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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years ago

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you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

Baby, some people are meant to be loved and others just naked

So take what I’m willing to give, love it or hate it.”

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

A/N: alright SO!!!! the original part 3 ended up being at the cusp of 50k words (because i have no self control) and that is a LOT to read in one go so it’s getting split into parts 3 and 4! which means!! double update laidese and germs!!!! part 4 will be posted this SUNDAY, AUGUST 16th at 5PM PST/8PM EST :D we hope you enjoy this chapter, feedback is greatly appreciated, and please please PLEASE!!! if you like it, reblog it!!! and if you want, go nuts in the tags!! every single one is read!!! it keeps content creators motivated 💌leyla @sunflowervolvimp3 took the liberty of making an incredible playlist to go along with our story, so feel free to check it out and see if you can find any clues as to what’s in store for the characters 👀without further delay, here she is...buckle up 👁👁this is gonna be quite the ride

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

word count: 24.2k

content/warnings: cheeky banter over texts, The Crew dragging Niall to shit, more banter over a glass of cheap wine, vampire!harry showing up to “interior design” sessions looking like a runway model, some fwb smut, degradation kink, very mild mentions of blood, and some ugly tapestries that somehow lead to sexting

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Y/N definitely puts Harry’s number to good use. Very good use.

In fact, during the span of the next month or so, Harry reckons that she pulls up his contact on her phone so often that she probably has him listed on speed dial. The assumption is dramatic and probably incorrect, on behalf of his arrogance, but with how much time they start spending together, it’s hardly a stretch.

It all begins exactly a week after their first time meeting.

Harry still hates clubs.

He hates them more than he did last week. He hates them more than he did yesterday, more than he did this morning, and even more than he did a minute ago. He fucking despises them.

And yet, as Harry stands here before the mirror in his enormous double-sink bathroom, fiddling with his damp hair as his flouncy dress shirt hangs unbuttoned from his broad shoulders, he’s absolutely positive he has never hated clubs more than right now.

Niall got to pick the venue this time. He’d texted his choice in the groupchat (which is respectfully named Dinner Plans) about four hours ago, making sure to get the word out decently early so that everyone could start making their preparations, all in order for the crew to be on the move by nine P.M.

It’s now nine thirty-seven, and everyone is fully set to leave at the agreed upon hour. Everyone except Harry.

This, however, is not uncommon. He’s always the one that takes the longest to get ready, no matter how soon he starts. No one can remember an instance where Harry has ever been ready on time— which says a lot, considering most of the gang has years of memories from which they can pull. Mitch especially. With almost a century of friendship behind them, not once has the older vampire ever seen Harry stick to a deadline. His flare for being fashionably late is less a flare, and moreso an irritating burn. It always throws off their game a bit, but at this point, everyone has gotten used to the seemingly young vampire’s theatrics.

So on this Friday night, there isn’t much more to do other than mold to his habits; Harry answers to no one except himself and it’s been that way for decades now, for a reason he’d rather not reminisce. He doesn’t owe anything to anyone, especially since he’s the one that always takes charge of getting them where they need to go, as well as getting them inside said destination. Complaining about their leader wouldn’t do the gang any good for a number of reasons, especially because Harry rarely ever listens. It is what it is— he’s just the way he is, and they’ve all learned to live with and respect that.

The funny thing? Harry does it on purpose, though his friends aren’t aware of it. He drags out the process of getting prepared simply so he can put off having to step inside one of those circus acts people refer to as clubs. He goes as slow as possible and does as much as possible, spreading seconds into minutes, and maybe— if he’s insistent enough and feeling particularly pesky— an hour. His record is an hour and twenty-eight minutes, which he wears with pride, much to his group’s unamusement.

Harry knows no one will ever say anything about his annoying tendencies, unless they’re willing to volunteer themselves to take the reins for the night. Vampires are alert and productive, but only when they want to be— which is usually only when it benefits them— and only if they can muster up the patience for it. And frankly, none of the creatures he associates with have the patience required to deal with security, driving, and other obstacles the way Harry does. He’s indispensable, and therefore, everyone puts up with his shit. Quid pro quo has never been more effective.

So here Harry stands, now thirty-eight minutes past the original time sorted for departure, carefully combing volumizing mousse into his slightly wet curls and spinning each ringlet around his index finger to give them the definition and bounce he’s so well-known for. Here he is, finishing up his post-shower routine as all of his friends mill around downstairs in his living room, waiting for him to come down so they can pack into his car and head out for the weekly hunt at whatever establishment has been deemed fit for the night. And here he is, taking his sweet time so he can be the signature pain in the ass that everyone hates to love.

Once Harry has thoroughly coated all of his hair with the fluffy white cream, he pulls out his hair-dryer from the cabinet below his sink, snapping its accompanying diffuser into place and flipping his head upside down. He carefully scrunches his curls to his roots with the attachment, moving in thoughtful circles as he hums to the rhythm of a song he can’t be bothered to remember the name of. Staring down at his polished jet black heeled boots, he absentmindedly taps against the porcelain ground to the beat of the music, sighing wistfully as warm air circulates its way across his scalp.

Harry turns his shoes to the side, admiring the detailing along the back of the heel. Across the curved surface is the word SUCKER, bedazzled onto the article with multicolored jewels, glitzing beautifully under the fluorescent lighting of his bathroom. The shoes had been a gift from a friend with connections in high places; more specifically, connections to the man who sits on the throne of the Gucci brand. Harry hadn’t questioned the present when he’d received it— only an idiot would bat a cautious eye at such a luxury. He’d fallen in love with them the second they landed in his palms, decked out in a gorgeous satin box and wrapped with sparkly black tissue paper. The only words that had dared leave his lips were, “Fuck, I think I just got hard.”

The shoes had fit like a charm, and he had wanted to save them for a special occasion. But given that he has hundreds of years worth of special occasions lined up for his future, he’d shrugged off his pickiness and yanked them out the back of his closet for tonight. What better way to show them off than at an overhyped disco hall?

Harry flips his head right-side up once again, ruffling his fingers through his soft, shiny curls to check for any wet patches or stringiness. He rolls up the wire to his styling tool and puts it back in its designated spot, grabbing his favorite paddle brush and attentively filtering it through his hair until he gets the tousled waves that he’s grown so fond of sporting. He musses them until he’s satisfied with his appearance, nodding at himself casually in the mirror as he proceeds to wrap up the last few necessities he has left.

Harry buttons his blouse, admiring it in the fogged mirror. It’s a flowy sheer black piece with holographic threads sewn through its expanse, the fabric continuously shimmering with every shift of his muscles from underneath. He leaves the last three holes empty to better show off the dark butterfly inking on his lean chest and the swallows suspended in flight along his collarbones. He doesn’t really have to leave the shirt open, given that the material is see-through to the point where it leaves very little to the imagination, obvious in how all the tattoos along his arms are clearly visible. But he does it either way— he likes it when people stare. He’s got the assets, he might as well flaunt them.

Harry loosely tucks the hem of the shirt along the brim of his high-waisted beige slacks, which he’d ironed with precision to an ideal fold. He opts out of a belt tonight, wanting to display the array of elegant buttons that line the front of his pleated trousers. The pants hang slightly flared around his ankles, and if someone’s interests were intent enough, they might catch a glimpse of his favorite socks underneath the cusps, the words FUCK IT printed across the dark cotton fabric. He always makes sure to have an aspect in his outfit that could make for neat conversation.

The vampire pulls out one of his drawers, ghosting his fingers over his collection of jewelry before picking out a pearl necklace and his father’s gold-plated cross necklace, as well as a colorful array of rings. He makes sure to retrieve the most significant two, as always— his lionhead amethyst daylight ring and his mother’s opal. He never goes anywhere without them.

After he’s slipped on those accessories, bending and stretching his fingers for good measure and feeling everything settle into place, he picks out the gold cross earring that matches his necklace. It used to be part of a pair that belonged to his sister. As he watches the gold twinkle in the artificial light, he briefly wonders what happened to its twin, but pushes the thought away before it leads him down a path of pessimistic speculations.

Harry loops the dangly piece through his earlobe, sighing through his nose as his gaze jets around his entire look, searching for any possible faults he could tend to that would prolong the inevitable— another night of drunken morons and thick synthetic smoke.

Harry decides to fold the cuffs of his shirt up to his elbows, knowing that it makes his veiny forearms look appealing. He rummages through his selection of colognes before deciding to go with his trusty Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, spritzing a bit along specific pressure points on his neck where a pulse would otherwise be present, following along with the insides of his wrists. The scent of cloves, sugar-frosted vanilla, and cedar wood envelope him in a warm ambiance. After that task is complete, he fusses with his necklaces for a minute or so, settling the cross between his pectorals and resting the rosey pearls across his clavicle, fingering at their smooth surface in thought. Much to his defeat, everything seems to be in order, down to his freshly lacquered black nails. It’s not his fault he’s nearly flawless. His long— and unfortunate— extension on life had given him a plethora of years to work himself into a state of physical perfection. There’s only so much one can do to their appearance before it becomes superiorly stagnant.

Harry tunes his heightened hearing for a second, listening in to the conversation his friends are entertaining on the first level of his condo. Niall’s voice is the first one that comes through, unsurprisingly. He’s always the loudest and has zero filter, present in how he’s freely ranting about Harry’s exaggerated mannerisms as he paces back and forth across the floor, footsteps heavy. No one seems to be paying him any mind— As usual, Harry thinks to himself, snorting softly— because everyone appears to be caught up in their own personal lives, too lost in gossip and exchanging opinions to give the Irish vampire any thought.

None of his gang seem bothered by his lack of rush, but Harry knows he can’t keep them waiting forever. Fridays are the day they’d all collectively agreed to hunt together and it had been as so for almost twenty years. Being the leader, Harry can’t let his childish distaste for nightlife get in the way of what’s best for the group. He needs to hunker down on his selfish inclinations and be a responsible friend, or else a human might not be the only person Niall sinks his fangs into tonight.

With one final lingering stare at his reflection, Harry goes to retrieve his phone from its face-down position on the dark marble counter, simultaneously reaching for the light switch to begin powering down his apartment for the next couple of hours until he returns. Hopefully with a pretty girl hanging off his arm and less of a burn in the back of his throat. Although Harry may be cynical, he’s also practical; if he’s going to have to spend eternity on this planet, he may as well try to conserve enough energy to make it bearable. After decades of adjusting to electricity, the last thing Harry wants is to return to candlelit rooms and going to bed in time with the sun.

The sudden chime that shrieks from his device causes him to jump a tad, brows furrowing in mild confusion for a few reasons. First, because it’s such an odd coincidence that right as he went to grasp it, his smartphone had gone off; it’s almost spooky. Second, because anyone who would normally dare message him at this hour is currently sequestered downstairs on the cushions of his sectional sofa, waiting for him to emerge from his room. Who else could possibly need to contact him this late, especially at the beginning of the weekend?

Harry flips his red iPhone curiously (yes, he’d bought it in red for the purpose of irony), peering down at the unknown number shining back up at him from the screen.

The text is simple enough: Hey, accompanied by three disco ball emojis.

After a few seconds of blank blinking and adamantly searching through his mind for a clue as to who this could be, the answer smacks him square between the eyes. The memories come to him in quick flashes.

A bald bouncer with a stupid name. A two-story room with seven foot tall speakers and a bar nuzzled in the corner. A group of loud, tipsy girls in stilettos and glittery dresses. One girl, sitting amidst the ruckus looking alone and indifferent while everyone around her gave into inebriated chaos. Mitch urging him to go talk to her. The overwhelming smell of honey and lavender. Gentle caresses placed across the tattoos painting his arms. Pretty lips the color of fresh blood, drained glasses of liquor, and witty banter exchanged between suggestive glances and cheeky grins. Shouldering through a crowded dance floor with the young woman in tow. Settling her into the passenger’s seat of his Cadillac and feeling heat explode across his cold cheeks when she’d yanked him down by his collar, kissing him like his lips were her only source of air.

A quaint apartment complex, flickering lights in a corridor, and a worn couch. A warm mouth, smudged lipstick, teary eyes, and the gentle, shaky echo of, “I want to make you feel good.” High-waisted silk pants discarded on the floor, a cream lace blouse, and pastel pink lingerie. Thighs squeezing his head as her sweet taste spilled across his tongue. The mortal’s bare back pressed to his chest as he worked his hips roughly into her, mumbling dirty promises against her ear. Sugary whimpers and needy pleads. The warm, tangy flavor of her blood filling his mouth and sedating the burning in his throat. Childish giggles shared in a tiny flat, her warm fingers sewing between his icy own and tugging him into her room. A sleepless night full of steady breaths and only one heartbeat. A stupid tapestry and an ugly popcorn ceiling. A late morning strewn with sarcastic jokes mumbled over the rim of a coffee mug. Pulling his favorite t-shirt over his head and inhaling the sweet smell that had been glued to every thread.

Making a drastic decision and typing his information into her phone.

Harry doesn’t mean to speak aloud, but the name slips down his tongue as easily as he’d drawn moans from hers. “Y/N.”

It’s not like he didn’t remember her, because he did. And it’s not like he hadn’t thought of her since, because he had. But it’d been in passing and barely relevant— faint recollections in the form of fleeting seconds.

He’d thought of her a couple days ago, when he’d been wandering around the mall with his friends. They’d passed by a candle shop where, among all the mixed scents, there had been the unmistakable aroma of lavender and honey somewhere inside, smelling vaguely like her. She’d unwillingly made her way to the forefront of his mind when he’d gone to do laundry, picking out his baby blue Marc Jacobs t-shirt from his hamper and feeling his eyes dilate and fangs protrude— a result of animalistic instinct. As it turns out, she had left a bloodstain along the inside of the yellow collar of his tee. It was dried and crusted over by the time he found it, but the effect it had on him remained the same as the night he’d drawn it fresh from one of her arteries. He’d chucked the garment into the wash carelessly with hardly any hesitation.

The girl had even elbowed into his brain during an important self-care session. He’d been sitting in his glorified bathtub— which, in shallow honesty, is just a jacuzzi— with his cock twitching in his palm while his head hung over the edge, an orgasm teetering along the trench of his stomach as he’d repeatedly thumbed over his tip. When he’d finally coaxed himself into a climax, moans running freely across the empty halls of his home, the image he saw in those short moments of pure bliss was of her. It was Y/N, sitting in front of him with her hands clasped between her bare thighs obediently, his prick running along the length of her warm tongue as her eyes pleaded for him to cum.

But, as he’d stated before, the picture had only lasted a handful of seconds. As soon as his high had died down, it had disintegrated to ash, and he’d been left with a slightly startled mental imprint in its wake, which had faded away within minutes. He hadn’t thought of her since.

That is, until now. Until the surface of his jade eyes are reflecting the message his phone had just received at nearly ten P.M., her identity obvious in her choice of emojis.

A disco ball. The exact same character he’d assigned himself beside his name in her contact list. It was an inside joke; a result of the hatred they both shared for clubs, juxtaposed by the fact that they had met in one. It was a cute determining factor in their minimal acquaintanceship, and he’s always a sucker for a good paradox.

Harry continues to stare down at the text message, trying to conjure up some type of answer. She couldn’t have caught him at a better time, quite literally. She could be his saving grace tonight, if he plays his cards right. Maybe if he swoons her enough, she’ll invite him over again, and he can avoid another night full of shit-faced idiots and blinding strobe lights.

After careful consideration, he swipes open into their new text conversation and taps back a reply he deems appropriate, satisfied with how it shows his personality— the same one the mortal girl had been so taken with upon their first encounter.

Well, this is awkward. I don’t remember giving my number to a disco ball.

The vampire waits idly for a response, watching as the message delivers and is immediately marked by a read receipt. He doesn’t know why, but he likes that she has them on.

A swift pause follows— in which he has no doubt she’s probably attempting to come up with some type of witty remark to his— and then the three grey bouncing bubbles pop up, signifying that she’s typing back. His device bloops with her response, vibrating in his large palms.

Funny as ever, I see. It’s Y/N, from the club last Friday.

Harry’s slightly disappointed by her humor-lacking answer, but he’ll keep the interaction going for curiosity’s sake. Some people are fun in person and just not that bright virtually. Can’t always have it all.

Oh, hey, Y/N! So are you translating on behalf of the disco ball that wanted to talk to me or…?

He can practically see her eye rolling up at the grungy ceiling of her room and that notion makes his lips twitch.

Ha. Ha. Hilarious! But no, I’M the one who wants to talk to you, actually.

Harry can feel her sarcastic tone through this specific message and that gives him hope. Maybe she does have social networking skills.

Oh. Well, give the disco ball my best regards then, will you? Don’t want it to think I’m being rude and casting it aside.

The creature can’t see it, but now Y/N’s lips are the ones jolting as she sits on her bed in nothing but a towel, damp hair beading water down her naked shoulders and back.

How caring of you! I’ll pass on the message.

A full grin begins to edge across Harry’s cheeks as she returns his banter just as easily as she would face to face, dimples threatening to indent into place. That’s more like it.

His fingers poise over the keyboard, mind flicking through the different scenarios he could steer this conversation towards. He has to be perceptive and respectful, but also keep her entertained. He figures asking about her intentions is the best route to take, but he’ll do it subtly. Being too direct could come off pushy.

So...what gives me the honor of basking in your presence tonight, hm?

He adds a thinking face emoji to the end of the text as an afterthought. He rarely uses emoticons, but now is as good a time as any to start, especially because he has to seem like someone who belongs to her generation, rather than a Victorian era immortal.

Well, you said if I wanted more interior design advice to shoot you a text so...here I am, seeking your expertise.

Harry allows himself to break into a wide simper at the shrouded compliment. It goes right to his ego, just as he likes it. She’s smart.

My expertise, huh? I take it that my taste in wallpaper left you pretty satisfied last time, then?

A similar grin buckles Y/N’s face at his playful smugness and she bites into the side of her index finger to try and suppress it. After a moment of thought, she releases her digit from between her teeth and taps back.

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

Harry scoffs coyly, leaning his shoulder against the lightly fogged black marble wall of his bathroom, his friends and plans for the night all but forgotten. He’s having too much fun flirting to pay anything else much mind.

My pleasure, love. I’d be more than happy to give it again, anytime you need it. Just make sure to fill out the customer service survey my boss emailed you. I’m shooting for a raise and could really use the brownie points.

“Cute.” Y/N murmurs to herself in amusement, her chest fluttering as a result of the pet name, alongside how well they’re getting on. It’s almost like no time has passed at all. Almost as if they’re friends.

She’d been nervous to reach out, fearing that he’d see it and ignore her— or worse, leave her on read. Needless to say, this is going way better than she could’ve hoped

Already filled that out. Gave you five stars and everything. Would’ve given you six if it was allowed.

Harry shifts his weight against the surface he’s using for support, chuckling softly as he gnaws along the inside of his cheek. He feels like a teenager with all of this borderline childish back-and-forth. He’s not mad about it, though. It’s pretty enjoyable.

Thank you so much for your input! It’s taken into deep consideration. VERY deep consideration, if I recall correctly.

Warmth pours into Y/N’s cheeks at his innuendo, and she somewhat hates that he can get her all flustered without actually being present. He’s really good at this. A true lucky strike, to put it in his own words.

I’m glad my standards are held so highly, especially since I’m trying to book another advising appointment with you.

Is that so?

Very much so. How about tonight, if you’re free? I’ve got a dire situation with some wood paneling that I just can’t handle alone.

The vampire’s irises flare crimson red in triumph. It looks like he won't have to put himself through another mortifying ordeal tonight, after all.

I’m on a tight schedule, Y/N. These expertise are highly sought after, yanno?

Y/N snorts at his pompous joke. “Moron.”

Another text comes in from Harry before she can even think of a response.

However, I think I might be able to squeeze you in for a help session today. Say in about 10 to 15 minutes?

With newly brightened eyes, Y/N gives the message five repasses to make sure she’d interpreted it correctly. She can’t believe he’d agreed, especially at an hour when most people already have weekend plans cemented for the night. And by the length of time he’d given her to prepare, she’s extremely thankful she’d decided to shower prior to attempting a booty-call.

Sounds perfect. Do you need me to send you my address or do you remember, by some miracle?

Don’t worry about it, pet. I have a pretty good memory of that night. You made it hard to forget.

Another layer of heat crawls up her neck and into her ears. She knows this is a casual thing, at best, but for some reason, the idea that he had deemed her unforgettable makes her entire body feel like it’s glowing. She tries to brush it off, chalking up his compliment to how they’d seen each other barely a week ago so of course he remembered. It was fairly fresh in both their minds.

But Y/N is from an area where she was just another face in the crowd— another timid girl in an ocean of a hundred small-town carbon copies— and she’d certainly never referred to herself as anything particularly special. To have Harry, who is such a refined and attractive person, who most likely has dozens of hook-ups under his belt, call her that? Of all people? It just hits differently.

She shakes herself out of her head, remembering that a very interesting boy is waiting for a response on the other end of her phone.

Alright, then. See you in 10 to 15 minutes, Mr…?

Y/N comes to the realization that she doesn’t even know his last name. She doesn’t know the last name of the guy she’d let into her house and between her legs. God, if her parents could see her now...They’d blow California into a crater.

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles.

She immediately recognizes the reference, chewing at her bottom lip to keep a tab on a girly giggle. It’s probably not healthy how easily he reduces her into such a dopey puddle.

Alright, then, Mr. Harry Styles. See you soon?

Very soon. Can’t wait to show you the wood samples I just found.

With a sly smirk dimpling his cheeks, Harry pushes off the elegant stone wall of his luxury bathroom, locking his device and absentmindedly tapping it along his palm as he does a quick mind-sweep of the interaction he’d just had. He’s going to get his needs taken care of—both intimate and carnal— by a girl with whom he meshes with so well, no less. This night has taken an unexpected turn for the better, and he’s never been more thankful for making such a rash decision the morning after a one night stand.

The shrill boom of an Irish accent breaks Harry out of his flirty stupor, the sound bounding up the stairs of his flat and echoing off the tiles in his bathroom. “Harry, did you fucking desicate up there, you prick?!”

The vampire’s head snaps to the side towards where the sudden intrusion is originating, clearing his throat softly before answering, mostly to anchor himself back into the present. He’d been too busy floating in a daydream bubble to give his friends any proper attention. “I’m on my way down!”

Harry flicks off the light switch to his master bathroom, heading into his dimly lit bedroom and scooping up his wallet from its usual spot on top of the dresser. He tucks it into the wide front pocket of his slacks along with his cell phone, rounding the king-sized mattress at the center of his space, footsteps muffled by the thick maroon carpeting across the ground. He stops under the doorframe, giving his room one last calculating glance to make sure he isn’t leaving anything important behind. Once the creature is sure he’s set, he reaches over and slides the switch meter all the way down until the hanging lamps on the ceiling fade to black.

Harry clambers down the glass and metal staircase, passing the collection of original paintings organized across the expanse of the largest wall in his home. His friends spot him from the huge couch once he’s halfway down the steps, and of course Niall is the first to make his presence audible.

“Fucking finally.” The blue-eyed vampire groans in exasperation, shooting up from his seat beside Xander, arms falling across his lean chest. “I thought you’d died. Really died.”

Harry dismounts the last stair carefully, heeled boots making a soft clicking sound against the polished light-wash wood of his floorboards. He pushes a few rogue curls out of his eyes, the corners of his mouth jilting upwards teasingly as he regards the fellow immortal. “If I have to keep staring at that shitty paisley button-up you’re wearing, I just might.”

Niall’s irritated expression shatters into one of sheer hurt, hands fumbling with the silk fabric of his shirt, lips melting into a pained pout as he contemplates it sadly. His tone comes out whiney and defensive. “Hey! I really like this one!”

Harry side-steps the boy, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Your fashion sense makes me question my friendship with you.”

Niall’s face pinches with anger, thick brows furrowing as he roughly swats the brunette’s wrist away. “And your dickhead attitude makes me question mine.”

Harry’s jade eyes dance with evil glee as he returns his palm to where it had been resting before to give a curt squeeze, his rings playfully digging into the muscle beneath Niall’s top. “And yet here you are, sitting on my couch, waiting to get into my car. Funny how that works, innit? We benefit from one another. Mutualism at its finest.”

The Irish man shrugs himself free of his friend’s hold once again, glaring at him with darkening eyes, but there’s no true malice behind it. “More like parasitism.”

“So are you two gonna kiss now or what?” Mitch’s soft, mocking voice butts in as he drifts up beside Niall, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark denim straight jeans and his long hair tied back into a low ponytail. He’s wearing a light-wash Rolling Stones t-shirt he’d gotten at a concert he and Harry had attended back in the eighties, along with a pair of scuffed up sneakers. Pretty casual for a club— too casual, in Harry’s opinion. “The sexual tension is killing the audience.”

The green-eyed boy cranes his sight back onto Niall, raising his eyebrows in question and puckering his lips. “What d’you say, Ni? Wanna kiss this little disagreement better? I’m down.”

The pale young man makes a gagging noise, stepping away. “Don’t know where your mouth’s been. But if your bed fellows have anything to say about it, it’s nowhere good. I’m going to respectfully decline.”

“There was absolutely nothing respectful in that response.” Adam chimes in, chuckling as he bumps Niall’s shoulder with his own, hands clasped casually behind his back. “You need to work on your people skills.”

“My people skills are fine.” Niall quips back sarcastically. “Harry just isn’t a person, he’s a demon.”

“Technically, we all are.” The curly-haired vampire points out, walking over to his matte leather couch and retrieving a pin-striped, grey-black fitted blazer from its backrest. He tosses the jacket over his shoulders, shrugging it on and fixing the material over his torso, the curves of the piece accentuating the strong muscles of his back and the dip of his slender waist. “I just don’t care to hide it, really. Especially not when it comes to Niall’s taste in clothes. Which is rubbish, by the way. If that wasn’t clear before.”

“It was.” Niall deadpans, gaze half-lidded and petty.

