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“Rosieeeee,” Alice sing-songs as she flings the curtains of the dressing room open, “Your favorite patron saint is back!” 

Her voice ricochets off the mirrors, bright and ridiculous. The curtains snap back against the velvet frame and a wake of perfume follows her in. 

She struts inside—teeth glinting in mischief, and entirely too shiny against the dim overhead light. Her stilettos click as she makes her way to the illuminated vanity mirrors along the wall. 

She drops unceremoniously into the spinning chair, kicking off her heels in one swift motion before settling her feet atop the vanity—crossing them at the ankles. The chair rotates with a lazy whirr and her ankles press against a row of scattered brushes and half-finished press-on nails. 

The dressing room is a flurry of action. Dozens of terrifyingly beautiful vampire women dolling themselves up in preparation for their shifts. Laughter and low-voiced banter layer over the click of heels and whisper of stockings.  

Mirrors reflect a mirage of ruby lips and bone-white cheeks. Their hands moving with practiced ease. Applying lipliner, fanning lashes, nails tapping against compact mirrors. 

Someone spilled an entire container of glitter in front of a tabletop fan 30 minutes prior. And a kaleidoscope of multi-colored particles still shimmers in the air between them. 

Lauren—who sits in a chair in front of the opposite wall’s vanity—drops her hand slightly from her eyelid, pausing for a moment from applying her mascara. 

“Rosalie has a regular?” 

The vampire in question doesn’t bother to look up. She simply rolls her eyes, raking a wide-tooth comb through her platinum blonde tresses—curls springing back up with each pass.  

Sure—it is a valid question, despite Rosalie’s irritation with the nosey, pint-sized blood-sucking pixie she calls her best friend. But Alice Brandon had never known when to leave well enough alone. And she definitely wouldn’t be starting now. 

Yes, all of Rosalie’s coworkers know that she doesn’t do regulars. But what she is is a perfectionist, even in this line of work. All of her clients get exactly what they ask for. And she is quite sure of that fact, because all of her appointments typically lead to a new body bag on a stretcher being rolled out the club’s front door. 

They don’t call her the “Man-Eater” for nothing. 

Jessica takes the opportunity to do what she and Alice do best—gossip and instigate Rosalie into reacting to their incessant prodding. Their favorite pre-show ritual. 

The blonde vampire isn’t falling victim to their attempts at riling her up today. Not today. She won’t allow it. 

She hopes. 

So, she ignores them. Or tries to. Alice, however, has other plans. 

“Yeah, one that she won’t even bite,” She nods vigorously, “—she religiously books the third Saturday of each month because it’s the only day that Rosalie offers her V.I.P. package.” 

“V.I.P.?” Lauren asks with a frown before looking to the blonde vampire a few chairs down along the vanity shelf, “How much is your special, Rose?” 

Rosalie applies more hair spray to her curls, deciding whether to entertain Alice’s shenanigans. But before she can reply— 

“$2,500….” Alice answers for her, smug at the clear surprise on Lauren’s face before adding, “—an hour.”  

“Jesus Christ—” Lauren curses in disbelief—brows high on her forehead, mascara pencil already forgotten, “She pays that much—and she’s never been bitten?” 

“She’s never been bitten.” Their audience of vampires say in unison—all in various states of amusement and mockery. Quite a few of them stopping their ministrations to chime in. 

Rosalie clenches her jaw until it cracks. 

“And there is nothing wrong with that, Rose.” Belle attempts to mediate. Her voice is a soft gauze, intended to calm and redirect. 

Unfortunately, that redirection sends Rosalie straight into the arms of her dear old friend—rage. 

Mulan rolls her eyes, “Biting is literally our entire job description.” 

“There’s a such thing as free will, babe.” Aurora rests her hands on Mulan’s shoulders. Her dark, ginger hair curtains her face as she leans over Milan’s right shoulder to peck her cheek.  

Mulan smiles up at her as she pulls back, pecking her on the lips before turning to Rosalie—leveling her with the end of a rat-tail comb with a serious face, 

“Don’t be a wuss, Hale. You’re a hottie. She’s a hottie. So grow a pair why don’t ya.” 

Rosalie isn’t quite sure whether to be flattered at the compliment or offended at the audacity. So, she chooses neither—simply flipping her friend off instead. Mulan throws her a smooch right back, 

“Love you too, sis.” 

Ruby sticks her head out from behind the dressing screen she’s using to slide on her—equally—scarlet dress, 

“You should ask her out, Rose!” She insists with a bright smile. 

“Ruby—please—“, the blonde vampire tells the redhead with a weathered sigh. The redhead who usually stays out of their bickering, “—Not you too.” She pleads. 

Mary Margaret coos from her right as she enters the dressing room, dish towel draped over her left shoulder. She approaches Rosalie’s chair, then gives her shoulder a light squeeze as she passes by. 

“Oh, Rosie, we only want you to be happy.”  She chimes in with those same puppy dog eyes that convinced the blonde to come work at her club, “She’s been our customer for months now, the fact that she comes back has to mean something.” 

Then, Mary Margaret crosses the room—swatting at the vampire pixie’s feet still perched on the vanity—and picks up her phone from the station next her. They drop with a thud, and Alice leans forward in her seat with a devilish smirk. 

“She’s scared Bella will say no,” The psychic spills, unprovoked, “—I try to tell her all the time that in my visions, Bella—” 

“Alice?” 

“Hmm?” 

Rosalie turns her head. Smiles at her sharply—her fangs unsheathing themselves as she speaks,  

“Find something safe to do.” 

Alice pays her no mind. She just rolls her eyes, waving her hand dismissively. Forever over Rosalie and her unfounded insecurities. 

“Just bite her already, you big grouch.” 

“Leave her be, Allie.” Regina Mills presses her lips together. Applying a final, matte coat of ruby red lipstick. “She will when she’s ready.” 

The dressing room glows under red bulbs and mirrored light—accentuating the dark curve of Rosalie’s cupid’s bow that quirks at Regina’s support. The scent of perfume, hairspray, antiseptics, and faint iron fills the dressing room. The club has a full house tonight. And the smell of alcohol, sweat, and human arousal wafting through the walls makes Rosalie want to gag. 

Their establishment does not perform sexual services—per se—but the service they provide does incite arousal in humans, and the nauseating aroma never fails to make the blonde vampire queasy. 

The theme for tonight is—ironically, or not quite, given that it’s actually the blonde’s birthday—Velvet & Thorns. Every one of the club’s employees wear red clothing—for Rose, against her wishes, of course. All toys to be used tonight consist of various shapes and sizes of whetted steel. 

She’s always had an affinity for knives.  

“Gina’s only defending her because her favorite patron is Rose’s favorite’s bestie.” Ruby teases, shimmying into her heels. 

