#writing isn’t helping much and everyday I go back into this same cycle

[oliveish]

My daily life goes from “im relapsing so hard and going to never recover” one night, sleeping, and waking up with “new minecraft wolves go brrr” the next

[dameronology]

a matter of time (tasm! peter parker) - 5/5

five: when we collide (a.k.a the epilogue)

summary: summary: peter parker has barely gotten over losing you and getting dragged into another universe where you’re still alive and kicking isn’t about to help the case. thanks to an ultimatum from stephen strange, peter has just a matter of days to make you realise who he is and what you had, or he faces losing you all over again. he better get to work. (playlist + masterlist) - this uses she/her pronouns

warnings; mentions of loss/death, swearing, no way home spoilers

AHHH i can't believe this series has come to an end. it has been an absolute pleasure to write and i am so thankful for everyone who has read it. i hope this ending is the one you hoped for!!

- jazz xx

In Peter Parker’s mind, you were forever young.

That stupid denim jacket of yours; the faint smell of stolen cigarettes and your mum’s Chanel, splayed all over your baggy band shirts and clinging onto every last morsel of his bedsheets and existence. He’d spent the better part of the last three years trying to curate it in his head, all so that he wouldn’t forget. And even when years passed and the sound of your laugh and scent of your shampoo began to fade, he never forgot your face. He never forgot your bright eyes or wild hair or the glint in your irises every time you made a verbal attack on some unsuspecting soul. Peter had spent years trying to convince himself not to think about what you would look like now – it would hurt too much. The things that could have been.

Little did he know, that slightly older image of you was even more beautiful than he could have imagined. You didn’t look that different, a little wiser and more tired maybe, but completely familiar as you sat across from him in the coffee shop. Your hands were resting on a latte, eyes watching the window as strangers passed through Lexington Avenue. You always met here, everyday on your lunch break - the same way you had almost every day since Stephen Strange had sent you back to your original universe two years ago.

“Pete, are you staring at me again?” your eyes flickered back to him with a smile.

“I’m people watching,” he shot back.

“No, I’m people watching. You’re…me watching,” you corrected him. “What are you thinking about?”

“It’s two years tomorrow that you came back,” Peter replied. “But it kinda feels like you were never gone.”

You smiled. “Yeah, I know. It feels like a pipedream, huh?”

For him, it had been a nightmare. Five years of sitting and mourning, going over that godforsaken night in his head and wondering on a cycle about all the things he could have done to save you. It had eaten him alive; digested his heart and spat it out, half working. He’d slept-walked through all those days, half a man with half a heart.

Peter had never believed in soul-mates- he was a stickler for the idea that love was nothing more than a chemical reaction. Maybe in the same way that nuclear weapons were just a chemical reaction.

“Do you ever miss that world?” he asked. “Strange’s world?”

You shook your head. “Barely. My life there wasn’t really mine and the versions of the people I loved there weren’t really them. I s’pose I miss annoying Strange sometimes but pissing off a wizard isn’t worth giving up a single thing I have here.”

You’d made more of a life for yourself here now – the first few weeks had been hard, though. Strange could do a lot of things but he couldn’t undo the fact that everyone that you had died. With a little help from Peter and some of his shadier contacts, you’d managed to craft an elaborate story about faking your own death because of a weird discovery you’d made at work. And with Kurt Connors and Maxwell Dillon returning too all of a sudden, it was believable. Just about.

You were a high-level scientist at Oscorp now; there had been a few close calls with your colleagues almost stumbling about the multiverse, but you’d managed to divert their attention. You were sitting on secrets that nobody else - aside from Peter, of course - knew about.

“C’mon,” you stood up, sticking your hand out towards your boyfriend. “I gotta get back to the office. Walk with me?”

“Of course,” Peter smiled.

He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his side, leading you out of the coffee shop and into the busy street. New York was exactly the same as it had been in Strange’s universe, just minus the Avengers - that had its perks and its downfalls. Perks, because it meant you didn’t have to worry about your car being destroyed in an incident every time you parked it in the city (insurance was a bitch). Downfalls, because it meant there was so much you didn’t know. The Avengers had discovered every threat and protected the world from it, but you didn’t know if this world was prone to the same ones. Aliens, monsters, robots…all pretty normal things for that world but not so much for your one.

So good so far though.

–

Your apartment was dark when you got in later that night.

It was a nice little place; a converted brownstone on the Queens/Brooklyn border, but still close enough to the tunnel and bridge to get to work in Manhattan. Naturally, it cost a small fortune, but your job paid well and Peter’s connections to a certain webbed hero definitely helped his photography career as well. It was crammed full of photos; ones of you and Pete on holiday; ones of your family; ones of you in high-school, wide-eyed and grinning at prom. You’d practically traveled the entire world since you’d gotten back, all trying to make up for lost time.

You crept inside quietly, shutting the door behind you. The living room light was off, save for the television; an old episode of Seinfeld was playing in the background. You couldn’t help but smile at that - it had always been Peter’s favorite show. Speaking of the devil, he was passed out on the couch, a book splayed open on his chest and a half-eaten pizza beside him.

“Evening, handsome,” he sleepily mumbled. “I missed you.”

“It’s literally been five hours,” you chuckled; you ran a hand through his hair and kicked off your heels, letting him pull you into his chest and wrap his arms around your waist.

“Better than five years,” Peter shot back.

You buried your head in his chest, letting out a small mmm of agreement. “I can’t argue with that.”

“You smell like hydrochloric acid.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you groaned. “I’ll go wash up. Don’t move.”

“I ain’t going anywhere.”

Standing back up, you grabbed your shoes and headed through to the bedroom. After a long day, the only thing better than your own hoodies and sweats was Peter’s hoodies and sweats - and because he was a man in the twenty-first century, he seemed to own about a thousand of them.

You tossed your own clothes into the wash and pulled open the wardrobe, rifling around the top shelf for his Midtown graduation hoodie. Blindly feeling around, you grabbed the material of the blue jumper and pulled it; it came crashing down, hitting the floor with a hard thud.

“What the…” you frowned, grabbing it from the floor. A small box came tumbling out. A ring box.

It had fallen open on impact, revealing a red and blue ring. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was beautiful; there were tiny little spiders engraved into the band. No guesses on what it’s purpose was.

“Hey, have you seen my charger-” Peter entered the room, brown eyes widening when he saw what you were holding. His hair was sticking up everywhere and he had pizza down his front. Sexy.

“I didn’t mean to find it!” you quickly said. “I was just looking for your jumper and…fucking hell, Parker. You are really bad at hiding things.”

He swallowed, nodding slowly. “I really am.”

“I can put it back and pretend I never saw it-”

“- no, I’m glad you did,” Peter took a step towards you, placing his hands on your hip. “I’m not very good at finding the right moment to propose.”

“When did you buy it?” you asked.

“About a week before you died,” he confessed. “I held onto it for a really long time and then you came back and…I guess I forgot about it.”

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured. “I love it.”

“Would you have said yes?” Peter asked. “I know we were young but-”

“- of course I would have!” you cut him off. “I’d say it then and I’d say it now.”

“You would?”

“Yes!”

“So,” he gently tugged the ring from your hands. “My back kills right now, so I can’t get on one knee but…will you wear my ring?”

“I would love to,” you gave him a watery smile, trying not to burst into tears and absolutely destroy the moment. You almost came close when it slid onto your finger, a perfect fit.

“Cool,” Peter gave you a smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Peter pressed a kiss to your lips and pulled you into a tight hug; he refused to let go for a few minutes, just holding onto you and savouring the moment. He’d done that a lot over the last two years. Who could blame him? He had already lost you once; already taken for granted what you had.

Now you were back, and he was whole again.

[lulu-tutu]

Hi hi! Can request a c!techno x reader (she/they) fanfic where the reader is on their period and is feeling really crappy about themselves because they feel rlly bloated and don’t like the way they look? Justsome fluffy stuff of techno cuddling the reader and scooping them up into his arms to make them feel better🥺anywho love your work and I hope you’re doing okay:)

Thank you so much for requesting, I’m doing really well and I really hope I can do some justice for this amazing idea 🥺And if any of you ever feel this way, please understand that you’re absolutely amazing in every way and you deserve happiness. I will adopt everyone of you and shower you with love <3

Pairing: Technoblade x Fem!Reader.

Warning(s): Obvious mentions of a period cycle, slight self loathing, didn’t proof read so have fun with that, also first time writing for Techno, let me know what you think!

Sweet Words

______________

You absolutely hated feeling this way, and you loathed the fact that your body had to suffer and undergo through the same pain every single month. Shuddering through another wave of nausea that passed through you, you shifted against the bed sheets that seemed to cling to your skin like paste with a tired groan, eyes clenched shut with nothing but the urge to sleep through your period behind them.

Digging your fingers into the mattress, you released a soft breath. While Technoblade wasn’t there to comfort you at that moment, promising before he left that morning to the nearest village that he would be as quick as he possibly could, there was still the lingering scent of him on his side of the bed. You suppose that would have to do while he was busy, it was better than nothing and somehow soothed your pain in the slightest of ways.

With the comforting smell of Techno surrounding you, the weight of exhaustion creeped up and tugged at your eyelids until they slipped shut and before you knew it, you were drifting off to the land of dreams, a place where your cramps were forgotten. You weren’t aware with how long you were asleep for, but it didn’t feel like it was long enough. The only reason you weren’t going to break down about it was the fact that you could feel the warmth of a familiar arm gently curl around your waist, ever so slowly pulling you back until you were pressed up against an even warmer chest.

“Sorry,” You peel your eyes open with a small content sigh and tilt your head just far enough back to see the apologetic wince of Techno, pink wisps of his fringe falling over his eyelashes, “Did I wake you?”

“Mm, no, don’t worry about it.” If he hadn’t have woke you up, you knew the cramps would have. You much preferred the idea of being woken up by his warmth and caring hands rather than the stabbing pains that made you want to tear out your own uterus. It was an easy choice, honestly.

Groaning as you shifted to roll onto your back for a more comfortable position, you side eyed Techno with a pursed smile while trying to wiggle up to rest against the headboard, “How’d the trip go? You weren’t out for that long, I thought you would have been at least a few more hours.”

“I promised you I would be back as fast as I could.” He watches your movements for a few seconds, eyeing the way you wince subtly before one of his hands travelled from your waist to your lower stomach, making sure not to put too much pressure on the tender spot. The sudden feeling of heat seeping into your skin was almost enough to have you melt into a puddle of mush. “That, and I only went out to get you something.”

You almost missed his words, lost in the heat that rolled from his gentle touch, fingertips rubbing soothing circles over your skin in a way that had your head spinning. He was your own personal heat pad, a beacon of light that swept away the waves of pain that came trembling through your aching body. Opening your eyes that you didn’t even register had closed, you gave a gentle hum, “You didn’t have to, you know. I’ve got everything I could ever need right here.” Your own hand was quick to envelope the one on your stomach, fingers weaving together.

With a light snort, Techno gave your hand a soft squeeze, “You don’t even know what I got you yet.” Keeping his hand in its place underneath your own, he twists his body around and reaches behind him, rummaging through something he had hidden on his side of the bed. He turns back to face you after a quick search and holds out his hand, “Here, I thought this would soothe some of your pain.”

“You got me chocolate?” The words you spoke came out as a quiet whisper, lips twitching up into a grin after the sudden shock had passed. “Techno…” Of course he wouldn’t tell you about this before he left. Anything to keep his stoic and pride in tact it seemed.

But as you stared down at the chocolate in his hand, you suddenly didn’t feel like it would help you. If anything, it would only bloat your already aching stomach. One bite of it and it would head straight to your hips, as if you needed to gain anymore weight as it was. Taking your bottom lip in between your teeth, you reach over and close Techno’s hand over the chocolate, your stomach already pinching painfully at your rejection of his gift.

“That’s really, really sweet, Tech… But, you can have it.” You watch as his eyebrows furrow in confusion, his eyes shifting from the chocolate that was still in his grip to your small apologetic smile. “I’m not really in the mood for something sweet.” Your uterus disagreed, making you flinch in surprise with a short hiss, both hands flying to your lower abdomen.

“(Y/n), it’ll help with the cramps. Phil told me-“

“Well Phil isn’t a woman, now is he?” You snap, head snapping back to his direction. You instantly regretted your tone, seeing Techno pull back in surprise. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” Sighing, you pull the covers up to your chest, snuggling back into them and turning onto your side, back facing your boyfriend. “I didn’t mean to say it like that, it’s just…”

“I know.” While you weren’t facing him, you could feel the gentle stare of Techno on the back of your head. He shuffles around behind you for a short minute before the warmth of his arms slide back around you, his chin settling nicely between your shoulder and neck. “Phil told me that your emotions would be all over the place too…”

You both sit there in silence, his breathing being the only thing you could really focus on. You hated this, you hated the fact that your own body would betray your actions, your choices and your own words. Its like you had no control, which you suppose was true in some ways.

“You’re beautiful, you know. Even when you’re mad at me.” His words vibrate through his chest and into your back, lips barely touching the shell of your ear as he continues speaking, “I have an idea on why you don’t want the chocolate, but I really think you should eat it. It’ll help your pain.” He places a tender peck to your neck, his fringe brushing past your cheek and tickling your nose.

“I did want it, I did.” You begin softly, hands running up and down one of his arms that hang from over your waist, “I just don’t think my body needs to feel any more sickly. I haven’t eaten all that much today but I feel bloated, I feel sick and I feel like I don’t deserve something that’ll take away the pain. I mean, it only last for a week, maybe a few days at least.”

“You deserve the world.” Your heart hammers painfully in your chest at his sincere spoken words, eyes fluttering closed as his hand moves away from your touch to reach over and gently cup your chin between his fingers, “You might only go through this pain for a few days, but its monthly. If there’s any way I could at least ease some of it, you know for sure I’m going to find a way. And what you said, about feeling bloated and not deserving of something that’ll take some of the pain away. I highly disagree.”

Pushing yourself to turn around and face him, you could barely stop the stinging sensation of tears building up behind your eyes at the tender words he spoke so delicately. It was something different coming from him, something other than the deep rooted and gruff voice of his. With your chin still being held between his fingers, he raised his other hand and caressed your cheek, thumb rubbing soothing circles over the apple of your cheek.

“I wish you could see the you that I see everyday. The woman that I get to wake up and fall asleep beside, she’s a warrior, she’s dependable, patient, deserving, she’s everything I need in my life and I need to keep that smile on her face for as long as I live.” His lip twitches upwards at your own watery grin, a choked laugh escaping you as you shake your head, “It’s true. All of it. You’re perfect, perfect to me.”

“Okay, okay!” You couldn’t hold back the waterworks anymore, the dam having already broken behind your eyes. Sniffling with a chuckle, you leaned happily into Techno’s touch, watching him behind glassy eyes as he wiped at the tears with his thumb, his smile widening at your laughter. “Gosh, you’re so cheesy. I love it.”

“Alright, don’t get ahead of yourself, nerd.” He briefly chuckles, leaning his head down to connect your foreheads together. “I’m only cheesy for you.” He leaves a chaste kiss to your wet lips, your eyes crinkling at the edges as you grin into it.

“Hey, you wanna share the chocolate with me?”

“For you, of course.”

https://ko-fi.com/lulututu

[let-them-read-fics]

Rivalries Of The High Seas

Requested By Anon: "Pirate AU, enemies to lovers."

AU: Pirate

Pairing: Captain!Rosé x Fem!Captain!Reader

Word Count: ~ 7,375

Warnings / Misc. -- Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Major Injury (Inflicted On Reader), Dangerous Situations, Fluff

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Anon, thank you for this one! I've never seen the movie you mentioned in your request, but you did well in explaining what you wanted to see here. I had a lot of fun with this one, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

PS ~ Captain Rosé could step on me and I'd say thank you

�� Happy Reading ♡

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Death isn't a new thing to you. It isn't some far-off, enigmatic fear capable of tearing down your psyche anytime the topic is brought up. In fact, you're faced with the harsh realities of it almost everyday, given your ranking. Even still, when you woke up this morning, you hadn't expected for the day to consist of you meeting your end. 

Your hands remain clasped together tightly, bound to the rickety wooden chair you've been securely strapped into by layers of rope and chains. Your wrists burn as the rough material pulls against your skin, surely leaving dark marks by now, but that's the least of your worries as you eye the bandits standing before you. Their faces hold smug grins, cheeks pulling back in eerie smiles to reveal crooked teeth. "I won't give you the pleasure of seeing me beg for my life. I accept my fate." You say bravely, holding your head high. 

"How noble, Captain." They sneer, leaning far too close for comfort. You fight the gag that works its way up your throat at the smell of them, the wicked stench burning your nostrils as it invades them. 

"Even if you escape now, the rest of my crew will come for you." Rosé finally speaks from behind you, sitting in the same state as you as she glares at the surrounding men. Her fingers futilely pull at your shared restraints for the millionth time, brushing along your wrist in the process. 

"It's cute that you think that matters. We'll be long gone by then."

Her head lightly pushes against yours as she leans back in her chair, seeking to evade the man when he enters her personal space. For some reason unbeknownst to you, your blood boils at his actions -- though Rosé is your enemy of sorts, seeing that she's a rival captain herself, you can't help but want to keep him away from her. 

The vile creature parts her legs with an evil smirk on his lips, his filthy hand groping her thigh as he runs his fingers along her beautiful skin. She whimpers in protest, growing afraid of what he'll do to her in her captive state. Had she been unrestricted right now, she would've most definitely cut his hand off, forever reminding the world of his misdeeds. 

"Just get it over with!" You shout angrily, voice hoarse from all the screaming you've done today. You've grown tired of the game they've been playing for over an hour, flipping between beating and ridiculing you relentlessly. 

"Alright, alright," their leader chuckles, putting his hands up as he approaches you. He instructs his men to be on standby, ready to gather around the two of you and hoist you into the air. They wait for the all-clear to throw you overboard and into the chilly sea below, full of creatures you've seen during your fateful adventures over the years. There are certainly worse ways to go, and you attempt to come to terms with what's about to happen. Perhaps this is a poetic end for you -- being laid to rest in the place that you've spent most of your life and made countless memories.

"Keep those eyes on me as you fall. I want to remember what it looked like to take down the infamous Y/N L/N." You narrow your eyes at their leader, grimacing as they scan over his greasy, jet black hair and tattered overcoat. Aren't the "bad guys" supposed to at least be stylish? He's a sorry excuse for one if so. 

"Kiss my ass." You utter, spitting at him. He lunges forward, just like you expected -- seriously, why are men so predictable? -- and takes the collar of your shirt between his fingers. He delivers a swift blow to your left cheek, only allowing you a second to recover before pulling your head back up to give the same treatment to the other side. 

You can feel Rosé tense behind you, doing all she can to reach for you and offer comfort. 

With a pained groan, you spit out a mouthful of fresh blood and raise your head to look at him again. "You know, you're not nearly as observant as you think you are." You smile, ignoring the pain that shoots through your busted lip. Before he has time to react, you raise your foot in one motion, swiftly connecting it with his crotch.  How could they neglect to tie your feet? That's practically Pirate 101.

He doubles over in an instant, lungs void of the air necessary to speak another insult in retaliation to your act and body incapable of any further movement. His men make the decision for him, taking this moment as a sign to follow through with their plan and throw you over. Shouts and cheers pierce through the air above you as you make your quick descent, not even having time to say a goodbye to Rosé or offer a final word to the universe. 

Cold water immediately rushes over your heated skin as you plunge into the waves below, its frigid temperature almost taking what little breath you managed to store away in your lungs. Aided by the water's altered state of gravity, you're able to work your hips past a few of the loosely tied ropes that rested against them. 

One thing you admire about Rosé is her quick thinking. She's smart -- while you distracted the leader, she took the opportunity to pry off some of the restraints that required more time and effort, just like you hoped she would. Her slender fingers inconspicuously wiggled their way out of the ropes before freeing you from them as well, and the bandits were none the wiser. Her previous actions make this part all the more easy, and after spending a while on the final ties, the two of you kick off of your chairs and head for the surface. It's a struggle, no doubt, with the way you have to fight to bring the chains up with you and keep them from pulling you further under. But eventually you reach the surface, once again filling your lungs with that miraculously fresh air that they so desperately craved. 

The saltwater stings as it flows over your face, getting in your eyes and rushing over all the wounds you've accumulated. Rosie sputters from beside you, struggling a bit to keep her head up, so you extend an arm for her to use to push herself up. You tell yourself you're only doing it -- that is, making sure she doesn't drown -- because she'll be useful in helping you survive. Deep down, though, your intentions extend further than that. 

Once you find a steady rhythm with the waves and the fear of drowning subsides for the time being, you scan the horizon line. "I see land -- over there." You say, using your head to point to what looks to be an island in the distance. "We'll swim when we have the energy and float when we need rest, okay?" She nods in response, and the two of you get set on your way. 

-----

Huffing from the pure exhaustion coursing through your bodies, you manage to drag yourselves onto shore before collapsing. The sand serves as a good place to lay, almost cradling you the longer you lay there. Tiny, rippling waves -- the aftershocks of much bigger ones -- lull into shore, fluttering past your ankles before being pulled back in by the tide. They lap against your skin, remedying your racing mind with their rhythm. Minutes pass in this cycle, setting you in a state of comfort before you remember everything you'll have to do before nightfall.

Once gaining enough strength, you raise your head and peek over at your rival.

She's sleeping. Of course. You can't blame her, but the sun -- once blazingly hot, perched high up in the sky -- is now setting, giving you a preview of the darkness that the night sky will hold. She turns, rolling her head towards you in her sleep, and you almost smile -- a light dusting of sand sticks to her puffed-out cheeks, and the bridge of her nose holds a small sunburn, making her look sunkissed and blushy. Y/N, stop that, you command yourself, shaking your head at your thoughts. She's your enemy, and she's the reason you're even in this mess in the first place. 

"Wake up," you nudge her, reverting back to your previously tense demeanor. The anger you possess for the situation you're in is returning en masse, wiping the pleasant thoughts of Rosé from your mind. 

She groans, keeping her eyes tightly shut as she attempts to ignore you. "Roseanne, we have to get up." Your voice is strong, commanding her just like your crew. Your crew, you think to yourself. Some of them were killed by the bandits while others were thrown into the prison chambers of your ship, left at the mercy of your enemies until they decide what they want to do with them. Your people are inventive and strong -- they'll likely find a way out of the sticky situation and reclaim victory. For now, though, you're left to worry about their fates as you attempt to survive on this island. If the elements and animals don't kill you first, the gorgeous woman beside you most definitely will. 

"I'm up!" She all but shouts, following another prodding from you. Her eyes flutter open and she instinctively raises her hand to wipe her face -- you catch the chains before they can make contact and harm her, and she sends you an appreciative look. "Guess I forgot about these…" she shakes her arms, jiggling your restraints in the process, "Oopsie."

"Come on." You say, standing up and pulling her along with you. Her dilly dallying is making you impatient, and it only increases your levels of irritation. You don't have time to waste. 

"We have to break these," she states the obvious, searching the shore for a decently sized rock.

A sarcastic gasp slips past your lips as you look at her. "You don't say! I was thinking we'd just leave them on." She turns to glare at you, narrowing her eyes as she stops walking. Dear god, there's no time for this. With a mumbled "here we go", you allow her to continue. 

"You know, we wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for you." 

"Me?!" You shout, completely taken aback. "Quite the contrary, Rosé. You're the one who led them to us!"

"If you would've accepted my offer, none of this would've happened. But you refuse to team up with anyone else. Look at where that got us now." She motions around herself to the island, expression settling back into an annoyed scowl as her eyes settle on you again. 

"It's not my fault that my crew is more trained than yours; I had no reason to merge our teams."

"An agreement would've solidified our strength!" She yells, stomping her foot into the sand. Her boots managed to survive the long trip here, but their material is completely soaked.

"I'm responsible for my crew, and my crew only. I had no decent reason to bring yours in with mine. It's just a liability and more mouths to feed." You say evenly, clenching and releasing your jaw a few times. 

She begins to fire off her rebuttal, but you tune her out for the most part and start walking further inland. She has no choice but to follow, and she does so while adamantly complaining. You throw occasional jabs to her arguments in order to keep her moving, and your plan works well. She's too busy bickering with you to notice that she's doing exactly what you want her to.

"...and you're so arrogant, Y/N! I mean, really. God, you're infuriating." 

"Are you done yet?" You ask, cocking your head to the side while you simply blink at her. She squints at you, about to give you another piece of her mind, but you glance down at the rock you led her to and she closes her mouth. 

"You can keep screaming at me or we can break these chains. Your choice." You shrug, pursing your lips. She cuts her eyes at you, but agrees with a huff, nonetheless. 

The two of you work together to find fittingly sized rocks, taking turns dropping them on your restraints and methodically working them against them. Eventually the chains give way, allowing your hands to wiggle out of their strict hold. You're the first to free yourself; once you're done, you find Rosé struggling in silence, refusing to ask for your help. 

"Here," you offer, extending a hand to her. Doing nice things for people without gaining something for yourself isn't something you do often -- you've been raised differently; grown more independent and self-serving after your time on the sea. 

"Oh, now you want to work together?" She quirks an eyebrow.

You put your hands up with an amused grin. "I don't have to help, feel free to do it alone." You stand, dusting the sand off of your clothes as you begin to walk away and investigate the island. She calls out behind you, annoyed shouts getting further and further away as you just smile and continue your journey. 

------

"Ah, glad you could join us again." You smirk, adding some kindling to the small fire you managed to set up during her time away. 

"Shut it," she bites back, glaring at you. 

"Tough crowd," you laugh, raising your eyebrows. For once, she doesn't say anything back. She busies herself with removing her shoes and socks, setting them next to the source of heat to dry before disappearing into the tree line. She returns a few minutes later, carrying with her a few different branches. Some of them are forked at the top, and she arranges them into a sturdy structure beside the fire as well. You try not to focus on how strong she looks as she does it, her muscles glistening in the fading evening light with a sheet of sweat.

To your surprise, she begins stripping. 

First her overcoat, which she drapes across the branch acting as a beam between the forked ones, and then her vest. She wrings them out individually, and you watch as the materials drip with what water hadn't already evaporated yet. The loose linen undershirt that she wears remains on, and you're thankful for that -- had she taken it off as well, you likely would've passed out. The blush on your cheeks deepens as you feel her eyes on you, and you keep your gaze trained on the fire. 

"Well? Are you planning to stay in those clothes all night?" She asks, running a hand through her hair to fix it and get some of the sand out. 

"If I didn't know better I'd say you're trying to get me naked, Rosie." You play, smiling harder when you see her roll her eyes and look away. 

"You wish," she scoffs, though you can see her stealing glances at you as you remove your clothes. She admires the shadows that the fire casts over your body, the flames dancing as they offer their beautiful warmth. The two of you go way back, having grown up as frenemies due to your professions, but she's always had a soft spot for you. You piss her off to no end, and yet somehow she can think of plenty worse people to be stuck with.

After catching her staring, you decide to tease her. You flex your muscles, making sure to be extra and really make a show of it. She blushes, hiding behind her hands to escape the situation. 

"Awww, somebody's shy." You say, chuckling at her. 

"Am not," she protests, though her sheepish grin sells her out.

"Prove it," you challenge, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Teasing her is one of your favorite pastimes. 

Tired of the games, she gathers all of the courage she possesses and stands, slowly sauntering her way over to you. Your eyes take in the sight of her, and she smirks; she works hard to stay in shape, and she knows she looks good. Countless weeks spent at sea, working alongside her crew on long voyages has left her with artfully tanned skin and a physique to die for. You go to compliment her, but she stops you before you have the chance, pressing a finger to your pursed lips. She trails it lower, blazing a path across your jawline and chest, stopping at your ribs. Your breath hitches, and she definitely feels it. You curse yourself for being so easy, already knowing what's coming. 

"Who's shy now, sweetheart?" She purrs out, smiling victoriously. 

How she's capable of switching demeanors so easily baffles you, but it ensures that no interaction with her will be boring, if nothing else. 