Harry fixes the sleeves of his coat around his forearms, smoothing out any wrinkles and buttoning the cuffs. He momentarily ducks into the kitchen, his enhanced eyesight spotting the small digital time-stamp of the oven even from across the room. He has less than thirteen minutes before he has to be at Y/N’s flat. He should’ve suggested a longer time span.

Harry turns back around to fully face his crew, situating his collar into place by folding it along the back of his neck, appraising their expectant appearances. They’re all waiting for him. He’s the one driving, after all.

The immortal clears his throat, hands dropping to pat at his blazer pocket, making sure that his keys are in his possession. He sighs lightly through his nose, a knowing grin trying to force its way onto his lips but he keeps it at bay, wanting to maintain a straight expression to garner less backlash for the news he’s about to break.

“I’m not going.”

The pause that fills the atmosphere and the blank faces his friends dote are almost comical. Harry bats his eyelashes at them without a single twitch or jerk of his features. He wants them to understand he’s being serious.

After at least ten heartbeats— a guess, considering no one in the room has one to provide an accurate measurement— a raging exclamation explodes from behind the other three vampires in front of him.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Harry watches in mild amusement as Xander stomps up from behind the group, shouldering between Mitch and Adam and sticking him with a glower dark enough to instill fear in any living being. But Harry is hardly living, and he’s definitely not scared of a vampire who’s practically a newborn. Xander’s the youngest of them in terms of the immortality scale— he’d transitioned back in nineteen ninety-six when he was thirty, which gives the illusion that he’s older when in reality, he isn’t— so Harry’s strength easily outmatches his. Xander is basically the puppy of the circle, and he’s certainly yappy and annoying enough to support that title. His lack of age and wisdom is also probably why he’s the most explosive.

Harry kinks an eyebrow up at the taller, tanned man, looping only one button through its designated hole in the middle of his jacket. That will allow him to show off what lies beneath it while also making sure the article won’t be a pest in the windy California night. “I’m not kidding. Something else came up that...peaked my interest.”

Xander’s fists momentarily clench by his sides and he then folds his arms across his lightly heaving chest, trying to hide his anger away along the insides of his elbows. He spits his words through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his cadence level. “What could have possibly come up so late that you only let use know after we waited for you for over an hour?”

Harry can’t stop himself from smirking this time around, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards with condescension. The statement that he produces is all too familiar to Xander, given that it mirrors the reply he had used on Harry exactly a week ago, when the leader of the group had asked him what his intentions were once they’d gotten inside their club for the night. “I have a date.”

Xander’s entire face flushes a faint shade of cherry red. His forearms tighten across his body, tone more strained than before as he actively wills himself to remain calm. “A date?”

The shorter vampire smiles at him with fake innocence, working his every nerve like it’s his job. Harry doesn’t know why, but pissing Xander off is always such a delectable pastime. “Yup. With a girl I met last week, actually.”

“You don’t go on dates.” Niall pipes up, looking around at the other men in the room in confusion, almost as if his comment should be obvious. “You rarely even spend the night. Said so yourself.”

Harry shrugs one shoulder indifferently, checking his reflection in the closest section of the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline, the lights of the cars and buildings below twinkling otherworldly. “I guess it’s less a date and more a booty-call, to be honest. I only agreed ‘cause it’s easier than having to drag my ass to that horrid club you chose to spend hours trying to find someone. This meal’s already prim, proper, and served. And I know for a fact I’ll enjoy it, so there’s no real harm.”

He turns back to Xander, the man’s peeved reaction tickling him more than he thought it would. “What was that you said last time, Xanny?”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Oh, yeah! I'm just grabbing a to-go box for my already prepped meal.”

Harry’s friend’s cheeks dye a deeper shade of crimson, dark veins webbing across the iridescent whites of his eyes for a flickering second. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Harry counters the angry expression with a bright smile, his dialect dripping with arrogance. “Girls dig it. And you seemed to dig it, too, if I recall correctly. Remember? You might not. Post-orgasm amnesia and all that.”

Xander takes a measured inhale, releasing it slowly and allowing his anger to ebb away gradually, ignoring Harry’s blast from the past. His next question is physically directed towards their ex-chauffeur, but is truly aimed at the gang as a whole. “Who’s going to take us, then?”

The curly-haired vampire shrugs his shoulders once again, uninterested in the topic that is quickly growing old. “You could take Niall’s car. Problem solved.”

The whole clique lives in the same condo complex, mostly due to convenience. It’s already tricky for vampires to find others of their kind, so it’s a miracle that they’d all managed to end up together in the first place. And it’s an even bigger miracle that they got along well enough to form a tight-knit coven, which is the closest thing any of them now have to family. Living in close proximity is the ideal way of maintaining that rare bond, plus it allows them to help each other in staying safe and keeping their urges in line.

Since they all live in the same building, Niall’s car is in the garage right beside Harry’s, so transportation shouldn’t be an issue. They just always take his vehicle because he’s the only one that actually enjoys driving.

“Are you mental? Like actually, genuinely insane?” Xander sputters in appalled shock. “Niall drives like a lunatic!”

“Oi, piss off! Maybe you should learn to drive then, huh? Instead of having all those guys you shag take you everywhere.”

Xander ignores Niall’s insult, putting his palms up in disgust, backing away. “I refuse to get in a car with him behind the wheel. Dying once was good enough for me.”

“Did I miss the memo?” Niall snaps, glimpsing around at all the monsters standing around him, attitude tight with annoyance. “Y’know, the one where you all just decided to shit on me tonight?”

Harry bursts into an airy cackle, listing his head to the side as he gives Niall a humorous once-over, his dangly cross earring dabbing across the crisp cut of his coat’s shoulder blade. “You don’t necessarily make it hard, love.”

Niall’s jaw clenches as he narrows his icy blue eyes. “Xander’s right— you are an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, he’s also right about you driving like you’re on tranquilizers.” Adam sighs, running a palm up his face, using his index finger and thumb to massage either of his temples, despite the fact that they lack a pulse. “I guess I could drive? I hate it, but Mitch hates it more, so I’m our best bet. Better than Road Runner over here.”

“Yeah, just keep talking about me like I’m not present. That’s fine. I’m spitting venom in all your drinks tonight.”

“Well,” Harry boasts abruptly, interrupting the game of verbal ping-pong happening in front of him, taking a quick peek at his phone for the time. As much as he loves causing some good-natured chaos between his friends, he has less than ten minutes to make it to Y/N’s apartment on time and traffic’s a bitch at this hour. “I have nothing to do with this anymore, so I’m just gonna take my leave. You lot have fun figuring this out.”

He swivels around on his heel, striding away with his usual haughty air straightening his back, heading towards the corridor that leads to the front entrance of the apartment. The softly lit hallway swallows his silhouette and for the first time since he’d left the secluded confines of his bathroom, he allows a giddy smile of excitement to tweak his lips. Just for a second and not a moment longer. If his friends had seen it, they would’ve taken the piss.

Niall’s accent cuts through the air, prickling at his ears as the glossy, cold doorknob comes into contact with his even colder fingers. “I can’t believe you’d abandon us just to get laid!”

“Lock the door on your way out!”

///

When a sharp knock echoes across Y/N’s flat, she nearly screams.

Her nerves have been on edge since the last text she’d received; only after reading that final cheeky message had the reality of the situation hit.

This isn’t her. This isn’t her at all.

Inviting a total stranger into her home and into her bed was something she’d never experienced before last week. One night stands were very few and very far for her— she could count all the ones she’d had on a single hand, and even then they had been with people she had known to some extent— and it was due to the fact that this type of situation is slathered in mystery and unsureness. Giving herself up in such an intimate manner to someone she wasn’t acquainted to in some shape or form…It comes with a certain amount of risk, both physically and emotionally, which is why she hardly ever engaged in such activities before Harry.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with having that type of exhilarating fun in your life— she praises the women who can go around so confidently and express their sexuality however they please— but she herself had been raised under a roof that was moderate and conservative, and that environment had molded her into the person she had grown up to be. Those traditional concepts ran through the core of her being, and no matter how hard she tried to shake them, they refused to break loose. They weighed on her shoulders, constantly making her second-guess her motives and desires, most of which go against the status quo that had been implemented into her brain from a young age. This— whatever this is— is a huge step for her; it’s the first attempt she’s made to take over her own life and go against the grain she’d been accustomed to her whole existence.

From the second Y/N had arrived here in Los Angeles and set a foot off the plane, she had been alone. Everyone who cared for her was miles and miles away and she was starting a new chapter on a completely blank page, with no one to guide her hand as she wrote. For the two months she’d spent settling in and trying to meld into her new environment, she had gone at it with a sense of emptiness hollowing the pit of her stomach. No one was there to comfort her during the rough patches, and no one cared enough yet to assure her that things would turn out alright. No one had bothered to tell her she was safe and that nothing would hurt her. No one made themselves available the way people did back home.

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago.

Their encounter had been purely for sexual gratification, but during that short time they shared, she vividly remembered him telling her that she could trust him. It was a preposterous statement to make— asking someone to trust you when you didn’t even know their last name— but the gaze in his emerald eyes had seemed so genuine and encouraging, and his voice had been so gentle and soothing, and his touch had been so delicate and consoling...That strange young man— with the pretty curls, intriguing tattoos, and dazzling smile— had somehow managed to untie the knot of unease that had been sitting in her belly for the last couple of weeks. She’s stumped on how he’d managed to wriggle it free; the only thing she can effectively say took a part in it was his eyes. There was just such a glass-like quality to them that reminded her of a mirror. It was like they were reflecting all her emotions back at her, using their familiarity to compel her into a state of mental peace. She’d appreciated it more than she’d let on.

Something tells Y/N that this is the reason she had contacted him. She wanted to feel that safety net he had provided her with once again. She didn’t need an emotional connection from Harry, she just needed a bit of mental relief. She wanted something to take her mind off all her troubles. Something to distract her, even if it was only for a few hours. And with the way Harry had handled her last time, she knows he’s more than capable of helping her reach those goals.

Y/N doesn’t think anyone has ever made her feel how Harry had that semi-drunken Friday night. She’d been with a few other people before, and had even been in a long-term relationship with someone she had once thought would end up being her husband, but none of those men came close to this peculiar stranger.

In the town she was from, it was typical for people to marry their high school sweethearts. It was a small region where everyone either knew one another or knew of one another, so it wasn’t difficult to find someone that could fit into the role that needed to be filled. The person she had found was a boy by the name of Bradley, who she had begun to date their freshman year of high school.

They’d met through mutual friends and he’d invited her to their first ever homecoming dance, where she had felt like everything was falling into place almost like in a movie. He was cute, with hazel eyes, sun-bleached hair, and freckles that jolted every time he laughed. He was polite, funny, and treated her with enough respect and dignity to keep her hooked for a while. Things had gone pretty well the four years they were together in high school; their relationship wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exciting either. It was just...secure. He was there, and he was willing to give her his attention, and that’s all that really mattered to her at the time. She thought that was all she needed.

Then graduation came and went, and so did Bradley. He left for college, set on the intention that they would make long distance work somehow. To keep a long story short, it hadn’t worked out how they expected. As the months passed, she noticed he started to separate himself from her more and more. The video chats are what disappeared first; what used to be a daily FaceTime call turned into a weekly one and then, if she was lucky, a monthly one. Phone calls followed the same fate. Texting became a chore rather than something to look forward to and she could feel him slipping, which left her feeling helpless because he was in another state, far away and too out of reach to appropriately solve anything. Energized conversations slowly faltered into five-word messages, which eventually teetered into barely any communication at all.

When Y/N heard the news that he’d cheated on her, it didn’t even come from him. It came from his roommate. Things ended swiftly after that, which was the saddest thing of all. Almost five years of her life, completely gone to waste. Handling the pain was a whole other misery she’d had to shoulder, alongside the embarrassment and humiliation, which stemmed from the fact that she was aware her peers had heard about the whole ordeal. With the help of her family and friends, she’d eventually gotten over the heartbreak. The weird thing is, she doesn’t think she loved him. She loved the idea of him— loved that he represented everything she had been raised to seek in a relationship. They’d grown up together, their families knew one another, they shared the same friends, they had common hobbies. It was like a match made in heaven, though after it broke off, she quickly came to the realization that it hadn’t been made in heaven at all. Made in a test tube was a more fitting analogy.

Y/N’s love life after that painfully slow cliche disaster consisted of random boys around town she recognized from school and work. The hook-ups were fleeting and hardly satisfying, but at least they were something. She soon found out that she could do better on her own, but whenever she craved someone else’s touch, she was grateful to have anyone she could get. She’d mainly stuck to the same guys for the sake of consistency; it was easier having people she already knew how to please and vice versa, though she’ll admit it was mostly a one way street. Men can be so clueless sometimes that it’d be funny if it wasn’t so irritating.

Then Y/N had skipped town and closed off sexually for a while. She had stayed shut down until Harry had walked into her life with that stupid sly smirk and his unorthodox— yet surprisingly attractive—fashion sense, sipping straight tequila like a fucking psycho from the cup in his jeweled fingers. He’d waltzed right onto the stool beside her at the bar, right out of the club with her hand in his, and then right past the doorframe of her apartment, kindly gifting her the best sex of her entire life. He’d worked her every desire with a certain skill and awareness she had never experienced (not from any of her past lovers, and definitely not from Bradley’s vanilla tendencies), dismantling her body as if he’d known her for decades, leaving her sore and aching in a way she didn’t know was humanly possible.

And now here Y/N is, pacing back and forth from her small living room to her even smaller kitchen, chewing along the knuckle of her forefinger as she tries to tie down the jitters running amuck in her belly.

She repeatedly smooths down the dress she’s wearing, claiming that it’s to get rid of the wrinkles, but in truth, it’s to wipe the dampness from her palms. The outfit had been a birthday present from her cousin the year before and she’s rarely worn it since the move, which is a direct result of her lack of socializing. She only ever really leaves her home for groceries and to attend work, neither of which call for a pretty sundress and strappy tan sandals. Despite having gone out to the club a few times, the dress doesn’t fit that scene either. LA gets a bit chilly at night and she has yet to grow accustomed to the city’s weather. Wearing this after-hours would surely end with her acquiring a mild case of hypothermia.

The garment is a light blue baby doll design, littered with tiny daffodil prints of varying shapes and colors. It stops about three-fourths down her thigh, fluttering outwards in layered flares, its bandeau-style top held in place by thin straps of the same fabric. She figured she’d deck herself out nicely; from the one interaction she’d had with Harry, she can tell he’s a person of refined taste. It was evident in his expensive clothing and his wide variety of precious rings. She doesn’t know why, but there’s a toiling in the pit of her tummy urging to impress him.

Y/N’s hair has been freshly washed and blow-dried, her legs thoroughly shaved into silk, and she’d applied a light layer of makeup, done in anticipation that anything heavier would likely end up smeared across her face— a result of sweat and Harry’s dominant persona. Simply reflecting on his commanding sensual presence makes her self-pedicured toes curl in her sandals.

Y/N hadn’t been sure on how to prepare for his arrival. She wasn’t versed in advanced hook-up culture— her raunchiest experience was in the backseat of someone's 2004 Toyota Corolla. She doesn’t want to get this wrong. Going overboard would make him feel smothered and awkward, but underselling would give him the impression that she doesn’t have any respect for him, save for what lies between his legs. Those are the last two things she wants him to gather from this.

She’d settled for pulling out a bottle of red wine that had been a house-warming present from the landlord. Not too shabby, but not too loud. And who doesn’t enjoy a cup of half-decent wine on a Friday evening, right?

Y/N had just finished arranging two glasses— which she’d found at the thrift shop down the street for a steal— onto the counter of her kitchen when that swift rapping sound had broken through the tense air of her home, echoing from the front door and causing a yelp to lodge in her throat.

Ice shoots through her veins. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She takes a handful of penetrating breaths, concentrating on how the cool air feels expanding her lungs. The technique aids in calming some of her nerves, grounding her just enough that she can will herself to move without her knees giving out. Y/N tentatively makes her way down the corridor that leads to her front door, heart hammering against her ribs. She shouldn’t be this riled up— he’s literally already been inside her. There’s pretty much nothing she can hide from him at this point.

On the other side of the door, Harry is blissfully ignorant to the panic attack threatening to overcome Y/N.

The vampire leans his shoulder against the frame of the somewhat raggedy door, arms crossed over his thick chest as his gaze bounces judgmentally around all the patches of peeling paint. He chews at a piece of gum— which he’d popped into his mouth on the drive over to make sure he tastes as delectable as always— in slow, lazy motions, jaw flexing as he unconsciously pops an array of tiny bubbles with his teeth, waiting for Y/N to emerge.

Harry glances up at the flickering light bulb in the hallway of the complex, nose scrunching in distaste at the annoying flashing. She really needs to get a better place, he thinks, reaching up and dragging the pad of his middle finger along the curve of his bottom lip, absentmindedly wiping off a bit of extra chapstick that had colored outside the lines when he’d applied it. He always tries to keep his mouth soft, especially when he knows he’s going to be using it. Plus, the vanilla bean flavor pairs well with mint.

The sound of a seal cracking open yanks his attention, the door before him slowly swinging inwards. Cool air pours from inside, bathing him in a scent that his frenzied instincts had been subconsciously craving the last couple of days. Harry cranes his neck over his shoulder, spitting his gum out and not bothering to watch where it lands. He turns back just as Y/N’s familiar figure comes into view.

The first thing he notices is the dress.

Fuck, the dress.

It’s nothing too fancy, just a casual sundress, but it fits her like it was made specifically for the purpose of testing his restraint. He rakes his gaze up and down her body shamelessly, much like he had on the night they met.

The light blue background and rainbow miniature floral print compliments her skin tone nicely, making it stand out below the dingy light hanging above their heads. The piece lands about halfway down her thigh, fanning around her legs slightly in frilly folds, tempting him with that bit of innocent exposure. An image of him ripping the dress up her thighs races across the forefront of his mind and he can feel his fangs momentarily break through his gums.

As Harry draws his sight upwards, the minimal throbbing between his legs only amplifies. The dress cinches just below her bust, accentuating her chest, and he comes to the painful realization that she’s not wearing a bra underneath; she doesn’t need it due to the bralette-like top. One simple tug of his index finger would leave her completely bare and that conclusion causes a sweltering itch to erupt along the back of his throat.

Harry’s irises finally come to rest on her face, finding that the rest of the human girl’s look appears just as it had last week. Minimal makeup, no accessories, and the smell of chamomile shampoo strung through her hair, though it’s easily smothered by her natural scent of flowers and sugar. He also finds that while he had been blatantly undressing her with his eyes, she had delighted herself in doing the same. Watching her gawk at him hungrily caresses his ego immensely, evident in how the edges of his mouth kink.

Y/N doesn’t mean to ogle, she really doesn’t. But from the instant he’d come into view, standing there propped against her threshold with his ankles crossed and his lean arms folded over his strong chest, she couldn’t control it. He just looks so fucking good— better than last time, which she didn’t think was plausible— and she gets the feeling that he knows he looks borderline godly.

Harry’s clad in what appears to be a sheer mesh flouncy button-up with holographic threads speckled through the material, shimmering under the dim atmosphere of the hallway. The last three holes of the shirt are left open, exposing his tanned pectorals and thoroughly inked chest. Last time they had been together, she’d been too distracted by the aching between her thighs to properly notice the swallow tattoos along his collarbones and the giant butterfly at the crest of his stomach. But now, she stares at them freely as they expand and contract with his easy breaths, her mouth beginning to water.

The blouse is covered by a dark pinstriped blazer, the crisp shoulder blades of the jacket complimenting his broad frame as the curves dip along his waist alluringly. The loose top is tucked in along the brim of yet another pair of high-waisted trousers, though they are creme-colored instead of copper. The ironed pants give way to a pair of glossy black heeled boots, which are bedazzled along the back of the two-inch elevation, the jewels twinkling in the shape of a word that she can’t make out at this angle.

Harry’s collection of luxurious rings and necklaces adorn their usual spots and she gets the impression that he never leaves home without them. His gold cross earring sways back and forth lightly, her warped reflection cast across its surface and staring back at her numbly.

Harry breaks through the haze his physique had cast on her brain.

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.”

A shiver slithers down her spine at the deep baritone of his voice, English accent slathered across every syllable and dripping with suggestive teasing. She’d forgotten how sultry he sounds, even when he’s not actively striving for it.

Y/N’s attention jets up from where it had been pasted to his body, the expression across his handsome features one of snarky self-assurance, which tells her she’d been caught. Indents cave into his cheeks, twitching with glee as he bats his lashes slowly, eyes going half-lidded in amusement. He looks so sinful with those shiny ringlets curling around his small ears, framing his sharp jaw and kissing the nape of his neck, alongside those raspberry red lips and the emerald hue sparkling around his pupils. She can’t tear herself away.

After an elongated second of silence on her part, Harry raises one of his sculpted brows expectantly, letting her know he’s waiting for a response. Heat overflows Y/N’s cheeks and buzzes across the shells of her ears.

“H-Hi. Uh— Nice to see you. Too. Nice to see you, too.”

An odd sense of déjà vu flags in the back of her skull and she’s reminded that this is exactly how they’d met the first time around— with her making an utter fool of herself, much to his entertainment.

The crescent above his top lip curves upwards as a result of his grin widening. He taps the tip of his elegant shoe patiently against the cement ground, arms shifting against his chest and she can see the way his biceps strain the fabric of his coat. He’s just so fit.

Harry’s tone comes out playful and lighthearted. He doesn’t need to be invited in again since she’s already explicitly allowed him in before, but he asks anyways, out of courtesy. “Can I come in? Or are you planning on taking me dancing or summat?”

The laugh that escapes Y/N is dense with a nervous edge, but it’s better than a stuttering jumble of incoherent words. She moves out of the way, flushing her back to the wall of the tiny entrance corridor and leaving just enough room for him to squeeze by. “Yes, come on in! Sorry.”

“You’re alright, darling.” The tall vampire steps forward into the mortal’s home, turning sideways as he does so, chest pressing against her own. He glances down at her lips for a flash of a moment, then back to her eyes. “Thank you.”

Y/N’s grip on her doorknob tightens. She looks up at him through her lashes, bottom lip barely trembling. “No problem. Thanks for coming over on such short notice.”

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth, pressing it to the inside of cheek as he absorbs the mildly erotic image of Y/N decked out in a frilly dress, glancing up at him shyly as her chest heaves slightly against his own. “Well, I couldn’t leave you to handle that pesky wood paneling all on your own, now could I?”

A smile ghosts over her delicate lips as she shuts the door and locks it, not breaking eye contact. “How generous of you. My hero.”

Far from it, love.

Y/N slips out from where Harry had wedged her to the wall, beckoning him after her with a gentle turn of her head. The creature tucks his hands into his front pockets, following her down the narrow stretch. They drift past her room (he makes sure not to look in and spare himself the horror of seeing that dumb tapestry) and past her bathroom, into the expanse of her living area. It’s just as small and cozy as he remembers it and he can’t stop himself from scoffing lightly as his sight drifts over the couch. Good memories.

“Would you like some wine?” Y/N’s question carries softly from inside her kitchen. She’s already gripping the glass bottle in her hand, attempting to pull out the cork, and she hadn’t thought of needing a wine-opener until now. Fuck.

Harry makes his way to join her, passing underneath the archway and taking the spot across from the girl. He leans his lower back on the counter, hands remaining perched casually in his slacks. “I’d love some.”

“Great.” She huffs, twisting stubbornly at the spongy cap with all the might she can muster, the rough surface scratching her palm. “Let me just— just get this open.”

Harry’s head lists sideways as he wards off a chuckle. “Want some help?”

Y/N releases an irritated grunt, shoulders slumping a tad as she fails to get the top loose. She holds out the bottle towards her visitor, titling it from side to side in surrender. “Be my guest.”

The immortal pulls his hands out from his pockets, taking the container from her grasp and the human notices how they dwarf the bottle. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is.

Harry wraps his ring-clad digits around the cork, giving it one easy twist and Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off as she hears a pop tinge the air. Harry offers her the wine and cap in return, licking his lips to avoid laughing in her face. Supernatural strength always delivers.

“How…?” Y/N’s owlish eyes flicker back and forth between Harry’s cocky expression and the object in his hands. “How did you even...?”

The brunette gives her a nonchalant shrug. “Guess you loosened it up for me, Thor.”

She gingerly takes the beverage and its accompaniment from his outstretched palms, blinking at him in mild shock. Her slight unease is swiftly phased out, however; a result of his cute banter. It was probably just a lucky coincidence. “I guess so.”

Y/N pours out two glasses of the dark red liquid, handing one to Harry, feeling her heart skip a beat when he wraps his hold around the stout flute and their fingers brush. He stays like that for a heartbeat, with his icy digits sifted between hers, the amber specks in his irises glittering like diamonds. Then, the moment is over and he pulls away slowly, guiding his drink up to his plush lips. She hates how he can leave her so breathless without a single hitch.

The girl watches as Harry takes a leisurely sip of the alcohol, his gaze dancing around her kitchen curiously as she finishes recapping the bottle and scooting it into the corner of the counter.

A thought dawns on her as soon as she focuses back onto the boy before her. Harry looks weird. He looks so weird standing in her small, dingy kitchen with its worn wooden cabinets and fake marble tabletop. He looks so out of place, dressed head to toe in designer brands and fancy fabrics, hands and neck decorated with posh jewelry, and the unmistakable smell of an expensive cologne wafting from his masculine throat. And he most certainly is out of place when it comes to who he’s associating with. He’s out of Y/N’s league, not only physically, but in his behaviors, as well. It’s so obvious it almost hurts.

Yet here Harry is, looking polished and stylish, while she’s sporting a mere sundress that was probably bought off the clearance rack at Kohl’s. It just doesn’t mix, and she finds herself wondering why he’d chosen her in the first place. When she had voiced similar concerns the day they’d slept together, he had told her it was because she was timid and he wanted to see if he could break through that. But Y/N isn’t stupid. There has to be some other reason. Why else would a rich bachelor pay attention to a small-town runaway in a measly floral—

“I like your dress.”

