#curls of chiaroscuro | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonchildstyles · 4 months

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can we get a chiaroscuro blurb where maybe harry chases petal around? like a game but it takes a spicy turn 👀

wordcount: 8.4k+

—————

(Y/N) fumbled with her keys as she took the short scale of steps to the front door of the manor, her hands full of grocery bags she was too stubborn to make more than one trip for. She could feel her back sweating under the heavy cardigan dropped over her form, the sun far too bright and warm given the time of year.

Just when she thought she had the grip right, her keys fell to her feet and out of reach. An exasperated huff fell from her lips. She should have just called Harry to help when she made it home.

Bending carefully to keep her grocery bags from tumbling out of her arms, she blindly reached around for her keys. Her fingers grazed the stoop with no such luck, her annoyance growing just as the heavy door to the manor swung open.

"My love, is everything al—What are you doing on the ground?" Harry rushed, urgency entering his voice once he caught sight of her struggle, "What happened? Are you hurt?"

He was at her side in a blink, immediately taking the bags from her arms and steadying her. He took stock of her, a familiar expression striking his features; he was worried, near frantic attempting to find where she could have been injured.

"I'm okay," she shook her head, grateful for him taking some of the burden from her hands, "I just thought I wouldn't have to make more than one trip, then I dropped my keys and it's just—I don't know, it's too hot outside."

A pinch creased Harry's brows, giving him wrinkles that would disappear the second he smoothed his features. "Why didn't you call for me? I would have helped you, petal."

She shook her head, following after Harry with her keys in hand and only a single grocery bag into the manor. "It's too sunny. I thought I could make it, so I didn't want to make you come out if you didn't have to."

"I can handle some sun, darling," he assured her, getting her safely inside the manor before he closed the door and sealed out the unseasonal sunshine, "Especially if it is for you."

A small smile curled over her lips at his declaration. Of course he would say that it is worth it to potentially combust or go blind if it meant that he could help her bring her groceries in.

It was sweet—and only a little stupid.

Marching off to the kitchen, Harry didn't wait before he began unpacking all of her items and placing them within the cabinets and fridge. (Y/N) did little more than perching on the countertop, knowing that he wouldn't allow any kind of help since she had already gone through the trouble to shop herself (on his dime, though he never let her use that against him in the argument). She knew he could have it done in a matter of seconds, but he tended to refrain from using his supernatural abilities in moments like this, insisting she made him want to slow down and feel normal with her. That left her to watch as he bubbled around, unpacking with the reusable bags being folded away for another time.

The sight brought her back to her first night at the manor, before she had even met him. The kitchen had been so clumsily stocked with the strangest variety of ingredients. Neither him nor Niall had any idea of what a human needed to make a proper meal.

"Has the forecast changed at all for this afternoon?" (Y/N) asked, not bothering to take her eyes off him as he worked.

A grim line settled on his lips. "Not as far as I know. I am starting to worry I won't be able to accompany you later."

Her mouth edged into a soft pout. "Really?"

"'M afraid so, my love," he said, an apologetic quirk to his lips.

"I don't want to go if you can't come, though," (Y/N) argued, kicking her feet from where she sat on the counter. She was just a moment away from pulling out her phone and rain checking on Charlotte for another day.

"You should still go, petal," Harry countered, putting away the last ingredient before he drifted to stand between her spread thighs, "Do not cancel on my account."

"But the whole point of today was so you could meet my friends. It kind of defeats the purpose if you don't come with me." She would have to tell them he came down with something, and reschedule to a day with a promise of cloudy weather.

His lips were still in a thin line when he settled his hands on her thighs, a chill seeping through the denim of her jeans. "I do not want you to miss out on your friends and your human activities on my account. I don't think it's fair."

"I see Charlotte and the others plenty, H," she said, placing her own hands on his with her palms warming his skin, "Today really was going to mostly be about you. Plus, I know Charlotte kind of loves it when I cancel, so she can stay in with her boyfriend instead. They'll understand."

With the pinch between his brows only winding tighter, (Y/N) knew he was far from convinced but when he peeked up at her through his lashes, she could tell he wasn't going to argue. "Only if you are sure, my love. Please, if you change your mind, do not feel bad about leaving me here. I want you to do whatever makes you happiest."

"I will," she settled with a small smile, despite knowing that her happiest would be found right here in the manor with him.

Curling her fingers around his own, she held onto his hands as she leant towards him and pressed a small kiss to his lips.

It was Harry that chased after her when she began to pull away, ensuring she wasn't far before the chill of his mouth was once again buttoned to her own. She smiled into his kiss.

"Are you happy I'm staying home now?" she asked against his mouth, causing him to push his kiss to the corner of her mouth.

He paused, his hands flexing around the full of her thighs.

"Perhaps a little."

—————

"Let me finish this one section. Then I am all yours, petal."

Harry's murmured voice was quiet in the middle of his studio, barely much louder than the swish of his brush over the canvas propped in front of his stool. His palette was full of color, the evidence of the last hour of work he'd put into the finishing layer of his latest piece.

(Y/N) couldn't contain the heavy sigh she heaved as she draped herself over his form. Her arms dangled down over his shoulders, her face pressed cheek to cheek with his. A pout was on her lips as she watched him make changes so subtle she could barely even notice them.

This wasn't exactly what she had in mind when she cancelled her day plans.

He'd been at this for what felt like forever, and (Y/N) had been itching to pry him away for at least the last twenty minutes. She could hardly stand still, let alone actually watch him.

It was his fault, really.

It was Harry who had used the early hours of the afternoon to make a batch of sugary cupcakes, complete with chocolate frosting and raspberry compote shoved in the middle. After being the taste tester during the making and stealing a couple once they were cooled, (Y/N) was now experiencing what she could only call a sugar high and wanted Harry's attention more than anything. (Though she wasn't up to admit it, the late afternoon latte she made out of boredom probably had more than just a little to do with the extra energy).

She impatiently watched him make another minute stroke, adding a barely there brush of white highlight on a bush. The sound of his brush swirling through paint on his palette had her jaw ticking.

"Are you done yet?"

A huff of laughter left Harry's lips. "Almost, my love. What has gotten into you, may I ask?"

"I'm bored, and I want to play with you," she pouted, curling her arms around him in a clumsy hug.

"Yeah?" he prompted, his smile audible, "What would you like to play, hm?"

He was only teasing her, she was sure. He hadn't even stopped painted when he spoke. (Y/N) deflated, sinking into his shoulders. "I don't know."

The change in her inflection had Harry pushing his palette to the side, his full attention landing on her as he twirled on his stool to face her. He collected her hands in his, the glamoured green of his eyes wavering in distress.

"I didn't mean to upset you, love—I promise I was only teasing," he pleaded with her, canting his head with his cool hands squeezing hers.

Maybe it was a bit awful of her, but she couldn't help herself but to poke just a hair further to get what she wanted.

"It's okay," she told him, though she played up the moment with her mouth in a pout, "Will you hang out with me now? Please?"

"Of course, my love," he rushed out, standing to the full of his height with his hands still wrapped around hers, "Anything you want, we will do. I am at your disposal."

Perhaps she hadn't thought her little plan through quite as well as needed, (Y/N) realized. She didn't even know what she wanted to do, only knowing that she wanted to erase her boredom and she wanted Harry to be there when she did.

Rolling her lips between her teeth, she flitted her eyes away from his own intense gaze. "You pick."

"Me?" Harry pressed, serious expression on his features. His hands around hers shifted until he had their fingers laced together, his thumb running along the outside of hers.

(Y/N) shrugged, almost wishing she had let him continue painting instead of this. "I didn't think this far ahead."

His face softened into a gentle smile, his brows loosening with his eyes almost glimmering as he gazed at her. "Okay," he sounded, "I will think of something, then. Your only job is to tell me if you think you would have fun."

A furrow touched his brows much to (Y/N)'s delight. He always looked especially cute when he was concentrating like this.

"I can do that," she smiled at him, happy to have his attention after the long afternoon.

It only took a beat before Harry was flicking his gaze to match hers. "What is something humans do when they cannot go outside? What kind of activities would y'play when you were unable to go out?"

The question had (Y/N) thinking back to the days before Harry—before the rain and the clouds were their best friends. "Probably read or watch a movie or something," she answered, "I have too much energy, though—none of that sounds fun."

It was Harry's turn to puff his lips into a pout, his gaze dropping to their joined hands and growing distant with his thoughts whirring. "Okay," he drawled, "Are there any games that sound fun to you, petal?"

Sifting through her memories like a rolodex, (Y/N) pinged on something she hadn't thought about in years. "When I was a kid," she started, "Me and my sister would play stupid things like tag or hide and seek if we couldn't play outside. I was never very good at it, but I think it could be fun."

The smile that bloomed on his face told her that he had it all figured out then. "Let us do that, petal. We can still play even if it's only the two of us, yes?"

"Hide and seek?" (Y/N) clarified, unable to keep her own lips from stretching into a grin as she saw his own.

"Yes!" he bubbled, entirely too giddy over a childhood game, "That would be fun, wouldn't it? You would not be bored while playing, right?"

A peal of laughter fell from (Y/N)'s lips at his declaration, her energy bouncing off of his. "You're going to win every time, though. You'll always know where I am."

"I swear I will not pay attention," he assured her, "No cheating, I promise."

A bubbly smile drew (Y/N)'s features with soft curves. The manor was so big, this was the kind of place she would have killed to play such a game in when she was a kid. She just had to hope Harry wouldn't find her too easily when it was his turn.

"Okay," (Y/N) sang, using her grip on his hands to lead him out of the studio, "But, you're hiding first."

"Now?" he blanched, looking taken aback as if he hadn't suggested this game himself.

"Yes, now," (Y/N) laughed, pushing Harry out into the hallway with her ands untangling from his, "I'm going to start counting, and if you're not hiding, I still win if I catch you."

(Y/N) didn't wait for a reaction, instead turning her back to him with her hands covering her eyes. She began counting loudly for him to hear. After a moment of lag, his footsteps finally began to retreat, disappearing in a blink by the time she had counted to fifteen. If not for her eyes already being closed, she would have rolled them; Harry was already using his abilities to his advantage despite just vowing not to cheat. She continued counting through her smile.

While (Y/N) couldn't remember the exact rule from her childhood, she was sure she didn't count for as long as she was supposed to. He didn't need that much time anyway, she decided. He'd probably already found a hiding space as soon as he disappeared.

Entering into the hall and leaving the studio behind, she couldn't help that rush of adrenaline that always came with this kind of game. While she was technically the hunter in this scenario, she felt those nervous butterflies every time she peeked around a corner or peered into a dark room, anticipating the sight of Harry waiting for her. It didn't help that he could be completely silent when he wanted, leaving her with no warning of where he would spring up.

Her search took her through much of the first floor before she grew antsy and trekked up the staircase towards his wing of the manor. While he didn't spend too much time in his bedroom any more after moving into her lighter chambers, it was still a space he knew better than anywhere else.

Though much of the decor had shifted in the house, leaving behind some of the more grotesque paintings and ominous sculptures, this wing of the manor still contained those relics of the past. She had insisted that he keep his space as he had it, not wanting him to change everything just because she was now a part of his life. That left her padding down the dark hallway with the blank white eyes of the demonic cherubs following after her. Sobbing angels and puddles of blood littered the backgrounds of these scenes, taking (Y/N) back to the early days when she had first arrived at the manor.

Curling her sweater sleeves over her hands against a phantom chill in the corridor, she peeked into the various rooms lining the hall. Her heart beat heavy in her ears every time she pulled open a door, expecting to see Harry's pale features shining through the dark. Her paced breathing and footsteps were the only other sounds to be heard in the silent passage.

She saved his bedroom for last, this being the only room she was actually familiar with in the hall. Her stomach was flooded with butterflies as she twisted the knob, pushing open the door before crossing the threshold into the chilly room. Goosebumps pricked her skin as she stepped inside, not bothering to flick on the lights as if that would break the effect of the game—as if she wasn't starting to actually grow spooked.

His room was still decked in velvet and silk, golden and black features streaming throughout. She could still clearly recall the night she had tucked herself under the heavy duvet, waiting out the monsters that had called to her outside. She remembered the way Harry had tried to soothe her in the night, when her sleep had grown restless. How that moment had felt like a dream only for it to be one of the first pages in their story.

Her breath caught in her throat when she swore she saw a shadow move behind the drawn curtains.

Stepping on silent feet, she ventured further into his bedroom, hesitantly peeking around his wardrobe and even chancing a look inside. Each attempt was fruitless as she changed her direction towards the bathroom attached to the room.

There was a static in the air, the kind that made her sure there was someone else sharing this space with her, but there was no Harry to be seen. The hinges of the bathroom door creaked just as she felt a set of hands land on her shoulder.

"Found you."

Harry's breath washed over the side of her neck, a shiver running down her spine at the same time she startled in her spot. Her heart skyrocketed to her throat, beating heavy behind her ribs and echoing in her ears.

Spinning to face him with her hand to her neck and mouth dropped in a gasp, she looked to him with accusing eyes. "You scared me! I'm supposed to be finding you!"

"I'm sorry," he said through an amused smile that did nothing for his point, "You walked past me twice, petal. I couldn't wait any longer."

Settling in her skin, (Y/N) was able to pout over her lost game. "I would have found you."

"I am sure y'would have, my love, but now y'can relax. I could hear your heart beating like you were running a marathon."

Sometimes she forgot just how in tune with her body he was; he knew everything, many of them she barely even noticed herself. Nothing was overlooked.

"I was right to be scared," she countered, her skin warming as he dropped his hands from her shoulders to follow the length of her arms down to her hands, "You ended up scaring me just like I thought you would."

"Darling," he drawled, ducking his head to be level with her gaze, "I really didn't mean to—I was hoping I would make you laugh, that's all."

Collecting her into his arms, Harry hugged her against his chest in apology. As much as she wanted to believe him, (Y/N) could still feel that smile of his, complete with both dimples, as he tucked his face into the warmth of her neck.

"It's okay, H," she murmured, nonetheless reciprocating his hug with her arms around his neck. He sunk into her hold, heavy and adoring as he relaxed. With her mouth by his ear, she whispered, "Your turn."

With that, she pushed off of him, laughter spilling from her lips as she scuttled out of his bedroom. Heading towards the staircase at the end of the corridor, she turned around with a beaming smile just to see him looking after her like she thought he would. The sight made her grin that much larger.

