#yeah this is a tags talk sit cross legged on the floor with me

[the-official-account]

.

[veilofwinter]

#HATE HOW I LOVE YOU

pairing: Ellie Williams x Reader

tags: hate sex, ellie, and more ellie <3

You HATED Ellie Williams, and hate is not a light word. You hated her hair, you hated her buff yet skinny arms, you hate how her eyes would roll when you walked into a room. You hated how even though you hated her, you loved the sight of her face.

"Dina, you know I hate doing shit with her. She makes everything so miserable." You crossed your arms over your chest, sucking on the lollipop in your mouth. "Look YN, just try, please? I'll talk to her, okay?"

You sigh, rubbing your temples. "Fine, I'll come but if she starts something I can't grantee I won't go off on her ass."

Soon you found yourself in a small circle with Dina, Jesses, and Ellie. "Let's have a drink." Dina suggests, standing to grab the nearby liquor on the table. "Where'd you even get this from?" You ask leaning back. "Does it matter, just drink it." Ellie speaks, glaring at you like she has been the whole time. You take a deep breath, turning toward Dina. "So, where'd you get it from."

"Just pass me the damn liquor Dina." Ellie interrupts Dina. "Ellie can you for once not be a god damn pain in the fucking ass?" You turn to her, giving her a disgusted look. "Me not be a pain in the ass and you're asking dumbass questions, let's just fucking drink." Suddenly you stand. "Okay I'm not doing this. I even tried to ignore her and still she found a way to be a bitch." Ellie stans as well. "You're callin' me a bitch? Have you seen your attitude lately love?"

You throw your hands up in defeat. "I'm leaving." Finally, Dina stands and grabs your arm. "YN no. You're gonna stay in here! You two need to do something about whatever the hell this weird ass beef is!" I roll my eyes, "I'm not going to stay here and try to make up with her, it's not like she listens." Ellie tries to rush you, but Jesse grabs her. "Okay can everyone just calm the fuck down?!"

Dina takes a deep breath. "You two are going to sit in here and you're going to fucking make up." You shake your head. "I'm not doing that shit." Ellie laughs. "Yeah right, I'm not sitting in a room with her alone." You glare at her, crossing your arms against your chest. “Dina, I swear to go-“ Dina places her hand over your mouth.

“You both are going to stay in this damn room, and you're going to make the hell up.” She fake smiles, grabbing Jesse. You chase after her, “Dina-“ She slams the door in your face and locks it. “Make. Up!” She yells.

Now you sit face to face with Ellie, the silence piercing through the room. “Look, I ain’t plannin’ to make up. So, let’s just pretend we’re cool and leave it at that.” She leans back in the most enticing way, her legs spreading the just right amount.

You struggle to keep your eyes from raining to in between her legs. “I can’t even pretend to like you.” You say rolling your eyes to look away. “You can’t pretend to like me, but you can pretend like you weren’t just staring in between my legs?” She smirks, sitting up and leaning down against her knees.

Your face heats up and you avoid eye contact. “I wasn’t ev-“ Ellie laughs, “Damn and then you lie about it? I thought you were bolder than that.” You glare at her. “You’re so cocky, you must think everyone likes looking in between your legs.” She laughs once more. “I know you do.”

She silences you.

Suddenly she stands, placing herself in front of you on the floor. “So do you wanna make up or not?” She was close, very close. Her eyes trailing down to your lips, her hands placed on your thighs. “What are you talking about?” You speak quietly from being so close.

“Let’s make up.”

After that phrase was uttered, you and Ellie’s lips collide at a fast speed. The kiss so sloppy and good it has you feeling feverish. Her rough hands sliding up your shirt, against the skin of your stomach. “You must’ve waited so long for this huh?” She says smirking against your lips.

“Just shut the fuck up.” Ellie laughs. “Shut me up.” Those words ignite a light in your belly, causing you to squeeze your legs together. “Look at you all tense, want me to help you?” She asks, placing her hands higher up your shirt. Her hands find themselves unbuckling your black bra, and you were happy you wore it.

“Must’ve known this was gonna happen huh? Wore such a pretty bra f’me?” Ellie attaches her lips to your neck, biting down softly and pulling a small sound from your lips as you jolt. “Want me to touch you? Tell me.” She waits for your response. “Yeah. I do Ellie, so just fucking do it.”

“Don’t be a bitch about it.”

Finally, you're on your back, her fingers penetrating you at a fast pace. “This feel good huh? Always talking shit, I guess this shuts you up?” She grins over you, watching your face contort from pleasure. “F-fuck! Shut the fuck u-up...!” Your back arching off the couch as she hits that one sweet spot inside you.

“Yeah? This the spot for you huh?” She places your nipple into her mouth, sucking softly. “Oh! Okayokay..!” You place your fingers into her hair, your eyes closed and filling with tears from how good you feel. “Holy-“ Ellie pulls away from the bud with a pop, saliva coating the nipple sloppily.

“Gonna cum around my fingers? Yeah?” She speeds up, your core tightening around her fingers. “I-I’m gonn-“ Ellie suddenly pulls her fingers away. You gasp, looking at her with a glare. “What the hell-“ She places her hand over your mouth. “Lay back down you big baby.”

You force yourself back down with a groan. Ellie’s mouth finds its way to your clot, sucking harshly. “Wh- AH!” Your hands going to her head as she sucks and licks at your swollen bud. Her eyes never leaving yours as she watches the tears that had built in your eyes finally fall.

“Gonna- whew! I’m gonna cum El’s!” Ellie sucks harder, just enough to make you go over the edge. The pull you have in her hair causing her to groan softly into your cunt. She licks your juices all up, not leaving a drop behind. She sits up, wiping the side of her lip and placing her finger into her mouth like she had leftover sauce from a meal.

“You taste so good YN, if I would’ve known that I’d have eaten you out sooner.” She comes close to your face, causing your face to scrunch. “I thought we made up?”

“Not even close.”

My Requests are open!

@sorrowsblogworld @sorrowsideas @tinygojo

[cmncisspnandmore]

Imagine being in a relationship with Dad!Simon and Dad!Johnny.

“Sweetheart?” Soap calls from upstairs, his voice echoing down the stairs.

“Love?” A second voice calls.

You put your finger to your lips. Shushing the small children in front of you. One standing in an emptied tactical vest. Her bright blue eyes looking back at you as she covers her mouth with her hands to quiet her giggles.

The other sitting on the floor, a skull balaclava over his head, but his whole face still visible due to the large size. His bleach blonde hair sticking out, and falling into his deep brown eyes. His own gummy smile matching his older sisters.

“Yes?” You call back, trying to hide the smile that creeps into your voice as your son reaches for you. His chubby toddler hand grabbing at the two sets of dog tags around your neck.

“Have you seen my vest?” Johnny calls.

“Or my balaclava? I swore I left it on the dresser..” Simon’s own voice calls. There’s soft murmuring at the top of the stairs as your husbands talk amongst themselves trying to figure out where their missing gear could be.

“Nope, haven’t seen them. Maybe they’re in the kitchen? I did do laundry the other day, maybe they got put in the basket.” You suggest, as your daughter giggles wildly into her hands. She knows her dads will have to pass through the living room where the three of you are sitting.

Two pairs of boots thud down the stairs as your husbands make their way through the house. Not even bothering to question you. As Soap and Ghost round the bottom of the stairs they pause. Smiles breaking out on their faces as they take in the scene in front of them.

You’re sitting on the floor cross legged, your back to them as your children peek around you. Your daughter losing her battle of containing her giggles. Your son clapping wildly as he sees his dads.

Your son is the first to move, his little arms and legs moving as fast as he can as he crawls across the floor to grab at the laces on Soaps boots. A babbling of ‘dada, dada,’ and baby screeching follows him.

Johnny reaches down and plucks the small child up off the floor, a huge smile on his face as he tickles him. “LT! Did you fall in the fountain of youth again?” Soap laughs, as the toddler laughs and screeches.

“I didn’t realize you liked sparkly pink nail varnish,” Simon grunts as your daughter laughs, pushing past you to stand in front of Simon.

“Daddy! Look I’m Dada!” She smiles, as Simon crouches down to her level.

“I see that Lovie,” he smiles, reaching out and poking her nose.

“And Brother is you!” She points to her brother, and looks up at Soap. “See Dada! It almost fits me!”

Soap sets your son down on the ground, also crouching to her level, “aye lass, soon you can go to work for me yeah? I can stay home with Mummy.”

“Mummy said one day I can be superhero’s just like you and Daddy,” she states proudly, as Soap reaches out to unclip the vest. Your son crawls over and starts tug at the mask on his head.

“Maybe one day, Lovie,” Simon mumbles as he pulls the mask off your son’s head, and presses a kiss to the blonde toddlers head.

“Here,” Soap says and he pulls the vest off your daughter, “Daddy and I have to go to work, okay?”

Your daughter face falls, “but you just got home..” she mumbles.

“I know baby, it’s just for a few days,” Johnny frowns, pulling the small girl into his arms and hugging her tight.

Simon stands, your son in his arms as he walks over to you and offers you a hand. You smile, putting your hand in his as he pulls you gently to your feet. “Looked like you needed some help,” Simon smiles. His hand sliding down to rest on the round bump of your stomach.

“Well if you two didn’t make such huge children maybe I would be able to get up off the floor,” you scold, a playful smile on your lips.

“Sorry Love, but I can’t help it. There’s just something about you carrying our children that makes us wild,” Simon whispers in your ear as he presses a kiss to your cheek.

You wave him off, as you watch Soap talk softly to your daughter who is doing her best to hold back her tears. She hates when they leave, and now that she’s older, the passage of time is a bigger deal to her. She knows that sometimes the few day trips turn into weeks and she hates it. For the most part she was a good sport about it. She would draw endless pictures and take videos for Simon and Johnny. But after Johnny got hurt on a mission, a gunshot wound to the shoulder she’s been more anxious about their leaving.

“Lovie,” Simon calls, as you take your son from him. The toddler settling into your arms, his hands grabbing the dog tags to stick into his mouth. Your daughter turns around. Blue eyes filled with tears, as she walks over slowly, her head slightly down.

Soap gives you a sad look as he walks over, and kisses your cheek. His hand following the same path that Simon’s took as he softly strokes your stomach. Simon leans down, eye level with your daughter as he talks to her.

“I know you’re scared that something bad is gonna happen to Dada, or me. But I promise you, I won’t let anything happen to him okay? Just like he’s gonna make sure nothing happens to me. I promise, I need you to be big, and take care of Mummy for us alright? Help her with your brother okay? Can you do that for us?” He asks softly brushing her hair behind her ear.

“I-I think so,” she mumbles, her voice soft.

“I know you can,” Simon brushes his fingers through her hair. Simon picks her up, and hugs her tight. Your daughter looks at you and Soap over his shoulder.

“Be good okay?” Soap smiles at her, and then looks down at your son. “And you mister, don’t cause too much trouble.”

Your son smiles and smacks his hand against Johnnys chest. “I don’t think he knows how to not cause trouble,” you mumble earning a laugh from your family. It was no secret that your son was a handful, taking after Johnny more than Simon. The image of him sitting in the fridge after he learned how to climb flashes in your mind.

“Okay Lovie,” Simon says, setting your daughter down. “Can you bring your brother to the playroom, so we can talk to mummy?”

“Okay Daddy,” she puts on her best smile and takes the toddler from your arms, holding his hands to help him walk to the playroom. As the door closes both Simon and Johnny move to stand in front of you.

“You gonna be okay?” Simon asks, his dark eyes on you.

“I’ll be fine Simon,” you smile, resting your hands on top of your bump.

“I know we’re leaving awfully close to the due date, I’d hate for to be alone when the new babe arrives,” Soap worries, as he pulls on his tactical vest.

“I’ll be fine, if something happens I’ll call Laswell and she’ll have both of your asses on the next flight home,” you roll you eyes. “Now go,” you wave them away, towards the kitchen.

“You don’t have to do that,” Simon grunts, pulling you into his arms by your hand.

“Do wh-what?” You mumble your voice tight, as tears burn in your eyes.

“Pretend that you’re made of stone,” Soap finishes Simon’s thought, as he also wraps his arms around you.

“We’ll be back Love, before you know it,” Simon kisses your hair.

“And in one piece too,” Soap adds.

“Promise?” You mumble into them.

“We promise.”

[splishfish]

Watch (NSFW)

Tomura Shigaraki x AFAB Reader

Tags: Mutual Masturbation, Fingering, Established Relationship, Use of The Word Slut, Slight Dirty Talk, Good girl is Used Once, Crude Tomura

WC: 943

“You…want to watch me jerk off?”

"Yeah."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You…want to watch me jerk off?” “Yeah.” That simple conversation was what led you two where you were now. Sitting in front of Tomura with your legs crossed together, and him manspreading on the bed, his pants strewn somewhere across the floor. His flaccid penis laid on his balls, an unimpressed expression on his face as he watched you stare at him.

“Your dick is cute…” You mumbled, smiling affectionately at his penis.

A scowl formed on his face, and he glared at you as he grumbled out. “It’s not cute. Don’t call it that.”

A small giggle left your lips, and your eyes trailed up to him curiously. “So…are you gonna jerk off?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the base of his cock. He limply wiggled it, muttering. “Show me your tits. I need to get hard.”

You sighed, reaching for the hem of your tanktop and preparing to slide it off when he suddenly stopped you. A look of confusion formed on your face, and he smirked as he spoke.

“No. Like this.” Suddenly, one of his hands grabbed the collar of your top, yanking it down and causing your breasts to spill out and bunch up at the top. You gasped in surprise, shooting a glare at him.

“Seriously?! You’re gonna stretch out my top!” “Shut up. It makes your tits look bigger, so be a good girl and play with ‘em to get me hard.” A scoff escaped your lips, but you didn’t argue. Bringing your hands up to your breasts, you began to gently rub at the softened nubs. You cupped your breasts gently, holding them up as your index fingers drew small circles around them, slowly hardening your nipples into stiff peaks. Once they were hard, you began to slowly pinch and twist them, pulling on the sensitive flesh and letting small muffled noises of pleasure escape your lips.

Your eyes trailed down to his penis, which was slowly beginning to stiffen up. He grabbed the base, pumping his cock at the same pace as your gentle stimulation. He hummed in satisfaction, before speaking again with a casual tone.

“I wanna see your pussy.” “How charming.”

One removal of sweats and underwear later, you sat in bed with Tomura in front of you, and your legs spread wide enough for him to get a good view of your pretty cunt. He groaned once he saw your pretty folds, stroking his cock before pausing. He scrunched his nonexistent eyebrows, before speaking in a puzzled voice. “Why aren’t you wet?” A few minutes of explaining how women aren’t constantly aroused later, Tomura violently fisted himself to the sight of your two fingers snuggly pumping in and out of your pussy. He tilted his head back, a small thunk being heard as his head hit the bed frame. The tip of his cock weeped constantly, precum coating his hand and causing a slick noise to echo through the room. His voice echoed through the room, small moans and cute whines slipping from his chapped lips, a pink hue coating his face and a small sheen of sweat coated his face.

You weren’t any different, two fingers pumping in and out of your now soaked pussy and small moans of pleasure escaping your lips. Hooded eyes locked onto his cock, the red mushroom tip disappearing and reappearing with every thrust of Tomura’s hand. A whiney voice escaped you, muttering in desperation. “Tomu…wanna see you cum…ah…touch your balls for me…please?” A groan of pleasure escaped him, and he squeezed his aching cock as he responded. “Fuck..you’re such a slut…watching me jerk off and telling me to fondle my balls…you like this huh?” You nodded your head, closing your eyes as you brought your second hand up to play with your clit. Small circles rubbed against the throbbing nub, and a loud whine escaped you as you begged in a hoarse voice. “Please…yes…I’m a slut...please..wanna see you cum…” He chuckled weakly, bringing his hand down to squeeze and toy with his balls. He groaned in pleasure, a curse escaping him as he bucked his hips. “Oh fuck…’m gonna cum baby…”

It wasn’t too long after he muttered those words that he squeezed his balls, almost painfully, as he got out rope after rope of cum. It splattered onto his hand, even reaching as far as his shirt, staining it with a white streak. As he panted, still languidly stroking himself, he watched as you finger yourself, desperately attempting to reach your own peak.

Crawling over, he settled besides you, raising your leg up and placing your calf on his shoulder, spreading you wide. A small whine escaped you, and you leaned back to lay on your forearms as he took control. His hand quickly replaced your own, slipping two fingers inside your warmth. A loud moan escaped you, his fingers reaching deeper inside. One of the better things about having Tomura use his hands is how rough they are. His fingers are dry and calloused, scratching your insides in a way that made you curl your toes and scream.

It didn’t take long for him to finally help you reach your climax, your hips bucking up into the air as a broken moan escaped your throat. Your warm heat clenched down on his fingers, causing him to grunt before pulling them out, a string of your arousal sticking to his index and middle finger.

Panting from the blissful experience, you took your leg off his shoulder, before wrapping yourself around him. He grunted before wrapping his arms around you in return, nuzzling his face into your hair.

aaahh!! I’m slowly figuring out this app! Are the ombré colors cool? ;3

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : GAME NIGHT : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Logan Howlett x F!Stark!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men/MCU

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None! Mentions of (Y/N)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: You and Logan get invited to the Avengers game night by your father, Tony Stark. As usual, Wade tags along.

Part 2 of ‘Meet The Family’ (or can be read as a standalone)

IT WAS A WARM SATURDAY EVENING AT THE AVENGERS COMPOUND, and the living room was already buzzing with chatter and laughter. Tony Stark had decided to host a game night, something rare but always chaotic in the best way possible. Naturally, you and Logan had been invited. Well, more like dragged into it by Tony, who had left you a not-so-subtle voicemail: "Game night. Be there, or I’ll build an Iron Man suit with your name on it. Logan too."

Now, you were sitting on the couch, sandwiched between Logan, who had that same calm, unbothered expression, and Wade, who had somehow found his way into the compound again without being invited.

“Alright, team,” Tony announced, standing at the head of the room like he was about to launch into a company presentation. “Tonight, we’re doing things a little differently. No Monopoly. No Twister.” He glanced pointedly at Thor, who looked almost disappointed. “And definitely no more karaoke. Clint, I'm looking at you.”

Clint snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Hey, my rendition of ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ was iconic.”

“Iconic, yes,” Tony quipped. “Also responsible for me needing to soundproof this place. No, tonight, we’re going to play—wait for it— Avengers Trivia.”

There was a collective groan from around the room. Steve facepalmed, and Natasha narrowed her eyes at Tony. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious, Nat,” Tony replied, a grin spreading across his face. “Jarvis is going to be our quizmaster. Everyone teams up in pairs, and we’ll see who really knows the most about this weird, dysfunctional little family we’ve built.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to you, one eyebrow raised. “Trivia? This what you do for fun?”

You chuckled, nudging him playfully. “Trust me, it gets wild.”

Wade, who was seated cross-legged on the floor like a child, raised his hand. “Ooh, ooh! I call Logan as my partner!”

“Absolutely not,” Logan deadpanned, cutting him off without hesitation.

“Rude,” Wade muttered under his breath.

Tony clapped his hands. “Alright, pick your partners. (Y/N), you’re with Logan. Nat, you’re with Steve. Clint, you’re with—”

“Me,” Wade interrupted, grinning maniacally. “The unstoppable duo is back!”

Clint groaned but didn’t argue. “Great. This’ll be fun.”

Thor was happily pairing up with Bruce, already talking about how their combined Asgardian and science knowledge would be “unmatched in the Nine Realms.”

“Let’s get started!” Tony called, snapping his fingers. “Jarvis, first question!”

The familiar voice of the AI butler filled the room. “First question: Who was the first Avenger to officially join S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

Before anyone could answer, Wade leaped to his feet. “Easy! It was Deadpool! Wait, no, I was too cool for S.H.I.E.L.D. It was Cap. Yeah, totally Captain America.”

“That’s correct,” Jarvis responded, and Wade pumped his fists triumphantly.

Steve glanced at Wade in disbelief. “How do you—never mind, I don’t want to know.”

Natasha smirked. “Looks like we’re off to a good start.”

Logan, leaning back in his seat, glanced at you with a smirk. “They’re really competitive about this, aren’t they?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Jarvis continued, “Second question: Which Avenger has the most confirmed hand-to-hand combat victories?”

Thor stood up, beaming with pride. “It is clearly I! Thor Odinson, warrior of Asgard!”

“Actually, the answer is Natasha Romanoff,” Jarvis corrected.

Thor froze, his confidence momentarily faltering. “Ah, well… yes, Lady Natasha is indeed formidable in battle.”

Natasha gave a small, smug wave. “Don’t feel bad, Thor. You’ve got the hammer thing going for you.”

The next few questions flew by, with Clint and Wade bickering over every answer, Steve trying to be diplomatic, and Tony repeatedly congratulating himself for knowing all the answers to his own questions.

Finally, Jarvis posed a question that had Logan sitting up straighter: “What is the most common alias used by Wolverine in the field?”

Wade immediately blurted, “Oh! Oh! It’s Wolverine! Wait, no—Patch! Or is it ‘That Angry Canadian Guy’? Ooh, I know—Hairy Murder Grandpa!”

Logan shot Wade a warning look. “Don’t push it.”

Wade, not knowing when to quit, leaned closer to Clint and stage-whispered, “I’m pretty sure it’s Patch. He wore an eye patch. So mysterious, so dashing.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Is it Patch?”

Logan nodded. “That’s one of them.”

Jarvis confirmed, “Correct. Wolverine has used the alias Patch on numerous occasions, particularly in Madripoor.”

Wade looked smug, puffing out his chest. “See? I know my friends. Not that we’re friends, but you know, friends in a ‘he’ll tolerate me’ kind of way.”

Logan’s gaze met yours, and you couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of the situation. “You’re handling this a lot better than I thought you would,” you whispered to him.

He shrugged. “Not my first rodeo with these types. They’re alright. Except him,” he said, nodding toward Wade, who was now debating with Clint whether Deadpool could be considered an honorary Avenger.

After a few more rounds of questions—with your team surprisingly holding its own—Tony stood up, waving his hand for attention. “Alright, alright. Let’s mix things up. I’m bored of trivia. Time for the lightning round: Avengers Charades.”

“Oh no,” Steve muttered under his breath, already looking weary.

“Oh yes!” Tony replied, grinning mischievously. “Everyone, pair up with a new partner. This time, one person will act out an iconic Avenger moment, and the other person guesses.”

Clint clapped his hands together. “This should be good. Wade, you’re on my team. Let’s see if you can manage to not ruin this.”

“Challenge accepted!” Wade chirped.

Natasha swapped with you so that you were now paired with Steve, while Logan found himself paired with Bruce. Bruce looked mildly terrified, but Logan just nodded in his calm, stoic way.

Tony raised his hand again. “Alright, first team up—Logan and Bruce. Let’s see what you’ve got!”

Bruce stood up, nervously adjusting his glasses. “I’ll, uh, act it out. You guess.”

Logan grunted. “Fine.”

Bruce stepped to the middle of the room and began... well, thrashing around. He flailed his arms, growling and making these deep, guttural noises, then pretended to smash something invisible with both hands.

Logan blinked. “The Hulk?”

“Correct!” Tony shouted, laughing. “That was the easiest one! Come on, Bruce, give us something harder next time!”

Bruce, looking sheepish, sat back down as Logan gave him a brief nod of approval.

Next, it was your turn with Steve. You drew a card from the deck Tony had provided and grinned. Oh, this was going to be fun. You stood up, positioned your hands like you were grabbing two handles, then mimed jumping out of a plane with a parachute. Steve’s eyes lit up with recognition.

“Cap jumping out of the Quinjet without a parachute.”

“Correct!” Tony called, and Steve laughed, shaking his head. “I knew you were gonna do that one.”

As the game went on, Wade acted out a scene from Thor: Ragnarok with over-the-top dramatics, pretending to be both Thor and Hulk fighting in the arena. Clint just threw his hands in the air. “I’m not guessing this.”

Thor, of course, took the opportunity to stand up and reenact an exaggerated version of his own scene, complete with an invisible Mjölnir that he swung wildly around the room.

“Another point for Team Asgard!” Thor announced proudly, and Bruce just shook his head.

Finally, it came down to Tony’s team—himself and Nat. Tony drew a card and immediately smirked. He stood up, putting on a ridiculously exaggerated “hero” pose, and then pretended to fire repulsor blasts from his hands.

Natasha crossed her arms. “Really, Tony? You’re just doing yourself?”

“Can you blame me?” Tony replied, winking at her.

Natasha sighed. “Iron Man in literally every movie you’ve been in.”

“Bingo!” Tony grinned, bowing dramatically as if he’d just performed Shakespeare at the Globe.

The night wrapped up with everyone gathered in the living room, laughing and sharing stories. You leaned against Logan, feeling his steady presence beside you as the chaos of your family—both old and new—buzzed around you.

“Well,” Logan said quietly, watching as Thor tried to explain to Clint why throwing Mjölnir wasn’t cheating in charades, “this wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. “Told you. We’re a weird bunch, but we’re family.”

Logan looked down at you, a rare softness in his eyes. "Yeah, I can see that."

Just as the moment settled between you two, Wade suddenly jumped up, startling everyone. "Wait! One last round! We can't end game night without one final showdown."

Tony groaned, already halfway out of his seat. "Wade, it's late. And I think we've done enough—"

"No!" Wade insisted dramatically, waving his arms. "It's tradition! And by tradition, I mean something I just made up. The Ultimate Battle: Avengers Pictionary!"

"God, no," Clint muttered, but it was too late. Wade was already tearing open a random box from Tony's game collection, pulling out a whiteboard and markers.

"Alright, alright," Natasha sighed. "One round, Wade. One."

Wade grinned and tossed the marker at Logan, who caught it midair with practiced ease. "You, Logan! You’re up first!"

Logan glanced at the marker, clearly unamused, then at you. "Pictionary, really?"

You shrugged with a grin. "Rules are rules. Besides, I wanna see how good your art skills are."

With a small grunt of resignation, Logan stood and moved to the whiteboard, glancing briefly at the card Wade handed him. His eyes narrowed slightly, and then, without a word, he began to draw.

At first, the lines were slow, hesitant, but as the seconds ticked by, Logan’s rough sketch started taking shape. There was a figure—a man, with claws and an iconic stance.

Tony leaned forward, grinning. "Oh, this one's obvious."

But before anyone could guess, Wade leapt up. "It’s me! Deadpool! No, wait, it’s—"

"Logan," you cut in with a smirk, recognizing the stance. "It's him. Wolverine."

Logan stopped drawing, looked back at the group, and gave a small, satisfied nod. "Yep."

The room erupted into laughter, and Tony threw his hands up. "Okay, that's it. Game night over. Logan wins."

Logan shook his head, placing the marker down. "This was ridiculous."

"Ridiculously fun," Wade chimed in, unbothered by Logan’s usual gruff demeanor.

As the night wrapped up for real this time, you leaned against Logan once more, feeling the warmth of his presence amidst the laughter and camaraderie around you. Sure, game night had been chaotic, but in the end, it was just another reminder that no matter how strange or dysfunctional, this was your family.

And Logan? Well, he was officially part of it now, too.

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[eddieandbird]

Plant Kisses—

Imagine Eddie catches you feeling insecure - Based on a quote by Tyler Knott Gregson

tags/warnings: fluff | genderless reader | blurb (0.8k words) | comfort

———

You’d assumed while your back was turned that Eddie was putting all his focus into practicing this new guitar riff he claimed was ‘shredding his fingertips off’. Really, it just gave his hands something to do while he curiously set his eyes upon you.

You sat on the floor with your legs crossed, your body hunched over as you looked into his floor-length mirror. You were poking and pulling at your skin, silently examining every flaw you came across. Eddie was no mind reader, but he was sensitive enough to know that there wasn’t a kind thing you were telling yourself in your head.