Regina’s lips curl at the corner as she snaps the cap back on to the lipstick’s tube, 

“Cousin.” She corrects, tipping her head and her wine glass—filled with a particularly expensive batch of O negative—at Ruby as she picks it up to take a sip.  

Alice whispers conspiratorially to Mary Margaret on the opposite side of the room,  

“Don’t forget—Lena’s boo, Kara, is apart of their little familial group, too.” 

Lena chuckles from her seat near the door. She bends downward a bit toward the small step stool at her feet—tightening the clutches of her red bottom heels propped atop the stoop. 

“That’s certainly one way to put it.” She shrugs. 

“They’re all related?” 

Alice smirks as she hums her affirmative, all too pleased to give Lauren a run down of their ‘office’ rumor mill. Which mainly consists of entirely too much interest in Rosalie’s nonexistent love life.  

“And they’re all bigwigs at some hot-shot tech company.” 

“Really?” Belle asks with surprise laced through her tone, “They’re all so young, though.” 

“Bella’s 30.” Rosalie murmurs absentmindedly, pinning one last, errant curl. 

“She’s robbing the cradle.” Alice says blandly. 

“She’s an adult.” Rosalie snaps. 

“Yeah and you’re one hundred years old.” 

One hundred and two years since Rosalie’s turning, actually. And one hundred and twenty more since her birth. Ninety years since she met Alice Brandon, and she hasn’t had a moment of peace since. 

But at this moment?—At this moment, as her mild irritation transitions to bone-deep exhaustion, there is nothing Rosalie craves more than death. 

Victoria shimmies a black silk shawl around her neck as she steps from behind the divider opposite to Ruby’s. She makes her way to the door—her blood red curls bouncing with each step—but not before adding her two cents on the way out. 

“Newbie, word to the wise—” She warns Lauren over her shoulder, “—stay away from the brunette & two blondes who all look like a lost puppies. Lena and Regina’s already called dibs. And Rosalie likes to use her teeth.” She winks before disappearing from view. 

Alice giggles as she attempts to super glue a bedazzled press-on to the tip of her pinky. 

“She needs to use her teeth on Bel—” 

In less than a breath, Rosalie slides the small dagger from the garter at her thigh and crosses the room. She brings the sharpened blade down swiftly, spearing Alice’s hand—palm down—to the top of the vanity floating shelf. 

The impact causes the perfume bottles to rattle. One even teeters off the edge of the vanity before shattering on the floor, a small puddle of fragrance pooled underneath broken glass— 

And no one bats an eye. 

“Real mature, Rosalie.” The pixie sighs as she yanks the blade from the tendons of her hand, “You’re the only one in denial here, just admit it.” 

She flexes her fingers, and her skin stitches itself back together as if she had never been cut. With an eye roll, Rosalie snatches her knife away and crosses the room again to sit back in her seat. Alice slips a square handkerchief from her bra, dabbing away the residual thin line of conjugated blood. 

“Well, Rose, I—for one—support you in whatever you choose,” Mary Margaret slips her phone into her back pocket, and—honest to God—boops Rosalie’s nose on her way to the door, “Though I am entirely Team Rosella.” She says brightly—all but twirling out of the room, ”I’m gonna’ go check on David at the bar.” 

The comb in Rosalie’s hand snapped halfway through the boop, and she considers breaking Alice’s spine in retaliation for the emotional distress. 

“Who’s on deck tonight?” Ruby asks to no one in particular. Finally settling into the seat next to Belle, who she kisses briefly on the lips before she sits. 

Alice audibly shudders before saying with a grimace, 

“Sylvester Clapp.” 

Ruby frowns. 

“How is that man even still alive?” 

“No idea,” Alice shrugs, “—but his blood tastes like battery acid so I don’t anticipate he will be for much longer.” 

“Why not just finish him off?” Lauren asks, focusing back on applying her mascara. 

“I wish.” The pixie groans,  “Hospice clause.” 

Ruby sucks her teeth in sympathy, “Bummer.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“While most of our patrons sign up for the pleasure—and the risk of dying—with fangs in their necks. There are some clients that we provide services to to improve their quality of life. Ease the pain. Make their last days a little more manageable.” Alice explains to Lauren, “Government mandate says we can’t kill them unless explicitly stated in their contract.” 

“Those clients—the ones without the clause, at least—are mostly the appointments that Rose take.” She continues. Then adds cheekily,  “And Bella.” 

“Yes, we’ve gathered.” Rosalie says curtly. 

“It’s not always so bad,” Ruby smirks, having mercy on her blonde friend, “—at least Carlisle Cullen scheduled an appointment for the night.” 

“Esme’s little play thing?” Belle asks, moving to sit in her girlfriend’s lap. 

“Mhmm,” Alice supplies, “—she likes him a lot more than that, though.” 

Lauren snorts, her eyes back focused on the mirror— 

“What is this? Love Island?” 

Mulan throws a hair roller at her, 

“No, it’s Vampire MILF Manor.” 

Giggles ring across the space. 

“Come on, you two.” Rosalie tells Regina and Lena as she rises from her seat, having had enough of that conversation.  

They both chuckle, applying the last of their beauty products. They bid the other ladies farewell. And Rosalie groans as they annoyingly cheer her on on her way out.   

The three of them emerge from the dressing room like Charlie’s Angels. And begin to make their way to the floor. 

“Do I look like a MILF to you?” Lena asks Rosalie as they come to a stop at the edge of the floor, to the vampire who was immortalized just shy of her twenty-second birthday. 

Rosalie’s lips barely part before she’s cut off, 

“Don’t answer that.” 

The blonde does her a solid and chooses to focus on more important truths instead—nodding, Rosalie says, 

“Kara seems to like it.”  

Regina hums with a smirk, “And Emma likes it even more.” 

Lena gets that look in her eye. And Rosalie knows by now that that’s never a good sign. 

Lena looks to her left, “We popping V cherries tonight?” 

Regina grins. Looks past Rosalie between them and winks at Lena in return, 

“We’re popping V cherries tonight.” 

Rosalie releases a breath through her nose, “Mary Margaret’s going to kill us.”  

Lena lightly bumps her shoulder into Rosalie’s. 

“Thank God we’re already dead then, huh?”  

Regina hums in agreement turning her gaze back to the floor, “And for soundproof rooms.” 

If Rosalie were human, it might have taken some time for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the club. Be that as it may, her vampiric vision made quick work of taking in their surroundings. And it didn’t take long to spot their clients nearly huddled together near the bar.  

“I don’t feel so good.” 

“The nausea will pass.” Emma explains to Kara—who’s nearly blue in the face, eyes scrunched behind her glasses—for what feels like the hundredth time now, “And when it does, you’ll know.” 

“Maybe this wasn’t the perfect occasion, Em,” Bella tells her cousin. “You know Kara can get overwhelmed.” 