Y/N glances up at Harry from where her mind had fallen, startled by the sudden interference in her dark thoughts. She’d been tracing across the slope of his structured jaw, mesmerized by how it would grow taut every time he swallowed down a gulp of his beverage.

She had ambled so deep in her head, she barely manages to mutter a passable answer. “Oh, thank you! I’ve had it for a bit, but I barely wear it.”

The edges of the vampire’s mouth quirk around the rim of his glass, creases wrinkling along the corners of his bright eyes. “It suits you nicely. A beautiful dress on a beautiful girl.”

Y/N’s belly somersaults, a sheepish giggle running along the undercurrent of her next mumble, so low it’s hardly audible. “Thank you. Again. Thought I’d bring it out for a special occasion.”

Harry’s eyebrows jump upwards at her comment. He draws his wine glass from between his lips, resting it against his hard stomach and gifting the human a cheeky once-over. “So I’m a special occasion, now, am I?”

Y/N looks down at the straps of her sandals, fighting off a grin. She shrugs one shoulder offhandedly, bringing her cup to her mouth and taking a long drag of the sweet liquor, feeling it wash across her tongue and leave a warm glow in her tummy. “Maybe.”

Harry hums teasingly in his throat, tapping his pinky pensively along the bottom of his glass, opal ring clinking against the crystalline surface. The color of his drink makes the black polish on his nails stand out almost artistically. “I’ll take any compliment I can get, especially from those pretty lips.”

Another wave of heat flushes across the apples of Y/N’s cheeks. “You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”

The monster tips back another swig of wine, savoring the notes of wild cherry and pomegranate in its palate. Not bad, especially for what he can tell is a ten dollar bottle.

He cocks his head to the side, irises glitzing knowingly amidst his long lashes. “I think we’re both aware that I most certainly know how to flatter a girl.”

Y/N’s stare snaps up to lock with his, the faintest whimper stringing her vocal chords. If it wasn’t for Harry’s heightened hearing, he would have never known it’d happened. But he does, and he can feel the throb between his thighs spike as a result. The sounds she makes are just as wonderful as he remembers.

The sexual tension suspending in the room is practically palpable. After a bundle of her heartbeats— which is gradually rising in intensity— echo in his ears, he decides to speak up again.

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

The statement can be taken into so many different contexts and that’s why Harry chose it. She could interpret it as innocent admiration on behalf of a smitten lover, or as another layer of sensual praise. It’s versatile, successful either way.

Y/N blinks at him exactly three times in surprise. “You have?”

She’d been thinking about him, too. Non-stop. And now that she knows it’s mutual, she doesn’t feel so nervous anymore. It reassures her that they’re on the same page of this messy novel written about their undefined association. Or that they are at least within the same chapter.

Harry bobs his head in confirmation, indulging another sip of wine, letting it filter through his taste buds slowly. His glass is almost empty. “Mmhm. Walked past this candle store at the mall the other day and they had one burning that smelled just like you.”

His confession is sweet and it makes the tips of her fingers tingle. Y/N copies his action, taking another gulp of her beverage, attitude airy and inquisitive. “Is that so? And what do I smell like?”

Harry’s response is immediate and confident, almost as if he’s spent time thinking on the subject prior to today. “Honey and lavender.”

Y/N nods her head in wonder, laughing gently. “That’s oddly specific.”

Harry feels like he’s been smacked between the eyes with an iron rod. That was an idiot move. Absolutely moronic.

He just now comes to terms with how intimate the comment he’d made had been. It suggests that he’s pondered on this topic, which gives the impression that he could be more interested in her than he actually is. He doesn’t need this loose connection turning into some type of cliche romantic comedy; he doesn’t have the space, patience, or emotional stability for it. And certainly not with someone he’s only fucked once.

The vampire clears his throat, figuring that he can clean up this metaphorical spill by throwing a bit of crudeness at it. “Then yesterday I had a donut, yeah? One of those cream-filled ones. And when I took a bite of it, all the cream just came oozing out and I was like, ‘hm, this reminds me of someone…’”

The slightly endeared expression on Y/N’s face crumbles to dust, voice shrill and indignant at his lewd analogy. “You fucking perv!”

Harry sputters into a round of boyish cackling, nearly wheezing when her foot reaches over and strikes him on the shin. He clasps over his stomach with his free hand, head falling back in glee as her features pinch in embarrassed disgust. He manages to speak between bursts of giggles, water gathering along his tear ducts due to how hard he’s laughing. “I’m just being honest!”

“No, you’re being a gross little fourteen year old asshole!” Y/N exclaims incredulously, but she can’t keep herself from joining in on his boasts of amusement.

His laughter is contagious. It’s loud and unapologetic in a manner she rarely sees in anyone and he just looks really fucking cute with his dimples jolting and smile lines creasing. It’s hard to stay mad at him, though it’s not like she’d truly been upset in the first place.

Harry reigns himself in, inhaling deep breaths and wiping at his tears with the back of his large hand as a joyful groan rumbles in his chest. A few more giggles sneak out when he sees Y/N’s flat expression, but he manages to stifle the rest. His tone is jesting, poking fun. “If it makes you feel any better, I was respectful enough to wipe the donut down with a napkin, as well.”

“Fuck off.”

Harry grins down snidely at the last inch or so of alcohol left in his glass, bringing it to his mouth and downing it all in one go. He places the cup down carefully on the counter behind him, his arms finding their way across his stomach, fingertips momentarily tapping at his elbows. He appraises a playfully grouchy Y/N, pursing his lips to hide a smirk.

He watches as she takes another small taste from her drink, her pulse lulled by its contents. She’s not drunk by any means— not even buzzed— but it had helped calm the tittering in her throat that Harry had been able to detect earlier. She’s relaxed now, all anxiousness washed away by the small serving of liquor and his inappropriate (and extremely funny, if he does say so himself) jokes.

The creature thinks it’s proper time he gets what he came for.

“I really am glad you reached out, though.” Harry starts, an easygoing smile nudging across his alcohol-swollen mouth. “Truly.”

Y/N snorts sarcastically, attempting to hide how his comment had made her pulse sharpen. He’d heard it anyways. “Oh, are you? Truly?”

Harry pushes himself off the edge of the counter, slowly sauntering over to Y/N, who instinctively draws back further against the tabletop behind her. She ogles at him from below heavy lashes, glass still perched between her tinted lips, excited anticipation written all over her body language. He can practically feel the heat radiating off her, rising a few notches the closer he gets.

“Yeah.” Harry’s arms unfold, one stretching over her shoulder to prop his palm against the cupboard behind her head, the other fiddling with the seam of his blazer. He slides his forefinger and thumb along the single buttoned hole, giving it a rough tug and allowing his jacket to spring open. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun interior designing with anyone. Not for a while.”

Y/N glimpses down at where his coat had parted, drinking up the sight of his lean torso behind the see-through material of his shirt. Now that he’s nearly pressed against her, his scent is stronger than before, burying her under smoky notes of vanilla and seasoned firewood. A familiar heat pools between her clasped thighs.

When she pipes up, it’s shaky and whispered, covered in a dreamy undercurrent. “Yeah, me either. It felt...nice.”

Harry’s irises flash crimson for a millisecond, but she’s too occupied gawking at his tight stomach to notice. His dialect takes on a low, seductive twang, the breath of his words fanning across her face. All she can smell is wine, mint, and...vanilla chapstick?

“It felt really nice.”

Y/N’s view drags up to land on his lips. They look as soft and appetizing as last time, tempting her to just drop her flute onto the floor and replace it with his mouth. “Extremely nice.”

An outside force suddenly tips her glass upwards and she realizes it’s Harry’s fingers. He nudges her cup until the liquid inside funnels towards her mouth, his intentions set on helping her finish it off. She drains the wine obediently, staring up at him dazed and moony, feeling a few drops escape along the sides of her mouth and tickle down her chin. The jade-eyed boy then gently pries the glass from her fingertips, reaching over and placing it inside her sink to be handled later.

Y/N’s hands fall flat against his thick chest, feeling it rise and fall steadily below her grasp as he takes a step forward, their bodies completely flushing together. His palm trails up the exposed sliver of her thigh, diving a couple of inches below her dress and giving the outer area a hard squeeze. He doesn’t go any further; he won’t until she explicitly asks for it. He’s a prick about a lot of things, but never consent.

Harry leans down, running the tip of his cold nose along her clenched jaw, his warm tongue peeking out to collect the streams of wine that had dripped out. The contrast in sensations makes her knees buckle and what he murmurs hotly against her skin doesn’t help in calming those motions at all.

“Wouldn’t mind making you feel that nice again.”

Y/N’s mind stalls, overwhelmed by his touch and smell. She can feel him sponging tender kisses at the corner of her mouth, and she can feel the palm of his hand massaging at her thigh needily. She can feel his breaths quickening in pace the longer he’s around her, and she can feel the foundation of a moan building in his lungs in the form of small vibrations, which run across her palms and twitch her fingers. She can feel everything; she’s never been more hyper-aware of her surroundings than now. And all because of this one mysterious young man.

When Y/N finally speaks, Harry feels relief flood his system, though it is swiftly replaced by intense desire.

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.”

That’s full permission if he’s ever heard it.

Harry’s other hand drops from its spot against the cupboard behind her, joining its partner on her opposite thigh. He coasts his palms fully below her flowy dress onto her hips, a lascivious simper crawling across his cheeks at the lack of extra fabric beneath her clothes. “No panties tonight?”

The human swallows heavily, shaking her head as she leans it back against the wooden cabinets, giving him access to her throat. At the sight, the vampire’s fangs protrude, cutting into the inside of his lower lip as venom fills his mouth. He wills himself to maintain control. It’s difficult, considering his sharp eyes can make out the chiseling of her arteries pumping blood just beneath her delicate skin, but he forces composure into his behavior nonetheless. With all of the lights on and Y/N completely sober, he knows he won’t get away with another mid-fuck stunt like the one he pulled last time they were in this position.

Instead, he distracts himself with what he can draw from her at this very moment— another unbelievable orgasm.

“Such a filthy little fucking thing.” Harry growls, smearing his lips down the center of her jugular, nipping love bites into her flesh but making sure not to split it open. “S’that how bad you wanted it when you texted me? So bad that you didn’t even bother to wear anything underneath?”

Y/N whines softly when he passes over a particularly tender spot along her neck, shuttering against his chest. “Y-Yes.”

A low chuckle rolls from Harry’s wandering tongue as he hones in on the area that had coaxed such a delicious reaction. “Fuck, that was such a pretty noise. Are you sensitive here, baby?”

Y/N nods with fervor, running her touch up his pectorals and over his strong shoulders, diving under his coat and fisting at the mesh that strains across his muscular back. Her eyes roll closed, her next confession coming out in the form of a feathery sigh, legs parting wider for him to comfortably fit in between. “I just...I just need you.”

Harry eagerly accepts the invitation, sifting between her thighs and hiking them up onto his hips. The fact that he can suspend her so effortlessly, almost as if she weighs nothing, makes the pit of her tummy boil. “You need me now, d’you? How much, doll? Want you to tell me how much you missed my cock.”

The young woman winces ever so slightly at the crude word and it amuses him to no end. “So fucking much, Harry.”

He can confidently say his name has never sounded sweeter than when it trickles from Y/N’s tongue.

When he speaks, it’s packed with all the pent up turmoil radiating deep in his abdomen. “Did you think about me the way I thought about you?”

Y/N’s reply falls breathily from her mouth without any hesitation. “Y-Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

A cocky hum tinges the air on his behalf. “And why’s that?”

“Because…” The girl struggles to swallow, finding it difficult to match how easily brazen he can be. She pushes through. “Because you fucked me better than anyone else ever has.”

The compliment is one Harry gets often, but for some inexplicable reason, it hits so much deeper coming from Y/N. “Mm. Poor baby just needed to get properly rawed, didn’t you?”

“Had no idea how badly I wanted it until you came along.”

A dark chuckle rolls from the creature’s lips at her bluntness. He repeatedly passes his textured tongue over the pressure point on her throat, flames igniting in his chest when she releases another watery, desperate mewl. “God, look at you. Practically already dripping. Like it when I play with you like that?”

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

And so Harry keeps going, and he doesn’t stop. Not at her neck, and not anywhere else. Not until she begs him to hours later, when he’s whittled three orgasms out of her trembling body, each one more intense than the last.

The first one takes place right there on top of the kitchen counter. He boosts her up onto the table, bunching her pretty sundress around her quivering thighs— as he’d fantasized prior— while she fumbles with his trousers. He tends to her every breathy whimper as she eases him out of his briefs, marking his teeth all over her throat with the assurance that his blood will fade the bruises by morning. He tears his jacket down his broad shoulders, panting into her mouth as she undoes all the buttons that line his elegant iridescent shirt, moaning softly when she breaks their kiss to paint her hot lips down the expanse of his heaving chest and tight stomach. Y/N ducks down as far as her angle will allow, wanting to taste as much of his skin as she can. She wants to memorize its salty smoothness for as long as she lives.

Harry watches her with bliss-drunken fondness twitching his mouth, head falling back to hang between his shoulders as a low, “Such a good girl.” rumbles from his throat. His ring-clad fingers tangle into her locks and scratch at her scalp lightly, strained exhales encouraging her to keep going as she delights herself with tainting love bites all over him. He yanks the girl back up by her roots, grabbing her hips and roughly scooting her forward towards him, clammy foreheads pressing together as he fixes to fill her up for the first time in what feels like eternity.

The monster’s voice is as dominant and thick as she likes it. “Eyes up here. Want to see you come undone while I fuck you.”

The way he spreads Y/N open makes her choke out a scream like nothing else she’s ever heard. Harry simply clamps one of his palms over her mouth, continuing to ram into her at a harsh stride, gasping against her ear with every thrust as she rakes her nails across his back. “Gotta keep that pretty mouth quiet. Thin walls.”

The human feels like her heart is going to break through her ribs and what she doesn’t know is that with every passing beat, Harry feels it tenfold. And it’s driving him fucking insane— she drives him fucking insane. Especially when she looks at him with that glossy, begging gaze, biting into the mound of his hand as he slams his hips inside her so hard, the glasses in her cupboard shake. “Like it when I give it to you rough? Yeah, I thought so. Just like that? Harder? Say please…Christ, you’re a fucking angel.”

Y/N is dirty. So fucking filthy, and Harry loves every second of it. Loves that anything he throws out, she returns with as much enthusiasm, if not more. Loves that she can take his cock as hard as he’s willing to give it, which says a lot, considering his stamina and strength usually surpasses most humans. He’d met very few mortals who can match his sexual prowess and she happens to be one of them. She not only takes it, but pleads for more. She doesn’t just seek her own pleasure, but insists on delivering his own. And though they’re polars opposites at their core— she’s timid, physically standard, and boringly normal, whereas he’s confident, attractive, and unusually superior in every sense of the phrase— they fit together better than he’d ever care to admit. They’re perfectly compatible, down to their personalities and their intimate needs.

As Harry stands there— fingertips leaving welts across her waist as he grunts brokenly against her throat, stretching her out like she was meant to take him this deep, her moans sounding like classical melodies to his ears— he thinks that maybe...maybe he’ll keep her around. A friends with benefits situation would be the most ideal. And to quote his own clever motto from before, it would be mutualism at its finest.

The alliance would be nothing emotional; simply for the sake of providing each other with requited relief, as well as providing Harry with a convenient feeding arrangement. Neither of them would have to submit themselves to going to those terrible clubs, they both already know what the other enjoys, and the banter they share is pretty fulfilling. Plus, her blood is one of the sweetest he’s ever had. Whatever magic lies in her veins tides over his cravings in a fashion he’s never quite experienced. They both get what they want and don’t have to deal with the disasters of real commitment; neither are in a place in their lives where they can shoulder such a big responsibility. Harry is emotionally unavailable, as he has been for the past two centuries and as he intends to be for the next dozen. Y/N has just started anew in a place where she has so little to give and so much to lose, dating is the last thing on her mind. A casual no-strings-attached arrangement would be a perfect gift, bow and all.

And with the way they make each other cum multiple times that night— once on the counter, and twice on that trusty old couch— there’s not a single doubt in Harry’s mind that this is most definitely mutualism at its peak.

///

During the span of the next few weeks, Harry learns a lot about Y/N. It’s surprising how informational someone’s sex habits can be.

The second week after they had met— and the first since their second very heated, very satisfying encounter— she shoots him a text on Wednesday, of all days.

Harry isn’t doing anything particularly interesting when he receives her message. He had gone to see Mitch play at the bar that had recently booked him as a semi-permanent gig, sitting in the booth furthest in the back from all of the ruckus, fingers tapping along the waxed table to his best friend’s skilled jazzy guitar chords. Mitch always teases Harry about how he doesn’t have a job, which the vampire always waves off. Working for money is stupid and unnecessary; any materialistic wants and needs that plague him, he can get with the help of compulsion. Therefore, what’s the use in condemning himself the horrors of customer service or a constricting office cubicle?

His best friend is halfway through his set when Harry’s device vibrates against the sticky surface before him, tittering fingers coming to an abrupt stop. He flips over his iPhone, eyes flickering over the screen, a coy grin spreading its way across his blushed lips. Y/N’s contact beams up at him in return. He’d set her profile as just her name alongside three disco ball emojis, for the sake of their little inside joke.

I’m getting off work a bit earlier than I thought today and was wondering if you wanted to help me with my ceiling fan.

Harry bites into his bottom lip to muffle a chuckle, shaking his head lightly as he stares down at the comical request.

That’s odd. Last time I was there, you didn’t HAVE a ceiling fan.

Y/N sits on her lunch break in the backroom of the cafe where she’s employed, a veggie wrap halfway suspended towards her mouth when Harry’s text bloops in, pointing out her embarrassing mistake. She blinks at his correction blankly, eyes closing in faint humiliation as her true intentions are now painfully clear.

After a second of recollection, she types back some damage control, though it hardly has an impact. Harry’s already chortling to himself just thinking about how contorted her face must look at the moment.

I’m aware, thank you. I meant I wanted help picking one out. I’ve got a few tabs saved as potentials.

He decides to be a little shit about this whole thing, continuing to mock her.

You could just send me the links right now and I can tell you which one I like. You know that, right?

Y/N knows that. She also knows, by the tone and texture of his response, he’d only mentioned that alternative to be annoying. He knows she’s not talking about ceiling fans, and he just wants her to chase after him. Unfortunately enough for Y/N’s pride, she’s more than willing to.

I just think your opinion would be much more valuable and effective in person, since you’d be able to help me search for other ones at the same time. We’d cover more ground. Two heads are better than one!

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

I personally think so. A dynamic duo for the books, honestly.

A soft round of applause cuts through the air around the vampire, signaling the end of Mitch’s performance. Harry glances up to see his best friend mounting his guitar back into its case, smiling bashfully at the crowd and nodding his head in thanks to all their praise. Harry coins his luck; things couldn’t have wrapped up at a better time.

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

Y/N stops mid-chew through a bite of her meal, cheeks puffed as the corners of her mouth twitch at his nerdy reference.

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7.

I’ll see you there, then.

See you there. Also, why do YOU get to be Sherlock? Seems a bit sexist.

Harry rolls his eyes at her quip, smirking to himself as he types out his final response.

Well, first and foremost, I’m literally English. Secondly, last time I checked, I’m always the one in control. And frankly, you seem to like it that way. See you at seven, darling.

And at seven on the dot, Harry’s outside her apartment. His friends would be amazed at his punctuality. He only shows it when it’s worth the trouble.

The creature walks up the steps to the mortal’s complex with his Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, keychain tucked into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, and his tan Chelsea boots clicking against the cement ground. A light wind whips his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt against the broad muscles of his back, drawing a soothed sigh from his lungs. He loves the California weather.

He gives her door three swift knocks with his ring-clad knuckles, stepping back from the entrance and clasping his large hands behind his back as he waits.

When Y/N answers, Harry tilts his chin down a smidge, looking at her over the brim of his chic black glasses with his signature dazzling smile dimpling his cheeks. He lists his head slightly in a formal greeting. “Detective.”

The girl’s irises flit up to the ceiling as amusement twitches her lips. She plays along. “Nice to see you again. Detective.”

She moves off to the side, beckoning him to come in and he gladly takes the offer, striding into the flat and down the narrow corridor he’s grown quite familiar with. Y/N follows him back into her living room, gaze quickly drinking up his appearance. He’s casual today— less jewelry, more comfortable clothes— and he works the normal fit as effortlessly as he works his fancy brands. Especially with those tight dark jeans. They hug his thighs in a fashion that should be illegal.

Harry twists around on his heel to face her, reaching up to remove his sunglasses and tucking them along the collar of his tee. A handful of curls fall across his forehead, framing his face and sculpting his jaw, as usual. A sweep across Y/N’s physique tells him everything he needs to know.

She’s still in her work clothes, clad in a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of dark skinnies similar to his. Her hair is down, though the strands have a dent that suggests she’d been wearing a ponytail. Her mascara is smudged a tad under her seemingly tired eyes, but her attitude is as bright and lively as always. She appears messy, but he likes it. It’s a type of unconventional beauty that’s natural and genuine, which he can appreciate.

He contemplates her with a certain slyness that makes her shift in her socked feet.

“I got a message earlier. Sounded kinda frantic.” He drifts closer to the human, a sultry tension growing taut between them. He glances upward for an instant, as if recalling a thought. “Something about ceiling fans…?”

Y/N chews into her cheek to keep from giggling, allowing him to press his chest to hers. He slowly begins to back her up towards the shabby couch, which has seen this interaction happen one too many times. “Yeah, I’m thinking of getting one. Figured it’d help. It just gets really hot in here sometimes, y’know?”

“Mmm…” Harry thrums in agreement, deep in the back of his throat. His hands crawl onto her hips and grasps them somewhat roughly, index fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans as he leans down to brush his soft lips over her own. She’ll never grow tired of the electricity that passes through them every time their mouths touch. It kindles her needs unlike anything else. “It does get pretty hot in here sometimes. Especially if you’re working up a sweat.”

He pushes her further towards the sofa, movements gradual as she drifts backwards, careful not to trip her. She glimpses down at where their lips are flirting, breath hiccuping when he licks his lightly in anticipation, his tongue just barely grazing her Cupid’s bow. “Absolutely. A fan would definitely help relieve some of that stress.”

“Yeah.” Harry nudges the tip of her nose with his own, feeling her grab at his biceps for security as he continues inching her backwards blindly. “It can work wonders for when you’re all pent up, too. Especially when you’re really tight, which I know for a fact you are.”

The backs of the girl’s knees hit the edge of the couch and she topples into its cushions. She sits up onto her elbows, sheer need inking into her irises as he patiently begins to undo his belt. His long, nimble fingers work with ease and he seems to be in no particular rush, which pricks at her nerves because she feels completely the opposite. She’d been thinking about him since Friday night— or rather, Saturday morning, when he had actually stayed for breakfast that time around.

Y/N had sat on top of her small dining table while he took the seat before her shirtless, leaning forward with his arms crossed nonchalantly over her lap as she fed him bites of lemon blueberry pancakes. The pads of his calloused fingers had drawn random shapes across the warm skin of her thighs, attempting to cheekily slip beneath her pajamas shorts and he’d giggle boyishly around mouthfuls of food every time she would swat his hand away. He looked so fucking pretty that morning, with his curls tangled in tuffs and the vague imprint of her teeth scattered across his grinning mouth, angry red scratches decorating his bare shoulders. That wholesome yet dirty image had left her head spinning for days.

The sound of Harry’s zipper ripping open blinks Y/N back into the present and she nearly gawks as he grabs onto the hem of his graphic t-shirt and yanks it over his head, arms crossing as he does so. He tosses it onto her playfully, laughing as she smacks it away from her face and gives him a deadpan look. Harry leans forward, propping his palms on either sides of her head and bracketing her in, the unmissable scent of his delicious cologne invading her senses as his dark tattoos ripple over the lean tendons of his stomach and arms. His strangely cold forehead flushes against hers and he nips at her top lip, tugging it between his teeth and releasing. His voice comes out as deep and hypnotizing as ever.

“Get undressed for me. Want your thighs wrapped around my head.”

Harry comes to find that for such a reserved girl, Y/N has a pretty intriguing sexual mindset. She’s open to a lot of stuff he’d never expect from a rural-town escapee. Her kinks surprise him, but pleasantly so, considering they cross over with a lot of his own. She’s into choking, which he adores. There’s nothing hotter than feeling her pulse slam against the palm of his hand as his array of rings mark into the delicate skin of her throat. She likes being restrained, which translates into Harry pinning her wrists above her head while he slams between her drenched thighs. It’s difficult to achieve that on the sofa, so they end up rolling across the rug on the floor, her legs tangled around his hips like a vine as he pants into her mouth, damp hair flopping over his forehead and tickling her eyelashes. Ideally, he would have used his belt to tie her hands to a headboard. If they were at his place, he would’ve just reached for the metal cuffs he has hanging casually off the railing of his bed, which he keeps there for easy access. But they’re in her living room, so he makes do with what he can.

The vampire doesn’t stay over that night, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he promised Niall he’d help him out with a car issue. Apparently the motor is making a weird noise and Harry isn’t shocked one bit. Niall barely has the brain cells to be alive, much less to handle the upkeep that comes with owning a vintage vehicle. He thanks Y/N for a good time as he slips into his tight jeans and recovers his sunglasses from the floor, pulling his tee over the already fading hickies littering his collarbones, fitting his accessory into his sweaty curls.

Harry leans down to where she lays limply, splayed over the couch where he had placed her after picking her up off the ground (only after he’d made her cum twice). He plants a nonchalant farewell kiss to her parted lips, thumbing over her bruised nipples jestingly and grinning into her mouth when she whimpers. “I’ll see you later, Watson. Let me know which fan you decide to buy.”

