like that.” He coos admiringly, the pads of his fingers careful in massaging her scalp without tangling strands of her hair in his rings. “Y’look like a proper angel with those soft lips wrapped around my cock.”

The filthy comment stokes the fire churning in the pit of Y/N’s stomach as she blinks tears from her eyes.  With a stuttering inhale, she tries to carve out a mental foothold in her mind, something to stop her from completely falling into the tension of the atmosphere.

“You taste really good.” She finally whimpers after a moment, the sentence spoken around his prick before she draws him from her mouth.  Y/N can see the way Harry’s eyes are glued to the string of saliva connecting his length to her lips, and the uninhibited lustful look almost sends her spiraling completely.  Pressing tender kisses up and down his extent, she begins to rub her silky lips along the prominent vein that stretches from his base to the tip.

If she’s going to succumb to the tension, she wants Harry right there beside her.

And from what she can tell, he is.  Garbled moans are tearing from his mouth over and over, his large cock twitching within her grasp.  When he speaks again, his voice is further from honey than it’s ever been.

“Christ, you’re such a dirty little thing.” Harry growls, raking his hands through her hair once more. “So excited to please, aren’t you?”

“I am.” Y/N whispers the words as she continues to smear kisses along his length, just enough to tease him, but not enough to push him over the edge.  There’s a feeling of intense desire rising inside her, not just for her own pleasure, but for his pleasure as well.  It’s a new feeling, quite unfamiliar inside her, but then again, why wouldn’t it be?  She’s never met anyone like Harry before.  She’s never lifted her head to look someone in the eye with their cock at her lips and been so mesmerized by the image of their swollen lips tugged between their teeth, dark eyes hooded with want as they stare back down at her.  It’s completely new, and completely everything she’d ever needed.

“Take more, baby.  Know you can.” Harry’s words are still growled as he grasps the base of his cock in his large hand, directing it towards her mouth, but pausing just outside of her lips.  For a moment, Y/N wonders why he won’t continue, but the quick quirk of his eyebrow raising makes her realize that he’s doing exactly what he did earlier in her doorway.

He’s waiting for an invitation.

A whimpering noise falls out when Y/N opens her mouth wide for him, flattening her tongue and extending it just past her lips so that the textured surface will slide along his expanse as he pushes into her mouth.

A crease appears between Harry’s eyebrows as his face contorts in bliss. “That’s it, darling.  Show me how well you suck cock.”

Y/N hums around his length, lifting her hand to replace Harry’s grip, but he grasps her wrist before she can accomplish the task, pushing her hand back down to her thigh and flattening it against the fabric of her pants.

“No hands.” Harry rasps, eyes glinting with dominance. “Just that pretty mouth.”

Despite her vulnerable position, Y/N manages to give half a nod, closing her watering eyes as Harry continues to dive deeper down her throat.  She feels the cool touch of his ringed hand against her bulging cheek, his thumb rubbing over the apple of her bone structure in a tender motion that contrasts their actions.

“Look at me.” Harry beckons her gently, but keeps a command in the tone of his voice.  When Y/N’s eyes flicker open again, he directs her gaze up to his own as his jade eyes flash darker, pupils dilating ever so slightly.  

Despite his very existence being unethical by nature of what he is, Harry doesn’t use compulsion on his partners inside the bedroom (or living room, or car, or wherever else he takes someone for a quick fuck and a bite to eat); he may be a monster, but he’s not a monster.  And his mother raised him better than that, even if she didn’t remember doing so.  No, if Harry is going to be engaging in a sexual act with anyone, it’ll be something that both parties have consented to while in their right minds.  

That being said, he does use his power slightly just to encourage those he spends his nights with to be as honest and free as they’ve ever wanted to be.  Meals taste best, he’s found, when his main courses have fully relaxed and unwinded, and Harry is a man-- well, not quite a man, but a being-- of fair play; if he’s going to be taking something from his partners, then he wants them to take something from him, as well.  And sometimes humans need a little push to do so.

“You’re going to let go of your inhibitions tonight, do you understand?” Harry speaks in a soothing tone, his voice like a lullaby as he strokes his thumb against Y/N’s skin. “You’re going to do anything you’ve ever wanted to, but been too scared to speak out loud.”

Y/N blinks up at him as her heavy eyelids lift, her own pupils expanding slightly to match his own as Harry’s gentle influence washes over her.  Her head jerks in a small nod of agreement, showing the understanding that she can’t quite speak in this position.

Harry rubs over the obvious bulge in her cheek, an imprint of his cock inside her warm mouth.  The longer he rests inside her, the more his chest heaves as waves of pleasure begin to lap at the trench of his stomach.  The sensation is distracting, and he refocuses himself more intently as a familiar prickling washes across the backs of his eyes.  If he doesn’t keep himself in check, his words will be more powerful than he means them to be, and that’s the last thing he wants.

“Don’t be nervous or scared.  I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N.” He continues the speech that he has memorized from how often he’s used it during one night stands, keeping his voice light and level. “You can trust me.  Do whatever it is you want, and nothing you don’t.  You’re safe with me.”

Y/N nods again, the action softer and fainter than it had been before. Harry can practically see the tension releasing from her shoulders. He drags a ringed knuckle across her cheekbone, admiring the sheen of tears gathering on her waterline as a result of his sheer girth.

“What is it you want then, darling?” He asks cooly, pulling back just a tad to give her enough relief to talk around his prick.

Harry watches as Y/N wrings her hands against her thighs, thinking her words through carefully and deliberately as her lashes flutter at the relaxing sensation of him caressing her heated skin.  When she speaks, all previous timidness and hesitation is gone from her voice, replaced with unwavering desire that sends a shockwave down Harry’s spine.

“I want you to fuck my mouth.”

Y/N sounds so sure of herself, so desperate at the request, that Harry almost grips her head and snaps his hips forward the moment the words leave her mouth.  However, years of control and restraint squash that instinct before he can even consider giving into it.  Instead, he merely pauses his motions as he contemplates the mortal in front of him, reevaluating the girl he had thought would be bashful and reserved for what seems to be the thousandth time that night.

At the pause in his actions, Y/N’s brows pinch and she stares up at Harry with a confused and almost wounded look, eyelids fluttering as if she’s worried that her blunt request had done something to upset him.  Harry, remembering the promise he had just made a moment ago, resumes his reassuring motions against her cheek, not speaking again until he feels the human unwind once more.

Once Y/N is leaning into him again, Harry asks the question that’s been spinning in his mind since she first spoke.

“Have you ever had anyone fuck your mouth before?” He asks curiously, despite being certain he already knows the answer.

Y/N rubs her palms flat over her thighs slowly as she gives the predicted answer in a quiet voice. “No.  Never.”

“But you want me to do it.” Although his words indicate a question, Harry phrases it like a statement.  He wants her to say it again, he realizes, closing his eyes as he revels in the feeling of her tongue massaging the head of his cock.  He needs to hear her say it again.

Y/N complies to his unspoken want. “Yes.” She mumbles around him, and the concentration needed to keep her hands pressed to her lap is apparent all over her face. “I want to make you feel good.”

The pounding of Y/N’s heart is so loud that its thump echoes in Harry’s ears.  He can see the pulse of her carotid artery in her strained neck, a warm and real reminder that this girl is alive and burning with need for him.  Harry lets out a low moan as his mouth begins to fill with venom once again, watering as if he were a human presented with his favourite meal.  Without thinking, he lets his fingers drift from her cheek to her neck, feeling the heated hammering rhythm beneath the icy pads.

All Harry wants to do is take a bite, and his fangs ache at the very thought of sinking his teeth into the young woman’s soft flesh, but he knows he has to restrain himself.  She’ll taste so much sweeter post-orgasm, after oxytocin is flowing through her veins, deepening her flavour.

“Alright.” Harry gathers himself as he draws his hand from Y/N’s neck, returning his touch to her chin so she’ll look at him again as his voice takes on a persuasive tone (without adding compulsion-- Harry needs her to be completely aware of her actions). “Keep your hands pressed flat to your thighs.  And keep your mouth and throat as open as you can, is that understood?”

Y/N gives a small nod, her jaw starting to ache around Harry’s cock in the most fulfilling fashion. Nerves are beginning to set in again, and she can’t help the shiver that tumbles down her spine and settles in her hands as she tightens them to her legs.

Harry frowns ever so slightly at the change in her demeanor. “You’re alright, pet.  You know that, don’t you?” He asks, letting his voice shift to a more tender tone for just a moment. “Let yourself let go.  I’ll take good care of you.”

With the calming aspect of Harry’s promise ringing in her ears, quieting the pounding of her own heart that echoes in her head like a drum, Y/N follows his suggestions. The young woman takes a deep breath through her nose to focus herself, and she’s so caught up in the moment— in the way he tastes and feels in her mouth, salty and velvety smooth— that she vaguely wonders how she’ll manage to move at all.

Nevertheless, with the help of Harry’s thumb gliding over her chin in reassurance, Y/N begins to bend to his will, her slightly aching jaw relaxing and shoulders unknotting. Gazing up at him with pliant and moony eyes, she waits for her next set of instructions. She has little experience with this ground— save a few porno videos she’d perused out of curiosity— and for some odd reason, she feels that she can put faith in him to guide her through it.  

As if he can sense what she’s waiting for, Harry speaks with a voice that floats through the air softly, thick like syrup and just as appetizing. “Lean back against the couch.”

Y/N does so immediately, slumping into the cushions while making sure to keep her back somewhat straight. Her head rests against the surface, more comfortable than she expected to be (perhaps she’d have to leave that as a review on IKEA’s website; “If you’re interested in getting your face fucked by a stranger you met in a club, this couch is perfect!”) as Harry climbs over her, balancing his knees on either sides of her hips. He’s careful not to rest any weight on Y/N, just as he’s careful to grip the hair along the crown of her head securely, but not roughly. Despite his most basic instincts, he refuses to be rough unless she explicitly asks for it.

Going against his default behavior, Harry finds out with every passing second, is easier said than done. It takes every fiber of his being to internally talk himself into being patient as he watches the mortal lap at his cock with a form of drunken need, the tiny whines escaping the back of her throat only increasing his fervor. With a care that’s only developed over centuries, Harry gradually works his hips forward, sinking deeper into her mouth inch by inch, his half-lidded eyes watching every twitch and flicker of her expression to make sure he’s not crossing any boundaries.

“S’that alright?” His tone holds the weight of the intense control he’s roping around himself, which tightens with every moan-induced vibration he feels around his length.

Y/N responds with an eager bob of her head, a broken mewl, muffled by his cock, encouraging him to go further.

Harry abides, holding her in place by her locks of hair and slowly sliding his hips forward until the base of his cock taps against her wet chin. His free hand rests beside her ear, twisting the navy blue couch cushion into his fist. It’s the only way to keep himself sane, he thinks, especially with how Y/N is ogling up at him with those big innocent eyes, swirling with alcohol yet still so clear, the skin of her cheeks boiling with heated blood as breaths falter past her nostrils.

The sight of the human girl so open and ready for him would have stopped Harry’s heart if it had a beat.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” Harry gets a sudden urge and can’t stop himself from leaning down to press a lingering kiss to the center of her sweaty forehead, right between her brows.  Given the nature of his other urges, a tender kiss is one he can let slide. “I’m going to leave your throat so fucking sore.”

The gentle action contrasted with his sinful promise pulls another whine from Y/N’s mouth, quiet and soft and so inaudible that if Harry were human, he might not hear it.  And what a shame that would be, he sighs internally, as he tightens his vice-like grasp on her couch cushions, reminding himself not to rip the fragile fabric as he clenches his fist.