There was only so much of it he could take, and after ten maddening minutes, he was ready to put a stop to it. A low hum rang out of his amp as he set his guitar onto its stand, the sound still wasn’t enough to bring you out of your obsessive trance. He slid onto his knees, bringing them to frame your hips as he sat down with you.

“What on earth are you doing?” He scooped up your chin and squished your cheeks together, stopping you from picking at your skin any further.

“Nothing,” You gave a typical, dismissive answer. You could see his unimpressed pout from the corner of his eye.

“Nothing, huh? You really think I’m gonna believe that?” Eddie swiped his hand across both your shoulders, bringing your hair to your back before combing it out with your fingers.

You shot him a petulant glare. “I don’t know what you want me to say,”

You could feel your heart thrum at his gentle actions, already succumbing to the softness he seemed to only have for you.

He raised an eyebrow at your expression, a humorous smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t give me that look,” he chided, lightly tugging on the back of your hair to keep your attention. “We both know you’re such a bad liar,” he chuckled.

His hands slid down from your shoulders to your arms, his touch feather-light as he trailed his fingers along your skin. “I can already guess what’s going through that head of yours,” he said, gently pulling you back to sit on his lap.

“Oh yeah? What do you think is going on in here?” You tapped a finger to your temple, playfully challenging him.

“Some stupid bullshit about how your skin isn’t clear or you have a double-chin, or that you need to suck in your stomach more so you look a bit smaller, blah, blah, blah,” As Eddie rambled, his arms slowly snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Yeah? And so what if I was thinking all of that?” You mumbled under your breath, your arms following the placement of his. His inferences were right, causing those stubborn walls of yours to crumble.

He tilted his head to the side, studying your face with an amused look in his eyes. “Like I said, I think it’s bullshit,” he stated bluntly.

“You are so beautiful and you know it,” his thumbs slowly traced along your abdomen.

He leaned his head down to the crook of your shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of your neck before placing a kiss there. “You’re perfect just the way you are,”

“And what if I don’t feel that way, huh?” You exhaled slowly letting the air out through your pouty lips.

It wasn’t like you didn’t appreciate his sentiment. It wasn’t either of your faults that your insecurities screamed much louder than anything he was able to say.

Eddie shook his head without replying. He dipped his head down, continuing freckle kisses along the skin your tank top allowed him to touch, even running his lips down the backs of your arms. The sensations built a warmth in your stomach, but somehow it didn’t distract you from the fact that he still hadn’t responded.

“Hellooo. Eddie Munson, I’m talking to you,” You teased, waving your hand in his face.

He picked up his head. “I heard you, sweetheart. I’m answering your question,” Not another second passed and he was back to what he was doing before.

“How is this answering my question?”

“This-” he planted a kiss on your nape, “is what-” and another kiss to your shoulder. “I’m gonna do every time-” he continued, “you feel like this…” Eddie punctuated his statement with a kiss on the top of your chest.

Eddie stopped for a moment, letting out a loud exhale. He studied your reflection in the mirror, proudly admiring the subtle flush he had caused to spread over your skin. You wished to say something snarky in response, but his sincerity caused you to surrender to whatever deeper meaning this display of affection had for him.

“You’re gonna kiss me every time I don’t feel beautiful?” You asked with only a hint of sarcasm.

He nodded, fitting his head into the space beside your neck.

“I promise to plant kisses like seeds on your body, so in time you can grow to love yourself as I love you,”

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

pairing: tommy miller x waitress!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 2.9k

summary: what if joel didn’t answer tommy’s call from jail? and what if the waitress he’d been defending that night bailed him out instead?

author’s note: a brief tommy interlude inspired by a line from taylor swift’s song “slut!”. i hope you enjoy and if you do, please consider reblogging or commenting! 🩵

tags/warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), no outbreak au, no use of y/n, reader gets harassed by a drunk bar patron and physically grabbed, bar fights, mentions of alcohol, friends to lovers, tommy smoking cigarettes, i gave tommy an insane amount of game and for what reason, thigh riding, semi-public sex, car sex, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, pet names, creampie. if i’ve missed any, please let me know!

“You’ve reached Joel Miller. Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now…”

“Son of a bitch,” Tommy hisses. The voicemail tone beeps and he continues with, “Joel, answer your goddamn phone. I’m at county. And no, it ain’t my fault. Just…get here when you can, I guess.”

He hangs up the receiver, head low. The officer watching him clears his throat.

“C’mon, Miller. Back to the tank,” he says. Tommy sighs.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’, Chuck.”

Tommy drags his feet across the dingy linoleum. His jaw aches from a sloppy right hook that managed to hit its mark and his eyes burn thanks to the unforgiving drunk tank fluorescent lights. There are two other people in the cell with him this evening — a man who reeks of vodka slumped in the corner in a wrinkled suit and another man who is staring solemnly at a spot on the floor as he tries not to topple over. 

Tommy takes a seat on the long concrete bench and stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankles and folding his hands over his stomach. He might as well get comfortable, there’s no telling when his brother might check his voicemails. As he sits his thoughts drift to what even landed him here in the first place.

Tommy watches you as you approach the bar, a frown tugging at the corners of your lips. You tap the service machine, entering an order with more force than strictly necessary.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks. You glance at him.

“Yeah, just some group of assholes over by the darts table that think cleavage is an invitation,” you reply. “It’s an invitation for tips. Not hands.”

“You need me to step in?” He offers. You wave a hand at him but your frown turns into a bright smile.

“No, no, I can handle it. Thank you, though, Tommy.” You slide another bottle of beer across the bar. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, darlin’,” he says with a wink. “You let me know if you need savin’.”

“Always such a gentleman.” 

The bell to the kitchen window rings and you leave to pick up the order. Tommy watches the sway of your hips in your low rise jeans that hug your ass just right, wondering what it would be like to peel them off and get his hands on the soft skin underneath. 

He’s watching the fight on the TV above the bar when he hears a glass shatter behind him. He turns toward the sound, thinking that maybe someone had gotten too rowdy and knocked their glass off the table, but instead he sees you struggling against the hold of a man who’s pulled you onto his lap.

“Let go!” You shout, kicking your legs.

“Come on, sweetheart,” the brute says, arms wrapped around your waist. “Just one lil kiss is all I’m askin’ for!”

Tommy is out of his seat with red in his vision, hands curled into fists that are begging for a target. Other patrons watch with interest, and he’s not sure if he’s angrier at the man putting his hands on you or the crowded room of people not bothering to help.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off of her,” he barks, the same tone he developed after years of service in the Army. 

The man releases you, the sudden loss of support causing you to slide to the ground with a shout of surprise. Tommy moves to help you up but the asshole stands, blocking him and shoving his shoulders.

“This don’t involve you, pretty boy,” the man snarls. Behind him, you’ve managed to get up and you hurry away from the scene. “Mind your fuckin’ business.”

“It became my fuckin’ business as soon as she said no and you didn’t listen,” Tommy says, straightening his shoulders. The man laughs and looks back at his friends.

“This fuckin’ guy,” he slurs. “Defendin’ some whore waitress.”

Throw the first punch, Tommy thinks. Come on, asshole.

The man focuses his attention back on Tommy, stepping close enough that they’re toe-to-toe now. He’s maybe an inch taller and he tilts his chin to stretch that inch as far as it will go and he’s breathing through his nose like a bull about to be released from its holding.

“Get out of my fuckin’ face,” Tommy says. The man laughs, the stench of beer pouring from him. A fist cracks across Tommy’s jaw and he stumbles backwards from the force of it.

Showtime, he thinks.

“Miller!” An officer calls out, yanking Tommy from his thoughts. He looks up and the officer jerks his head towards the door. “You made bond. Come get your stuff.”

Tommy stands, relief flooding him. Joel must have finally check his voicemail. At least he won’t have to spend the whole night in here. 

“‘Bout time you showed up,” he says as he enters the lobby while he tries to thread his belt through his jeans at the same time. 

“Sorry, had to finish my shift,” you reply. His head snaps up in surprise, task forgotten as you wave your fingers at him.

“What’re you doin’ here?” He asks. 

“You said your brother was busy tonight, so I was worried you might not have someone to bail you out,” you tell him with a shrug. “Besides, you’re in here because of me. It’s the least I could do.”

Tommy laughs. “Ain’t your fault, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, by the way. Guess I did need saving, after all.”

“You could’a handled him fine. I just sped up the process.”

He’s staring at you now, gaze caught with yours as you give him a soft smile. Tommy spots the time on the clock hanging on the wall above your head.

2:32 a.m.

“You wanna get breakfast?” 

The diner Tommy directs you to boasts a neon sign that advertises twenty-four hour breakfast. The booths have cracked red vinyl and the menus are faded from use but you can read it well enough to order French toast while he orders chocolate chip pancakes with a side of hash browns. He builds pyramids out of the coffee creamer cups while you talk and talk and talk. You laugh as he drowns his food in syrup and you steal a bite of them despite giving him a hard time about it. 

Afterwards, as you walk together to your car, your palms are a little clammy and your heart pounds the slightest bit faster. You’ve had the biggest crush on Tommy since the first time he slid onto a bar stool at your shitty bar and ordered a Miller Lite (“It’s funny ‘cause it’s my last name!”). He’s always polite, never leaves a mess, and makes you laugh even when you’re having a tough night. 

"You alright? You got quiet," Tommy says. You swallow nervously.

"Yeah, I'm totally fine," you reply. He looks like he doesn't want to believe you but he doesn't press for more.

"You mind if I have a smoke before we go?"

"That's fine."

He digs a crumpled box of Camels from his back pocket, sliding a cigarette out and bringing it to his lips. He pats his thighs and then his chest in search of his lighter, finding it in the pocket of his button up shirt. Metal Zippo lighter finally in hand, he flicks it open and brings it closer to his face, flickering flame casting an orange glow over his features.

He breathes in as the cigarette catches the flame and closes the lighter with a quick snap, exhaling the smoke with the cigarette still held between his lips. Lighter tucked away, he inhales again and pinches the filter of the cigarette between two fingers to pull it away and exhale the smoke into the air.

“You gotta quit lookin’ at me like that,” he says. “You keep watchin’ my mouth and it makes me want to do somethin’ real stupid.”

You lean against your car and he steps close. He smells like a mix of smoke and syrup and sweat, three things that shouldn’t have your pulse pounding and yet combined with the way Tommy’s dark eyes focus on you and the dimple in his cheek as he smirks, you don’t stand a chance.

“More stupid than getting in a bar fight?” You finally ask.

“That wasn’t stupid. Got me here with you, didn’t it?” He inhales another lungful of smoke and tips his head back to exhale. “You gonna let me kiss you?”

You smile at him, lifting your hands to smooth your palms over his chest. His cheeks turn a faint shade of pink that trails down his neck, disappearing beneath the white tank top he wore beneath an unbuttoned pink shirt. 

“That’s your big stupid idea? Just kissing me?” 

Another drag from his cigarette, another smirk, a hand on your hip as he shuffles closer. “Mm, to start.” He brings his lips close to your ear, warm breath tickling your skin as he murmurs, “You didn’t answer the question.”

“What question?”

“You—“ a kiss beneath your ear “—gonna—“ another to your jaw “—let me—“ a third to your cheekbone “—kiss you?”

“Yeah, Tommy. You can kiss me,” you whisper. He wastes no time, greedy lips pressed to yours as soon as he gets the green light. His tongue explores your mouth and tangles with yours, leaving behind the taste of pancakes and smoke. 

A thigh presses between your legs, a new pressure and friction that you explore with a tentative roll of your hips. That hand on your waist urges your movements — forward and back at a slow and steady pace. He pulls back from your kiss and brings the cigarette to his lips.

“So goddamn pretty,” he whispers, smoke spilling from his mouth and disappearing into the night air. “Pretty as a fuckin’ picture.”

He flicks the butt of his cigarette to the ground and then he’s on you with renewed purpose, kissing you deeply with a broad palm to your cheek, tilting your face to the best angle to devour you. When he’s gotten his fill of your mouth, his hungry lips slide across your jaw and down your neck, teeth digging in roughly against your pounding pulse and making you gasp.

“Hush, sugar,” he says, a reprimand with little heat as he smiles against your skin. That hand on your waist has found the fly of your jeans, deft fingers working the button open and the zipper down. “You want a little more attention?”

“Mhm,” you reply, nodding your head quickly. He slips his hand beneath the elastic of your panties, quickly swirling over your needy clit. He lets out a deep groan, one that has you clenching on nothing and desperate for more.

“God, you’re fuckin’ soaked,” he says. He presses two thick fingers to your tight entrance. “You can take it, right?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before pressing them inside, the tight pressure making you rise up on your toes in surprise. He’s got a limited range of movement thanks to your jeans but he still manages a sloppy grind of his palm to your clit and curl of his fingers that has you squirming as your release builds inside of you.

“You want more, baby?” Tommy asks, dark eyes a little wild and desperate. “You feel so good in my fingers, I just know you’d take my cock so fuckin’ good.”

“Tommy,” you pant, your hands clutching at his shoulders. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He yanks his hand from your jeans and before you can complain, he’s opening the back passenger door and urging you into the back seat of your sedan.

“Pants off,” he demands as you shuffle across the seats. He sits beside you and starts to unbuckle his belt. “If you’re gonna cum, it’s gonna be on my cock.”

His words have you scrambling to remove your boots and pants, graceless movements in the cramped space. Your elbow connects with his ribs and he hisses as you giggle, wiggling your pants and underwear off. It’s dark in the car, dim light from the parking lot filtering in the windows enough for you to catch the smile on Tommy’s face.

“C’mere,” he drawls, patting his thighs. He’s freed his cock from his jeans and you admire the thick length of him for a brief moment before obeying, straddling his lap. You drag your wet pussy over him, twin groans filling the still air of the car as you do. His hands flex against your thighs and his head tips back against the seat. “Fuck, you feel so damn good.”

It’s not the most comfortable encounter you’ve ever had, with your neck bent so that you don’t hit your head and your skin already slick with sweat from the cramped space and the Texas heat but, heaven help you, the look on Tommy’s face makes it worth it. You reach between your bodies and wrap your hand around him, holding him still as you position him at your entrance. 

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss as you lower yourself, your eager cunt adjusting to him with only the slightest pinch of pain that quickly transforms into a delicious fullness. “Oh my god,” you whimper.

“You can just call me Tommy,” he teases, but his voice is just as wrecked as yours. You rise up slightly on your knees and drop down sharply, a satisfied smile on your face when his laughter morphs into a choked curse and his hands grip your hips tightly.

His fingers find the hem of your shirt and lift it up only enough to expose your bra, the cups of which he roughly pulls down until he’s able to get his hands on your breasts, groping you roughly. You moan as his lips wrap around one pert nipple, tongue swirling over the sensitive flesh and light dragging his teeth across it.

The windows grow foggy and your skin starts to get slick with sweat the longer you work yourself over his cock. It’s messy and dirty and uncomfortable, your thighs burn and your neck aches, but Tommy’s making it his goal to get his lips on any skin he can reach, whispered praises between each bite and kiss that has your head growing fuzzy and your core getting tight.

“Feel so good, darlin’,” he groans. “Goddamn, I need you to cum, baby. You were so close before, weren’t ya? I can get you there again, right?”

You nod, mouth open in a silent moan. He presses his thumb to your bottom lip, slipping it experimentally over your teeth until it presses against your tongue. You suck on the digit, reveling in the way his eyes roll back and he groans, hips flexing to meet yours and making you cry out.

“‘M so close, Tommy,” you whisper when he withdraws his thumb from your mouth. 

“Yeah, I can feel it, sweetheart,” he growls. When you lift up he holds your hips steady, suspended above his lap. He pounds into you from below, rough slaps of his hips that make you press a hand to the ceiling of the car to steady yourself against the onslaught of sensation. “Come on, baby, come on,” he says through gritted teeth.

It’s the dark look in his eye and the flex of his jaw, the shimmer of sweat on his light tan skin and the feel of his fingers digging bruises into your hips, the lewd noises and the desperate moans against each others mouths that all combine to shove you over an edge you’d been balancing on since, if you’re being honest, he rushed over to help you back at the bar. You bite into his lip as your orgasm crashes over you, his sloppy thrusts and the heat blooming inside of you telling you he reached his peak as well.

You slump forward, panting heavily against Tommy’s neck. His head tips back against the seat, chest heaving with his own labored breaths. His fingers draw patterns against your sweaty back.

“I feel gross,” you groan. Tommy laughs.

“Sure know how to make a guy feel good about himself, don’t ya?” He teases. 

“I just meant I’m all sticky.”

“Mm, don’t worry. You can take a shower at my place.”

You pull back to look him in the eye. He’s sporting a satisfied grin as you raise your eyebrows at him. “Oh yeah? You taking me home, Miller?”

“Sure am.” His confident look falters the slightest bit. “I mean, if you want.”

You kiss him, slow and sweet. 

“Yeah. I want that.”

The loud ringing of a phone breaks through Tommy’s slumber. He reaches out a hand from beneath the sheets and blindly finds the offensive device amongst the clutter on his nightstand.

“What,” he groans when he’s managed to flip it open.

“Tommy! What the hell, man,” Joel snaps. “I just got your voicemail. Left my phone upstairs and fell asleep on the couch. Are you alright?”

“What?” Tommy asks again. Joel sighs.

“You called from county and said you’d gotten arrested. I called ‘em this morning and they said you got bailed out. One of your friends come by or somethin’?”

Tommy glances over to you, where your bare shoulder peeks out from the sheets, the fabric draped across your curves. He smiles.

“Yeah, a real good friend. Guardian angel, even,” he says. 

Another sigh from Joel, this time one of relief. “Well, good. Quit gettin’ into trouble after ten, I can’t stay up that late anymore.”

“Sure,” Tommy agrees. You turn over, sleepy eyes blinking up at him. “I gotta go.”

He hangs up without waiting for a goodbye. You scooch closer and lay your head on his chest.

“A guardian angel, huh?” You ask. He kisses the top of your head.

“Yep. Saved my ass from the wrong place at the right time.”

Masterlists available here!

[steddie-island]

Wallpaper

Written for day 1 of @stevieweek | Prompt: Stobin Rating: G | WC: 1,144 | Tags: MTF Steve Harrington, Coming Out, Robin Buckley's POV ao3 | Divider credit Now with a part 2!

They’re sitting in the bathroom. Steve’s thigh bumps against Robin’s, and he can’t stop biting on his thumbnail.

It’s a nervous habit, Robin knows, one he only gets when things feel like they might be spiraling out of his control in a major way. Sometimes she’s surprised it’s not something he does more often, but she knows he likes to look nice. Likes for other people to think he looks nice, too. He’d also crudely pointed out once upon a time that “No one wants to be fingered by someone with a bloody hangnail, Robin, Jesus.” It was gross, but now that’s one habit she’s managed to break herself out of, thanks to him.

“Hey.” Robin bumps his leg and watches as he jumps, like he’s forgotten that she’s there. “It’s just me. You know you can talk to me about anything.”

That’s true, too. Steve’s seen every lump (“It’s cancer I swear to god it’s cancer!” “That’s a zit.”) and she’s seen Steve’s right back (“That’s an ingrown hair, dingus, I think you’re supposed to shave in the other direction. Also maybe try it with your eyes open.”) They’ve helped talk each other off of the ledge so many times. When they traded the stomach flu back and forth, it was the two of them taking care of each other for one disgustingly hellacious week.

There’s nothing they can’t talk about, or help each other with. It makes Robin a little nervous that Steve is nervous, but she knows that whatever it is it’ll be fine. It always is.

“C’mon. We’re sitting on your bathroom floor. I know this is important.”

Steve pulls his thumb away from his mouth and crosses both arms across his chest. It’s then that Robin notices his hands are shaking a little.

“I’ve got something really… really important to talk to you about,” he says. His voice is a low rumble, and there’s a slight tremor, a wetness to it that she’s only heard a few times before.

“Yeah, I gathered that part,” she teases. Her shoulder bumps Steve’s, and then she reaches out to take one of his hands. As soon as their fingers lock Steve lets out a breath that he’s been holding. The tension eases from his shoulders, but only a little.

“I…” Steve clears his throat. His jaw works, and then he swallows hard. “I’ve been thinking, and… I…” He has to swallow again, so Robin tightens her grip and closes her other hand around his fingers, too.

She’s not going anywhere.

“I don’t think… I’m a boy?” A tear trails down his cheek and Steve quickly wipes it away. “I was thinking about all of these girls I’ve been with, and I liked them, but I think there might’ve been more to it? Like… like maybe I wanted some part of them to rub off on me. Like… I feel better when you paint my nails, and I like wearing lipgloss. I– I liked when we got our legs waxed together, and I like…” He bites his lips and brings his thumb back to his mouth to stroke the rough edge against his lip. “I know that all feels like… little stuff maybe, but it’s… I was thinking about it more, and… and I…” His next sigh is shakier, and there are more tears falling now.

Robin holds his hands even tighter and rests her chin against his shoulder. “That’s okay,” she says softly. “You don’t have to be a boy if you don’t want to be.” Her heart nearly breaks when Steve’s lower lip actually wobbles, and then he’s curling into her side.

“I– I don’t want to be,” he says. “I don’t want to be a boy. But I– I don’t want anyone to be mad at me–”

Robin lifts one hand to wipe his face. “No one’s going to be mad at you. No one who matters, anyway.” It’s not like the senior Harringtons have been around for a while now. The Party wasn’t surprised when Will came out, and they all dressed up to go to his first Pride with him. They’ve been okay with Eddie and Steve, and with her and Vicki.

And she knows that it’s not the same, being gay and not feeling like who you are fits who you’re supposed to be. But…

“They’ve faced hell dimensions and fought monsters,” Robin says. Her thumbs stroke over Steve’s knuckles, and she’s moved to sit in front of him instead so their knees knock together. “We almost lost Max, and came even closer to losing Eddie. You being a girl? That should be a piece of cake to them." She rests their foreheads together and brings Steve's hands up to kiss his— her— knuckles.

"What if it's not?" Steve grips Robin all the tighter and bites down on her lower lip. "What if they hate me?"

"Eddie will kick their asses, and then I'll send them packin'. If they won't love you for who you are, then we don't need them in our lives." It's something easier said than done, of course, advice Steve had given when Robin decided it was time to come out to her own parents.

There'd been an adjustment period, but come time for Will's first Pride, her parents were right there beside her.

"I haven't told Eddie yet," Steve says. That tremble is back in her voice, and more tears flow over her cheeks. "What if… what if he says he can't be with me anymore? What if he doesn't love me, Rob? What if he leaves because I'm a— a—" "A freak?" Robin finishes softly. "You, Steve Harrington, are worried your metalhead boyfriend, with his kitchen scratch tattoos and his tabletop speeches, will think that you're a freak?"

Steve blinks, then starts giggling. Quiet at first, then louder, until it's bubbling out of her and she's got her head resting against Robin's shoulder and an arm holding her ribs. "Fuck— you're right. Maybe I wasn't freaky enough before!"

"I walked in on you two once, I think there was more than enough freaky going on in that room." Robin laughs and takes Steve's hands again. The shaking has calmed, and Steve at least doesn't look like she's going to vomit— or worse, faint and get another concussion.

"Will you tell him with me?" Steve asks. "Just in case?"

"You know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, dingus." Robin pokes lightly at a fleck of turquoise paint on Steve's thumb. "Want me to paint your nails for you again before we go?"

Steve gives another wobbly smile. "I would like that a lot. Thanks, Rob."

"You're welcome, Stevie." Robin stands, tugs Steve to her feet, too, then towards her bedroom. "You know, if you're making big changes, this might be the perfect time to get rid of this ugly fucking wallpaper."

[skilledmeowjesty]

Pairing: Rafayel x afab MC

Genre: smut

Rating: 18+

Word count: 2.6k

Tags: Dom!MC, Sub!Raf, Bottom!Raf, fingering, teasing, PEGGING

Content: Rafayel asks the MC to peg him with a strap he already owns

A/N: Shameless content of one of my biggest Kinks (pegging) featuring the Sub!iest man from L&DS (Rafayel) 🥰

I will be writing more pegging/sub content of these bachelors in the future (this is a threat)

‘come over when youre off work, i got something i wanna talk to you about’

‘its been over 10 min since your shift ended and youre not here yet 😒’

‘20 min now traffic cant be that baddd’

‘25 min and still no reply 🥺’

‘you cant even answer?? 💔’

‘are you ignoring me??? 😢’

‘Fine, ig ill just drown myself since you hate me sm 😭’

Rolling your eyes, you read over the text messages Rafayel had been spamming you with for the past half hour, unable to unlock your phone to reply to any during your meeting at work, leaving it to buzz every few seconds during the important debriefing at the Hunter's Association and earning a raised brown from your captain as you gave her an apologetic smile in response

‘I just got out of a meeting, I'll be there in 10’ you text back, knowing how dramatic Rafayel could get whenever he doesn't receive your constant attention

“Who you textinggggg?” Tara asks playfully as she peeks over your shoulder to see your screen, catching a quick look at the dozens of messages and emojis before you lock your phone and shove it back in your pocket, “is it your boyfriend?”

