#i think they deserve to have all their devices snapped half. Right in front of them

[transgenderprototype]

Just a note: If you see a screenshots of a twitter account named corv11d saying something horrible, that isnt me. Not only are all my accounts private, but theyre under almost completely different names

[bryhoney]

Recognisance pt.5

It's been so long since my last update it's now Pride Month!!! (Yay!!)

Again, I'm sorry it's taken so long - things are still up in the air for my personal life but here we go update time.

EDIT: I left in sections from a previous draft that kind of muddles up which Ghost the reader confronts. Very sorry!!! Edited out now!!!

<- Previous Next ->

He’s standing 20 feet away from you, on the other side of the server room. He’s holding his rifle out in front of him - aiming directly at you. 

He’s barely visible in the darkness, his figure illuminated only by the red glow that dips in and out. He appears entirely unphased as he inches closer to you, as though he is preparing to strike.  

You can barely think straight, utterly terrified to face a Ghost again. 

“Don’t cry yet, there’s so much-”

Your hand doesn’t shake as you aim your pistol towards him - your body resolute in its mission to fight. You would not be going anywhere with this bastard. 

You’d kill him before he harmed you again.

The ghost calls out your name softly as though he’s trying not to scare you. It’s almost a whisper, but you can tell there’s no shock in his voice, he knew you were here. He sounds devastated. 

“Kid?” his stance falters, his shoulders drop and he takes a step forward

Pain and darkness and laughter. Silver catches in the light as it moves closer to your skin. 

You push the memory away, now is not the time for this. Even the slightest distraction will allow him an opportunity to kill you. This man was one of the finest the Americans had - you would not best his reaction time. 

“Stay right there!” you yell across the space between you, voice unwavering and strong despite being up against an opponent whose skills you simply couldn’t match. He was a Ghost after all and you were? 

“It’s me, I-” He says softly, “Do you know who I am?” he asks like he’s trying to tame a wild animal.

“Shut the fuck up” you snap at him. How dare he speak to you like that? Your fear was morphing into abject rage and your finger itched at the trigger. Yet, despite everything Rorke’s ever told you, the desire for answers currently outweighs your desire for revenge. 

You decide you want to know who you’re about to kill. 

You’re desperately trying to recall the images plastered around the base of the Ghosts, trying to piece together which mask matched the ghost in front of you. 

He takes yet another footstep towards you and whispers your name again, his gun lowers away from you ever so slightly. 

You readjust by centimetres and fire, shooting his left shoulder. A warning shot. 

He stumbles backwards slightly, quickly catching his footing. He hisses in pain but that’s all the reaction he gives you from the impact. You’re almost disappointed. 

He doesn’t deserve a warning. At least that’s what you tell yourself - you don’t want to think about how, just for a moment, you were scared you might have miscalculated. That your shot might have rang true, killing him.

Why would that scare you?

He takes a step backwards, somehow managing to keep ahold of his rifle amidst the chaos, which is now aimed back at you. Yet, it doesn't feel steadfast, more half-hearted than anything.

Your breathing is shallow and is absolutely giving away how much adrenaline is coursing through you. You notice your hand is shaking now, and you take a step backwards towards safety. 

“I guess I should’ve seen that coming, huh?” he huffs, it feels like it should’ve been a laugh but his rigid roll of his shoulders gives away his discomfort. 

“Why- How could-?” you shake your head, angry at your inability to control your emotions. You must sound so weak and vulnerable. You were back in the hole again. 

“Look- Kid, this isn’t the reunion either of us wanted, believe me- but we’ve gotta move. Now.” his voice is low and urgent - he sounds utterly in control. “We’ve got to get you out of here, and we’ve got to go now” he brings his hand up to his comms device and you suddenly harden, clenching your jaw. 

“Don’t you fucking dare” You grit your teeth and aim your gun at him again, you might be able to take one ghost out, but no more. 

“Keegan, really? Are you fucking serious? She’s my-”

It’s the voice you once heard comforting you. It’s your father’s voice. Elias’s voice and its sudden invasion cripples you. You stagger back, trying not to lose your sudden advantage over the ghost whose gun is now only gripped by one hand.

“Dammit, we’ve gotta go now” There’s an urgency to his voice as his comms chatter too quietly for you to make out over the alarm. 

He hurt you. 

“I should kill you!” It was meant to sound threatening, but it’s more of a question. 

“We don’t have time for this, lower the gun, Walker” I can hear the frustration mounting in his voice an-

“Walker?” you’re heart sinks. No. No. NO. 

He pauses, “Oh kid, no- What’ve they done to you” he sounds sad. 

“You’re an idiot” the man with the deep voice, he’s laughing. He has the same voice as the man in front-

“You’re a Walker —-- and thr–gh, a certified idiot - I thought may– it was just the men – —- family”, there’s more laughter. 

You feel tears run down your face, “No” is about all you can manage. Your breathing is erratic and your stance is forgotten, the gun is lowered but he doesn’t take advantage of the situation. 

“Higher! H–! Lo will c-tch me!” you’re a child. Happy. 

“That’s your name, look I’m- we’ve gotta get you out of-” he begins, softly, urgently, but the doors to the server room crash open before he can continue. 

“Keegan?” you whisper. It’s him - his gravelly voice. He’s the voice that’s… “No-”

He lurches forward reaching out for you, and every instinct in your body tells you to fight. Yet, the movement is all too familiar-

Your gun is raised and he stalls, before, yelling, “KID, C’MON” as he runs for cover. You’re standing out in the open as gunfire ricochets around you. 

Every instinct tells you that this man is safe. But the memories of what the ghosts did to you are so overwhelming. So terrifyingly real that you can’t move. You desperately want to, but you just can’t. Your brain is too consumed with trying to piece together that you’re a Walker. 

Your dad is Elias. Your brothers are Logan and Hesh Walker. 

It’s only at the thought of them that you jolt back into action. Despite being willing participants in your torture, something doesn’t fit right. 

No, they didn’t- it wasn’t. You love them, they love- loved you. 

You’re surrounded by Federation soldiers, it’s too late for any escape with him now. But it’s not too late to help them. You’re not entirely sure why you feel the need to help them after everything. It’s too scrambled to make sense so you push it out of your mind. 

“I’ve got you! You won’t fall!” 

A tear escapes you.

Some of the soldiers grab you, and you try shrugging them off, “don't touch me,” is all you manage. They chatter amongst themselves, organising a search for the Ghosts. Some of the men begin escorting you back down the way they came. You have a mission in mind; get to one of the surveillance rooms. 

—

The alarm is still blaring when you reach the surveillance room, it’s empty. You ask the guards to lock you in and stand watch so the ghosts can’t get to you. It’s not a convincing rouse, but they don’t question it too much. 

Inside the room, you try to calmly make your way to the observation deck, it’s small but it’s got enough controls that you might be able to be of some use. There’s only one man inside the room with you and he's relatively easy to disarm, even easier to immobilise. You’re not entirely sure how you did it, it was almost a reflex.

Ignoring the shouting coming from his radio, your eyes scan across the series of monitors in front of you. 

You find them quickly, they’re in one of the lower levels, two of them standing next to one of the doors that lead to an external tunnel that burrows into the nearest mountain. They’re trying to blow the door out with some sort of explosive, while two others are kickstarting a car to life. 

You can see the button that will open the door, but you press another, the one that locks the hanger door behind them just before Federation soldiers can burst through. 

You unlock the tunnel door, and open comms, “Go” is all you manage as the door springs open. One of the Ghosts shouts your name, and you hold back a sob. It’s Hesh. It’s your brother Hesh. 

The ghost standing next to him has to forcibly wrestle him into the car before they make their escape. You press another button and the door seals shut behind him. 

You destroy all the footage you can, but it won’t do anything. If they want to find it, they will. 

You’ve sentenced yourself to death for men who tried to kill you. For men who are your family. Rorke had given you a false name, he had redacted your information from the dossiers on the Walkers. 

He’d tried to erase you.

Nothing made sense, you’d seen the ghosts hurt you. You’d felt it and lived it for months and months and months. You’d never seen-

The door opens and Rorke stands on the threshold. 

You’re crying, breathing rapidly as you point the gun towards him, “Gabriel? What’s happening to me?” you feel like you’re shutting down. He’s going to look after you.

He’s going to kill you.

He puts his hands up, “We’ve got you, it’s alright”. 

You shake your head, “You lied to me. I’m-” he’s already crossed the distance between you and has lowered your gun. You’re shaking and you hate the conclusion that’s slowly forming in your head. The resolve that is building in you. 

“We’ve got a lot to talk about,” it’s soft, thinly threat. He nods his head towards the control panels that you’ve deactivated, “don’t we?’. 

You hate that another sob escapes you. How weak you are. 

“You don’t have to pretend you’re alright, kid” it’s his voice again. 

Rorke hauls you away, and you’re less concerned with your safety and find your thoughts drifting back to one, unmistakable fact. 

Rorke killed Elias. 

Rorke killed your father. 

[allylikethecat]

January OTP Prompts

I'm not sure how closely this one follows the prompt, but alas I was inspired *by* the prompt and that's how this whole thing works right? Thank you so much for all the continued support on these! We are in the home stretch! (I also didn't proof read this one, like at all so if it makes even less sense than usual that's why)

WARNINGS: Discussions of past drug abuse, and speculation that Fictional!Matty has relapsed (he has not)

27. Ringing bells

Matty was missing and George was losing his mind. The warning bells had gone off ringing that morning even if he hadn’t realized that’s what they were at the time. Matty had been moody, more subdued, snapping at anyone who dared acknowledge him, scratching at his arms and fidgeting as he moved eggs around on his plate without actually eating them. George had found himself growing irritated at him, they didn’t deserve his abuse. Matty had snapped that he was fine and to lay the fuck off when Ross had asked how he was doing. I’m not going to run off and get high, Matty had snarled, you can stop looking at me like that. 

He had pushed his plate away, his phone still sitting on the hotel restaurant table. “I need a cigarette,” he said, standing up. “I’ll be right back.” 

That had been three hours ago, and no one had seen Matty since. George wondered if he had left his phone on purpose, knowing he was easily trackable via Find My Friends. George regretted not standing up, not chasing after him with an I'll join you. But he had been thankful, in the moment for the relief, the ability to roll his eyes at Ross, commiserating over Matty’s antics without the man in question to see them. Soon dread filled his belly as the minutes ticked by and Matty didn’t return. George knew they were all thinking it, even if no one dared speak it outloud. 

“I’ll just call him,” said Ross, “make sure he didn’t get trapped talking to a fan or something.” That’s when they realized his phone was sitting on the table. The screen lit up, the device vibrating silently as the line rang.  

He wasn’t in their hotel room, he wasn’t in the fitness center or the garden. The woman at the front desk was unsure if she had seen anyone matching Matty’s description leave through the front doors. George wanted to cry. They had been doing so well. Things had been going so well. Matty had been doing better. He knew that being back on tour was hard for him, the come down from the admiration of a roaring crowd to the silent isolation of a nondescript hotel room giving him whiplash. He knew that Matty still fought cravings every day, but he met with his therapist bi weekly and was making an active effort to stay healthy, to stay clean.

He needed to call Jamie, he needed to call Tim and Denise. He felt like a failure, he was supposed to be the one keeping an eye on Matty, keeping him safe and instead he had lost him. Matty disappearing to god knows where and getting into god knows what. He was Matty’s partner, Matty was his other half. He saw the signs, he knew that Matty was having a bad morning and instead of treating him with compassion he met him with annoyance. 

They walked through the ground floor of the hotel a third time, growing desperate. George wanted him to be in the hotel, wanted him to be sitting just outside some little side door rather than out in the world where anything could happen to him.

“DON’T LET THE DOOR CLOSE,” Matty shouted and George blinked, not actually expecting to find him sitting on a small loading dock, surrounded by a twelve foot fence topped with barbed wire like he was imprisoned. 

“Matty?” George asked in disbelief, standing in the doorway, holding it open with his body as Matty flung himself into George’s arms. 

“I came out for a cigarette,” said Matty, he was crying, tears of relief George realized. He blinked, shocked to find he was crying too. “The door shut behind me and locked, and I didn’t have my phone.” 

“You’re okay,” said George, running his hand down Matty’s back, the words a mix of comfort and vocalizing his own relief. “You’re okay.” 

Day: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26

[gojogloomy]

SERENDIPITY - ch.2

— SYNOPSIS ; Hayakawa Aki had found himself in quite the predicament. His mission was a bust and so was his car; what was he going to do now?

CW ; more descriptions of blood, angst.

WC ; 1.6k

“The Building”

Indifference, tolerance

You had just been captured and kicked out of your home by a devil hunter, yet all your thoughts could do is think of your bunny, Usagi.

Is she hurt? Is she hungry? Where did she run? Is she safe? Has—

"Hey, Devil."

Two pale fingers were snapped in front of your face, startling you a little.

"I'm talking to you. Is being unresponsive another one of your powers?" he questioned, most likely rhetorical, tugging your cuff-bound wrists along with him whilst he tucked the other hand he used to snap in your face back into his pockets.

"No, but is being rude and obnoxious one of yours?" you retorted. You had been patient and compliant with him this past half an hour yet he still continues to be mean and talk down to you. Were all devil hunters this insufferable?

"Not really, just a matter of habit." he taunted. His face remained as monotoned as ever yet you could just hear the pettiness laced within the remark.

"Yeah?" you stopped walking - causing the devil hunter to also stop in his tracks via your bound link of cuff to hand. You gave him a glare before speaking, "Well I think it's a bad habit. Is this how you treat all the new people you meet?"

He chuckled dryly, one filled with slight disgust before he whispered, "It's a little funny that you refer to yourself as a person. Do you even realise you're not even human anymore?"

Even if you were no longer human,

Even if you weren't the same as him anymore,

did he have to be so cruel to you?

You simply shook your head, refusing to converse with him further. He was indefinitely insufferable. His coal-black hair must be a metaphorical reflection of his very heart - dark and empty.

Everything about him is a walking oxymoron. His posture is sharp and elegant, he acts and speaks with such profession - as though he was a prince. It's easy to tell he keeps his suit and appearance neat and tidy; yet he treats you with no remorse nor respect as though you're the very ground he walks on.

It couldn't be that simple though. This antagonism has to be coming from somewhere, right?

Trying to keep an open mind is the only reason you don't despise him just yet. You figured there was a reason as to why the black-haired devil hunter acts within such a way towards you.

Perhaps he has a bad history with devils, right? That could be the only reasonable explanation. Perhaps a devil had done something horrible to him in the past.

That was the only solution you could think of as to why he would act such a way to you as if you deserve it. However, you were confused. You've never done anything to anyone and you've been living a remotely peaceful life up until now, so you couldn't understand just why he was detaining you and treating you so poorly.

Were you going to die?

The possibility of that seemed very low but... maybe the day had finally come?

You averted your gaze upwards to take a glance at the young black-haired man who has been forcing you to walk for the past, what, 40 minutes now?

This journey seemed impossible. No matter how far you walked, all you could see was never-ending snow-covered roads on end.

The clouds were gloomy and the whole atmosphere felt dull. Usually, snow is seen as a beautiful thing but right now; all that could fill your heart was sorrow.

The two of you walked the middle of the road, slightly adjusted to the right so in case of any cars they could easily transition to the snow-covered sidewalk.

Just then, he stopped walking - giving your pitiful aching feet a break. The snow softened each step of the way but despite its kind efforts, your feet felt like they had a million different pins and needles pressed deep into them.

The man pulled out a taboo-looking device from his pocket; perhaps something that comes from the city.

You had never ventured into the city so you lacked the knowledge of quite a lot of things that existed within it.

You stared at the man, at the device, then back at the man as he raised it to his ears, attempting to speak through it? Though, when he realised whatever he was doing wasn't working - the young man shoved it back into his pocket with a sigh before turning to face you once more.

"Is there a reason why you're looking at me so intently?" he asked, burning holes into the back of your retinas. You could stare at him all you wanted but you had to admit you were no match for his intimidating gaze.

"Yeah... are you getting cold? You're shivering." despite his rudeness you were genuinely concerned for him, considering how susceptible humans were to weather changes. You'd know, considering you used to be one.

His cheeks were flushed red from the cold and his once neat hair was now littered with chunks of snow everywhere, along with his suit.

"I'm fine," he insisted, shoving his other hand deeper into the soft comforts of his pockets. "You don't need to concern yourself about me."

"How much longer is this walk? My feet are aching,"

"Still a long ways away." The young man replied hastily.

"What's your name? You never told me." you doubted he would tell you, but it was worth a shot in the dark, right? You suspected he'd say something witty such as 'Yeah I never told you for a reason.' or something along the lines of that - but instead the black-haired man said

"If I told you, would you finally allow me to walk in peace, Devil?" he sighed, dusting a few small bits of white snowflakes from his eyelashes with his free hand.

You laughed a little, a bit surprised at the suggestion. Though nonetheless you agreed. After all, calling him the young man was getting a little old. Pun intended. Plus, calling him a young man was beginning to make you feel old yourself.

"Then..." He slowed down his inhumane pace to a much slower pace so that you weren't straddling behind him like a puppy, but now walking together side by side. "My name is Hayakawa Aki. Are you satisfied now?"

"Yes, I am. Thanks Hayakawa. My name is—"

"There's no need for that." he cut in, not allowing you to finish your sentence. "I think i'll just stick to calling you Devil."

"That's not fair," you argued but he just chuckled a little and continued walking. However, something wasn't right.

He wasn't walking at his usual pace - if anything, he seemed quite... strained?

It was only now that you finally noticed the dulled greenish veins bulging from his neck and forehead along with his heavy laboured breathing, as though he was struggling.

His once elegant posture was now almost hunched and he was treading through the snow with shaky legs, as though his hamstrings could collapse at any second.

"Hayakawa... are you okay?" you stopped, forcing him to stop too. He turned around, somehow still mustering up enough energy to pull a slightly irritated expression.

"I told you already... I'm f-f—"

As though his own body wished to prove him wrong, he collapsed mid-sentence; making you fall with him with his strong grip on the handcuff.

You fell beside Aki and now the two of you were covered in snow. Fortunately, the fall itself didn't hurt at all considering the pillow-like texture of the snow. Though even so, Hayakawa didn't look okay at all. He was beginning to turn pale.

"Sorry. Forgot to... let go," he breathed, his words shakier than ever. Only now, after so long, he finally released the metal cuffs from his grasp so you could stand again. You helped push his weight onto a tree so that he could sit upright and crouched on your knees to his level.

"You're not okay. What's wrong? Are you cold? Hungry?" you asked too many questioned at once, genuinely concerned and slightly freaked out.

Seeing the man who had been so formidable, baleful and bitter suddenly become so vulnerable right before your eyes felt almost surreal - in a bad way.

Though despite the drastic situation, he seemed to crack a smile nonetheless.

"You... don't remember, do you?"

"What do you mea—...?"

The question answered itself it appeared. The snow-struck wind felt like it was blowing heavier and colder than ever now.

How couldn't you have noticed? Thick globs of blood had already stained his pants by now. His undershirt was a complete wreck of scarlet everywhere, even his outer suit jacket was stained with it.

The sight was ghastly - When did this happened?

"Was after I... After I tried to kill you—" it was as though Hayakawa had read your mind. Though, his sentence was interrupted by deep guttural coughing.

You understood what happened now. It must've been Deflection; the untameable shield that forced itself upon you ever since the day you lost your humanity.

"Why would you walk for so long in this condition? You've lost so much blood Hayakawa—"

"I-I thought," the persistent coughing interrupted him once again. Taking a deep and painful breath, he tried again. "I thought it... wouldn't be long until I'd be able to... call for help."

At this point, all you could see within your vicinity was Aki's dark maroon blood, stained dry all over the white canvas of snow.

A/N ; no comment. ☃️

Oh, and here’s part 3

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (3)

warnings: misunderstandings, OCs, mild drowning/hypothermia, violence, one instance of self-inflicted injury, attempted self sacrifice, cliffhanger

-

Virgil laid low for a while after his encounter with Roman, avoiding towns and taking winding paths far from the main roads. Every passing moment, he half-expected a maniac with a sword to descend upon him out of nowhere.

Isolating himself probably made him seem more suspicious, an easier target, but he didn’t want to risk getting caught in a crowd. Demon slayers were an odd bunch, rumored to have supernatural senses to counter a demon’s, and the last thing he needed was to be outed in front of everyone.

The rumors about the ‘Hooded Demon Slayer’ had shown him that gossip spread in unpredictable ways, and he didn’t want to have that unpredictability turned against him.

So, yeah, no towns.

Unfortunately, that plan hadn’t accounted for the people living out in more rural spaces, the way his own family had once.

And now he was here, in a silent standoff at the shore of a frozen lake with a stranger who was staring at him with far too much alarm for his liking.

He held up a hand in an awkward wave. The stranger threw a handful of salt at him, made a sign to ward off evil, and then twisted on their heel and bolted.

Virgil blew some salt out of his fringe, nonplussed, but didn’t move after them.

Either they’d noticed his eyes reflecting eerily the way they sometimes did when light caught on them, or they really hated social interactions. Regardless, who was Virgil to stop their frantic flee to safety?

There was an ominous cracking sound from the direction they’d just run off in.

That could be anything, Virgil told himself stalwartly.

As if in retribution for the thought, there was a splash, as though perhaps something approximately human-sized had been abruptly plunged into the waters of an icy lake.

Virgil was sighing even as he hurried onto the ice after them.

Sure enough, the stranger was scrabbling at the edge of the brand-new hole they’d made, eyes wide and breath coming in tiny little gasps as they clawed at the ice.

He stepped closer testingly, and the ice pinged in warning, hairline fractures spreading under his feet. The stranger let out a half-sob, probably thinking that an evil demon was taunting them or something.

Virgil pulled off his cloak, brushing his fingers over the clumsy stitching of the patch closest to the neckline for good luck. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to patch it up further after this.

His ears catching every minute noise the ice made, he leaned forward as far as he could and tossed one end of the cloak in front of the stranger’s grasping hands.

They latched on with surprising speed, maybe due to cold shock, and Virgil tugged them up.

The ice in front of them broke the moment their weight was leaning on it, and he hissed through gritted teeth. Didn’t this person know anything about escaping thin ice?

He struggled to speak, and only growled, the noise low and half-choked. Somewhere between his mind and his mouth, the words became tangled and refused to form. He would guess that horrific man-eating monsters didn’t deserve to talk, but he’d witnessed other demons chattering away, so maybe it was just something in his brain that had been scrambled. Figured.

Giving up on words, he instead slowly lowered himself until he was flat on his stomach, now eye level with the stranger. He forced his hand into a flat shape and laid it on the ice several times, hoping that they would catch on.

Gradually, they did, though they looked as though they could hardly believe they were listening. They stretched their arms out and kicked their back legs in the water until they were as level as possible, though their movements were growing more sluggish.

Virgil reeled the cloak towards him, providing the leverage needed to help them propel themselves onto flat, unbroken ice. He relaxed slightly in relief.

They immediately tried to get to their knees, prompting a creak from the ice beneath them, and Virgil snarled so viciously that they went right back down like their limbs had given out, terrified eyes locked on him.

That was one way to tell them not to stand, he supposed.

As quickly as he could, he shuffled back to solid ice, towing the stranger along with him over the smooth icy expanse. Once the ice beneath them was solid against even a few elbow jabs, he rose to his feet and gestured for them to do the same.

Apparently being dunked in life-threatening waters had taken the fight out of them, because they followed without protest, trembling from the cold or fear or both. They were still clutching tightly to the cloak, so Virgil used it to lead them along the ice until they reached solid ground again, mindful of their slow, stumbling pace.

All told, they hadn’t been in the water very long, perhaps under a minute or two. Still, Virgil knew better than to leave them to their own devices. One didn’t grow up on an icy mountain range without knowing what the cold could do to people.

He sniffed the air, the dip in water thankfully muting the scent beside him, and easily caught the trail that the human must have taken. Hopefully, it would lead to an actual building as opposed to some campsite in the woods.

The stranger seemed to be about Thomas’s age, though they currently looked more like a drowned mouse than anything else, and Virgil had been able to lift Thomas up into a fireman’s carry even before he’d gotten the supernatural strength of a demon, so he had no problem scooping them up and beginning to run.

They kicked and flailed for a short moment before seeming to just… give up, letting their limbs go limp and heavy, their only movement the full-body shivering that was still tearing through them.

Shivering was good, Virgil reminded himself, shivering meant they weren’t at lethally dangerous levels of cold or shock yet. He should feel reassured about that, but he couldn’t ignore the terror that was practically coming off the stranger in waves.

He couldn't shake away the memories of carrying a younger Thomas around in the same hold, either. The gleeful shrieks of his kid brother being toted around overlapped with the taut, tremulous silence of this stranger, painful nostalgia twisting in his chest.

Once again, the world proved that he was right to have left Thomas. Even the idea of his little brother like this-- drenched and resigned and terrified of him-- was enough to make his stomach roll. He didn’t want to imagine how bad it would feel to face it in reality.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek and kept moving, hoping that shelter was nearby.

-

The upside was that Virgil had found a small house, saturated thickly enough with the stranger’s scent that it had to be their home.

The downside was that there was someone in there.

The other downside was that as soon as he got within sight of the little home, the drowned-kitten stranger found a reserve of energy apparently dedicated to trying to smack the shit out of him.

He grunted in annoyance as another swing thwapped against the back of his head, their other hand frantically attempting to grab at his ears and throat with surprising vehemence. It was about as effective in actually harming him as a kitten’s pounce, but he tilted his head away anyways before they could get too close to one of his eyes. Sure, his eye would probably heal from any damage human hands could inflict, but superhuman regeneration didn’t mean he couldn’t feel it.

Calm down, he tried to project, but the few throaty chirrups that curled out of him weren’t exactly reassuring to a human.

They continued to struggle, not subsiding even when Virgil’s annoyance turned to literal growling, and he eventually just gave in and crouched to shift them off his shoulders.

Rather than try to struggle to their feet and bolt for the door, they plunged a hand into a pocket and came out with-- Virgil’s irritated rumble spiked up into an alarmed snarl, but he was too late to keep them from putting the carved whistle to their lips and blowing hard.

The piercing noise was enough to make him shift back, and two heartbeats later, the door of the cabin slammed open, revealing the silhouette of a new stranger.

Next to him, Drowned-Kitten was making a motion with their hands over and over, but the new person barely even glanced at them before running directly at Virgil, pulling a knife from a sheath with vicious intent.

The dagger’s blade practically glowed, even in the dark of the night, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose up the moment it got in range. He jumped backwards, but Stab-Happy just kept coming, matching his ‘back-off’ growl with a shattered human snarl of her own.

Slayer-knife or not, this human didn’t have nearly half the trained grace he’d witnessed from Roman, and so he was able to trip her up and grab her wrist mid-strike, ignoring the way being so close to the blade made his skin crawl.

He twisted, forcing her to drop the knife, and the moment it hit the ground, he dragged her back toward the open doorway, ignoring her vicious swearing as she struggled to break away.

Drowned-Kitten made a choked-off sound but was barely able to move, let alone stand and stop him.

The interior of the cabin provided what he needed, and he yanked a blanket from the mat on the floor and shoved Stabby into a chair, swiftly wrapping the blanket around her until she could only snap her teeth and kick her legs, the rest of her swaddled against the chair back.

“Get back here!” she screamed when he turned back to the door, the anger in her voice cracking into something close to fear.

Drowned-Kitten had crawled a few paces from where he’d left them, and they’d grabbed the fallen blade. Virgil grimaced as they pointed it at him with trembling hands, looking frantic enough that they seemed more likely to injure themself with the jittering knife than him.

He couldn’t tell exactly in the dark, but it seemed like their hands were turning the shiny red that heralded frostbite. They needed treatment. Why did people have to make everything so damned difficult?

A moment passed in this silent standoff, Stabby’s angry shouts still going strong, and Drowned-Kitten’s gaze strayed past Virgil to the doorway before their gaze went firm and hard.

They tightened their hand on the knife hilt-- and ran it clumsily over their other palm, opening a thin red line.

Virgil was there in the next instant, wrenching the knife away before they could try again for a less shallow injury. They shuddered but didn’t recoil, tucking their face away like they didn’t want to see what happened next.

The smell of blood turned thick and cloying in the air, and Virgil swallowed the sudden welling of saliva in his mouth with no little irritation.

Snarling, he grabbed the back of their shirt with his other hand and yanked, using the shirt as a makeshift scruff and stomping back inside. He dropped them on the mat, pulling the satchel he’d restocked at the last town from his back.

“Don’t you dare touch them, you monster!” Stabby yelled indignantly, and Virgil ignored her entirely to press a pad of gauze against the cut and breathe very carefully through his mouth.

Drowned-Kitten watched him wind thin cloth bandages around the gauze with wide eyes, like they weren’t quite sure this was real. More of those hand motions-- signs?-- and even Stabby grew quiet, thankfully for the headache beginning to pulse behind Virgil’s eyes.

The two of them were eerily silent as they watched him poke around their cozy little home with bated breath, dragging any extra cloth he could find to drape over the one who’d fallen into freezing waters and stoking the fire stove until warmth suffused the room.

Drowned-Kitten’s breathing turned strained almost immediately, the increasing temperature likely feeling much too hot on their skin, but they grit their teeth through it and didn’t try to shed any of the blankets after Virgil just insistently pressed them back on.

He crouched in front of them and held his hands up, moving his fingers through the slow stretches that would help ease the near-frostnip that had blistered Drowned-Kitten’s fingertips red. This, at least, was something he was familiar with, having done it frequently for passing travelers back when he apprenticed under the town’s doctor.

Back then, he’d mostly helped neighbors with colds or bruises and ran delivery errands, rarely seeing the doctor perform actual large-scale treatments. How was it that he was only getting more experience with medicine out in the field after becoming a demon?

Seriously. He was pretty sure that having a monster tending to them was freaking people out.

Case in point, the silent, secretive conversation that the two teens behind him were trying to have, made slightly less discreet by Stabby’s occasional hissed answer. He added a bit more charcoal to the stove, and rose from his squatted position to stare at the two of them, feeling fairly satisfied at the way Drowned-Kitten no longer looked as though they’d been dunked in freezing waters.

It had been an annoying detour, but at least he could say that he hadn’t yet managed to drive someone to death-by-lake just by walking past them.

Dawn would come soon. He unraveled the knotting keeping Stabby in the chair and ducked through the door back into the cold night air before she could fully untangle herself.

He took the knife with him.

-

Naturally, because the fates weren’t fond of him, the pair found him curled up in a cave the next day.

Drowned-Kitten-- or Harley, as Virgil would learn-- could smell demons, and had followed his trail, DW-- also known as Stabby-- right behind them. He hadn’t bothered to hide his scent trail because he hadn’t caught wind of another demon for miles, and foolishly assumed that he was safe. Which had led to him being cornered and interrogated by two teenagers.

Yeah, he’d been less than pleased.

Still, he could snarl and snap until they stepped out of his cave, but he couldn’t exactly get away with the sunlight bright overhead. So, he grumpily conceded to the questioning.

Surprisingly enough, they seemed to believe him when he shook his head ‘no’ to ‘are you going to eat people’. They hadn’t outright expressed doubts, at least. It was kind of concerning that they took his word for it.

DW had demanded the knife back, at least. Smart kid.

He’d attempted to shoo them off afterwards, but Harley had been very insistent on ‘repaying their debt’, wary in the way that meant someone had given them kindness before, but with strings attached. DW had eyed him with more blatant suspicion.

They didn’t owe him anything. Debts, deals, returned favors... Those were for people, not monsters. Virgil had dragged a hand over his face and wished he could say as much.

And then he’d paused.

He’d jabbed a clawed finger at the little hand signs that Harley made, the ones DW had been translating the entire time, and tried to mimic them sloppily until the two cottoned on to what he was asking.

Lessons in hand-speech.

Maybe there was still a way for him to speak after all.

-

From there, they settled into routine.

Virgil spent his days in the shadiest corner of their little house at the urging of Harley’s puppy-dog eyes, and at night, after their daily work was done, he would slink out under DW’s wary gaze and learn how to angle his hands into the proper shapes and flick small motions full of meaning in the right directions.

He picked up on the structure of the language surprisingly fast. Harley was a patient teacher, and DW was always willing to provide extra details on where Virgil had gone wrong.

He’d half expected them to usher him out the door once he’d had the basics down, but the season began to turn and still, they allowed his presence. The blatant trust was enough to make him worry, though any attempts to convince them to be more careful around demons earned him a confused look from Harley and a derisive snort from DW.

Hopefully, Thomas wasn’t being so reckless.

Since he was staying, he insisted on carrying their heavier goods down to the market in the nearby town, heading out with them in the early-morning dark and making sure they didn’t fall into any more lakes on the way there. He spent those market days waiting in a dark spot, his nerves frayed, until evening fell and he could meet them at their agreed rendezvous point.

As he adjusted to the sudden presences around him after so long traveling alone, the two adjusted to him as well. He hadn’t realized just how many noises he made aloud in substitute for his thoughts until Harley showed him all the signs for different emotions, and matched each of them with a soft imitation of Virgil’s growl, or huff, or even, embarrassingly, that cat-like purr that got started when he was particularly pleased. DW had laughed hard enough to make her side cramp up.

He could admit it. It was… nice. To not be feared. To have people to look after again.

Naturally, though, his occasional presence at their side couldn’t go unnoticed forever, and once one person knew, practically the whole town was guaranteed to hear about it. If Virgil had been paying better attention to anything but the two teens under his protection, he could have had advance warning.

But he hadn’t, and so he wasn’t ready when a polite knock came at the door, unusual considering how remote their little home was. He wasn’t ready for the sudden foreboding that washed over him as the three of them exchanged glances.

He wasn’t ready when DW opened the door to the sight of a smiling stranger with a sun-bright sword at his hip.

[azaleavi]

Facetime

Requested by anon: hiiii! i love your fics! could you write sebastian and female reader fic where they’re facetiming while he’s filming a movie in l.a and its late at night and he just keeps smiling and staring at the screen without saying anything and readers like “what???” and he’s just like “you’re just so beautiful” and then shes blushing nonstop

Word count: 1.1k

Author's note: I kind of got off track with this one but I hope you like it. Thank you for the compliment and the request!

Feedback is always appreciated and don't forget to reblog and like if you liked it and want to see more. Thank you!

Masterlist

You were getting ready for bed when your phone started ringing. A sound you have been waiting for for a half an hour. You dropped the blanket you were holding and ran towards the sound in the living room. Sebastian's name was on the screen and you wasted no time to pick up his call. His face lit up your phone screen, the only light coming from his phone.

"Hey" you smiled, holding the device in front of you as you walked back into the bedroom.

"Hey pretty, how are you?" he smiled back, happy to finally see you. He was away in LA, filming a movie and you were back in your house.

"Good, I just miss you" you pouted as you climbed into his side of bed. It had became a habit after he left to sleep on his side. First it was because it smelled like him, which it was long gone now, but you kept doing it as it gave you comfort.

"I miss you too baby. A few weeks and I'll be back with you." he tried to assure you, but you knew how he couldn't be hundred percent sure about when he finished and you knew that it could be longer before he is back.

"Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it" you smiled sadly. You weren't mad at him, or anyone for that matter, it was just how things went with filming.

"Hey, don't go all sad on me. We talked about this" he wiggled his fingers at you playfully in warning. You did talk about it once it became too much for you that he wasn't with you, while he was away for another movie before this one, your first time being apart for a longer period of time.

Facetime was your only option to get any contact with Sebastian as he was in a completely another country while you were home. You understood that this was his job and he loved what he did, but it didn't make it any easier when you haven't seen him in person for more than a month now.

"You still with me?" the voice coming from your phone startled you from your thoughts. Your eyes snapped back to where Sebastian's face was on screen, now contorted in worry.

"Yes, sorry I just got caught up in my head for a second" you forced a smile, which he saw right through.

"What's wrong y/n?" concern clear in his eyes made you turn your head away so he didn't see the tears forming in your eyes. You cleared your throat and looked back at his face on the little screen.

"Nothing's wrong, it was just a hard day" you weren't lying, it really was just one of those days when nothing seemed to be going right, but it also made you yearn for Sebastian's presence even more than usual so talking to him now was hard, knowing you couldn't hug him.

"What happened sweetheart?" his soft voice almost made you cry, but you held back your tears.