Harry holds himself there for a moment, enjoying the sensation of her wet and warm throat contracting around him.  Y/N’s eyes, which were watering even before she opened herself up like this, release a small salty tear that traces down her cheekbone. Harry releases a hand’s grip on the couch to wipe the teardrop away with a ringed knuckle.  Curiosity is what makes him bring the digit to his mouth, letting his tongue lick off the saline droplet.

It’s a strange flavour, Harry decides as he retracts his finger from his mouth.  Salty, yes, but there’s a hint of the same underlying flavours that run through blood, depending on someone’s emotional state.  It’s rather refreshing.

Not letting himself waste anymore time on thinking about anything except the girl in front of him, Harry shakes himself from his internal thoughts.

“Hold yourself right there for me, darling.” He says lowly before slowly retracting his hips, watching as his spit-slick cock slips from Y/N’s red lips, her lipstick smudged and faded.  He keeps pulling back until just the tip rests on her tongue, and he lets himself enjoy the sight for a moment before he begins to thrust forward again.  Repeating the same motion a few times, Harry takes careful and measured breaths through his nose before increasing his speed.

Y/N keeps her damp eyes on Harry with every move of his torso, staying as open for him as he requested.  The obedience, trust, and desire written all over her face drives Harry mad.

“That’s— fuck, that’s perfect.” His voice drops lower, the tone smooth as liquid silk while he snaps his hips forward again. “Stay just like that for me, yeah?  Like a proper good girl.”

There’s something about the simple praise that incites a craving deep in Y/N’s stomach.  As Harry bulges in her throat over and over, her eyes roll back into her head at the foreign yet entirely pleasurable experience, and her insides burn with the sensation of him using her.  There’s just something so satisfying about feeling him ram into her mouth, the crescent above her upper lip catching on the bristly hairs that sprinkle in a line down the center of his abdomen. Her nose nudges against the trough of his belly button repeatedly, the picture of his jolting fern tattoos— which she hadn’t even noticed until he was down her throat— becoming blurrier with every slam forward.

Harry doesn’t cap his noises of bliss either, and allows vulgar curses and grunts to slip down his tongue freely. Through a clenched jaw and bared teeth, he pants about how well she’s doing and how good she’s taking it, feeding the boiling satisfaction in her veins.  She wants to please him.  She needs to please him.

“God, look at you.” He begins tugging and pushing her head to match his thrusts, his fangs poking along the inside of his bottom lip as he feels how strong her heart is beating. He can feel the thundering pulse through her mouth, stringing right up his prick and deepening the thirst burning along the back of his tongue. “Taking that cock and loving every single bit of it. You like this? Like it when I use that pretty little mouth to make myself feel good?”

Y/N chokes out a shattered whimper of agreement, sniffling a gasp when his pace speeds up a smidge.

“Fucking hell, you’re filthy. S’always the quiet ones, isn’t it?” Harry rasps, the words flowing from his flushed mouth as he sucks in breaths between phrases.

Although his rings dig into her scalp, Y/N doesn’t alert him of it. If anything, she enjoys the minimal flare of pain the action brings, almost as much as she enjoys the way he gazes down at her with an open-mouthed simper, electricity coursing through the specks of gold around his pupils, head bobbing back and forth along to his steady stride.

“Shy girls like you are just nervous to say what they really want until the right person comes along. Isn’t that right, baby?” Harry can’t help the filthy exclamations spitting from his mouth, and he doesn’t want to.  From his first remark, Y/N was hooked on every dirty claim, and if she wants to hear more, who is he to rob her of that? “You were just sitting there all prim and proper, waiting to find someone who could give you what you wanted. Someone who isn’t afraid to fuck you how you like it.”

Y/N’s hands tighten into loose fists in her lap, itching to grab onto the plushness of his hips and drag her fingers up his lean stomach, to feel it contract beneath her fingertips as Harry chases his high.  And Harry can see her intention, any pleading she’d normally vocalize funneling into her watery eyes. The way she’s silently begging him to allow her to touch him is bound to dismantle him quickly.  Too quickly, if he doesn’t keep himself on track.

Of course, there’s a voice in the back of Harry’s head, his most repressed instinct, telling him to do just that.  The voice tells him to quicken his thrusts, push himself down Y/N’s throat as deep as he can, and release in her mouth before lifting her like a rag doll and biting into her neck to satiate the thirst that’s been burning in the back of his throat since he first caught her scent at the bar.  But Harry suppresses that instinct far back down inside himself once again before slowly removing his cock from Y/N’s mouth.  If he’s going to cum, he wants it to be inside her.  It has to be inside of her.  And he doesn’t want to be done just yet.

The moment Harry’s prick slips out of her mouth, Y/N gasps, drool slipping from the corner of her lips like the tears from her eyes.  Despite her wrecked appearance and the soreness beginning to ache in the back of her throat, there’s a whine of displeasure mixed with her gasps as her glossy eyes track Harry’s movements. “Where—where are you going?”

The human girl’s eagerness for him brings a small yet pleased smile to Harry’s face, and he lets one chilly hand rest on her heated cheek as he climbs down from his position on the couch.

“There’s so much more for us to do tonight, angel.” An amused chuckle sounds from his throat as he straightens himself up. “Did you really think a quick blowie was all I wanted from you?”

Y/N wipes the edge of her mouth, smearing whatever lipstick had been left on her skin after Harry finished. “I would hope not.” She murmurs truthfully, managing to raise her brows in judgement.  While she’d normally never sass somebody that easily, especially someone she barely knows, she feels that it’s acceptable given that this stranger had been shoved down her throat moments ago, spewing explicit comments about her without a single issue.

Y/N’s cheeks burn as Harry’s crude words from before run through her mind like an audio recording.  She definitely has the right to sass him.

The way Harry grips her tired jaw firmly, however, tilting her chin upwards while leaning down to ghost his cherry lips over her own swollen pair, has her rethinking that within seconds.  

Y/N knows that she should be embarrassed that all it takes is a touch to her chin and one kiss to send her back into a submissive state, but she can’t bring herself to care in the moment, especially as a few rogue curls fall across Harry’s forehead and frame the edges of his face.  The stray strands give the dominant man a less intimidating appearance.  Just less intense, Y/N thinks.  Maybe even soft. She’d gotten so caught up in the whirlwind of dirty promises and brazen actions that she had failed to notice that the young man before her is exactly that— a young man. A young man with wild eyes, a strong grip, and a stern hold on her within just a few hours of meeting.  But even with the reminder that Harry is around her age, Y/N can see that he carries himself with the confidence and persona of someone much older, hinting that he has much more experience than any normal adult in their twenties would have.

The possibility of where his extensive expertise and skills could apply to makes her stomach flutter.

Y/N thinks she might get lost in the feeling, until a tiny shot of pain snaps her out of her head. Her bottom lip throbs between Harry’s teeth after he’s captured it, his nose smudging along the bridge of her own, a messy action that he somehow makes thoughtful and concise.  His eyes are the color of a forest at midnight, and when he speaks, his tone comes out even, yet commanding and assured in the most attractive sense.

“Take off your clothes.”

The order sends a rush of heat to Y/N’s core as her half-lidded eyes flutter, and she feels a pull in her to comply as Harry releases her lip from his teeth.  Her hands reach for the hem of her blouse that’s already half-untucked from Harry’s wandering touch, but she pauses, fingers still gripping the sheer fabric.

“Will you—?” Y/N cuts herself off abruptly, tongue licking over the sting in her lip as she rephrases her speech. “I want you to help me.”

The simple request knocks the breath from Harry’s lungs so fast that he’s lucky he doesn’t actually need it to function.  It takes him a moment to center himself enough so that he can suck in sharp breath to regain his dominance.

“Do you?” Harry does his best to keep his voice steady as he kinks a brow and leans back from Y/N, strong hands replacing her own at the hem of her shirt.  He clicks his tongue against his teeth as he pulls her hold away, his fingers resting just over her racing pulse point. “Let go, then. Arms up.”

Once Y/N’s arms are in the air, Harry has no trouble removing her shirt, tossing the delicate fabric to the side before working his fingers around to the band of her pink lace bra. The scent of Y/N’s heated skin is too much for him to resist, all lavender and liquor, and he begins to pepper kisses along her collarbones and neck, making sure his teeth are hidden behind his pillowy lips.  The task is easier said than done, especially when Harry can feel the human’s heartbeat throb beneath his touch, but he manages to restrain himself from taking a bite.  It’ll come in due time, he knows it.  His thirst will be handled, Y/N just needs to be taken care of first.

With another flick of his hand, Y/N’s bra joins her shirt in a puddle on the floor.  Now that there are no barriers between Harry and her soft, supple skin, his hands travel to her bare chest, cupping and tweaking and massaging, pulling every sound imaginable out of Y/N as he touches her.

“Harry, I—“ Y/N can barely form a sentence as Harry synchronizes a wet kiss on her neck and a quick tug on her nipple, his lips smirked against her skin. “Oh...”

“What’s the matter, love?” The breathless, incoherent moans leaving Y/N’s mouth make Harry’s smirk widen. “Cat got your tongue?”

Despite the warmth rising to Y/N’s cheeks, she manages to sound indignant as she shoots Harry as much of a glare as she can muster with his hands on her breasts. “Shut up.”

Harry hums in response, sending vibrations down the length of Y/N’s throat. “Mm.  I suppose I could use my mouth for something else…”

It’s almost comical how quickly Y/N’s heart rate increases at that comment.  It would be comical, Harry thinks, if the pulsing of her neck didn’t excite Harry’s cock the way it does.  As much as he pretends otherwise, he needs this as much as she does.  Even more, if the dull ache running down the back of his jugular is any indication.

The vampire detaches his mouth from the girl’s neck, promising himself he’ll return there later once he’s properly prepared his dinner.  While Y/N’s sweet-smelling blood is his main course of the night, he still has an appetizer sitting in front of him that he has yet to taste.

Harry’s shirt quickly joins the growing stack of clothing on the floor before his trousers do.  He allows himself one ghost of a stroke on his cock, still slick with Y/N’s spit, but only to tease himself.

“Lay back down.” He demands, tucking himself back in his boxers before getting to his knees.  Y/N watches the movement with hungry eyes, lip trapped beneath her own teeth just as Harry had done a few minutes ago.

“C’mon, love, don’t stop behaving now.” Harry chides her, smoothing his ringed hands over the fabric of her flowy pants before finding the button. “Lay down.”

At the repeat of the command, Y/N obeys him, wordlessly lifting her hips so Harry can tug down her now unbuttoned bottoms.  He only gets the material halfway down her thighs before her scent hits him like a fucking truck, and then any semblance of rational thought leaves Harry’s mind completely.

If Y/N’s blood is a finely aged wine with notes of lavender and honey scattered throughout its bouquet, something that deserves to be sipped out of a fine crystal goblet and worshipped, then what lies between Y/N’s thighs is the most delectable tequila Harry has ever had the pleasure of tasting in his two hundred years, her signature honey scent still detectable beneath it all.  

Harry’s hands are almost a blur as he reaches back up and hooks his fingers into the waistband of her underwear, tugging them down to meet the waist of her bottoms before pulling both articles off completely and throwing them to the side.  He parts her legs just as quickly, and before Y/N can even say anything, his mouth is against her core, sedating his need the only way he can at this moment.

“Oh--!” A squeak of surprise falls from Y/N’s lips as one hand finds Harry’s curls, twisting into them tightly as her other finds her own hair.  With her eyes falling closed, she misses the crimson hue that flashes through Harry’s emerald irises with every moan.