"Yeah, yeah," you grumble, pushing her away to break the growing tension. She's looking at you with some glint in her eye that you can't quite place -- all you know is that if she keeps doing it, things might escalate to a place neither of you are prepared for.

You clear your throat and step around her to adjust your clothes on the drying rack. "You can go ahead and sleep. I'll stay awake and keep the fire going."

She nods with a slight frown on her lips, though you don't see it. "Alright. But wake me up when you get too tired, okay?" You assure her you will, though truthfully your body is aching for sleep right now. The beating you took earlier did its worst on you, leaving your skin bruised and muscles knotted. She deserves to rest, though, and you're okay with giving her the first shift of it. Besides, your mind would surely keep you awake for the better part of an hour -- at least it'll be used to its fullest with her. 

What you don't realize, however, is that when she lays down beside you, cuddling into the sorry attempt for a bedroll that you threw together, she merely pretends to fall asleep. Likewise, when she settles her head in your lap, searching for a more comfortable place to lay it, she's fully conscious. She lazily smiles when you run your hands through her hair, wrapping the locks around your fingers in mindless patterns before releasing them and starting over. It's soothing, and soon enough she calms her eager heart enough to slip away to dreamland. 

--- A Few Days Later --- 

"Wakey wakey…" Rosé sing-songs, hovering over you. The two of you have settled into this familiar rhythm over the past few days, spending the daytime searching for food and supplies and taking shifts to sleep through the night. You've almost always ended up taking the latter opportunity, though sometimes Rosé would force you to rest first if you needed it badly enough. 

"Mmm," you groan in disapproval, rolling over. The sun is far too bright, and your upgraded bed situation is much too comfortable to offer any valid reason for you to leave it. Rosé knows how difficult it is to get you up, but she's learned some very useful tactics. 

"Y/N…" she drawls, voice like honey as it releases your name with care. Her lips are next to your ear, teasing you as her warm breath fans across your neck. You audibly swallow, not prepared for that in the slightest, and slowly peek your eyes open. She raises a hand to shield your face from the unforgiving sun, and you smile at the domesticity of the act. She looks like a dream -- her hair is fanned out, swaying peacefully in the calm breeze that rolls in from the sea, and she's grinning that killer smile down at you. Her previous sunburn has turned into a tan now, making her look even more irresistible somehow. 

"What do you want to do today?" You ask, lacing your fingers together as you put them behind your head. They work as a cradle, cushioning your head from the sand.

"I saw some berry bushes on the north side of the island. They didn't look like any poisonous kind I've studied about, so maybe we could check them out?" She suggests, sitting back on her knees with a quirked brow. 

"Sounds like a plan." You smile lazily, gazing up at her. A light pattern of freckles paints her cheeks, and you can't help but grin at how adorable she is. 

"What is it?" She asks skeptically, squinting at you. 

"You're just too cute for your own good, is all." You sigh, content as you stand up and tug a blushing Rosé behind you. She closes the "door" behind herself, sealing off the entryway to your humble abode. It's a panel of leaves and sticks, built to be sturdy yet lightweight and easy to move. She built it herself, and a sweet smile works its way onto her lips as she remembers the praise you sent her way after she presented it to you. 

--------

"If you don't slow down then I'm gonna slap you," she says, peering up at the trees that loom high overhead. In her distracted state, she neglects to look where she's going.

Her rambling is cut short by your hand darting out in front of her, effectively stilling her movements and words. You glance at the ground, prompting her eyes to follow the path they made and widen upon realizing what you just saved her from. An animal -- some wretched cross between a scorpion and pincher beetle -- continues its trip across the downed log that lays in front of you, menacing in its appearance. 

"Thank you," she breathes out, leaning into your side as you hold her and direct her away from danger. 

"Do me a favor and don't die, okay?" You quirk, scrunching your face up at her humorously. She shoves you, holding up her middle finger as she walks ahead and blazes a path for the two of you. You chuckle, grinning stupidly as you follow after her. 

--- 3 Hours Later --- 

"Take cover," you shout to an imaginary army, seeking refuge behind the base of a large tree. Rosé chuckles maniacally from behind one of the berry bushes, her fingers lightly stained from the juices that are running down her palm. 

"Nice try, Y/N. But you can't escape… CAPTAIN ROSÉ!" She shouts, surprising you as she charges in your direction, pelting you with berry after berry. You squeal, evading as many of the makeshift missiles as you can by darting behind different greenery. She eventually catches up, snaking her arms around your waist and preventing you from getting away again.

"NO!" You exclaim, slumping further into her arms in defeat after your attempts to escape prove futile. She spins you around to face her, pressing your back up against the nearest tree as the two of you practically double over with laughter. She looks ethereal, with how she shines in the sunlight that sneaks its way through the canopy of tree tops above you. Her eyes are almost closed from how hard she's smiling at you. 

A sharp growl breaks the happy moment, perking your ears up and causing your heart to race for a different reason entirely. You glance around the tree, protectively stepping in front of Rosé to shield her from any new threat. An animal -- something you've never seen before -- bares its teeth, snarling aggressively as it sets its sights on you. Your blood runs cold in your veins, stopping your heart momentarily as your brain attempts to formulate a plan on the fly. With only a few precious moments left before it attacks, you glance around for anything to double as a weapon without making any sudden movements. 

Rosé is clutched onto you from behind, and you can feel her heart beating wildly. You have to protect her, no matter what. 

"On my count, I want you to climb into this tree. I'm going to try and defend us." From what little knowledge you've inferred in the past couple minutes, you doubt the animal is capable of climbing well; it doesn't have the body or feet for it. You fear it is capable of running quickly, though, so the tree is likely your best bet. 

"What? No, I'm going to--"

"Roseanne, please, for once, just do as I ask. Trust me." You plead over your shoulder, noting the slight tremble that runs through her as another roar echoes out. Your eyes remain trained on it, never backing down for a second. 

One steadying breath later, you shout, "Now!" and swoop down to pick up what helpful materials you can. You charge at the animal, taking the offensive in order to keep as much distance possible between it and Rosé. You successfully jab the sharpened stick into its side, causing it to wail in pain. In an instant it grabs your arm, wrapping it's paws around you as it lunges forwards and tumbles to the ground on top of you. A scream leaves your lips as you watch its teeth dig further into your flesh, garnering deep crimson blood to spill from your developing wounds. You protect your neck with your other arm, only breaking this rule to reach to your side and retrieve the heavy rock you brought along as well. It connects with the side of the animal's head, only making it whimper before loosening its grip the slightest bit. You weren't prepared for it to be such a tough enemy. You use your strength to roll it over and sit on top of it, keeping your arm in its grip to ensure that it stays occupied. Your fingers dig into every sensitive part of its body you can reach, performing the defense moves you've spent your life practicing to use. With a glance at Rosé, you find her safe in the tree, just like you wanted. 

"Run!" You shout, willing to keep the creature distracted in order to give her time to escape. Before you can see if she listens to you, it's nails claw into your abdomen, scratching painful designs into the previously smooth skin. It performs another death roll, and you barely have the strength to shank it in the side again. It howls, rearing back to go for your jugular before its movements are abruptly cut short. An unsettling crack rings out above you, and you open your eyes after not receiving the fatal blow you had been expecting. The animal scampers away from you, limping off further into the forest until it's out of sight. 

Rosé drops the large branch in her hand, the end of it lightly stained with blood. "Go..." you weakly mumble, eyes beginning to flutter closed as you notice how much blood you've already lost. You feel cold, and you have to fight the shiver that runs through you.

"I've got you, Y/N." She whispers, cradling your fragile frame in her arms as she picks you up and begins the journey back to camp. "You did good." She reassures, having no idea how much you needed to hear that before falling unconscious. 

---------

After gathering the medicinal plants and resources that the two of you have accumulated so far, she returns to the fireside, settling down beside you. She raises your shirt enough to have access to your wounds, but not far enough to expose you. Temperate water meets your bloodied and broken skin, rushing over the sensitive areas as she gently cleans them. Once dry, she mixes the materials into a sort of salve to rub on them before laying the plants on them in place of bandages. 

The crackling of the fire works with the crashing of distant waves to serve as background noise, making the night far more peaceful than the day had been. She allows you to continue resting, knowing you need all of it that you can get. 

About an hour or so later you wake with a start, hands reaching out as if you were right back in front of the animal. Your dreams were plagued with images of the nightmarish beast, and you're having trouble adjusting to the fact that they were all in your head. They felt so real. Rosé is by your side in an instant, brushing your hair out of your face with one hand while caressing your thigh with the other -- it's one of the only places that made it out of battle relatively unscathed. Your panicked eyes find hers, glazed over with tears as you pull her flush against your body, glad to know she's okay. Her warmth reminds you that she's here, that she's real, and that she's safe. 

Memories of your fight come flooding back, filling your mind with the terrifying things you witnessed and reigniting your fight or flight response. You remember that she didn't listen to you -- she put herself in harm's way instead of leaving you behind, like you asked -- and you grow angry. Muttered phrases of disapproval leave your lips as you push her away, stumbling slightly when you try to stand on your own. Although confused by your erratic behavior, she reaches out to assist you, only to be met with a harsh refusal from you. 

"Stop!" The word comes out as an angry shout -- louder than you originally intended -- but you can't find it in yourself to apologize right now. You find your footing after a moment, holding your side as you walk away from her. 

"What's your problem?" She shouts, marching after you. She refuses to let this go without a fight, seeing as how she has plenty more questions than answers now.

"You could've gotten hurt, Rosé, and I could've handled it on my own." You say over your shoulder, continuing on your journey away from camp. Her relentlessness is quickly getting on your nerves.

"Clearly you couldn't! You needed help; why are you denying that?" She stops now, crossing her arms angrily with her brows furrowed. The fact that you're still so set on clinging to your pride is pissing her off. 

"You should've left me there! I can't have you getting hurt because of me." You turn around now, setting your jaw. Is she really this blind? This has nothing to do with your pride. Her eyes meet yours, the pools overflowing with confusion as they scan over your face in search of clarification.

"I can handle something happening to me; I've made my peace with that. But if something ever happened to you because of my incompetence…" you shake your head at the mere thought of that, momentarily too overwhelmed to continue, "...I wouldn't know what to do with myself. I care about you, idiot." You add that last line before turning around, not bothering to wait on her reaction. Part of you is scared to, honestly, and the day has been far too eventful for you to handle a potential rejection on top of everything else. 

She says nothing, leaving the air around you void of her beautiful voice, and you don't know whether to be thankful or disheartened. 

You put more distance between the two of you, leaving a stunned Rosé in your wake as you find a place to sit along the shoreline. Your temper -- more precisely, the fear you hold that presents itself as anger -- reared its head tonight. You didn't mean to snap at her like that, but the possibility of her getting hurt because of you makes your blood boil. That would be unforgivable, and you wouldn't be able to live with yourself. You felt helpless earlier, quickly running out of the strength required to keep her safe.

Salty tears manage to break past your line of defenses, much like Rosé has managed to do with your heart. She's torn down every wall you've ever put up to protect yourself, and now that she's there you don't know how to cope. You've had people you considered close before, but none of them have mattered like she does. You've never been so afraid of losing someone. 

A soft hand on your shoulder makes you jump slightly, pulling you from your thoughts. Speak of the devil.

"Hey." She says simply, sitting down beside you. You turn your face away, not wanting to let her see you cry. "I'm sorry for fighting, okay? But I'm not sorry for helping you. I care about you, too, and I'll be damned to just leave you like that." She doesn't say anything else, doesn't try to make you look at her -- she just sits there, waiting for you to be ready to do so on your own. 

She's waited on you since you were teenagers, so she figures she's capable of waiting a bit longer now. Both of you are aware of the love you hold for one another; this is just the hardest part -- finally admitting it. 

"I can't lose you," you whisper, eyes full of tears that occasionally roll down your cheeks once gravity finds its footing. You turn to the front, still too emotional to look into her eyes. 

"Ditto. That's why I did what I did." 

Your knees are raised and pulled in close to your body for security, your arms wrapped around them to keep them in place. She reaches over to rest her hand on yours, wordlessly coaxing you into looking at her. 

"I…" You pause, voice breaking with the emotions you're still reeling from. 

"I know." She says, resting her forehead against yours. 

"I love you, too." 

She pulls you in, making sure to be gentle and not injure you any further. She raises your head to press her lips against yours, tasting the faint hint of wildberry that still rests on them from earlier. It's slow and new, giving you a break from the intensity you've been dealing with the past few days. You tilt your head to the right, letting out a whimper as her fingers graze a bruised spot on your ribs. She gives you another peck before pulling away, determined to stop herself while she still can. You're addicting, and she already can't get enough of you. 

A beat passes between you, giving you time to sort the thoughts rushing around your mind. "I've always loved you." You admit, pulling back to look at her. Tears well in her eyes, shining brightly in the brilliant moonlight as they threaten to fall. 

"Ever since we commanded our own boats for the first time. Mine was better, of course," she laughs at that, smiling despite herself, "...but I knew you were different then. I've spent all these years being too stubborn to let myself have you." 

She takes your words in, her heart pounding victoriously in her chest at your confession. "I knew when we were still training together. You always made things better for me then; I was so thankful to know you. Even if we teased the hell out of each other." 

You grin at the countless memories that come to mind. "Do you remember that night at the docks, after we graduated from our classes?" She looks up, searching her memory vault. "When you kissed me?" She asks. You nod, looking down with a bashful smile. 

"I knew we wouldn't see each other for a while, so I wanted to make it count."

"You made it really hard to say goodbye, you know?" She says, her eyes softening as she looks at you. 

"I know. But you get half of the blame." 

She tuts at you, nudging you playfully. You hiss in pain, causing her to bring a hand up to cover her growing smile. "Oops. Sorry, not sorry." 

"If I wasn't hurting so bad I'd tackle you right now." 

"Oh, I'm so scared." She laughs, mocking you. 

"That's it," you declare, ignoring the pain that shoots through your body with all the moving you're doing. Her laugh practically heals you anyway, so it's not hard to push it from your mind. You press her into the sand, rolling over to straddle her hips and pin her hands above her head. 

"Woah, tiger. Don't hurt yourself." She raises her head as much as her restrained state will allow, coming dangerously close to your face. 

"You're such a dork." You tut, leaning in to capture her lips once more. She mumbles out a, "you love it, though" against you, and your heart can't help but soar. 

- A Few Weeks Later -

A soft melody rides along the airwaves towards your ears, persuading you to wake up from your cozy slumber. You cuddle further into Rosie's tempting embrace, smiling at the way she pulls you impossibly closer. Her throat wiggles as she hums out a familiar tune from your childhood -- one of the songs you used to dance together to. 

"You big softie." You coo, resting your chin on her chest to look into her eyes with a smile. She grins, finally peeking at you through her lashes. 

"Good morning, beautiful." She says, her accent coming through adorably. She pulls you up to her lips for a kiss before rolling you onto your back. 

You sigh as she leaves open mouth kisses to your neck, dragging her lips over the skin there lazily. She takes her time, leaving marks here and there to show the world who you belong to. Her hands skim over the warm skin of your abdomen, finally free of the intense wounds you've been recovering from. Only small scars are left now, serving as a testament to what you endured.

"Mmm, I'm hungry. Let's go get something to eat." She chuckles at that, her head falling forward to rest against your shoulder as her body shakes with laughter. 

"You're thinking about food while I'm kissing you?" She grins, propping herself up on her arm to look down at you lovingly. 

"What can I say? I'm a hungry girl." You kiss her cheeks, ghosting your lips over hers. "Although," you tease the corner of her mouth, "...you're looking pretty tasty right about now. I might just eat you instead." 

She squeals as you crawl on top of her, pretending to bite her skin as you tickle her sides. 

"I surrender!" She shouts, finally giving into you. You kiss her one last time before pulling away and practically dragging her out of the structure. 

"I'll get started on cooking the fish if you grab some water." You offer, rustling through your handmade crate for the skewers you use to prepare food. 

"Alright," she nods, kissing you on the cheek before grabbing your canteens and setting off towards the freshwater spring not far from camp. 

"Be careful!" You call out after her, smiling when she turns around to face you with her hands in the form of a heart. 

---------

"Good job baby. That was delicious." She compliments, leaning back against the log you use as seating beside the fire. She almost always opts to sit in the sand and rest against it for some reason, but you're long past questioning her at this point. Rosie's… unique. 

"They don't call me Chef Y/N for nothing." You quip, holding your head higher with a sense of self-importance. 

"They don't call you that anyway." 

"Hey," you pout, slapping the back of her head with no real force. "Let a girl pretend, would you?"

"Fine, my apologies." She smiles again, and you can't help but do the same. You've lost count of how many times she's made you laugh over these past few weeks, and although you hope to be rescued sooner rather than later, the thought of being stuck here with her for a while longer doesn't seem all that bad. 

"You're doing it again," she trails off, wiggling her voice up and down to tease you. 

"What?" 

"Looking at me like a lovesick puppy." Her eyes shine in the warm, tropical sunlight, pools of rich amber that you wouldn't mind getting lost in. They match the color of whiskey almost perfectly.

"Not my fault. Have you seen yourself?." She scoffs, but blushes nonetheless. You lean over to press a kiss to the top of her head affectionately. 

Your attention is stolen away all at once as you hear the words you've been imagining ever since you arrived on the island. "Land, ho!" Multiple voices bellow out in the distance, prompting you to search for their source. Collective cheering can be heard, and you swiftly stand -- as if that simple act will miraculously enable you to see better. 

"We're coming, Captain!" Jisoo, your second in command shouts, seemingly hanging off the bow of the ship -- your ship. A squad of others follows behind, maintaining a tight formation as they make their way to shore. 

"Us too, Captain!" Someone calls from one of the neighboring boats, apparently one of Rosé's crewmembers. She waves back excitedly, and you bite back the smile that tugs at your cheeks. 

Eventually they reach land.

"Y/N!" Your scout, Lisa, shrieks like a schoolgirl, running into your arms eagerly. She was the first friend you ever made during your training years, long before you met Rosé, and you were truly worried for her.

"Ah, Lisa. Jisoo." You look between the two of them proudly, glad to see them alive and well. "What happened?" 

"We managed to defeat Captain Crusty's men--" she stops to explain when she notices your brows furrowed in amused confusion, "--that's the nickname we gave the bandit leader. Anyway, we defeated them and repaired the ship enough to make it back to shore. They did some major damage, though." 

You nod, satisfied with their story, until you remember that they didn't come alone. You subtly motion your head to the other crew, and Jisoo gets the memo. "We found the rest of these pea-brains back at the docks and they insisted on coming along."

"Hey, it's not like we wanted to be stuck with you either!" Jennie, Rosé's second, hits back, defending herself and the rest of her crew. "If your moron captain would've listened to Rosé we wouldn't be here, and we wouldn't have lost anyone in the process." 

"Quiet," Rosé warns, stepping in front of her to block the two sides from each other.

Despite knowing it isn't technically your fault, Jennie's words do hold some truth. You feel guilty for all the senseless violence you could've potentially spared your people from enduring, and the what-ifs weigh heavily on your mind and heart. 

"So long as I'm still in charge, no one will disrespect Y/N or her crew. Are we clear? I won't take kindly to any of you going against me." It's a heavy warning, and her tone makes it clear that she'll be true to her word. They know better than to test her. Her eyes scan the group of misfits, all looking bewildered by her sudden change of heart. It must be a bit jarring for them, after being such bitter enemies with the others for so long. Regardless, scattered nods and grumbles of acceptance leave them before they all scurry away to get started on their tasks, looking like scolded children. 

You send Lisa and Jisoo along with the rest of your crew to go ahead and board again, seeing that you have no real equipment to pack up this time. It feels wrong to leave the island  -- the place that brought you back to Rosie and allowed you to open your heart to her -- without something to remember it by. So, with a whispered, "Wait here," you run back to camp to snatch something. 

You return soon after, a huge smile plastered on your face. "You're bringing our door?" She laughs, tilting her head at your strange choice. 

"Duh. Good to know your eyes still work, I was getting worried." You tease, giggling as she pinches you. 

"Come on baby; let's go. Last one there has to clean the poop deck." 

"Get back here!" She yells, chasing you into the chilly water with a smile. Whether she loses or not doesn't matter much to her -- she finally has you after all these years, and she can't wait to see where the future will take the two of you. 

[retrievablememories]

picture me | johnny (m)

title: picture me pairing: vampire!johnny x black!reader genre: fantasy, romance, smut, fluff, angst summary: you meet a vampire-slash-photographer whose self-identity is increasingly lost to him, and you try to help him find some purpose again. word count: 18.3k warnings: age gap (cuz you know, vampires...but everyone is legal), mentions of discrimination/prejudice based on species, self-identity issues/self-deprecation, general angst, sheltered!reader, mentions of blood and drinking blood, oral sex (female and male receiving), fingering, thigh riding, loss of virginity, corruption kink, use of lube, unprotected sex (do not try at home), creampie, johnny is packing in this fic ok! a/n: today (the 28th) is my birthday, so i’m posting this 100% self-indulgent fic that i’ve been working on between requests since september. it was very hard to get johnny’s characterization right for this fic and idk if i actually succeeded but i’m not revising this for the 1000th time lol. i love this fic with my whole heart tho.

i haven’t seen many vampire fics that really explore the whole “doesn’t show up in mirrors/photos” concept (shout em out if you know em) and...there’s probably a reason for that, this shit is hard af to write and there are some logic issues but whatever 🤪

(the beginning quote is from “criminal,” stan taemin!!)

The moment I fall for you is the end of my innocence

—

He sits in the same coffee shop everyday, like it’s a habit he just can’t break. But who are you to judge? You’re there, too. Watching him like a creep. Or maybe like an interested coffee shop patron, trying to be discreet and failing at it.

He wasn’t hard to notice. You’d never been to this coffee shop before, but your friend recommended it to you mostly for their in-house-made pastries; she claimed the coffee was good, too, but she wasn’t much of a caffeine person. You decided to give it a try when you had time between classes and a moment to breathe, not needing to talk to this advisor or that professor.

You saw him immediately when you walked past the shop window. He was sitting at a table near the front, staring down at his phone with a small cup of coffee sitting in front of him. Its miniscule size was almost comical in contrast to his...everything. He was tall—that much was obvious even with him sitting down—and imposing, wearing all black. His hair was equally pitch-black, his bangs hanging to one side and the rest shaved in an undercut. If you didn’t know much better, you’d think you’d stepped back into 2007 and landed dead in the middle of the emo craze.

He was interesting to look at. Not in a bad way, but in a way you don’t see very often. Deciding to walk in before you made yourself look totally weird staring at him through the window, you’d stepped into the coffee shop, the small bell dinging above your head. A barista greeted you at your entrance. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the man, to your left, still looking at his phone.

You’d given your order and waited for it to be ready before taking it to a table on the other side of the shop. From that vantage point, you had a good view of the man. You tried to keep your eyes on your food and your phone, not wanting to spend the whole time looking at him, but it was a little hard not to.

When you took a bite of your pastry, you quickly discovered it was just as delicious as your friend promised—probably even more so. You made a noise of approval before you could catch yourself, and you glanced around the shop in embarrassment to see if anyone nearby noticed. Didn’t seem like it, at first. But then you glanced over to the man again only to find him looking at you below his eyelashes with a small, amused smile on his lips. He only kept his gaze on you for a second before returning to his phone.

What? You hadn’t thought you were that loud. How did he hear you from over there, and above the noise of the café? Even now, you remember how embarrassed you’d felt, ducking your head and looking away.

The man finished his coffee not long after that; he slipped his phone into his pocket and stood up. You glanced up only momentarily when he stood, but your eyes soon slid back to his form when you noticed something odd. On the wall behind him, there was a big oval mirror sitting pretty in its elaborate silver frame. He stood just a few feet in front of it, yet there was no reflection of him. The only thing you could see was the other side of the café reflected back, with another man sitting alone at a booth enjoying his own coffee. The tall man’s reflection was nowhere to be found.

That was when you figured he must be a vampire.

You’d never met one before. At least, you didn’t think you had until then.

Unbeknownst to you, vampires are notoriously able to blend in more easily than most other supernatural beings—until faced with situations like that one in the coffee shop. Ultimately, there’s no faking a reflection no matter how hard you try to remain inconspicuous.

The man had caught your eye again. Thinking back on it, you aren’t sure of what expression you had on your face or what it must’ve looked like to him. It must’ve been something akin to surprise, though; you weren’t quick enough to disguise your reaction at his lack of a reflection.

He gave you another smile, though it felt sadder than the previous one, and walked out of the store, the small bell on the door ringing at his departure. He disappeared down the street in a swirl of black fabric, almost like something out of a movie, and you watched him retreat until you could see him no more.

You scraped your index fingernail over the wood table your food was resting on, your mind whirring with all kinds of thoughts. Your interest was piqued. And yet there was no way for you to know if you’d see him again.

—

At least, that’s what you believed then. Luckily for you, your subsequent visits to the coffee shop have proven fruitful; the strange, tall vampire is there more often than not, always in the same spot in front of that same mirror. Sometimes he reads a book, other times he looks at his phone, and other times still, he stares out the window at the passersby.

He acknowledges you whenever he sees you, either with a nod or a smile. You’ve never spoken to each other, though you know what his voice sounds like from hearing him talk to the baristas. It’s a nice voice, rich and handsome like him, and you find yourself gradually wanting to hear it spoken in your direction. But you aren’t sure how to talk to him, or what you should say.

There’s a lot you want to know about him and his vampirism, but you don’t think it’s fair to bombard him with questions right after meeting him—if you could somehow work up the nerve for that first step.

When you were young, your parents made sure to keep you safely sheltered away from anyone who could potentially be a vampire or any other nonhuman being. This game kept up until you went to college, where they could no longer “shield” you. Because of their lifelong fear and disgust, your knowledge of nonhuman beings is scarce and mostly inaccurate.

The man’s skin isn’t deathly pale like you’ve heard others say vampires always are. It’s nicely tanned, in fact. Nor are his eyes red, or his canine teeth abnormally sharp. And obviously, he has no aversion to sunlight, otherwise he wouldn’t be out here during the day. The only visible marker of his inhuman nature is his lack of a reflection. Maybe he’s not a vampire at all? Maybe he’s another type of being entirely. That only makes you more curious.

It’s not rare to come across supernatural beings, but they only make themselves known if they want to, or if it’s imperative to their survival. Most of them would rather quietly assimilate amongst humans or stay safe and hidden within their own communities. Humans are still too judgmental towards those who are different from themselves for nonhumans to feel truly safe or welcomed—at least not on a global scale. Small pockets of communities forged with human allies are helpful and sometimes vital for survival, but not always enough.

These small tidbits of information cycle through your mind as September gradually bleeds into October. You continue watching the thoughtful man in the coffee shop and making up your own secret theories about his life. You haven’t told anyone from school about this, because you already know the reaction would be nothing short of awful. Your parents would only let you go to school at the one university in the city that explicitly didn’t allow supernatural beings; it goes without saying that your classmates don’t view them in a positive light.

Part of you feels like you might be breaking the unspoken rules just by being at this coffee shop all the time and allowing this man to take up space in your mind. But who will know what’s inside your thoughts except you?

One day, your friend decides to accompany you on your lunch break, finally stopping by the café she recommended to you. The man is already there, as usual, and he smiles slightly when you and your friend enter. She doesn’t catch this, too busy wondering what she’s going to get off the menu today.

“I haven’t been here in forever, I wonder if Sam still remembers me?” You know Sam to be one of the baristas there, having read it on their name tag before.

“I doubt there are very many people who’d forget you,” you answer.

When you both have your food, you take a booth farther away from where the man sits, though you can still see him easily from this distance. Your friend settles into the seat in front of you.

You try to keep things inconspicuous throughout your conversation, but you must glance over at him one too many times, because your friend eventually raises her eyebrows questioningly. She turns around in her seat, making it obvious that she’s looking, and you groan as you keep your eyes in the opposite direction towards the window.

