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nowandajenn · 5 months ago

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Blue Christmas -chapter 11

Summary: After almost three years of marriage, everyone would tell you that Chris and his wife Kelly are the most stable, solid couple they know. But behind closed doors, things are tense as they keep trying for a baby, to no avail. When a secret threatens to shake their solid marriage to it’s core, will they be able to pick up the pieces?

Series warnings: angst (like a lot), mentions of infidelity, language, family drama, pregnancy, sexual situations.

Author’s Note: I do not consent to have my content, whether it be this story or anything else of my creation, posted by a third party on any other platform other than right here without my permission. This blog is 18+ and is not intended for minors. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Heed the warnings.

January 8th (Six days post accident)

The pain meds they give people in the hospital following surgery pack a wallop, especially when given through an IV. They make me have crazy dreams, turn my attention span paper thin, and have the added bonus of turning my brain/mouth filter virtually non-existent.

I’m trying to pay attention to the conversation that Chris is trying to have with me. I really am. To be fair, he knew when he got here an hour ago that I had just gotten another dose.

“What about this one?”

Chris turns the iPad towards me so I can see yet another picture and resume’ of a home health nurse. It was an idea that he was originally against, but both Lisa and Andi, my main nurse, had both suggested that maybe having someone come in for a few hours a day a couple times a week would be a good thing. As much as he wants to do everything he possibly can for you, he also knows he’s only one person. After not hearing a response, and thinking maybe I had dozed off into a narcotic induced nap, he looks up to see me using my good hand to fiddle with the end of the braid that the nurse had put my hair into earlier after the shower that I’d finally been allowed to have after days of bed baths.

Showers used to be glorious things. Water turned up to near scalding levels, music playing loud with me singing loudly (and badly) along, and nice shampoo and shower gel that smells amazing. This was not that. This was an entire process that took nearly an hour, starting with my casted leg and equally casted arm being wrapped in waterproof plastic and ending with me in tears because washing long hair takes two functional hands, and I only had one. There’s zero dignity in having another person give you a shower when you’re a grown woman who’s been showering and bathing by herself for many years now without issue. The nurse had been amazingly sweet and sympathetic and helped me with whatever I couldn’t do on my own (which was a lot), but the whole experience just left me feeling useless and depressed.

A soft touch to my hand brings me back to the present.

“Where’d you go?” he asks softly.

”My hair smells weird.”

He leans forward a bit so he can get a whiff of my hair. “It smells okay to me.”

“It’s not the same. It’s weird, clinical hospital shampoo. It doesn’t smell good like mine.” I lament. “I couldn’t even wash my own hair today. It’s too long, and I couldn’t do it with one hand. I can’t even-”

My voice starts to waver and I look down at my arm that’s laying useless in a sling across my chest. Even my fingers are so swollen and bruised that I couldn’t even put my rings on if I tried. My ring finger, which hasn’t been naked since Chris slipped my engagement ring on it some four and a half years ago, feels very bare and just wrong. Everything about the accident and my injuries keeps hitting me in different ways.

I look over at Chris and then down at the iPad that he’s still holding. “Hire whoever you want. I honestly don’t care, and it’s not like I have any choice in the matter.”

He sighs softly, knowing that this conversation was never going to go over well. He knows that I know that I’m going to need as much help as I can get when I finally get released to go home, but he also knows that being as stubborn and self sufficient as I am, my worst nightmare is having someone have to help me do something as simple as get out of fucking bed.

“This is the one thing that’s happened lately that you do get to choose. I want to get someone that you’re going to like and be comfortable with. I can’t imagine what this is like for you right now, and I’m just trying to make life as easy as it can get when you’re home.”

“I don’t know if I’m going to like someone from a goddamn resume’. As long as they can do the job without fucking me up more than I already am, great.” My back is starting to ache because of the position that I’m laying in, and when I go to slide further up the bed, I’m rewarded with a searing pain in my stomach from the movement pulling at my still healing splenectomy incisions.

“Fuck, honey-”

I fall back on the pillows, irritated as hell and over this damn conversation, and the words fly out of my mouth before I can even think about stopping them.

“Just pick someone! Maybe you’ll get lucky and you’ll get another girl who’s going to fall for the irresistible Chris Evans charm, who has no moral compass and no compunction about sleeping with married men. Then you can throw a shot into her too.”

I watch as his face falls, his hand pulling back from where it’s been resting on my arm and a lump the size of a golf ball forms in my throat. I didn’t mean to say that. I might as well just be wearing a name tag that says Hi, I’m: Here To Make Things Worse. I cover my mouth with my hand and glance up towards the ceiling, trying to blink the tears away before they can fully form.

“I’m…..I’m sorry. I didn’t mean….” I start, but the words don��t want to come out.

“It’s okay.” he tries to assure me.

“No, it’s not.” I look down at the fluffy blue blanket that Chris brought me from home and I play with the slightly frayed edge, ashamed and unable to look at the broken look on his face. “This is a bad idea.”

He pops a shoulder. “Could always hire a male nurse.” he says, raising his eyebrow.

I let out a small snort, knowing he said it to try and lighten the mood, but all I can feel right now is trepidation at the thought of coming home with Chris to recover and him taking the brunt of all of my frustrations and emotional eruptions.

He turns the iPad off and puts it on the side table and I watch as he stands up and grabs his jacket off the back of the chair, and my eyes widen.

“Don’t leave. Please, I-” I sputter out, trying to push down my panic.

“I’m not. I’m just going to run down and get a coffee and check in with Shanna and see how Dodger’s doing. Are you getting hungry? You want me to grab you something?”

I squint, trying to remember the dinner options on the meal sheet they give me every day and which one I might have picked.

“Uhhhhh….no. I’ll be okay. They should be bringing whatever I picked out soon anyway. I’ll live.”

“Okay. Text me if you change your mind. I’ll be back. No more than half an hour, I promise.” he says, resting his palm on the top of my head gently.

When Chris gets back twenty or so minutes later, I’m honestly sort of surprised he came back instead of just going home and getting away from my emotional, broken ass for a while. And even more surprised that his mom is with him, since I didn’t know she was planning on coming by today.

When they walk in, I’m sitting in one of the chairs in the room with my leg propped up, poking at a dish of red jello with a spoon.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Chris asks, surprised.

“I had to pee after you left, and being in bed was making my back hurt, so I asked if they could just park me here for a while. There’s not a ton of options when all you can really do is sit, so…I’ll be ready to get back in bed in a while.”

Lisa starts towards me and I push the wheeled table away from me slightly so she can bend down and give me a hug, which I return with a strength that takes her by surprise a little bit. Knowing how hard the last few days (hell, weeks for that matter) have been and the fact that your mom isn’t around, she just had a feeling today that you could probably use a big dose of love that only a mama can provide, which is why she decided to pop by and surprise both you and Chris.

She tilts my cheek to the side gently as she examines my face. “Your bruises are looking better.”

“Mmm. Still hurts. Airbags will save your life, but you’re going to feel like you went twelve rounds with Mike Tyson after they go off in your face.”

“So, Chris and I were talking downstairs, and I had an idea.” I swallow my mouthful of jello and look towards Chris, really hoping that he didn’t tell her about what I said. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly and the anxiety in my gut loosens up a bit.

“What would you think about me coming to stay with you guys for a bit when you got home?”

“Chris, tell me you didn’t ask your mom to come home with us to be my babysitter.” I groan. Lisa snorts slightly. “He didn’t ask. I’m offering. I know you’re not crazy about someone you don’t know being in your house and….” she searches for the right words “helping you. And it wouldn’t be for too long; just until you guys get yourselves situated at home and get into a routine with things. It’s just to make the transition a little smoother.” she assures me.

I look over at Chris and he shrugs, gesturing to me. “This is your call.”

I sigh, looking over at my mother in law, who I adore more than anyone in the world. “I’m not great to be around lately. I’m still not convinced that coming home after this is the right thing to do, and I’m afraid it’s really just going to make things worse. I don’t want you both to have to deal with my psychotic mood swings.”

“Sweetheart, if your mood was completely stable after everything that’s happened, I’d be terrified. You’re hurt, and you can’t do the things that everyone else takes for granted without help, and everyone knows how frustrating that is. I know you’re angry and sad and frustrated. And that’s okay. We’re-” she gestures between herself and her eldest son “made of tough stuff. Well, I’m tougher than him. We all know he’s a big baby who cries at the drop of a Hallmark movie.” I sputter out a laugh while wiping my eyes.

“We all love you, and we’re all here for you no matter what.”

January 17th (Fifteen days post accident)

“They would release you on the coldest day of the year.” Chris says as he makes a final sweep around the hospital room that I’ve called home for the last two weeks.

I huff out a small laugh. “Let’s just get the hell out of here before they come back here and tell me that they’ve decided to keep me for another week.”

“They should be back any minute with your discharge papers, and then we’ll go. The doc said he was going to call in your prescriptions to Walgreens, so hopefully they’ll be ready by the time we get there. Or I can get you home and settled in and run back out and grab them.”

“We can wait for them. It’s too cold to be running back and forth.”

I look down at my “going home” outfit and can’t help but feel completely ridiculous. A pair of pink flannel pajama pants with penguins on them (they’re the only thing besides sweats that I can get up over the cast on my leg), a long sleeved white shirt, and one of Chris’ hoodies that’s zipped up over my sling, leaving just my good arm in the sleeve. They removed the stitches from my arm yesterday, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to look at it. The compression bandage that I’ve been instructed to wear all the time (with the exception of showers) is a lot more comfortable than the layers of wrapping my arm was encased in, but still annoying. And it itches like the devil. My right foot is encased in fluffy socks and a shoe, and my left leg is of course still in a cast, a sock pulled down over my exposed toes so they don’t freeze off when I go outside.

My eyes go to the small black wheelchair that’s coming home with me and I squeeze my eyes shut. Because I’ve been instructed not to use my damaged arm for ANYTHING more strenuous than moving it gently to maneuver a shirt on and off, I can’t use crutches.

Chris finishes packing up my backpack, and stops when he sees me staring vacantly at the wheelchair. He frowns, and walks over slowly, sitting on his heels in front of me.

“Hey.” he murmurs softly, snapping me out of my reverie.

“Hmm?”

“This isn’t going to be forever. They said the cast is going to come off hopefully in a couple of weeks, and then they’re going to put you in a walking boot. At least then you’ll be able to get up and move around. I know, I know how much you hate this. I do. But it is not forever.”

“I know.” I hate how small my voice is. “I hate how I have to think about every move I make. I can’t reach for anything because I can’t use my arm. I have to be careful when I stretch or it hurts my stomach. I have to cough or sneeze as soft as I can or else my ribs hurt. It’s just….I feel like a prisoner in my own body right now.”

“But you’re going to get the chance to get stronger and recover.” I look up at him and our eyes meet, and I know we’re both thinking about the fact that the driver of the car that hit me died four days ago from his injuries sustained in the crash, and how that could have been me instead.

When the nurse comes in with my discharge papers and the litany of aftercare instructions, Chris takes them and heads downstairs with my stuff so he can bring the car around to the front entrance. The nurse helps me put my coat and hat on before helping me maneuver myself into the wheelchair and we head down to the first floor.

“You excited you’re finally out of here?” she asks me with a smile.

“And nervous. It was kind of comforting knowing that even though I was stuck in here, if anything went wrong, I was in the right place.”

I see Chris pull up at the curb, and the nurse wheels me outside, and I gasp at the biting cold. It’s the first time I’ve felt fresh air on my skin since the day of the accident, and although it’s beyond freezing, it still feels amazing to breathe it in. It isn’t until I get situated in the passenger seat and we’re ready to drive home that the panic sets in.

“The last time I was in a car I almost died.”

Chris takes his hands off the steering wheel and reaches over to hold my right hand.

“I know.”

“You drive like an insane person.”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, he snorts, because he knows the amount of speeding tickets he’s accumulated since he started driving is ridiculous. But he also knows that since the accident, he’s been almost hyper aware of his speed and everything going on around him, when he usually just goes on autopilot when he’s driving, like anyone else who drives every day.

“I promise I won’t drive like an insane person with you in the car.”

“Don’t drive like an insane person ever. You can’t control the way other idiots drive, but you can control how you do. I need you around.”

Those words make hope bloom in his chest.

“I promise.”

When we get home, relief washes over me. As promised, Chris drove very carefully and obeyed the speed limit, but I was still a nervous wreck the whole 25 minute drive. Plus, being scrunched in the roomy, but limited space of the passenger seat isn’t very comfortable with my injuries. One the car is parked inside the garage and Chris has my door open, he realizes that he didn’t really think this part through very well.

The furniture inside has been arranged and re-arranged about a dozen times in different configurations to accommodate the wheelchair in the house. He purchased a shower chair for me to make showers easier, he got cast wraps to keep the cast on my leg dry, he set up a perfect little nest with pillows and blankets on our sectional so I’d be comfortable, with remotes and chargers and books, and even a little cooler within reach.

I notice the look on his face that he gets when he’s confused about something or trying to find a solution to a problem, and turn to him.

“You’re trying to figure out how you’re going to get me in the house, aren’t you?”

The sheepish, yet slightly guilty look on his face tells me I’m right. “I have guys coming on Monday to put in a temporary ramp over the stairs in front. But I didn’t think about today.”

There’s two steps to get from the garage into the house, and the wheelchair isn’t going to make it up them.

“You’re going to have to carry me in the house.”

“I was thinking that, but I don’t want to hurt you. You’re still really sore.” he says, gesturing to his chest and stomach.

“I’m pretty sure everything I do for a while is going to be somewhat painful, but I think this is our only option. Why don’t you grab the wheelchair and bring it in, put Dodger in the bedroom until we get inside so he doesn’t knock me down when he sees me, and then come back out and grab me?”

He exhales slowly. “Okay. I’ll be right back. Just…..” he trails off, gesturing vaguely at me.

“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”

When Chris comes back out, he comes around to the passenger side and opens the door for me. I turn in the seat, angling myself as much as I can to make it easier for him to grab me and carry me inside. I’m slightly nervous about how much this is going to hurt, but I’m determined to not let it show.

“You ready?”

I take a deep breath and nod. He stoops down and slides his left arm around my back, while his right arm loops under my legs and he lifts me gently, my good arm going around his neck. He’s carried me like this about a million times in the years that we’ve been together, but for some reason, all I can think about is how he carried me (both of us slightly tipsy) like this up to our hotel room after our wedding reception, and me laughing and telling him not to drop me or else I’d get our marriage annulled. I squeeze my eyes shut at the memory.

I open them back up when I feel Chris setting me down on the end of the sofa and helping me get comfortable.

“Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks nervously.

“I’m okay. Can you just grab a couple pillows so I can put my leg up though?”

He hits the button on the side of the couch for the foot rest to come up and slides a couple throw pillows under my leg.

“Can I get you anything? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“I”m okay for right now. Can you go get Dodger though? I missed him like crazy.”

He smiles and goes to the bedroom to let the dog out, and a second later, I hear the sound of his nails clicking rapidly on the hardwood.

“Hi, baby!” I exclaim, holding my arm out.

“Dodge, be gentle, okay? Careful.” Chris warns.

Dodger jumps up on the couch next to me and immediately snuggles into my side. Luckily enough, he’s on my good side so I can give him pets and belly rubs.

“Mom’s going to be over in a few hours. She said she wanted to give us a little bit of time to get settled in and such. I’m gonna go and unpack our stuff and start some laundry. You have the remotes and your phone and charger nearby….if you need anything, just yell. Or tell Dodger to come get me.”

“I will. I think I’m going to try and take a nap though, honestly. The trip home kind of took it out of me.”

“Okay.” He grabs a blanket from the back of the sofa and drapes it over me, dropping a kiss to my head before he leaves to go get started on unpacking our stuff. As he walks away, he stops to look back at me again, thinking to himself how it seems like it’s been a lifetime since the last time the both of us were in this house together, even though it’s only been about three weeks. As much as he wanted you back home, he never in a million years thought this would be how it happened.

January 25th (23 days post accident)

“God, that feels nice.” I moan at the feeling of Chris’ fingers in my hair, massaging the shampoo in.

“Why do you think I always beg you to wash my hair?” he says, smirking. I catch his use of the present tense, and try and think about how long it’s been since the last shower we took together before the accident. I’m damn near positive it was way different than the ones that have happened since I’ve been home, and probably ended in orgasms all around.

“This is infinitely better than the showers in the hospital. The nurse who always used to do mine had long ass nails. I’m pretty sure one of them is still embedded in my brain somewhere.”

He laughs as he rinses my hair with the detachable shower head. After working conditioner through my hair and helping me scrub myself down and even shaving my right leg and under my arms for me, he steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist before grabbing another one to dry me off. I’m sitting on the toilet lid in my underwear while Chris smooths lotion on me, letting me do what I can reach with my good arm when I say his name softly.

“Thank you.” I watch his eyebrow quirk up in confusion.

“What for?”

“This. The- everything. When we got married, I bet you never imagined you’d have to help me shower and put on clean underwear and take me to go pee.”

He looks down as he continues to rub the lotion into my leg. “No, but I don’t think anyone goes in ever thinking about the worst case scenario where those things would ever come up. But that’s part of the deal, right? For better or worse? That covers everything; not just the good stuff. You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job.”

“You could have just let my mom have her way and let them take me home.” I point out.

He scoffs and shakes his head.

“Absolutely not. For one thing, you and your mom would have ended up killing each other. And for another…..your head is giving you enough grief as it is right now, and being around her would have just made it worse. I couldn’t do that to you.”

I see Chris reach for my shirt and groan, knowing how much it hurts my arm to put a damn shirt on.

“How bad does it look?”

“Your arm?”

I nod slightly and he sighs. “It’s still really raw and red. It’s going to fade, but it’s going to take some time. The doctor recommended some stuff that’s supposed to help with scars. Make them less visible over time.”

“Can I see it?” I ask.

“Are you sure?” he asks. I shrug a bit.

He picks me up off the toilet seat and walks us in front of the bathroom mirror and turns so I can see my arm. I suck in a shuddering breath and close my eyes. It’s ugly. A roughly five inch or so vertical incision straight down my upper arm, red and raw and glaringly obvious. Even when it’s fully healed, it’s going to be ugly.

“If you want, I can always talk to Josh. We can see if he can draw something up so you can cover it up once it’s fully healed.”

I nod as tears leak out of my eyes. Chris tilts my chin up. “It’s just a scar. It doesn’t define you and it’s not the end of the world. It doesn’t make you any less beautiful.” He pivots so my ass is sat on the bathroom vanity and once I’m settled, he pulls the shirt over my head, being gentle with my arm, and then helps me into a clean pair of pajama pants.

“You know, we’re actually getting kind of good at this.” he says as he carries me out of the bathroom and sets me down in our bed.

“I hate that that’s something to brag about.” I tell him, rolling my eyes. “Although, I guess after doing the same thing day after day for a couple weeks, it’s to be expected. You don’t look quite as terrified now as you did the first time we did this.”

February 2nd (one month post accident)

“I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner….I was in a pretty serious car accident a month ago and things have been a little hectic since then. I haven’t been cleared by my doctor to fly yet, so there’s no way we can make it out there. Mmmmhmmm. Yeah, the reservation is under Kelly Evans.”

Chris walks into the kitchen and starts making himself a cup of coffee while I’m on hold with the resort to cancel the Valentines Day reservations I had made back in November. I had a solid plan that I had cooked up with Meghan and his team so he wouldn’t have anything scheduled for the three days I had booked at Post Ranch Inn, but then between finding out about the affair and the accident, my carefully made plan got blown straight to hell, leaving me feeling a little (lot) angry.

“Okay. Thank you again for all your help. I’m sorry again for the late notice.”

I end the call and toss my cell phone onto the island, irritation bubbling up inside me.

“Who was that?”

“Canceling the reservation I made for us for Valentines Day at Post Ranch Inn. I made it before I found out about you fucking someone else. That kind of took the romance out of it a little bit. Well, that and the fact that my body’s still mostly useless.”

My newly (as of two days ago) uncasted leg starts itching to high hell under the walking boot and compression sock I have on, and I start the process of unstrapping the boot one handed so I can enjoy scratching my leg to my heart’s content. I wish I could have gotten a picture of Chris and the doctor’s faces when my cast was finally cut off and a fork, two pens, and a plastic ruler came tumbling out of it, all lost in my attempt to wedge something down there to scratch the itch.