"Nothing worked out the way I wanted it to! First I spilled my coffee in the morning then I had to clean it up, making me late. Then I missed the subway so I was even more late than I would've been and I got scolded by my boss. Then the whole day was just horrible, I couldn't get anything done and then I got home and there was almost nothing in the fridge so I couldn't eat what I wanted to." you let everything out. "And then I realized that you're not gonna be home for at least a few more weeks and it just made me even more frustrated and I just want to hug you and I-" you choked up, the tears finally falling from your eyes making you hide your face behind your hands. "I'm sorry" you sobbed.

"Hey, look at me pretty, it's okay" he tried to calm you down. You rubbed your face sighing and wiped your tears away. He had a soft smile on his lips when you looked at him, making your heart leap in your chest. He always knew what he had to do to get you to calm down, but looking at you through a camera was making this a little harder. "There's nothing you should be sorry for. I understand it was a hard day and I'm glad you told me about this." he got closer to the screen. "I miss and want to hug you too and I'm sorry I can't be there for you." you shook your head at his words not wanting him to feel guilty, but before you could open your mouth to say something, he continued "I want you to text or call me whenever you feel like this, okay? Whenever. I don't care what time of the day it is, I want to know about it" you almost started crying again.

"I can't bother you every time I feel a little sad, Seb." you chuckled sadly. "And I can't rely on you all the time to make it better either."

"You won't bother me so get that out of your head." he narrowed his eyes at you. "And I'm not telling you to rely on me all the time, but you can let me know about these feelings. Or think about a happy memory of us. Anything. It could be a small thing too. Just don't be sad alone at home baby. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay I can do that." you nodded, already feeling better.

-

"Okay how was your day?" he lain down on his bed and you did the same in yours. You started talking about your it, telling him how you met this really cute dog in the park. When you finished you asked him the same question so he told you how he dropped one of the props and it broke. You laughed at him, then it became silent as you found him just looking at you smiling.

"What?" you smiled back, guessing he was just thinking back to something.

"You're so beautiful" his soft voice full of love made heat spread across your cheeks.

"Stop it" you shook your head giggling, trying to hide your blush.

"I'm just telling the truth" he continued, enjoying how he made you frustrated. He wanted to thank whoever let the two of you cross paths because you were the best thing that happened to him. He just wanted to compliment you every chance he got as you deserved it and he planned on doing it for the rest of your lives.

Permanent taglist: @byatomoe

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[captainsimagines]

traitor

Summary: It was only one night, no strings attached, just two friends working through their grief together. Steve went to live his life with Peggy and within two weeks of returning, he peacefully passed. Unimaginable things happen everyday, jokes have negative consequences, and protection doesn’t always protect from the possibility… the possibility of carrying a child. He would have stayed if he knew, everyone agrees with this, so why is the world calling Steve Rogers a traitor?

One-Shot (with a happy ending)

Pairing(s): Avengers x Fem Reader; brief Steve Rogers x Fem Reader

Warnings: Unexpected pregnancy; serious talks about abortion; brief mention of suicide (if you squint); mentions of Endgame deaths; strong language; minor descriptions of actual birth; ANGST but with a happy ending! This is purely fanfiction. 

Word Count: 6,600+

A/N: So, Olivia Rodrigo’s album just came out and dude, jfc every song is magical. like... wtf. This is essentially a ‘song fanfic’, but ehhhh not quite. The lyrics don’t match the fanfic lmao but the melody does??? idk this is a shit ton of angst, be warned. It was from a request I got a while back, so this is kind of a request fanfic. 

~

Up until the moment Steve pressed his soft lips to yours, you were certain you had never experienced such a wonderful sensation of magic. You had been witness to actual magic, to beings from other worlds, and yet Steve’s gentle touch was enough to erase any other image, to completely overpower your senses, a kind of magic that dug deep into the trenches of your heart and settled in its new home. 

No, you and Steve were not a couple. There were some flirty remarks over the years, some fantasies that lay dormant, but there was never the craving to actually act upon them. But when half the world disappeared and the remaining Avengers came up with a plan five years later, the loss of a teammate prompted the sudden push of two touch-starved individuals. The rest of the team had gone to sulk in their own corners of the compound, some hard at work at constructing the final piece to the puzzle, and you and Steve ventured off to the kitchen. Two cups of tea each, silent but heavy tears mixing in with the sugar and milk. 

You were the first to break, shoulders crumbling and knees rocking under your weight. You fell to the floor, sobs and hiccups forming into a full-blown attack, your hands scratching at your neck. Steve fell beside you, pulling you into his chest and rocking you back and forth. He cried too, the final words of his best friend ringing in his ears like a dreaded song on repeat. See you in a minute. See you in a minute. See you in a minute. 

Time was irrelevant, you had enough of counting time, estimating it, time-traveling through it. If you could sit there all night, all week, another five years huddled close to Steve Rogers, then so be it. 

‘I can’t believe she’s gone,’ you had sobbed. 

‘I can’t believe it either. I can’t,’ he had cried back. 

You had simply lifted your head and turned his face toward yours, searching his eyes for any hesitation before you had leaned in first. He had returned the intimate gesture almost immediately, gripping you tightly. Tears dripped in between your moving lips, sobs caught inside breathy moans, grips becoming tighter and tighter as each of you shared your first time together. No other partner up until that point had ever pulled such a pained but grateful cry from your throat, no other human being had ever made you feel so safe and peaceful. 

The final battle was over, you had lost yet another teammate, but the world had a chance to start over. And Steve had pulled you aside a few days before he returned the stones, letting you know that he wasn’t coming back the same man. He had been so scared of telling you, of possibly betraying you, but when your palms cupped his cheeks and you gave him a kiss on the lips with a soft whisper of ‘Be with her. Cherish her. Be happy. We’ll meet again’, his worries instantly shattered. He could only rapidly nod his head, grabbing your hands that were soaked in his tears, and kissing them until he said his final goodbyes. 

And he returned such a different man, but with a smile you had never quite seen before. Yes, he was older and you only had a few seconds to actually process that, but he was happy. He had been happy. He finally lived the life he deserved. 

Sitting in that pew two weeks later, both sad and happy tears streaming down your face, you felt at peace for the first time in a long time. You simply gripped Wanda’s hand as they carried the casket down the aisle, a sad melody drowning the church. 

`

The first round of sickness hit you the day of the funeral, but you obviously didn’t think much of it. It was the fits of sadness and grief, the hot coil in the middle of your stomach, you thought. It had to be. It wasn’t until your breakfast was regurgitated into your toilet only a few minutes after enjoying it that you were suddenly worried. 

You sneaked to some liquor store a subway ride away, careful of not leaving a trail. This was embarrassing, it was insane, it couldn’t possibly be real. You gave the cashier your money and ran to the stall provided, peeing on the stick the best you could before placing it on the dirty sink in the corner. You patted your hands on your thighs repeatedly, careful to not touch any other thing in a goddamn liquor store bathroom. 

‘Friday?’ your voice was so defeated, tears already stinging your eyes.

Your little bluetooth sprang to life, ‘Yes, Y/N?’

Your bottom lip was trembling wildly, hands now shaking. ‘Can you stay active with me while I read the results? I can’t… I can’t be alone right now.’

‘Yes, Y/N. Anything you need, I’m here.’ You sobbed openly, thanking her under your breath. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to contact anybody else?’

‘I can’t face them. I can’t face them if it’s positive, Friday.’

‘Okay, it’s alright,’ her voice was so delicate, so quiet and reassuring. ‘Just keep talking to me, Y/N. I think the results should be ready now.’

You inched closer to the test. ‘I’m scared, Friday.’

‘I know,’ Friday sighed, ‘But you will get through this. No matter the result.’

Grabbing the small device from the sink, you swallowed so much saliva that it actually hurt. The plus sign was so clear, so evident in its visibility, and your ears only registered the loud cries escaping your painful lungs because Friday was practically yelling in your ear. 

‘Please, calm down Y/N! Your heart rate is too fast-” she was stuttering, an AI was stuttering. ‘I’m calling for help. You need someone to be here with you. I’m sorry.’

It took ten minutes. Ten minutes of banging outside the bathroom door from the cashier, ten minutes of blurry vision and a strep throat. Sam broke through the door as quickly as he could, eyes flying around the small bathroom until he saw you huddled in the corner, a pregnancy test clutched in your small hand. He crouched down beside you, hands extended but not exactly touching you, and eyes trying to lock with yours. 

‘Y/N, Y/N?’

Just the sound of his voice, the voice of someone who didn’t need this added pain in their lives, it was just too much. Another weight added to your shoulders. 

‘I don’t know why,’ you choked out, ‘I’m so sorry.’

Sam’s face contorted into a pained expression, eyes brimmed with salty tears. ‘What are you talking about? No one is blaming you for anything. You’re safe, I’m here.’

You shook your head violently, ‘I didn’t mean to.’

But as quickly as those words left your mouth, the pounding in your head had become too unbearable. You collapsed into Sam’s arms. 

`

You woke to a single doctor who was monitoring your vitals. She was just sitting beside your bed, clicking random buttons on the screen in front of her. You whimpered slightly, the bright lights temporarily blinding you. The doctor quickly stopped what she was doing and removed the tube from your nose, allowing you to breathe on your own. You ignored the weird scratch that caused, and asked her the question you needed to have answered by a true medical professional - not a liquor store device. 

She confirmed what you already knew. There were no ‘congratulations’ or even ‘I’m sorry’s’, just the fact that you were pregnant and it was very early on. There were still options for you, it was healthy so far, you were healthy so far- 

Wait, options? 

The team were all huddled outside, nerves all over the place. They didn’t know what was going on. Sam knew but it wasn’t his information to pass on. It wasn’t until Bucky’s angry demeanor actually turned violent, a hole forming through the hospital wall. You were all on a private floor, completely displaced from the reality down on other levels, so any freak-outs were only slightly justified. Slightly. 

‘Sam, you gotta tell us. I made a promise to Steve, Sam! I promised to take care of her!’

Bucky’s words gripped Sam’s heart in a metaphorical vice. ‘She’s gotta tell you guys, man. It’s not my place.’

You had curled in on yourself, the doctor’s words echoing louder and louder. 

‘Abortion is an option. At this rate, it would be quick and safe. I can promise you that. It’s your choice.’

You wanted to die. You wanted the world to swallow you up and bury you alive. You wanted to disappear. If you had died in the snap, this wouldn’t have happened. It wouldn’t have happened. 

The ride back to the compound was a quiet one, with Sam driving you and the radio on low volume. 

‘Are you going to tell them?’

You bit your lip, ‘The doctor said I had options.’

Sam’s breath hitched and he tried to mask it, but you had heard it. You felt guilty, disgusting, like you betrayed Steve and the rest of the team. They had just lost him, you had just lost him, and you were carrying his child. And if Steve would have known, he would have wanted it. He would have encouraged you to have it, he would have been so happy, he would have been such a great fa-

‘The choice is yours, Y/N.’ He glanced over at you, ‘Can you at least tell me who the father is?’

The wrecked sobs were like second nature now, choking you with their strength. ‘I’m so sorry!’

Sam pulled to the side of the road and quickly took off his seatbelt, sliding over in the connected front seats to pull you into his chest. ‘Shh, hey. We are not going to be mad at you. Everything’s going to be okay. It may not seem like it now but-’

‘Sam!’ you cried, clutching his shirt in a tight fist. ‘I swear it was an accident! Steve didn’t know! He didn’t know, I swear he didn’t know!’

Sam’s mouth dropped open, an almost embarrassing noise of surprise sounding from the depths of his soul. He ran his hands through your hair, eyes rapidly searching for a single viewpoint. But he couldn’t focus on any one thing, not when you were shuddering against him and apologizing nonstop. 

Steve didn’t know. 

`

The team had reacted in a similar manner. They so desperately wanted to wish you a congratulations, it was the norm for this kind of thing. Especially with such a rough few years - bringing life into this world could be considered an ultimate blessing. But this was Steve’s child, his baby, his only baby in this timeline. It was a part of him, something he had unknowingly left behind. 

The team took a few days. The pain of losing Natasha, of losing Steve, of losing Tony. The gift of life. It was just too much. 

And you found yourself in front of Wanda’s bedroom door, hands clutching your night robe closed and knees wobbly. She brought you tea, she laid underneath the covers with you, she spooned you until you stopped crying. 

‘We weren’t together.’

‘You weren’t?’

You sat up, muscles straining due to your thousandth crying session that week. ‘No, it was one time. It was a mutual thing. We just… felt safe. And we made love.’

Wanda shut her eyes briefly, only to open them for two parallel tears to slip. ‘That sounds beautiful.’

‘We used protection. It really was an accident.’

Wanda interrupted, ‘No, don’t try and justify yourself. It happened. It’s done.’

You whimpered, reaching out to grab her hands. ‘I feel so guilty for even talking to you. I don’t know how you did it. I’m so selfish to be pouring all this on you-’

‘Hey, hey,’ she whispered, ‘But I am the only one who can truly understand. I have lost more in my lifetime than anybody ever should. But I am going to help you get through this, Y/N.’

You pulled her into a hug, ‘I missed you so much. I’m so sorry, but I can’t do this.’

Wanda slowly pulled away, eyes cloudy and touch of red twinge flying in her irises. ‘Alright. I won’t leave your side. No matter what you decide.’

` 

The chair was cold, the room was cold, no matter how inviting the hospital tried to make this room. It was decorated in the most neutral colors, so delicate in its designs, pamphlets and books scattered on every available surface. It was made to make the pregnant person feel secure, to feel comfortable in the hands of their doctor, but it just made you sick. 

And when the doctor asked if you would like an ultrasound first, that it wasn’t actually necessary for you to view it, you found yourself saying yes. You were at six weeks, it would be there. Wanda clenched her eyes shut, because even if you were strong enough to do that, she wasn’t. But she was here to hold your hand. She would hold your hand no matter what. 

It was the size of a grain of rice. That fuzzy, white figure off a little to the right of your uterus was the size of a grain. A literal grain of rice. The monitor shifted and the doctor cleared their throat, the slimy device absentmindedly being circled around your lower abdomen. 

‘Oh my god,’ you whispered, eyes locked on the place the doctor had their finger. Wanda brought her hand up to her mouth and looked away. 

That’s when you heard it. 

The steady rhythm of a strong heartbeat. 

Your chest started heaving, tears staining your cheeks as you listened to the beautiful sound. 

‘I’m so sorry,’ the doctor mumbled, ready to pull the monitor’s plug to end the live video but you gripped their arm before they could. 

‘No, no!’ you yelped, the heartbeat still sounding, so early in its actual life that this was for sure Steve’s child. 

You turned to Wanda, face contorting into one of agonizing regret. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t do this to Steve.’

Wanda gulped and took in a ragged breath, ‘Y/N, Steve’s not here.’

‘No,’ you whined, head turning back to look at the monitor. The monitor with yours and Steve’s child on it. ‘This is the only real part of him we have left, right?’

Wanda opened her mouth but shut it again, unable to formulate a proper response. 

‘This is Steve’s child,’ you stated, sucking in a breath through your sobs. ‘This is my child.’

` 

The team was alerted of your decision the minute you walked into the common room. They had known what you left for, dread itching in their souls and morals twisting greedily, but they hadn’t stopped you. They couldn’t do that to you. 

‘Hi,’ you mumbled, placing your things on the counter. Everyone kept their heads down, lumps growing in their throats as each second passed. ‘I’m okay.’

Clint was the first one to speak. ‘Did everything go well? Did they hurt you?’

You smiled with your teeth for the first time in weeks, ‘No, they didn’t hurt me. They didn’t even touch me.’

For a few seconds, no one caught on to your words. But Bucky was the first to register them, to etch them deeply into his brain, to stand from his seat and walk to you cautiously. ‘You decided-?’

You smiled wide now, happy tears falling over your strained cheeks. ‘I’m having a baby.’

The team erupted, cries and cheers deafening you. Bucky stumbled over and hugged you close, arms wrapped over your shoulders and face buried in your neck. He had to bend his knees to keep that position. He weeped into your shoulder and thanked you repeatedly, his own body rumbling with broken sobs. You held him close, fingers digging into his shirt and the skin of his back. 

‘We promise, Y/N,’ Sam said off to the side, waiting for his turn to hug you. ‘We promise to take care of you and this baby.’

A few more long-awaited congratulations were shared. ‘Guess I’m on desk duty for the next nine months, huh?’

Bucky held you tighter. 

`

The first four months were certainly eventful. Wanda insisted on taking pictures of you every few weeks. She had you model with a nice tight shirt to show off your growing stomach, different props in your arms as the weeks passed on.  Flowers, sporting equipment, random Avengers inventions, signs that read the number of weeks you were at. You even did couple shoots, with your teammates posing behind you with their hands on your stomach and an equally bright smile.

She had them printed out and framed, the compound common rooms now littered with random photos of you and your growing child. It was like a timeline, a museum considering you would catch someone inspecting the photographs. This time it was Scott, casually eating his cereal and balancing it in his hand as he walked the hallway. He had this silly smile on his face the whole time, milk dripping from his bottom lip. In his photo, he was posed behind you with a giant smile, back arched and head thrown back while you were trying your best to arch your back as well. And then he saw you watching him, eyes falling from your face to your stomach, and that silly smile growing wider. 

Happy insisted on doing yoga with you every other morning, his chosen playlists actually Tony’s. Half expecting the songs to only emit the essence of rock and roll, you were surprised when the playlist only contained acoustics. Happy winked at you, ‘He was a man of taste, Y/N. He, too, had those sad driving songs.’

Peter was hesitant to visit at first. He was still mourning Tony, as you all were, and seeing everyone again was certainly a hard thing to do. But he managed, and the moment he saw you there, trying to balance a plastic bottle on your tiny stomach, he burst into a fit of giggles. 

‘Oh, oh! I almost got it!’ you encouraged yourself, stomach not yet protruded enough to quite get it. 

Peter rushed over and caught the bottle as it slipped, ‘You’ll get there. How do you feel?’

You grinned at the kid, ‘Like I’m pregnant.’

Peter chuckled, ‘I wouldn’t know, so.’

‘It’s weird,’ you admitted, turning back to your abandoned bowl of fruit. You popped a piece of pineapple in your mouth, ‘But I just remind myself that they’re gonna be an angel when they come out.’

‘All slimy and angelic.’

You swatted at Peter, ‘They’re healthy. That’s all that matters.’

Peter placed his hand on your stomach, half-expecting something to happen. ‘I can’t believe you’re having his baby.’

You bit your lip, willing yourself not to cry. Steve should be here experiencing this. ‘Me neither.’

`

The next month had come so quickly. Your friends - your family - made sure to keep you occupied. Whether it was to shop, to nap together, to eat together, to exercise together, anything, they were by your side. It was so overwhelming at times, but not wanting to scare anyone, you took time for yourself whenever you could. You’d settle in your room, in a nearby cafe, in Natasha’s room, and just sit and breathe. With one hand on your stomach, you couldn’t possibly fathom the luck on your side. It always tore your heart in two when you realized Steve would never meet his child, absolutely mutilated it. But the realization that this child was going to have such a massive family, your family, uncles and aunts who would die for the kid - that realization was sometimes too much. 

The thunder from outside startled everyone. The quiet night everyone was having was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a certain god, hair now cut and beard trimmed, running into the common area. He was practically hyperventilating, his quick pace halting as he scanned the room. ‘Is it true?’

‘You got my message?’ Wanda asked, shutting off the water from the sink. 

‘I’m sorry, I was away. I just got the message and-’

Thor lay his eyes on you, your obvious stomach, and he started crying softly. ‘It’s true?’

You smiled at him, opening your arms for an embrace. But Thor fell to his knees in front of you, forehead resting on your stomach. ‘This is a miracle.’

‘It really is,’ you laughed, wiping away a few stray tears. ‘The condom broke.’

Laughter sounded almost instantly. 

Thor looked up at you, eyes red and eyebrows furrowed. ‘He didn’t know?’

You shook your head, ‘No, Steve didn’t know. I promise.’

Thor nodded, believing you. He stood slowly, encasing you in a tight squeeze. He hadn’t changed much since you last saw him, but he did seem to be drinking less. ‘After so much loss, the Heaven’s send us a gift from a beloved friend.’

`

Bucky seemed to be the happiest. Although he shared your beliefs that Steve should be here to experience this, to cherish this, to be the father he had deserved to be, Bucky couldn’t help but feel grateful that you decided to keep the baby. He knew he needed to stop relying on Steve to fix his mind, this he had to do on his own, but the bundle of joy inside of you just added to his undying love for his best friend. This was a piece of him, a true half of Steve’s heart that would soon be breathing air and opening its eyes. 

He was currently laying beside you, just woken up from a nap and lazily drawing circles over your clothed tummy. You were still asleep, deep breaths a little ragged since you were twisted slightly to your side. You had given up trying to sleep on your back nowadays. 

‘Hey there,’ Bucky whispered, a funny smile forming on his face because he can’t believe he’s talking to your literal stomach. ‘You know you’re a miracle, right?’

There was no response, obviously. But Bucky just positioned himself to lean on his elbow, temple resting in the palm of his hand. ‘We’re going to love you so much. Steve would have loved you so much.’

He placed his metal hand on your stomach, careful not to apply so much pressure. He was hesitant though, the metal hand now from Wakanda but still something he didn’t entirely trust. Still, he rubbed smooth circles on your side. ‘I already love you so much.’

Kick.

Bucky widened his eyes, a hitch in his breath. Was that real?

‘Did you just respond to me?’ Bucky asked, a little laugh escaping his lips. ‘Should I say it again?’

Nothing happened for a long while. He switched hands, rubbing a little deeper now. It was a free massage for you, anyway. 

Bucky bit his lip and looked up at your face, still peacefully dreaming. He leaned closer to your stomach and repeated his earlier confession. ‘I love you.’

Kick. 

Bucky shot up from his spot on the bed and covered his mouth, a loud laugh accidentally escaping and startling you awake. 

‘W-What?’

‘They kicked! They kicked!’

‘Seriously?’

Bucky was shooting through the stars, because even though it was a long shot, he felt like somehow Steve was telling him he loved him back. 

`

Sam’s leg bounced madly as he watched the doctor slick up the generator. You repeatedly tried to calm him, tell him that it would be quick and simple, and there was nothing to be worried about. 

You were six months now. Belly now protruding to the point where you could only see the tips of your toes when you glanced downward, and the baby was positioned farther into your back. If anything, you were having a giant freaking baby. He was a product of a super soldier. 

You remembered having that scary conversation with the doctors, your whole family beside you as they heard and relayed the information. 

‘Your baby is perfectly healthy. The serum isn’t affecting it. His lungs are forming less quickly than the other organs but there’s no serious worry.’

Bucky had literally cackled at that, confusing everyone in the room. ‘Steve and his shit lungs.’

But now you were finding out the sex. Only one person was allowed in the room this time, and Sam had literally begged you with his eyes to choose him. 

‘Are you two ready?’

You each nodded at the doctor, waiting for the monitor to spring to life. After a few seconds, the heartbeat was detected. You gripped Sam’s hand in yours, a quiet ‘thank god’ passing through his lips. 

Then the giant image of a literal baby appeared on the screen. It was so surreal. It resembled a quick sketch, like one Steve would have casually drew, and you couldn’t help but imagine him drawing that very image from memory. 

‘Y/N, I-’ Sam cleared his throat, smiling at you. 

‘Would you like to know the sex of the baby?’

‘Yes, please,’ you answered, gripping Sam’s hand harder. 

The doctor moved the generator a few times more, hitting the spacebar on the computer to capture the image. ‘Congratulations, you’re having a boy.’

You shuttered a tiny laugh as Sam flew out of his seat, arms extended upward for a moment before he brought his hands down to kiss them over and over. 

‘I’ll print this out for you,’ the doctor smiled, leaving you and Sam to celebrate. 

`

Everyone had gathered later that night to find out the news. You had printed enough copies for everyone who wanted one. Bets were placed, a multitude of gifts already mounted in online shopping carts. 

‘Don’t keep us waiting!’ Rhodey shouted, champagne bottle at the ready and propped up on his thigh for when you made your announcement. 

Sam was standing beside you, a massive grin plastered on his face. You rolled your eyes at him and urged him on, telling him that you were fine with him saying it. Sam didn’t need to be told twice. 

‘It’s a boy!’

Pop! Drinks were poured and hugs were shared, with even Friday coming over the monitor to congratulate you. 

Even in the midst of all the excitement, you felt a little empty. But you enjoyed your pre-baby shower, happy that everything was so unbelievably working out. 

It was midnight when you alerted Friday to call Happy to your room. You needed a ride. 

Happy was slightly irritated at being woken up, but once you told him where you were heading, he obliged. The ride was silent, comfortable, with Happy glancing at you once in a while to make sure you were okay. 

You walked across the grass slowly, hands resting on your stomach and just a little waddle in your walk. You flashed your phone light over the headstones even though the headstone you were looking for was in a secluded area. Happy trailed you, keeping a respectable distance. 

You stopped in front of the small building, the fence somewhat blocking your path. But there was no security around, and even if you were caught on camera, your face let everyone know who you were and your connection to Steve. You had no worries. 

You broke the lock easily and opened the door. It was almost entirely marble, a good deal of Steve’s actual aesthetic. So simple, not overly patriotic, and secluded. He had refused to be buried in Arlington. 

You sat on the bench provided, the three names in front of you standing out like they were begging to be read out loud. So you complied. 

‘Sarah,’ you muttered, smiling as the name rolled off your tongue. ‘Thank you for sending everyone a literal angel.’

You muttered his father’s name as well, but felt no personal connection to it. You spent at least ten minutes building up the courage to utter his name, to say his name in front of him again. He was buried right underneath your feet, his name the only thing for you to see. 

‘Steve,’ you sighed and rubbed your stomach. ‘Steve.’

You sobbed silently and watched as the tears fell on top of your resting hands. ‘I don’t regret it.’

You were met with silence. ‘I don’t regret any of it. God knows why he did this. But you lived your life, and I just can’t believe I have to bring life into this world without you here.’

‘It’s a boy, Steve. A lovely little boy.’

You brought your hand up to your mouth to bite the side of it, throat clenching. ‘Everyone is so happy. I am, too. I promise you.’

You lowered your hand back to your stomach. ‘I just wish that you could feel that happiness.’

The moonlight moved slightly, shining on his name brighter now. ‘He’ll know about you, don’t worry about that.’ You laughed. 

You didn’t want to keep Happy waiting. You stood from the bench slowly, feet sore. You walked closer to him, wishing you could easily bend down and give him a kiss. But you physically couldn’t right now, so you blew him one instead. ‘Thank you.’

`

Somehow the rumor got out that an Avenger was pregnant. And when Wanda was seen outside without a large stomach, all fingers were pointed at you. 

The news went ballistic, most positive and raving, while others pondered just who had gotten you pregnant. You had been seen with everyone in paparazzi photos, so no actual conclusion had been made. 

Until a picture of you at Steve’s gravesite was leaked. 

It was constant bombardment, timelines were stitched together, magazines and their headlines were having a field day. Rhodey had tried to cancel these news stories, to threaten lawsuits, but to no avail. The world was now cursing Steve’s name - ‘how dare he leave her while pregnant?’, ‘how could he leave her pregnant and for another woman?’, ‘did he even know?’

The team had done everything in their power to try and clear yours and Steve’s name, but no one was having it. Steve’s love story was now tarnished, with many calling him a traitor and a deadbeat. It was no use. 

You struggled to climb the stairs, inwardly cursing the staff for not installing a ramp instead. The flashes were blinding, the lights were hot, and the various microphones placed on the stand were comical. 

Everyone hushed, looks of sympathy and pity slapping you in the face. 

‘I know what you’re all thinking and what you’ve all been saying,’ you started, eyes wandering to the far corner of the room where your team were huddled. ‘But I need to clear a few things up.’

‘Steve didn’t know.’

The crowd erupted, questions flying at you like fast bullets. They were silenced after a few moments. ‘We shared a moment with each other before we brought everyone back. I didn’t know I was pregnant until after his funeral.’

The crowd murmured amongst each other. ‘He told me he was planning to stay in another timeline. To live his life. I encouraged him. He did not leave me alone and pregnant. He truly didn’t know.’

You finished, they didn’t deserve a deeper explanation. You ignored their calls for questions, some even trying to crowd you at the doors. But you pushed through them, cradling your stomach with a newfound sense of pride. 

`

It was time. 

You sat up in your bed and quickly wiped away the hard crusts from the corners of your eyes. You sat there for a few seconds before you felt another harsh twinge. ‘A-ah!’

You didn’t know why you paused, legs now thrown over the side of the bed. They felt like menstrual cramps, it could be false labor. You let out a heavy breath and pushed yourself up, legs wobbly. But the moment you did, it was like something snapped. Your legs were wet and a tiny puddle had started forming on the floor. 

‘Friday!’

The lights in your room turned on immediately, ‘Y/N, is it time?’

You moaned at the uncomfortable cramping, ‘Yeah, I think it is.’

‘I’m waking and alerting the team right now, Y/N. Sit back down, please.’

You listened to Friday, sitting at the edge of your bed for a few moments before you realized you had to pack a bag. You shuffled across your room and grabbed the duffel bag Scott had left for you a few days ago. You packed a pair of socks, sweats, underwear, vaseline and your toothbrush, hairbrush, and phone. You zipped your bag just in time for both Bucky and Sam to throw open your door, Sam struggling to put his shoes on and Bucky slipping on a jacket inside-out. 

‘Y/N, is it really time? Are you ready? Are you okay?’

You ignored the cramping in your back and laughed at them, ‘Yes! My water broke, I’m in pain, it’s time.’

With both Sam and Bucky at your sides, they held onto you as you all stumbled down the hallway. Thor was already waiting with the elevator open, the biggest smile on his aging face. 

‘Wanda and Bruce are preparing the room. Scott already called the doctor. Clint’s in route,’ Bucky reassured. The three men huddled into the elevator with you, all instructing you to breathe and to squeeze them if you needed to. 

But even though you were in pain, albeit not as extreme as it was going to inevitably get, you were so incredibly happy. They were all so loud, so chaotic, and you were as calm as a cucumber. 

The elevator dinged. ‘Good luck, Y/N,’ you heard Friday call after you. You pinched your eyes closed, the thought that Friday was ultimately a part of Tony’s consciousness - Tony was wishing you good luck. 

The pressure in your hips was starting to build and you didn’t know how long this would actually take. Some people had quick births, some people lay in labor for hours, some for a day. But it seemed like this was going to be pretty quick, because your next scream was completely involuntarily. 

Bucky winced, leading you to the bed Wanda had just lay sheets on. ‘You’re doing great, Y/N. Absolutely perfect.’

You laughed at Bucky and gripped his hand in silent thanks before slipping into the bed and trying to get comfortable. Before you could truly feel like you made it, like the first hard step was done, you sat up quickly. 

‘Wait, wait! Nat’s sweater! I was gonna wear Nat’s sweater!’

Thor was already out the door, ‘I’ll get it! Don’t worry!’

You smiled at the ceiling, beads of sweat now rolling down your forehead. ‘Oh, this hurts!’

It was an hour. Once you shimmied into Natasha’s purple knitted sweater, you lay there trying to control your breathing. Everyone had piled into the room one right after the other. The room was big enough, spacious enough for even Bruce to roam freely. Although you were in an immense amount of pain, you still focused on your team. 

Scott was on his third cup of coffee, sipping excitedly as he conversed with the others. Bruce was constantly checking your vitals and wanting everything the doctor was saying repeated. Wanda was beside you, a hand gripping yours and the other running ice chips along your lips. Bucky was on your other bedside wearing one of Steve’s sweatshirts because it still smelled like him. His logic was that if he was wearing something of Steve’s the first moment he held your baby, then the first thing he smelled would be the remnants of his father. 

And Thor was practically speechless, silent in his own little corner and feeling like the god’s really did bless everyone in this room after such turmoil.

Clint arrived with Peter trailing behind him just when the doctor instructed you sit up - you were at ten centimeters. 

‘You gotta push, Y/N! You gotta push when the doctor says push!’

You yelled until your lungs gave out, head almost rolling back but Sam held it in his palm. ‘C’mon, Y/N! You’re doing great!’

You usually had perfect pitch when you sang, never faltering when it was time to hit a high note. But your voice was cracking at the most unusual times, throat rubbed raw as you felt your hips splinter open. 

‘He’s crowning!’

Wanda traded places with Sam real quick, deciding that she wanted to see the baby when he was finally out. Bucky had a death grip on your hand, tears flowing freely and a smile to match Thor’s. 

‘Push, Y/N! Push!’

‘I’m-I’m! I’m sorry! I can’t!’

The doctor was working her hands around the head, trying to ease the baby out easier. ‘Trust me, Y/N. One more big push and the shoulders will be out. That’s the hardest part.’

The doctor’s words were starting to drown out, and your head lolled back again. You felt tiny smacks on your cheeks, ‘C’mon, Y/N. You can do this. Everyone believes in you. You’re so goddamn strong, Y/N!’

That was Bucky’s voice. Bucky. 

You opened your eyes, delirious for a second. ‘Steve?’

Bucky whimpered and nodded, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing kisses all over. ‘He’s here. I feel him, Y/N. You can do this.’

And you could feel him. You could see your family but you could feel him. It was so light, like a gentle whisk across the cheek, a promise that this truly was a miracle. 

You screamed as you pushed under doctor’s orders, feeling numb and abused but satisfied. His shoulders slipped out and along with them came his arms and torso, legs and all ten toes. The doctor caught him quickly, lifting him up vertically to let you see him. He was already crying. 

‘He’s here!’

You sobbed and smiled widely, laughter rattling your chest as the team bombarded you with quick hugs. Sam remained at your side, his eyes motioning for Bucky to go see the baby. 

‘Who’s cutting the cord?’

You looked around the room but you knew. You answered the doctor’s question. ‘Bucky.’

Bucky was truly confused. Not because of your decision, but because he couldn’t possibly be worthy of this. His hands, those hands that had killed so many people involuntarily, had almost killed Steve, those hands were now gripping a pair of medical scissors to cut the symbolization of new life entering the world. He turned to you for permission one last time, before he gripped the cord in his hand and cut where the doctor pointed. 

His shoulders felt a million times lighter. Like he was set free all over again. 

They cleaned the baby up quickly and swaddled him. The doctor placed him in your arms, all warm and utterly safe, to look back up at you with the same blue eyes as his father. 

You sobbed happily, brushing your fingers delicately along his pink cheek. ‘Hi. Hi there.’

He was no longer crying, just staring up in pure astonishment at the various faces staring back at him. 

‘Y/N, he’s beautiful,’ Clint said, tissue already in hand. 

‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ you spoke softly. 

‘Do we have a name?’

It was like everyone said it in unison. ‘Steve.’

You snuggled into the bed and Natasha’s sweater, somewhat aware of the doctor still fixing you up down there. You would try feeding later, but for now your newborn needed to be passed around the group and be awed at. 

You carefully guided him to Bucky, holding his head gently in your palm. Bucky took him, arms instinctively curling in the correct position. Once Bucky had him in his arms, it was like everything that happened in the world was worth it. Absolutely everything. 

Bucky watched in fascination as the baby curled deeper in his chest, little fist clutching Steve’s sweatshirt. He took the sweetest little intake of air…

`

xxMoni

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: IV

“I had a few, got drunk on you

And now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of 

How you tasted.”

— Medicine, Harry Styles

A/N: if i said i’m apologizing for the way i left off ch3, yes i did ❤️ no i didn’t ❤️ it was fun ❤️ as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! and if you enjoy the piece, please reblog it!!! it keeps content creators motivated!! without further delay, hope you enjoy what’s in store for Sherlock and Watson this chapter cause it’s uhhhh quite a bit of uhhhh ~stuff~ 😌

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

word count: 26.4k

content/warnings: a mild addiction to sexting, some pretty sparkly lingerie, a very interesting photo, a strange but satisfying gift, rough sex and degradation, pillow talk about the validity of the men in Twilight, the satisfying gift being put to even more good use, Y/N going over to Harry’s apartment for the first time, mild mentions of blood, and an impromptu Hamilton re-enactment amidst more lemon blueberry pancakes

///

For the next three days, the sexting grows more frequent. 