“Who’s that guy you keep staring at?”

You cough. “No one.”

“He’s obviously someone. Someone interesting enough to hold your attention.”

“I don’t know the man,” you say curtly. You shuffle your napkin and spoon aimlessly, your nervousness rising. What if he has some kind of enhanced hearing and can hear what you’re saying right now? He definitely heard you make that noise that first day.

Your friend looks at the ceiling and blows air out of her mouth. “Whatever. I’ll find out who he is sooner or later.”

You take a sip of your drink and lower your voice to just above a whisper. Although you want to leave the subject alone, you’re curious about one thing. “You mean you’ve never seen him before? This café was your hangout spot before it was mine.”

She shrugs. “No, I think I would’ve remembered someone as...visually striking as him. Why are we whispering, anyway? It’s not like he can hear us above all this noise.”

You think to yourself, I’m not so sure about that, but you merely shake your head.

You spend a few more minutes talking before movement catches the corner of your eye. At this point, it’s practically a reflex for you to look in that direction. You try not to, but your friend has already caught you and turns her head to spy, too. The man has gotten up for whatever reason to say something to one of the baristas at the counter. Your gaze darts back to your cup after you’ve gotten your eyeful, but you’re nearly startled into dropping the cup at your friend’s gasp.

Oh. The mirror.

She grips the edge of the table. “He’s a vampire…?”

You don’t know what to say to that, and you feel oddly guilty for some reason you can’t pinpoint. Like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. “U-um, I don’t know…?” You can hardly finish your thought before your friend is scrambling to grab her purse. She hurriedly stands out of the seat, tugging your arm as she does.

“Come on. We shouldn’t stay here.”

“Are you serious—?” You feel embarrassed heat rip through your body at her display; some other café-goers are already looking at her curiously, probably wondering what the hell she’s doing. She tugs more incessantly, and you already know she’ll get louder if you don’t get up now and defuse the situation. Leaving your half-full cup behind, you grab your things and follow her out of the store, keeping your eyes firmly on her back as you pass by the man. You don’t know if he looked up, or if he could sense the reason for your sudden departure—you’ve never left the shop before him until now—and you don’t want to know.

Neither of you talk until you’re well down the street and around the corner. “That wasn’t necessary,” you huff, your hands still sweating from the spiked adrenaline at suddenly being rushed out.

“Yes it was! We all know bloodsuckers and all these other weirdos are dangerous...even if they think they’re being well-intentioned by living among humans. I hope you don’t go back there.”

“Whatever...you’re the one who told me to visit the café,” you mumble, unable to muster up the energy to say anything more. You both know very well she can’t tell you where to go, but you hope she doesn’t mention this to your other acquaintances on campus and make it into a bigger deal than it is.

When you part ways with your friend and get back to your dorm, you realize you’re missing your planner. The planner with all your upcoming assignment dates in it. You sigh heavily and roll your eyes, knowing it must’ve happened in the chaos of her pulling you out of the shop. Maybe if you’re really lucky, it’ll still be there, picked up by an employee or simply left untouched. Knowing how many people go through that café in a day, you’re not optimistic.

For the first time since visiting the quaint little shop, you’re not anticipating returning and seeing the man again, afraid he’ll ignore you or look at you with distaste—like you’re just another unsympathetic human. And would he be wrong to think that? You’re only strangers to each other.

You try not to dwell on it too hard when you go to bed that night.

When lunch rolls around the next day, you hesitate a couple times on your way to the café, not wanting to show up. However, the desire to see what became of your planner pushes you forward. You don’t even have to stay; if it’s there, you’ll take it and leave. If it’s not—oh well. You can still leave. It’s not hard to buy another.

He’s there when you arrive, of course.

He nods at you when you step inside, though he doesn’t smile as he’s become accustomed to doing. You nod back, but you can’t ignore the renewed rush of embarrassment you feel. You linger at the entrance for a second longer, wondering if maybe you should say something. Apologize, even? But what if he really didn’t know what was going on yesterday? Then how odd would you look for bringing it up?

You decide to move on and go back to the booth to search for your belongings, but his voice stops you. This takes you by surprise.

“Did you come back for this?”

You turn to him to see him holding your planner in his hand. You stare, momentarily dumbfounded, and almost shake your head before realizing it is yours. Definitely the same sticker-covered, scribbled-all-over planner.

“Oh—y-yeah. Thank you.” He passes it to you, though you notice he’s very careful not to let your hands touch. You’re a little perplexed about why, but then the rumors about vampires having cold skin pop up in your mind. Maybe that’s actually true, too. “I usually don’t lose things so easily, but…” Your voice falters, and you don’t know how to finish that sentence without bringing up the other day’s events.

He doesn’t seem to mind as he replies, “It happens to all of us sometimes...I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my camera.”

“You take pictures?” you ask, a tinge of curiosity in your voice.

He nods. “I take photos of anything that interests me. Which often ends up being everything I see. I work at an art museum, so I guess having an eye for photography comes in handy.” He hesitates for a second, then says, “I could show you some?” He waves his phone, indicating that the photos are there.

“Oh, sure.” The man gestures for you to sit down in the empty chair in front of him, and you do so. He swipes through his phone a few times until he settles on what he’s searching for, then puts the device on the table and slides it to you. You lean forward to look at it and see that it displays an album full of pictures, simply titled with the emoji “🌌.”

“It’s okay, you can pick it up.” He chuckles. You pick up the phone and swipe through the numerous pictures. Many of them are nighttime shots of the moon, trees, half-empty streets, darkened storefronts. Others depict nature scenes at sunset or the beginning of sunrise, with the sky colored in darker hues. No matter what the subject matter is, they all look to be professionally taken, even for an iPhone.

“Wow, these are nice. You said you work at a museum…are you a professional photographer, too?”

The man shrugs, and as you look at his slight grin, you realize you still don’t know his name. “Something like that, I guess.”

“You should be if you aren’t already,” you say, looking through more photos. “I’m sure you’d make a lot of money.” When you reach the end of the album, you go to hand the phone back to him but realize he’ll probably want to avoid contact again, so you slide it across the table. He takes it and slips it into his pocket.

“I don’t really care about the money,” he responds. “I just like it because…” He trails off, unsure how to convey his thoughts, wondering if he should even get that personal with a stranger. “It...helps me pass the time.” He’s not quite satisfied by that answer—it doesn’t feel like enough—but it’s all he can think of on the spot.

“Well, that’s nice too. It’s always good to have a hobby just for the sake of it...not for anyone’s benefit but your own.”

“Do you have one?” He takes a sip of his coffee. You don’t expect to be asked about your own interests, and your mind goes blank as you try to think. Why does this always happen when I’m asked these kinds of questions?

“Um, just different things here and there.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says, amused.

“It’s not that, I just don’t have a ton of hobbies or anything. I’m kinda boring, so…” And wasn’t allowed to do much of anything until I left home.

“Being boring isn’t always a bad thing.”

You lean back in your seat, shrugging slightly. “Maybe if you see it that way. My friends don’t.”

“Would one of those happen to be the same one who dragged you out of here yesterday?” He speaks casually, putting his cheek in his hand. You slump further down in your seat, feeling exposed. Of course there was no escaping this topic. He notices your mood shift and shakes his head. “You don’t have to feel so bad about it. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.”

“I’m sorry for all that mess,” you murmur, unable to meet his eyes. “Really, I am.” You stand up from the seat, gripping your planner. “Thanks again for this. I don’t want to take up any more of your time today.” You’re about to turn to leave when he speaks again.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know…you could talk with me whenever you feel like it.” That’s the last thing you expect him to say. His voice takes on a quality that’s...not what you’d call begging, but it’s clear he’d enjoy some company. Maybe he’s doing this for your benefit as well as his own, because it’s obvious how your eyes always stray to his little corner.

You nod, giving him an apprehensive smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, then.”

The rest of your day after that is uneventful, full of classes and unexciting lectures, but you keep thinking of one thing. Though he appears to enjoy his time in the coffee shop, how lonely must he really be? There’s never anyone else around him. His eyes when he’d spoken to you held a certain sadness.

And you still didn’t get his name.

You don’t see him for the next few days, mostly because you aren’t at the café. You’ve gotten busy with a new project and haven’t had as much time to return to the coffee shop, mostly spending your time in the library instead.

When you finally get a chance to buy lunch outside campus, he’s not there. This disappoints you more than you thought it would, and you wonder what his absence means. Did he just decide not to come today, or has he found another place to frequent? You kind of hope the second option isn’t the case, though you also don’t know why you’re even caring this much about where someone else goes on their own time.

You get a drink to-go this time, deciding you’ll just take it back to the library and continue your studies there. The entryway bell rings behind you as you wait for your order to be made, though you don’t pay it much attention; half of your mind is still occupied with what you need to do next for your project.

When you turn around to leave the shop with your drink, you’re surprised to see the man standing there, waiting to get his own coffee. “You’re late,” you blurt out. You immediately feel silly for saying it, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

He gives you a slight smile. “Yes, I am.” Then he spots your to-go cup. “Are you leaving?”

“Uh, well,” you glance at your drink, “are you staying?”

He nods as he steps up to the counter. “Yeah, I’m staying. My offer’s still open, by the way.”

Right. The offer to talk to him sometimes. You’re tempted to stay awhile and talk to him now, though you don’t even know what about. Your project? That’s boring. Him being a vampire? Too invasive. Your school? Also boring, and probably not the best idea considering which one you attend.

“I...think I’ll stay, then.”

You both sit at his usual table, with you grinning nervously.

“How are you? I noticed you hadn’t showed up in a while,” he asks, settling back in his chair.

“Yeah, I’m doing fine, I’m just busy with school stuff. These teachers don’t give us a break.” You laugh a little, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He grins. “I never did go to college, but I’ve always heard others talk about how tiring it is. And expensive.”

“They’re right.” You roll your eyes at the thought of it. “But I guess it’ll all be worth it in the end. Maybe. If the economy isn’t in the toilet.” The sound of his laughter is nice, and you’re glad you could make him laugh. “Also, I’m sorry—I don’t know how this flew under the radar, but I don’t know your name.”

He shrugs. “Nothing to apologize for, really. It’s Johnny.”

You tell him your name, too. “Since I haven’t seen you lately...how are you doing?” You circle your hands around your to-go cup, feeling its warmth transfer to your palms as you await his answer.

“I think I can say I’m the same as always—which is fine. Life slows down a little when you have a lot of time on your hands.” Johnny’s lips quirk up at that, and you think he might be referring to his vampirism. Your eyes widen a little.

“What’s that like? Having so much free time. I wouldn’t know much about that right now, but…”

“Maybe not as pleasant as you think it’d be. But there’s good in it. Like coming and going when you want to. And you can take up whatever interests you want without worrying as much about busy schedules.” You already know he’s alluding to his photography. “I do like having a job, though…it gives me structure.”

“You’re probably right…I wouldn’t know the first thing to do if I had a ton of free time…like, which hobbies to pick up first.” You consider how you initially thought about him being lonely and wonder if that’s one of the unpleasant parts he hinted to. “Speaking of hobbies...did you take any new pictures lately?”

Johnny nods. “Most of them were on my camera this time, but some are on my phone. You want to see?”

“Yes!”

Johnny lets you have his phone again to look through the newest pictures he’s taken. There are varying shots of car-lined streets and storefronts, some of the latter decorated with glowing jack-o-lanterns for the onset of October. A pigeon sits on a streetlamp during the daytime, holding its head up like royalty upon a throne. In another image, a stray cat and her kittens huddle in an alley, the babies grooming each other while the mother looks quizzically at the camera.

You recognize a few photos from the nearby park; he also had some pictures of it the last time you looked. “Do you go to this park often?”

“Yeah, it offers some great shots. It’s especially pretty if you go just before the sun sets...the light filters through the tree leaves and it looks kinda like a kaleidoscope.”

“Ah, I’ve never seen that before…” you say a little sadly. Your parents didn’t much like taking you to that park when you were younger because of how far it is from their house. And since living away from them, you’ve only been able to visit it during the early hours of the day—like now.

Johnny looks closely at you. “Would you ever want to?”

“If it’s as pretty as you say, I should.” You slide the phone back across the table to him, not catching what he’s trying to hint at as you keep talking. “Do you go anywhere else besides here and the park?” As soon as you say it, you realize this might sound a little rude and try to make a quick save. “I mean, do you have any other favorite places? I’m not trying to say you don’t have a life or anything!”

Johnny laughs at your slight panic at thinking you’ve offended him. “Nothing too out-there, I guess. The bookstore, the photography store, the theater. Pretty much all the same places others visit.”

“The movies are fun.” You trace your finger across the table’s surface, thinking of your own favorite spots. “Me and my friends like to go downtown. There are a lot of cute little shops down there…”

You and Johnny talk for a while longer, and you almost forget you have to get back to campus until you glance at the wall clock. “Oh no, I’m gonna be late.” Flustered, you jump out of your seat and crumple your empty cup. “Sorry to cut it short, Johnny, but I gotta go back now.”

He smiles good-naturedly and nods, his dark bangs sweeping his face. “I understand.” As he watches you gather your things and get ready to go, he speaks up again. “Actually, if you want to see the park at sunset sometime...I could show you? It’s up to you.”

You pause, suddenly curious at the thought of seeing him outside the café. In the back of your mind, you feel a little paranoid and afraid of your friend or maybe even your parents seeing you there with him, though the latter is extremely unlikely. It’s hard to shake that familiar fear of judgment and ostracism when it’s been ingrained in you since childhood. “That sounds good. If it’s not any trouble for you…?”

“Never too much trouble. I usually get off around 4 on Fridays, just before the sun sets at 5. Unless the weekend is better for you?”

You nod, holding your books tighter to your chest. “Friday will work for me! I’ll meet up with you then.”

Johnny smiles. “Great; I’ll see you then, kind stranger.”

Maybe he says it to be joking or quirky, to sound like one of those characters in a movie or drama, but it makes you smile. Nodding to him again, you step out of the café and rush towards the direction of your school. Johnny watches as you retreat, your roles reversed.

You meet up with Johnny at the park that Friday, just as you both agreed. You spot him sitting on a bench near the park entrance, waiting on your arrival.

Johnny’s wardrobe is still mostly dark, but it’s a little lighter than usual today. He’s changed things up with a white polo shirt underneath his black sweater. Seeing him dressed like this, you wonder what he’d be like as a student, or maybe even a university professor.

He stands up when you get closer, hearing the sound of your footsteps approaching and turning towards you. His camera sits safely around his neck, the lens catching in the light of the sun.

When you stop in front of him, he smiles at you warmly. You try to relax into the genuineness of that smile and ignore the still-lingering traces of anxiety about being out with him. “Hi, Johnny!”

“Hi, Y/N.”

You and Johnny walk around the park as he looks for something interesting to shoot. He snaps a few shots of the trees, fallen leaves, bushes, and other natural elements along the way, though it seems like he hasn’t quite captured what he wants yet.

“Are you looking for something specific?” you ask, peering at his camera as he holds it in his hands.

“There’s an aster bush around here,” he responds. “It hadn’t fully bloomed yet the last time I was here, but it should be open by now.”

It turns out he’s right as you two finally come up on the bush. Its blooms make bright purple smudges against the rest of the landscape, which is a monochrome red-and-orange palette from the leaves changing their hues. You watch as he comes up to the bush carefully and quietly, like it’s a small animal he’s afraid to scare away. Johnny is very attentive while taking pictures of it, always conscious of getting the correct lighting and securing the exact angles he wants to capture. “Compassionate” is not a word you’d usually associate with the act of taking photos, but that’s the only word you can currently think of to describe this display. He treats the flowers with a peculiar sense of respect, as if they’re a human subject.

After he’s gotten the images he wants, Johnny offers you his camera to take a few of your own. You’re anxious about holding his prized possession and are afraid you’ll find a way to mess something up, but he promises you it’s fine. You take a few shots of the sky, still with a few wisps of clouds left, and a nearby tree that’s almost stripped bare of leaves. You know the shots will probably end up blurry from your unsteady hands, but Johnny tells you you’ve done a good job anyway.

Something about getting his approval makes a pleasant warmth settle in your chest.

As you both walk down a long trail, you finally ask him, “Sorry if this is invasive, but I was wondering how old are you? Like...as a vampire.” Your voice becomes hesitant on the word vampire, even though you’re the only two in this part of the park.

He chuckles a bit. “I’m 85.” You try not to look surprised. “I’ve been turned for 60 years. Old, but probably a little younger than most vampires you’d think of.”

“Kinda,” you say quietly. “They’re always like 2,000 years old in movies.”

“The ancient vampires are purebloods. They keep to themselves and avoid mingling with turned vampires, let alone humans. Some people are even skeptical if they exist. Supposedly, they use humans as servants or blood banks.” He gives you an apologetic look after saying this, though you don’t really know why. You don’t get the feeling he’d do that to another being, but he is still mostly a stranger... “At least, that’s what my mentor told me.”

Your curiosity is roused at all this new knowledge. “You had a mentor?”

“An older woman. She was also a turned vampire.”

“Turned, huh…”

Johnny nods, toeing at a small pile of leaves on the ground. “She went away eventually, said people are meant to pass in and out of each other’s lives. I don’t think she ever had intentions to stay. But I enjoyed her company while she was there.” Johnny stops at a short bridge above a small manmade lake, and you both look down into the water.

You place your arms on the bridge railing so you can lean over more. You notice he doesn’t have a reflection in the water, and this startles you more than you expected. Before meeting this strange man, you’d never thought much before about why vampires don’t have mirror reflections, but it seems even more unnatural to see this phenomenon happen again in the lake.

You find yourself looking at the side of Johnny’s face, trying to read his expression as he peers into the water’s depths. He turns to you, and you flinch at being caught staring, but he only smiles slightly. You force yourself to form words and break the silence. “What—what did you do after she left?”

“Lived on my own. She taught me a lot of things to help me live independently as a vampire, so it wasn’t too difficult to get along without her...but emotionally? A different story.”

“You sound like you had a very close relationship with her.”

“Yes. Quite close…” Johnny’s tone suggests something deeper, more intimate than a regular friendship. You feel a bit astounded at the idea of him having an older, more worldly lover while being only a newly changed vampire. Your reaction makes you feel foolish, inexperienced. Still, you can’t help imagining a scenario of them living in a big, dark mansion somewhere in the mountains, rolling around in a bed with bloody red sheets—and maybe drinking from the occasional naïve, misled human hiker.

Strangely, too, you feel jealous at his freedom, his ability to go wherever and do whatever with whoever he wants without overbearing relatives always just a step away.

You continue staring at the ripples as they circle in and out of the water’s surface, the motions triggered by a small orange leaf falling into the lake. You’re unsure of what could be the right thing to say to his admission, so you blurt out whatever comes to mind next. “You said she taught you to live independently as a vampire. What does that mean? How do you get...you know. Blood?”

“There are ways,” Johnny says cryptically, which makes your own blood rush faster. He turns to you with a grin, like he finds your naivety endearing. “It’s nothing drastic, though. At least, not for me. I never drink directly.” It does make sense that there are other ways to drink human blood without taking it straight from their necks, though you can only speculate on which methods he prefers. “Drinking directly is lethal, and often not worth it.”

“So, it’s true that vampire bites can kill?” You watch as Johnny pushes himself off the railing, and you follow him as he continues down the trail.

“It’s not false. But it’s never really that simple.” Johnny’s answer is mysterious, and he doesn’t elaborate further. He turns to you. “Where did you hear that, anyway? Your university? The one that bans all nonhuman beings?”

“You know where I go to school?” You feel embarrassed, thinking he must assume you’re like the rest of the student body who hates nonhumans but still nurtures an odd obsession with them.

“I saw it on your notebook one day, the school insignia. I’m not a stalker, by the way.” You laugh only slightly, and Johnny seems crestfallen when he notices your apprehension. “I don’t care if you attend school there. Just because you do doesn’t mean you think the way they do.”

“You must think I’m some weird opportunist, then,” you mutter, heat finding its way to your face. “Asking you all these questions...I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think anything except that you’re a pleasant person to be around.”

You’re quiet for a moment, letting the compliment sink in. You think you should probably give him one of his own, but before you can, he says, “Look. The sun’s already setting.” Just like he told you before, the dying rays filter through the tree leaves and create impossibly intricate patterns on your surroundings. You hold your hand out and watch the latticework that the leaves create dance over your open palm.

You let Johnny take a picture of your hand with the tree shadows flitting over it, but you shy away from the camera’s lens when he points it higher to your face, a questioning look in his eyes. “Maybe some other day.”

You walk around for a while longer until the sky bleeds into a dark purple. “I guess I should be going soon. It’s getting late,” you say, though you’re also a bit sad over your evening with Johnny meeting its end.

“Do you want me to take you back to campus? You shouldn’t walk back alone. My car is just in the parking lot there.” He points to it where it sits in the distance.

You look at Johnny with a confused gaze. “But you can’t come on campus. They have...things to ward off vampires.” Like gates made of pure silver, displaying intimidating, elaborately designed crosses. You don’t know if any of it actually works, but it’s probably better not to find out.

Johnny doesn’t seem bothered by this information. “Yeah…I know. I can just drop you at the street across from the main gate.”

You hesitate a moment longer but eventually agree. He is right; you’d rather not walk alone at night, and getting a ride with him is better—and cheaper—than calling for a rideshare.

The ride to the college is fairly quiet, with the radio filling the silence. It’s not an awkward type of stillness, at least, which you’re grateful for.

As he said he would, Johnny parks on the side of the street that sits in front of the main gate, just outside the immediate vicinity of the campus. The metal crosses stare back at the both of you, glinting in the light of nearby streetlamps. You turn your face away from them, biting the inside of your cheek.

You unbuckle your seatbelt. “Thanks again for the ride. I guess I’ll see you back at the shop next week, yeah?” Again, you get the urge to say something, anything, to remedy or cover up the foreboding source of discomfort sitting just in front of you, but there’s no one sentence you could say to wipe away decades of hatred.

Johnny nods and smiles, and still he shows no signs of being disturbed. He doesn’t cast another glance at the gates. “It’s no problem. See you then.”

You get out of his car and cross the street to get inside the gate; it’s early enough in the evening for it to still be open. Any later, and it’d be locked shut to even humans. You risk another wave at him before turning back around and heading for your dorm, which sits a few yards from the entrance. Johnny lets the car idle on the side of the street until you’ve walked into the dorm, and only then does he drive away.

It doesn’t take very long for you to warm up to Johnny inviting you to other places. The next time you and him go somewhere other than the coffee shop, you accompany him as he buys some film for his camera on one of his free days. You don’t know a ton about photography, so you’re more than happy to let him tell you all about how film works and why he buys certain kinds over others.

The place he frequents is a specialty photography shop that still carries older varieties of film—ones that fell out of favor once digital cameras became a thing. The store looks noticeably old, but not in an unkempt or decrepit way. You can tell it’s been around for a while, holding all kinds of history in its structure.

“There are so many different types.” You look over a shelf of film rolls in awe. “How can you tell them all apart?”

Johnny laughs. “It gets easier if you’ve been doing it for a while…or a few decades.” He picks one up from a row of them and holds it in front of you. “35mm is the most common type, which is what you’ll find the most of when you look through any film shop. That’s what I use.”

He sets that one down and walks past another display of film rolls, gesturing toward them. “There’s also 120 and 220 film formats here…those work for even older cameras, sorta like ones you’d see in 1930s movies. You can even turn a film camera into a digital camera.”

You nod to his words, looking over what seems like millions of film canisters—and occasionally glancing at the lines of his broad back as he walks ahead of you. “You should teach a photography class. I’d be more willing to listen to you than some old professor.”

Johnny snickers. “Huh, I don’t know. Not a professor, but I am old.”

You both continue walking through the store, with Johnny giving you the rundown on every item that catches your interest.

Like the coffee shop, there’s another mirror in this store. Many more, actually—there are whole rows of them on a series of shelves, all in varying sizes and shapes. They create a fragmented view of your form as you stand in front of them, though you don’t initially realize you’ve crossed into their glassy line of sight. You’re busier with looking at a roll of film Johnny’s handed you. When you notice your reflection shifting in your peripheral view, you look up.

Johnny’s only a few feet behind you, and you know this because you can hear him and feel his presence. Yet, it’s strange to see yourself as the only person in the aisle.

Eventually, he notices what’s got you preoccupied and comes to stand next to you. Though you see him clearly in front of your eyes, there’s no trace of him in the glass reflections.

Suddenly, you’re hit with the aching loneliness of it—how it must feel to never see yourself. You can see him with your own eyes, and so can everyone else who encounters him, but what must it be like to be virtually invisible outside of other peoples’ perceptions of you? You almost feel utterly alone even though you know he’s beside you.

Noticing your sudden melancholy, Johnny takes the film roll from your hand and tosses it up in the air, making it look like it’s moving on its own in the mirrors. He means to lighten the mood, if only to see the cloudiness disappear from your expression. It works to a degree, though you still feel downcast deep below.

“It’s not good to dwell on it.” Johnny presses the film roll back into your hand, still carefully avoiding skin contact. He has no problem meeting your eyes, though, and you shyly look away from his dark gaze after a few prolonged moments.

“You’re right,” you say softly, turning back to the aisle and away from the rows of mirrors.

—

You and Johnny head to the coffee shop after your trip to the photography store. Once you get your drinks and sit down in your usual spot, he speaks suddenly. “Something’s wrong.”

Your eyes dart around the shop, thinking he’s referring to one of the patrons around you. “What? What’s wrong?” Your voice comes out a bit panicked. He doesn’t want to laugh, but he does.

“No, I mean...something’s wrong with you. You seem far away.”

“Oh…” You wonder if you should even bring it up and potentially ruin the mood. But you have been curious for weeks now, and you don’t think you’ll get a trustworthy answer by asking anyone other than him. “I just...I was wondering why you don’t have a reflection. I know it’s a vampire thing, but I’ve never really known why...you don’t need to answer, though. Like you said, it’s not good to dwell on it.”

Johnny makes a motion like a half-nod once your question is revealed, his eyes darting to the window and back to the table. His fingers trace across the rim of his coffee cup, a thoughtful but stormy expression on his face, and you’re afraid you shouldn’t have reawakened this topic. “You know...being undead means being in two places at once.”

“Two places?”

“We are caught between the living world and the world of the dead. Something that’s not really supposed to exist, yet…” He’s quiet for a moment. “You can only imagine the kind of issues and side effects that can cause. One of them being no reflection.”

“I never thought of it like that,” you say. “Two planes of existence...what does it mean to be a part of the world of the dead?”

“Our blood runs slower. Ours is more like sludge compared to yours. The heart beats only a few times per minute. Don’t need to eat or sleep, either, though many vampires still do.” Johnny pauses. “How much do you really know about vampires?”

“I don’t know much about any of this...stuff.” You gesture vaguely, meaning all supernatural beings and not just vampires. “No one ever told me these things growing up, and it’s hard to tell truth from fiction at school. People will say anything, horrible things, and you just take it at face value, I guess. I never really thought to try to find the reality.” You sigh. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world who doesn’t know anything.”

“Learning is good. You can always learn. I don’t think it’s too late for that.” Johnny’s voice is a little lighter. “Anyway, everyone’s knowledge is different. Sometimes it slips my mind that everyone doesn’t know what it’s like to live as a vampire, though the world never lets me forget for long.”

“Then…do you hang out with other vampires who do understand? Or…maybe humans who can sympathize?”

Johnny gives a humorless laugh. “Most humans are hesitant to interact with us, if not full-out terrified or disgusted. At the museum...it’s less pronounced because all the employees already know. They…tolerate it. But every time someone else realizes what I am and doesn’t take well to it?” He shakes his head, acts like he’ll say something else, and then abandons that line of thought. “And do you really think I’d want to spend my free time around other bloodsuckers?” He tries to play it off as a joke, but you’re more inclined to think he actually feels that way. You can only nod, feeling bad for him but also a little disturbed by his view of his own kind.