He sighs lightly and turns so his back is to the counter, giving me what I’ve coined his “kicked puppy look.” Most of the time, I feel guilty for whatever I said to make that look appear, but today I’m just too agitated to care.

“Don’t give me that look. You do it every single time I mention the fact that you had sex with someone else. You know what you did. You don’t get to make that face and look like I just told you that Disneyland is closing down forever.”

He walks over to where I’m sitting with a sigh, and reaches to help me with the straps on my boot. “Can we not fight? Please? I know that there’s an ocean of stuff we have to work through, and I know none of this is easy…I just don’t want to fight with you.”

“Just stop. I can do it myself. You know, just because I still need you to help with most of my basic human functions doesn’t mean that I necessarily like being around you all the time. You’re my husband and for some God forsaken reason, even though you did what you did, I still love you, despite me calling you a cheating shitbag in my head at least once a day. So, just leave me alone for a little while, okay? I was really excited about having this trip happen, and it all got blown to hell in a really magnificent fashion, so let me just sit here and be pissed off and sad about it.”

He holds his hands up and backs away. “Okay. I can do that. Just, we have your doctor’s appointment at 2, so let me know when you need me to come help you get ready.” I look up at him and nod, spinning my phone on the table. He starts to walk away, but then turns back towards me.

“You know, when the accident happened and you were out of surgery, I kind of went into crisis mode. I called my team and canceled everything, because I knew that you were going to need someone to be there for you and help take care of you until you were stronger. And I know that you have a million people that are in our lives that would drop everything and do that for you, because you’re amazing and everyone loves you so much. The parade of people that have come and gone through here since you’ve been home is proof of that. I kind of just took charge, because I didn’t know what else to do….and I don’t think I took the time to stop and ask myself if you even wanted it to be me, given everything that happened.”

“Chris….I did. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable having anyone else do it.”

He nods. “I know that it’s hard for you to be around me sometimes. I know that you’re still angry, and hurt and upset and you have every right to be. I know we’re a mess, but once things settle down a little bit, we’ll get in to go see that therapist that Carly told me about, and we’ll start working through it. That is, if you still want to.”

“I do.”

A few hours later, we’re sitting in the waiting room of my gynecologist’s office, and Chris is just staring around the room at the posters on the wall, and occasionally glancing at the couple of pregnant women that are in the waiting room with us.

“Why did you need to see her?” he asks softly.

“I’m overdue for my annual exam, and since all I do lately is go to the doctor, I figured I should probably just get it out of the way.” It’s a half truth. Well, ⅓ truth. If the doctor was right about my hcG levels when I was in the hospital, I’m about six weeks pregnant, and it’s probably time to get official confirmation in black and white. And if I am, Chris deserves to be there to hear it. But first, he needs to get something done himself.

The nurse comes by and hands us both a clipboard with paperwork on it, and Chris’ eyebrows raise. “Why do I get paperwork?”

The nurse clears her throat nervously and taps a section on the paperwork. STD test, with the works. She walks away to let us fill out the papers, and his eyes shoot to mine.

“Really? I told you, I used a condom.” he whispers.

“I don’t care. I need to see it for myself, for my own peace of mind.”

He’s called back first, and with a nervous swallow and a look back at me, he follows the nurse. I’m called back shortly after, and after blood work, urine test, and the internal exam, Chris is allowed back into the exam room to wait with me while the results come back.

“You want to grab something to eat after this? You didn’t have much for breakfast earlier.” he asks.

“Uh, yeah, I-” I’m interrupted by a knock on the door followed by Dr. Hartman coming back in. By the look on her face, I just know.

“Congratulations, you guys are pregnant.”

Chris is lucky that there’s a chair right behind him, or he would have been in a world of pain. When I see him basically collapse into the chair, I get worried.

“Mr. Evans, are you okay?” Dr. Hartman asks, reaching for his wrist to check his pulse. His face is a look of pure shock, like he can’t begin to comprehend what he just heard.

“Chris?” I ask, my own emotions threatening to spill out despite knowing this was coming. I instantly feel bad for not giving him a heads up that this was a very real chance. His eyes find mine and we just stare at each other.

“I’m okay. I just- it’s- are you sure?” he asks, his voice unsteady. The doctor steps away, seemingly convinced that a movie star isn’t going to drop dead of shock in one of her exam rooms. “The tests are extremely accurate, but I’m going to go ahead and do a transvaginal ultrasound so we can take a look. If you’re far enough along, we should be able to hear the heartbeat.”

Since I’m still in the gown and haven’t gotten dressed yet, I lay back on the table and assume the position again as she pulls the ultrasound machine towards her. Chris gets up on unsteady legs and stands next to me, still looking shell shocked.

“Okay, this is going to be a little uncomfortable. Just take a nice deep breath.” she warns. I do as she says, but I still make a face when the probe is inserted. Chris is torn between watching my face and wanting to see what’s happening on the screen. Me, I’m too afraid to look anywhere but his face. For as much trepidation as I’m feeling over this pregnancy, I’m overcome with the sudden fear that she’s going to find the baby and there’s not going to be a heartbeat, just like last time, and I honestly don’t know if I can go through that twice.

“There it is.” I hear from next to me. I watch as his eyes move from mine to the screen, seeing the tiny blob in the middle of my uterus with the little flicker in the middle. A heartbeat. I still can’t bring myself to look though. Dr. Hartman, who was the one who told me that I had miscarried and performed my D&C, senses my fear, and quietly hits a button on the machine. The sound is almost overwhelming as it fills the room. I have a crazy thought that it almost sounds like clothes in the washer as it’s agitating. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. My eyes snap to the screen, and I immediately bring my hand to my mouth and burst into tears.

“From the size, it looks like you’re about six or seven weeks. Which is going to put the due date at about….” she stops to put some numbers into the computer. September 23rd, give or take.”

After printing off some pictures and leaving the room to let me get cleaned up and get dressed, we leave the office feeling a million different emotions. We’re both quiet on the drive home, both lost in thought. How many times have we wished for this? How many negative pregnancy tests have we seen and tossed angrily into the trash, tears threatening to spill. How many times did we say “It’s okay. It’ll happen. I know it.” only for it to happen during the worst period in our marriage?

When we get home, I slowly waddle into the house, still enjoying the feeling of being able to (somewhat) walk instead of being chained to that damn wheelchair. I make my way to the back door to let Dodger out, passing Lisa, who’s watching both Chris and I with a curious, careful gaze.

I feel him behind me as I turn on the tap, filling a glass with water and downing it almost all in one gulp.

“How are you feeling?” he asks softly. He can see my hand trembling slightly as I hold the glass, and he knows he has to tread lightly.

“In general? Or about the fact that we found out I’m pregnant in the middle of our personal shit storm?”

“Both.” I drop my head. Truth be told, I’m exhausted. My arm is killing me, the nerve pain making burning pins and needles radiate over my whole arm. My leg is aching from being on it for an extended amount of time.

I’ve been trying to roll it over and around in my head for weeks. What to do if I really did have the shittiest luck in the world, and I did end up actually pregnant in this situation. I keep coming back to the bad joke that my brother made the night I found out about Chris about me not having to deal with all of this while I was pregnant.

“I don’t know if I can do this.” My voice is soft, but he hears it like I’m screaming it. “I don’t know if I can have this baby. I don’t know if my body can handle it, and I don’t know if I can handle it emotionally.”

The words punch through him like a hit from a prize fighter. He knows exactly when it happened; the night that you had come over to get a dress from your closet and we had ended up defling quite a few surfaces in the house. There’s a good chance that our baby was conceived on the dining room table.

“Are you talking about-” he can’t even bring himself to say the words. He KNOWS this the worst timing for this to happen. He KNOWS that no matter what, it’s your choice. But the thought of not having this baby with you almost brings him to his knees.

My breath hitches. “Chris, look at us. Take a good look at me, at my body. I’m broken. I’m still recovering. I’d have to be monitored more closely to make sure that everything is okay. Because we don’t know if it will be.” The thought of finally getting everything I wanted with my husband and then not having it makes my chest hurt.

“I’ve wanted kids with you since the moment you told me you loved me for the first time, and that I was it for you. I knew that you were going to be the father of my kids one day. But now, with everything, I don’t know if that’s the case anymore.”

The tears are burning my eyes, and I can feel the sobs starting to build in my throat, and I know if I don’t get out of this room right now, I’m going to lose it. I’m pretty sure that Lisa heard at least part of our conversation, and I can’t talk about it anymore without losing my mind. I set my glass in the sink and silently make my way upstairs, thinking that two of the worst conversations I’ve had in my life have taken place in the kitchen that I loved. Now I can barely stand to be in it.

#chris evans #blue christmas #angst #chris evans fic #pregnancy

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strangelockd · 2 years ago

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2022 Reflection

Sorry for this being so late. Ive had a lot of things going on…

I’ve been having fun with this journaling/gardening app. It’s giving me many opportunities to reflect on the positivity and the things I’m grateful for in my life.

As I pause and reflect on my first year of being back on this blog, I’ve realized how much has changed. Not just me, but in how I see things.

It reminded me of my first encounter with Tumblr back in 2012 when The Avengers came out. I’ll never forget the time I first set my eyes on Loki, the sexy god of mischief. I’ll never forget the time I became a fan of something that was more than myself, fast forward to 2023 and here I am with my two loves Loki and Doctor Strange.

How can I forget the reason I chose to come back to Tumblr was of course, for Doctor Strange.

He so much more then a character, he’s the embodiment of inner strength and rising above your demons. He taught me that no matter how damaged you are, you can always bounce back and reclaim your life.

Multiverse of madness destroyed me in a good way to the point that I just had this itch to come back and re-blog pictures of Benedict. Like I was some giddy 13-year-old girl all over again.

Next thing I know my phone is a collection of Doctor Strange in Benedict Cumberbatch photos.😆

Now I found myself in this loving community of writers and creators pushing out stories of my own.

I never thought of myself as a writer, It was never really a hobby of mine, but I found through conveying my thoughts…healing began to happen….

Now Im hopelessly addicted to writing and I don’t think I want to stop 😊

I have some very special people to thank, bc if it wasn’t for these amazing humans. Im not sure were I would be.

@geeky-politics-46 not only is this woman, a bad ass super writer, but she is a bad ass woman warrior. She is the reason I started writing in the first place. She will always be my sinister sister through and through.

@purplefeathersandblackleather you came into my life when I least expected it, but when I needed it the most. I am forever grateful for our conversations that were able to have every day; you keep me grounded.

@lady-harvey for always being so loving and so kind towards me and my work. She never has anything bad to say about anybody. She’s just pure love.

@icytrickster17 how can I forget….easily I can never forget them. Their undying support for everything that I post good or bad I will forever be in debt with their love and support.

@dino-fart for her kind words and continuous support despite her hitting extremely hard times

@bakerstreethound for proofreading my story, and always being there to support me with my Sherlock ideas

@marvel-writing I just met you. But, we have been unable to not stop chatting between each other. You are a breath of fresh air and the best person share photo of Ben with.

Anyways as Forest Gump said, “thats all I have to say about that”

Hope I didn’t bore you to much. 😉

#strangelockd adventures #doctor strange #benedict cumberbatch #sinister strange #doctor stephen strange #sherlock #because benedict cumberbatch #stephen strange #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness

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disappearinginq · 1 year ago

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One of these days, I’ll tell the story about how my roommates and I did a more thorough job investigating another roommate’s disappearance that got me on the NCIS watch list, but today is not that day.

Instead, today is the day when I am reminded that some Navy buddies truly were ‘ride or die’.

There were three of us - me, Jackie, and Natalie - who were older than most recruits in the barracks by several years. I was the baby of the bunch, Natalie was the oldest, and Jackie was in between, which meant that we hung out more often than most because we didn’t have to worry about stupid teenagers dragging us into their bullshit. We were thick as thieves at one point, but life happens, the Navy separated us, and we wound up on opposite ends of the country, only really talking through the occasional Facebook posts - for the last eight years.

This past Monday, I got an out of the blue text from Natalie saying she was in, of all fucked up places, Harrison, Arkansas. You might not know the name, but I bet you know the pictures - huge billboards on the highway say things like this:

Natalie is not white. She is not even passably white-ish. Last I knew, she was a minister in California somewhere near Bakersfield with her husband. I have no idea what possessed her to not only go to this town, but to stop there and take up residency.

Anyway - she sends me a text asking me to go out to Satan’s asshole Arkansas for a week on her dime, and “take pictures of her bruises” so that “if/when I die, it will not cause an uproar in this town with beautiful people I have come to love” and then proceeds to send me a bunch of pictures of her that make it look like she was in a motorcycle accident - bruises everywhere, bandages and bandaides, a hospital bracelet, and what looks like where an IV was placed and tells me “pictures of my body after being dragged through the street and and up and down hospital hallways.”

At this point, I’m lowkey freaking out because it sounds like she was assaulted in the street and wound up at the hospital for her injuries from a racially motivated attack and now she’s trying to down play the severity of it so I don’t end up rolling into town like fucking Sherman rolled into Atlanta, but she’s not answering any direct questions about what happened. She says she’s going to bed, she gives me her phone number, and tells me good night (it was past midnight where I live). I tell her I don’t have any time to be able to come down because I just started a new job, but she was more than welcome to get the hell out of dodge and come to my house.

I try to call in the morning, afternoon, and evening, and her number goes straight to voicemail. I give her my two numbers and tell her to call me. She doesn’t. Monday night, she sends a text saying that I won, she’d come to see me, couldn’t wait to bring a second income to my family which was now her family (which is also weird because last I knew, she had a family of 8-9 siblings that were all super close) and she would be leaving expressly - but she needed a new phone and a new credit card because "I'm not taking any chances with folks who ACT like they support the Vets but really do not....” . SO now I’m freaking out that she’s being actively PERSUED by the people who assaulted her, and I try calling six-ish more times and never get a reponse from her, and now I’m thinking she’s dead in a ditch in Arkansas killed by a fucking lynchmob and I have to go fucking torch this place, but I text Jackie instead, asking if she’s heard from Natalie lately, and give her the whole lowdown.

Summed up:

Jackie: I’M ON IT.

She proceeds to call the local hospitals asking if they have a patient with Natalie’s name, but gets nothing. And we’re trying to remember what the hell Natalie’s last name is because she was married, and she’s using her middle name to go by, and I finally back track a conversation from YEARS ago, find it, and again start calling the hospitals. Then we try the police. They admit that they have a record of someone with her name, but it’s not recent. Jackie is very diplomatic and says that we’re worried about our friend, could someone do a welfare check, and the police hedge and say that the address isn’t really anywhere they can do a welfare check.

I scan back through Natalie’s texts, and I get the sudden impression Natalie is living out of her van (which isn’t actually all that weird, her mother used to travel between all the kids and grandkids like that), but she’s quite possibly actually homeless.

So then we start back tracking through her Facebook profile, texting every one of her friends, Jackie working top down, and me from the bottom up. Jackie gets a hit with one of them, a woman who says she’s Natalie’s best friend. So we send her the texts and pictures Natalie sent me, and her only reaction is: “I think she’s not feeling well again.”

The assault Natalie was describing was her fighting with the fucking hospital that she was being checked into for a mental health crisis. This is apparently a semi regular occurence, or at least, a repeat issue, because it’s happened more than once. Her husband either left or she left him because of it, at least four years ago. Nobody knows how the fuck she settled on Harrison, AR, of all places, but we can’t reach her on her phone because they confiscate your phone when you’re checked in by the police. The last time anyone spoke directly with her is the 9th of July, and that’s it. It turns out her family had no idea where she was, but had been trying to contact her with no response, but Detective JACKIE for the win managed to track down her apartment and got the manager to send someone to do a welfare check to see if she was even still living there. Currently waiting on a response.

SO THAT’S BEEN FUN. HOW WAS EVERYONE ELSE’S WEEK?!

#weirdly reassuring to think she's in the mental ward #because I'd rather her be schizophrenic than DEAD #BUT WHAT THE FUCK IS SHE EVEN DOING THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE?!#And I don't mean the hospital #I mean RACIST AS FUCK MIDDLE AMERICA

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myfitnessblog0086 · 2 years ago

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Okay it's time to drop some fandom stuff:

Rocky Balboa:

I know that I'm kind of late to the rocky party because the movie series has been around since the '70s and gained a lot of popularity in the '80s. I was born in the late '80s and I was aware of this series during the 90s as well. I'm sure I watched one or two movies because my father was familiar with Rocky 2 and 3 but he didn't like 3. But it actually wasn't until the pandemic when I personally gave the movie series a try.

When I revisited the series, I purchased each one in 2021. Somehow I stumbled upon the fact that there was a Rocky IV Director's Cut event that was happening. If I remember I found out the day before and I was lucky to get tickets. I also remember that I invited my father to come with me, but he got food sickness from one of the local diners. It happened around Thanksgiving time, and dad went to one of the usual diners that him and his friend go to every year for their usual turkey dinner. He claims that he got very sick off of their food. So I already paid for the tickets and I had to eat the cost . ☹️ I had a wonderful time though and I was able to get a copy of the Director's Cut for my father to watch. But the movie event was something that I will never forget because it included some interviews at the beginning of the movie that weren't included in any other digital releases.

Also a fun fact that I learned was that Mr T was actually born more than 6 months ahead of my father. So Mr T's current age is 70 and he was born the same year as my father.

But to my surprise I found out that there were also a bunch of other people that had been inspired by the story of Rocky. That's the magic of the movie series. The first two movies were considered the most raw and included a lot of the little moments that led up to the big moments. Those little moments drove the story forward into the big moments.

I personally was a huge fan of the montages because the fact that I saw how much work went into professional boxing. It gave me ideas for things that I could try, and inspired me to go the distance.

Pac-Man:

It's no secret that I was fat, depressed, and binge eating when I was a kid. It was a vicious cycle because I had the so-called "friends" when I was growing up that pretended to be friends but really took time out of their day to cut me down. In the end they were just bullies that decided to use words instead of punching me or throwing me down a flight of stairs or spitting on me.

Pac-Man was a man that ate as much as he wanted, and ran as fast as he could. To me Pac-Man was a comfort video game. For some reason I could always block out whatever was bothering me in life and focus on the game. To me Pac-Man didn't judge because he quite often ate more than I did. He didn't really struggle with weight, (the TV series is another story. Maybe the upcoming movie too.) Fitting into his clothes or being called a fat ass at school.

Pac-Man always looked so happy in his pictures and he always made me so cheerful when I played his games. It was a way for me to forget about the fact that my own father would introduce me as "his grossly overweight" when we would see a new doctor about my weight problem. My dad was a high believer in the fact that if we couldn't solve my weight problem in a year, we had to get a new doctor. For reasons that the current doctor was a quack.

My dad never really understood how correctly to lose weight and I spent a lifetime struggling learning how to. The bottom line is that you can't spend 3 months and lose over 100 lb. That's too much weight to lose over such a short amount of time. They say that 10 lb a month is a healthy weight loss. (To clarify a healthy weight loss means that you're actually putting in the work, and you're actually putting in the diet regime, and you're not giving into something fad diet where you'll just lose the weight very quickly, and then you'll never learn the skills to keep it off so you just gain it all back. Like the lap band. Yes I know somebody who has died from the lap band. He lost all that weight and then he ate too much. The band snapped and he died.)

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles:

Again I was born in the late '80s and I unfortunately didn't really have much money for Comics since I was a kid. I always had to ask my parents for money or to buy me things because I was very young in 92. A Walmart had just moved to our town and the only Comics that They carried were the Archie Comics Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. So I never got to read the original Comics until I was an adult. I recently got reinterested in them. It was before they announced Shredder's Revenge and before they announced the Cowabunga Collection.

I do remember bits and pieces of the last final seasons of the original series when they aired on TV. I was actually able to watch most of the TMNT series on 4kids when I was older in 2003. That also included the movie TMNT Forever when it aired.

Yes I really had a lot of the toys when I was growing up when they were hot. I never really was much of a comic Book Guy. Even when I was older I was more of a toys and video games person than a comic books. Or TV and Movies.

Like most people I blame my addiction to Pizza on the TMNT. The truth is that's not true at all. It's where I live. I live in a town that's obsessed with football, and has three aisles of frozen pizza at every grocery store. Plus a section of the store where you can get ingredients to make your own pizza, plus deli where you can take already made raw pizza and go bake it. Plus most of the stores already have hot pizza available for you to just take.