Two days later, Harry’s phone chimes again, this time with the unique ringtone he’d assigned just for her.

He’s relaxing in his bathtub, submerged up to his chest in hot water mixed with Epsom salts and jasmine bubble bath, his locks sudsy with shampoo. He’s in the middle of shaving his face, dragging the straight razor (his time in the nineteen thirties made him picky towards any other tool, especially those simpleton plastic ones) down his jaw carefully, making sure not to nick the little moles under the corner of his mouth. When his device goes off, he halts all his motions, glancing over from the hand mirror he’s holding before his face. He’d changed her contact name to Watson as homage to their funny little dynamic, but he’d kept the disco balls in their place. He respects the roots of their acquaintanceship.

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

He had a nagging suspicion he’d hear from her today. It’s another Friday night, after all. He’s just happy she’d texted earlier than last time so he can flake on his friends without forcing them to wait for an hour.

Wow, you chose two day shipping? You must be itching to see me.

Don’t let it go to your head. The only thing I’m itching for is your professional opinion.

Right. Well, me and my professional opinion are washing up at the moment so give me thirty minutes and I’ll be there, yeah?

Sounds good to me, Sherlock.

Harry decides on an outfit that falls at the center of his dressing spectrum— something comfortable but not lazy. Something semi-formal. He doesn’t really have to impress her anymore (not that he had to try that hard in the first place) but he wants to look good, either way. There’s nothing wrong with showing off what he has, both physically and wardrobe-wise. He chooses a horizontal-striped fitted tee made of thick cotton, the lines alternating between brown, beige, and a light caramel. He tucks the shirt into a pair of mid-rise corduroy flared pants that are a dark mustard shade, shrugging on an olive green jacket with red and white stitch detailing along the edges, large images of cacti embroidered along its expanse. His pearls, cross necklace, and he opts out of his earring this time. Rings, vanilla chapstick, mint gum. Keys, wallet, starch white Vans.

Before he knows it, he’s being roughly pulled into her home from his spot just outside her threshold, his cherry-lacquer nails carding into the silky hair along the nape of Y/N’s neck as his teeth skim over the hollow of her throat. The human grapples to push his coat off his wide shoulders, backing further down the small hallway of her flat and kicking the door shut. She holds his head firmly to the sensitive spot in her neck that he’d toyed with a week prior, and he can’t resist the way his eyes blink crimson— a hunting impulse, stemming from the sound of her blood rushing through her carotid artery. He hadn’t fed last time— vampires only need to feed once a week to avoid desiccation— so he surely intends to tonight.

Harry’s hands fit perfectly around the dip of her spine, pulling her body tight to his as he paints sloppy kisses over her jugular. He gets his teasing words out in between desperate gasps and breathy chuckles. “And here I thought this was genuinely going to be about the fan.”

“Shut up.”

Y/N makes a sharp turn, tugging him into her room instead of the living room and it dawns on him that this is the first time they’re going to fuck in her actual bed. All those instances of sleeping together and not once had they done anything on the piece of furniture that was intended for that sole purpose. It’s ironically hilarious and he voices that opinion as they stumble onto her mattress.

“You know,” Harry murmurs into her mouth as she shoves him flat onto the rumpled sheets (she hadn’t made her bed this morning and that’s endearing, for some reason), straddling his lap as she hurriedly pulls his t-shirt out from along the waistband of his trousers. “Out of all the times we’ve done this— which is quite a few— we’ve never done anything on your bed other than sleep.”

That’s a lie. He’s never actually slept in her bed. After staring at the ceiling blankly two weeks ago for about eight hours, he had been smart enough to grab his phone from his pants the second time around. He spent that stretch of time playing Mario Kart and watching Unsolved Mysteries on Netflix with the volume down just out of human earshot, so as to not disturb her slumber.

Y/N ducks in order to drag her wet, pillowy lips down the butterfly inking on his tummy and over the spines of the two ferns on his pelvis, licking across his happy trail. He jerks in response, a soft grunt gurgling in his lungs as she uses her index finger to trace the outline of his hardening cock through the velvet fabric of his slacks. Her voice is distant, giggle breathless. “Yeah, you’re right. How counterintuitive.”

Harry swiftly pops the button of his trousers, helping her coax them down his legs, releasing a stuttery moan when she immediately bends down and mouths at his prick over his briefs. The soiled stain forming around the tip of his cock would be embarrassing if he didn’t know she found it hot.

His tone is tight but humorous as she continues licking at him eagerly through his underwear, nails digging into his inner thighs. “Am I your first?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes for a moment before she realizes the joke. He’s referring to if he’s the first person she’s slept with on her new bed in her new home. “Yes, you are, actually.”

Harry’s juts his bottom lip out into an overly-sweet exaggerated pout, talking in a honeyed drawl. “Aw, I get to christen your bed with you? We’re practically married now. When’s the baby due?”

“God, you’re a moron.” Y/N bursts into a fit of laughter as she mounts back onto his lap, pinching at his torso in fake spite and feeling her insides flutter at the airy giggles that escape him. She gnaws on her bottom lip thoughtfully for a second, watching with hunger as he finishes removing his shirt and momentarily sits up to chuck it onto the ground over her shoulder.

Harry falls back onto the mattress, folding his taut arms behind his neck, biceps flexing with the movements as his strong chest and toned stomach look as appealing as ever. She runs her palms over his tanned skin, feeling the sturdy muscle shift beneath her touch. Shit.

The immortal slinks his head to the side, eyes going half-lidded in suggestive mischief as he sees the way she’s objectifying him. He doesn’t mind; he actually lives for it. “Are you just gonna keep staring or are you gonna fuck me?”

His lewd comment washes warmth across Y/N’s ears and spurs her into action. In less than a minute, she’s fully unclothed, bouncing on his cock with a type of need that boils the pit of Harry’s belly. His fingers are digging bruises into her waist, slamming her down onto his prick with enough force to make the old bed creak wildly. She may be on top, but he’s still the one pulling the strings.

Y/N collapses forward, anchoring herself onto her forearms on either sides of his head, burying her face in his auburn ringlets. She bites onto her tongue, trying to keep a tab on the atrociously loud sounds threatening to spill from her mouth. They come out as broken whines instead, which Harry drinks up like a glass of aged bourbon. She fists at his roots, jolting with every thrust he gives upwards, her knees digging into his love handles to keep balanced. At this point, she’s barely riding him at all. He’s just ramming himself into her from below as he guides her hips and she doesn’t have an issue with that at all. She likes when he leads.

His growl comes out low and raspy, riding on a moan, his warm, choppy exhales pebbling her bare nipples. “How’s that, darling? How’s that cock feel?”

Y/N nods her head frantically, not trusting her tongue to form an appropriate response.

“Tell me.” He grits out through bared teeth, back arching a bit as he feels the knot of white hot pleasure in his stomach twist and turn.

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

One of Harry’s hands coasts down the small of her back and onto her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. She yelps at the new sensation, pain and bliss intermingling. “Yeah, you fucking can. You will. Use your words. Tell me how much you like it.”

A violent shutter runs through Y/N’s limbs and she instinctively pushes back against his palm. Harry’s eyebrows kink in question as he feels her draw her face back from his hair. One look at her eyes tells the entire narrative: She wants him to spank her.

Harry slowly lifts his hand from her skin, brows raising a bit higher for confirmation. Y/N smears his lips against his forehead and left cheekbone, bobbing her head desperately, whispering a tiny, “Yes, please.” that sends smoky tendrils of hot air cascading down his straining neck.

When the vampire’s hand comes down, it’s fast and hard, his cold rings biting into her flesh and leaving welts, the sound echoing off the glossy walls and tall bookshelf in her room. The cry that betrays her could probably be heard down on the main floor of her complex.

The shattered noise makes Harry sanity slip and he’s lucky she’s too lost in her own bliss to see the way his eyes glow dangerously red. “Fuck, you’re such a slut for it.”

Harry suddenly boosts himself forward, toppling Y/N backwards until she’s the one wedged against the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into the crook of his sweaty collarbones, cracked cries pooling into the junction of his clavicle as he hikes her roughly up his thighs. He sinks further between her legs until he bottoms out with a loud garbled groan, pushing so deep she can feel him in the trench of her belly.

“Oh my God, Harry— I— fuck, just—just— oh!”

His pace rises in intensity, strokes messy and unforgivable as he fucks her into the bed, the cracking of the frame warning him that it might give away. “Oh, so you liked that, did you? Like it when I call you a slut and stretch you out like one?”

Harry feels Y/N’s teeth rip into his shoulder in order to evade a scream; a strong shiver pin-balls down his spine as a result. Her voice is absolutely wrecked as she talks over her muffled mouth. “Loved it. Loved it so much. Want—Want more. Please, please, please.”

Harry holds her down firmly to the sheets, pounding into her with a form of unrestrained force he’s never exhibited. She just drives him to the brink like no one else has in nearly twenty decades. “Can you feel me in your tummy, pet? Can you feel how I fill you up?”

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?”

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”

“Hands off.”

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.”

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind.

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.”

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked.

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better.

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts.

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged.

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then.

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level.

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that.

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold.

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him.

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane.

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home.

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him.

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device.

I need interior design advice.

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time.

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh.

Genuinely?

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot.

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it.

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl.

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall.

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry?

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide.

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback.

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits.

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall.

Immature?

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry.

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs.

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks.

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries.

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up.

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her.

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours.

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play.

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex.

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective.

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures.

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet.

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue.

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs.

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect.

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching.

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh.

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives.

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark?

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache.

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief?

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else.

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her.

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry.

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants.

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants.

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly.

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way.

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot.

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack.

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally.

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background.

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination.

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish.

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes.

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever.

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going.

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours.

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it.

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure.

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core.

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right.

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth.

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now.

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen.

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit.

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders.

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance.

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person.

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

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diaphragmjellyfish · 4 years ago

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Hawk Fluff Alphabet

Requested by @manicgrungegf

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

What hawk finds most attractive about you is your kindness. You’re literally the sweetest person to everyone you meet and he likes to think that if he knew you when he was Eli, you still would have dated him. You didn’t care about the muscles or the tattoo or the hair. You genuinely loved him and were always kind to him even when he was being an ass.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

He’s not sure about whether he wants kids or not. He’s kind of just enjoying being young and having fun right now, and he never actually thought he’d get married before, but he’d be open to it later on down the line if it was something you really wanted.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

For as much game as he talks, this boy is a LITTLE SPOON. He loves being held by you, and sometimes can’t fall asleep unless your arms are wrapped around him. In public, he’s always the one with his arm around you, hugging you from behind, putting on that alpha male persona, but when it’s just you guys he’s a total puppy.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Hawk likes to take you to parties. You guys can drink, dance, hang out with your friends, it’s the perfect place in his opinion. But for more private occasions like your anniversary, he likes a nice picnic on the beach. He’d make PB&J’s for you guys (and cut off your crusts), pack some juice boxes, and bring a big giant blanket (and condoms shhh) for you guys.

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…)

You’re my happy place. Hawk thinks of you as the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Whenever he feels frustrated from training or insecure about his scar or angry at Demitri, he knows he can always go to you for support and you’ll make him forget all about that stuff. He’s never not smiling when you’re around.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

He first knew he loved you when you said his scar was cute. It’s always been his biggest insecurity, and even when you guys first went out, he always just assumed you just tried not to look at it and look at his hair or muscles instead. But when you told him you liked it, thought it gave him character and looked kind of tough, his heart shot through the roof. This beautiful, ethereal, magnetically charming girl thought his scar, his deformity, was cute?! Love on sight.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

He’s more gentle than you would think, but still not as gentle as, say, Miguel. He would never hurt you or make you do anything you don’t want to do, but he likes to rough house, play wrestle, and tease you a little bit. He likes to sneak up behind you, pick you up and spin you around, and ruffle your hair as a “good morning” every day.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Hawk is holding your hand all. The. damn. Time. He likes everyone to know who you belong to. Inside, he’s still a little insecure and nervous that you’ll decide you can do better and leave him, so he finds holding your hand reassuring, especially when you run your thumb over the back of his hand.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

His first impression of you was honestly not good. You were friends with Samantha Larusso so he just assumed you were stuck up and snobby. The first time you guys actually talked was at a party. You were pacing nervously outside because your friends had left, your phone died, and you had no way to get home. Hawk took pity on you and offered to give you a ride on his motorcycle, and you guys ended up driving all over town, talking, laughing, drinking milkshakes, and you quickly made plans to hang out the next day.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

He is the most jealous boy, mostly because he’s insecure that you’ll leave him for someone else. Sometimes you think it’s hot, but if it ever bothers you, he’ll make a conscious effort to work on himself and trust that you’ll always come back to him.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

Your first kiss was the sweetest moment ever. You guys were sitting on the beach one night talking about all your deep thoughts. He started telling you how he was super insecure about his lip scar and thought no girl would ever want to kiss him before he got the mohawk and muscles. “Well I can think of one girl who would love to kiss you.” At this, he looked at you with pure shyness, and you leaned in and gave him a sweet kiss. Now, his kisses can range anywhere from sweet and loving, to possessive and dominant. You love them all.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

He knew he was in love with you when you first talked about nerdy shit with him and Demitri. He always thought he couldn’t like nerdy stuff like Dr. Who or girls wouldn’t like him, so when Demitri brought it up while you three were hanging out, he panicked. But then you started talking about the new trailer and how excited you were for a female Dr. and he fell in love on the spot.

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

His favorite memory with you is that time he needed to touch up his hair color and you asked if you could do it for him. You got him a little poncho (garbage bag but shhh), parted his hair in neat little sections, and touched up the dye. You guys had such a fun time, you gushed about how good his hair looked down, and it ended up looking way better than when he did it himself. Now every time he needs a touch up he comes to you.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Hawk doesn’t generally spoil you with material things. You both would much rather spend your time and money on memories, or food. Of course on your birthday and anniversaries he gets you little gifts, but generally speaking, his love language leans more towards quality time.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Lavender reminds him of you. Soft, sweet, feminine. He thinks it looks amazing on you, too. He’s actually thought about dying his mohawk lavender next just to feel closer to you.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Princess. That’s the biggest one. Sometimes angel, or babygirl.

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

His favorite non-modern thing is old muscle cars. He’s saving up to buy an old Corvette one day. It’s one of his big goals in life. He wants to have a mohawk made for the car, too, so everyone knows how cool he is.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Little secret about Hawk, he loves to cook. When it’s raining outside, he likes to have you come over and make a big meal with him. Maybe chicken pot pie, steaks, or pad thai, and sit on the couch eating and watching old movies.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Unfortunately, Hawk used to be an expert at being sad back before he joined Cobra Kai. The way he likes to deal with it is generally just crying. He likes to let it all out, be alone, collect himself, and then maybe watch a movie or hang out with you. If you’re sad, his first question is “who do I have to beat up?” If it’s not from a person, he’ll take you on an adventure. Hikes, long drives, exploring new places, just to get your mind off it.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Umm karate. It literally changed his life. He loves to tell you about the new moves he learned in training, talk about the tournaments coming up, or the rivalry between Cobra Kai and Myagi-Do. And you’re a sucker for gossip so you love to hear about it.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Music, soft blankets, the tiredness after a workout, a good hot meal, and he loves to watch cringe compilations on Youtube.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

Ever since his transformation from Eli to Hawk, this boy likes to show off everything, all the time. His hair, his tattoos, his muscles, his fighting skills, his sarcasm, his girl…

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

He proposes to you about 6 months into your relationship with a ring pop outside of a gas station. You both knew it was a joke, but honestly started referring to each other as fiance and never stopped. Then, about 3 years later, he got you a real ring and took your hand and said “about time we actually do this, huh?” Of course, he took you to the same gas station where he had “proposed” the first time. Not the most romantic thing looking in on it, but to you guys, it was perfect.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Highway To Hell- ACDC

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

He proposes to you multiple times! Of course he thinks about it. He wants you guys to be together forever!

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

A hawk! It’s his signature symbol, of course he thinks it would be super badass to actually have a pet hawk. He would name it Desmond, and get it a tiny little mohawk.

#cobra kai #hawk #hawk x reader #miguel diaz #eli moskowitz #eli moskowitz x reader #jacob bertrand #fluff #karate kid

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softcallofdutyimagines · 4 years ago

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Stay | Russell Adler x fem!bell!Reader

Summary: Despite having developed deep feelings for you after all this time working together, Adler takes you to antarctica like he was told. The only issue is... Things aren't as they seem when he finally confronts you.

Aka, sorry Treyarch, but this time the thotlers win.

SKSKSKS I ONLY MADE THAT POST TO TEST THE WATER, SO THANK YOU @smokeywhalee FOR ASKING FOR THE FIC. I ACTUALLY WROTE THIS WHOLE ASS THING LAST NIGHT SO COME GET THIS FLUFFY ASS BREAD Y'ALL AND ENJOY

Tags: fluff, angst, and angst with a happy ending

Warnings: some strong language and you might need a tissue box bc I sure did 😭😭

"Nothing like arctic air, eh?"

Russell Alder stands just a few feet away, hands resting squarely on his hips, looking out over the cliffs.

"Sure", you smile tiredly, a little sleepy from the long flight, as you walk up beside him. Without needing permission, you slip your pinky around his as he loosens his grip to allow you to do so.

Adler takes a glance down at your intertwined hands. He can't keep you in the dark for long. But still, he's afraid to tell you...

You move to lean your head on his shoulder, only to be left alone as he wrenches himself away.

"Listen Bell, there's... There's something I need to tell you", he refuses himself a glance at you. It would hurt him too much. You make an inquisitive noise and a long silence passes.

Perhaps it would be best just to get the hard part over. He was never one for beating around the bush anyway. "They sent me out here to kill you, Bell"

His voice is hardly audible, a clever trick to disguise the hurt in his voice. He grits his teeth, wondering if you really needed to know that, but then he remembers... He's done lying to you. You deserve to know.

Adler braces himself for the backlash, perhaps even a bullet in the back. Instead, he's met with a whisper.

"I know"

Your voice is only audible thanks to the bitter wind helping it along to his ear, leaving a ghostly caress as it passes him by. Russell turns around this time, almost disappointed to see your back still turned to him.

"How d-?"

You turn slowly, and even from there he can see the tear rolling down your face, "Why else would we be out here?", you gesture around to the great nothingness enveloping you both. You sniff and swipe a hand across you cheek, a joyless laugh escaping you, "Besides, you never take me anywhere nice"

In any other scenario, it would be playful and teasing, just like he knows you for.

Adler huffs a half hearted laugh at that, before tearing his gaze away. "Bell, I..."

"Oh, cut the shit Russell. Just do it, alright?", the tears flow freely down your glassy eyes now, "I know you have to... Really, I get it. A-and it's alright, you know? I-"

By now, Adler has made his way across to you. Even now, he hates to see you so upset. He gently grips your arms in his strong, steady hands, hoping against hope to give you some sense of ease. He needs to finish what he has to say.

"Bell..."

He then tries to say your name, but you won't allow it.

"Just shut up, alright? God, I hate you! I h-hate you..."

You struggle in his grip, beating weakly against his chest as your body becomes wracked pwith sobs, voice trailing off pathetically. Adler pulls you close, just in time, as you collapse into his arms.

"God, why? Why why...?"

You're choked up with hiccuping sobs again as Adler lowers you both to kneel in the grass. He squeezes you tighter, comfortingly he hopes, and if nothing else, to keep him from allowing tears of his own to fall too.

With a ragged gasp, you find your voice, allowing your anger and frustration to seap in at last, "After all I did for you people... This is how yo-?"

But you're cut off, and suddenly all your senses are overwhelmed with... Him.

Adlers lips crush into yours, the eagerness with which he kisses you is enough to erase all the fear, and pain, and sadness. At least, for the moment.

The crisp arctic air only accentuates the musky smell of his cologne, infusing every breath you breathe with its familiar scent. Charred birch and a hint of cigarettes. You almost smile at that.

He's been trying to quit, per your request, but... Old habits die hard.

The uneven stubble of his scarred chin tickles as he works over your lips, sucking gently, but adamantly once, then twice, before sustaining one long kiss again.

At last you part, lungs burning for air. Small puffs of condensation intermingle between your mouths as you catch your breath.

Adler takes one last gasp for air, to steady himself more then anything, before delivering one more kiss to your forehead. He knows he doesn't deserve to think such things, but...

You have no idea how long he's wanted to kiss you.

A few more tears start up from you again, but in that moment, he decides once and for all to commit to all the promises he's been wanting to make to you. He's done watching you suffer, and it's time you knew.

"I'm not going to kill you Bell...", he whispers against the warm skin of your forehead before pulling you to the crook of his neck.

You sniff, instantly frozen as you try to make sense of what you just heard. Too soon, faster then your mind can catch up, you search for words, "Wha-? Why? How? Russell, if they find out they'll kill yo-"

"Shhhh, they're not going to find out. I'm defecting. Right here, right now"

"B-but, why? I already told you, it's o-"

Adler moves his hands to cup your face, training your gaze to be all on him.

"No, it's not ok Bell. What we did to you... What I did to you... Was fucked, and unfair, but... it was for the greater good. But this? No."

"W-well ok... but-?"

"I'm doing this because I love you Bell", he barks it out, almost angrily, but even behind those old tinted aviators, you can see his expression soften almost immediately as he gently strokes your cheek with his thumb, "I love you... So much. Do you understand?"

He pauses for a moment, and his grand show of steely emotions breaks as he removes the sunglasses to wipe away his tears. And when he looks back at you... You're surprised at the reminder of how beautiful his eyes are.

"And... I'm... sorry I never told you before... Well, this"

Your mind is reeling at the rush of information. This... confession, isn't exactly news to you, but to hear him say it...

With one more sniff, Adler manages to pull himself together for a final moment of vulnerability, "Look, I know this is... a lot, but I was thinki- I...", he sighs and takes a deep breath. This is it.

"Would you... Come away with me? The CIA is going to be looking for both of us, and, well... No body and all, so I was thinking... We could find somewhere... off the grid, just you and me, start fresh? I know it'll be tough bu-"

"Yes!"

"-t I can protect you an- Wait... Yes?"

"Yes!", you seal the statement with a quick kiss. A promise. Then, you grow serious, "There's nothing left for me out here Russell... You're my only choice"

"...I'm sorry to hear that"

You cup a hand to his face, a tiny glimpse of that beautiful smile he loves so much peeking through, "No no, I didn't mean... This is a good thing. I meant to say, I wouldn't want to choose anyone else"

Adler sniffs and huffs a laugh, rocking gently as you pull in for an embrace, "Well in that case... I'm sorry to hear you have such terrible taste in men"

That earns a genuine laugh from you, and to him, it sounds like music.

You slip your hand into his, holding on just by the fingers before reaching up to plant a kiss over the scar on his jaw. You always rather liked those scars of his, no matter how much he wishes they never were.

But then again... He loves the way you use them to make him feel handsome, and he'll never understand how you do it.

After a few moments more, Adler gets up, pulling you to your feet as well. You wipe away the last of your tears, and as you glance up at him, a look of uncertainty crosses you.

He knows he has no right to ask you to trust him. Not after all the lies and the manipulation that got you and him to this point. But even after all that... The fact that you're willing to give him a chance humbles him to no end.

Adler looks back at you, and wishes for nothing more then the ability to make sure you never have to worry, or hurt, or live in fear ever again. But if there's one thing he does know, he'll be damned if he doesn't try.

"Come on kid", he rubs some warmth back into your arms, then kisses the top of your hair, "let's get out of here, huh? I've got just the place in mind..."

And just the place indeed.

A few months of preparation go by first, but at last you've managed to escape to the Swiss country side. Fields and fields of vibrant green grass and small wildflowers pass you by as Adler drives along, the great alps standing tall and strong just in the distance.

The sun glows warmly over head, and a little sparkle catches your eye. You look down and admire the ring on your hand once again, turning it this way and that, before stealing a glance at Russell's matching one.

With a couple more twists and turns, Adler asks you to close your eyes. A little while more, and the car comes to a stop. "Hey, don't open yet!", He hurries around to help you out, guiding you along want feels like a gravel path.

He puts his hands over yours, "Ready?"

You nod, the suspense absolutely eating you up. Finally, he moves your hands aside, revealing a small, brightly painted house before you. A stone path leads up to a white fenced porch complete with a swing for two.

The whole thing is practically overgrown with wysteria, coiling in and around the pillars and walls, and out front a wild garden stretches up towards the sun.

It's perfect.

You whip around, finding yourself unable to speak. But, he already knows. Adler sweeps you up off your feet and gives you a little spin as you shriek in surprise, melting into a fit of laughter as he sets you down.

He leans in and kisses you, just another of countless more to come, before pulling back. You have no idea how much it means to him to see you this happy....

"Welcome home"

#BITCH IM CRYING BYE 😭😭😭#black ops cold war #call of duty #russell adler #russell adler x bell #russell adler x reader

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bored-mumma · 4 years ago

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Tom Holland Fluff Alphabet

MASTERLIST

A = Attractive. What do they find attractive about the other?

Personality wise, Tom loves your ability to laugh in most situations. No matter how stressed he is, you easily bring a smile to his face.

Physically, he finds your looks breath taking. Your a priceless work of art to him.

B = Baby. Do they want a family? Why/Why not?

Yes, Tom is almost obsessed with the idea of having a family with you. He’s doing it all right. Got a house with a few spare bedrooms, proposed, got married, and now is waiting for the day you finally show him the positive test. It’s the life he’s always dreamt of.

C = Cuddle. How do they cuddle?

Wrapped around you. Usually his arms are held around your waist, head resting on your chest and his legs tangled with yours too. He wants to feel your warmth and to just relax after a hard day.

D = Dates. What are dates with them like?

Not usually traditional ones. Instead of fancy restaurants, you can’t beat a late night drive to the beach, sitting in the car with a take away and singing very loudly and very badly to some love songs. Having fun is the most important part of your date nights.