“I think you’re a kind person, and you being a vampire doesn’t affect that,” you say hesitantly. “I like talking to you. And even if you feel that way about other vampires, I…wish you wouldn’t feel that about yourself.”

Johnny remains quiet, but he nods. You wonder about the struggle occurring in his mind. The only outward hint of his uneasy state shows in the furrow of his eyebrows and the tense set of his mouth. With his right hand resting on the table, he rubs his fingers together absentmindedly, like he’s analyzing your words. You have a sudden and startling desire to hold his hand, to twine your fingers together and feel his skin on yours for the first time, but you don’t dare cross that boundary.

He finally replies with, “You’re much kinder to me, an old and bitter vampire, than you probably should be. But maybe that’s a good thing about you.”

“I think it’s a good thing,” you agree, your voice low. “Every living being needs companionship. Good companionship, anyway.”

The corners of Johnny’s lips shift in something reminiscent of a smile. He turns a rueful gaze once again to the window, lifting his coffee cup to his lips. “Aren’t I lucky to have yours, then.”

On a day when you don’t have as many responsibilities to juggle, you visit Johnny at the art museum after his working hours are up. He’d already invited you to come to the museum any day you felt like so he could show you around. 

When you get there, he’s waiting in the visitor’s lobby for you, framed by receding sunlight as the day starts fading into night. He looks the same as he always does when you see him in the café on his lunch breaks, but within the context of the museum, he suddenly seems more…alive? Vibrant? He could’ve served as a muse for one of the many statuesque, perfectly proportional sculptures in the museum, and you’d never know anything different.

Your heartbeat increases at the sight of him, just enough to be outside the normal range.

“Hi, Johnny. I hope your day went well?”

“It was fine, nothing too crazy. But it’s better now.” And he smiles at you, sincere enough to make your heart ache.

“Oh—that’s great.” That’s it? You scold yourself internally, but you aren’t quick enough to think up a witty reply to his comment before the topic shifts.

“Is there anything in particular you wanna see first?” Johnny asks, leading you further into the museum.

“I guess I hadn’t thought too deeply about that…do you have a favorite exhibit? I want to see what you like.”

Johnny smiles faintly. “Let’s see, then.”

The dark-haired man takes you to a section of the museum filled with oil paintings, all by one singular artist. At first, all you see is varying shades of black and gray and red, with some white splashed in between. When you begin looking at the paintings more closely, it’s easier to see that each one depicts a different scene of chaos. Maybe a sort of organized chaos, but disarray all the same.

There is one picture that holds a clearer subject than the rest. One of the oil paintings is of a vampire—obvious by the fangs—with bloodied lips and anguished eyes. You pause when you catch sight of it, your steps stilled by the sheer frenzy in the other being’s painted eyes. Their hands reach out for the viewer as if begging for an escape that can only be provided by whoever’s observing.

“This one was painted by a fellow vampire, you know. The same one who did all the rest of the paintings in this gallery,” Johnny explains. He points at the placard next to the painting that displays the artist’s name and a short description of the piece. The word fellow comes off his tongue wrapped in cynicism. “And it was one of the ones I personally chose for this exhibit.”

You glance at him, a tinge of surprise blooming in your chest. “Really?”

He nods. “Who better to depict the ills of vampirism than a vampire themselves? I thought it was a…fascinating change of pace from all the humans who try and fail to do so, ironic as that is.”

If you look at the painting for long enough, you think you can recognize sadness in the corners of the vampire’s eyes—pure, unadulterated sadness. Different from anguish or panic. A similar mask of sadness you’ve seen on the man next to you.

You say nothing for a while. You simply feel the painful throb of your heart in your chest and listen to the small sounds around you. Even now, there are still other people exploring the museum and walking through this very exhibit, but you can’t hear or see any of them. Johnny notices the disconcerted look on your face, and his forehead creases. “But I’m sure you want to see something less…morbid than this, right? Come on.”

“Uh, I-I don’t mind,” you insist, even though you feel like you’ve just awoken from a painful trance by the sound of his voice. But he’s already gesturing for you to follow him elsewhere.

The next set of paintings you end up in front of are a series of sunflower studies. One frame depicts the long green stems; another provides an up-close view of their lined petals. One zooms in close on the flower’s brown center, only small glimpses of yellow left at the edges of the frame.

“This is definitely very different.” You look at him, a small smile pulling at your lips. “But it fits you. I see why you like it.” You remember him back in the park, taking careful pictures of the aster bush and of your hands…and then offering to take one of you. You don’t know why that last one makes your stomach jump.

“I thought you might like it.” Johnny’s eyes linger on your face as he observes your reaction to the paintings. He’s seen these flowers probably a hundred times by now in this permanent exhibit, but the wonder in your expression is new to him.

—

You both walk through a few more exhibitions after that, all with different subjects and mediums—some consist of sculptures, others are clay vases and figures. There’s still a lot to see in the museum, but you’re starting to get hungry, and you know Johnny has already heard your stomach growling.

After the 2nd time it happens and you think you might melt from embarrassment, he grins at you and makes a suggestion. “Let’s go to my office. I’ll get my things and we can eat. The restaurant here is pretty good—or at least that’s what everyone else says…”

When you get to his office, you feel almost like you’ve stepped into a room from years past. Your gaze drifts across his desk immediately; it’s not sleek and modern like you’d expect, considering the rest of the museum’s aesthetic, but wooden and heavy and vintage-looking. It’s olden quality resembles everything else in his personal space. Even his desk chair, a big and plush thing, feels vintage with its soft leather and rustic design.

This feeling is far from a bad thing, though. You enjoy the aged look of the bookcases, the picture frames, the chairs, the small decorations here and there—everything about this room.

Johnny notices how you look around, studying everything in sight, and smiles. “It’s not the most modern, but I like it.”

“It’s perfect. Like a world of its own.”

“A woman of taste, I see.” Johnny puts a hand over his heart, giving an expression like he’s truly touched, and you can only grin sheepishly. When he has his belongings, he leads you out and locks the door behind him.

“Let’s see what they have on the menu today, then.”

—

You get dinner at the museum’s restaurant, just as Johnny recommended, and he even decides to eat too. Maybe he does it so you won’t look odd being the only one eating, or because he really just wants to; he doesn’t let on. Either way, sitting across from him like this in a fancy restaurant with both of you having a nice meal feels almost like a date. You let that thought amble around for a few minutes longer before tucking it back into one of your mind’s many small niches.

“I’ll probably be digesting this for the next few weeks,” he says jokingly, pulling a mock-disappointed face at his plate.

“That sounds like the worst constipation in history.” He snorts at your comment, his eyes creasing as he laughs. You notice he has a dimple when he smiles, and your grin mirrors his. You don’t think you’ve seen him laugh quite so genuinely before, but now that you’ve experienced it, you want to hear it again and again.

Anything is preferable to the perpetual gloom, always slinking around the corner.

—

When Johnny gets back home after dropping you off at the university, he undresses himself and showers and pulls on his bedclothes, which are nothing more than his underwear and a pair of sweatpants. His upper canines ache in his gums the entire time he goes through these motions, like two pulses of red-hot heat positioned on either side of his mouth.

He takes a blood bag from the fridge and drinks it in bed, leaning his arms against his knees. A sudden remembrance manifests itself in his mind; he hears the hazy echo of his mother’s decades-past voice in his head, reprimanding him for eating in bed. A sharp pain grips his chest, and he tries to send it back to the depths where it belongs.

When the blood hits his stomach, the pain is eclipsed by the bloodlust, which is no better. His fangs drop immediately, spiking into his lower lip. Johnny closes his eyes and, very gingerly, allows himself to draw a picture of you in his mind, of your blood in his mouth and your heartbeat roaring in his ears. The way your blood would flow out so delicately, crashing into his tastebuds like the high tide. He is usually better than this at curtailing his bloodlust, not even letting it reach the point of his canines hurting—he can’t remember the last time that’s happened—but being around you sets him on edge. Awakens him in some strange, raw way.

That only makes him more wary. And more guilty about imagining himself drinking your blood. He shouldn’t even be around you if he’s losing his grip on his hard-won control. But although it makes him feel ashamed, it also causes his heart to rush.

He drains the blood bag to the last possible drop. To his relief, it calms him significantly, though the thoughts of you don’t leave. More innocent ones now, of your outing earlier in the evening. Deep beneath, they are tinged with his ever-present guilt at his vampiric nature.

Johnny doesn’t need the sleep, but he drifts off anyway, if only to quiet the conflict sending daggers into his mind.

You’ve known Johnny for a few weeks now, not counting the time you spent silently staring at him in the café, but you find yourself intertwining yourself further into his life. You end up visiting his apartment sooner than you anticipated. You didn’t think of anything as ridiculous as him living in a coffin or sleeping in the rafters like a bat, but you also had a hard time imagining what his place might look like.

You come over on a weekend when you have more time to simply hang out and not worry so much about anything else.

Like usual, he waits in that spot on the side of the street for you to come out. In the daytime, you’re more apprehensive about him being here and someone potentially seeing him and trying to cause trouble for him, but there’s a part of you that likes the rebellious aspect of it. And if he truly doesn’t mind coming near the campus to pick you up, you don’t have much issue with him doing it.

Johnny’s apartment is clean—and a little sparser than you’d expected. Maybe he’s a fan of minimalism. One side of the wall is taken up by a wide bookcase, which features a bunch of different knickknacks, books, and a collection of larger hardcovers that look like photo albums. On the other walls are a few framed pictures of different scenes, and you assume they’re ones he must’ve taken.

“This is a nice place,” you say as he takes your jacket for you and puts it up. “It must cost quite a bit, too…” You sit down on the couch, stroking the soft material of it.

Johnny shrugs. “Thanks. It’s nothing I can’t handle...being nearly a century old gives you plenty of time to save money.” He appears charmingly self-satisfied when he’s able to make you laugh. “Do you want anything?”

“Water is fine…thank you.” Johnny nods and goes off to the kitchen.

Despite trying to keep your eyes on the wall photos, your gaze follows him as he leaves. You discreetly watch him move around his kitchen. With his dark clothes, he’s like a splash of black paint against the pale tile and stainless steel.

There are blood packs in Johnny’s fridge. Lots of them. You know because you saw them from your vantage point on the couch when he opened the fridge door. They look like the blood bags you’d see in a hospital, which makes you wonder how he even gets access to those. Another mystery you struggle to wrap your head around.

He comes back to the living room with your water, and you take it gratefully, though you also feel a little awkward. You think maybe the blood bags are something you shouldn’t have seen, although you know he probably would’ve made more effort to hide them or put them away if that were the case.

“You have a good supply of blood, a nice apartment, and a great job. Does every vampire get these kinds of perks?” Admittedly, it sounded better in your head. Your attempt to stave off the awkward feeling—which was really only coming from your end—only makes it more intense. Johnny laughs dryly in response. You can’t tell if he actually finds it amusing or is just trying to humor you, which makes you feel incredibly silly.

“All of it’s government-issued if you promise never to bite any humans.” Johnny gives a wry smile. “But it’s a mistake to think vampires live glamorous lives, filling up on blood and having no cares in the world.”

“N-no, I get it,” you stutter. “Bad joke.”

“I’m not trying to embarrass you or be mean. It’s just the way things are.” Your roles are suddenly reversed, and now he seems to feel some sort of sympathy for you, like you’re just an ignorant little human who doesn’t know any better. The last part of that is more your insecurities speaking out than anything else, but you try to ignore that and take him for his word.

Johnny gets up from the couch to go over to the bookcase as you sip your water. After looking through the photo albums intently, he takes one off the shelf and hands it to you. You set your water down and hold the album carefully as you open the front cover. The cover itself has a neat little label that reads Telluride 1976 - 1980, so you can already expect what you’ll find in it. There are numerous photos of trees, bushes, snowy mountain ranges, lakes, brilliantly vibrant flowers, and woodland creatures. You stop at a picture of a deer looking straight ahead, its black eyes wide and curious as it examines the lens.

“I lived in the mountains back then, a little after my mentor had left. I spent some time trying to reconnect with nature...and all that other hippie shit people used to do back in that era.”

You chuckle. “Did you wear the same kinds of clothes, too? Bell bottoms and tie-dye T-shirts and all?”

Johnny laughs and shrugs. “Maybe…but that’s only for me to know.”

You grin and look at the photos again. “Well…did your plan work, at least?”

Johnny gives a wistful smile. “In some ways, I think it did.”

You continue looking through the rest of the album, which you could probably do for hours if you had the time—just sit and trace every possible line, curve, and ray of light. Johnny sits beside you as you do, occasionally explaining some pictures and their backstories.

“Lately, I’ve been wanting something else to take pictures of...someone else, maybe.”

“What, like a subject?” you ask.

“Yeah, it’d be nice...I haven’t taken pictures of another person in a while.”

You nod quietly as you flip through the pages—another possible hint flying right over your head. Then a thought comes to you—one that makes your skin warm. “Have you ever taken pictures of anyone you were...involved with?” You don’t say it directly, but you hope he can get the gist of what you’re asking.

Johnny nods as if he doesn’t want to admit to it, a nervous smile gracing his lips. “A few different people…but I always gave them the pictures after we, you know, stopped seeing each other...so there’s none left here.”

“I see…” For a few moments, your thoughts circle around that concept. What was it like to bare yourself in front of someone else like that, immortalized on film? What might it be like to allow Johnny to see you like that, to take pictures of you in your most vulnerable form? The idea doesn’t make you as downright anxious as you expected it to, though you can’t completely shake the lingering embarrassment about it.

After you finish looking through the entirety of his Telluride adventures, Johnny shows you some recent pictures he’s developed, and you’re giddy to see your own blurry creations among them. Now that you’re holding them physically in your hands, you can agree that they look nice, each with its own little personality.

“I thought about putting them in a new photo album,” he says, “but you can keep them, if you prefer.”

You hold them to your chest. “Yes, I’d like to keep them. Thank you.” You smile. “I’m sure I’ll leave you with plenty other photos to put in your album, anyway.”

—

The sun is close to setting again. You aren’t ready to leave yet, though, and Johnny is content to let you stay longer. He pulls out another album for you to look at, this one dated with 1960 - 1964. Unlike the others, there’s no title to describe what’s in it except for that year range.

“This is a picture of me someone took before I was turned,” Johnny murmurs, sitting back down beside you. He turns the album to you, and in the middle of the first page is a sepia-toned photo of him sitting on a bed—or maybe a couch?—wearing a suit. White, handwritten lettering on the bottom right of the photograph reads August 4, 1960.

“Oh wow...” You touch the photo gently over its protective lining. “You look exactly the same. Of course.”

“It’s the only photo I have left of myself,” he sighs, leaning back on the sofa. “If it weren’t for that...I’d feel almost like I didn’t exist at all.”

“Do you remember this day?” you ask.

“…Vaguely.” His answer doesn’t feel like the whole truth, and the way his eyes dart anxiously as he says it confirms your suspicions. Then he sighs again, heavier this time, and he seems to be exhaling all 60 years of his burden along with it. “I was...going to be married. It was for our wedding shoot.”

You’re surprised for a reason you’re unsure of, never even imagining that Johnny could’ve been married at one point in time. Could’ve had an entire life and a family, if it hadn’t been for...

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” You know you never would’ve met him if things hadn’t happened this way, and that knowledge tugs at your heart in a way that makes you feel intensely selfish.

Johnny shakes his head and avoids your eyes. “It was long ago.” He wets his lips and his jaw clenches like maybe he wants to say something else, but he remains silent for a while.

You continue exploring the photo album in silence. With its thin size, there aren’t as many pictures in it as the others—much less, in fact, but each one is still enough to keep your interest. Your mind keeps drifting back to the one of Johnny.

You hand the album back to him when you’re done. He takes it from you, but in a gesture you don’t foresee, he allows your hands to touch for the first time. You make a tiny flinch at the unexpected coolness—not ice-cold, but enough to be noticeable—but you don’t draw away from him. You let his fingers slide across yours as the photo album leaves your hands, and it sends electricity racing up and down your spine.

“S-sorry.” You’re not sure if you’re apologizing for flinching or for making contact at all, though there is no reason to because he initiated it.

“Doesn’t it ever disturb you at all that I’m not human?” Johnny asks softly, still holding the album.

“What?”

“You’ve taken all this so easily...much more easily than many others. You aren’t even disgusted at my cold hands.” A ghost of a grin comes over his face.

“If I were disgusted, I wouldn’t even be here,” you say, trying to lighten the tension. It’s not the kind of tension that arises from anger, offense, or upset, but something else that you are lost on comprehending in this moment. “Some of it’s unfamiliar, obviously, but I’m not disgusted.”

He glances down at the album in his hands, as if contemplating something. Maybe thinking about the only living photo of himself beneath the cover. Or maybe he’s thinking back to how he was turned in the first place and subsequently lost the life he was about to have. He still hasn’t told you anything about how he became a vampire, and though you’d like to know, it’s obviously a sore spot for him.

Eventually, he nods, willing himself to smile at you. “I’m glad.”

—

Night has fallen by the time you’re done exploring the decades of his life, though there is still much you haven’t seen and don’t yet know. You let him drive you back to the school as you stare out at the passing cars, wondering how many more of these people sitting in their vehicles are nonhuman and you’d never know it.

You hesitate after he pulls up across from the main gate.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Uh, nothing really, it’s just—I still don’t have your number or anything.” And I want to talk to you more often. I want to hear your voice more often. You don’t want to say anything overly dramatic or cheesy, so you just keep those last thoughts to yourself.

Thinking it had been something serious, he smirks at your concern. “Oh, I see. I’ll give it to you now, then.”

Once your numbers are safely in each other’s phones, you finally bid each other goodnight. 

Though you try to steer your thoughts towards other things, you keep veering back to Johnny. His apartment. His fridge full of blood bags. His photo albums full of years of history. Even when you get into bed that night, you can’t keep him off your mind.

You wake up gasping and sweating when you dream of him with his fangs in your neck, your own blood running down your neck and chest. You glance over at your roommate to make sure you haven’t woken her and rest your head on your knees, trying to catch your breath and settle your racing heart. Your skin still prickles with how you could practically feel his heated breaths on your neck, ice-cold hands gripping your shoulders.

The worst part of it is that you can’t quite say you completely disliked it.

“It doesn’t make much sense to have a Halloween party and dress up as the very beings that you hate, but whatever…” you mumble, looking through a rack of costumes with a certain impassivity. You’re not very enthusiastic about going to this Halloween party, but your friend refuses to go alone. You haven’t been spending as much time with her anymore—partly because of Johnny and partly because you feel even more out of place around her than normal—and with all her begging and pleading, she refuses to let you opt out of this one.

“It’s about having fun, no one really cares Y/N. They’re freaks, aren’t they? That’s why people dress up as them, they’re practically meant for this.”

You become even more apprehensive about the party after hearing that, if that’s even possible. You smooth your hand over the fabric of a witch’s robe and sigh again, shaking your head. It doesn’t feel quite right to keep spending time in her presence—or anyone else who goes to your school—but you feel trapped on all sides, left without much of a choice. You would never hear the end of it if you tried to switch universities…or even drop out.

Your mind strays back to Johnny as always, with his melancholy aura and weird jokes and pretty pictures and monochrome clothes. The smell of his cologne, the lingering scent of roasted coffee beans, and his toothy smile, when he does show it to you. Something in you makes you want to drop everything you’re doing right now and go to him. It might even be nice to settle in his arms, feel them strong and solid around you—though he’d probably need just as much comforting as you.

“Dress up as this!” Your friend breaks the reverie as she prances over to you with a pair of fake fangs, the tips of them painted in acrylic blood. She holds them up to your mouth, and you struggle to manage a smile, if only to sate her enthusiasm. “It actually reminds me of…that vampire at the café. Say, have you seen him since then?”

You shake your head, moving away to sift through another rack of outfits as you try to maintain a detached expression. “Nope, not a glimpse. Haven’t even thought about him.”

When your friend doesn’t suspect anything, you let your expression drop just a tad, breathing out quietly.

The night of the party, the full moon is heavy and bold against the black blanket of the sky, which feels horribly cliché. You wonder if there are any werewolves out tonight, and what they might be doing right now.

“We’re going to have a good time tonight,” your friend insists as you both walk up the front steps of the host’s house. It’s someone you only vaguely know, a friend of a friend of a friend, but clearly a person who has an abundance of money judging by this expansive home. You don’t know why she feels the need to convince you, but maybe it’s because you haven’t seemed very enthusiastic so far. You only give a thumbs up to her words, which feels like an unconvincing gesture. Luckily for you, it works.

After a few hours, the party is still going strong but your head is starting to hurt from the music, and you’re growing weary of all the men crowding in too close, looking at you in your angel costume like you’re something to be devoured. You’ve rolled your eyes at way too many of them and their haphazardly put-together costumes, dressed up as vampires with terrible fake fangs or werewolves with manes of matted up fur.

Your friend keeps flitting around the party, talking to whoever she recognizes from classes or campus organizations, and you’ve given up on trying to follow her around any longer. Every time you turn around, she’s somewhere else. Noticing that you’re currently solo, a guy from one of your history classes comes up to you and begins what he thinks is an interesting conversation on how angels actually look more like Eldritch abominations than the cherubic humans depicted in paintings—so your costume is “technically inaccurate” —and your eyes glaze over as you pretend to listen to him.

You eventually manage to get away from him and get to an undisturbed corner, wedged next to two girls drinking cider and critically rating all the guys’ costumes. You pull your phone out and think about calling for a ride back to campus, but your thumb hovers over the message icon. You press it without thinking too much about it, and Johnny’s name appears as one of your most recent conversations. Though you feel somewhat nervous, you will yourself to open the box and begin typing.

To: Hi Johnny. I hope I’m not bothering you, but can I come over? 🙏🏿🙏🏿🙏🏿 I’m over this party

You put your phone back in your purse, trying not to get your hopes up for a quick response. You know there’s a good chance he’d still be awake at this time of night since he doesn’t need to sleep, but he has his own life and is probably off doing...vampire-y things. Whatever those things could be.

However, your hopes are met when your phone pings only a couple minutes later.

From: Of course. You’re not scared about spending your Halloween with a vampire? 😏

You smile at that.

To: I think I’ll be fine…as long as you don’t bite me.

From: 🦷🩸

—

You get to Johnny’s studio apartment not too long after, and you hang around outside his door for a few moments before knocking, suddenly feeling bashful about your costume. Maybe you should’ve changed before coming over here; what if he thinks it’s childish? Or maybe too revealing? Does he even care about that kind of stuff? Doesn’t matter now, though. You’re here, and there’s no way you’re turning back around.

He answers a few seconds after you knock, wearing a sweater and black pants. You notice his sweater is a cream color and not the usual black. He looks a little surprised to see your costume, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Wow, you look pretty. Nice of you to visit me after falling straight from Heaven.” You cringe at his cheesy line, though you also cannot deny that you secretly enjoy every bit of it.

“Thanks, Johnny...” you say timidly, stepping into his home as he lets you in. “Nice work with changing up the color scheme.”

He’s confused for a moment before realizing you’re talking about his clothes. “Oh yeah, that...um, haha. Thanks.”

Unbeknownst to you, the back of his mind is buzzing with a form of excitement he hasn’t felt in a while. Not the clawing, frantic spikes of bloodlust, but a more physical kind of desire. It’s pleasurable, but he also feels guilty about pining over how sweet and innocent you look in your all-white outfit, stockings hugging your legs perfectly and your dress just short enough to tempt the imagination. Really, you’ve painted a picture of perfect purity, and the only thing he can think about is ruining you. Putting his hands on you and peeling your dress off to reveal the soft skin underneath.

He casts those thoughts aside as you sit prettily on his couch, legs crossed at the ankles—though it’s hard to do so. “Do you want something to drink? Or eat? There isn’t a whole lot of food here, but I can order something…”

“Do you ever make your own coffee?” The question seems a bit random at first, and you try to explain. “You know, since you always get it from the café.”

Johnny smiles. “Do you want coffee? I can make it.”

You nod. “That would be nice…whatever you have.”

“I pretty much have your usual order memorized by now, so I should be good on making it.” Johnny walks to the kitchen. “You can look through the albums while you’re in there. The ones you haven’t seen yet.”

“Oh, thanks.” You feel a little nervous to be looking through the shelf of his treasured photo albums by yourself, but you’re also glad he trusts you enough to let you do it. It makes you feel important. Maybe even important to him, as silly as that might sound.

It isn’t long before the scent of coffee wafts out into the living room. Johnny returns soon with two cups of it, and just as he promised, yours is made just the way you like it.

“Thank you.” You set the album back on the shelf and take the cup from Johnny. For a while, both of you talk of nothing important—just filling the space with the details of your days.

“So how was the party?” Johnny finally asks, and he raises his eyebrows as he scans your outfit again. You grin halfheartedly.

“It was…alright. Kinda weird. I think it’d be more fun if I went to a regular university, but you know…”

Johnny shakes his head. “I can’t blame you for bailing out.”

“Yeah…I’ve been to college parties before, but the Halloween theme was a bit…”

“Strange for an institution that bans all supernatural beings?” Johnny finishes your sentence. He doesn���t look offended or irritated by it—only slightly amused.

You shrug, biting your lip. “Yeah, that.”

“Well, look on the bright side. I wouldn’t have gotten to see you in your natural form otherwise.”

This one almost goes over your head, too, but you catch it just in time. Johnny’s compliments make you feel warm all over, like you’re sitting under the sun. You grin and look down into your cup of coffee, unused to receiving such bold praise and unsure how to respond to it. Something pops into your mind, though, and you think it might be a good idea to run with it.

“You could...take a picture of me, you know. If you want to...since I’m all dressed up now anyway.” You meet his eyes only for a second and then look away, twisting the mug in your hands.

Johnny sits up a little straighter at your words, trying to catch your eyes, though you don’t hold his gaze for long. “You’re sure?” he asks.

“I’m sure. Go ahead! Before I change my mind.” You laugh nervously and carefully set your half-empty mug on the table.

Johnny’s camera is never too far away from him, so he grabs it and plays with the settings for a bit before looking back to you, a small smile on his face. “I’m gonna start, okay?” His voice is surprisingly soft. This, yet again, reminds you of him and the aster bush. He acts as if you might run away at the first shutter click, which makes you feel babied, but you don’t totally hate it.

The first few photos are a little awkward—at least to you. You aren’t sure how to pose, or if you should try to look more casual, though Johnny assures you you’re doing well. He gives you directives throughout, telling you to look in his direction or angle your face a certain way, and you follow his instructions to the best of your ability.

At one point, one of your dress straps slips down. When you go to fix it, Johnny says, “Wait. Could you keep it like that?”

You look at him, your body heating from the suggestion.

“Is that okay with you?”

“…Yes.” Your throat is dry, and your body reacts in a way you don’t expect—little nervous thrills in your hands and feet, though you try to internally explain it away as the coffee’s effects. Johnny takes a few more photos like this, and then he steps closer to gently touch your chin, guiding your face to the angle he’s looking for.

“So good for me.” It slips past his lips in a reverential murmur before he can really consider what he’s saying, and you both freeze. Your heart rate increases, and you wonder if he can hear how hard the red organ is beating in your chest. Probably.

You want to hear him say it again.

Johnny laughs awkwardly, his hand coming back to his side almost a little too quickly to be natural. “Um, I’m really sorry. That was a bit...”

“It…it’s fine.” You avoid his eyes. Johnny takes a few more photos, but the set of his mouth is a little tight, as if he’s stressed about something. Or regretting what he let slip, maybe. You want to tell him you really don’t feel bad about it, but you aren’t sure how to do that without making things more awkward…or revealing your true desires.

When Johnny has taken enough pictures of you to be satisfied with, he sits next to you on the couch, setting his camera on the coffee table and looking suddenly timid.

“I can’t wait to see them,” you say, attempting to break the tension that never really cleared the room after his earlier comment. He blinks for a moment like he doesn’t know what you mean, and then realizes—obviously, he’ll be developing the photos.