Harry’s control is beginning to slip, and he knows that.  It would be frustrating, honestly, if it didn’t feel so fucking good.  It’s been so long since he’s felt so feral for someone, so desperate— truly desperate— to press himself as close as possible to them, to lap up anything they’ll give him, and that’s all he wants to do right now.  Harry’s nose nudges against Y/N’s clit, pulling another searing mewl from her throat as his tongue darts into her entrance.  Every one of his heightened senses is filled with Y/N, consumed with every inch of her; her fragrance fogs his mind, her taste coats his tongue, and her soft thighs dimple beneath his grip that keeps her spread. The sensation of her hands tugging at his hair is the only thing keeping him grounded.  

Flicking his tongue over her clit once more, Harry revels in the broken sounds spilling from above, audible proof that he’s making her fall apart with his mouth just as much as she did to him.  It brings a sense of pride to Harry’s chest-- he doesn’t just take from his partners.  He gives in return.

“H-Harry--” Y/N pants his name in a shattered voice, her face screwed up in pleasure as she drags her hand from her hair to her chest, gripping her own breasts in her palm as her chest heaves.

It’s not as though Y/N hasn’t had her fair share of sex, and she’s most certainly had someone go down on her before.  The problem, she just manages to think as Harry suctions his lips over her clit, is that it’s never felt like this before.

In this moment, with Harry’s mouth working over her as if she was his last meal, Y/N would give up everything to memorize the sight and sensation of this man on his knees for her.  Everything, from the filthy noises that slip from his mouth between movements, to the way his irises darken with every passing moment, indicates that Harry is just as into that scenario as she is.  And that’s what it is, really.  What sets Harry apart from anyone else she’s ever had.  Any other man that’s gone down on her has treated it like a chore, while Harry—

“You’re fucking delectable, y’know that?” He rasps, the vibrations of his words rolling over her core with every phrase. “Like dessert.  The sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Y/N drags her hand back up to her mouth, wedging her index finger between her teeth to stifle the borderline embarrassing moans threatening to overflow. “I’m—I’m so close, Harry...you’re gonna make me cum…”

“Mhmm.” Harry hums against her clit in agreement, stroking his tongue along her dripping opening once more before pulling away. “But not right now.  You’re going to cum around my cock.”

Although Harry makes it sound like he’s teasing her, taunting her by holding her orgasm off until the very last second, he knows the truth: if Y/N were to cum right now, if her body were to shudder and give into every request Harry’s tongue is pulling from her, then Harry wouldn’t be able to take it.  If Y/N were to cum with his head still buried between her thighs, it would only be a fraction of a second before Harry’s teeth would be buried in them instead.

Restraint, he tells himself as he slowly rises from his knees, reaching for Y/N’s face and gripping her cheeks in one hand as he steals a rough kiss from her supple lips.  Restraint.  Everything will come in due time.

“Wait—” Y/N makes a sound of protest as she falls back from the kiss.  Although it’s a struggle for her to form a functioning and coherent thought, she needs to do it. “I— are you clean?”

Harry cocks his head to the side, the blunt and laughable response of “I’m dead, darling.” hanging on the tip of his tongue.  He should add that to his list of vampire perks, he thinks.  He already caught the worst thing anyone can catch— death— which means STDs and pregnancy scares are the furthest thing from his mind during sex.

Instead of that complicated answer, however, Harry opts for something simpler.

“Yes.  Scout’s honour.” He assures her with a quick nod of his head.  For the sake of appearances, he poses a question back to her. “What about you?  Are you on birth control?”

A flash of relief lights up Y/N’s eyes. “Mhmm.  And I’m on the pill, so…” Her cheeks burn beneath Harry’s touch. “We’re, um, we’re good to go.”

A choked laugh sounds from Harry’s throat as he shakes his head, smudging another kiss at the corner of Y/N’s mouth. “We’re good to go, are we?  I’m glad to hear it.”

All of his teasing is for one purpose and one purpose only: to hear Y/N’s heartbeat spike in intensity and speed.  When his comment easily receives the desired reaction, Harry brushes his fingers along the girl’s pulse point as he drifts his lips to her ear, grazing the cartilage with his teeth.

“Bend over.” He murmurs, accent thick as it rings in her ear. “I want you on your hand and knees for me.”

Y/N grips his tattooed shoulder tightly in her hands, kissing him one more time before obeying the directions offered.  It takes her a moment to turn over on the couch and situate herself comfortably on her knees, bracing her hands on the back of the cushion as Harry’s strong grip finds her hips.

“You have the prettiest arse.” He smooths his hands over her backside as he speaks, admiring the softness of her skin beneath his calloused palms. “You’d look so pretty covered in marks, wouldn’t you?”

“I-I think so.” Y/N agrees breathlessly, glancing over her shoulder at the wild look in Harry’s eyes.  He winks at her when he catches her gaze, tapping his fingers against her lower backside before spreading her legs apart more.

“Don’t worry, love.  Won’t be doing that to you tonight.  Don’t have the patience, honestly.” Harry keeps his tone casual, which is a miracle, Y/N thinks, considering he’s completely stripped himself and is stroking his hard cock as he speaks.  The cadence of his voice in contrast with his actions makes her shiver, and the anticipation only crescendos when Harry rubs the tip of his prick against her soaked slit.

“‘M going to start, alright?” Harry’s voice is tight, and he’s barely able to wait for a sound of acknowledgement from Y/N before he begins to part her folds with his cock.

The relief is simultaneously instantaneous and completely out of reach.  Yes, the wet and burning heat of her walls squeezing him satisfies the deep pulsing in the pit of his stomach, but it does nothing for the dry heat in the back of his throat.  If anything, being so close to her is only a reminder of what he really, truly needs.

Harry forces himself to thrust slowly, to exercise the control he’s usually so good at displaying. Patience, he repeats to himself.  Don’t get ahead of yourself.  Focus on what’s happening in the moment.  

And then he bottoms out, his pelvis pressing flat against Y/N’s soft flesh as her spongy walls squeeze him. Y/N lets out a moan so filthy that Harry’s knees buckle and every ounce of restraint disappears from his body.  

“Fucking hell--” His voice doesn’t even sound his own as he digs the pads of his fingers into Y/N’s hips, surely leaving bruises that will blossom before the sun rises.  He begins to quicken his thrusts as the sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, accompanied by the whimpers echoing from Y/N’s lips and the grunts falling from his own.  With every stroke, Y/N’s fragrance fills the air more and more, pulling him further into a cloud of lust and hunger with every ragged breath he sucks through gritted teeth.  When he sees the throbbing of Y/N’s veins in her neck, flashing at him like a signal, teasing him to the point of no return, Harry’s instincts grow louder, overshadowing any ounce of control he has left.

He grips the girl’s shoulder roughly, tugging her body up from its bent position to press flat against his sweaty inked chest.  Once she’s in the desired position, Harry’s hand travels to her neck, squeezing just enough to win a choked moan from Y/N’s lips.

“Fuck, Harry--” She whines breathlessly, arching her back as she reaches to tangle her own fingers in his knotted curls.  Her harsh tug pulls another groan from Harry’s swollen lips as they hover just over her neck, brushing against her hot skin with every ram.  Her smell is so intoxicating, he could just--

And then he feels Y/N’s own lips on his neck and his senses overwhelm.

Even before Harry was turned, he had been a creature centered around touch.  Of course, in the 1800s, touch was something that was fairly forbidden between anyone who was less than married, save for a rare dance at a ball with a beautiful girl.  The first time Harry had been touched in this way, it had been by a young woman he has since tried so hard to block out of his memory. It had set his skin on fire, a feeling that never quite went away, even after her fingers had left his wrist that very first day.  It was like she’d left an imprint on him, a candle burning in the window of his heart so that she’d be able to find her way back whenever she wanted to.  And then her last touch had burned him more than he ever thought possible.  If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the whitehot pain as she cradled his head between her palms, still hear her soft, accented voice in his ear, reassuring him that everything would be alright, the sick sound of his own neck snapping--

He just doesn’t let people touch him there. Ever.

Harry’s hand tightens around Y/N’s throat, just for a moment, before guiding her kisses from the sensitive area to his collarbones.  The memory still seems just as fresh and poignant in his mind as the day it happened, with time healing nothing, and Harry has to remind himself that he’s not that person anymore.  He’s different now.  He’s the one in control.

“I’m close, Harry--” Y/N’s sweet voice is a welcome reminder of where he is, cutting through his thoughts like a bird song cuts through a quiet morning. “Shit, I’m so close.”

“I know.” Harry growls the words into her ear as he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses along her jugular.  He can smell it on her, how her blood is sweetening with every passing moment, like a fruit ripening for picking. “Cum for me, pet.  C’mon.  Y’can let go.”

Y/N takes his words to heart, throwing her head back onto Harry’s muscled shoulder as her orgasm builds to its peak.  Harry can feel it-- how she contracts around him, how her juices drip down his cock and onto his thighs, how her pulse quickens beneath his lips.

And then Y/N cries out as she falls over the edge, Harry’s self control crumbling the moment he feels it, and the vampire sinks his teeth into the supple flesh of the mortal’s neck.

Y/N’s cry of surprise quickly turns into a moan as Harry’s venom begins to race through her bloodstream, the chemical hormones calming and sedating her in order to allow him to drink as much as he’d like.  Normally, Harry waits until his partners are fast asleep, tired from their activities, but Y/N’s scent is so overpowering and consuming that, honestly, it’s a wonder he’s managed to keep himself together this long.  And the moment Y/N’s blood washes over his tongue, he’s not sure if he’ll ever be so controlled again.

There are flavours that he predicted: honey, lavender, vanilla, a hint of the alcohol she poured back earlier, all sugared by the orgasm currently coursing through her body.  But there’s something else underneath, too.  A depth of flavour that he can’t quite place.  Something he’s never experienced before.  From the first taste, Harry knows he’s hooked.  Every drink he’s had before this moment has paled in comparison, and he knows he’ll spend the rest of his life combing the Earth before he finds another that could match .

“H-Harry…” A gentle whimper falls from Y/N’s mouth as the waves of her climax finally recede. “Feels so good.”

Harry hums against her skin as he quickens his thrusts.  As satisfying as drinking from the young woman is, now that his thirst is somewhat quenched, the need for his own orgasm increases.

“You’re gonna make me cum, y’know that?” Harry breathes against her skin, sucking one last gulp down before running his tongue over the bite.  He’ll properly heal her once she’s asleep, but for now, the venom will form a temporary seal over the bite.  And, honestly, Y/N appears to be too caught up in her own pleasure to notice the new mark on her neck. “Squeezing me so fucking tight...taking my cock like the good girl you are…”

Y/N’s head lulls back onto Harry’s shoulder, her hot breath panting in his ear as she begins to reach the point of overstimulation. “Please, Harry...want you to cum…”

“Yeah?” Harry pants roughly, licking his red-stained lips as his pelvis snaps against her. “You want me to cum for you?  Want me to--fucking--give you--Christ--”

Harry usually pulls out before cumming, but his orgasm crashes over him so suddenly that he doesn’t have the chance.  Instead, he buries himself to the hilt, throwing his head back in ecstasy, mouth wide open as a deep groan vibrates in his chest while thick ropes spill inside Y/N.

Even with his supernatural stamina, Harry is exhausted after he comes down from his high.  It takes him a moment to collect himself enough to pull out, exhales hot and heavy in Y/N’s ear as he gathers his thoughts for his next move.

“Where--” He pants between his words as he watches the girl’s eyes flutter. “D’you have a cloth, or…?”

“There’s some--some paper towels in the kitchen.” Y/N nods her head to the right, her own chest still heaving with exertion.

Harry nods quickly, sponging his stained lips to her shoulder before climbing down from the couch.  He hurriedly paces into the kitchen and locates the napkins, ripping off a few squares and wetting it under the sink before he returns.  

“Bend over.” He says again, but the tone of the phrase is entirely different than it was earlier.  He’s not desperate with thirst or lust anymore, but instead has settled into his role of providing aftercare.