Harry feels somewhat humiliated by it, really. He’s an adult— a full-grown, two hundred and nine year old man— and trading nudes with a simple girl shouldn’t be getting him as worked up as it does. He should know how to handle his hormones better, and the thing is, he usually does. But no one in the last few centuries has made him feel as desperate as Y/N does; he hasn’t felt this helpless for someone since he was alive. The vampire just wasn’t prepared to handle the needy responses she so easily yields from his body and he’s horribly rusty on how to skate this thin sheet of metaphorical ice. It’s like he can feel it cracking and crunching beneath his feet, but he has absolutely no power over how to stop it. Any minute, it’s bound to take him under, and he has no choice but to allow himself to drown in it. 

The following seventy two hours are full of so many dirty promises and explicit images, his phone might as well be a porno hard drive.

After coaxing Y/N into a few orgasms through the phone and receiving just as many in return, a dangerous game is set into motion that Harry knows is probably unhealthy not only for his self-worth, but for the sensitivity of his anatomy. He can only get off so many times before his joints are begging for a break. 

He wakes up Wednesday morning with a stiff ache running along his inner thighs and ebbing across the underside of his balls, but there’s an undeniable contentment stewing behind it. He doesn’t truly mind the throb, comforted by the fact that Y/N is probably facing similar issues at the moment. He finds himself smiling coyly as he flips an omelette onto one of his marble-print platters, recalling the events from the night before. 

According to what he’d heard on the other end of the phone, present throughout the array of shaky gasps, cracked whimpers, and wet sounds of pleasure that had echoed from the speaker, Harry had made Y/N squirt. 

That was a tremendous stroke to his already huge ego. The idea that he’d been able to make her cum so hard that she’d soiled her brand new sheets had been circling around his head for the last couple of hours, fluffing his confidence. It’s a milestone achievement, to be honest. He’d done something that very few men have the skill to achieve in person, meanwhile he’d done it just by using his voice and extensive imagination. The arrogance he’s sporting right now is more than justified. His cheeks are starting to ache from how hard he’s grinning.

The vampire is so lost in his recollections that he nearly misses the chime of his phone, the unique ringtone that beeps out being as welcomed as ever. 

Harry scoops up his device while spooning a piece of his green pepper and mushroom egg dish into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he swipes into Y/N’s text conversation. He smoothers the giddiness fluttering in his stomach; he’s not a child. 

As it turns out, he’d killed those butterflies for no solid reason because the instant her message pops up, they come right back to life. 

Morning! Thought I’d show you what I’m planning on wearing to work today. 

Harry roughly swallows down his breakfast at the attachment following the caption, a shiver coiling down his spine. “Fucking hell.”

The photo is a mirror shot, taken in her tiny bathroom. It’s a full body image where she’s clad in a matching set of bra and panties, the material sparkly bright red lace. The bottoms are high-waisted, hugging her tummy and hips in a way he deems perfect, the lace decorating her skin beautifully. The bra is see-through, so he has an unrestrained view of her chest and he doesn’t know why, but he thinks he might love the way her breasts look in lingerie more than without it. Make no mistake, he’ll willingly drool over her no matter what, but there’s just such a refined beauty in seeing her figure in such an elegant piece. She’s like a present set out for him to unwrap, preferably with his teeth. 

Then he notices the garters and the next forkful of food lodges in his throat. They hug around her legs deliciously, the bands settled midway down her thighs as the straps run up the sides and clip onto the hem of her panties. Yeah, he would definitely use his teeth. 

After gawking at the artwork for a minute, Harry finally gathers himself enough to type back a decent reaction.

I’m pretty sure that outfit doesn’t apply to the workspace dress code. 

Y/N shakes her head in amusement at his response, giggling softly as she finishes shimmying into her black skinny jeans, buttoning them over the skimpy lace. 

I’ll cover up for the sake of the customers. But it’s just such a nice set, I figured someone else should get to appreciate it with me.  

Harry sets his utensil down on top of his plate, omelet only half eaten. His appetite has molded into a very different type of hunger. He pads out of the kitchen, feeling the ten AM sunlight filter through the glass wall of his living room and warm his bare chest and back. He heads for the bathroom that branches out of the entrance corridor, coming to a stop right in front of its mirror. He begins to clean up his appearance, combing his bed head into a presentable state (he hadn’t slept, per usual, but rolling around his pillows last night while he indulged fantasies about Y/N had done his curls in something fierce), fixing his royal blue briefs along his hips and dragging the waistband down to show off the dip of his prominent pelvic bones.

Once the immortal is done, he taps back with eager strokes of his thumbs. 

I can’t believe you’ve never worn that for me. That’s a criminal offense. Literally worth capital punishment. 

Oh, really? Capital punishment? And who are you to decide my verdict?

I’m the executioner, obviously. I’m in charge of dispensing the verdict and I promise you, I’ll see to it that you get what you deserve. It’s my civic duty.

Y/N scoffs at his quip, tugging her navy polo shirt over her torso and quickly running a brush through her hair. She puts it up into a neat ponytail, sighing lightly as she stares at her tired reflection. She wishes she could ditch work for the day and entertain more conversation with Harry, but she literally can’t afford to.

Well, you’re gonna have to wait while I go perform my own type of civic duty. Making the world a better place, one grilled panini at a time. 

Harry’s lips jolt. She’s so clever and witty, he doesn’t know how she could possibly be from such a dull, monochrome town. 

I understand. Justice calls. But before you go, can I send you a picture of what I’M wearing today? Could use a few style tips. 

That’s pretty ironic coming from someone whose last name is literally ‘Styles.’

I know, I know. But even fashion icons have their insecurities sometimes. 

Fair point, nobody’s perfect. Lemme see your OOTD, then.

The outfit of the day appears to be no outfit at all, according to Harry’s picture. It’s taken on a mirror, like her own, and it depicts him standing with one hand holding his phone in front of his face while the other seems to be doing jazz hands down his body playfully. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of deep blue briefs (probably because he’d completely ruined the maroon pair he was wearing last night, if his broken moans and heavy panting had been any indication) and they hug his frame flawlessly. The fabric is bunched around his lean thighs, tiger head tattoo peeking out to accompany the rest of the collection, which includes all the inkings running the length of his left arm as well as the butterfly and swallows across his torso. His v-line is evident as ever, dipping below the elastic band teasingly. His chest is broad and his biceps are taut, despite the fact that he’s not even flexing. He looks like a Greek statue and Y/N is positive the higher powers designed Harry with that specific thought in mind.

Y/N doesn’t realize drool is gathering in her mouth until it tickles the inside of her bottom lip. She snaps her jaw closed, clearing her throat sheepishly. Over a minute has passed of her just ogling and she can feel heat layering across her cheeks. She knows Harry probably has the cockiest expression on his face at the moment, obvious in the tone of the next comment he delivers. 

Damn, it’s that bad, huh? Guess I’ll have to change. 

No, it’s perfect. Simple, but effective. Very professional. 

Why, thank you! 

My pleasure.

Here, take this as a token of my appreciation. Hopefully it can help get you through the day. 

This specific photo is taken from an above point of view, as if Y/N were looking down at Harry’s body along with him. His pectorals and stomach muscles appear more defined, tattoos darker and skin more evidently sunkissed. Lower down, there’s the obvious outline of what lies within his boxers, snuggled up against his thick thigh and tempting her to let out a soft whine. Then, resting casually against his abdomen is his free hand, sporting a thumbs-up that gives a purposefully goofy vibe to the risky image. He’s such an idiot. 

The mortal’s answer is just as silly and lighthearted as his gesture. 

Thank you, I’ll keep it locked in my heart forever. 

I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

That’s the first interaction of many that further opens the door to their virtual sex life. Things hardly stay that innocent. 

That night when Y/N gets home from work, they undergo another round of phone sex. It starts off the same: cheeky banter that leads to cheeky pictures that eventually leads to utter filth. 

And that’s how they spend the next few days— taking care of each other’s needs digitally until Friday rolls around. There’s plenty of those encounters, but there’s definitely favorites. 

A session during one of Harry’s self-care baths, when he puts her on speaker and she talks him through tugging one out while the scent of lavender salts— which he’d chosen because they smell like her— leave his heated skin feeling soft and supple. Another instance where he makes her orgasm while she has gotten bored watching a scary movie marathon on her couch, the screams of the horror film mere background noise compared to all the sweet nothings Harry huskily mumbles into her ear, his dominant voice filtering through her headphone and instructing her on how to make herself feel good.

Harry messages her at three A.M. at one point, wide awake as ever, all of his thoughts occupied by the concept of Y/N laying on her tummy between his thighs and sucking him off at a slow pace. He can practically see her small hands wrapped around his girth, stroking up to meet her pretty lips, her tongue lapping at his tip eagerly as she whines around a full mouth. She’s always just so eager. Even at the crack of dawn, she’s awake by some miracle, and happily willing to delve into that fantasy with him. Her soft, timid tone drifts across the shells of his ears, explicitly sketching out how she’d take him all the way down her throat until she gags, and how she’d kiss all over the head of his prick just to smear his precum over her lips to then lick it off, and how she’d rock against his lap fast and hard while he takes her nipples between his teeth. How she wouldn’t stop until he’s dripping down her thighs and groaning into her throat. How she’d let him fuck her as many times as it takes to tire himself out. 

Harry obviously repays her, and it comes in the form of him painting out a scenario where she’s gotten home from a long day at the café. He tells her about how he’d be there waiting for her in nothing but his underwear, sitting back on his elbows in her bed, touching himself over his briefs just at the thought of pleasuring her. About how he’d lay her out and taste every inch of her body with his tongue, and how he’d run his teeth across her inner thighs tenderly while his fingers play with her clit, and how he’d have her ride his face deep and sloppy until she’s shaking and sensitive. How he’d tie her to the bed and toss her legs over his shoulders while he pounds her into the mattress, marking bruises across her neck as she sucks on his fingers and tightens around his cock like “the snug little thing you are.”

They even take their fun out of the confines of their houses and into public settings, just to give it an adrenaline high. Those situations are foreplay; it’s how they prep each other throughout the day for when they’re both finally alone and can truly help one another to the fullest. 

It happens Thursday on two occasions. 

First, to Y/N, who is sitting in the backroom on her lunch break, though she’s barely touched her food. She’s much more interested in what Harry has to say. Much more interested in how he says he wishes he could be there with her right now. That she could sneak him in through the back door of the restaurant and they could lock themselves in that tiny supply room, making sure no one would disturb what he’s about to do to her. That he would drop to his knees and drag her jeans down her legs, pressing damp kisses in the denim’s wake, biting hickies in the areas he knows she loves to receive them. He would mount her knees over his shoulders and bury his face between her thighs, looking up at her through heavy lashes as he licks into her desperately. He would have her grab onto his curls and guide his tongue just the way she likes it, and she’d have to bite into her cheek to keep from getting caught. 

He talks about how he’d take her against the supply shelves, one hand clamped over her mouth while he pants praise into her ear, her body jolting roughly upwards against the surface as she clings to his back. How he’d hold her up with the other arm and slam her down onto his cock, cooing things like, “Gotta keep quiet for me, sweetheart. Can’t make you cum if we get caught.” and “Such a filthy girl, sneaking me in here just to fuck you. Baby just wants to walk around the rest of the day full of me, doesn’t she?” 

That fantasy leaves her in a bothered haze the rest of the work day. It’s bad enough that she almost drops her tray three different times and has to ask multiple customers to repeat their orders. 

Y/N gets back at Harry, though. That revenge is the second occasion. 

The vampire had mentioned that he would be going out with his friends that evening to a bar and she takes full advantage of that. When the picture comes through, Harry nearly spits out his Manhattan drink. 

He’s sitting in a booth surrounded by his entire group and he’d been talking shit with Niall about golf. The vampire doesn’t care for the sport, but Niall loves it, and Harry loves getting on Niall’s nerves, therefore it’s all pretty self-explanatory. Mitch and Adam join in, with Mitch obviously supporting Harry, when he randomly decides to check his notifications. Even in the shrunken little banner, Harry can immediately tell the photo is graphic. Xander asks if he’s alright, telling him he looks freakishly pale and to get his eyes under control because they're in public. Harry blinks the red from his irises, hurriedly excusing himself and clambering up from his seat, jetting across the restaurant towards the restrooms. It’s occupied, much to his luck, so he settles for simply pressing his back against the wall of the corridor, leaning his head against the bricks and taking deep breaths to calm the raging in his stomach. He gingerly opens the message and his knees nearly give out. 

The image is taken from the back, probably using a timer. Y/N is wearing one of her big tees and another pair of cheeky lace panties, but this time around, they’re pastel peach and crotchless. She’s bent over with her ass up and spine arched, knees parted for balance, her shirt bunching downwards due to the angle. Her arms are pulled behind her back and her chest is flushed to the bed, wrists crossed submissively as she gazes at the camera over her shoulder. There’s an unmistakable sparkle in her eyes and he can tell she had sent this now on purpose just to fuck with him, knowing good and well that he was out and occupied.

The shot is more than he can handle and he has to swallow down the urge to stomp out of the bar, get into his car, race to her flat, and make her rethink her decision. Preferably, in the form of harsh spanks and overstimulation. He can see everything— the intentional rip at the crotch of the panties are meant for that sole reason. The closer he looks, he comes to realize that she’s wet, which in turn means she had been touching herself. She’d set this up perfectly, knowing that he’d easily be able to deduce that fact and that it would haunt him for the rest of the night. 

The monster releases a quivering exhale, typing back slowly and carefully, sight bleary. 

You’re going to regret that. 

Pinky promise?

///

When Harry arrives at Y/N’s apartment the next night, as he has for the last three Fridays, he doesn’t saunter up to her door and bang on it angrily. He doesn’t grab her by her hair and drag her into her room, how he’d intended. He doesn’t even have a single cinch in his sculpted brows. 

Instead, he raps softly on the door with one jeweled knuckle and waits calmly. 

The human goes to answer, her stomach twisting in excitement at all the possibilities of what punishment she might face for her antics. A small, sly smile buckles the corners of her lips at the thought, her fingers trembling as they wrap around her cold doorknob. She expects to find a furrow-browed, intense-eyed, red-faced Harry behind the threshold, who would shove past her, nab her by the arm, and throw her onto her bed. She expects him to yank his belt from around his hips while a distinct darkness swallows his emerald irises, his mouth curling into a sinister grin. She expects him to roughly command she get on her hands and knees, his palm finding the back of her head to shove her face-first into the sheets while he rips her panties down her legs and drags the cool leather of his accessory over her backside tauntingly.

What she gets is something— and someone— completely the opposite. 

When her door swings open, Harry is standing standing there, sure. But instead of looming over her with flaring nostrils and cruel intent, he’s decided to lean against the door frame with his arms folded casually. His body is completely empty of tension, his ankles are crossed offhandedly, and a small, bright red paper bag full of sparkly black tissue paper is hanging off his wrist. His expression is a relaxed facade of indifference, lips set into his usual signature smirk, no explosive emotions present whatsoever. 

That startles Y/N. This has to be an act; it feels like the calm before a violent storm and it has her shifting in her socked feet. Did he...Did he forget what she did? 

There’s no way he forgot. It was too brazen a move to dismiss.

Harry steps forward into her home, comfortable enough that he no longer has to wait for an invitation. Y/N moves to the side to let him through, hesitantly closing the entrance behind him, contemplating the man as if he were a ticking bomb. She does a quick sweep of his physique, looking for some other clue as to what he could be plotting, aside from the mysterious gift bag in his hand. He’s wearing a pair of flared denim jeans, a white tee with a royal blue cartoon bee printed in the center along with the words Enjoy health! Eat your honey! surrounding it, his white Vans, and an oversized colorful patch-work cardigan. The outfit is surprisingly domestic compared to his usual taste, but she finds it’s easily one of her favorite fits on him. He just looks so boyish adorable. 

The human comes up with nothing suspicious, glancing back up to lock eyes with her guest. Harry beams at her innocently and she knows for sure he’s planning something, but she can’t place what. 

“I got you this.” The vampire speaks up first, holding out the paper bag towards Y/N with his index finger, bouncing it encouragingly. “Take a peek.” 

The girl accepts the gift gingerly, giving him one more hard look before breaking away to investigate what lies beneath the tissue paper. She pulls out a small cardboard box, her eyes squinting slightly as she reads its print and surveys the label. The image on the surface appears to be of five silicone finger gloves, each about the size of a thumbtack, tiny metal plates embedded into the pads. She’s voicing her curiosity before she’s even finished studying the container. 

“What...What are these?”

Harry rolls his eyes jokingly, tapping the object for emphasis. “Read the fine print, love.” 

Y/N focuses on the region he’d pointed out, reciting aloud. “‘Vibrating silicone finger gloves. For the use of personal pleasure or with partners.’”

Then it all clicks. 

“Oh my God, you got me— what?!” Y/N’s head snaps up in shock, mouth parted and brows creased. “Harry, what?”

The young man laughs airily, gently opening the seal of the box in her hands, which she is now holding as if it were a weapon of mass destruction. It’s such a weird present to give in general, moreso all out of the blue, so she can’t be blamed for her reaction.

He uncaps the packaging, rummaging through its contents and pulling out two of the tiny rubbery gloves. They’re transparent and ribbed, obviously meant to deliver as many sensations as possible, and they’re about two inches in length. He slips them onto his index and middle finger, making scissoring motions for the purpose of symbolism, but mainly just to watch Y/N fidget. “I remember how you said you don’t have sex toys because you’d never really thought about buying any, so I went and picked these up down at my favorite shop. Jessi said they’re good for beginners.”

“Jessi?” Y/N’s voice is tight. She’s not sure how to respond to this; she’s never been in this situation before. No one has ever just given her a sex toy as if a were a candy bar. “Who’s Jessi and why do they need to know about my sex life?”

“She’s the manager.” Harry says matter-of-factly. He doesn’t seem to find anything strange about this encounter. “She helped me pick out my first pocket vag, so I trust her with my soul. Here, look. You just slip them on and—” He makes finger thrusting motions in the air, wiggling his digits playfully. “Big O. Not as good as what I can give you, obviously, but close enough.”

“Harry, you do realize this is a little…odd, right?”

The boy blinks at Y/N blankly. “What? Why? Sex is literally the basis of this whole thing.” He signals back and forth between them with his gloved forefinger. “It’s really not that weird at all, if y���think about it.”

“I just...it’s like…” 

Her argument fizzles to an end the longer she stares at him. He has the most wholesome expression painted across his handsome features, his eyes glossy with excitement. He looks genuinely elated about the present and she can’t find it in herself to question him any further. As unorthodox as this may be, it’s the first true act of kindness anyone has shown Y/N since she had moved to California. It’s the first time anyone has given the girl anything without her having to request it. She comes to the realization that Harry really is the only friend she has at the moment, and she refuses to pick and prod at that, lest he retract from her on the grounds that she’s ungrateful. Yes, this is a little atypical, but so is their whole dynamic. In his own twisted way, this is how Harry shows his friendship. 

The more she ponders on it, she starts to understand that this truly is something she should accept. He went out of his way to get her this gift, which solidifies their acquaintanceship. It’s sweet.

“You know what, never mind. Thank you! I love them.” 

The giddy smile that cracks his face melts her heart. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

Harry then softly grasps her hand with his, tugging her down the entrance hallway, his intentions set on her bedroom. His voice takes on a deeper sultry twang, the corners of his mouth twitching suggestively. “Because on my way here, I was thinking, yeah? And I figured: who better to teach you how to use these than the person who picked them out.”

“Of fucking course.” Y/N huffs in amusement, shaking her head but allowing herself to be guided forward. “I should’ve known you had an ulterior motive.” 

“Heyyyyy!” Harry’s whine is offended, but the coy simper dimpling his cheeks ruins any defense he could possibly try to spin. “This isn’t an ulterior motive, it’s simply a supporting one.”

“Right.” Y/N states flatly, shuffling forward slowly as he backs down her corridor, momentarily glancing over his shoulder to orient himself. “Buying a fuck buddy a sex toy is totally selfless and mutually exclusive of the agreement.”

Harry takes a turn and crosses the threshold into her bedroom, releasing her arm and instead, he opts for wrapping his fist into the loose material of her large Transformers tee, twisting the fabric around his knuckles and giving it a sharp yank. She stumbles into his chest and almost drops the box. 

The vampire gazes down at her with half-lidded eyes, long lashes tempting and plush lips the color of roses. “I never said it was mutually exclusive. I just said it wasn’t meant to be evidently inclusive.” 

He takes the box from her grip, sliding it onto her nightstand so that any obstacles between them are eliminated. He beckons her closer with a flick of his wrist, feeling heat erupt across his chest as her palms slap down against it to steady herself. She’s always so warm, almost like a furnace. It’s a nice contrast to his ever-present coldness.

Harry’s cupped fingers nurse the slope of her jaw, tilting her chin up to level his, Cupid’s bow ghosting over her own teasingly as a grin threatens to betray him. His accent is thick, heavy with condescension. “Now do you want me to fuck you or not?”

Y/N gulps audibly, the sudden jump in her heart rate causing Harry’s cock to give a foreshadowing twitch in his designer jeans. Her eyes soften with a form of weepy desire, head nodding in his grasp. 

Harry’s top teeth catch on his lower lip as he appraises her from over the crest of his defined cheekbones. “I don’t think I heard you, pet. Must be the AC draft.”

The mortal’s eyes fall shut as she composes herself, a shaky sigh faltering past her nostrils. She tips forward onto her toes, connecting her itching mouth to his. Harry allows it, listing his head to the side to grant her more access, his free arm roping across the dip of her spine and pressing her front flushed to his. The kiss is soft and heated, full of drunken tongues and muffled whimpers. It’s tame compared to most of the others they’ve shared, but Harry likes it. It’s sloppy and intimate; only the beginning of what he knows will be a long night. 

Her words sting the ridges of his lips, hot and bated. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Harry speaks into her mouth, tone gentle but packing a punch. “Get my belt off for me, will you? I’m tying you to the bed tonight.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice, a dark chuckle vibrating across his tongue when her fingers immediately begin to fumble with his belt buckle. 

Once Harry has looped the leather tightly around Y/N’s wrists and has knotted them to one of the wooden railings of her headboard, he sits back on his heels to admire his work. Y/N is splayed out across her mattress with her arms suspended above her head, bare thighs clasped in anticipation as her t-shirt gathers around her waist. Her hands are curled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she watches Harry leisurely shrug off his cardigan, keeping eye contact with her the whole way through. His tattoos stand out against the buttery light of the single lamp on the table, tanned arms flexing sinfully. 

He shifts around, laying down onto his stomach and coasting his palms up her quivering legs, kissing over her kneecaps and along the crease of her inner thighs, bunching her shirt further up her body as he goes. As soon as he spots the first garter, he blacks out for a millisecond, vision washing red. 

“Fuck, wait— did you…?” His voice is strained and desperate as he shoves the rest of her clothes up her torso, pulling her shirt over her head and letting it rest at her elbows. He hums appreciatively when he’s met with the full cherry-colored lingerie set from a few days ago, garters and all. “God, you did.”

Y/N’s gaze falls timidly, a sheepish smile brushing over her face. “I thought you’d want to see it in person, since you seemed to like it so much.” 

“Mm...” Harry struggles to swallow, fingers hooking under the straps that clip to the hem of her underwear, pulling the fabric from her skin and letting them snap back into place. He revels in the tiny noise she lets slip, the pads of his digits now toying across the frilly bands encircling her upper legs. After a thoughtful heartbeat, Harry speaks up, wistful but vehement. “I’m going to make you soil your sheets again.” 

Y/N bucks a tad at his promise, wrists stressing against the leather belt, but Harry’s practiced enough bondage in his lifetime to know she won’t be getting out anytime soon. He parts her knees open with his palms, dragging his silicone-covered fingers down her clothed clit and tutting when she lets out a stuttery gasp. 

“Always so sensitive, aren’t you, angel?” The vampire pets at her core patiently, heat pooling at the base of his abdomen as he feels her panties damped with every stroke of his touch. “Christ, you’re already soaking through.”  

“Want more.” The girl’s plead is strangled as she actively forces herself to keep her legs wide open, knowing that if she were to allow them to snap shut, Harry would only pry them apart again. “I’ve been thinking about this all week. Please.”

“All week?” Harry drags tongue across the inside of her thigh, nipping at the flesh tauntingly, the amber specks in his eyes glittering amidst his lashes. He continues to rub through her underwear, drinking up all the little noises streaming from her throat. “Tread lightly, dove. You’re swelling my ego.”

“I just…” Her hips give another jerk when he wriggles two rubber-clad fingers into the crotch of her bottoms, spreading her open just a bit and grinning against her skin at how wet she’s become. “I just need it hard tonight, Harry. Need you to leave me sore.” 

“I always leave you sore.” The monster reasons mockingly, taking one of the garters between his teeth and tugging, releasing so it stings her like before. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.” 

Y/N trembles out an exhale, gathering herself enough to give him what he wants. “I need you to fuck me like you hate me.”

Harry grabs onto either sides of her panties, slowly peeling them down her legs and then scooting closer forward, planting an open-mouthed kiss right onto her bare clit. She mewls in return, her restraints creaking the bed. He continues pressing messy wet pecks to her cunt, feeling her tense up each time his soft lips suckle her fervently. 

“Is that why you sent that picture?” Harry wonders aloud, pausing his motions and raising one eyebrow at her. “Because you wanted me mad?”

The human nods, face wracked with guilt. It’s cute that she feels bad, especially because Harry had, in actuality, enjoyed her little stunt. Seeing her bent over like that, in a position that shows she couldn’t wait to please him— that she couldn’t wait until Friday came around so he could do to her whatever he deemed fit...It was the best form of edging he’s ever experienced. But for the sake of giving her what she wants, he’ll bite the bait. 

Harry rises up onto his knees, parting her thighs further as he fits himself between them, the pads of his gloved digits dancing across the thick of her damp clit. He bends down until his nose smudges over hers, the breath of his low words hot against her parted mouth. 

“Well, it fucking worked.”  

Harry taps his index and middle fingers against his palm in one quick flick and the tiny metal plates situated along the tips purr to life. He sinks knuckle-deep inside of Y/N, cold rings catching on her folds as he curls upwards to get at that special spot that resides along the pit of her tummy. The moan she releases it so raw and broken, it sends a zip of lightning through his veins. 

He fucks her like that for a while, with his strong chest poised against her heaving own as he marks love bites onto the cleavage spilling from her lace bra, his skilled fingers pumping into her at a harsh pace that has her legs shaking on either sides. He thumbs over her clit messily, the silicone molds sending waves of vibrations through her clenching walls as he relentlessly toys with her g-spot, her arms thrashing against his belt. Fragmented sounds of bliss freely stream from Y/N’s mouth without shame, his name intermingling amongst the whimpers as her head throws back against the headboard. Harry grips her throat in one hand, holding her to the sturdy surface as his other bobs between her thighs roughly, the bed groaning as a result of their intense actions. His wrist begins to ache from how hard he’s going, but the tears trickling out from the corners of Y/N’s eyes and the way she’s panting into his mouth are enough to keep him going.

“Look at me.” Harry squeezes her jugular tighter, garnering attention. She forces her eyelids open, inhales hiccuping when he braces his cool forehead to hers, his irises the color of a forest at midnight, pupils blown out of proportion. His teeth dig into her bottom lip just to feel it swell, a growl stirring the gravel in his chest. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Y-Yes.” Y/N boggles her head feverishly, glimpsing down over her sweaty cheeks to see the way his veins are chiseling along the forearm that is flexing between her drenched thighs. “Fuck, it’s so g-good.”

“Yeah? How about we go a little higher, hm?” Harry scrapes the pads of his fingers against that spongy place inside her, pressing the vibrators down and the motion clicks the toy into a higher level of intensity. 

Y/N writhes in his grasp, back arching off the headboard as deeper, more concentrated rumbles lap throughout her body. “Harry— I— that’s— God, just please!”

Harry takes ahold of her jaw as he continues finger-fucking her without remorse, his short breaths warm against her burning lips. “That’s my girl. Taking it hard and loving every second.” 

Y/N’s eyes lull back into her head. She doesn’t know why, but hearing Harry call her his girl satisfies her in a manner so deep, she didn’t know it existed. Just hearing him recognize her as his— as something he claims for himself, almost like an extension of who he is— stirs a foreign form of fulfillment in the back of her mind. 

“I’m—” The girl chokes on her sentence, finding it difficult to concentrate with so much pleasure coursing through her system, as well as with Harry painting hickies across the side of her strained neck. “I’m gonna cum.”

The immortal’s voice is stern and authoritative. “No, you’re not.” 

“I am, I can’t hold—”

“Yes,” Harry’s grip firms, pace sharpening into unapologetic slams, “you can. And you will. If you cum before I let you, you’re not getting anything else from me for the rest of the night. Do I make myself clear?”

Y/N’s cunt tightens around his fingers, warning him that she’s about to peak. “Harry, I’m sorry—but— but I—”

“Do I make myself clear?” 

Y/N has no hope that she can keep it in, but she adores the darkness swirling in Harry’s eyes at the moment and she’ll do anything if it means getting to witness it for a while longer. “Yes.” 

“Good.” She winces when she feels his teeth skim her earlobe, his whisper dripping with arrogant amusement. “I told you I’d make you regret it.” 

And he really does keep his oath. Minutes simulate hours as Harry continues to flirt her just along the seams of relief, pulling her back every time he sees her about to tip. Whenever he feels her begin to spasm around his slick fingers, he gives her a cautionary quirk of his brows accompanied by a testing, throaty, “Don’t you fucking dare.” or a simple, silent shake of his head. By some miracle, she manages to reign herself in every time, but each ruined orgasm makes it harder and harder to stifle the next. She doesn’t know how many times it happens; she stops counting after four. 

After what feels like decades of torture, Harry finally releases his hold around her jugular, allowing her to properly gulp air for the first time in a while. He sits back against his heels, pulling his hand from between her thighs with a sarcastic sympathetic hiss. “Poor thing.” 

He watches as a trail of her juices strings from his digits to her cunt, eventually snapping in the middle as he lifts his hand to study his work. Her release drips down his knuckles and palm, gleaming in the dim lighting. A mildly sadistic glint washes over Harry’s irises and for a split second, they look almost red, but Y/N dismisses it. Her brain is too fogged to trust right now. 

The boy’s sight flickers past his hand to where Y/N lies limply, wrists bruised from the bonds, arms quivering weakly, and legs trembling in overstimulation. He’s never seen her look more beautiful than now. 

He locks his bright eyes to her exhausted own, watching them shatter to pieces when he pushes his drenched fingers past his pillowy blushed lips. His lashes flutter as her taste washes across his tongue, sweet and decadent as always, a soft groan thrumming deep in his throat. God, he can only imagine how delectable her blood must be at the moment, honeyed by the plethora of endorphins he had repeatedly coaxed into her. He can't wait to feel its warmth fill his mouth later tonight.

Harry removes his fingers with a wet pop, licking across the back of his hand with finality and giving her a daring once-over. “Do you still want my cock? Or are you too sensitive for it, darling?”

He sounds so conceited and self-assured, it causes Y/N’s pride to flare. She wants to make him eat his stupid words.  

The mortal licks her chapped lips, wetting her dry throat and clearing it softly, wiping away the sweat on her forehead with her shoulder. “I still want it.” 

An impressed expression decorates Harry’s features. “You think you can take it?”

Y/N’s jaw clenches with dedication, her thighs spreading open a tad more and she wills herself not to flinch. Her chin cocks upwards. “I know I can.” 

Harry’s brows kink challengingly, a borderline evil smirk sewing onto his face. “Let’s see, then.” 

As it turns out, Y/N can take it. However, she knows for a fact she won’t be able to walk right for at least the next week.

Harry lowers his jeans and kicks them off, reaching into his navy briefs and tugging himself out, giving his length a few pumps for good measure as he shifts forward toward her. He flips the girl onto her belly as easily as he’d turn a sheet of paper, tying one arm around her hips and lifting them up as he slides a pillow below. He situates her accordingly onto the cushion, her ass slightly elevated to give him more range of depth. He pats at her backside lightly, telling her to part her knees and she does so obediently, gripping onto the leather strap around her wrists anxiously when she feels the bed shift with his weight. Harry lowers himself over her body, the tee covering his broad chest soaking up the thin sheet of sweat on her back. He moves all of her tangled hair to the side, burying his fingers into her roots and yanking her head back cheekily. He runs his nose across her damp cheekbone and chuckles when she jumps slightly at the feathery sensation. 

“You’re pretty stubborn, aren’t you?” 

Y/N gnaws on her bottom lip as she struggles to swallow, throat taut from the angle he’s put her in. Her voice carries a confident bite, despite her compromisable position. “I like to think I am, yeah.” 

“Well, you know what that makes you, right?” Harry murmurs as he lines himself up with her entrance. 

“Mm-mm. What?” 

The vampire presses a lingering kiss to the tittering pulse in her temple, feeling it thunder below his skin as he forms his next comment slowly with an ominous edge. “It makes you a brat.” 

He feels her heartbeat trip. 

“And you know what I do to brats?” 

Y/N shakes her head as much as his dominant grasp will allow, body tightening in suspense. 

“I fuck them until they break.” 

Y/N learns that he’s telling the truth. The first thrust Harry delivers is swift, hard, and unbelievably deep; it causes her to let out a choked scream that no one else has ever drawn from her before, except for him. It’s like he can tap into certain aspects of her body she was unaware of; parts of her waiting for the right person to come along and reveal them. She feels that stroke rip into her tummy, but the pain of his size is something she’s become accustomed to in the last three weeks. She hardly feels it anymore; it had molded from a sharp throb to a dull ache, due to how often she’s experienced it. 

Harry doesn’t waste any time, quickly picking up a sloppy, adamant pace that has her hips bouncing against the mattress. He twists her hair around his fist, mouth pressed to the side of her head as his hot pants of exertion send a prickling through her scalp. His other forearm keeps him anchored to the bed as he pounds into her with absolutely no hesitation, the sound of skin slapping, cracked whines, and raspy grunts filling the tense atmosphere of her chilly room. 

“Is this what you were hoping would happen when you sent that slutty picture?” Harry grits out, short nails digging into the comforter beneath. “Wanted to get me all riled up just so I’d do your back in?”

Y/N mewls weakly in response, hands clinging to each other within the makeshift cuffs. 

“If you wanted me to fuck you like I hate you, you could have just asked. I’m more than happy to give you whatever you want. You don’t have to tempt me.” The vampire gives a particularly deep slam, laughing breathily when the girl’s back instinctively arches forward, paired with a watery yelp of, “Oh!”

Harry’s tongue grazes across the shell of her ear, teeth catching the skin. “But since you did, I’ll give it to you just— like—that.” His thrusts match to each word, fingers coiling harder into her locks. “You deserve it. Especially when you had the nerve to act like such a spoiled little brat right to my face.” 

Y/N’s not sure what emboldens her to speak, but her snarky remark is already halfway down her numb tongue before she can stop it. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

Harry hums tauntingly, circling his hips in long strides that urge a series of fractured whimpers to scrape out of Y/N’s sore throat. “Say it again. Go ahead, say it. I want to see you try.”

She remains silent, spine shuddering as she bites down on her tongue to avoid making any more noises that might condemn her.  

Harry roughly cranes Y/N’s neck to the side, buttoning their lips together in a filthy kiss that has her cheeks boiling. “That’s what I thought. The only thing that sharp tongue is good for is licking down my cock.” 

She gasps against his mouth shakily, tears of sheer bliss gathering along her waterline. “You’re such a fucking asshole.” 

Harry can tell her comment holds no true malice behind it; she’s too sweet on him— too whipped on what he gives her— to ever mean it. She’d only said it to provoke him into a power dynamic struggle. But the thing is, Harry’s dealt with feeling powerless before, so he had spent years teaching himself how to win. How to always win. 

“Am I, now?” His next line dismantles her entire plan. “Would an asshole let you cum?”

And just like that, her whole demeanor crumbles. “I take it back. I’m s-sorry.”

Harry releases her hair and nips at her ear mockingly, beginning to withdraw himself. “Oh, I think it’s a bit too late for that, minx.”

“No, no! Harry, please. I’m sorry. Genuinely. I promise I won’t say it again. Just…” She tugs helplessly at the belt restraints, trying to twist around to look at him directly. Her voice is wringed out. “Just please.”

The boy pushes a few stringy curls out of his eyes, pressing his tongue into his cheek coyly as he glances down, suggestively smoothing one hand over her ass. He gives it a firm squeeze, lifting his palm teasingly and feeling her tense in anticipation. “Do you want it?”