“You’ll both thank me later, trust me Bells.” Emma promises. Then bats her lashes with a sly smile, “Have I ever led you astray?” 

Bella snorts. 

“Several times, actually.”  

Kara nods in agreement. 

“One time that ended with us in handcuffs.” 

“Four times,” Bella corrects, “We left you at home for the street racing.”  

Kara pouts. 

“But I love cars.” 

“Not stolen ones.” 

“You guys stole a ca—” 

“Several—listen Kara.” Emma says off-handedly with a wave of her hand. She points her vodka cran-free finger at her, “Try to say more to Lena than three words tonight, and Bella—” She gives her other cousin a stern look, “It’s her birthday—grow a pair.” 

Across the room, Regina and Lena share a look and—to Rosalie’s continued dismay—begin to chuckle at Emma and Mulan’s award-winning advice for the night. 

“They have a point, Rose.” Lena admits. 

The blonde vampire rolls her eyes. Muttering under her breath, 

“What is everyone’s obsession with testicles today?” 

“Rosalie Lillian Hale,” Regina sighs with as much theatrics as she can channel from their favorite pixie vampire, “—grow as many vaginas as you’d like—” she levels the blonde with a pointed glance and a particularly disconcerting smirk— “Just make sure to use one of them tonight.”  

Rosalie makes a face at the visual image. 

Lena nearly bellylaughs. 

And Bella simply flips Emma off in reply. 

She turns to lean against the bar, rapping her knuckles against the island as she calls out to her favorite bartender, 

“Yo, David—another jack & coke, please?” He walks over, greeting her with a warm smile and bright eyes. 

“Sure thing. On the house, Bells.” 

He mixes her drink in no time, and places a mini umbrella in the glass as he hands it over. Bella smiles gratefully, sliding a hundred dollar bill across the counter that David tries to protest. She just waves him off.

“Thanks.” 

By the time Bella turns back from getting a new drink, Emma’s chatting it up with Regina’s sister, Zelena, who also works at the club. The vampire always laughs just a little too hard at her jokes, and lays her hand on her forearm a little too long to be deemed strictly friendly. 

But after a few months of regular visits, Bella knows Zelena plays the part simply to grate her sister’s nerves. And Emma plays along as she always does, smiling just a bit too wide—hoping she’ll face consequences by the hands of one hot, Latina vampire later. 

She had always been the most confident of the three. She’s actually the reason they’d even come across this place at all.  

It had been her idea of a pick-me-up for Bella’s latest relationship that crashed and burned. She had told Bella—“there’s nothing that a shot of tequila and two fangs in your neck can’t fix.” 

And.. well— 

She was right. 

Kinda. 

Bella could be a bit reckless at times, sure. But her recklessness is more indiscriminate than it is one of her core personality traits. See also: [Emma Swan] 

Back then, Bella didn’t have much rapport with vampires. She knew that she didn’t understand all of the hate and discrimination they faced in society. So when Emma suggested it multiple times over, she didn’t put up too much of a fight. 

She didn’t even go to the club with the intention of partaking in a session. She had came if only to appease her cousin’s incessant begging. And so, when she had saw this dumb, drunk guy drooling over Rosalie in a dark corner of the room—she did the only thing that seemed right in that moment. 

She booked her for the entire night. 

If only to deter any rancid, greasy old john’s  attempts at persuading her into fulfilling their twisted, blood-and-gore ladled fantasies. 

But the tricky part is—given that she hadn’t intended to be in such a place at all—she didn’t stop to think about what exactly would happen when the beautifully terrifying vampire led her into one of the establishment’s back rooms for their session. 

Bella had been a nervous, shy, jittery hot mess—who never once mentioned biting of any sort during their appointments—and Rosalie has been absolutely mesmerized by her ever since. 

And oh, how much the blonde wants to bite her. 

They finally decide to go to the bar. Mostly due to Regina’s lack of patience with her sister’s antics.  

The dim, red lights glints off the polished wood and mirrored panels, reflecting the small flurry of movement among the clubgoers. The scent of alcohol, perfume, and faint iron thicker in the air than it had been in the dressing room—coating every surface.  

Zelena spots their approach first, “Ah, there they are,” She murmurs to Emma. 

“Hello, ladies.” Lena greets all of them in a low, husky voice, but her eyes remain focused on Kara. Who immediately begins to blush as she squeaks, hand reaching up to adjust her glasses,

“Oh!—Lena, hi.”  

The vampire simply smiles at her and her obvious, adorable, nerves. 

Rosalie’s crimson eyes lock with Bella’s deep brown. And for a second, the deep bass reverberating around them dims into white noise. Because the human’s eyes trail dangerously slow from Rosalie’s eyes, down her figure.  

Her attire is particularly slutty tonight. Her black dress practically painted on her skin. There’s a slit that rises to nearly mid thigh, and her sheer, red garter peeks through the fabric. 

She’s the birthday girl, after all. 

“Jesus.” Bella murmurs without meaning to. She downs her drink in one go, lightly grimacing at the sting as she smacks it back down on the bar. 

“Zelena,” Regina gives her sister a sharp look. Her lip curls in disdain as Zelena continues to invade Emma’s personal space, “I can have Killian size you for hook, if you’d like.” 

Her eyes fall toward her sister’s hand, and where it lies on the bare skin of Emma’s arm. Then back up. Her brow rises in question. 

Zelena sighs. 

“Your jealousy could not be more obvious, my dear sister.” She says flatly, nonplussed by Regina’s threats, “Why don’t you piss on her leg while you’re at it?” 

Emma’s brow furrows. She not quite.. sure.. how she.. feels.. about that statement. But Regina’s patience runs thin faster than her sluggish brain can process the quip.   

“Run along now, dear sister.” She’s hissing by the time she makes it to the end of her sentence, but her sister’s already kissed Emma’s cheek and turned to be on her way—cackling over her shoulder all the way back to the dressing room. 

“You’re gorgeous.” Kara blurts out, eyes burning a trail up and down Lena’s tight, velvet red dress that accentuates her curves. Which earns her a swift elbow to the ribs from Bella on her left, and a mumbled—“Please, for the love of God—act normal.” from Emma on the other side of Bella. 

Lena preens at the compliment, anyway, though. 

And Kara’s still grinning like a fool. 

“Thank you, Kara.” Lena smiles at the bright-eyed attorney.  

“You are gorgeous.” 

Bella leans closer to her gushing cousin, failing to whisper, 

“You already said that, K. More than three, remember?” 

“It’s because she’s tripping balls, dude, what do you expec—oof!” 

Another swift elbow from Bella to Emma’s ribs quickly cuts off the now, obviously, worst kept secret that the women harbor. 

“I’m definitely not complaining.” Lena purrs at the young, blonde woman who’s nearly salivating at the sight of her.  