Y/N, however, still has the same obedient reaction, and folds herself over the backrest of the couch, forehead braces against the cushions as Harry quickly but carefully cleans up the cum dripping from between her thighs.

“You’re so polite, y’know that?” She can’t help but giggle to herself, glimpsing back at him from between her parted legs. “Cleaning up the mess you made.”

Harry’s chuckle matches her own as he gives her one final wipe and a jesting smack to the ass, returning to toss the paper towel away. His voice carries from the other section of the flat. “S’only fair.  I was raised right.”

Y/N hums in her throat in response as she climbs down from the couch, soreness already beginning to settle into her limbs in the most delightful way.  She crosses her arms over her chest, still self-conscious despite Harry literally spreading her open only moments ago.

“Are you, um--” Her voice cracks, bringing a new wave of heat to her face as she clears her throat. “You can stay the night.  If you’d like.”

Harry, who has ducked back into the living room area and is reaching for his discarded top on her floor, raises an eyebrow as he picks up the pastel blue t-shirt and turns it right side out. The puppy drawing smiles up at him ironically. “Yeah?  You sure?”

“Yeah.” Y/N nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. He can see his teeth marked all across the silky skin. “It’s late.  And I normally like to have a bit of a cuddle with someone after they cum inside me.”

A surprised snort sounds from Harry’s chest. “I suppose I can’t refuse that.” He says in understanding entertainment, holding out his tee to her as an offering. “Here.  If you’d like to cover yourself…”

Y/N accepts the article gratefully, pulling it over her exposed body.  The shirt falls just past her bum, covering her enough that she can let her arms drop to her sides. She likes the way his clothes fit her. “Thank you.  Do you want something to sleep in...?”

“I prefer going bare, actually.” Harry says in a cheeky tone, running a jeweled hand through his sex-mussed curls as he smirks. “Much more comfortable.”

Y/N laughs quietly, shaking her head in half disbelief, half amusement. “Of course you do.” She says with a roll of her eyes, holding out a hand for Harry to take. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.  I’m fucking exhausted.”

Harry sews his fingers between her own, replying with a cheeky squeeze and a smug tone. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” Y/N laughs again, but she doesn’t mind the cockiness behind Harry’s quip.  If anything, the banter reassures her.  She’d take a smug reply over awkward post-hookup silence any day.

And maybe if the lingering buzz from the alcohol wasn’t fogging her eyes, and maybe if the intense aftermath of endorphins wasn’t clouding her mind, and maybe if she wasn’t distracted by how strangely comfortable it feels to joke around with Harry, Y/N would have noticed. She would have noticed it the instant she took his hand within her own. She would have noticed it when she had stepped into the hallway and gently tugged him after her playfully, the dim lightning from the single lamp in the living room coffee table casting a shadow across his figure and over the handsome features on his face. Maybe, if it wasn’t for all of that, she would have noticed that the jade of his irises was long gone, replaced by an ominous red hue with the same dangerous glint that had been present at the bar. She would have noticed that this time around, it carried very different intentions.  She would have noticed how, after she climbed into her own bed after Harry, after he pulled her into his strong arms, and after she had laid her tired head onto his chest, that there was no heartbeat to greet her ears.  

But she doesn’t notice it.  And it only takes a moment for her eyes to drift shut in blissful ignorance, lulled by the sound of Harry’s breathing.  Only Harry’s breathing.

///

It takes fifteen minutes for Harry to realize that he didn’t really think this through.

At the moment, when Y/N asked him to stay over, and he was still high on his last orgasm and on the lingering taste of her blood along the arch of his tongue, it seemed like a good idea.  He could stay the night, he thought.  He, just like she had mentioned about herself, was fond of cuddling after sex, and it wasn’t often that he got to have that.  Perhaps it would be a nice way to cap off the night, he’d rationalized, and so he’d allowed the mortal girl to lead him to her bed for entirely innocent reasons (innocent only because they’d finished everything sinful in her living room).

And then Y/N fell asleep on Harry, and he remembered why he doesn’t ever spend the night at a one night stand’s place.

Harry is bored.

It’s not that Harry doesn’t sleep, because he does.  Stephanie Meyer got that wrong in those insipid books that have haunted Harry since 2008, but that wasn’t surprising, considering that Harry doesn’t sparkle in the sun, either.  Granted, if he steps into daylight without his lionhead ring, his skin will blister and burn until it falls off his body, but he won’t sparkle, and frankly, he’s offended that everyone thinks that he will.  He also can’t read minds, although he wouldn’t mind it if he could.  And he does need sleep.  Just not as often as a regular mortal.

With increased stamina means increased everything, including how long Harry can go without sleeping.  Although he slept more often when he was first turned out of habit, Harry finds that he can go two or three weeks, or even a month, without having to rest his body and mind.  And even when he does finally manage to fall into a peaceful state, it’s only for a few hours before he wakes up involuntarily.  It’s just as well.  He doesn’t like to be unaware for that long.  It’s in his nature to be alert, and he likes it that way.  And because he doesn’t need to spend eight hours unconscious every night, Harry finds that he gets a lot more done in his life.

Except now, when he’s stuck under the body of a fragile and depleted human.

When Harry falls into bed with a partner, he’s normally itching for them to fall asleep so he can sink his fangs into their necks and take what he wanted all along.  And then, after his thirst and libido are both satiated, Harry will climb out of bed, dress himself in whatever outfit he’d dragged himself to the club in, and make his way back to his condo before the sun begins to rise on the horizon. Simple as that.

But even he has to admit, he thinks as he ghosts his fingers down the barely healed mark on Y/N’s neck, that he’d gotten a little out of control tonight.  He’d been so carried away by her touch, her sensations, her scent, that he’d lost his usual patience and bit her mid thrust.  Thankfully, Y/N had been too caught up in her own orgasm to notice, and while Harry couldn’t deny that the heightened pleasure of her blood rolling down his throat as he slid his cock in and out of her hot cunt is something he thinks he’ll remember for eons, Harry knows that he was lucky to have gotten away with such a risky move.

Now that the young woman’s breath has completely evened out, Harry can evaluate the damage he’d done during his lapse in composure.  In all honesty, he’s relieved to find that it isn’t as messy as he had feared.  While he’s usually careful enough to make nearly surgical incisions into his partner’s flesh, he’d bitten Y/N with reckless abandon, too caught up in his pleasure to think about being neat.  However, when he finds that the messiest thing about the bite is the few smears of blood still staining her skin, the anxiety— which Harry hadn’t even known was curled around his stomach like a vice— slips away.  His venom had slowly begun to heal the bite mark already, but Harry knows that the only way it’ll be completely gone in the morning will be for Y/N to ingest his blood.

Allowing a human to ingest vampire blood was always a risk; after all, if they died with it in their systems, they would begin their second life a few mere hours after the first one ended.  Despite that contingency, Harry had always rationalized the decision by telling himself it was better than the alternative, which was draining the human until they were dead.  After all, a corpse doesn’t care about a few bite marks on their body.  The police, on the other hand, do care about that, which was reason enough for Harry to take the time to heal anyone he drinks from.  And, in all honesty, healing those he hurts is almost therapeutic for him.  It’s a reminder that, despite his leftover humanity being barely present, he still has some nonetheless.

It’s those thoughts that are flowing through Harry’s mind when he carefully shifts under Y/N, drawing his arm free enough that he can carefully brush the human’s hair away from her supple skin.  He leans down slowly, brushing his nose along the pulsing of Y/N’s neck before dragging his tongue along her warm skin.  The taste of the few lingering streaks of blood incite a new burn in the back of Harry’s throat, a reminder of the sweet elixir that runs through the mortal girl’s veins.  It takes all of Harry’s newly returned self-control to stop himself from creating a fresh bite next to the older one.  Bringing a jewelled hand to his mouth, Harry lightly pricks his index finger on one of his pronounced fangs, hardly feeling the breaking of his icy skin in his mouth.  He squeezes his finger tip with his thumb after pulling the digit from his teeth, watching with darkening eyes as a drop of midnight crimson blood beads on the end of his finger.  

Y/N’s mouth is partially open already, hot breath falling from her unconscious lips with every movement of her chest, but Harry still grips her chin between his thumb and forefinger gently, nudging down her jaw until he can see her tongue.  He pauses then, realizing how similar the sight is to how he had seen her an hour earlier.  The memory of Y/N on her knees as she begged Harry to fuck her mouth sends a rush of electricity down his spine, but he shakes his head free of the thoughts before he can get carried away.  He’d had his fun with the poor girl, he reminds himself, half wistful and half chastising.  He can’t allow himself to take anything more from her.  It’s his turn to give her something for all that she had gifted him.

With her mouth now fully open, Harry slowly slides his index finger along Y/N’s pink tongue, watching as his blood stains it red.  He releases her chin from his grip as he does so, dragging his fingers from her jaw to her hair.  Worrying that the mortal will begin to stir at the iron taste on her tongue, Harry figures that a soothing touch will be the best way to ensure that she’ll stay asleep.  Once his grip strays from her chin, however, Y/N’s mouth slowly drifts closed, enveloping his ringed index finger in her cushiony lips. He then feels a gentle yet constant suction that tells him that Y/N is sucking his finger, just as she sucked something else earlier, and Harry nearly loses what little sanity he has left.

There’s a voice in the back of his head telling him that he should shift away from Y/N.  If he had any more humanity, he’d peel away from her now, quickly dress himself in his abandoned clothes, and slip out her front door before she even notices.  If Harry had an ounce of selflessness, he’d do it.  But in this moment, all he can think about is how warm the young woman’s mouth is, how her smell is so sweet that Harry thinks he could get cavities just from inhaling her fragrance, and how fucking wonderful it feels to have her silky lips wrapped around his finger; it’s like even unconscious, her mind wants him as much as he wants her.

And so Harry stays in bed, listening to Y/N’s breathing, watching as the bite he gave her fades to a small bruise, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest tell him she’s deep in sleep in a way that Harry will never be again.  The thought nearly saddens the vampire when he finally manages to pull his finger from Y/N’s mouth, smudging an impulsive kiss at the corner before he can stop himself.  Harry remembers how lovely sleeping next to someone after sex felt when he was human.  Of course, he’d always found himself in the same position Y/N would come to find herself in the next morning, with mysterious bruises scattered along her skin. But that caveat side, Harry had rather enjoyed sleep when he was human.  And if he could sleep, then he would have something to distract himself from both the boredom of the quiet night and the gentle throbbing of his cock as Y/N shifts against him.

Harry’s eyes flit around Y/N’s room for the first time since she’d pulled him inside.  The area is small, but decorated in a way that makes it seem cozy rather than claustrophobic. Her bed is nudged into the corner against the wall, covered in a mis-matched set of plain olive green sheets and a paisley-printed comforter that suggests their appropriate accompaniments are between washes. The bed is stout and close to the ground, hunkered down in a red oak wooden frame that is sanded and scratched in some places, making Harry come to the conclusion that it was probably thrifted. He likes that; he’s a fan of thrifting himself, which might seem contradictory considering the borrowed t-shirt Y/N is currently inhabiting is a sixty dollar Marc Jacobs piece. But at certain times, it’s the truth. Second hand shops hold a lot of neat stuff that humans tend to take for granted; they call it trash, whereas Harry deems it vintage treasure.

The walls are built of large bricks, covered in glossy creme paint on two panels and a cool grey on the opposite sides. The entrance to the room is a frosted glass sliding door with wallpaper strips lining its edges, the print of the detailing being messy doodles of different colored eyeballs. It’s cute in an indie sort of way. It screams California newborn.