Y/N glimpses at his bejeweled hand with hunger, then back at his eyes. “Yes.”

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

“Sorry, I seem to have forgotten what ‘it’ was, exactly. Jog my memory, will you? What is it you want?”

Her irises harden in spite at his shit-eating comment. He’s well aware of how shy she can be when it comes to admitting she wants a spanking, and he’s playing that to his advantage. He’s swimming in the way she squirms. 

“I...I want you to spank me.”

He tsks, shaking his head as he twists his HS rings around to face inwards. “You forgot something.” 

Y/N’s fingers tighten into begrudging fists. “I want you to spank me, please.”

“There’s a good girl.” His low, accented purr sends electricity through her nerves. “You’re so cute when you beg.”

Harry’s hand comes down swiftly, digits fanned out so that all of his rings print across her backside. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to leave a satisfying sting. He loves the way she jolts forward with a hushed curse of surprise, and he adores seeing the shape of his initials marked across her clammy skin. It’s poetic, almost.

“So pretty.” His mumble is wistful as he massages deeply over the region he had just bruised, but it holds unyielding authority. “Whose is it, doll?”

“Yours.” 

“And don’t you fucking forget it.” The creature lifts one palm to do it again, pausing once more just to rev her further. He reaches forward with the other, shoving her face-first into the mattress to get her back to straighten out. “Look forward and don’t make a single sound.”

Y/N obeys, but manages to sneak a peek at his reflection through the waxy wooden surface of her aged bedframe. He looks so good perched behind her with bare heaving shoulders, looking down at her exposed figure over the crests of his sharp cheekbones, brows furrowed into a starved expression that gives away he’s enjoying this probably more than she is. Her voice comes out small and weak. “Yes, sir.”

Harry’s entire face tightens at the word and she feels him throb against her backside. 

“Now beg me to let you cum.”

///

The next morning when Y/N’s eyes flutter open to the grey light streaking in through her curtains, the first thing she senses is a pair of eyes staring at the side of her face. 

She turns her stiff body over toward where the sensation stems and sure enough, she’s met with a pair of sea glass irises filled to the brim with humor. Harry’s laying on his side with his hands tucked below one of her pillows, tousled ringlets sticking up in wild tuffs (thanks to the activities they’d engaged yesterday), he’s completely bare since he likes sleeping nude (though he’d had the decency to cover himself with sheets from the waist down), and his voice is slower and raspier than usual (a result of being dormant for the last eight or so hours). 

“You drool in your sleep.” 

Y/N tucks her hands against Harry’s cold pectorals, snuggling deeper into his chest and pinching at one of his nipples in playful revenge. “No, I don’t.” 

“Yes,” he reaches up and shoos her hand away, proceeding to wipe at the side of her mouth, where dried spit had accumulated. He makes a theatrical gagging face, cleaning his thumb off across the collar of her t-shirt. “You do.”

Y/N sighs in exasperation, making a bold leap to a different topic to avoid talking about her embarrassing sleep habits. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you staring at people while they sleep is weird? Like, serial killer weird?” 

Harry tucks a few matted strands of hair behind the human’s ear, thumbing over her cheekbone tenderly. He hardly ever indulges in such actions, simply because they’re typically reserved for actual couples, which he and Y/N are definitely not. But last night— after he had finally finished being a prick and allowed her cum along with him, and after she had fallen into the bed with exhaustion taking her under, and after he’d had his greedy fill of her blood for the week— he’d gotten bored of playing on his phone. He’d burned through three cold case documentaries on Netflix and played enough Mario Kart to memorize the race charts; it had grown old quickly, and he eventually just locked the device and placed it on her nightstand. He spent the next hour staring at her hideous ceiling, and the one after that fantasizing about taking down her tapestry and burning it in the oven. And finally, after hours of mindless daydreams and letting his eyes chase the city lights dancing across the walls of her room, he had settled onto his side and watched her sleep. 

Harry did it simply because he had nothing else to distract him. He figured it would eventually bore him enough that maybe— just maybe, if he was lucky— he would fall asleep alongside her. But he didn’t, so he just ended up gazing at her slumbering face until dawn. He had been surprised by how oddly beautiful Y/N looked sleeping— how relaxed and tranquil, with her features soft and skin seemingly made of flawless porcelain. That intrigue had bled into the moment they share now, resulting in his touch drifting down the curve of her jaw and across the faint dimple on her chin. He follows the slope of her neck and admires the smoothness of her flesh with the ridges of his fingertips, hearing her breathing stutter ever so slightly. His heightened senses make it feel as if he’s running his digits over velvet and the only concept he can compare it to is touching forbidden artwork at an exhibit. It’s exciting, but he knows that if he keeps going, he could end up getting himself into a crock of shit. 

When the pads of his fingers land on two prominent purple bruises he’d forgotten existed, he’s broken from his soft stupor. He retracts his touch as if she were made of iron, forcing himself to ignore the pout that automatically plumps her delicate lips. 

He clears his throat awkwardly, a tight chuckle stringing his vocal chords. “Staring at someone in their sleep seemed to work just fine for Edward Cullen, though.” 

Y/N snorts sharply, rolling her eyes up towards her headboard. When she sees his belt is still hanging off of it from the night prior, she hurriedly glances back down, pretending not to have seen it. 

“It’s funny you say that because as I recall, he literally admitted to being a murderer. I believe his exact words were,” she exaggerates her voice into an angsty cry, grasping at her chest dramatically, “‘This is the skin of a killer, Bella!’”

Harry bursts into boyish giggles, falling fully onto his back and swiping his palm up his face, fingers remaining perched over his closed eyes as he laughs. He sighs airily, shaking his head as an afterthought. “What a moron.” 

“Truly. His dad was hotter.” 

“Way hotter.” Harry agrees passionately, burying his hand into his messy curls, attempting to comb out some of the tangles. “And he was a doctor. What a man.” 

“Bella really fucked that one up. She had a midlife crisis over choosing between a sad vampire who looked like he had chronic constipation, and a yappy dog with a shirt phobia. All when Carlisle was right there. Brain damage, honestly.” 

“A moment of prayer for the mentally incapacitated. Couldn't be me!”

“Couldn’t be me, either.”   

“Fuck, yeah.” Harry throws his hand up, inviting Y/N to give him a high five. “To good taste.”

She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”

An instance of comfortable silence suspends between the pair of lovers, filled with the soft thrum of the air vent and the distant chirping of birds outside Y/N’s windowpane. She traces her index nail over the wings of the swallow tattoos along Harry’s collarbones, seeming to be deep in thought. She then speaks up once again.

“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.” 

“You know what? I’m happy you mentioned that ‘cause— full disclosure here— I’d ride him like a fucking bull.” 

Now it’s Y/N’s turn to explode in a fit of giggles, nose scrunching and eyes crinkling shut as she loses herself at Harry’s graphic confession. 

“Why are you laughing?!” The fact that he sounds genuinely appalled only spurs her sounds of glee. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t take that chance if you got it. Like, okay, he’s an airhead, yeah? I’m aware. But fuck’s sake, look at his body. I’d happily let him beat me at arm wrestling if it means I get that celebratory dick afterwards.”

The mortal manages to calm down a handful of heartbeats later and Harry feels strangely proud of how he’d made her pulse spike. 

“You’re valid for that, don’t worry. I couldn’t have said it—” A single giggle interupts her sentence, but she reigns it in before it can spiral. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Literally. There’s no way to express it better than exactly how you stated it.” 

Harry smirks softly up at the ceiling, folding his free arm behind his head as the other wraps securely down Y/N’s back, absentmindedly rubbing in gentle soothing circles. “My mind. It’s amazing, innit?”

“It’s definitely something.” 

Another span of cozy quietness fills the atmosphere of the room, longer than the last. Harry doesn’t mind. He finds it appeasing, and he continues to delight himself with running his touch up and down Y/N’s spine. He’s not sure how much time passes, but he’s aware that it’s probably a bit. His theory is supported by how he witnesses the beam of watery light that filters over the duvet gradually fade from silver to a sunflower yellow, indicating full daybreak. 

Even then, he doesn’t say a word, too caught up in this innocent bubble of domestic bliss to pop it so suddenly. He just lays there and listens. Listens to the birds harmonizing with each other across the branches of the tree outside. To the steady breaths that fill Y/N’s lungs with cool air, faltering past her nostrils in the same manner and fogging the metal of his cross necklace. To the faint sound of footsteps trotting down the staircase outside her apartment, and to the vague spritz of the sprinkler system going off at the front of the complex. To the distant honking of car horns in traffic, and to a random conversation between two friends as they walk past the pavement just under Y/N’s balcony. He hasn’t felt this at ease in eons. 

Harry just allows himself to grow in tune with the world around him— a world he’d been convinced was against him for the longest time. A world he was convinced stole his happiness and replaced it with the shackles of a blood-driven afterlife, for no other reason than because he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and met the wrong person. But now, he feels like he’s in the right place, at the right time, spending it with the right person— or at least a half-decent person— and he doesn’t want to let it slip between his fingers so soon. He wants to bask in it, even if he knows it’ll pass. 

And eventually, it does pass, and Y/N is the one who brings it to an end. 

The girl slowly peels away from Harry’s side, his lips dipping downwards slightly at the loss of the warmth she radiates. He thinks she’s about to get up to probably go use the bathroom or to make breakfast, but instead, she just bends her upper body over the edge of her bed to retrieve something from the floor. She comes back up with the box he’d brought her the evening before (which had ended up on the ground as a result of her bed rocking violently), setting it in the small space between their laps. She then returns to her place cuddled into his torso, looking up at him with an expression that Harry can only interpret as expecting. 

The vampire glances down at the container and then back up to Y/N’s face, raising his eyebrows curiously, voice tinged with comedy. “What did I say about bringing sex toys to the dinner table?”

Y/N stares up at him flatly for a second, fighting off a smile. “I just wanted to thank you again. It’s nice of you to bring me a present, even as strange as this one.” 

Harry sucks at his teeth, waving a hand dismissively, blinking down at her with slyness sparkling around his pupils. “What are friends for, if not for buying you vibrating finger gloves and then fucking you with them until you cry?”

Despite having been acquainted with Harry’s crude humor for three weeks now, it still manages to make Y/N’s cheeks sizzle. It could also be the fact that this is the first time Harry has openly accepted Y/N as a friend. It’s the first time he’s ever mentioned her name and that word in the same sentence, meaning that she can now shake a weight off her shoulders— a weight that had insisted he was only using her for sex, that he would eventually grow bored of her, and that he would throw her away once he was done. It’s good to know that’s not the case, and that the friendship aspect of their agreement is true to its name. 

“Right.” Y/N’s smile is full of so much genuine warmth, Harry feels like she could outshine the sun. “What are friends for, if not that. Thanks, Harry.” 

He wonders what she’s thinking, and he finds himself wishing that he had the one valid trait that idiot Edward Cullen possesses: mind-reading. But he doesn’t have it, so he simply returns her gesture and skates the conversation how he best deems fit. “You don’t have to call me ‘Harry’ all the time, you know?” 

Y/N’s brows cinch in entertained confusion. “What would I call you, then? Sherlock?” 

Harry scoffs lightly at the inside joke, shrugging one shoulder casually. “I mean, you could, if you want to. It might take some getting used to, but I think I can shoulder a full-time second identity. Just for you.” 

“How chivalrous.”

“You ain’t ever met a man like me, sweetheart.” He boasts in an over-the-top American southern accent, prying another round of laughter from Y/N, similar to the one before. “But you could also just call me ‘H.’ It’s what most of my other friends use.” 

“H.” Y/N repeats, getting a taste for the new nickname. It’s simple, unlike him, but it somehow fits. She then recalls something from a show she’d watched when she was younger and she can’t help but bring it up. “So, like, just your first initial? Like in Gossip Girl?”

Harry’s face immediately drops at the comparison she makes to the cringey teenage soap opera. “You know what, I take it back. You’re not allowed to use it. Illegal. Banned. By an official court. Gavel and all.”

“I’m just making a point!”

“Yeah, a shitty one.” 

“Oh, whatever. You’re just mad I debunked your little hipster alter ego. ‘That’s a secret I’ll never tell. Xoxo, H.’”

“Restraining order.” Harry pinches at one of her love handles, an evil grin dimpling his cheeks when she squeals. “Actually, nevermind. We’re going straight to the electric chair. Immediately.” 

“You don’t get to decide my punishment, remember?” Y/N slaps at his wrists, trying to ward off his attacks but failing miserably. “You’re just the—stop!— just the executioner.” 

“That’s right. I get to strap you to the chair.” Harry finally lets up on the tickling, his lighthearted grin taking on a slightly seductive hue as he momentarily glimpses upwards towards where his belt is hanging. “Though you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“Fuck off.” Y/N smothers her palm against his face, breaking eye contact as she feels her ears bristle with heat.  

“Mm, exactly.” Harry gnashes at her hand playfully, but she manages to yank it away before he gets a bite in. “You can’t even admit you like being called a whore.” 

“Hey!”

“What?” The vampire gives her a cocky look, wagging his head knowingly and then mimicking her voice in a higher pitch. “‘I’m just making a point!’”

“You’re a dick, you really are.” 

“And yet you still ride mine, so who’s the one with the real issues here? Specifically, daddy issues.”

“I’m done with this conversation.” Y/N huffs, returning her attention to the box beside her thigh, muffling the twitching across her lips. 

She takes the cardboard into her hands, tracing over the small flap used to pry the top open. Harry watches her with interest, pondering as to what could possibly be scurrying around her skull that she seems so caught up with the context of the gift. He’d gotten it because he knew they would both benefit from it. It’s as simple as that. 

“You know,” she starts, but her gaze remains glued to the box, “I feel kinda bad ‘cause, like...You got me this gift, I have nothing to give you in return.” 

Harry’s face contorts into a silly frown for a moment, tone humorous. “It’s fine, Y/N. You don’t have to give me anything back. I got it ‘cause I knew we’d enjoy using it together, and because this way, you have something to play with when I’m not around. And you can send me videos of said instances. It’s truly a win-win. A double-ended gift.” 

“I suppose.” She mumbles softly, continuing to pick at the lip of cardboard sticking out. “But I feel like it’s only fair that you get to use it, too, don’t you think?”

And then the reason she’s insistent about this dawns on Harry. The way she’s avoiding looking at him directly, how her heart rate is slowly ebbing upwards, how she is gradually scooting closer to his body, how he can feel her thighs are clasped tightly below the comforter. How the scent of honey and lavender has intensified. How she keeps glancing towards where the sheets are crumpled messily around his hips in a haphazard attempt to remain civil. 

When the monster speaks, it carries all the arrogance brought forward by his discovery. “If you wanna give me a handjob with the toy on, just say so.” 

The human’s head snaps upwards, her expression one of utter alarm at his lewd comment, but he can see right through her act. It’s obvious that was her intention all along— the desire in her eyes is poorly masked. She looks so adorable, pretending not to know what he’s referring to, her palms gripping the box slightly tighter than before. 

Harry twirls a strand of her hair around his finger nonchalantly, giving it a jesting tug. “I just find it funny how much of a horny menace you can be.”

“What—?”

“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”

“What do you—?” 

“Y/N,” Harry sighs tiredly, giving her an omniscient look, “I’ve slept with you enough times to know when you want something. It’s written all over your body language and you’re pretty shit at hiding it in your eyes. Just admit you want to and I’ll let you.” 

The faux shock slowly melts off her face, replaced by sheepish humiliation at being so easily sussed out. She chews on her bottom lip pensively, struggling to sew together the appropriate words to communicate the very inappropriate activity she wants to engage in. Harry has to withhold from leaning down and taking a bite from her tempting mouth.  

She inhales a deep breath through her nose, puffing it out slowly and tapping her fingers across the box nervously. Her voice pipes up so softly, it’s almost inaudible. “I want to give you a handjob with the toy.”

Harry gently cards his fingers into the mussed roots along the back of her head, using that hold to guide her sight upwards until it meets his. He leans down, smearing his lips over her own, feeling static pass through the ridges of their skin. “That’s all you had to say, darling. Go ahead, then. Make me cum.” 

Y/N swallows thickly, lashes fluttering bashfully as she pastes her mouth to his in a soft kiss. It’s a simple action with just their lips and nothing else. No tongue, no teeth, no sucking, nothing sloppy or desperate— not yet, anyways. He can tell she does it as a way to ease herself into this. She wants to, that much is arousingly obvious, but for some crazy reason unbeknownst to him, she’s still shy about it. That’s what happens when you come from a conservative raising: you get intimacy issues. He of all people— with his Victorian era background— would know. 

The hand Harry has cupping the nape of her neck shifts over a smidge, ending up splayed across the side of her face. His palm rests on her cheekbone and his fingers in her locks, his wrist cradling the back of her skull as he patiently deepens the kiss. His chest begins to heave slightly, a familiar sensation already frothing at the trench of his stomach. Harry can feel Y/N’s clumsy movements as she unboxes the vibrators, digging through the packaging and trying to slip them on blindly, not wanting to break away from his embrace. The way he’s flirting his tongue along the inside of her top lip is just too consuming to leave. 

After a few seconds of grappling and a string of annoyed curse words, Harry giggles lightly into her mouth, nudging the tip of his nose across the bridge of hers. The jade tint in his irises is waltzing with amusement, all at her expense. “Sometime today, love.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, I just— I can’t— they won’t—” The mortal releases an irritated growl into their kiss, reluctantly splitting away when it becomes clear she won’t be able to get the rubber gloves on without giving the task her full attention. “God, I’m such a...Sorry.” 

Harry rolls his eyes in mirth, pecking sweetly along the angry creases present over her forehead and between her brows. He thumbs over her cheek affectionately to soothe her nerves, his other hand scratching distractedly at the back of his neck. He filters curls through his fingers as he waits, bicep jolting in the process. “It’s fine, I’m just teasing. I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

“Thanks. Just give me—” The girl pauses her actions for a second, jutting her chin back up towards him and locking the vampire into another quick kiss, solely for the purpose of keeping him interested while she figures herself out. She breaks away again, returning to her mission. “Just give me a minute.” 

Now that she can see, Y/N successfully wriggles all five of her fingers into their designated molds. She prods at them gingerly, copying Harry’s actions from the night prior, using that experience as a manual. The mini-vibrators purr to life, a buzzing sensation trickling down her fingers. She glances back up at an awaiting Harry, who gives her such an easy, good-natured smile, she instantly reaches up and glues their mouths together again. 

“You’re so eager.” The boy grins into the kiss, jumping a bit when he feels her tittering fingers duck beneath the covers around his lower torso. “It’s hot.” 

“I just want to make you feel good.” Y/N mumbles, one palm braced to his strong shoulder as the other rides down his bare abdomen. She can feel his grip on her hair tightening the closer she gets to his cock. “That’s all.” 

“Guess I’m just the luckiest— shit.” Harry’s quip is interrupted when Y/N wraps her digits around his length, giving it one slow, testing pump. His jaw drops open and he begins panting into her mouth, the corners of his lips ticking upwards into a smirk as an intense pleasure swells between his thick thighs. “Jesus fucking Christ, that feels— fuck, that’s incredible, oh my God.”

“Yeah?” The human asks timidly, gazing up at him dreamily from below her lashes as his eyes lull back into his head. “Not too much?” 

Harry loves how attentive she is— how she’s checking to make sure he’s alright before continuing. If he had a heart, it would surely be glowing right now. 

Harry gulps down the lump in his throat, voice more strained and needy than she’s ever heard it. “No, I’m good, I’m good. Keep going.” 

Y/N gradually sinks her palm back down to his base, feeling his cock twitch desperately as the vibrators work their magic. She slowly slinks back up to his tip, thumbing over it carefully, pressing the toy on her thumb pad right over his slit. The garbled moan that emits from Harry is a sound her ears will never forget. It’s a sound she wishes she could record and listen to on a loop. 

“Fucking hell, don’t— please, just— oh—” Harry stutters through a plead, voice bleeding, naked chest now heaving wildly against her own. His hips buck forward into her hand, but she maintains a steady grip, keeping the vibrator pressed to the center of his cock’s head. 

“Don’t what?” She whispers into his mouth, suckling at his Cupid’s bow and reveling in the little broken noises he pours onto her tongue. 

Harry’s breaths are shallow and pained, the grip on her hair stronger than she thought possible as the fingers of his opposite hand yank at his own feverishly. He’s barely able to choke out his next sentence. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” Y/N begins to fish for a solid rhythm, her strokes setting into medium pace and gauging the receiver's reaction. “How’s that?” 

Bright colors web across Harry’s eyelids and he feels like his soul is being torn from his body. “Y-Yeah, that’s perfect, baby. It’s so good— you’re so good.” 

“I am?” Y/N swipes her thumb over his tip again, and when he whimpers brokenly against her lips, she does it again. It urges the same exact reaction, but more shattered. So she does it again. And again, and again, and again. And each time it happens, his hips jerk more violently, chasing her intoxicating touch. She can feel Harry’s precum drip down his length and leak between the cracks of her fingers. 

“You are, you’re just so fucking good to me.” Harry’s spewing words at this point, brain half conscious, half floating in bliss. Whatever dam of common sense holds his mind together crumbles, all of his thoughts rushing out in the form of jumbled phrases and cracked whines. “You get me going like nothing else, pet. You get me going so easily, it’s embarrassing. You make me cum so hard, it feels like I’m touching h-heaven. And your mouth— God, y-your mouth. It’s the best I’ve ever had. It’s so soft and warm, and your lips are so pretty and silky. I could kiss you for hours. And your tongue— you know how to use it so well. You lick me once and I’m already on edge. And every time you get down on your knees, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Y/N sighs shakily at Harry’s string of confessions, staring up at him with wide eyes as his own stay shut loosely, long lashes perched on his rosy cheekbones, handsome features slack with euphoria. She doesn’t halt her motions, continuing to pump him excitedly. The girl passes her thumb over his tip every time she gets to the top, and gives a hard squeeze every time she thunks down against his base, twisting her wrist as she glides back and forth between the two points of reference. That combination seems to work well, evident in the steady stream of vulgarities falling from Harry’s swollen lips as he thrusts upwards to match her pace. His groans splash across her tongue, traveling down her throat and burning into her stomach. She wants him to cum probably more than he does.

Y/N glimpses down, watching her sheets tent as she works Harry over, the outline of her knuckles pressing into the turquoise fabric. It’s such an erotic scene and she knows it’ll be branded across the front of her brain for years to come. She cranes her neck back up to look at the vampire, her breath catching in her lungs. He looks so pretty with his dark pink lips parted in pleasure, his damp ringlets matting along his sweaty hairline, his structured jaw ticking, and his usually sharp traits softened by ecstasy. She’ll do anything to make that image last.  

“Tell me more.” Y/N murmurs, swimming in the praise he is so willing to dish out. 

His eyes flicker for a heartbeat and in that instance, they look oddly darker than normal. Almost crimson, but she knows it’s due to the shadow of his lashes. The words that spill from his mouth next make her forget all about that occurrence, his voice melodic and dark, sticky against her wet lips. 

“Your hands are one of my favorite things about you, I think. They’re smaller than mine and I love how your fingers don’t touch when you wrap them around my cock. I love how they leave my back raw with scratches, and I love how they look tied to the bedpost. I love it when they press flat against my chest when you ride me, and how you lean back on them when I’m on my knees with my head between your thighs. I love how they yank at my hair when you’re about to cum, and how they grip my upper arms when we make-out. I love how your nails dig into my thighs when you're going down on me, and how they look fisting at the sheets when I’m taking you from behind. And I love how they feel tugging me off, like you’re doing now. I just love how perfect they are— how perfect you are.” 

Y/N is left speechless, Harry’s monologue ringing in her heated ears as he gazes at her intensely amidst heavy, barely-cracked eyelashes. His broad chest gasps for air and he takes it upon himself— despite his wrecked appearance— to smush their mouths deeper together, pooling moans across the roof of her own.  

“I’m—” His breathing throttles, voice coming out softer than she’s heard it in the last three weeks. “I’m gonna cum.”

Y/N nods her head numbly, strokes becoming lazy and fast, eager for him to finish. “I want you to. I want you to cum for me so bad. Please?” 

Harry’s hips writhe in a tell-tale sign that he’s about to tip. His whimper tastes sweet on her tongue, the meaning behind it pure syrup to her ego. “You’re the only one who makes me feel this good.”

The mortal whines gently in return, eyes falling shut as she feels him grow heavier in her palm. “You’re the only one I want to make feel this good.” 

The knot of white hot pleasure in his belly begins to unravel, his entire spine shuddering as a result, all strain beginning to wash out of his system in spurts if blissful electricity. He can feel his orgasm racing up his prick, pulling his composure along with it. He gives one last jerk against Y/N’s cupped fingers, feeling her press her vibrating thumb over his slit one more time for good measure. When the first milky ribbon spurts out, that’s when he feels it. 

Harry’s eyelids fly open in alarm as black veins protrude along the whites of his eyes, all his muscles contracting at once, defense mode activated. Y/N’s lips are on his neck. 

His first instinct is to do what he always does and guide her away from that sensitive, highly forbidden area. His fist tightens in her hair and he’s about to yank her back up to his mouth when suddenly, the icy tension present in his veins disappears. It’s replaced by a soothing warmth, which travels through every crevice in his body and kindles his climax, his impulsive hatred for being touched in that specific region funneling away completely. He can’t remember a time where this has happened before. 

Harry’s grip loosens hesitantly as he treads into this unexplored territory, allowing her to continue suckling along his throat. The sensation would usually garner a reaction similar to that of a molten metal brand being placed on his skin, but now— for some startling reason— he doesn’t feel any contempt. He just feels relaxed and cradled in the best way imaginable. The impact is pleasant this time around, and he finds himself wanting more of it. So, he lets her give him more. He lets this strange girl kiss and gasp and lick against his jugular while she finishes getting him off, his own desperate sounds of need bouncing around the brick walls of her bedroom. He lets her coax wave after wave of cum out of him, feeling it splatter against her bedspread and coat over her hand. He whines and grunts into the hair along the crown of her head, tears blearing his eyes as her scent of sugar and flowers clouds his mind. And when his release finally sputters to an end, he lets out an elongated groan so deep, it makes his chest ache.

“Fuck. You’re...You’re an absolute angel.”

Y/N draws her hand out from beneath the bed sheets, turning off the vibrating finger pads by pressing them against her palm. She looks down at the milky substance covering the toys and before Harry can make even a sound of encouragement, she’s already licking it off each individual piece. The girl looks up at the vampire as she cleans every trace of him off her fingers, swallowing it all down with a doe-like tint across her hazy gaze and murmuring a soft, “You taste good.” over a full mouth. Harry just watches silently, heavy breathing slowly starting to even out. God, she really is such a fucking godsend.

The next couple of minutes list by in a blur, all of his focus taken up by the feeling of unsettlement pricking at the back of his brain. Why had he let her touch him there? Why had he let her touch him in a place no one has since before his death?

Y/N puts the toys back in their box, putting them off to the side to thoroughly clean later. She reaches down, bunching up her bedspread in her hand and wiping Harry’s pelvis, thighs, and tummy down until he’s decently clean, as well as whatever is left on her hand. She then snuggles up to his side once again, laying her head into the crook between his arm and pectoral muscles, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully along with him. The irritating red tint across Harry’s chest, stomach, and neck gradually fades away, and he barely flinches when he feels her sponge her lips against his Adam’s Apple. She lulls the tip of her middle finger up along the vein of his cock one more time for finality, smiling slyly when he hisses in sensitivity.

The immortal tilts his head down to appraise her, sniffling lightly and allowing a weak, watery smile across his raw lips. His tone is feathery and detached. “That was…Christ.”

Y/N giggles softly, nodding along to his unspoken opinion. “It was fun. Really fun. We should do it again sometime.” 

Harry splutters into a drunken laugh, mind still floating around the room. “I don’t think I could survive that again.”

Y/N grins up at him cheekily. “Pussy.” 

Her friend breaks into an expression of utter offense, cheeks still slightly rosy. He shoves her head roughly as vengeance. “Hey! Piss off. Don’t blame it on me, blame it on the male anatomy.” 

The girl shakes her head up at him, eyebrows shrugging mockingly. “Excuses, excuses.” 

“Whatever.” 

A moment passes, and then Y/N speaks up again, her index finger poking playfully into the center of his bare chest, right over the butterfly tattoo. “Also, you’re washing my sheets. Your mess, you clean it up.”

Harry grins against her forehead, scratching lightly at the back of her scalp. “Fair enough…Wait, is that why you wanted to do this? ‘Cause you knew I’d soil your sheets and you could force me to do your laundry?”

That hadn’t been her motive at all, and Harry knows that, but she plays along anyways for the hell of the joke. “Perhaps.” 

“Wow. I feel used.” 

“Too bad. Go do it. Now. Before it stains.”

Harry stares at her like she’s sprouted a second head. “I literally can’t walk right now! I can’t feel anything below my waist.”

Y/N lifts the comforter off her body, symbolically showing off the bruises his fingertips and rings had left the night before. “Well, neither can I!” 

Harry reaches down and touches the marks, chuckling to himself. “How unfortunate. Who’s gonna make breakfast, then, if neither of us can even stand?”

“We could UberEats some iHop.” 

“Who’s gonna get the door?”

“Well, I can’t solve everything on my own, now can I?!” Y/N slaps his hand away from her body. “Contribute! You’re the lead detective, after all.” 

“I am, aren’t I?” Harry cocks his head to the side in recollection, remembering his role in their imaginary dynamic duo scenario. “And because I’m the lead, I say…” He ropes his lean arms around the human and buries his face into her warm neck, pulling her close and intertwining their legs together, trapping her to the mattress along with him. “I say we just bum around for a bit longer. Just until one of us can actually muster up the strength to leave the bed.” 

Y/N makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, but makes no apparent attempt to leave his embrace. “Fine.” 

“Mystery solved, then! Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“You’re so dumb.” 

The pair stay cuddled for a bit, with Y/N’s hands loosely gripping Harry’s forearms, tracing across his mermaid tattoo absently. She wanders in her thoughts for a period of time, lost in the sensation of Harry’s warm breath fanning down her neck, his hot lips pressing small kisses behind her ear every once in a while. She likes their morning after routine; it’s innocent and fun and sharing moments like this makes it easy to forget her troubles. She wants more of this, and she finds herself trying to come up with ways to convince Harry to spend the night more often. This is only the fourth time he’s stayed until morning and she wants that number to grow. 

An idea dawns on her and she’s voicing it before her inhibitions can kill it off.

“Do you...Do you maybe wanna stay over the rest of the weekend?”

Harry draws his face from the alcove of her soft neck, eyebrows poised in curiosity. “The rest of the weekend?”

“Yeah!” Y/N shifts her gaze up to look at him, hope swirling around her pupils. “Like, spend the rest of today and tomorrow over, and then leave tomorrow night ‘cause I have work on Monday. Does that, like...Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah.” Harry says slowly, mulling over her offer, thinking back to his schedule. He doesn’t think he has any commitments this weekend that would require him being home— none he can’t cancel easily, anyways. He’d told Mitch he’d go see him play again at the pub later today, but it’s the same set as last time, so he doesn’t think his best friend would mind if he missed it just this once. Niall was planning a barbecue at his place on Sunday, but the Irish bloke does one almost every other week so it’s nothing Harry can’t make up. Plus, what type of idiot would pass up two day’s worth of amazing sex? The more, the merrier.

Y/N watches the vampire’s expression carefully, trying to interpret whether her request was out of their boundaries. She doesn’t want to make him feel like she’s trying to tie him down or suffocate him, she just wants to spend a bit more time in his presence, rather than through a phone screen. Her tone comes out dismissive, with just the tiniest hint of panic. “It’s okay if you can’t, though. Like, if you have other plans and stuff, I totally get it. Or if you just don’t want to, that’s fine, too! I just thought it’d be a fun little thing we can do since we already talk so much on the phone and everything, so I guess I just kinda figured you wouldn’t mind—”

“I get it, Y/N.” Harry interrupts Y/N’s unhinged word vomit, voice amused and nonchalant. “I think I’d like that, yeah.”

Y/N blinks in giddy surprise. “Really?” 

“Well, don’t sound so shocked.” Harry laughs lightly, fingers toying with the pearls laying across his clavicle. “The sex is pretty fucking good and I’m more than happy to have it at my disposal.” 

“Right.” Y/N gives him a deadpan look, shaking her head at his bluntness, reaching forward to fiddle with the chain of his cross necklace for the sake of having something to distract her from smiling like a fool. “Great, then. I have some old boxers that I know will probably fit you and an unopened pack of toothbrushes under the sink, so I think you’re set.” 

Harry’s lips purse at the mention of the men’s underwear, brows creasing a tad. “You just casually have men’s boxers laying around?” 

“They were my ex’s and I kept them out of spite. But don’t tell anyone, I don’t wanna get locked up for robbery.” 

The tightness in his chest— which he hadn’t even realized had formed— melts away. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good, or else I’d have to kill you.” The girl states darkly, a theatrical seriousness to her appearance. 

“Oh no.” Harry wails sarcastically, knotting a fist into her oversized tee and pulling her closer, connecting their lips and grinning into the kiss. “I’m shaking in fear.” 

Y/N gives in without much of a fight, hands still clinging to his forearms, a smile of her own creeping across her cheeks. “Asshole.”

“The only thing I’m relatively afraid of is my dick falling off. You have the sexual drive of a rabbit.” 

“Oh, like you’re any better?” 

“I’m innocent in all this! You’re usually the one instigating. I’m just a mere pawn— a poor, unsuspecting nun led astray.”

“God, I can’t believe I let you fuck me.” 

///

The following weekend, Harry officially invites Y/N over to his house. 

It had been talked about in passing a while back, and he figures it's only fair considering all the time they’ve ever spent together has been solely at her place. Plus, he could tell she was curious to see what his living situation is like, which is valid. You can tell a lot about people through their home, and when you’re sleeping with someone on the regular, you want to learn as much about them as possible. It’s important to know who you’re getting into bed with. Literally. 

Harry’s proud of his condo. He keeps it clean, he keeps it organized, and he keeps it styled in a manner that combines his Victorian gothic roots with modern day aesthetics. The floorboards of the apartment are made of waxed light-wash wood, most of the expanse of his living room covered in a furry dark grey rug. The lightness of the ground is contrasted by the matte mahogany walls, of which the largest is covered in Harry’s collection of first edition artwork. He had picked out every single piece himself throughout the span of the last two centuries, ranging from modern digital technique canvases to nineteenth century oil paintings, all arranged in neat alternating rows from oldest to newest. He can’t help that he’s such a stickler; his mom had raised him so. 

Though his art wall is his pride and joy, the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline comes in at a close second. Harry loves the city, despite the fact that he was born in a seemingly irrelevant town whose only redeeming quality was the bustling public market. Urban regions are just full of so much life, excitement, and potential, which are all concepts he never really got to explore before he transitioned. Cities represent everything he wanted as a young man, when he thought he had prosperous years ahead of him and an entire life left to build; they represent diversity, unique experiences, and endless possibilities. When that was stripped from him, he began to bounce around different countries and cities all over the world, seeking a place that would fill the hole his dreams had left behind. Los Angeles fit that space like a puzzle piece. 

That glorified window just means more to him than anyone could possibly know. Sometimes at night, he’ll just stand by it with his arms relaxed across his chest, watching the city gleam and glitter as individuals from all different backgrounds go about their business, blissfully ignorant to the beautiful concept that they all contribute to something much bigger— a concept that only centuries of wisdom could reveal. When he’s not wracked with jealousy and spite, looking out that window and witnessing the world change and evolve is therapeutic, in a way. It allows Harry to live vicariously through others who get to have what he never did. 

Aside from his art collection and the glass wall, the chandeliers that hang from his cavernous ceiling are third on his list of treasured possessions. They’re special and no one on this earth owns anything like them; Harry made sure of that. They were created by a Swedish interior designer Harry commissioned about ten years ago, so they are custom-made in every aspect of the term. They took months to construct and finalize, which is hardly difficult to believe, given their grandeur. Each chandelier is made of two extensive layers of delicate golden chains, all arranged around a wire center, connected by light bulbs at each peak. It gives his home a chic, avant-garde atmosphere that mirrors his personality down to the last chain link. 