“They’ll come out nice, I’m sure. I think you’ll photograph well.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, and now it’s your turn to be unsure of how to resurrect the conversation.

“You’re beautiful.” It’s an abrupt comment. It makes your stomach twist in a pleasant, fluttery way, and you become hyperaware of his form sitting next to yours.

“Haven’t heard that one much, but thanks.”

Johnny turns to you. “Anyone who’d think otherwise is a fool.”

There’s a pause after this where you both simply study each other, watching for hidden reactions that can’t be read on the surface. The way he says it is…decisive, assured. But it also manages to be tender, as if he needs you to know what he thinks of you. Needs you to see yourself the way he does—the same way you do for him. You don’t know where the confidence comes from, but maybe his tone and his words and his endlessly dark eyes have pulled it out of you. “I want to kiss you.”

Johnny’s lips part. “Are you certain?”

“I’m certain.”

He doesn’t hesitate anymore. Johnny moves closer to you and cups the back of your neck. Something awakens in his eyes in the seconds before he presses his mouth to yours. Though he wants to drink eagerly from your lips, his kiss is languid to avoid overwhelming you, and there is an audible smack of your lips whenever he pulls away and presses back in.

His mouth tastes like the coffee you just drank, but underneath that you swear you can taste a hint of the deep iron of blood, and you don’t know how to feel about that. You think about what his fangs would feel like scraping against your bottom lip, if he’d ever show them to you, and you moan quietly.

“Do you want this? With me?” Johnny confirms once more, pulling his gaze away from your lips and up to your eyes. His own eyes are yearning, but there is also an element of something like fear roiling in them. As if you’d turn him away, even though you’ve already shown your desire for him.

“Yes. Just you. No one else.”

Johnny’s body gravitates towards yours, and you think he’s going to push you down onto the sofa, but he scoops your legs up and carries you to his bedroom instead. Even his hands on your waist and legs makes you burn inside.

This is the first time you've seen his bedroom. The sheets are cloud-soft when he sets you down on them, and his window lets moonlight shine through the open blinds and scatter in thick beams across the floor. The only other light source is the bedside lamp, which emits a comfortable yellowish glow.

Johnny joins you on the bed and lets you climb into his lap—encourages you to do so. His cool hands pulling at your thighs as you settle them on either side of his waist makes tingles go through your body. You don’t hesitate to bring your lips back together, kissing each other deeply as one of his hands cradles the back of your head and the other settles on the small of your back.

You are certain vampires don’t have any powers of enchantment—that’s for magic wielders. And yet, you feel like you’ve been put in a trance by his kisses alone, and you wonder how you could’ve lived this long without knowing how his lips feel—how they fit perfectly against your own. As if everything up to now has purposely led you together.

You shift in Johnny’s embrace, and the movement causes his thigh to slide between your legs. Your heat is pressed against his thigh directly now, your silken panties catching against the denim of his pants. You murmur against his lips, not really saying anything of substance but wanting to vocalize your desire to him. Johnny’s hand tightens slightly on your back, and he experimentally lifts his leg higher and slides his thigh across you. That draws a gasp from you.

Noticing your positive response, Johnny continues rocking his thigh up against your pussy and kissing you until you’re breathless and your nipples are straining against the fabric of your dress. You pull away from him for a moment to try to ground yourself, feeling like your nerves are already being singed with fiery pleasure. Johnny’s face is noticeably more flushed than before, but he also looks much more composed than you feel at the moment.

“It takes longer to get hard,” he explains, as if reading the lingering question in your own expression. “Since...you know. Slow blood.” You rock your hips over his thigh more enthusiastically, motivated to get him hard underneath you, and you listen to his choppy breaths as you move. Your movements aren’t the smoothest, but he helps you guide your hips in a way that feels good for you both. You’ve never been with anyone before, so it doesn’t much matter to you how long or quick it takes for him to get there as long as he does.

Feeling the bulge grow underneath you excites you. Johnny groans against your lips as you kiss him and rub yourself over his member. The sound comes from somewhere deep inside him, as if it’s something he’s been containing for a long time. Your hand goes to his waist and tugs at his belt loops, then drifts closer to his belt buckle, pulling the leather and metal apart. Johnny pauses when you get off his lap and slide further down, grips your arms like he doesn’t want you to go. “Are…you sure? You don’t have to…if it’s too much—”

“I want to, Johnny.”

With your affirmative, he lets you kneel between his legs, pull his zipper apart, and trace your curious fingers over the bulge beneath the fabric of his underwear. Johnny loses his breath when you drag his underwear down, sliding it over the heated skin of his dick. His length is thick and long—even with him not being fully hard yet—and the tip glistens wet with precum. You weren’t sure what to expect, but this is much bigger than you think you might be able to handle. It makes your face warm and your stomach do another series of flips. Still, you want it and you want him, so you aren’t going to stop now.

You lean closer to press your lips against his shaft, leaving a few soft kisses behind. Johnny’s mouth parts when your mouth touches him.

Johnny gently holds the back of your head as you leave small licks over his shaft, tasting the salty skin on your tongue. He lets out a shaky breath as he watches you, his other hand brushing the side of your face.

“Just like that…” he murmurs, his voice heavy with lust as you circle your tongue around the thick, darkened tip, catching drops of his precum. He never takes his eyes off you, and this makes you feel a little exposed, but you continue with your actions. When you suck Johnny’s tip past your lips, his thighs tense under you, the thick muscle reacting beautifully to your actions on his body.

More precum drips from him, and you find the taste strangely pleasing. It makes you want more of him, of whatever he has to offer you. You wrap your hand around his shaft, though it doesn’t fit entirely around, and begin stroking him in a way you hope feels good.

Johnny’s hand slips over yours to guide your movements and show you how much pressure to apply, what pace to stroke him at. “Like this, baby…yes, that’s so good…” He showers you with praise as you get the hang of it, and he eventually lets your hand go so you can do it on your own, his own hand drifting back to the bed to grip the comforter.

It’s hard to quantify just how much seeing you like this turns him on, you kneeling between his legs with his cock between your lips while wearing your pretty, angelic outfit. His previous guilt about “corrupting” you descends to the very back of his mind as he savors every moment of your hands on his cock and your tongue circling his slit.

“I’m close,” he whispers. You quicken your movements on him, hollowing your cheeks tighter around his dick, and the moan he gives shoots straight between your legs.

Johnny carefully pulls your head back so you won’t choke before he comes, streams of his seed shooting into your mouth and running down his cock. Your hand still squeezes around him as he comes, and he slowly thrusts into the tight circle of your fist as you milk every drop from him. By the time he’s spent, your mouth and hand and part of the sheets are completely sticky with his release. You imagine it must have been a long time since he’s last had an orgasm.

The vampire watches intently as you swallow his cum, which causes his softening dick to throb in your hand. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, uncaring of the taste of himself in your mouth. His hair tickles your face as he kisses you feverishly, his nose bumping yours and his tongue prodding past your lips.

“Come here, angel.” Johnny pulls your body up onto the bed before you can get yourself up there first. The pet name makes warmth flood through your body, like drinking a hot chocolate at the café, except a thousand times more satisfying. Johnny’s hands are once again caressing your thighs, though this time they slide up underneath your dress and squeeze your hips. “Can I take these pretty panties off you?”

“Please.”

He hooks his fingers into the sides of them and pulls them down your legs and past your ankles. One of his hands goes underneath your dress to feel you soft and wet against his fingers, and you both moan at the same time. He slides his digits through your lips and over your clit, and him leaning forward to bring his mouth to your throat is enough to have you nearly overwhelmed. His fingers tease your entrance but don’t push inside until you nearly have to beg him.

“Please, Johnny…” You push your hips up to get his attention.

“Do you want my fingers?” he asks softly.

“Y-yes…” At your words, he eases the middle one into you, slowly enough to avoid discomfort. It feels strange to have someone else’s fingers inside you. His finger reaches further than yours can, touching you more deeply than you’ve felt before; it makes you gasp a bit too sharply.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, freezing and thinking he might’ve done something wrong.

“N-no, I’m fine. Keep going.”

Johnny’s mouth edges closer to the cleavage of your dress as he starts thrusting his finger into you, warming you up enough to take a second digit. Shakily, you bring your hands up to slide the straps down and make it easier for him, and his breath hitches when you pull the top of your dress down.

His mouth envelopes one of your nipples as he slides the second finger into you. His fingers encounter a part of you that makes you moan unexpectedly and grab onto him, a little surprised at the sudden spike of pleasure.

“You’re so pretty,” he purrs, his lips moving against the curve of your breast as he speaks. “And so responsive.”

As Johnny’s mouth and fingers work you closer to an orgasm, you marvel at how handsome he looks and how good he feels. He opens his eyes to see you staring at him, your pupils wide and mouth desperate, and he separates himself from your chest to kiss you deeply once again.

When you come around his fingers, Johnny whispers more compliments to you about how good you are and how he wants to watch you come undone because of him all the time. When he thinks you might be on the brink of overstimulation, he takes his fingers out of you, slipping them into his mouth to taste you.

“I’ll take this off now. Is that okay?” He whispers this into your ear with his hands on either side of your hips, caressing the fabric of your dress.

“I-it’s okay.”

Johnny slips your dress off, leaving you in nothing but your white sheer stockings. The sight of you sitting there on his bed, breathing heavily from your climax in your pretty thigh-highs, has his cock throbbing and rising to life once again.

“Lay back on the bed.” You do, and he settles himself between your legs like you did for him earlier. When you glance at him, his eyes are heavy and piercing. In this moment, you are acutely reminded of the fact that he is not a human, with how he looks like a beast of prey about to devour a meal. You are too nervous to look back at him for long, so you stare at the ceiling with your legs shaking from anticipation.

Johnny’s mouth on you is almost jarring in how wet it is, and you arch up into him in surprise and a rush of pleasure. He gently presses your legs back onto the bed and continues licking into you, parting your lower lips with his tongue and making your thighs tremble under his grasp.

If you had to describe it in words, you probably wouldn’t be able to. He kisses your pussy the same way he kisses you on the mouth, passionately and with more than enough tongue to satisfy. Johnny slips his fingers into you again as he curls his lips around your clit, and you moan unabashedly.

You’re quickly spiraling towards another orgasm, maybe quicker than you expected; but it makes sense with you still being so raw from the climax you just had. You gain enough courage to give another glance down at Johnny, and you see the way his other arm moves back and forth from beneath the bed, stroking himself while he eats you out. Something about that pushes you over the edge, and you cry out as you come on his tongue.

As Johnny gives you time to calm down again, he stands and finally pulls his clothes off, baring his body to you. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen a man so beautiful.

He goes to get a condom, and your words stumble from your lips before you can psych yourself out of saying them. “I-I’m on birth control.” Johnny looks back at you, his gaze filled with something you can’t quite read. He comes closer to you, holding himself above you on the bed so his face is hovering just above yours.

“You want to feel me raw?” he whispers.

You nod under his burning stare, feeling like you’re on a high you won’t be able to get off of. “I need you, Johnny.”

Johnny climbs fully onto the bed then and positions himself between your legs. His cock is thick and heavy between his thighs as it bumps against your inner thigh and leaves a smear of precum behind. After putting some lube in his hand, he slicks himself with the sticky substance, preparing himself to fuck you open. Something deep in your abdomen shudders, and your walls clench around nothing as you watch him stroke his shaft, the squelching, wet sound of his hand on his dick loud in the quiet room.

When he’s done, he grabs your thighs and pulls you a little closer to him. “If it hurts, tell me, okay?”

“O-okay.”

The slick tip prodding at your hole makes you want more, though you are a bit afraid of how this is going to feel. When it finally pushes inside of you, you gasp. Johnny watches your face for signs of pain as he slides forward further.

With two previous orgasms and the lube to help, his cock stretches you open with some discomfort, but not the kind of sharp pain you expected. Your nails leave little half-moon shapes on Johnny’s biceps as you squeeze his arms and try to keep your lower half relaxed, wanting to take all of him in—or as much as you can manage, anyway. You try to keep your breathing even as he pushes into you slowly.

Your eyebrows crease and your mouth tightens when he slides deeper still, and he pauses. “Johnny…” You worry your lip with your teeth, feeling like you’ve been stuffed to the brim—and he’s not even all the way in yet.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you beg, maintaining your grip on his arms. “Just…try moving.”

Johnny pulls out and slowly thrusts back in again, angling his dick to find that sensitive spot within you. Your mouth falls open silently when he does; this feels much, much different from his fingers. This is better.

Johnny repeats the movement, being mindful not to push himself too deep—only enough for you to handle. Beneath him, your body begins unwinding at the pleasure he’s delivering to you, and your eyes flutter closed as the ecstasy takes over your mind. One of his hands goes to tease your clit as he settles into a good rhythm, and you cry out at the extra dose of pleasure.

“You’re taking me so well,” Johnny mumbles as he sits back and watches himself slide into you, both of your lower halves slick from lube and your own wetness. “So warm and wet, angel…” You can tell he’s using a lot of his energy to keep his pace controlled and gentle enough for you to actually enjoy. The idea of being fucked harder makes you ache deep inside, but you figure it’s best to save that for when you’re more used to this. You already know it’ll be difficult to walk in the morning after this.

Johnny leans forward to kiss your lips, changing the angle again and circling his pelvis into you, and a choked gasp escapes your mouth at the slow wind of his hips.

Johnny lavishes your neck and throat with kisses, and though he is a vampire, you aren’t worried about him biting you. His fangs have not made an appearance since all this started, and you doubt if he would ever bring them out in front of you. You don’t know if you should ask about it, either, wondering if it’s too soon after only a month and a half of knowing each other—but maybe you could say the same about him being inside of you right now.

“Johnny…” you whisper into the air, your fingers scrabbling against his sweaty skin. The mounting tension in your abdomen is close to snapping, and you are almost frightened by how intense it already feels. He moves his face from your neck to be face-to-face with you again and plants a heavy, dizzying kiss on your lips.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your kiss-swollen lips. “I’ve got you, Y/N.”

Falling apart in Johnny’s arms feels like a form of Heaven that’s meant to be kept hidden, because you might become addicted to it otherwise. Your inner muscles squeeze around his dick as you come. His name flows from your lips in a high song. You can’t imagine any physical sensation that could be better than this, his hips rocking into you as you tighten and cream around him, and you know innately that Johnny has ruined all chances of you ever feeling this fulfilled with anyone but him.

The constant pulse of your walls against his dick is too much to withstand for long, and Johnny’s muscles pull taut with pleasure when he comes, groaning into your neck and spilling overflowing streams of thick cum into you. His hips falter in their former rhythm, and he resists the urge to push himself as deep as he can into you.

When he pulls out, you whine from the discomfort of it, but also because you wish he could stay in you forever. You know you’ll be sore when you wake up—and you can already feel the very beginnings of exhaustion and ache settling in your body—but you’d do it a hundred times over without changing a thing.

—

Johnny curls himself around you after he’s cleaned the both of you up, as if he means to shield you from the world. You’re quiet for a while as you listen to his slow-beating heart and feel his cool skin against yours.

You look up at his face, which is hard to see distinctly in the dark of the room. With the lamp turned out, the only source of light comes from the moon now, but you can decipher enough to make out the shape of his lips and his glittering eyes. You know he can see much better than you in this light, and he takes his time tracing his fingers across your face and cheek, studying your features.

“Would you ever…make me a vampire?”

His body tenses at your question. “Don’t say anything ridiculous. You still have a whole life ahead of you to live. What I have here...this is no existence.” He’s not mad, at least not at you, but his voice hardens at the very idea of it.

“But what if I wanted to live it with you?”

Johnny takes a breath, but he doesn’t say anything to that. He just continues stroking your face and looks at you for a long time, like he’s searching for something. You don’t know if you truly expected an answer from him, or how you would feel if he did give one.

Eventually, your eyes begin to fall low, and sleep overcomes you. The last thing you register is Johnny’s chilly hand touching your cheek. When he notices you’ve drifted off, he pulls the covers tighter around you both. Then he presses you to his chest as he tunes out the sound of cars rumbling on the streets below in exchange for the beating of your heart—still alive, so red with blood.

[yanderepuck]

Ikevamp heat cycle

Wow you’re all horny

So @lulu-the-smol-floof and I believe that purebloods have a heat cycle like animals.  It happens every 4-5 years and can last from 2 weeks to a month and goddamn these bitches get horny.

But for all you horny bitches sake @shenevertricks1831 I will also write some head canons for the lessers as well.

@judgemental-seal @delicateikemenmemes @lulu-the-smol-floof @nafeary @bierunderdbeeren

First off.  Let me tell you that you do NOT want to be in the Castle when Vlad is in heat.  He mainly fucks Charles senseless, but sometimes you have to give that boy a break.  He might be kinky as fuck but he only has so much stamina. Faust locks himself in his lab.  He doesn’t want to deal with Vlad’s horny bullshit, but ends up having to anyway

BUT.  The mansion is a different story.  Luckily Leonardo’s and Comte’s have synced up after being with each other for so long, but for a while they weren’t.  But even if they both are in head at the same time, sometimes they want something different.

Leonardo will often go to Theo since he found out he likes him back.  He wondered why Leonardo was all over him all of a sudden.  Comte will sometimes go to Sebastian.  He doesn’t like to admit it, but he has gone to Arthur once or twice.

Getting like this also makes purebloods very territorial.  Meaning Leonardo gets even more over protective of Comte.  Vlad doesn’t have a chance getting around Comte when they’re like this.

Now lets act as if Lesser can also get this way.  It doesn’t last nearly as long two and a half weeks on average.  But poor MC

It didn’t kick in for anyone until after being a vampire for a year, even then they still weren’t at the same time.  Napoleon can barely handle himself around you as it is.  You’ve been wondering why he’s been a little rougher lately, trying to pull you into his bed even though you say you have things to do, because its the middle of the day.

Mozart hates feeling this way, but he knows there’s only one way to make it go away.  Luckily he doesn’t have that high of a sex drive as it is, so just a little bit here and there can get him through those few weeks.  But when he can’t handle it any longer you better be willing to go all night, because there’s no way he’s letting you go once he gives in.

Would Arthur really be any different?  Yes actually.  Instead of simply flirting he comes up behind you and starts kissing your neck, giving you little nibbles no matter where you are.  The two of you could be out and he’s asking for a quickie.  Which yes that’ll work for now, but don’t you think for a moment that it’s over.  He’ll pull you into his bedroom and just begin stripping you.

Poor Isaac.  He’s just trying to figure out a way to prevent this from happening.  It sorta makes him feel ashamed.  He has such a big bloodlust as it is, and now he just wants lust.  He’d try to distance himself from you because he knows that once he’s close to you he won’t be able to control it.  But you don’t know what’s going on, so when you go to check up on him he already has you pressed up against the wall, his lips on your neck and pressing himself against your body.  There’s no way he’s going to be gentle with you, he’s already been in heat for five days and hasn’t been able to touch you.

Vincent doesn’t understand what he’s feeling at first until he spots you.  That’s when he makes the connection.  He thinks he’s going to hurt you, and since all he has is a couch, it’s not too easy.  He probably ended up coming into your room and before you could say anything he shut the door behind him while kissing you. His hands were already under your clothes, he could barely control himself, and that’s exactly how you like to see him.

Theo thinks there’s something wrong with him when he starts feeling incredibly horny, and it will not go away.  He tries to just ignore it, but half way through the second day he can’t.  And when he sees you.  Well.  He’s ready to put you on a leash and tie you up so you can’t go anywhere.  He doesn’t want to stop touching you.  He gets very territorial over you, even towards Vincent.  He doesn’t want you near another guy.

Jean is just screaming.  He didn’t want to be a vampire and now he has to deal with this.  Well it may not be all bad.  Wither this is the first time or not, you’ll be able to show Jean some things. With how he’s acting you can tell and decide to help him out.  You start out topping him, but that doesn’t last long.  Once Jean figures out how good it feels and relieves some of the tension he’s taking over and taking you to pound town.

 Will tries to be a gentleman the best he can.  But on a normal day he has a hard time taking his eyes off you.  But during these few weeks?  He’s a little nervous for you to be in his presence.  He is rough with you has it is, and even though he knows you like it that way, he’s worried about going too far.  But you do come over and almost immediately you end up stripped and on his couch, kissing him with your hands bound.

Now with Dazai he tries to hide this feeling.  He feels like it isn’t right to feel this horny.  But it doesn’t take him long to realize what is going on.  This is a normal type of horny.  He goes in the thermae to relax but little did he know you were coming in too.  It had been a long day and you wanted to unwind, and you saw your man in there as well.  Perfect time to catch up with him.  Dazai attempted to keep a bit of a distance, but you assumed he was just playing hard to get and accidentally ended up corning him.  He couldn’t take it anymore and switched spots with you, putting you in the corner and kissing you, his hands went around to grab your ass, lifting you up a bit, pressing himself against your body.  Not what you were expecting, but you don’t object.

Even being a man of science Faust wasn’t sure what was going on the first time.  Yes he gets horny from time to time, but not like how he is now.  He tried to tell you he was doing something important and to leave him alone in his lab for a while, but did you listen?  No.  You wanted to bring him something to eat.  He’s been working hard.  You didn’t plan on staying since you didn’t want to bother him, but he said he was at a breaking point.  He ignored the food and lifted you up onto his table, pressing himself against you.  You hadn’t known what got into him, and before you could even say anything his lips were on yours and his hand was on your heat.

Charles can be horny as it is.  He’s very needy and that comes with it.  But he’s felt excessively horny for the past day.  He didn’t think much of it but the more he was around you the stronger it got.  At one point he even bared his fangs at Vlad for getting too close to you.  He hadn’t even realized he had done it.  But after that interaction he wanted to make sure Vlad’s touch on you didn’t linger.  His hands and lips were all over your body.  You try asking what has gotten into him all of a sudden, but he take your hand and puts it to his crotch and he starts leaving marks all over your neck.

~~

Leonardo won’t let you leave.  You might as well get comfy.  He can go all night as it is, but now he’s like this everyday for a month.  He ends up telling you about it a few days in and you just look at him and think about how sore you’re going to be and how much you’re going to love it. Of course Leonardo would never make you if you didn’t want to.  The aftercare is just as great. He’ll leave and come back with some of your favorite snacks.  For the most part you stick with being in your room or his room, but that doesn’t mean nothing has happened int he library.

Comte just wants to lock you in his room and not let you near any of the others.  He can’t stand to see you with someone else at this time.  The great thing with Comte is that he’s also one hell of a bottom, so you get to switch it up quite frequently.  For your sake you better not go around anyone else, especially Arthur.  The moment Comte hears another guy talking to you, he will sweep you off your feet and take you back to his room.

Vlad might actually lock you in his room.  You would have everything you need, but he might actually lock you in.  The thought of Charles being near you makes his blood boil, more than it does on a normal day.  He doesn’t even want Marshmallow to be getting any attention from you.   He is to have you all to himself.

Masterlist

[detectivereyes]

Even If You Stumble A Step, You’re Still Moving Forward

Summary: TK and Carlos move into their new home post-finale and TK doesn't exactly make the best first impression on their new neighbors...

Notes: this was like a fever dream i had a few months ago and then i stopped writing but decided to revive it last night so... here we are. also title creds (and emotional support creds) to jillian @marjansmarwani​ because this fic wouldn’t exist without her. and also s/o to brit @moviegeek03​ for being extra supportive of yet another fic where [spoiler] tk falls down the stairs again :/

read on ao3

TK shuffles through the maze of boxes stacked several feet high throughout their new home. The scene shouldn’t surprise him considering it was only a few months ago he was moving his own boxes into their old home. However it feels different knowing that most of this stuff isn’t actually theirs.

Well, it is theirs now he figures. But the fact remains that most of the stuff filling the space was either given to them by various members of the extended 126 family, or was recently purchased by TK or Carlos on one of their many trips to Bed Bath and Beyond. 

They had taken their time searching for a new place to live. Owen had made it clear that they were both welcome to stay with him (and Mateo) for as long as they needed, but TK had known it was time.

So when a townhome popped up on Zillow that met all their criteria, they wasted no time booking an appointment with the realtor. They both had instantly fallen in love with the open floor plan and deck out back. Plus they knew the extra bedrooms upstairs may come in handy someday.

While they knew the vertical layout of the home itself wasn’t the best, having more stairs than either of them were used to, it checked every other box and was right in their price range so they had wasted no time signing the lease.

A few days had passed since settlement and now most of their days were spent trying to unpack and make this new house into a home. It would never replace the one they had lost, but it had been exciting to build this new home together.

Though on this particular day, TK found himself alone in trying to get settled in since Carlos had a shift. With the 126 still out of commission, possibly forever, and the department not having any openings for paramedics, most of the unpacking was left for TK.

After getting a good chunk of the living room done, he checks the time and decides to go out and see if the mail has come yet. Not that he’s expecting anything with their address still being so new, and not getting much physical mail anyway to begin with. But it still provided a good excuse to take a break.

TK opens the front door and starts to make his way down the set of stairs leading down. 

He makes it about halfway before his attention is caught by one of his new next door neighbors, Mr. Martin- if he remembers correctly, exiting at the same time. Mr. Martin gives a friendly wave and TK goes to return the gesture.

Except, he’s not paying attention when he takes the next step, and he misses, his heel just barely hitting the edge of the step before he starts to go down. He tumbles until he comes to a hard stop at the bottom, with most of his weight coming down on his right knee, sending shooting pains up and down his leg.

The rest of his body is sore, and by the time his ears stop ringing, he can just barely make out a new female voice asking “Sir, are you okay?”

He opens his eyes, which he had not even realized he had squeezed shut at some point, to see his neighbor, Mrs. Bailey- his brain supplies, from across the street making her way over to check on him, worried lines painting across her forehead.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m fine,” he grimaces while pushing himself up to a seated position. He tries to hide the blush forming on his cheeks. Not the best way to make a good first impression on his neighbors.

“Are you sure, son? We can call for help if you need it. Someone you know, or 9-1-1?” Mr. Martin joins in the conversation.

“No!” TK interjects too quickly, startling both neighbors. He panics for a moment when the weight of the predicament settles in. He meets the gaze of both figures still staring at him, clearly concerned and waiting for him to say something. “I mean, I’m a paramedic. I’m fine. Or I will be fine. Thank you,” he flashes them both a quick smile before pushing himself up off the ground, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from his knee when he tries to put any weight on it.

Getting back up the stairs is no easy feat, and he doesn’t have to turn around to know that both Mr. Martin and Mrs. Bailey are still watching him, concerned. Fortunately, they don’t know him well enough to try and follow or help. He’s not sure he would feel comfortable enough receiving help from some strangers. Half the time he doesn’t even feel comfortable receiving help from the people he does know.

He leans heavily on the railing, refusing to turn around out of fear of further mortification. Once he’s inside the home, he collapses right inside the hall, unable to go any further since his knee decided to stop cooperating.

A few tears pool in his eyes, and he’s unsure if that’s due to the pain or embarrassment. Not knowing what else to do, he takes out his phone and shoots a quick text to Carlos.

TK: we have to move

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for the three dots to pop up before being replaced by Carlos’ response.

Carlos: ???

TK sighs and rubs his face, trying to figure out the best way to explain the situation.

TK: i feel down the stairs out front and all the neighbors saw

Carlos: Holy shit, are you okay??

He lets out a puff of air at that.

TK: you mean besides my bruised ego?

TK: no, i hurt my knee but i’m fine. that’s not the issue here.

Carlos: Okay, I’ll be home in an hour and you can let me be the judge of that. If I see any swelling, we’re going to the doctor.”

He rolls his eyes at Carlos’ worry. At worst, it’s a bad sprain, nothing that can’t be fixed with some icing and wrapping. But there are other things they need to worry about.

TK: you’re missing the point, carlos. the entire neighborhood thinks i’m an idiot. we can’t live here anymore.

TK knows he’s being dramatic, but the more he thinks about it, the more embarrassed he gets. The idea that these are people he’s going to have to continue to face everyday for the foreseeable future. And that now all they’ll be able to think about when they do see him. Now he’ll just be known as the guy who can’t walk down stairs.