"Start counting—and no cheating!"

All but sprinting through the manor, (Y/N) left him behind, finally working out that giddy energy she'd been holding onto through the afternoon. While she knew there was little chance that this was going to be a very fair game given the fact that he couldn't turn off his senses, she still wanted to have fun and see if she could confuse him and have even a minute chance at winning.

In an attempt to play dirty, she ran around the manor, traipsing through the kitchen, her bedroom, the art studio, any door she could get through without wasting too much time to leave her scent any and everywhere. Her heartbeat and breathing were going to be her giveaways, but this could buy her time if Harry fell for it.

By the time she knew she was closing in on the remainder of her time, she settled on hiding in the laundry room. The room had two entrances—one opening to what used to be considered a maid's quarters, and the other out into the hallway. Leaving the door to the hallway open in hopes of through him off, she tucked herself out of sight. She fixed her eyes on the slight crack in the open door with the maid's entrance to her back.

The longer (Y/N) stayed tucked away, the more that familiar anticipation crept in. Though, instead of being the hunter, she was now the hunted, sitting like a duck as she waited to be caught. The worst part was how silent Harry would undoubtedly be—she wouldn't even know she had been found until he had his hands on her.

Keeping her eyes fixed to the crack in the door, (Y/N) waited. It took everything to keep from wriggling and giving away her spot, despite the growing buzz in her stomach that urged her to run or use the restroom (the juvenile urge being one she only really felt while playing this game, she realized). He must be staying as true as he could to his vow of no cheating since he was taking his time to make it through the manor, his speed being left in his bedroom.

Out of nowhere, there was a creak from a floorboard heard down the hallway. (Y/N) clamped her mouth shut, pacing her breathing as if that would help. At least she knew where he was now.

Her gaze never strayed from where she could see just a sliver out into the hall, waiting to see the green knit of his sweater. The longer she waited, the harder her heart beat. There was no other creak or sound of movement telling her where he could have retreated.

She rolled her lips between her teeth. Could she chance a shift in her spot, just to see I she could spot him elsewhere?

A breath too late, from the corner of her eye she saw a familiar green sweater and pale features.

"Harry, no," she laughed right as he caught her with his hands landing on the soft curve of her waist, "You cheated!"

Tugging her to his chest, Harry pulled her out of hiding and right to him. A wondrous light had settled in his eyes as he took in her laughter. "How did I cheat? I gave you plenty of time, petal."

"You're not allowed to be so quiet," she argued, already pulling away from his embrace, "Go hide, it's my turn."

Harry didn't let her get very far before he was pulling her back to his chest, dipping his head down and leveling his gaze with hers. "No, I won. I found you," he smiled, tipping his chin to press his lips to the soft of hers.

(Y/N) drew away first, keeping herself from getting distracted. Energy was still trickling through her system, she didn't want to stop now. "I know, so it's my turn again."

Chasing after her, another kiss was planted over her mouth. He spoke against her lips, "No, I win. I get m'prize now."

She laughed into his kiss, Harry swallowing the sound between his parted lips. "Your prize?"

Pulling away just enough to match her gaze with his nose bushing hers, amusement sparkled in his eyes. "Are you not my winnings?"

A spark bubbled under her skin, meeting with lingering butterflies that had her slipping out of his arms. He was always going to win in the end, but she was going to get in as many rounds as she could before then.

"Fine," she relented, shooting him an excitable smile as she bounced on her feet, "but you have to catch me first."

With that, she shot out of the laundry room, slipping out of his reach. A bright smile was on her lips as she pictured the look on she had undoubtedly left on his face. It wasn't until she had ran her way down the hall, reaching a corner that she peered over her shoulder.

Harry had only followed her far enough to be peeking out into the corridor, a furrow to his brow and slight quirk to his lips. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I don't know!" she giggled, skidding around the corner before popping her head around to peek at him once more, "And, no cheating!"

She heard his laugh as she sped down the winding hall and towards the staircase. There was no clear destination in mind, just knowing that she wanted to make a little bit of trouble for him before she was caught.

The fact that he hadn't reached her already told her that he had listened to her rules, but that didn't mean he was very far behind if the sound of his rapid footsteps was anything to go by.

By the time she made it to the sitting room, murals of the heavens watching as she raced through, she could hear Harry's barely a heartbeat behind her. Daring to peek over her shoulder, she could see him descending the stairs, a furrow to his brow until he caught her looking. Then, he had a splitting grin on his face.

A giddy peal of laughter fell from her lips as she ran harder from him, feeling that adrenaline leak into her system knowing that he was right there. It would be so easy for him to use his supernatural traits and catch her before she took her next step, but he was letting her keep her little game up. He was enjoying the chase.

He followed her into the kitchen where she slid her socked feet across the floor, catching her balance before she could tumble to the floor. The close call had just that much more energy hitting her system.

"Be careful, petal," Harry scolded her, having just barely caught her near miss.

"No," she laughed, knowing she sounded a bit like a petulant child before she was off again. She could hear his own huff of laughter from where she left him behind.

It didn't take long before she felt the stretch of Harry's fingers graze the back of her sweater, the beats of his feet just behind her. She yelped at the touch, instinctively trying to throw him off by zagging towards the stairs once more. Before she could lead him up, he closed the distance and wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her away from the steps.

"We are not going to run up the stairs like this, petal," he laughed, not even a little out of breath as he tucked her back to his chest.

"You cheated at the end," she accused in a pant, laughing as she tilted her head back to look up at him.

His features were upside down from where she gazed down at her, smug smile on his lips. "Perhaps, but I still win."

Before she could argue, he had her spun around in his arms. The world spun around her as Harry threw her over his shoulder, her hips settled on the cuff of his shoulder with her arms dangling down his back and legs kicking in front of him. His arm created a bar across the backs of her thighs, keeping her steady as she wriggled over him.

"I get to take you away now, petal," he declared, starting towards the stairs on much more steady feet this time, "No more running from me."

"I thought you said we were going to play whatever I wanted today," she faux-whined, clinging to him as he reached the landing of the second level.

"I think you'll like this break from your game, puppy," he answered simply.

She was sure they both felt the change in the pace of her heart then. With that one word, she knew he was right. She was going to enjoy whatever game he wanted to put on now.

Pushing into their bedroom, (Y/N) was unceremoniously plopped onto the bed, unmade bedding rustling around her. The mattress bounced under her back just as Harry settled followed, crawling to the middle of the bed to sit himself between her thighs.

His weight had her sinking into the plush sheets with her thighs spread wide to accept his hips against her own. A heady bulge pressed against her core as he buried his face against her neck. The tip of his nose skimmed over the column of her throat, her skin breaking into goosebumps at the touch. She could feel the smile curling on his lips at her reaction.

Bringing her hands up to tangle through his hair, she hiked her thigh around the cuff of his hip. The chill of his lips held that much more of an effect on her when he pressed them o her heated throat.

"What's gotten into you?" she asked, preening under the attention.

Harry's response came in between the smattering of kisses he gave to her neck, the scratch of his teeth sending a shiver down her spine. "I liked chasing you," he murmured against her skin, words melting into her pores, "Jus' wanted to catch you and take you away."

(Y/N) felt breathless at his admission. That wasn't the intended effect she had been going for with her game, but she couldn't say she didn't like it.

"Take me away to do what?" she pressed, wanting nothing more than to have his voice wash over her with every minute detail that came to mind.

"To fuck you, puppy," he answered simply, taking her breath away when he scraped his teeth against the well-bitten spot on her neck. "You know that."

Her reaction was enough to spur him on as he sucked a mark onto the hollow of her throat. Her fingers coiled in his curls, arching into him with her head tipping to the side to give him more skin to roam. Harry happily took advantage, teasing her with nips at the curve of her neck once he was satisfied with the faint mark he left behind on her skin.

"You want that too, puppy?" Harry murmured against her throat, the full of his lips pillowing over the goosebumps on her skin, "Want me to fuck you?"

She didn't even think before she was nodding as best she could with her cheek pressed to the mattress, her mouth dropped in a breathless gasp. Harry's smug smile could be felt against her neck before he drew back, matching her eyes with his own intense gaze.

"Say it."

Her heart hammered against her rib cage, her thighs squeezing around his hips. How her stupid game of hide and seek led to this, she wasn't sure, but she was willing to do it again every day if this was the kind of effect it had on Harry.

When she didn't immediately answer him, Harry pulled one of his hands up and lightly tapped on her warm cheek with his three middle fingers.

"C'mon, puppy. I wanna hear y'say it."

Though it was far from the filthiest thing she's said for him or he's said to her, she still felt her skin warm and throat bob as she followed his instruction.

"I want you to fuck me, Harry."

His eyes fell to her lips, watching her mouth form the words and her breathless voice carry them out. There was a note of pride in his gaze as he took in her obedience.

"I can do that for you, petal."

Ducking his head down, he smeared his lips against hers, tongue slipping inside her mouth and sampling a taste of her own. (Y/N) raked her fingers through his hair, nails grazing his scalp as she leant into every bit of affection he offered. She locked her thighs around his hips, every sweep of his tongue causing a pulse of the muscles.

Wordlessly, he slipped his arms around her cradling her to him just before he rolled them over in the tufts of their bedding. In a breath, without having separated from their kiss, he had placed himself underneath her form. (Y/N) sat in his lap, knees bracketing his hips with Harry's legs bent at the knee behind her to keep her steady in her place. Once she caught up with her body, she startled, instinctively reaching to place her palms on his shoulders as she drew away from his mouth with her kiss-swollen lips in a gape.

Harry's pupils were blown wide as he looked up at her, his bottom lip fit snugly between his teeth. "Haven't had you on top in a while, huh, puppy?"

Despite talking as if he expected an answer from her, Harry rocked his hips underneath hers, effectively robbing any chance of speech. (Y/N) could only shake her head—it really had been a while since she'd been the one above.

Pleased with her eager breathlessness, Harry dropped his hand to fit the curve of her waist, a slight flex of his fingers pushing dents into the soft skin. "Show me how you're going to ride me, petal. I want to see you to work for my cock."

He spoke with no reservations, commanding with all the affection in the world embedded in his tone. There was no way she could say no to that. She wanted to give him everything just as much as he did for her.

Digging her fingertips into the broad of his shoulders, she steadied herself with her knees on either side of him. His legs behind her were the easiest way to keep herself steady as she started rocking herself on his lap, using his thighs to lean against with every roll of her hips.. The bulge of his cock pressed headily against her core with each brush, her stomach tightening along with her breathless lungs.

"Y'can do better than that, darling," he taunted, his voice playfully mocking, "I know you don't expect me to be gentle today, right? Not after y'made me chase you around just to get you all pretty in my lap. Gonna take more than this to get my cock in you."

Taking advantage of his grip on her waist, Harry took over, bouncing her on his lap as if to show what he was looking for from her. The rhythm of her grinding was dismissed as he pumped her over his cock, his thighs spreading at her back as her ass dropped into his lap over and over, his cock pressing directly against her clit through the fabric of her pants. Small moans managed to escape from (Y/N)'s throat even with the squeeze of her lungs.

"This is better, right, puppy?"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," she breathed, her eyes fluttering to a close. It was better than her grinding, but nowhere near as satisfying as stuffing his cock inside. "More, pl-please."

His lips curled her words. "Y'think you're ready to do this on m'cock? Even if I don't help you?"

The nod of her head was automatic, no extra thought given to whatever parameters he gave her. She could make anything work as long as she got out of her clothes and had her pussy full of him.

Harry stopped bouncing her then, his hands stilling as he kept her from moving herself. (Y/N) wanted to whine, to complain that he had stopped her just as he shushed her with a kiss, leaning up to meet her lips.

"Do not pout, puppy. Can't fuck y'through my clothes, can I? At least not the way y'like."

With that, (Y/N) didn't hesitate to climb off his lap and rid herself of her clothes. Her sweater and pants became a messy pile on the floor with her panties soon following. She heard a soft laugh sound from behind her when she flung her bra onto the floor in her haste. Despite the chill glancing over her skin, (Y/N) didn't wait before crawling back into Harry's just-as-cold embrace.

He welcomed her back into his lap readily, his cock hard between his thighs. She felt her own core tighten at the sight of his blocked muscles, the creamy pallor of his skin making his tattoos look that much darker. His gaze was its own aphrodisiac as he pinned his eyes to her form kneeling over his lap, drinking her in just as much as she did him.

"So gorgeous, darling," he told her, his voice a gentle coo compared to the hard lines of his body, "If I could dream at all, it would be of you. You know that, right?"

"I dream of you, every night," she told him sweetly as if she wasn't inches above his hardened cock, her center slick and waiting for him.

"Good dreams?" he asked, just as he always did with a dimpled smile on his lips.

"The best," she declared, fitting her hands on his shoulders with her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips.

"Give me a kiss, puppy," he crooned, tipping his chin just right to give her access to his lips.

Pressing her mouth to his, Harry took the lead with his hands cupping the full of her hips. He welcomed the warmth of her kiss, swiping his tongue over hers with the slick parting sounds of their lips filling the quiet bedroom.

"Ready to take me, puppy?" Harry breathed against her lips, unwilling to pull too far away.

"Please," was (Y/N)'s cooed response before melding her lips to his once more.

Using his hold on her hips, Harry eased (Y/N) onto his cock. He fit the tip inside her wet center, swallowing the gasp she let out against his mouth. Her hands on his shoulders were tight as he helped her sink down his length. Her toes curled on either side of his form, her thighs clenching the further inside he pushed. Harry took his time, leaving (Y/N) to feel every inch of him with every spread of her walls to let him in.

Once he bottomed out, the trimmed thatch of hair at his base pressing to her clit and his balls patting her ass, (Y/N) felt her insides pulse around him, her stomach tight in her middle. Harry's hands on her sides tightened, denting the soft flesh with his fingertips.

"Feel good, puppy?" he murmured with a strain, pausing as he let her adjust to him, "Full?"

"Uh-huh," she mindlessly answered, swearing she could feel him jump against her walls, "So full."

A moan bubbled up from his chest, low and rumbling. He trailed his lips from her mouth to the soft apple of her cheek, basking in her warmth as he reflected it back. His lips were a cool point of clarity against her skin, his nose skimming the height of her cheekbone. He planted his line of kisses until he landed at the space just before her ear.