Known as the land of the fat people and where we deep fry everything. I think Family Guy or The Cleveland Show joked that we would deep fry a tire just to make it taste better.

So I had more of the reason to kick my pizza addiction. But besides being obsessed with pizza, the TMNT were known for being badasses and for training all the time. Sometimes for being overly sarcastic.

But in all comic versions and the early TV shows and even the early movies you see them as if they're muscled. Despite their addiction to Pizza, they had weird toppings which sometimes included quite a bit of sugar.

As a diabetic I know to avoid pizza because it's chock full of fat, and the pizza crust can easily be broken down into sugar. Adding hot fudge and marshmallows on top just adds more sugar. Pizza is chock full of salt. Even cheese by itself is before you add the pizza sauce that has additional salt. Before you add the greasy pepperonis that adds additional fat and additional salt.

Yes, vegan pizzas exist. However nobody here likes to eat plant-based cheese, plant based chicken, etc. In short I have never seen a vegan pizza available in this town. I would love to see one and try one.

So I try to keep it as vegetarian as possible when having pizza.

Back to the TMNT tho. Besides pushing Pizza Hut and pizza addiction.. one thing that I've noticed is that they've been training their entire lives. They've been training since a young age and they're supposed to be teenagers. So assuming they've been training at the age of five, (some karate schools believe that kids can start training at the early age of three) they have been training for 12 years. (Assuming that they're all 17. Supposedly Michelangelo is supposed to be the eldest and he's the most fun of the group.)

So it's sort of a gnarly way of reminding me that "three years of boxing isn't enough training dude." Because they've been training for 12 years at the very most and they still have not mastered it yet. Some are better than others but in TMNT 2003, some are further behind than others.

Sadly the only thing I have left to say about each fandom is I have more to say depending on how long the relationship I've had with it. TMNT has a long history with a lot of generations and lots of lore including different dimensions and such. Some stories are more violent and bloody than others.

Pac-Man is mostly games and there have been some TV shows that have not been well received. There's not too many bad games and there's not too much lore unless you get to the more recent games. And the more recent games have different lore. Pac-Man adventures in time for PC claims that the events of the Pac-Man series takes place upon a different planet. Pac-Man World claims that it takes place in a place called "Pac Land".

Rocky is pretty consistent. Except for number four directors cut because as Stallone said "I don't know what I was thinking with that robot."

The original was an oscar-winning movie and won the most awards and the most nominations. Rocky IV comes in second place. Rocky 3 was at least nominated for an Oscar. Nobody really likes Rocky 5. That's consistent as well.

#fit #fitness #fitspiration #boxing #fitness boxing #nintendo switch #rocky balboa #rocky #nintendo #pac man #tmnt fandom #tmnt 1987 #tmnt raphael

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im-a-heartstomper · 1 year ago

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man, shoutout to Teagan.

okay y'all have no idea who that is, i know, but she's like the nicest girl ive ever met (and haven't dated LMAOOO) i may talk shit about my ex occasionally but she's really nice I swear- anyway Teagan is this really really nice girl i we t to school with her for like two years she was friends with like. EVERYONE. I even have her number actually! if my phone wasn't FUCKING BROKEN I'd text her... but it is so I can't. That's why I'm giving her a shout-out instead of my original plan to call her and see how she is... phone call anxiety hahahahahah.

anyway she's really nice, friends with everyone, us d to go to school with her, she's very talented blah blah blah. She was in my dream last night (weird I know) and even in my dreams where literally everyone is a bitch she was just a homie. like literally in the dream i had just PHYSICALLY FOUGHT my ex-best friend because they were trying to look through my shit- and after that whole ordeal she comes up to me and invites me to a fuckin sleepover. LIKE. EVERYONE IS SO MEAN IN MY DREAMS AND THEN THERE'S HER. anyway.

shoutout to Teagan, she's a real one. and if you ever see this, girl, sorry i was never able to tell you goodbye. I was told you were mad about that haha. I would've stuck around, but. no amount of comfort would've made me okay with staying after that bitch took my picture without my permission HAHAHAHAHHA. uhhh okay bye

#shoutout #man that girl was awesome #there are more people I should shoutout for being awesome but I'm at Disney so I should probably get off my phone BYEEE

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fanficsforheartandsoul · 2 years ago

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A Wolf’s Heart | [Deglan x M!Reader] | The Witcher | Part I

Notes: I found Deglan super attractive when watching the witcher movie so I’m glad that people are interested in him! Thank you for this request! 😊

I also apologize for taking so long for this request (it’s been months I’m so sorry) and making this overly angsty. I get the feeling I can’t write anything else. I apologize if this is not what you expected, maybe I should do a warning tag that I can only write stories with angst. But hey, there’s a happy ending so no worries, right...? xD

Fandom: The Witcher

Warnings: Original Characters, Swearing, Depression, Angst, Slight OOC, Non-Canon Story, Century Typical Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Spiraling, Injuries, Self-Concious Reader, Misunderstandings

Summary: The life of a witcher is ruled by two things. Coin and monsters. Yet when Y/N looks at his mentor both fade into the background and a third variable enters the picture... But witchers don’t have it easy with love. And Y/N doesn’t seem to be an exception

Word Count: 4,773

Taglist: @thatsequoia

If you want to be tagged in my stories send me a pm with the fandom/character name! Or comment on the fic :)

Note 2: I just realized that you wrote “recently became a witcher” and I totally messed that part up I’m so sorry 0.o I hope you don’t mind the change! Since witchers have a pretty long life span, I decided that their training ends around the age of twenty something. So the reader is an adult (in our terms not the middle ages) when he becomes a full witcher. I invented quite a lot of stuff for this story so the non-canon in the description is really necessary xD

Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII

Masterlist

Please note that The Witcher is supposed to be around the Middle-Age. Homophobia existed and is addressed in this story, if you potentially get triggered please do not continue to read!

Additionally, please read the warnings as they change in some parts of the story

Y/N was different from the common folk.

As far as he was aware, not everyone had to pass harsh trials, risk his life with alchemical experiments and turn into a mutant with superhuman abilities, magical powers and the added side-effect of not being able to reproduce.

Aside from those obvious witcher affairs and the whole baggage that came with them, however, there was one more thing that was different about him. It wasn’t something he hated, no, not at all, it just made him lonely.

Loneliness had been part of a witcher’s life for hundreds of years, it was no surprise then that it was also part of Y/N’s. However, unlike others in his school, he had known that feeling since birth. Therefore, he was no stranger to it and it did not bother him up until a certain point in his adult life. But then... Well...

Y/N did not like the idea of visiting the many brothels of the land because he could not find comfort and pleasure there. In fact, they reminded him of his difference. A man like him would most likely never find happiness in those places, much less in another person, and certainly not in a woman.

But before he actually realized that, he had hopes and dreams.

He hoped, and he dreamed, and he loved.

Everything began when he was just a young boy with big dreams in the school of the Wolf. Big dreams that one could shatter easily...

“Damn, how many hours have passed now? I cannot feel my arms anymore!”, cursed Fenri, supporting his hands on his knees to take a breather. Cole checked their surroundings before he lowered his steel sword and sat on one of the meager patches of grass in the courtyard.

The sun shone directly on his face and the keep’s high walls created long shadows on the ground. They had been training for hours now and Deglan had yet to come and tell them to stop.

Their group consisted of 8 boys who had miraculously survived the trials of Grasses and they had been in the school for around 3 years now and therefore knew how shit worked in the school’s keep.

Consequently, it was a normal occurrence for the witcher to leave their training unsupervised, while he checked on the lessons of the younger ones. But despite his absence, he always seemed to sense when they were slacking off.

And that often happened when their younger friend Wendir was with them. The boy was originally part of a younger group but he was the only survivor during the trials of the Grasses and due to his fate, he would often train with them, although he was known to tempt the other boys to take a break. He was unexpectedly lazy for a witcher apprentice.

Yet, this time the boys did not fear Deglan’s wrath because they were accompanied by their friend Y/N, who had finally recovered from his last alchemical experiments.

If Deglan ever discovered their break, the older one would save them from his harsh punishments. They could trust Y/N due to the many experiences they had shared and the times he had saved them selflessly during their trials. Therefore, they rested their sore bodies for a while.

Said youth was currently wiping the sweat from his forehead, although he did not look nearly as exhausted as the rest of them. His breathing was shockingly even for the fact that they had just swung their swords 1000 times at straw puppets.

However, this was not a surprise at all for any of the boys.

Y/N was the oldest among them, he had the most fighting experience and he also underwent the most additional experiments. The scars and muscles on his lean body were proof of that. Y/N's stamina and capabilities were already beyond a child of his age, which gave him quite a few admirers but also rivals.

The blond Fenri followed Y/N's gaze across the courtyard. He was once again staring at Tristan - one of the young witchers who took care of the new brats. He did not know why Y/N seemed to always gaze at the black-haired man with an unreadable expression but it had reached a point where it annoyed him to death. So he opened his gob and said words he would regret for years in the future:

“You know if you continue to stare, someone might start to think you fancy the man.”

Fenri’s comment made the other guys focus on him, their laboured breathing hindered them from asking questions though. Yet Y/N, the person he addressed did not pay him any attention. His yellow eyes did not even move an inch away from Tristan’s form.

“What do you mean?”, asked Cole breathlessly.

“One might think Y/N is in love with Tristan.”

Fenri watched the oldest of their group closely to see any kind of reaction from his words and the corner of his lips twitched when he saw how the h/c haired boy straightened his back and turned towards him, a contemplative expression on his face.

“What’s wrong with that?”, asked Barmin, curiously staring at his friend.

Seven pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly and Fenri had to pause for a second. He did not exactly know how to answer that question but it was not like he was spouting lies. His mother told him when he was younger and still lived with his family. It was just wrong.

“You cannot be in love with a man," he responded confidently. “Men love women, women love men, that is the law of nature. Men loving men is... gross.”

The boys did not look convinced and while he tried to find a better response to why love between two men was wrong, the blond noticed that Y/N focused his attention on their training again, he raised his dull training blade about to swing at one of the straw puppets once more.

Fenri frowned in annoyance. It seemed as if he could never truly rattle the older boy he considered his rival. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. One day he would triumph over the other, whether that would be in a conversation or battle.

Robin and Milan began to argue about his words and their voices got louder and louder now that they had regained their breaths.

“Who said you cannot like another boy? Is it not just love?”

“I have never liked another boy or been liked by one before! So it isn’t natural, it cannot be!”

“That is just because you have a brain the size of mouse shit and a nose like a potato! No one would like you anyways, be it a girl or a boy!”

“Fuck, what did you just say?! You want to fight?”

“As if you’d win against me!”

Their argument turned a few heads of passing witchers and students and Fenri sensed that if he did not stop them soon, they could expect an angry Deglan on their arses at any second.

“Did you fools not listen to the talk of our seniors? They said themselves that we want to fuck broads left and right when we finish all of our experiments! Women NOT men!”

He hoped this argument was enough to silence them. He did not expect his teasing to initiate a fight. And judging by the eyes on his two friends who were at each other��s throats, they had been loud enough to draw attention.

Luckily, they quickly shut their mouths when Cole stared at them disapprovingly. The boy looked somewhat like a scolding mother and it was very effective. Hopefully, they didn’t alert Deglan. Who knew where he was lurking...

The fact that he used rather crude words did not come to his mind until he heard someone clear his throat behind him and based on it, he knew exactly why everyone had turned dead silent and why Y/N had turned around and stared at him - or most likely at Deglan behind him who had mysteriously shown up out of nowhere.

“What a nice discussion you have during your training. Would you like some fucking tea served to it?”

Fenri tensed and did not know if he should turn around or not. Before he could do anything though, Y/N stepped forward with his steel sword. Cole sighed in relief.

“No tea, sir,” was all the boy said when he changed his posture into a defensive stance, sword tip pointing at Deglan. He held his sword firmly in his hand, ready to distract their mentor from his friends like usual.

Had Fenri turned around, he would have seen the glint of amusement in Deglan’s eyes, one that only showed when the h/c haired boy uselessly tried to cover for his friends by challenging the witcher to a fight. Even now he tried it even though he caught them red-handed while they slacked off.

Deglan and everyone else knew Y/N would always lose - the fool himself knew - he was just a brat after all, but Deglan found it amusing that the boy tried again and again. His desperate attempts of creating a diversion amused him greatly.

The witcher saw through it every time, yet he never punished the boy, nor his friends too harshly.

Deglan found Y/N’s protective spirit commendable and it impressed him every time how fast he came up with new fighting tactics. Furthermore, the injuries that the boy sustained in each fight were probably punishment enough.

“Ready for round 24? Or is it 25?” he asked the h/c haired youth while rolling his left shoulder with a subtle smile.

“Actually it’s 27," Y/N replied, and Deglan hummed. The witcher glanced at the sword in his hands and grinned.

“I think my fists are enough for today.”

Y/N frowned. After their seventeenth fight, the witcher had begun to use his sword, so why...?

His eyes took in his surroundings and he realized that the people in the courtyard, the young witchers, the new candidates and their potential mentors, all were now watching them, even Tristan.

Automatically Y/N’s heart began to pound faster. His gaze lingered on the black-haired witcher and when something moved in the periphery of his vision, he could only gasp in alarm before he crashed face first in the dirt. A painful groan escaped him and a bolt of pain shot through his neck where Deglan had hit him.

“Getting distracted means getting yourself killed”, warned his mentor and the laughter of the surrounding witchers made Y/N’s face burn from embarrassment.

This was the first time in a while that he could not even swing his sword at Deglan before he got humiliated.

Shame rose in his chest, but he was also angry. Deglan played dirty by attacking him while distracted, although he knew that neither monsters nor human enemies would act chivalrously in a real fight.

One might expect him to have thick skin after 27th defeats but getting embarrassed in front of so many people was different, especially when a certain young man was watching him.

He wished a hole would open up under him and swallow him whole.

Y/N slowly stood up, mud caked his clothes and his face and he grimaced. He had bit his lip during the fall and the taste of iron was disgustingly familiar. He was about to grasp his sword again, ready for defeat number 28 when Deglan dismissed him with the movement of his hand.

“Training's over for you, mud face. Go wash yourself and you-”, he pointed at Fenri, Cole and the rest of Y/N’s friends, “you lot follow me.”

Deglan’s voice turned icy towards the end and he walked past the dirty boy, giving him a strong pat on the shoulder.

Y/N almost lost his balance but quickly regained it. His ears were red from embarrassment and before Cole could nudge him encouragingly, he turned around and quickly crossed the courtyard to escape the still laughing pack of witchers.

His defeat hurt more than usual, probably because Tristan had been watching, and it annoyed him. Sighing, he rubbed his face.

When he washed himself that day, he scrubbed his skin vigorously and pondered about the events that happened that afternoon.

He should have felt guilty for not being able to distract Deglan from his friends. They had probably gotten punished with "special” training - exactly what they had wanted to avoid since the last time had been absolutely horrible... But he couldn’t shake off the gnawing irritation.

It was probably due to Fenri's words.

The younger boy often tried to egg him on, but he rarely succeeded. This time, however...

Y/N racked his brain about Fenri's statement from before. Was he not allowed to like Tristan? He had never questioned his feelings up to this point so it greatly disturbed him.

"Men loving men... is gross..."

These words would haunt him in the coming years and torment him in his sleep because that had been the moment when he realized that his feelings for another man might be viewed as unnatural by other people. What exactly that would mean for him was something he learned only later, though.

When Y/N had laid down in his straw bed in the stables that night, not sure if he could sleep after the event in the afternoon, Cole nudged him and said:

"You know, I don’t believe men liking men is gross. We have many other things to worry about, so the feelings of another man are the least of our concerns, nor are they our business. Deglan told us that...”

He stopped for a second and then whispered: “I think Fenri is acting like a cunt because no girls are training to become witchers. He is just a lonely pent-up arsehole, you know."

Y/N snorted when "I heard that, you bastard!" came from somewhere in the back and some hay flew across the room, hitting Robin, who was laying in another straw hollow right next to him. He sneezed loudly.

“Shit, I was this close to sleeping, you fucker! I’ll get you!”

Chaos ensued, 5 boys were brawling and the discussion was over before Y/N could answer Cole or ask him any questions.

But a little later, after all of them were screamed at by one of the witchers on night guard; when Y/N was the only one still awake, he contemplated what Cole had meant.

Did his mentor not have anything against the thought of two men liking each other? Did he take his friends aside to tell them that and not to punish them?

He would have to ask Cole in the morning... Or should he ask Deglan directly?

The idea made his heart speed up suddenly. Why was he so nervous?

Out of nowhere, he saw his mentor in a different light.

In the end, he did not ask Deglan directly. He was too shy. But his mind replayed Cole’s words for days after that. And that marked the moment when Y/N’s eyes began to unconsciously follow someone other than Tristan.

Yes, he still watched the black-haired young man from time to time, but their training suddenly entailed a lot more lectures and so he began to see Deglan daily, while Tristan crossed his path less and less. And then came spring and the young witcher went on the Path - as many others - and his absence left a hole in Y/N’s usual routine. A hole he filled with a new person of his interest; Deglan.

The man was a renowned witcher, known for his strength and knowledge in the school and Y/N had begun to respect him after the first five losses of their duels. His respect began to grow even further, however, after observing Deglan closely every day.

The older witcher was a dick sometimes, his training was harsh, he could be insensitive on occasions and when his arms spasmed in pain after their mindless sword-swinging exercises Y/N hated him with a passion, but there was something about his mentor that drew his eyes to him again and again in the following years of his training.

Maybe it was the way he carried himself, maybe it was the way he treated Y/N or maybe it was his rugged but strong appearance...

The youth watched how Deglan poured a bucket of water over his naked upper body after his training with the older apprentices.

Nevermind, his appearance was definitely one of the reasons why.

A weird feeling spread in his gut, as he watched how water droplets travelled across Deglan’s scarred back muscles. His ears started to burn and the youth at the threshold of adulthood turned away to hack at the training straw doll with newfound vigor.

While Deglan’s appearance definitely drew Y/N in, his character made his eyes return every time.

Thanks to his advanced training and the experiments, he was allowed to share moments with Deglan, when the rough exterior of the man vanished, to show his true character underneath. His kindness, his understanding, his humour.

Of course, there were also moments when Y/N despised the man. He was his mentor after all and every witcher had such instances during their first years at the school.

When Y/N was subjected to more experiments than the other witchers in training and experienced more pain than them, he often cried at night, cursing Deglan in his thoughts. And he cursed himself for letting himself be overwhelmed by his mentor’s praise after he survived the experiments.

When Cole died during one of the trials because of a mage’s accident and Deglan did not dare speak out against the said man, he exploded on him and screamed his voice raw.

Yet although these incidents happened, Y/N could never truly hate him. Deglan had already conquered his heart.

The older man personally tended to him after his experiments. He cleaned his wounds, stayed up for nights to take care of his fever and made sure he was not left with horrible scars. Thanks to his care, Y/N’s face was not completely disfigured.

And he made sure that the young adult was proud of his achievements.

Y/N blushed like a maiden every damn time when Deglan commented on his fierce-looking scars, while his heart tried to crawl out of his ribcage and present itself to the other man as if he were a god.

And when Cole had died Deglan properly buried the boy, let his friends hold a funeral and allowed them a mourning period. They did not have to train then and Y/N spent his time at Cole’s grave, heart heavy and full of guilt.

One day he had a breakdown, he blamed himself for Cole’s death and he felt the urge to hurt himself - because he should have been the one to die, he should have gone with that magician, it had been his turn - Deglan had given him a good punch and then an even better hug to calm him down.

Y/N’s dreams had revolved around that embrace for several months when Deglan had gone out on the path, his heartbeat like an echo in his ears and his mentor’s scent and strong arms engulfed him in his sleep.

His dreams changed during these months and more often than not he would wake up sweaty in the morning and he hurried to clean his clothes before his friends would wake up.

Due to these fantasies, his heart thundered in his ears whenever the older witcher would get too close after his return.

There was something special between them, their bond was more than just apprentice and mentor, Y/N fully believed that and allowed himself to dream.

It only took one summer for Y/N’s thoughts to get captivated by Deglan. Five more for him to finally admit that his feelings for the man were more than just admiration and two winters for him to realize that he wanted, needed Deglan and him to become lovers.

And then one night only, for his older self to learn that he had imagined everything between them, that he was a blind fool...