E = Everything. You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…)

You are my best friend.

F = Feelings. When did they know they were falling in love?

You couldn’t see the floor from the amount of the snacks laid on it , you and Tom both wearing your comfiest pyjamas and snuggled up beneath some duvets. There was a raging storm outside so instead of a nice meal out, Tom ordered so much stuff to eat and some movies. He rested his head on your lap, your finger nails gently dragging along his skin. He wasn’t watching the movie though. Instead his eyes kept drifting up to you, realising just how much he has fallen in love with you.

G = Gentle. Are they gentle? If so, how?

Very. In every way. He’ll hold you gently, he’ll comfort you gently. Even if you argue, he’ll still talk in a calm voice. You’ve never even heard him raise his voice let alone yell properly - especially at you. He’s definitely your gentle giant.

H = Holding Hands. How do they like to hold hands?

I = Impression. First impression/s?

Tom thought you were hilarious. In you walked, a large smile on your face and making everyone happy. You loved to make others happy and Tom was no exception. He introduced himself and the two of you hit it off almost immediately. It didn’t take long for him to ask you out - in fact he did so just three days later.

J- Joker. Are they into pulling pranks?

you tend to pull pranks on other people as a pair. He’ll randomly text you throughout the day saying he’s bored and the two of you will discuss how to pull a couple pranks on his co-workers.

K = Kiss. How do they kiss?

Pretty gently. He puts his forehead on yours, holding your hands. He slowly leans in and presses his lips against yours, moving in sync. Although, of course, there are other times when its more feral. He’ll pull you towards him, claiming your lips as his own as his hands tangle in your hair.

L = Love. Who says ‘I love you’ first?

Tom does. He was so excited to say it, he was acting like an over-energetic puppy! He made you your favourite breakfast one morning, along with a bouquet of your favourite flowers. Taking it up to you, you sat in the bed together and before you even had a chance to say thank you, Tom blurted “A beautiful breakfast for the beautiful woman i love.”

M = Memory. What’s their favourite memory together?

When you went to meet his family. He is really close with them all, and when you came in and just instantly clicked with everyone, Tom couldn’t help but sit back with a smile on his face. When everyone sat for dinner, Tom barely got a word in edge ways since his family was just adoring you and wanted to keep the conversation going.

N = Nickel. Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?

You. Get. Everything. And I mean everything. When looking at buying your first house together, you had to get one with an extra bedroom just to store all the stuff he got you. Usually some random stuff he sees in shops that reminds him of you but it also includes stunning accessories, clothes, vintage books, literally everything

P = Petnames. What petnames do they use?

“babe” or “love”.

Q = Quaint. What is their favourite non-modern thing?

Tom loves to sow! It takes his mind of his hectic life just for a little while. A wall in the spare bedroom is just covered in his designs. Ones he’s most proud of but doesn’t want them hanging in the lounge. It’s also great for you. Rip in your favourite top? No problem, Tom can fix it.

R = Rainy Day

Board games! All and any! Except for monopoly, as experience taught you, that game brings out both your extreme competitive side.

S = Sad. How do they cheer themselves/others up?

Tom is very good at talking about his feelings with you. If he’s down, he knows your the best shoulder to cry on and vice versa. He’ll always be there for you too. You may not be able to give him advice or to really help him out but just to have someone to hold, to cry to and talk to makes him feel safe.

T = Talking. What do they like to talk about?

He loves a good gossip. Want to tell him a story about your co-workers having an affair? He’s all ears, throwing in a few gasps and questions too. He’s just nosy but so are you! So a perfect match.

U = Unencumbered. What helps them relax?

A warm, deep bubble bath with some music playing softly, a good book and some snacks. It’s so relaxing there’s been a few times you’ve had to walk in the bathroom and wake him up from a nap.

V = Vaunt. What do they like to show off?

He dances. All. The. Time. Either with you or just around you, he loves to dance. And you can’t deny, he’s got the moves!

W = Wedding. When, how, where do they propose?

Coming home from a lunch date with some friends, you were looking forward to just relaxing at home since it was Toms night to cook. However, when you opened the front door, your eyes landed on the most beautiful sight. Your home was covered in flowers, some candles and a red carpet rolled down the middle. Except there was no sight of your partner. Calling out to him, you walked farther into the room when Tessa, your guys dog, ran out and down the red carpet, a little note wrapped around her collar. As you gave her a quick scratch behind the ears, you read the words “Will you marry me?”

“What do you say?” You spin as you hear Tom speak from behind you, down on one knee and holding a stunning ring.

X = Xylophone. What’s their song?

Lady in red

Y = You. You are the ___ to my ___ (e.g. the cookies to my milk, the macaroni to my cheese)

You are the straw to my berry

Z = Zebra. If they wanted a pet, what would they get?

Tom is very content with Tessa. Both of you love the staffy to pieces! But he’s very open at the idea of more dogs in the future.

#tom holland #imagine tom holland #tom holland imagine #spider-man #imagine spider-man #tom holland alphabet #tom holland fluff #bored-mumma #tom holland fan fiction

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theworldofotps · 4 years ago

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Silent Loving (Part 3 Final)

Pairing: Dexter Lumis x Reader Word Count: 1,023 Description: A very special date with Dexter.

Part 1 Part 2 Third and final in the Silent Stranger little fic trilogy, I hope you enjoy. A huge thank you to @writtingrose who gave me the idea to write this in Dexter’s pov and the main date idea.

A thank you as well to @new-zealand-chic for helping me with details! And for making sure it sounded good( I wrote a majority of the end half asleep.) _______ Tag list: @hungmanhorsecarriage @writtingrose @sjwrites22 @sassymox @the-beastslayers-queen @thewrestlingwarehouse @new-zealand-chic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @xladyxfatex @biforrollynch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @demonqueen29 @itsicantbelievethis666 @lilred91 @xbreezymeadowsx @rebellious-desires @youcantreignonmyparade @melblacc @letsgivethisonemoreshot @alination @ava-valerie If you wanna be added to the list lemme know. ________

“And your winner, Dexter Lumis!”

Hearing my name announced I stand up making my way from the ring once we’ve cut to commercial. Grabbing the towel I left on a chair I wipe my forehead off making my way back to my room. Glancing at a clock on the wall I quicken my pace I had to get showered and changed since I was supposed to pick y/n up in an hour for our date.

After admitting our feelings the dates became more often and tonight I was going to ask y/n to be my girlfriend. Opening my door I close it behind me walking to my duffle bag removing my clean clothing and towel. Heading into the bathroom where I already had my toiletry bag I start the water. Stripping from my clothes I step under the hot spray.

Making sure to scrub every inch of me clean I rinse off and finish getting ready after drying myself and pulling on my boxers. Looking over my black shorts and dark green shirt I towel dry my hair brushing it then leave it to air dry. Finishing up with some deodorant and the cologne she really seemed to love I was ready.

Bagging up my stuff I clean up then make my way out of my dressing room and down the hall to the exit. Leaving the building I make my way over to my car thankful I managed to get out and avoid everyone. Placing my bag in the trunk I get behind the wheel, I had to be sure that Shotzi still had everything under control.

Lumis🤖: Is everything okay there?

Shotzi😜: Yep just finished securing everything down so if the wind picks up you won’t have to worry about sand getting everywhere

Lumis🤖: Really appreciate this thank you.

That was a relief now to make sure that y/n was ready.

D. Lumis🥰: Are you ready, I’ll be over soon

Y/n☀️🌙⭐️: Yep just finished with my hair

D. Lumis🥰: See you soon gorgeous

Pocketing my phone I backed out of my parking spot and left the lot, the drive to y/n’s was only ten minutes from the center. I was able to collect enough of my nerves to not panic about asking her out.

Parking in the driveway I get out taking a few deep breaths, getting into the trunk I open the small cooler I had with some flowers. Taking them out I walk up to the door knocking lightly.

“Hi Dexter!”

Y/n smiles at me after opening the door, offering her the flowers I smile as her face lights up.

“You remembered my favorite flowers, thank you so much. I’ll be with you in a moment, let me put these in a vase then we can go.”

Nodding, I stand just inside her door watching as she scurried off to the kitchen. Sending a quick text to Shotzi I look up when y/n comes back.

“Alright I’m already.”

Taking her hand in mineI lead her outside letting her lock up and instead of going to my car we walk down the sidewalk.

“Where are we going?”

Wiggling my brows at her I wink as she lightly swings our hands together. Listening to her talk about her day I occasionally offer a word or noise to let her know I’m listening.

“Are we having dinner on the beach?”

“Mhm.”

Taking the little pathway in the sand we made our way along before coming to a little set up, Shotzi had done amazing with getting everything nice looking.

“Oh Dexter, this is beautiful, thank you for all of this.”

Leading her over I pull out her chair then sit down myself. Grabbing the cooler close by I get out some of her favorite picnic type foods.

“I hope you like it.”

I say softly to her as we start eating and I pour us both a drink, this whole meal was centered around her favorite things. While we ate I listened to stories of Y/n’s early years in wrestling, it was all really fascinating. As we finished up and the sun was slowly setting I got a picture of us together that she desperately wanted.

“We look so cute I’m making this my wallpaper.”

Smiling at her I gently kiss the back of her hand, pulling out my phone I bring up a song. Standing I pull her into my arms watching as she giggles when I spin her.

She sings softly as we sway, my arm resting around her waist as I hold her hand against my chest.

“I would not take you as the dancing time Mr. Lumis.”

Giving her a smile I chuckle doing another spin and dipping her lightly. Glancing from her eyes to her lips and back again I straighten us up.

“If you don’t have anything else planned, do you wanna go back to my place? It’s getting kinda late.”

Nodding, I took her hand as we left the table. I knew Shotzi would clear it. As we walked along I looked up, seeing millions of stars and the moon coming out from behind clouds.

“The sky is so beautiful, I always love when I can get away from the lights to see them. And who wouldn’t wanna stroll with you in the moonlight?”

‘I can name a few.’

I thought as we walked along the sidewalk, there weren’t many cars out and the night air was cool enough to keep from making us cold.

“Here we are.”

Y/n says as we come up her driveway to her door, turning her to face me I gently cup her cheek with one hand.

“Be my girl?”

I ask searching her face, the relief I felt when she smiled sent all the bad feelings away.

“I’ve been your girl since our first date.”

Pulling her close I dip my head down kissing her softly. It may sound cliché but it was perfect, I felt alive. As if everything I had been missing was now right here. And who would have thoughts we had just started out as strangers.

The End

(Pic from google)

#wwe #dexter lumis #dexter lumis x reader #dexter lumis fic #dexter lumis one shot #nxt #nxt fic

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spencersawkward · 4 years ago

Note

mgg fluff!!! like maybe a super cute romantic date where you both dress up or something like that 🥺

I’ve been writing so much smut the idea of writing a scenario without sex is actually feeling foreign rn WOW lmao ok this was fun to write. here’s some fancy-date pure fluff for you, babe!

summary: Matthew takes reader out for a fancy dinner, and the two make the most of their evening together.

word count: 2.1k

content warnings: none! short but sweet.

I swipe the glossy red shade over my lower lip, touching up my makeup before we head out tonight. despite the fact that we’ve been dating for a few months now, the idea of Matthew taking me out to eat-- really taking me out-- is making me positively giddy.

capping the tube and doing a quick once-over in the mirror, I admire the dress I’m wearing. it’s new, something I may or may not have splurged on after work today. it’s a creamy, inky shade, the color of pitch with an open back that I would normally never deign to wear. but something about it, the way the fabric sits against my shoulder blades, makes me confident.

after fluffing up my hair a little, I move into the living room to join my boyfriend. he’s fixing one of his monogrammed cuff links, and he looks up at the sound of my footsteps.

his eyes run over me, the bloom of my mouth and the dress, and he smiles dreamily, not saying anything. my stomach is overflowing with butterflies as I look at him in his suit, so well-dressed. we stare at each other for a moment.

“so?” I grin, walking over to him and running my hands up his chest. “how do I look?”

“you...” his gaze flickers to my pout, then my form. “you’re an angel.”

I reach up and am about to kiss his cheek when I remember that I’ve got lipstick on. “I’ll kiss you later.”

“that’s fine,” he sighs, then takes my hand and spins me around in front of him. “I’m still in shock from how beautiful you are!” he says the last few words in his stupid monster voice, reaching out and tickling my sides while he pulls me into him.

“Matthew!” I squeal, trying to breathe through the laughter. he knows I’m especially ticklish. once he finally relents, I look up at him with a huge smile on my face. sometimes I feel like I’m dreaming with him.

“we’re gonna be late, baby.” he tugs on my earlobe playfully before taking my hand again and leading me into the entryway so we can put our coats on. winter is just starting, dusting the sidewalks with fluffy snow and blowing wind in our faces as we start walking to the car. he holds the door open, as usual, and before long, we’re off to the restaurant.

even though Matthew is a bit of a reckless driver, I trust him. I’ve never told him this, but I love the way he places his hand on the back of my seat and turns around to assess the road behind him before he pulls out. something about it makes my blood warm up. he catches me looking, smiles and asks if I’m okay.

I’m fucking fabulous.

the restaurant is way fancier than I even imagined: cavernous ceilings that drip with chandeliers and walls covered in expensive-looking art. velvet curtains cover the windows, creating a wine-red ambiance of jazz and gentle conversation.

I must look dumb just staring at everything, but Matthew goes to the maitre d’ and gets our reservation ready. we never go on dates this fancy; most of the time, we stay in and binge watch old movies or play board games or just talk. he said he wanted to treat me, though, so I’m more than happy to go along with it.

part of me feels slightly out-of-place as the host leads us to a secluded table, walking past rich-looking couples or groups of people who appear to be socialites. as much as I wish I could blend in with this crowd, I keep worrying that I’m going to trip or somehow break something. elegant situations tend to make me especially clumsy.

once we’re seated and handed our menus, the host leaves us to talk.

“wow.” my eyebrows raise as I check out the options. Matthew looks up.

“what?”

“this place is fancy.” the corners of my mouth tug upwards. some of the items are in French, which makes the process even harder to untangle.

“too much?” he’s a bit wary as he asks, like he’s afraid I don’t like it.

“no, no.” I laugh. “I’m just impressed.”

“you wanna get a bottle of wine?” he asks softly, grabbing the wine menu. I nod.

“sounds good.” I think for a second. “do you happen to speak French?”

“dónde está el baño?” he jokes. before I can stop myself, I reach over the table and hit his arm, both of us laughing. it must be a bit too loud, because a couple people around us turn their heads. I settle back in my seat.

“that wasn’t funny.” I’m giggling.

“I wish I knew French.” he muses, still perusing the wine selection. I sigh.

“honestly, me, too. very sophisticated.”

“are we supposed to pair our wine with our food?” he whispers over the table.

“you think I know the protocol for this kind of place?” I hiss back.

“you know, what? who cares?” he sets down the menu and gives me a resigned smile. Matthew has always been uninhibited, and him deciding to just go with the flow gives me a warm feeling in my tummy. it’s one of the most attractive things about him, in my opinion.

when the waiter comes to take our orders, Matthew and I just get a merlot and filet mignon, both of us starving. in the meantime, we talk about his day and my day and he tells a funny story about his friend. somehow, he and I always have the best conversations, even if they’re about nothing at all.

literally you could ask us to discuss paint drying and we’d find a way to laugh about it.

“I was thinking... I’m gonna have a vacation soon,” he trails off, the antique ring on his pinky finger clinking against his wine glass. “maybe we could go somewhere?”

“somewhere like...?” I gesture for him to keep talking. he grins.

“you can decide. as long as it’s fun.”

“what? no, you can’t put that pressure on me, Matthew.” I laugh. there are so many places I want to see, and places that I know he wants to see, that I don’t wanna pick the wrong place.

“why not?”

“well, let’s do this,” I sit up more, resting my elbows on the table. the candle in the middle of the table flickers, casting his features in a pretty glow. “you list some places you’d like to visit, and if there’s some overlap, we’ll do that.”

“okay.” he rubs his hands together, then starts to think about it. I wait patiently, sip my wine and start to imagine how many possibilities there are for us. hiking along mountain trails, zip-lining through rainforests. if I’m being honest, I kind of just want to relax.

he breaks my train of thought as soon as he begins to tack off places.

“we could go to Costa Rica, or Croatia, or Mauritius... the Azores...”

“oooh, you know, I’ve heard the Azores are absolutely gorgeous.” my eyes sparkle as I think about the little islands. “and they’ve got these super nice hot springs, too.”

“private hot springs?” he asks me over the rim of his glass. my spine tingles with the implication.

“you wanna fuck in a hot spring?” I almost laugh. he reaches across the table and twines his fingers with mine, thumb rubbing over the back of my hand softly.

“I wanna do it on every continent.” he winks, then pulls away as our food arrives. I try to suppress the heat rushing to my cheeks and regain my composure even though my entire nervous system feels like it’s short-circuiting at the thought.

I try to put those images out of my mind before we thank the waiter, and then we’re staring down at the plates in front of us with surprise. the portions are ridiculously small-- mignon usually isn’t that big, but it’s such a fancy-restaurant-move.

Matthew and I start to giggle to ourselves, picking up our forks and eating. I’m not upset or anything; it’s sort of funny. instead, we share asparagus and dig into the meal.

“do you think they’ll be mad at us for laughing at the nickel-sized food?” I question. it’s really tasty, to be fair, but I have to take small bites so as not to mess up my lipstick.

“for the amount they’re charging, they’re probably the ones laughing.” he replies. I snort, reach up, and he high-fives me.

“that was good.” I concede.

“thanks,” he smiles, wipes his mouth with a napkin before focusing back on me. “so, back to the topic at hand-- are we going to the Azores?”

“only if you want to.” I smile.

“I’m the one that suggested it.”

“okay, then. I guess it’s settled.” I shrug. we set our forks down, done with our food already after about twenty minutes. we start to talk logistics and things we want to do there, excitement building in my stomach the whole time. I love spending time with Matthew-- having him all to myself for a couple weeks sounds like literal paradise.

he looks so pretty right now, too, with his glasses and fluffy hair and the ever-present smile. everything about him exudes positive energy, and I’ll never get over that sensation. I just can’t believe how lucky I am.

“I have an urgent question.” he tells me suddenly, completely serious. I straighten up and frown at him.

“shoot.”

“do you think we can get ice cream? somewhere else?” he asks. I make a face at the way he set me up for suspense, but the relief is overwhelming and my stomach still isn’t full from the small filet. I nod quickly.

he gets the waiter’s attention, pays, and before I know it, we’re walking back to the car.

“thank you.” I nudge his shoulder with my own, both of us bundled up in our coats. he leans down to kiss the top of my head before wrapping his arm around me.

“of course, darling.”

I like his little pet names, how he says them with the kind of sweetness that nearly rots my teeth. even if Matthew didn’t tell me he loved me every day, I would be able to tell just from the way he speaks. like I’m the only girl in the world.

we end up driving to a small ice cream shop by our home, a place that we always visit during the summer if it gets hot and we want sugar. there’s almost nobody inside and we look sort of absurd in our fancy attire, but when I get to the counter to order, I let loose.

salted caramel with oreo crumbles in a waffle cone, piled high. he gets chocolate fudge and we lick at our confections while he pays. it’s so yummy, hitting the spot in a way that a small slice of steak just couldn’t. even though it’s winter, ice cream is always good.

“is my lipstick all gone?” I grin, looking up from my cone to ask. we go to sit in the back room of the shop, which is completely empty.

“mostly, but there’s a little bit...” he grabs my face across the table and guides me to him, sliding his tongue over my lower lip and pulling away to smirk. “got it.”

“uh huh.” I chuckle.

“you taste sweet.”

“you wanna lick?” I offer my cone and he nods, trying it before offering me his own.

“literally how is ice cream so good?” I ask as we go back to our treats. music from the 50′s is playing over the speakers, delightfully saccharine as we just enjoy each other’s presence.

“no idea. but I love the person who invented it.” he says dreamily. “also, sorry about tonight. I know it was kind of a bust.”

“what?” I stop eating for a second. “Matthew, that wan’t a bust!”

“the portions were so small.” he can’t get over this. I snicker to myself.

“sure, but I had a great time.”

“are you sure? I can plan something else special for us.” he gives me puppy dog eyes, afraid that I’m disappointed. I could never be disappointed by a date with him.

“don’t worry about that. let me do the work next time.” I shrug.

“like?”

“like I’ll make an itinerary for our trip. that way you don’t have to stress about activities.”

“you and your itineraries.” he shakes his head slowly, but he’s laughing.

“have they ever failed?” I ask, then tap my finger to my ear as if daring him to reply. when he just smirks in response, I get smug. “that’s what I thought.”

“I love you.” the words come out of nowhere, a heavy sentiment for a light-hearted conversation. every time he says it, I feel it. that deep, burning adoration in my bones. I admire him for a moment.

“I love you, too.”

#matthew gray gubler #mgg fluff #mgg oneshot

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rudysrings · 4 years ago

Text

Twin Pogues of the OBX - 9

A/N: I’ll explain my disappearance later. I just want to get this out for now. It’s a long one. But I’m happy to be back :P Love and miss y’all.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of sex, mentions of drugs, police, DCS, mature themes.

Words: 5.5k YEESH ALSO AHH MIDSUMMERS :D

Masterlist

Kiara and you arrived at the Chateau together, well after sunset. The silhouettes of Pope, JJ and your brother were clear against the moonlight, quiet as they lie in the hammock.

You and Kiara slipped into the netting silently. Your shoulder was up against JJ’s bare bicep, and you fought the urge to move closer.

“You really think it’s out there? No bullshit?”

You felt JJ’s gaze on you, a million different emotions brought to the surface by his mere stare.

John B admitted that he did believe after hearing your father’s voice on the tape.

“Well we’re going to find it, you know. Even JJ believes,” said Kiara, looking over at you two.

Surprised, John B asked, “Oh my God, JJ, do you really believe?”

On instinct, even though he clearly hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation, JJ replied, “Totally.” Then paused, confused. “Wait, are we talking about four mil?”

“Four hundred mil!”

All of you chorused, causing JJ to roll his eyes and turn onto his side, facing you. “I’m going to dream about shipwrecks. Good night, Bird!”

“Goodnight, bird shit!” Pope mocked.

All of your friends were asleep. You could hear John B’s loud snores and Kie’s soft murmurs. Pope’s body was halfway off the hammock in his state of unconsciousness.

You turned, lying down on your side and startling slightly at the wide eyes looking back at you.

Before you could chide him for creeping, JJ whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Immediately, you whispered back, “I’m sorry, too...Are we gonna be ok?”

JJ hushed you. “It’s you and me, Trouble. We’re always gonna be ok.”

The two of you didn’t say anything else. You didn’t need to.

The five of you set off in search of the coordinates the following morning. There was an unmistakable air of excitement but also somehow nonchalance. Everyone wanted this to be it, but was too afraid to believe in it.

JJ was at the wheel of the HMS Pogue, his sunglasses and signature red cap making him look especially good in the Carolina sun.

You noticed yourself noticing things like this even more than you did before. This morning, you woke up before everyone else and found yourself admiring the early morning silhouette of the blonde that currently occupied all your thoughts. Pope caught you, incredibly confused why you were staring at his best friend like a dazed puppy. Luckily, your reputation pulled through and he simply scolded you for being stoned so early. Yeah, that’s right, simply looking at JJ made you seem high. You were in a shitload of trouble.

You were supposed to be helping Kiara release the rope with the drone attached at the end, hurriedly tossing it into the water against the raging winds. Y’all had picked the worst time to do this.

You caught yourself distracted by JJ, who was furiously spinning the wheel to John B’s directions. There was something about that shirt. He flicked his head back to see how you guys were doing and scrunched his eyebrows inquiringly when he noticed you watching him. You shook your head, trying not to get embarrassed. Too late. “Y/N!” Kiara slapped your shoulder, forcing you to pay attention to the rope that the current was currently tugging away. Shit. You refocused, but not before catching the upward tilt on JJ’s lips at your ridiculousness.

960 feet.

970.

980.

“I’m at the bottom!”

“See anything?” Called JJ.

“It’s the Royal Merchant,” You heard your brother say, raising the hair on your arms.

You and Kiara rushed over, your arm on John B’s shoulder as you tried to look over him at the monitor. He was right, you could see old, rusted over debris from the wreck scattered all over the ocean floor. But...no gold.

You looked at your feet in disbelief. Clenching your fists as your heart dropped. You met JJ’s eyes, shaking your head sadly. He nodded at you, shrugging as if to say. What did we expect? You didn’t miss his heavy disappointment. That look steeled you. Gold or no gold, you’d find a way to get JJ out of this shithole.

“Somebody beat us to it,” John B muttered.

“Or it was never there,” Grumbled JJ.

You and John B dropped the pogues off, each of them saying goodbye rather emotionally, drained from the loss of something you never had. Kiara ruffled your hair, reminding you, “Chin up, yeah?” as she left. Pope simply pulled all of you into a quick hug, giving you a pat on the back.

JJ, as always, was more subtle, more secretive. As John B steered the boat towards the docks, he sat next to you, pulling your hand into his lap without looking at you. He rolled his lips, before bringing his elbows onto his knees and leaning his forehead on his hands that encased one of yours. He breathed deeply. Once. Twice. Three times. Then he looked at you, offering you a smile and twirling your ring. He echoed his words from last night. “We’re gonna be ok.”

You nodded fiercely, smiling. “I know, Bear. We always are.”

You and John B walked up to the Chateau alone, gear in hand. He draped an arm around you, pecking the top of your hair. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I really thought it would.”

You didn’t want to admit it, but you did, anyway. Maybe your brother needed to hear it or maybe you needed to say it; whatever the reason was, you said, “Yeah, me too. I really hoped Dad didn’t give his life for nothing.”

John B pulled you closer into his side as you walked, for once not disputing your claim on your father’s death.

The two of you walked inside, only to see...fucking Cheryl from foster care on your couch.