Before Kara can kiss the ground Lena walks on, the women are interrupted by one of the clubs.. less than savory.. patrons. Rosalie’s seen him here before, but’s never had the displeasure of meeting him before this moment. He’s tall, dark-haired and handsome. Wearing an expensive, tailored, navy suit.  

And his drink nearly spills all over the front of Regina’s dress. 

“Hi, beautiful. May I have a word?” He smiles in a fashion that Rosalie assumes he thinks is attractive, but actually just makes him look constipated. 

Regina’s curls her lip in disgust at the man, “Not interested.” 

His smile falters. 

Regina’s brow raises, and she waves her head and hand in the opposite direction as if to say — Well? What are you waiting for? 

The embarrassed man clears his throat, muttering into his scotch as he turns away— 

“Whatever.” 

“God, she’s so hot when she’s murderous.” Emma says under her breath. 

 “Hold it together, Em.” Bella whispers to her cousin, who scoffs in return. 

“Says the girl who spent two hours deciding between a black flannel shirt with red checks or a red flannel shirt with black checks.” 

“I—” Bella looks down at the black flannel shirt with red checks—that she definitely spent two hours deciding on—and back up, “—just shut up,” She smacks the back of Emma’s head as she protests, “She’s lying.” Bella turns to say—to Rosalie, in particular. 

“I’m sure...” The blonde vampire trails off—placid and amused—hiding a small smile at the genetically haphazard trio’s usual antics.  

“It’s only ‘hot’ when you’re not the victim.”  Regina tells Emma, stepping forward to press her index finger against the blonde woman’s chest. 

Emma licks her lips, 

“Yeah well, add me to the menu, toots.” She grunts, eyes glazed over and completely willing. 

The dark-haired vampire chuckles darkly at the request, her mouth twisting into something entirely sinister-adjacent. 

“Come on, puppy..” Regina purrs as she grabs Emma’s tie, tugging her along. 

Emma chances one last glance at her family. Finding Kara already being led away by the walking spell that is Lena Luthor. She turns her head to Bella and (unnecessarily) emphasizes, 

“Use protection.”  

Bella exhales in annoyance as Emma’s outline fades in the distance, and silence settles between the two remaining women—a thick sort of tension taking root. 

The low thrum of the bass and the cacophony of the club seem to fade into a dull hum, leaving only the charged space between them.  

Bella leans her side into the bar. Facing Rosalie again with those dark eyes, wide and luminous—her attentions drags downward again to continue to trace the lines of Rosalie’s body, lingering on the dip of Rosalie’s cleavage, and then to the sliver of skin revealed by the high slit of her dress. 

The vampire’s skin tingles under the intensity of her gaze. She steps closer. Her heels clicking a slow, measured tempo. She stops in front of the human, placing her index finger underneath her chin. 

“My eyes are up here.” 

Bella’s gaze drags up to her eyes just as languidly as they fell with the help of Rosalie’s fingers. A slow, uninhibited smile spreading across her lips. The flush on her cheeks deepens. 

“Yeah, they are.”  

She doesn't apologize, doesn't even seem embarrassed. She just looks at Rosalie with half hidden desire, her appreciation open and honest. 

Her gaze flickers from Rosalie, to the back of the room, and back to crimson eyes again. Then she juts her chin in the same direction. And Rosalie doesn’t need words to take the hint. Her hand falls, trailing the length of Bella’s arm as she grabs the warmth seeping through the human’s hand. And she feels Bella’s eyes on her the entire way to the back of the floor. 

The private rooms are down a long, velvet-roped hallway, each door marked with a simple, elegant number. Rosalie leads them to her usual room at the end of the hall. The door clicks softly shut behind them, sealing them away from the rest of the world.   

A plush, king-sized bed with a dark grey duvet dominates the center of the room. A sprawling black leather couch sits against the far wall. The only thing betraying the room’s true purpose are the two signs framed neatly on the wall. 

NO SEXUAL CONTACT ALLOWED ON THE PREMISES 

V CONSUMPTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED 

As Bella sheds her coat, hanging it on a hook by the door, Rosalie moves past her. To the long sound-bar that sits atop the entertainment system underneath the flat screen tv on the other side of Bella. She fiddles with the buttons for a moment—then reaches for her phone as Bella makes her way to the leather couch. Releasing a breath as her knees bend, she settles into soft cushions, spreading her legs slightly. Both of her arms lift to stretch comfortably across the back of the couch.

The space is set up more like a master bedroom than the usual sketchy strip club lounge with questionable bodily fluids painted on every surface. Club Love Bites is a refined establishment, who prides itself on cleanliness and elegance.

Her eyes flick over the room briefly. Because no matter how many sessions they have a month, Bella soaks in these moments the most. The quiet beneath the vibrating walls and ambience of the club.

Low, sensual music begins to to play from the speaker. The vampire sets her phone back down. Rosalie turns to stuff a wad of hundred dollar bills into Bella’s coat hanging from the hook on the doorframe. 

The human begins to squirm on the couch against the opposite side of the room. 

“You don’t always have to do that, Rose.” Bella tries to argue, “I’m pretty sure you’re like..” She bites her lip before finishing lamely, “—breaking company policy or something.” 

“I don’t need your money, Bella.” is what the vampire would usually say. 

But, today, Rosalie doesn’t even acknowledge her objections. 

She just crosses the room and stands before the couch. Her hands fall to her thighs, slightly inching up the bottom of her dress.

She moves forward, raising her leg to settle her left knee on the couch beside Bella’s right thigh. And then her right knee moves across Bella’s left thigh, settling herself into Bella’s lap as the cushions dip slightly. Straddling her as Bella’s hands fall to the top of each thigh.

“I’m going to touch your face now.” Rosalie says. As if Bella would ever deny her. 

“Okay.” 

The vampire’s raises her right hand, and Rosalie’s thumb traces the sharp line of Bella’s jaw as they pass under her ear, and behind Bella’s neck. Rosalie’s left hand then moves up to trail lightly over the soft curve of the human’s cheek. Following the same path until both of her palms press against the junction of the top of her spine and her head. 

They slide up even further. 

“Has business been good?” 

Rosalie’s fingers thread themselves through the back roots of Bella’s chestnut tresses. She begins to massage the human’s scalp with practiced ease. 

“Rosalie, its your birthday you really don’t have to—oh,” The remainder of Bella’s sentence trails off, immediately replaced with a small groan and her head tilts back—exposing her neck to the vampire. 

Rosalie hums in response. Watching the hard bob of Bella’s throat as she swallows. 

“I take it that means—good, then?” 

Bella sighs. Content and distracted by the usual dexterity of the vampire’s fingers.  

“Hmm, amazing.” She mumbles, nearly incoherent as Rosalie hums again. 