It had been just a normal evening if one ignored the fact that Y/N and his friends had finally reached the end of their training and would become full-grown witchers in about one moon. Soon they would set out alone on the Path for the first time. And simultaneously the day drew near on which Y/N planned to confess his feelings.

At first, it had been just a daydream but the eye contact he had shared with his mentor in the past weeks had only made his feelings stronger and so he decided to gather his courage to confess the day before he would leave for the Path. In case something would go wrong, he could leave quietly, although he did not actually fret about this, he was convinced that Deglan liked him as well.

The aspiring witchers were sitting in the evening hall, drinking ale and playing Gwent after a fulfilling meal, while their mentors told stories and their younger peers listened to them intently.

Suddenly, the door got thrown open and Deglan, followed by the current leader Rennes and two other drunk witchers entered the hall.

Deglan and the two others had gone down the mountains a few days ago because a noble had sent a letter about a beast that woke up early from its hibernation. It seemed like they had just returned.

“Fuck, Deglan, why is it always you? That lady... Those lips are not just good for talking, you know that personally, right? Tell me and the lads about it!”

Y/N turned his head at the mention of his mentor’s name and he put down the cards in his hands to find the man among the newcomers. He hoped Deglan came back unscathed.

The drunk witchers whistled loudly and patted Deglan’s shoulders expectantly after they had sat down on one of the tables next to the fire.

Y/N's eyes found the older man and his heart pounded faster. The ale made him slightly drowsy and his imagination was running wild after seeing how Deglan's shirt was torn at the front, showing his strong abdominal muscles and his impressive scars. He didn’t seem to have any injuries and the h/c haired witcher sighed in relief.

Lewd thoughts rushed through his mind while he watched the man and he remembered one of the daydreams he had in their latest lecture. He moved in his seat and gripped his thigh to calm down before he would embarrass himself.

His mentor swatted the hands of one of the other witchers away and said something incoherent, while Vesemir, the young boy Deglan had brought back a few months ago, hurried to get some ale from the barrels in the corner and gave each of the newcomers a mug.

“We all saw her eyes, she was like a bitch in heat next to her husband, the poor lad. You’ve been warming her bed, have you not? While that old fart rots away, you cheeky fucker!” hollered one of the drunk witchers before downing his drink in one gulp.

Deglan lowered his head, as if he was embarrassed and gruffly answered:

“Can’t believe I told you about that...”

These quiet-spoken words echoed loudly in Y/N’s ears due to his mutated hearing. Y/N blinked. The conversations in the hall turned muffled as his heartbeat resounded loudly in his ears and he lowered his eyes to look at his hands which he unconsciously formed into fists.

You’ve been warming her bed... Can’t believe I told you...

Something in Y/N made an ugly noise. Barmin looked up from his cards and tilted his head, worried. His friend opened his mouth and said something but Y/N could not hear it.

Deglan was sleeping with some noblewoman.

It made sense.

He was a witcher and they did have an insatiable urge for sex. It was a side effect of the alchemic experiments and for them it was natural. They even had a lecture about it during their first training years.

But for Y/N, who had experienced the carnal desire several times already since his completion of the trials and who used his hands to deal with the problem, it had been somehow logical that Deglan would not choose to lay with any women.

His mentor was usually never involved in any of the lewd discussions of the older witchers, so he naturally assumed that Deglan did not bed any ladies ever.

Y/N must have brainwashed himself into thinking that the older man stayed in his room and fucked himself while thinking about him, that’s at least what he had been doing.

But it seemed like he got it all wrong.

It was his own delusion and the realization that he had been wrong all this time hit him like a punch in the throat. It left him breathless.

He felt betrayed - he had no reason to feel betrayed, Deglan was not even aware of this... possessive mess of emotions in his chest that he felt for him - and the realization that whatever feelings and dreams of a shared future Y/N had for Deglan were probably useless dawned on him.

Fenri’s words from all those years ago once again echoed in his mind.

“Men loving men is gross.”

An image of Deglan with a beautiful woman appeared in his head. His mentor held her close, one of his hands on her hip and the other held her hands and the man smiled, one of these crooked but beautiful smiles he only seemed to show when Y/N and he were alone.

And it hurt. It fucking hurt.

He was unable to transform the image, he could not take the place of that woman because he was as tall as Deglan by now and his spine did not have a soft curve and his hands could not be covered entirely by Deglan’s and all the stupid romance tales Robin dumped on them during their breaks did not entail two men with scars and rough, blister-covered hands and so he could not see himself next to Deglan because it was not meant to be.

The shitty fairy tale romance he had spun in his mind would never come to life.

The hope and delusion he had for all these years shriveled in his heart and died.

He had been wrong. The bond he felt between him and Deglan could not be what he had imagined.

Y/N was an orphan, his parents had had no need for him, he had been a waste of space and that was why they dumped him on the orphanage’s doorsteps, and while he did eventually find a home in the witcher’s keep - a home for the outcasts of society - he apparently remained an outsider even here.

An outcast among outcasts, was this not the fucking worst?

Y/N cursed the experiments that gave him better hearing, he cursed the witcher who brought him to the school, he cursed his heart for once again choosing an unreachable person and he cursed the world for making him the way he was.

And he cursed Deglan for treating him so kindly, as if he were special, as if there was something between them, something that could grow and turn into love and make them soulmates.

His mentor probably only treated him better because he had been praised as an exceptional student, a perfect test subject for experiments and a great fighter.

Not because he saw who Y/N really was, what he longed for...

How could he even think about confessing his feelings?!

He had to stifle a hollow laugh because of the irony and before Barmin or Fenri or Milan or any other of their table’s occupants could say anything, he abruptly stood up and left the hall.

His way led him past the table where Deglan was sitting but Y/N’s eyes remained fixed on the door and even when his mentor called out his name, he did not turn around.

He disappeared behind the wooden door of the hall and missed the dark look in Deglan's eyes as the man watched the retreating back of the younger witcher.

He missed his mentor’s furious gaze on the drunk witcher who spouted nonsense and Rennes’ commentary that Deglan would never fuck some random noble woman, in fact, he wasn’t sure if the guy even had a dick because he never lusted after any woman, no matter if she were a virgin, succubus or a literal goddess.

He missed it all.

35 notes · View notes

atlabeth · 3 years ago

Text

nightmares - mike munroe x reader

summary: It was a deal made by two almost-friends in the early hours of the morning after the worst night of their lives, when they realized that all they really had left was each other.

a/n: so this is once again. not my normal content but ive been on an until dawn kick lately and fell in love w the characters all over again. i dont know if anyone still reads or writes for this fandom but. here u go. enjoy

warning(s): lots of cursing, canon typical violence, mentions of graphic violence/death (but nothing too descriptive), mentioned depression, insomnia, and alcoholism, some heavy themes but its hurt/comfort so it ends in fluff

wc: 4.8k

You were running.

You were running, and it was freezing — fuck, it was freezing.

You knew your surroundings; how could you ever forget? Every fucking moment on the goddamn mountain was engraved into your mind for what you assumed would be the rest of your life, an assumption that had since been proven correct.

And now, against your will, you were back. Of course you were back.

A shudder ran through your whole body as that all-too-familiar screech rang out behind you, each second of it like nails on a chalkboard in the worst way. Your lungs burned like all hell but you couldn’t stop — if you stopped, you were as good as dead.

Some part of this fucked up thing was almost funny. Humans were always boasting about how they were the top of the food chain, how they were the height of evolution. There was nothing to keep an ego in check like being hunted by a supernatural creature.

Any thoughts of bullshit philosophy were dashed from your mind as you took a hard right, nearly falling over from the sharp curve of the mountain but just able to catch yourself. Your heart was thundering in your chest, the beats nearly lining up with your sprinting. You felt an intense urge to turn around, try and gauge your chances, but the thought of slowing down for even a second terrified you. It’s not like you needed to anyways — you knew exactly what was after you.

You were nearing the end of your road, both literally and figuratively. You stumbled over a tree root, your hands splayed out in front of yourself at just the right angle to keep your momentum going and, in some feat of luck, stay upright and running.

But your luck had just run out.

Your senses were proven correct as the harrowing cliff edge came into view, and a thousand things screamed in your mind at once as your demise stared you right in the eye. You barely managed to catch yourself, very much aware that the snow falling into the void could’ve just as well been you.

That fucking screech again, even closer than before, and you whipped around as you took an instinctive step back. Your hands patted around everywhere, searching for something to defend yourself, but you had nothing. No gun, knife, even the ground around you was devoid of rocks.

You had nothing. You had nothing to defend yourself from this goddamn nightmare creature, and you were going to die.

Your eyes darted around wildly in an attempt to find something, anything, to save yourself, but there was nothing. You took another step back and felt your foot slip, your breath catching as you barely managed to save yourself with a twist and a lunge away from the edge. The shock of the ground and the cold against your skin was just enough to remind yourself that you were actually alive. Another pile of snow mimicked the fate that seemed imminent as it trickled over the side of the cliff, and you screwed your eyes shut as you tried to shut your mind up.

Think, goddammit, if you wanted to get off of this fucking mountain you had to think—

The screech that pierced through the night sky was far too close for comfort, and as your head snapped back towards the woods you swore that your heart stopped beating.

It had caught up. You were out of time you were going to die but you didn’t have anything and you were going to fucking die—

A flash of white pushed off a tree and lunged towards you, teeth bared as it emitted that horrible screech. You didn’t even have time to scream, completely frozen in place as one clawed hand reached your neck, and you braced for the moment of release.

You shot up in your bed, breathing rapid and unsteady with a barely contained cry on the edge of your lips as your hand instinctively flew to your neck. You heaved an almost strangled sigh of relief to know that your head was still attached to your body (it might’ve seemed obvious, but… your head wasn’t exactly on straight at the moment, all jokes aside) and collapsed against the headboard.

You ran your hands across your face as you tried in vain to calm yourself down, ultimately having to turn on your lamp to ease your troubled mind that there was nothing going thump in the night.

It had been this same routine almost every night — horrible nightmare, wake up crying or screaming or both, and start the day at 3 am because you couldn’t fall back asleep.

It was exhausting. You were exhausted.

You knew you couldn’t go on like this, but what choice did you have? Therapy had been mandated by the police for a certain amount of time after the incident, but… it’s not like it had helped. How could it, when no one truly knew what you had gone through?

Well… that wasn’t completely accurate.

One person knew what you were going through, and you hadn’t said as much as one word to him since that night. You didn’t really… know what to say.

Hey. I know we’re not all that close, but I’m sorry your girlfriend and all your friends were killed by a Wendigo and that I made it instead. Hope you’re not going insane with grief. I’ll send you a card at Christmas!

...yeah. You had no idea what to say to him after months of no contact.

The relationship you had with Mike Munroe was a strange one, to say the least.

None of you were the same after that night on the mountain. The horrors of the mines would be forever entrenched in your head, flashes of the Wendigos appearing every time you closed your eyes. You and Mike were the only ones who made it off, and the guilt you carried everywhere was a burden you knew you couldn’t shoulder. And even after the physical scars had faded, you knew the mental ones never would.

Sometimes you wondered how you had even managed to get involved with the group in the first place — bonds that had been made in your freshman and sophomore years had somehow managed to stay strong enough throughout the rest of high school, strong enough to cement your spot in the friend group and the yearly lodge visits. You liked them all well enough, enough to go up to an isolated mountain with them for a weekend or so, but… yeah. Sometimes you did wonder what the hell you were doing with them.

But now?

Now, you would give almost anything to hear Sam’s laugh or one of her compliments, or tease Ashley and Chris about their very obvious feelings; hell, you found yourself missing Matt’s useless football facts. And even though Emily and Jessica weren’t always the nicest, you still had managed to worm your way into their hearts. Knowing that you would never get Emily’s brutal but helpful advice or get dragged to a football game by Jessica again?

If someone had told you the difference between life-long trauma and a completely normal existence was that blonde girl with the braids in your biology class, you might’ve thought a little harder before accepting that party invite.

The days after you were rescued from the mountain passed in a daze, questions and interrogations from police never sticking for too long. And it didn’t even feel like it mattered, the way none of them seemed to believe you.

They kept you separated from Mike throughout the whole process, and you were only able to catch glances of him when you were being transferred to different rooms throughout the long process. It really was like something out of a horror movie — a group of teens go up to a lodge in the woods, and only two return with a story of unspeakable horrors — and rather than try and work out what had happened, they seemed intent on pinning the deaths on you and Mike.

As if you weren’t dealing with enough after watching your friends get murdered by the monster of another friend, the people that were supposed to be helping you were instead trying to charge you with them. If it wasn’t so fucking infuriating, it would’ve been laughable.

The worst part? You could hardly blame them.

When you took a second to listen to yourself, to what you were spouting to the police, you sounded insane. If you hadn’t witnessed it all first hand, you wouldn’t have believed yourself.

You told them to go down to the mines. That the thing that killed your friends would be down there, and they could see it for themselves.

You didn’t know if that was the right choice. Hell, you might’ve been sending those cops to their deaths. But it was the only way you could think of to get them to believe you.

(You doubted they would go down there anyways. What was the word of two crazy college kids over actual logic? Not much, you imagined.)

You were in that damn interrogation room for what felt like forever until you were finally taken to a hospital to get your wounds treated. But even in the hospital bed, police were by your side asking about what happened every day of your stay. After your discharge, you were forced into custody until they got information that they deemed satisfactory.

By some miracle, you and Mike weren’t charged with anything. The news might’ve gotten hold of your story, but you didn’t know. You didn’t want to know. You didn’t ever look at the news after the tragedy, too afraid that you would see the smiling faces of your friends staring back at you, or pictures of you and Mike with news anchors trying to talk about how involved the two of you were.

If there was one thing worse than going through hell, it was other people trying to make a profit off of your spiral.

Your friends’ families offered their condolences, but not much else. You didn’t hold it against them. Your survivor’s guilt was strong enough to know exactly why they didn’t reach out further.

(You blame yourself for their deaths, after all. Why wouldn’t they?)

It was the same situation with Mike.

Maybe you had purposefully drifted apart from him, trying to build up walls of your own so that he wouldn’t be able to spring it on you first. You assumed he hated you after what had happened, and he had every right to. You might’ve helped each other through the night, but you had no other option. Now, everyone else but you was dead — people he cared about more than you — and you just couldn’t face that.

But as you stared at yourself in your bathroom mirror, you realized that you might have to.

You looked awful.

Weeks of sleepless nights were catching up to you, appearing in the form of

hollow eyes and dark circles, along with a slight discoloration of your skin. The scars from the mountain had mostly healed, but there was a particularly nasty gash on your cheek that was still showing — it wasn’t doing you any favors in the ‘looking completely normal and sane and not severely sleep deprived’ department.

You splashed some water in your face to try and wake up a bit, but the slight drowsiness that followed you everywhere seemed to be a permanent part of you now.

(It was almost funny, in a way. You were so paranoid and alert all the time, unable to fall asleep, and yet it was all you could think about in moments like these. You wondered when irony had become such a staple in your life.)

You had tried talking to therapists, your friends, your family, even searching the internet for advice on what to do after a life changing traumatic event. Nothing had worked.

The simplest solution had come to mind more than once, but you had pushed it aside with the determination to work through this on your own. But now, staring at yourself and seeing how much you had deteriorated…

You had to go talk to the only person who would understand.

You had considered turning around more than once on the drive over.

Because, really, what the hell were you doing? Showing up at his doorstep in the middle of o dark thirty because— because what?

Because you had a nightmare?

He had gone through the same thing you had, probably even worse. Losing Jessica right in front of him, having to cut off his fingers to get free, spending countless hours alone, dealing with the nightmare that was the sanatorium, and then…

Well, you had been in the mines with him and Josh when it happened. There was no doubt in your mind that the scene replayed in his head endlessly, just like it did for you.

Showing up… it was going to be a mistake. You knew it was.

For all you knew, Mike had moved on already. He was stronger than you, he always had been. Maybe your presence would send him spiraling once more, or maybe it would just earn you a verbal beating like no other. Mike had always been nice enough, but the trauma you had endured was enough to turn a saint into his own worst enemy.

You didn’t know what would happen. You didn’t know anything, and as you turned down his street you regretted more than ever not keeping in touch with him. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this situation, scrambling after your last hope for salvation after slowly killing yourself over the past few months.

But there was no chance to turn back now, because before you knew it your knuckles were rapping against his front door.

The pause between your arrival and a response was so long that you considered leaving and pretending like this never happened, but just as you began to step back the door swung open.

You didn’t really know what you were expecting, but… he was there. The only other testament to the horrors of Blackwood Pines, and maybe the only person that could help you through this.

“...hi,” you murmured, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat as you looked the personification of your shame in the eye.

Mike blinked a few times, whether to try and wake up a little or out of surprise from his visitor you didn’t know, but it was a few seconds before he responded in kind. “...hey. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around.”

You chuckled dryly as you nodded. “Yeah. Sorry for the sudden arrival. I’m, uh… I’m kind of surprised you even opened the door.”

He huffed out a short breath in a facsimile of a laugh. “Not getting much sleep these days.”

“That’s something we’ve got in common.” You crossed your arms across your chest and let out a loose sigh, eyes wandering around in an attempt to think of what to say next. It should’ve been so easy, but… but for some reason, it just wasn’t.

“Guess so.” That awkward silence stretched out once more, neither of you knowing how to fill it. Thankfully, Mike continued to take the plunge, but it wasn’t without a slight barb. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” you stopped just as you had begun, because you really didn’t know. You had come here for help, but could Mike really do that for you? He was the same as you — a fucked up teenager trying to deal with something so far beyond him.

“I don’t know,” you admitted as you made eye contact once more. “I… I really don’t know. I’m out of options, and… I can’t keep going like this. So I came here to talk, or— or to try and get some help. I don’t know.”

That same silence filled the air once more, the night ambiance the only thing in between the two of you. You missed when that silence used to be comfortable, but… you could only blame yourself for it.

“So— so, what?” he asked, the beginnings of a frown starting to crease his brows. “You just— we go through all that together up there, and then when we get back down you don’t say a word for months. And now— now, out of nowhere, in the middle of the night, you just show up and ask for help?”

“God,” you muttered. When he put it that way, it was true. It was ridiculous, to expect his help after the way you had just left him to deal with it all on his own for a reason borne of your own insecurity. “You’re right. This was— this was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You had already turned to go when you felt a calloused hand on your shoulder, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“No.” His voice was surprisingly soft as he sighed, stepping back with a shake of his head to make room in the doorway. “No, I—” Mike paused for a moment, as if he couldn’t find the right words to say. “I’m sorry. You can come in. Obviously, you can come in.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you tried to hide your shock at the gesture, but you weren’t about to turn it down. You nodded, and he stepped aside to make space for you to walk in. When you did, you were met with a mess not unlike the one back at your apartment, save for the beer bottles. Clothes were strewn about haphazardly on every surface, so you took a seat on a clean spot on the floor, leaning back against a chair and pulling your knees up to your chest. You actually preferred it this way — it was grounding, in a literal sense. Mike pushed aside a laundry basket and did the same, but pulled one leg up and let the other lay extended.

“Why?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had been accumulating once more. “Why did you just…” he gestured around with his hands to try and get his point across but ultimately settled with a sigh. “You didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to text, or call, or write, or— or anything. Hell, I would’ve probably jumped to get a messenger pigeon from you. But it was just… radio silence.”

You picked at the dry skin on your thumbs as you tried to come up with an answer. “I… I don’t know,” you repeated. “It was stupid, and it was horrible of me to leave you alone. I mean… I don’t know why I did it. I know what I’ve been going through, and I know you’ve been going through the same. So I don’t know why I didn’t try to reach out and see how you were doing.”

He chuckled mirthlessly as his eyes swept over the empty bottles that had accumulated on the coffee table. “I’m not the best with alone.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I thought…” you shook your head as you looked at the ceiling. “I thought that you hated me. I know that you cared about them all more, you were closer to all of them, and… and I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. That I would just always be a reminder of what you lost. And… and, I don’t know. Maybe it was my way of trying to move on. Was a stupid fucking idea, though.”

That got a genuine laugh out of him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I get that. I dunno why I didn’t try to talk to you either. Maybe since you didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to either. This whole thing fucked me up.” His gaze moved to you. “Fucked us both up.”