The roof is a popcorn ceiling and Harry nearly gags in utter disgust, but manages to stifle it. It’s not like she can control that— not everyone can compel themselves a bachelor pad the way he had— and she’s lucky to have even found an affordable apartment this decent, especially in such a popular city. And she decorated the space pretty well, he’ll give her that much. Lots of antique knick-knacks, a few picture frames of family and friends littered around random surfaces, and a tapestry of what appears to be a hilled valley during a sunrise extended across the largest wall. The colors of the sky in the image are a mixture of dark purples, drunken blues, mellow oranges, and buttery yellows, and Harry has conflicting feelings about the article. Bluntly put, tapestries are stupid in his eyes. They’re trashy and hipster, which he’s grown to despise. But the photo Y/N’s drapery depicts is calming and pretty, so he’ll let it slide. At least it’s not one of those godforsaken dream-catchers.

He cranes his attention further along the other side of the room, noticing there’s an entire wall of bookshelves, stacked to the brim with a wide variety of genres.  Harry’s eyes land on a few familiar titles, surprised by the contrast of topics lining the mantles, eyebrows raising in pleasant shock. He thinks that maybe the choices in novels can gain back the bit of respect he’d lost for her as a result of the tapestry and popcorn ceiling. He’ll think on it.

Y/N suddenly shifts against him again, and he’s reminded that he can’t get up to pick out a book.  His gaze flickers to the plant-lined window sill and then the small nightstand, searching for anything within his reach that could occupy him for the next few hours.  A halfway read novel discarded somewhere close, perhaps?  A magazine?  Some sort of video game system that he could play quietly until the sun rises?

It doesn’t take long for Harry’s search to come up empty.  Apparently, Y/N’s bedroom has a place for everything, and everything is in its place.  It’s no matter, Harry sighs to himself, wrapping his arms tighter around the girl sound asleep on his chest.  He’ll just have to count Y/N’s breaths and heartbeats until dawn.

///

When Y/N wakes up the next morning, she’s unsurprised to find two things: a stiffness in her limbs, and an empty bed.  

The former, she knows, is a sore reminder of the previous night’s activities, and how she’d allowed a complete stranger to use her however he wanted.  Blood rushes to her cheeks as the night comes back to her in flickers: how Harry had kissed her, how she’d begged him to fuck her mouth, how he’d worked her over until she couldn’t take it anymore.  If the aching in her thighs is proof enough, Y/N knows that it was some of the best sex she’s ever had, which may be why the latter observation of Harry already being gone sparks a new ache in her chest.

Still, Y/N didn’t expect anything different; although she’d asked the man to stay the night, he hadn’t promised her anything about the morning, and she can’t exactly blame him.  After all, a one night stand is just that: one night.  A morning is never promised.

After Y/N manages to climb out of bed with wobbly legs, she evaluates herself in the mirror hanging on the back of her closet door.  Her hair, of course, is a rat’s nest, and although she attempts to tame it with her fingers and a scrunchie from her bag on the floor, Y/N knows that it’ll take a long, steaming shower and lots of conditioner to detangle the mess.  A hot shower will probably be the only way to quell the throbbing of her muscles, she thinks, stepping closer to the mirror to examine her body.  At the sight of bruises littered along her skin when she pulls up Harry’s blue t-shirt, Y/N’s mouth falls open, and her eyes widen as she examines the purple marks.

There’s a few scattered along her hips and thighs, small little indigo dots that could easily double as fingerprints.  Y/N is certain that if Harry were here, his fingers would match the marks perfectly.  And now that her hair is up, Y/N spots a mark along her neck.  This bruise is much more pronounced than the others, and Y/N can almost make out the shape of individual teeth dotting the edge of the purple welt.  Through her alcohol-muddled memories, Y/N can remember a moment where Harry bit down on her neck as their orgasms washed over each other.  Remembering almost brings back that pleasure again, and the phantom feeling distracts her so much that she nearly misses the unmistakable sound of her kitchen cupboards opening.

By the time she pulls on a pair of cotton shorts to cover her bruised thighs and opens the sliding door of her bedroom, Harry’s already managed to figure out her coffee maker.  Standing in front of the counter with his bare back to her (Y/N does her best not to focus on it-- he’s all creamy skin and defined muscles, and if she thinks about it too much, she’ll go insane), Harry whistles quietly under the sound of the percolating beverage, his tattooed arms reaching for a mug from the cupboard.  Y/N watches as he picks out a blue mug she’d bought last year at Barnes & Noble, a small part of her secretly pleased that he chose her favourite out of all options.

“Good morning.” She says with a small smile, walking slowly (and a bit awkwardly) into the kitchen.

Harry’s whistling stops as he cranes his neck just enough to glance at her over his shoulder, his cheeks dimpling in greeting. “Morning, love.  How’d you sleep?”

“Really good, actually, but that’s to be expected, given how exhausted I was.” Y/N opens the fridge to retrieve her milk carton, setting it down on the counter next to the two mugs Harry has picked out. “What about you?”

The corner of Harry’s lips twitch once, and if Y/N hadn't already been gazing at his lips in want, she wouldn’t have caught the movement. “Like a baby.”

The beeping of the coffee pot interrupts the small conversation, and Harry reaches for it automatically, filling the two mugs with the freshly steaming liquid. “Do you take cream and sugar?”

Despite Y/N opening the cupboard above her, Harry manages to snag the sugar bowl before she can. “Milk and sugar, yeah.  And you don’t have to do that.” Y/N says, watching as Harry spoons sugar into a mug for her before grabbing the milk carton.

“I know I don’t have to, but I figured I should.” Harry gives a quick shrug of his shoulders as he lightens the drink with milk, leaving his own mug completely black. “Thought you might be a bit sore after last night.”

Harry can practically hear the blood rushing to Y/N’s cheeks, and the dull ache in the back of his jugular flares up as she reaches for her coffee mug, her smell washing over him as she moves closer.  He grasps his own mug, lifting it to his lips in an attempt to quell the thirst in him with a less satisfying alternative.

“I, um,” Y/N stutters over her words for a moment, taking a sip of the hot coffee as an excuse not to talk while she collects herself. “I’m a little sore, yeah.  But nothing too bad, and certainly not sore enough that I can’t make coffee.  Or breakfast.”

Harry pauses with his mug half raised to his strawberry lips. “Breakfast?”

“I could make us breakfast, if you’d like.” Y/N swallows hard, her throat thick as she speaks carefully. “I make pretty good pancakes.  Blueberry lemon.  My grandma taught me how to make them.”

“They sound delicious.” Harry takes another gulp of coffee, the high temperature not seeming to bother him in the slightest, before setting the half full cup back down on the counter. “But I should get going.”

“Oh, uh, right.” Y/N speaks in a tight voice, her head moving in a quick nod as she sets her own coffee down. “Yeah, you’re right.  I’ll, um, go change, so you can have your shirt back--”

“Why bother to go somewhere?  It’s not like it’s something I haven’t seen before.” A cheeky grin pastes itself onto Harry’s face, and Y/N fights back her embarrassment with a roll of her eyes.

“Shut up and give me a minute.”

By the time Y/N exits her room with the garment in hand and one of her favourite sweatshirts providing her with a bit of modesty, Harry is already waiting by the front door.  She hands him the article of clothing, trying to not let her eyes follow his every move as he slips the shirt over his toned chest and down his lean stomach, pulling his pearls and cross necklace out from beneath the fabric.

“Thanks.” He says, fixing his hair after he finishes adjusting the tee into the waistband of his slacks, shrugging his cropped blue and creme plaid jacket over his broad shoulders. “Your apartment is really cute, by the way.  I like the wallpaper decal on the sliding bedroom door.  And the colours all work really nice together.

“Uh, thanks?” Y/N says slowly, and the confusion must be apparent on her face because Harry once again has a grin on his face, like he’s the only one in on a secret.

“That’s why you invited me back here last night, remember?  To look at your apartment?” He prompts, leaning against the doorframe as he crosses his tattooed arms across his chest. “Unless that was all a ploy to get in my pants.”

“Maybe it was.” Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth to hold back the soft smile threatening its way onto her face. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Harry slinks his head to the side as he appraises the unsuspecting mortal in front of him.  Her messy hair that he’d tangled his fingers into the night before is pulled away from her heated face, exposing the healed bite mark on her neck.  Her lips are still a little swollen from how he tugged on them with his teeth, and Harry remembers how careful he had to force himself to be to make sure he didn’t break her skin.  Y/N shifts her weight from one foot to the other, and the movement is just awkward enough that Harry can tell she’s sore from how he bent her over the couch and fucked her, and he knows that it shouldn’t send a shiver of pleasure down his spine, but it does.  

“Yeah.  It worked.” He murmurs, reaching for the doorknob as he makes his final goodbye. “It was lovely meeting you, Y/N.  Really, it was.  I had a wonderful time.”

“So did I.” Y/N smiles shyly at him, a hint of wistfulness in her voice. “It was fun.”

Harry nods, and then he can’t stop nodding, and then before he knows what he’s doing, his mouth seems to move of his own accord. “You know, since I’m not taking you up on your offer for breakfast, would you allow me to give a counter offer?”

Y/N’s eyes perk up with curiosity as she responds in a careful voice. “Uh, sure?”

“Can I see your phone real quick?” Harry asks, holding out a ring-clad hand expectantly.

Y/N doesn’t hesitate before retrieving her phone from her sweater pocket, unlocking it and placing it in Harry’s cool hand as requested.  A small spark of hope ignites in her stomach as she watches him open her contacts.

“Here.” Harry says after a moment, handing her back the phone with a smile of satisfaction. “I put a disco ball next to my name.  Thought it fit, since we met at a club and all.”

“It does fit.” Y/N agrees as she looks down at the new contact in her phone. “And what exactly am I supposed to do with this?”

“Call it.  Text it.  Use it to let me know when you want more interior decorating advice.” Harry says snidely, watching with faint amusement as a sheepish look that washes across Y/N’s face. “Only if you want to, of course.”

“Of course.” Y/N repeats back to him, her voice matching his teasing tone. “I’ll see you around, Harry.”

Harry flashes her one more grin, his teeth seemingly glinting in the morning sunlight that shines through the window. “Yeah. You will.”

And as the vampire trots down the stairs of the human’s apartment complex, regaining the lighthearted whistling he’d been indulging earlier, he finds himself truly hoping that she’ll put his number to good use.  

[alycosworld]

could you do a romantic x reader oneshot on Mick Rory 😍 From- DC's Legends of Tomorrow for Valentine's Day 💝 (Where rory falls in love with the newest member of the team (who's from "Lynchburg, Va") and wants to plan a special valentine's day surprise for her with help from Zari 02 and Astra. After meeting and befriending her new teammates (Sara, Nate, Zari 01/Zari 02, Behrad, Gary, Astra, Ava, Gideon, and John Constantine) the reader was unaware that rory has a romantic interest in her when he flirts with her a bit, during valentine's day since the reader and rory were the only ones on the waverider as they spent valentine's day together rory told the reader that he has genuine affections for her as they shared their first kiss together)

(The reader is from Lynchburg, va who's studying to be a fashion designer, she's a skilled martial artist, she's a vegetarian, she loves to read, loves animals, she secretly loves kickboxing, her favorite flowers are blue orchids, her favorite color is blue and her favorite snack are cinnabons. She doesn't drink: wine, beer, alcohol, or liquor of any kind)

Night on the Waverider

Mick Rory X Reader

A/N: okay so I love the detail in this request but u didn't know how to include all of it, so I did what I could, hope it's okay! (took me 15 minutes to find out what tf cinnabons were but they're just cinnamon rolls 💀💀)

not proofread since im under some time pressure, but please enjoy!

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Mick Rory was having some trouble.

In an absolutely uncharacteristic fashion, he was attempting to plan a Valentine's Day date, meticulously suited to your tastes. He was one of your closest friends, ever since you joined the team, and although he knew so much about you, planning a date for you seemed to be much more challenging than originally anticipated.