“Any new.. personal developments?” 

Bella had come to them after things ended between her and one of the department secretaries. She didn’t seem to upset about it, actually. Shrugging it off as just another reoccurrence in her life. 

It’s partially why the vampire hadn’t bitten her yet. Unsure if the act was too intimate for the human because of whatever relations she may have (or had) outside of the club’s walls. 

Alice had called her a fool. 

“No,” Bella’s head lifts as her focus shifts back to the woman in her lap. And her hands slide up the blonde vampire’s thighs until both thumbs settle in the crease of each of Rosalie’s thigh, “You?” 

The contact leaves the vampire annoyingly breathless. 

“No.” She answers smoothly, despite her internal struggles. 

“Good.” 

It’s silent again as they simply stare at each other. Fingers still idly tracing each other’s skin. Then, the vampire’s eyes narrow. And suddenly Bella decides to valiantly look anywhere other than the blonde currently sitting in her lap. 

“Why are your pupils so blown?” Rosalie asks, even though she already knows the answer. 

Bella’s cheeks flush more as she nervously chuckles, 

“Emma may, or may not, have peer pressured me and Kara into taking shrooms before we came.”  She says sheepishly. 

“How much?” 

“An eighth.” A beat. “—a piece.” 

Rosalie’s eyes glint, but her expression remains neutral.  

“Hm, so this is the tripping Emma was alluding to?” 

Bella nods without thinking, ”Balls, yes.” Then she winces, “That—I,” Licks her lips, “I could’ve phrased that better.” 

“Hm..” The vampire hums, reminded once again of everybody’s apparent obsession with male appendages tonight. Lifting her brow, she asks, “Level out of 5?” 

“Two-ish..” Bella admits, lifting her hand in a so-so gesture. “The colors are.. coloring.” her eyes widen a bit as she struggles to verbalize her sensory sensitive state,  “And your skin is way, way softer than it should be and I—” She rambles. 

Rosalie’s hands leave her hair, and begins to trail down Bella’s neck, then down the front of Bella’s shirt. Bella’s brain short circuits, and Rosalie’s too distracted to notice the human had even stopped talking. 

“Rose?” Bella begins—while the vampire delicately unbuttons the fabric of her shirt, peeling it open to reveal pale skin and the evidence of their most recent session’s work of art. 

“Hm?” 

Rosalie slides her shirt further down her shoulders, eyes glued to the lean muscular planes of the human’s biceps, chest, and shoulders. Mind halfway attuned to the conversation. 

“It’s your birthday.” 

Rosalie licks her lips. Squinting slightly—her head tilts as her eyes trail lower. 

“It is.” 

“And you’re working..” 

“I am..” 

The vampire reaches up to trail her fingers down the soft skin of Bella’s chest, past her bra, to the space below the junction of her ribs—moving the pads of her fingers along the human’s upper abdomen. 

Along her masterpiece.  

“On your birthday?” 

Rosalie almost doesn’t hear her at all. She’s too busy making her way further south, opening the flannel shirt wider—her index and thumb fingers move towards Bella’s navel, lightly twirling the diamond studded belly ring between her fingertips. 

A pendant. 

The letter ‘R’—sparkly and expensive—dangling from Bella’s flesh. Rosalie’s a bit hypnotized by it as she finally answers without looking, 

“Do you want me to leave?” 

Both hands press themselves flush and fully against Bella’s abs as the human begins to protest—shaking her head she says fruitlessly,

“I want you to be happy.” 

The words hang there—simple—yet more profound than Rosalie thinks the human even realizes. She echoes Mary Margaret, but from Bella—it takes on a whole new meaning.

Both of the blonde vampire’s palms travel across Bella’s waist, behind lower back, and finally splay upward along the tendons of her lats. The space between them lessens even more, and Bella brushes against the front of Rosalie’s chest with every breath she takes.  

Rosalie’s dress rises even higher. Until it’s nearly pooled at her waist. Her fingernails lightly scrape at the human’s back, and Bella starts mentally counting down the time she has left before she starts making more indiscriminate decisions.

“Relax, Bella.” 

The words are meant to sooth. But she’s making it extremely difficult for Bella to do so, and the human has a feeling she knows that, too. 

“Okay.” 

They never really acknowledge the intimacy between them. Choosing instead to indulge in their mutual delusion with a sense of normalcy that should be frightening—given both of their shaky relationship histories. 

Bella doesn’t do long term. She never has. And not for a lack of suitors. She has an aura that naturally draws attention, must like Rosalie. Though generally quiet and mild-mannered. Her success as a renowned software engineer increases her pool of options immensely. 

Until she met Rosalie, that is. Her feeble attempts at conjuring enough interest to foster connections with women beyond the confines of her bedroom walls had all but ceased.  

And Rosalie? Well, Rosalie hadn’t been intimate with anyone in nearly sixty years. The seventies had been a wild time in the queer world. But starting, and maintaining, a relationship just never became a part of her routine. 

They do, however, have a different routine. 

Rosalie leans back, taking her cool fingers with her. They rest lightly on the sides on Bella’s leather belt at her hips, clutching the fabric of Bella’s opened shirt. 

“Your threshold for pain tonight will be nonexistent because of the drugs—” 

Bella doesn’t waste any time shooting down Rosalie’s apprehension, 

“Better get started before it fully kicks in then, yeah?” 

The vampire sighs. 

“Bella—” 

“I want it, Rose.” 

The words hang between them. Bella hoping Rosalie understands the layers underneath that statement. And Rosalie’s too focused on what Bella saying those words is doing to her body than actually letting them stick. 

Her bottom lip becomes trapped between her teeth for a few long moments. Then she says with a small voice— 

“Take me to bed.” 

Bella doesn’t need to be told twice. Because in the next breath, she’s wrapping one of her arms around Rosalie’s waist and the other moves to hike the vampire’s legs above her hip as she stands.  

Rosalie’s wrists wrap lightly around the back of Bella’s neck. And the human’s warm breath tickles her lips as the woman walks them toward the middle of the room and turns around. Rosalie can’t help but find herself lost in the human’s brown orbs. 

The back of Bella’s knees hits the bed, they sit, and Rosalie’s legs spread wider as she straddles her. The human, having grown tired of the limitations, quickly tugs at the slit of Rosalie’s dress—with a rip, she elongates the cut in fabric until the vampire thighs open with little resistance. 

Bella lays fully on her back, their usual position during their sessions. Rosalie’s hands settle on either side of Bella’s head. Her long, platinum curls curtaining over the girl’s face.  

“I liked this dress.” 

“I’ll buy another,” Bella promises with a glint in her eyes, “Or twelve. Whatever you want, really.”  