“I.. yeah” you answer with a slight blush, still getting used to the title, even though it has been well over a month since you and the Lemurian became official, “he wants me to swing by his place now that I'm off work”

“Is he the one that was blowing up your phone during the meeting? I thought Captain Jenna was gonna blow a gasket” Tara giggled

“He can get pretty impatient” you say in reply, swinging your leg over your motorcycle and readying to drive to Rafayel's loft to see what he wants, “so I better head out”

“Okay, have fun!” She waves with a suggestive wink, and with that, you drive off

_____

When you finally arrive to Rafayel's place, he doesn't greet you at the gate, so, you invite yourself in, having gotten his security code back when he first decided you were going to be his new bodyguard

Knowing the layout like the back of your hand, you easily find him in his bedroom, where the artist sits on his massive bed with his back turned to you, his arms crossed, and though you can't see his face, you just know his signature pout is on his lips

“So, you finally decide to show” he grumbles, and you can't help but roll your eyes again

“I told you, I was in a meeting” you sigh, stepping fully into the room, careful as you avoid stepping on any of the many loose half finished sketches scattered across the floor, pencils and other art supplies discarded this way and that, making moving as difficult as walking through a minefield

“You still should've at least replied”

“What did you want to talk about?” You ask, an attempt to change the subject before the artist spirals into more sulking

It seems to work, and he finally turns to face you, the colors in his surreal eyes swirling with emotions you find you can't exactly place

Excitement? Definitely, but, something more, vulnerability? Almost uncertainty, and you find yourself tilting your head as you wait for him to speak

“So,” he starts, before pausing, gnawing at his lower lip between his teeth, as if he's trying to find the words

“So..?” You reply, hoping to encourage him to continue, seeing how it seemed incredibly important with the amount of messages he has been spamming you with

“Well, you already know I'm Lemurian” he says, and you just nod with a quirked brow, not understanding where he was going with it

Another pause, a breath, “and since we're not human, we have a different…form.. in a few things..” he trails off again

“I know…?” again, you look at him with a baffled expression, still not following his train of thought

Rafayel stops again, and you fight the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake the words out of him, growing as impatient as he was with you when he was spamming your inbox, not used to the man so hesitate in speaking whatever thing came to mind the second he thought of it

Rather than continue speaking, he reaches into his nightstand’s drawer, rumbling through it, a soft blush touching his face

“Raf, whatever you want to say, can you please just get on with-” your words cut off when he pulls out a rather LARGE and inhuman shaped silicone phallic toy, a harness quickly followed

You blink, staring for a few seconds at it while his eyes stay glued to your face, to your reaction

“What is that?” you finally ask

“A strap” he starts, the blush on his cheeks flushing more, overtaking his face, his ears turning a deep red, “it's modeled after Lemurians”

You stare at him in shock for a few seconds, before turning your attention back to the toy, the length, the size, the way it was shaped, curved up, a knot like bulge near the base, the head wide and vaguely resembling the end of a squid head, the edges riddled with groves like a tentacle, the massive toy looking otherworldly and definitely not what you'd have expected

“This.. is how Lemurians’,” you gesture down to his crotch, “look in merform?” You finish in disbelief, finally stepping towards him

He holds the toy out for you, though his eyes suddenly dart off to the side, refusing to meet your gaze as you take it to study

The size was much larger than anything you expected, the girth making it impossible to wrap your fingers around, taking two hands to fully hold it steady, turning it to and from, you look at it from all angles, still unable to fully grasp what Rafayel had said, that this was what his own length looked like in his Lemurian form, not seeing how it was POSSIBLE for something so large of that shape to enter ANYONE, Lemurian or otherwise

He hasn't said a thing, quiet as you inspect the dildo, but his blush has now traveled down his neck, the exposed parts of his chest visible from his unbuttoned shirt turning the same deep crimson his cheeks and ears held, as he once again shifted his eyes to stare at you, gauging your reaction

“You.. want me to use this on you?” You ask when the implications of what a ‘strap’ were came to mind, looking over at the simple black harness he had set next to him on the bed

Rafayel eagerly nods, staring at you like a puppy begging for a treat, his brows furrowing as he waits for your reply

“Would this even fi-”

“It will” he cuts you off mid word, his tone completely sure, as if he has no doubt, as realization dawns on you exactly why he must be so confident

The corner of your lip quirks into a half smirk, mischievous as you set the toy down next to him, your hand instead reaching to grab his chin, tilting his head up as you lean down from your place standing over his sitting form, bringing your lips closer to his own, breathing your next words out, “well, since you asked”

You waste no time kissing him then, half registering the shocked delight in his gaze as your arms move to snake around his shoulders and lean down, toppling you both over onto his expensive sheets

His hands immediately grip your hips as you straddle him, your fingers moving to quickly unbutton his shirt, undoing each one in a heist before yanking his top open and off

Your lips leave his to kiss up and down his neck, peppering the skin with soft pecks and light bites alike, and he moans, arching his back to into your hands when your fingers run over his chest, gently pinching at his hardening nipples before adding a bit more force

He's already panting under you after such a short amount of time; his hips lifting off the bed in a desperate attempt to grind into you, seeking friction, but lets out a whine when you put a stop to his rutting with a solid hand to hold him in place

“Hold still” you warn him, your hands shifting from how you held him to unbutton his pants, before yanking both them and his underwear down in one smooth motion, freeing his length that sprung out, the head smacking against his stomach and staining his skin with the precum already leaking out

You gather up a generous amount on the pads of your fingers, avoiding any real touch as you teasingly ignore his length to instead move past it, down, touching your slick digits against his entrance

He lets out a deep groan, and you feel it rumble from deep within his chest, his pale skin burning bright red, his hardened arousal twitching when you circle around, not putting any real pressure just yet

“Where's the lube?” you ask, purposefully pitching your voice into an innocent, if not slightly teasing tone, smirk on your lips as you look at him

He has thrown his head back, exposing his flushed neck, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard, his answer coming out in a choked whimper

“N-Nightstand drawer” he stutters, and you feel yourself clenching subconsciously at how utterly wrecked he looks, even though you have barely started

You reach your free hand out, blinding searching the open drawer before your fingers find the shape of the bottle

You pull it out, shifting where you straddled him to instead once again stand over him in between his legs

You push both his legs up against his chest which he shifts to hold up from the back of his knees, exposing his already fluttering hole, the smirk growing at the sight of him putting himself on full display for your eager gaze to sweep over

He still stubbornly refuses to look your way, but, you don't mind, enjoying the way his entire body was flushed deep red from his blush, the slight tremble in his limbs as you popped the cap of the lube bottle open, coating the fingers of your dominant hand

“Tell me if it hurts” you say, before gently press your index finger against him, easily pushing in, feeling very little resistance, immediately able to add your middle finger

He moans as you cant your fingers, brushing them over what you could immediately tell was his prostate, before pulling back, not wanting to overwhelm him as you scissor your fingers slightly to help stretch and loosen him, knowing it was important considering the size of the strap he wanted to use. Soon, you find yourself able to add a third, your ring finger, introducing it with another slight brush over his sweet spot to distract any discomfort he may feel as you stretch him more and more

His moans grow louder when you quicken the pace of your hand, fingers moving in and out of his waiting heat, canting, prodding, every once in a while brushing over where you knew he wants you to before once again ignoring it, half to avoid overstimulation, half teasing, feeling your own arousal damping your underwear, the sight of him completely falling apart under you turning you on more than you thought possible

“You seem pretty experienced in this” you tease, your pinkie joining in on the assault, causing his already arched back to arch more, taunt like a bow and you see his hands holding his legs up for you turning almost white with how hard he held his own limbs

“D-Don’t say it like that” he huffs, but the sound dissolves into a groan when your fingers once again prode against his prostate, cutting off any more words from him intentionally

Once you feel the muscles of his entrance completely loosen under your attentive movements, you move your hand back, and he lets out a whiny protest

You step back, grabbing the harness to easily put it on, deciding not to undress at all, excitement flooding through your veins at the power dynamic of it all, him, flushed and begging and nude on his back with his knees pressed to his chest on full display, and you, standing over him, still completely clothed as you attach the monstrous dick to the harness

As you coat the toy with a generous amount of lube, you see Rafayel releases his hold on one of his legs, hand moving to grasp his neglected length, but you quickly smack his hand away before he makes contact as you step closer once more

“No” you tell him, a mischievous glint in your eyes as, FINALLY, he looks back at you, the surreal color of his eyes overtaken by his blown out pupils, his lips parted as he pants, his chest heaving with each breath, and you can see the desperation in his gaze as he whines, yet again

“Whyyyyy” he pouts, furrowing his brows, but you ignored him in favor of lining the slick strap up to his waiting heat

“I control your pleasure” you breathe, and you see his eyes widen for a split second before you move, with solid hands on his hips, you pull him down onto the toy, pushing in in one smooth motion

He lets out a loud moan, louder than any you have ever heard from him before, which you immediately silence by crashing your mouth to his, swallowing the sound as you start to thrust

His legs wrap around your waist, his hands grasping desperately at the bedsheets, fingernails clawing into the fabric, his back arching further as pressing his chest against your own and you can feel his heart hammering away so quickly, so strongly

You angle each thrust, hitting where you KNOW his prostate is, overwhelming him into a desperate mess under you as he pulls his face away from your lips, turning his head to the side, his cries echoing off the walls, his legs trembling around your waist; you see tears start gathering in the corners of his eyes

He screams your name, over and over, louder and louder to the point you wonder vaguely if anyone else can hear him, even in his home so isolated from everyone else, he was being so loud

One of your hands leaves his hip to cover his mouth, cupping over his lips in an attempt to silence him

“Quiet, my lil conch shell” you breathe teasingly, and his eyes snap open, wide, the nickname proving to be his undoing

Reaching his limit, you feel his hot release spill out in between you two, his cum coating over your shirt and burning into the fabric, soaking it

You give a few extra thrusts, working him through his orgasm until his moans turn into pained groans from the overstimulation on his poor prostate

You finally pull back and out of him, leaving him a panting mess on the bed, his chest still heaving, his hips and legs trembling, his eyes completely glazed over, and you find yourself smirking at how completely fucked out he looks, just because of you

_____

It wasn't until later, when you're having some drinks with Tara, that you realize something

As she jokingly shows you a site she found while browsing the Internet for some new adult toys to spice up her bedroom, you see the very strap Rafayel said was modeled after Lemurians listed under “Monster Dragon”

You can't help but smirk when you ask Tara to send you a screencap to forward to your Lemurian lover

[justzluv]

Teachers favourite pt.1

Pairing: Mr.Miller (Millers Girl) X f!reader

Tags: NSFW(in the later chapter), Age Gap(reader is 18 Mr.Miller about 50), porn with plot(more tags will be added a soon as the chapter contains smut

word count: 834 ( short ikkkk)

It is early in the morning, one can hear the rain dripping from the windows in the classroom. Sitting there with my legs crossed, reading, I hear the classroom door open quietly. A man walks in, the wooden flooring creaks under his slow, but heavy steps. He arrives at his desk and turns around to face me, "Who are you?" he asks me with a stern look on his face as he leans onto his desk. I give him a soft smile and answer him "I'm Y/N", his eyes wander over my face as I answer him.

"I´m Mr.Miller" he pauses for a second looking directly into my eyes and moving closer to my desk. "Are you new in town?", "No, just wanted to take a course this year that is demanding", I can see a faint smile on his face as I answer him. "well I'm glad to have you here but I'm sorry to tell you are a bit early", "oh I don't mind, I knew about that ,he chuckles to himself that moment the school bell rings and the doors swing open Ii turn around to see other students rushing into the classroom.

After the lessons ended he calls me to his desk, "Here's the book list for this year's curriculum " he hands me a piece of paper and I let out a small laugh, "what is it?" he asked me with a confused smile on his face. "I've already read the whole list", "All 20 of them?", "i don't sleep" I answer him with a smile. "your impressive" he answers me, " i except a lot of great things from you" he smirks, "sure do" i answer him with a smile and walk out of the classroom.

As the weeks pass by, Mr.Miller and I grow a lot closer, from the little smiles and looks he gives me during class, to the cigarettes we share during the lunch break. Every time I see his face, his figure leaning against a wall or I catch him stealing looks at me it feels like the room is spinning like someone is hitting me into my stomach with full force, my knees start to feel wobbly and I need to catch my breath. Does he feel the same?

During one of our annual shared cigarette breaks on the bench behind the football field, he suddenly speaks up, "About that midterm paper" "What about it" I answer him as I turn my head to fully look at him. "How about I give you the assignment early?" he says while grinning at me through his sunglasses, "Are you giving me special treatment?", he nods and takes a drag from his cigarette as he gives me a look that has something seductive about it, "Thank you Mr.Miller" his name rolls over my tongue, and for a couple of seconds we just look into each other's eyes. "so what's the assignment," I ask after a few moments of silence, he looks startled like he was just woken up out of a trance, "yeah sure of course, you're supposed to write a short story in the style of your favorite author".

I see Mr.Miller less and less in the last two weeks before the winter break, we don't share cigarettes anymore during the lunch break and we also don't talk before and after my lessons with him, I'm so caught up with the assignment. I miss him, i miss the way the smoke would escape his lips, the way he would place his hands on my shoulder and the way he would say my name.

I turned in the midterm paper during winter break via mail, no response. As soon as I step foot into school the first day after winter break he calls me into his classroom, he seems angered. "what is it, Mr.Miller?" I ask him with an innocent look, "What the fuck did you write there ?" he points to my assignment on his desk as he takes a few steps closer to me, "I did what you asked of me" I answer as I walk towards him, I've never heard him swear before. "your assignment was not to write porn" I can see his cheeks flush as he says that, I step closer to him so that now our faces are only inches apart. "look you're a talented young girl, but I did not expect this when you said your favorite author is Henry Miller, this is unacceptable" he gives me that stern look again he gave me at the beginning of the school year, but now that look has a tad of lust in it, a touch excitement and fascination. "You have to rewrite this," he tells me "Or what?" I answer him with a dumbfounded look on my face, I notice his eyes switching between my lips and my eyes, while it seems like his body is pulling towards me he raises his hand to hold the side of my head.

[irisintheafterglow]

I Think He Knows (pro!kirishima x you)

summary: he's not into party games, so what do you do for seven minutes when you're locked in the closet with your high school crush?

wc: 2.9k

cw/tags: aged up characters!!, friends to lovers, mutual pining, swearing (lots of it), truth or dare, slightly suggestive toward the end but nothing descriptive, first kiss, alcohol and drinking, just pro heroes being idiots

note: prompt is once again from @creativepromptsforwriting because i wanted to write a silly party confession fic ! hope you enjoy, i did NOT mean for this to become this long lmao. he's literally so boyfriend why can't he be real

likes/reblogs/feedback is always appreciated <3

“I want him so bad I’m gonna pass out,” she confesses, throwing herself onto your body and sighing longingly. “Do you think he thinks of me often?”

“Now I really feel like we’re in high school again, ‘chaco. I think you should talk to him about your love life instead of me. Maybe he’ll get the hint, that way.” 

“Hypocrite.” She scowls at you over the rim of her plastic cup, downing another serving of punch with questionable amounts of alcohol. “I had to hear about your infatuation all the time.” 

You stick your tongue out defiantly. “It wasn’t an infatuation. It was just a crush, that’s all.” 

“Yeah, a crush that lasted three whole years,” she hiccups, crossing her legs next to you on the couch and leaning her head on your shoulder. “Do you think about him often? Remember, no lies.” Your eyes immediately gravitate to who she’s talking about, supervising some drinking game at the wet bar that has Kaminari’s eyes watering and Shoto’s face bright red. Deku tries in vain to stop Bakugo from downing shot after shot, ultimately accepting a mystery concoction handed to him by Sero. He immediately spits it out all over Bakugo and both of them are so intoxicated they can’t aim hits at each other correctly. You laugh under your breath and quickly dart your eyes away when Kirishima looks over his shoulder in your direction. Ochaco nods knowingly, giving your thigh a squeeze that startles you. “Oh, you definitely do.” 

Before you can respond, Mina throws the front door of Sero’s house open followed closely by Jiro and Momo. Overflowing grocery bags of junk food line her arms and she kicks the door shut behind her as her hands are both holding a bottle of soju each. Cheers echo through the house at her arrival and she bows dramatically. 

“Looks like the party’s finally here,” Ochaco winks at you before joining Tsu to help Mina unload the groceries. You shake your head as your chest feels the familiar lightness that always came when your entire class was happy and having fun. It was Mina’s idea to have a reunion party, after all, and you knew everyone was looking forward to it. It was scheduled months ago because everyone’s calendars needed to line up and from the looks of it, all of you needed the break. With the press kept back by several thousands of volts of electricity running through the perimeter gate of Sero’s house, you and your friends could finally relax.

Or, so you thought. 

“Okay, party people! Now that we’re all slightly fucked up, it’s time for some games! First game is 7 Minutes in Heaven!”

“As if this hasn’t been 45 minutes of Hell already,” Shinso deadpans from a neighboring armchair, but even you could tell he was enjoying himself by the slight quirk in the corner of his mouth. 

Mina sends a joking glare at him, chucking a balled-up napkin at him. “Get in the fucking circle, Hitoshi.” 

You slide down from the couch onto the floor and feel a muscular bicep press against your arm. “You mind if I sit here?” When you turn to that all-too-familiar voice, you’re blinded by a bright shark-toothed grin and glittering crimson eyes. You smile and nod in assent, eyes widening when you look away to stop your heart from racing. You catch Ochaco’s gaze and she smirks mischievously, to which you loudly suggest the seat next to her when Deku is trying to find a spot in the circle. You wink at her and crack open another can of some fruity mixed drink. 

“So!” Mina begins as Jiro positions an empty glass bottle on the coffee table in the middle of the circle. “Do we all know the rules of 7 Minutes in Heaven–”

“Why the fuck are we using a bottle?” Bakugo’s rough voice cuts through the polite silence and Mina rolls her eyes. “Isn’t that a different fucking game?” 

“It’s only there to ensure no bias in the participants of the game, Bakugo,” Shoto boredly drawls. His face is blank when his eyes meet Bakugo’s. “If we wanted, we could spin your dense head–”

“You wanna go, Ice Pack?”

“Let’s allow Mina to finish speaking!” Ever the diplomat, Momo shakes her head impatiently while she effectively halts the two Pros’ piss match. You feel Kirishima’s sigh of relief that he didn’t have to restrain anyone and bite your lip to suppress a chuckle. 

“As I was saying,” she continues as she delicately dances around the circle. “The bottle will be spun two times. If it lands between two people on the first go-around, those people have to go in. But normally, whoever the bottle points at gets locked in the closet with the other person who’s pointed at for seven minutes. What you two do for those seven minutes…” A suggestive glint flashes across Mina’s dark eyes and she shrugs carefreely. “That’s none of our business.”

An awkward silence settles over the group as Mina continues to stand but seems to be expecting someone else to speak. She clears her throat and Denki suddenly perks up with something to say. “Wait, is this when I do the thing?” Your eyebrows dip in confusion, as do most of your other classmates except for Mina and Sero. 

“Yes, Denki. This is when you do the thing, so go get it.” Sero pinches the bridge of his nose as Denki shoots upward, running down the hallway to grab something from the storage closet. When he returns, he triumphantly holds a cardboard box labeled “HEART RATE MONITOR x2.”

Deku groans, covering his face as Mina beams. “Oh, no…”

“Oh, yes.”

“Did you steal that from some fuckin’ pharmacy?” Bakugo and Shoto both appear horrified. 

“What? No! I got it from my neighbor’s garage sale.”

“That’s even worse!”

Sounds of protest erupt from your classmates and you can’t help giggling at their reluctance to have their heart rate tracked. From your time in high school and into your professional career, you knew you never got picked during these games. You were resting easy knowing you never had to kiss one of your friends because of some stupid bottle. Especially with the positioning of Kirishima right next to you, the odds of you two needing to go into the closet together were slim to none. Tonight, you knew, would be no different than the past as you vaguely listened to Denki explain the use of the heart rate monitor. 

“Basically, we’re gonna call out if you’re making the other person’s pulse jump. It’s like that one part of that couples show we caught Iida watching during our second year,” Mina summarizes and Iida’s stoic voice pipes up in defense of his “research” on how best to acquire a lover while the circle snickers at the memory. Tokoyami’s hand reaches up to pat his shoulder sympathetically. 

“Alright, spin the fuckin’ bottle already! I’m literally aging over here.” Kirishima snorts next to you, hiding a choked laugh with a cough into his sleeve and you jokingly pat his back in concern. You’re too preoccupied with looking at him to notice the gasps and noises of shock as the bottle finishes its rotation around the circle. Confused at the excited expressions of your friends, you look down to see who the bottle pointed at. 

It was between you and Kirishima. 

You had to play 7 Minutes in Heaven with the boy you had a crush on for the entirety of high school. 

Your mind blacked out, face feeling like it was on fire as you both were hooked up to one heart monitor each. You didn’t dare glance at Kirishima because, for all you knew, he was irritated about being picked for these types of games since it wasn’t manly. Ochaco waggled her eyebrows at you and you felt slightly nauseous as she hooked up the machine to your pulse, guiding the wires under the door. “We’ll see you in seven minutes,” Mina crooned. “Have fun!” 

The door locked and you were in complete darkness with him. It was suffocatingly quiet, so silent that breathing felt like a trumpeting elephant. Hushed whispers come from the other side of the door as your classmates analyze your pulse. 

Jesus, his heart is racing. Like, dangerously fast!

So is theirs. Doesn’t sound like they’re doing anything in there, though.

You think he’ll actually make a move tonight?

Dude, shut the fuck up. They can probably hear us through the door. 

You swallow and wince when the noise is audible in the isolated quiet of the closet. 

“So, uh–”

“I, um–” 

You both start to speak and cut off just as abruptly, apologizing profusely and insisting the other go first. He takes a deep breath before he speaks again. 

“Look, honestly, I’m not really…into these types of games,” he starts, breath ragged but you couldn’t imagine why. “I don’t really know how to explain it, I just…”

“I know. It’s okay. Not manly to make out or do God knows what with someone you’re not dating, right?” Your laugh is shaky and you mentally kick yourself for feeling so jittery. 

“Yeah,” he exhales, relieved that you’re not going to expect him to do something he was uncomfortable with. You know damn well he would never make you do something you were uncomfortable with. It’s quiet again for a few moments before he clears his throat and continues. “But… I feel bad just making you sit here in awkward silence so…do you wanna play truth or dare instead?” 

Oh, shit, their heart rate finally spiked! 

Why’s it say that his breathing is super shallow? 

You’re reading something wrong because that’s definitely not what this measures. 

“Sure.” You hear him shift around in his seat on the floor and you lean against the wall, pulling your legs close. “Wanna go first?” 

“Yeah. Alright, uh…well, truth or dare?” 

You choose the safe option, always. “Truth.” You had no idea what he would possibly ask you, but you knew it was probably going to be harmless. 

“What’s your type?” Your blood runs cold in your veins and you pray that your heartbeat isn’t as loud in reality as it is in your ears. He must mistake your silence for confusion. “Like…in a guy.” 

“Um…” Your voice trails off, mind running at a million miles an hour to bury your secret. “Someone nice, I guess.” He hums in acknowledgement, waiting for you to explain further. “I’d like him to be supportive of me and my career. Good with my friends, that’s a given. Uh…yeah. Just not a scumbag.” You laugh to relieve some of the tension in your chest and feel a little lighter when you hear him chuckle too. “I don’t really care about body type or looks; I just want him to be a good person who will treat me right. In my dreams, I’d like him to treat me like I’m royalty, adore me and whatever. That’s hard to come by these days, though.” 

Fuck, his pulse is racing! 

What could they be doing in there so quietly that’s making him so nervous? 

Shall we alert medical personnel? 

No, Iida. You can see their hearts are still beating right here. 

“Alright, well. I hope you find the man of your dreams then. He sounds great.” In the darkness, you could have sworn he sounded almost…disappointed? “Okay, your turn. Ask me.”

“Hmm, okay. Truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” 

The question slips out before you can stop it. You blame the liquid courage and the mystery drink Ochaco made for you. “What’s your type?” 

Wow, that’s a huge spike for him. 

It looks like their heart rate has leveled out; does that mean they’re not nervous anymore? 

Maybe, or maybe they’re used to the energy now. He’s still a stuttering mess in there, I bet. 

“Uh, someone familiar, if that makes sense. Like, you know, hero stuff can get really exhausting. I think my type is just someone who I can come home to and who’ll love me even through the good and the bad. Someone to help me fight battles, physical and mental, you know?” You nod and realize he can’t see it, so you settle for humming in agreement. Your brain feels fuzzy and it takes a considerable amount of effort to focus on the smooth tone of his voice. 

“Do you remember the first battle we fought together?” 

“Of course I do.” You can hear the fond smile in his voice. “I volunteered to partner with you because I thought you were cool.” 

“You didn’t know anything about me yet.”

“Didn’t matter. It just felt right to be with you.” 

Huge spike for both of them! 

Seems like he’s having a whole rollercoaster of emotions in there. 

Your heart stops again and you wish there was light so you could read his expression, whether he meant it platonically or something more. “Okay, my turn. Would you ever date anyone outside? Like from our friend group?”

He’s silent for a long time and you worry he didn’t hear you correctly before he gives a definitive, “No.” Impulse takes hold of your mind. 

“Why not?” 

“I’m just not interested in any of them.” 

“But you are interested in someone?” The second question falls from your lips naturally and you don’t expect him to answer it considering that it wasn’t part of the game. 

His pulse is slowly increasing again. He must be getting nervous. 

“Yeah, I am.” Your heart drops into your stomach. Of course he was interested in someone, and they were probably interested back, but the likelihood of it being you was in your wildest dreams. 

“Hmm, okay. Your turn.” 

“Are you interested in anyone in our friend group?” 

Your voice chokes in your throat. “Y-Yeah.” Sweat beads on your burning face and for the first time, you’re grateful for the lack of light so he can’t see how much you’re panicking. 

“Are they outside right now?”

“It’s my turn to ask, Kiri.”

“You got an extra one on me, if you think I didn’t notice.” His voice is dangerously low, more serious than you’ve heard him in a long time. “So. Is the person you’re interested in outside right now?” 

Both their pulses are racing again. 

They must be talking about something because this doesn’t happen if you’re just kissing the entire time. 

Oh, because you have lots of experience kissing and getting people’s heart rates up?

Ask your mom about my experience with kissing–

You asshole– 

Shut the hell up! I’m trying to eavesdrop! 

You steady your resolve, inhaling and exhaling deeply before answering the expectant darkness. “No, they’re not out there right now.” You can hear the confusion cross his face as he calculates who in your friend group was absent. 

“Who are you–”

“He’s in here with me.” The smallest oh escapes his lips and you pray for the time to go faster, body burning in shame. “Sorry, this is a really weird way of telling you, but…”

“Can I kiss you?” 

Your brain short-circuits. 

“Huh?” You question dumbly. 

“I wanna kiss you. Please.” 

“You don’t have to, Kiri, really. You don’t have to play the rules of the game if–”

“This isn’t about the game anymore. I wanna kiss you, game or no game.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I like you.” He huffs and you hear him run a hand through his hair in the darkness. He only did that when he was nervous. You were making him nervous. “You’re the only one I’m interested in, the only one I’ve been interested in since high school.” 

What the fuck? 

Denki, your fucking machine broke! 

We lost their pulses! 

Did those idiots break the heart rate monitor? 

I think you broke the heart monitor, stupid.

You’re speechless and, tired of words, you crawl toward his voice in the darkness. It seems that he had the same idea as he receives you eagerly. His calloused hands pull you into his lap until you’re on top of him, fiddling with the hair at the back of his neck. His breath is hot on your neck as you wait there for something to happen and you sigh into his mouth when it finally finds yours. The first kiss is gentle and sweet, careful not to scare you away. But after you catch your breath and pull him closer by his jacket collar, his fingers firmly press into your hips, running over the eaves of your body. Your breath comes short and fast and you needily pull him closer as he confidently meets your wordless demands. He pulls away for a moment, pressing a light kiss to your cheek. 

“Kiri…”

“Eijiro.”

“Eiji, please.” 

“Hold on. It’s been seven minutes. And, for the record, I want to date you.”

You’re barely able to supply your agreement before a loud banging on the closet door startles you. 

Alright, lovebirds, that’s time! Opening up the door in three…two…what? 

Before they can open the door, you catch the telltale sound of Eijiro hardening his arm and a spark of light as he slams his fist down on the door handle, locking you in but also locking everyone else out. 

Oh, shit! He actually did it! 

This was his entire fucking plan? 

You better pay for my door when you inevitably break it open! 

Let them be; it’s been a long time coming. 

“Now, where were we?” You laugh in disbelief at the smug grin in his voice as he gently bites the juncture where your neck and shoulder meet, hands roaming increasingly lower on your body. 

“Eijiro, they’re gonna get anxious that we died or something,” you make to leave his lap and open the door, but his arms catch you before you stand. 

“I’ve waited years for you. They can wait a few more minutes.” 

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[under-the-dirt]

water.

HIHIHIIHI!!! it’s my first time writing smut!!!!! (except the one time i wrote something for manwich but we don’t talk abt that <3) and i’m sossosososososso nervous!!! but, i’m obsessed w the idea so hopefully i can get it out into the world!!!

pairing: soap x reader

tags: implied fem!reader (sorryz!), shower sex, dom!soap, sub!reader, a little dacryphillia, soap is a meanie, established relationship (ig that’s like all my fics so far lmao), pet names, praise, degredation, aftercare, obviously smut, orgasm denial (only once :3), overstim, uhhhhh idk what else to out!! UNDER 13 DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED IF I SEE YOU’RE UNDER 13 AND STILL INTERACTING!!!

You had to admit, you’d been a bit of a brat that day. You were horny and Soap was just working and refusing to help!

So, you decided to take a shower to “blow off steam” if you will..

Sitting on the shower floor, the water running down your face as your fingers rubbed desperate circles on your clit. You’d been like this for at least 2 minutes, and you didn’t even feel close to anything! You let out a soft whine, although it came out as a breathy moan far louder than you intended, getting the attention of your boyfriend.

“Ah, ‘aving fun wi’out me lassie?” Soap asks, his accent echoing through the small bathroom. You freeze in fear and apprehension, as you’ve almost never had to masturbate since the two of you started dating.