The rest of his flat is tailored to compliment these three major determining factors. The wood paneling all around his apartment is carved with intricate, loopy designs, his two rounded coffee tables are made of the same marble that resides across his kitchen counters, and his kitchen sits directly under the second story ledge with elongated fluorescent poles embedded into the room’s ceiling, eloquently highlighting the creme walls and polished detailings of all his appliances. His sectional couches are made of an off-brown leather, covered in large rectangular couch cushions with a checkered print embroidered across the pillow cases, and weighted fleece blankets litter some areas of the elegant sofas. A wide staircase leads up to the second floor, made of grey glass steps and metal railings. 

The top story of his condo is less Victorian era, more modern composition. The ground is dark maroon carpeting, and the ledge leads to one singular corridor that splits into two seperate rooms at either ends. One is the master bedroom, and the other is an accompanying bedroom which he uses for storage. His room isn’t anything extravagant, per se. It’s big, but his decor is minimalistic, covered in all different muted shades of blacks and greys, from the comforter on his king-sized bed to the tall dresser. A fifty inch flat-screen is mounted on the wall, but he hardly uses it since the one in his living room is larger; it’s only really there as an ornament. Starburst lights hang from his ceiling— smaller, downplayed versions of his chandeliers— and his walk-in closet stands parallel to the entrance of his bathroom. 

The humongous bathroom was meant for two people, pretty obvious in the double-sink set up, but he doesn’t dwell on it much. He isn’t one for dating, and he’s just happy to have that luxury because it comes in handy the morning after one night stands. He has a jacuzzi-like bathtub, lined with water jets and all, and a big walk-in shower with a large overhead panel instead of a regular showerhead. The whole room is made of dark marble and porcelain, and he couldn’t possibly adore it more. Some of his best experiences had happened in this room, explicit and otherwise. 

In the end, Harry has every right to be arrogantly proud of his apartment. It had taken him months to decorate, years to fill with fond memories, and an immortal lifetime to find. He loves it with every trace of his soul, even when others disagree. Namely, Niall, who had mocked his sophisticated relics and old-timey architecture from the first time he’d set foot past the threshold; “You went the dark gothic route? Really? Way to feed into the stereotype, Dracula.” 

But no matter what anyone says, this is who he is, and he couldn’t be happier. After decades of migrating and aimlessly searching the globe, he’d finally found a place he could call home, and absolutely no one could take that from him. Especially not some Irish moron who doesn’t even know the definition of “foyer.”

How Harry manages to afford his flat is a whole other intriguing tale.

It had come up in a pillow talk conversation with Y/N once, and he had told her the story he feeds to any human who asks. He’s a regional manager for an offshore company and it’s mainly a lot of online work. Handling duties through business emails, videochat meetings, job portals, and things of the such. It paints a valid image as to why he’s home all the time. He also claims to be the company’s lone contact stationed in California, so he handles all of the responsibilities that would normally be bestowed upon three or four people. This paints a valid explanation as to how his imaginary position would tether such a high pay grade, which justifies his luxurious living arrangement.

That story is part of the truth. Harry does indeed have ties with corporate businesses. That is, ties to their CEOs’ pockets. It’s surprisingly easy to get past secretaries and security dressed in a nice suit and thousand dollar leather shoes, especially with the help of compulsion and Harry’s golden charisma. Thanks to those tools, he has managed to convince some of the biggest leaders in corporate California to quietly deposit generous sums of money into his bank account once a month. And with his persuasive supernatural abilities, he convinces them to write it off as regularly scheduled charity donations in their minds. That’s how he makes a living for himself— by scamming the rich. Xander likes to take the piss and call him a sugar baby, but Harry sees himself as more of a modern day Robin Hood, instead. 

Mitch says his charade is unlawful, but considering how corrupt the business world already is, the vampire feels next to no guilt. The one percent have always taken advantage of those poorer than them— that was obvious even back in Harry’s time— and he doesn’t see anything wrong with taking advantage of them right back, now that he has the means to. How’s that saying go? “Fuck the bourgeoisie” and all that. 

Everything taken into consideration, Harry’s pretty excited to show Y/N his condo. Watching people’s faces break into awe the second he turns the lights on always gives him such a deep surge of satisfaction. It makes all the hassle worth it.  

The immortal is currently sitting in his vintage car, flicking through his Spotify playlist to find something to entertain him while he waits for Y/N to finish her shift. He had offered to pick her up, knowing that it’s what any courteous host would do, and she had appreciatively accepted, telling him she’d be out by eight P.M. It’s seven fifty-three now and Harry had arrived around seven fifty, taking the slot right in front of the cafe’s entrance so she can spot him as soon as she walks out. These ten minutes are the longest he’s ever had to endure, which says a lot considering he’s endured tons of patience-testing moments in his two hundred years.

Harry swipes his thumb down the glass screen of his phone, sampling songs left and right to see what will stick. After listening to the first few chords of an array of forties dance music, seventies rock and roll, and twenty-first century bubblegum pop, he settles for Rodeo by Lil Nas X. Harry has a very intricate taste in music— it’s one of the traits he’s most proud of— and Mitch often tells him he’s too snotty when it comes to his preferences. He’ll admit it freely that, yes, he can be a piece of work musically, but just because he thinks the industry peaked in the seventies doesn’t mean he hates modern music. He likes most of it, including rap, and Lil Nas X happens to be one of his favorites, much to everyone’s surprise. Most of the artist’s songs are eccentric not only lyrically but also instrumentally, to the point where it’s almost comical— who names a song Panini, of all things?— but the music is catchy and Harry can let loose to it easily. 

The vampire also happened to meet the musician, on one occasion. He ran into him at a club and after a few drinks and some banter, somehow ended up getting invited over to a party at the celebrity’s Malibu mansion. That night is a blur, definitely due to the copious amounts of alcohol and psychedelics, but Harry remembers they had fun and that the guy was worth a listen. In fact, he was the genius that came up with the theme for the rapper’s Rodeo music video. 

A light knocking on the passenger’s seat window brings him out of his memories. Y/N stands outside, hugging her arms loosely over her tummy, decked in her usual work uniform of a navy polo and black skinny jeans. When the two lock eye contact, she gives him a soft wave and a tired smile. Harry lifts two fingers in greeting, returning her polite gesture and swiftly lowering the window. He leans forward across the center console, his grin taking on a playful hue, voice carrying the same effect. 

“Uber for Y/N?” 

The girl snorts and rolls her eyes, but plays along, reaching forward and jiggling the handle of his black Cadillac symbolically. “That’s me, yes. Open up.” 

“Eh, eh, eh.” Harry tuts, wagging a finger in her direction and then making a motion that tells her to back away. “I’m gonna have to see some ID. It’s one of our new safe driver policies. Gotta make sure you are who you say you are, miss.” 

Y/N’s expression drops flatly, eyes half-lidded as he smiles up at her brightly, batting his eyelashes innocently. “Open the door before you end up sucking your own dick tonight.” 

Harry’s shit-eating face falls so fast, it causes her to burst into laughter. A soft click vibrates through the handle below her fingers. “I’ll waive the background check. Just this once.”  

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Y/N taunts, yanking the door open and ducking into the shotgun seat, gently tugging it closed behind her. 

Once the human is situated in her spot, she releases a lengthy sigh, sinking down against the cushions as she grabs her seat belt and clicks it into place. 

Harry puts his cell phone down into the cubby hole below the stereo set, setting the car in reverse and slinging an arm behind her headrest to get a better view as he backs out of the parking space. His gaze momentarily flickers to her slumped form as the car retreats slowly, tone curious. “Long day?”

Y/N glimpses over, giving him a quick once-over and taking in his olive green Nike jumper, ripped denim boyfriend jeans, and pastel yellow Vans. He looks so boyishly cute, which is ironic given the premise of tonight’s rendezvous. The shoes (which he had worn the night they’d met all those weeks ago) and the position he’s in (perched above her with his sharp jaw and neck flexing as he cranes his torso to look for oncoming traffic) flashes her back to the first time she had been in his car. They had been way less acquainted, she had been much less relaxed, much more nervous, but the encounter very much carried the same exact intentions. That recollection makes her lips quirk a bit. The pair had grown so comfortable with each other since then, that Friday evening feels like it happened decades ago. 

“Yeah.” Y/N murmurs softly, gladly indulging a deep inhale of the vanilla and tobacco scent she had become familiar with, allowing it to soothe her nerves and wash away the stress of a hard day. “I’m just happy it’s over and that the weekend’s finally started. Wanna forget all about it.” 

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, love!” Harry plops back into his seat, shifting his car into drive and gifting her his famous brilliant smile, dimples winking to life as he taps his ringed fingers across his steering wheel humorously. “I’ve made you forget your name plenty of times before; I’m pretty sure I can erase one shitty work shift just fine.”

Y/N scoffs at his pompous claim, reaching up and prying the hair tie out of her locks, looping it over her wrist and shushing her stiff roots. She tucks strands behind her ears, the corners of her mouth twitching in endearment at the giddiness of his aura. “Just drive, Sherlock.” 

The mortal isn’t surprised to find that building in which the vampire lives is one of the tallest in the city, and that it’s basically smack in the center, as well. One look at Harry and anybody could immediately tell he thrives off being the center of attention, so of course his home is a direct reflection of that. Refined boy, refined personality, refined environment. It’s practically a law of science. 

Once Harry’s car is parked and the ignition rumbles to a smooth stop, Y/N unbuckles her seat belt and goes to unlock the passenger’s side door. Right as her hand is wrapping around the handle bar, the door swings open of its own accord and she just barely manages to stifle a blood-curdling scream full of shocked fear. When her eyes focus, Harry is standing there holding the door open for her, features painted with cocky amusement. 

“How did you—?” The girl whips around to look at the empty driver’s seat, eyebrows cinching in bewilderment as she turns back to face him. “How did you get around so fast?” 

Harry shrugs his shoulders offhandedly, reaching one bejeweled hand down to aid her out of the vehicle. “I did track when I was younger. Made me a fast walker.” 

Y/N hesitantly takes it, body language still slightly tense from the jump scare. With his help, she gradually climbs out, the door shutting behind her as she sweeps her sight around the parking garage in wonder. This is the first time Harry has ever invited her anywhere, let alone to where he spends most of his life. She doesn’t want to miss a thing. Even the simplest aspect can tell you a lot about a person. 

Y/N jerks a tad when she feels her friend’s cold fingers slipping down her palm, sifting between her own. She glances down at their intertwined hands for a second, a warm glow bursting through her chest. She’s always admired how his are so much bigger. 

Harry tugs her forward toward the elevator at the other end of the parking lot, bottom lip caught between his teeth in a sly smirk. “C’mon, Watson. Let me show you around.” 

Y/N stumbles after him, allowing the boy to guide her to where she needs to go as he weeds through cars effortlessly. She suddenly chimes up from behind, asking a random question to fill the leftover silence their footsteps spare. “That car next to yours had such a weird license plate. What the fuck does ‘craic’ mean?” 

Harry chuckles knowingly, perfectly aware of whose car she is referring to. “It’s this odd thing Irish people say. Utter rubbish, honestly.” 

A comfortable quietness fills the air of the elegant elevator as it shoots up towards the twenty-fourth floor of the skyscraper, the only other sound being the gentle lullaby of a nameless tune wafting through the speakers above their heads. Harry finds himself studying Y/N as she looks out at the city through the glass walls, the lights of the exterior buildings casting a beautiful buttery gleam across her relaxed characteristics, along with a radiant glint over the surface of her glossy eyes. Despite the slightly smeared mascara staining her waterline and the inherent frizziness her hair carries after being pulled into a tight ponytail all day, Harry finds that she looks nice. Pretty, even. 

The girl senses him staring, craning her head to return his gaze, the edges of her lips lilting upwards lightheartedly. He returns the gesture, peeling away to focus on something— anything— else. He deems the control panel a worthy replacement.

As the numbers on the dial drag by, Harry finds himself absentmindedly thumbing over Y/N’s knuckles. She doesn’t seem to notice or mind, so he continues doing it, massaging the crest of each bump and pressing down gently along the troughs. He enjoys the sensation of her silky warm skin heating his icy own, and he ponders whether she likes how cold his touch is, or if she hates it as much as he does. He expels that notion from his mind; he refuses to let such a stupid concept upset him. He just keeps caressing her hand, restraining his mind from ambling too far into its meaning. It’s just to pass the time. 

He keeps the movements going until their ride skates to a joltless halt with a sharp ding! and then he steps out, having to give his full attention to leading her down the long corridor to his flat. Y/N is so caught up in drinking up her surroundings, she almost bumps into the creature when he comes to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance of what she can only deduce is his home. Harry drops her hand, much to her disappointment, fishing into his back pocket for his keys. He patiently filters through his keychain, picking out the right one and working it into the lock, a soft click emitting from the mechanism. 

Harry pushes the door open with his palm, standing off to the side just outside the threshold and tilting his head towards it, posture bowing slightly. “Ladies first.” 

Y/N thanks him quietly, taking a cautious step forward into his hallway. She can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at his gentlemanly tendencies; she rarely meets anyone as respectful as Harry seems to be and she finds his old-timey attributes to be refreshing. Helping her out the car, taking her hand to guide her through the parking lot, rubbing at her knuckles innocently, holding the door open for her— it’s all such an archaic form of chivalry she wishes she’d see more often these days. She doesn’t know if it’s a British thing, if he had just been raised like that, or if he simply does it to get laid, but she’s thankful for it either way. 

With one last glance at her friend over her shoulder, she begins wandering down the dark narrow path unsurely. The sound of the door slinking shut behind her and Harry’s footsteps ease her. 

She stops once she senses the corridor open up into a larger space, which she guesses is his living room. A soft gasp escapes her at the sight before her. The whole area is washed in darkness, the only source of light stemming from the large glass pane that stretches from the floor of the apartment to its tall ceiling. Dozens of buildings and cars glimmer below, the breath-taking image of the lively city looking almost like a snapshot from a professional movie. It’s absolutely gorgeous and she feels like she could stare at it for eons. 

A chilly hand suddenly presses along the dip of her spine, ushering her forward an inch or two, Harry’s invisible voice and warm breath hitting the shell of her left ear. “S’cuse me, dove.”   

The boy reaches behind her for the light switch and the condo bursts into radiance with one simple flick of his wrist. 

“Oh...my God.”

Harry’s home is something straight out of a luxury catalogue. The light floorboards and the mahogany panels. The massive leather couches and hand-sewn cushions. The extravagant chandeliers and glass staircase. The marble kitchen and generously packed liquor shelves. The ginormous wall of priceless artwork, littered with pieces from all different eras of history. It feels like stepping into a decor wonderland.

“Not too bad, huh?” Harry pipes up playfully, anchoring her back into reality from the floaty stupor that had consumed her mind. 

“Not too—? Are you kidding?” Y/N sputters incredulously, whizzing her head to the side sharply. “You were keeping an entire Four Seasons royal suite from me?!”

Harry belts out a bundle of childish giggles, the edges of his eyes crinkling and the tip of his button nose twitching. “I never thought of it much, to be honest. I’d grown to like your place.” 

“Right. Because a creaky mattress and a kitchen the size of a broom closet is so much more satisfying than chandeliers and a fucking glass wall.”

The vampire glimpses around his flat indicatively. “Okay, I see your point.”

“Exactly.” 

Y/N drifts forward, running the tips of her fingers across the backrest of the aged leather sofa and along the corners of the throw pillow, doing a slow circle at the middle of his home, taking everything in a second time around to make sure it isn’t a mirage. “Fuck, this is incredible. Is your boss looking for any more regional managers, by any chance?”

Harry follows after her, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his boyfriend jeans, chewing along the inside of his cheek to suppress a proud smile— a result of her explosive reaction. “I’m afraid my position is the one and only, sorry.”

Y/N droops her shoulders in exaggerated contempt, presenting a shitty English accent to tease him. “Bollocks.”

It garners the designated feedback, her tummy somersaulting at Harry’s exorbitant laughter. 

The boy comes to stand before her, cocking his head to the side questioningly towards his kitchen. “Can I offer you a drink?”

Y/N glimpses over at his bar area, eyes dancing over his extensive array of fancy bottles. “Oh, please do.”

Despite only having known Y/N for a few weeks, Harry has gotten quite acquainted with her tastes, even outside of sexual matters. She doesn't like the taste of alcohol, but she likes its effects. And he likes them, too, if he’s being honest. Her blood always begins to smell more appetizing after just a few sips and the way her cheeks heat up so easily when she’s buzzed always makes his breathing trip. 

He works his extensive skills, pulling from his liquor cabinet and mixing flavored liquids and syrups until he comes up with something that he thinks the girl will enjoy. It’s fruity, with hints of peach, lime, and strawberry, but also warm and fulfilling, with a rich whiskey and a few dashes of bitters. He plunks in a couple of ice cubes and mixes it together with a bar spoon, tapping it against the rim with finality and swiping it over his tongue in a quick taste test. He’s pretty happy with his concoction. 

Harry glances up to where Y/N is leaning against the armrest of his couch, her legs crossed before her as she stares at one of the abstract paintings mounted on his wall. It’s an original, as are the rest of them, which he had purchased some odd seventy years ago from a barely known artist whose talent had gone to waste in the world. It’s a deconstructed sunflower, with the color palette inverted and the strokes of the brush uneven and jagged. Odd and complicated, but beautiful, nonetheless. Its complexity is what makes it significant. 

The vampire slowly wanders over from his kitchen, holding her drink in one hand and a cloth napkin in the other. He takes the spot beside her along the armrest, speaking wistfully as if recalling a fond memory. “It’s a flower.”

Y/N nods slowly in recognition, peeling her gaze away with the corners of her lips jilting. “Mmhm, a sunflower.”

Harry’s brows jump in shock. Barely anyone ever guesses the identity correctly. He’s found that as time passes and humanity becomes more reliant on technology rather than cognizant knowledge, society in general has reduced to a more pea-brained state than ever. As a result, the amount of people who can interpret and understand the meaning behind complex artwork has greatly diminished, unfortunately, so he’s pleasantly surprised to find that one of the few who still possesses that talent happens to be the girl he’s shagging. “Wow, that’s a first. It’s so unusual, no one ever really gets it.”

“I guess I just have an affinity for the unusual.” His guest quips, giving him a jesting shrug of her eyebrows and a suggestive grin. 

You have no idea.

“You underestimated me, Holmes.” 

“That I did. My sincerest apologies.” Harry returns her joking simper, proceeding to then dip an index finger inside the stout glass in his grasp, bringing it up before her face. “Taste.”

Without breaking eye contact, Y/N parts her lips and allows him to coax the wet digit in, the tangy flavor of the mixture making her taste buds tingle. She encloses her mouth around his finger, lulling her tongue along it slowly with a mischievous glint shining across her irises. 

Harry’s prominent jaw clenches as he watches the scene unfold, breath bated and a moan threatening to betray him. She truly wastes no time.

He gradually pulls his finger from her tongue, struggling to clear his throat, missing its texture already. “How is it? More syrup? More biters?”

Y/N gazes up at him drunkenly, though it’s definitely not from the liquor. Her lips quirk cheekily as a result of how visibly frazzled she’d gotten him. “It’s perfect. Better than anything I’ve had at a club, that’s for sure.” 

“Yeah?” Harry taps his opal ring against the bottom of the lowball glass, trying to reign in his previous composure. “Think I could be a bartender?” 

“You don’t hit me as the type of person who has the patience for it.” The girl remarks wittily, slinking her head to the side and biting back a giggle when Harry makes a face at her.

“You make a valid point, I suppose.” The vampire responds with an airy sigh, nodding in surrender. “The stupid blabbing from drunk morons and impending fear of being vomited on would be too much for me. I wouldn’t last a day.” 

“You wouldn’t last a single night, let alone a whole day.”

“Alright, pipe down!” Harry deadpans, bumping her shoulder with his vengefully. “You’re bruising my ego.”

“It’s humongous,” Y/N snorts, shoving him in return, “it can take a few hits.”

The pair sit there in silence for a suspended moment, just taking in the expanse of the art before them. Harry then turns his torso towards her once more, bringing the drink in his grip up to her mouth. “Here, have a proper sip. Put my all into it.” 

Y/N obliges, looking up at him with her signature doe-like air of trusting innocence, allowing him to tip the hem of the cup against her mouth. The cool beverage filters through her taste buds and down her throat, the sweet and sour mixture leaving an enjoyable tingle in its wake. A few streams of the liquid bead out of the corners of her lips and Harry impulsively gathers them with the side of his index finger, the napkin in his other hand completely forgotten. 

As he goes to pull back in order to clean up, Y/N leans forward and traps his digit between her lips like before. This time, there’s a more insistent sultry hint sparkling around her pupils. 

“Christ...” Harry pants, watching Y/N work her way down his forefinger with a silent groan hinging on his teeth. 

He doesn’t deny himself from indulging the dirty action this time around. Her mouth is as soft and warm as ever, sending chills racing down his spine despite the sweater hugging his body. His mind slips for a second, reminiscing in all the other ways he’s felt the inside of her mouth before, a faint red tinge splattering across his cheekbones. 

Y/N draws his finger out, kissing messily across its length and over the pad, looking up at him through tension-heavied lashes. She doesn't speak a word, but her intentions are clear in the electricity between them.

He can’t hold back any longer, his next comment coming out as a pained growl. “God, you’re such a filthy little thing.”  

She hums softly in the back of her throat at his explicit compliment, suckling at the center of her bottom lip needily. “I like being your filthy little thing.”

Harry swallows thickly in order to keep himself somewhat tame, fangs suddenly pricking his tongue in warning.

The mortal scoots closer to him, sifting her fingers between his around the drink and bringing it upwards, downing the last couple of inches in one go. She draws the cup from his grasp, reaching over to set it down carefully on the coffee table before turning back and snuggling deeper into his heaving chest. 

Harry scoffs in amusement, but he can feel a certain charring scratching at the back of his throat. “Drinks like that are meant to be savored, darling. You’re not supposed to just pound them.” 

Y/N stretches her neck upwards, taking his earlobe between her teeth, lips wet and cold from the alcohol. His lashes flutter when her warm breath hits his skin, contradicting the sensations from before. 

“Why don’t you let me worry about how I drink, and you can worry about a different kind of pounding.”

And that’s all it takes, really. That’s all it takes for Harry to completely drop any self-control he has left. 

The creature jars his face towards her, large hand shooting upwards to grip her jaw firmly, holding her in place as he crashes their mouths together. It’s all tongue and clacking teeth, desperate whines and stuttered gasps. Y/N’s hands fumble for something to tether to while Harry takes it upon himself to grasp at her opposite hip with his free hand, yanking her onto his lap. She buries her fists in the cotton fabric of his jumper, balancing her knees on either sides of his parted thighs. The boy’s fingers coast from her jaw down to her throat, tightening ever so slightly. The action is minimal, but it reveals that flare of dominance Y/N has become addicted to. 

“Do you want it here?” Harry rasps against her eager tongue, smirking into the kiss when he feels her start to rock along the bulge that is beginning to tent his denim pants. “Do you want me to bend you over the couch and fuck you, baby? With the chandelier making your skin glow? Where we can put on a show for the whole city to see?”

It’s a tempting offer and his words obviously have some form of impact, seen in the way Y/N’s grinding takes on a hungrier, deeper pace against his clothed cock. 

“I want…” Y/N finds it difficult to voice her desires, the responsible party being the manner in which Harry glues cracked mewls onto the roof of her mouth. “I want it in your bed.” 

She doesn’t know why, but she just wants him to take her some place where the moment they share is intimate, unseen by the prying eyes of others. She wants to christen his bed exactly how he had done hers; she craves that strange connection, for some reason. Y/N isn’t naive, she knows she’s not the only person Harry has had in his home and in his sheets. But she wants that experience, nonetheless, even if it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She knows she’s not his only, but at least she’s one. 

Harry slowly breaks their kiss, brushing the tip of his nose across her own in a small comforting gesture. He blinks at her groggily, the copper specks in his eyes glitzing under the golden hue of the lighting. When he speaks, its soft and low, almost as if he doesn’t want to risk another soul overhearing. “Okay. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” 

Y/N almost doesn’t get anything she wants, given that she nearly kills herself on the trek up the stairs, courtesy of her weakened knees and wobbly ankles. Harry just barely manages to save her, but he finds the occurrence too hilarious to spare her the embarrassment. 

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny!” She exclaims indignantly as he helps her up the last few glass steps, clinging to him like a scared puppy, her hands still shaking with adrenaline. “I could have died!” 

Her shrieking only makes him laugh harder and he nearly keels over, palm clutching his stomach as if to keep it from popping. “I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just— your face when you— and how you tripped sideways— I—”

Y/N shoves him hard towards the corridor where his bedroom lies, but it’s hard to maintain an angry demeanor when the young man’s giggles sound like bells and when he looks so cute with his curls flopping across his forehead. “Dickhead.” 

They’re almost at his bedroom door when Harry grabs onto her wrist, tugging her roughly so that she lurches forward into his chest. He plants a wet kiss onto the bridge of her nose, expression entertained. “Stop being such a bad sport. It was pretty funny.”

“Yeah, okay.” She huffs begrudgingly, glancing down impatiently at his plump lips as he walks backwards down the hallway with her in tow. “You can invalidate my rage once you have a near death experience yourself.”

The irony of it all. 

Harry kicks the door open, ghosting his mouth over Y/N’s and watching her sight do a quick sweep around the area. “Welcome to my lair.” 

The human likes his aesthetic. The room has different hues of the same color, so it all ties together nicely, and the hanging lights look like miniature versions of the two large ones downstairs. The bed is huge, which is a relief because for once, they won’t have to actively worry about accidentally rolling off the edge mid-fuck. “It’s nice. Very chic.” 

“Thanks.” Harry reaches up and cups either side of her neck with his palms, dragging his damp lips over her chin and down the center of her jugular, smiling against her skin when he feels her shiver. “It doesn't have a bookshelf wall like yours, but I make due.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wisps out weakly, leaning her head back as he speckles his mouth across that sensitive point on her throat he discovered ages ago. “I bet.”

She feels Harry’s touch travel down her torso, cold fingers suddenly smearing across her love handles beneath her work shirt. His grip tightens at the hem with the intention of pulling the polo off, breath hot as it washes over her collarbones. “Wanna find out just how good I make it work?”

Y/N’s arms instinctively raise on command, her reply shaky and fragile. “Yes, please.” 

Harry makes it work. He makes it work so fucking well. He doesn’t need crazy positions or any vibrating toys to make her feel good; he just knows her so thoroughly by now that he’s able to tend to every single one of her needs like it’s his sole purpose. The sex is missionary, with her splayed out across her back upon his mound of feathered pillows, her thighs clamped over his hips as he slams into her at a harsh, curt pace. Her calves are tied around the backs of his thighs, her nails are carving memories into the broad expanse of his shoulders, they’re both panting curse words and encouragement into each other’s mouths, and he’s cradling her to his chest as if he wants to absorb her heartbeat right through her ribs. If only obtaining one were that easy. 

Y/N allows her head to fall back against the cushions, drawing away from the prolonged kiss only because she needs air to continue. Harry’s lips busy themselves elsewhere, running down the valley of her chest and toying with one of her pebbled nipples. Y/N’s back gives a sharp arch the second he brushes across the sensitive nub and the taunting coo he releases goes straight to her core. 

“Liked that, darling? Like it when I kiss you there?”

The girl’s lashes have fallen shut, her eyes lulling around in their sockets as he maintains a steady rhythm between her thighs, ramming into her with so much force, the headboard is knocking into the wall. It’s loud and intense enough that Harry has to fit one of his palms between the railings, bracing the weight of the bed in order to prevent a hole from forming. 

Y/N’s voice fills the dense atmosphere, so shattered and raw, she can hardly understand herself. “It feels so— so good, H.” 

“I love it when you call me that. Sounds so pretty coming from your lips.” The vampire’s tongue flicks over her nipple a handful of times, dark veins momentarily webbing over the whites of his eyes at the cracked whimper she lets loose. “And of course it feels good. I always make you feel good, don’t I? Always make my girl cum so—fucking—hard.” 

Y/N’s trembling fingers card into the curls along the nape of Harry’s neck as he thrusts to his words, twisting them around her knuckles and swimming in the throaty groan he pours over the clammy skin of her breasts. Her whisper sounds distant and dreamy. “Please...Please don’t stop.”

Harry gazes up at her through heavy lashes, lapping at her chest more fervently, accent thick and deep. “I won’t, baby. Not until I have you dripping all over my sheets.”

After a few more minutes of fractured moans bouncing around the panels of the room and the noise of wet skin slapping together, something catches Y/N’s bleary eyes. She wills past the blissful fog in her mind, focusing on the intriguing object hanging from one of the railings of Harry’s bedpost, swaying back and forth wildly due to his strong tempo. 

“Are those...Are those handcuffs?” 

Harry’s attention jumps to where hers is pinned, his powerful stride coming to a gradual stop. He’s heaving and shuddering above her, ringlets matted to his jaw and across his temples, cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of cherry red. His Adam’s Apple bobs once and he gives a short nod. “Y-Yeah. I’ve had them for a while...”

The hope dripping from his voice is practically palpable and Y/N interprets it easily. She glances down at him as he takes quivering inhales against her chest, his eyes bleeding lust. Her mumble is so quiet and soft, he wonders how it’s possible for her to make some of the preposterously loud sounds he’s used to hearing whenever he’s buried this deep. “Use them on me. Please?”

Harry bends to her request without hesitation. He locks her wrists into the restraints, sponging a kiss onto each before giving them one hard tug to check for security. He then regains his rough slams, but with more fervor than before. 

The monster sits back onto his heels, groping her waist roughly and working her against his thighs, watching welts form on her flesh along the pads of his fingers. Y/N unconsciously begins circling her hips to match his speed and the fractured groan that rips out of him makes her walls tighten. He looks incredible looming in front of her, head toppled back between his shoulder blades, bouncing to his every ram. His throat flexes with the weight, jaw taut and inked pectorals glistening with sweat under the dim lights dangling from his ceiling. “That’s it, pet, just like that. Love the way you ride it. You’re so fucking tight and warm and...and just— Christ, just fuck me.”

She wishes she could frame this moment in time and drag it out forever.  

Harry swings his head forward again, blinking the blurriness from his vision to take in the image before him. Y/N just looks so fucking gorgeous like that, tied down at his beck and call, her chest bouncing pertly as her fingers bunch around the chain link, thighs clinging to his waist as she chews her bottom lip raw in an attempt to control her noises. 

The vampire ducks down, connecting their mouths in a sloppy kiss that cajoles her into spilling all the moans she had been withholding. He feels them trickle down his lungs and diffuse into his bones, flames lapping across his insides as their foreheads bump and noses smudge, ragged breaths intermingling. “Let it out for me, hm? Wanna know how I’m making you feel, don’t care who hears.”

As if that isn’t enough, there’s an instance where Harry’s animalistic senses suddenly enhance and he comes to the realization that the metal cuffs have made a tiny laceration along her skin. 

A thin trail of blood travels down her suspended arm, but she doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in the pleasure Harry is pounding into the pit of her stomach. So he simply leans upwards and licks the sweet droplet clean, feeling heat spark across every fiber of his being. He laps up the entire stream and then presses a tender kiss to her palm for good measure, grunting out a gentle, “There’s a good girl.” when she whines at the affectionate gesture. 

The release Harry is getting from between Y/N’s legs mixes with the ecstasy her blood brings, and it shoves him over the edge in a manner he hasn’t experienced since that first time they slept together all those weeks ago. Since the first time he tasted what lies in her veins, while also simultaneously getting to taste the indescribable relief her body so readily brings him.

After all is said and done that night, something peculiar happens. After they both milk their orgasms for everything it’s worth, and after Y/N gives into exhaustion in his arms with her wrists bruised and a content watery smile on her face, and after he gets a heftier drink from her neck and heals the two little puncture wounds with his own blood...The most bizarre, unexpected event occurs. 

Harry falls asleep soundly for the first time in months, and all he dreams about is how Y/N tasted. 

///

Y/N wakes up the next morning to her body covered in Harry’s Nike jumper, to an empty spot beside her in the messy duvet, to a familiar tune tinging her ears from a distance, and to a satisfying ache between her thighs. 

As soon as she cracks the bedroom door open, the smell of pancakes wafts in through the chilled morning air. Specifically, lemon and blueberry pancakes. Her grandmother’s lemon and blueberry pancakes.

A shiver runs down Y/N’s spine the second she sets a toe along the cold glass panels of Harry’s staircase. She takes a deep breath, pulling the extra length of the sweater’s sleeves over her fists and tugging the hem of the article downwards as if she could convince it to cover more than just half her thighs. She carefully works her way down the steps, flinching at the iciness that travels up her legs with every motion. When she finally thunks down emptily onto the light-wash floorboards, her body has grown accustomed to the temperature. As she pads across the furry rug in Harry’s living room, she finds herself wondering why everything connected to him is always so unusually cold— colder than any normal person could withstand. His touch, his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, his chest, even his thighs; everything is always freezing, and she doesn’t understand how he can bear it. It’s such an odd affinity to have. 

The human gradually wanders into the vampire’s kitchen, peeking inside the room from behind one of the archway’s walls. What she sees throws her for a loop. 

Harry is cooking breakfast, as she expected from the sweet scent she’d awoken to, but he’s doing it in a manner she never really expected from him. 

Music stems from a portable speaker he has situated at the center of the marble kitchen island, blaring loud enough to fill the entire giant home with high notes, guitar chords, and acapella riffs. The young man is dancing across his kitchen as he cooks, clad in nothing but a set of black Calvin Klein briefs and a pair of fuzzy magenta socks. Y/N rakes down his body, admiring the crimson and purple love bites she had left on his chest and the raspberry red scratches zig-zagging across his back, the marks flexing with the movements of his muscles. They’re strangely faint, for some reason. Practically barely there. 

She chalks it up to the fact that maybe she hadn’t bruised him as much as she’d thought. 

Y/N forces herself to keep her mind from straying onto anymore explicit topics; it’s probably not even ten A.M. yet. She needs to get herself under control.

Grooving while in the kitchen isn’t necessarily weird (she’s guilty of it herself), but Harry’s dancing techniques very much are. The only accurate depiction of it is that for a boy in his twenties, he dances like an old geezer in his eighties. His moves are choppy and old-schooled, almost like what you’d expect to see in a nineteen fifties disco hall, and watching him ebb and flow across the tiled ground to choreography similar to that of Dirty Dancing and Footloose... It would send anybody into a fit of laughter. Especially since Harry is so tall and lanky, so how he manages to move in such a way is beyond her understanding. 

Aside from that, his choice of music is baffling, as well. Not only because she recognizes the soundtrack, but because she would have never expected someone like him— with his cocky behavior and overly-confident caliber— to be into these types of songs at all. She always pegged him for the seventies rock and roll type. 

“You like Hamilton?” 

Harry’s actions creak to a halt and he whips around towards where the disturbance had stemmed, spatula clutched in one hand and a marble plate stacked with pancakes in the other. His face breaks into a bright smile, voice slathered with dramatic friendliness. “Well, look who finally got up! I was starting to think you were dead, Sleeping Beauty.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him mockingly, walking over to the kitchen counter and propping herself onto her elbows, chin in hand as she watches him set down the platter of food before her. She tips forward onto her toes, taking a deep inhale of the homey, sugary smell, letting it wash over her in flashes of childhood memories. “Are these like the ones I make?”

“Lemon and blueberry, yeah.” Harry bobs his head casually, turning around to place his metal spatula down into the sink, as well as to retrieve a glass bottle of maple syrup from one of his cupboards. “They’re pretty close, I think. I’ve never seen you use a recipe or measuring cups or anything when you make them, so I kinda eyeballed it to the best of my ability. Hope I did your nan justice.”

He pours a decently-sized glop of syrup over the mountain of treats and Y/N watches excitedly as it trickles down all the layers. He then pushes back from the table, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through, continuing to whistle along to the tune of Satisfied as he bops the cabinet closed with his hip and sets down an extra pair of forks and knives beside the plate. 

Harry cuts a neat triangle out of the pancake at the top, pointing at her with his fork as he shrugs his brows nonchalantly. “And to answer your question from before: yes, I do like Hamilton.”

“Hm. Interesting.” Y/N murmurs, going cross-eyed as Harry offers her the forkful of food in his possession, poking at her mouth playfully and getting maple syrup all over her lips. She opens obediently, allowing him to feed her the piece. “You don’t really seem like the type of guy— oh, wow, these are actually really good!”