Carlos: Relax, TK. I’ll be home soon.

TK: you mean our temporary place of residence which we will soon be moving out of

He doesn’t get a response after that. 

His mind continues to spiral while he waits for Carlos to arrive. He knows the other man is likely climbing the walls trying to leave his shift early but it would still be awhile before he could be allowed to leave.

Left alone with his thoughts, his mind keeps playing out the series of events that happened minutes ago. He can't help but beat himself up over embarrassing himself like that. Ironically enough, it’s not even the first time he’s fallen down stairs, having taken a tumble down the stairs in Carlos’ place a few months back. And of course he would manage to injure himself that time, and this time as well.

He should at least try to get up so he can find an ice pack to lessen the swelling. Sitting on the floor up against the wall can’t be doing his knee any favors. Yet he can’t bring himself to move, instead resting his head back against the wall and sighing.

TK pulls out his phone again, cycling through the apps until he hears the tell-tale keys jingling in the already unlocked door.

As soon as Carlos steps through the door, he nearly trips over TK in the doorway. “Woah, hey! TK, are you okay?” he crouches down to TK’s level.

TK shrugs. Now that he’s face to face with Carlos, he can’t help but feel suffocated by another person judging him, even if Carlos’ worry comes from a place of concern.

“Can I take a look at your knee?”

TK nods, allowing Carlos to gently inspect his swollen joint. He winces as Carlos traces his hand around his kneecap.

“This doesn’t look good, babe. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

“No, it’s fine,” he quickly shakes his head. The worried look in Carlos’ eyes only makes his heart ache, and he can only try to find ways to make it go away. “Just help me up and we can ice it. It will look better once the swelling goes down a bit.”

Carlos gives him a look that screams I don’t believe you but sighs. “Fine, but if it doesn’t…”

“I know, I know. You’ll drag my ass to the emergency room,” TK gives him a reassuring smile.

Carlos returns the smile, and extends a hand to help TK up. TK accepts, and allows Carlos to take on most of his weight once he’s standing. They slowly make their way over to the living room, with Carlos softly depositing TK onto the sofa. He then disappears into the kitchen before returning with an ice pack in hand.

“Thanks,” TK smiles, trying to mask the wince as Carlos places the pack onto his knee.

“Do you want to watch an episode of The Office?” Carlos asks, picking up the remote and settling in the spot next to TK.

TK shrugs, knowing that Carlos is just trying to appeal to him by offering to put on his favorite show. The other man doesn’t even like the show that much, often finding the humor dry and tasteless, but TK thinks he just doesn’t get it.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

There it is.

“I just can’t believe I did that in front of our new neighbors. They probably think I’m an idiot.”

“I’m sure no one thinks you’re an idiot, TK,” Carlos gently reassures him.

“Yeah all the neighbors saw me make an idiot of myself,” TK sighs exasperatedly. “God, how am I supposed to face these people everyday now?”

“Hate to break it to you babe, but this is not a valid reason for us to move.”

“I know,” he sighs again.

“Besides,” Carlos continues. “If your track record has proven anything, it’s that this won’t be the last medical emergency at our new home. It’s good that the neighbors are getting used to it now.”

TK gives him a pointed look.

“I’m pretty sure this is the second time you’ve fallen down the stairs since we’ve started dating,” Carlos says with a light chuckle.

“Whatever,” TK scoffs. “At least the other time it wasn’t in front of total strangers.”

Carlos softens. “That’s true. But I’m sure the neighbors just care about you. I don’t think this is that big of a deal, TK.”

“You weren’t there though. It was mortifying.”

“What did they say, exactly?”

TK nervously looks down. “They asked if I was okay. And if I needed any help.”

Carlos raises his eyebrow, waiting to see if TK continues. 

“They offered to call for help but I said no and went back inside.”

“See? They just care about you TK. I haven’t really talked to anyone yet but they seem like nice people.”

“I guess,” TK shrugs.

“I know, you’re still embarrassed. But if nothing else, they’ll probably forget about it by the next time we see them.”

“You don’t think I’ll be known as the ‘clumsy neighbor who can’t walk down stairs’?”

“Maybe the ‘cute clumsy neighbor that can’t walk down stairs,’” Carlos says with a smirk. “But we could always change that.”

TK cocks his head to the side. 

“You think our new neighbors might enjoy some peach scones when we go over and have a proper introduction?”

“You really plan to charm our new neighbors with your baking?” 

“You think it will work?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then yes, I do,” Carlos grins proudly. He then leans over and gently removes the ice pack from TK’s knee, grimacing at what he sees. “This still looks pretty swollen, babe. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

TK gives him a pained smile. “You sure I can’t talk my way out of this?”

“Nope,” Carlos says, popping the p. He stands up before extending his hand to help TK do the same.

TK accepts, shifting his weight and leaning into Carlos once he’s fully upright. 

“You know, I think you may have a paramedic blindspot when it comes to your own health.”

TK lets out a light laugh. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

A week later, Carlos softly knocks on the door of Mrs. Bailey’s home across the street with one hand and a plate of peach scones in the other. TK had offered to hold the scones but when they went over to Mr. Martin's home earlier in the day, it was quickly discovered it was too difficult for him to manage getting up the stairs and holding the plate.

So he settles for letting Carlos do most of the work while he awkwardly limps up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing to keep some pressure off his knee.

After their quick trip to the emergency room, it had been determined that TK’s initial assessment was right and it was just a bad sprain. He was given a brace to help reduce the pain and a pair of crutches, which (much to Carlos’ dismay) he abandoned after only two days, citing that they only made it harder to get around their home which he can now say for certain has too many damn stairs.

A problem which seems to follow him as he also has to get up the stairs to greet his neighbors.

“Maybe we should have moved to a neighborhood of single level homes,” he states with a wince as he joins Carlos at the front door.

Carlos snorts. “We can take it into consideration if we ever have to move again.”

“God, please don’t say that. I don’t want to think about moving ever again.”

“Good,” Carlos gives him a soft smile. “Because I’m planning on staying here for the long run.”

“Me too,” TK returns the smile just as Mrs. Bailey opens the door.

“What a lovely surprise!” she exclaims taking in the sight of the two men. 

“Hello ma’am,” Carlos says with a polite smile.

“We brought you some scones,” TK adds, gesturing to the plate in Carlos’ hands.

“Oh how thoughtful of you. Please come in. How are you doing?” she asks, turning to TK. “I’ve been worried.”

He exchanges a look with Carlos, the other man's face clearly saying I told you she cares, before turning back to Mrs. Bailey.

“I’m fine, ma’am. Thank you for asking. It’s just a bad sprain. But I do appreciate your concern, especially the other week.”

“Oh, of course dear,” she says with a warm smile. “Now, you boys aren’t going to make me eat these scones all by myself are you?”

They both let out a light chuckle and exchange another glance before following their new neighbor, and friend inside.

[wornoutmouse]

Tatsumi

Welcome back to mommy dearest writing for a character she doesn’t know. I present to you…..Adult Gumball from The Amazing World of Gumball

(I’m joking)

We are going for the mating cycle trope cause it never fails.

Breeding kink, of course, literal impregnation, poison le peepee, mommy kink, daddy kink, everybody a switch

This dude looks lactose intolerant

Left-right, up-down, and 2 sides of the same damn coin are the most accurate descriptions of Tatsumi. So in the end you never know what he’s truly thinking and perhaps that’s for the best. What never is hard to decipher is when his heat comes. The passive aggressiveness was forever present as you went about everyday tasks. His playful nature dwindled as time went by until you were too scared to even joke around with him. “Tats, your fur is a lot softer than normal, are you using a different shampoo?”

The bluenette grumbled as he glared down at a book that he was never even reading in the first place, “You know what’s in the bathroom so you know I’m not using anything different. You don’t blame his attitude one bit, he had told you that sharing his cycle was something precious to him and even though you were his girlfriend even platonically helping him through it was a big thing. This however didn’t mean he didn’t want to fuck you against the stove every time he saw you making some nasty ass quesadilla’s. That didn’t prevent him from dry humping everything in your shared bedroom to spread his scent around. Didn’t even stop him from dry humping you as soon as you came home.

“Tatsumi, I know your thing is like tomorrow, but you can’t stop me from enjoying my bath.” The blunette stood menacingly over your bathtub as you soaked. Your brown skin caressed by sparkling white bubbles as a creamy scent wafted from the water was almost like presenting a duck on a platter for Tatsumi. It was moments like these when he understood your hurt look when he said he didn’t want to share his heat with you. “I’m not stopping you, I’m just watching..” You rest your arm outside the bath, having a long staring contest with the man. “Your braids are getting wet.” You sighed before pulling out the stopper.

The next day his rut was in full sweep, you woke up this morning to him in the shower so you opted to make breakfast. By the time you finished and came to alert him, the bedroom door was locked and you could hear heavy grunts on the other side. “K Tats, just remember I’m here for you if you need anything.” You finished your breakfast alone and kicked a couple of grain bars underneath the door.

You walked back into the kitchen and groaned when you saw the corner of your kitchen floor bare from the lack of water. “He’s going to dehydrate himself at the the rate he is going at it.” Your skin prickled from the thought of going outside into the cool fall air with only a pair of shorts but nonetheless, you head out to visit the nearest Walmart, “We’ll need more food anyways.”

Inside the bedroom

The heat was unbearable, Tatsumi had shredded most of his clothes the moment he woke up. The naive would say that the heat in his groin would be the hardest part to deal with, but the physical warmth that had his skin visibly boiling made him want to claw his skin off where he stood. He rested his head against the bed, eyes closed with unbridled rage. All he wanted to do is let you inside this room and never let you out until he had fucked a baby in you. Alas, it was not a baby he wanted so that is why he made up the lie about how his rut was special to him. In reality, he had shared his cycle with many others, some friends, some colleagues, a commonplace whore would even due during this time of crisis.

The only difference between you and them is that they never saw the next day. The point of his cycle is to mate, and more importantly, if the mating isn’t successful his cum becomes poisonous to the person it was inserted in. Even Muroi would make jokes about how he has “deadly dick” much to his dismay. So even if him sharing his heat with you would be pleasurable and end it quicker, if you do not get pregnant, you will die and that was the only thing keeping him from leaving this room.

His ears twitched to pick up on where you were in the house, they twitched, twitched a little bit more. Where the hell were you? Shakily he stands, screwing his face up when his dick hit his stomach shamelessly. He creaked the door open, mumbling your name into the open air. No response, “Y/n where the hell are you?” Even though it was a dangerous chance to take, Tatsumi didn’t feel comfortable not feeling your presence somewhere throughout the house. He walked around the apartment growing angrier than when he left when he saw your keys were missing. “What the hell, she couldn’t at least stay to make sure I didn’t die?” Your absence hurt a little bit, but his prideful heart just turned any pain into horn-filled anger.

Meanwhile, your dumbass was looping around for the 3rd time to get samples of imitation crab on a saltine cracker. “Miss, this is your 4th time..” “What do you mean, I’ve never been here before?” You of course, as any good customer would, didn’t buy a single package of imitation crab nor cracker. You went home with your belly full and a car filled with water and packaged ham because Thanksgiving was 6 months away and you’ll be damned if you get caught having to buy 6 chickens to replace the turkey again.

When you get home you carried the ham in your arms while you kicked a water bottle pack into the kitchen. During your excruciating workout, you failed to notice that the bedroom door was wide open, and an overbearing warmth filled the home spreading Tatsumi’s anger pheromones that you couldn’t even smell to save your life. And your life was indeed endangered. “Tats do you need some more water!” You whistle throughout the house, tossing your keys on the couch before gaping at the wide-open door. “Tatsumi!?”

“I’m glad you knew well enough to wear damn near nothing when you came back.” Tatsumi looked completely worse for wear, eyes blown wide and blue hair tousled. “What the hell are you doing outside our room, aren’t you the one that wanted for us to stay away from each other?” “Mmhm.” Tatsumi was completely naked from the waist down. From the neck up his skin was flushed red and sweaty, "Yes that was the plan until you decided to leave. "

Tatsuya was in you in an instant, teeth clashing together when he kissed you, your hands rested on clammy skin slowing Tatsumi's process of undressing you. "I'm going to fuck you so well Y/n. Breed your pretty little pussy for all to see." The brazen words of affirmation made your movements stutter in the slightest bit. "If this dirty talk or are you serious?!"

Tatsumi's hands slap down on your ass, gripping the soft flesh in-between his fingers. "I've never been more serious, this is life and death. " Using his hold on your buttocks, he lifts you up with a slight heave before placing you on the two-way countertop. Buttons pop off your shorts hitting the floor as they’re ripped off. Your panties soon join as well, falling to the floor in a graceful heap. Goosebumps plagued your skin at the act of aggression. "So pretty and perfect for me. There isn't any doubt in my mind that this'll work."

You couldn't help but twitch at the praise, making Tatsumi laugh. Slender fingers rub your clit building your pleasure to make you slick. The soft treatment was stopped when Tatsumi pinched the nerve. "Play with yourself while I go get some lube." It seemed almost like a challenge for Tatsumi to pull away from you but he did nonetheless. You hurriedly remove your tank top leaving your black sports bra on, unwilling to wrestle with it. Carefully balancing on the edge of the counter, you resume torturing your clit until sweat begins to build on your own body.

"Tatsumi!" You stuttered, rolling your body enticingly when he came back into your line of sight. "You're so damn sexy." You grab his neck and pull him in between your legs wrapping them around him. "I want to make you feel good, baby come on." You reach in-between your legs, squeezing the tip is cock, biting your lip when it twitches in your hand. "You're so big Tat's, do you want me that badly?"

His hair was dripping with sweat and his face was dusted a pretty red color, one you longed to make bloom. "Fuck yes! I need to feel you squeeze around me, fuck I'm so desperate right now, I'll do anything!" You caress his face cooing as he thrust into your palm like a hormonal teenager. "You ain't got to do nothing for me but put your pretty little cock in me baby!" You take the lube from him and squeeze the cool liquid on his dick making it twitch even more.

Tatsumi gripped the counter with one hand while pumping his lubed cock with the other. "Fuck fuck fuck!" Without warning, Tatsumi cums from his hands, shooting the warm liquid on your pussy lips making the perfect contrast of black and white. This detail went straight to Tatsumi's dick. So while his cock continued to shoot cum he thrust forward till he bottomed out, stretching your pussy to the shape of him. "Tell me when I can move, if it's good, tell me when!"

Tatsumi was teary-eyed staring at the ceiling so he could refrain from moving and possibly hurting you. "You're so warm Y/n, feel so good, all stretched out for me." When you finally relaxed, you lowered your legs, pushing his hips deeper. "Come on daddy, you said you wanted to be me hmm?" Tatsumi caged you against the counter with both hands on the sides, dripping the fake tile as if his life depended on it.

"Oh, don't call that. You know how I feel about that." You planted in his ear, dead-set on dirty talking him to completion. "Oh, you don't feel like being daddy right now baby? You want to be my pretty lil boy?" Tatsumi nodded nibbling in your collarbone. You squeezed your eyes shut as his cock began to move faster.

"Oh, your-fuck! Such a good boy for mommy you know that? I couldn't ask for a better...a better!" Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as Tatsumi pulled you off the counter, bouncing you on his cock while he stood. Tatsumi growled at the vibration your ass caused when it slammed down on his toned thighs. He was exerting himself in a display of primal strength. Your pussy clenched down on him as he held you still. Opting to jackhammer into your body, making you shake.

As ridiculous as you probably looked, the pleasure made up for it. "I'm going to fuck you so damn well, you're not leaving this damn house again!"

And leaving was something you could not do. You were fucked in all sorts of positions in all locations of the house. The only break you got was when you could shower and even that wasn't a break as Tatsumi soon joined you, and fucked you haphazardly against the shower wall. Both of you came in and out of consciousness throughout the days, only having enough time to eat and drink.

On the final day, Tatsumi was the one to wake first. His sleepy eyes blinked at the open window, the same window he made you deep throat him in front of hours ago. "Y/n?" His voice was scratchy and in desperate need of water as he held it gingerly. "Y/n?" You lay next to him, body partially covered in a white sheet that probably only sin if he were to guess from the scratch marks and bites littering both his and your backs.

Tatsumi’s heart raced at your stillness, time armed to slowdown as a shaking hand reached out for you flinching at your cold skin. "N-No!"

It didn't work, he had worked so hard to make it work and his efforts were fruitless. The bed shook with his sobs, he couldn't even look at your still form. What was he going to tell your family? Fuck that, how would he even be able to live with himself. "What do I do, oh God Y/n. I'm so sorry! I-"

"Dawg shut the FUCK UP!"

His crying was interrupted as he was hit full swing with his own pillow. Your almond eyes were swollen most likely from tears of overtime as you squinted at Tatsumi. Pointing an accusing finger at him. "You fucked me for 3 days straight, I deserve sleep. Now be quiet or go somewhere else!" With that, you turned back over, covering yourself with your sheet.

Despite your scolding, Tatsumi felt joy filling his being. When he quieted, he stiffens… if you were alive..that meant you were pregnant…… now how the hell is he supposed to break the news to you?

[vgirl-10123]

Friendships Were Made to Change: Chapter Five

A/N: Hey guys how have you been? I haven’t been writing much lately but I’ve had these chapters written so I have no idea why i never let them out??? I think I’m just dumb tbh. Anyway, enjoy!

Chapter Four           Chapter Six

It was a few more days of the same thing: wake up, go to school, try to befriend Damian, leave for akuma attacks, play it off, go home, help her parents in the bakery, do some designs, go to sleep, rinse, repeat. It’s a vicious cycle, but better than back in Paris. At least here she has some friends.

“My usual.” Ah, yes. She almost forgot to mention how she has become sort of friends with a fellow coffee addict. He was a few years older than her, with black hair and blue eyes, with dark bags underneath them to complete the whole ensemble.

“One black coffee with 6 shots of expresso coming right up,” she said with a bright smile. The man just nodded and sat down at one of the booths while he waited. The man, well, Tim, actually, has been a regular here since the day they first opened. From what she gathered, he was sleep deprived and has a lot of siblings. Maybe that’s why he gets no sleep.

After his coffee was done, she set it down in front of him. He grabbed it and chugged half of it. He seemed to visibly brighten and seemed more at ease. “Thanks Marinette. I swear you sure are good at making coffee fit for us addicts.”

“Well Tim, I had to learn after my fair share of long nights. Can’t finish a design without some help from late night coffee.”

“Now that sounds like me. Can’t finish anything nowadays without at least 3 cups of coffee. It’s just not how it’s done.”

“Agreed. It’s an annoyance once you run out of coffee though.”

“Yeah. Speaking of annoyances, my brothers are going to be in here soon,” complained Tim. “Most of them aren’t bad, but man are they all handfuls.”

“I wish I could relate,” said Marinette,” I’ve never had any siblings before.”

“You can have mine,” Tim said with no hesitation whatsoever.

“How about I wait and see what’s in store,” Marinette said with a laugh in her voice. The bell chimed, signaling a new customer. In walked 3 people, the tallest who had a white stripe in his hair, the second tallest who seemed to give off a bubbly personality, and Damian?

“That would be my brothers,” Tim sighed, exasperated.

“Damian is your brother?”

“Wait, you know Damian?”

“Yeah, we have a few classes together and he’s Jon’s friend.” Marinette then went behind the counter to the cash register.

“Wait, your friends with Jon?”

“Hello, welcome to The Boulangerie Patisserie, how can I help you?” Marinette, asked the new group, completely ignoring Tim’s question. The group turned their attention to her from Tim, and they all had completely different reactions on their face.

First was the tall one, he looked like he didn’t give a shit about the current situation and seemed to be eyeing the pastries next to her. The bubbly one looked at her like she was the cutest thing in the world. Like an old grandma about to squish her cheeks. And then there was Damian. He looked at her with pure hatred. How rude. I didn’t do anything to you.

“Hey Pixie, I’ll have one of those cinnamon rolls you got there,”

“Hey, I’ll have the apple Danish and a latte. You are so cute by the way!”

“Tt. Cute isn’t the word I would use to describe Marinette, Dick.”

“Well, hello to you Damian. What are you doing here? I’d expect you to be doing something that doesn’t involve people.”

“Wait Damian, you know this girl?” asked the bubbly one.

“Yeah, she knows Jon.”

“Well aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“If I must. Marinette, meet Jason,” he gestured vaguely to the tall one with the stripe in his hair, “Dick,” he nodded towards the cheerful grandma, “and I’m sure you know Tim as he’s been here everyday since this place has opened.”

“Thank you, demon spawn, for that splendid introduction. Now, get your things and be on your way and leave me to drink my coffee in peace,” piped up Tim from the table he sat at. Ha, demon spawn. How fitting.

She rung up their orders and Dick paid her. They when to sit by Tim while they waited for his coffee. She looked over at the table and saw Dick, Jason, and Tim laughing at a pouting Damian. Looking closer, she could see how Damian actually looked a little upset. Maybe there’s a reason he acts like he’s better than everyone. The latte had just finished, and she called out to Dick.

“Thank you, Marinette. Have a wonderful day,” Dick said to her.

“Of course! You as well!” she said with a beaming smile. Just as all the boys were about to leave, she grabbed Damian’s arm. “Damian wait.”

“What?” he asked, seemingly uninterested.

“I just wanted to say sorry about earlier. You just irked me with how you acted at school. Truce?” She held out her hand once again, hoping for something this time around. Damian looked at her, then her hand, then finally gave her a handshake.

“Truce.” We’re finally getting somewhere. Her phone went off, jolting them from the handshake. Another akuma alert? What gives Hawkmoth?

“Well, I have to go, you know, water my cat. Here, take this muffin, free of charge!” she grabbed a banana muffin, shoved it in his hands, and high-tailed it to the back room. Now let’s take care of this so I can have time to work on the skirt I just started.

@abrx2002 @moonlightstar64 @justafanwarrior @sassakitty @miraculous-simmer7 @aestheticnpoetic @erick-rose99-stuff @mandy984 @mermaidreject @areshasissues @k-poplunardreams @zoerayne2426 @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @imanerddealwith @pawsitivelymiraculous @hot-neighbour-nextdoor @princessanimeangel11 @fidget-eep @iloveitwhen @bluesimani @ur-average-reader @how-to-fuction-properly @i-is-mysterious @tbehartoo @corabeth11 @dreamykitty25 @fc-studios @nathleigh @mochegato @t1dwarrior-of-earth @swiftie-miraculer13 @laurcad123 @i-wanna-be-a-ninja 

[faustonastring]

Hello! Could I get headcanons for the main 6 with a MC who likes to leave love letters around for them to find?

Hi! Thanks for requesting I hope you enjoy it!

(Request R Open!)

Main 6 with an mc that leaves love letters around!

Asra

His half of the heart could just explode. You did this for him. You wrote him these letters. It takes him a minute to fully wrap his head around it. But when he does? Expect some love letters hiding for you too.

He often feared that he would never get you back, that you would be gone for good, in a blink of an eye, but you’re here. With him. Scribblling down another letter for him to find, in the corner of the shop, while he’s frantically searching for the ones you left before.

If he’s ever having an off day, they cheer him up in an instant, he keeps all of them, tucked away in a box, somewhere hidden where you’d probably never find it, so if he’s ever having a really bad day, and he found and read all the ones you left already, he’ll go through and re read them all, spending a little longer on some of his favorites. (Theyre just good reminders that you love him.)

His faveroite love letters are the really personal ones, maybe it’s an inside joke the two of you share, or a story, romantic or funny that happened a couple nights ago or a couple months ago, or maybe it’s a letter reminding him of last nights activities, and how you can’t wait till the next time (which may be sooner than you think)

Nadia

They brighten her day. Everytime she finds one hiding around the palace, she snatches it before any one else can get a chance to read it. You have to leave the spicier ones in her bedroom, hidden somewhere the servants won’t find, because, to be expected there have been some servants who’ve come across something they weren’t supposed to read....

She already had one, very unromantic marriage and it would be very bold of you to assume she’ll settle for another one. Writing letters brings a little more intimacy into your relationship. It’s something that she didn’t get to experience before, and she’s glad she gets to experience it with the right person. You.

If she’s ever having a stressful day, she tries to take as much time as she can to find all the letters you have hidden around the palace. She thinks of it as game. And she does not want to lose. (Even if it’s to herself). Reading your letters help her calm down and relax, and running fast walking through the palace helps her blow off some unneeded steam.

Her faveroite love letters from you are the ones that encourage her. That tell her she’s gonna push brought it, and in time everything will blow over. She also enjoys it if you were to mock, or make fun some rich noble person in your letter especially if they upset Nadia, or if she doesn’t like them too.

Julian

Oh how his heart swells. None of the letters he’s ever received can top these. Forget about the letters he received during his sea voyages. Or the letters he received from a flopped fling he had. These? Oh these are nice.

They’re a good reminder of his self worth, that you love him for who he is: an apologetic insomniac who’s doing his best. And he loves that. He loves feeling loved and loving you back. And he loves your letters. Because your letters are the best reminder of them all.

When ever he’s feeling really self-deprecated, like more than usual your letters could bring him to tears. And they do, matter of fact. The fact that some one loves him so much, even after all his stupid mistakes- the poor man just can’t handle it. (Also he would sob if he ever did something stupid to you, like spilt coffee on your clothes, and you still wrote a letter, and mentioned in the letter that it was okay, or play it off as a joke.)

His faveroite types of letters are the ones that describe the future you want to have with him. Anything from you describing your perfect date, to the perfect ‘night’ or your plans of the future with him, or how you can’t wait to start a family with him (that is if you want too, or haven’t already!) it just gieves him a lot to look forward to.

Portia

For her??????? You shouldn’t have! But in all seriousness, you shouldn’t have unless you were expecting about a million letters with some type of treat attatched to it in return. (By ‘treat’ I mean cookies, little crotchet things she made, etc, etc,)

She is almost always at the palace, so try leaving them in little crevices that she likes to hide off too, hidden in secret tunnel ways, next to the bookmark of a book she was reading, behind portraits she dusts often. She’ll look for new ones everyday, and her face always brightens up to the max when she finds them.

If she’s ever having a bad self love/mental health day, your letters will either make her cry, or smile, sometimes both. It all depends on context of the situation at hand, and the context of the letter. They make her cry, not because they’re mean, because they’re so well thought out and loving, and make her smile, because they’re funny, and cheer her right up.

Her faveroite types of letters are uplifting ones. Ones that tell her she’s got it! That she is the most beautiful bad-ass red head that you have ever had the honor of meeting, let alone dating. She espically likes the ones that remind her that she’s more than her brothers little sister, because I think we all need to be reminded of that, even Portia.

Muriel

For him? Really? Are you sure you got the right person...you didn’t leave this here for some one else right, is it really for him?- the poor man forgets how to act. Everytime.

You can’t erase trauma over night, he still is a little iffy on receiving nice things, and he considers your letters nice things, which is a compliment, and a curse at the same time, (depending on how far along in your relationship you are, that is) but he keeps them everytime. And even though he isn’t fond about reading them in front of you, every time he does, he always has some type of smile on his face, small or large, it doesn’t matter, because he’s smiling!

Everytime he’s having a bad day, your letters bring him to tears. No, not tears, full on sobbing. He just doesn’t understand how some one so nice, so cute, so loving, can love a monster like him? After everything he’s done your still writing him those stupid letters, and his heart just can’t take it. He just loves you so much, sometimes he forgets if he’s allowed.

His faveroite types of letters are simple ones. The ones that are telling him to have a good day, or something that the chickens did, while finding away to express your love to him, like maybe by saying how he handles the chickens better than you, and he should come help you next time. Letters like that? Those kinds of letters will make his heart melt.

Lucio

Oh? What have we here.....don’t write anything too personal, because more or likely he’s going to be showing his letters off to any one who is willing to listen. He’s just so happy and excited he doesn’t know how to contain himself!