“You were ignoring me!” You whine, removing your hands from between your legs and bringing them to your side. You squeeze your thighs shut, looking up at him with doe-eyes and blush on your cheeks. He huffs, and you hear his clothes hit the floor. Your eyes widen and your blush spreads further.

“Aw, but you ‘aven’t even gotten anywhere?” He teases, stepping inside the shower and standing over you, dwarfing your entire body on the ground. He laughs, looking down at you with mock pity. You stand up and pout slightly, crossing your arms over your chest. “We can’t ‘ave that now can we, lass?” He purrs, removing your arms from your chest and crossing your wrists, bringing them above your head with one hand.

Your eyes light up, excited to finally get this attention, and you feel the throb between your legs grow from what it had been all day. You whine softly, and he hums in response, pressing a thumb to your clit and rubbing ever so gently. Not enough to get you off, no, just enough so you know he’s there. You squirm and whimper softly.

“All desperate, aren’, we, little brat?” He laughs, removing his hand and pressing his knee between your thighs to keep your legs spread. You try to move your hips and ride his thigh, but he tuts and slaps your thigh. “Not yet lassie.”

“Sir, please!!” You beg, and he chuckles. Your eyes tear up in desperation, unable to move and squirm or get the friction you’re so desperate for. He moves his knee a little higher, ensuring your pussy is exposed to the open air.

“Oh, such a pretty thing. All for me, yeah lass? ‘s all mine?” He says, running a thumb through your slick folds.

“Y-yes! All for you, please!” You whine, attempting to squirm, and he grabs your hip tight enough to bruise. When you begin to feel water on your sensitive pussy, you get confused. Wasn’t he blocking the water? Looking down, you see Johnny holding the showerhead to your cunt, and looking up you see him staring at you with an almost sadistic smirk.

You begin moaning as he angles the water to hit your clit perfectly, a constant barrage against your sensitive bundle of nerves and you can’t take it. You mewl, moan and whine, and to no avail! He just moves the showerhead closer, sending shockwaves through your body that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Please- please Johnny! Sir, please,” You beg between breathless moans and soft whimpers, and he tuts again.

“What ‘re you wantin’ lass?” He asks with faux sympathy, and you sob softly.

“Want your cock- pleasepleaseplease!!” You continue whining, feeling your brain turning off as pleasure takes over.

“Hmm.. I don’t think a little brat like you should get my cock,” He states simply, and you sob, tears rolling down your cheeks and droll running from your mouth. “Oh stop cryin’. All you’re gettin’ is this, so you better cum.”

You attempt to squirm, which has him gripping your hip harder and changing the setting on the shower head, intensifying the attack against your clit. You cry and moan, beginning to feel that knot in your stomach grow tighter and tighter. Your eyes roll back, and he clearly doesn’t like this.

“No, look at me, brat,” He commands, and you have no choice but to oblige. You maintain eye contact, somehow, with your doe-like eyes and breathless moans and whimpers. Your mouth is open in a pretty ‘o’ shape, and he chuckles.

He presses the showerhead closer, and you know he can tell you’re close.

“Mmh- sir can- can i?” You ask sweetly, broken up by your moans and gasps.

“Can you what? Use your words, bonnie” He coos.

“Ca- Can i cum, please?” You say breathlessly, praying he’ll say yes as you feel the knot drawing tighter and tighter.

“Hmm.. Not yet.”

You whine louder, soft sobs breaking up desperate whimpers. After what felt like a century, he decides to ease your pain.

“‘right lassie, go on, cum for me.” He rubs your hip with his thumb, and you immediately cum so hard you see stars behind your eyelids. He does it again, and again, until your legs are shaking and chest heaving. He finally decides to stop, turning off the shower and picking up your exhausted body. He steps out, grabbing two towels, using one to dry you off and another to dry himself. He wraps his towel around his waist before picking you up again and carrying you to your shared bedroom, laying you down on the soft blankets as you so desperately wanted.

“Johnny.. what.. what about you?” You ask gently, innocently, gesturing to the tent in his towel which must be painful at this point.

“Aw, don’t worry about me, sweet darling.” He coos, sliding on sweatpants and climbing into bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and holding your back to his chest. He kisses your neck and shoulder, rubbing your stomach gently.

OMGEEEZIESSSS!!! that was my first time writing smut and i think it was pretty decent but pleasepleaseplease lmk what i could improve on! keep in mind i have no real life experience so idk how realistic it is :[ also i hope the anon who had this idea finds this!! <3333

@bunnyreaper

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Desperate Fool - Part 8

Part 7

Last time: Nancy finishes filling Eddie in on what he's missed

~~~

“Ok, Wheeler,” Eddie says a little too loud. He claps his hands together and rubs them back and forth, hoping the friction and heat will help him burn away his anxious energy. It all comes down to this. He’s dreading and anticipating the conversation in equal measure, so it’s better to rip the band aid off sooner rather than later. After all, Nancy was right. He came all this way for answers only she could give him. “Tell me about her.”

She sighs, like she’s been gearing up for this part of the conversation. "I introduced them in July, but they've known each other for a while. It took me a bit to convince Steve to agree to a date, but Becky was so head over heels for him that–"

"Wait," Eddie cuts her off. He repositions himself so his legs are tucked under him, curled up against his corner of the couch. Nancy changes her position and mirrors him. "Becky? As in, the Becky you work with? As in the Becky I just met earlier today? That Becky."

Guilt flashes across Nancy's face before she tucks it away again. She sits up a little straighter and yeah, now Eddie's ready to start an argument. He feels like a complete idiot. No wonder Nancy looked so uncomfortable while the woman was here, she clearly wasn't planning on Eddie crossing paths with her. Becky seemed awkward, but in a normal sort of way. Like she didn’t even know–.

"Oh shit," Eddie says absently, "she doesn't know who I am, does she?"

Nancy sighs, shaking her head, "no, she doesn't know about you." Her eyebrows scrunch, and she wiggles her hand back and forth, like maybe she's backtracking a bit. "She knows you're mine and Mike's half brother." Nancy holds up a finger, ticking off each fact about his existence, the only pieces of him that matter anymore. "She knows you're a rock star. She knows you're estranged on bad terms with Mike and I. That's why she thinks no one talks about you."

"And what?" Eddie gets up, burning off the energy by pacing around the room, waving his arms and generally making himself larger to gain some space. Big and scary and dramatic enough to chase his problems away when he's afraid. "They’ve been seeing each other for more than six months. They’re fucking engaged, and somehow no one's ever mentioned that Steve and I were together? Not a single person has ever slipped up?"

"Eddie, other than Mike and I, no one mentions you at all. Ever."

He freezes, mouth dropped open to argue, arms raised with angry emphasis. His initial burst of energy now kindling into a fury, all but snuffed out by a simple sentence. His body slumps to the floor, and Eddie wants to cry, to release the disgusting sense of rejection by his own family. Except it seems they only support his Angel. No sympathy for the devil, and all that.

"It's like I never existed?"

"I told you," Nancy says softly, reaching out to cup his cheek. He hadn't noticed her move, crouched next to him on the floor. There's pity in the thin line of her lips and disappointment in the creases of her brow. "Steve asked us not to, so we didn't. It was the least we could do to help."

Eddie nods his head, a hollow agreement if only to get Nancy to stop talking. Let him take a breath to process. How is he meant to react when she makes it sound so easy to forget him. Easy enough to pretend his life with Steve meant nothing at all, so unimportant that Steve’s spending the rest of his life with someone who’s missing eight years worth of information. And apparently everyone’s just ok with that.

~~~

Part 9

Tag List!!!

@sadisticaltarts @5ammi90 @blacklegsanji21 @jaytriesstrangerthings @thewickedkat

@stripey82

[futturmanspookie]

Paparazzi

Summary – You're a paparazzi who Derek fought with, and now he owes you something Pairing – Derek Danforth X Male!Reader Tags – +18 Smut, MLM, Oneshot, Penetration, Unprotected sex, No genitalia specified, Doggy style, Missionary, Dirty talk, pet names (Babe, honey and darling)

You were one of the greatest paparazzis of the whole country. Always with the best angles, and always finding A LOT about famous people's life.

But it obviously had it's downsides, like now.

You were sitting on a chair on Boston's general police department, besides with Derek Danforth; son of the newly elected president of United States of America.

What happened for you two to end in this situation? Basically, you were taking some pictures of him as he walked out of a club and you both had a fight.

He punched you and you retorted, you only defended yourself tho, so you could easily file a complaint about him.

The fact is; punching you would give him a really bad reputation, what wouldn't be any good for his mother's campaign on next elections.

He couldn't risk you suing him and the media discovering he started fights with innocent paparazzis.

So he would do what he always did with everyone he assaulted, damaged or bruised. He would bribe you.

"What do you want to not fill a complaint, huh?" He asked, crossing his arms and leaning back against the chair. "Money? Fame? Success? I can give you whatever you want."

Money didn't interested you, and you also didn't wanted to end like the people you photographed... But there was certainly one thing you wanted.

"I want a interview." You said, smirking and crossing your legs, turning your head to look at Derek.

"What?" Derek asked, a confused frown appearing on the Danforth's face. "I just said i could give you whatever you wanted, and you want a interview?" He asked, clearly not understanding what you mean.

"Yeah, but you have to be sincere, and let me ask whatever i want to." You answered, smirking and crossing your arms.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking down as if he was thinking about that. It would probably just end up in a random gossip page, and it's not like he had something to hide.

"Alright." He answered shrugging.

You smiled at that, your smile seeing just as devious as your ideas were. Of course you wouldn't throw a chance like that away.

"When and where you want to do this "interview"?" Derek asked, leaning back against his chair and looking back at you.

"Now, at my hotel room." You said confidently, looking at Derek straight in the eyes.

"Seriously?" He asked groaning in annoyance.

"Yeah." You answered, smiling and shrugging.

You get up and looks around, tilting your head towards the exit and shoving your hands on your pockets.

Derek got up and followed you, taking in your looks. He never thought he would met such a good looking paparazzi. In his head, people with this kind of job were all ugly.

You lead Derek to your hotel, it was one of those fancy 6 stars hotels. Derek was happy he wouldn't need to go to a cheap place, he hated cheap places.

As soon as you two got into the elevator, Derek looked at you, up and down.

"How old are you?" He asked, crossing his arms and leaning back against the elevator's mirror.

"Twenty-four." You answered, smirking.

"Hm." He mumbled, looking away. Okay, so you were old enough for him.

The elevator rings signaling you arrived your floor. You both walk out of the elevator and you lead him towards your room.

237

Derek would remember that number, certainly would.

When you two enter, it looked just like you left this morning; messy sheets, your laptop and an notebook on the coffee table, your bag open in the corner of the room.

You leave your camera case on the floor and walk towards one of the armchairs, sitting on it and grabbing your notebook from the coffee table.

"Feel free to sit down." You said, smirking at Derek.

Derek furrows his brows, but smirks a bit too. He walks towards the other armchair and sits on it, he looks around taking his surroundings.

"So..?" He asked as his gaze moved back to yours, he tried to sound impatient, but he clearly was in no hurry.

You didn't had any questions to ask. You wasn't an interviewer and certainly wouldn't expect having the chance to interview someone like Derek. You desperately needed to think on something.

"You, hm... Like what you do?" You asked, looking down at the notebook and then up at Derek.

"You mean, being the CEO of my family's business?" He asked, leaning back against the armchair.

"Yeah..." You answered, biting your lip and hitting your feet against the floor anxiously.

"Yeah... I think." He answered, shrugging and taking a deep breath.

You sigh and write it down, your look shifting between the paper and Derek, he seemed totally uninterested. You needed something better than usual questions.

"Have you, ever thought of dating a fan?" You asked, trying to make more interesting questions.

It drew Derek's attention, making him look down at you and smirk a bit.

"No, maybe one hookup... But not dating." He said, chuckling a bit.

You took a deep breath, thinking twice about your next question as wrote Derek's last answer down on the paper.

"Have you ever fantasized about other guys?" You asked, gulping dryly and staring at Derek.

His eyes widen and his brows furrow.

"What do you mean?" He asked, looking away and then back at you.

"Fucking other guy, you know." You said shrugging, your grip on the pencil getting tighter.

He stayed quiet for some seconds and then looked down at your notebook.

"Why do you want to know?" He asked, smirking a bit and sitting up straight.

"Huh... Is just a question, you know, it interests the public." You answered, stumbling in your own words as your gaze wandered to the ground.

Derek's smile turned into a grin and he got up, walking closer and holding your chin, making you look up at him.

"I don't think the public is the one interested on it." He hissed, leaning in a bit in a way you could feel his hot breath against your sensitive skin.

Your gaze didn't left his as you got up. His hand moved to the side of your face, his thumb softly rubbing against your cheek.

"You know, you're not that bad for a motherfucker that photographs people without their consent." He whispered moving in and kissing your lips.

You quickly kissed him back, moving your hands up to the back of Derek's head and letting his tongue enter your mouth.

Derek's free hand quickly move down your butt without much ceremony, he's quite touchy.

He lifted you up so you could wrap your legs around his torso, and now he could carry you to the bed

Derek dropped you on the big, fancy bed. Leaning over you and kissing your neck, starting to unbutton your shirt with one of his hands.

His left arm was wrapped around you as he shoved his hand under your shirt, touching your chest briefly and gripping on your neck.

"Fuck, you're hot." He mumbled against your skin, he enjoyed the soft gasps you let scape.

"What the fuck are we doing?" You ask, groaning a bit. You couldn't tell if it was a pleasure or annoyance groan.

"We are having fun, babe-" He whispered, licking and biting on your neck. You tilted your head back, sighing softly.

His hand quickly sneaked to your belt, undoing it as his wet kisses moved down to your collarbone.

You didn't knew why you were doing it, but you wasn't against having sex with Derek, either. So you just decided to let i happen.

His hands slip into your pants, and he slowly starts masturbating you, making you moan and squirm.

You move your hands to Derek's shirt, unbuttoning it and struggling to slip it down his arms.

He helps you, taking it off and throwing it on the corner of the room before getting back to masturbate you.

"You're so sensitive~" He whispered against your ear, biting your earlobe and pulling his hand away.

You groan in frustration, wanting to feel Derek's touch again. He chuckled and starts pulling your pants off.

You lift your hips for him, making it easier for your pants and underwear to slip off. Derek takes some seconds admiring you before pulling away.

"Get on all fours for me." He said, smirking and looking at you up and down. He liked how you looked like a mess already, your unbuttoned shirt slipping down your shoulders.

You obey him eagerly, what you never thought on doing. You wasn't the obedient type, submissive... But damn, it was Derek Danforth... That man could boss you as much as he wanted too.

Derek smiled and moved his hands from your thighs to your buttcheeks. He held them, squeezing and feeling the soft flesh.

"You have such a pretty ass, baby." He said as moved his hands down your thighs again and leaning in to kiss your rear.

You blushed, your hands tugging on the sheets as your cheek was pressed against the mattress.

You watched him positioning behind you and opening his belt. He bent over you, whispering on your ear.

"All i thought since we got out that police department was how i was going to fuck you when we got here." He whispered, kissing your earlobe and pulling his dick out of his pants.

You could feel his throbbing length against your entrance. Fuck, you never felt so eager in your whole life.

He spit in his hand and slathered it all over his cock. He slid his dick between your buttcheeks a few times, groaning lowly.

"You like that?" He asked, tugging on your hair as the other hand held on your ass. You nodded quickly, moaning a bit. You nodded eagerly, your hair falling over your face.

He then pulled away a bit and teased the head of his cock against your tight hole, spitting on it again.

Your breath hitched, feeling him pulling into you slowly.

"Fuck~" You moaned as gripped tighter on the sheets and buried your face further on the mattress.

"No- No... Look at me babe." He said, tugging your hair and making you look up at him. "I want to see you falling apart, honey..." He whispered, leaning in and kissing your lips softly.

Once he was full inside of you, making you pant and moan lowly, he started moving. His thrusts were already fast, making your moans get eventually louder.

It hurts a bit, but the faint pain is subsided by the overwhelming pleasure of feeling him inside of you.

"Damn, you're so fucking hot-" He growled as pumped into you like it was his last day of life. "I want to cum all over this tight, perfect little ass of yours-" He whispered, bitting on your neck and then pulling away, straightening his posture.

You kept moaning and whined softly when Derek pulled at your hair. "So good-" You groan lowly, Derek's other hand finding support on your lower back.

The sticky and wet slapping filled the room, together with the hitting of the bed against the wall and the moans from both of you.

He then turned you around, making you lie on your back as kept his cock inside of you. You looked beautiful; teary eyes, messy hair, rosy cheeks. Derek felt like he could keep fucking you for two weeks straight.

He leaned in kissing on your chest and sucking on your nipples, his thrusts turning steady and deeper.

"God- So tight~" He groaned, moving his kisses up your neck.

You clenched around him a bit, making him go crazy. He thrusted deeper and bit on your earlobe.

"Fuck, baby- Don't do this... I may cum too early-" He whispered on your ear, biting your earlobe again.

He slowly pulled away and got on his knees, holding your inner thighs and thrusting faster and deeper inside of him.

You moaned and squirmed underneath him, your hands running up his abdomen looking for more physical contact.

"Tell me what do you want, tell me, darling... Come on." He said, panting and growling lowly.

"I- I want you to keep fucking me like this, Derek-" You whimpered, your hands clenching and scratching him a bit.

"Oh... I know you want it babe~" He whispered, thrusting even deeper and gripping tighter on your thighs.

You moan louder, feeling his dick reaching a really sensitive point. He bents over you again, one of his hands sneaking up to stroke you.

"Cum for me, babe... Come on-" He whispered, kissing you softly. You moaned against his lips, arching your back as he touched you.

Soon you came, with a loud and high pitched moan. He kept pumping into you after your orgasm, what felt like heaven.

After a few seconds he came too, letting out a guttural moan and falling over you.

"You're incredible..." He whispered, caressing your cheek and kissing your lips softly.

He pulled out of you and looked down at your hole, dripping with his cum.

"Damn... Look who's now my little cumslut." He said, chuckling and pulling his thumb inside of you, making you shiver.

"Don't do it!" You said, blushing.

"What?" He asked, chuckling and pulling his thumb away.

You huffed and rolled your eyes, and then Derek slowly crawled over you.

"I'm going to take a bath, wanna join me, Mr. Paparazzi?" He asked, his breath hot against your face.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Oh, Lonely Bones, Have You Forgotten? Chapter 3

*Rolling in six months late with Starbucks* Did y’all say you wanted another 15k of angst? No? Well, I got you another 15k of angst. Sorry for the wait on this one folks! There’s been a lot going on in life and a lot of other projects and prompts! Next update should be quicker — plan is to finish this fic by the end of the year! Thank you @dear-monday for reading this over for me and assuring me that it was not 15k of utter nonsensical self-indulgent angsty wank, as usual she and the horny whatsapp group are saving my sanity xD And an ENORMOUS thank you to @kieren-fucking-walker for talking to me about Edwardian burial customs and cemetaries and giving me lots to go on when writing this! I still wouldn't got expecting bulletproof historical accuracy but it was truly so enlightening and inspiring and really shaped some elements of this story and made it more than intially planned, so thank you my love 💛 This is, as my opening bit suggests, mostly more angst. Heed the warnings of the tags/previous chapters, plus this chapter has a little more of a focus near the end on the sadness/circumstances of Edwin’s death and how his family handled it. So refs to teen death, to homophobia and hate crime, to family shame. There’s a section that switches up the format a bit, and which contains brief but supernaturally grisly instances of gore and body horror. There’s also a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it instance of ghostly suicidal ideation. Everything is sad and the chapter ends on more angst but I swear to you that there will be one more chapter, and all with be right. I am knocking Edwin down hard but I WILL give him a soft place to land. More commentary afterwards. In the meantime; are you sitting comfortably? Then we’ll begin 💛 Also on Ao3

"Oi, Edwin," said Charles, gaze affixed to the letter in his hand. "You speak ancient Babylonian?"

Edwin hummed. "I have a smattering."

"That'll do. Letter from Tragic Mick — says he's got a book might help, but there's no translation."

Edwin looked up from his well-thumbed copy of The Arcane Physician's Desk Reference. Over the last few days he'd read it so often he could quote large tracts of it verbatim. "You contacted Tragic Mick?"

"Thought we should pull whatever contacts we had," said Charles, picking his way over the chaos to give Edwin the letter. "Tried our magic shop, but Flimsy Steve wasn't picking up the phone."

"Unsurprising."

Charles snorted. "Leave off. He's a decent bloke."

"He's perfectly agreeable, Charles. I merely wouldn't trust him with anything time sensitive."

"Alright, he's a bit flaky." Charles had a visible mental debate on the best way to navigate around a teetering book stack, before rolling his eyes and phasing through it. "Not his fault about the hex, though, innit?"

"Hm, yes. The hex. Convenient excuse..." Edwin muttered. "If I could explain away my abysmal punctuality with bouts of vaporousness I'd certainly consider it."

"Heh. Yeah, does pull it out a bit much, doesn't he?" Charles chuckled, finally succeeding in his quest to reach Edwin. The office was in a dreadful state. Tidying up after the self-contained paranormal monsoon hadn't been a high priority. Nor had re-shelving the books, given they were bound to be pulled out again for double, triple, quadruple checking. Edwin was only grateful that the blizzard had been a spectral plane phenomenon. The thought of his entire library subjected to water damage was almost too much to bear.

Edwin himself was in a rather sorry state as well. He'd set up operations on the floor beside the trunk, after their discovery that proximity lessened the noise and the cold. At first he'd sat upright and cross-legged, to maintain some comforting sense of professional decorum. But as they had continued to hit dead end after dead end, he'd taken to lying on the floor. In part so he didn't have to keep seeing the sickly blue glow of his own skeleton every time he turned his head.

It shouldn't have felt uncomfortable, not to him. But in such close range to the bones, he was above averagely aware of his surroundings, even the hard floorboards at his back. Edwin wasn't sure which he disliked more; the discomfort, or the indignity. At some point in the proceedings Charles had dug a large, cuddly shark from his bag — acquired during the case of the Swedish poltergeist, if memory served — and propped it under Edwin's head like a pillow. It had helped with the comfort issue; though it had rather exacerbated the dignity one.

But comfort and dignity were among the least of his problems. More concerning by far was the fact that the bones, despite quieting down, had not in fact ceased to speak to him. Instead all their past phrases, the look at me see me don't leave me's, had been replaced by just one simple refrain. Quiet, soft as silk, neither demanding nor insistent. Merely persistent...

Edwin took the letter as Charles offered it down to him, skimming it quickly. The bulk of it, as usual, was a lengthy, hand-written tangent about Mick's woes and the majesty of the sea, but he soon found the section pertaining to their predicament. "Hm. I'm not sure we'll find anything of use in that text. I had the chance to peruse a copy some years ago. But at this point I'm willing to try anything. Beggars can't be choosers. Perhaps if we're opening inquiries with our Port Townsend contacts, we might consider asking Thomas."

"Who?"

Edwin re-folded the salt-stiffened paper. "The Cat King."

Charles' eyebrows arched, hands landing on his hips. "Oh, he's Thomas, now, is 'e?"

"Rolls off the tongue rather more easily, don't you think?"

"Since when d'you still talk to that tosser?"

Edwin rolled his eyes. For such a personable fellow, Charles could hold a grudge with the best of them. "We've a long-running game of correspondence chess in progress. Man's dastardly with a rook. But he is a rather seasoned magic user, not to mention his... intimate experience with witches. He could be a valuable source of information in this case."

"Let's try a few more things before we get Whiskers on the phone, yeah?"

Edwin sighed, passing the letter back up between two fingers. "Very well."

Charles tucked it under his arms as he crossed them, cocking his head to regard Edwin from on high. "Comfy down there?" It was said in a tone light and teasing; a tone that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Oh, yes. I'm luxuriating," said Edwin, dry as a bone. "I should do more of my thinking on the floor. Stimulate the little grey cells."

"Look at things from a different angle, yeah?"

Edwin peered up at him, his line of vision beginning directly beneath the point of Charles' chin. This shouldn't be a flattering angle for him, but alas, he looked as handsome to Edwin's eyes as he ever had. Must he never know a moment's peace...? "Yes, something along those lines. Although so far it's offering precious little in the way of fresh insight. And it —"

Charles gave him a pointed look.

Edwin sighed, and corrected himself. "He is... not helping."

Frowning, Charles squatted down beside him, bringing their faces closer together. His knee rested lightly upon Edwin's abdomen as it bent. With the illusion of awareness afforded to him, Edwin could almost feel the weight of it. Almost.

"He's still talking to you, then," said Charles, voice low; as if he didn't wish for the bones to overhear.

"On occasion," said Edwin, with equal caution. "On... fairly frequent occasion."

"What's he saying now? Still on the 'stay with me’?"

Edwin shook his head, before letting it fall to the side. Peering across the length of his whimsical pillow at the dark leather siding of the trunk. He let his eyes drift closed, let the soft susurration of the voice creep back into his mind unimpeded by distraction or resistance.

"He wants..." His fingers flexed on his chest. "He wants to be held."

Distantly, the phantom weight of Charles' hand alighted upon his shoulder. All the more frustrating for possessing the barest edge of tangibility. As if Edwin was allowed to sense the shape of him and nothing more.

"By anyone?" Charles asked.

A short, stabbing pain flared behind Edwin's eyes. He winced. "No. No, not just anyone will do, I don't think."

A door clicked, and a new voice chimed in: "Do you think you should hold them?"

Edwin and Charles both looked up at Crystal, who was propped wearily against the doorjamb leading to the small water closet. Aside from dealing with whatever human activities she'd had to carry out in there, she'd also clearly splashed her face with cold water. A few glistening droplets clung to her neck, and she had that touch of mania in her eyes that oft accompanied a minor shock.

She shrugged, arms crossed. "I mean. He told you to look at him, and that helped. Maybe you just need to do what he asks you to do..."

"It's... possible," Edwin hedged.

Unfortunately, Crystal did have a point. Based on prior evidence, there was every reason to believe that giving in to the bones' demands would alleviate Edwin's suffering. But for reasons he could neither name nor explain, he had the distinct feeling that to do so wouldn't end well for him. A feeling he suspected he wasn't alone in; raising the subject had caused Charles to tense up, his shoulders a rigid line of stress.

But they were rapidly running out of alternatives.

Edwin hitched himself up, sitting with a wince at the shadow of an ache in his spine. His shoulder bumped up against the open top edge of the trunk, and a small surge of anticipation from its resident rippled through him. Edwin raised his hand and, with a dry, apprehensive swallow, reached out —

It was stilled before it could get within three inches of the skeleton.

"Let's — let's keep digging a bit, yeah?" said Charles, fingers flexing visibly around Edwin's wrist. When Edwin looked up he found Charles with his eyes wide, and his ghostly countenance paler than usual. "Bet we'll stumble on something soon."

Edwin offered no resistance. "Yes. Yes, I daresay you're right."

Crystal seemed neither surprised nor overly upset that her idea had been rejected. Perhaps she shared their concerns after all. "I still have a few more magic shops to hit up," she said. "I can go try and shake down that Steve guy in person."

"Don't count on it," Charles warned her. "Slippery customer. He'll be under the door and away in two seconds flat."

"...Right. And, uh, I figured maybe Emma might have some ideas..."

"Emma?" asked Charles.

"The little girl," said Edwin. "With the squid."

"Oh!"

"Good idea, Crystal," Edwin mumbled, rubbing his brow. "She's been dead a long while, clearly has a working knowledge of the occult. Perhaps she's seen a curse of this ilk before."

"Jesus, I'm gonna go," she said, gravely. But she gave his shoulder a companionable squeeze as she passed him to claim her jacket. "Freaks me out when you're too nice to me."

Edwin scoffed. "Honestly, Crystal, you liken me to some sort of wicked stepmother. I'm not a drill sergeant."

"No," she said, shrugging into her jacket with a smile and a twinkle in her eye. "You're just a bitch. Look after him, Charles."