"Ready for me to fuck you, puppy? Jus' like I promised?" he murmured into her ear, gently shifting his hips under hers as if to remind her he was still there.

The only response he seemed to need was the soft coo of his name that fell from her mouth, soft and wanting. As if there were any world that existed where she denied his offer.

Harry began to bounce her on his lap, his hands tight on her hips as her mouth dropped into a wordless gape. The thrusts he helped her make were short and shallow, lifting her only halfway off his cock before she was slammed down once more, her clit nudging his base with his tip hitting far walls she decided only existed for him. Her breathing came out in soft huffs every time her hips settled against his in soft slaps.

He attempted to smatter more kisses against her cheek, but was stopped short in his own pleasure. She could feel the soft gape of his lips against her skin, the length of his lashes grazing her cheek as he clamped them shut while falling into the feel of her.

Despite his early threat of leaving her to do the work all by herself, she barely had to do anything more than take it as he rocked his hips to meet the thrusts he was curating with her in his lap. She could feel her breasts moving with every thrust, peaks hardened as she attempted to draw herself closer to his chest and feel more of his chilled skin against her.

"Harry, I—" she choked out, her voice dying in her throat as she threw her head back after a particularly harsh thrust of his hips against hers.

"I know, petal, I know," he murmured, gaining some of his composure as he dropped his mouth to her throat. It was there that he could feel the thrum of her pulse, just under the soft skin he was accustomed to sinking his teeth into and leaving bruised and delicate in his wake. "I've got you, puppy. Gonna make me cum, you know that?"

Her thighs clenched at the thought of him cumming inside her, feeling that warmth leak through her system. Her nails dug deeper into his shoulders, drawing him that much closer to her.

"You want that? Want me to cum inside you? Make you mine again?"

He asked these things as if she could answer—as if she had half the mind to say anything other than a pathetic moan or a clench of her hands over his body. Of course she wanted that; of course she wanted to feel him cum inside her and stake his claim. She wanted anything he was willing to give.

"Tell me, puppy," Harry commanded, his gentle tone forgone for the moment as his grip on her hips harshened, "Not gonna let you cum with me if y'don't talk to me."

"I want that, I want that," she rushed out, unwilling to test his threat, "Want you to cum in me, H. Please."

"Good girl, pup. Always doing what I say, " he murmured, quietly praising her as if she couldn't hear him. "So, so, so good. Gonna make me cum so hard—shit."

One of his hands slipped from her hip, fitting between their bodies before he pressed his fingers to the bud of her clit. The first touch of his cold fingertips took her breath, stunting her lungs with her mouth dropping open in a soundless moan. Harry continued his relentless thrusting, the rhythm deep and consistent, adding to the twisting feeling of her clit being circled. Despite Harry being the one that had wanted this, dragging her to their bedroom in the first place, she doubted he would be the first to finish under these circumstances.

Tracing one of her hands up from the shelf of his shoulder, she laced her fingers through the curls on her back of his head. It took all her attention to keep herself from growing distracted once she curled her fingers through the waves in a firm grip. Tipping her head to the side, she urged him to the soft skin of her throat.

"H-Harry, please," she begged, hoping he would understand what she wanted without having to waste the time to spell it out.

A heavy moan fell from his lips when he saw what she was directing him towards. His cock jumped in her pussy, his tip pressing headily against the ridges of her walls, his hips directing a particularly harsh thrust against hers, splitting her open that much more.

"Y'want me to bite you, darling? Fuck, you're so sexy, puppy."

She didn't need to do anything more than pathetically breathe out a small uh-huh before she felt that faint scratch of his teeth over the delicate skin. A shudder traveled down her spine, the rhythm of Harry's thrusting not even skipping a beat.

"Hold onto me, puppy," Harry murmured just a breath before she felt the slice of his teeth sinking into her skin.

For the first time since pushing inside her, the rocking of his hips stuttered in their curated pace. Bottomed out, he rolled his hips into her with her clit still being prodded by his fingertips. The initial sting of his teeth lasted barely a heartbeat for (Y/N) before she was flooded with the euphoria Harry was already experiencing. Whatever it was that made his bite so dizzying was doing its job by melting her into his hold, turning her completely pliant and ready to be any and everything he wanted. The soft press of his lips around the bite was the cut of clarity she needed in that moment, otherwise she would have been lost in the sound of his low moan and the all encompassing hold he had on her.

(Y/N)'s head was elsewhere, focusing only on him as she felt her stomach tighten with every pull of blood he took from her. Unsure of where the strength came from, she managed to whimper in a breathless voice, "I'm-I'm gonna cum, Harry."

His response came in the form of a rumbling groan, his remaining hand on her hip snaking around to curl around her middle. She could feel the strength of his touch, complimented by a harsh thrust against her swollen pussy. His touch on her clit quickened, making her cry out once more in a shapeless moan.

It was all too much, bringing a layer of tears to her closed eyes just before everything came to a head. The twist in her stomach tightened until it unraveled into a shredded ribbon. Her walls pulsed around his cock, her wetness gushing around him with slick noises sounding from where he sunk into her. When those first waves hit, her nails digging into his shoulder with her head thrown back, she felt Harry unlatch from her neck just as his own high hit.

"Oh—fuck—puppy," he groaned, his movements lagging as soon as she felt the first wave of his cum hit inside her.

He dropped his forehead to rest on the shelf of her collarbone, his hips rocking against hers as best as he could manage the more he sunk into the pleasure of her taste in his mouth and her pussy around his cock. Her walls shuddered around him, her thighs closing in on his hips as her body clung to him. Every rope warmed her compared to his icy touch, prolonging her pleasure that much longer until she could feel him slowing down.

Coming down to earth in slow beats, Harry wrapped his arms around her, leaving (Y/N) to melt into his hold. Her eyes were shuttered closed, her heart beating hard against her ribcage. Looping her own arms around his neck, she buried her face in the mussed curls on the top of his head. Her breathing came in pants as the world reluctantly came into focus around her.

Harry seemed to recover first, stirring in her arms until he was pressing his lips against her collarbones and dragging them across her décolletage. He painted a delicate trail, never fully lifting his mouth from her skin as he moved up towards her throat. Pausing over the spot he had bitten from, he swiping his tongue carefully over the small wound he'd made, taking care to clean up the small mess he'd left behind and sealing her bite before he made his way towards her jaw. He skimmed over the soft line, his nose glancing off her skin just as carefully. Tipping her head up, (Y/N) met him halfway, tenderly placing her lips against his.

He was always terribly careful when kissing her after having bitten from her, never wanting to give her a taste of anything too human on his tongue. He allowed only a small press before he was pulling away and puckering against the corner of her mouth to the apple of her cheek and the tip of her nose.

"Are y'alright, petal?" he murmured against her skin, shuffling until he was laying flat on his back with her atop him. The shifting had his softening cock brushing against her sensitive walls, a small shudder skating down the knobs of her spine.

"I'm okay," she breathed, blinking her eyes open to see his own still shuttered—and they would stay that way until he was certain there was no more bloody red sclera for her to see. "Are you?"

His features softened into a warm smile, matching the slight flush that had been freshly added to his cheeks. "I am more than well, darling. Thank you for asking."

A plume of laughter fell from her lips as she settled against him. She knew she should probably get up and dress in something warm enough to cuddle with him, clean herself up before completely relaxing, but she couldn't find the motivation to move off of him. He was far too comfortable, his hold too rewarding to give up in favor of putting on a shirt before she was shivering in his hold.

Harry seemed to have other ideas as he shifted under her. "Let's clean you up, petal. Then, I can put you to sleep while I make dinner, yes?"

"No," she countered with a whine, clinging to him before he could move them from the haven of their bed, "Not yet."

She felt his laugh more than she heard it from where she laid against his chest. He tightened his hold around her as he dropped a smiling kiss to the crown of her head. "Not even if I come with you?" he bribed, hoping to coax her with the soft inflection on his voice and careful touch as he tightened his hold around her, "We can even nap afterwards, if you'd like. You'll feel better after changing, my love."

"You'll go with me?" she repeated, her voice decidedly smaller as she spoke against his skin. It didn't sound so bad if he cleaned up with her (that usually meant he did all the work anyway, picking out her clothes and washing her hair without her lifting a finger).

"Mhm," he hummed, collecting her against his chest as he started to shift on the mattress, moving stand with her still clinging to his form. "Can't leave my petal all alone after a game like that, can I?"

(Y/N) could only shake her head, playing along with him as he carried her into the bathroom.

She definitely liked his games a lot more than her own.

—————

first vamp h blurb in a while esp a fun one so I hope everyone likes it! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if yu have any ideas you wnat too share please send them in!

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i-did-not-mean-to · 5 months

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All good things must pass...

This is a treat fic for @samayla for the 2023 @whiteoliphaunt.

Pairing: Thorin x Bilbo

Words: 1 335

Warnings: None

Prompts: Snowed in, gift giving, sharing traditions

“Maybe, we could…” Thorin II, generally called “Oakenshield”, scratched his beard pensively as he looked out on the endless blanket of snow that made it patently impossible to discern the single path leading down from the hidden cave.

“Dear,” Bilbo sighed, his nose twitching in dismay. He opened his mouth to remind his friend and lover of the fact that, despite being an esteemed king and a fierce warrior, Thorin had a pesky tendency to lose his way even at the best of times.

Indeed, the brave Hobbit was far from eager to tumble off a rocky ledge or fall down a ravine that was treacherously obscured by the snow in a ludicrous but eminently tragic accident.

Nevertheless, Thorin seemed so tense and unhappy already that his heart misgave him, and he swallowed his confession of doubt and fear in favour of a more selfless argument.

“I do not doubt that you, your dwarven instincts, and your sturdy boots could find a way down, but I beg you to remember that I am at a distinct disadvantage,” he commented in a soft, pleading voice, motioning at his furry, bare toes.

Of course, this was at least partially disingenuous; Bilbo’s feet were inured to both icy sludge and searing heat, but he could not feel all too guilty for fibbing when he saw Thorin’s eyes light up with relief and tenderness.

“It was such a nice idea to come here,” the Hobbit went on, willing his jaw to relax and suppressing the full-body shivers threatening to ruin his nonchalant delivery of those much-needed, reassuring words of love and support. “I do not mind staying a little longer. Surely, there are more things you can show me in your favourite grotto?”

The smile pulling at the corners of his mouth now was as sunny and genuine as it would have been had they comfortably stood in front of the Great Hall’s roaring fires.

Growing up, Bilbo—as was the wont of his kind—had himself favoured certain flowers, fruits, and trees, and he had never doubted the legitimacy of those instinctive preferences.

Thus, it made perfect sense to him that Thorin—who had only recently returned to his ancestral home—would have treasured places he had not seen for many decades.

It filled Bilbo’s heart with tingling warmth to know that his beloved did not only yearn to spend his future with so unlikely a consort, but that he was also recovered enough from the ordeal of the quest and his almost fatal bout of Dragonsickness to grant Bilbo a glimpse into a long-lost past.

“Did you come here often?” he prompted, threading his stiff fingers into the warm fur of Thorin’s collar and tugging gently to distract the King from his morose musings.

“Not as often as I would have liked,” Thorin admitted. “I was the heir, and my duties lay elsewhere.”

“Shame, it’s so pretty.”

Despite the howling wind and the blistering cold, the small cavern, nestled into the flank of a forlorn part of the Lonely Mountain’s foothills, held a singular, enchanting charm. Even in the chiaroscuro caused by the thick veil of heavily falling snow that was blocking out the daylight, age-old crystals glimmered faintly from the vaulted roof, and Bilbo couldn’t help being reminded of the intricate chandelier he had once seen in the Thain’s house as a fauntling.

“What would you do when you came here then?” His teeth were clacking miserably by now, but he was unwilling to let the conversation die.

With a jolt, Thorin seemed to abruptly snap out of his self-recriminatory reverie and firmly slung his arms around the smaller frame of the one he had chosen to be his partner in all things.

“I am so sorry,” he mumbled under his breath. “I have failed you again! Come here, let me warm you up!”

Opening his heavy coat, he wrapped Bilbo into a cocoon of warmth before settling his bearded chin atop the mop of messy, honey-golden curls with another deep, tremulous sigh.

“I am still waiting for an answer. Did you do frivolous, unprincely things?” Bilbo teased, feeling perfectly at ease now that he was sheltered from the biting cold by the fragrant, comforting bubble Thorin had created for him.

He knew not what expectations the overly serious King entertained within that stubborn, laughably haughty mind of his, but Bilbo himself could not imagine a better place to be during a snowstorm than in Thorin’s arms.

Having lived a solitary life before embarking on his Great Adventure, he was not fazed by the idea of being cut off and isolated—he even sometimes preferred being left alone, and, after the bustling activity of Erebor’s reconstruction and repair, he was profoundly grateful to get a moment of intimacy to simply talk to his husband.

“I…I could show you,” Thorin finally replied haltingly. “Sit over there.”

Shrugging out of his coat, the dwarven king draped it around his cherished consort’s shoulders and padded cautiously to the mouth of the cave.

“It is silly,” he admitted when he returned to where Bilbo sat, huddled against the far wall, and set down a heap of powdery, pristine snow.

Again, the Hobbit pressed his lips together to keep himself from saying something imprudent that would upset or discourage Thorin.

The gleam of pure hope and fond reminiscence in those bright blue eyes was so rare and precious a sight that it didn’t even truly matter if the puerile pastime Thorin was about to share turned out to be truly anodyne or vapid indeed.

Wordless, Bilbo watched as Thorin busied himself around the cave, collecting pieces of fallen crystal and small, iridescent stones to build a miniature of the throne room such as it had been before Smaug had laid waste to his beloved kingdom.

“It’s so beautiful,” Bilbo breathed, as ever fascinated and humbled by the craftiness and skill of the many-layered miracle that was Thorin.

Once upon a time, he had met a disgruntled, distrustful king in exile, and it never failed to awe him when he unearthed pieces of the young dwarf Thorin had necessarily been before everything had been taken from him and his family.

“Funny that you’d escape your princely duties only to recreate the very room you’ve fled,” he added in a light voice.

“Wait…” Thorin cautioned him. “May I ask for one of your cherished handkerchiefs as a sacrifice?”

Without hesitation, Bilbo handed over the worn cloth square, too curious to discover what the other had in mind.