And at that point, Rosalie knows the shrooms are beating her ass but she decides to ignore it in favor of Bella’s biceps that flex as she clutches the tops of the blonde vampire’s thighs. The blonde’s head tilts, 

“I’m a ’70 Chevy Chevelle kind of girl.” 

“SS 296 or 454?” 

Rosalie’s eyes flash with unbridled interest. She tries to disguise it by sitting up, tightening her thighs around the human’s middle. She reaches for the rolling tray next to the bed. When she lifts a black square of fabric from the top of the tray—varying blades glint in the corner of Bella’s eyes as the vampire continues to stare back at her. Rosalie’s brow raises, just a hair— 

“What do you think?” 

It’s hard to focus when a beautiful goddess with perfect, platinum, curly hair is staring down at you in a blue tinted, dimly lit room. Bella licks her lips, 

“I think an LS6 parked in your garage tomorrow morning may score me a few points.” 

Bella’s especially bold tonight, and the vampire chalks it up to the drugs talking. Either way, she isn’t gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. 

But she will ogle Bella’s mouth, instead. 

Rosalie hums. Longer this time, as if she’s considering it. She takes an antiseptic wipe, and trails it along the sharp edge of her chosen toy. 

“One or two, maybe.” She shrugs noncommittally.  

“What’s a girl gotta do for three?” 

Rosalie smiles. 

“Stop talking.” 

She slides down Bella’s body until she’s nearly at her knees—hooking her legs underneath the back of Bella’s calves, she arches her back a bit as she leans in close to the human’s upper abdomen. 

Then she flips her hair over one shoulder and out of her face. Wisps of platinum blonde hair fall behind her back, the tips tickling Bella’s abs. 

She feels the human shudder beneath her. And with the first delicate stroke of her blade, Bella sucks in a sharp breath. The vampire stops, looks up. And Bella shakes her head quickly, 

“Keep going.” 

Rosalie holds her eyes for a weighted moment. And then she slowly settles right back down to continue with her artwork. 

Intricate slivers of raised skin—half healed, half red and angry—litter the planes of Bella’s abdomen. The vampire’s nearly finished with the last petal of the elaborate rose etched into Bella’s chest. 

It’s their.. routine. 

When the human had learned of Rosalie’s love for knives, she’d offered her body up as a canvas quickly thereafter. It had taken them three full sessions of merely talking the hours away until Rosalie finally agreed. 

The word “Rose” had been etched across Bella’s chest first. Why she allows the vampire to have her way with her flesh, she’ll never know. But Bella never complains. Doesn’t pester her with suggestions. Or critique her work. She just smiles widely at Rosalie after each session—as if she’d hung the moon. 

They’ve grown comfortable together.  

They’d learned more about each other than the vampire had ever felt comfortable with sharing to someone else. But Bella doesn’t judge her. Doesn’t see her as just another pretty face. Or a trophy to be won and conquered. 

But Rosalie does know the shrooms are bringing out a new side of Bella Swan. And she can’t wait to find out what all of that entails. 

She faintly registers the sharpness of her canines as they extend past her lips. But she’s too far gone at this point to be embarrassed. Not with the way Bella’s trembling beneath her fingers. 

“You know,” Rosalie murmurs against her skin, “I wanted to be a tattoo artist, once.” 

“Why didn’t you?” Bella asks, her voice tight. Pores rising with goosebumps. 

“The blood.” Rosalie says simply, eyes intent on her objective.

“Oh.” Bella says, breathless, “You never have any trouble around my blood.” 

As Rosalie continues to carve the depths of her passion into the malleable human’s flesh, Bella lets out a sigh that sounds dangerously close to a coarse moan. Then the human tries to cover her eyes with her forearm. 

Rosalie reaches up. Deftly removes Bella’s arm from her face. Her fangs on full display—evidence of her current predicament. She tilts her head, curiously— 

“Do you really think so?” 

Bella stares at her. At her fangs—with lidded eyes. And Rosalie doesn’t look away. She wants Bella to see exactly what she does to her humanity. Her lips part. Tongue stretching as she licks the thin line of blood—still pooling from the incision along Bella’s abdomen—with one languid swipe of her tongue. 

A strangled noise leaves Bella’s throat, and suddenly she sits up—Rosalie still firmly in her lap. The vampire releases a breath in surprise at the sudden movement, drops the blade, and feels Bella’s hands beginning to circle her waist. Pulling her closer. Her own hands finding purchase on Bella’s shoulders. 

“Take it.” Bella whispers, nearly against her lips. 

“Bella…” Rosalie melts a little further in her lap, in spite of her words. Bella bites her lip, struggling to find the right words as the shrooms start getting stronger. 

“Think of me as like—a Caprisun or something.” 

Rosalie blinks at her.

“I’ve never drank a Caprisun.” 

“Right.” 

Rosalie finds herself smiling at Bella’s adorably pensive face. Looking down and to the right as she tries to come up with another argument. Rosalie’s palms find Bella’s neck again, and she looks into her eyes for any hesitance or uncertainty. She doesn’t find any. Only trust and submission is reflected at her. She nods, fingers lightly tracing Bella’s cheek. And then, she angles Bella’s head to the right. 

If Rosalie is being honest, the act of drinking someone’s blood—whom you steadily refuse to admit being in love with—can be extremely intimate. She has a strange sense that they’re doing this out of order somehow. That it should be a bit troubling that neither of them care. But none of that seems important when the veins of Bella’s neck stare back at her.

The human’s heartbeat rises in tempo. And if Rosalie were human, she knows she would have had a heart attack by now. Because this is the moment they both (well the entire club, really) had been waiting for. And the fact that the moment has come, on her birthday no less, makes the vampire a bit giddy underneath all the nerves. 

“You know that I might—” 

“I know what’s in the contract, Rose.” 

Bella had signed it without batting an eye. But the fine print never mattered that much to the blonde. But Bella was always sure to stress her willingness to die by Rosalie’s mouth. Not that she even needs to. Rosalie would never hurt her.

At least—not without consent, that is. 

She starts with a kiss to Bella’s collar. Her lips trail, featherlight, until she’s gliding her tongue against the length of Bella’s neck. And when Rosalie’s razor sharp fangs finally pierce the skin of the human’s neck, it takes everything in her not to come undone on the spot. 

She moans. Filthy and wet against Bella’s neck. 

It’s a slow build up. She drinks, heartily at first. But Rosalie slightly begins to feel the effects of the drugs in Bella’s blood. And Bella’s skin begins to flush with heat from her own arousal, fingers gripping Rosalie’s rear, her hands feeling like they’re everywhere. Rosalie begins to feel the shoulders of her dress slouching to the side, offering the human more of her skin to grasp as she moans in tandem with the blonde. 

Rosalie pulls back. And a string of bloody saliva follows her.