She sloped out of the office without a backwards glance, ignoring Edwin's protests and Charles' giggling. When Edwin turned his displeasure on Charles he was met with crinkled eyes and unrepentant cheer.

"What?" said Charles. He held his thumb and forefinger close together. "You are a bit."

Edwin scowled, toppling back onto his pile of blankets with crossed arms and poor grace. "Perhaps it's best we read in silence for a little while."

~

Days passed, and still no breakthrough.

Crystal was consuming inadvisable quantities of coffee on a daily basis, and had taken to pacing the hall outside the office. Her hair had ballooned to twice its usual volume under the stress of her fretful tugging and twisting.

Even Charles was showing the strain through his erstwhile bulletproof veneer of optimism. Edwin kept glancing up at him, and catching him staring back with a haunted look. As if he half expected Edwin to vanish in a puff of smoke before his very eyes. There was a marked increase in the frequency of grounding hands upon Edwin's arm, chest, shoulders; holding Edwin down lest he flutter away in the breeze.

Edwin, it had to be said, wasn't coping all too well, either. For the first time in a hundred sleepless years, he felt truly exhausted. He was burning the candle at both ends; as far as he was concerned if his eyes were open, he could be reading something. Though book research, generally something he found intriguing and invigorating, now had his weary eyes sliding off the page. And onto the trunk.

Always, always to the trunk.

Hold me hold me hold me please hold me...

Its calls never ceased. They waxed and waned, and at times softened to barely a breath, but always they remained; pestering, pattering, pleading. Crying out in the corners of his skull for him to come closer, closer, closer, to hold me please hold me —

As their research dead ends stacked up and desperation grew, so too did the temptation to succumb. It was, after all, as Crystal had said; if giving into the first demands had eased the way, surely there was something to be gained from giving a little more.

And yet somewhere, in the back of his mind, under the droning rattle of pleas and demands, it persisted. The niggling notion that if he were to give in, he'd surely come to regret it.

He wasn't alone in his apprehension. Just once or twice, his hands had strayed closer to the bones than usual — and each time they did, Charles' eyes snapped to them, wide and wary. If Edwin's own instinct to pull back hadn't sufficed, the dread on his best friend's face would have stayed his hand.

But every passing hour represented another frayed nerve, another chip in his resolve. Every whispering plea a grain of sand pouring down upon him, suffocating him slowly. Though he didn't wish to, he could feel himself beginning to buckle under the strain. Not even the small relief that came from facing the problem head-on, looking the remains of himself in his hollow eyes, was enough to mitigate the mounting horror of prolonged exposure. It was incessant. It was inescapable.

To be frank, he wasn't sure how much more he could take. If they didn't find something...

"FOUND SOMETHING!"

Edwin jumped — which, from his position on the floor, caused his body to lurch in a rather unpleasant jackknifing motion. Gathering his wits, he propped himself up on his elbows. "What?"

"Here!" Charles babbled excitedly, jabbing his finger to the page of the battered leather-bound book in his hands. "In this old apothecary's journal. Must've looked right past it first time, it's dead small."

He cleared his throat and read aloud, affecting — in Edwin's opinion — a needlessly exaggerated upper crust intonation. "'My 'esteemed' colleague in the mortuary magicks' — that's magics with a 'k', by the way. Proper old arcane stuff."

"Charles, the point," Crystal prompted.

"Right, yeah. 'My 'esteemed' colleague in the mortuary magicks recently positioned — no, wait — recently posited that in the event of sudden, traumatic demise in the presence of powerful magic, a soul might be rent asunder. A colourful theory, though I find his speculations on the ability of the same spirit to commit multiple hauntings dubious at best."

Charles grinned up at them, fairly bouncing on his feet in his excitement. "Author's a snooty git, but sounds like his mate might be onto something!"

"Holy shit," said Crystal, bounding up from the sofa to lunge for the book. "Charles, I think you might be onto something!"

Edwin likewise sprung into action, leaping from the floor and elbowing in to flick through the pages with Crystal. "Charles, that is brilliant. We must find the identity of his colleague. Perhaps he's done further study into the subject..."

"Name's gotta be in there somewhere — this bloke writes almost as much as you do," Charles teased. "Flip back a bit, might've missed it earlier in the entry..."

The pages grew rather busy with all of their hands pointing at them, poring over them, riffling restlessly back and forth. Edwin found himself at the centre of a rather tight huddle; Charles and Crystal half draped across his shoulders and conversing over his head.

"This guy's writing is the worst," Crystal complained.

"Apothecary's sort of a doctor, innit?" Charles nudged her — or rather nudged Edwin, who transferred the proxy-nudge to Crystal like the central ball of a Newton's cradle. "S'pose doctors have just always had shit handwriting, eh?"

"There!" said Crystal, jabbing the page. "That name."

Edwin followed her finger, squinting. They were both quite right — the handwriting was atrocious. "Let's see... Johnathan Harrington — oh! I'm familiar with him. Or her, I should say. Harrington was the nom de plume of one Sybil Crombie. I'm given to understand she frequently adopted a male alter ego to carry out her research undeterred. Her writings are supposed to be quite radical for the time, but they're wretchedly hard to come by..."

"Must be able to find 'em somewhere," said Charles — with a confidence implying that were it not possible, he'd go to great lengths to make it so. "Maybe Tragic Mick knows someone? Could hop through the mirror and ask him."

"No need," said Edwin, closing the book with a decisive snap. "I believe I know where we might find it."

~

"Charles, you must be quiet!"

Charles winced, straightening up the book pile he'd rather loudly upset with the toe of his loafer. "This place is bloody booby trapped. What kind of bookshop keeps half the books on the floor?"

"The kind that isn't overly interested in making sales," Edwin muttered. "Keep your voice down. The proprietor bears an inane grudge against me for some reason."

"Maybe 'cause you nicked his book, mate," Charles chuckled.

"I borrowed his book. I had every intention of returning it, he's quite unreasonable. Now, if he has any regard for organisation whatsoever —"

"Wouldn't bloody count on it."

"Then it must be somewhere in this section. Look for anything by Johnathan Harrington — quietly!"

Charles resumed his search, tiptoeing about the treacherous shopfloor with a wincing expression. He was, unfortunately, not widely renowned for his stealth. But with Crystal unable to mirror travel and Edwin likewise tethered to the office, Charles was their only suitable spy.

Edwin scowled at the mirror, at his hand disappearing into it. So far, Crystal hadn't tugged his wrist, so he could only assume the bones weren't yet causing a scene. It would seem that remaining at least partially connected to the office lessened their separation anxiety. Edwin was growing rather tired of having to dangle through a mirror portal, half-in and half-out, on a metaphorical leash. Honestly, if he had a penny!

He couldn't aid much in Charles' search, but he scanned the one bookshelf within his reach while Charles pored over the reverse side. He could see Charles' efforts through the gaps above the books; see his brow furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out between his teeth as his clever brown eyes flickered over the spines. Something tight and anxious in Edwin's chest loosened at the sight. Despite the direness of the situation and the insistent voice tugging on his sleeve, he felt assured. Safe in the knowledge that neither of them would rest until this case was solved. Not even Charles, who hated nothing so much as having to read lots of words very quickly, was going to leave this bookshop until they had what they needed.

"Not here," said Charles. "Gonna check the other shelves!"

"Quietly!" Edwin hissed after him; to which Charles responded with a lip-zipping motion and a sloppy salute.

Edwin closed his eyes, attempting to slow his breathing. Attempting to enjoy the moment of slight distance between him and the voice, though he could still feel it under his skin, as if it were creeping through his fingers and into his brain. He could feel his tension ratchet ever upwards with every passing moment. He couldn't be sure what was more abrasive on his nerves; the stealth mission, his inability to contribute, or the whispering bones. When calming breaths proved to be a lost cause, he focused instead on standing sentry; keeping his eyes and ears attuned to any sounds from beyond the bookstacks.

"Gotcha!"

Charles' too-loud, triumphant cry startled Edwin. His eyes snapped back to find Charles dragging a book from a nearby shelf and holding it up for Edwin's inspection. The title: Connective Tissue: Osteopathy and the Human Soul, by Johnathan Harrington.

Despite his misgivings, Edwin grinned. "Well done, Charles!"

"I say — is someone there?" came a voice from off, prim and peevish.

They both jumped.

"Shit," Charles muttered.

"Mirror, now," Edwin hissed, seizing Charles by the hand as soon as he scampered within reach.

Hand in hand, two ghosts and a very old and valuable book ducked back into the in-between — leaving Soho and the cries of the irate bookseller behind them.

~

November 1st, 1832: A Case Study, and a Confession

William Stoker, my friend and colleague, passed away earlier this year. Too young; a mere lad of twenty-four when he was taken from us.

His father is (or perhaps was) a friend of mine. As long as I'd known him, William (or Will, as I would come to call him) had always had a keen eye and a scientist's curiosity. When his father suggested I take young Will under my wing, I leapt upon the chance. It was a valuable experience for him; and a much-needed helping hand for myself. Frequently, Will would aid me in my research endeavours, no matter how unsavoury. A strong constitution is required in our field, and William possessed it in spades. Not even the more grisly aspects of the job could dampen his cheerful whistling while he worked — nor could my insistence that it was bad luck to whistle inside. He was far from a superstitious lad. For several years, he acted as my research assistant and, more commonly, dogsbody, with good grace and no complaints. Pride was of no concern to him. His only thoughts lay with the work.

It was a tragic and violent incident that ended William's life; an incident for which I hold myself responsible, at least in part. I could not have known, and yet even now I feel I should have. Somehow. I worry that day, that incident like a loose, aching tooth. Wondering if I overlooked the signs, somehow. Wondering if his death could have been avoided...

I sent William to collect something for me. Some samples; a selection of assorted vertebrae, to be exact. With the help of a local hedgewitch, Sally Cubbins — a long time associate of mine — I had been preserving them in a variety of herbal and chemical compounds, in order to observe reactions of the marrow. It should have been a simple task. Little did I know as I gave him his marching orders that Sally was in the midst of a delicate situation. A summoning, to be exact. One of the women in her locale was being harassed by a malevolent entity, a demon. One more powerful and more bloodthirsty than my poor Sally bargained for. Her summoning and dismissal went badly awry.

When I went to investigate Will's prolonged absence, I found him and Sally both. What was left of them, at any rate. Rent asunder atop a similarly broken summoning circle. To this day, I've no idea what became of the demon. Perhaps, when my own time comes, it will be waiting to drag me to damnation.

That gruesome scene was the last I saw of Sally Cubbins, God rest her soul.

It was not, however, the last I saw of William Stoker.

William's father asked that I prepare the remains for burial. Perhaps he wanted to assure me that he didn't hold me responsible. Perhaps he was simply too deep in his grief to seek other arrangements. Either way, I accepted without a thought. There was little left of Will; needless to say, an open casket was out of the question. But I did my best to make him presentable. I believed it to be the least I could do.

And later that evening, in my mortuary, William appeared to assess my work for himself.

(No doubt, many of you reading this just scoffed. But I shan't sidestep the matter. I have encountered a number of spectres in my time; in my line of work they are practically an inevitability. I have seen them, often, and consider them to be a manifestation and demonstration of the fortitude of the human soul. Though my detractors will no doubt continue to insist that the embalming fluid fumes must have gone to my senses. If you, dear reader, are likewise unconvinced, I would politely recommend you seek alternative literature.)

I had met many a phantasm over the course of my career, yet Will was quite unlike any other I'd previously encountered. He was recognisably himself, at least. But I had always found conversation with spectres little different from conversation with the living. They are by-and-large sensible, coherent, rational folk, simply seeking their end life's purpose. If they were a person I had previously met in life, I generally found their spirit to be no different in personality or demeanour.

Will, however, seemed... troubled. Deeply troubled. He had adopted a number of tics and nervous mannerisms, and a wildness of eye. When he spoke he was prone to saying things which were unreasonable, paranoid, frantic. And despite my suggestion that he take a constitutional, bid farewell to his friends, family and favourite places, my prompting fell on deaf ears. He exhibited a powerful reluctance to exit the mortuary.

I soon realised it was not the room to which he felt attached, but his remains.

Though I myself was still grieving, I was nonetheless fascinated by the situation, and decided to investigate further. The funeral, after all, would not be for several days yet. Besides which, I must confess a desire for distraction, for purpose — and perhaps some small absolution from the guilt of his passing.

Over the next several days, I took careful note of Will's moods and movements as they occurred. Any dips and troughs, any manic periods. Any strange phenomena I could notice connected to either himself, or his remains. I asked him frequently what he was thinking, or feeling (insomuch as a spectre is able to feel), and I recorded all that I could. This amounted to dozens upon dozens of pages of notes, likely insurmountable to most given my particular manner of writing, but I shall attempt to summarise the key points:

William complained often of pain, largely in his 'joints', and discomfort at minor physical sensations he should not, by rights, have been able to feel at all. Discomfort which increased in proximity to his remains. He also reported itchiness, headaches, and nausea.

William exhibited acute episodes of psychological distress. When I was able to get any sense out of him he reported feeling dread, anxiety, claustrophobia, and a feeling of being ‘hounded’. On more than one occasion I witnessed him having what I can only describe as an attack of panic. What good rapid breathing serves to a ghost, I've no idea. Aside from his acute episodes, William also suffered a near constant low-level psychological turmoil. He was prone to listlessness, melancholy, restlessness, and frustration. He would often tell me, with a smile short on humour, that he 'wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry'.

William was hearing things. A voice, a whisper. Something, somewhere, was speaking to him.

As you can imagine, I found this last revelation alarming. And there was little I could do to glean more information, as Will only let slip of this voice once and then proceeded to bury the matter. No doubt he feared himself mad, or cursed. No amount of reasoning could convince him to open up to me about the voice or what it was saying.

By the time the day of Will's funeral was upon us, I was no nearer to answers. And so I made a choice, out of desperation. As I’ve every intention that this entry be published posthumously, I can confess to you my sin.

Reader, I did not bury William's remains that day. I sent the undertakers a closed coffin, nailed tight, and warned William's father that his son's remains were in no fit state to be observed. That despite my best efforts, there was simply not enough of him left to reconstruct. I advised him, please, to hold onto the memory of his son as he was, and let his body claim its final resting place sight unseen.

I ask not for forgiveness, reader. Only understanding. You must understand that I already believed myself hellbound for my part in William's death, amongst myriad other indecencies and indiscretions in my life. If I was to face judgement either way, I decided I would do everything in my power to find answers first. If it comes as any consolation, Will endorsed my course of action. Although looking back, I wonder whether he was truly of sound enough mind to do so...

But that too is a question only God may answer, and I'm sure He will let me know in due course.

The remains, of course, had to be reduced; there was only so long I could keep a cadaver in progressing states of decay lying about without causing suspicion or ill health. It was a grim and unpleasant task, but within the week Will's flesh had gone the way of the incinerator, and only his bones remained in the mortuary. And what peculiar things they were; they had about them some strange energy, though I had no opportunity to find out if this was widely-noticeable, except to those already with the Sight for the paranormal. To my eyes, they were in possession of the faintest glow; and to my ears, on occasion, a soft, susurrating rattle.

With Will's remains safely in my possession, and his spirit in permanent residence, I observed both over the following weeks. I did, of course, continue urging Will to take his leave, say his goodbyes, seek his own absolution. But he staunchly refused to do so. He became a shadow to my work, much as he had been in life — though by all accounts he was a mere shell of his former self.

In death, more so than any spectre I'd ever met, Will was short-tempered and morose. Though his old self, the lively young man I'd considered a close friend and worthy apprentice, clearly still dwelled within the spectral form. I glimpsed him from time to time, in fleeting moments of lightness and candour. Whatever it was which held Will in its grasp, it had neither erased nor altered the heart of him. He still had a smile on his lips for me, still whistled his jaunty tunes long into the night, albeit with a new edge of mania. He was not a man changed or possessed, but a weary soul under considerable strain. This I believe, even now.

I did my utmost to ease that strain upon him, but found there was little I could do. He was bedevilled by forces beyond my ken, and I felt powerless to aid him in any way that mattered. Though to the best of my ability I kept him company, lifted his spirits (if you'll pardon the play on words). I spent many a long night in the mortuary, playing cards with the deceased. I was deeply comforted to find that despite his quite alarming personality shifts, he was still an inveterate cheat. Always an ace up his ghostly sleeve.

Despite my best efforts, his temperament worsened. And though he continued not to confide in me, I knew that mine was not the only voice in his ear. Something was still speaking to him, whispering to him, things I could only speculate upon. And so often when he heard that voice, when his countenance drew tight and his jaw clenched, I would find his gaze drawn to the covered unit where his own remains now resided.

I became convinced that the bones had become possessed in some fashion. I suspected the demon that had slain Will and my dear Sally was to blame. Perhaps it had been too weak to step into the mortal world from its summoning circle, and had instead taken refuge in the remains of its victims. I called upon all of the occult knowledge I had amassed over the years to try and oust any such unwelcome guest, but to no avail. If only Sally had still been with us, perhaps... but no. No matter what exorcisms I conducted, no matter the counter-hex or cleansing spell, the thing residing in Will's remains held fast. Burrowed in, anchored to the marrow, as surely as if it had belonged there all along.

I explored other avenues, of course. Raided my library and my journals, passed the scenario as a hypothetical amongst my friends in occult circles. I explored the possibilities of paranormal parasites, of life echoes, of curses and corruptions, but no theory held water and no counter yielded results.

All the while Will, God help him, continued to deteriorate. Day by day he grew more frantic, more preoccupied. Often I saw him lingering near his bones with a strange, mad look in his eye. I might even go so far as to call it murderous. Whatever had taken residence in his bones, it had not granted him a moment's peace in weeks, and he was wearing thin.

I had formed a new theory, although to this day I have no true manner of verifying it. It is not, after all, as if I can secure Will or the thing in his remains for thorough interview or cross-examination. But it was, and remains to this day, my theory. The only cogent explanation for these wretched happenings that makes any sense with the facts. I theorised that somehow, perhaps due to the violent and intensely magical nature of William's demise, a part of him was separated from the whole. Perhaps a spirit can be propelled from a physical form with such ruthless immediacy as to leave a small piece of itself behind.

Well, I see no reason to beat about the bush. If you wish to call me mad, I'm sure you've already reached that decision with yourself. I believed, and continue to believe that William was, in effect, carrying out two hauntings at once.

The lion's share of his soul, the person most easily identifiable as the Will I'd known, lay outside his remains, as is the norm with spectres. He was still thoughtful, intelligent, able to follow and carry conversation. Able to reminisce upon his life, able to form complex arguments and hold nuanced opinions.

The piece he'd left behind was, I fear, severely lacking in any of these traits. It's debatable whether it could even be said to be in possession of a personality. Based on what little I'd managed to eke out from Will about its way of speaking, it seemed to me a shrivelled, stunted thing. An essence comprised merely of a single want, a single need. It did not have within it the capacity for reason, for comfort or conversation. It cried out in his mind like a hungry child, insensible to any and all things but that which it craved. There was no reasoning with it, no bargaining, no way to soothe it. Nothing, except to give it what it desired.

Now, here is where the tragic end of this tale writes itself. For you see, though Will was my friend, and confided in me about a great many things, he would not disclose the exact nature of the fragment’s request. I believe it scared him, or shamed him. Rendered him vulnerable in a way his scattered soul was simply not equipped to handle. I pleaded with him to tell me exactly what it is the voice wished, what it said, what it would keep saying, but he would not confess. Not even to me.

How I wish he had.

For all my expertise, all my tools and skills and hard-earned knowledge of the anatomical magics, I was powerless. Powerless to do anything to change his fate. Or at least, this is what I tell myself; but as I take responsibility for his death, perhaps I merely wish to absolve myself of his suffering thereafter.

As the days and the weeks wore on, Will closed himself to me. His world narrowed to a pinpoint; to the bones. Always the bones. I would see him standing beside the drawer where they lay, staring into it whether it stood open or closed. At times when I had them pulled out and resting upon a pallet, desperately seeking any clues I might have missed, he would circle them. Pacing, edging closer, closer, hand outstretched; ultimately pulling back with a hair's breadth to spare. I considered locking them away for good, removing them entirely from his sight, but what good would it do? To a spectre, wood and metal are hardly a deterrent. Though I considered the merits of building them a box of iron, something even a ghost would hesitate to cross.

I had no wish to hold his remains hostage, however, so instead I tried to talk to him. Tried to encourage him to different pursuits. But there was nothing I could hold his attention or interest with. There was nothing else, not anymore. All William cared about was those bones. He would stare at them with fascination, with yearning, with revulsion writ plain across his expression, his fine-featured young face now carved and haggard. He hated them; and he needed them.

And one day... he touched them.

I will never forget it so long as I live, and I will carry it thereafter into damnation. The scream that tore from him, violent and visceral, more animal than human. Nor will I forget the sight of his arm — his strong, steady arm, which had once fetched and carried for me without the slightest tremor — as it withered, liquified. As his spectral flesh loosened from his frame and dripped like hot candle wax down an invisible pathway; following the hollow shape where once resided the bones of his arm, his wrist, his fingers. Before I could act or react, the effect was spreading; shoulder, chest, neck. Face. Before my very eyes he melted, oozed, his liquid remains drawn to the bones like water to a spigot, like gas to a vacuum.

And before I could even think to scream, William Stoker was no longer.

Afterwards, the remains lay... well. I do not wish to say dormant. Evidently, they are no such thing. Energy still thrums within those bones, clear as day to those with the eyes to see, but it is of a more benign disposition now. It no longer wishes harm upon any who might come near; I suspect if it wishes harm, it wishes it only upon itself. I tried over the years to do my research, find a solution, to do everything in my power to draw poor Will out of his prison, but I never succeeded.

He never rematerialised. No more did he appear in my mortuary to fret or pace or cheat at cards. No more did I hear his whistling into the night.

But sometimes, from the dusty iron lockbox wherein his pitiable bones reside in the mortuary to this day, I can still hear his screams.

May God have mercy on his soul. And on mine.

~

Edwin's voice trailed off. It seemed to hang in the air like a curse long after the fact.

Hunched forward in the opposing desk chair, Crystal sat looking distinctly nauseous. "Oh, my god..."

Charles — perched, as ever, upon the desk itself — was white as a sheet and, for once, at a total loss for words.

Clearing his throat, Edwin closed the book with great care. "Well," he said, clipped. "That, at least, was... pertinent to the case."

"Edwin..." Crystal began, face pinched in concern.

In an explosive burst of motion, Charles was over the desk and on his feet in a metaphorical heartbeat. Three long strides had him over to the trunk, to the whispering bones; and a sweep of his arm had the lid slamming down upon them like a portcullis.

Edwin winced, gritting his teeth as the mild hum in the back of his head spiked into a distressed, cutting wail. "Charles, please —"

"You're not touching 'em!" Charles snapped, picking up the enchanted lock from the floor and slipping it through the shank. It rattled and grated; his hands were shaking. "You're not getting anywhere bloody near them!"

"Believe me, Charles, I've no intention of it," said Edwin, rising from his seat. His own hands felt rather unsteady as he braced them upon the desk. "But it does help to mitigate the effects if the trunk is kept ajar."

But Charles was shaking his head, hunching his shoulders. It was only when Edwin heard the sound of a slight sniffle that he recognised what was happening.

His heart clenched. "Charles..."

Charles swiped a hand angrily down his face as he lurched upright. When he rounded on Crystal, his eyes were dark with a shadowy smudge of dissolving kohl. "We nearly let him touch them," he barked. "Earlier, when we —"

"I know, Charles, I know," she said as she stood. "But we didn't. You didn't. Charles."

She walked over to him, bold as brass despite his bristling demeanour, and took his face in her hands. "He's fine. He's fine."

Edwin, feeling like an interloper despite being the subject of distress, hovered at the desk. Fists clenched, knuckles braced together; grounding himself against his own spectral solidity the only way he knew how. "Charles," he repeated, softer. He sounded altogether too close to weeping himself.

In a blink, Charles was back by his side — and his arms were around Edwin like a vice. "I'm sorry," he babbled, breathing the words in a rapid patter against Edwin's neck, voice choked with tears. "Fuck, Edwin, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Perhaps it was proximity to the remains or simply a rawness of emotion, but... Edwin could almost feel him. Trick himself into believing he could feel Charles' weight in his arms, rich and real.

"You've nothing to be sorry for," Edwin uttered, soft, yet stern. He returned the embrace, clutching the nothing that was everything in his arms. "You held me back, Charles. You saved me again."

He squeezed him tight, for all the good it would do. "Thank you."

Charles seemed in no hurry to pull away — and frankly, neither was Edwin. So he allowed himself to hold and be held a few moments longer, clinging to Charles like a port in a storm.

Meanwhile, behind Charles' back and in the corner of Edwin's vision, Crystal had begun to pace.

"Okay. Okay, so. So this has happened before. That's good, right? Means we're not totally fucking alone, here," she muttered, tugging at a flyaway curl of her hair. "We just — we just need to think about this. Sybil, John, whatever didn't know what the bones wanted because that guy wouldn't talk to her, but we do, right? Edwin, you've told us everything, right?"

"I've told you the whole of it," he replied. It came out slightly muffled in Charles' shoulder.

"Good. Great, okay, so we're not flying blind. We just — look, she said it was like, a haunting, right? Like his spirit was..."

"Split in two," said Edwin, quietly.

The look she cast him over Charles' shoulder was gratingly sympathetic. "Yeah. Yeah, so fine. It's a haunting. So how do you stop a haunting?"

"It depends," said Edwin.

"Unfinished business," Charles cut in. He inhaled through his nose as he pulled back, and pulled himself (mostly) together. "Sort out the unfinished business, sort out the haunting. More often 'n not."

"Great," said Crystal. "So we find whatever unfinished business the piece of Edwin trapped in those bones has, and we finish it."

Edwin snorted, scratching his cheek where it had been pressed to Charles' neck. Though he could scarcely feel a bit of it, he already missed the embrace. "You make it sound so very straightforward."

"I mean, isn't it?"

"It's not as if we can interview the client," he sniped.

"Oi," Charles mumbled, ever the peacekeeper — but his heart wasn't in the admonishment. His hand, however, was in Edwin's hand. As if he could no more bear to break the contact than Edwin could bear to lose it.

"No, but it can't be anything complicated, right?" She clicked her fingers. "She said that piece of his spirit was like, it was a fragment. Like it wasn't intelligent."

Edwin bristled.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not saying you're not intelligent. Idiot."

"How silly of me to think such a thing," he said icily.

"What I mean is — that you, the one in the box, it's like, base, right? That's what she said. No reason, no personality. It's barely conscious. Right?"

"Right," said Charles, nodding to himself. "Right, so he's — he's not gonna be wishing he'd composed a bloody symphony or anything."

"Exactly. Nothing complex. We've just gotta find whatever basic, boring, any-amoeba-can-do-it thing that he wants and... give it to him. And then he moves on and the haunting stops. Right?"

"In theory, yes, it could be as simple as that," said Edwin. "Although we mustn't discount the possibility that what it wants is..."

Though he'd absorbed the images as text on a page, they flickered through his mind on a vivid reel, crimson-tinted frames of celluloid horror. Images of his own arm twisting, warping, bubbling. Bleeding away from him in a roiling mass of terrible tallow, into the empty vessel of his howling bones.

He swallowed. "A reunion..."

"Nope," said Charles, flat, with a decisive shake of his head. "Nah. Nah, we're not. No. S'not that. There's gotta be something other than that. Hasn't there?"

"Yeah," muttered Crystal, answering his pointless tag question with an even more pointless platitude. "Yeah. Sure. Gotta be."

But she shared a look with Edwin behind Charles' back, a worried one. One he returned with a grim set to his jaw.