“You can say that again,” you muttered as you tapped your fingers on your knees. “I can’t look anywhere without seeing them. I mean, I see that fucking…” you grimaced. “I see Josh, and I see what that thing did to him, and I just— I’m right back to step one.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “...yeah. That was seven layers of fucked up.”

“You can’t just keep saying everything was fucked up,” you said dryly. “It was shitty, too.”

Mike snorted, some kind of slightly masochistic humor going on between the two of you. “Nothing really gets the point across like fucked up.”

“Guess you’re right,” you finally conceded with a small smile. “This is… this is nice. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to… I don’t know, to talk to someone like this.”

“It is,” he murmured.

Another pregnant pause hung in the air, but the silence wasn’t as uncomfortable now. Trickles of what it used to be like, of your old life, were beginning to poke through.

“I never hated you,” he said suddenly. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and it was like his brown eyes were piercing through you as he continued. “I never did. After it happened… yeah, I was mad. I was fucking pissed, but it was never at you. You were my friend too, y’know? Even though we weren’t that close, we were still… we were still something. And I’m glad you made it. I just wish you hadn’t convinced yourself that you had to go through this alone. Maybe things would’ve turned out different, these past few months. For both of us.”

You nodded, choosing to avert eye contact first because you almost couldn’t handle the sincerity. Your heart sank a bit at the sight of all the beer bottles, and you knew that he was right. Maybe things would’ve been different if the two of you had weathered it together from the start. And so you said that.

“I still can’t help but feel like I’m to blame for—” you gestured around at the mess with a sigh, “for this.”

“Look.” His voice was raspy as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and as he met your eyes once more you were able to see how truly exhausted he was. With dark circles that matched your own, scars that were still healing, and a certain hollowness behind his eyes… It was like looking in a mirror. And it made you realize how fucked up the two of you had really become.

Mike had always been good at holding himself together, putting up his signature egotistical-douchebag-jock act in the face of anything that threatened to tear him down, and more often than not he came out victorious. But not even class presidents were immune to the horrors that they had faced, and it was taking more of a toll on him than you had realized.

“It’s not your fault. You— you did everything you could; I know I’m still alive because of you. Besides, we were idiot teenagers — we still are — and none of them deserved to die because of it. Not Hannah, not Beth, not any of them.” Mike shook his head and sighed. “Not even Josh. Man was fucked up even before all of this, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him. He needed help, but instead he got his fucking… god. I can’t even say it. But he didn’t deserve it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, the subconscious process having stopped because of the weight of his words. It was cliche, but you didn’t know how much you needed to hear those four words: it’s not your fault.

“Maybe you should be my therapist,” you joked weakly. But as you let your eyes trail back to Mike you bit your lip. He hadn’t included himself in that statement, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out why.

“Mike… it wasn’t your fault either. You’re not just saying bullshit to try and make yourself feel better, it really wasn’t your fault. What do they say? ‘Getting through your guilt is the first step to recovery’ or some shit? You deserve to be here just as much as I do.”

“But it was,” he insisted. “It’s easy for you to say that. You tried to stop it, I… I just went along with it. Fuck, I started it all. Hannah and Beth went missing because of me, Josh went out of his fuckin’ mind, and if he hadn’t brought us all back up there for his revenge plot then they wouldn’t have died. How is it not my fault? Why do I get to live when all of them died because of me?”

“Mike,” you sighed. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know why we made it back when none of them did, but it’s not your fucking fault, okay? You— yeah, that prank was fucking stupid, but— but how could you know what was going to happen?” You huffed a laugh that was only slightly unhinged. “People pull pranks all the time. Native American legend cannibal spirit things don’t try to kill people all the time. You can’t keep blaming yourself. It’s not going to help them, and it’s not going to help you.”

That silence stretched out once more as he took in your words. You didn’t know if he believed them or not, but you did. That had to be worth something, right?

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he muttered, breaking the silence once more. “And I… I don’t know. I don’t know why it took almost fucking dying from those goddamn things, a— and seeing what happened to all of them...”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, leaning back against the foot of the sofa. “All the shit that happened, all of them dying — I don’t know how long it’ll take until we’re okay again. Hell, I don’t even know if we ever will be okay again. What happened up there was fucked up in the worst way, and the fact that no one believes us makes it a hell of a lot worse.”

You chuckled darkly as you cupped one hand in the other. “You can say that again.”

His lips twitched for a moment as if he wanted to smile but ultimately thought better of it. “I know we aren’t that close anymore, but the truth is we’re the only ones on this fuckin’ planet that know what really happened up there. We’re the only ones that will ever really understand what happened to us, and… and I think we’re the only ones that can really help each other through this shit.”

He met your eyes once more, something resolute in them. “So the next time this happens, because it will, if you don’t want to be alone… you can come here. Any time, any day, no questions asked. Just knock on that door, and I will be there. No more isolation, no more trying to get through this on our own. We gotta be there for each other, because we’re all we have.”

You nodded gratefully, a feeling of warmth slowly creeping through your body with his reassurance. “Thank you, Mike. You… you have no idea what this means to me.”

“I think I have some clue,” he murmured.

As you exchanged weary smiles, you saw a faint twinkle in Mike’s eyes. He was always the kind of person to help others, even if it was for the wrong reasons, and that was one thing that stuck with him after the disaster. And in that moment, a long lost feeling washed over you — safety.

You hadn’t felt safe in… well, it seemed like forever. Adrenaline and pure instinct were responsible for getting you through those twelve hours, along with an overwhelming wave of numbness and denial. But once all of that wore off, the nightmares had begun. Your friends, the Wendigos, the mountain itself — anything and everything that your mind could use against you, it did.

It was a living hell. You could hardly ever sleep anymore, horrific images always jolting you awake after an hour or two and keeping you awake for the rest of the day. It was no wonder Mike had ended up with a drinking problem — it was probably the only way he could sleep, the only way he could bring some form of peace to his mind. By some miracle, you had avoided that fate, but… you would be lying if you said you hadn’t come close.

But somehow, for some reason, you could tell that things were going to be different. Now that you and Mike weren’t avoiding each other anymore in the name of painful memories… you felt like things were going to be okay. Or as close to okay as you could get these days.

You weren’t alone, and neither was he.

He had saved your life on the mountain more than once. Now, he was saving you again. Just in a different way.

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

ud tags: @kwyloz

#mike munroe #mike munroe x reader #mike x reader #until dawn x reader #until dawn #until dawn fic #mike until dawn #sadie writes #i always get so insecure when i post things that arent for atla #then i remember that. this is my blog and i can write what i want #lol

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megacarapa · 2 years ago

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new needlepoint - i want to live here so fucking bad

this is wiehler needlepoint 2317 "es klappert die mühle am rauschenden bach" (the mill rattles by the rushing brook), which i actually just now learned is named after a german children's song - its pretty cute!

i was gonna put the process pics at the end of the rant but then the rant ended up too long so here they are at the beginning, i also added the dates each picture was taken =)

this is my first wiehler needlepoint out of 5 i got from the mentors at the embroidery workshop (originally 4 but i got another one just this week), FOR FREE, which is crazy to think about since the kits for these things arent that cheap to buy, but they gave them to me bc they were just sitting around with no one planning to actually make them

needlepoint used to be more popular over here back in ye olden days and it even used to be taught in home ec class, so both my grandmas, mom and even DAD used to make them in school, which i never knew about bc by the time i was going to school home ec classes were long gone from the curriculum, which sucks because it would have been awesome to learn stuff like this as a kid

out of the 5 kits i got, this was the smallest so i decided to do it first, the rest of them get progressively bigger and bigger until the last one which is kind of mind bogglingly huge, will i really be able to finish all of these? im honestly not sure, but i dont mind the idea of having something to work on that could take me my whole life (or like, 5 years)

these needlepoints are also different from the ones ive done up til now cause instead of the picture being printed onto the cloth, here you get an empty cloth with only counting squares printed on it and you need to follow the pattern from a paper, which i already got practice for by working on that llama cross stitch and got used to with no problem

there was one thing though, this is the only kit out of the 5 that didnt actually have the standard cloth with the squares on it (there was also some string missing, so i think the thing is that someone else had already made this kit before and what i got was the leftovers), bc of that i simply bought some new needlepoint cloth and drew the squares on myself, which led to....

honey i shrunk the needlepoint, SO YOU SEE THE THING IS, i didnt check what the squares on the cloth i did get for the other kits actually looked like, i simply assumed the squares would be normal 10x10 squares like in the picture, so thats what i drew by hand, but theyre actually supposed to be 20x20, and youre supposed to do a specific stitch called gobelin stitch where 2x2 of space is considered 1 stitch, idk if im explaining any of this well but basically if i had known this and done it correctly the finished work would have been pretty much the same size as the pattern on the picture

i know all of this now and the next needlepoint ive started since then will be the correct size, but either way i think the tiny one has its own charm and looks great anyway, its adorable!! im kind of obsessed with it, the green frame also looks great and ahh i just love it sm😭

heres the back

and size comparison with my previous ones

its a little bebe needlepoint🥺

it keeps happening that at the very end when these have finally been framed, i always notice one or two squares which i forgot to fill in, but i dont really mind it, and its fun asking people to try and find them🤣 (but dont bother trying to find them yourself bc they cant really be seen in these pictures)

i also accidentally swapped the two shades of green for the tree but the shades are so similar you literally cant see it, and i also ran out of the darkest blue shade and had to buy a new one, but couldnt find one that was similar enough, so you can actually see on most of the pics that the dark blue part to the left of the tree is a darker shade than on the right, but again, who cares, i just like jotting down as much of the process as i can remember in these posts🤣

thanks for reading!!

#click keep reading at your own risk this one is LOOOONG #but theyre fun to write lmao its like a blog post #.....wait but tumblr actually is.... a blogging platform............ *mindblown*#mine #my crafts

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fwkei · 3 years ago

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Remember...?

Draken x fem!reader (mainly fluff slight angst)

Finally got my first request yall 🥳 I couldn’t strictly follow the request like i wanted to but i hope thats alright, the gist is still there. anyways thank you sm for it and i hope you enjoy

TW/CW: Mentions of sex, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex work

WC: 7k (omg the most ive ever written🙆🏻‍♀️)

Note: I changed my writing style a bit for this request so i hope yall don’t mind! and again i dont read my stuff over so my apologies if theres any mistakes lmao

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You sat on the street, overheating as you watched the ‘heat waves’ coming off the ground. You held your hair up with one of your hands since you had nothing to tie it with, while the other held a lukewarm water bottle. You sighed, you felt so anxious and frustrated.

What now?

You thought letting your mouth part due to your heavy breathing

You took things too fast. It had been about 3 weeks since you left your parents ‘home’ and why did you leave? Well there were a number of reasons that are a bit too much to list, but all that matters now is that you’re completely and utterly on your own.

You only managed to scavenge small jobs here and there to get some money to buy some basic necessities but nothing more.

“Sorry Y/n, my niece is coming down to Tokyo and I told her she could have a job here and stay at the studio above...I’m gonna have to let go. I’m sorry.” said your boss to you only a couple hours ago, with pity filled eyes

“...No it’s fine really! I understand.Thank you for taking me in while you could.” you said bowing your head at the man, biting your inner cheek trying to keep a level head

“I’m happy you understand. You can leave your apron and hat on the cashier. On your way out.” he said patting your shoulder as you slowly brought your head up

“Right..” you said taking off your apron and hat as you walked slowly to the cashier, placing it down

You brought your hands to your temples out of stress, trying to figure out what you could do now. You only had very little money, and there was a heat wave striking Japan this week. At least your boss allowed you to live and pay rent in the small studio right above his store, which had an AC, but now that was for his niece.

This had been the first time in a while where you had no idea what to do. You had always been the type of person to be able to take care of yourself and your problems..on your own. All your life since you can remember, you always had to be the one to take care of others, not that you mind or minded...but you were only so young. You never really had a childhood, at least not that you can remember. You do remember cleaning up after your parents who lost all will just to even... parent. You remember taking jobs as a babysitter at a really young age in your apartment complex to make some money.. You remember being the reliable older kid of your school and complex, where kids would come to you asking for help with things like homework all the way to buying something for them to eat because they were hungry. Not once did you ever say no, because you really did want to be there for those kids who’s parents didn’t give them the care they needed. But it just became too much.. You ended up spending all of your saved up money on them, just so they could have something to play with or something to eat.

Before you even realized it, you were in your last year of high school, with no money saved over, no scholarships, no one to rely on but yourself. Not even a friend. Was it really the right thing to do? Use all your money that you worked so hard for to help kids he lived next door? Or just plain stupid? You knew you couldn't support them forever...but you tried so hard to. All you wanted was to give them a childhood they never had, and someone to look up too. But now you left them. All because you were frustrated. You felt so unbearably guilty. All the work you put into your studies to get at least some type of scholarship just went to waste because you couldn't handle your life anymore. You were being so so so stupid.

Before you even knew it, the sun was going down, and you grew even more tired and sleepy. You signed, taking a jacket out of your bag and placing it on the ground so you could rest your head on it. You brought your hands to cushion your cheek as your eyes started to close. The air finally got a little cooler making it easier to breathe and well...do anything.

As you were falling asleep you could hear chatter and laughing, and finally a tap on your shoulder waking you up. You cringed your eyes before opening them up more to see 2 women. One had blonde hair and the other had pinkish hair. They looked older than you, maybe in their 20’s. One held a bag and the other held a bottle of wine with two glasses, they bent down so their heads could be closer to yours. After examining you for a bit they turned to each other and smiled happily before turning back their gaze to your confused face.

“Hey?” you said sitting up more, a little startled by the intimate contact they were giving you

“Hey there, say...what’s a pretty girl like you sleeping on the street for?” asked the girl with pinkish hair that was tied into pigtails

“I uh..don’t have a place right now so..” you said scratching your head

“Really? Hmmm.” said he one with blonde hair

“How old are you? And what’s your name? I think we can help you out! Woman to woman!” said the pink haired girl smiling sweetly making you feel fuzzy at their niceness

“18, and it’s Y/n.” you said smiling nervously

“Nice to meet you Y/n, I’m Remi, this is Rema, my twin sister.” said the pink haired girl pointing to the blonde as she waved sweetly

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you too..!” you said bringing your hands to your thighs smiling

“So did you just turn 18?” asked Rema

“Sorta, 2 months ago, why?” you asked

“Oh good!” they both said

“Well, it’s your choice really. One of the girls left today, and the boss sent us to scout another girl to take her place, buttt we just went to buy food with no intentions of finding someone but luckily we just found you! It’s perfect!” said Remi

“Oh? What work?” you asked getting excited

“Oh silly, we live in a brothel! It’s really not all that bad you know, great pay and rooms...so what do you think?” asked Rema

“A brothel..” you said under your breath

Your mind was in a serious state of concentration.

It can’t be all that bad, right? You just have to please people and go on with your day so… that’s what i've been doing my whole life… plus… there's a bunch of women in those things right? I probably won't get too much attention from customers if there's sweethearts like Remi and Rema walking around...so...just for the time being… I think it could really work out in my favor.

You thought to yourself

You brought your head up, giving the girls a closed eyes smile before shaking your head ‘yes’ making them jump in excitement.

“Oh good!” yelled Remi grabbing your hands

“I’m so excited! We haven't had a new girl in years! How do you think Ken will react?” asked Rema smiling as you 3 all started to walk

“Ken?” you asked furrowing your eyebrows at the familiar name

“Oh right, We’ll have to introduce you to him and everyone else tomorrow. He’s the bosses foster kid..I think you two are actually the same age.” said Rema bringing her pointer finger to her chin

“Mhm mhm! Oh and since you're new, tomorrow I will take your pictures for the board, you can borrow one of my sets till you can afford to buy one for yourself, how does that sound Y/n?” asked Remi smiling and holding your hand

“It sounds..great! Thank you so much.” you said bowing your head slightly

“No worries! Hopefully the boss will take you in.” said Remi patting your head

“Yeah..” you said as you 3 continued to walk to the brothel

You couldn't seem to get your mind off of that familiar name..Ken? You swore you knew someone named that. It definitely wasn't a popular name so it’s not like you knew it from some type of T.V program.. After thinking hard your whole way to your new home you couldn't seem to remember them. The person named Ken. And so you decided to brush it off for the time being.

The brothel was pretty big, and consisted of 12 girls, not including yourself. It was really late so everyone was asleep. Remi and Rema showed you to your room which was much more spacious than your room at home. They told you that you were allowed to decorate it and style it however you wanted. But they told you it was important to know that this was the room where business would be done, and not to leave important things around since some of the men came into brothels for the sole purpose of stealing. Remi even told you a story about how one of her clients tried to steal one of her panites, but then the boy named Ken stopped him by knocking him out with one punch to the stomach.

“He sounds strong-” you laughed as they gave you a small tour

“He sure is! Like the bodyguard of this place! He’s a sweetheart!” said Remi smiling

“I’m sure..!” you smiled

“Alright that’s about it, you should shower now and get ready for tomorrow. The boss will probably wanna take a look at you before seeing if he wants you. But I'm sure he will! You're pretty so it’ll go smoothly!” said Remi handing you her shower stuff for you to use for tonight and a set

“Got it, and again...thank you so much. I really appreciate it.” you said again

“Of course! Remember..we’re neighbors so feel free to knock whenever you need something..Also I can give you some tips before your first client so you know what to do.” she said smiling

“Right, goodnight then!..” you said feeling your face get hot at how she so easily talked about sex.

After that, you did exactly as she said, you showered. You thoroughly washed your body, face, and hair. Getting out you looked down at the set Remi gave you. It was just a black bra and matching panties with a silk cover up which made you feel better knowing you could cover up with that.

You rubbed your mouth as you started to rethink your decision. I mean...you respected sex workers..but was this life what you were willing to settle for? Aimlessly waiting around for some random horny man to choose you and do things with you just for you to get only 40% of the payment? Was this all really worth it? Leaving home to avoid your problems...to end up here? You were grateful, yes, Remi and Rema were so sweet and open with you. You could only hope that the others were just as nice. You really wanted things to go well, and that can only start with some good rest.

You woke up to a knock on your door, to see Remi and Rema walking in with a smile

“Morninggg!” they sang as you quickly got out of bed

“Hi!” you said frantically

“No need to rush! Usually men start coming in at 10, but since you don't work here officially yet you got to sleep in a bit! But the boss called for you, you should go to the set up room down the hall to get ready, remember it?” asked Rema

“Yeah I do. Thank you for waking me-!” you said smiling and grabbing your stuff and shoes

“Course, good luck Y/n!” they said as you quickly walked out of your room to get ready

As you walked in, there were a few other girls getting ready. You smiled and introduced yourself to them, and them to you. They were all so nice and pretty. It made you feel a little bit better about being here, and less nervous since they complimented your looks. You got ready in about 10 minutes, letting one of the other girls help you out with your hair and stuff like that. You gave yourself one last look in the mirror before stepping out and waving to the girls ‘bye.’

You nervously walked to the boss's door. You took a deep breath before knocking. You heard a muffled ‘come in!’ so you walked in smiling while holding your covering close. You gave a nervous closed eyes smile before seeing his office was simple, just a desk with a bunch of papers and a chair on the other side.

“Y/n, correct?” he asked placing down his paper and taking off his glasses to look at you

“Yes.” you said smiling

“Pleasure-” he said leaning over the desk to shake your hand

“Likewise.” you said smiling, shaking his hand firmly before sitting down

“Well, I’m sure Remi and Rema told you just about everything you need to know, I take 60% of your earrings, I use that stuff to pay for rent and bills for you girls and my kid… which usually takes up about 30% of that 60%, meaning you make a profit of 40, while I make only a profit of 30 per girl.” he said

“Yeah, I was told.” you said smiling nervously fiddling with your hands

“Good good, now that that's over with..” he said getting up ad signing

“I’m just gonna take a look at you, no need to be nervous I’m not gonna touch you or anything, so please don’t feel worried.” he said smiling

“Right!” you said getting up

“Alright just do a quick 360 with arms up.” he said smiling

“Okay.” you said doing as he said

He looked you up and down but not in a lustful way at all, it was more of like a ‘just seeing how you’ll hold up’ kinda look, almost like he was a bit worried for you.