Harry bites into his lower lip with his two front teeth, a proud smile dimpling his cheeks as the light draft from the air vent ruffles a couple of his sex-mussed ringlets across his forehead. “Yeah? You mean it?”

The mortal nods her head vigorously as she finishes chewing and swallowing, wiping away some of the leftover syrup from her top lip with her middle finger and sucking it clean. “Yeah! You hit it spot on.”

“Aces. I should be on The Great British Bake Off.” Harry makes a small, celebratory fist bump next to his hip and the childish gesture makes Y/N snort softly. 

“Like I was saying, you don’t really strike me as the type of guy who would be into musicals.” The girl comments, watching her friend cut another triangle out of the first pancake and pop it into his own mouth. 

The vampire chews thoughtfully for a second, lifting one shoulder offhandedly and swallowing fully before talking. “I’m really not, to be honest. But this specific musical is pretty good. The songs are catchy.”

He nudges the other pair of utensils across the counter for emphasis, silently inviting her to dig into the dish along with him. She accepts, slicing down the other side of the stack as he leans forward onto his elbows, mimicking her stance. He gives her a curious glance. “What about you? Do you like musicals?” 

Y/N shrugs, poking a few chunks of food onto her fork. “Not really, but I had a major Hamilton phase back in college. That’s why I recognized it.” 

Harry hums in understanding, picking a blueberry off and chewing it slowly, a sly smirk beginning to tweak the corners of his mouth. “So were you, like, a nerd back then?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say a nerd, but I had decent grades and was pretty quiet.”

He swallows down audibly, blinking impassively. “That’s literally the definition of a nerd.” 

Y/N returns his flat expression. “Fuck off.”

Harry throws his palms up in peaceful surrender, but he still has that shit-eating grin present. “Alright, fine, fine...It’s okay if you were, though. You were probably one of those cute ones, y’know? With the clunky glasses and innocent goody-goody face.” 

“Shut up.”

“Oh, and with one of those short little plaid skirts?” He releases a pained groan, clutching his chest and closing his eyes for a second. She has no doubt he’s sketching some type of graphic image of her in his mind. “God, I bet you looked so good. Do you still have it? Can you wear it for me?”

“I said shut up!” Y/N reaches forward and stabs at his tummy lightly with her fork, ignoring the warmth crawling up her neck and across her cheeks. “Fucking perv.”

Harry smacks her utensil away with his own, giggling lightly as she tries to prick him again, continuing to fight her off. “I’m just asking a question! For science!” 

Y/N twists her fork around his, trying to outmaneuver him into dropping it. “How could my fashion sense in college possibly contribute to science in any way?” 

The vampire easily catches onto her play, slipping himself out of her grasp and trying to trap her makeshift sword down against the tabletop. He purses his lips into a simper, glimpsing up at her through his lashes and quirking his brows cheekily. “Biologically, of course. It contributes to my solo reproductive activities.”

“You are vile.” 

“Really? ‘Cause you seemed pretty happy to help with said activities last night.” 

Y/N drops her fork onto the brim of the platter, reaching up to massage at her temples and keep herself from swatting Harry’s eyeballs out of their sockets. “I’m finished.” 

“Yeah,” the jade of his irises glimmers coyly as he sets down his utensil beside hers in a ceasefire, “you definitely finished.”

Harry chuckles boyishly as Y/N drags her palms down her face, trying to hide away how flustered he’s getting her. She decides to change the subject, not caring to steer the conversation smoothly at all, but rather jumping to another topic right away. “So does this mean you have all the lyrics memorized? Since you like them so much?” 

“I do, yeah.” Harry taps his fingers against the marble counter to the beat of the song currently playing. “Do you?” 

“I was obsessed, so of course I do.” Y/N reasons, her own digits following in tune with the immortal’s. “I think Non-Stop was probably my favorite to sing. It made for a good shower concert.”

“Well, it’s settled then.” Harry quips happily, reaching for his phone and tapping across the screen. “We’re duetting this. Right now. C’mon, Burr.”

Y/N’s motions stop, shyness creeping in from the back of her brain. “Oh, I don’t know, Harry. I never really—”

Her refusal is interrupted by the beginning of the arrangement mentioned, the notes blasting through the speaker as Harry purposefully turns up the volume to drown her out. He taps at his ear symbolically, mouthing, “Sorry, I can't hear you!” and he doesn’t even attempt to ward off the evil grin creeping across his face. 

“Harry, I’m serious—” 

But it’s already too late. Harry juts his hand out in front of him, pointing at his companion with a theatrical edge as he begins to serenade, picking up the slack of her part. 

“After the war I went back to New York. A-After the war I went back to New York. I finished up my studies and I practiced law. I practiced law, Burr worked next door!”

He looks at her expectantly, urging her to jump into the next half as her assigned role. Y/N muscles down her hesitation and recites the lines timidly with her brows creased in hesitation, but at least she’s participating. “Even though we started at the very same time, Alexander Hamilton began to climb. How to account for his rise to the top?”

Harry joins her in the next stanza, grabbing her hand midair in encouragement, trying to shake her out of her rut. “Man, the man is non-stop!”

Y/N is surprised at how well they sound harmonizing together, and she can feel her discomfort slowly begin to melt. She watches as Harry freely boasts his solo with absolutely no remorse, making grand gestures as he slides down the side of the counter, his movements dragging her along. 

“Gentlemen of the jury, I'm curious, bear with me. Are you aware that we're making history?” The boy taps at his chin to symbolize that he’s thinking, acting out the story the lyrics construct. “This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation, the liberty behind deliberation.”

He points at Y/N once again and she does the supporting vocals, gradually beginning to gain more confidence. “Non-stop!”

“I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, with my assistant counsel—”

Harry doesn’t even have to cue Y/N this time around; she picks up her half immediately, falling into line with him flawlessly as if they’ve done this a million times before. “Co-counsel. Hamilton, sit down. Our client Levi Weeks is innocent, call your first witness.”

Harry quickly rounds the corner of the kitchen island, giving her body a grand spin as he draws closer, coming to stand right before her. She gives him a fake exasperated look to match the attitude her character depicts, shaking her head in disapproval. “That's all you had to say.”

“Okay…” The creature yanks Y/N forward into his bare chest, leaning down and flirting his lips right over hers tauntingly, eyes half-lidded in amusement. “One more thing—”

“Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room?” The girl rolls her eyes dramatically, shoving past Harry’s shoulder and she finds it humorous how these lines fit so well, almost as if they were actually directed at him, calling him out on the arrogance he always seems to dote. “Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude may be your doom.”

Harry swivels on his heel, following her as she scurries outside the kitchen entrance, running into the living room. 

“Why do you write like you're running out of time?” Y/N grabs onto one of the couch cushions, pretending to scribble over it with a fake pen. “Write day and night, like you're running out of time? Everyday you fight, like you're running out of time.”

Harry swipes at her from across the couch, trying to grasp onto the jumper she’s wearing. “Keep on fighting in the meantime.”

Y/N ducks out of the path of his grabbing hand, chucking the pillow forward and it bonks him square in the face. She sticks her tongue out at him as Harry scowls dully, climbing onto his sofa and scuttling towards her on his hand and knees.

She jumps just out of reach, diving across the other end of the furniture. The vampire throws his weight to try and tackle her to the sofa, but she just barely escapes. He ends up toppling over the backrest due to his over-abundant momentum. 

“Non-stop!” Y/N waves her middle up at him triumphantly as he pushes himself up off the ground, giving her a challenging look as he takes off after her once again. 

The pair continue to sing back and forth, with Harry chasing Y/N around the living room and kitchen as he belts out his part of the song, Y/N always somehow managing to slip from his grasp as soon as her turn hits. They’re a mess of giggles, silly faces, and boisterous actions as they reenact the play and neither can recall a time they had ever had more fun. There’s never been an instance when they felt so comfortable with another soul that they are willing to run around half-naked, screaming lyrics at each other in their underwear, not caring who sees or overhears. It just feels so second-nature.

A section of the song comes up where a woman is singing and Harry immediately takes up the part, placing his hand on his bare hip and standing in the most feminine fashion he can possibly muster, fanning at his face. “I am sailing off to London, I am accompanied by someone who always pays.” 

The exaggeration makes Y/N bend over laughing and her distraction allows Harry to nab her. He pulls her into his embrace by her forearms, cackling through the following stanza as she wriggles and squirms to try and get free. “I have found a wealthy husband who will keep me in comfort for all my days.” 

Y/N finally gives up on trying to thrash herself free, going limp against his chest and glimpsing up at him with begrudged annoyance, but a fond smile is unmistakably buckling her cheeks. Harry leans down, singing right in her face just to flaunt his victory, their noses brushing. “He is not a lot of fun, but…”

And then, there’s a shift in the ambiance between them. 

Harry gazes down at her as she giggles up at him from his arms, full of so much genuine warmth and excitement, she could power the entire city if she wanted. Her shoulders are heaving slightly as a result of all the running, there’s still faint traces of black mascara smeared under her waterline and down her cheeks from the previous evening’s exertions, she has some acne scarring littering her cheekbones that look fairly recent, and her hair looks like it could nest a family of at least ten birds. But despite these imperfections, Harry finds himself feeling oddly endeared by it all. These flaws are all things he’s gotten used to and has grown to treasure in Y/N. They make her who she is. They make her witty, and they make her clever. They make her fun, as well as trusting. They make her likeable, and energetic, and kind. They make her a good friend and a generous lover. They make her... her. Harry gets the feeling that if she didn’t have all of these traits— if even one was missing— this little arrangement they have going wouldn’t have flourished the way it did. 

Yeah, maybe he would have slept with her once or twice more just to scratch an itch, but he most likely would have let it fizzle to an end after the fact. Her personality paired with these small details— albeit, not all entirely attractive— that make up her existence play a key role in the dynamic they share. And he wouldn’t trade them for anything else— wouldn't trade Y/N for anyone else. Not anytime soon. 

A warm surge travels through his chest, filling his veins like kerosine, heating him from the heels of his socked feet to the tips of his ice cold fingers. An unorthodox swelling sensation twists inside his ribs, right where his heart used to beat, and he finds himself reciting the next line in a soft voice packed with more emotion than he’s shown or felt in the last two centuries.

“There’s no one who can match you, for turn of phrase…”

Y/N seems oblivious to all of the unsettling experiences he’s undergoing, her amused expression not changing in the slightest. Harry allows the rest of the song lyrics to pass by, the lump in his throat too heavy to fight. Instead, he just keeps staring down at Y/N with brows frowning in confusion, his breathing coming out bated and shaky, and that knot in his chest continuing to tighten until it becomes painful. He gets the sudden urge to kiss her— to feel her lips press to his and feel her give into him the way she always does. The way she has for the last four weeks. He doesn’t want it to be sloppy or desperate or sexual; he wants it to be intimate, soft, and caring. He wants it to be special. Something they share. Something only they share.

Then, that moment passes. That flicker of weakness that had leaked through vanishes and Harry feels like he can breathe properly again.

He breaks their locked eyes, releasing Y/N from his hold and taking a swift step back, coughing awkwardly to try and rid the tickling sensation in the back of his throat. He scratches at the nape of his neck nervously, fiddling with his baby curls and attempting to piece himself back together after that unexpected and unwelcome intrusion of his innermost feelings. Though, he doesn’t know if that spectacle even files under the category of emotions; from what he remembers, they aren’t supposed to tangibly attack you in such a manner. It felt more like a violation— like someone had gone in and started poking and prodding at his subconscious with a metal skewer. 

“Harry…?” Y/N inches closer to him, concern prevalent in her voice and across her features as she stretches her hand out caringly. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.” 

“I-I’m—” His voice comes out higher than usual and quivering, so he coughs once again to get it under control, taking another step back. He's scared that if she touches him, that horrible burning sensation will come back. “I’m fine. Just...Just forgot the lyrics.” 

“Oh, okay…” The girl doesn’t sound convinced with the answer, but she lets the subject falter anyways, her hand dropping back down beside her thigh. “Just checking.” 

“Yeah, I got that. Uh, thanks. But I’m all good now.” He holds up a clenched first and juts out his pinky, wiggling it for significance. “Promise”

Y/N scoffs gently at his playful deed. “Alright, then.” 

Harry eyes her attentively as she returns to her previous spot in front of the plate of pancakes, retrieving her fork and starting to pick at them like before, as if nothing had happened. As if Harry hadn’t just almost had a cardiac arrest, despite the fact that the organ responsible had crumbled to dust ages ago.

“Are you gonna eat anymore?” Y/N signals down at the stack of pastries before her questioningly. “Because if you don’t get some now, I’ll eat them all myself. Don’t think I won’t. They’re better than the ones I make and—”

The vampire suddenly feels like bile is rising up his throat and his words spew out before he can think to stop them, though he’s not so sure he would. 

“Do you want to stay over the rest of the weekend?”

[spidernerdsblog]

You’re a Sunflower (Part 2)

A/N : as some of you requested a second part here is it. I tried to incorporate all of the ideas you sent. Hope you like it. Let me know what you think.

Part 1

Pairing : Peter Parker x Reader

Summary : you finally come out of coma.

Warnings : none 

Peter’s phone rang the caller id flashing with Mr Stark’s name as he receives the call

“Hey Mr. Stark”

“Hey kid, where are you?” his voice sounded a little wary.

“Uh I’m at a college party. Is everything alright?” Peter frowns.

“Uh Peter you might want to be here at the compound right now”

“Anything wrong?”

“It’s Y/N” Peter felt his heart clench at it as an unknown fear gripped him.

“Y/N? What happened to her?” he asks restlessly.

“Things don't seem pretty good you should come as early as possible” Peter ends the call immediately without wasting time he rushed out of the party. Reaching the compound he runs out of the elevator to go to your room.

“Y/N! Y/N!” he pants as he finds your room empty.

“Peter..” Tony places a hand on his shoulder.

“Mr Stark where’s Y/N?” he turns to him with tears in his eyes.

“She has been shifted to the emergency room, her vitals were fluctuating massively. We have called in the best team of doctors and Strange is personally supervising everything. All will be fine kid” Tony tries his best to calm him down just then Strange and Banner walk out of the emergency room.

“What is her condition now Strange?” Tony asks.

“Nothing satisfactory. The toxin levels in her brain are just increasing by time we are trying to lower it but she isn’t responding to any of the drugs. If it deteriorates further I’m sorry to say but she might suffer a multi organ failure” Strange informs sadly.

“Mr Stark what if you give my blood to her? The spider venom in it will quickly heal her” Peter sounded desperate as he proposes the idea to them.

“Peter, are you forgetting that your father genetically modified the venom which is only compatible with his bloodline. Your blood will just worsen her condition” Tony says disapprovingly.

“I know but you’re the genius Tony Stark. Can’t you and Bruce think of a way to reverse engineer it and make her DNA compatible with my blood?” 

“It's impossible Peter it will take days, we even don’t know if it will even work or not and Y/N is running out of time” Banner points out.

“No, no there’s got to be some other way” he rambles pacing up and down the room.

“Peter, listen, you need to calm down” Tony advises.

“How can I calm down when the love of my life, my best friend is dying in front of my eyes and I’m sitting here helpless?!” Peter snaps out at him before dropping down on a nearby chair feeling awful at yelling at his father figure like mentor. He was completely broken from inside seeing you in your deathbed. He has lost his parents, his uncle, he doesn’t want to lose you too.

“Peter, we can understand what you’re going through everyone here loves Y/N  dearly but you have to stay strong” Natasha sat beside him rubbing his shoulders gently to help him calm down.

“Her pulse is declining” one of the doctors announced

“Charge the defibrillators now” Strange orders as he rushes inside.

“Y/N!” Peter stands up immediately 

“No, Peter you can’t go inside” everybody stops him.

“You don’t understand Y/N is dying she needs me” Peter sobbed.

“No one is dying today, get yourself together Queens” Steve orders him strictly.

Peter saw through the glass partition from outside the emergency room, your face covered with an oxygen mask and several wires connecting your body to different machines in the room, the team of doctors surrounding you trying their best in keeping you alive. One of them charged the defibrillator and placed the paddles on your chest. Your body jolted at the shock as everyone observed the monitor with anticipation but unfortunately your heart rate was continuously decreasing. They repeated the process but it seemed to be a futile attempt.

The beeping went slower and the HRM flat lined as Peter stared at it blankly.

Is this how your story ends? No heartfelt conversations, no last goodbyes just you drifting away from him in your sleep forever. The promise you made to each other of growing old together now lay broken. He hates to make this about himself but what is he supposed to do without you? When life gets hard who is he gonna pour his heart out to? Who’s going to cheer him up and make him believe in himself? Will he never get the chance to say how much he loves you? That you’re his ray of sunshine, his sunflower. You lighten up his life with your warmth and love and without you it’s all dark and cold. Tears trickled down his eyes as he watched the doctors give cpr to your limp body.

“Okay one more time” they charged the device and pressed it on your chest. Your body jolted all eyes inside and outside the room trained on the monitor hoping for some miracle to happen and after some nerve racking seconds later the machine started to beep again with kinks appearing in the monitor showing your heart was beating again. Everyone heaved a sigh of relief and rejoiced at it.

Strange and Banner walk out of the room to break the news that you were finally responding to the medicines and the toxin levels have decreased in your body. They also indicated that there may be a slight chance of you to wake up from your coma. Peter refused to go back home and stayed up all night by your side. He had decided to never let you out of his sight anymore.

��

Next morning Peter was dozing off beside you half asleep whilst you lay on the bed motionless, the sunlight peeking through the blinders of the window when suddenly you mumbled in your sleep.

“Peter…Peter..” Peter immediately jolted out of his sleep, his eyes wide in surprise and disbelief he thought he may be hearing things due to lack of sleep and then he watched you stir in your sleep there was a surge of emotions inside him as he jumped off his seat.

“Y/N?” lacing his hand to yours he shouted out “Mr Stark! Y/N is awake!”  

“Peter..” you mumbled again 

“Y/N I’m right here” his voice quivered, holding your hand tighter as tears filled his eyes. You squint your eyes open your pupils slowly adjusting to the lighting of the room and the first thing you saw was Peter’s warm honey brown eyes red and puffy tears streaming down the corners.

“Hey” he sniffles, smiling weakly. You tried to sit up with a groan.

“No, no don’t get up you’re weak” Peter makes you lie down again, your eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings.

“Where am I?” you ask in a raspy voice.

“You’re in the Avengers med facility” he informs wiping his tears with his hands.

“Why? What happened?” you frown as you hold your head a dull ache still persisting. “Why can’t I remember anything? The last thing I recall is you defeated eletro and-and then Harry threw me off the building, I-I was so scared” you rambled. He pulled you in his arms caressing the back of your head gently.

“I know, I know but everything is okay now, you’re safe” he murmured softly, you pulled away to look at him properly. 

“Did you get him?” Peter takes a long sigh before breaking the news to you.

“No Y/N and it has been 3 months to that incident” his voice was calm as your eyes bulged out in shock.

“Wait 3 months! But why don’t I remember anything after that?” you were totally lost.

“Y/N you had been in a coma for the last three months” he informs you.

“What?” you looked at him in disbelief 

“Yes Y/N I couldn’t save you on time and you were badly injured, the doctors were also unsure that if you were ever gonna recover but finally you are awake now”

“Oh my god..wait, where’s mom and dad? Are they ok? And aunt May?” you badgered him with questions.

“Everyone is fine Y/N and they will soon be here to meet you” he assures you meanwhile Tony came rushing in.

“Peter we heard you..” he stopped as soon as his eyes went to you “oh my god Y/N you’re finally awake” he exclaims in joy as the other avengers walk in the room they were equally happy and relieved that you have finally recovered.

“Welcome back to the land of the awakened” Natasha snickers giving you a warm hug as you smiled widely “Girl you really scared us last night”

Everyone asked you about how you’re feeling to which you had to reassure them several times that you feel fine. Your parents came to visit you along with aunt May; it was indeed an emotional moment for everyone. 

Later when everybody had finally left you alone in your room to rest Peter came in with a bouquet of sunflowers in hand. Your face instantly lit up seeing him. You never got the chance to talk to him properly between your parents and friends dropping by to pay you a visit and ask about your wellbeing so you were dying to have some alone time with him. 

“Aw you brought me sunflowers?” you chimed and he gave you a warm smile.

“Of course they’re your favourite after all, I actually brought them everyday for you so whenever you wake up you see the thing that makes you happiest” he says putting them inside the vase and then sits beside you.

“Then I have to say it's you who makes me the happiest” you reach out your hand to cup his face he holds it with his hand and softly kisses it.

Tony along with the other avengers were on their way to check up on you but they stopped at the doorway seeing you both.

“Aww they look so cute together again” Natasha gushed while Tony and Steve broke into a smile.

“I’m so happy to see the kid smiling again these past three months had been hell for him” Tony looks at Peter proudly.

“Let’s not disturb them right now and ruin the moment for them” Steve suggested.

“Yeah let them be, they deserve some alone time” Natasha and Tony agreed and went away. 

“Ok I know the college applications are closed now but I’m sure Mr Stark can pull some strings and I’ll provide you with all the notes you don’t have to worry about anything ok” Peter says cheerfully.

“Peter I just woke up from a three month coma. The last thing I want to hear right now is about college and exams” 

“Ok so what do you wanna talk about?” he scratches the back of his neck nervously.

“Can we just talk about you? How are you?”

“Well now that you’re out of coma I’m good, I really missed you so much” his face drops remembering the tragic night.

“Wish I could say the same if I wasn’t completely knocked out heh” you tried to lighten the mood.

“I was so scared for a moment I thought I lost you forever” he clings onto your hand

“It’s ok Peter I’m here now and completely fine, see” you tried to cheer him up

“No it's not this was all my fault, if it wasn’t for me your life wouldn’t have come in danger. It was to take revenge on me Harry threw you off the building and I couldn’t even save you” he sniffles. You cradle his face with your hands and make him look at you.

“Peter, look at me. it. wasn’t. your fault. do you understand? You had always tried to keep me away from your dangerous life but it was I who insisted to stay by your side and I’m gonna continue doing that” you gazed into his chocolate brown eyes “and as I said before I laugh at the face of danger see I even defeated death for you” you chuckled.

“And that will be the last time Y/N, promise me whatever happens you’ll never put your life in danger for me again, promise me Y/N” he insists as you sigh.

“Okay I promise you” you pull him closer to you as he leans forward to capture your lips. It had been a long time he had felt your soft lips on his as he instantly melted in the kiss. It was so delicate, soft and full of love as tears of joy streamed down both of your eyes.

..................................................................................

[inkykeiji]

i like the way they run, then fall, then die

character: shigaraki tomura

genre: gore/violence for torture, then smut

notes: this takes place before the events of break my bones but act as my spine! please, please heed the warnings. the entire first half of this is a torture scene. if you’re just here for the smut and would prefer not to read the torture, scroll all the way down to the three stars dividing part one from part two - you can still read the smut without reading the torture if u wanna, all you need to know is that tomura tortured + murdered a boy who had been harassing the reader at university and now he’s coming home. please please please stay safe <33 | title credit: nitro cell by city morgue

warnings: 18+, torture, murder, blood/gore, graphic depictions of violence, daddy kink, spanking with a belt, edging, mild degradation, possessiveness/generally toxic relationship

words: 4.6k

synopsis:

He isn’t usually one for torture—all this pleading drives him absolutely insane, makes it feel like a thousand tiny bugs are crawling under his skin. However, when it comes to someone who has wronged you, well…that’s a different issue entirely.

Men who bother you deserve to be tortured within an inch of their lives, and Tomura will gladly endure their pitiful begging; he wants to hear them beg and plead and cry like the pathetic pieces of shit they are. He wants them to suffer, and to suffer immensely, for even thinking about touching something that’s his, for daring to utter a disrespectful word to something that’s his.

     ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰         

Bleary hazel eyes open, blinking twice then squinting as they try to adjust to the bright light, a head full of orange curls lolling back heavily. It takes the boy’s hazy mind a few moments to register the fact that he’s tied to a chair, thick rope binding him to it.

Tomura knows the boy recognizes him almost instantly when their gaze meets and his hazel eyes widen in an almost comical manner, breath hitching painfully in his chest as he chokes on a gasp. A wicked, toothless smile spreads across Tomura’s face.

He’d have a hard time forgetting those ruby eyes that, impossibly, seem like they’re glowing under the fluorescent lights of the old abandoned A.F.O laboratory; those same eyes that had glared at the redhead over your shoulder only a few days ago as Tomura caught you in his arms.  

This boy had been pestering you for a while now. You hadn’t thought much of it the first day it happened, wrote it off as some overeager and overconfident college boy, but by the third day you were sure this classified as harassment. Sick of repeating yourself and firmly telling the boy that you have a boyfriend and you’re not interested, you whined to Tomura about it that night after dinner, your head in his lap as his slender fingers carded through your hair—and inadvertently sentenced the boy to death, right then and there.

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt more relieved in your life when you spotted Tomura leaning casually against the Maybach after your last class had ended, the day after you had voiced your complaints. Taking off the moment your eyes met, you ran into his waiting arms, cutting the boy off mid-sentence. Tomura must’ve given that boy an awfully nasty look, because the harassment magically stopped.

Or so you thought.

Nevertheless, the boy manages to spit out a shaky, “Wh-Who are you?” as he begins to struggle against his restraints.

“Aw, come on, you know who I am,” Tomura says like their old friends, walking a few feet towards him with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Where am I? What am I doing here?” his eyes dart around the room wildly, barely pausing on the three men leaning against the wall behind Tomura before they find his face again, big and frenzied.

Tomura’s smile spreads, revealing sharp white teeth. He isn’t usually one for torture—all this pleading drives him absolutely insane, makes it feel like a thousand tiny bugs are crawling under his skin. However, when it comes to someone who has wronged you, well…that’s a different issue entirely.

Men who bother you deserve to be tortured within an inch of their lives, and Tomura will gladly endure their pitiful begging; he wants to hear them beg and plead and cry like the pathetic pieces of shit they are. He wants them to suffer, and to suffer immensely, for even thinking about touching something that’s his, for daring to utter a disrespectful word to something that’s his.

He doesn’t answer the boy’s questions, instead opting to pull out his phone and scroll through it quickly.

“You wanna see the love of my life?” there’s a slight bite to his tone as he shoves the device in the redhead’s face, pale hand gripping it so tightly it trembles a little.

The kid’s eyes fill with tears as he stares at your smiling face, tiny sobs beginning to sound from deep in his throat. His eyes flit between the screen and Tomura, an impending sense of doom looming over him.

“She’s real pretty, isn’t she?” he asks mockingly, a hint of a pout in his voice. “Pretty enough to harass, yeah? Pretty enough to render you incapable of understanding the word no, eh?”

“I’m sorry,” the kid’s already wailing, pathetic sobs beginning get under Tomura’s skin, blunt nails absentmindedly scratching at his wrist and forearm. “I-I didn’t know she had a boyfriend, I swear!”

“Ah?” Tomura stops for a moment, blinking at the kid with wide eyes, mimicking astonishment. “Now I know that’s a lie,” he smirks. “I heard her tell you, several times. Do you have hearing problems? Is there something wrong with your memory?”

The kid stares at him, mouth opening and closing quickly, exhaling shallow breaths in rapid little huffs.

“You seem to be hearing fine right now,” Tomura continues, voice still painfully calm. “And you remember her, and me, so I doubt there’s something wrong with your memory, right?” he stops, only a few feet from the kid now. “Right?”

The poor redhead can’t find his voice, only able to emit these tiny, pitiful sounds in the back of his throat, peppered between his obnoxious sobbing. He shakes his head, then nods, then shakes his head again, movements jerky and frantic.

Tomura’s eyebrows knit, and he tilts his head to the side. “Well, which one is it?” his voice is so casual, and he sounds almost as if he’s worried about the boy’s inability to decide.

Sighing after a beat of silence, Tomura tuts his tongue and shakes his head, cocking his gun. “Shame,” he points the gun at the kid’s head, closing an eye as he adjusts his aim, tongue poking his cheek.

“No!” the kid cries out, squirming against his restraints. “I-I—You’re right! There’s nothing wrong w-with my hearing or my memory, please—”

“Mm, thought so,” Tomura says softly to himself, nodding as he swiftly readjusts his aim and pulls the trigger, shattering the kid’s right kneecap.

The redhead lets out an absolutely bloodcurdling scream, throwing his head back as he thrashes wildly against the thick rope again, the legs of the chair scraping against the concrete.

“Ouch!” Dabi laughs from his spot on the floor, leaning back against the far wall, blue eyes dancing with mirth.

“Ugh,” Chisaki groans beside him, looking away in disgust.

Tomura takes a moment to admire his work, Dabi’s encouraging laughter inspiring another bout of confidence to surge through his chest. He had been close enough that the bullet caused the entire kneecap to explode, sending little bits of bone and flesh flying, thick blood immediately beginning to cascade down the boy’s leg, soaking straight through the denim of his jeans.

“Now,” he continues, speaking over the boy’s shouting with a levelled voice. “I’m gonna cut those pesky ears off your fucking head, since you don’t seem to use them,” he looks over at Dabi and nods once, prompting Dabi to hop up and leave the laboratory.

“But before that,” he stops in front of the kid and leans forward, his face only a few inches away. “Do you wanna know what her pussy tastes like? Hmm? I bet you do. I bet you’ve thought about it, haven’t you?”

He’s still blubbering, Tomura’s words barely registering, ears ringing from the gunshot. Crimson eyes search his face intently, bright with the intoxicating mix of adrenaline and exhilaration that the rush of torture affords him. Tomura wrinkles his nose a little at the snot running down the kids face and onto his lips, face red and streaked with gleaming tears.

“I’ll tell you,” he says, voice dropping into a growl. “It’ll be the last thing you hear before I take those good-for-nothing ears from you—what a treat!” he laughs a little, resting his hands on his bent knees, inching forward just a hint more. “She tastes like strawberries and honey; the perfect balance of tart and sweet. God, her cum’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, the most decadent cream…Fuck,” he breathes, pulling back with a malicious grin. “Now you got me craving her,”

Dabi returns then, coming to stand beside Tomura, and the kid’s so consumed with pain that he doesn’t even notice the little reciprocating saw in Dabi’s hands.

“Ah, thank you,” Tomura says as he takes it, a devious smile spreading across his face. He turns the saw on, testing it by squeezing the trigger a few times. “Perfect. Now,”

He grabs an ear by the cartilage and yanks, holding it taut from the head. The kid squirms, trying to wiggle his way out of Tomura’s grasp and he growls, asking Dabi to hold his head steady.

The saw slices through the ear like butter, cleanly slashing it from his head in one quick motion. Blood begins to gush from the wound immediately, streaming down the redhead’s cheek, thick, sticky drops dripping off his jaw and onto his collarbone.  

“One,” Tomura counts gleefully, tossing the ear to the side. It hits the concrete with a sickening splat! a few feet away.

“Very Mr. Blonde of you, Tomura,” Chisaki rolls his eyes as Tomura moves onto the next ear, Dabi nearly snapping the kid’s neck as he forces his head to tilt the other way, allowing his boss easier access to the second appendage.

“Oh!” Dabi gasps as the saw neatly slices the second ear off. “We should set him on fire,” he suggests, sapphire eyes glittering at the prospect.

“Oh?” Tomura looks up at him, intrigued, decapitated ear still hanging between his thumb and forefinger. “Do you have any kerosene in your car?”

“Nah, but I could go get some—”

“Can we please finish this, already?” Chisaki whines, pushing off the wall and walking towards the two men. “My lunchbreak is almost over,” he checks his watch, frowning.

“Alright, Mr. Head Chemist, your lunchbreak is almost over. You have to head back to work—we are gonna find some kerosene,”

Chisaki sighs, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers. “Your father would like you at the lab today, Tomura,” he says flatly.

Tomura groans, shoulders slumping as he dramatically throws his head back to glare at the ceiling. “But the lab is so boring when there aren’t any experiments or testings going on,” he complains with a slight pout.

“I could finish him off, if you want,” Dabi offers.

“No! Where’s the fun in that? What good is torturing him if I don’t even get to see him die?”

“Look, I don’t care how you do it, just hurry up,” Chisaki spits, turning to walk away. “I’m going to my car—you better be in yours in five minutes,”

“God, he’s no fun,” Tomura mutters to Dabi, who nods in agreement.

“I heard that!” Chisaki hollers as he continues walking, not bothering to look back.

“You were supposed to!” Tomura calls in response, rolling his eyes. “Damn,” he sighs in disappointment, turning back to the boy. His face is slippery with blood, pouring down either side and streaking his neck and the collar of his polo shirt. He’s gone into shock from the pain, screams cut off into choked little whimpers and hiccups. “Looks like our playtime ends here,”

He shrugs, almost indifferent, cocks his gun again and fluidly aims at the boy’s forehead, pulling the trigger without a second thought.

Wet splatters of crimson stain the concrete, echoing throughout the mostly vacant building, the boy’s quiet little sounds cutting off abruptly. Tomura watches as the light fades from his wide, terrified eyes, watches as the hazel goes from vibrant to dull, and the kid’s head falls back, blood beginning to trickle down the bridge of his nose.

A car honks twice outside and Tomura snarls a little to himself, whipping his head around and glaring at the door to the lab, hanging half open and letting pale sunlight leak in.

His grip tightens around his gun, fingers flexing around the metal warmed by his palm. “I’m gonna kill him,” he seethes, eyes narrowing.

“Nah, don’t be stupid,” Dabi laughs, shaking his head a little. “We still need him,”

    ✰          ✰          ✰

Tomura returns to the penthouse earlier than expected, startling you when large hands wrap around your hips just as you’re removing a loaf of freshly baked banana bread from the oven.

“Aw, baby, playing housewife?” he coos, breath hot against your ear, before taking the lobe between his teeth.

A sigh slips through your parted lips and you lean back against his chest, tipping your head to the side and eyes closing.

“Our bananas were going bad,” you explain softly, in a bit of a trance as nimble fingers rub small circles into your hips.  

“Oh?” he asks, as if he’s genuinely interested, lips leaving a trail of sloppy kisses down your neck. “It’s so cute when you get all domestic,” tender hands slide up your torso, coming to cup your breasts as he kneads them gently, tweaking a nipple through the thin material of your dress.

Your back arches as you try to press into his palms more, quiet mewls spilling from your lips.

“What’s gotten—” you cut yourself off with a sharp intake of breath as teeth sink into your skin. “What’s gotten into you?”

Tomura usually isn’t this…soft. He’s affectionate for sure, but his after work affections usually include slamming you up against the nearest wall, counter, or table and almost violently claiming your mouth with his, tongue invading viciously as rough, eager hands rip off clothing.

“Missed you,” he mumbles against your skin, tongue tracing the fresh bite. “What, daddy can’t miss his baby?” A hand snakes down your body and slips between your thighs while the other stays preoccupied with rolling your nipple between his index finger and thumb.

Little hands fly out to grip the edge of the counter as you yelp in surprise, steadying yourself as he pinches your clit. A dark chuckle sounds deep in his chest, vibrating against your back.

“Already so wet?” His fingers prod at your little hole through the flimsy material of your panties. “Did you miss daddy as much as he missed you?”

“I-I always do,”

“Oh yeah?” Moving your panties to the side, the pads of his fingers tease your slit, collecting wetness. “And did you happen to be thinking of something naughty while you were playing housewife?”

Two fingers push into you just as you open your mouth to respond, a small strangled hiss escaping your throat. It burns a little, tiny hole stretched around the digits, sucking them in.

“Hmm?” he frowns, looking almost concerned. You’d believe he was, too, if it weren’t for that wicked glint in his dark eyes, shining every time you emitted a soft noise of pleasure instead of an answer.

And then he’s curling his fingers against your spot every time you try to speak, frustration building in your chest until you’re finally able to force out, “D-Daddy, fuck me al-already!” lips set in a deep pout and eyebrows pushed together.

His fingers halt their ministrations entirely and he pulls back to look at you, ruby eyes studying your face intently, firmly pressing his lips together. It takes your clouded mind a few moments to register the words you just said, the high, whiny tone you just used…then your eyes are widening and a gasp claws its way out of your throat, shaking your head vigorously as if to say, I didn’t mean it!