“It’s a poor gift,” Thorin whispered as he extricated a piece of flint from his pocket and set the fabric alight, “because it doesn’t last, but…”

“Hush,” Bilbo interrupted, mesmerised by the dancing shadows and the kaleidoscope of colours the small flame cast upon the domed walls of their little sanctuary. “This is absolutely stunning. I understand why you loved coming here!”

Blushing furiously, Thorin looked up at him from where he knelt on the floor.

“Thank you,” Bilbo croaked, tears of emotion and depthless adoration turning his voice raspier than usual. “We Hobbits love ephemeral beauty; after all, even the most gorgeous flowers die and the most glorious of summers must end.”

Sliding to the floor beside Thorin to hug him to his clenching chest, Bilbo allowed his starry eyes to overflow, trusting that even his tears would be well-guarded and safe in Thorin’s mighty hands.

“You’ve graciously gifted me a fleeting flash of colour and heat to counterbalance the deadly white of this storm,” he breathed into a reddened ear, framed elegantly by silver beads and dark hair, “and you’ve granted me a glimpse of your precious soul’s eternity.”

“The storm has finally abated,” Thorin mumbled sheepishly. “Should we dare the descent?”

“Not yet,” Bilbo replied softly, spreading out the coat he’d been cowering under on the floor. “Let’s stay a while yet and watch the lights dance as if we were alone in the world. We are safe, Thorin. Let’s savour that! Together!”

I hope you'll enjoy this <3

Lots of love from me!

#og post #Fanfiction #writing #IDNMT writes #jrrt #Tolkien fanfiction #WO2023 #WhiteOliphaunt 2023 #Bagginshield #Thilbo #Thorin #Bilbo #Thorin x Bilbo #Snowed in #Gift giving #sharing traditions

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eleanor-bradstreet · 7 months

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Chiaroscuro - Part 8 (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Vampire AU Rated/warnings: 18+ - explicit sexual content, language Word count: 1.6k Art by @bridgertontess

Part 7 Masterpost

Author's Note: Happy Halloween/Samhain my spooky darlings! 🦇We come at last to the grand finale. Thank you so much for sinking your teeth into this story with me 🖤

Scent. That was the first thing that pulled you from the darkness. The warm, comforting scent of sandalwood and musk. But also of memory. The tartan blanket you made forts under during family holidays in Scotland. The candles your grandmother burned during Christmas. Your favorite candies at the cinema. Your past was somehow colliding with your present and you could nearly taste them both.

Your eyes flew open and you saw the world with perfect clarity. It was something you hadn’t experienced since childhood and you would have been startled were it not for the safety you felt in the arms wrapped tight around you. You turned and saw Benedict, stunning and still, curled against you with his eyes closed. You realized the scent was coming from him, all of them, as if he had been crafted specially from your own nostalgia.

You were both naked among the tangle of black sheets. You knew inherently that you had slept through the day and it was night again. You felt electric, alive, every sense dialed to a staggering exactitude. The details of the night before were fuzzy but you knew you had been transformed. It was a tangled memory of inseparable pain and pleasure. You felt for the bite marks on your neck but there were none. There were none on your thighs either. Your skin was completely unblemished and your vision was so perfected that you could count the pores and fine hairs on every inch. Your body was toned in a way you could only have dreamed of achieving without supernatural intervention. You had the same marble physique as Benedict and though it was alien, it thrilled you.

You could feel the thread count of the sheets, could see every mote of dust in the air, could hear your neighbors breathing in the flat below. That’s when you felt the hunger. Gnawing and dangerous, it skittered from your stomach and up your throat to let out an inhuman snarl.

In an instant Benedict was alert and on top of you, pinning you down to the mattress by the wrists.

“Good evening, darling,” he purred with the cheekiest crooked grin. “How do you feel?”

How you felt was inexplicable. It was a need so palpable it hurt. A hunger for…something. Sustenance yes, but even more mouthwatering was the scent pouring off of him and the glisten you could now detect on his immaculate skin. He was your maker, a piece of you, and you wanted your pieces joined once more.

“Ben…” your eyes darted, frantic. “I…I need…”

“I know you’re starving. It’s what we all feel. I have plenty to feed you but you’re a bit volatile until I do. Now just…”

You lunged up at him, trying to wriggle free and wrap him in your limbs. You were driven by something animal, something that would have scared you if it didn’t make you feel so powerful. You needed every inch of him pressed against you. He scrabbled to push you back down, flattening his chest and arms across yours to keep you still.

“Fuck, you’re strong,” he marveled. “Listen, can you behave for two minutes and I’ll bring you…”

“I want you,” you growled. You were possessed. You had never been overwhelmed by such a singular desire. You had to have him or would die clawing for it.

“I’m flattered, but really…”

“I need you,” you seethed. “I need you now.”

His exasperation was obvious. “If you can wait just a few minutes and eat something first, I promise I’ll leave my cock in you for a week. You can tie me up and use me however you want.”

His smirk made you pause and contemplate his offer. But you could not be sated any other way.

“No. Now.”

Mustering all of your newfound strength, you surged against him so violently that you both flipped off the bed and crashed onto the floor, him landing on his back between your thighs. Now you were the one pinning him down and his strength was proving no match against yours, though you suspected he wasn’t fighting as hard as he could. You moved like a carnal beast, tracing your tongue over the perfectly defined lines of his body as he groaned. He was yours and you were his, eternally. Made perfect and immortal by his blood, you needed to thank him, you needed to praise him, you needed to drown yourself in him. In short order you sank onto his rigid cock, the two of you crying out desperately.

“Fucckkk!” Benedict threw his head back, eyes clamped shut and neck straining. “Oh god…”

Every sensation seemed new to you now, but this was on another level entirely. It was as if your nerve endings had multiplied, as if every inch of skin within you was as sensitive as the skin without. You could feel his cock inside your body with as much exacting detail as if he was in your mouth, every vein and stiff furrow. You would have been breathless if you hadn’t already ceased to breathe. Instead, you felt a howl escape you and an animal instinct switched on, telling you only more and harder. You began to ride him unforgivingly, pistoning on your thighs which would no longer ache with strain. It was both mechanical and primal and so overwhelmingly satisfying, your eyes rolled back in your head. You scraped your nails across his abdomen, trying both to find leverage and also communicate how enthralled you were. He held your hips tightly, long past trying to hold you at bay, now pulling you down tighter as he lifted his head to watch you, open-mouthed, his eyes black with desire.

You could do this forever. Literally. You had ageless eternity to spend at his side, loving him, learning him, and fucking him for days on end with no needs that would compel you to stop. The reality of it made your stomach tighten and your clit throb, sensitive nearly to the point of pain. You knew undoubtedly that you had made the right choice. He had gifted you your life, your vision, and some kind of future, but he had also gifted you himself and that seemed the most precious offering of all.

You could feel yourself hurtling toward climax quickly and enticingly began to wonder how many peaks your new body could reach before exhaustion. Perhaps it was limitless. You really were in danger of losing yourself to the intoxicating pleasures of your new life. Pressing your palms against his chest, you continued to ride Benedict with vigor.

“Yes, yes,” you chanted, climbing so fast, approaching something you knew would be spectacular.

Then an odd sensation shifted your mind entirely, overruling the lust which seemed so all-consuming. It was an awareness, like a ping of radar, sounding loudly and definitively in the base of your skull. You knew with an instinctual certainty you had never felt before that something was approaching.

You immediately stopped your movements and looked down at Ben in confusion.

“What is that?”

It was obvious he had sensed it too because his eyes were wide and his face alarmed. Before he could say anything, there was the faintest sound of something hurtling through the air, then a loud thud on the balcony just outside the french doors.

Benedict practically threw you back into the bed, moving with almost imperceptible speed to wrap a sheet around his waist and dart across the room, standing halfway between you and the doors. You gathered the blankets over your body, covering yourself from whatever it was, this magnetizing something that felt like its own point of gravity buzzing just outside.

You could see every muscle in Benedict’s body was tensed, his back roped as he stood facing the doors, a hand partially stretched back telling you to stay where you were. Then one of the doors opened with a click and from the darkness stepped a man, strolling as casually into this rooftop bedroom as if it were a cafe. Dressed in black with dark hair, the scruff of a beard and gleaming black eyes he seemed like night personified, a creature born of the inky murk outside. You knew he was one of you.

He moved so quickly Benedict could only track him with his eyes, unable to intervene before the figure turned and fixed you directly with his burning gaze.

“What have we here?” His tone was playful, carrying a satin edge of danger.

Benedict took a few steps toward him, still poised as if ready to leap but his uncertainty was undeniable.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he hissed.

The man didn't acknowledge him. He just kept staring at you from the foot of the bed, eyes boring as if they could scan your body under the blankets and pierce directly through your flesh. He looked livid. And powerful. Only moments before you had been so confident about the experiences your new reality could afford, but one look at this intimidating stranger made you fearful about how little you understood. You met his gaze, unable to look away.

“Ben,” your voice was shaking, “who is this?”

Benedict stayed where he was. You could hear the anger through his gritted teeth. “He’s my maker.”

This was what finally caused the man to tear his eyes from you. He rolled them and scoffed as he sneered back at Benedict.

“Well hello to you too, brother.”

Fin.

Author's Note: Sorry not sorry for the twist cliffhanger ending 😜 This is the trick that comes along with the treat, muahahaha!

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @colettebronte @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @mysticwitchcraftco @suspendingtime @faye-tale

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x you #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton imagine #female reader #vampire au #romance #angst #happy halloween

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lullabyes22-blog · 8 months

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Snippet - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO - Power

Silco and Jayce discuss politics. In the men's room.

Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

Talis' knuckles pop; his fists are curled. It's the stance of a cornered man.

"If I made deals with Hex-tech for a few Councilors' coins," he growls, "it's not because I was greedy. It was to protect people, from the greed of others. Power-mad zealots like you, who'd use it for destruction. Or sell it to the highest bidder."

"And who, exactly, sets the price?" Silco's good eye goes half-lidded. "You, or the Council?"

"You're deliberately twisting—"

"Am I?" Silco's head cants. The scarred features are thrown into chiaroscuro. "It's funny. You're the gatekeeper of progress. But you're still terrified to look the monster at your threshold in the eye."

"And what monster is that?"

"Power."

The word is a soft-spoken slap. Talis flinches. He looks more chagrined than when Silco had taken a piss in his presence. As if that, somehow, was the lesser evil.

"Power," Silco repeats, "is the monster that changes the world. Whether you cage it, or let it loose. It is not a creature of conscience. It is a living thing. It feeds, and grows. There is no stopping it. And yet, here you are. Wondering why it bit the hand that fed it."

"I didn't build Hex-tech for power—"

"—but power was necessary to wield it. Otherwise, you'd just be Jayce Talis. A prodigy with a knack for hammers." Silco's fingers clink on the marble slab, a measured one-two. "You were born with every privilege. Health, wealth and looks. Your path was laid. All you had to do was follow." The tap-tap is relentless. "You didn't. Because your dreams were bigger than your means."

"My dreams were for good!" Talis says. "Power has nothing to do with it!"

"Nothing? Tsk. Still the same old tune." The tapping stops. "Power isn't a curse, boy. It's a means to an end. Some are born with the means. Others have to fight tooth and claw for it. Me?" His chuckle is soft as ash. "I started at the bottom. A crooked man who walked a crooked mile. But I know the price. I’ve paid it. Now ask yourself. What does it cost, to know the opposite?"

The flush is gone. The heat remains. Talis eyes smolder with it.

"Nothing," he says. "As long as the means are right."

"What is right, in a world as wrong as ours?" Silco's lip curls. "Perhaps Councilor Medarda ought to put it in writing. Or paint it. She has a connoisseur’s eye. It’s why she sees the light in you. The potential." The curl grows cold. "Not the blood on your hands."

The fuse ignites. Violence crackles in the air.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jayce #jayce talis #snippet #meljay #mel medarda #arcane mel #mel x jayce

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daily-malec · 1 year

Text

The room was illuminated only by a reading lamp; all the other light came from outside the windows. Alec was painted with streetlights and moonlight, shadows curling around his biceps and the slender indentations of his collarbones, his torso all smooth, sleek, bare skin until the dark line of his jeans. There were runes on the flat planes of his stomach and the silvery scars of old Marks snaked around his ribs, with one on the ridge of his hip. His head was bowed, his hair black as ink, his luminously pale skin white as paper. He looked like a piece of art, chiaroscuro, beautifully and wonderfully made.

Magnus had heard the story of how the Nephilim were created many times. They must have forgotten to leave out the bit that said: And the Angel descended from on high and gave his chosen ones fantastic abs.

Malec —The Course of True Love

#malec #the shadowhunter chronicles #the mortal instruments #the bane chronicles #magnus bane #alec lightwood

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tokusaatsus · 1 year

Text

BIRTHDAY KISSES

ft. oogami koga

warnings: cursing

Curled up under a bedsheet, your knees pulled up against your chest as you lean against your boyfriend’s arm. The movie playing is some horror-thriller–something you’ve heard good things about in passing–but it’s hard to focus when you have the warmth of one Oogami Koga right next to you.

“What is it?” He asks gruffly, shifting slightly so your back is against his chest instead. When he talks, you can feel the vibrations thrumming. “Ya know, you’re starin’ at me an awful lot. I got somethin’ on my face?”

Of course, you would never lose the chance to tease him, and so you smile. “Nah, I was just thinking about how cute you look~” You punctuate this statement with a quick kiss, a simple brush of lips against his jaw. Koga turns cherry-red.

“Y-ya can’t just–! And I ain’t cute! Naw, I’m a badass wolf!”

You giggle. “Oh, my mistake. Can the super-cool and badass Oogami Koga-sama find it in his heart to forgive little old me?” You bat your eyelashes at him, and he yanks the hood of your sweater over your head to hide your face. You splutter at the mouthful of fabric you get, and he turns your face towards the screen.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just watch the fuckin’ movie.”

You hum quietly, nuzzling your face into his collarbone and he lets you. His hands rest at your waist, rubbing small circles into the exposed skin there. The clock ticks closer to midnight, moonshine and stardust collecting in the rays that glimmer through the cracks in the blinds. It illuminates Koga in stripes, a study in shades–chiaroscuro, you think–turning him into a creature of the night: starboy, moon-kissed and night-loved.

The minute hand hits twelve and the darkness shifts to a new dawn.