Enter Zari and Astra.

"Ooh, whatcha writing, Mick?" Zari asked as she walked into the parlour, seeing how Mick struggled to plan out his ideas on paper, continuously ripping his previous ideas into pieces.

"Nothing." He grunted, balling up the pieces of paper and letting them scatter on the table.

"No, no, no, it's not nothing...this is a plan! For...a date?!" Zari gasped dramatically as she pieced together some of the paper to form a few bullet points detailing parts of a date.

"No!"

"It totally is!" Zari grinned, before seeing Mick's slightly distressed look.

"Do you...want some help planning this date?" Zari asked.

"Help? From you?" Mick scoffed before turning to Zari and realising she was entirely serious.

"I mean..." Mick started, silently pleading for help.

"Great! Astra and I will help you with the perfect Valentine's Day date!" Zari announced as Astra's eyes widened.

"We?" Astra asked.

"The more the merrier!" Zari said enthusiastically. Astra sighed before nodding slightly.

"Fine."

"Fantastic! So, where to start...?" Zari pondered aloud.

"How about the person? I mean, who're you going on a date with?" Astra asked, making Mick tense up. He mumbled something quickly as Astra smirked slightly.

"What was that?" She asked.

"It's (Y/N)!" Mick said.

"You asked her to go out with you? And she said yes?!" Zari asked.

"I was surprised too." Mick raised his eyebrows.

"Finally!" Astra rolled her eyes.

"Finally?" Mick asked.

"You two are constantly pining after each other under the guise of friendship and, honestly? It's getting pathetic." Astra deadpanned.

"Which is why we're gonna make it less pathetic! Don't worry, Mick, Zari Tarazi and Astra Logue have got it." Zari winked, before getting to work on some elaborate plans.

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"Okay, so, Astra sorted out your outfit because you need to impress a fashion designer in-the-making." Zari explained.

"Techically, Gideon fabricated the clothing but I put it all together so...yeah, I'll take credit for it." Astra said, holding up a white shirt, black blazer and matching slacks with some black dress shoes and even a tie.

"A suit? Where are we even going?" Mick asked.

"Étoile. It's a five star restaurant and I know the owner personally. I managed to get you a reservation, no need to thank me." Zari grinned.

"Now, we just have to tell (Y/N) and tomorrow you two will be having the best night of your lives!"

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"So, you and Rory and going on a date?" John asked as you got ready the next evening.

"I know, I can't even believe he even asked me out." You smiled, smoothing down your outfit.

"Well, he's had his eye on your for a while, love. Besides, if you show up looking like that, he's only going to be more interested." John said, gesturing to your outfit.

"Zari and Astra said I had to dress fancy. Oh god, is it too much?" You asked nervously, smoothing out your blue (dress/suit/other fancy outfit).

"Not at all, love. Fits you very well." John complimented you.

"Well, I would expect it to. Made it myself. Years of studying fashion design, might as well put it to personal use." You smiled, grabbing your phone and standing up.

"You're not going out for Valentine's Day?" You asked, turning to John again.

"Oh, no. See, Zari and I decided we'd spend the night alone at my house. More fun that way." John winked.

"Eugh, I don't like those implications, you're old." You groaned jokingly.

"Oi! Who're you calling old, eh?"

"I'm kidding! Have fun with Zari-- but not too much fun." You grinned as John rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I should probably get going--"

"John!" Zari sohuted as he heels clacked down the hall.

"And that's my cue. Have fun, love." John smiled, walking out of your room with a friendly wave.

"You too, John." You smiled, before he disappeared and left for his house with Zari.

At that point, the entire Waverider was empty having their own Valentine's Day fun, save for you and Mick who were just about to leave for your date. You met up with him in the cargo bay and smiled at his outfit. He didn't look like himself...that's not to say that he looked bad, he just didn't look very comfortable.

"Mick. Hi." You smiled, offering him a small wave as he turned to face you.

"(Y/N). You look great." He said, smiling back slightly.

"Thank you, so do you." You said, before Mick nodded and handed you a bouquet of blue orchids and a book from your favourite author. You stared at the gifts in surprise before taking them and hugging them to your chest.

"Happy Valentine's Day." He said, and you beamed before hugging Mick.

"Thank you! I love them!" You said, squeezing him tightly and then pulling away to give him another bright smile.

"I'm glad you like them." He nodded, before gesturing to the exit of the Waverider.

"Do you, uh-- should we...go?" He asked nervously.

"Sure." You said, as Mick awkwardly offered you his arm and you took it, walking towards the exit. He pressed a few buttons, about to take another step forwards until he realised that the door hadn't opened. He tilted his head to eh side in confusion and tried again, but still, nothing.

"Gideon? Why can't we leave?" Mick asked.

"Apologies, Mr Rory, but the someone has manually placed the ship under lockdown. No one is permitted to exit or enter." Gideon explain. Mick turned to you and you just shrugged, before he hit his hand on the wall, not too hardly but still enough to display his frustration.

"Dammit!" He said, not raising his voice too much.

"Hey, Mick, it's okay." You said, rubbing a hand on his shoulder soothingly.

"No, it's not okay. We're going to miss our reservation." Mick said.

"Reservation?" You asked in surprise.

"Yeah. Zari helped me get a reservation for a fancy restaurant, but it doesn't look like we're gonna make it." Mick said, disappointment apparent in his tone.

"That's okay! Look, if you still wanna have dinner...we do live on a futuristic ship that can fabricate any kind of food we want. Some cool lighting, a bit of music...who needs a reservation, right?" You asked with a small grin. Mick narrowed his eyes at you before the pair of your rushed off to the kitchen.

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You and Mick spent the night letting loose in the kitchen, eating burgers (vegetarian for you), cinnabons and drinking beer and ice tea. You both got a little more comfortable instead of having a stuffy, overly complicated dinner. Mick loosened his tie and took off his blazer, rolling up his sleeves as you talked the night away about anything and everything. Sure, it wasn't the perfect date that Zari and Astra had planned but, for you and Mick, it was more than ideal. By the end of it, you had gotten much closer than you already were, even though that seemed near impossible.

"I had a great time tonight, Mick. Thanks for asking me out." You smiled. It had gotten quite late and the ship was still on lockdown so you decided to just sleep and hope that issue would be solved come morning. You and Mick stood just outside your room, talking for a bit to close the night.

"You're welcome. I enjoyed tonight too." Mick smiled.

"Y'know, I...I really didn't expect you to ask me out. I was stunned, actually. But, uh...things couldn't have turned out any better for us, I think." You chuckled lightly.

"I really do like you, Mick. I was afraid to admit it before but...I thought you should know." You smiled. Mick stood there, frozen for a moment at your confession. Sure, you both had an idea about how you felt for each other since you had just gone on a date but, hearing the words from your mouth felt more official and powerful than any interpreted sentiment.

You tilted your head to the side in perplexity, now confused and. little worried at Mick's prolonged silence.

"Mick? Are you okay, I--" He cut you off by gently leaning in and pressing his lips against yours, allowing his hands to settle on your hips and waist while yours rested along his shoulders, fingers interlocking behind his neck. When you finally pulled away, breathing slightly more heavily for air, you smiled ta him and he involuntarily smiled back.

"We should do this again sometime. Goodnight, Mick." You said, letting your hands fall to your sides again before your pressed a short and sweet kiss to his cheek.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)." Mick replied. And all too soon, he was walking down the hall to his quarters while you stepped backwards into your room, only to stop when Mick spoke again.

"Happy Valentine's Day."

[cheri-cheri]

[L&N] Carefree Summer Event (Pt. 3)

✧ Prologue l Part 1 l Part 2

Charlie: Fiancée, we haven’t even tried the chocolate... and you’re already distracted and wanting to have a taste of something else?

Facing Charlie’s smiling eyes, my hand trembles.

MC: No, don’t let your mind wander! I just wanted to wipe some cream off your chest.

Charlie glances at the cream on my finger, and seems to be pondering over something.

Charlie: It looks like you have a little hobby of getting me dirty. It’s a pity that the dessert’s already finished and I can only satisfy you next time.

Charlie places two tiny cakes onto a plate. Then, he bends down and retrieves a slender, coffee-coloured bottle from the freezer.

Charlie: Before trying the dessert, let’s whet our appetite with a pre-meal beverage.

MC: What’s this?

Charlie twists open the bottle cap, then pours brown liquid into two wine glasses.

Charlie: In Di Li Xiu Si, there’s a famous chocolate liquor known as the “Drink of God”. Everyone probably wants to know how it tastes.

While watching his practised movements, I recall how Charlie doesn’t seem to like the taste of alcohol.

Noticing my puzzled gaze, Charlie smiles with understanding.

Charlie: Don’t worry, it has a very low alcohol level and it’s almost negligible. Here - cheers to this trip.

Charlie places a cup of wine into my hand and clinks his against mine gently.

I tilt my head upwards to drink it. The liquid flows into my mouth, and a unique taste spreads out. Cherry, raspberry and other similar fruits gradually drift over, mingling with cocoa. It’s akin to a melting blackforest cake.

The refrigerated wine has a rich texture and smoothness. I can’t help but take a few more sips greedily.

For some reason, Charlie frowns slightly as he puts the glass down. He has an odd expression on his face.

Charlie: Why does this taste a little different from what I expected?

MC: Really? I think it’s pretty good.

Charlie looks at the wine glass in my hand, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Charlie: This “Drink of God” has a pretty strict requirement when it comes to the way its poured. I guess I might have failed with this glass.

His head droops, and he looks slightly crestfallen. I hurriedly stuff my glass into his hand.

MC: Try my glass. There might be a problem with the wine itself.

Charlie hesitates for a moment. Then, he lowers his head, holding my hand and drinking the liquid in my glass.

His originally furrowed brows seem to smoothen, and a dazzling aura once again returns into his eyes.

Charlie: Sure enough, your glass seems a little sweeter than mine. You should try mine too.

In an extremely natural manner, he pushes his wine glass towards me. I carefully lean forward and take a sip -

It has the exact same taste!

MC: Charlie, you lied to me. These two glasses clearly taste the same.

Charlie: Fiancée, does this count as a traditional wedding toast?

[Trivia] Charlie is referring to a custom called 交杯酒 (jiao bei jiu) in traditional Chinese weddings, where couples drink from each other’s wine glass to symbolise longevity in their marriage

MC: [blushing] You aren’t answering the question.

Despite what I said, my face flushes honestly.

Perhaps due to the alcohol in the liquid, my heart races more fiercely than before.

Charlie: Actually, there’s another half of the “Drink for the Gods” that I haven’t told you about.

Charlie leans over, his slightly bewitching tone causing me to listen more intently.

Charlie: In legends, it’s said that cocoa is a gift from God. Its slight bitterness makes one nostalgic, and it’s been thought of as harbouring a miraculous magic.

MC: What magic?

I stare into Charlie’s eyes, wanting to quell my curiosity. He leans closer to my ear...

Charlie: This magic is... the sensation of falling into the river of love.

The moment he finishes speaking, my heart leaps once again.

MC: So what we drank was...

Charlie: Don’t worry. How could I bear to let my fiancée drink such a primeval beverage? Although the legend is wonderful, the “Drink of God” tastes bitter and spicy in reality, and it’s difficult to swallow. This chocolate liquor is one that I had requested a professional bartender to prepare. As for the feeling of falling into the river of love, we’re free to experience it...

My emotions undulate in an unrestrained manner, as though I’m on a rollercoaster.

MC: So you were deliberately toying with me?

Charlie: How could I dare to lie to you? From the start till the end, I never said that this wine was the “Drink of God”. Were you truly emotionally stirred by me?