“I’m feeling good today,” he begins slowly, voice even and controlled. “So you’re getting off with a few spanks for that attitude of yours. Now go bend over the dining room table,”

His voice sends chills pebbling across your skin, spikes of ice shooting up your spine. You want to protest—he can see it in your eyes, the urge tickling the tip of your tongue. You want to tell him you didn’t mean to talk back to him, promise! It’s just that you want his cock so bad! You swear! Scarlet eyes watch you sharply, daring you to utter the words, looking almost as if he’s hoping you do, just to give him an excuse to lengthen your punishment.

But you don’t want that—a longer punishment means you’ll have to wait even more before his cock’s finally inside you—so you force yourself to swallow the words and nod solemnly, sulking towards the table and draping yourself over it.

Calloused hands run up your thighs, taking the hem of your little dress with them and bunching the material around your waist. He smirks at your cute little panties, hands running over your ass and kneading for a moment before he hooks his thumbs in the waistband, pulling them down your legs. You step out of them and a low laugh rumbles in his chest as he feels the soaked material, bunching it up and stuffing it in his pocket.

The wood of the table is cool against your cheek, your heart palpitating in your chest as you anticipate the first hit.

Except it doesn’t come, and a beat of silence passes before you hear the gentle clinking of his belt buckle.

“No!” you gasp, little fingers curling around the edges of the table as you hug yourself closer to the surface, eyes snapping open and consciously forcing your head to stay pressed against it, not daring to look back at him. “No, daddy, please, not the belt,”

“Aw baby, you’re precious,” he chuckles a little, the sound making your stomach flutter. “Good girls take their punishments without complaint, and you want to be good for daddy, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, nodding against the table. He hums to himself.

“You will get twenty lashes for your behaviour, and you will count each one aloud,” Tomura explains as he folds the belt in his hands, the leather squeaking softly. “Do you understand?”

You nod again, earning yourself a superficial slap on your bare skin from the back of his hand. It still stings.

“Use your words,”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, feeling the smooth leather in his hands.

A tense, heavy silence settles in the air, your chest swelling as you subconsciously hold your breath in expectation of the first blow, crying out when the belt finally collides with your ass. The leather cuts into your flesh, leaving thin welts across the soft skin. Sharp slaps echo throughout the empty penthouse intermittently, mingled with the soft sounds of your uneven breath and pathetic little whines.

By ten, you’re whimpering into the table, tears leaking from your eyes and sharp edges biting into your palms as you grip it.

By fifteen, you’re full-on sobbing and having difficulty staying still, hips wiggling and legs trembling as you cry out the numbers, muffled by the table.

“Daddy,” you hiccup, blinking your bleary eyes furiously to clear them from tears. “Daddy, I’m sorry,”

“I know you are, sweetheart,” Tomura says a little breathlessly behind you, cock straining against his slacks. “You’re almost there baby, five more to go. Be a good girl and finish your punishment,”

The statement makes you cry harder, but you manage to force out the words, “Yes, daddy,” between your wailing.

The last five are, admittedly, the most difficult for the both of you. Your soft whimpers of “Please, daddy,” and “Hurts, daddy,” nearly enough to make him forego the final five. But an intentional brat like you must learn her lesson.

When the final hit comes, you unclench your fingers from the edges of the dining room table and flex them, feeling proud of yourself for taking all twenty. Tomura’s pressed up against you in an instant, his body folded over yours, pinning you to the table.

“My pretty little baby girl, you did so well,” the words are whispered into your hair as cold hands caress the stinging skin, using his feet to nudge yours further apart. “So good for me,”

A hand trails down and between your thighs, nimble fingers slipping between your folds. He groans a little as the pads of his fingers collect your slickness; you’re still so wet.

“Such a good, good girl, getting this wet for me,”

“Please daddy, c-can I—” a little hiccup cuts you off, the pad of Tomura’s thumb swiping across your cheek to catch a stray tear as you struggle to look back at him. “Can I have your cock now?” you whimper out, eagerly pushing your hips back and into his hand, almost as if you’re trying to grind against it.

Christ, what did he do to deserve such a good little slut like you? Your lashes are still wet, little droplets of water clinging to them, soft sniffles still catching in your chest. And you’re staring at him with those wide, glistening doe eyes, your lips puffy from crying, desperately awaiting his answer as your hips move in little circles, trying to catch your clit on his fingers.

You can feel his cock, pressed up against your ass through his pants, and it only makes you crave him more, little hole fluttering around nothing.

“Yeah?” he breathes, lips at your ear. “You want it?” he pushes his hips against you more, laughing a little when you whine and nod your head fervently, rubbing your ass back against him despite the way your sensitive, wounded skin snags on the rough material.

“Yes, yes, please, I-I want it,” you babble, your head gone hazy from the intense, heady mix of pain and desire, no longer able to think about anything else except how badly you need him to fill you up.

“Do you think you deserve it?” his voice drops an octave, smooth and low as two fingers dip into you again.

“Yes,” you respond without any hesitation.

He hums softly to himself, fingers pumping in and out of you slowly, knuckles curling periodically, pressing forcefully against your gummy walls and pulling broken, needy whines from your throat. It’s simultaneously too much and not enough, intense spikes of pleasure that have your stomach swooping as your hips squirm, trying in vain to bounce on his fingers, to speed up the pace just a little more.

“Please daddy,” you’re sobbing again, words garbled through spit and tears. “Please, please fuck me,”

“I am fucking you, baby,”

And you hate how unaffected he sounds, just a slight breathiness to his voice, hate the way you can hear his smug smirk.

“With your cock!” you cry in demand, a violent shiver coursing through your entire body as his knuckles press into that spot again, hard and ruthless in his assault of your poor pussy.

“There you go again,” he says, voice fading into a growl as his fingers begin to viciously curl over and over, rapidly picking up the pace. “Being a fucking brat. And you were doing so well, too…Didn’t your punishment teach you anything? Only patient little girls get daddy’s cock in their soaking little cunts,”

“Oh, daddy, please, please, I-I’m sorry! I just—”

“Maybe I’ll fuck your throat instead,” he muses, sadistic smile spreading across his face as you weep loudly, shaking your head with vigour and chanting out the word no. Tears are steadily streaming down your soft cheeks and Tomura’s not sure he’s ever seen a more beautiful sight. It makes his cock throb, laughing at the way you moan wantonly when he grinds it against you again.

“You’re a greedy little slut, y’know that?” he whispers in your ear as the tempo of his thrusts increase more. “You’re lucky daddy’s giving you anything at all after the tone you used in the kitchen,”

“Bu-But I took my punishment!”

“Oh, my poor baby,” his voice is sickly sweet, fake and syrupy and absolutely dripping with derision. “Poor thing, has to take daddy’s fingers instead of his cock, poor thing has to have her tight little pussy stretched out before she can take my cock, you poor fucking thing,” a hand collides with your ass, the resounding slap! of your skin against his palm ringing in your ears, a pretty handprint already beginning to form on your abused skin.

You nearly scream, cutting yourself off midway to bite down on your bottom lip hard enough to leave little purple indents in the flesh, breathing out harshly through your nose.

“Insatiable little whore, thinking she’s entitled to my cock,” he spits, thumb finally finding your clit and rubbing quick circles into it. He can tell you’re close, pussy pulsing around his fingers, entire body jolting with each swipe of his thumb over your sensitive bud.

“Feet apart, damn it,” he growls as he kicks at your ankles, forcing your legs to spread again.

Teeth bite into your tongue, refraining from nearly blurting out that you can’t help it, it’s too much, the pleasure is practically blinding, your thighs instinctually squeezing around his wrist.

And, God, you’re so close. He knows, of course, is able to read every micro-expression perfectly—every hitch in your breath, every mewl bubbling past your lips, every twitch, jerk, quiver of your body—and every time you’re teetering on that edge, he stops, slows his pace, takes his thumb away completely, until you’re a sweaty, shuddering mess, until you’ve gone dazed and numb from how badly you need to cum.

Finally, finally, when he thinks he’s tortured you enough, when your legs are nothing but trembling jello, when you’ve been fucked stupid by just his fingers alone, vocabulary seemingly reduced to the words daddy and cock—finally he removes his fingers and pushes the head in, and it stings a bit as your cute little cunt struggles to stretch around him.

“How are you still so fucking tight?” he breathes out, as if he isn’t the one who doesn’t ever fuck you with more than two fingers even though he knows that the girth of his fingers are, obviously, no match for the girth of his cock. Merely able to whine in response, you impatiently push your hips back, and then he really fucking snaps.

Before you even know what’s going on, your aching little hole is being filled entirely with one harsh, quick thrust.

He sets a ruthless pace immediately, growling about how much of a little cockslut you are, how you’re practically starving for his cum, how his cock must be all you dumb little brain can think about.

Your sweet cunt is clenching around him after only three drags of his cock against your spot, and the laugh he barks out is nothing short of vicious. His thrusts don’t slow, fucking you right through your orgasm, grunting about how pathetically easy it is to make you gush all over him.

The legs of the table screech as they scrape against the hardwood, Tomura moving the entire piece of furniture with the force of his powerful thrusts. And all you can do it take it, eyes rolling back as your fingers grip the edges of the table again, desperately trying to keep your legs from giving out entirely, body gone limp and bouncing vehemently as his hips piston into you.

Then he’s spilling himself into you, spurt after spurt of hot cum filling you up as his hips stutter, cock pulsing, strands of silvery-blue hair stuck to his forehead and neck.

Christ, you look so gorgeous all fucked out from his fingers and his cock, thick cum leaking out of you and down your inner thigh. The head of his cock drags over your ass, smearing excess cum across your skin, an extra little reminder that you are his, that you belong to him.

It glitters under the low light of the dining room—the sun’s almost completely sunk below the horizon now, the dim neon glow of the city spilling into the penthouse through the large, floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Mine,” he says softly, just a huff of breath forced from his heaving chest, thumb swiping though the cum and rubbing it into the deep, swollen welts.

Yes, you think, too far gone to use your words, throat sore and raw from your crying. Yours, forever.

[bloody-bee-tea]

BeeTober 2020 Day 31

Thunder - Wei Wuxian

Day 31 comes with some brotherly feels between Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, who decide to let Jiang Fengmian know just who is the one securing deals in the company, with a bonus side of Mingcheng. This also marks the last day of BeeTober and I thank everyone who stuck with me through it! <3 

Jiang Cheng just settled down tackle the essay he still has to hand in, when Wei Wuxian barges into his room.

Jiang Cheng sends him a murderous glare, because Wei Wuxian promised to be out today—it’s the whole reason Jiang Cheng decided to get started on this today, after all—and Jiang Cheng is not liking this one bit.

Especially not when he sees the thunderous expression on Wei Wuxian’s face.

“What’s going on now?” Jiang Cheng asks with a sigh and turns around to Wei Wuxian.

He won’t get that essay done today, Jiang Cheng already knows it, and so he mentally says goodbye to it. He’ll have to buckle down on that tomorrow.

“I just talked to Uncle Fengmian,” Wei Wuxian says, and he immediately starts pacing Jiang Cheng’s room.

It wasn’t a nice talk, then, and Jiang Cheng can already guess what it was about.

His father informed him first, after all.

“What about?” Jiang Cheng still asks because he guesses that Wei Wuxian needs to get it all off his chest first before Jiang Cheng can tell him the good news.

“He congratulated me on a job well done,” Wei Wuxian seethes, “you know with the production of the new phone.”

Jiang Cheng nods, because of course his father did.

“So what?” Jiang Cheng wants to know because when Wei Wuxian is worked up like this, he usually needs a little prodding to spill it all and not just sit on it and let it fester.

“He congratulated me,” Wei Wuxian says and he sounds so angry about it that Jiang Cheng has to hide his smile.

It’s always good to know that at least his brother is on his side, even if his father—parent’s really, if Jiang Cheng is honest—is not.

“Me,” Wei Wuxian hisses and throws his hands up. “The audacity! As if I could have ever wrangled those deals for production. I’m good at inventing crazy shit and you’re the one doing all the important people work. And he wouldn’t even listen to me!”

“Oh, really,” Jiang Cheng replies, still so very calm, because his father has already gushed to him about Wei Wuxian’s achievement and how well he did, handling everything on his own.

Jiang Cheng had his time to be upset over this already, and he’s past it.

“Yes, really. Fuck, I really hate this. He didn’t listen to me when I tried to explain, and even when I showed him the deals that had your signature on them he was just like ‘Ah, I guess he had to sign them at the very least’ and then continued right on telling me how amazing I am.”

“So?” Jiang Cheng asks and watches as Wei Wuxian wrings his hands in front of his body.

“I wanted to strangle him so badly! How can he even say that? All of the important work was done by you! I had nothing to do with all the contract talk! I was just in my lab, inventing things that shouldn’t work, counting on you to make them presentable!”

“I see,” Jiang Cheng says, still entirely calm about this and by now he wonders just how long it will take Wei Wuxian to realize that.

It’s almost fun.

“And then!” Wei Wuxian yells on, clearly not picking up on the fact that Jiang Cheng is trying to hide his smile. “He offered me a raise. A raise! I’m an intern, or at least I should be until I have a degree. And he offered to pay me according to the things I did. Which really means he’s going to pay me for the things you did and what do you get?”

“I get paid like an intern,” Jiang Cheng mildly says and only seems to make Wei Wuxian more angry with that.

“Exactly,” he spits out. “How dare he? You’re the one who is doing all the important work and I’m just a crazy inventor. We would get nowhere if I am left to my own devices and Uncle Fengmian should know it!”

“He will,” Jiang Cheng says, absolutely certain about that, since he did just resign mere hours ago.

“Yes, he damn well will,” Wei Wuxian hisses and then plops down on Jiang Cheng’s bed. “I’m resigning. I already decided. I will resign and then I will change my major to something like—like—fuck, if I know, teaching or something and then Uncle Fengmian will see what amazing work you do.”

Jiang Cheng has half a mind just letting Wei Wuxian, just to show his father that he can’t treat them like this, but it would kind of take away from his own act of rebellion and Jiang Cheng is petty enough to admit that he wants his father to see that Wei Wuxian is not the perfect saint he seems to think he is.

Besides, Wei Wuxian loves inventing things and while he wouldn’t be entirely unhappy as a teacher, it wouldn’t make him as happy either.

“You’re remarkably calm about all of this,” Wei Wuxian suddenly says and he narrows his eyes at Jiang Cheng. “Why are you so calm about this?”

“Because father talked to me first,” Jiang Cheng says with a small shrug. “A few days ago, actually.”

“He did what?” Wei Wuxian yells again and Jiang Cheng sighs when he starts pacing again. “What did he say? How dare he? Tell me exactly what he said!” Wei Wuxian demands and Jiang Cheng sends him a pointed glance to sit the fuck back down again.

Thankfully, Wei Wuxian does.

“He came to me a few days ago, to gush about your achievements,” Jiang Cheng says, and he’s very proud of himself when there’s no hint of bitterness in his voice.

Wei Wuxian is brilliant and he deserves all the praise. Jiang Cheng simply wishes it wouldn’t come at the expense of his own praise, but he learned to accept that and he knows that it’s not Wei Wuxian’s fault.

He never tried to take this away from Jiang Cheng; it’s completely and utterly Jiang Fengmian’s fault for offering everything to Wei Wuxian and keeping nothing left for Jiang Cheng.

“He did not,” Wei Wuxian says in a horrified whisper, but Jiang Cheng only shrugs.

“Of course he did, you know him. He didn’t fail to mention my shortcomings though, so no worries. I’m slacking off and not living up to my full potential and I should take A-Xian as a good example and follow his lead,” Jiang Cheng recounts and watches as Wei Wuxian’s eyes get bigger and bigger. “And then he said how disappointed he is that I am not even trying to do my best and that I am instead unloading everything on your shoulders. Do I never think of the kind of stress that puts you under?” Jiang Cheng goes on and he almost has to laugh as he says it now.

Wei Wuxian couldn’t even function without stress and pressure and really, if anyone should think about anyone, it’s Wei Wuxian who should think about Jiang Cheng’s poor heart.

It’s not Jiang Cheng who comes barging in in the middle of the night, yelling about a new invention that’s most definitely too expensive to bring to the market and then begging Jiang Cheng who makes it work somehow.

Jiang Cheng kind of wonders if Wei Wuxian will barge into his parent’s room at night now, mostly because Jiang Cheng will not tolerate his shit anymore now that he resigned, but also just to show Jiang Fengmian what Jiang Cheng has been dealing with all the time.

Jiang Cheng can probably bribe Wei Wuxian to do that when Madam Yu is out of town.

“I am going to strangle him!” Wei Wuxian says again, and Jiang Cheng even believes him.

It’s not Wei Wuxian’s fault that they are in this position and he never asked for all this attention, either.

“You will do no such thing,” Jiang Cheng chastises him and Wei Wuxian pouts at him.

“But we have do to something!” he declares. “I cannot believe he would say that to you.”

“Please, Wei Wuxian, of course he would,” Jiang Cheng says and rolls his eyes. “You know that he never appreciated all the work I did for the company.”

“I know,” Wei Wuxian bitterly says. “And nothing I said or did helped with that either.”

“I know that you always had my back,” Jiang Cheng reassures him, because for all that he used to be horribly envious of Wei Wuxian and the ease with which he captured Jiang Fengmian’s attention, he also knows that Wei Wuxian did everything he could to praise Jiang Cheng as well.

“What are you going to do?” Wei Wuxian wants to know, before his eyes go wide in his panic. “You can’t change your major, you love business!”

And strange as that realization had been, Wei Wuxian is right about it. Jiang Cheng loves business. He is good at it, and he likes doing it, too. There is no way he’s going to change his major.

“You can’t change your major either,” Jiang Cheng says. “The poor kids don’t deserve a teacher like you,” he teases and laughs at the outraged huff Wei Wuxian lets out.

“They would be lucky to have me,” he argues and he is probably right.

But still.

“You love engineering,” Jiang Cheng says with a sigh. “If you don’t get to invent shit in a controlled environment, I don’t even want to image the damage you’ll do to every unsuspecting electrical device in your vicinity.”

“Rude,” Wei Wuxian says and then, after a moment of deliberation, “but probably true.”

“It’s why I’ll go on with business and you’ll go on with engineering. It’s just that I won’t be working for father anymore,” Jiang Cheng finally says and Wei Wuxian stares at him.

“You quit?”

“Yes. A few hours ago actually, not that he seems to have noticed yet. I gave my resignation to his assistant and I guess it got lost in the paperwork. But I have proof that I handed it in, and so it’s valid.”

“I can’t believe you did that! What are you going to do?” Wei Wuxian wants to know, but his eyes are shining and Jiang Cheng hates to admit that he blushes when he identifies the emotion on Wei Wuxian’s face as pride.

“I talked to Huaisang, who talked to his brother, who invited me for a meeting,” Jiang Cheng says, trying for nonchalant and failing miserably. “I’ll be working at Nie Corps starting Monday.”

“Mingjue-ge, huh?” Wei Wuxian says, a knowing smile on his face.

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng snaps but he’s blushing, he just knows it. “It was a business meeting and I got in because I’m good at what I do.”

“Sure, sure,” Wei Wuxian says, clearly not believing Jiang Cheng at all. “And did that business meeting end with a heated kiss? Some office sex?” he asks, wriggling his eyebrows in a truly revolting and suggestive manner.

“Do your meetings with Lan Wangji usually end like that?” Jiang Cheng shoots back and then realizes his mistake a second too late. “Don’t! Don’t answer that! I don’t want to know!”

Wei Wuxian couldn’t answer him even if he tried though, because he’s laughing so hard he fell back onto the bed, clutching his sides.

“There was no kiss nor anything else,” Jiang Cheng finally just snaps out, and it’s enough to calm Wei Wuxian down again.

“And when will that finally change? We’re all tired of your pining.”

“Like all of us were tired of you pining after Lan Wangji? How long did you torture us again?”

“That was nothing like that,” Wei Wuxian protests and then shakes his head. “And even if it were, we’re not talking about me.”

“We’re always talking about you,” Jiang Cheng shoots back but he can’t help that he blushes slightly.

“Oooohhhh,” Wei Wuxian says. “Something did happen!”

“Mingjue made it very clear that I am not working under him, but under Nie Zonghui in a branch that Mingjue is not involved in at all.”

“Giving you some heavy hints there,” Wei Wuxian said with a nod. “I hope you picked up on them.”

“I’m not as dense as you are,” Jiang Cheng bites out and then sighs. “I did pick up on them. We’re going out for dinner tomorrow.”

“A date! I can’t believe my didi scored a date!”

“Shut up!” Jiang Cheng hisses and then buries his face in his hands.

He can’t believe he scored a date either, least of all with Nie Mingjue, but he’s not about to tell Wei Wuxian that.

“Well done,” Wei Wuxian says, suddenly serious again. “And I don’t just mean the date.”

Jiang Cheng dares to come out of hiding at that, and he goes warm all over, knowing that his brother is proud of him.

“Thank you.”

“Now I can’t wait for Uncle Fengmian to realize that you truly did quit—I bet he’s believing you will be back in no time—and that I’m useless without you.”

“You’re not useless,” Jiang Cheng immediately denies and then sighs. “You just need someone to reign you in.”

“Maybe I’ll go to Nie Corps, too. You think they have space for me?”

“I think Lan Wangji is going to kill Mingjue if he snatches you up and Lan Wangji doesn’t even get a chance. Besides, I kind of want father to see how much work I did do. If that’s okay with you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Wei Wuxian nods enthusiastically. “I am so ready to make him see that it’s not me who’s the genius. And when he’s completely desperate I’ll offer to leave. And then do it, like you did. It will be perfect.”

“Family dinners are about to be a catastrophe,” Jiang Cheng groans.

“But you have other dinners to make up for that,” Wei Wuxian leers at him and then shrieks when Jiang Cheng tackles him into the bed.

Jiang Cheng is glad they still get to be like this even after all the bullshit his father puts them through and Jiang Cheng couldn’t wish for a better brother.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

He’ll have to warn Nie Mingjue so that he doesn’t fall victim to Lan Wangji’s wrath just to do Jiang Cheng a favour, though. It wouldn’t do to lose him just after they started dating after all.

Next part

[hercleverboy]

whatever it takes

spencer reid x reader 

summary ↠ spencer and the team are working tirelessly to find a serial killer who surfaced recently in the local area. The unsub turns out to be someone a lot closer to home than spencer realises.

category ↠ angst/fluff

warnings/includes ↠ graphic depictions of blood, murder and death.

word count ↠ 4.6k

“So much more was said in the unsaid.” — Bridgett Devoue

The sink stained with red as she scrubbed furiously at her hands.

“I’ve got to get it off, got to get it off-“ She mumbled continuously under her breath, her hands shaking as she watched the blood swirl with the water down the drain.

She didn’t remember where the blood was from, why it was all over her hands and caking her clothes. She’d blacked out, and when she came to she was stumbling into her and Spencer’s apartment. Her breath was hurried, her heart beating fast and she kept wracking her brain but couldn’t fucking remember where the blood was from, who’s blood was that-

Breathe, Y/N.

She took a moment, stepping back from the sink, staring at her now clean hands. She looked down again at her clothes, her shirt soaked with red liquid- who’s blood was it?- it wasn’t hers, she wasn’t hurt - oh god Y/N did you hurt someone?

No. No. She wasn’t capable of that, was she?

That was the second blackout she’d had in a week. Where she’d stumbled home in a daze and had to clean blood that wasn’t hers from her clothes.

Spencer was at work, a paperwork day he’d said. She flicked up her wrist to check her watch- he’d be home any minute now.

She dashed to the kitchen, preparing to put her clothes in the washing machine when she heard the familiar clicking of the front door opening.

“Y/N? I’m home.”

Shitshitshitshitshit-

She quickly ripped off her stained shirt, chucking it in the washing machine, just slamming it closed as Spencer rounded the corner into the kitchen, where she was stood in only her jeans and a bra.

He scrunched his eyebrows together but smirked nonetheless. “As much as I enjoy you half naked, may I ask why you don’t have a shirt on in the middle of our kitchen?”

Y/N have a nervous laugh. “Oh, um. I just had a snack and I managed to get it down my top, silly me. I just needed to get it in the wash before it stained.”

He seemed to buy it.

He smiled, coming towards her with open arms. “How was your day?” He asked sweetly as he enveloped her in a loving hug.

“My day? Oh, it was good.” She grinned, hugging him back. “And yours?”

As Spencer rambled on about his day, Y/N’s mind drifted elsewhere. Could he tell something was up? He was an expert profiler after all. She studied him as he spoke, and came to the conclusion that he didn’t suspect anything yet.

She wanted to tell him but he’d think she was crazy, him and his team- they’d lock her up, right? If she was hurting people, it’s where she deserved to be - behind bars.

You’re going insane, Y/N. There’s a perfect explanation for the blood that was all over you- you just can’t remember. Don’t panic. Don’t let Spencer see you panic. 

The following morning news was plastered with the story- they’d found a young woman’s body in the local park. She’d been stabbed multiple times in a frenzied attack. There were no witnesses, and no murder weapon. Y/N was sat on the couch watching the news reporter who listed all the details of the crime, biting her nails nervously. Spencer, who was getting ready to leave for work, frowned as he passed by the TV, reading the words on screen. 

“We haven’t been called in to investigate yet, as this is only the second murder. Since it’s local they’ll probably ask us to intervene if a third body turns up.” Spencer commented from behind her, the sudden voice making Y/N flinch. She chewed at her bottom lip as her head raced with thoughts, unintentionally ignoring her boyfriend’s presence. 

Why couldn’t she remember? 

She looked down at her hands that trembled under her own harsh glare. She could almost still see the red tint they were coated with- that poor young girls blood oh god you killed somebody. 

you don’t know that for sure, don’t jump to conclusions- 

come on, how else do you explain the fucking blood on your clothes? 

Her internal argument halted when Spencer cleared his throat, now stood in front of her with a look of concern on his face. “Y/N? You okay?”

She met his eyes, forcing the fakest smile she could onto her lips. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. I was just thinking about that poor girl.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie. 

Spencer left that morning with the promise he’d be home soon, leaving Y/N to spiral with her own thoughts. 

It happened again that night. 

One moment she was in their apartment pulling at her hair anxiously, begging herself to remember something- anything - about the previous night. Then the next thing she knew she was outside. The first thing to hit her was the cold air of the night. The second thing she registered was that she wasn’t wearing a jacket, just a shirt and jeans. The third and final thing she noticed is what sent her into a panic. The red liquid that covered her hands seemed darker than it was the first time. It coated her hands and left spots on her shirt. In her left hand, she was gripping a knife, from it dripping the same dark substance. 

She dropped the knife to the floor with a loud clutter as if the object had burned her, the metal smacking against the stone pavement. 

The tears collected quickly in her eyes and she brought a trembling hand up to her mouth to stifle the sob that left her lips. 

She’d done this. She’d hurt three people now, killed them. 

She was a monster. 

She watched numbly as the red swirled down the shower drain, the hot water hitting her chest. She’d managed to make it back home before Spencer. She’d hurriedly thrown her shirt in the wash and scrubbed clean the knife before jumping into the shower, as if that would ‘cleanse’ her. The steam from the boiling water filled the room, but she almost welcomed the slightly painful burning feeling. She deserved it. 

Over the last hour, she’d been regaining parts of her memory in flashes, enough to know that she couldn’t deny it any longer. She was a murderer. 

and she didn’t know how to stop herself. 

*

The next day, with the discovery of the third victim within two weeks, the BAU were asked to investigate. 

Spencer was awoken by the sound of his phone ringing, cutting through the blissful silence that filled the room. He blinked his eyes open, a deep groan erupting from his chest as he glanced at the clock on his bedside table- 6:42 AM. It was his day off, but apparently serial killers weren’t very considerate of that. He reached out his hand, blindly searching the table for the annoying buzzing device, careful not to wake Y/N who slept on his chest. 

“Hello?” He mumbled. 

“Reid. I’m sorry, but we’ve got a case. It’s local, another body was found in the park this morning with the same MO. How quickly can you get here?” Hotch spoke, his voice firm. 

Spencer sighed. “Uh yeah, I can be there in 20.”

After hanging up he placed his phone down on the table before moving to press feather-light kisses to Y/N’s forehead to gently wake her from her sleep. 

She stirred, eyelashes fluttering open as she woke. “Spence? What time is it?” 

He ran his fingertips gently up her bare sides. “It’s nearly seven. I’ve got to go to work. I’m sorry, I know we had plans.” He winced at the idea of having to cancel their dinner plans again. 

She looked up at him with a sleepy smile. “It’s okay. We can have dinner any night. You’ve got lives to save, doctor.” She teased and he grinned in response, leaning down to kiss her sweetly. He reluctantly pulled away, untangling himself from her as he headed to the wardrobe to grab his clothes. 

“What state are you off to?” She called over to him from the bed. 

“It’s a local one, actually. They found another body this morning. They think it’s same person that killed the other two girls.” He answered as he buttoned up his shirt. 

It took her half-asleep brain another few seconds to fully comprehend what he’d just said. Her boyfriend was apart of the team that were going to be hunting her down. 

fuck. 

She felt the panic bubble in her chest.

Too caught up in her own thoughts, she hadn’t realised that Spencer, now fully clothed and packing his bag for the day, had been calling her name. She snapped her attention back to him. “Sorry, what?”

He frowned and walked toward her, perching on the edge of the bed as she sat up. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, reaching out his hand to cup her cheek gently. 

She forced a smile, nuzzling her cheek into his palm. “I’m fine I just- I’ll miss you.” 

He gave a sad smile before leaning in and brushing his lips with hers. 

His kisses normally filled her with such warmth, an unspoken reassurance, but all she could feel was dread. 

When he found out what she’d done, it would kill him. 

“I’ll be back before you know it.” He promised once they pulled back. He pecked her lips once more before turning and leaving the room. He was gone for less than a minute before he poked his head back in the doorway. “I love you.” He grinned, showing that dorky smile she was so in love with. 

She laughed a little, hoping it didn’t sound as awkward as she thought it did. “I love you.” She called back. 

The sound of the front door closing behind him echoed through the apartment. Y/N knew it wouldn’t be long now before Spencer figured out the inevitable. he wasn’t stupid, the man was a genius for gods sake. The only reason he hadn’t figured her out already was that he was blind-sighted by his love for her. But she knew that soon he’d have no choice but to take her in, arrest her and aid in having her locked away for the rest of her years. 

*

The 10PM news was blaring across the screen of the TV when Spencer came home that night. Hotch had sent the team home to get some rest after a day of no leads. They’d begun to build a profile but it was still fairly vague, so he wanted them to come back the next morning with fresh eyes. 

When he entered the living room, he found Y/N sat on the couch, watching a replay of the BAU’s press conference from earlier that day. Y/N watched with concentrated eyes, biting down her lip as she listened to Hotch speak. She listened to him describe the unsub- describe her. Sitting down on the couch next to his girlfriend, he frowned at the worry evident on her face. Assuming she was worried about the murderer killing women in the neighbourhood he sighed, placing a hand on her thigh soothingly. 

“Hey. It’s okay, you’re safe. As long as I’m here nothing will ever hurt you, I promise.” He murmured, using his gentle grip on her thigh to pull her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. 

She nodded against him, glancing up to see the small smile on his lips. She wished he wouldn’t smile at her like that. She really wished he wouldn’t because that perfect smile just made her want to break down. She hated herself for the hurt she knew this would cause him when he found out the truth. 

He ran his hand up and down her side comfortingly as he spoke. “Are you sure you’re alright, love? You’ve been acting a little strange lately.” 

“I know I have, I’m sorry. I promise I’m fine.” She whispered, hating the she couldn‘t even bring herself to fake certainty in her words. 

Spencer let it go, not wanting to push the subject further and risk upsetting her. That was the night that his suspicion began. 

Spencer began paying more attention to her behaviour, when he was home at least. At first it was with the intention of figuring out what was making her so upset, to see if there was anything he could do to make it better. He felt he owed her that much. Then he started picking up on certain things. 

At first it was just small things like how nervous she seemed all the time, how she constantly bit her lips or fumbled with her fingers. She was jumpy, unsure of herself. There was also other things that further confirmed his suspicions, such as how she would often mumble to herself and had horrible nightmares that left her screaming and trembling in his arms in the early hours of the morning. It frightened him, scared him half to death. What could possibly have been scaring her so much? What was so awful that she couldn’t confide in him? 

After the fourth body turned up, Spencer began to wonder. At first he hated himself for even letting thought of his girlfriend being their unsub cross his mind. However, once they had narrowed down their profile, he noticed how it seemed to fit her a little to well. In fact, it was eerily accurate, and her being behind the murders would explain her nervous mannerisms he’d taken note of. 

Still, he didn’t want to believe it. He simply couldn’t believe that she was capable of that. The woman who’d held him close after rough cases, made cookies with him at 2AM when he couldn’t sleep, and had danced with him to classical music on rainy days. That woman, the woman he loved, she wasn’t a murderer. 

*

“We’re delivering the profile today.” He’d mumbled as he was getting dressed for the day.

He could hear the hitch in her breath before she spoke, clearing her throat first. “I know you’ll catch them, Spence. It’s what you do.”

He just nodded in response. Ever since his suspicion began, he hadn’t been sure how to act around her. Should he have been afraid? No, she would never hurt him. Would she? 

She wasn’t stupid, she knew he suspected her. She knew that as soon as he listened to his team deliver the profile he’d finally let himself believe that it was true, it was her.

He found it odd, that even as he pondered the idea of her being a killer, he wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t nervous. That’s what frightened him, the fact that he wasn’t any less in love with her. That the fact she might be a murderer, capable of such horror that he’d witnessed first hand in the field, didn’t seem to spike the fear in him he knew it should. 

She spoke up from across the room. “You know I love you, right? So much. Please don’t forget that.” 

It sounded like a goodbye, and that made Spencer’s heart ache. He didn’t want it to be goodbye. Despite what she’d done, he still loved her more than anything.

He wasn’t sure if he should’ve been disgusted by that.

Instead he quickly turned, moving across the room and grabbing her by the hips, bringing her toward him and pressing a loving kiss her to lips. “I love you too, so much.”

They shared a look, and she gave him a small smile before he turned and left for the BAU. Y/N sighed and began to gather some things to take with her to the apartment she knew he’d come looking for her in. It was only a matter of time now. 

*

Spencer stood behind the team, watching and listening as they delivered the profile to the team of local police officers. He hadn’t wanted to believe it before, but as he listened to his team speak, his eyes flicking across the graphic photos pinned to the evidence board, he knew he couldn’t deny it any longer. 

It was Y/N. 

His breath started getting heavy as the realisation hit him full force. He wanted to cry, the feelings overwhelming him but he knew that time was against him. Only one thing was on his mind- only one thing mattered. 

I have to get to Y/N.

Hotch dismissed the officers, and Derek’s voice brought Spencer away from his thoughts. 

“Kid, you alright?” 

Spencer nodded before mumbling. “I need some air.” He then quickly walked out the glass doors of the station. He pulled out his phone, dialling Garcia’s number with shaking hands. 

“Garcia did you manage to find an address?” He rasped out. The team had used Reid’s geographical profile to figure out the unsub’s comfort zone, and had then tasked Garcia with finding a building from within that zone that the unsub was most likely operating from. 

“Why yes, boy wonder. I was actually about to call you guys, guess you beat me to it.” Her happy voice chirped before she gave him the address. He thanked her, telling her he’d pass it along to the team before hanging up. He spared a glance back into the station at his team, before taking one of the black SUV’s to the address. 

Back at the station, the team were gathered around the table, Hotch dialling Garcia’s number. 

“Where’s Reid?” Emily asked, to which JJ shrugged. 

Derek spoke up. “He said he needed some air, what have you got for us baby girl?”

Garcia let out a sound of confusion. “I told Reid the address already. He was supposed to tell you.” 

“Why would he go alone?” Rossi asked, bewildered. The team shared concerned glances, all full of unhinged confusion. 

“Uh you guys.. the apartment is registered to a Y/N Y/L/N.” Garcia gasped, and the team shared a look. 

“Isn’t that Spencer’s girlfriend?” Emily stammered, clearly as shocked as the rest of them. They’d all met Y/N once or twice, and could immediately see why Reid was so infatuated with her. 

“Yeah, It is.” Derek confirmed before dashing outside to look for Spencer. He came back a moment later shaking his head to signal that Spencer was nowhere to be found. “He’s gone, and he’s taken an SUV with him.”