As soon as he spots one, he goes on a wild goose chase for all the others, checking high and low, for them. He also forgets about all of his meetings and plans until he finds them all, so make sure you let him know in some shape or for, how many you hid, or not lucio is going to be looking for a very long time. (He also gets sassy if you hide them in the same spot too many times, so better get creative)

If he’s having a bad day, he clutches the letter you wrote him, sobbing into messing up the ink, thus making it impossible to read, then either cry’s some more if he’s having a sad cry, because he ruined his letter, or gets angry if he’s having an angry cry, and tries his best to very ‘politely’ ask you to write him another one. And if you do the cycle continues until he feels better. Or until you break your wrist writing all these damn letters

His faveroite kind are romantic ones. Ones that take his breath away. Ones that he wouldn’t dare show other people, no matter how much they ask, (no ones asking, but don’t let lucio know that, his ego is already hurt enough) letters that leave him weak in the knees, running off the find more, or to find you if you know what I mean

Thanks for reading! I enjoyed writing this one, so hopefully you enjoyed reading it!

Next head canon: Main six with a furby fanatic Mc (5/15)

Request R Open! ;+)

[elisaenglish]

Books are my lifeblood. They are the gift my mother gave me, not least of all because – as with the familial generations that preceded her and through circumstance not choice – she never received them herself. Although she couldn’t have known what she intellectually had on her hands with me, she did understand that breaking cycles comes from embracing what you’re terrified to hold. Or to read or to write, especially when you can’t.

It’s a story, I suppose. But never one that I’ve felt is mine to tell – and I haven’t. Except now she’s halfway gone and I don’t know how long we’ve got, I wonder whether I’ll have to reconstruct her one day, that this is my gift, my terror. Not to break a cycle, but to complete one. And if love is immortality, then I have to pass it on.

Whether the goddess is in the questions or the cumulative answers that yield yet more, we are the precipice becoming. Feminism isn’t a label or an identity and, whilst we flirt with ideology, I still think that it’s too politically charged, too abstract in conceptual terms to fully capture the visceral stance – in defence of self and other.

Balanced scales, balanced hearts. Everything in equilibrium.

And no, not in any way or shape or default, always necessarily female.

As to the why? To paraphrase Maya Angelou, Why wouldn’t I be on my own side? A side further in and farther on than socially determined gender norms or archaic modes of being. A side that is not so much a binary line as an opening to what has closed upon itself, either in substance or in meaning.

One word after another, page by page, and on...

As I return once more to books, I remember that my greatest freedom has been that I’ve read from the first unbounded. My literary breadth, depth and contextual scope aren’t confined to the feminist sphere by any stretch of the imagination; but I’ve roamed there nonetheless and, suffice to say, it is the current course.

In this regard, we see tastes trending towards Atwood and a revival of the like but lesser-knowns; Naomi Alderman offers up The Power should you have a penchant for cautionary reversals; but for me, it’s still Carter that reigns and her ever so unsettling castration fantasy – The Passion of New Eve – that litmus tests the nerve:

“At the end of the second month, she took off all my remaining bandages and inspected me without a word. Then she opened the wall upon the mirror and left me alone with myself.

But when I looked in the mirror, I saw Eve; I did not see myself. I saw a young woman who, though she was I, I could in no way acknowledge as myself, for this one was only a lyrical abstraction of femininity to me, a tinted arrangement of curved lines. I touched the breasts and the mound that were not mine; I saw white hands in the mirror move, it was as though they were white gloves I had put on to conduct the unfamiliar orchestra of myself. I looked again and saw I bore a strong family resemblance to myself, although my hair had grown so long it hung down to a waist that, on the operating table, had acquired an emphatic indentation. Thanks to the plastic surgery, my eyes were now a little larger than they had been; how blue they were showed more. The cosmetic knife had provided me with a bee-stung underlip and a fat pout. I was a woman, young and desirable.

[…]

Let the punishment fit the crime, whatever it had been. They had turned me into the Playboy centrefold. I was the object of all the unfocused desires that had ever existed in my own head. I had become my own masturbatory fantasy. And – how can I put it – the cock in my head, still, twitched at the sight of myself.”

Tip of the revelatory iceberg, I tend to think. Although technically it falls under the critical auspices of feminist fabulation. Either way, it’ll reflect his mettle – and yours if you’re up for it.

But I promised you debate, not fiction – layers of the living kind and ours, as women. So here it is, complete with the usual perspectival caveat and varying degrees of intersectionality, my list of eighteen. It’s neither absolute nor essentially prescribed; just what has steered my lens to clarity. I could wind it back to Christine de Pizan’s Le Livre de la Cité des Dames and her proto-feminist assertion that:

“Condemning all women in order to help some misguided men get over their foolish behaviour is tantamount to denouncing fire, which is a vital and beneficial element, just because some people are burnt by it, or to cursing water just because some people are drowned in it.”

I could hover over Wollstonecraft, meander through A Room of One’s Own, abandon Woolf for De Beauvoir, then on to Friedan, Lorde and Hooks, go the Greer or Dworkin route, or the academic one via undergraduate staples such as Judith Butler and Hélène Cixous. I could. But I’m keeping it here and now, and only so far back as I go – and maybe one day you’ll do the same for your girls, for your futures:

Everyday Sexism, Laura Bates

Men Who Hate Women, Laura Bates

Misogynation, Laura Bates

Asking For It, Kate Harding

Down Girl, Kate Manne

Know My Name, Chanel Miller

Cunt: A Declaration of Independence, Inga Muscio

Rose, Inga Muscio

Bitch Doctrine, Laurie Penny

The Mother of All Questions, Rebecca Solnit

Whose Story Is It Anyway?, Rebecca Solnit

Three Women, Lisa Taddeo

Full Frontal Feminism, Jessica Valenti

The Purity Myth, Jessica Valenti

Sex Object, Jessica Valenti

The Beauty Myth, Naomi Wolf

Promiscuities, Naomi Wolf

Not All Dead White Men, Donna Zuckerberg

Occasionally I wonder whether I would’ve wanted someone more like me for a mother. I wonder if we would’ve had a different dialogue, a different ending. But then I remember that without who she was – and is on her better days – I wouldn’t be me.

Read freely, ma fleurs. Be well in yourselves, have faith in each other. Now let’s go build a thing. Because that’s who we are, and these are our verbs – compose, construct, cultivate. Here, now, always. So we are, together.

[its-bianca]

Why to keep a journal in 2020 🖋✨

Whether it’s an art journal, audio, text based, I think we all need to take some time to get our thoughts out of the jumbled pink blob that is our brain.

get your thoughts out - It’s hard to keep all your thoughts in your head. I used to think that I could just think everything out in my head, but eventually I learned that putting them down, having a physical manifestation of my thoughts actually helped to rationalize my thought process more clearly.

learn things about yourself - Like therapy, writing down your thoughts often helps you wonder why you think that way and go deeper into your reflections, especially when you aren’t cycling the same thoughts over and over again in your head. By getting your thoughts out, you’re making space for new thoughts in. In a weird way, journaling has actually made me realize why I’ve been so upset with my family, why I hate certain places, and why I’m so stressed out all the time.

understand your thought process - Also like therapy, you realize your thought process with how and why you got there. Are you falling into logical fallacies? Are your thoughts biased towards a certain perspective? Do you fall for common tropes or stereotypes about other people? Getting these thoughts out might help you realize these missteps in judgement and logic. Being introspective and self-aware goes a long way.

motivation & inspiration - I sometimes get inspired or motivated to do work, because I (a) Write down reasons why I’m proud of myself and the little things I’ve accomplished that day which motivates me to do more work, or (b) Write down why I’m so stressed and pile of work I have to do which makes me realize that it actually isn’t that bad and motivates me to actually complete it. Things get less overwhelming when it’s not constantly jumping around in your head like a broken blender.

me time - We’re so invested in trying to understand and get to know the personal lives of other people, yet sometimes we need to take a moment for ourselves, especially after a long day. It really doesn’t take that long - just 10 minutes of thinking about yourself and your thoughts can go a long way.

be a better writer (or artist!) - This depends on the type of journal you’re going for and how you’re getting your thoughts out, but writing a journal could help you hone in on those skills. Writing or speaking aloud our thoughts can improve how your articulate your thoughts, especially if you’re like me and aren’t good with translating the jumbled mess in your head into understandable words. Drawing or writing poetry to express your thoughts could improve your skills in representing what you mean through imagery and more abstract symbolism. Journaling actually helped me a lot, because when I was younger, I got nervous to speak up in class because I didn’t know how to articulate my thoughts well; it might make essay writing go faster!

be in a coming of age movie - romanticize your process (healthily!). Sitting down with a journal, a cup of tea, and your favorite writing or drawing utensil sounds so romantic and cozy. Fit in with the tumblr studyblr aesthetic and post pictures if that encourages you.

So how do I start?

First, find out how you want to journal! I prefer physical notebooks, because I spend so much time on my laptop already, and I just like the feeling of being able to unplug and actually write something (also makes for more aesthetic pics...). I write in long-form, hardly any paragraph breaks, hardly any doodles, and not really planned or anything. I use a pen so I can’t go back and erase anything that I feel sounds bad or clunky or fix my grammar, because I don’t want to fixate on trivial details when I really want to just jot everything in my head. I find words work best for me, because that’s just how I best express myself. 

Next...it’s up to you now! I started getting into the habit by just committing myself to write something everyday, even if it was just half a page. It took many tries over some months to really nail it down, but once I started, it really took off from there. After about 1-2 months of almost daily journaling, I started cutting back a little. Yet, I hardly ever go for more than a month of not checking in and writing something down. Nowadays, it’s more like once a week or every couple days. I find that I journal when I’m feeling the most down, because it motivates me to pick myself up and do something.

Some extra tips: 

(a) If it helps, schedule a time with yourself to journal. Even just having a 15 minute chunk in your Google Calendar could help you to stay committed to it.

(b) Don’t feel pressure to write about any certain topic. It’s not an essay draft book, it doesn’t have to be a diary, it doesn’t have to be anything. I might draw or create a bullet journal-like spread in my writing journal, or I might not. It all depends on how I feel that day. Don’t feel like it has to be a diary where you have to write about everything that happened that day, or don’t think every thought has to be well articulated.

(c) Just have fun with it! Toy with a project idea, pour your soul out, get your thoughts on all every item on your to do list and how much you hate/love it. Just do whatever! There are no rules.

idk how to end this post so OK NOW GO! 

Another post on the different types of journals & notebooks

[scripttorture]

Hello! I’m a long time follower of this blog and first of all, I wanna thank you for your amazing work! I’ve learned so much from your analysis and explanations! My question is: I have a character that is kidnapped along with two partners/friends that are beaten to death in front of her. She then endures torture such as being repeatedly drowned, tased and whipped, and she spends most of the time in a stress position (hands tied above her head from the ceiling). That lasts about 2/3 days (1/2)

When they threaten her with rape, she says the information she’d been withholding in an attempt to escape it. Is this realistic, or does it go against the fact that the most you torture, the less the victim is likely to cooperate? Also, they end up raping her still, and shortly after that she is rescued by her friends. What would be the extent of her psychology damage? I don’t want her to bounce right back into work like nothing’s happened - that would be disrespectful to actual victims (2/2)

-

I find gauging/explaining the extent of psychological ‘damage’ difficult because one of the things I try to avoid here is grading people’s pain. We have a tendency to default to almost ranking these things and I don’t think that’s helpful. It’s a perfectly legitimate question (and I don’t think you are trying to rank how much this character suffers) but it’s a… cultural quirk that makes answering a bit more difficult.

 The truth is that with all of these things there’s a range of individual responses rather then one universal ‘right’ answer. So if you’re struggling remember that the target you’re trying to hit isn’t a pin, it’s a boulder.

 As you practice writing different survivors you’ll get more confident handling symptoms and long term mental health problems.

 I’ll circle back to that, let’s tackle the question of whether people ‘talk’ first. I think a lot of people get confused by this because there are a lot of factors at work and it’s difficult to picture the knock on effects of all of them at once.

 Torture does not lead to accurate information. It fundamentally can’t. And it can’t because of mixture of factors including:

how our memory works

how our nervous system works

how torturers behave

the effect torture has on organisations more broadly

the erosion of public trust torture causes

 The question of whether an individual victim ‘talks’ or not concerns the first two points. Which (putting it briefly) are: pain and trauma cause memory problems meaning that torture actively destroys the evidence it claims to seek and that we are stubborn creatures who become a lot less inclined to actively cooperate with people who hurt us.

 However the issue is bigger then the victim here.

 When an organisation uses torture they lose the public trust, people stop volunteering information. And volunteered information is the main source of accurate information for any organisation.

 This means that the majority of people arrested by these organisations typically know nothing. They are then tortured and given a big incentive to lie.

 This creates a cycle of increasing misinformation. I talk about this effect in more detail here.

 On top of all this torturers… how to put this… They don’t give a fuck about genuine investigation.

 They claim that they do. But their actions tell a different story.

 Torturers don’t record what their victims say. They do not fact check what their victims say. There are multiple recorded incidents of torturers continuing to ‘interrogate’ prisoners who did not speak the same language and of torturers continuing to torture when victims were clearly physically incapable of responding.

 There have also been cases where victims have reported trying to give up information only to have torturers completely ignore it and carry on.

 And torturers are no better at telling the difference between lies and truth then anyone else. They often believe lies told by victims who know nothing. And they are equally likely to dismiss the truth.

 The main point to understand here is: there’s a difference between a character giving up information and a torturer/organisation that tortures obtaining accurate information.

 Personally? I think it is easier from a writing perspective to have the character lie, especially if this is your first time writing something like this.

 Writing torture is hard. It will be a lot easier to avoid falling into the common torture apologia trope that ‘torture works’ if the character lies. Especially if you don’t think the narrative has the time and space to explore the knock on effects of torture on the villainous organisation.

 So this isn’t so much an issue of realism as what you feel you can take on in this story.

 A small number of people do try to tell torturers the truth or give up information. But the scale of misinformation that torture produces is so vast that any small truths get lost among the lies.

 Conversely readers expect that if they see a character telling torturers something true, there are going to be narrative consequences. They expect this to mean the Bad Guys ‘know everything’ and will act on it.

 Realistically… torture can’t produce that sort of coordinated, thought through response. Because for everything this character says there are twelve others in separate cells contradicting that information. Because her torturers may not actually want to hear the truth, because they’ve probably sunk a lot of time, effort and personal prestige into a lie they heard a month ago being ‘true’ instead.

 But that’s not a leap most readers will make. It isn’t a context you can expect the average reader to understand. That isn’t me disparaging your readers it’s just… accurate information on torture is hard to find or access, so most people believe the apologia they see everyday. It’s another kind of trope and we’re all used to tropes playing out a particular way.

 Question whether your story has the space to explain this context and whether it can be done in a way that’s narratively satisfying.

 If the answer is ‘no’, or if you just feel like it’s a lot to tackle, then I think you’re a lot better off with the character lying to her torturers.

 Looking over the torture scenario itself I think you do have a survivable scenario here.

 I would say that it’s uncommon for victims to be put in stress positions for a few hours: generally the typical time frame is around 24-48 hours. Using a stress position in this scenario would still be painful but you don’t need to use it. You already have a lot going on with five separate tortures (six if this character is beaten as well.)

 I don’t see anything wrong with keeping it in here if you feel it adds something to the story. But if you want to drop one of these abuses the stress position seems like the odd one out.

 Circling back to the beginning and the psychological problems torture causes, I think a definition of ‘disability’* is helpful here. Disability is any impairment, mental or physical, that has a substantial, long term, negative effect on daily life.

 That’s what we’re talking about with torture survivors.

 Recovery is possible. Life for survivors can get better. Every common psychological condition torture causes can improve with time, treatment and life style adaptions.

 But we are talking about disability. Improvement and a happy life doesn’t mean that someone goes back to the way they were before.

 Let’s take a few examples from the list of common symptoms which you can find here.

 An ‘easy’ example to think through would be something like chronic pain. I think most of us can imagine how being in pain every day would have a negative impact on your ability to do things.

 It can make it harder to perform normal, daily tasks. People with pain in their knees might struggle climbing stairs and walking long distances for instance. People with pain in their arms or shoulders might struggle to get dressed, hang washing on a line and access things on shelves above chest height.

 Chronic pain can also make it harder to interact positively with people and socialise. We’re rarely at are best when we’re in pain.

 A harder example to think through might be the kinds of long term memory problems torture commonly causes. You can read more about them here.

 One possible type of memory problem is a sort of general forgetfulness that a lot of survivors experience. It is not dementia, it isn’t a progressive loss of memory. But some survivors find it a lot harder to remember information and that can have a huge impact on a person’s daily life.

 Typical examples are things like:

forgetting medical appointments, which can lead to people being denied treatment

being consistently late for work, which can lead to loss of employment

difficulty managing money

forgetting to pay bills, leading to essential services being cut

forgetting meetings with friends, leading to reduced social life and isolation

 That’s not a complete list but hopefully it gives you an idea of some of the ways this particular symptom impacts daily life.

 This thought process that I’ve outlined is what you’re aiming for when you’re trying to think through symptom severity. It imagining the knock on effects on daily life and ensuring they’re at a level where the character is disabled.

 That will look different depending on the combination of symptoms you pick.

 Survivors don’t typically experience every possible symptom. As I said there’s variety; survivors of the same traumatic event can come out with completely different sets of symptoms and we’re not always sure why.

 Given that I think the best thing a writer can do is pick 3-5 symptoms from the list for their character and show those symptoms consistently over the course of the story.

 Remember that symptoms can improve. A person’s mental health problems can get better; but this means ‘easier to deal with’ rather then ‘no longer there.’

 It’s also worth keeping in mind that the same mental health problem can look different in different people. It’s common for people with depression to experience insomnia but it’s also common for people with depression to feel tired constantly, sleep excessively and find it impossible to get out of bed.

 Decide on the symptoms you want to write then take a moment to think about how they should manifest in this particular character.

 I find it helpful to consider what it will add to the story. If a symptom works well with a theme in the story or creates interesting narrative opportunities then it’s usually a good pick. When thinking through the severity of the symptom consider whether this particular disability would create interesting challenges for the character as the story progresses.

 Recovery and learning to live with disability takes months or years. It’s not linear and there are some people who will require regular assistance.

 Essentially because symptoms are so varied between survivors and because they can manifest is different ways I can’t give you a perfect road map to writing trauma. There isn’t one ‘correct’ way to do it because there isn’t one way it manifests in life.

 But it isn’t necessarily as hard as it sounds. Writing this stuff well takes practice, trial and error. That shouldn’t stop you from trying.

 If you can I’d recommend finding a beta reader or writing group. Having other people reading over your stuff and giving feedback can really help. It’s a good way to make sure your scenes are coming across as you intend them to.

 I’d also recommend taking a look through ScriptTraumaSurvivor’s archived blog here.

 I hope that helps. :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*I’m quoting from UK anti discrimination law here mostly because I think it’s a clear, helpful way of picturing what we’re talking about.

[bnhaclaimedmysoul]

how would inasa be as a boyfriend?

an anon​ requested: Do you write for any character or just the once on your masterlist? If you do, could you please write hcs of Inasa as a boyfriend? He needs more appreciation especially now that we get more content of him 😩 if not then feel free to ignore this 💞💞

character: inasa yoarashi

genre: fluff

note: ok, i’ll admit i haven’t caught up with bnha lately, but i was looking around for info for inasa and i’m highkey in love with this piece of muscle. but anyways, have some fluffed content and enjoy ♡

–– medusa.

in general

- let’s start off with the fact that this man is loud and proud of his feelings towards you

- he isn’t the type to shy away from feelings, especially when they’re feelings directed to you

- so he’s straight to the point when he first asks you out, expressing his interest for you right away

- he doesn’t really mind if he’s a bit too forward

- inasa isn’t the type to beat around the bush after all

- he confesses in the most direct way possible

- maybe even a bit too loudly

- which may cause a slight bit of discomfort on your side given that the whole class of the hero course in shiketsu was staring right at the both of you

- you’re all stiff at the side while the pile of meat stands across you with a proud expression

- of course, he doesn’t care about the attention

- but he does, however, fail to notice the hint of discomfort tainting your visage

- it takes a few moments of stuttering, swaying in place and shaking until he realizes that you were uncomfortable with the unwanted attention

- attempt number one goes straight out the window

- luckily, he’s quick to thinking for an alternative to get you back, which is to turn to his peers and to banish them from the classroom immediately

- although he did so politely, he earned a few sighs and grumbles before they eventually sauntered out

- you can’t help but facepalm 

- ah, this boy

- but you really can’t help but allow him to do so with his large eyes peering down at you before he clears his throat, repeating his practiced speech of love for you

- man, does he pour his heart out into confessing his feelings for you

- it isn’t much of a surprise given his persona, but it certainly does something for you

- so of course, resonating with the feelings shared, you agree to a date

- and another date leading to the next date before he had gone on to another confession

- another practiced speech of love for when he asks if you wanted to be an official item

- and who were you to put his speeches down?

- not when you were completely in love with this zealous hero

cuddles

- first of all, this beefy man

- ugh he’s absolutely thicc and he looks like he gives the best hugs

- which he does, what you see is what you get–– heck, maybe even more

- as built as he looks, he’s all so soft

- think of him as some tough looking teddy bear

- the first time you give him a hug, you can’t seem to retract yourself from him??

- the way his muscled arms wrap around your frame gives you the impression that you were meant to remain there

- he seems to think the same as he couldn’t let go of you either

- there’s no going back after that first hug because that would mean cuddles

- beef boi gives the best of cuddles

- the warmest of cuddles to be specific

- his frame is quite large, which provides enough warmth for the both of you

- he may be a tad bit heavy against you given his muscular form, so him laying right atop your frame is a big no-no for him

- he’s afraid of hurting you

- but that doesn’t stop him from being overly clingy to you during cuddling hours

- loves being the smaller spoon between the two of you

- when the time comes for hourly cuddles, you can bet your ass he’s already in bed, curled up

- he will deadass pat the spot behind him for you to take with a wide grin

- you can’t say no

- he has puppy dog eyes

- he just wants to be the small spoon so give it to him

kisses

- as confident as he seems, he’s ridiculously shy when you two attempt at your first kiss as a couple

- like... he initiates it

- he goes in for it, cups your cheek, leans in before his cheeks completely flush, pulling away right before the both of your lips touch

- he makes a big fuss about it, it actually catches the attention of the civilians passing by

- it gets you flustered as well, which is no help during the first few attempts

- yes, attempts

- after the first five of him repeating the process, you’re practically done with the whole cycle of him retracting and squealing like a fool

- so you take it for the team and do the deed yourself, cupping his chin and planting your lips upon his in an effort to shut him up

- and the moment you two kiss, the tension weighted on his shoulders lighten before he eases himself against your lips

- when you pull away, he takes a moment to catch his breath after all the panicking

- he never gets enough after that day

- it’s four kisses in the morning, three more in the afternoon, five more in the evening

- he soon gets used to smooches, going in for his hourly no matter the location much to his peers dismay

- like i said, he doesn’t care

- he’s madly in love and he communicates this through words and actions

overall

- he’s a newbie at all this

- and he’s really trying

- he doesn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with his volume and tone, he gets a little too excited sometimes

- but that’s okay, he’s learning since all new to the feeling

- he is, however, glad he gets to learn with you

- each day he spends with you, he falls in deeper

- his passion for you grows into something beautiful as he makes an effort to sweep you off of your feet everyday 

- it honestly feels like you’re being courted everyday

- he never gets tired of it though, he loves you a whole lot

- he treats you like royalty and it shows

 - in conclusion, inasa is the best man

- a whole king fit for serving his one and only

[ikariagni]

It’s when we start to fear the day-to-day things induced in us which haunt us for the longest.

End of Cycle

“Sir, that was the final minute of the cycle & I am afraid time’s up”. “Yes, I understand, send them in”. I get up from my chair as gently brush the old man’s hand as in the background DEBUSSY - Suite bergamasque, L. 75: No. 3, Clair de Lune plays to calm the old man before the cycle ends for him. I wave him goodbye as I leave the room. I nod to the team standing outside gesturing to go inside & finish the job. I exit the beautiful home the old man used to own. Oak made & well furnished with a beautiful garden as well as a private part of the lake near the home. Gorgeous trees surrounding the drive through. Good man as well, lived a very honest & rich life but the cycle needed to be ended. I personally would have liked to see him for another quarter but the thing about doing jobs is you may have specialisation in a sector & perhaps you are one of the best in that role still at the end you only do what people above say to you. It’s true at every level of the corporate hierarchy, not just the lower levels. The executives do what the CEO or COO tell them to, CEO or COO do what the board tells them to & the board do what the shareholders tell them to, shareholders do what the market tells them to & on and on this ferris wheel spins. This is my job to connect with these people who potentially are at the end of their cycles, make necessary reports, assess if they are indeed at the end of their cycle or the system got it wrong which is often not the case, the system always gets it right, at least that’s what Dr. Howard tells us. Anyways, I need to end the cycle in my file as well so that I get assigned my next person. In the file, at the last page of my assessment I, as the Field Analyst, sign at the bottom & put a stamp over my signature marked “Cycle Ended”. That’s it, now I go back to Headquarters & submit this file and get assigned a new one, if one is available or else I get the rest of the day off.

I take a deep breath outside as the wind rustles the leaves of the small plants & the massive trees around the house. Very refreshing, I must say out here with the cold breeze from the lake as well. As I relaxed for a moment out came the team & as soon as they came out they pressed the button on their little pads. And this is the worst part of it all. I hope I am never at the end of my cycle.

DAY ONE

“Hello, how may I help you?” “Sir, I am here to help you” “Okay, who are you if I may?” “I am sir, Dr. *****, a helper assigned by Exist” “Oh, I have heard about these & that means you’ll be coming everyday until one day you decide or someone decides that I am no more worth looking at” “Well, sir to be honest, that is true but to tell you a secret it’s not if you are worth looking at or not but more existential then that” “Oh, that does not make it sound better (laughs), well either way come on in, Dr. ******--?” “Doctor's fine, thanks for inviting me in Mr. Brooks”.

Mr. Mervin Brooks, the new assignment, for next two days or two weeks or two months or however long they back at HQ deem him to exist. He seems like a nice guy, young & has a pretty little house. Looks okay as well & seems to be doing good for himself down at his shop. The house is very neat & clean as well, I mean for a single boy this is impressive. He guides me to his dining table set of four with the view of the mountains. Sun is nowhere to be seen with windy & dark clouds covering the sky. The little window by the dining table is slightly open letting in the cold breeze. I sit down in front of the window, I like a view. I take out my files & open them on the table. Take out my notepad to write down the random details for the end of day my psychological evaluation. Place the pen between the notepad & the files. Mervin brings me a cup of tea with a saucer. Old fashioned, I write down on the notepad. He dresses that way as well, Corduroy pants with short sleeves shirt buttoned up to the neck. Beige coloured both of them. He places the tea beside me & sits to my right. Places his tea to his left.

“So, how do you begin this?”

“Mr. Brooks, it’s simple, today the first day I’ll be here just for an hour making silent observations on your behaviour so please adhere to your normal routine at this hour regarding your work around the house as well as your behaviour at this point of time.”

“Just call me Mervin, please”

“Certainly, Mervin in addition to that I’ll ask you some questions you know for data like are you single or in relationship or married--” (interrupts me)

“I am married to my lovely wife, who is resting above in the bedroom”

“At twelve in the afternoon?”

“She likes the night time more, she’ll be up in a couple of hours”

“Okay, sure, what is her name if I may ask just for this form here?”

“Her name is Daisy Brooks and she is my wife”

(Smiles proudly)

“Yes, I got that Mervin beautiful name I must say & what does she do for a living?”

“Not much, she sometimes help at the shop just to you know fulfill the work hours card but mostly she takes care of the house”

“Oh, I understand, you may resume with your day & just pretend I am not here at all but also remember I am here”

Both of us laugh as I fill out the other details as well as about Daisy. He finishes his tea & heads upstairs. I looked from the end of the staircase & as I suspected he closed the door on his way in.