Bella’s eyes are extremely dilated, and Rosalie’s chest heaves at the rush of emotions that centers in her chest. Branching out through her limbs. She knows she must be a sight to see. Bloody, snarling, and frenzied.

Bella kisses her anyway.

All teeth and tongue. Wet, sloppy. Their tongues fighting for dominance. A moan falls from Rosalie’s lips as Bella tugs at her hips, deepening their kiss. 

The vampire’s muscles tremble involuntarily, and the tip of her toes begin to tingle with desire. Bella breaks their frenzied kiss, and leans their forehead together. Rosalie’s chest rises and falls with unneeded breath, and Bella gives her a moment to collect herself before demanding with her eyes closed. Looking almost as if she’s trying to convince herself she isn’t dreaming— 

“Tell me what you need.” Her voice is gruff and strained. Her knuckles white as she clutches the dark fabric of Rosalie’s tattered black dress. Traces of her own blood beginning to dry on her chin.

The vampire releases a shudder. And she gets the feeling it’ll be a long night with the way Bella’s speaking to her.

“I need...” Rosalie husks, lifting herself slightly on her heels—spreading herself wider to the cool air of the room. Then, she kisses her. “—you..” kiss, “—to have your way with me.” kiss. 

The fingers of Bella’s right hand dip down to the apex of Rosalie’s thighs. And Bella raises her brow at the slickness than she immediately finds there.

Rosalie just raises her own brow right back in defiance.

No panties?

Absolutely not. Next question.

Waxed too?

And what about it?

Bella starts with one finger—which wipes the feigned confident indifference straight off of the vampire’s face. Rosalie’s breath hitches against her mouth as it slides in. And Bella’s lips begin their descent. 

She wants to hear her. 

Bella plants heavy, biting kisses across Rosalie’s chest. Rosalie’s head hangs back, hair trailing behind her, all sense of time lost to her as she pushes back against Bella’s hand. She finds herself coming even more undone, unable to stop the sounds coming from her mouth, her spine suddenly unable to support her under the weight of her own arousal. 

Bella fingers her at a steady pace. Not giving her too much, or too little. The base of her palm steadily pumping against Rosalie’s clit. 

Bella moves inside of her with one hand, the other roaming through Rosalie’s hair as she captures her mouth for another deep kiss. She breaks the kiss, angling her head down to take a dusky, pink nipple between her lips.

And then there were two. Buried deep, past Bella’s knuckles. She can feel her walls tighten around Bella’s fingers, throbbing in time with the piercing pleasure originating from each of her breasts as Bella gives them equal attention. A crescendo begins to build in her lower belly. Then, Bella leans back—hooks her fingers—and kisses her hard.

And it’s at that moment that Rosalie thanks God for soundproof rooms, too. 

Bella begins to pull back, and Rosalie’s lips follow after her. The brunette lifts her knees, then rolls them both over until Rosalie’s trembling and breathless beneath her. 

Bella lowers herself on top of her. Then inches her way down Rosalie’s body, ripping her dress straight down the middle of her bust, diagonally across to the slit of her dress. It falls away like a hospital gown. 

She leaves the red garter in tact, though. Eyes hungrily taking in the sight of Rosalie’s skin in contrast to the lacy fabric.

Rosalie huffs, half delirious—

“I liked this dre—” 

“Stop talking.” 

Rosalie’s mouth snaps shut, and her walls clench around nothing at the mounting authority in the human’s voice. But she doesn’t have time to take offense. Because in the next breath, Bella yanks her knees apart, leaning in to wrap her lips around Rosalie’s clit. Sucking gently. 

They continue this cycle for awhile. Bella sucking her soul out through her nether regions, only to edge Rosalie nearly to the point of madness. She’s right there. Right at the tip of the iceberg.

But Bella doesn’t seem intent on allowing Rosalie release so soon. Because then she moves to make her way back to Rosalie’s lips. Asking her in a rough voice,

“Good?” 

Rosalie groans helplessly through her heightened arousal—nearly gritting her teeth, “Great.” 

Bella’s knee nudges the rolling tray next to the bed as she moves, shirtless and half naked. The tray tips, and an assortment of silicone sexual devices fall out, clattering softly on the floor. 

Bella’s brow furrows at the minor interruption—

“Rose, what is—” 

Rosalie’s adorable giggle beneath her cuts her off, and she looks down at those crimson eyes and the reverence staring back at her.

“It’s my birthday, silly.” Rosalie reminds, the effects of the shrooms more apparent in her system, “Toys.” 

Bella’s mouth drops, and her eyes widen in realization. 

“You planned this?” 

A smile pulls at the corner of the the vampire’s mouth at the accusation, then she shrugs— 

“Prepared.” 

She clicks her tongue, pushing Bella up—her hands moving to the human’s belt and zipper—before she says,

“Get to it, then.”

Bella laughs as she helps her wiggle of out her briefs, tripping out of the bed as she goes. She grabs for the flesh colored toy, holstering it into the harness that Rosalie impatiently helps to fasten. The soft music reverberates on the walls, and Bella finds herself humming along under her breath.

This is just the tip of it. 

Can’t wait to get into it. 

Rosalie removes her arms from the holes of the remaining mess of her dress. Until she’s bare. Skin glistening as she lay naked beneath her. Bella settles back between her thighs. And Rosalie’s brows raise as the human hooks her forearms under the back of both of Rosalie’s knees. Bringing both legs up to rest over each of Bella’s shoulders. 

Rosalie feels even vulnerable like this. Open and completely at Bella’s mercy. The human stills herself, and Rosalie shivers as the toy brushes against her clit. Bella looks at her longingly for a long moment, so long that Rosalie isn’t sure how much time has even passed. But then Bella leans down, bracing her left forearm on the side of Rosalie’s head. She kisses her deeply. Slowly. Slowing the pace to something more sensual. Then, she lifts her hips slightly, and uses her free hand to line her member against Rosalie’s entrance. 

Bella’s slides her tongue into her mouth at the same moment that the tip inches inside. Rosalie feels her inner walls tighten around the silicone toy. And she releases a small cry as the stretch widens with every inch given. 

Stars explode behind her eyes. And she isn’t sure if it’s the drugs in Bella’s blood or hers, but she feels like she’s already at the peak of an orgasm. Bella digs into her slowly, the tip of the toy massaging the spongy patch of her g-spot. With every slow thrust, Rosalie’s ears ring louder. Until she feels herself dissociate from her body. Their bodies mold together until Rosalie perceives them as one mind, body, and soul. 

Definitely the drugs. 

And that’s when the tears begin to flow. Silent, crimson droplets—streaking hotly down both cheeks. Before Bella can even think to falter at the sight of the blonde literally crying blood, the vampire grips at her back—keeping her in place. 

“Don’t you dare stop.” Rosalie chokes out between sobs. 

Bella doesn’t. 