My ears flush pink, and I have no strength to respond.

Charlie: But my emotions have been stirred since a long time ago. Even without drinking it, I’ll be deeply captivated by you, fiancée.

✧ Moments: here

✧ Alternative Part 3: Stomach l Hand l Waist

[deepseacritter]

Getting to know mutuals!

Thanks to @rainofaugustsith for the tag! I loved GUTS and Legends of the Hidden Temple. Always wanted to be on those shows...I’d probably crush them now hehe.

Also, the whole touching old stuff. Ahhhhh yes! I went to Crete a few years ago and I wanted to touch all the things. Some of the ruins are 6000 years old...how can I not want to touch? Anyway...5 things about me.

1. I was an avid diver until moving to Alaska. I’ve been wreck/shark diving off the Atlantic coast (no cage), have done many wreck dives in Lakes Erie and Huron, and the St. Lawrence Seaway. I also used to solo river dive a few miles from Niagara Falls.

2. I’ve spent over 100 days at sea in the Bering Sea and Arctic on research vessels that were once crab fishing vessels (so, not some luxury research boat). Saw lots of whales, polar bears, and walrus. We went though some cool storms, with waves swells 15-20 feet. It was one hell of a ride during those times. Loved it.

3. At one point I lived in a cabin that had no running water, indoor plumbing, or a bathroom. So I used and outhouse and had to haul water from a service station (the Water Wagon), and shower at the university. I did my laundry up the hill at a bar/restaurant/liquor store/gas station/mail room/general store.

4. I love doing crafts. So many crafts. I’ve won awards at county fairs for some of my stuff. People ask why I don’t sell things, and honestly I have a hard time parting with things I’ve made. Also...years of customer service work has not made me too keen to work with people like that again.

5. I collect Furrybones figurines 😆 They’re adorable. I’ve got like 50 of them so far. They fit nicely with my decor, which is half Halloween and black cats and half mermaid and beaches.

[themostawesomehuman]

Bittersweet love ending (part 3)

STOP if you haven't read the other two!

Part 1

Part 2

I'll admit! This is honestly too long and not well structured at all so I'm really sorry! It’s very sloppy! The structure is awful! It's definitely not as good as the previous two. If you think there's anything I can change to improve it just pop it in my inbox! 👉👈

Please reblog and comment if you like it! Honestly thank you so much for reading my shitty fics. I love you guys.

Tagging: @aleistairrs @lily-chen-deserves-better @friendlyneighbourhoodreader @brotherlipsmackariahs @daisyherxndale @idontgetit-whydoihavetosaymyname @insane---chaos @zafirafox4636 @thatdemonicchild @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @raccoon-dog-from-mercury @liam-h-205 @fieryfantasybooklover @emma-carstairs-herondale @ginacsonka @matthewfaichild @alyssaswords @sleepygreywolf @banesbitch @simon-lewis-is-a-skinny-legend

Enjoy! This is the final part!

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Next thing she was clawing her way through the earth. Now that she could never see the rays of sun through the tinted windows or feel the lovely warmth of the light on her skin. Never again able to admire the bright colours of the day and watch the sun slowly setting on the Thames. She knew that now she would be forever young — finally beautiful. Finally she would enough for Matthew Fairchild. For Matthew Fairchild, it did not matter that she would pray have on the innocent or be shunned by God. For Matthew Fairchild — anything and everything.

Matthew grabbed her around the waist the trembling fingers. He was gentle as if he was scared of hurting her. His angelic face unreadable. She laughed, the sweet melody of a song he could listen to for the rest of eternity.

“You do know that I’m not going to break? I’m the Child of the Night, Mr. Fairchild. I’m not as delicate as you think — but you already know that”. She smiled. Finally she was enough for her boy. “This is an improvement, don’t you agree? Young and beautiful—forever, just like you always wanted”

“I-“ Matthew’s emerald eyes wilded as he shook his head and gobbled down the whole glass of spirits presumably to calm his nerves. “I can’t believe this. You did this to yourself? Darling, never in my wildest dreams would I ever-“

She put a finger to his soft lips, silencing him.

“Just stop talking and kiss me” she purred. And so he did. Passionate. Deep. She could taste the strong sweet liquor. He tasted like sunlight. She could feel the warmth radiated from his body as it intertwined with hers. Young. Warm. Pure. Her sweet sinner saviour.

“I don’t deserve you”, he whispered, tugging a strain of her hair behind her ear. “We need to end this”, he said.

She looked at him in disbelief, “ why?”

His deep green eyes were closed. Matthew looked like he was in some sort of pain.

Slowly stepped back she fiercely demanded “How dare you say that?”. She swallowed, “after anything I did? Everything I did, I did for you! How could you say that?” Her heart broke. She could practically hear the sound of it. She voice was only a whisper by the end.

Matthew Fairchild leaned against the windowsill in a lazy fashion— fighting the urge to pull her into his arms — at least to offer some sort of comfort. He acted casual. Relaxed. Calm. Just like how he makes everything in his life seemed so easy. “I don’t. You are amazing and caring and painfully kind. Someone like me doesn’t deserve someone like you”. He assured her. His grip on the windowsill tightened. She was too pure and too sweet to love him. As he feared she has already fallen.

His throat burnt like he downed six shots of vodka. “You should save it for someone who deserves love. Someone worthy of your love”, Matthew gave her a sweet melodic smile. His voice so calm, so gentle.

She looked up towards the ceiling in an effort to stop the tears from streaming down her face. “I...”, a quivering a escaped her throat. “I thought maybe if I change…maybe I’ll be enough for you. Maybe you’ll stay then. Maybe you’ll let me in. Maybe then I can figure you out,” she looked straight ahead as the tears fell, shaking her head slowly. Her voice cracked, “ I love you, Matthew Fairchild. Even if you don’t love yourself” This was the truth.

“I’m a paradox. I want to be happy, yet I think of things that will make me sad. I’m a very lazy person but I’m also ambitious. I despised myself, but at the same time I also love who I am. I say I don’t care, but I really do. If I can’t figure myself out, there’s no way anyone else will. Not even you, my detective,” his eyes had the same gleam of mischief she always loved. “It does not matter if you’re a mundane or a vampire or a warlock. I treat every creature with equal respect — aside from demon, of course”. He pulled out his handkerchief and gently wiped her tears away. “Now let’s go find you a nice vampire friend, shall we?” As he said that she playfully punched him on the side.

Matthew Fairchild was a lot of things. He was the sort of person people would remember. He was a paradox. An oxymoron. A warrior. A dreamer. A sinner. A saint. A hero. A Villain. A gentleman. A heartbreaker. A mystery. But the most important thing about Matthew was kindness. Kindness made him burn the brightest in a room full of selfish people. Even though, he did not love her. She thought that she would care for him for the rest of her unlife. The tale of this bittersweet love will remain with her till the end of time.

[silvrlines]

Did you see VINCENT “V” from CYBERPUNK 2077 walking around Limbo? The CIS MALE looks like DJ COTRONA, and is THIRTY-FOUR years old. I’ve heard he can be DILIGENT & RELIABLE but also IMPULSIVE & STUBBORN. When I think of them I think of NEON LIGHTS CASTING AN EERY GLOW, A WARM MEAL PAIRED WITH HARD LIQUOR AT EL COYOTE COJO, & A COLLECTION OF TATTOOS ACTING AS MEMOIRS OF A FORMER LIFE. They’ve been here WITH their memories as the OWNER of BEDLAM NIGHTCLUB for THREE YEARS. I heard they’re still trying to figure out how they ended up in Limbo.

ok so this v is from the street kid lifepath; he grew up in the heywood district of night city, raised by gangs, ditched night city for a couple years to stay in atlanta, only to realize it wasn’t quite the same and evidently returned to night city woo.

el coyote cojo was like a second home to him, usually ending up there after an eventful day to tend to his wounds and drink to heal his damaged pride. guadalupe welles ( better known as mama welles ) always welcomed him with a homecooked meal and a bottle of beer.

while recovering from a fight one night, v agreed to help the bartender settle a debt by stealing a rayfield aerondight from a corpo agent. this is where he met his soon to be best friend and partner in crime; jackie welles.

after he managed to break into the car and start it up, v was stopped by none other than jackie, who was also trying to steal the luxury car. however, neither did the deed as the cops showed up and arrested them both on scene. they were ordered to be killed by the car’s owner ( kaoru fujioka ) but instead were knocked out and left bloodied in an alleyway of heywood.

after that shitshow, v and jackie properly introduced themselves. how quickly they bonded over their similarities lead to jackie inviting v for a meal, and thus began a partnership with one goal in mind: becoming legends of night city.

v stayed with jackie and mama welles for six months, doing mercenary jobs with the former welles while improving his street cred, until he managed to save up enough money to rent an apartment of his own. life was good. however, v was unaware how drastically his life was about to change after being contacted by a well-known fixer.

dexter deshawn hired v, jackie, & t-bug ( a netrunner ) to steal a relic from the heir to the arasaka empire who basically owned night city ( the yorinobu arasaka ). the preparation went better than expected, especially considering he had to deal with the notoriously volatile maelstrom gang lol, and as the crew undertook the heist & successfully swiped the relic, v honestly thought that this was the big break that was going to skyrocket jackie and himself to the big leagues.

that all went to shit. yorinubo’s dad, saburo, showed up unannounced and ended up getting murdered by his own son - hidden v and jackie witnessing the entire ordeal. shit hit the fan, security immediately increased within the building, and sadly v was the only survivor from their crew, the others falling victim to arasaka’s brutal forces.

the relic’s casing was critically damaged, forcing v to slot it into his shard to preserve it. an action that would save him but also almost kill him in the long run. save him, because deshawn ended up betraying v at the rendezvous point via a gunshot to the head, then disposing his body at a landfill on the outskirts of night city, but the relic’s presence in his body later revived him. almost kill him, because unbeknownst to v, the relic contained an engram of johnny silverhand that was slowly overriding his own consciousness.

and then a whole lot of missions later, with plenty of mid life crisis’ and new friends ( and enemies ) made, v chose panam in the end, and ditched night city with the aldecaldos.

while he doesn’t remember exactly how they ended up in limbo?? he’s made the best of it. it lowkey reminds him of night city and, instead of starting at the bottom all over again, v was quick to snag one of the more prominent clubs as his own, turning it into his own ‘afterlife’.

he’s got a thing for cars and panam though, so if he’s not brooding at bedlam, v can usually be found at aldecaldo repairs.

[zwritestuff]

Some Things Are Bound To Be (Chapter Six) - Kyara

A/N: WE'RE ENTERING THE FINAL CURB FOLKS. I've decided to make this 9 chapters instead, for practicity more than anything. But also that means these two dumbasses will be hurt, a lot. That being said, this chapter sure has some feelings, I am not responsible for how you may react to them. Thanks to emerald ( @fromthenorthernskies​ ) for screaming aggressively beta-ing 💓 

Read on AO3.

“I have good news and bad news,” Kiara starts, trying to not let the nerves show in her voice. Kyne turns to look at her, drifting her attention to the intricately designed cupcakes, cocking a brow.

“Well, that explains why you kept your hands to yourself so far,” she teases, cleaning the edges of her mouth with her index finger. Kiara absolutely doesn't follow the trail her finger makes without blinking once. “C'mon, rip the bandaid off at once and tell me the bad news first,” Kyne says, leaning back in her chair, curiously eyeing her up.

Shit. She was hoping she'd ask for the good news first.

Kiara fidgets with her rings, trying to remember the rehearsed speech she'd gone over with Rita and Tynomi before coming to Kyne's office like she always did; of course, now there was a slight change of plans. She chews the inside of her cheek, thinking. 