He tugs you close, tilts your head up, presses a gentle kiss to your lips. He tastes like vaseline and mint toothpaste, and you wonder if he brushed his teeth earlier specifically for this moment. It’s cute. He’s cute. He’s slow in a way people wouldn’t expect from him–there’s no clashing of teeth, no bruising force. It’s just him and his lips, taking his time to explore every inch.

“Hey,” Koga says when you break away, panting heavily and face flushed. His voice is soft, like he’s afraid to break the spell that’s been cast: a gentle hush blanketing the space, nothing but you and him wrapped up in each other–the moon as an ever-watchful companion and the stars gossiping as they twinkle.

“Hey,” You say, just as soft. Your fingers find a home in his hair, twirling the silver strands. “I love you.”

He barks a short laugh. “That was s’posed to be my line.” Koga cups your face in his hands, impossibly tender. “I love ya. Happy birthday, babe.”

notes!

WC: 467 words

reze txt HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHER <3 🍒 I LOVE YOU SOOOO SO SO MUCH IM PICKING YOU UP AND SPINNING YOU AROUND AND PUNTING YOU INTO THE SUN <3 I HOPE YOU HAVE THE BEST BIRTHDAY EVER MWAH MWAH <3

taglist: @prpne @gabirii @kazemiya @engurishu @kkomaism @asbestieos @mikctp @lilikags @lolthia @unwantedsleep @hasumilvr @head-full-of-empty @pr3tty-jennie @narumika

#✒️...scribbles!#oogami koga x reader #enstars x reader #oogami koga #undead #enstars #esworks

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ohtobemare · 11 months

Text

Abstracts, Part 3 • Iceman x OFC

Summary: He’s pretty sure she could tell him anything and he’d still listen, a fact he isn’t sure he should be as comfortable with as he is.

Length: ~3k

Pairings: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x OFC

Warnings: Angst, mentions of cancer/tracheotomy, age gap, religious undertones.

Part 2

There’s really only a handful of moments in his life he can remember being truly, and utterly breathless, and each one of them he usually can remember in vivid detail. So much detail, in fact, that somewhere buried in his mountains of art, he’s attempted to convey some of those euphoric moments through varying medias of artistry—sketches, acrylics. Abstracts and pop art. Welding.

Significant moments demand the significant graces art can give. All too quickly as Theo bids them good evening, Tom slips around his desk to escort the glorious piece of art that’s graced his office out the door. Kicking it back lightly with the heel of his foot, he arcs his arm wide to allow her exit first, her smile nearly glinting at him as she sashays into the hallway in a breath of curl, skirt, and perfume.

Pulling the office door closed, Tom checks her approaching a piece hanging in the corridor from the corner of his eye. It’s a small, seemingly insignificant canvas he’d happened upon via a trip to Sante Fe last summer—done by a senior at the local highschool.

She’d been selling her work to raise money for her grandmother’s medical bills, and like the effort of every true artist, had painted a series intended to sell. Her grandmother had loved the series, and had explained that she’d pleaded with her granddaughter to keep them. Standing beneath the sun licking at the rocks of Sante Fe, he’d been moved. Grieved, really.

No one could be so moved by the girl’s vision as her own grandmother, that was evident. She was obviously destined to have the series. They weren’t expensive, but there was potential for them to be— Ice had not only paid well and beyond the price for the series, but he’d sent them home with the grandmother. Loaded them in his rental and bussed the pair of them home.

Spending the day having lunch and organizing the canvases about the grandmother’s small home, Ice had been so impressed with the girl’s demeanor and her artistic eye that he’d commissioned three smaller works from her, flown her to the studio, and put her—and her artwork—on display for all of San Diego.

His favorite of the three hung in his office, the other two, in this corridor.

As beautiful as the canvases are, he can’t quite bring himself to admire them—instead, he’s magnetized to her. The way her hair seems to flow and curl without really moving at all. How the graceful tilt of her head seems to consider the world, and not just a canvas hanging from a nail in the wall. She seems to glow, even in the dim lights of the studio, in ways not at all unlike a chiaroscuro of shadow and light—like memories spinning in and out of focus.

He’ll never forget her eyes, even if he can’t fully recall the features of her face, and the way they seemed to pierce his soul like the tip of a dagger. Her hand had fit perfectly into his, like it was created for him. He’d honed into her smile and he’d lost any and all sense of reason and time, like staring into the sun.

Tom didn’t remember a time ever feeling quite so impacted by the opposite sex. Still, he could feel the freight train she’d hit him with still trying to break through his ribcage. Sure, women had come and gone throughout his life, his career. The uniform always won them over. The money, the power—he’d had his fair share of flings, of romantic endeavors. He was a lover more than he was a fighter in relationships, strange as the concept for an admiral would seem, and had loved and lost each and every one of them.

He hadn’t really been inclined to love and lose again. Hadn’t felt worthy. Ready. Or maybe it was subliminally fear of rejection, of incompatibility with the direction his life had chosen. Communication was the lifeblood of any relationship—how did a man whose primary mode of communication had been ripped from him navigate the highs and lows of human relationship? It was arduous enough without this cruel twist of reality.

And now, with this God-forsaken hole in his windpipe—how….is this even desirable? Is this something his confidence can overcome, others can see beyond? Everyone and anyone in his life after the surgery first saw the tube, and then the man. It dictated everything—how he slept, how he moved; what he ate, how he communicated—thus, it would follow him, and everyone else in his life, like a close shadow. A veil—a shroud.

How he would ever be seen first as Tom Kazansky again, not this damn trach, was one of those “God’s ways are higher than ours” moments. Slowly–painfully slowly he’d started to come to terms with this. It wasn’t easy. It ate away at everything like cancer (a thought that is hilarious) and was a thief–it robbed so much more than health. Strength. It robbed hope.

Once he’d been a bronze idol of power, sex, glory. A lifetime of honing his body for the female gaze, for perfection. He wasn’t shy about it—he was full of himself. He knew he looked good and reveled in it, utilized it as a weapon.

Which, looking back over the grand game of life, with that always-coveted twenty-twenty vision,was wrong. Probably prompted this turn of events. Vain to a fault, certainly, but not for a lack of effort–he hadn’t hated seeing his own appearance, and women hadn’t either.

They’d flocked to him, and a small, shallow part of himself had always taken some pleasure in it. Once.

A poison of its own, really. Venom that seeps deep into the core and separates the blood of humility and character. The character of “Iceman” had become an idol of its own, in a sense—an idol that had lifted him from the dust of which he’d been formed, to put it biblically. After a stellar career, all the recognition a man could ever desire, women at his disposal—it had come crashing down. Oh so swiftly, with one simple word.

Tom, if he was able, could chuckle at the irony. A lifetime of building himself up for one moment to tear it to shreds. The Psalmist is right in his Proverbs recollection—beauty is fleeting. So much of his life had been wasted chasing beautiful, shallow, hollow things. None of it could save him, help him, or comfort him. Foolish, foolish—had he always been so stupid?

He chooses not to think about it.

Instead, he puts these things into more important aspects of his current state of affairs. There are more pertinent things, things that don’t require so much flawed effort. Why think about things he already knows when there is so much left that he doesn’t? The art universe and all its wonders has so much to offer, so many minds to shape.

So much hope. Art had saved him. Resurrected him and given him a second chance. Much like God Himself had destroyed the world in Genesis for a new slate to begin again with the righteous found in the universe, so had he been given new life. God had created again, and so must he.

“This is beautiful,”

Tom immediately ushered to the sound of her voice, his feet carrying him down the corridor to her nearly of their own mind. She gestures to the canvas with a finger, before she presses it over her lips in a look of contemplation, head still canted to the side as she studies. He smiles at her concentration, is mesmerized by the way her lashes fan the cream-like skin beneath her eyes every time she blinks.

Quickly he forgets the mechanics of his breathing and has to rally, glancing down at his feet. Boiling beneath the ascott, he gently takes a finger and pulls at the material of the scarf, but it does little good—it’s not the temperature of the room that’s searing him. It’s heat from his core, from the very center of him, that responds to her. He could reach out and touch her, if he wanted—he’s forgotten what her hand feels like and he can think of nothing, suddenly, that’s more tragic than this fact.

He nods once, smiling softly as she looks back to him. “It isn’t signed?” He shakes his head, no. It’s not. Not visibly, anyway—it’s signed in other ways. In his memories, his heart. Brow falling into a wrinkle, she angles back to view it again.

“Anyone I know?”

He shrugs again. Probably not. Realizing he’s forgotten a pen, he lets the question hang there between them, his coy smile the only form of answer he’s willing to give for a few heartbeats. However, she does look genuinely puzzled by the lack of information, so Ice reaches for the Sharpie behind his ear, uncaps it, and realizing he’s forgotten paper, instead takes to the back of his hand. In thick, bold strokes, he recaps the marker, sticks it back behind his ear, and lits his hand into her line of sight.

Does it really matter?

She blinks, once. He watches her bristle—the question has surprised her. Using only her sparkling eyes, she looks from the question painted on his hand to his face. For a second, the blankness on her face worries him that she’s missed the point of the question, the entire concept—but after a few heartbeats, a few pulses of blood that seem to sing in his ears, her lips slowly curl upward in a smile.

Sapphire eyes glinting jovially, her nose wrinkles and she bites her bottom lip, bobbing on her feet a second.

“Not really, huh?” Shaking her head a little, her curls move in a way that is nearly hypnotic and levels him, “I suppose that’s kinda the point of the art, isn’t it? Doesn’t matter where it comes from, only that it exists and means something,” turning from the canvas, she moves to step behind him, arms crossed over her chest as she studies the floor beneath them for a moment, “I’ve studied your work for a long time, Admiral, and—”

Triggered to a stop when he waves his hand in front of his throat in the no-go signal, her brow wrinkles in a puzzled way as she bats aside a few strands of curl, eyes tracking him for clarity. Taking the writing utensil from behind his ear again, he adds another note to match the first, in bolder, capitalized strokes. Her eyes track the letters, and she nods once, understanding.

“Tom. Okay,” she smiles. “A good salt of the earth name you’ve got there, Tom.” She makes a point to emphasize his first name, “But Kazansky—is that Russian?”

It shouldn’t sound as lovely as it does from her, but, he’s fairly certain nobody has managed to say his name so wonderfully. Putting a hand to her breast she introduces herself, and Tom can kinesthetically feel the vault of his memory capture the syllables and consonants, the phonetics of it in the back of his brain. He’s pretty sure he’ll never be able to let it go.

Without asking she falls into step beside him as they take the corridor in a few strides, and her arm casually loops through his as if she’s known him longer than the five seconds he’s known her name. He doesn’t mind—actually, his entire frame lights up like a control panel, and for a second he redlines, feeling how astronomically perfect the weight of her arms feels in the crook of his. This isn’t the first time he’s walked like this with women, but it feels like it is.

Or maybe it’s the only time he’s ever done so that actually matters.

She chatters on about everything and nothing with quick, staccato tones, and he isn’t even trying to really discern or process anything she’s saying—he just wants her to speak. To fill up the quiet, empty space with words and the way she giggles when she says something funny; how her tone fluctuates when she impersonates someone he isn’t likely to ever know. Her voice is loud, clear, present—it rings in a way that, to the everyday world, would be perhaps crude. But to a man who can only ever hope to speak so pointedly again, it is magical.

As he listens to the flow, bend, and curve of every word, he’s fairly sure she has no idea that he can’t stop looking at her, and hasn’t, as they make their way around the canvas of walls in his studio. Her profile is captivating, he seems to have emblazoned the shape of her nose and the swell of her orbital bone in the back of memory as she gestures and makes commentary.

By traditional standards, she isn’t beautiful. Actually, by most standards of society she’s well in the territory of “simply pretty” or even “cute,” but neither term seems to encapsulate the soul pouring into the room before him at dizzying, mach speeds. Once, Iceman may never have even noticed her—she’d be another body, another female in the sea of faces that made up his former life. To his horror and shame, he may not have even given her a passing glance, or even a chance to exchange words, and what a travesty that would be.

Lighting up the room, shattering the lines of his small corner of the universe into oblivion, she is nearly glowing. She isn’t from California—if he hadn’t caught her sharing that, her accent and the way her forehead seems to perpetually glisten with the ocean humidity, even in this air conditioned space, is evidence enough. She’s from the midwest, far inland, where “the only things considered art is the growing stalk of corn or maybe the dancing cut of wheat, should you get to see it” which means rural, wide-open country. Land that breathes and moves and churns with the slow art of growing life—where the pulse of the concrete is instead in the earth, where the endless sky meets the horizon.

He hasn’t spent time in the grainbelts of this country, and by the short description she offers, he suddenly wishes he understood and knew everything she means. The desert, be it California, Nevada; Sante Fe or Arizona, is his home. Ocean has become a constant companion, from his youth on Honolulu or his career in the Pacific Fleet. He perhaps couldn’t grow a weed if he’d been asked, but suddenly, the expanse of earth and the promise of a harvest is all too appealing.

A void which her life offers suddenly opens in him, and he isn’t sure why.

“Tom?”

He’s zoned out and realizes it, his gaze snapping up to her only when he registers his name and the light clap of her hand on his arm. Blinking, the corner of his mouth lifts a little and he dips his head to her, features slightly pulling into an apologetic wrinkle that says he’s missed the question and is sorry for it.

Gesturing to her, he mouths Sorry, and rolls his eyes. Grinning at him a little, she nods her understanding, before gesturing to the art table in the center of the room, brow lifting a little as if she’s seeking permission to approach it. Angling to glance at it over his shoulder, he nods—feels palpable grief when her arm slips from his as she approaches the space.

“About this art I’m looking for,” she says a little stronger to fill the distance between them, and he’s prompted to weave a slow, contemplative path toward her to the other side of the table. Picking up a stained, hard brush, she smooths her hand over it, and only her eyes lift to consider him gently taking to the stool behind him, “I was wondering if you’d be interested in taking it on for me.”

Surprised, his brow pops. Oh?

She gets his meaning, her face suddenly flushing with a hue of pink that is nothing short of delightful. “Yes, actually. This space in Nashville is tragically blessed with the most beautiful walls, and they are in desperate need of art. Art that matters, that will be seen and speak to folks. I’m not looking to spend a lot, but I want pieces that have meaning, and that is something you specialize in––something I’ve been following since I first saw you online.”