“Thank you-” he said sitting back down as you did the same feeling nervous

“I was also told you’re 18? Right?” he asked looking down at his papers

“Yeah that's right.” you said

“Well I don't usually have this talk with the other woman because they're older. I know the age of consent in Japan is 16 and blah blah, but you’re still pretty young, are you sure you wanna work like this?” he asked looked into your eyes

“...Not entirely but it’s the best I can do right now.” you said with a determined face

“I see- we’ll then welcome, and just remember you can leave whenever you want, but give a 2 weeks notice. When Remi is done, ask her to take your picture.” he said

“Understood, thank you!” you said said smiling and leaving

You walked out of the room, closing the door carefully signing in relieve

That went pretty well.

You thought

You started to walk down the hall so that you could ask Remi to take your picture. But when you put your ear to the door, you heard lewd noises letting you know she wasn’t done just yet. It was already 5, and the brothel closes at 10. You didn’t really know what to do, so you walked over to the kitchen, sitting down at one of the stools waiting for Remi and or Rema to finish up with their work. You tapped the pen that was on the table and started to look around the kitchen. You remembered Remi told you there were snacks in the cabinets, so you got up and started to open and close them one by one to find something to eat. You finally found a cabinet filled instant ramen, you grabbed one and started to pour water into it, popping it into the microwave that was on the counter top. You stood in front of it waiting, playing with the loose strings of you covering when suddenly you heard the door open.

“I’m home.” said the tall boy with dark hair tied back to reveal a dragon tattoo on the side of his head

Is this Ken?

You thought as the microwave beeped, making his eyes turn to you

You quickly shot your eyes to the microwave, hoping he didn’t notice your stare. He looked so familiar it was almost irritating how you couldn’t remember him. You took the hot cup out of the microwave, placing it down on the counter top, ignoring his presence as he walked over, placing down the plastic bag in his hand, noticing your frustrated face trying to figure out where the utensils are.

“Left of the sink are where they are.” he said sitting down on the stool across from you after looking at your face a bit

“Thank you.” you said smiling nervously turning around to grab a pair of chopsticks

“Are you new here?” he asked taking out a styrofoam box from the plastic bag, opening it to reveal a hot meal of meat and rice and vegetables

“Yeah..I was supposed to start today but I don’t have my pictures taken yet.” you said smiling turning back to mix your noodles

“Could you grab me a pair too?” he asked realizing he forgot to take a pair of chopsticks from the restaurant

“Sure-” you said turning back quickly to grab some for him, placing it in his hands as he gave you a soft smile making your eyes widen slightly.

“You look familiar..” you both said at the same time making both your eyebrows raise in shock then turn into a slight scoff from the both of you

“Glad we’re on the same page then.” he said taking a bite of his food as you did the same still standing

“You know you can sit down, don’t feel nervous.” he said looking up you slightly

“..yeah.” you said smiling, walking around and sitting next to him.

“So when’d you come?” he asked turning his head slightly to see your mouth filled with noodles making him smile a bit

“..I came by last night, really late with Remi and Rema.” you said after finishing your bite

“I see...I feel like I remember you from somewhere, can’t pinpoint it though.” he said looking back down at his food

“Same here, and you must be Ken though, right? When I first heard your name I swore the same thing but I just can’t remember..” you said before sipping some of the broth of your soup

“Yeah, but you can call me Draken and your name?” he asked getting up to grab a napkin from across the table

“Draken...sure! Oh right, my bad. It’s Y/n. Nice to meet you-” you said smiling holding your hand out for him to shake

He only completely shot up to look into your eyes with his wide ones. You gave him a confused look as you watched him get knocked out of his thoughts, bring his hand up to shake your hand before clearing his throat and walking back over to sit. Maybe you struck a nerve? Maybe had the same name as someone who hurt him in the past? You really didn’t know but it made you feel interested. He looked like he just had his life flash before his eyes or something.

“Are you okay?” you asked

“Uh yeah, I’m fine. My head just hurts a bit.” he said looking as if he was deep in thought

“Oh? I have some tylenol in my room.. You want one? Or I can make you a cold drink, you’re probably dehydrated?” you asked smiling a bit

Draken turned his head to look at you, his mouth was parted, and he just looked so..anxious? You couldn’t even tell, almost like congested because he wanted to say something.

Draken felt his heartbeat quicken when he heard your name. As soon as you said it, a random memory that was buried deep in the back of his mind hit him as he quickly re-lived it. But could it really be you? The Y/n he knew from so so so long ago? Around 10 years ago? There could be no way, he remembers the girl moving to a different city..the chances were so low that it could really be you already.

But the second you said those words.. Those words of offering to make something for him, or give him something, despite you thinking you only just met him...Made him know that it was really the Y/n he met when he was only a little boy...but how the hell did you turn up here? In a place and part of town like this? He was so confused and just wanted to ask you...but you still didn’t remember him.

“..No I’m alright, thanks..can I ask you somethin-” said Draken before being interrupted

“Y/n!! Come on, let's take your pictures!” yelled Remi coming out of her room waving as a man walked out too buttoning his shirt

“Sorry, just remember what you wanted to say and tell me later.” you said smiling and standing up and walking over to Remi

Draken watched you as you walked away. He saw Remi give you a hug, and the man that was walking out checked you out to which Draken gave him a pissed off look. Making the man smile nervously, wave, and leave.

Do you really wanna live your life like this, Y/n?

He thought to himself before packing up his trash and throwing it away

Remi took your pictures, telling you to do different poses etc, and you finally settled on one. You walked over to the front of the house to place your picture in its designated area above your name. You signed, stepping back to look at it, fixing your gaze to see Draken was walking over with his hands in his pocket, looking as he was going to leave. You saw him glance at the photo making you feel slightly embarrassed.

“Nice.” he said smiling but looking into your eyes in a way where it looked like he was concerned for you.

Just as you were about to thank him a man walked in and started looking at you making you feel nervous. The man requested you, and so you smiled at him pointing your hand to where the showers were, as you started to walk behind him, you turned your hand giving a thumbs up to Draken with a nervously flushed face, smiling, as he he brought his hand up giving you a thumbs up with soft and concerning eyes before opening the door and leaving. It made your smile fade slightly, you’ve seen that face before from him. But not from today.. And it was all you could think about during your work.

As you laid in your room, after work you couldn’t help but feel a little bit...stupid? You felt so unsatisfied, not because of your customers but because you just couldn’t remember. It felt like an itch you couldn’t scratch hard enough, and with every interaction you had with the boy almost felt like a tease, like the itch just became more itchy and your scratches just became more weak. Maybe if you spend more time with him, you’ll remember?

It had been about 4 weeks, 4 weeks of saving your money, and every 4 weeks the boss collected his fair share of the cut. It wasn’t a pretty 4 weeks, it was probably the worst 4 weeks of your life. But... you and Draken would often exchange stories about your lives late at night which you enjoyed a lot. It always makes you feel better. But yet again you still couldn't figure him out. You felt as though you’ve met him before, and as though you two have had these kinds of talks before.

Draken only grew more and more helpless, seeing how you still haven’t remembered. He was slowly watching your life crumble. He felt so angry that you settled and believed you deserved to live like this, barely scraping by. He felt so awful, and saw how you grew so tired of it all. He just so badly wanted you to remember him, so that he could once again talk to you like he did before.

You had one last customer before closing, going through your usual routine, this n that, the man offered you a drink. You stupid obliged drinking it, hoping it would make your time more enjoyable but you were wrong, so very wrong, and so very stupid for drinking that stupid drink. You remember some parts, you did your job, then it all went black.. You woke up after hearing knocking on your door. You jumped out of bed, confused. You remember seeing the man leave as you started to fall asleep but that's about it. Usually you never fall asleep after the work because you never do much, your mind started to panic. But the door opened revealing Remi smiling.

“Hey sleepy! Boss says it’s your turn, come on, get your cash!” she said smiling

“Right let me just..it’s in my drawer..I don't know why I fell asleep so fast I think alcohol makes me sleepy.” you said getting out of bed and kneeling in front of your drawer to get the envelope of cash you had been saving.

“Heh, same here. I never accepted drinks from clients..they never had good intentions with that!” she said coming over and sitting at your bed

“..yeah.” you said starting to feel that panic arise in your body when seeing the envelope was...gone.

“What's wrong?” asked Remi noticing you were frozen

“I- the money..It’s gone..he took it..” you said with wide eyes feeling as though you were about to sob realizing you had just lost thousands of yen.

“Don’t say that..it..it probably just got misplaced! Come on, I'll help you look!” said Remi getting up

You couldn't even respond because of the amount of panic you were in. Your heart was racing and you felt tears fall from your eyes. After about 15 minutes of looking, you two found nothing. Absolutely nothing. You sat on the floor with your hand over your mouth, again, trying to keep a level head.

What now..?

You thought to yourself feeling hot tears stream from your face.

“Hey..guys? Boss is calling for you Y/n..what’s going on?” asked Rema walking in seeing you covering your face, crying

“She was robbed by the guy who just left, he put something in her drink to knock her out while he looked around and took the money...she doesn’t have the money.” said Remi

Rema’s mouth parted in shock and pity.

How could you mess up something so easy? All you had to do was keep your money safe. But you even failed at that.

“You have to tell him, Y/n.” said Rema rubbing your back

“Yea..yeah, could you two just give me a second? I’ll be right out.” you said smiling while wiping your face

“Sure.” they said frowning and walking out

You fisted your hands, and grabbed your covers before screaming into them to muffle your sounds..

Okay..it was a couple of thousand yen...not too bad right? I can promise the money by tomorrow..I’ll pick up some sort of street job...yeah! That’s good. Everything is fine..it’s fine.

You thought to yourself before wiping your face on more time and slapping both sides of your cheeks to wake you up.

You got up and walked to the bosses door feeling the eyes of people on your back. You knocked on the door before opening it slowly, refusing to make eye contact as you went to stand in front of the man with your arms behind your back.

“Alrighttt, let’s see here, in the last four weeks you had a total of 37 customers, so you should have around 300,000 yen, correct?” he asked looking at his paper

“Yes.” you said still looking down

“Alright, just hand it to me so I can count and divide it, you can sit.” he said smiling holding his hand out

“I..I don-” you said before being interrupted by a knock

“Come in.” he said

“Hey sorry dad, Y/n left her money with me while she went out. Thought I should bring it to her. Remember, Y/n?” said Draken walking in with an envelop in his hand smiling as he came to stand next to you, as you nodded your head ‘yes’

“Oh, thank you Ken.” he said smiling and taking the envelop

Your mouth parted as you gave a confused look, Draken only smiled and gave you a thumbs up while his dad counted the money. You felt so guilty and shocked, and all you could do was just stand there, like an idiot.

“Here you are...120,000 back..” he said, patting the money on the table to make it flat, putting it back into the envelope and handing it to you

You hesitantly brought your hand to grab it, glancing over at Draken who gave you small smile

“Thank you-” you said to him seeing Draken was already opening the door to leave

You quickly followed after him as he walked into his room. Before entering his room he turned around and looked down at you

You felt your eyes soften as you felt as though you were about to cry again, you tilted your head and neck down biting the inside of your cheek to keep in your cry.

“I promise I’ll pay all of it back by tomorrow, all 300,000.” you said

“Do you ever give yourself a break?” he asked as you brought your head up to look at him seeing he looked almost irritated

“You didn’t even ask why I did it, you just immediately jumped to feeling guilty. And you don’t need to pay me back. Really.” he said bringing his hand to close to the door, but you stopped him by grabbing his wrist making his breath hitch

“Why?” you asked looking into his eyes

“You still don’t remember? Even after all this time we’ve spent together?” he asked smiling as you took your hand off his wrist

“Remember...?” you asked furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, but then it suddenly hit you

“I swear it wasn’t me! I didn't steal!” yelled a little boy with blonde hair as two cops stood in front of him

You tilted your head and walked closer, but still keeping your distance to hear. It was a winter day and you were on your way to the corner store to buy some snacks, but you were met with an interesting scene. You kept your hands in your pockets as you listened over to the boy screaming and pleading his innocence

“I wouldn’t steal something so stupid! What would a kid like me need a lighter for!! I don’t know how it ended up in my pocket! Lay off!” he yelled as the officer dangled the lighter in front of his face

A lighter?

“Keep it down! We know how troubled you kids are here! Especially with those tattoos!” yelled back the cop as the boy grew angry and fisted his hands, ready to punch the cop

“Hey!!!” he heard a voice yelled

“Hey wait a minute!” you yelled waving your hand smiling as you ran to the scene

“Can we help you?” asked one of the cops in a soft tone

The blonde boy grew quiet, and you saw his hands loosen as he looked at your smiling face

“Yeah, why are you two yelling at my brother?” you asked furrowing your brows at the two grown man

“...Your so-called brother stole a lighter from the corner store right behind you, where are your parents? We would like to have a word with them.” he said standing up straight

“Yeah, and talk about how they let their son tattoo himself already..” said one under his breath making the other laugh

You looked over at the boy growing angry, you gave him a smile..making him calm down.

“He said it was just an accident, I asked him to pick up a lighter from the store so that we could light a candle at our father’s grave! See!” you said digging into your bag to pull out a candle

“He probably felt pressured because I asked him to get it, so if you’re gonna get mad at someone, get mad at me!” you said as you started to fake cry

“It’s our father's death anniversary, and you're yelling at kids for making a mistake.” you faked cried

“Yeah!!” yelled the boy making you smile under your hands as the two officers became anxious, feeling bad for what they had just done.

“..we’re sorry. Please let us apologize.” they said slightly bowing at you two

“I don’t think we can accept it...you two also made fun of the dragon tattoo on his head!...dragons were our dads favorite animal. He risked his life fighting for Japan and you two are laughing at him! Is that how your mother taught you how to behave?” you asked pretending to wipe you tears as the blonde boy watched you in awe seeing you toy with grown men

“Please let us treat you both to whatever you’d like from the corner store as an apology!” they both said bowing lower making you smile and look back at the boy. You gave him a thumbs up as a smile grew on his face

“Fine..come on then?” you said as both the officers raised their heads, opening the doors of the corner store for you both

You and the blonde boy walked around the store, filling your baskets with all types of things. The blonde boy watched you in just pure awe as you walked around picking your favorite snacks, as he did the same, glancing at you every now and then.

“Here.” you said smiling at the cops

“Right!” they said frantically taking out their wallets as the boy placed down his stuff nervously, still watching you

“Oh and-” you said reaching your hand to grab the lighter from the officer and placing it into the bunch of snacks

You smiled, your hands were behind your back as you watched the officers pay for yours and the boys' food, placing them into bags for you guys too. You grabbed the lighter and your bag, as the boy did the same

“Mom told us to meet her at the cemetery steps, remember?” you said looking into the boys eyes

“..yeah, I remember.” he said smiling feeling his face become hot

“Let’s go then.” you said smiling and taking his hand as you two ran out of the store

After a bit you two stopped and sat on the curbside while you both chose a snack to eat.

“Here’s your lighter, you don’t have to stay with me by the way.” you said handing him the steel lighter

“..Thanks” he said

“Sure- what do you need it for anyway?” you asked smiling

“My boss asked for it.” he said putting it in his pocket

“Oh, are you in some type of delinquent group?” you asked looking at him

“Yeah..” he said smiling

“That's cool, what do you guys do?” you asked taking a sip of your drink

“We kinda just...like...do stupid stuff and fight..” he said

“Sounds fun, but...stupid.” you said laughing making him scoff

“Why’d you do it?” he asked

“Do what?” you asked back turning you gaze to him

“Come in to cover me. You could’ve gotten in a lot of trouble because of me.” he said with a frustrated face

“You’re right, I just wanted to, that's all.” you said smiling making his mouth part and cheeks redden

“You seem pretty fun too so I thought we could be friends or something..” you said nervously

“Yeah! Sure- We can be friends!” he said happily making you feel flustered

“Well then, it’s nice to meet you, my name is Y/n, yours?” you asked holding over your hand

“Ken, but you can call me Draken-” he said taking ahold of your hand gently as you gave him a closed eyed smile blushing

“where the hell did you find that candle and com up with that whole sob story Y/n?”

“Dunno, I saw the candle on the ground by a newspaper, I kinda just winged it- “

After that day you remember hanging out with Draken almost every other day. You remember him telling you how he and his close friends started their own gang and needed some sort of funding, and so you gave it to him, on his birthday.

“I saved up! You said that you and your friends needed some money to start off so that you guys could buy a flag or banner? Right? Well, here’s 30,000 yen for your birthday!” you said handing him an envelope and a small balloon.

“Are-are you serious right now Y/n?” he asked taking the gifts, opening the envelope to look inside to see the money as his eyes lit up

“Yeah, I babysit more kids now so I was able to put some aside for you.” you said smiling satisfied with his reaction

He didn’t even say anything, all he did was bring his arms around you upper body, hugging you tight making you laugh as you brought yours to hug him back

“Thank you- you’re the best! The guys will be so happy!” he said smiling while grasping your wrists in excitement. Your eyes traced over his face as they soften. You smiled.

“Likewise.”

And- after that, you remember the day you 2 separated as friends. You both sat on the curbside, you remembered you called him to come and see you. It was a winter night and the sun was going down.

“I uh..well I don’t really know how to say this without sounding cliche but-”

“What? Are you gonna confess that you’re madly in love with me or something?” he asked grinning, making you sweat drop

“Jeez be quiet...I’m trying to make this a memorable moment-” you signed smiling, placing your palms on the cold cement

“Alright let’s hear it then Y/n-!” he said bringing his hands to the back of his head as he laid down looking up at the stars

You only frowned slightly, you shifted your position so that you could sit beside him and have a good look at his face.

“You’re scaring me..” he said jokingly making you smile

“It was really fun the past year.” you said smiling as Draken shot his head up to look at you face to face

“The hell are you talking like that for?” he asked furrowing his brows

“My parents can’t afford living in any districts in Tokyo anymore, so we’re moving to another city… about 4 hours train ride from Tokyo so-” you said looking down at your hands on the floor

“So? You act like I won't be able to come and see you or you come and see me..” he said ducking his head a bit so that you could look at him

“Draken, train tickets are about 220 yen per person, I can't afford it, and if you came by to see me I'd feel guilty because you’d be wasting your money just to only see me for like an hour.” you said

“How can I be wasting my money on you? It’s not wasting if I wanna do it and see you, plus what makes you think it'll only be a couple hours?” he asked

“I’ll have to start working once we get there, so I wouldn’t have anytime...I wanna start saving so that one day I can come back to Tokyo and live here, so that I can see your dream come true of helping your friend create a ‘new era of delinquents’ you know? I’ll even help you guys if you want with financial stuff or something.” you said smiling at him

Draken bit the inside of his cheek. He wanted to tell you so bad how he felt but..

“Look, I have a feeling I know what you’re gonna say..just remember what you wanted to say and tell me later, okay?” you said placing your hand on top of his causing his eyes to widen

“...You’ll remember me, right?” he asked looking into your eyes deeply making your mouth part

“Yeah, I’ll remember you as long as you remember what you wanted to tell me. Cause I feel the same” you said smiling as a tear fell from your eyes

“good...I will.” he said smiling back and tilting his head and wiping it off your face

After the memories hit you, you stood there with wide eyes and tears, with your wrist covering your quivering mouth. You had completely suppressed your memories of Draken, and your feelings because you knew you wouldn't be able handle being apart from him for so long. And he did the same. You couldn’t imagine how unbearable it was for him to be waiting up like this. You looked up at him seeing his eyes were softly looking at you. You could do nothing but bring your arms around him hugging him, as he brought his arms around you to do the same. You were still such in shock.

“I never thought you’d end up in a place like this, living a life like this.” he said against your ear

“I don’t wanna see you like this, please let me take care of you like you did for me..” he said said tightening his grip slightly

You could only cry at his words, you didn’t even wanna try to speak because you knew it would only come out as a sob. Was it really alright for you to rely on someone so much?

He pulled back from the hug and looked at your face, seeing you were still crying as you nodded your head ‘yes’, he smiled and wiped them away with his thumb. The smile on his face...he looked so satisfied...and happy...happy that you finally remembered. Finally remembered him.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revenger x reader #draken #draken x reader #fluff #angst #idk lmfao #toman #draken x y/n #tokyo rev

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years ago

Text

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?”

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css1992 · 4 years ago

Text

Guilty Pleasure

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM. All the warnings listed on Part I apply.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX / Part X / Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

Living with Ned and MJ was both a dream come true and a bit of a nightmare.

A dream, because when they were kids, they always talked about how they would all go the same college and live together one day, and Peter would finally have a real home – and a real family, he used to think to himself, in secret.