Neither one of them spoke another word for fear of upsetting Charles — or speaking the terrible truth into existence — but it lingered nonetheless. Lying unspoken between them, as large as the box of bones and all the more ominous a presence. The terrible elephant in the room.

Maybe there is no other way.

~

"So." Edwin turned on his heel to face the gathering as his chalk scraped a decisive line beneath the words 'Unfinished Business' on the board. "Let us have it. Any notion that springs to mind. At this juncture, there are no wrong answers. What could he want, what could he need?"

Charles and Crystal sat assembled on the floor, watching him and the board like tall, bedraggled schoolchildren with poor posture. Stationed dutifully between Edwin and the trunk — which had been propped open again, on his request. He needed to think, and it was damnably difficult with his bones having a tantrum.

"Gotta be basic, yeah?" said Charles, scratching his nose. "Right, so what's like, the most basic thing people can want?"

"Sleep?" said Crystal, on the tail end of a stifled yawn.

Edwin rolled his eyes, but dutifully jotted it down.

"Food?" Charles offered, hopping aboard her train of thought. "Um, water...?"

"Sex?" said Crystal.

Edwin, halfway through making note of the previous suggestions, gasped in indignance and turned upon her. "I absolutely do not consent to anyone attempting... that with my skeleton." He wrinkled his nose. "I'm not even sure how one would go about such a thing..."

"Bet there's a few people online who'd have ideas," she muttered.

"I dread to think. Hm. Perhaps there are some wrong answers, after all," he said curtly, deigning not to write it down. "Let's rule that one out for the time being. Any others?"

"Cash?" Charles suggested. "We could lob a few tenners at 'im?"

Edwin closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Let us call that Plan F."

"You know, there is a way we could get the answer straight up," said Crystal, voice quiet and eyes to the floor. "Straight from the horse's mouth."

"Crys..." said Charles, a gentle warning.

"I could read them," she blew past him.

"You heard what that journal said," Charles argued. "They'll melt the bloody flesh off your bones!"

"I'm alive — pretty sure that was a ghost special." She turned to Edwin. "You agree with me, right? It's the fastest, most bulletproof way to figure this out."

He did agree, and he opened his mouth to say so. But then he made the mistake of looking directly at her; at that now-familiar glint of reckless determination in her eye.

Edwin sighed. "I agree with your assessment. But I agree with Charles, as well. It's a risk. We must exhaust all other avenues, first."

He saw Charles let out a breath he'd been holding, a spark of gratitude glowing warm in his eyes. It was a suitable balm to the caustic ire of Crystal.

"We've been here days! How long did that guy last before he caved, like a month? I know you say you're fine, Edwin, but you're not fine! Look! You're doing your — your thing!"

She pointed to his hands — he followed her gaze, scowled, and pointedly unclenched his fists, letting them fall to his sides.

"And you're still twitching," she said. "They're still in your head, right?"

ClosercomeclosercomecloserlookatmeholdmeCLOSER —

"I have it quite under control," said Edwin. "And even if I did wish to succumb, I'll hardly find the chance with the two of you watching me like hawks."

"But I could —!"

"Crystal," he said, voice like a sharp rap across the knuckles. "You are of far too much value to us to risk when we haven't exhausted all other options, and that is final."

She blinked, mouth flopping in a flabberghasted, fish-like manner.

"Yeah," said Charles, softly. His hand found hers, cupping over her smaller digits upon the office floor. "What he said."

Crystal looked to him, then Edwin, with eyes that looked suspiciously damp. Oh, good heavens, no. He simply couldn't bear it if another person were to cry in front of him today.

Edwin cleared his throat. "Well." He brushed down his rumpled shirt. "Now that's dealt with —let us return to the task at hand, shall we?"

"Right, yeah. Unfinished business." Charles frowned, tapping his fingers on his knee. "Mate..."

"Yes, Charles?"

"I'm thinking, yeah... If we find out what his unfinished business is," he said, jerking his thumb towards the sealed trunk at his back. "And he moves on. Does that mean... Since, y'know, since he's you..."

"That I would move on with him?"

Charles exhaled, a ragged sound, and nodded.

Edwin swallowed. "We... mustn’t discount the possibility."

A possibility which hung heavy in the air between them, grey and charged like a storm cloud. Edwin could see the panic in Charles' eyes — recognised it intimately for it matched that rising in his own chest. A thin, taut thread of terror strung between their unbeating hearts. A thread which neither one of them wished to snip.

"We don't have a choice," Crystal cut in, quiet. Almost gentle. "Edwin's sick. And he's gonna keep being sick. If it gets bad, if his bones... absorb him."

She chewed on her lower lip, and looked Edwin solemnly in the eye. "Then we lose you either way."

He closed his eyes. "We have to try."

"Yeah," said Charles, the weight of the world in one little syllable.

Edwin waited to face the blackboard before he opened his eyes once more. He couldn't bring himself to meet Charles' gaze; he'd only want to run and hide in it. "So. What else have we —"

"Oh, boys!"

The three of them startled like gazelles, whirling on the new voice. That was no surprise appearance of the spectral postman — that was the unmistakable voice of —

"Ah," said Edwin, sheepishly straightening his back and attempting to do likewise with his rumpled shirt. "Good evening."

The Night Nurse stood, in all her crispness and cleanliness, at the heart of the veritable bombsite of their office with an air of horror. "Is it, Master Payne? Because it hardly seems to be the case from where I'm standing! What have you little delinquents been doing — I was gone for less than a fortnight!" She frowned, and consulted her watch. "I was certain I’d accounted for your terrestrial timezone…"

"Long story," said Crystal. "But we've got a situation."

"I can see that, young lady. Would one of you care to elaborate?"

"We found Edwin's..." Crystal's eyes flickered to him, uncomfortable.

Edwin sighed. "My remains. We found my remains." He gestured to the trunk. "Stashed and forgotten in the attic at the school where I... yes."

She leaned over neatly, knees and back unbending, and peered into the trunk. For just a moment, her stern expression softened somewhat. "Oh. Wee lamb..."

Edwin blinked, the gentleness of that designation altogether a little more than he was prepared for. He found himself unsure what to do with it, so he put it down on the floor and backed away slowly with a clear of his throat. "Yes, it's been a... trying few days."

"There's something about 'em," said Charles. "We think they're sort of... haunted."

"They're making Edwin sick — keeping him here, talking in his head," added Crystal.

"Found some notes about it happening to someone else." Charles picked up the book from the floor at his side and tapped the cover. "Basically, we don't sort them out, Edwin's fucked."

"Thank you, Charles," Edwin muttered.

"I see," she said, taking the book from Charles and flicking through it. Though she merely riffled through the pages as if she were shuffling a deck of cards, Edwin had no doubt the information found its way into her brain somehow. An enviable talent. "And how do you intend to 'sort them out'?"

"Unfinished business is our best bet so far," said Crystal. "But it's gotta be something super basic. Something unconscious."

"And I take it burial didn't work?"

Edwin looked at Charles. Charles looked at Crystal. Crystal, wide-eyed, only shrugged.

"We... have not attempted burial," said Edwin, carefully.

The Night Nurse stared at him, eyes slightly bugged, before they narrowed. "You haven't. Tried. Burial?" she said, voice clipped, stilted. Sharp and precise as the rhythmic snip of a pair of sewing scissors.

"Well, um, no — but, it was gonna be next on the list!" Charles lied.

"Children," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with two immaculate fingernails. "In the event of cursed or haunted remains, proper burial is almost always standard protocol! Did any one of you think to read the Lost & Found Guidelines and Procedures manual that I gave to you?"

Edwin, abashed, shifted his weight and steepled his fingers. "I... gave it a cursory glance."

Edwin had read some dry texts in his time, often with interest and even some pleasure, but even by his standards that tome had been... a difficult read. He'd wished fervently, as he did most every day, that Niko had still been with them. How she'd managed to read that book at all, let alone absorb and decode its convoluted contents in a handful of hours, remained one of life's great mysteries. A truly uncanny affinity with the text, as if she'd written it herself.

The Night Nurse scowled. "Well. Chop chop, then — kindly locate a suitable, respectable burial site and crack on. And once you've got that sorted out, clean up this mess; we can hardly invite clients into this pig sty."

She cursed under her breath, in a language too old for even Edwin's linguist's ear, as she picked up the briefcase by her feet. It seemed to weigh a tonne — possibly a non-figurative one. "Now. If that's all sorted out, I've accrued a lot of paperwork from the conference. I'll be attending to that in my study and I would strongly advise you not interrupt me." She huffed a frustrated exhale through her nose. "I do hope that irksome landlady of yours hasn't re-ordered all of my pens, again..."

And with a sharp snap of her fingers, she was gone once more. Folding through space and time neat and sharp-edged as an origami crane, she teleported to the top floor, and the other disused apartment where she'd set up her own office to distance herself from 'the youth'.

The three of them left behind stared at the empty spot, where her stiletto heels had pinched small matching dips in the floorboard.

"Well," said Charles. "Seems as good a start as any, yeah?"

"Yes," said Edwin, tightly. "I'm amazed we hadn't thought of it."

"I was, uh. I was kinda joking, before, with the mirror and stuff, but..." Crystal furrowed her brow. "Are we like, actually stupid?"

Edwin jotted down burial on the board, and underlined it thrice. "Best not to dwell on it."

~

Edwin and Charles had become quite familiar with London's so-called Magnificent Seven. Unsurprising, given their line of work. Cemeteries and the engravings therein were a treasure trove of useful information when it came to helping the unquiet dead move on.

In fact, they'd visited the sites often enough to form extensive opinions and pick favourites. Edwin's preference was for the peace and quiet of Nunhead, or the fascinating architecture of West Norwood. Charles, on the other hand, had taken a shine to the overgrown, ramshackle remains of Tower Hamlets.

"Almost like it's barely a graveyard anymore, innit?" he'd said of his fondness once, as he bent to inspect another fragment. Many of the gravestones had become so broken, so weather-worn and algae-crusted, they were barely distinguishable from protruding roots in the undergrowth. "Practically a jungle. Like a proper adventure, yeah?"

Edwin let him have his fun, but truth be told, he took some dislike to their outings to that particular cemetery. He'd not attended a service there in life — few in his family would have deigned to be buried in London's east end — but he'd visited, on occasion. Usually at the behest of his aunt, who'd insisted a stroll through the grounds was good for the mind and soul.

"Around here, my boy, you're never more than a stone's throw from a dead person, a real person, or a parakeet."

At nine years of age, Edwin had found that statement rather perplexing. At a hundred and twenty, he'd decoded two of the three. 'Real' person, he imagined, referred to the working class in the area, the sort of people Aunt Florence spent the majority of her time with, despite her brother's best attempts. And after thirty years in the company of one Charles Rowland, Edwin couldn't agree with her more on that point. Edwin was, simply and unequivocally, a better and happier person for knowing him. As to the benefit of being among dead people, perhaps she'd been referring to the good psychological practice of acknowledging one's own mortality, in order to make peace with it.

He was, admittedly, still baffled as to what an invasive species of parrot could provide for his mental acuity. He suspected she'd just thrown them in the mix because she enjoyed the colours, and respected the rule of threes.

Memories of an aunt he wished he'd tried harder to understand set aside, the cemetery was still not an easy place for him. Unlike much of London, which looked so different from his day it could be mistaken for a new city altogether, the cemetery had few modern additions. The last hundred years were marked only in growth and destruction. The shellings of the nineteen forties had shaken the stones loose, and nature had crawled in through the cracks. It was a place where each long year of his absence from the world lay plainly marked, like chalk notches on a cell wall.

Fortunately, it was not to Tower Hamlets that Crystal's internet led them, but to Kensal Green. Edwin was rather embarrassed about being unable to recall the cemetery or plot location himself. But in life, he'd visited it only a handful of times, for funerals or family pilgrimages. Over the course of seventy years in Hell, he'd lost far more vital information from his life than a burial site.

To be truthful, which cemetery it was mattered little to Edwin. After a week of confinement, he was just grateful for the outing.

There was the question, of course, of what to do about the bones and their separation anxiety if Edwin were to leave. But Charles outright refused to leave Edwin alone with them, so a temporary solution was devised. An effective (if inelegant) workaround.

Charles gave a low whistle. "Mate. This whole bloody plot's yours?"

"My family's, yes. My great, great grandfather's investment, if I recall correctly." Edwin went to give his bowtie an anxious tug, only to remember he wasn't wearing it. Lost in the dreadful haze of the last week. He settled for adjusting the collar of his shirt. "He was always quite adamant about being buried away from 'the rabble'."

"'Course he was," Charles snorted.

"So, what are we looking for?" asked Crystal, rubbing her arms. The sky was heavy with the threat of rain, and going by her chosen attire the weather must have been fresh for July. "Like... just a big enough patch to start digging?"

Edwin tutted. "Crystal. The onus is on a proper burial; we can hardly tip my mortal remains into a hole in the ground."

"I'd dig a nice hole," Charles joked, nudging Edwin with his elbow. "I'm great at digging holes."

He had mastered quite a technique over the years, but that was by the by. "There might be a grave waiting already," said Edwin.

"Like an empty one?" said Charles.

Edwin nodded. "It wasn't strictly orthodox, but I recall a similar arrangement when my Uncle Cuthbert perished at sea."

"Okay," said Crystal, rolling her shoulders and switching on her torch. "Let's get looking. I don't wanna be the only visible person digging up graves when the sun comes up."

"Check them all, thoroughly," said Edwin. "I did die rather young. It's possible I share a headstone with... with my mother."

Crystal and Charles set to — but not before casting him another worried look or two. Edwin was rather tiring of those. Just because he was being plagued by malicious forces beyond their ken didn't mean he needed to be mollycoddled.

When Edwin lifted his lantern and took a step towards the nearest headstone, he winced. Then scowled. "Oh, shush," he snapped, giving the trunk a sharp kick with his heel. It skittered a little on the wonky wheels of the pilfered airport luggage trolley to which it had been haphazardly lashed. "I'm hardly going far."

"Careful, Edwin!" Charles called out in a panic.

Edwin rolled his eyes. "I am being careful."

"It's definitely closed, yeah?" Charles persisted.

"Yes, Charles."

"Got your gloves on?"

"Yes, Charles."

"What d'you want him to do?" Crystal chimed in from the next row. "Wear a hazmat suit?"

Charles left a worrying pause. Edwin couldn't see his face at a distance in the dark, but he could see it in his mind's eye. The raised brows, widening eyes, the considering dip of his head as he thought 'actually...'. Absolutely unacceptable.

"Charles," said Edwin, firm. "Less fussing, more searching, if you don't mind."

He grumbled, of course, but his torch beam flitted away and his crunching footsteps resumed.

Though it would be more efficient to aid their efforts, Edwin decided to hang back, standing vigil over the box of bones. He'd hardly be an asset to the search party with a migraine.

Besides, if he was being honest, the idea of stumbling across a familiar name graven into ancient stone was... troubling, to say the least.

And if was being genuinely honest, more troubling still was the idea of being untroubled. It had been so very long since he'd seen his parents, his aunts and uncles and cousins. What little he remembered of them existed in his head only as fleeting snatches of memory. He'd written down facts about them, names and dates and habits and views, but in the end that was all they were. Facts. Impersonal jottings on a piece of paper. Seventy horrific years in Hell, followed by thirty in a situation comparable to a personal heaven, had put all that came before quite out of mind. It was only their recent excursions that had begun to dredge up the past; hauling the pitifully small shipwreck of his mortal life out into the light of day.

Edwin sighed and leaned on the trolley handle. In the lantern glow, the silhouettes of his family's tombstones crouched dark and dubious. No names visible, no detail, only vague forms, pitch black and hunching like a murder of silent crows. He closed his eyes against them.

His bones whispered urgent, incoherent litanies; there was little to do but bob upon the tide, and watch the distant torch beams. At some point, the one denoting Charles scurried over to meet Crystal. They might have been whispering to one another, but Edwin didn't hear, Couldn't hear. Hard to hear much of everything beyond that insistent little voice, breathing its pleading words into his ear.

Hold me hold me hold please hold me...

"Edwin?" came Charles' voice, creeping closer behind twin beams. "Got a problem."

"That doesn't fill me with confidence," said Edwin, opening his eyes slowly. Feeling as if he was coming up from underwater. "The last time you said that in a graveyard, the problem was zombies. And quite a lot of them."

"No zombies," said Crystal, hustling into view side by side with Charles like a two-headed creature in the gloom. Charles' earring flashed in the lantern glow before his worried eyes had the chance to catch up. "But..."

"But...?"

Charles puffed, raising his arms in a sharp shrug before letting his hands fall to his sides with an audible slap. "We can't find you. Anywhere."

Edwin frowned. "Are you certain?"

"Yep. Found an Edward Payne," said Crystal. "But he died in 1909."

"My grandfather," said Edwin, absently. He went to the funeral. He thinks...

"Yeah, well. Closest we've got." Crystal crossed her arms uncomfortably. "There was... we found your mom's stone, but. Your name wasn't on it."

Edwin closed his eyes and exhaled, slowly. "Right. Well. I thought this might be an issue." He adjusted his coat. "If they labelled me a disappearance, it's possible they never had any sort of funeral."

"That's bollocks," was Charles' immediate and incensed response. "No memorial? Not even a bloody stone?"

"Could it be someplace else?" asked Crystal. "Do you have, like, family scattered across the country?"

"This was our plot for generations. We had a branch of the family in the north, but why they'd memorialise me there I haven't the faintest. We scarcely even visited." Edwin's leather gloves creaked, fist braced to fist. "However..."

"What?"

Edwin cleared his throat. "Well. There is, of course, the chapel annexed to St. Hilarion's. I seem to recall a small graveyard in the vicinity."

Even in the low light, Charles looked distinctly ill. "You reckon they buried you there?"

"Evidently, Charles, they didn't bury me at all," he said. "But if there's anywhere else a memorial might be..."

"Great," said Crystal, in a bitter, biting tone that communicated the exact opposite. She sounded about as happy about the lead as Edwin felt. "So. Guess we're going back."

"I suppose so."

"Do we have to?" asked Charles, plaintive. "I mean — no rule saying we have to bury you where your old man put your grave marker, is there?"

"Strictly speaking, no," said Edwin, peevish. "But in the absence of an alternative plan, I think it important we do everything in our power to execute this one flawlessly. It is as I said, only a proper burial will do — and regardless of your hole-digging technique, Charles, I doubt disposing of me in an unmarked pit in the woods is liable to solve anything."

Crystal inhaled sharply.

Charles stared at him, stricken. "Christ, Edwin. I'd fucking never. You know I'd never."

Edwin sighed — a dry, rattling sound. "I know. I... I apologise."

Silence hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. At least, Edwin imagined it did. For him, silence was a long-lost friend; he'd not met a silence these last days that couldn't be filled with the hushed, manic whispers of the dead.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, massaging his temple. "I'm... I'm not myself."

Dull, distant pressure brushed his hand aside; and Charles held his shoulders and met his eyes.

"You're fine, mate," he said, voice low, urgent. "Just under a bit of stress, yeah?"

Edwin took a slow, steadying inhale, and looked at Charles — even though a part of him wasn't wholly sure he had the right to do so. Charles' signature eyeliner was faded, the neat arcs reduced to dark smudges, making his eyes appear sunken and bruised. It was a little affectation of his, a tell, like misty breaths and uncontrollable shivers. The true emotions peeking through the cracks. He looked about as haggard and overstretched as their poor living colleague did.

And it was all Edwin's doing.

He gathered himself, insomuch as there was anything left to gather. "Well. Mustn't dawdle," he said, giving Charles' arm a brief pat before stepping back from his hands and taking hold of the trolley. "Let us hasten to that chapel while the night is on our side."

Crystal glanced between them both, then evidently decided whatever she wanted to say wasn't worth it. "Fine." She huffed as she collected up an armful of shovels and torches. "Jenny's gonna be real stoked about how many places her van's been seen loitering around tonight."

She tromped off towards the borrowed van in question, looking for all the world like a rather dejected and unsuccessful grave robber. Edwin supposed it did look a bit suspicious, from an outside perspective. Certainly Jenny would have had words to say, if she knew what they were up to. But Jenny was otherwise occupied tonight, and Crystal had a newly minted driver's licence, so there'd been little point bothering her. Crystal disappeared over the grassy verge, leaving Edwin and Charles alone with a couple more shovels and a restless cart of bones.

Charles gave Edwin another worried look, and reached for the pull handle of the trolly. "Let me take those for a bit, mate," he said.

Edwin shook his head and tightened his grip. "They'll make a fuss."

"Well, they can bloody lump it for a minute, can't they?" said Charles. Firmly, but with care, he pried Edwin's finger's from the handle and replaced them with his own. Edwin winced in anticipation of a flare of pain that never came. For whatever reason, for the time being, the temperament of the bones remained stable.

Exhaling slowly, Edwin flexed his fingers. "Thank you," he muttered.

"S'alright." Charles was watching him, all too shrewdly. Shrewdness bore a rather unique flavour when Charles wielded it. Neither cutting nor cruel; it was simply an expression which asked if all was well, and saw right through to the real answer. "Did you..."

"Did I?"

"Did you wanna..." Charles bit his lip, and shrugged. "See anyone? Say anything? Seeing as we're here." He nodded towards the hunching shadows. "With them."

Edwin looked at his feet.

"You don't have to," Charles hastened to assure him. His free hand landed, with that reassuring Charles-signature firmness that carried even through the intangible ether, upon Edwin's shoulder. "Just thought I'd ask, yeah?"

Edwin turned his head to the grave plot. Generations of his family, from before his time, and after. Each as dead as he, or moreso. He imagined Aunt Florence was here, somewhere, despite her cemetery preferences. Uncle Cuthbert. Grandfather Edward. Mother. Father.

The names rang clear as a bell, graven across his memory in his own hasty handwriting. Etched year by torturous year in Hell into the pages of books and the dust of the walls lest he forget; lose the familiar syllables to the sands of time.

The faces to go with them?

Edwin pressed a hand to his chest, to the outline of his notebook where it lay tucked against his heart. The impression of a family crest. A singular tether, a constant reminder. A tribute, like his frantic scrawlings, to the name. Nothing more.

"I... think I'd rather not linger," he said, shamefaced, looking at Charles' hand — if only to avoid his eyes. "If it's all the same to you."

He watched Charles release him. But not without a squeeze, and a slow trail of his hand down his arm. As if to prolong the non-touch as long as possible.

"Say no more, mate," he said, low and achingly kind, as he shored up his hold upon Edwin's mortal remains. "Say no more."

He followed in Crystal's footsteps, towing the trunk and its contents with care and attention. Edwin followed, and did not look back. Perhaps it was for the better, that they'd found no grave waiting to receive him.

He had no wish to be buried amongst strangers.

~

Returning to St. Hilarion's even once had been quite enough for Edwin's nerves. Twice was pushing it. But needs must when the devil drives. And with his own bones now found — and apparently happy to keep their interference to a low, droning whisper whilst being towed along in Charles' steady hand — at least there were no extreme supernatural weather conditions to contend with.

The chapel, as well, was an altogether less familiar area of campus. Edwin had spent his fair share of time there, of course, for Sunday service amongst others. But the headmaster in his time had preferred to conduct assemblies elsewhere, and so the chapel became an infrequent haunt. And a relatively peaceful one, considering his bullies had to torment him very, very quietly, lest they incur the wrath of this God fellow. Or, more pressingly, the wrath of the bishop with the sharp eyes and cutting tongue. He never raised a hand to them himself, but was always quite happy to recommend any ne'er-do-wells for punishment from the school staff. As a result, Sunday service was somewhat of a sanctuary in Edwin's week, which he'd enjoyed greatly; even if the boredom threatened at times to choke him. But he daren't attempt to hide more interesting reading material in his prayer book. Just because he was rarely a target for the bishop's ire did not mean he didn't carry a healthy respect for it.

Much like the rest of the school, the chapel had been well-kept since Edwin's day. Though he wondered if it saw as much use in these enlightened times. Did they still herd the boarders in the door every Sunday? The grass outside was short and freshly chopped. He experienced a moment's pure nostalgia for the fragrance that always erupted about the school when the groundskeeper had been out and about with his little push-mower. That bright, green, fresh scent that bled through the open windows of the classroom on a summer's afternoon, a stark contrast to the smell of books and bodies and the throat-clagging chalk dust. It wasn't often Edwin so keenly missed his sense of smell, but that had always been one of his favourites. Remembered with a vivid fondness not even afforded to his own immediate family.

Being buried on school grounds was certainly not ideal; but buried under fresh cut grass, that he could abide.

"Well," Charles muttered. "This shouldn't take long."

In contrast to the sprawl of Kensal Green cemetery — and even the relatively small subsection of the Payne family plot — the St. Hilarion's graveyard amounted to a mere handful of scattered stones. It seemed relatively few new additions had sprung up since Edwin's time.

"Good," he said, dryly. "They must not be haemorrhaging students at a breakneck pace."

Charles tossed him a wry grin. "S'pose we're special then, eh?"

"Wait," said Crystal. "Charles, is one of these yours?"

He shook his head. "Nah. I'm over Croydon way."

Edwin's gaze snapped to him. "You are?"

"Yeah. Found out a while back." He shrugged, but his expression had clouded. Somewhere behind his eyes, a distant rumble of warning thunder. "Should've been cremated, really. Always thought, 'cause of mum... but, well. Dad had to go and steamroll that, didn't he?" He kicked a clump of loose sod at the side of the cobble path. "Just like he always does. Can't not have it his way, can he?"

Edwin wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that rhetorical. If he were Charles, someone more at ease with the practice of offering comfort, he might have reached out to touch him. But he was no such thing.

"Charming man," he muttered instead, tongue dripping venom. And that, at least, coaxed a wry smile from Charles' scowling lips.

"Right then. Better get looking, hadn't we?" said Charles, as he gently passed the trolley handle back into Edwin's hand, fingers lingering in the changeover. "Be careful, yeah?"

Edwin smiled, tightly, and offered Charles a torch. "Of course."

Charles took it, and he and Crystal marched grimly towards the grave plots. Crystal, Edwin noticed, walked in close step, and gave Charles the reassuring squeeze that Edwin himself had failed to provide. He averted his eyes, glowering at the infernal trunk he was once more saddled with.

It didn't sit well with Edwin. Waiting. He liked to be pragmatic. Not in Charles' sense of the word, of course — impulsive decisions were neither his preference nor his specialty, and he was loathe to charge into a situation unprepared. But preparation in itself was a form of pragmatism, and Edwin had been feeling woefully understocked on both these past few days. When the only resources they had to hand were a single book and the odd scattered diary entry, it made it rather difficult to contribute in any meaningful way to the case. It hadn't even been his idea to fasten the trunk to the trolley — at most, he could claim credit for holding the tape.

Well. He'd had quite enough of waiting. Squaring his shoulders, he took a firmer grip on the handle. "Come along, then," he told his bones brusquely. "Let us see what we can see."

The wheels of the luggage trolley were not well suited to grass and dirt. Edwin wove a very slow, very stilted path across the green, full of routine stops to disentangle the axles from tangles of loose cuttings. But he made it, eventually, to the yard, exchanging a glance with Crystal as he went. She made no efforts to stop him, for which he was quietly grateful. As she continued to inspect the smattering of stones in the southernmost stretch of the small yard, Edwin surveyed the ones closer to the gate. Many of which were clearly too modern to be his, but it made sense to leave no tombstone unturned.

He was directing his gaze away from the carving of a lamb upon an older stone, when something caught his eye. A single name amongst a jumble of them.

His breath caught.

"Edwin?" Charles called, his voice very distant, rising in budding concern. "Edwin, I still can't see you anywhere, mate..."

"Me either," added Crystal.

Edwin didn't look at either of them; cold to his very soul. "I can."

He heard rather than saw their approach, Charles and his insensible loafers skidding in the dirt alongside the confident crunch of Crystal's sturdy boots. The noise stopped abruptly when they reached his side; and silence reigned as they read what was written.