She’s known who he is for awhile, then. Smile growing, he has felt no greater joy in spades than he does now at the idea of her following him around the internet. Tracing the front of his teeth with his tongue, a stab of pride hits him between the ribs.

“’m willing to pay a fair price,” she adds, her gaze dropping back to the brush. Setting it down, her hands hit the table and she leans over it a little, brow raising in a matter adjacent to negotiation, “or maybe do some trading, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

What she has to trade interests him greatly, though in honesty, he does need currency. It isn’t off the table. Tom is fairly certain that this short time in her glory, he’d given her blood if that was what was required of him. He can’t say that, however—that’s not appropriate, but it’s how he feels. Filing it away for later, he nods his consent to understanding.

Reaching forward, he taps the table once with his finger, then turns his hand over to rest it palm-up on the cool steel. Waving his fingers in a gimme gesture, he winks at her, and relishes in the way her smile grows as his brows wag, telling.

Tell me more, he mouths, rapping his knuckles on the table.

He’s pretty sure she could tell him anything and he’d still listen, a fact he isn’t sure he should be as comfortable with as he is.

The taglist: @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @chicomonks @angstytalesr-us @dakotakazansky @books-are-escapes @sarahsmi13s @cassiemitchell @lovinglyeternal @bobby-r2d2-floyd @that-one-random-writer @horseshoegirl @lavenderbradshaw @bradleybeachbabe @roosters-girl @footprintsinthesxnd @chaoticassidy @roosterisdaddy36 @callsignharper @hisredheadedgoddess28 @genius2050 @ohgodnotagainn @moonchild-cupcake @aviatorobsessed

#top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #call sign meerkat #tom iceman kazansky #iceman top gun #val kilmer #tom iceman kazansky x ofc #iceman x ofc #tom kazansky x ofc #top gun #top gun 1986 #top gun maverick

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takingstockofwhatmattersmost · 10 months

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in hues of subtlety, she's veiled in charm Mona Lisa's gaze, a beguiling psalm eyes that hold secrets, a timeless enigma whispering stories, a mystery's schema

smile so enigmatic, a curling delight llingering promise, in chiaroscuro's light hints of hidden laughter, beneath that gaze captured for eternity in an artist's phrase

her portrait on canvas, a spellbinding dance a sensual symphony in Renaissance brushstrokes of fascination, emotions swirl a masterpiece of allure, a mesmerizing pearl

Leonardo's strokes reveal her inner grace Mona Lisa, a muse that time cannot erase in every stroke and shade, she finds her place a sensual echo through history's embrace

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open-hearth-rpg · 10 months

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#RPGCovers Week Eleven Agon John Harper (2020)

I didn’t mention this earlier when I listed Blades in the Dark, but I honestly hadn’t realized that Harper had done all of the art and graphic design for that. I’m actually stunned now that I know he did the amazing work on this volume too. I love how iconic this cover is. And again part of that comes from the super smart design of the logo. The font here is thinner, echoing the lines of curl work on the helmet image above. It blazes out– it smartly has the brightest point of the orange there at the top of the G & O, making it seem like a centerpoint of the fire happening behind the black.

The whole image looks like a stencil against a fire– maybe a campfire in the night, which would explain the greens/teal to the left hand side. It’s not exactly chiaroscuro (a word I had to look up), but it's something close to that. The shape of the helmet emerges from the figurative design lines. They criss-cross in different directions. On the right, the color dominates over the black, on the left it is more inverted with dominant black– but it is not symmetrical. Though the shape of the helmet as a whole feels even, it is unbalanced in several ways.

The colors on the top two thirds create the illusion of lighting. I’ve been painting a look of miniatures recently, using zenithal techniques to work more with hue and shadow. It looks effortless here.

And I don’t know why, but the fact that the crest of the helm seems to bleed off the top of the cover feels dynamite. That's one of my favorites. And that’s even before we get inside and look at Harper’s absolutely amazing images for each of the islands. I could spend a week just talking about those. I enjoyed Agon when I ran it and every time I look at the book again, it is the imagery and cover that create a burning desire in me to play it again.

#ttrpg #rpg #evil hat #john harper #rpg covers #great rpg covers #agon

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frozen-fountain · 9 months

Note

For the book recs asks: 1, 5, 18, 23, 54, 71

A book that is close to your heart

Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Kimmerer. I read it about three years ago now and find myself thinking of it when I'm feeling at a crossroads and weighing up consequential decisions.

5. Something in fiction that reads like poetry

Not to be a stuck record but just... anything by Angela Carter. Not only for the beauty of her language and the images it creates in your mind but because, as florid and maximalist as her writing can be, it's all constructed to support layers of symbolism and deep wells of meaningful connotation. It's economical purple prose.

18. Your least favorite book ever

The most recent contender is probably Nothing But Blackened Teeth by Cassandra Khaw, which on the surface contains a lot of things I should love but completely failed in execution. Everyone knows that I love me some ornate, orchidaceous prose, so you know it's serious when even I am inwardly curling up into a ball of secondhand embarrassment at the excess on the page. Lady, you cannot drop "chiaroscuro" into your narration more than once without a damned good reason, and there's also some really cringy lampshading of cliched illogical things horror protagonists do that read less like an attempt to deconstruct these things in a meaningful way, and more like "So that just happened" humour to cover up the laziness of running the characters through these motions. Worst of all, there's no real subtext to add substance to the scares. There's some stuff in there about mental illness, about toxic and stagnant friendships, about marriage customs in feudal Japan versus contemporary America and what they do to women, but it failed to add up to anything enlightening or compelling. I loved the location, but that's about it.

A popular choice for this question, I think, but I'd throw in Hanya Yanagihara's A Little Life, too. Not because of the subject matter, or because of the ending, but because it's using these terrible experiences to cover itself in the trappings of a literary great while being, at least in my estimation, incredibly pulpy and borderline exploitative in its execution. I also did not at all see the beautiful, poetic prose that some people did and actually found the language really flat throughout, and found myself especially frustrated at the author's habit of over-explaining the characters' motivations and psychology instead of demonstrating them through action and dialogue - it read like a therapist's notes in many places, which doesn't work for fiction that's so centered on inner experience. But I do also see how and why this book could deeply move and become important to someone, and it frustrates me a bit that a lot of criticism of it seems to focus on anachronisms and lack of realism instead of asking why these devices were employed. But it's very Not For Me and places high on this list because my inability to DNF anything meant it took a long time to slog through.

I feel bad for saying so much more about books I hated than the ones I loved, but in the case of the latter I really am hoping anyone who reads these answers will check them out for themselves. I feel like my "Stay away!" needs a bit more qualification.

23. A book that is currently on your TBR

When I'm finished with Earthsea, I want to reread To the Lighthouse. It's been calling me and I was only twenty the first time I went through it, so I'm interested to see how it hits with all these experiences under my belt and after such dramatic changes in perspective as I've accumulated. For spoopy month I have Bitter Orange by Claire Fuller, Sisters by Daisy Johnson, and The Vegetarian by Han Kang lined up, and I'm really excited for all of those.

54. A book with the best opening line

It's pretty hard to beat "It was the day my grandmother exploded" (The Crow Road by Iain Banks).

71. Your favourite LGBTQ+ fiction

To just about everyone I would rec The Passion of New Eve by Angela Carter, which is gorgeously written gender fuckery; The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling, which is really effective sci-fi horror with a complicated sapphic slow burn at its centre; and Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin, because what more could I say? With a much bigger pinch of salt I would add Maria McCann's As Meat Loves Salt to that list, because not everybody wants to be in the head of a violent and possessive rapist for several hundred pages, but it's a descent into the abyss that will stay with me for as long as I live.

#garth-greensleeves #thanks dear!

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moonchildstyles · 2 years

Note

is bonding a big deal in chiaroscuro!harry's world? even when its a vamp and a human? are their parties the same way theres weddings and receptions in the human world? if so, I would love to see what something like that looks like!

wordcount: 7.5k+

—————

(Y/N) couldn't help the smile that grew on her face when she met Harry's eyes in the bathroom mirror. His gaze was hooded, his face buried in the curve of her throat as his nose skimmed over her skin with gentle kisses being planted on the back of her shoulder. Bite marks still lingered over her skin—bruising with the smallest of punctures right in the middle—almost a week after he'd given them to her the night he gave into his heat and bonded with her. She watched, fixing her hair as best she could without disturbing him, as a slow curl of his lips softened his features once he reached the darkest bite right on the curve of her neck. That was the one he told her solidified the bond, where he would drink from her and where he would feel the most connected to her every time he sunk his teeth in.

"What?" she asked of the glimmer in his eyes as he grazed his teeth over his bruise.

The shake of his head had his nose nudging against her skin in a cool run. "Nothing. I love you."

That was still so new, the whispering of his devotion to her. She was sure Harry could hear the way her heart picked up at the sound of the words leaving his lips. Biting back her smile, (Y/N) distracted herself as she reached for a cream to pat under her eyes. "I love you, too, H."

She watched as he practically melted into her despite the chill that covered his skin, acting as if she were his sun to bathe and warm himself under.

Bliss, that was the only way she could describe the days since they'd bonded. An unofficial honeymoon that consisted of them locking the doors to the manor and Harry declining any and every call that came to him while (Y/N) fed an excuse to Charlotte about a broken phone so she wouldn't be reachable. (Y/N) felt like they'd just been married with the way she couldn't get enough of him, both carnally and in innocent moments.

Harry's nose skimmed across the back of her neck, his lips following after as he made a point to touch over every bit of skin he had access to. A sheepish smile touched at (Y/N)'s lips as she applied a treatment to her bitten pout.

"Harry?" she started, twirling in his arms once she was finished with her routine, clasping her hands behind his neck.

"Yes, my love?" he smiled at her, immediately ducking his head and touching his forehead to hers with a contented smile taking over his features.

As she played with the hairs on the back of his neck, the tiny curls she loved to wrap around the tips of her fingers when they cuddled in bed after another romp, she tried to find the words without getting distracted by her love. "B-Bonding," she started with a stutter, "It's a big deal right?"

His expression grew serious then, becoming the kind of stone the temperature of his skin suggested. "Yes, it is a very big deal. Why are you asking?"

Trying her best to soothe him with a kiss to his cheek, she continued, "Even for you?"

"I'm not quite sure I understand what you're asking, petal," he mumbled, pulling away so he could look at her squarely with the intensity of his eye contact burning through her, "If you're asking if I am still devoted to you, I'm worried I haven't show—"

"No, no," she shook her head, a small laugh touching at her words, "I mean, as a vampire,"—that word still felt entirely foreign, almost a little silly considering Harry was more than folklore to her—"is it a big deal the same way getting married for humans is?"

Realization flashed in his eyes just before the mossy green of his irises softened. "It is comparable, yes. A touch different in terms of ceremony, but the sentiment is the same. Not many of us choose to bond, even less so with humans, and the ones that do, tend to either hide away like we've been doing, or splash out on a gathering to celebrate."

(Y/N) perked up at the sound of a celebration. "Like a wedding?"

Harry tilted his head, amusement touching at his eyes as he rolled around her question. "In a way, yes, but there's no ceremonies involved, typically. It depends on the bonded pair, but some like to have a kind of dinner while others use it as an opportunity to introduce their other half. That one is usually more about scent marking and ensuring others of m'kind know who not to touch. Though, 's still romantic in m'opinion."

"Have you been to a lot of those celebrations?" (Y/N) pressed, bouncing on her feet at the topic.

A half shrug of his shoulders had him pulling her that much closer to his chest. "A handful, yes, but not many. Like I said, not many of m'kind like to make the commitment we have. They find it suffocating, or a waste of their unlimited time."

He finished with a roll of his eyes, the ensuing laugh he pulled from his bonded's lips pulling his own into a lopsided smile. Harry couldn't believe he used to be one of those poor souls that thought so old-fashionedly. No amount of 'saved time' could replace the feeling he had in his cold heart when he looked at his petal's face, or held her in his arms.

"So, we're one of the ones that like to hide away after bonding?" (Y/N) asked.

"It would appear so," Harry smiled, the curl a satisfied slope, "This is the farthest we've been from the bedroom in days."

"That means we can't have a party, then?" Maybe she hadn't hid the deflation from her voice as well as she thought when she saw Harry's eyes soften.

He brought a hand from her waist up to brush along the curve of her cheek, petting the height of her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. "Would you want to have a celebration, my love?"

Shuffling her weight onto either foot, she found it hard to meet his eyes though she didn't want to lose the view. "I don't know—maybe? Are we even allowed?"

A quiet smile touched his lips as he gazed at her, granting her a small reprieve as he dipped down and pressed his cool lips to her forehead in a lingering kiss. "We can do whatever we want. Our celebration will jus' be a little more delayed than most."

Even when he drew away, leaving her space to match the contact of his eyes, she didn't drop her gaze from where she had fixated on the ledge of his collarbones. The tips of the swallows' wings she'd become greatly accustomed to these last few days held her attention as she spoke: "Is anything different since I'm not... like you?"

Harry seemed to roll her question around, tipping his head some before he gave a gentle squeeze to her waist. "It's not the norm, no, but nothing is really different in terms of how the celebration goes. You'll jus' be the only one that can't smell how m'scent has changed now that I have you. And, we obviously would be skipping the dinner party model."

Her lips plucked into a sheepish smile at his words. He knew what he was doing when he said it like that. "It would be alright if I meet your friends then? They wouldn't be... upset to find out that I'm who you're with?"

"Who 'm bonded to, darling," he corrected her gently, affection dripping from the words as a grin touched at his lips, "But, I don't see that being a problem at all, petal. While it's not common that m'kind bonds with humans, it's not unheard of and not something I've never come across. No one would have any issues, and if there are, I will take care of them accordingly. No need to worry about anything of the sort."

"So, we could have a party still? You'd let me?" She didn't even realize she gave him a flutter of her lashes, her voice holding that perfect lilt he realized he hated so much in the beginning because he loved it too much think about.

Ducking down, he ran the tip of his nose against hers in a sweet puppy's kiss. "It would be jus' as much for me as it is for you, petal. I'd love nothing more than to show off our new bond. I want it to be real outside of our bedroom, too."

Her answer came in the form of a smiling kiss being pressed to his lips. Her arms around his neck gave the perfect leverage for her to rise to the tips of her toes and pull him towards her with the perfect tip of his chin to feel the soft give of her lips mold against his kiss.