You startled immediately, pulling your brother behind you. “Hey, guys,” the devil incarnate greeted.

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the table as John B sat down. You sighed. “You know, Cheryl, it’s kind of a bad time for a check-in.”

She smiled. “Not a check in. We’re here to take you.”

Your eyes widened. “Today? Really?”

“It’s just for a few weeks until your hearing.”

John B spoke up. “No, no, no. Cheryl, look, we’re not going into foster care, okay? We’re not going to go be a part of your little system.”

“Kids, this is Deputy Thomas.”

Before you knew it, Deputy Thomas had you and your brother in the back of his car, driving you to your fate.

John B pulled a clever trick though, and as he picked up the picture of your dad that Cheryl had been foolish enough to let you guys grab, you both looked at each other once, before breaking into sprints in opposite directions.

You ducked under some trees, peeking over the corner of your shoulder to see Deputy Thomas chasing your brother. He’d have to get away somehow. You had to trust that. You looked forward, running through the neighborhoods you knew so well and dialing the first person you thought of.

“Yo! Me and Po-”

“JJ!”

You made your way towards Heywards, figuring he must be with Pope. “Woah, what’s with the excitement. I know I’m a riot, but-”

“JJ, shut up! It’s DCS.”

“What? Are you alright? What’s going on?”

“I got away. I’ll see you at Heywards.”

“Wait, Y/N-”

You hung up as you neared the store, seeing JJ out front, staring at his phone in concern, a deep set frown on his face.

“JJ!”

You nearly crashed into him, but stopped short, your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath.

Pope came out, too, noticing you. “Ayo, Y/N. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“What? No. I just got away from Deputy Thomas.”

“What the fuck? Did he do something to you?”

“Why are you running from the cops?”

JJ and Pope questioned you immediately. “I-no, I’m fine. Like I said, I ran away. They’re trying to take us away until our hearing in a few weeks. But I don’t know if John B got away. Listen, I shouldn’t be here. They’re gonna come looking for me.”

“Then come with us,” insisted JJ.

“No, I wouldn’t put it past them to search the waters.”

“Stay here, then,” Pope offered. “You know my Pops will cover for you.”

You agreed. JJ furrowed his brows. “Then we shouldn’t go. We can’t leave her like this, Pope.”

You shook your head, grabbing JJ’s hand. “No, you guys go. Anyways, if they turn up here, they’ll be more suspicious if y’all are here. They’ll expect me to be with you. Trust me.”

Pope nodded, going back inside to let his dad know. JJ held your shoulders, leaning down to look at you. “Be careful, yeah? Nothing stupid.”

“You’re one to talk.” You tried not to notice how close he was to you.

I’m fucking serious, dude. There’s nothing I can do if they take you away from me. I don’t want us in the position, got it?”

You nodded, taken aback by his seriousness but grateful for it nonetheless.

He pulled his cap off, messing your hair before slipping it over your head. “Stay low, Trouble,” He said as he walked off towards the docks.

You walked inside, smiling at Pope’s dad. “Thanks for this, Mr. Heyward.”

He nodded at you. “Any time. I know all about that foster system. You’re better off dead than stuck in that, kid.”

You agreed, taking some boxes from his hands and getting right to work.

You spent the day at Heywards, hiding out in his freezer when the Deputy came over.

That evening, Kiara dropped by Heywards and convinced you to come to one of those old movie nights that you usually spent your summers at--summers free of treasure hunts. She explained that you’d be hidden amongst everyone from town and JJ and Pope would be there too, so there was no reason for you not to come.

JJ held your hand tightly, his eyes darting around the crowd constantly. You hadn’t questioned his jitters or why his grip on his bag was so tight, but your fingers were starting to give to the pain of being crushed.

“J. Shit. My hand, bro.”

He looked down, instantly letting go and looking apologetic.

“Don’t worry about it.” You shook your head as you walked over to Kiara.

You lied down and didn’t bother listening to the conversation, too worried about your brother either being dead in a ditch somewhere or in Deputy Thomas’ clutches. He hadn’t called once.

Until you heard, “JJ, please tell me you did not bring a gun here.”

You sat up immediately, “JJ what?”

“There are children here,” You heard Kiara say.

You raised your eyebrows at him, ignoring Pope and Kiara’s words as you stared. “Are you kidding me, dude? A fucking gun?”

He had the decency to look a little ashamed, staring at his feet and biting his lip.

During the movie, the boys ventured off to take a piss and you and Kiara joked that they must be holding it for each other. Honestly it was ironic given the amount of shit they gave you and Kiara for going to the bathroom together only to do it themselves.

It was not more than a few moments later that you heard glanced over to see JJ and Pope gone. You grabbed Kiara and walked behind the giant projector screen, shocked to see Pope in Topper’s hold and Rafe and Kelce grappling with JJ. “Let go of him, Topper! Fascist Asshole!” Kiara cried, using JJ’s bag to hit Topper.

“Get off him!” You turned to JJ and shoved Rafe, grabbing his shoulders and pulling his jaw down to meet your knee. “2 on 1...real fair, Rafe,” you sneered into his ear as he groaned, clutching his smarting jaw.

You saw Topper toss Kiara and instantly reddened with rage. You grabbed his hair, pulling him to the ground with force. He grabbed your ankle and you would have fallen if JJ wasn’t right behind you, helping you up. Kelce and Rafe were on you again and you couldn’t get out to help Pope, who Topper was about to suffocate.

“Come on, man, admit it! Admit you did it, bitch!” He threatened Pope and you screamed.

“Get the fuck off of him, Topper! What the fuck! Please!”

You heard Rafe tell Topper to finish him off and let out a strangled cry, locking eyes with JJ, who for once, looked scared, too.

All of a sudden, it was hot. Really, fucking hot. You looked around to see the movie screen going up in flames; you heard shouts as people fled the burning scene.

Kiara. Instantly, the kooks let you go. Kiara helped Pope up and JJ coughed, nearly falling forward, but you caught him, slinging his arm around your shoulder. “You’re a fucking idiot, J,” you hissed.

He ignored you, simply pressing his lips to your cheek. “What was that for?”

“That was for bruising the fuck out of Rafe Cameron’s jaw,” JJ said smugly.

You rolled your eyes. “That’s one of the moves I picked up from you, actually.”

“Exactly. You did me proud.”

“No, what the fuck, JJ? They almost killed you guys. Kie saved your asses.”

He leaned on you heavily as you walked and his off-beat steps had you realizing that he was faking the limp. You hid your smile.

You couldn’t stay at the Chateau anymore, not with DCS watching it, so all of you apart from Kiara crashed at Heywards.

JJ and you took the couch, not unused to spending the night together on all sorts of odd surfaces.

As you lie down, head on his shoulder and body overlapping his slightly, he pet your hair. The silence was absolutely insufferable.

“Hey, Trouble?” JJ asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hummed.

He sighed, pondering his words. “I know you’re scared to…to change anything between us.”

You didn’t look at him, keeping your eyes shut as you just listened.

“I just-I just want to tell you that I...I would take care of you, Y/N. I swear on it. I would. I’d...I’d-fuck, why am I so bad at this?”

He took a breath again and you could imagine the adorable look of frustration on his face. You felt his arm raise, probably to run through his already messy hair. You bit your lip to keep yourself from smiling.

“I just want you, yeah? Any way you’ll have me. Just...think about it.”

He settled in, then, his breathing evening out. You peeked your eyes open to see his shut; he looked dead asleep.

Your fingers slowly made their way into his. You ducked your head further into his chest and felt him squeeze your palm. Oh, so he was awake?

Blushing, you decided this was a problem for tomorrow, and instead let his presence lull you into slumber, dreaming of John B being chased around town by Deputy Thomas.

When you woke, JJ was gone. You heard voices in the store though and made your way towards them. You found Kiara, Pope and JJ. Your eyes met Kiara and she shook her head sadly. No John B. You saddened visibly.

“Morning!” JJ greeted with a grin, throwing some sort of rubber ball from the tourist section at you. You caught it, walking up to him and placing it at his chest.

“Morning, J,” You said, surprisingly shy.

“Hey, Pope. Someone here to see you.” Mr. Heyward entered. “Y/N, you don’t want this one to see you right now.”

JJ took one look outside and shoved you down by the shoulders, pushing you behind one of the shelves. “Stay down!” He whispered.

You heard Pope say “Evening, Officer and your eyes widened.”

“I have an arrest warrant for felony destruction of property.”

Oh, fuck, Pope got caught. Your heart sped up, and you twisted your ring in worry.

You heard the distinct metallic sound of handcuffs and next thing you knew, Pope was being taken away, arrested by Shoupe. You heard everyone go outside but couldn’t make out any words. You waited a few minutes, waiting for the sound of the car driving away.

You got up, heading outside to see Kiara, Mr. Heyward and Pope? You rushed over to him, pulling him into a hug. “Oh, thank God, I thought he arrested you, man.”

Pope was rod straight. You pulled away, confused. Kiara was standing there in utter shock. Wait, where was JJ?

“What-what happened? Why are you like that? Who died?” You chuckled half-heartedly.

Mr. Heyward shook his head, going inside.

You looked at Kiara and she said, “JJ told Shoupe that he did it. Shoupe took him away.”

Your stomach fell. Clutching the cloth of your shirt, you asked, “JJ did what?”

You blinked away the tears before your friends could see them. “We have to do something. We have to bail him out.”

“There’s nothing we can do, Y/N,” Kiara insisted.

You looked at Pope, who looked lost.

“Well, if you guys won’t, then I will!”

Pope grabbed your arm, pulling you back. “No! Look, Y’N. Kiara’s right, there’s nothing we can do right now. And you can’t do anything, you can’t risk getting taken away by DCS.”

“FUCK DCS, Pope! JJ’s in jail!”

“They won’t keep him there for long, Y/N,” Kiara said, stepping closer. “He’ll be ok.”

You thought it over. You couldn’t think of anything you could do except stomp over to the sheriff’s office and demand that JJ be released, but that wouldn’t go over well for either of you. “Fine. You’re right. We just have to hope for the best.”

Kiara had you spend the night at her house, both in an effort to cheer you up and because it was Midsummers the next day and the only way she said she’d go is if you came with her. It wasn’t a bad hiding place. There were no cops at Midsummers so you’d be alright.

She saw you fidget all day, restless. Your brother was missing and JJ was rotting away in a cell as far as you knew. It got you thinking, though, if anything were to happen to JJ, you would regret most not coming clean to him that you liked him more than a friend. Yeah, you were admitting it to yourself. You cared about JJ in a way you had never cared for anyone ever. Even though that thought was enough to scare you to your bones, right now, all you could think about is how much you wish he knew. You hoped you knew without you having to say it, but he deserved to hear it.

Kiara took the liberty of trying to distract you as best she knew how. She helped you get dolled up for that evening. She was wearing the most beautiful deep lavender dress you had ever seen. She offered you her entire closet and she was a little disappointed when you chose a halter jumpsuit, but when she saw how nice the rich, sunset orange went with your skin tone, and how the low cut neckline down to almost your waist and lack of a back flaunted some skin, she caved.

She did your makeup so that you glowed golden and your hair was free. You let yourself get lost in the process, realizing you had missed out on stuff like this after your mom left.

It was tradition to wear a flower crown, and you chose peach colored hibiscuses to decorate yours, weaving them together with jasmines in between to make it smell nice. In the end, as you and Kiara stood side by side, you thought you looked like prairie girls, but she said that was the aesthetic and you should shut your mouth and go with the theme.

The party was loud. It wasn’t loud like the keggers you had on the cut, it just screamed money and status. Every little thing was done up in a way to show something off. The food they chose was to prove that they had a taste for the richer things, which were much worse than a meal at the Wreck in your opinion. The drinks were aged to perfection and people spent more time staring and discussing the bottles than drinking, completely juxtaposed to the fast pace of the lines at the beer kegs that you were used to. Saying you felt out of place was an understatement.

You knew Pope was working the party and Kiara and you caught sight of him pretty quick. They exchanged some witty banter and you raised an eyebrow at Kiara, only for her to blush and shake her head, wordlessly denying anything. You did your usual handshake with Pope and pulled him in for a hug. “I like the fit,” he complimented. You smiled. “Hey, have you heard from JJ?” Pope asked.

You looked down, shaking your head. “I-No. He has to be okay, though.”

“Yeah, he’ll be alright. He’s got the survival instincts of a cockroach.”

Pope frowned. “It’s all my fault.”

“Uh-you didn’t do this, Pope.”

You nodded. “Kie’s right, Pope. You can’t blame yourself for this. JJ made his decision on his own.”

You pulled Kiara towards you. “Come on, let’s dance. I need to not think about anything, right now.” You called out to Pope, “Catch you later!”

You were dancing with Kiara and a couple other kooks she was chill with. The song taste wasn’t your favorite, but it was something to get your mind off all your problems.

When a particularly ear-bleeding song came on, you couldn’t help yourself. Holding Kiara’s upper arm, you admitted to her, “I’m really fucking worried about, John B. I’m hoping he’s ok and just being stupid by not calling me. I don’t know what I’m going to do if something happens to JJ. I’m worried that even if he gets out, his dad-”

Kiara wrapped her arms around you, shushing you. “I know, babe. I can’t say much to help you, but have a little faith, hmm? We’ll deal with whatever happens.”

You nodded, before looking over her shoulder to see Pope and a blonde waiter. Wait, no, that wasn’t a blond waiter. No one else on the cut had those rings and that tousled hair.

“JJ!” You cried, breaking out of Kiara’s embrace. He must not have heard you over the music, because he didn’t look at you, still talking to Pope. Your legs couldn’t carry you fast enough.

You shoved indignant people out of your way, ignoring their shrieks and curses. Your hair flying, jewelry clinking together, you threw your arms around him, forcing him to take a few steps back from the momentum. He held your shoulders, pulling you away from him. “Ma’am--wait, Y/N?”

“JJ! You’re okay!”

He smiled, pulling you into a hug. He dropped his head to your hair and you held tight to his neck, face tucked into his neck. “Thank God,” You whispered.

You looked up at him, noticing now the clear dark marks of fresh bruises all over the left side of his face. His lip was busted open and his eye slightly swollen.

You touched his cheek. “J, did Shoupe-”

JJ shook his head. “Oh, nah. This was-this was my dad. Has the right jab.”

You were quiet for a moment, before saying, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

“No, no, no.” JJ’s grip tightened on your arms. “You can never go near him, got it?”

“J, I-”

“Swear you won’t, Y/N,” He insisted, looking scared.

“I won’t,” You gave in.

Something came over you then. Some rush of emotion, a rush you had been experiencing more and more often around the blonde. “J, I-I want to talk about what you said that night-”

JJ’s eyes widened almost comically. A shocking flush crept up his neck and you almost smiled at his adorable awkwardness. He glanced at Pope behind you, reminding you that he was watching your entire exchange. “Hold that thought, yeah?”

You nodded. He pecked your cheek, making it heat up as you looked anywhere but at him. He let go of you, stepping away and into the crowd.

Pope looked at you incredulously.

“What?”

He parted his lips in disbelief, waving at the air between you and where JJ stood, like his question was obvious.

You simply repeated your question.

Pope sputtered. “What you ask? Since when has that become a thing? I didn’t know y’all were having a thing.”

“We’re not!” You said quickly.

Pope laughed. “Whatever you say, Y/N.”

You looked around the crowd, not spotting JJ. You frowned, where had he gone?

Your question was answered pretty quick. You noticed a commotion across the party and saw JJ being escorted out of the party. He downed a gentleman’s drink and the action was surprisingly attractive.

You noticed Kiara shouting, trying to prevent him from being thrown out. Grabbing onto Pope, you made your way over to them.

“Mandatory power hour at Rixon’s, Kie!” JJ called, walking out. You saw him meet up with John B. Your breath came back to you seeing your brother alive and intact.

JJ noticed you out of the corner of his eye and grinned wide, holding his arms out for you. You didn’t think twice, letting him spin you around and grab your hand as the five of you ran off.

A fire was soon set up at Rixon’s Cove, and JJ had changed into normal clothes, though you had to admit, you didn’t mind the look he was sporting before.

JJ lay across a log, his head in your lap, looking up at your face, which was lit up from the fire light. He didn’t smile, didn’t say anything, just looked at you as you ran your hands through his hair, refamiliarizing yourself with him even though he had only been gone about a day. His absence reminded you how used to seeing him you were, how used to touching him.

“Alright, my dad’s going to kill me, anyways. So what’s this mandatory meeting about?”

You were wondering that, too, and looked up at your brother, waiting for an explanation.

JJ sat up beside you. “We might as well tell them, man, before we get gaffed.”

“Gaffed?”

You soon learned that the gold never went down with the Royal Merchant. It was on Tannyhill. What concerned you, actually what made your blood boil, is how your brother had gone about finding this information.

Kiara voiced your concerns. “You were in Chapel Hill with Sarah Cameron while Y/N thought DCS had for sure taken you away?”

You stood up, glaring at John B. “You better be fucking with me. Not one call? What, you were too busy macking on here and prancing around the mainland to let your goddamn sister know that you were alive?! I was so scared, you ass!”

John B shuffled his feet, before walking over to you. “You’re right. Ok? You’re always right. I didn’t think. I’m-I’m sorry for worrying you, kid, alright?”

You were prepared for him to blow up at you. A sincere apology was the last thing you expected. “Maybe Cameron’s a good influence on you. First time I’ve heard you say sorry since you broke my collarbone in the fourth grade.”

“That was JJ’s fault, though.”

“That’s debatable.”

John B pushed your forehead and you sat back down.

The storm came on suddenly. Not a regular storm either—a full on, thundering, lightning outer banks storm. The four of you huddled in the van as your brother went to meet Sarah Cameron and figure out the exact location of the gold.

You groaned, pulling your hair up away from your sweaty neck. “Fuck, it’s hot in here.”

You began to get up. “Where you goin’?” JJ asked.

“It’s too fucking hot. I’m going to step out for a sec.” You paused before saying, “Come with.”

Pope began to get up, too, but Kiara stopped him, hissing something in his ear.

JJ followed you out, falling in step with you as you made your way into the cool night air. Your pace was slow, unhurried, unbothered by anything right now, because everyone you cared about was safe.

But, that thought from earlier in the day, that regret, still remained. You looked at JJ and he offered you a shy smile, offering you his hand and quirking an eyebrow in question. You took his hand, your arms brushing against each other as you walked.

“I almost didn’t recognize you today. You look like a right kook.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That’s offensive.”

JJ shoved your shoulder with his. “No, that’s not what I meant. You look great. For real. You look like the goddamn outer banks sunset threw up all over you. I mean that in the best way possible.” His eyes sparkled with eagerness.

You smiled at his attempt at complimenting you. “I’ll take it as such. Thank you, JJ. You looked nice in your disguise, too.”

“Nah, it was too stuffy for me.”

“That’s ‘cause you probably haven’t had a smoke in a hot minute.”

JJ snorted. “That could be it.”

You were quiet for a moment, just walking, stealing glances at each other. “JJ,” You said, stopping.

He stopped, too, turning towards you. “Yeah?”

“You remember all those chick flicks John B used to drag us to on the weekends? The ones where the heroine would be all ‘my world revolves around you’ and ‘I can’t breathe without you’ and ‘you give my life meaning’ and all that?”

JJ scrunched his nose. “How could I forget that kind of trauma?”

You stepped closer to him, taking both of his hands in yours. “I’m only going to say this once, we are never to speak of it again and if anyone asks I will deny it.”

JJ choked on a laugh. “Alright, Trouble, you have my attention. I’m listening.”

“That’s just it, J. You have my attention. All of it. All the time. Those romantic movies are the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. They’re absolutely, clinically insane. I don’t get it and I probably never will. All I know is that when I’m drowning, you’re the first person I think about. I know that you’re the only one who has ever seen that I’m so incredibly fucked up and not wanted to fix my behavior. I know that when you’re hurt, which is way too often, I go absolutely batshit with worry, seriously it’s a problem. I know that, especially recently, I can’t stand the sight of you macking on anyone.”

JJ looked like he was losing control, and you hoped that it wasn’t in a bad way. His breaths were coming faster and his hands gripped yours tight. “What are you saying, Trouble?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m saying I’m in love with you, JJ.” JJ's face broke into a blinding smile, encouraging your words. “I can’t promise you that I love you like in John B’s movies—”

“--Thank God.”

“--But I can promise that the way I love you is crazy in its own right. The good kind of crazy. I’m still scared. God, I’m still so scared, JJ. I don’t know how to do this. I’m still so afraid that I’m going to fuck up in some way. So that’s why I’m tell you this now.” You held his face in your hands, pulling him close so that he would hear your words, really hear them. “If you let me love you, I swear on poguelife that as long as it’s in my hands, I will never make a decision that will hurt you. That I promise you.”

You noticed JJ tearing up. He swiped his eyes with his thumb. “Fuck, dude, you’re making me cry.” He laughed tearfully, bringing his hands to rest on your waist and leaning his forehead on yours. “I know, dude. Everything you’re telling me--I know. I know you’re scared. I’ve never seen you scared of anything, even though you really should be, but this scares you. But I love you, yeah?”

You nodded, biting your lip against the tears.

“Trust that. Please, even if you trust nothing else, trust that I love you. Because it’s where I put my faith. Kie tried to take me to church once, but man I don’t think I have ever had anything nearly as religious as how I feel about you, Y/N. It’s constant. It-it centers me. It grounds me. So if we’re going to do this, you have to promise me something.”

“Two promises in one day? You’re getting greedy there, Maybank.”

“It’ll be worth it,” he assured you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then it’s done.”

“You have to promise me that if you get scared, you’re going to talk. You’re not going to run, you’re going to talk to me and we’re going to figure it out together, yeah?”

“Done. Can I kiss you now?”

“Fuck, yes.

And then you heard the screams.

Masterlist

Tag List (If there is a strike through your user it’s bc I couldn’t tag you bc tumblr is wack sometimes…)

@hurricane-abigail @omigodyall @timotaychalabae @kaelyn-lobrutto24@caswinchester2000 @meghanisdeadinside @harrysbbby @official-maddibrown @xdelicates@maybebanks@yourwonderbelle @treestarrrrrrrr @loco-latte@sspidermanss@theradvibes @eviction-notice-no666@screamingnewsies @the-fandom-life-forever @dolanfivsosxox@vibin-n-thrivin @em-aesthe @the-real-jort @riverdaleserpent04@free-pool-trash @mileven-reddie @drewswannabegirl@queen1054 @eternalharry@alwayshopelesss @superqalifragilistik@smileyxdolans@fangirling-all-day @dianaillusion@catonthesideoftheroad @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @thelovelydreamer17 @http-cherries @pit-zuh @kisssmefree @starryblueeyesandstarryblueskies @outerbankstings @oliviadrake1 @pancakefancake @haharudy @truthdaze

I’m also kind of new to tagging and rlly bad at it so if something is wrong, I’m sorry and pls let me know and I’ll try my best to fix it!

I also lost my updated tag list i’m so dumb so let me know if I told you i would tag you and i didn’t oop

Stay safe and stay healthy!

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one-boring-person · 4 years ago

Text

Don't.

T-800 (The Terminator: Judgement Day) x reader (ish)

Warnings: graphic violence, death, blood, injury, gun use, swearing

Context: the reader joined John, Sarah and Uncle Bob for the events of the film, but was left unconscious in the crash at the end of the car chase at the end, and is a little late to the party.

A/n: I felt like writing something depressing and Terminator related so this mess of a fic happened. Enjoy 😅 (also ignore how inaccurate it is)

Masterlist

I have to bite my lip to suppress the cry of agony that threatens to leave me as I force myself upright again, ignoring the shooting pain in my upper leg and lower abdomen. My hands quickly become scratched open and raw from the glass and debris littering the floor, the remnants of the truck's carcass lying only a metre or so away. Blinking, I press a hand to my stomach, where a shard of glass has embedded itself, leaving the offending item where it is so that I don't lose any more blood from it, shaking the haze from my head as I quickly take in my surroundings and formulate a plan. I have to find John; he's the priority.

Limping away from the destroyed car, I head towards the towering structures inside the factory warehouse, eyeing the dim interior with trepidation, knowing exactly what lies inside. A broken pole lies a little way away, which I grab and use as a walking stick as I step further into the steadily warming area, biting back small sounds of pain with each step. It's only a matter of minutes before I hear the first tell tale sound of someone somewhere nearby, the raised voices very clear to me, even through the ringing in my ears from the crash earlier.

Sarah and John.

Determined, I drag myself in the direction of their voices. The pole in my hands makes a steady tapping noise on the hard floor beneath me, scraping eerily as I start to climb some nearby stairs. With each step I take, the pain from my wounds becomes more and more unbearable, but I continue to ignore it, knowing that wallowing in my own misfortunes will do no one any good, except our liquid metal pursuer. Keeping my eyes trained on the platform the stairs lead up to, I push past the protests of my tired muscles and heave myself further into the factory, still heading towards the voices. Thankfully, they don't sound as if they are too far off from where I am, their panicked words almost coherent to me now.

Climbing onto the platform, I finally catch sight of John and Sarah, the two of them hastily backing away from the T-1000, who I currently cannot see. As I approach, I try to stay quiet, noticing as Sarah helps John into a covered passageway, trying to keep him safe by staying behind to fight off the ruthless killer alone, though I can see from my position that her wounded leg is giving her as much, if not more, trouble as mine. I keep my eyes trained on her as she cocks her shotgun and fires at the T-1000, who I can now see coming up the nearby stairs, his expression barely changing as the round blows a hole through his face. His stride never falters, the robot simply continuing to move closer to her, crowding her so that the gun is now useless. Sarah screams out in agony as he suddenly lifts a hand, his finger turning into a razor-sharp spear that he swiftly propels through her shoulder, the tissue and muscles giving way to the intrusion as blood pours out over her arm, the shotgun falling from her grasp.