"Shit..." Crystal muttered.

"Edwin," said Charles, quiet. "What's this about?"

"I don't know," said Edwin, his own soft voice roaring like a waterfall in his ears. "But I can make an educated guess."

The stone which bore Edwin's name was not a dedicated gravestone at all. What it was was a tall, distinctive structure, carved in the image of a celtic cross. A better word for it might be cenotaph. Beneath the most prominent engraving on the plaque, the fairly boilerplate 'IN PROUD REMEMBRANCE', a list of names. Edwin's peeked out from within it, almost timid. Eighth down in the roster, amongst a handful of others. All familiar, some more than others. The name Simon Fairfax stood out somewhat.

Charles took a knee in the dirt beside him, reaching out. His gloved fingertips traced Edwin's name in the brass. "Mate..."

It took Edwin some moments to find his voice again.

"Act of God," Edwin parrotted, dully. "Covers all manner of sins, does it not?"

Crystal squatted at his other side, arms folded on her knees.

Edwin wondered who'd originated this rather ingenious cover. The school, or his family. How long had his parents waited, he wondered. How hard had they looked. Did they know, from the moment news of his disappearance reached them, that this was how they'd explain it away? Or did this happy coincidence not occur to them until some time later?

It was rather easier to explain, wasn't it? No uncomfortable questions to be fielded about where Edwin was last seen, or with whom. About why he could have been a target for abuse at the hands of his peers. About what he and at least one other of the boys who'd disappeared that night had in common. An easy explanation; and an easy, expeditious route to a noble death.

He laughed, cut-glass sharp. "How convenient."

"Shit..." Crystal muttered. "Shit. Edwin, I'm so sorry."

"Oh, no, don't be. It's the kindest thing, is it not?" he spat, fingers tightening to a bruising grip on the trolley handle. "I should be thanking them, really. How thoughtful of them to spare me the embarrassment."

"Edwin..." said Charles.

"Really, what a kindness. What a gracious act of self-sacrifice to cover up the truth of the matter for my sake." The words were coming thick and fast, now, but he hadn't the wherewithal to care. He had dead lungs with no need for oxygen, and no shortage of acidic vitriol to burn. "It must have been so very difficult for them, to stand in front of all our friends, relatives, all of father's business associates and lie. Poor Edwin, ran away with his chums to join the front lines. Fought valiantly, or so we heard. How brave of him, that hard-headed, foolish boy. How tragic to see a fine young man cut off in his prime. Oh, but not to worry. At least he died a hero's death, him and all of his little friends. At least he died defending his country, and not in the school that we sent him to, screaming, begging. Pinned against his will, writhing on his back and sobbing like a wretched little Mary Ann!"

The hated words, like a bitter incantation, broke the spell. The red haze bled from his vision and soon, all that was left in its place was sorrow. So old, so aching it could be felt, quite literally, in his very bones.

Closer closer closer please closer...

He dropped the handle, uncaring for how they cried, how it hurt in his head and his heart. How a small, broken part of him wished, shamefully, to throw himself upon them and melt like wax just to make it all stop.

Hold me. Please hold me...

But he sat petrified, a statue among the stones, between Crystal's hand at his elbow and Charles' on his shoulder. Bound inescapably to the terrible moment and so he did the only thing he could think to do. The only thing he felt capable of doing.

He wept.

~

Minutes ticked, inexorably, into hours. A light rain fell, staining the weathered cenotaph a deeper, slicker grey. A stone effigy of a darkening stormcloud.

It was when the sky had wept its fill, when the rain had left behind only a glimmering beading upon the neatly trimmed cemetery grass, that Edwin's tears likewise subsided. He blinked up at the dawn's gloaming.

"Hey," said Crystal, quiet. He looked at her; her jacket was sodden and her curls had been tamped down by the persistent, penetrating drizzle. She hadn't complained once.

Edwin found, with a somewhat detached sense of surprise, that he was as drenched as their living friend. His blazer was heavy with water, his knees damp and grass-stained. A slick forelock of his hair had split from formation to curl, limply, in his vision. He looked to Charles and found he, at least, was dry. But the slight tremor of his hand, the soft puffs of vaporous air from his lips denoted a worry he was simply keeping a tight lid upon.

With a ragged exhale, Edwin wiped his eyes. How strange, to not feel the water, and yet to see his fingers come away wet. "I'm sorry."

Quick as a flash, Charles' hands were upon him. On his neck, cupping his jaw, turning Edwin to face him. Edwin had never so deeply craved something he couldn't have in his life; he wanted the warmth of Charles' hands. Wanted them to ward off the ice settling upon his very soul.

"Oi. You have nothing to be sorry about," said Charles, serious as the grave.

Edwin breathed in, slow and shuddering, and nodded. His hand found Charles', and held on tight.

"Are you okay?" asked Crystal. Then, with an audible wince: "Shit, of course you're not okay. I mean, like... physically, are you okay? You look..."

A droplet of water broke from the tip of Edwin's flyaway hair. "Like a drowned rat?"

"Uh. Yeah. Kinda."

Edwin shook his head. "They're — this near to them, it's like I can..." He shivered. "Everything feels very... close."

"Hey, now. You're alright. You're okay, yeah? Here." Charles shrugged out of his coat, and draped it over Edwin's shoulders. "It's alright, mate."

It made precious little difference, of course, being draped in a piece of ghostly wool. He'd much rather Charles have kept it for himself, to stave off his own spectral chill. But he clutched it tight to his chest, nonetheless.

"So what now?" asked Crystal, bleakly.

Edwin had no answer for her.

"Could try burying 'em with your family, anyway," said Charles. "Make a grave ourselves. A proper one."

"It won't work," said Edwin, softly.

"Why not?" asked Crystal.

Edwin wasn't wholly sure why it wouldn't, but it wouldn't. He'd felt the unrest of the bones at the very suggestion, in the back of his mind. As if an invisible hand had grabbed at his head and yanked it back by the scalp.

"They don't want to be there," he said, gathering Charles' coat tight around him. "He doesn't... I don't."

Crystal rubbed her face. If there was any of her eye cosmetic left behind from these frantic days, it had been washed away by the rain. "Would here work? I know it's not like, a real grave, but..."

Edwin, considering it, stretched out a shaking hand and sank his fingers into the wet, unresisting dirt beneath the stone. The pain was as immediate as it was pronounced. Less a pull of the hair, and more of an icepick to the frontal lobe. "No," he grit out through clenched teeth, falling back on his haunches in the grass. "No, no, here... here won't do, either."

"Maybe they don't even bloody want to be buried." Charles threw up his hands in frustration, before raking both through his hair. "Christ, not got much to go on, have we?"

Silence hung in the air following his outburst, taut and trembling; until Crystal snipped the thread. "But we could."

Charles' gaze snapped to her. "No."

"What choice do we have, Charles?" she argued. "If there's no grave, and if they don't want us to make one, then — then we've gotta find out what they do want. And I have a way to do it."

"It's too dangerous," he said, bringing his hands down to his thighs with an impact for emphasis. "Right, Edwin?"

Edwin looked at her, and she at him. She raised her eyebrows.

"It is too dangerous," he agreed, barely above a whisper. "And I cannot ask you to do it."

She hesitated, then put her hand on his arm. "But you want to ask me."

He nodded.

She nodded in return. "Then I'll do it."

"Crys..." Charles mumbled.

"Charles," she said, in a tone that took no prisoners. "Open the box."

He glanced between them, fists clenching fretfully on his knees. But one look at Edwin's sorry state, and he seemed to make his uneasy peace with the idea. "Alright. Alright..."

It was hardly a quick or elegant process, laying the trolley down flat and cutting through the yards and yards of heavy-duty duct tape with Charles' pocket knife. Some cursing was involved, and Edwin considered, briefly, that perhaps they ought to have adjourned to the office for this part. But it was too late now. The trunk's mummifying wrappings lay in mangled shreds about the grass, and Charles had the padlock in hand. He cast Edwin one more wary, terrified glance, before he willed it open with a click and let it fall to the ground with a damp and anticlimactic squelch.

The trunk swung open with its customary ominous creak. That faint blue iridescence from within shone upon the weathered planes of the cenotaph, and on each of their harrowed faces. Still vibrant in the pre-dawn light, not yet drowned by the encroaching sun.

Crystal climbed to her knees, shuffled closer, and propped her elbows upon the edge of the box. Her face was sallow in the direct glow of the contents, her eyes disconcertingly enormous.

"Careful..." said Charles, visibly twitching with the effort of not pulling her back. "Just..."

"Don't die?" she muttered.

He chewed his lip. "You've still got a life to lose," he mumbled.

She looked at him with a weary kindness, then. Tucked away somewhere in the wry uptick of her smile. "I'm not gonna." She glanced between him and Edwin as she reached out, tentative, naught outstretched but her littlest finger. "Guess you're both stuck with me."

Edwin's breath hitched. He extended his hand to her. "Crystal..."

But she closed the distance, first; her finger brushing like a kiss upon the crown of Edwin's bare, hollow skull.

The effect was instantaneous; her eyes clouding into perfect white pearls, her mouth falling open. Edwin half expected her to scream like a banshee, or start speaking in tongues but it was far, far worse.

She started crying.

It was a hideous sound, wet and wrenching; the sort of crying that had to escape through the mouth lest it force itself through the ribs instead. Edwin's blood ran cold.

"Crystal, that's enough now," he pleaded, trying — and failing — to keep his voice level against the rising panic. He reached to touch her, but hesitated — what if he only need touch the bones by proxy to fall into their trap? "Crystal, let go, please —"

Charles had no such considerations. "Crystal!" he hollered, throwing himself at her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "Crystal, stop it, now!"

He pulled, and her hand parted from the skull.

She inhaled sharply, her eyes flashing back to normal in the space of a blink. The tears, however, continued to roll.

"Crystal. Crystal, you alright?" asked Charles, frantic. He'd yet to release his hold upon her, rocking her back and forth with his own restless motions.

She sobbed, burying her face into Charles' arms.

Edwin swallowed, and inched forward. "Crystal. What did you see?"

"Oi! Give her a sec!" Charles defended.

But Edwin could feel it, already, the bones and their insistence creeping back into his mind. Maddeningly inscrutable. If Crystal had managed to get even a glimpse...

"Crystal, please," he breathed, hushed and intense, crowding closer. He took her trembling hands in his, letting Charles' coat fall from his shoulders to the ground. "Please, Crystal, what did you see? What does he want?"

When she finally looked at him, he wished she hadn't. Not even in his lowest moments had he ever felt such pity in her gaze.

"He's so lonely," she said, sounding very small and very broken, very little like herself at all. "That's all. There's nothing else he wants, nothing else he knows, he just." She sniffed. "He just doesn't want to be alone anymore."

Hold me please hold me...

Edwin slumped, a dead weight. Cold and heavy as the stones which surrounded them.

“How long… How long will I have to stay with him in order to make him… happy? Do you think?”

"It's been in front of us the entire time," he said, voice ringing out hollow in the cold snap of the graveyard air. "It was so obvious, we just..."

Before my very eyes he melted, oozed, his liquid remains drawn to the bones like water to a spigot, like gas to a vacuum.

"I just did not wish to see it."

He saw Crystal's hands squeeze his, unfeeling. She may as well be across the universe.

"Edwin..." said Charles, low and urgent. His hand reached out past Crystal, going for Edwin's shoulder, where it belonged.

Edwin flinched. "Don't."

Charles froze.

"I'm sorry," Edwin whispered. "But please don't."

He couldn't bear it, another empty embrace, another grip without weight or warmth. To touch Charles without feeling him. Not now.

His pitiful, cadaverous heart couldn't take one more drop.

~

Dawn crept up on them, a silent hunter; rosy claws touching upon three harrowed faces in a graveyard. Each as young, as open, as lost as the next.

Somewhere in the woods, the first blackbird of the morning began to sing.

~~

Thank you to all who've bookmarked, subscribed, and especially commented, love you loads, until next time 💛

[artists-ally]

{Flatline} OFC x Harvey Specter {Pt. 3)

Uh ohhhh guys it’s Pt. 3 🤭🤭🤭 I am so excited for this. It’s honestly one of my favorite things I’ve written and I hope you all agree. There is a poll at the end so make sure to vote for that <3 enjooyyyyy p.s. I hope this does good justice for this series.

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Character Playlist

Word Count: 12,795

Warnings: language, angst, anxious thoughts, one singular mention of sexual h*r*ssm*nt in regards to Harvey’s actions with Claudia, smut 18+, the tiniest bit of food play, dom/sub dynamics, praise kink go brrr

***Italic sections indicate flashbacks***

Summary: The aftermath of Harvey breaking his promise to Claudia.