A nightmare, because he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of his friends, and that was the worst kind of feeling to have for the people who opened their arms and their home for him when he needed the most. Still, he couldn’t avoid it and he felt awful for that. They were both attending NYU; Ned was majoring in Computer Science and MJ in Journalism. All according to the plans they made in high school.

When Peter was younger, he made plans, too. He wanted to study Biochemistry, his teachers used to say he could probably get a scholarship to a good college, he was smart enough. Mr. Harrington, his science teacher, even offered to write letters of recommendation for him. Instead, Peter’s life choices led him to his current predicament: a 20 year-old porn actor, selling dirty pictures for a living, crashing on his friends’ couch, not a single dollar in his wallet.

He was definitely not getting any awards for good decision making, that was for sure.

He had been staying with Ned and MJ for a week when he was finally able to set up his Just4Fans account. He knew that had to be a temporary thing, it couldn’t last, even if he wanted it to. He wouldn’t be young forever, let alone a “pretty twink”, as his subscribers loved to call him. He had maybe three or four years left of that hype, at most, then he would be too old for that, and/or people would start getting bored of him. So he had to be smart, the plan was to save up as much as he could while he thought about what he was going to do once the fountain of youth dried up, and the clock was ticking fast.

But for the time being, porn.

Good thing he had his own Instagram account with a few thousand followers. All the other social media accounts were under Beck’s name, and those had hundreds of thousands of followers, but Peter no longer had access to them – he checked. He also checked and noticed that Beck hadn’t announced that they had split up yet, his last post dated from five days earlier, when he released their last video together – two days after kicking him out of the house, the asshole.

So Peter posted a few Instagram stories explaining to his followers that he and Beck weren’t a thing anymore – he didn’t give many details, he didn’t want any drama, specially not with Beck – and that he had set up a Just4Fans account for the time being. In minutes, his Instagram blew up. Apparently, people were either heartbroken over their breakup; relieved he “got rid of that perv!”; or devastated they wouldn’t get to see them doing porn together anymore.

He got a hundred subscribers in just a few hours, which was incredible. The subscription fee was ten dollars a month, so even after the website’s cut plus tax deduction, it still was a good start. He wondered what kind of money Beck made with their videos, because they had thousands of subscribers on their channel.

Once he got the hang of the site, he tried to post at least two sets of pictures a day – which was challenging at that moment, because the apartment was tiny and he didn’t have any outfits or toys with him, they were all at Beck’s. He made plans that as soon as he got the subscription money in around fifteen days, he would try to buy a few things and take tons of pictures to last a few weeks.

He also made sure to answer people’s messages every single day, which often earned him a little more money in tips. It was shocking how many people were willing to tip him just because he answered them. Some other people asked for extra content, like specific pictures, videos or even voice notes, which he sent via “pay-per-view messages”.

In the end, he felt like he was prostituting himself. Again.

He would never judge a person for earning their living in any way necessary, as long as it didn’t hurt anyone, he just never thought that would be him. Never ever. As a kid, he thought he’d be an astronaut. Growing up, he wanted to be a physicist. As a teen, he made plans to study Biochemistry. And somehow he ended up selling his body online, one way or another.

He didn’t dwell on that for long, he focused on the fact that it was temporary. If he managed to retain at least some of the people that had subscribed to his account for two or three years, then he would be able to start a small business of some kind in the future. Maybe he could go back to school. Twenty-three wasn’t too old for college, right?

Right.

It was two weeks later when he got a weird message. Not a weird message, actually, a weird tip. Someone under the username of YKWIM had sent him ten thousand dollars for no reason, there was no prior conversation, nor did the person ask for anything in return. Peter was sure there must have been a mistake, maybe they had typed in some extra zeros or maybe they had sent it to the wrong person, so he decided to reach out.

“Hey. I think there must’ve been some sort of mistake with your last tip. Lol.”

He left his phone on the counter and got started on dinner. He was a terrible cook, but to be fair, they all were, so it was fine. Ned and MJ were both at work, but they would be home soon and they were having a quiet night in. Those few weeks at their place had been good for Peter, it felt nice not to be alone after what happened, but at the same time, he was starting to feel like he really needed his own space. He was already looking for an apartment to move into as soon as he got the money. He was hoping to get one in the same building or at least close by, so that they could still see each other often.

His cell phone beeped as he sliced some onions and he stopped to check.

“Hey, gorgeous. There’s been no mistake, it’s correct.” Peter was taken aback by the answer, so he checked again to see how much the person had tipped him, and sure enough, there it was. Ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand. American dollars.

“Oh. Wow, that was very, very generous of you. Is there any particular content that you’d like to see from me as a thank you? I could send you exclusive pics and videos, whatever you want.” Inwardly, he was thinking that no amount of pictures or videos from him would ever be worth ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars, holy fuck.

“That would be excellent.”

“Great. What would you like to see?”

Please don’t be weird, please don’t be weird, please don’t be weird… Usually, Peter’s subscribers liked to see him in cute outfits or with cute toys, but some people liked very messed up stuff. He usually said no, but that person had just sent him ten thousand dollars. Fuck, that was so much money, it would cover rent for at least a few months.

“I’ve enjoyed everything you’ve put out so far, baby, so surprise me. I’m sure I’m gonna like whatever you send.”

God, generous and reasonable? Had Peter died and gone to porn heaven?

“You flatter me.” He typed in quickly, leaving the sauce unattended for a few seconds. “Give me a few hours to work on it, I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Take your time, but I don’t think you could disappoint me if you tried.”

Peter felt so stupid when he blushed and giggled to himself, because that was exactly how Beck lured him in when he was seventeen, with charming, easy words. He was an adult now, for Christ’s sake, and he didn’t even know who he was talking to. To be fair, it was probably a woman. For some weird reason, according to his Just4Fans statistics, a surprisingly large percentage of his subscribers were middle-aged, cisgender, heterosexual women. Peter supposed those were the ones who used to follow his “love story” with Beck – most of them hadn’t got over them yet, apparently they were “the perfect couple! So cute!”.

He couldn’t blame them, they sold them the perfect love story. And for a time, it was true. Peter really thought Beck was it for him, the love of his life, his soulmate. He didn’t know at which point it all became an act to Beck – or if maybe it had always been an act.

He sighed, shaking his head, he couldn’t afford to waste time thinking about him, so he focused on what he should send YKWIM.

As he finished making dinner, he tried to come up with ideas. They said they loved everything Peter had posted so far – he had posted thirty pictures and five short clips over the past two weeks. The pictures were all in MJ’s bedroom – she offered –, most of them in her bed. There were only a few pictures in which he was completely naked, in the others he had some sort of underwear on – lingerie or tight briefs.

So, he decided he should do something similar, but different enough that YKWIM would feel somewhat special. He had a few good ideas, but they would have to wait for the next morning, he would need good lighting and privacy.

“Hey, nerd, what’s up,” He almost burned his fingers when he heard MJ’s voice, and realized he had spaced out for a minute there. He shook his head quickly and smiled at her.

“Nothing, how was you day?”

The next morning, once Ned went to visit his family and MJ left for work, Peter started working on the pictures. For some reason, he didn’t want to tell his friends about YKWIM, just like he didn’t want to tell them about Beck when they first met, three years earlier. And if he really was as smart as his teachers used to say, he would have seen the pattern. But as it was, he just focused on the fact that YKWIM was probably a woman living on the other side of the world, who just liked to get off to pictures of pretty boys in lingerie.

But.

For the sake of getting in the mood for the pictures, he imagined YKWIM was a guy. Not too tall, but taller than him. He imagined he had a beard, but not a full one, like Beck’s, no, perfectly trimmed, scratchy, in a good way. He’d have dark, warm eyes, not blue and cold. He’d be older, older than Beck, more mature than him. A real man. Maybe he’d have a few streaks of gray amidst his otherwise dark hair.

He’d be gentle, despite Peter’s past. He’d treat him like he was the first one to ever touch him, even if he knew that was far from the truth. He would be careful, mindful of his pleasure. He’d start off slowly, kissing along his collarbones, fingers brushing the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs, just shy of where Peter wanted him to touch, as his mouth traveled down his chest; hot, moist breath leaving a trail of kisses down his stomach.

He sighed. Yeah, that would do to put him in the mood.

He put on a white t-shirt that was just long enough to graze the tops of his thighs, and a simple, plain black thong. He decided to take the pictures in the shower – the classic wet, white t-shirt, he couldn’t really go wrong with that. He positioned the camera on top of the bathroom sink, set the timer, and started posing.

First, he rested his back against the wall, one hand pulling the t-shirt down to cover the front his underwear, eyes staring directly at the camera lens as water ran down his face, neck and chest, making his nipples stiffen, becoming visible under the wet shirt.

Next, he pressed his chest to the wall, looking at the camera from over his shoulder, lips parted, just a peek of his exposed ass cheeks showing where the t-shirt ended, but by then it was so wet it was mostly see-through.

Then he turned so his side was facing the camera and stuck his head directly under the stream of water, running his hands through his hair, back arched obscenely, eyes closed. He let his hands travel all the way down his neck, chest, and stomach, hearing the familiar “click” as the camera took several pictures.

He turned around again, placed his hands on the wall and lifted his t-shirt just over his lower back, sticking his ass out, showing off his provocative underwear.

He got out of the shower and turned the camera into filming mode, then got back under the water and also shot a short clip of he sensually and slowly taking the thong off, but in a way that the viewer couldn’t really see the skin that was revealed. He pulled the wet t-shirt down so it covered everything, but by then it was so see-through that it left nothing to the imagination. Peter twirled a little, then threw an innocent, shy smile at the camera.

That should do it.

He finished his shower, put the wet clothes in the washer, then went to edit the pictures. He didn’t do much, just adjusted the light and contrast, then cut them into squares, because he though it looked classier or whatever. He chuckled to himself at the absurdity of that thought, as he attached the photos and the video to a direct message to YKWIM.

“Hey, gorgeous! Hopefully these won’t disappoint. Let me know if you’d like something different.”

He cringed re-reading the message, he thought he sounded desperate and insecure about himself and he supposed that wasn’t very attractive, so he decided to change it just a little.

“Hey, gorgeous! Hopefully these won’t disappoint.” And he finished off with a hot face emoji, because why not.

He sent the message and went on with his day. Ned and MJ were both back for lunch and since none of them felt like cooking – and they all sucked at it anyway –, they ordered something to eat in front of the TV, as they binge-watched the first seasons of The Office.

“Oh, hey, Pete, I almost forgot, I talked to our landlord earlier and he said there’s an apartment on the fifth floor that should be vacated by the end of the month, if you’re interested,” Ned told him around a mouthful of pizza and Peter’s head snapped up.

“I’m definitely interested!”

“Cool, I’ll talk to him for you, I’m sure I can get you a good deal on rent.” He winked, and Peter smiled, feeling hopeful.

Things were getting better. Slowly, yes, but they were. He was spending time with his friends – who he had neglected for the past two years–; he had a good amount of money to withdraw in the next few days, that could get him going for a while; he was still doing porn, yes, but at least he was in control of the whole thing, including his own body, which was nice; and he only cried for Beck every other night instead of every single night, so he had that going for him.

All in all, things were looking up.

Ned and MJ convinced him to go out for a bit in the afternoon, they said he had been cooped up in the apartment for three weeks and should breathe in some fresh air, and since it was the first somewhat warm day of March, they decided to go jog at Central Park in the afternoon. They didn’t really jog, but they walked around some and Peter must admit that it felt good to stretch his legs and feel the sun on his skin for a change.

They were lying on the grass, resting for a bit, when they saw a blur of red and gold fly overhead. People started cheering and clapping and Peter smiled when MJ groaned, because he knew exactly what she was going to say.

“How can people cheer for that guy, he’s an egocentric, misogynistic, elitist, disgusting asshole.” He laughed to himself, because he knew what came next.

“He’s a genius, he changed the world multiple times and he even saved it at least twice. I think he’s pretty cool,” Ned argued without any heat and Peter could hear MJ rolling her eyes.

Peter didn’t love or hate Tony Stark or Iron Man, like most people, he just – didn’t pay him any mind. Sure, when he was a kid, he was obsessed with him, he was New York’s first superhero after Captain America, who was still in the ice when Stark announced he was Iron Man. But as he grew older, he had other concerns in mind other than who was the coolest Avenger, so he kind of forgot they existed, except for when there was some crazy alien threat looming over New York City – which was, like, a biannual thing since they found out aliens existed back in 2012.

The fact that Iron Man was flying over Central Park on a Saturday afternoon was a little alarming though. From what Peter knew, Stark was mostly retired since around 2016, he only ever “avenged” when there was a big threat, like the near-end-of-the-world they had back in 2018.

“Do you think we’re under attack?” Peter asked and Ned shook his head calmly.

“Nah, I think he must be late for something. I read an interview recently and he said he uses the suit sometimes when he needs to get some place fast.”

Seemed like overkill, but who was Peter to judge, he would probably do the same if had a suit like that.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the park and then headed home for the night. MJ turned in early, she said she was beat from a busy week, and Peter and Ned stayed up until a little later, re-watching Star Wars movies. It was close to 2AM when Ned said his goodnight and Peter went to check his Just4Fans, because he hadn’t answered any messages all day long.

There were quite a few, but he did notice there was one missing. YKWIM hadn’t answered him yet and Peter immediately felt like a failure. They probably hated the pictures, they must have thought “ugh, ten thousand dollars for that?”. Peter should have photoshopped them. He could have made himself look at least a little bit better, if only–

Before he could hate on himself too much, YKWIM messaged him, like they could read minds. Peter quickly opened their chat, still a little worried about their reaction to the pictures.

“Damn, baby! You have no fucking idea what those did to me. Fuck! Can I show you? Please?”

Peter was oddly relieved to read that, and was endeared by the fact that they actually asked before sending a dick pic. Or a clit pic? Was that a thing?

“Of course, gorgeous, I’d love to see it.”

Within seconds, they sent a video in the chat. Peter was a little surprised by that, but pressed play anyway, and almost fell off the couch when he did.

It was a thirteen seconds video. He could see the man’s midriff, all the way down to the tops of his thighs. His belly was toned and spattered with dark hair that led down to perfectly trimmed pubes that framed the most beautiful cock Peter had ever seen. There was no other way to put it.

It was long and thick, but not so much so that it would hurt – Peter knew better –, it stood proudly between his thighs, attached to a heavy set of balls that made his mouth water. He was jacking it mercilessly, Peter could only hear him grunting quietly before his balls recoiled and he came, covering his stomach in thick, pearly white come. Peter whimpered, pressing down on his hard-on, and almost cried when the video was over.

“Fuck, daddy, that was so fucking hot.” It was probably the first time ever that he actually meant that answering a DM from a subscriber.

“That was the third time today, baby, I have been thinking about those pics from the minute you sent them. Spent the whole day with blue balls, even after coming twice.”

Fuck.

“Wish I could have helped you with that.”

“Who knows, honey, maybe someday.”

Yeah, Peter thought, biting his pillow on the couch so he wouldn’t be heard when he came embarrassingly hard in his pajamas pants, face burning with shame. Maybe someday.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark

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baubaes · 3 years ago

Note

hi! is there a chance for Jemily with no22? some angst maybe? cheers🤗

Well hello to you to! And of course there is!

@thatonecurlygirl prompt list 22

“I can’t give you what you want.”

Ship: Emily Prentiss x Jennifer Jareau

Word count: 5,4k

Genre: angst/hurt/fluff/very very light nsfw? i have no clue how to label this

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, injuries, classic criminal minds vibes :^)))

Summary: "Right now, Emily Prentiss was dead. She, however, was on a plane to Paris." aka JJ taking care of staked Emily, the blackbird flashback and events around it.

A/N: i thought of way too many scenarios when even though Emily and JJ are literally in love, it could never work out. here's one of them :^) i hope you'll enjoy it!! xx ana apparently i just can't imagine a scenario in which these characters could have a peaceful, quiet and happy life, im so sorry

Emily felt drained.

She was all hurting, really bad, her head was killing her, not only from the beating she received those several days ago, but also the mere stress of all this.

It was pretty baffling for her to realize that she survived this whole ordeal.

She couldn’t say for how long she was out; it felt both like a blink of an eye and an eternity.

And she really thought that she died, when she eventually lost consciousness in Morgan’s arms. That still felt like ages ago.

It was all really confusing, but then again, she couldn’t spare too much of her strength to dwell on what actually happened. Emily just felt too weak to try to keep her eyes open for too long and that resulted in her reality being pretty much scattered.

When she woke up in a hospital room, she was dazed and overwhelmed. They’ve put her on some strong painkillers after the surgery and most of the time right then felt like a blur. She thought she heard some voices in her dream, maybe doctors, maybe… Was it JJ?

She heard bits and pieces of conversations, somebody commenting on her condition in a low voice, nervous footsteps circling around the room, the dimmed rhythmical sounds of all the equipment she was hooked to, some sort of buzzing and a one sided conversation that had to be a phone call.

Was it just some bizarre dream?

A way for her subconscious mind to cope with the anxiety surrounding the recent events?

Whether it was real or not, it let her stay in this state of slumber brought to her through an IV drip.

Despite all that, she felt really grateful. She wasn’t sure where to channel this gratitude though;

Her team for backing her up?

The doctors for patching her up in the OR?

God, for allowing her to continue her existence?

Then again, she wasn’t sure if the last one existed, nor that the almighty entity would waste its time on making sure little old her survives.

It was comforting though, that her last moments on this Earth managed not to be spent with Doyle, even if that was against her will, so in theory, she didn’t have much of control over this.

Memories of him were a combination of ones that she’s made as Emily Prentiss and ones that she’s made as Lauren Reynolds. As Emily, it consisted of all those moments when he threatened her and her team, he kidnapped her, tortured her, nearly killed her…

As Lauren she was able to saw his more… Humane side.

Lauren was his girlfriend. Lauren lived with him,

Lauren shared her joys and fears with him. Lauren loved him.

But that was Lauren.

She wasn’t real. An identity, that’s all that she was.

And even though Emily tried to convince herself that Lauren’s feelings were perfectly compartmentalized away from her own, deep down she knew she was lying to herself.

Was Doyle ever somebody she actually loved?

She definitely despised him, but it felt like now she was obligated to despise even her own self for ever having feelings for this monster. Positive ones anyway.

Right now, Emily Prentiss was dead.

She, however, was on a plane to Paris.

It was all coordinated by Hotchner and JJ.

Nobody else knew.

Her team, her friends, her loved ones were about to attend her funeral in a few days.

She imagined confused look on Spencer’s face, Garcia’s eyes filled with tears, Morgan frowning and looking away. Would Rossi be sad, or would he finally feel relieved to be ridded of her impulsiveness and comments on literally everything?

She imagined her mother, who obviously was not on it, throwing a pile of soil on the coffin. That would not hold her body inside. Would she cry? Would she stay composed even at a funeral of her only child? Well, again, it wasn’t real real, but she wouldn’t be able to realize that.

For some reason, she figured JJ would’ve taken it upon herself to feel guilty, despite knowing what was going on.

They both knew it was the only way to make it all work.

Emily worried about everyone, but there were two people she worried about the most. Spencer and Penelope.

They both were incredibly strong, but she couldn’t be sure how would they deal with this.

She worried, since Reid did not cope well with losing authorities. And even if he would never admit it to her face, she knew that he looked up to her.

The thought of that made her feel the bile appear on the back of her throat.

That kid has lost so many people already… And he internalized all that, it had to be weighing on him every single day. It felt cruel to add another person to that list.

She had to keep thinking about the bigger picture to even remotely be able to deal with all that.

Now Garcia was somebody that Emily truly loved.

It was hard to imagine her being sad over her „death”.

Not because of the probability of the blonde being sad,

rather the severity of her grieving, Emily would imagine.

Penelope was one of those people who were able to feel so much, maybe even too much sometimes.

And on a daily basis it was wonderful. That’s what’s made her such an incredible, empathetic human being, who, despite their job, was still able to not only - be cheerful, but to cheer others up as well.

When she thought of that, it felt as if her heart could break to million pieces.

It was strange, how in that moment she should still feel the pain;

They’ve stabilized her after the surgery, but there were still bruises on her face, stitches across her abdomen, burnt skin on her chest. And she did feel it, but it was blurred, far away.

The feeling that made her grasp reality to the point of hyperawareness was the emotional pain.

Somehow she was able to compare it to the pain of being staked.