Upon seeing this, I feel a surge of protectiveness flood me, my teeth gritting as I limp closer to the terminator, the robot somehow failing to notice me behind it until I've made my first move. Settling my weight, I ready the pole and whistle tauntingly, drawing the T-1000's attention to me. As soon as his head has turned towards me, I swing the pole round, crashing it into his face, the metal warping under the impact as the shock goes up my arm. Yelping, I reel backwards but continue to watch the killer as he withdraws his finger from Sarah and turns to face me properly, expression seemingly irritated. Effortlessly, it turns a hand into a long blade, swiping it at me as I stumble backwards, the edge just catching my arm as it whistles past, drawing a growl of pain from me. Readjusting, I lift the pole and strike at the oncoming terminator, only for the makeshift weapon to be plucked from my hands and smashed into my ribs, agony exploding out across the area instantly. With the sheer force, I'm thrown sideways, off of the platform and onto a smaller one nearby, my body making harsh contact with the hard metal, winding me as I roll to a stop against a railing.

Looking up, I groan in frustration when I see the T-1000 simply return to Sarah, preparing to impale her one more time. Once again, however, he doesn't get that far.

Uncle Bob has finally made his entrance, one armed, bloodied and heavily injured, but still as determined as ever, crashing a pole of his own straight down into the superior model, making it stagger back in surprise. Spinning, it remorphs its body around the intrusion, and easily pulls it out, using it as a weapon to attack the other cyborg. Crunching sounds leave the damaged machine as it receives blow after blow to the face and chest, the cyborg helplessly grasping with it's good arm at anything it can. The heavy body soon crashes to the platform I'm on, the metal denting underneath the great weight, the T-800 swiftly scrambling to stand again. As it does, however, it is met by a face-full of anvil as the T-1000 easily swings the hanging structure into the body of the inferior model.

Again and again the killer attempts to crush the larger robot against a nearby surface, the whining and screeching of metal being warped and buckling under pressure filling my ears as I watch. Hazily, I have one more idea, pushing myself painfully to my feet as I limp over to the battling robots, staying out of sight. Once close enough, I move up behind the T-1000, before throwing myself onto the narrow back of the killing machine, latching myself onto him as I attempt to throw him off, jerking myself as much as I can to completely pull him over. Of course, my attempts are in vain and I'm simply slung off onto the floor, a grunt escaping me as I am thrown against a nearby wall. My eyes widen as I see the T-1000 stalk over to me, his arm becoming a blade once more.

A gasp leaves me as the makeshift sword enters my body. Pain blooms through my lower abdomen, a grimace coming over my face as the blade is removed roughly, my body slumping as blood starts to pour out onto the floor, staining the metal crimson. Standing over me, the T-1000 stares at me and slowly, ever so slowly, extends the blade one last time, driving it painstakingly through my chest. Sickeningly, he twists it, seemingly enjoying the whimpers that tear from my throat, withdrawing his arm as slowly as he inserted it, the silver blade dripping scarlet liquid onto the floor as he turns away from me and walks off, going to the T-800, which has slowly managed to crawl its way over to the edge of the platform.

Taking up the pole again, the T-1000 watches, almost scornfully, as the inferior model reaches for something, its critical eyes roaming the straining figure before it steps forwards and lifts the pole above its head. It thrusts the pole straight into the T-800's back, pulling and manoeuvring it so that it compromises any important systems, the end of the weapon soon emerging underneath the dying terminator as the other shoves it through him. Despair rises in me as I watch Uncle Bob go limp, his joints seizing up as his systems shut down.

The T-1000 steps past me, giving me a final look as I fight off the urge to slip into unconsciousness, the pain rapidly overtaking my entire being. Blood forces itself out from between my lips, coating my chin as I spit out a globule of the stuff, every breath now laboured and painful, my chest heaving violently. Lying back against the wall, I keep my eyes trained on the prone cyborg, using the visual as a way of staying awake, knowing that I don't have much longer left, my heartbeat now starting to fail me, each pulse becoming fainter and fainter. A burst of disappointment goes through me, the thought of failing my best friend still rife in my mind despite the situation I'm in, tears now spilling down my cheeks at the idea, aware now that my attempts were futile. Only Uncle Bob can really do anything now, and he's lying, basically dead, a little way away from me.

Even as I think that, I notice the terminator across from me starting to move again, the arm that was previously outstretched now bending underneath it. With a squeal of metal, the T-800 slowly yanks the pole from his chest, throwing it away from himself as he forces himself upright, grabbing hold of a gun as he goes. Watching this through lidded eyes, I feel a small smile stray onto my lips, a sense of hope finally overcoming the despair from before. As the robot moves to find John and Sarah, he notices me where I am, his expressionless face creasing into a frown, the wounds around his cheeks opening up wider with this movement.

He comes over to me and kneels down, my pain-addled brain too hazy to marvel at how odd the action is. I only just register as his hands make contact with me, trying to staunch the blood flow, his protective urges kicking in, only dropping when I place a shaky hand on his.

"D-Don't…" I manage to force out between harsh breaths, smiling up at him weakly.

"Why not? Your wounds are fatal if not tended to." He informs me, going to continue.

"I'm already…dead...go find...John…" I whisper to him, pushing him off of me, "He's the...priority...not me…"

Pulling away, he looks down at me and stands, but not before he's brushed a finger along my jaw, the action oddly human. The cyborg nods to me, going to move away, albeit reluctantly, body struggling to keep up with his injuries now.

"Th...thank you…" I say to him as he goes, relaxing back against the wall, closing my eyes, "Now go...kill that...fucker…"

#terminator 2 #terminator #terminator imagine #terminator judgement day #arnold schwarzenegger #T-800 #John Connor #Sarah Connor #linda hamilton #Edward furlong

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greekowl87 · 4 years ago

Text

Fic: Embracing Parenthood 5/?

Get caught up: (1) | (2) | (3) (4) or AO3

A/N: I’ve been writing while trying to figure out my depression but it’s not as much as I would like. I finally got this done and have two other things I am working on. Looking at episodes 4-D and Lord of the Flies, I decided to consolidate this chapter and do a focus on “Lord of the Flies”. I’m still not 100% on the direction this will be taking. I borrowed lines from the episode so, just an fyi. I used the transcript from Inside the X. Bit of light smut at the end.

Tagging @baronessblixen @suitablyaggrieved @today-in-fic @improlificinsarcasm

After a few more months, they seemed to finally be hitting their stride. This new...whatever it was...took some getting used to for Mulder and Scully. Aside from the one time they caught William’s mobile spinning under its own accord, they had not caught anything else. Scully was fine with this and shut down any attempt Mulder made to bring it up. She kept telling herself that their son was just fine and normal like any other baby. After a couple of weeks, Mulder gave up. It became an unspoken agreement between them. Aside from this, things at the academy and x-files remained quiet.

Agent Reyes settled in an apartment in Foggy Bottom. A few x-files have been solved. Despite Agent Reyes’s claim of an interdimensional serial killer nearly ending his life, Doggett was still alive. Mulder and Scully settled into their teaching roles at the academy, William was growing in size, and they both were beginning to believe that they were getting that happy ending that they both deserved.

On a regular Wednesday afternoon, as Mulder graded quizzes in his office, he heard a light knocking at the door. “Come in,” he called looking up from his desks.

Scully smiled at him. “How’s the grading, Agent Mulder?”

“I want to know your secret,” he confessed. He held out his hand, offering a chair across from him. She surprised him instead by taking his hand, squeezing it, and kissed him deeply. “Well, hello to you too.”

“I like this, Scully.”

“I’m glad. I have to go to New Jersey though. Agents Doggett and Reyes need my medical opinion about a matter.”

“Do you need me to tag along?”

She didn’t answer his question. She sat in the chair across from him. “Teaching suits you, Mulder. Are you happy?”

“I can do without the grading,” he confided. “So, back to the case? Is this what...for an afternoon?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe. I’m sure it’s fairly straightforward. A teenager was found with half of the head collapsed in, and many flies came swarming out.”

“Flies? Is this a case of Lord of the Flies? Or Jeff Goldum’s The Fly?”

“Thankfully not. I just suspect something weird. However, I need to travel to New Jersey to lend a helping hand.”

“You never answered my question. Do you need me to tag along?”

“No. I’ve already called my mother to let her know. I’m taking a car from the pool and I’ll be stopping by the apartment before making my way to New Jersey.”

Mulder shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The suddenness of this news made him feel very uncomfortable. He did not have much time to sort through these new feelings as Scully continued. “It’s a three-hour drive from Washington. I’ll be spending the night up there. I should be back in a day or two.”

Mulder cleared his throat. “Just like that?”

She titled her head. “Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

“No,” he lied. He fiddled with the pen in front of him, rolling it back and forth on his desk. “I’ll pick up William from your mother.”

“It’s only for 48 hours,” she said.

“It’s not a big deal, Scully. Do you not have faith in me taking care of William?”

“I didn’t say that but you are pouting.”

“I’m not pouting. Look, I probably need a guy’s night anyway.”

“The Gunmen?” She asked.

“I was just thinking about me, Will, and Plan 9 From Outer Space. You know a guy’s night.”

“Maybe pick a less depressing film?”

“We’ll be fine, mom. Promise.” Scully arched her eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Promise, Scully. Nothing will go wrong.”

Her cellphone started to ring and she sighed, looking at the caller ID. “It’s Agent Doggett,” she sighed. She got up from her chair and hastily kissed his cheek as she left. “I’ll call you when I get there. Love you.”

“Love you too.” He replied, watching her retreating form.

As the emotions welled in his chest. Mulder pushed the rest of the ungraded quizzes to the side and began to search for movies. As a psychologist, he knew pushing his emotions aside and burying them was unhealthy. He and Scully spent seven years doing that. Unfortunately, he was no longer a bachelor and had a baby to worry about as well.

* * * * * *

Traffic was a beast in driving the length of I-95 to Quantico to drive the hour to Annapolis to Marget Scully’s house. Two accidents just added to Mulder’s sour mood. As he sat in traffic, he tried to distract himself by switching it to NPR and ultimately switched it off. As traffic inched towards Maryland, he finally identified and named just a few of the emotions that were swirling in his chest. Jealousy. Feelings of inadequacy. Sadness.

He sighed, finally sighting the exit to Mrs. Scully’s and signaled the right turn signal. As he pulled off, he was bitterly reminded of the initial shock and awe he felt coming back from the dead. He struggled to find this place in a Twilight Zone-like universe where he no longer had the x-files and had Scully seven months pregnant. They struggled to find their footing. Mulder remembered feeling left out and bitter that Scully had a new partner in Doggett. He didn’t necessarily dislike this man. He was a good agent, just like Scully had said, but he was the one investigating x-files with Scully. Mulder wasn’t. He didn’t mind Agent Reyes either. He liked her and thought her addition to the x-files office in place of Scully would help balance the skeptical Doggett. But that didn’t stop him from feeling jealous and left out.

As he slowed, pulling into a residential neighborhood, he saw Mrs. Scully’s white sedan in the driveway and the lights throughout the house. He jogged up the front steps and raised his hand to knock. Mrs. Scully opened the door before his knuckles could rap against the wood. “Fox, I’m glad to see you weren’t caught up in traffic too badly!”

“I still hit a couple of accidents, Mrs. Scully.” He forced a smile. “Were you expecting someone?”

“What? Oh, no! I saw your headlights in the driveway. Come in! I was just about to pull out dinner.”

“I couldn’t…” he stammered out of instinct.

“Nonsense. Besides, William will be very happy to see you.”

Oh yeah, he thought, I’m a father. “You need to get past the formalities, Fox. Don’t you think Maggie will do? You are the father to my grandson after all.” Mrs. Scully was already pulling on his hand, tugging him inside before he could put up a fight. “Besides, as much as I love my daughter, Dana does not know how to cook.”

“Actually, she’s quite good,” Mulder defended.

Mrs. Scully chuckled to herself. “What I meant is she doesn’t know how to cook for a family. I raised four children by myself for the most part when the Captain was at sea. Now that William is here, I’m not going to dismiss the possibility. Take off your shoes, Fox.”

Mulder slid off his polished Oxford shoes and loosened his tie. “The possibility of what?”

Maggie stopped and smiled. “Of what could be. Come on. I bet William will be excited to see you.”

Mulder followed Mrs. Scully into the kitchen and saw his son light up. William began to babble happily and stretch his arms for his father. He smiled and bent down to kiss his forehead. “I think he is going to have Scully’s eyes.”

“They might still turn brown. I don’t know, Fox. I think William is beginning to look like you. Have a seat. Do you want a beer with dinner?”

“Water would be fine.”

Mulder sat closest to William as Mrs. Scully served them. “William was fine today,” she said. “Dana called and let me know. If it is more convenient, I can come to Georgetown and watch William tomorrow if you want.”

Mulder nodded and replied, “I would appreciate that. I wish I could simply take the time off.”

Mrs. Scully played with her shepherd’s pie. And how are you feeling, Fox with Dana in New Jersey and you here?”

He was caught off guard with the question. “What do you mean?”

“Seven years you two were practically glued together. She would always answer your calls. Now you’re here and she's out in the field.” She paused. “I know you two had some difficulties when you came back.”

He chuckled hollowly. “Not every day you come back from the dead.”

“Exactly. She was alone for six months.”

“I didn’t leave her intentionally,” he defended quietly.

“I’m not saying that you did. I’m not my oldest son, Fox.”

“I’m that bad?”

“Worse than Dana,” she chuckled. “I know what it’s like to feel left behind and on the sidelines. I imagine you felt some sort of jealousy with Agent Doggett when you first met him?”

“I, uh, punched him in the jaw.”

Mrs. Scully nodded. “Dana mentioned something about that. The point is, Fox, I know what is like feeling out of the loop when your partner is out doing something. I felt the same way when Bill was out to sea and I was left to raise four kids of my own. He would joke that I was the admiral in the family.” She gave a small smile. “And you find yourself in a similar situation.”

“I guess so,” he whispered. He pushed his food around. “Even though we’re both teaching at the academy, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“You could always propose.”

William squealed eagerly and threw something across the table making Mulder jump. “Excuse me?”

Mrs. Scully shrugged. “I just figured after 8 years, a child, and sharing an apartment...it’s time you make it permanent, Fox.”

“I…”

She held up her hand. “You don’t have to say anything. Just think about it. In the meantime, are you sure I can’t get you anything else right now?”

“Yeah,” he stammered. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

As it neared 8 o’clock, Mulder gathered his son and Mrs. Scully piled leftovers into a brown grocery bag to walk him out. “I’ll be up by 10 tomorrow. What time will you be home?”

“About six,” he replied, shifting William in his arms. “Scully said she might be home by tomorrow.”

“Well, I’ll set one extra place at the table.”

Mulder, still feeling insecure, interrupted. “You don’t have to, Mrs. Scully. I can take care of William. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Nonsense,” she dismissed. “I love seeing my grandson.” She kissed Mulder’s cheek goodbye. “And I don’t do these things because I pity you or think you unworthy of Dana, Fox. I do it out of love for you and William. Now, I’ll see you tomorrow!”

As the door closed behind him and Mulder tucked William into his car seat, his thoughts became distracted yet again. Scully did need him, right? He hadn’t brushed aside. And what did Mrs. Scully insinuate with their dinner conversation?

* * * * * *

A few states away in Manahawkin, New Jersey, Scully retired from examining the half-collapsed head of “Captain Dare” and the persistent flirting of Dr. Rocky Bronzino earlier than she anticipated. She politely declined the dinner invitation from Agents Doggett and Reyes as well. She found her attention drifting towards various journal articles about the Spanish fly and their mating rituals. After a few hours, Scully abandoned her research.

She tried to take a bath and felt distracted. Her mind couldn’t wrap itself around the facts of the case. As she dressed for bed, she sleepily looked at the motel clock and saw it was nine o’clock. How could she have let time get away from her? Without a second thought, she found her cell and called the apartment’s landline. When there was no answer, she quickly called Mulder’s cell phone. He answered the third thing.

“Mulder,” he greeted automatically.

She could hear him hiding a yawn in his voice. “Mulder, it’s me,” she spoke softly. “Did I catch you at a bad moment?”

“No,” he sighed. “I just put William to bed. A late bath, a lot of crying, and a partially read bedtime story and he is down for the count. He misses you terribly.”

“I bet,” she said. Scully shifted the files around. “And what about you?”

“What about me?” He yawned again.

“How are you?”

“Tired,” he admitted simply. “And very much missing you. Your bed is too big without you. But never mind me. Tell me about the case?”

“I am dealing with a human head half-collapsed in with flies exploding it before I arrived. Agents Doggett and Reyes are chasing down a teenager suspect.”

“Oh,” he hummed. “Bugs. Is this like those teenagers from Pittsfield, Virginia, Scully?”

“Not at all,” she said. “I’m not entirely sure if this is an x-file yet. I mean it has bugs. It’s all about the bugs, Mulder.”

“Washington state. One of our first cases.”

“Well, no one has been found cocooned in the web.”

“Yet.”

“Yet,” she repeated. Scully sighed and looked at the empty side of the motel bed. “I should be done by tomorrow evening. Hey, we have the weekend at least. One perk of teaching at the academy: normal 9-5 jobs.”

“Unless you get called away on another case.” Scully could hear a hint of bitterness in his voice. “But yeah, I’ll look forward to it.”

“Mulder, are you okay?”

She could hear the phone shifting on his end. “Hm? Yeah. I was just getting the blankets pulled down. I thought about putting William in the bassinet but I guess he needs to learn about sleeping in his room.”

Scully groaned inwardly. “You’re not helping,” she told him.

“What did I do?”

There was a weariness in his voice she could not place. “Mulder, what’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing, nothing. Everything is okay. I’m handling it just fine.”

She heard his voice rise defensively and the baby crying in the background. “Look, Scully. I’m going to check on William. I’ll talk to you later okay?”

“Okay but…” Mulder hung up the phone before Scully had a chance to reply. “Great.”

Scully looked back at the clock, wondering if she should call her partner back. She felt hurt about the shortness in her voice. What had happened? Did her mother say something to Mulder? Did she do something? Did something else happen to William that he wasn’t telling her? In the end, she decided not to call him back lest she wake the baby again and cause Mulder to lose any sleep. As she settled in the motel bed, she turned onto her side and swept her arm up and down the empty side. She missed being away from him and their son.

Three hours away in Georgetown, Mulder, unable to sleep found himself on the couch in front of the television. William held contently against his chest. William sleepily watched his father as Mulder settled on TCM for a black and white horror film. A small gurgling brought Mulder’s attention back to his son. “We’ll just keep daddy sleeping on the couch a secret from mom,” he said.

William yawned and twisted his head towards Mulder’s chest. “Well, the important thing is that you’re comfortable,” Mulder continued. “You’re just like your mother; she can sleep anywhere too. I think her favorite place is to fall asleep on me.”

He shifted his attention back to the television and then back at his son. “I can’t help but feel forgotten,” he confessed to William. “I mean, your mom was all by herself when she found out she was pregnant with you and I was abducted. She got a new partner.” Mulder thought of Doggett’s straight-laced demeanor. “He is just the opposite of what I expected. And of course, I am jealous of him. He was the one watching Scully’s back because I ran off to chase down a damn UFO. Look at what that got me, Will. Six feet under.” He looked down at his son. “Does that make me a bad person?”

William met him with silence.

“Well, I value your opinion so don’t hold back,” he told the baby. More silence except for a sleepy blink. “I think that is why I was so distant tonight. I’m jealous. I’m upset. I feel left behind.” Mulder watched his son grow sleepier. He had Scully’s blue eyes. “I feel like she’s moved on without me. I have since I came back. Even with you and all your glory, bud, I still feel inadequate.” William grabbed a fistful of Mulder’s t-shirt as his eyes grew heavier. “Are you trying to reassure me?” Mulder chuckled slightly. “I wish I could tell Scully how I felt.”

One day, he promised himself. As William drifted off to sleep, Mulder found himself wide awake still, his thoughts going to Scully and the bitterness he felt over the fact she was out in the field and he felt left behind.

* * * * *

Back in New Jersey, Scully left the motel to head straight to the medical examiner’s office. Agents Doggett and Reyes had texted her that they were going to follow up with some matters at the high school before meeting her at the medical examiner. On her way there, Scully tried to call Mulder again first at his office and then his cell. This was the second time since last night that he hadn’t answered his phone. Trying to dismiss the growing insecurities into the back of her mind, she tried to focus on the case instead. As Scully strolled into the main medical lab, it was much to her dismay that Dr. Bronzino was waiting for her.

“Dr. Scully,” the overly tanned scientist greeted. “How are you this fine morning?”

“Well,” she greeted with some reserve. “Have Agents Doggett and Reyes arrived yet?”

“Not at all! But I’ve been examining the flies that exploded from that young man’s skull. It’s quite fascinating really. Being a forensic pathologist, you might find this particularly interesting. Have you ever heard of the coffins fly?”

Scully took a step back and forced a smile. “I can’t say I have.”

“Well, they’re amazing creatures. A female coffin fly has been known to bury its way through over two meters of dirt just to lay its eggs on the cadaver. That is the equivalent of a human digging two miles into the ground.” He flashed her a dazzling smile of whitened teeth. “Isn’t it amazing of the lengths one will go to procreate?”

“Fascinating,” she replied quickly, “but what does this have to do with the victim?”

“Oh,” the entomologist exclaimed, “all the flies that came for the young victim’s head were female. There is probably nothing to it but isn't it fascinating?”

Scully’s mind was already firing and meaning connections. “It is. And it could be nothing or it could mean everything. Did you set any aside for the examination?”

Dr. Bronzino waved to the other end of the room where the microscope was. “I was going to prepare some samples to examine.”

She moved towards the microscope. “Why don’t I start on that and you do whatever it is that you are doing, Dr. Bronzino”

“Excellent suggestion, Dr. Scully! Divide and conquer! I like the sound of that!”

“I’m sure,” she answered.

“Which reminds me. I’m going to run back to my lab real quickly to gather another instrument of my invention. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here,” she said.

Scully was secretly glad to see him retreat as she set to work. She laid out her research of flies that she had started the night before and her morning coffee. She paused, trying to collect her thoughts before she delved into the day’s work, however, she couldn’t. Her thoughts kept going back to the abrupt conversation that she had with Mulder the night before. He sounded distant and aloof. She was reminded of his jealousy when he came back from the dead. She found her phone and dialed his office at Quantico. At nine a.m., he should have been strolling right then. However, it went straight to messages. She hung up before she could leave one. Growing disgruntled, Scully called the Georgetown apartment. To her surprise, it was her mother that answered.

“Hello?” Her mother answered.

“Hi, mom,” she greeted quickly. “What are you doing at the apartment?”

“Oh, I thought I would save Fox driving to drop off William with me this morning,” she said. “One less hassle to do. I also picked you and Fox up some groceries that you desperately needed.”

“We were fine,” she said. “Where is Mulder? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” her mom replied vaguely. “I found him sleeping on the couch last night with the tv on. William must have kept him up all night.”

She felt a twinge of regret twist her heart. “Is he okay?”

“I guess so. He seemed fine and left for the office with no issue. Why? Is there something that I should be aware of?”

“No, no,” Scully said. She pushed the thoughts of insecurity deep down. Now was not the time. “He seemed distracted last night. We only chatted briefly. Is William okay?”

“He’s a fat, happy baby who can sleep through anything. Just like you were. I’m here until Fox comes home if you need anything. Do you want me to tell Fox that you called?”

“No, no. Everything’s fine.”

Her mother was silent on the other end. “Well, if you do need anything, Dana, I’m here with William. Love you.”

“Love you too, mom.”

She hung up her phone and tried to ignore the new signs that taunted her. Nothing was fine except she was not going to say anything. Scully sat at the microscope and began to work.

A couple of hours later, Dr. Rocky Bronzino rejoined her with a crude-looking invention to he promised to give a giant break in the case. She half-listened to ramble on about the various mating rituals of insects until she noticed a pattern emerging with the insects. It took Bronzino to confirm her suspicions and identify the peculiar fact about the case. As she continued to examine the flys, at a quarter till noon, Agents Reyes and Doggett walked in. Scully looked at both of them and announced, “I’m glad you’re here. I think we just got our first real break in the case.”

“What did you find?” Reyes asked.

“Well, it's what the entomologist Rocky Bronzino found. The flies that ate at the brain and skull of the victim are all female. Every last one of them.” Scully motioned to a fly under the microscope as she spoke.

Doggett looked towards Monica Reyes and asked, “Exactly how is that a break”

Scully thought for a moment and answered, “Well, what are the chances of that?”

Agent Reyes clarified, “You mean that the absence of males suggests there's a reason for the attack. Behaviourally.”

“Well, something biological is going on. Whether it's hormonal or chemical something has caused these bugs to attack,” Scully theorized.

Doggett added, “Or a need to express themselves.”

Scully asked, “To what?”

Agent Doggett continued, “This is a kid that calls himself "Sky Commander Winky." Agent Reyes and I were interviewing him as a suspect when this happened.” He showed photos of the victim’s back were the words ‘DUMB ASS’ shined a bright, red welt. “The paramedics arrived and treated him for an aggressive attack of bodily lice.”

She took the photos to examine them closer. “Hmm. Lice are not altogether uncommon in a school environment.”

Doggett snorted. “Except that these are better spellers than most of the kids.”

“Maybe they stayed late for after-school lessons,” she snorted. “So what are you saying? That this is just another dumb ass stunt?”

Reyes interjected, “Well, that was my first thought. But the victim here was just too freaked out by this incident to make me believe he'd staged this. Which leads me to think that while you may be right about this being a matter of biology, someone is directing the biology.” She paused. “Maybe you might want to consult Mulder?”

“Why?” Doggett asked. “These are bugs we are talking about.”

“And how does one direct bugs?” She added.

Reyes shrugged and replied, “I don't know how but we've been running down a long list of witnesses.” She passed Scully the rest of the photographs. “A loner who was present at every dumb ass stunt and who had a run-in with this kid Winky at school just prior to the lice attacking. His name is Dylan Lokensgard. We're going to want to talk to him.”