I heard footsteps above me as I sat back down on the dining room chair. I write down the basic details on the form. At the same time I think how at any given point of time in the coming days Mervin & Daisy could be at the end of their cycles. Maybe one of them isn’t & the other one has to live with that fact. This all is right now being decided by an algorithm on the system at Exist, created by the visionary Dr. Howard. As I ponder in my thoughts while filling out the basic forms, I glance at my watch & see my one hour has passed which means time to leave. I note down on my pad, ‘in the past forty minutes since Mr. Brooks went upstairs no sound has come from above & he hasn’t come downstairs at all’. I pack up my things & put my tea cup & saucer in the sink. I head to the main door & shout “Mr. Brooks, I am leaving please close the door, thank you & see you tomorrow”. I leave without making more sound, the young couple seem to be in that youthful love. I close the door on my way out & as I turn around, I notice over the address number of the house are written words “For my Daisy”. Looks like young Mervin is complete head over heels for Daisy, honestly I feel bad that I have to do this. I walk away from the house.

DAY FOUR

“So, Mervin the three days of one hour silent observations is over & the good people at Exist analytics have told me to begin phase two of these visits, do you understand what I am saying?”

Mervin doesn’t even move muscle just continues to stare down his floor. I look at the spot he is staring at & I just see nothing but the wooden floor. I sit in my usual chair at the dining table which is across from the window and like before he sits to my right. He continues to stare without blinking even moving a muscle. I note this down in my notepad.

SNAP! I snap my fingers near him. That breaks his concentration from the floor. He laughs a little.

“Are you okay, Mervin?”

“Yes, I am fine, just got lost in thought. Sorry”

“As I was saying, should I explain Phase two of this thing to you?”

“Yes, please, just let me get a glass of water”

“Sure”

He gets up & gets himself a glass of water. Puts the glass water to his left & sits back down. Sips a little from the glass.

“Please, tell me about Phase Two”

“Okay, so basically, I’ll be taking a look at everything at the house & your shop as well and don’t worry this will be done tomorrow, we’ll do in an order whichever suits you the best, is that okay with you?”

“Yes, totally”.

Well, that’s a lie, according to the guideline the field analyst should do the observations in the order it suits them and not the subject but I don’t think that works that well. So, I joined Exist five years ago & moulded the guidelines which work best for the subject & they feel less pain at the end of the cycle, it’s very minimal but it helps my conscience. While I mould the guidelines or rules you might call them while in the field but in my reports I always mention that I followed the guidelines else I’ll be put on the end of the cycle.

“Okay, so, while I check everything at both of these places I’ll need access to everything, even to your savings under the mattress and it would be kind of you to tell your missus to wake up one of these days & talk with me because I need data from her as well, do you agree to the conditions & pass on the message to Daisy?”

“Yeah, sure I agree and I’ll tell Daisy but Doctor, I do, have one request or a favor you might say to ask you for, may I?”

“Yeah, go on, I can’t make promises but I’ll see what we can do”

“Well, you can check everywhere in the house, even the bedroom, I’ll even tell you where the savings are but just not the basement, can you overlook that somehow?”

“Basement? You didn’t mention any basement on Day two when I asked you about the structure of the house & there isn’t one in the blueprint you gave me?”

“Well, it isn’t in the basement because I had it installed separately two years ago myself, I made it and I didn’t mention it because it’s personal to me, It’s like you can say a place where I work & worship my one true love”

“Worship one true love? I thought that was supposed to be Daisy, you know with the outside plaque also saying ‘For my Daisy’, can you explain that?”

“She is my one true love but so is my woodwork, please if you can just somehow overlook that I’d be really grateful”

I take a deep breath, this is tough.

“I’ll look at what I can do but as I said no promises, you got that right?”

“Yes and I can describe what is down there if you just need it for the files”

“No, I just don’t need it for the files Mervin, I write it down in the files & then back at the analytics they analyse it and tell me what is the next step of my job but I’ll see what I can do”

“Oh, okay, I won’t hold my breath for it then, so what is on the agenda today then?”

“Yeah, before we move on to that, I almost forgot to ask, we ran some background search on your wife that Daisy Brooks but she came up as Daisy Richards, which is one of the strange things that we found in our records the other one being the Daisy Richards that we found, has nothing in the books for the last two years, not even a word, can you tell me the reason for that or rather can you ask Daisy to explain that, it’s about her after all?”

He took a deep breath & gulped down the entire glass of water.

“As you know she sleeps at this time of day but tomorrow when you examine the house yourself, I’ll make sure you meet her and then you can ask her yourself, does that work?”

“Yeah, sure, make sure that she meets okay?”

“Noted”(Laughs)

“So, for today, we’ll be just chatting about your past I believe, you know your parents, how they raised you, the whole what, where, who & how, is that okay?”

“Yeah, sure and make that parent as my father wasn’t there for my mum & me, he left us and moved to a different country couple of years later the crisis”

“Oh, sure, please continue”

He continued to speak for about an hour before he abruptly stopped & told me to leave as almost announced to me ‘Daisy must be ready to come down’ and before I could even ask to meet her, he almost pushed me out the door. Closed the door on my face. He became rude suddenly as he was starting to tell about Daisy & how he met her. I noted this down on my notepad and a note to self, ‘This Daisy business seems fishy to me now all of a sudden, check the basement at all costs’. I left the property as the sun beamed across the sky in the afternoon.

DAY FIVE

I arrived at the house at my usual time and rang the bell like three times. Past three days, Mervin would already be on the porch waiting for me to arrive. I yawned a little as I waited for young Mr. Brooks. Well, today, I am also doing something different as I have an earpiece in my ear which is for my safety. These two days of the end of cycle routine are considered what some may call ‘of grave danger’ to the analyst from the subject as these are private places of the subject where they do everything while sitting on the sofa for an hour like one doesn’t exist is bothering but going through brick to brick can be even more bothering and annoying as well which drives many of the subjects to physical attack the analyst at which point the analyst needs to inform the team in his/her ear piece. The analyst hides in a safe place or runs outside the premises and if the subject continues to display aggressive behaviour, well they are put at the end of their cycles immediately. See, Dr. Howard believes while a calmer mind may have a chance to be left alone but a violent one doesn’t, the mind of such individuals is begging to be at the end of the cycle. I disagree with that, I think no one even if someone is a horrible person deserves to be in the state one is put under when they are at the end of their cycle.

“All right, team, be on stand by. I am heading inside, we can’t do anything if he isn’t opening the door, do I have a go from everyone?”

“Yes, Doctor, you may head inside we’ll be nearby”

“All right, heading inside”

I take out the key for the house and enter the house. I set up my stuff on the table. I open the file as well as my notepad. As I am taking out my pen, in the corner of my eye I catch the note to myself I wrote yesterday, ‘check the basement at all costs’. So, he’s probably down at his shop, might be the best time to get that over with. I put the pen down on the table and walk ahead to the door that leads to the basement which is under the staircase which leads to the bedroom. I so want to check out the bedroom but I feel so curious about the basement that I almost magnetically get pulled towards it.

I open the door that leads to Basement. As soon as I put my foot inside the way that leads to the basement, I get a chill down my spine.

It’s dark as I expected on the staircase but there seems to be a light on at the center of the basement. I reach for my earpiece.

“Guys, I down in the basement, so watch out”

I don’t hear a response back.

I move ahead regardless. With each step, a weird feeling keeps building up in the back of my head, making me think of really weird things. I shake my head & take a breath and move ahead. Come on, I got this.

Under the light, I see a woman sitting on the chair. I walk closer to her & as I go around to see her face, I see Mervin sitting by her knees wearing gloves smeared with blood and holding knives with tiny bits of flesh on them. I gasp. I look at the woman & I fall back on to the ground with no words or even sound coming out of my mouth. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!

I put my hands around my mouth. WHAT IN THE HELL IS THAT THING ON CHAIR? THAT”S NOT A HUMAN, IS IT EVEN ALIVE?

All these thoughts are crossing my head while my heart is almost pounding so fast as if I am on drugs or something and it’s all due to what’s sitting on that chair & Mervin is sitting by it’s knees with his face buried in it’s lap. He seems to be sleeping comfortably.

I took out the picture of Daisy, Mervin gave me two days earlier and my god, that’s her. THAT’S HER. Her whole body is mouldy, her ribs & eye socket seem visible even though what seems to be skin sewn to her by Mervin. The sewn skin is coming as well & the whole body is rotting. She’s dead. I have never seen something more horrible than that.

I vomited on the ground.

I began to climb up the stairs and that’s when Mervin footsteps I heard behind me. I quickly turned around.

“So, I guess you couldn’t keep out of the basement could you? They said no I believe”

I didn’t reply to him, just got up the stairs and picked up my things. Put them inside the bag & left the house.

“Team leader, come near me please, urgently”

Team leader came near me.

“Yes, Doctor?”

“He is downstairs, end of cycle imminent but ask all the details about the scene and then tell me, I am waiting in your car”

“As you wish, Doctor, team come on we gotta move in, end of cycle”

I walked to their car & sat inside while the whole team went inside.

End Of Cycle

At the end of cycle, the Icing Team enters the subject’s house or property and neutralizes them with a syringe of a substance which puts them into a deep sleep, not coma but a very deep sleep. Once the subject is in deep sleep, the Icing Team using their pads records everything present at the property of the subject which is what takes time usually. Once this has been recorded, the Icer is brought out which puts the subject into a cryo sleep. The Cryo is then carried out & put in the back of the van which follows the car. After this the cryo is put with the other cryos back at the headquarters of Exist. The Icing team hands over their data from the pads and the field analyst hands over the data they have collected for the past day. The analysts back at the office then come up with an specific or special you might say algorithm which is then attached to the Cryo. Due to this algorithm, the subject continues to live on but in a time loop of their worst day in that place. As I said this is the worst part.

The team leader comes out with Mervin inside the Cryo. He puts the Cryo Mervin back in the van. He comes ahead in the car & sits beside me.

“Doctor, what you saw was actually not the most disturbing part even though that visual would haunt a person for life, so are you really sure you wish what he’d been doing with a dead body for two years?”

“Leader, I am having really disturbing thoughts with what you just said so I guess I’d like to know what happened to put those thoughts to bed, tell me would you?”

He takes a deep breath.

“Doctor, she died two years ago in an accident. Her family buried her, he was at the funeral. Two weeks after the funeral, he took the body out of the grave. Slept with it on his bed. He even confirmed to have had sex with dead corpse multiple times in the past two years.”

“What was the basement for?”

“That’s where he would skin the girls he’d kidnapped and sew their skins to Daisy’s corpse since it was decomposing inside the grave for two weeks, we found fifteen completely skinned girls, half in the backyard buried and the other half boarded under the wooden floor”.

“I don’t want to hear anymore, let’s head back shall we”

“Certainly Doctor, move out team”

It’s when we start to fear the day-to-day things induced in us which haunt us for the longest and this will certainly haunt me for a longtime.

[thiswasinevitableid]

82, Sternclay, NSFW if possible? Ty so much for all your great fics <3 -☀️

You’re welcome! I hope you enjoy the fill. It’s NSFW, and involves mating cycles, because my A03 stats suggest a lot of y’all like that.

82. you knock on my door at 2 in the morning because your very white cat got out and you need help trying to find them in the three feet of snow we have

He has no one but himself to blame. 

Stern is always so careful about shutting the doors in this cabin, as the old hinges and worn frames can send them swinging open when coupled with a strong wind. He thought he had that same care when he came in with more firewood from the basement, which can only be accessed through by going out of the house and then down to the locked door. 

Apparently not. At one, he went to check on Yeti and found the back door open and the faintest shape of feline paws leading into the darkness. 

They’ve got two feet of snow on the ground, with another foot forecasted to fall by morning. And Yeti is sleek and snow-white.

He’s wandered the perimeter of the house, left her favorite blanket out on the covered porch, and tried in vain to follow the tracks, filled in by the falling snow. He’s been outside for an hour now, with no sign of her. Not even the jingle of her collar in the cold air. He’s shivering, but he can’t stop the search; Yeti is out here, cold and scared and it’s all his fault. 

As he’s crunching through the snow, warm light spills onto the trees. His neighbors  (a loose term out here) house. He couldn’t stand waking Barclay up to help him, but if he’s already awake…

Stern raps on the door, and four seconds later it opens, his neighbor looking like a lumberjack centerfold given life, even in his sweatpants and brown sweater. 

“Joe? Is something wrong?”

“It’s Yeti, she got out without me noticing and I can’t find her, I’ve been out here an hour and there’s no sign. I, um, I know it’s a stretch but can you help me look for her? We can cover more ground that way.”

Barclay gives a small, worried smile as he nods, “Yeah, of course, lemme get enough on so that I don’t freeze and I’ll join you.” 

He waves Stern inside, passes him a box of tissues before disappearing upstairs. Here he’d hoped the tears from his brief panic and self-blame spiral hadn’t left evidence. He’s good in a crisis, has handled much more stressful incidents with grace and calm. But for some reason every time he musters up those emotions, gult rips them to shreds. Yeti is his to look after, he’s supposed to keep her safe, and one careless move has her out in the woods, in freezing weather, with predators, or thin ice, or, or, or-

His brain is excellent at generating contingency plans on the fly, but tonight it directs that ability to making him think about all the bad things his error could cause. 

“Okay, got my headlamp so I can keep my hands free. You got a light?”

Joe holds up his flashlight.

“C’mon, let’s go find the Yeti.” They set off side by side in the snow, “where do you want to look?”

“Fan out near the creek, I think. The snow isn’t as deep there, so she might have gone that way because it was easier to move.”

“She’s a climber, right? So how about this; we go on either side of the creek, you look on the ground and I’ll look in the trees?”

“That makes sense.” 

It’s slow going, both of them being meticulous, shining their lights on every branch or under every bush. Stern’s always appreciated how careful Barclay is; he assumes it comes with a profession where being messy slows you down, but the first time he saw his well-organized kitchen his heart did a little dance of delight. 

In the month and a half he’s lived here, the cook invites him over at least twice a week to try out a recipe. He works at Amnesty Lodge in the nearby town of Kepler, and spends some of his nights there. Still, he’s at his cabin often enough that Stern’s been able to invite him over some evenings. Though it’s odd he’s up so late on a work night.

“Do you not have to go in tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m taking this week off. I have some vacation time and when I get back it’ll be the holiday break rush until New Years. I got caught up in the latest Agent X novel and didn’t see how late it was until you knocked. How about you, staying up researching again?”

“Yes. I was trying to keep the fire going because it’s nice to work in that little living room but, um, going out to get the wood is how she got out. If I’d just gone to bed-”

“Whoah, hey, none of that.” Barclay stops, turning to face him, “shit happens, even when you’re careful. This isn’t your fault, Joe.”

“I know. It still feels that way.” He starts forward again, feet freezing in spite of his snowboots (chosen for optimal weight to insulation ratio). Part of him wants to keep talking, because Barclay is interesting to talk to, his years playing “Lodge dad” giving him endless anecdotes and the ability to be honest without being cruel. 

It helps that his baritone voice makes Stern think of brown sugar; rich, complex, just the right kind of sweet. 

After a solid hour of searching, Stern is so cold he’s having trouble getting words out. Barclay sets a big hand on his shoulder, guiding them towards Sterns cabin.

“Joe, you’ve gotta take a break. Worried your lips are gonna go as blue as your eyes, and then tonight will really suck.”

“But I haven’t found her.”

“And you won’t if you freeze to death or get so chilled you can’t think straight. At least sleep for a few hours.”

Stern’s about to protest as they reach the door, but then his knees buckle and he slumps against a broad chest.

“I’ll do one more spin into the deeper woods on my way home, and leave some blankets out on the porch in case she makes her way to me. She’s smart, just like her owner; I think she’ll get home okay.”

“Right. Okay. We’ll be okay.” 

Barclay hesitates mid motion, then pulls Stern into a hug. Stern is not small, and at Six feet zero inches he’s used to being the tallest person in a room. Barclay always feels like he’s dwarfing him, though right now that’s the most comforting sensation in the world. 

“I’ll check by in the morning.”

“Thank you, for everything.” He mumbles into Barclay’s scarf.

“Any time, Joe.”

----------------------------------------

Barclay waits until Joe is inside and the upstairs light switches on to leave the back porch. God, it’s so fucking cold tonight. He doesn’t blame Yeti for getting curious, but she could’ve picked a less awful time to do it.

He’s glad the other man came to him for help; he hates the idea of Joe out here alone and stressed, searching carefully and kicking himself the whole time. He’s glad Joe took the suggestion to sleep. 

He’s glad the other man came to be his neighbor. 

Ironically, they’d met when Joe came over and asked to borrow a cup of sugar. The dark-haired man was short on what he needed to cook, and Barclay was happy to supply it. It’s not everyday a cute guy asked him for some sugar. 

They ran across each other in town, and Joe even came to eat at the Lodge, usually at off hours where Barclay had a chance to talk. That’s how he learned Joe was here to research a recent Bigfoot sighting. 

“I used to be in the FBI, investigating the same thing. Then I got so frustrated, no one really believed in the possibility of unknown creatures, and the few who did saw them as having some sort of use to the department of defense. Great idea, find something so rare it’s existence is unproven, and then lock it away or blow it up.” The sip of coffee is more aggressive than usual. 

“Won’t they get mad if you spill their secrets?” It was only half a joke. 

“I doubt it. They weren’t too interested in my theories when I worked there; odds are they’ll keep an eye on me a little while and then ignore me. Unless I find Bigfoot, of course, in which case they may want me back. I’m not interested, from now on I monster hunt in the name of science.”

Barclay hopes Stern never finds Bigfoot and stays in his cabin, writing and researching and consulting and coming over to Barclay’s for dinner twice a week. He has a whole menu in his mind titled, “foods for seducing Joe” that he’s going to whip out in the next few weeks, he swears it. 

He’s been swearing it for two weeks. 

Joe is sophisticated, smart, has really good taste in books and food, and Barclay feels so listened to when they talk. Barclay starts blushing whenever Joe smiles at him, which would be embarrassing except Joe does the same thing whenever Barclay drops his voice a little. Besides, he likes it when Joe smiles. 

Barclay would give anything to make Joe smile tonight. Which is why he’s tromping into the spot where they lost the last of Yeti’s footprints. He stands, listening for any sign of human life. 

Then he slips the woven bracelet off his hand, and his foot-prints almost double in size. 

It’s a bad idea, he’s not all that far from other houses or the road, but in this form his sense of smell is twice as strong and his night-vision a bit sharper. It’s also the reason he’s taking this week off work. Yes, he likes to rest up before the winter rush; but his heat, which comes ever fourteen years, is due in the next few days. He’s actually a little worried turning into his Sylph self will make his brain fuzzy enough to forget his mission. So he reminds himself, as he tromps through the growing blizzard, that he is doing this for the person he’d most like to impress in this world, and that does the trick. 

A whiff of the same, non-human scent he stole a noseful of when hugging Joe catches his attention. He follows it to a disused burrow, gets down on his belly, and finds reflective eyes blinking back at him. 

The animal hisses. 

“Man, please be Yeti and not a bobcat. Duck’s gonna fucking kill me if I harass the wildlife.” He reaches into the burrow and hears a telltale jingle. Yeti, surrendering to her fate, goes limp in his hold. When he puts her against his chest she chirps, curiously sniffing him. As soon as the bracelet is on she blinks once, then purrs as he bundles her into his coat. She’s cold and damp, but she’s in one piece. 

“C’mon cousin, let’s get you home.”

The lights are all still one, and the front door is wedged open the exact amount a cat would need to get inside. He steps in, kicks the wedge free and shuts the door. The fire is low, and there’s no sound of anyone moving around. 

“Joe? Whoa, careful Yeti, I know you wanna get warm but we should show him your okay.”

“Mew!” Yeti bites the fringe of his scarf. 

He tries again, “Joe, you still up? Got someone for you?”

A scuff and groan from the kitchen, “Huh? Oh, shit, I fell asleep, one second”

Yeti shifts her focus while Barclay is distracted. In one graceful leap she rips his bracelet away, lands, and bounds to the kitchen.

“Yeti! Thank the lord, there you are my little cryptid, I was so worried about you, don’t ever do that again, thank god you’re okay.” Joe’s voice goes muffled, as if he’s holding the cat to his face and talking into her fur. Barclay is frozen, not wanting to be seen but even less wanting to have Joe spot Bigfoot dashing into the trees. 

“What do you have--Yeti, it’s rude to take things from the man who saved you from being-” Joe rounds the corner, cat in his arms, and gasps. Yeti, uninterested in the unfolding drama, tumps to the floor and scampers upstairs. Joe’s hands fly over his mouth the instant she’s no longer in them. 

“Hey” Barclay waves.

“What the fuck?”

“I’m, uh, I’m Bigfoot.”

“What the fuck?” Joe isn’t moving, and Barclay decides now is his best chance. 

“I’m just, uh, gonna go get my bracelet back.”

“No, you’re going to explain everything.” 

“I really, really can’t, some of it isn’t mine to explain. I mean, uh, I can explain some bits later-” He creeps toward the stairs. Joe steps in front of him. 

“Barclay, this can’t wait. You, you’ve been him the whole time, my entire world view is simultaneously being proven and flipped over, would you please just talk to me?”

“Mew?” Yeti is halfway down the stairs, watching them with the bracelet still in her mouth. Without breaking eye contact, Joe reaches up and out, plucking it from her teeth.

“You’re not getting this back until you explain.”

“Babe, please, I promise we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“No, wait, what did you call me?”

“Uhhhh” Barclay lunges for the bracelet instead of answering. Stern twists out of the way, sprinting for the kitchen. Barclay gets an arm around his waist and yanks backwards, sending them both over the back of the couch. Joe elbows him and scrambles up. Barclay only just manages to block him from going up the stairs, stalks him back onto the rug and tackles him. It succeeds in bringing the man down and keeping him pinned. 

It also sends the bracelet flying onto the floor, where Yeti snatches it up and disappears up the staircase. 

Barclay realizes he’s growling, stops so that he won’t frighten Joe, only for it to start up again as a reflex.

“Barclay, I swear, if you hurt my cat-”

“I won’t, I, that’s what not that noise is for. Or, uh, I mean I’m pissed you played keep-away with something I need, but I also have some bad news about Sy--uh, Bigfoot biology. Uh, so, first thing: I have a heat, which is why I was trying to stay away from people. Second thing: my kind uses a very intense game of, uh, chase as part of courtship.”

Stern shifts his thigh, “That explains what I’m feeling.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Look, can you go get the bracelet and then we can, like, have some tea and talk about this? I’m sorry, I feel so bad for making you deal with this.” The growl rumbles up again. He gears up another apology when he notices Joe’s blue eyes getting wider.

“Is this, um, only because of your heat? I mean, if you tackled some passerby, would the same thing be happening?”

“No.” Barclay squeaks. 

“Then I’m not seeing how this is a bad thing, big guy.” He grinds his thigh up, making Barclay yip and pin him to the rug while touching as little of him as possible. 

“Joe, this doesn’t make me like, mindless or anything, but if you say you want this you are signing up for several days of as much fucking as I can manage.”

“I don’t have any deadlines.” Joe’s eyes remain fixed on Barclays crotch. 

“I’m serious, if you say stop I will, but if you don’t you won’t be able to get out of bed for days. And, uh, I can put my disguise back on, you don’t have to fuck me like this, I know it’s weird.”

“Barclay, I built my life’s work on weird.” Joe pets his arm.

“Yeah but not on fucking it.”

“How do you know? Lots of my time with the UP is classified.”

“Joe…” it’s a warning, the heat in  his brain suggesting a dozen things to do so the human can’t be touched by another cryptid ever again.

“I want you, Barclay. In both forms. As long as you promise we’ll talk after, I’m okay with doing this first.”

“I promise”

“Good, because otherwise I was going out to see if there’s another bigfoot in the area who was interested.” Joe smiles, moves to pull off his shirt. He doesn’t get to; Barclay snarls possessively and drops onto him, biting his neck and ripping his clothing into a flurry of fabric scraps. The human moans, gasps when Barclay makes short work of his own pants and reveals what’s waiting beneath. Barclay doesn’t give him time to process, shoves his legs as far apart as they’ll go, and finally sinks into him.

“JesusfuckingCHRIST, ohfuck, ohmyfuckinggodAH!”

His cock is more thick than long, splitting the human open while bottoming out on every thrust. Joe’s fingers knot into the rug, his words morph into sharp, ecstatic sounds. Every creature in the forest can probably hear him. 

Barclay clamps his hand down over the humans mouth, “shut up babe, don’t want anyone else in the woods getting any ideas about how good a fuck you are. You’re fucking mine.”

A muffled moan and, when he pulls his hand back, “Y-you really think I, fuck, I can keep quiet when you fuck me like this?”

“Thought they taught FBI agents discipline” he drags his claws across Joe’s chest, relishing the shaky, happy noise that gets him. 

“There’s discipline and, AAHnnn, there’s inhuman restraint.”

Barclay slams the hand down again and growls, pleased, when Joe’s posture turns submissive.

“Here’s the deal; you keep quiet and take it like a good mate, and after I cum in you, can be as loud as you fucking want, because anyone who gets near you’ll know belong to me. I mean” he jerks his hips, “they’ll be able to tell that from the fact I’m balls-deep in you too, babe.”

Joe nods, replaces Barclays hand with his own as the Sylph hooks his knees over his shoulders. The next minute goes in a heat haze, his brain and body united in the desire to cum in Joe, to claim him,  while the human stifles his screams and grows slicker with each thrust. 

He tips his head back with a howlgrowlpurr as he cums, leaving faint clawmarks in Joe’s legs as he holds them open to make sure he takes every bit.

“Lord almighty” Joe’s hand falls to the floor, “that, that was amazing, why on earth were you acting like this isn’t something I’d waaAAAAAntohgod.” He whimpers as Barclay starts up again, fucking his cum up into him.

“Shoulda known you’d like it; you’re perfect, Joe.”

A blush and a shy moan, and he leans down to kiss him gently.

“You are. You’re the perfect man, the perfect mate, and we are gonna have so much fucking fun together.”

“And fun fucking?” He looks pleased with the wordplay.

He snorts, “Glad to know that sense of humor sticks around when I’m filling you up, oh, ohfuckyeah” another orgasm hits, milder this time. 

“Are they near constant when you’re in heat?” Joe eyes the trail of cum sliding back down Barclay’s cock.

“No, just easy to have. So” he flips the human over, squeezing his ass appreciatively, “let’s try it from  behind this time; wanna find out how it feels to cum in you while I get you off.” He slips his hand over Joe’s thigh and between his legs, “and you better fucking do it too, of I’ll drag you outside and fuck you against a tree so anyone passing by can see how fucking eager you are for me.”

“Please, we’ve spent so much time outside tonight.”

He thinks as kisses along Joe’s shoulders, “You’re right. I’ll fuck you against the door instead.”

-------------------------------------

When Stern wakes up, snow is falling in the grey light and his clock reads 2:30 P.M. Downstairs there’s a homey clink of pots and pans, and the smell of coffee winds it’s way to him. 

He fell asleep around five, he thinks, when the cumulative exhaustion of his day overpowered the thrill of being with Barclay. Honestly, he’d have kept going, but Barclay was adamant he rest. So they finished with him fucking Stern’s slack, sleepy mouth, before the cryptid bundled him into bed and snuggled up to him with those deep, rumbling purrs that Stern now loves.

The bracelet is gone from the nightstand (Yeti didn’t eat it, thank god), so the chef must be making breakfast in his human form. Now would be a good time to go down and talk. 

“Mew” A weight lands on his chest as Yeti kneads the blankets, purring when he reaches you and rubs her head.

“You know, little monster, this almost makes the heart attack you gave me worth it.”

“Mew?” The cat stares hopefully out the windows. 

“Not a chance. I can’t take that stress again. Besides” he scoops her up, “we need to unbox that new toy I ordered. Barclay and I need some time to ourselves today.”