When asking for her friends’ advice on how to bring the bad news up, Tynomi had straight up told her that she had to stop acting so awkward—why start now if she was acting perfectly fine before realizing she was head over heels for Kyne? Rita had swatted her, but by her expression Kiara could tell she somewhat agreed with her. 

They both had said the same thing as Kyne, to rip the bandaid without thinking much. But over-thinking is Kiara's second nature, and all she wants to do is turn it off. 

So she does the next logical thing and unceremoniously drops the bomb.

“I am appalled to inform you my mom’s birthday party is this Sunday, and she has threatened to disown me if I don't bring you,” she announces, her tone far too solemn and sorrowful for Kyne to take seriously. So she laughs. The bitch actually laughs, before she realizes Kiara is for real. 

“Fuck, you’re serious, aren’t you?” she whispers, eyes blown wide as her hands tremble. “Shit, I thought it was a one-time thing?” Her voice is full of fear and concern, and Kiara can't honestly blame her. That was the deal—one time it's good enough, and then they'll figure out when they're going to break up without making it suspicious.

But they've been postponing it a lot. Kiara's not sure why, but everytime she tries to bring it up things just take a different turn; they end up watching movies with homemade popcorn at Kyne's place, talking about shitty movies over coffee on the weekends, modelling the clothes Kyne tweaked after thrifting them—one way or another they've avoided the elephant in the room. And now, three weeks after the ball, soon to be a month, they have no intention of stopping this scheme, and Kiara feels somehow guilty.

She's indulging a lot on the fakeness of it all, running her hand through Kyne's hair when she falls asleep in the middle of the movies, walking around the company with her hand firmly placed on her waist, showing Kyne off in all of her social media—Kiara would like to think it's real, that her feelings are reciprocated, but she prefers to think that the sneaky smiles and the stares are a product of her imagination.

Tynomi had told her to stop dancing around it like a moron and actually tell Kyne about her feelings, that she wants a real relationship and not just pretend. Rita had more or less agreed with Tynomi, without all the bluntness Tynomi was known for, that is.

“I thought that would be it, too, but— well, it seems that they liked you. Like, a lot,” she stammers out, cheeks blushing under Kyne’s inquisitive gaze. They’re not the only ones that like you, Kiara thinks, but she leaves it unsaid.

Kyne chews on her lower lip, fidgeting with a pen as she stares right past Kiara. She hasn’t seen her this spaced out since, well, the day before the ball in which she confided that she was scared to meet her parents. She wouldn’t be surprised if some of those nerves are still there, looming at the back of her mind.

She finally meets her gaze, and Kiara certainly doesn’t expect what comes next.

“I’m not doing it.”

She blinks repeatedly, not fully processing what Kyne just said.

“What? But—”

“I said no,” Kyne sternly cuts her off, and Kiara wants to shrink on her seat and hide away, not only from the embarrassment but also because of Kyne’s fiery gaze. It’s the first time she’s seen her this angry, but she knows she doesn’t like it. “You said it was a one-time thing, I’ve already done my part of the deal. I’m really risking my job here, y’know? I’m not sure I’d keep it if your parents find out their little girl got her heart broken by a bitchy accountant.” Her tone is cold and cutthroat, like a knife straight to Kiara’s heart.

She doesn’t know where all of this comes from—the expressionless stare and pointed glare, icy as a crude Canadian winter, where there used to be the warmth of a late summer night.

Kiara is still speechless when Kyne mumbles something she can’t quite catch. “What did you say?” She asks, tilting her head slightly. Kyne just dismisses it with a wave of her hand, saying it was nothing; but by her flustered expression Kiara can tell it’s something.

She doesn’t push for an answer. She’s already on Kyne’s bad side; the last thing she wants to do is fight with her.

“You’re right, your part of the deal is done. I’ll make up an excuse, I'm sure my mom will believe it.” Kiara shrugs, not giving much away in her expression, because she doesn't want Kyne to see how much it affects her—because it shouldn't affect her at all. 

Their deal is over, for all she knows. And it's probably the thing she hates the most. 

“I believe you still have good news to tell me, though,” Kyne muses quietly, meekly meeting Kiara's gaze. The anger is gone, a tinge of regret replacing it, and Kiara bites back a sigh of relief.

Then, she remembers the good news she had to tell her—good news with a lot of air commas.

She bites her lower lip, all her confidence gone out the window now that she barely avoided an argument with Kyne.

I guess Tynomi was right, she thinks, I should've done this over a nice dinner instead of our morning hangout. 

Kiara barely scrambles to think of fake good news to give her, which, in the end, it's not so fake. “I succumb, we can watch Legend of Korra together next time we have movie night at your place,” she says, and the smile that blooms on Kyne's face makes her heart tug—both because she never gets tired of the sight of her eyes crinkling at the corners, and because she just threw Rita and Tynomi's motivational speeches to the trash.

Kyne chatters away about how excited she is that she finally relented, and that they'll spend all night long watching the show if it's necessary. But Kiara can only think of all of the conversations she had with her friends over the past few days, psyching her up and giving her motivation to come clean to Kyne about her feelings.

God, Tynomi sure would love to slap some sense into her if she were there. 

She sighs internally; if only Kyne had chosen the good news first.

***

“I completely fucked up whatever chances I had with her,” Kiara laments, unceremoniously draping herself all over Rita's couch. “Fuck, I should have had a back-up plan instead of thinking everything would go like I thought it would. Calisse de tabarnak, j'ai fait n'importe quoi.”

“I’m not sure what you said, but it’s probably nothing lady-like,” Tynomi quips, settling on the other couch. Rita just sighs and stands on her tip-toes to grab her nice alcohol; it’s barely Wednesday, but when has that stopped them?

It’s not unusual for them to crash Rita’s place for a drink whenever they’re having a shitty day—Rita has an extensive collection of liquor (“Not because I’m an alcoholic,” she says when you ask her, “I just like to be ready in case of anything.” Then she shrugs, because it just makes sense that Rita is that kind of person) and a really cozy apartment. Rita’s place is heaven for all they know.

“No, it’s not lady-like at all,” Rita replies after a moment, fetching three glasses, “but then again, that’s not the point; Kiki, would you like to walk us through what happened?” She asks kindly, sitting cross-legged on the ground as she pours generous amounts of red wine in their glasses.

Kiara rolls over on the couch, groaning against the pillows, but she figures there's no use holding it all in. She rolls over once again, staring at the ceiling as Rita sets the glass of wine near her, but she doesn't even reach for it.

She tells them of Kyne's icy glare as she said no, putting her foot down with a tone so determined, so void of any emotion but anger—how she didn't say it, but Kiara could distinguish in the turmoil of her eyes that she thought about calling off their deal right there and then. After all, they were done, weren't they?

At some point she sits upwards, grabbing the glass and taking a big swig. Rita and Tynomi say nothing, but they're probably thinking of something useful to say—all of the other times she's come to them for advice, it had been over mundane things such as how to not choke the annoying men at work, how to make her heart stop beating like crazy whenever Kyne was around, and ultimately how to gather up the courage to confess her feelings.

Of course, this is uncharted territory and they're going in completely clueless as to how to aid their friend.

So Tynomi just reaches for the bottle, pours herself another drink, and looks at Kiara with a tired expression.

“Break up and get over her,” she says, like it's the easiest thing ever, but Kiara shakes her head right away. “I’m just saying Kyne’s right, your deal is over, and y’know, she has a point. Don’t you remember what happened with Abril?” Tynomi asks, cocking a skeptical brow.

Almost instantly a cushion flies directly to Tynomi’s face, courtesy of Rita, who doesn’t waste a second in scolding her—they’re not supposed to say her name, or talk about her, or reference her, or anything really, she says, slipping into French from time to time, and Tynomi is quick to reply, voices overlapping.

“It’s fine, whatever, I get the point you’re trying to make, Nono,” Kiara says over the noise, dismissing it with a wave of her hand, slightly annoyed at the mention of her— not ex-girlfriend precisely, but something along those lines. Well, we’re making progress, she thinks, mind going back to all the times she had either teared up or broken something at the mention of her. 

Perhaps it has to do with the fact Kyne has her wrapped around her finger—yeah, that’s probably it. Which isn’t all that good in these circumstances.

“Either way,” Kiara follows, tucking her legs under her body, “I’m not sure if I want to break up with Kyne yet,” she muses quietly, lowering her voice like she’s telling them a secret.

Rita sighs, Tynomi rolls her eyes, and their gazes meet for a split second before Rita speaks again, much calmer now.

“But you won’t tell her you like her either, won’t you?” She asks, tilting her head slightly, with that careful tone she always uses when she knows she’s bound to touch a sensitive spot. Kiara huffs, but she begrudgingly replies I suppose not between gritted teeth. “Then I guess it makes no sense to drag this further, don’t you think? Kyne does have a point, like it or not.” Rita, ever the voice of reason, stares at Kiara as she takes a sip from her drink, and Kiara groans like a child that’s just been scolded, plastering her face against the cushions again.

She hates when Rita is right, because she always ends up doing whatever she suggests she does, and while Kiara does avoid many conflicts and problems by following her advice, it’s never been about relationships or feelings—well, romantic feelings; she feels like throwing her heels at every straight white man at company meetings, and Rita has to take her outside to cool down and drill into her brain that, even if it would be funny knocking out one of these men, it wouldn’t be as funny once they retrieve their economic support for her father’s projects. And then Kiara begrudgingly adjusts her heels back, counts until ten and returns. Because she knows she’s a damn smart businesswoman, capable of sealing any kind of deal.

But it seems like her ability for negotiating prices and contracts doesn’t translate well when it comes to negotiating relationships.

Kiara finally shifts her head, looks at the expectant pair, and sighs in a dramatic manner.

“I suppose I can consider it,” she gives in in a long suffering tone, and Rita chuckles alongside Tynomi.

***

On Sunday, Kiara struggles to give her mom an excuse as to why Kyne’s not there to meet the rest of their extended family, and once she finally stammers out an answer she knows for a fact her mom didn’t believe a single word. She spares her, either way, and keeps on greeting the family that keeps arriving.

Although she gets the eerie feeling that her mom spared her for the sole fact that, as soon as she settles down at the table, one of her aunts asks about her girlfriend, a faux sweet tone she’s all familiar with, and freezes for a second.

Shit, she should’ve known her parents would run their mouth.

Well, there’s nothing she can do about it now; so she just answers questions without going into the details, lies through gritted teeth when she says her girlfriend doesn’t like pictures—even though she posts dumb selfies every other minute to her close friends story. The kids ask about her girlfriend, too, mostly her nephews; they want to know if it’s true their auntie has a partner, and if she’s more forgiving when they break things around the house. Kiara just laughs, something tightening in her chest when she thinks of Kyne covering up for the kids when they break a vase or something like that in family gatherings, a wicked grin on her face as she ushers them out and tries to convince Kiara it was just a silly little accident.

And on god the image is tempting, making her insides churn and a warm feeling spread through her chest, at the same time it leaves to be replaced for a hollowness she can’t quite shake.

There’s no way to make that image come true, for Kyne would have to reciprocate her feelings first. That’s harder than actually getting the guts to tell her how she feels.

So she does the next logical thing once she’s a little tipsy; she sends Kyne the classic we have to talk text, adding a hey at the beginning and a please at the end to not seem so dry. If it works she doesn’t know, but she does get a response within a few minutes.

Kyne: i’ll come by your office tomorrow, want anything from the starbucks around the block?

Kiara half smiles, typing out her reply and hitting send before she chickens out.

She hears a loud crash coming from the hallway, and she sighs heavily when she perches one of her youngest nephews to her hip, softly scolding him before handing it to his mom without saying anything, and goes to fetch a broom and a stick to clean out the mess. The image fights its way back into her head, but Kiara tries to push it aside for all that’s holy.