“He seems like a promising start,” Scully replied. “Dr. Bronzino should be back soon. He promised to bring a piece of equipment that will help break the case.”

“We’ll be back then. Call us if you have anything. Let’s head back, Monica.”

“I’ll call you when I have something,” Scully replied.

She watched the two agents retreating. She glanced at the clock on the wall and did the math in her head. She probably wasn’t going to be home that evening that she had promised.

* * * * * *

Having Mrs. Scully watch William in Georgetown instead of Maryland was a bigger relief than Mulder had realized. Although he hit traffic on the way to Quantico, the extra hour of not driving had put him in a somewhat fairer mood. However, as the morning dragged on and he did not hear anything from Scully began to sour his fair mood. By lunch, he was mad. Well not mad, but pouting and being gloomy. If Scully were here, she would have chewed him out and told him to pull his head out of his ass. But that was just it. Scully wasn’t here to do that.

As noon droned on, Mulder heard a light knocking at his door and looked up with some surprise to see A.D. Skinner standing in the doorway. “Wow, Mulder. Even having an office out of the basement and looking depressed as hell.”

“And it’s good to see you too, sir.” Mulder rose to greet the man and offered his hand. “I suspect you did not come down to comment on my office.”

“No.” Skinner paused. “I had a meeting I needed to attend. I wanted to check in on you and see how things were. You know, just to see if you threaten to burn down the establishment yet.”

“Haha,” Mulder said lamely. “No. Things are normal. Just perfectly normal.”

“And you are a terrible liar. Why don’t you come to lunch, Mulder? Get your head out of your ass and get some fresh air.”

“I’m fine where I am,” he said.

“And I know you well enough to know when you’re lying. You’re jealous aren’t you?”

“About what?”

“I know Scully’s out in the field,” Skinner stated, “and you’re not.”

“Way to rub it in.” Mulder glanced at his computer clock and relented. “Fine, fine. It isn’t like I have anything else to do today.”

“Good. You could use the distraction.”

. . . . . .

Back in New Jersey, Doggett and Reyes were still canvassing the school looking for more witnesses, Scully found herself out in the streets with the brazen etymologist, Dr. Rocky Bronzino. His continued efforts of flirting with her wearing down on her last nerves. She surveyed the empty street and how idyllic it reminded her. Dr. Bronzino focused on the tool he had brought from his lap that was designed to help them. He took a step back from the tracker to examine the surroundings.

“So many flowers ... so little time,” he murmured

Scully looked up from the trunk of the Land Rover. “Excuse me?”

The etymologist stated excitedly. “Pheromones, Dr. Scully. Heavy in the air. Nature's natural attractions. Driving the insect world to go forth and pollinate.”

As Dr. Bronzino began to advance on her, she took a few steps back. She shifted her gaze to the device he had brought with him. “I'm aware of how pheromones work. But according to this device, there isn't a single pheromone to be found out here.”

He began to tweak his machine and Scully rolled her eyes, looking back up to the sky. She smirked, remembering the time she was with Mulder when frogs rained from the sky. Dr. Bronzino was growing frustrated. “Well, that can't be right. The biosensor uses an actual fly antenna over which the pheromones pass. But I modified the EAG to measure in picograms which makes it sensitive to traces a mile in any direction.”

Scully watched an overly casual Rocky lean against the car, a confident hand on his hip, as he tried to charm her. Scully tried to remain professional and keep them on track. “But I'm still not sure why you think that pheromones might cause an otherwise harmless fly to attack a human so violently, Doctor…”

“Rocky,” he corrected. His whitened teeth shined as brightly as he flirted with her.

“Rocky,” she repeated

He smiled, thinking his charm was working. “Bugs are small-minded creatures, and therefore very predictable. They don't have moods. They react to circumstance and stimuli as they have been doing for millennia.”

“How wonderful.” She tried to keep it professional. “So what do you suppose they're reacting to out here?”

Dr. Bronzino puffed out his chest like a mating dove and took a few steps forward. “It may be the bugs are being somehow driven crazy with desire. You know, they say we humans respond to pheromones, too.”

Scully put her hands on her hips, clearly uncomfortable. “Yeah, I tend to agree with that, yeah.”

Rocky pressed on. “‘Women's dormitory syndrome.’ It's believed that pheromones are the reason that women who live together share the same menstrual cycle.”

“Fascinating,” she deadpanned.

Dr. Bronzino felt emboldened. “You know, when a male and female calliphorid fly mate they stay joined for up to one and a half hours. One and a half, doctor.” He punctuated the last few words for emphasis. “What do you think of that?”

Scully stood unfazed. This was not the first time she had to deal with this, however, this time was different. “You know, Rocky ... I'm a mother.”

He arched an eyebrow, not dissuaded. He looked at her left hand. “Mothers are women, too.” He took a moment to look at Scully surveying her. “I noticed a lack of a ring. And what does it matters? Women have biological needs, just like men do.”

“You are drawing dangerous conclusions without lack of evidence, doctor.”

“Well, as a trained scientist, I observe you are a woman. There is no ring on your finger to denote a marriage or a serious relationship in what we consider legally.”

“I can assure you that I am very serious. I am in a committed, nine-year relationship with the baby’s father.”

“Well, he is not here. You are.”

“Doesn’t matter, Rocky. Let’s keep focused here, please.”

“Well, relationships aren’t known to be monogamous,” he countered.

“Seahorses, macaroni penguins, gray wolves, barn owls, and bald eagles,” she said.

“What do those animals have to do with relationships?”

“If you were a real scientist,” she pressed, “you would be aware of some of the animal species that are known to mate for life. There are some cracks in your argument. ”

“Well, there are numerous insects that perform a variety of mating rituals. Give it time, Dr. Scully and I’ll win you over.” She was about to reply but was interrupted by the beeping of the pheromone bio-sensor. Dr. Bronzino turned excitedly to the machine. “Big hit!”

“What is it?”

“A high concentration of c-13 calliphorone...incoming.” He looked up at the sky. Scully did the same and heard the beeping increase and then suddenly dissipate. “What? What happened?” He quickly went to check his machine.

“Nothing, apparently,” Scully commented drily. “We should get back to the lab. Agents Doggett and Reyes might have something for us there.”

“Are we going to continue our discussion of animal mating and ritual habits?” He asked, his voice heavily laced with innuendo.

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s done.”

“Dr. Scully, are you blushing? As the great Charles Darwin once said, ‘Blushing is the most peculiar and most human of all expressions.’”

“Don’t make me shoot you,” she sighed.

“I consider it a challenge.”

. . . . . .

“How do you like teaching at the academy,” Skinner asked. He watched Mulder use his plastic fork to push the mac and cheese around on his plate. “Mulder?”

“Um, interesting. A lot better than having to deal with the profiling cases in VCU even though I’m sure I will come calling. That’s part of the deal with teaching? We help out and consult as needed.”

“Are you that bitter that Scully is on an x-file and you’re not,” he asked.

“Am I that obvious?” Mulder asked.

“I’ve had hemorrhoids that weren’t as annoying with you,” he replied. “Or is it the fact that you don’t have the x-files anymore?”

The bluntness of Skinner’s observations caught Mulder off guard. He looked up from his food and took a few moments to reflect. “In theory, I shouldn’t. I have Scully and our son, things are about as normal as we can make them. But I can’t help but feel connected to them in some way. Seeing Scully out in the field, me not there…” He shrugged. “It brings up a lot of baggage.”

“Especially with Doggett?”

Mulder was quiet. “I blame myself. I should have stayed with her instead of chasing UFOs.”

“Doggett’s a good agent, Mulder. It was hard watching her, Mulder, during those months she was gone. Having to keep her pregnancy a secret. It was tough.” Skinner took a napkin and wiped his mouth. “You know, Sharon used to get mad at me when we first got married. I was still a field agent but the jealousy she would get. She felt inadequate with everything that was going on between us. Said she felt left behind.”

Well, Mulder thought, certainly hitting everything on the topic. Skinner continued to stare at Mulder. “And?” he asked. “What did Sharon do?”

“Well, we had a real nasty fight that was the start of our quarrels at the very beginning of our quarrels. I was in the field, missed an important date, you know how it goes.” He smiled to himself, remembering her. He thumbed at the wedding band thoughtfully. “But we made time. Communication wise. It didn’t always go well but we tried.”

“So, in addition to being an assistant director, you are secretly a marriage counselor. Wow, sir.”

“Knock it off, Mulder. All I am saying is that something is bothering you about this...arrangement, then make sure you take the time to talk to Scully.”

Mulder nodded. He decided to change the subject. “So, how is our old buddy Kersh?”

Skinner chuckled. “Tap dancing his way on the top floor so that you’re no longer there to bother him.”

“Well, at least some things never change,” he answered. “My advice, Mulder, from one man who tried to balance a career and relationship? Make sure you always leave time to talk and communicate. If not, the whole thing can go to shit.”

“Thanks, sir,” he nodded. His mind drifted to Scully. “I appreciate the advice. You should come down to Quantico more often. Skinner’s Lunch Hour wisdom.”

“Knock it off, Mulder,” he dismissed.

. . . . . . .

After getting John’s call from the school, Scully took her car to investigate and meet them there. According to Monica, Dylan had somehow controlled the bugs during their confrontation. She was surprised by the number of cops, firefighters, and EMTs. She was even surprised to see people in hazmat suits. But to her surprise, Monica had found them a clue. A used tissue. They rode back to the medical examiner. As they rode the elevator to the second floor. Scully was the first to emerge carrying the tissue in a metal container with Doggett and Reyes flanking her. “Where did you get this again?” She asked.

“Dylan Lokensgard provided it to us when we interviewed him,” Doggett answered.

“I have to warn you, there's typically not a lot to be found in a teenage boy's sweaty kleenex.”

“Well, a teenage boy can produce other things,” Reyes replied.

“Don’t remind me of the future,” Scully laughed thinking of William.

“But we were looking for pheromones. Aren't there pheromones produced in adolescent sweat?” Reyes continued.

“Yes, it's what causes B.O., But all too obviously it's not all that attractive--to anything,” Scully countered. “While I was out with Dr. Bronzino this morning, we thought we had a possible hit this morning but it turned out to be nothing.”

“A possible hit?” Doggett asked.

“Well, Dr. Bronzino was more than trying to hit on pheromones.”

“Well, at least Mulder isn’t here to punch him in the face,” Doggett chuckled.

“Yeah,” she said distantly. Scully’s brief thought of Mulder drifted away as she entered into the medical examiner’s office where Dr. Bronzino was bent over a microscope. She still needed to call him. The lack of communication between them was growing. “Let’s see what we uncover.”

As they entered, the biosensor’s beeps became progressively faster, startling the etymologist grew excited. “Finally! I knew it wasn’t broken!” He glanced up seeing Scully, Doggett, and Reyes. “Dr. Scully, I’m so glad you’re back! I've got a reading here that's going right off the scale. Holy Toledo! We've got pheromones coming out of the ying-yang here. C-13 calliphorene and how.”

As they got closer, the beeping became a steady tone, and then suddenly stopped. Doggett raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”

“I think my electroantennogram just... tilted,” Bronzino spoke in disbelief.

“What's c-13 calliphorone?” Reyes asked.

“Insect pheromone,” Scully supplied.

Dr. Bronzino’s attention shifted to the sample the FBI agents had brought. “Where did you find this mother lode?”

Agent Reyes answered, “A boy named Dylan Lokensgard. That specimen came from him.”

Rocky Bronzino sputtered, “A boy ... is secreting bug pheromones? That's impossible. Preposterous.”

Doggett glanced at Scully who met his gaze, trying to hide her smirk. He glanced back at the doctor. “You're the expert, Dr. Bronzino. How else do you explain it, then?”

When he didn’t respond, Scully asked, “Rocky?”

“A boy is a boy, a bug is a bug. You can't have it both ways,” he explained trying to wrap his mind around it, “science doesn’t allow it. Period.”

“I have a few theories,” Scully began, “Okay, so this boy's going through puberty, right? I mean, maybe his body chemistry is somehow just going crazy and it's his raging teenage hormones that are attracting all these insects.”

Reyes nodded in thought. “What if it's more than chemistry and hormones? More than biology? Dylan's not just attracting these bugs he's using them to act out.”

“Yes, but against what?” Scully asked.

“We saw him talking to a girl,” Reyes answered.

“Well, that makes sense. In a way. Teenage love,” Doggett connected. “The girl is the one in the dumb ass video. Captain dare's girlfriend.”

“How on Earth are you all making these connections,” Rocky said.

“We’ve experienced with cases like these,” Scully said. “Agent Doggett, why don’t you and Agent Reyes try to chase down the girl and check on her. Dr. Bronzino and I will check on Dylan.”

“We will?” He asked, confused.

“We are,” Scully confirmed. “Call each other in about two hours and meet back here?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Doggett nodded.

. . . . . .

It was evening by the time they got to the Lokensgards’ home. As Scully and Bronzino pulled up in front of Dylan Lokensgard’s house, her mind was elsewhere. She did not remember to call Mulder. As they walked up the sidewalk to the front door, Scully slowed and saw the front door slightly open. Scully slowed and drew out her flashlight. She knocked lightly on the door. “Mrs. Lokensgard? Dylan?” She called out.

Rocky Bronzino behind her was fiddling with the machine, trying to fix it, and it started emitting a series of steady beats. “Ah, got it! I'm getting a reading here. Trace levels inside the house.”

Scully shifted her gaze and replied, “Well, I guess that's probable cause.” Scully began her trek up the stairs when she was stopped by Rock Bronzino. “What now?”

Bronzino said quickly, “Dr. Scully? I just wanted to say this while I had a chance.” He smiled with bleached teeth. “This is so exciting. I've never had a partner before. And this isn’t a thing. This is a professional collaboration that happens only one time.”

Scully thought of Mulder and felt her heart twist. “I have. Don’t forget what I told you, Dr. Bronzino.”

“Semantics, Dr. Scully. I'd like to think of it as a hymenopteran relationship. Two scientists using their special knowledge reaching higher than either of them could ever reach alone. And if I may say so, Doctor, you complete me.”

“I’ve already completed. I already have a partner. I’ve told you this. Now, I got upstairs, you takedown.” She shook her head and thought of Mulder. She needed to call him once this was done.

“All right,” he exclaimed, “Partner!”

She rolled her eyes and jogged up the stairs. As she slowly examined the upstairs, her thoughts drifted back to Mulder and how she hadn’t communicated with him. Or her mother. As she neared Dylan’s room, Scully spied Natalie’s class picture on the bed. As her phone rang, she jumped, digging it out. “Scully?”

“Where are you?” It was John Doggett. He sounded rushed.

She looked around the room. “I’m with Dr. Branzino at the Lokengard’s house. But there’s nobody here.

“Yeah, well, I'm afraid the kid's on a tear. He's caused a car accident out here on Glenhaven road,” Doggett explained.

“How'd he do that?”

“You'd better see for yourself.”

“I’m on my way.”

Scully turned to make her downstairs while Rocky was just getting his equipment working properly. He looked up. “It’s everywhere, Dr. Scully. C-13 calliphorone. I'm getting a stiff new reading from up here.”

Scully nodded, “Yeah, Dylan's bedroom's up there. That’s probably what you’re reading. Unfortunately, he's not in it.”

“Where are you going?”

“The kid's on a rampage. I’m going to meet Agent Doggett.” The pheromone machine began to beep loudly and Dr. Bronzino cried in surprise. She called, “You got my number.”

Dr. Bronzino smiled and called out. “Does that mean you’ve changed your mind, Dr. Scully?”

“Not in your wildest dreams, Rocky.”

. . . . . .

Mulder came home, hoping to see, Scully but his heart fell when it was only Mrs. Scully smiling with William. He should be happy to have his son but he was missing his partner more. After a simple dinner and promises of coming to dinner Saturday night, Mrs. Scully left Mulder alone with William on a Friday night. William was quick to fall asleep and Mulde put him to bed. He surveyed the empty apartment. It felt foreign without Scully there with him.

He went back to the couch and tried to get comfortable. Flipping on the TV, he found the Sports Center. He glanced at his cell phone. He checked it one last time before turning it off. If she wasn’t busy saving the world without him, she would find a way to let him know what is going on.

. . . . .

As Scully drove to meet Agent Doggett, her phone started to ring again. She sighed and answered, “Scully.”

“Agent Scully,” Doggett’s voice filtered through the voice piece, “I need you to turn around and go back to Dylan’s house. Monica just called. She got knocked out and Natalie is gone. I think Dylan got her.”

“Is Agent Reyes okay?”

“Yes, I think so. I found her covered in some sort of web. Like a spider.”

Scully’s mind flashed to one of the first cases she and Mulder had on what was supposed to be a walk through the forest. “Call the EMTs and make sure they bring hazmat gear. I’m on my way back to Dylan’s house.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Take care of Agent Reyes first. And call back up for me as well.”

“You got it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She tried to dial Rocky’s number but it was disconnected. As Scully pulled back up at the Lokensgard home, it was still eerily quiet and something felt amiss. She drew her weapon and flashlight and took a few steps in. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Natalie Gordon, the girl that Doggett and Reyes had been after, sitting in a chair and crying. She asked, “Where are they?” Natalie shook her head, unable to speak. “Natalie!”

Natalie’s crying continued. She pointed upstairs wordlessly. Scully pointed her weapon upstairs and began to make her way to the attic. She widened her eyes in disbelief to see large human-sized sacs of web hanging from various positions. She instantly recalled the mysterious web-slinging, glowing insects from Washington state and how her, Mulder, and the park ranger were almost swallowed alive. As she examined them, a small voice emitted, “Help me. Dr. Scully, help me!”

Scully bent down to tear off the web. “Dr. Bronzino?”

“It’s the boy! And the mother!”

“Where are they?”

“I don’t know.” His voice sounded faint. “I don’t feel so good.”

In the distance, she could hear sirens. That must have been Doggett and Reyes coming with the cavalry. She tried to tear the webbing away as she heard the sirens sound to a stop. Bronzino looked faint suddenly and lolled his head backward and his eyes shut. She dragged him out and checked for a pulse. Feeling one, although faint, she began CPR. She heard footsteps running up the stairs and as the flashlight shined on her.

“Agent Scully!” Doggett greeted. “Is that Branzino?”

“He was in one of the web sacks,” she explained quickly, continuing CPR.

“He’s smiling,” Reyes observed.

“He’s what?”

Scully looked down to see Bronzino with his eyes closed but he was smiling. “That sonofabitch,” she cried.

Caught up in the moment, she slapped him against the cheek and got to her feet. The smack was resounding and caused Dr. Bronzino to sit up suddenly and place his hand against the red cheek. “What kind of care was that?”

“A dose of reality,” she snapped. “Make sure the EMTs check him out.”

“I thought we were partners,” he pouted.

“We worked together on this one case. That’s it.” She turned to Doggett and Reyes. “I found him cocooned up like these unknown victims. I had seen something like this once before when I first started on the x-files. That might be worth checking out.”

“We will,” Doggett said, trying to fight from grinning. “But um, do you find any signs of Dylan?”

“Gone. How is Natalie?” Scully answered.

“Fine. Shaken up but I think she’ll be okay,” Reyes said, trying to fight the urge to laugh.

“What?” Scully asked. She turned as the two agents stared at Bronzino who was now trying to charm a female EMT about his close brush with death. “Oh, come on!”

“I’m just saying,” Doggett said. “If Mulder were here, he would have slugged the guy.”

“Just because you were on the receiving end of the man’s fist once, John doesn’t mean he would slug another guy.”

Scully rolled her eyes and cast one lingering glance at Bronzino. “Speaking of Mulder, I need to call him.”

“Let him know about the human fly trap?” Doggett grinned.

“Both of you knock it off,” she grumbled.

“Agent Scully,” one of the police officers called, “I need to get your statement!”

“Can it wait?”

“I’m afraid not, ma’am unless you want to do it in the morning,” the officer said.

Scully sighed. “Fine, fine, I’ll do it tonight.”

Her plans of going home or evening calling Mulder disappeared as she was left with Agents Doggett, Reyes, and the cops investigating the scenes.

. . . . . .

Saturday morning. The sun was just peeking through the windows of the Georgetown apartment as Mulder sipped his coffee. He was preparing to wake William up to take him to do a morning run to the shop down the street for donuts and a newspaper. Despite the jealousy and sour feelings, he had with Scully being in the field, being home on a Saturday morning with his son was nice.

His attention was drawn to the door when he heard a key sliding into the lock, the deadbolt turning, and the door open. In came Scully, still wearing the suit from the night before. She came in, kicked off her boots, and dropped her keys on the table next to the door. She sighed and Mulder stood quietly. “You look like you’ve had a tough case,” he called softly.

Scully looked surprised. “You’re awake.”

“I’m not much of one for sleep. You should know that by now,” he replied. “You didn’t call.”

“I’m sorry,” she started. Her tired mind tried to piece the past 24 hours. “I got busy and distracted. Everything came to a head last night. I didn’t want to wait to see you so I drove through the night…”

“You drove through the night,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“As a doctor, you should know better.” He made his way to her in a few steps and wrapped his arms tightly around her. Scully was shocked by the greeting but relaxed a few seconds later. Her arms came under his and she hugged him tightly. Mulder squeezed his eyes tightly and buried his face into her hair and breathed deeply. “I missed you.”

Scully buried her face into her chest. His cotton shirt smelled of William, old sweat, and just home. “I missed you too.” She lifted her head and kissed him. Mulder smiled and kissed her deeply, not relinquishing his grasp. She chuckled tiredly. “You missed me.”

“Words fail to describe it.”

She smiled again and looked about the empty apartment. “Where is William?”

“Still sleeping. He’ll wake up in another hour or so. What about you? When was the last time you slept?”

“I napped at the station before I hit the road.”

“You’re a doctor,” he admonished.

“I know, I know.”

“So you know bed rest is the thing you need right now. I’ll call your mother later and cancel dinner plans.”

“Dinner plans?”

Mulder nodded. “We thought you were coming home last night so we were going to have dinner as a family. No worries. We can do it tomorrow.”

“Mom usually goes to church first thing.”

“I’m sure she’ll make an exception.”

Scully was already moving towards their son’s bedroom. The need to see her son was killing her. She opened the door slowly to see William still sleeping soundly. “He sleeps like you but like clockwork, he’ll be up ready for his bottle. We were going to run to the store to get donuts and the Saturday paper. I can pick you up for breakfast if you want?”

“That’d be nice.”

At the sound of his mother’s voice, William sleepily opened his eyes and gurgled happily. “He was up earlier, about three, with a diaper. Go ahead. I’ll get his bottle ready and get you some coffee. Unless you want to change.”

“No, no, this is fine.”

Scully bent down to pick up her son, cradled him, and sat in the rocking chair. Mulder smiled at the image before he went to fetch the bottle and coffee. As he came back and saw Scully, still disheveled from her case, smiling and cooing at their son, the anger and bitterness he had been nursing the past few days momentarily vanished.

. . . . . .

“Is William asleep?”

“Yeah,” Mulder replied, crawling into bed with her. “He’ll probably be up around two or three. He’s been consistent the past few nights with you gone. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take the first shift when he wakes up.”

Scully flipped the covers down for him further. “I missed this.”

“Missed what?”

“You, William, us.”

Skinner’s advice came back to him suddenly and Mulder said, “I have something to ask you. Rather something to tell you?”

“What?”

“I was quite moody and jealous when you were gone. I felt...I felt left behind,” he confessed searching for the right words. “I know I screwed up being abducted and dying and putting you through all that before William was born. With you gone…” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong. I may have gotten caught up in the work,” she said. Scully reached for his hand. “But this parenthood thing, our relationship, we just need to strike a balance and find out what that is. I enjoyed Saturday with you and William. That’s something we wouldn’t have if we were still on the x-files.”

“True. But I still feel bad.” He pulled her suddenly towards her and she let out a yelp of surprise. He kissed her neck and nuzzled her pajama top open. “William can sleep through anything. And, correct me if I’m wrong, doctor, you’ve healed enough.”

She giggled and slide down so he had better access. “On the case, there was this etymologist that had helped us. Rocky Bronzino. The man kept flirting with me to no end. He ended up in a cocoon…”

“A cocoon you say,” Mulder murmured.

His fingers were already unbuttoning her pajama top, his hand sinking beneath the elastic waistband of her undergarments. She shivered to feel his fingers touch her. “Yes. I got to say I was in a relationship,” she smiled. She sought more kisses from him. “Publicly. Openly. I am in a committed relationship with my partner.”

Mulder smiled and whispered, “You sound so sexy saying that.”

“What? I am in a committed relationship with my partner?”

“Yes.” Scully found herself topless and pulled off Mulder’s shirt. “He made me perform CPR on him.”

Mulder paused. “He did what?”

“Don’t worry. I gave him a good dose of reality.” She snickered. “By slapping him.”

“There’s the Agent Scully I know,” he breathed. “And good. I don’t share.”

Scully let him continue his ministrations, relishing being home and with him again. Her thoughts about the case as she just let herself be present and let herself be free. Mulder moved and loved her, silently thanking whoever was listening he had her and William in his life. After a passionate reunion, Scully cuddled against Mulder, resting her head on his heart. “I missed you.”

He held her and gently played with her hair. “I missed you too.”

On the baby monitor, William began to make noses, crying from one of his parents. “I got it,” Mulder whispered. He kissed her quickly. “And you’re right, we’ll try to find a balance.”

Scully laid back down in bed and watch his naked behind jog to the nursery. She lay back down to watch the shadows on the ceiling and he was back five minutes later. Mulder slid effortlessly back next to her, embracing her again. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “He was just talking in his sleep. Like you do.”

“You mean you,” she yawned.

“I mean you.” He pulled her closer. “It’s good to have you home, Scully.”

“It’s good to be home.”

#xfiles #xf fic #msr #txf #txf fic #msr fic #embracing parenthood fic #mulder #scully #mulder and scully #season 9 #au

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