“He knew.” JJ deduced, the shock finding its way into her expression. “Did you see his face when we were delivering the profile? He figured it out.” 

“Reid’s gone to warn her.” Hotch stated, and within seconds they were getting up from their chairs and rushing to the cars that waited outside.

*

Spencer briskly walked up the stairs to the apartment building, pushing open the door and making his way up three flights of stairs to get to the door number on the address Garcia had given him. His palms were sweaty and his throat was dry, his thoughts were fast paced and non-stop. 

What was he going to do, arrest his girlfriend? Apprehend her like some animal? He didn’t think he had the heart to. 

The door was already open as he approached, and so he entered cautiously with his gun drawn. 

As soon as he walked in, he came face to face with Y/N, who was sat on the couch in the middle of the room, where she’d clearly been awaiting his arrival. She locked eyes with him, her lip quivering as she spoke.

“I’m so sorry, Spencer.” She whispered, tears collecting in her eyes. “You have to know- I never wanted to hurt those women. I don’t- I don’t even remember doing it. I black out, come home with someone’s blood on my hands and I-” Her words caught in her throat as she supressed the sob that rose from deep in her chest. 

“Why didn’t you run? You had time.” Spencer asked, his gun still raised. Perhaps it was out of habit, but he couldn’t help how the weapon seemed to feel heavy in his shaking hands. 

“It wouldn’t do me any good. I deserve this. I deserve to pay for what I’ve done and if that means I spend my life in a cell then so be it.” She raised her hands in surrender, a small smile on her lips. “It’s okay, Spencer. I promise. I know you have to do this, its your job.”

Spencer watched as tears trembled down her cheeks. He didn’t understand. She was right, it was his job. It was his duty, as an officer of the law, to protect people from the bad guys, the rapists and the murderers. But when he looked at her, he didn’t see a cold hearted killer. He saw his beautiful girlfriend, the woman he wanted to marry one day. The woman he’d protect with his life. 

It was that thought that made him toss his gun to the floor.

“What’re you doing, Spence?” Y/N whispered, hands dropping to her sides. 

“I’m not taking you in. We need to go, we need to get out of here.” He spoke in a rushed voice, walking toward her.

She shook her head, confused. “What do you mean you’re not taking me in? Spencer, I killed four people. I deserve to rot in prison. You’ll lose your job if you don’t take me in-“

He ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm himself, his eyes locking onto hers.  “Y/N I know what you’ve done. But I just- I don’t care. It’s crazy, I don’t understand it. But I have to protect you, and if that means giving up the job then so be it. I won’t watch you waste away behind bars.” He was begging, and Y/N had never been more conflicted. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. Spencer was supposed to arrest her. And she would’ve gone willingly, without hesitation or trouble. She’d committed the crime, she would happily do her time for that.

“What’re you saying?” She mumbled. 

He flicked up his wrist to look at his watch, incoherent words leaving his mouth in inaudible whispers before he cleared his throat and spoke. “We have about eight minutes until the team get here. We need to go now. You and me, we’ll get out of here. We’ll just go and start a life together somewhere else, okay?”

She couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. A few years ago, Spencer Reid would never have said that. The job meant everything to the young doctor, and he would honour it until the end. However, if you asked Spencer, he’d say that all of that changed the day fell in love with Y/N. That was the day he knew he’d put her life and her happiness before anything else.  “But I’ll be on the run, always watching my back. You’ve worked so hard for all of your life to get where you are, I can’t be the reason you lose that-“

He moved towards her, grabbing her hands in his in a desperate plead. “Y/N. I’d run forever if it meant a lifetime with you. Just please, we have to go.” 

“If this is some trick to get me to go with you so you can arrest me, don’t bother. I’ll go without resistance, I told you-“ She scoffed but he cut her off, shaking his head insistently. 

“No- it’s not a trick. I promise. I love you. I need you, and if this is the price I have to pay for that then so be it.” His breaths were heavy as he met her eyes.  

 Was she really gonna do this? She saw the pleading and desperation that he held in his honey brown orbs, and found herself nodding in acceptance.

Spencer gave a sigh of relief. “Okay. Do you have anything here worth keeping?” He gestured to the apartment and she shook her head. 

With minutes to spare, they hopped into the SUV and drove away with no particular destination. Spencer had timed everything almost perfectly, and the pair had just enough time to get out of town before police blockades were put in place. He knew they’d have to ditch the car when they got out of town to avoid the plates being tracked, and they’d most likely have to alter their appearances and only ever pay with cash but as he looked over at the beautiful girl in the passenger seat he couldn’t help but think that it was the most free he’d ever felt.

He loved the girl sat next to him, more than anything in the world. And he’d proved just what extent he’d go to to protect her.

*

“We were too late.” Derek sighed. The team had burst into the apartment mere minutes after Y/N and Spencer had made their escape. They were scouring the apartment for any indication as to where the pair had gone while they waited for backup to arrive at the scene. 

“Where’s Spence?” JJ asked, confused as to why he wasn’t at the scene when they arrived.

“Maybe he confronted her and she took him hostage?” Emily proposed, but Hotch came into the room shaking his head. 

“No, come look in here.” He called and the team gathered into the kitchen, where their eyes fell on three items that sat on the dining table. “Reid went willingly. Look at this.”

On the table were Spencer’s badge and gun, along with a note, written in what was definitely Spencer’s writing. ‘ “I’m sorry. I love her.” ‘

JJ gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth in shock. “Are you saying that he helped her escape?”

“It would seem so.” Rossi murmured, and none of the team knew what to do next. An uncertain silence fell upon the team until the sound of rustling paper filled the room. Hotch was screwing up the note, shoving into the pocket of his slacks. 

“Hotch what’re you doing?” Morgan gaped, his mouth open in shock and perplexity.

Hotch looked up at his team and spoke with the same stern voice as always, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “SSA Reid was never involved with this, do you all understand? He resigned after finding out that Y/N was the unsub, and moved back to Vegas to be close to his mother. None of us have heard from him since. By the time we got here, we’d just missed Y/N.”

For a moment, the team shared confused looks, but then suddenly it dawned on them.

Hotch was trying to protect Spencer by asking the team to lie about what had happened. 

He wanted them to lie to the Bureau, the section chief, everyone who knew Spencer. It was unsurprising that the team all nodded silently, the need to protect the man who’d become like family to them was overwhelming.

And so, Garcia didn’t track Spencer’s license plates. All of their official reports said that Spencer had resigned upon finding out his girlfriend was the unsub, and Garcia had fabricated a letter of resignation on Spencer’s behalf, even signed with a forged signature.

They did everything they could to protect him, and in all honesty none of the team felt guilty. They were protecting their own, their family. Despite what Y/N had done, they all surprised themselves with how greatly they were willing to cover up the truth. 

After all, how far would you go to protect your family?

As Spencer drove past the large sign that told them they were leaving the town, he looked over to Y/N, a grin on his lips.

“I love you.” He simply said, and she smiled back in response.

What would you do to protect the one you love?

“I love you.”

For Spencer, the answer was simple.

Whatever it takes.

[megsironthrone]

The “Handmaiden’s” Sister

Based on this request:  so Y/N is shae’s playful n honest younger sister (think lizzy from pride and prejudice) who works in the castle n shae n tyrion keep her out of joffrey n cersei’s eye n out of trouble but at a feast hosting the northern houses a drunken joffrey notices her n tries it with her but she rejects him. she’s ab to be punished but ramsay volunteers to do the punishing himself at the dreadfort which joffrey gets smug ab. but actually ramsay was fascinated by Y/N n was saving her n they fall in love

Here you are! *Familiar Characters are NOT mine!*

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of violence, blood. Brief mentions of torture(not actual torture, but mentions of possible torture) Typical Ramsay and Joffrey. Dark! Changed a little from the request because Ramsay in love is HARD for me to write.

Pairings/Characters: Ramsay Bolton x fem!reader, mentions of Joffrey.

When your "sister" Shae had insisted that Tyrion bring you along to the Red Keep, you had been excited. You enjoyed new experiences, although not as much as your sister. Tyrion agreed, if only to keep your sister with him, and you found yourself doing honest work in the Keep. You didn't mind the work. What you did mind were the lecherous gazes and touches. Although none made you more uncomfortable that Joffrey.  

         He was a child by all rights, despite wearing a crown atop his head. And he was to be married to Lady Margaery. Both of those things were marks against him in your book. Add to that the stories you'd heard of his cruelty and you were not the least bit impressed or interested. That didn't stop him from trying and it all came to a head one night during a feast he held in honor of the Northern Lords that were loyal to him.

         You could only avoid him so much that night as you were required to wait on the head table. That meant being in Joffrey's vicinity the entire evening. Every time you went near, there were small touches and little comments that no young boy should know the meaning of. And you were so focused on avoiding Joffrey that you didn't notice the eyes of one of the lords glued to you.

         Ramsay was intrigued by you. There was something about you that he couldn't put his finger on. Oh, you played the dutiful servant very well. You acted demure and never spoke out against those stationed above you. But Ramsay could see something brewing behind your (e/c) eyes. Something dangerous. Something devious and he liked it. He knew he had to have for himself and Ramsay saw his opportunity when you finally pissed Joffrey off one too many times.

         "Forgive me, Your Grace, but perhaps you should look to one of Lord Baelish's prostitutes to warm your bed for the night for I certainly won't." Ramsay relished in the bite of your tone. There were only a handful of people who heard your comment, but it was enough to embarrass the poor Boy King. His face grew red and the veins in his neck popped. Still, you didn't back down.

         Joffrey gripped your arm and Ramsay had to force himself to remain calm. In his eyes, you were already his and no one else should be putting their hands on you. "I could have you killed for that, wench," Joffrey said through gritted teeth. You glared at him and replied that you didn't care. Anything was better than having his hands all over you. Then you said something else not suitable for young children's ears, practically emasculating the king. Ramsay had to stop himself from laughing.

         Joffrey stood, his hand still gripping your arm. The rage was evident on his face as he nearly threw you at Ser Ilyn. "Ser Ilyn, remove her head." It was then that Ramsay decided to act. He stood and reluctantly bowed to Joffrey. "Your Grace, let's not ruin this delightful feast with an execution. Besides, for such an insult, the girl needs to be taught a valuable lesson in knowing her place. I volunteer to take her back to Dreadfort with me. You'll find I have a gift for…teaching unruly servants lessons."

         Joffrey's eyes swung to Ramsay briefly before returning to you. Ramsay wasn't looking but clearly there was enough fear in your eyes to bring a sadistic grin to Joffrey's face. "Very well. Ser Ilyn, escort her to the cells for the night. Tomorrow, she shall be Lord Ramsay's prisoner and return with him to the Dreadfort." With that, Ser Ilyn lead you from the room and Ramsay met your gaze. There was a bit of relief, yet still fear and defiance in your eyes. Ramsay looked forward to what was to come.

         The next morning, Ramsay pulled you into his wheelhouse behind him. You scooted as far away from his as you possibly could. Your eyes never left his as he sat back opposite you. For a few moments, he merely stared at you and you stared back. Only this time, you were glaring at him in defiance. Ramsay smirked and leaned over to say something. That was when you flinched.

         "Ah, so you are the scared little mouse." Your eyes narrowed at his tone. "I am not a mouse, milord. But I know what you plan to do to me. I do not want to die." Ramsay sat back a little, still regarding you. He laughed lightly. "My dear, I have no intention of killing you." You scoffed before replying, "Torturing me until I long for death is the same."

         "I do not plan on torturing you either." You blinked in surprise. "Why?" you asked before you could stop yourself. Ramsay pondered for a moment. "You intrigue me. You are a mystery I wish to unlock. As long as you do as I say, whatever I say, no harm will come to you. You shall be under my protection."

         "I'm not a whore!" you snapped, taking Ramsay back for a moment. Then, he began laughing. "I never said you were. I didn't save your life just to have you in bed, although I wouldn't be opposed. I have other plans for you, my sweet." Your brows furrowed in confusion. Ramsay reached over and gripped your knee.

         "What plans?" He smirked again, leaning closer until your noses were almost touching. He noticed a shiver run down your spine. "Revenge, my sweet. I'm going to teach you the ways to get revenge on those who wronged you. Including Joffrey. Nothing will stop you."

         "Not even you?" Ramsay let out another chuckle. "If you can defeat me, I deserve to be defeated. But I don't think you'll want to. My plan goes beyond just teaching you my ways. By the time I'm finished, you'll never want to leave my side." Another shiver coursed through you, making Ramsay smile in triumph.

*time skip*

         True to his word, when you arrived at the Dreadfort, Ramsay had his servants set up chambers just for you. He took you down to the dungeons, scaring you half to death with the many devices of torture down there. He watched your face as you took everything in. You were curious and that scared you even more than the devices themselves. But Ramsay wasn't going to give you time to adjust. He began showing you that very night how they worked and how to inflict the most pain with the least amount of effort.

         That was what lead you to the moment you were in now. Covered in the blood of your unfortunate victim, breathing heavily as your (e/c) eyes met Ramsay's. He was smirking proudly, his arms crossed over his chest. You hadn't set out to hurt anyone that morning, but the man had insulted you. He had nearly attacked you when you hadn't responded to his verbal attack. After so long, you lost it.

         On the outside, Ramsay looked proud as a peacock. On the inside, the man was in awe. You, this incredible woman in front of him, were not the frightened mouse he had thought. You were glorious. You were amazing. Blood was spattered on you as your chest heaved and Ramsay couldn't deny his attraction in that moment. In two steps, he crossed the room, gripping your face in his hands and crashing his lips to yours.

         To his surprise, he heard your weapon hit the ground and you deepened the kiss. Whether this was love or not, Ramsay didn't know. He knew he'd never felt something so raw. So animalistic. So…intense for another human being before that moment. If it was love, Ramsay was never letting you go. You were his. Forever.

(a/n: I know it’s not the fluff you were hoping for, but I hope you like it all the same! I should probably not watch Deadly Women while I write Ramsay XD)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard​ @brewsthespirit-blog​ @etherealpotter​ @line-viper​ @frozenhuntress67​ @cd1242​ @gruffle1​ @smalltownbigheart​ @igotmadskills​

[gaeilgeoirgay]

SpideyTorch Week Day Three Alternate Universe

For Day Three, I chose an alternate universe in which our favourite couple are the villains! This one is a bit darker than usual, and there’s a mild instance of torture, that isn’t explicitly described near the end, so do watch out for that

Ao3 Link 

@spideytorchweek

 they don’t question our violence

“Hello, Spidey. Nice of you to swing by.” Comes a mocking voice from behind him. Peter almost swears, his Spidey Sense hadn’t even warned him, the traitor! Clearly it doesn’t think of Morning Star as a threat despite the fact Johnny has tried to kill him on several occasions. Maybe. To be fair, the Dock Incident was Peter’s fault and Morning Star hasn’t attempted murder in ten months, coinciding with the new depths of their relationship.

And it’s not like Peter is a complete angel either. The Wolf Spider is a name synonymous with death and blood- at least Morning Star tends to stick with arson. Peter is a mercenary, it’s not like he can judge his pyromaniac boyfriend.

“Hi, starlight. I have a job for us, and we get to explode the place afterwards.” Peter says, turning around to smile at Johnny, who perks up at the idea. He lets his flames fizzle out and lands next to Peter, who gratefully accepts the kiss he’s given. It’s freezing right now, and even the slightest bit of warmth makes a difference to Peter’s non-regulating self. There’s also the fact he’s kissing Johnny. That’s a big factor.

He turns fully around to kiss Johnny properly, taking care with his fangs so his venom doesn’t enter Johnny’s bloodstream. He rather likes his boyfriend and he doesn’t want to kill him. Johnny eventually pulls back to smile brightly at Peter.

“What’s the job, Fangs? I like the sound of it already.” He says. Peter beckons him up onto the vent protruding from the building they’re on, hopping up himself to swing his legs childishly. Johnny joins him, feet tapping impatiently.

“I met Remy Le Beau downtown a few days ago. He mentioned that there’ve been a few disappearances lately, mainly mutant children living on the streets that don’t appear on official records. I did some digging and it turns out there’s a lab set up in the Bronx that’s been experimenting on mutant kids.” Peter explains, scowling now. “Officially, it’s a gene lab where volunteers donate samples to be studied for cures to various diseases. There’s about twenty kids there now from what I can tell. Remy can’t blow it to hell himself without attracting attention to Xavier but if we free the kids and then happen to torch it, people won’t question our violence.” He finishes.

Johnny is frowning now too. “What excuse are we giving for the attack though?” He asks and Peter laughs. “That’s the best bit. We’re not giving an excuse, we’re telling everyone they were experimenting on children. Their encryptions are ridiculously bad and there’s already been a call for an inquiry into them by S.I. They’re subsidised by Oscorp and it’ll damage their stocks once it gets out that not only did they block the investigation, they funded the lab too.” He explains and Johnny grins.

“Two birds with one stone. Save the kids and piss off Green Goblin. I’m down.” He says and Peter stands. Johnny does too and Peter challenges him to a race across the city. They may be supervillains but they can still have fun.

The building is near deserted when they get there, other than a few dedicated workers and the overnight security guards. The employees aren’t aware of where their samples come from, only the top scientists know about the mutants and the security guards were never told they were guarding people instead of chemicals so they’ve agreed to leave them mostly alone.

Johnny silently melts a window on the top floor and they sneak into the building, avoiding the admittedly meagre defences.

 They soon find a bright red door labelled DANGER and according to the blueprints that Peter acquired, the kids should be behind it.

They crumple easily under Peter’s enhanced strength and Johnny groans at the display. “I love it when you break metal with your bare hands.” He whispers and Peter smothers a laugh. They step over the ruined doors to find the kids in chains.

“Oh I can’t wait to set this place on fire.” Johnny growls harshly and Peter shushes him. There’s a computer terminal by the door so he plugs in a device he built himself that will copy the information on the mainframe to his personal store while deleting every other existing copy. He’ll probably delete his own copy once he goes through it, but he’d prefer to know if some sort of power-killing virus was made before he gets hit with it. Probably by Ross, may he die in agony.

The two of them set to work on the chains, Peter snapping them and Johnny turning them to molten slag. The kids are utterly silent, even when the two villains are reassuring them softly and Peter vows to hunt down every last disgrace to science that was involved in the lab.

Finally, the last chain clatters to the floor and all the kids are free. Remy had promised them assistance from two X-men who would be able to get the kids out of the lab so Peter and Johnny could get to burning it down.

They herd the kids to the window they broke in through and are met by the dark form of Archangel. The mutant’s normally pure white wings are covered in dark metal to blend in with the night but he’s still gentle with the children and they seem a bit less scared to see someone who’s so obviously like them.

Peter watches one little girl with red, scaly wings looking in awe between herself and the hero and smiles. He glances at Johnny and a thought comes to him. He wants that. Him and Johnny, with a kid each, maybe one girl and one boy or two of the same gender.

Hmm. That’s something to consider later. For now, he watches Archangel fly the kids one-by-one to a nearby safehouse where Nightcrawler is waiting to bring the kids to Xavier’s mansion the next morning. They deserve a good nights rest before moving somewhere completely different to everything they’ve ever known.

Archangel returns after the last child has been delivered to Nightcrawler and perches on the windowsill, regarding Peter and Johnny with a slight measure of respect.

“I met Nightcrawler in a mutant fighting ring. Neither of us wanted to be there but we never got the chance to escape. I got hurt and Mystique spirited him away but we never knew what happened to the ring. These kids though, they’re not gonna have that.” He plucks a metal feather from the edge of his wings, the edges razor sharp.

“Hurt those monsters and hurt them well. Maybe some of the more sheltered mutants at home won’t understand but I do. Slit their throats with that and leave them to choke. It’s more than they deserve.” Archangel says solemnly, rage glinting in his eyes. Peter exchanges looks with Johnny and then grins.

“Maybe heroes can’t be caught torturing people but there’s a reason I walk the other side of the line. We won’t make it quick.” Peter promises and Archangel returns the smile. Peter has no doubt that any scientists he and Johnny fail to find will turn up with mysterious wounds soon enough.

Archangel flies off to join Nightcrawler and Wolf Spider and Morning Star stalk back into the labs. The head scientists have been staying in a penthouse apartment above the labs while they run their tests and that’s their destination.

The elevator lets them up after a few key strokes from the Spider and they emerge into a wide-open space, the complete opposite of the small room the kids had been chained in. There are doors off of the main room and the Spider quickly matches them up with what he found in their database.

The third door to the right should belong to Henry Lawson, the torturer in chief. Morning Star melts the lock and they slip into his room silently. The bastard is sleeping peacefully in his bed but it won’t be long before that changes.

Morning Star fingers the metal feather Archangel gave them and slowly starts to heat it up. It’s made of strong stuff and even though the metal is glowing red it’s not metal. It serves as a rude wake-up call when it’s pressed to Lawson’s jaw.

He squeals like a stuck pig and the Spider thanks God for soundproofing. They’re nowhere near done with Lawson just yet.

An hour later, Lawson is thoroughly deceased and they move onto their next target. All six die painfully and Wolf Spider takes a twisted pleasure in it. Still, they have a job to do and they can’t spend as much time on their other targets as they did on Lawson.

Johnny plants his favourite explosives and Peter carelessly pulls the fire alarm. They find a good vantage point on the building across from the lab and wait until the last heat signature leaves the building and emergency services are seconds from the scene to trigger the bombs.

Johnny floats in front of the lab for a few seconds before he unleashes a torrent of flames into the already-blazing building. It only feeds the raging fire and Peter knows it will take quite some time to put it out, Not his problem. He’s too busy planning their next hits on the scientists that hadn’t lived above the lab.

Johnny lands on the roof next to him with a sharp exhale and Peter drapes himself over his back. “Twelve people left on the list, starlight. I vote we eat, have a fantastic night in bed and then brutally murder them all. Their dirty secrets are set to be released to the public in four and a half hours, just in time for the news cycle.” Peter says, tracing letters on Johnny’s back.

“You give the best presents, my Spider. I can’t wait to hunt.” Morning Star replies.

[devildom-dedicated-daydreams]

Cheating Bastard and Puppy Brother (Cheater!Lucifer x Reader x Mammon) Part 4

Part 3

WARNING: Offensive language, sexual themes, dubcon

Diavolo had thousands of request forms to oversee and approve for the upcoming school festival, he called over Lucifer to help him segregate the doable from the impractical, but while Diavolo already finished half of his share, Lucifer was only on his seventeenth request form. He kept glancing over his D.D.D. resting on the corner of the table, which was odd, Diavolo thought, because Lucifer usually kept his device on silent and tucked away in his pocket. 

Diavolo called him but Lucifer didn’t respond.

“Lucifer,” he repeated. Again, it was like Lucifer was deaf.

Diavolo sighed and then snapped his fingers, sparking red lights in front of his aide.

Lucifer drew back in surprise, almost shifting into his demon form before calming down and facing Diavolo. He cleared his throat, “Did you need something?”

“No, but it seems like you’re preoccupied. Too preoccupied to do your work,” coming from Diavolo, the words weren’t meant to reprimand but to console. It has been years since he has seen Lucifer stressed to the point he couldn’t do his work.

“Maybe you should take a break, Lucifer. Finish the paperwork tomorrow,” Diavolo suggested. He may be the Crown Prince of Hell but even demons valued friendship.

Lucifer was going to decline but then his D.D.D. buzzed. Not wanting to appear too eager, he gracefully gathered the remaining paperwork and sorted them in the rightful drawer before bowing to Diavolo and leaving with his phone.

Once he was out of the office, Lucifer checked the new message but was disappointed that the sender wasn’t who he was expecting.

He opened Asmodeus’ message, thinking that it was yet another complaint about one of their brothers stealing his beauty products, but was surprised to see that it was a link to the campus newspaper’s website.

His D.D.D. was almost obliterated when he read the headlines:

[RAD DEMON AND HUMAN EXCHANGE STUDENT DATING!?]

Beneath the bold text was a picture of Mammon and you eating dinner at a human-food restaurant. When you dated Lucifer, he made it clear that he didn’t want to make the relationship public and Asmodeus’ flirtation with every living being (including you and fellow human, Solomon) did not count as dating, so this was the news of the century.

Lucifer didn’t understand. Were you doing this on purpose? Were you trying to get on his nerves?

He thinks back to that fateful night at that restaurant and wonders when everything went to hell.

He ran a hand through his hair and marched out of the academy. He needed to talk to you, and he was going to shove Mammon into a freezer for what he did.

***

Lamia checked the comments on the discussion board beneath the news article. Demons made fun of humans for being too nosey and judgmental but her species was just as bad. Harsh criticisms on both Mammon and that human garbage flew in one after another.

The True Pazuzu: Did that moron brother officially lose it?

I Am Roth: An idiot demon and a human -- they’re perfect for each other!

Hari_ng_Aswang: I can’t believe that human had the audacity to seduce one of the avatars. What a slut!

rosemarysbabe: What’s more shocking is that Mammon actually fell for her.

DwendeBoi: @rosemarysbabe How could you possibly know if Mammon actually likes her? She could just be a plaything for all we know!

Mammon’sClubPresident: @DwendeBoi That’s right, no one deserves Mammon but me!

Lamia wondered if this piece of news reached Lucifer. Surely, this coupled with that one, glorious night she and Lucifer shared should finally end his relationship with his human whore. She has had her fair share of human flesh, often breaking marriages and sometimes even tempting men of faith away from their God.

She chuckled and thought back to that night …

*

Lucifer tugged on his tie and breathed. Tonight was supposed to be a very personal, very special occasion but before he could go home and celebrate with you, he had to deal with Devildom’s entertainment industry.

He was Diavolo’s proxy in this pseudo-formal gathering. Pseudo-formal because this party had nothing to do with Devildom politics and everything about rising stars finding potential benefactors. Asmodeus would’ve fit right in with this crowd, Lucifer thought.

He glanced at his pocket watch. The party was supposed to end two hours ago and he should’ve been back at the House of Lamentation giving you your one-year-anniversary present.

While he debated with himself whether to stay or not, a familiar figure slithered towards his side. Lamia wore a slinky silver dress that was treading between sinful and tasteful, a human man and even the average demon would sell his soul for a single night with her. But Lucifer was immune to her so-called charms. The only creature that could tempt him was you.

To her every attempt at conversation, he merely smiled politely or nodded tersely. Sometimes he gave no reaction at all, finding the desserts on the buffet table more interesting.

Lamia, the rising star of Devildom’s film industry, did not take too kindly to being ignored. She’s never been one to chase after her partners (it was always the opposite) but she has always been fascinated by the seven brothers, especially the oldest. The fame and glory of having him would secure her position as a celebrity. She only came to this stupid party because she heard he would be coming as the royal family’s representative. But now he’s like this?

Throwing caution to the wind, she decided to up the ante and tried to press herself against him as she spoke. “Hey, Lucifer … I’m actually feeling a little lonely, would you perhaps -- ”

Lucifer gracefully stepped away before they could touch and she almost stumbled. He cleared his throat, “I beg your pardon, I think it would be best if we don’t start any rumors by acting like we’re close friends.” He wore his practised smile but his tone was firm. He then turned around and went to the balcony.

Lamia was left on her own, clenching her hands tightly and cheeks hot-red from anger and embarrassment. Suddenly, one of her competitors approached her, snickering.

“Don’t even bother. Lucifer never pays anybody attention, especially now that he has that human for a lover.”

Hearing this made Lamia a hundred times more bitter. She bit her cheek so hard she drew blood, but then she quickly composed herself and gave her rival a sneaky smile. “We’ll see about that,” she declared before turning on her heels and approaching the buffet table.

She reached into her shell-shaped bag and pulled out a small glass vial. It was a little gift from a witch fan of hers, the girl was not her type but she had talent, particularly with aphrodisiacs and Lamia asked for this special brew just for tonight. Just for Lucifer. She didn’t actually think she had to use it but it’s a good thing she kept it in her purse.

She poured all the contents in a single glass of blood-spiced wine. She then picked up a glass of crystal water and then followed Lucifer to the balcony.

“I want to apologize for my earlier behavior,” she said, handing him the potion-laced wine.

Lucifer glanced away from his D.D.D., gave her a small smile and took the wine.

“I know we just met and I’ve made a terrible impression on you so I thought we could start again.”

He nodded, but she caught his eyes when they ever-so-slightly rolled towards his D.D.D.

He was definitely distracted.

Lamia raised her own glass, “To new beginnings.”

*

Lamia grinned. With this, she can kick Mammon out of the entertainment business and get Lucifer for herself.

Part 5

EDIT: Lucifer didn’t cheat. Lamia tricked him using an aphrodisiac, i.e. she raped him. Now, I don’t want to get too pedantic or political because that’s not what this blog is for, but I will like to clarify that non-consensual sex is never okay. I don’t want you guys to think that just because Lucifer more or less takes the incident in stride that I take female-on-male rape lightly in real life. Do remember what this fanfic is truly about (for angst-inducing entertainment involving two demon brothers and not a sociological or political commentary) and that it is literally about thousand-year-old demons.  

[grantzarrr]

Quick fuck (g.d) part 2

part 1 is here just if you get confused!!

summary: Y/n gives Grayson his own medicine back maybe with a little more than what he did but he loves it, Y/n leaves the same way and receives so news... but what type?

warnings: just v smutty

Grayson did not expect that to happen nor has he ever actually encountered anything like this before. He was stumped to say the least, but also aroused at the whole thing, it was the dominance that had rumbled inside her, her tone really set it off for him and went straight to his dick—like most things, however this was a very unfamiliar for him to be sub.

Though it intrigued him for her to control him and put him in place and look like an angel making him beg and squirm, inched him on for some more so hard that it sparked something in him, a drive going off in him. At first he called it plain lust or just the feeling of something new that was weirdly interesting to see fall in place. But whatever it was Grayson wanted more, he needed more. And for the first time he actually took a notice into what the girl was wearing, a navy blue lace bra with the matching thong and a little bright pink bow sitting on top and now that he got to get some glares at her and some observable information into her lingerie, she was the most sexiest woman he’s ever seen.

It was like an eye opener for him, he never took notice into any of the girls faces or what they would wear to “impress” him, he just never cared- for the looks only for their tits bouncing at his thrusts and strokes or how each girl felt around him, throbbing and clenching pussy’s. Hell he didn’t care if they came or not, but unalike this girl, she didn’t sit just there nor was she frightened by him. And he liked that, he liked the way she yelled back at him, he liked the way she warned him what she can do instead of vise versa and he especially liked when she told him what was going to happen, like he’s the little bitch.

“Since you wanna be such an asswhole, let’s see how much you can handle your medicine,” with that said she pushed Grayson backwards on the bed crawling on top. She was full on poker face doing this too, a look that seemed she didn’t want be here or she was unsatisfied with what’s in front of her even like she only did this for him. And Grayson wanted to test this her full capabilities.

“I don’t do the submissive roll, sweetheart,” meeting up with her wondering eyes over his body, he wanted to see exactly how she would break him. Trying to see into her mind, he was sure that she’ll snap and go on about how she’s the boss and she didn’t care what he ‘doesn’t do’. But to his dismay she simply ignored his remark, yanking his arms up, handcuffing them to the premade setup, he gulped at this, not fully knowing what she’s gonna do now so he started staring up at her face looking for the smallest of hints, the more he actually glazed at her face the more prettier she looked— fully concentrated on anything but him and still looked gorgeous, down to her lips, up at her eyes— absolutely stunning. He swore his heart sped up for a moment and his ears heated up.

After she got done inclosing him into the setup-which he willingly let happen, it was like she captivated him in with the way her demeanor about this was. She burned the soul of her eyes at him, his dick started tightening making him slowly swift and wiggle on the bed.

“Please- don’t give me that look.” He begged but she continued, letting it sit on him, letting it rumble on his mind a bit, really letting it unravel raw to him, letting him know he had no say in this right now. She seen his little wiggles and small movement she also saw the tint forming.

“Stay still.” She warned him, pinning his hips down and gave his inner thigh a firm slap, catching him off guard a bit.

Y/n remembered that there was little chest she had seen when she first arrived, she motioned it to Grayson, which he replied, “those toys”. So she headed straight over. To her it wasn’t necessarily odd for a guy like him to have sex toys and devices somewhere here—out of all places a chest but hey, they got to be somewhere, she thought. The chest remarkably didn’t have any special codes or key to open, though she was happy for that, she wanted to torture and edge Grayson into opening it, just to rub in his face out of the shit he’s done.

She surprisingly found a hefty amount of toys for him, she came across an cock ring, some sort of ball vibrater, a gag and a paddle. Once she collected the items and turned to Grayson, just to find his eyes closed, withering away into the mattress again, now she has something else to tease him about. A devilish smirk appearing onto her face, time for the fun to begin. 

“Didn’t I tell you to stay still? Why are you so disobedient, hm?” She pestered.

Grayson’s eyes immediately popped open and once he seen the toys in her hand he knew it was over, “I’m sorry, I promise— I didn’t mean to I just tried anything because I’m getting hard-.” He pleaded, the poker face was smeared back on her face so he couldn’t quite point out any signs again.

“Be a good boy for me and know when to close your mouth,” she spoke and began walking closer to him, throwing the toys onto the bed, his mouth was slowly gaped so you could see a little of his pink tongue sticking out from the dimness of his mouth.

“Speaking of which, I think I’ll like you better with the gag in your mouth, sweets. Open wide.” She pronounced.

Shoving the gag between his plump pink lips, securing it around the back. Already the saliva started to build on the ball. Once she got it hooked, Y/n began kissing at his neck, rubbing her hands up and down his chest, letting out small fulfilled groans. She worked her way down teasing his body, licking at his nipples watching them tense up, reaching all the way down to cock— already hard and oozing of precum, she licked, sucked and palmed softly through his boxers, staring into his tightly shut eyes. Y/n heard his mutters through the gag and knew what he wanted.

“Mm don’t worry, sweets, I’ll take good care of this.” She mumbled against his abs where she was kitty licking. She knew that she wasn’t going to but making it harder for him was to fun to pass up.

She worked down to pulling his boxers down his legs, letting his strained dick free, you heard a small breath from his nose of release. She grasped it in her hand and started from his balls on up with a bold lick stripe, that alone sent a little shiver down his back. She swirled around the tip not going any further, only soaking the tip in her saliva, once he threw his head back into the pillows, she quickly grabbed the cock ring and slid it down onto him, she turned the remote on the highest settings and crawled off from between his legs. His head sunk deeper into the pillows and he bucked his hips up for more pleasure, you could hear his soft whimpers and moans still from the gag.

Watching him squirm and weaken away from the ring was thrilling, after all the shit he put girls through he deserves it. You thought if you should just leave him there and let that be his problem or if you should get off, have a little fun then leave. And if this was your last time with him why not have a little fun, you thought. You wickedly smirked upon him and slowly pulled the ring off and hearing a groan of relief with a mix of pleasure loss from him. Before you got started you took his gag off, he didn’t speak, nothing left his mouth but his eyes were hot on you, studying your every move, he gaped at your like your were his prey and he was a staving lion. You knew exactly what he wanted and you were gonna give it to him...exactly like he did to you. 

You took the gag of solely to hear his praises and whines, that’s what kept you going, that’s your main goal. Y/n crawled on top in reverse cow girl style, you looked back to make sure of where his dick was going, you hardly got on top so you still was kind of new to doing it your self. Once you started sinking in deeper, you began hearing him praise. 

“Yes, oh my fuck- you feel so good going deep.” 

It fueled you, his words had a hell of a effect on you, but you remembered your goal and you began setting off. You rode him into oblivion sending you both into a ball of heaven, he was so deep from this position it drove you crazy, he was bucking his hips up to match your rhythm causing his balls to slap up. It was true euphoria, not only from his dick alone but hearing him praise and worship your pussy was sending you over drive.

And after you came- harder than you ever have, you noticed that Grayson didn’t which is the reason you got up. Seems like he did as well, “Hey! What are you doing? I didn’t get to cum, are you crazy?” He started pulling at the restraints, after you got your clothes you looked at him up and down. 

“I’m getting the fuck out...that’s what you told me to do earlier?” You taunted, “What about the fucking handcuffs?” He voiced raised still yanking on them, “They seem weak, you’re strong enough to escape.” 

Then you left, no more of that asswhole and it was this way for a good two and a half months- well until this phone call..  

A/N: hii! sorry for the “little” break😅 uhh that seems to happen to me alot loll also i might drop a reveal of me soon—