She couldn’t think of anything else, not with Rosalie sobbing and babbling underneath her like a babe. Clearly overwhelmed with pleasure and emotion, Bella leans down to whisper sweet words of praise and reassurance into her ear— 

You’re so wet. 

I’ve wanted this for so long. 

You’re taking me so well. 

Will you cum for me tonight? 

The vampire’s sharp nails claw at her back. Long, red welts blooming in zig zags across Bella’s flesh. A bead of sweat drips from Bella’s forehead, the salty droplet lands on top of the blonde’s tongue—mouth parted in ecstasy. 

She can’t help but sob her slurred responses between each thrust. 

All—for—you. 

Feels—so—good—baby. 

Give—it—all—to—me. 

Why—are—you—fucking—me—like—this? She whines the last sentence until the words are all but screamed into Bella’s ear.

Rosalie finally succumbs to her animalistic nature, using her fangs to pierce her own skin—at the wrist. There’s nothing but hunger and desire in her eyes as she commands the human to— 

“Drink.” 

And Bella obeys, without hesitation. A shudder runs through her as the vampire’s blood hits her tongue, and for a moment, her deep brown eyes begin to glow with a faint, pink light. Her eyes begin to change colors—finally settling on bright red, and Rosalie can pinpoint the exact moment the V blood fully enters her system. 

Because Bella Swan begins to absolutely hammer her cunt—like her life depends on it. 

V has that effect on humans. Gives them supernatural speed. Strength. Rosalie doesn’t have the presence of mind to process the wounds slowly healing all of her Bella’s body. The existing scars remain—but she’s got a hell of a lot more work to do when this is all over, the newer cuts fading into smooth, clear skin. 

At some point between adjusting Bella’s harness, and her making her way back to bed, she had swiped a vibrator and brought it back to the bed. Just when Rosalie thought she’d die from pleasure, Bella twists the top of vibrator until a low buzz sounds underneath the music. She brings it to Rosalie’s clit, still massaging her cunt as if they were trying to conceive.

Not long after the combination onslaught of attempted murder weapons, a strangled cry leaves Rosalie’s throat. And, for some odd reason, she growls—

And then she gets angry.

“Ho—how many women have you been with?” She asks breathlessly, frowning deeply with her eyes closed as she focuses on the tongue lapping at her neck. She doesn’t know why this comes to mind. Probably because she suddenly feels murderous at the thought of Bella taking someone else the way that she’s ruining her.

She feels Bella smile against the skin of her neck in response. She growls. 

“You’ll give me their names.” The vampire demands hotly in her ear—nipping at her earlobe. 

“They’re already forgotten.” 

“I’m serious Bella—” 

Without preamble, Bella flips her over. From behind Rosalie, Bella’s tongue laps between her folds. Flicking the vampire’s clit with her tongue, she slides it backward, and a strangled cry leaves Rosalie’s lips as Bella plunges her wet tongue into her center.  

The tongue leaves and before Rosalie can protest, Bella mounts her, both hands pressing hard in her back. Deepening the vampire’s natural arch, lining herself up to slide deep into her cunt with one, swift thrust.

Bella isn’t gentle this time.

And the blonde just might prefer it this way.

Rosalie’s moans muffle as her face pushes further into the pillow. And luckily she doesn’t need to breathe—not that she’d could, with the way Bella’s rutting in to her. 

She reaches back blindly, trying to anchor herself against Bella’s unrelenting rhythm. The human grabs both of her arms, hooking them both by the inside of her left elbow. She moves her right hand around the vampire’s body, fingers falling through her slippery lips. She flicks Rosalie’s clit with her finger, rubbing the wet bud in a circular motion as her teeth sinks into the vampire’s neck. With such an exquisite amount of pressure that even her dull incisors breaks the skin over the vampire’s undead veins. Rosalie’s eyes roll back in her head. 

She vaguely registers the headboard of the bed splintering against her head. And thanks God she can’t feel pain. Because Bella’s knocking on her cervix, and Rosalie’s cunt can’t help but allow her entry. 

Bella’s right hand lifts from her folds—slick with Rosalie’s essence. Pulling her by her trapped arms, she lifts Rosalie upright. Still pounding into her from behind. Her free, right hand reaches up to roughly grab the vampire’s chin, jerking her head to the side and back. Their mouths come together, bloodied and bruised again.

And there goes Rosalie screaming again. Bella doesn’t seem to mind it though. And if Rosalie were to guess, Bella was purposefully ensuring to be the best fuck the blonde has ever had. 

And she would be right.

They continue to go at it hours. So long that Bella thinks the sun might actually be up now. Though they have no windows in the room. Mary Margaret hadn’t bothered them though. And she knows Emma and Kara are probably somewhere in the same predicament—they’re indiscriminate decisions led to them breaking the two posted rules the very first night.

Later, tangled in the sheets, Rosalie lies bonelessly against Bella’s side. Trailing her fingers over the soft skin of the human’s naked chest. Bella’s left arm tightens at her middle, and she kisses the side of her head—

“Are you okay?” 

“Yes,” Rosalie sighs, content and overwhelmingly blissful “That was beautiful.” Red lines still streak the vampires eyes and her cheeks. Evidence of the emotions that being thoroughly fucked on hallucinogenic drugs brought out of her.

Bella laughs lightly, her free hand finding the back of her neck sheepishly. 

“The shrooms.. they can be kinda—” 

“Intense yeah, I’ve gathered.” Rosalie finishes for her, a watery chuckle escaping her lips. A comfortable silence settles over them before Bella breaks it again.

“Rose?” 

“Yeah?” 

A long moment passes, and just as the vampire begins to lift her head, Bella rushes out quickly—eyes closed and nervous despite the show she gave the blonde for her birthday.

“Can I take you out?” 

A slow smile spreads across Rosalie’s face. She turns onto her side, propping her head up with her hand, and looks down at the thoroughly-loved human beside her. 

She coos, tuts her tongue as she brings her other hand up. Blonde hair wild and tousled. Her fingers grasping at Bella’s chin, her thumb pulls at the human’s bottom lip. And she briefly gets distracted by the dried blood there and how appropriate it would be to lick mid-serious-conversation. But she snaps out of it, eventually, and her eyes lift. There’s nothing but gentle seriousness in her eyes as she replies—

“If you think you’re just gonna fuck me like that and walk out of here a free woman—you’re mistaken.” 

Bella laughs sharply as she releases a breath of relief. Kisses her. It’s slow, and full of all the passion they’ve kept from one another for so long. And when Bella pulls back, Rosalie leans her head against hers with a smile pulling at her lips. Her hand slides up Bella’s body. Wraps firmly around her neck. The human chokes as her own arousal spikes when the vampire’s fangs extend once more.

Rosalie smiles wickedly as she rolls on top of Bella. 

”About those names…”