"Thank you," she murmured into his kiss, fingers twirling into the baby curls on the back of his neck.

Harry shook his head gently. "Thank you," he emphasized with a planting of his lips to the corner of her mouth, "for giving me a reason to celebrate anything for the first time in centuries."

—————

(Y/N) hadn't realized there was so much waiting involved in planning a vampire-centric party.

It hadn't quite clicked until she asked Harry more in depth about what was expected at these gatherings—traditions and otherwise. He told her there wasn't much to worry about, especially since it would already be expected that the celebration be human-friendly for her sake; there was no reason to find feeders to entertain and feed their guests. These parties also tended to be at the bonded couple's main home, the space meant to showcase the binding of their love and be the main source of their joint scent to drive home the whole bonded-for-eternity thing. All she and Harry were required to do for the duration of the party would be to show off a little, and most likely field invasive questions about their relationship—at least that was what Harry had warned her about.

That was how she found herself sitting with a stiff back in the manor's parlor room, the space spruced up and decorated with flowers from Harry's garden. She felt odd to be waiting, nothing to busy her hands or even her eyes; there was no cake or finger foods to fuss over, guestbook to situate just perfectly, or party favors to prepare. For as dramatic as Harry was, there was a distinct lack of theatrical flair she would associate with a celebration of something so monumental. So, all she could do was wait.

"Darling, please, relax. You're making me worry," Harry crooned to her as he settled in on the couch cushion at her side, a cool hand tracing the stiff line of her back, "Is there anything I can do to ease your mind?"

"I'm sorry, H." As soon as the words left her mouth, she earned a pointed look from Harry. They were working on teaching her not to apologize for things that needed nothing of the sort or were out of her control. "I don't know. I just feel like I need to be doing more, I guess, but there's nothing left to do."

"Exactly, m'petal, there is nothing else for you to fuss over. Now, all y'need to have on your mind, is settling down before all of our guests arrive. I do not want you making yourself sick before it's even started."

"Bu—"

"No 'buts', my love. C'mere." He beckoned her to him with open arms, sinking himself into the back cushions of the couch to make the perfect cove for her to cuddle into. With a sigh, (Y/N) situated herself against his chest, legs folded underneath her with her dress flaring out, cheek resting on his shoulder and her eyes falling closed. The gentle cage of his arms wrapped around her waist as he held her. "'S going to be alright. All of this, I promise you. I will say, that I do think it's very sweet of you to be worried over party favors instead of the fact you're going to be in a room full of vampires, when I don't think m'friends have a very clean track record of behaving themselves around you."

A soft smile curved her lips. At least they could joke about what happened with Magnus, now. "It's because I'm brave like you always tell me."

"That's right," Harry agreed, his own proud smile audible in his tone, "You are very brave, I don't know why I even said such a silly thing. But, that's also why I need you to relax a little. You've got nothing to fret over, or be scared of. My brave petal."

"I know," (Y/N) sighed, making a point to keep her hands from grabbing for the ruffles of his white shirt to keep from adding any wrinkles to the fabric, "It will be easier when people start showing up."

"Shouldn't be too long now—"

Harry was cut off by the sound of a knock against the heavy double doors at the face of the manor. She could feel the smile that touched at his features from where he had his cheek pressed to the top of her head.

"'S Mitch and Sarah," he murmured, "They never usually knock. How considerate of them."

Though she was still getting used to the supernatural attributes her new friends and Harry had, including a keen sense of sound, (Y/N) still jumped at the sound of the front doors banging open without a proper clearance to come in. They must have heard Harry.

"(Y/N)!"

At the sound of Sarah's bubbly voice, (Y/N) rose to her feet in a shaky stance, her white dress swaying around her knees as she stumbled some from her rushed movements. A pair of manicured, cold hands steadied her before she could be thrown off, Sarah looking to her with a bright smile on her pale face.

"Hi," (Y/N) greeted her, already pulling her into a hug. At least there would be a couple of familiar faces she recognized here. "How are you? I feel like I haven't seen you in so long."

"I guess it has been a couple of weeks," her friend said with her smooth tone, "I don't blame you, though. I know you've been very busy." The glimmer in her grey eyes couldn't be ignored when she pulled away, making a show of dropping her gaze along (Y/N)'s form as if something had changed in their short time apart. "But, look at you! Newly bonded and glowing even more than normal humans! Congratulations!"

(Y/N) felt her skin warm at the compliments. It was still so odd to hear Sarah's specific brand of praise, usually emphasizing the fact (Y/N) was still human while most of the people in her life at this point were not, but it was still nice to hear.

"Thank you," she let out with a sheepish smile. Looking over her friend's shoulder, she found Harry with Mitch quietly chatting though she knew her vampire was aware of her gaze with the way his lips curved into a soft smile. "And, thank you both for coming, by the way. It makes me feel better knowing I won't be surrounded by complete strangers."

Sarah matched (Y/N)'s gaze over her shoulder, tossing a look behind her that caught the eye of her own bonded man. By the time she turned back around, Sarah had a tender smile (Y/N) wouldn't have believed could be on such chiseled features had she never known how soft Harry could be. "Of course," she bubbled off, "We wouldn't miss this for the world. When we got the invitation, we were so happy, you wouldn't believe. We were already sure you had bonded, just with how little we'd heard from either of you since dinner, but it was so nice to see what you wanted to share it with us. Thank you."

Maybe it was a bit embarrassing knowing that her friends had a rather clear idea of what she had Harry had been up for for the past week, but Sarah's excitement still made a smile bloom on (Y/N)'s features.

"I don't really know how to do all of this—this party—, but I'm excited, too. Harry said this stuff wasn't a big deal, that its all very private, but I'm worried it's not enough." (Y/N) gestured around the parlor, decorations starting and ending with the large bouquets of roses plucked straight from Harry's garden, petals haphazardly littering the floor. To be fair, the room was elaborate enough—vaulted ceilings with frescos painted across, gold filigree, excess that would put Versailles to shame—but (Y/N) worried nonetheless.

Sarah's pale pink painted lips grew into a wider grin, the overall image having the potential to be unsettling given the white-grey of her eyes, but (Y/N) only saw someone who was becoming a close friend. "Harry told us that—that you've been a little nervous about everything. Constantly fussing around and having ideas about different food to serve before you remember. But, I promise, it's alright, really. Things like this are nowhere near as elaborate as your human bonding parties. Our kind is all about privacy, so you only share what you want. No one has any expectations."

To hear those reassurances from someone that wasn't Harry—someone who wouldn't do absolutely anything to make her happy—, made (Y/N) feel a touch lighter about it all.

Just as she opened her mouth to offer another muttering of gratitude, a grand knock came from the front doors. (Y/N) jumped in her spot, startled into looking for Harry immediately as she always did ever since that night with the Blood Child on her neck. The curl of his lips was reassuring and tender, his attention completely removed from Mitch in favor of his beloved.

"Ready?" he mouthed. Their friends came together in their own huddle of quiet words, offering some sort of privacy during the exchange though (Y/N) was sure Sarah wasn't missing a moment.

After giving a small nod of her head, Harry opened his arms as an invitation. It was on instinct that she wrapped herself around him, bundling against his chest while Harry pressed a careful kiss to her forehead. His cool lips left a phantom impression on her skin, heating in his wake. His arm was a gentle tether around her waist as he pulled her to his side, guiding her to the front door where another guest awaited on their porch. Rose petals fluttered at their feet , mimicking the swirls of (Y/N)'s dress with every step they took.

With one last glance to his heart, Harry opened the heavy double doors with a flourish. A polite smile settled on his features, not at all like the secretive ones reserved for his bonded. Rose petals twirled at their feet, becoming a red carpet for the pale-skinned and grey-eyed guests that would be filling the parlor for the next few hours. The guests (Y/N) wouldn't recognize but see familiarities with the man she loved.

"Welcome," Harry greeted, ever the proper gentleman.

The pair—a man with shoulder length blonde hair and his companion with dark skin drained of warmth, his eyes a facade of brown—stepped over the threshold with relaxed smiles, obviously familiar with the space.

"Harry, long time, no see, my friend," the blonde said with a bow as if greeting royalty, his companion stifling a laugh.

An amused smile took hold of Harry's lips, his arm loosening around her waist as he mimicked the action. "It definitely has been."

"Not since that night with Magnus, right?" his friend mused, flicking his gaze upwards as if he were pondering the timeline, "When he found your little housek—"

"Yes," Harry cut him off, an edge to his tone that had the amusement melting away from his features, "I think that was the last time."

Harry's friends straightened up at the sound of the steel in his tone, dropping the subject. "My apologies. I hadn't realized that was a sore spot." It took the man all of two seconds, his gaze flicking between Harry with (Y/N) in his arms before a lightbulb must have gone off above his head. "This is the housekeeper, isn't it? She is your bonded."

The flexing of his arm around her waist was Harry's apology as far (Y/N) could tell. "Yes," he responded stiffly, warmth only bleeding into his tone once more as he continued, "This is (Y/N). My bonded."

At least she had that to look forward to hearing for the rest of the party.

—————

"You waited how long to feed from her?"

(Y/N) was well aware of the unnecessary deep breath Harry took in, his chest expanding from where he stood just behind her. While his guests were the most pristine examples of elegance and class, those qualities didn't seem to knock the archaic view points of their youth. More often than not, they spoke of and around (Y/N), despite her being right there, as well as being the hostess for the night and the guest of honor (Harry had been the one to dub her the latter). It was her beloved that encouraged her to answer questions about their relationship that had been directed at him, ensuring she didn't feel out of place or as if she were a decoration on his arm rather than an active member of their bonding. No matter how much gentle prodding Harry made to get his guests and friends to pay her an even amount of attention, they still managed to respond as if Harry had been the one to speak.

"Jus' long enough, it would appear," Harry deadpanned, "Worked out just fine from my perspective."

"You have always been a patient one," his friend teased, a long tress of golden hair being thrown over her shoulder, "I definitely wouldn't have been able to keep myself back, not with her scent all around."

The set in Harry's jaw ticked at the mention of (Y/N)'s scent. The line of his features hardened to stone, his eyes like jade though the edges of his irises wavered to his predator grey. "You know, Iv—"

Just then, Niall made the perfect appearance of flourishing into the room with a boisterous laugh the second he matched (Y/N)'s gaze. He played up the interaction, stealing attention in an effort to keep whatever Harry's biting remark was from leaving his lips.

"Look at you! Bonded to a vampire and yet you can't stop acting like a bride, can you?" he laughed as he crossed the large parlor, giving nods and waves in greeting to those that he bothered to interact with before meeting the small group that had formed around the guests of honor.

"It's just a dress," (Y/N) murmured with a relieved smile fixing her features. She had been worried he wasn't going to make it the longer she waited for him to show up.

"Sure, and you just happened to pick the whitest one in your closest," Niall teased, the bright blue of his eyes firmly in place as he hooked an arm around Harry's neck, "And you, a bonded man. How about that, hm? I think a thank you and an apology is in order given how the last time we saw each other went—I think I could make a good argument that I'm the only reason you finally bonded with her."

With a nod and a quiet muttering to excuse herself, Harry's blonde-haired friend flitted off into the fray of the rest of the guests, none the wiser to the way she had pushed at his buttons so firmly.

"You are getting neither," Harry cemented, voice stern though (Y/N) could see just how much more relaxed he was, "I took care of her myself—you had nothing to do with our bonding."

"Actually, if I recall correctly, you had been too scared to even tell her about bonding before that dinner, let alone take her to bed—"

"Harry!" (Y/N) interrupted, doing her best to fight back her smile at her love's visibly ruffled feathers, "Would you mind doing something for me?"

In an instant, his attention was gladly placed back on (Y/N), Niall only an afterthought as he slipped out of his friend's hold and turned to face his beloved. "Anything. What is it, my love?"

"I know we're not really supposed to have human stuff right now, but could you get me something to drink?" While it wouldn't hurt to have some water, the request was more for Harry than anything else. She could tell he needed a moment away from everyone, even if just for a minute or two.

"Of course, petal," he crooned, voice quiet though she was sure every creature in the room could overhear. "I will be right back."

Before he could rush off, (Y/N) settled her hand on his arm. "Take your time, H," she urged with a gentle smile, "Take a second away from everyone. I'll be alright." He hesitated where he stood in front of her. "I'm sure," she cemented, anticipating the question on his tongue.

He deflated some thought his eyes softened where they stayed stuck on her features. "Thank you," he murmured, ducking his head down to plant a chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth.

A squeeze was delivered to her waist before he stalked towards the kitchen, leaving the chattering of the parlor behind. For the first time since guests started arriving, (Y/N) didn't feel like every pair of eyes was trained on her, relief itching under her skin.

"Thank you," was the first thing she said, turning to face Niall where he stood with that easy-going air surrounding him, "I think some of the conversations are starting to get to him."

"I could tell," he nodded, eyes scanning across the crowd, "I don't blame him. There's a reason that our little clan has only ever really been the four of us. Well, five now."

One of the few genuine smiles that had graced her features that day touched at (Y/N)'s cheeks at the sound of Niall's words. It felt nice to be completely accepted into their little family. At least that was one thing she could understand in this world full of newness.

"Hopefully, he'll relax a little after spending a second alone," (Y/N) mused, trying her best not to flick her eyes to the arching doorway he disappeared through moments earlier.

"I doubt it," Niall laughed, "but, he probably won't be two seconds away from snapping on anyone. Maybe, three seconds, but no more than five."

(Y/N)'s answering laugh filled the room, but no one seemed to pay her any mind now that Harry wasn't at her side—something she was now thankful for. Niall took the opportunity then to share bits and pieces of his and Harry's history together, (Y/N) picking up on the fact he was doing as he did from the beginning, trying to ease her when he knew she was feeling out of place or missing the comfort of Harry's presence.

Though she hadn't meant to, (Y/N) couldn't help the flick of her gaze towards the entrance of the parlor, waiting for Harry's return. The second she caught sight of his form, dressed in head to toe black Gucci, a serving of lemonade in hand with a glittering glass straw clinking in the cup, she felt her muscles loosen. He was making a beeline towards where she was huddled beside one of the beckoning flower arrangements, but had been stopped before he could get very far with a trio of his friends stepping in his way.