She still wasn’t sure what was a proper emotional response in that situation.

It wasn’t in the manual, or in training, despite people having to go… Well, faking your own death was like going undercover, in a way.

Both at the Interpol and the FBI, nobody taught her how to feel, while pretending to be dead.

She knew how to make it happen technically, more or less. After all, Lauren had already died. Her old team, JTF-12, was able to pull that off those several years ago. Including her of course.

But that was Lauren. An identity, which, sure, she’s been tied to for quite some time, living as her, acting like her, becoming her in a way.

Still, just an identity.

Right now, there wasn’t a disguise, an identity to toss away, allowing her to come back to her regular life.

Right now her regular life was supposed to cease to exist.

Before, she thought about her goal and the fact, that she survived. She was grateful, in some way she felt obligated to take care of Declan and she wouldn't be able to do that, if she was actually dead, right?

Even though she knew that she had no right to feel attached to the boy as much as she did, she just couldn’t help it. The image of him as a toddler, walking around the room in Doyle’s house stuck in her head. She couldn’t shake it off. And even before Doyle found her, that image caused her to have problems with falling asleep from time to time.

Emily never seriously thought of herself becoming a mother, for that role to be the main purpose of her life. She was afraid of screwing her potential children up, because she knew that even if she meant well, it wouldn’t guarantee them turning out okay. And her line of work made it impossible to both realistically approach the idea of maternity - she didn’t have a partner and if she were to be a single mother - it would be impossible to keep up with the BAU - that job was just too demanding; but also she saw so many downright evil, just unimaginable things that people were capable of doing to one another. How could she ever be able to shield a child from that?

Suddenly, all these ridiculous, small things that she wouldn’t think twice about made her feel as if each and every part of her life was just slipping through her fingers, right there, right then.

That one window in her apartment, the one with the wide windowsill, she loved to sit on it and watch the sky. Sergio would curl up in her lap or right next to her, on the windowsill, quietly purring, when she would pet his black fur. It didn’t happen often, because most nights she'd come home so exhausted, all she could basically do was just pass out on her bed. And Sergio would sleep on a pillow right next to her, despite Emily's promises to herself that she will teach him to stop, because she'd wake up covered in his fur with a runny nose.

But when she had a chance to do that, it made her mind stop racing, at least for a few minutes. That barely ever happened anywhere else.

Now she realized that Sergio was alone in her apartment and she panicked. But just for a second, because then she remembered JJ in the hospital, telling her that Penelope took him in. Of course she did. He'd definitely be surrounded with love. She wished she could've just taken him with her though, since she's already been missing him. Silly little fur ball, making her fall in love with him gradually. Penelope wouldn't be able to resist his charm for sure, she thought to herself, smiling. Still, she felt really sad.

Emily realized that she’s left so many things behind.

She didn’t think of herself as someone intensively attached to material possessions, but all these had a sentimental value for her and that was the only thing that mattered.

The thoughts invading her head were random, coming to her without any particular sense or order, falling on her mind like an avalanche.

And she thought about that crumpled up picture, capturing her with her friends when she was a teenager, back in Rome.

A cross, that her mother gave her on her first communion. She wasn’t ever really wearing it, but she liked knowing that it was safely tucked away in one of the drawers in her closet. It brought her some strange kind of comfort.

A box with letters she’d exchange with her father when she was a kid, because even though they moved around together as a family, he still would have assignments all around the world. So he would leave for a single weekend, or for several months at a time. No matter how long or short was he leaving for, he’d always try and send her a postcard, hence the collection of them, both from huge cities in Europe and Asia and tiny places she’s never even heard of before in America or Australia.

Maybe she wasn’t going through this box ritually on some settled schedule, but every once in a while she would look at those tacky pictures of touristy little towns, as well as simple, beautiful pictures of great historical monuments or watercolored landscapes of picturesque countrysides. And they'd make the corners of her lips rise up just a tiny bit.

All that with a couple words reading simple greetings, scribbled in a hurry, in her dad’s small, not exactly neat handwriting, on the back of each and every one of them.

„Love you, Dad” summed up every single message.

And looking at those words made her feel warmth, both now and when she was a little girl. Her father wasn’t very talkative and he rarely told her he loved her unprompted. So she got used to reading these words, instead of hearing them from him.

She cherished these postcards and anytime she’d go through them, she noticed some kind of feeling spread throughout her body, that felt like pure joy, but also love and safety.

Kurt Vonnegut’s "Sirens of Titan".

Morgan lent it to her a few months ago.

The book was by her bed, bookmarked with some crumpled receipt for groceries she’d found at the bottom of her purse, when she'd had to suddenly break away from Rumfoord and Kazak on the jet.

She’s read it before, truth be told, (in Italian and back in the ’80s), but Morgan insisted that she just had to read the original version. And even though there was a stack of books she wanted to read going back at least two years sitting on her bedroom floor, dangerously leaning against the radiator, the day she brought it home, she placed the Sirens on the very top of her bedside table, instead of the stack.

She’d imagine Morgan would appreciate that gesture.

Morgan, her partner.

Morgan, who held her before she passed out.

Morgan, who always had her back.

And she tried to do the same for him in the field.

He’s saved her ass countless times.

Emily wished she could have had his back right now.

She realized with a paralyzing fear that it could last forever.

Doyle could lay low, undetected for years.

Would it keep Morgan up at night?

Would he blame himself, wondering?

If he'd gotten to her seconds earlier, if he had only ran faster, if he’d found her sooner, would it change anything?

Thinking about that made her fists clench suddenly.

If she had any fingernails left, they would surely dig into the skin of her palms very painfully right now.

Emily felt this overwhelming guilt filling her chest, making her throat feel as if it was closing, her teeth grit.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe, as if the jet’s cabin had become decompressed and she couldn't reach the oxygen mask.

"You’re doing okay?"

She heard the soft and calming voice of her only companion on this flight, naturally besides the pilot.

JJ was looking at her with those big, worried, blue eyes and even though Emily’s first instinct was to nod, as she did just that, she felt her eyes watering.

"I can't stand the thought of all of them grieving over a lie."

She mumbled out.

"Emily, you know that this is the only way. We’d never make them go through this, if there were any other options. They will understand."

JJ’s voice became more firm with the last sentence, she was obviously in a mind space reserved for dealing with crisis.

"I really thought that was it, you know?"

Emily asked, a little startled at the sound of her own voice.

She couldn’t recall the last time she’s held an actual conversation with another person, one that wouldn’t consist of barely understandable mumbling as a form of communication on her end.

"There came that point, where the pain went away, I guess I went into shock. I heard Morgan’s voice and I wanted to keep my eyes open like he told me to so bad, but I just couldn’t. I felt like I was slipping away and it felt so… Easy. I wasn’t scared at all. I… I knew you guys would take care of Declan, if I wasn’t around. And that all of you would be okay."

She said, trying to piece together everything that happened.

"And apparently I've coded in the ambulance? I had no idea, but some glimpses are coming back to me, slowly. But it was like I’d fallen asleep."

She added, her face reflecting her mind in a state of deep contemplation.

Her thoughts were interrupted by JJ’s voice.

"Thank God, you didn’t…"

Emily only now noticed that with every word that she spoke, JJ’s eyes became more and more glossy. She frowned.

"Hey, I’m here."

She leaned in and smiled faintly.

"Its gonna take way more than some branding and a little stake for you to get rid of me."

JJ laughed, wiping the tears away, before they had a chance to flow down her cheeks.

"Why would I ever want to get rid of you?"

Blonde asked, her voice now soft, her expression puzzled.

Emily felt something strange in her chest.

At first her brain assumed it had to be her burnt skin and damaged nerve endings, but no.

It felt nice, it wasn’t painful.

That warmth, spilling around her insides.

She didn’t have a witty comeback to her question. She wanted to think it was because of the meds making her hazy, but she wasn’t sure anymore. She just looked down at her chest and frowned again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The first thing I’m doing, when we get to Paris is having this removed."

She heard her own voice.

"How could a brand hurt more than getting staked?"

"Maybe it’s a psychosomatic itch you’re scratching? The brand left an emotional toll, Doyle established dominance over you by marking you as his, a stake… I mean you overcame death. The ultimate victory over your foe. Why suffer a pain you’re proud of?"

JJ wondered, actually trying to analyze all that. She looked at her, now amused.

"Or you could always get another tattoo."

Emily laughed at that. JJ continued.

"You know, something transformative? Like a… A phoenix. Or a blackbird."

"I love the song."

Emily said.

"But something tells me, I shouldn’t tread in your waters."

JJ looked at her with a questioning look.

"Come on, JJ. Something’s obviously different about you. You commandeered an Interpol jet. You’re profiling me."

JJ looked down and sighed. Emily continued.

"Why didn’t you say your transfer was a backstop?"

At that JJ’s expression turned to a confused one, indicating that what the other woman said was the truth.

"Oh, I know that look. The 'I can’t trust anyone, but myself' look. I invented it."

Emily added, trying to make it sound funny, but ultimately, it still came out serious, because it was true. JJ smiled at her slightly, but she looked sad.

"Do you ever feel like you’re in way over your head?" Emily nodded, wanting her to continue.

"I got assigned to an information hunt. Instead, I am chasing an unsub, who killed my informant."

"What would Hotch tell you to do?" Emily asked without hesitation. That’s how she found her way around during any investigation, ever since she joined the BAU.

"Focus on victimology, let behavior lead the way…"

JJ listed out loud.

"Exactly. Who did your unsub kill?"

"The one person I was getting through to."

"Why?"

Emily continued with her questions, seeing that they initiated JJ’s thought process.

"Because I was getting through to…" JJ said, frowning.

"I was getting through to her. What if she was about to expose her killer? Someone on the inside…"

Emily could tell that JJ needed somebody else to look at her situation and see it in from a different angle. JJ got really pensive, her eyes glued to some nonexistent point in space.

"It sounds like it's time for you to be the blackbird and flip the script." Emily said slowly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I guess it does." JJ said with a tiny smile, before getting up.

"Hey, why won’t you try and sleep at least a while? We won’t be landing for several hours, so…"

"Right. You should try and sleep too. I’ve been in a coma, so I caught some Zs, when you think about it. Medically induced ones, but still. You on the other hand must be exhausted."

Emily’s face was covered in grey, purple and yellow spots, but JJ’s face, even though not bruised, still indicated that she had a rough couple of days. She had bags under her eyes, her cheeks pale, instead of slightly flushed like they normally were, her face tired.

They both looked quite miserable.

JJ just smiled in response, but her eyes weren’t a part of that smile. Her eyes stayed sad.

She walked to another seat, so she could try and lie down.

Emily wanted to let JJ rest, because she suspected that by suggesting sleeping, she actually had an excuse to take a nap herself, even if it was supposed to last only few minutes. She deserved a good night sleep, Emily thought to herself, watching the blonde struggling to find a comfortable position. When she eventually succeeded, Prentiss leaned back in her own seat, looking out the window. Her chest was still burning, but she wouldn’t even flinch. Her eyes, almost independently from her will, landed on the other woman every couple of minutes. She watched JJ’s chest move rhythmically, until her breathing became really deep and really steady and she was without a doubt asleep.

She knows what’s happening,

Emily thought to herself.

And so does Hotchner.

Yet, they’re going to have to look at the rest being in pain and they’re going to have to pretend that they’re going through the same thing.

And when she thought about Hotch, it wasn’t that hard to imagine.

He would keep himself perfectly composed in pretty much any situation she ever saw him in.

He was able to calculate his next move without showing as much as a microexpression.

It could be a little unsettling sometimes, but then again when he was surrounded by his family, when he was with Jack, he would expose this softer and loving side of himself. Just a bit. It was quite the view.

Emily had no doubt that he was a good father. And a good man.

He really was great at planning, thinking ahead like no one else;

he had his way of smoothly dealing with issues that inevitably came up during their investigations.

All those things made him an incredible section chief.

Emily was certain that she could trust him with her life. And she did.

It would be hard for anyone to keep such a burdening secret from people you are constantly around.

Eventually, you could start believing the lie, but that also took dedication. It was even harder when you had to lie to people that were actually a part of your life, people that you were close to.

It’s one thing to be undercover and to keep a secret from people you’re trying to infiltrate. During such operations it felt justified to do that, choosing the lesser evil, the end justify the means and all that.

It’s a completely different thing to do that to your friends and family.

"The secret to getting away with lying is believing with all your heart. That goes for lying to yourself even more so than lying to another."

A quote by the author Elizabeth Bear, that she's memorized from reading her New Amsterdam series more than once. She was repeating it in her mind, not being able to stop.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in. She knew that they made the right call. Still, it was just devastating, thinking what they voluntarily sentenced themselves to.

She tried to calm herself down with proper breathing. It helped.

Emily finally decided to try to sleep. She thought that since she was still medicated, she’d pass out easily, but that didn’t happen.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw faces of her team members. She felt like her chest was being crushed. Breathing didn't really help.

After what felt like forever of forcing herself to fall asleep without any luck, she opened her eyes and just kept them open. She focused her gaze on what was behind the window.

The clouds, barely visible in the navy skies.

She didn’t do it on purpose, but she realized that she started to dissociate.

And she let herself do it.

The numbness felt better than the stinging guilt.

She didn’t really register it, but tears left her eyes, falling on her lashes and cheeks, as her deep, dark eyes focused on the navy color in front of her, forty thousand feet above the ground.

She couldn’t tell how long it took, but only JJ’s turning in her sleep, simultaneously throwing a bag off the seat made Emily come back to reality. Blonde didn’t wake up. She looked really peaceful.

She thought about not seeing her for God knows how long. It stung, to a point of her gasping. Afraid, that maybe that could’ve woken her up, Emily wiped her tears away, but JJ’s eyes stayed closed. And these intrusive thoughts came back to roam inside her head.

Sure, JJ wouldn’t be with the BAU now, since she’s had that informant operation, but no doubt, she would still see them. They were a huge part of her life after all.

Emily watched her face, calm and soft, imaging it twisted in pain and grief, having to pretend one of their own was dead.

In her mind, JJ was one of the strongest people she knew. She was persistent, hardworking and incredibly professional, but she was also kind, nurturing and very loyal.

What she was doing for her at this very moment proved it perfectly.

She knew that JJ accepted her part in this plan on her own and if she were to start trying to talk her out of it (never mind that it was also too late for that at this point), she wouldn’t change her mind. To be fair, if they switched places, she would do the same for JJ, but still, she couldn’t stop worrying about the woman sleeping on a seat across from her.

Emily watched her friend and it brought her some sort of comfort, a feeling of safety.

She finally dozed off, trying not to think, but focused on JJ’s steady breathing instead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Emily, we’ll be landing in about an hour."

She heard, opening her eyes, and she saw JJ standing in front of her, one of her hands on her shoulder.

"I thought you’d like to change before the transfer."

Emily’s hand landed on top of hers, holding both of them on her shoulder.

"Oh, right. Thank you, I…" she looked down at their hands, trying to focus. "We’ll have to say goodbye soon, right?" she blurted out, looking back at her face.

JJ sighed and sat down right next to her, not taking her hand away, but instead, intertwining their fingers and resting both their hands in Emily’s lap.

"Well, it seems so."

She smiled, but her eyes were reddened, filling with tears once again.

Emily’s gaze was glued to their hands, watching JJ’s wrist and fingers, so delicate right now, but perfectly capable of throwing a good punch. Her eyes stopped at the ring on her finger; Henry’s birthstone. She felt that strange feeling again, that warmth spreading throughout her body.

"It’s not going to last forever. We will find Doyle."

JJ mumbled out and Emily held her breath.

"I know, but… I will miss you so much."

Emily said, before instinctually putting her arms around blonde’s waist, to which she responded with wrapping her arms around her neck. JJ tried to be gentle, because of Emily’s condition, but brunette only held her tighter.

They were so close right now, that she could hear the other woman’s heartbeat. It was slightly elevated.

JJ pulled back just a little, so she could look at her face.

"I will miss you as well." she whispered, their eyes laid on each other.

JJ said the next sentence so quietly, that Emily could barely hear it.

"You’re very special to me, you know that?"

Emily wouldn’t be able to logically explain why she did what she did next, but somehow her hands ended up on both sides of JJ’s face and she leaned in, placing her lips on blonde’s ones.

She wasn’t thinking, but as she kissed her, the other woman immediately kissed her back. Emily felt soft palms cupping her face, her eyes closed. That kiss was filled with so much pain and longing and some kind of desperation.

But it made her whole body fill up with that warmth.

Emily wasn’t even sure what that was, so she tried to be gentle. She ended up kissing JJ in a somewhat shy manner, yet the other agent was deepening the kiss with each second, making it more and more passionate. Emily felt her back hitting the wall and a moan left her throat, captured by the kiss. JJ reacted by slowing down, moving her fingers across her face, running them through her hair. Emily was still cupping JJ’s face, her skin felt so soft and warm under her fingers when she brushed them across her cheeks. Their tongues slowly swirling around one another, this time Emily caused JJ to gasp, as she bit her lower lip. She responded with kissing brunette even more eagerly, so Emily brushed her fingers along her neck, resting them on her shoulders. One of her hands was caressing the skin covering JJ’s collarbone. At that she sighed, barely audibly, but Emily caught it. Her fingers moved towards the skin covering her breastbone.

JJ suddenly pulled back and broke the kiss, leaving both of them breathing heavily, blood flowing through their cheeks and lips.

Emily placed her hands back on JJ’s shoulders, she didn’t mean to make her feel uncomfortable.

Finally, after what felt like forever, she broke the silence.

"JJ, I…" she didn’t even know what to say. It wasn’t right. She had a loving husband, a family. She didn’t mean to ruin it for her.

"We don’t have to talk about this." she said quickly and Emily felt strange. She took her hands off of her shoulders and leaned back, so there was space between them.

"I… Dont… Look, if we won’t see each other for…"

She started, but her voice broke, when she realized what expression showed up on JJ’s face.

Regret.

Emily felt so many contradicting things in that moment, that she basically froze. JJ was looking away.

"You went through something traumatic, we all did. It’s only natural to crave human contact then. And it can present itself in many different ways. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s fine."

"JJ, it means… It means everything for me."

Emily choked out, placing her hand on top of blonde’s. JJ turned her hand, so she could squeeze Emily’s one between her fingers.

She smiled looking at their hands, but only for a fraction of a second. And then she took her hand away, only to look Emily straight in her eyes. She seemed sad, but also… Agitated.

"I can’t give you what you want, Emily." she said quickly, getting up.

"There’s too many reasons why. And… You have to leave."

JJ stated, sort of matter-of-factly.

Emily couldn’t really comprehend what just happened. But all of the pain, both physical and mental suddenly came back, not dimmed anymore.

This was… This wasn’t the time for this. Come on, Emily, it’s time to compartmentalize again. You used to be so good at this!

Well, before joining the team anyway.

"We’re landing in 15. You have to change, definitely cover up these bruises at least a bit." JJ continued talking, her voice morphing back to that task-oriented tone. She was taking clothes and makeup out of the bags, handing the items to her. "Hurry."

Emily felt like she couldn’t move, but she forced herself to get up and do what she needed to. They weren’t looking at each other and even though she wanted to scream, she kept perfectly quiet.

Compartmentalize. It’s not the time. It didn’t mean anything.

They landed and after JJ made sure that the right person was waiting outside to drive Emily to a safehouse, she stood in front of her and hugged her. Emily wasn’t really expecting that right now, since the atmosphere was so tense.

"I will miss you, no matter what." JJ whispered and even though Emily was so stunned from the pain and all around confused, she knew they couldn’t part without a proper goodbye.

"Thank you, for everything. Take care of them." Emily said and she embraced her tightly, one last time. Emily wanted to say that she’ll miss her like crazy, but it felt both like too much and not enough.

She didn’t want to let them turn this into a final goodbye.

"Of course. I will see you soon, okay?" JJ smiled and Emily smiled back. It wasn’t the best forced smile, but she just couldn’t do better in that moment.

"Goodbye, Jennifer." she said sounding way too official, taking a first step out.

"Goodbye, Emily."

Prentiss turned away and quickly made her way to the parked car.

She saw JJ’s face one last time through the tiny window.

The car left the landing strip and disappeared in the night.

„Goodbye, Emily.” she thought to herself, as she caught her own reflection in the side mirror.

„Goodbye, Emily.”

JJ whispered, placing a red rose on the coffin.

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