The way his features hardened almost automatically the second he lost direct sight of her, was something (Y/N) had to keep from laughing at. She knew exactly how he was feeling, but it still made her feel a little silly knowing just how dramatic they'd become over one another. (She could argue Harry had always had a flare for the dramatics, though).

Despite the fact she was sure Niall was well aware her attention had drifted to her beloved, he didn't stop with his relaying of stories in an effort to keep anyone else from approaching in case they got brave or decided they actually cared what (Y/N) might have to say. She kept up the facade of conversation, nodding along to the half story she was catching from Niall though her eyes were predominantly trained on Harry. Complete displeasure touched his features, something he wasn't doing a very good job at hiding though his friends didn't seem to notice or didn't bother to care.

Harry seemed to keep up with the same act she had started, half listening to his companions in favor of flitting his gaze back and forth between them and his beloved. As soon as he realized she was watching him too, that edge that steeled his features warmed and melted into something pliable once more. He gave a rise of his brows, the motion barely perceptible, especially not by his company that began to chatter at a volume above the rest of the party, seemingly arguing about the semantics that went into whatever narrative they were spinning to share with harry. She knew what he was asking her as his eyes dropped to the curve of her neck and down the pristine white of her dress.

The nod she gave him confirmed that she was alright, nothing had happened while he was gone. The silent information was enough to have him relaxing more than she seen him since the first bunch of guests had arrived. Raising his free hand as if he were brushing his fingers through his hair, he gave a roll of his eyes reserved just for her while his features were concealed by the cover of his palm. The quiet laugh that puffed from her lungs was enough to have Harry biting back his own smile, only a single dimple denting into his cheek.

"What's happening?" Niall asked under his breath, refraining from looking over his shoulder to where Harry was making her laugh.

(Y/N) shook her head. "I don't know, but I think he would rather die again than keep having that conversation."

"Who is he talking to?"

"I don't know," (Y/N) mused, taking a quick scan of Harry's companions before fixing her eyes on Niall, "There's three of them. There's one man and two women; they all have really long dark hair, and one of the girls has scar or something on her arm—"

"Oh, the triplets," Niall sighed in recognition, "Yeah, they love to tell the same story at every party, but it only gets more and more ridiculous and untrue."

"What story is it?" (Y/N) questioned picking her gaze from where Harry stood to give some attention to her friend.

Niall rolled his eyes much as her beloved had. "That scar on her arm was from when they were still humans, and they claim they can still remember what caused it—as if we all don't know that our mortal memories get muddled once we change."

"What do they tell people happened?"

"Depends on which parties you go to," Niall shook his head, "Last time I heard it, it was from an alligator attack when they had been exploring the southern territories of America. Supposedly, her two siblings took turns prying the alligator's jaws open—"

(Y/N) really did want to listen the end of Niall's story, truly. She felt rude not catching every word, like a bad friend especially after he'd done so much for her, but she couldn't help the distraction that was Harry. He'd caught her eye again, another roll of his eyes being earned, right out in the open as the triplets kept bickering. He seemed to puff with pride when he saw her biting back a smile and flicking her gaze to Niall to grant a reprieve before she burst out into laughter.

The next time she looked over at her love, he was already staring at her. This time, she didn't have any hope of keeping in her giggles at bay when he dared to make a silly face at her with a peek of his tongue sticking out between his lips before he was concealing it again with a look to his chatterbox friends.

Her burst of laughter seemed to be perfectly timed, though, a small miracle when Niall responded with his own peal of laughter. "I know, right? I had to laugh at them too when they told me that part. You'd think they'd come up with better material given they've had at least a couple of centuries to come up with this stuff. It's ridiculous."

(Y/N) nodded along, humming to his words and reacting accordingly with a smile and a breathy laugh here and there. Chancing a look in Harry's direction, she was worried she would regret if her cover was blown (she didn't want Niall to know just how distracted she was, given the fact he was going out of his way to be a good and distracting friend to her today). The second their eyes met, Harry couldn't help himself but to make another silly face to her, trying his best to earn another aerated peal of laughter from her that felt private in the middle of the crowded room. He made his mouth into a thin line, stretching his lips into a straight line that had his dimples dipping into his cheeks as if he were smiling at her. He looked like a frog when he made that face, she'd told him before. It was one of her favorites of his.

Bringing her hand up to her mouth, she made a point to cover her mouth as she coughed to cover up the laugh that left her throat in a burst. Ensuring her eyes were on Niall in hopes of making it so he assumed she was still listening, she couldn't glance at Harry but she was sure he would be looking a little too smug to get her giggling in the middle of their bonding celebration while he was tucked away in a conversation he wanted nothing more than to leave.

As hard as she tried, (Y/N) hadn't been able to cover it up well enough she figured when Niall looked over his shoulder to where Harry stood, assumedly following her line of sight.

"He looks miserable," Niall laughed along, shaking his head with a swoop of his brown hair dropping over his forehead, "I don't know why he hasn't just walked away yet."

"He's trying to be polite," (Y/N) argued, finally allowing her lips to stretch into the smile that had been pushing at the corners since Harry started playing with her.

"Well, he should stop before his ears start to bleed or something. Valeria is already getting too shrill, it's not safe." Just then, it seemed Niall decided he had the perfect idea to save Harry from the torture with the way he spun to face (Y/N) with eyes that were a little too bright to not be suspicious. "I know how we can get him to stop being so polite."

"What do you mean?"

"You want him over here, right?" Niall pressed, craning his neck as he pressed into her space as if it make a point.

Her answer was a no-brainer. "Well, yeah, bu—"

"C'mere, then. This will be quick," Niall snickered, pulling his hands from his pockets to open his arm as an invitation.

She caught on then to what his plan was. He was going to wrap himself around her, giving her all the friendly hugs they'd gotten used to in the days before Harry's frigid exterior had melted away. That was also one of the quickest ways to get Harry's brows furrowing and jaw clenching. He could be jealous when he wanted to be, and from what she'd learned in their newly-bonded days—he wanted to be jealous and clingy at any given moment.

(Y/N) didn't see the harm as she allowed herself to wrap her arms in a loose hug around Niall's middle. Ducking his head down, Niall had his lips level with her ear as he spoke.

"Congratulations, by the way," he muttered, genuine happiness taking over the teasing tone he seemed to live in, "I just realized I hadn't told you that, yet. But, I'm really happy for you two, (Y/N). I haven't seen Harry this out of his head in centuries; before you, I was worried I was going to have to crack open his skull if I wanted to ever see my friend again. Thank you."

"Thank you," she responded, pulling back so she could let him see how sincere she was with her words, "I know you were joking earlier, but thank you for helping him talk to me. Maybe you pushed it a little far that day, but I don't think he would have told me everything if not for that. So, even if he won't say it, I will. Thank you for helping us bond."

Niall's kind blue eyes flashed before he pressed a friendly kiss to the crown of her head, as if she were his little sister.

"I—"

"That's enough, Niall."

Though his voice was hard and grip heavy as he pulled Niall out of her arms, (Y/N) felt her insides turn to mush with butterflies pecking at the remnants. After his interruption, Harry was quick to take Niall's place, stepping in front of (Y/N) with a pinched brow and the lemonade out as an offer to her.

"Thank you," (Y/N) murmured just before Niall let out his own declaration before he dropped his arm across Harry's shoulders.

"See? What did I tell you?" Niall laughed, eyes on (Y/N).

"You're right, that was fast," she laughed, fitting the weighted straw between her lips and taking a sip of the drink. It was Harry's recipe complete with organic lemons he'd ventured into town for (he decided after that outing that he was just going to plant some citrus trees of his own and get lemons from there. Humans were too noisy and busy when the market should be quiet and peaceful. That was also where he decided that he definitely did not like humans that were not his petal), honey to sweeten, and raspberries muddled at the bottom to tint the whole thing pink.

It was only when he saw the sweet smile on her lips, an approval of what he'd made for her, that he was able to concentrate on the conversation that was pinging around him. "What do you mean? What was fast?"

"(Y/N) wanted you back over here, but you were being too polite and entertaining the triplets for too long, so I did what I knew would have you over here in seconds. And I was right."

Harry scoffed at his words, wrapping an arm around (Y/N)'s waist. As soon as she was tucked into his side, she could feel the tension leaving his body. "Sorry I didn't enjoy the sight of my best friend wrapped around my newly bonded beloved. And, it's not my fault that Marcus insisted on telling the alligator story again, I had to see what they changed about it this time around."

Niall's eyes lit up at the mention of the gator story. "What did they change?"

(Y/N) looked up at her love with affection in her eyes as he played along with his friend. His arm around her waist was a cooling anchor in the middle of the room, the perfect reminder that he was right there for her at all times.

"It was killer tarantulas this time," Harry smiled, aware of the rose-tinted gaze stuck on him.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me."

—————

"Thank you for coming. Nice to meet you."

The pleasant script spilled from (Y/N)'s lips over and over as guests filtered through the front doors. They stopped and congratulated them here and there, sometimes sparing (Y/N) a glance and a soft smile though many of their guests preferred to give their attention to Harry. Mitch, Sarah, and Niall had brought up the rear of the queue, lingering until the rest of the party had left.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?" Sarah asked with a bright smile while the boys chattered away in their own little circle. Surely gossiping away about the guests they'd spent the last few hours with.

(Y/N) relented with a nod. She was exhausted, yes, but every worry she had been pinged with before the celebration started hadn't come up for even a second. "You're right, it wasn't that bad. It was only a little weird when some them refused to acknowledge that I was there when Harry was next to me."

Sarah rolled her eyes, a stray strand of her bangs hanging in her eyes. "Yeah, I remember that. Mitch and I had a bonding celebration too, way back when I was still human, and they did the same thing. It's terribly awkward trying to prove your own existence as if standing there, right in front of them, isn't enough."

It was nice to know she wasn't the only person that had ever gone through what she was experiencing now, (Y/N) thought. "It's annoying," (Y/N) agreed, "but thank you both, again, for coming."

"Thank you for having us," Mitch chimed in as he smoothly saddled up beside Sarah. A small smile tugged at the corners of his usually stoic features, one of the few expressions she'd ever witnessed from him. "It feels official now, that you're part of the family."

Clasping her hands at her chest, (Y/N) couldn't help the way elation filled her system at his approval. "Thank you s—"

"If I remember correctly," Niall butt in, just as she had been waiting for, "I'm pretty sure it was me who made your joining offi—"

"Alright, everyone out." Harry's voice was final as he dropped his arm to loop around the soft curve of (Y/N)'s waist. She had been waiting for this part too.

"What, why? I was just saying—"

"Niall, out. (Y/N) is too exhausted to play the games today, please."

Mitch and Sarah shared private smiles as they listened in on the bickering between the two men. (Y/N) shook her head, letting them know she felt very much the same about the non-stop fighting as if they hadn't been friends longer than any of them had even been alive.

(Y/N) shared quiet goodbyes and thank you's once more before the couple ushered out the door. It took (Y/N)'s prompting and admittance that she really was as tired as Harry was dramatizing before he dragged his feet like a toddler over the threshold, the heavy double doors falling closed behind him.

In a flash, Harry had the locks twisted in place and (Y/N) settled on the table in the foyer that was covered in fallen rose petals. She swayed in her spot, the speed of which he blurred around the room making her dizzy before she stabilized herself with her hands gripping the ledge of the table.

"Woah," she murmured, fluttering her eyes in a blink before they focused on Harry.

"Sorry, petal," he cooed, planting a kiss on her temple before he dragged his lips over her skin like a map, "Jus' couldn't wait anymore. 'S been so long since y'let me kiss you."

Before she could utter any kind of protest—it had been barely a handful of hours since they had been tucked between the sheets with Harry kissing her everywhere he could reach—he had his mouth sealed over hers in an appreciative kiss. Every bit of the energy he worshipped her with was poured into the contact, warming her from the inside out despite the cold set of his skin.

Instinctively, (Y/N) wrapped her arms around his neck, abandoning their station on the edge of the table while Harry fit himself between her thighs. His hand grabbed at her hips, dragging her that much closer to the edge of the table where she could cushion his form with the soft of her thighs. With his lips slotted against hers, careful swipes of his tongue peeking out to brush along the full of her bottom lip, he began to lay her back on the surface of the table.

"Harry, wait," she murmured against his lips though she didn't stop kissing him, "We need to clean up. There's rose petals everywhere."

He shook his head, the tip of his nose brushing hers with their lashes tangling from the proximity. "'S too much. We'll deal with it later."

As if he couldn't clean it up in a flash.

(Y/N) pulled away with her hands settling on his shoulders, Harry only redirecting his kisses down her neck and to the drop shoulders of her dress. "You know," she started with a breathless voice, "I was a housekeeper for about eight months. The house I cared for was always full of roses whenever the owner would come home, so I've gotten pretty good at cleaning up petals like this."

Harry hummed, his smile felt against her pulse. "'S not your job anymore, petal. I will clean it later after you've fallen asleep. Let me take you to the bedroom—I feel like we need to bond some more."

"You won't stay with me tonight?" (Y/N) chirped, playing up a pout on her lips at his words.

His grin only widened at the sound of her whine. "When y'talk like that, I guess I'll have to stay, won't I?"

"Mhm," she hummed, a hand on his shoulder reaching up to run through the thick curls crowning his head, "So, we either clean up now, or in the morning. Either way, I'm helping you, H."

A beat passed, Harry pulling himself away from her neck to get a good look at her face. His eyes a glimmering green as they looked over her face, tracing every line and every plane that made up his lover. "You are going to get everything y'want for the rest of our existence, aren't you, petal?"

"That's the goal."

A bright laugh fell from Harry's lips, filling the quiet foyer with the only sound she had wanted to hear through the entire afternoon. "Alright then," he sighed, taking a step away from between her thighs with a hand offered in her direction, "To the bedroom, then. We will clean in the morning, puppy."

At the sound of that petname, the slight lopsided curl to his lips, (Y/N) was bounding up the stairs with her lover following closely behind.

Looking behind her, she saw Harry leisurely trailing her, relaxed smile on his features, though she knew he could outrun her in a blink of an eye. But, he was taking his time with her.

This is what she hoped the rest of their existence was like.

—————

ahhhh!! its so fun to go back to the early days of some of these relationships so I super hope you liked it too!! thank you so much for reading and sorry for any mistakes! if you have any ideas or requests of your own, please please let me know!

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