Tagging: @rosedpetal @maxdamax @ashcosmo

~~~~~~

HARVEY'S POV

My legs were numb. That sort of numbness when something happens that you can’t explain. It felt like my life just flashed before my eyes. That image of Claudia’s shaking lip… hearing her broken voice… I don’t think I’ll ever get it out of my fucking head. 

“Harvey, I requested those trades be made an hour ago. Do you wanna tell me why… Harvey?”

I could see Jessica in front of me, but I couldn’t hear a damn thing she said. 

“Harvey, what’s going on?” She closed the door, and I put a hand out to steady myself so I wouldn’t fall on the floor. “What happened?” “I fucked up,” I whispered. 

“Yeah, no shit. You tanked our only opportunity to get a leg up on this Gustoson case. You’re damn right you fucked up-”

“No no,” I sat on the arm of the chair. My hands began to shake so I folded them together. Jessica saw. 

“What the hell did you do?”

“I yelled at Claudia…”

She just blinked at me. “Is that seriously what you’re concerned about? Yelling at an associate? Okay, you yelled at an associate, what’s new? That might as well be in your job description.”

“No no no I didn’t just yell at her I threatened to do the one thing that I promised I would never do and now she’s gone. She left. I can’t- I don’t- I never meant to hurt her but she suggested that we file a motion to dismiss and I got so caught up in my anger about her accusing me of using her that I lost my-”

“Using her? Harvey, what is going on?” “I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Donna barged in. 

“Donna please don’t-”

“Harvey and Claudia have been ‘working together’ for the last month and a half, when in reality he has been a selfish, lying, arrogant brat who has crossed so many lines it’s beginning to look like a Rorschach Test.”

“You know?” I felt my heart suffocate myself. I thought I was gonna throw up.

“In all honesty Harvey, no I didn’t. Not until Claudia just broke down in the elevator and told me everything. I cannot believe that you would use her like that. For your own personal satisfaction are you out of your fucking mind?” “Harvey, what the hell is she talking about?” Jessica’s voice was full of hostility. 

“He thought that it would be a good idea to boost Claudia’s confidence by getting into her pants.”

“Donna it wasn’t-”

Jessica scoffed, covering her face. “What the hell is wrong with you? This has got sexual harassment written all over it, Havrey. Could you really be that delusional?”

“For fucks sake it wasn’t like that!” I screamed. Genuinely screamed and paced around. “I didn’t use her, not intentionally. God dammit I haven't been able to think clearly since the first day that I saw Claudia. She is an incredible lawyer and all I wanted to do was give her something else to focus on because she was afraid to be in a room with me. I just- all I wanted to do was help her find a little bit of confidence and oh my god this sounds so much worse when I say it outloud.”

Donna and Jessica exchanged a look while I slowly felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest and stomped on the floor with cleats. 

“Okay Harvey, sit down and tell us what happened,” Donna steered me away from putting a hole in the wall to my desk.

“I don’t even know, Donna.” “Well while you two enjoy going down memory lane, I’ll be fighting for our firm's life. If you two don’t get your shit together, and by you two I mean Harvey, then… I don’t even know then.”

She all but slammed the door on her way out, patrons on the other side sending worried glances our way. I turned my chair so they wouldn’t see me. 

“How long has this been going on?” Donna asked. 

I dug my nails into my skin. “Almost two months.”

“Two months? Harvey, how could you not tell me?” “Because I didn’t want to,” I admitted. “And partly because I kind of thought you already knew. You know, the whole ‘Donna superpower’ shit you do.”

“I know I can’t believe I missed it,” she took the chair in front of me. I glared at her so hard I thought I’d light that hair of hers on fire. “Okay bad time for a joke. So, bachelor, why don’t you start from the beginning. And please, I don’t need to know the dirty details, despite my curiosity. Claudia is like a little sister to me and I really don’t want to picture you and her and oh my god I already am. Ugh, please start talking so I don’t have to be tortured.”

So dramatic. I was good looking, and so was Claudia. Why wouldn’t anyone want to picture us together? Then my eyes snapped to the chair she was sitting on. Oh god. Donna was in the chair that I was the first time Claudia and I-

“Get up,” I blurted out, reaching for her and placing her in my desk chair. God dammit we used that one too. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

We sat down on the couch and I rubbed my strained eyes. Here goes nothing. 

“When Sheila first sent over the recruits from Harvard, I interviewed all of them. Except for one. There were thirteen associates but I only had twelve meetings set up. So I asked Louis if he was interviewing any of the newbies and he said just one. Obviously this person was some sort of idiot to be going to Louis instead of me, so I popped in.”

“Well, Claudia I think that you have some unbelievable potential at this firm and I’d just like to- Harvey, what are you doing here I am in the middle of an interview.”

“Oh I know, I just wanted to drop by and see how it was going.”

In front of Louis was this warm, chestnut brown head of sleek, silk like hair. She was wearing a lavender blouse and a black maxi skirt with a slit to the knee. She had on these black flats with pearls on them. Summer had just ended, and there was some remaining sunburn on her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were surrounded by prominent lashes and eyebrows, a fine line of makeup between the two; lavender, to match the top. 

“It’s going great, now will you get the hell out and tend to your own interviews and stop barging in on my only one?”

“Harvey Specter,” I introduced, sticking out my hand. She looked from it over to Louis, who was just shooting me daggers. 

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”“Louis, I’m not trying to woo your associate, I’m just introducing myself to her. We are kind of name partners, you know. It’s the courteous thing to do.”

Again, all she did was look at my hand before slowly standing up. I didn’t miss the way she tried to subtly wipe her hand on her skirt. 

“I’m Claudia. Claudia Martin.”

God dammit that was a pretty name. It sounded so sophisticated, so mature and would sound really nice next to mine. Or with mine. Harvey Specter and Claudia Martin. I don’t know why I thought of hearing or seeing ‘Claudia Specter’ one day, but I did. And I didn’t hate the way it sounded. 

“Welcome to Pearson Specter Litt,” I gave a nice smile. It was clear she was already intimidated to be here, I didn’t need to add to that fire. She barely looked me in the eye for two seconds, but those two seconds made my head spin. 

She had the most gorgeous eyes I think I’ve ever seen in my life. They were amber in the middle but had this ring of hazel around the outer rim. It was just… not something I’ve ever seen before. I didn’t want her to look away because I just wanted to keep looking at them.

And that blush… that I knew wasn’t her sunburn. Not the way it creeped up the side of her face, or at the base of her neck. 

Jesus Harvey, stop staring at her. You’re probably giving off major stalker vibes.

“Well I’ll be around if you need anything, Claudia. Don’t be shy,” I smiled, the best charming one I could. Her full lips were in a tight line, her fingers picking at each other before she sat back down with Louis.

“Okay so you sabotaged Louis’ meeting with Claudia and thought she was beautiful? Why didn’t you just say that?” Donna interrupted. 

“Didn’t you ask me to start from the beginning?” She snapped her lips closed. “So let me tell the goddamn story. Yes, I thought she was stunning. I mean, no one in their right mind would think otherwise. She is so pretty and so smart and twice the person I wish I could be. There is just something about her that I can’t shake from my memory.”

“Yeah we get it, you’re head over heels for Claudia. Now on with it I don’t have all day.”

I rolled my eyes. 

“That was the first time I met her. It wasn’t long after that she started working here when I talked to her again. She was just sitting at her desk, Griffin and whoever else crowded around the opposite end of the bullpen. She was excluded and it made me feel bad.”

I’ve always thought Griffin would be at the top of my list for top associates. He was like me; only shorter, not as good looking, and had blue eyes instead of brown. Did I mention he wasn’t as good looking? Anyway, I had only one intention: get Claudia alone so I could talk to her.

Every day since she started a few weeks ago, I have watched her get off the elevator, walk through the office, and disappear around the corner. It wasn’t fair that she got to look like that, walk like that, and no one was around to appreciate it. 

She was so fucking eye catching. And I didn’t want the other slobs at this firm to get to her before I could.

“Claudia, do you mind helping me with something for a few minutes?” I asked, voice just loud enough for Griffin to hear. 

She looked up, pen cap between her rosy lips, and blinked. That flush creeped onto her cheeks. I tried not to smile. 

“Sure,” she nodded once and stood up, following me out. 

I was not so subtle with the look that I gave Griffin, and he wasn’t so subtle with the way he spoke.

“Is there something you need, Harvey? Claudia is in the middle of a very important depo documentation. I’d hate for her to fall behind.”

What a dick. “No, Griffin. It seems like you’ve got more important things to do with your book club than working on whatever Louis assigned you, so Claudia will work just fine. I prefer an actually hard working associate to someone who’s discussing whatever mediocre steak dinner you had at Texas Roadhouse last Wednesday.”

“Griffin’s eyes simmered and shot daggers into Claudia. But he didn’t open his mouth. I thought about punching him in the face for looking at her like that, and that’s when I realized I was fucked. That I was willing to do that for Claudia when it was literally the second time I’ve ever talked to her.”

“I’ll say,” Donna huffed. “What happened next?” “I just had her deliver some letters for me to the courthouse. I asked her something about Griffin, if they were ever acquainted with each other.”

“And what did she say?”

“She told me that Griffin was a total douchebag and tried to use his social status to get a leg up on her in class discussions, cutting corners to discredit her. It was so unfair and I just-”

Donna put a hand on my knee. “Relax, Harvey. Griffin isn’t here, stop looking like you want to put him through a wall.” “Well, Donna, I do want to put him through a wall because he has been an asshole to Claudia for no other reason than she was good at her job. It makes me sick.”

“When did you start becoming so protective of her? I’ve never seen you like this with anyone other than Mike, Louis, Jessica and myself. You must… really really care about her.”

“I think it was during the mock trial. She was always off to the side, always attentive, but never spoke up. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing over at her every once and a while to see if she wanted to be included. But she never did.”

“This case may seem simple, but the husband is a grade A asshole. He has done everything to cover his tracks and is gonna come at us with everything he’s got. Find me some evidence and make it good.”

They all branched off, heading this way and that. Claudia went to the only logical place, right to me.

“Hi, Mr. Specter-sir. I just have one question about-about the case if you’ve got a minute. If you have somewhere to be I understand and I can ask later,” she said quickly.

“Of course, what do you want to know?” I couldn’t help but think her stuttering was cute. I knew she was nervous, specifically around me; she always seemed so tense with me, so I made sure to always speak quietly and calmly with her. 

“Was Mr. Saros the one who paid off that investment banker? Did the money come from his account directly or a different one?”

God she was so good. “It came from him and his wife’s joint account.”

Claudia had a slight grin to her lips, and she nodded before striding away. She was going to crack this wide open. I just knew it. 

I went back to my office to wait it out, to see if any one could come up with an idea before Claudia. Before I knew it, it was three o'clock and I had a meeting to go to for another case Mike and I were working on. When we got in the car, Mike was looking at me with a knowing smile. 

“What?” 

He shook his head, “Nothing, just wondering how long you’re going to pretend you’re not in love with Claudia Martin.”

“The first year associate?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know who she is. I see you watch her like a starving animal every time she comes into the office. And every time she leaves. And every time she asks Donna something.”

Uh oh.

“Oh please, I have far better things to do than get involved with a first year.”

“You didn’t deny that you were in love with her.”

“Do you want to get smacked? Or I could kick you out of this car at sixty miles per hour, see how you like the taste of asphalt.” Mike did not know when to stop pushing my buttons. 

“I think you just proved my theory.”

“What theory?”

“That you are in love and you are incredibly protective of Claudia. I heard about what you said to Griffin when he offered his help because Claudia was ‘too busy’. You know he pawned that work off to her, right?”

My eyes narrowed and my jaw clenched, as well as my fists. I fixed my gaze out the window and took some deep breaths. Jesus… he had a point. A huge point. God dammit I’m in trouble.

“Mike knew before I did?” Donna sounded mildly offended. 

“Well, not really. I never told him what we were doing. But I did tell him that I liked her. And when he told me that Griffin was pawning off his work to Caudia it sent me into a spiral. Shit, Donna… I am in so deep with Claudia. I really fucked up. I mean really bad. I made a promise to her that I wouldn’t treat her like the other associates because she wasn’t like the other associates. She was Claudia. And Claudia was- is- so much better than the rest of them.” “Why would you make a promise like that if you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep it?” “I had every intention of keeping it, but then all the shit with started happening when Louis found out about Mike being a fraud and he took that fucking case with Gerard and I couldn’t hold it together.” “Why did you even make it in the first place?” Donna asked, but I really didn’t want to tell this story.

I sighed, the type of sigh that fills your whole body.

“I was going off on Griffin one day, for being an asshole to some of the other associates, about pawning off his work to Claudia and she saw.”

“Griffin, I don’t care whose idea it was. You were the one to destroy his work, so you’re going to face the consequences.”

“It was just a prank, the entire document wasn’t supposed to be deleted.”

“You think tampering with another associate’s work is a prank? I hope when you go home tonight you think long and hard about who you wanna be as a man because as of right now, there isn’t going to be anything for you to come back to tomorrow. And you better pray to whatever you believe in because if there’s one person you don’t want to make an enemy out of, it’s me. Do you understand that?”

He clenched his jax, shoving his hands in his pockets. “yes.”

“You are going to be Louis’ personal associate.”“No, no way you can make me work for that man. He’s a total airhead.”“Yes, he is, now you two have something to talk about. You can bond over your selfish, outrageous egotistical behavior, it’ll be just like looking in a mirror.”

“Harvey I’m-”

“I don’t care what you are Griffin. You have no right to treat the other associates like that, especially Claudia. If I ever catch wind of you throwing your work load on her again so help me God I will make sure it is the last thing you do at this firm.”

If my point wasn’t clear enough by my words, the look I gave him would certainly do. He left my office without another word and I followed his movements all the way. But my eyes met Claudia’s. And they were wide and panicked. She quickly scurried away, head down and steps fast. She looked so afraid. 

She wasn’t afraid of me was she? I mean, all I had done was rip Griffin a new one for being an asshole. And he deserved it, Claudia would never do something to deserve that kind of lashing. 

“And so I promised her. I fucking promised her that I would never flip out on her and then I went and did exactly. God Donna… I am so fucked up.”

Her slim hand rubbed up and down my shoulder, but I only wanted it to be Claudia’s. I wanted her right next to me so I could go through all of this with her and explain that it wasn’t just some fling. Not to me. Never to me. I never wanted it to be temporary, she was… she’s it for me. 

The familiar prick crept into my eyes, my nose, and the tears fell. Donna has only seen me cry a handful of times, but never over a girl.

But Claudia wasn’t just some girl. She wasn’t just some hookup or some prize to be won. She was Claudia Martin. My Claudia. The quiet, shy first year associate I had worked so hard to get out of her shell. It wasn’t just for my pleasure, I truly didn’t want to see her fall behind just because she couldn’t ask me a question.

I saw that look in her eye; hunger and determination. Just like mine. I wanted it to shine brighter than her smile. Which was equally as devastating as her work in the courtroom. But I just wanted her to feel comfortable around me and I didn’t know what else to do. She was like a frightened baby deer around me. A constant nervous wreck at the drop of my name. I didn’t want her to be afraid of me, I wanted nothing more than to be a safe space for her. 

And maybe it’s just because I’m an idiot, but I’m realizing now that maybe I’m the one who needed the safe place. To just have someone to go to all the time. To share all of my proud moments and sneak little kisses and touches here and there. 

I need Claudia. I need her.

Maybe I took it too far. Started at the wrong place. I should’ve offered to take her out to dinner instead of inviting her up for a drink in my office after her first case. I shouldn’t have done it so backwards, and it kills me that I’m only drawing that connection now. Why couldn’t I have thought of that earlier? She would’ve been so much better off without all the backwards, fucked up shit that I did.

But it was so nice. To finally have the one thing I have been craving for so long. She was so soft, and she was so sweet under my touch and I couldn’t help myself. As soon as I first kissed her it was end game. I didn’t want to kiss anyone else. I wouldn’t ever kiss anyone again, not the way I kissed Claudia. More than lust. More than just a desire. 

Her lips on mine made my head go blank. I had an awful habit of having work thoughts creep their way into my head every once in a while. But never with her. Even when we were only talking about work, I couldn’t think about it. I only thought about her. About how brilliant she was, about how soft and warm and perfect her lips were on mine. About how she always made me feel at ease and comforted. I doubt she could ever make anyone afraid. Except maybe an opposing counsel. 

If I ever had to face her in court… I know I’d lose. For one, I’d give her anything she wanted simply because she could put me on my knees with a single look. And normally I’d hate to let a woman have that much control over me, but for Claudia… I’d let her do whatever she wanted. And Second, she knows what to do. All the time. She never misses a beat, and is always listening. Even when you think she isn’t.

I am so in love with Claudia. I felt my heart crack open. My voice more or less does the same. 

“Harvey…” “I am in love with her, Donna. And I think I have been for a long time.”

She was quiet, and a throat cleared. Mike was there in front of me, his hands in his pockets, a look of worry on his face. “Is everything alright?”

I saw Donna shake her head out of the corner of my eye. She didn’t say anything, but I knew she wanted to. 

“I broke my promise to Claudia.” That was all I said. I heard his sharp inhale, and he came and sat in front of us. “God dammit Mike… I really messed up. I hurt the one person I couldn’t afford to and- and I don’t know what to do.”

“Go talk to her,” Mike said. “If you’re serious about how you feel about Claudia, then you need to go tell her that it was never… whatever you were doing before. She has anxiety, Harvey. She is going to let her brain tell her things about you that aren’t true. And you need to be there to soothe the fire before it does irreversible damage.” “Well, what do you and Rachel do when you get into an argument?” 

“Harvey,” Donna said, “You aren’t Mike, and Claudia isn’t Rachel. Whatever they do might not work for you. You need to do what feels right for you and your relationship.” “I don’t know if you know this Donna, but I haven’t done something like this before. I don’t know how to talk to her. How to not make her anxious around me.” “We’ll help you,” Mike nods, as well as Donna. “We can come up with a plan but right now we’ve got a bigger problem on our hands.” What could be more devastating than hurting Claudia? 

Nothing. The answer was nothing.

____

CLAUDIA’S POV

I toed off my shoes, leaving them in the growing pile by my front door. I sighed at it. Why couldn’t they just put themselves away? 

My splitting headache was doing nothing to help either. 

Before I could even get a thought about what I could cook for dinner, the doorbell rang. I swear to god if Greg was here asking me about those flowers on my wreath again I was going to smack him with it, throw it over his head and shove him back inside his apartment and-

“Claudia, it’s Mike. I know you’re here, can we talk?”

Mike? What the hell is he doing here? 

I seriously debated giving my best housekeeper impression and deadbolting the door. But it was Mike, and he hadn’t done anything to deserve a cold shoulder. Oh god, what if Harvey was with him and I was getting set up? Oh shit.

“No, Harvey isn’t with me. I promise.”

I stalked to the door, pulling it open and glaring up at Mike. “The last time someone made me a promise I regretted it.” He just pressed his lips in a flat line. “What are you doing here, Mike?”

“I’m here on behalf of Harvey.” “Why?” “Because he’s worried about you.” Why is he worried about me? He made it very clear he didn’t give a shit about me. “He’s beating himself up over what he did.”

“Good,” that I didn’t restrain. 

“Claudia, he is really shaken up right now. He didn’t mean to do what he did. Now, I’m not going to stand here and pretend I know all the details about what he did but-” “He used me, Mike. Plain and simple.” All I got was a raised eyebrow. “He told me he wanted to ‘build my confidence’ which I was actually naive enough to believe, and it led to my worst fucking nightmare. But he just got what he wanted, to get his dick wet and then was done with me.”

“Claudia, trust me, it wasn’t like that. Harvey would never use you like that. He wouldn’t dream of it, trust me.”

“Are you sure because it seems like that’s exactly what he did. He saw that I was hard working, manipulated me into working with him, and treated me like shit when I was just trying to find a solution to his goddamn problem. I have more self respect than that. To let him continue to get away with that.”

“Can I ask what he did?”

My throat closed, and my palms began to sweat. I knew my annoying blush was there by the way his eyes dipped to my neck. 

“After I won my first case with him, he invited me up to his office for some drinks. Said something along the lines of wanting to get to know each other so I didn’t have to feel so nervous. So I went up, and one thing led to another and… I don’t know why I let it happen. I knew it would end badly. I can’t believe I let myself believe that he would be into me beyond anything other than his pure primal satisfaction. But he seemed so genuine and so caring. Like he genuinely wanted to help me, and some part of me obviously thought it was a good idea because it happened again. And again. And again. God, I sound like the biggest loser right now.” “No you don’t,” Mike gave me a soft smile. “If it means anything, those feelings weren’t one sided. I know it doesn’t mean much of anything coming from me but… Harvey is really really fucking sorry about what he did.”

I was physically shaking. Through my trembles, I managed to speak, despite my thoughts trying to shut me down. “It hurt so bad, Mike. I really like Harvey, and I thought he might feel the same way. I guess I was wrong. So… so wrong.”

“No, Claudia you’re not wrong. Harvey is a grade A asshole but he wouldn’t-”

“If there is any chance of Harvey sorting this out, you need to tell him to grow a set and tell me himself,” I have no idea where this confidence came from. “He needs to stop getting other people to do his job for him. If he can’t recognize that now, of all times, then… then I don’t think he deserves me.”

Mike blinked long, rubbing his fingers over his mouth. “Harvey didn’t ask me to come here.” “What?” What? 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I knew Harvey wouldn’t come tonight. I’m not sure he’ll come at all but… Claudia, he talks about you like I’ve never seen him talk before. He gushes over you to the point where it’s annoying. And when I went to go and talk to him about what our next move was for this case… Claudia, he was crying. He was sobbing with Donna in his office and-”

Good, I wanted to say. But it kind of crushed my soul. Harvey was crying over what he did to me. 

“I’ve never seen him cry before,” Mike looked hurt, too. “He regrets what he said. I know he does.”

“I believe you.”

“Good,” he nods. “I don’t want to do his job for him and I think-”

“But that doesn’t mean I will forgive him for what he said,” and with that, I closed the door, locking it for the night.

_____

Saturday and Sunday were so agonizing. The last thing I wanted to do was go into an office after a weekend of anything but rest and relaxation. I was tired and hadn’t showered and needed some restful sleep. Not to be woken up three times a night by dreams of Harvey touching me. Those certainly didn’t help. 

My mind kept replaying our first time together. Specifically when he said 'Oh, Claudia, you really are that innocent, aren’t you?’ Innocent and naive… just like he said that night. Who was I to think that Harvey would take any interest in me besides the fact that I was good at being a lawyer? I wasn’t special in any way, I think he just knew that I was easy to manipulate into doing what he needed. 

There was no way in hell I’d ever do another thing for Havrey, the all powerful jackass, Specter again.

As I set my stuff on my desk, Griffin walked up. Great. Just great, what did this prick want?

“Hey umm… Hi Claudia,” he rubbed the back of his head. “I just- I’m sorry. About all the things I’ve done to you. You didn’t deserve it and I want you to know that you have always been six-times the lawyer I wish I could be. I was jealous and took it out on you. And I shouldn’t have so… I’m sorry.”

Did I just hear that right? Did Griffin Harper just apologize to me? What the fuck is going on?

“Oh,” great way to start, idiot. “Thank you, Griffin.”

He just gave me a short nod before scurrying away. Well, that was… unexpected. Certainly I couldn’t ever let us be friends, but it was nice to know he wasn’t my mortal enemy any longer. 

I went about my business, plagued with thoughts and reminders of Harvey ever which way I went. Louis and Jessica sent me an email with some files to print out so I scanned them, proofed them, and sent them to the printing room. 

God it sent a shiver down my spine to be back in here after he… don’t finish the thought don’t finish the thought-

“Hey, Claudia,” Donna snapped me out of my heated thoughts. “How are you?” “You can cut the bullshit now, Donna.”

She sighed, “it was a genuine question.” “And that was a genuine answer. I’m not in the mood.”

“Claudia-” “No, Donna. What Harvey did wasn’t okay, and I’m not going to stand here and pretend like what he did didn't hurt. Because it did and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since. I don’t need you here to remind me.”

“Have you ever considered that Harvey may want to fix it?”

“No, Donna. I haven’t. And I’m not going to,” I stood my ground, squaring off my freshly printed papers before making more copies for Louis. 

“What are you talking about?”

I scoffed. “Do you really think that I wouldn’t figure out what was going on?” “Again, what are you-” “I know Harvey just thinks that I am gullible and naive and easy to push around because he makes me nervous. And it’s true. Whenever I am near him I can’t keep myself composed and I’m sick and tired of being walked all over. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to let myself see otherwise, but I’m even more upset that you didn’t come clean and tell me.” “Claudia, no one is walking over you. And I didn’t know about any of this until you told me on Friday. Harvey came to you because he knew can rely on you and your abilities to get things accomplished. He wanted the chance to work with you and get you to trust him a little. You have to know that by now,” Donna was standing right next to me, blocking my way out. 

“Maybe I do, but that doesn’t mean that I believe it. Donna, I am not some corporate power house that is gonna bring firms to their knees. Not like he does.” “Nobody does what Harvey does.” “And that’s my point,” I grit my teeth. “Harvey was trying to make me into a mini version of him, just like he did with Mike and it’s not what I want to be. Donna, I am not assertive. I am not reckless and willing to go behind peoples backs to get the job done. I like rules and regulations and the law. They are there so people abide by them, and Harvey, more often than not, doesn’t do that. Yes, I look up to him as a role model because I admire his tenacity. But that doesn’t mean I like or agree with the things he does.”

“And you think that I like it when he goes and cuts someone’s legs out from under them?”

“I didn’t say that. But that means you know how I feel. I can’t- I don’t… I don’t want to be around someone like that. It makes me feel like I’m suffocating. And worst of all he gave me his word that he wouldn’t lash out and treat me like the other associates. I cant believe that I was stupid enough to believe that Harvey would-“

Both of us stopped as someone pushed through the door. 

Harvey…

“Donna,” Harvey’s mouth was pressed in a flat line. He jerked his head over his shoulder. Donna gave me a sympathetic look and turned on her heel. Where was she going?

“Wait, Donna don’t-” I whispered.

“You’ll be fine,” she gave me a firm look, patting my shoulder as she walked around Harvey. Oh my god… she set me up.

My heart felt like it was ripping out of my fucking chest. The last thing I needed right now was to be in an enclosed space with Harvey.

He stared at me, fussing with the cufflink on his shirt. “Claudia.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Specter, but I have to get these to Louis.” I tried to go around him, like Donna had, but he just let his body fall against the wall. Blocking the way. I couldn’t bring myself to look up at him and ask him to let me go. 

“I want you to listen to me.” His voice was stern, in a demanding way, but not in a pissed off way. 

“No, I am in a rush. Now if you’ll excuse me-”

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “Come on, Claudia. Please just talk to me. I tried to call you but you didn’t answer and-.”

“I know, but I don’t want to talk to you. I want you to get out of my way so I can go do my job.” 

“A little feisty today, aren’t we?” He pushed off his shoulder, taking a step towards me, I took one back. And another as he took one. 

“No, I need to-” “Get those copies to Louis, I heard you,” Harvey acknowledged, but didn’t stop walking closer to me. My back eventually hit a copier and I almost fell over, but Harveys arms came to either side of my body, blocking me in. “And I don’t care.”

His face was inches from mine, chest inches from mine. I felt desperate for a breath. I forgot how to think, how to appear unphased. Everything he’s taught me has vanished from my mind. His eyes, much darker in this low over-head light, seemed to pierce my soul. 

“What… What are you doing?” My voice was barely audible. 

“I want you to know that I wouldn’t ever, ever, take advantage of you like that. I can’t even believe that you would think that. You think I enjoy making you a nervous wreck? Well, I don’t. It honestly makes me sick that even after all this time, you can’t trust me.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you.”

“Then what is it? Because clearly I am not understanding,” his tone deepened, voice scratching in his throat. 

I couldn’t- I didn’t know how to admit to him-

“I- I umm… Mr. Specter I can’t-”

“Stop calling me that, please, Claudia. Stop seeing me as your boss for one second and see me as literally anything else.”

I swallowed. Nothing went down. “Harvey… you are… you scare me more than anyone else I’ve ever met.” “Why?” his brows knit together. “What is it about me that makes you so afraid of me?”

“Everything.” I was shaking, visibly shaking in front of him. I looked anywhere but his eyes because I knew if I did I’d crack open and bleed my heart all over him. 

His exhale was sharp enough to rustle the small hairs framing my face. “Claudia just-”

“I can’t be around you without feeling like I’m gonna drown in your presence.” 

He was stunned silent for a beat too long. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Harvey I told you I didn’t want to-”

“Please, Claudia, tell me why you are so afraid of me.” He was begging. Begging for me to explain.

“Because I know that if I let myself think for one fucking second that you actually like working with me I’ll drop my guard around you. And I cannot afford to do that because there are things I keep locked inside that I would rather take to my grave than ever let someone know.”

“And what, you don’t think I’m equally as terrified to have these feelings for you?” “Not like mine.” Harvey gave me a very concerned glance. “There, you asked me to tell you. Please just let me go.”

“No, not until you tell me what is haunting you so much you’re willing to let it eat you alive rather than just let it out for once in your life. Look, I get that you’re a private person, and it’s hard for you to trust people, but that doesn’t mean you need to keep everything bottled inside and let it rot you from the inside out-”

“For the love of guard Harvey it’s you,” I shouted, far louder than I meant to. “It is you that is driving me insane. I cannot go a single moment of my day without thinking about you. I am terrified that you are going to see right through me and figure out that every thought that goes on inside my head has to do with you because for some reason, known only by some sick and twisted higher power, I want you to see me the way I see you. I want you to want me as much as I want you and-”

I stopped because I ran out of air. And then it hit me so hard I saw stars. What the fuck have I just done? My vision began to black out, my heart beating too fast for my lungs to keep up with. 

Harvey had backed up a step, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. 

I was going to throw up, I was sure of it. I tried to speak, but my mind had melted and oozed out of my ears. 

I ran, I left the copies on the floor; at some point I dropped them. And ran. His hand caught my elbow and I shrieked, whipping around just as Harvey slammed the door closed, pinning me, yet again. 

“You do not get to drop that ball and run away,” his voice had a darkness I’ve never heard. “Claudia, in what way do you want me?”

Frozen. My mind was utterly dysfunctional and useless. I couldn’t think, I’m surprised I remembered how to breathe. God his eyes…

“Claudia, please answer me.” Now his voice was tender, filled with warmth. His fingers tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You have to tell me in what way now or I’m… you have to tell me.”

“Why does it matter? I've already ruined everything I’ve had going for me.” I was meek with my words. Wimpy. Cowardice. 

“Because it matters to me.”

“I want you, I want Harvey.”

“As in you want me, and not as your boss, Claudia?” He clarified. I had to shut my eyes, to turn my cheek to him so I wouldn’t see his reaction when I nodded in confirmation. “Fucking hell…”

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Just… just let me go and I can hand Jessica my letter of resignation right now and you never have to see me again-”

“Are you out of your mind?” Harvey’s caramel eyes were wide. “Claudia, I don’t want you to go. Not for one fucking second. Why do you even have a letter drafted?”

“But I just-” 

His fingers gripped my chin, forcing me to look up at him when I spoke. God dammit… Harvey’s thump caressed my lip, pulling it down and watching it spring up. Slowly, ever so slowly, he dipped it inside my mouth. I couldn’t help the soft noise that startled out of me. 

“Claudia… you have no idea how much I have been praying to hear you say those words. I have been driving myself out of my mind with what to say. How to say it and I- I don’t know how to tell you everything I’ve been wanting to. For weeks now.

“I have been thinking of you nonstop. I keep making up excuses and things to come see you during the day. I want nothing more than to get the chance to treat you right, and I want you to want it too. I promised myself I wouldn’t make a move unless you made one first because I knew how petrified you were of me. I can’t- I won’t have you be afraid of me if we do this.

“But I fucked up. I got ahead of myself and I didn’t go in the direction that I should've. I should've just asked you out to dinner, been a true gentleman rather than selfish. You have no idea how long I have been practicing what to say. I just made everything so much worse. And I wish like hell I could take it all back and do it all again because I am so so so fucking sorry for breaking my promise.”

I stared up at him, at the tears spilling over his lashes, and the flush on his cheeks. His lip quivered. He looked so vulnerable. So open and honest. Every part of me wanted to take it to heart, but that voice in the back of my head was telling me not to believe it.

“Harvey I-”

“Please, Claudia,” Harvey knelt to the ground, sitting back on his heels. “I will do whatever you want to gain your trust back. Anything… anything. But I can’t let you walk away from me. I want a real chance to make you happy, to give you every part of me. I will do or say or answer whatever you want but please do not leave me. If you truly don’t want me, tell me, and we never have to talk again. I will make it like I was never here in the first place if you told me to, but I don't think you want that. And I don’t want it either.”

Harvey was on his knees. Begging me to open my heart up to him. 

“Please don’t make me regret this, Harvey…”

He let out a breath, and a smile accompanied the tears that fell down his face. He reached for my hand, and I let him grab it. His fingers were warm and smooth in mine, familiar and comforting as he gently tugged me towards him. 

“I'm so sorry, Claudia. I will regret nothing more than the words I said to you. But I want to fix it, I want to be better. Not just for you, but for myself. But you are what makes me want to be better. I need to learn to control myself and take a page out of my own book to make that happen.”

Harvey rested his head on my stomach, and I let my fingers thread through his spiky hair. 

“But I don’t want you to be afraid of me anymore. I can’t- I won’t let you be afraid to ask me a question. I want to be there for you, work related or not, but I can’t do it if you don’t meet me halfway. I do remember you making me a promise back, to not see me as a monster.”

My hand stopped, and he looked up. I wanted to agree, but I was still upset, and he must’ve seen that. 

“Okay, that was a bad time to bring that up.”

“Yup.” 

Harvey huffed a laugh, standing back up. His smile was sweet, his finger gentle as it swept some hair away from my face. 

“You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, Claudia Olivia Martin.”

“How did you find out my middle name?”

“Donna,” he smiled wider. I just rolled my eyes. “I don’t really know how to do any of this, so I asked her for some help. I knew I had to do it myself. I just didn’t really know where to start and she’s… well, she’s Donna.” “Yes, she is Donna,” I smiled up at him. “But it’s gonna take me more than that to convince me.”

“Oh I have like seven other things lined up and ready to go. If you'd like to hear them. First, you are the most stunning, breathtaking, gorgeous woman I have ever met in my life. Second, I admire every part of you. All your good habits, your bad, your anxious thoughts and brave approach to life. Because they all make you you. Three, I am the biggest fucking idiot. For starting all of this off wrong, for yelling at you. For leading you to believe that I just wanted to get in your pants.”

“You’re also an asshole. A bit of a coward and a bitch. Did I say that you were an asshole?”

“Okay okay,” he placed his hands on my hips and I let him, doing nothing to hide the giggle that bubbled out. “Yes, I am all of those things. And, for the record, I did want to get in your pants, just not that way.”

“Of course you did, who could resist all of this?” My heart sped up when he looked at me over, a huge grin spreading his cheeks wide and bright. 

“Looks like you’ve gained a little confidence, huh?”

“Well, I did have a not so awful teacher. That was before he betrayed me.” “Are you gonna stop rubbing salt into the wound?”

I faked a ponder, “Nope.”

“Claudia,” he pressed a tentative kiss to my cheek, then gauged my response before placing one on the other. “Olivia,” another kiss. “Martin.” He kissed my forehead, then the tip of my nose. “I will never be able to take back what I said, but I hope you find it in your heart to give me a second chance. Even good people are great at making bad decisions. I know I can be a better man, and I know you know that too. Just one,” a kiss to my left cheek, “More,” right cheek, “Chance.”

His lips hovered over mine, waiting for permission before he pressed them into mine. My heart was beating so fast. So strong, all because of him. All for him. 

My eyes met his, “Okay, Harvey.”

Those devastating eyes ignited. His smile grew so wide I got lost in it with my own. I was pressed flat to him, my hands on his shoulders, his hands on my lower back. My ears were buzzing with my pulse and I hoped he felt how fast it was. Who knew Harvey had such a way with words? I wondered how long he practiced all of this in the mirror. Who knows, maybe he was secretly a hopeless romantic and-

“Claudia,” Harvey snapped me out of my daydream. 

“Hmm?” “Please tell me I can kiss you.”

Oh. Right. 

“And what if I say no?”

“Then I won’t.”

“And if I say yes?” “I’ll make sure it is the best damn kiss you’ve ever and will ever have.”

Sounds pretty good to me. I pressed up on my toes, arms wrapping around his neck, and finally let our lips say hello. It had been too long, It felt so right, so perfect. And I realized it felt like all the other times we’ve kissed; I didn’t want to kiss anyone else. I wanted to kiss Harvey. Harvey goddamn Specter. 

I should find out what his middle name is from Donna to surprise him. 

“Come over tonight,” he blurted out.

“What?” “Come over, let me cook something for you. We can make it our first date. A real date. Let me start this off on the right foot. Unless tonight is too soon and you need more time to heal and process or-”

“Just stop talking,” I literally put my fingers over his mouth. “I’d love to come over for dinner, Harvey.”

If I hadn’t been in his arms I’m sure he’d jump up and down out of excitement. He kissed me again, and again, and again. The slight stubble on his chin tickled my neck enough for me to tuck down into my shoulders when he kissed below my ear. 

“Hey, Claudia, I just want to make sure- oh. Well, this seems to be going well,” Donna had a proud smile on her face, arms crossed over her chest.

“It is,” Harvey beamed down, never taking his eyes off of me. 

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.”

“How much of this was your idea?” I asked. 

“I suggested he get a horse and carriage to surprise you on your way out but he knew you wouldn’t want a grand gesture,” She said. “So I think that should say it well enough as to who came up with all the ideas.” When I looked back at him, he had a flush to his cheeks, and hid his grin. 

“Wow, Harvey, I’m impressed.” “Well,” he shrugged. “I don’t know… I wanted it to be authentic and special. Something that you would take to heart and genuinely appreciate. So it’s the best I could come up with over the weekend because if I didn’t do it soon I was going to explode.”

“Seriously, Claudia. This idiot wouldn’t leave my house for two days. I had to kick him out so he could get a shower and change. Did you even sleep?” “You haven’t slept?” He shook his head. “Harvey, what- okay. We need to do our dinner another day because if you try to cook you might set your house on fire and that would-” “Nope, too bad. I’m fine, really Claudia. I can handle making dinner. I’ll leave early and take a nap if that would make you feel better.” “Yes, it would,” I sighed out, looking back at Donna who had a look that meant trouble. “What?” “You guys are adorable.”

I blushed. “Oh, wait! Before you go, what’s Harvey’s middle name? I mean, he went to you for mine so it’s only fair…”

“Don’t you dare,” Harvey pointed at Donna who all but melted the Wicked Witch of the West with her smirk.

“Reginald.”

“Reginald?” I repeated. “Seriously?”

“It’s a family name, alright?” He defended. “Now, if you two will excuse me I have a very important dinner to plan for an even more important girl. Donna, can you-” “Already cleared your schedule.”

“Remind me to give you a raise.” “Oh I’ve already written a bonus check, it just needs your signature.” “I’m surprised you didn’t forge it,” I snickered. 

“I would’ve but having Harvey do it makes it that much more satisfying.”

Harvey just shook his head, but smiled at us both. “I’ll see you tonight, is seven good?” “Sounds perfect,” I nodded, relishing in his warmth as he pressed one more kiss to the top of my head before leaving. 

“So,” Donna swayed on her feet. “I take it that things went well?” “Yeah, yeah it did. I was surprised, today has been so weird. Even Griffin apologized to me.” “Griffin? Really?” “Yeah,” I followed in step behind her towards the bullpen. “He genuinely apologized to me. It was so unexpected. Now this… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dreading this happening. But it turned out way better than I expected so I can’t complain. I need to stop expecting the worst case scenario all the time and believe that I can handle anything that comes at me.”

“Now that sounds like true growth and confidence,” Donna slung her arm over my shoulder. “And definitely something Harvey couldn’t have taught you.” “No, he didn’t. That was all on my own.”

___

As I packed up to head home for the day, my stomach was on fire with nerves about tonight. Not nerves, excitement. 

“Hey, Claudia,” Griffin caught up to me right before the elevator closed. “Do you want to join us for drinks tonight?”

I just smirked. “Sorry, Griffin. I can’t, I have a date with Harvey Specter.” And I let the door shut before he could get on.

____

This building. For fucks sake his front door cost more than what I make in a year, probably. The door man had given me a bit of a side eye when I asked to be let up to Harvey. Well, here I was. 

The bottle of wine in my hand wasn’t getting any colder as I paced outside of his apartment. Was I making this a bigger deal than it needed it to be? Most definitely. 

I knocked. 

Harvey opened it a few moments later, a smug look on his face. “I was wondering how long you were going to just stand there.”

God dammit. The heat rose up my neck and I looked away. “Just shut up and take the wine.”

He chuckled, plucking it from my grasp before stepping aside to let me in. I gazed up and into his hallway, following it down to the kitchen. Woah… holy windows. The already set sun lit up the sky with blues and purples, making all of this feel very cinematic. 

“You didn’t need to bring this, Claudia,” Harvey smiled nonetheless. 

“I just- I don’t know, isn't that what people do when they’re invited over?”

“Why are you still so nervous?” 

Right to it, I guess. “What makes you say that?” “Well,” he sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. He was wearing all black. He looked… too good for his own good. Or mine for that matter of fact. “For starters, you’ve clearly been running your fingers through your hair. Second, I’ve watched you fiddle with that string on your sleeve at least four times now.”

My fingers ceased their motion. I had been toying with it. “I like to keep my hands busy.”

“I call it a nervous habit.”

“Did you invite me here for dinner or just to pick on me for being anxious?” 

“You have no reason to be anxious here,” he crept closer, taking my hand in his. Harvey gently kissed the back of my fingers. “There is no one here to watch, no prying eyes to hide from. It’s just me, Claudia.”

“And that is precisely what makes me nervous,” I did let a laugh bubble up. “But, you’re right. I guess there is no reason to be so… terrified.”

“Good,” he smiled, placing his hands on my hips. I let mine fall around his shoulders. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.” I turned to look behind me, a few pots and a pan of vegetables on the stove. Harvey’s hands still lingered on my sides as I peered over to look inside.

“I didn’t know the great Harvey Specter could cook,” I jabbed, making him roll his eyes playfully. “It looks lovely, thank you.”

“Told you, there’s more to the name than the title it comes with.”

From the table, I watched him plate the stir fry dish and bring it over. I was starving, and I made sure to eat my lunch a little later so I wouldn’t be ravenous by the time this dinner rolled around. I wasted no time taking a forkful and practically inhaling it. 

“I’ll take that as a good sign?” 

I nodded, “It’s amazing. Where did you learn to cook like this?” “Here and there. My brother owns a bar and restaurant back home, we used to like to cook together all the time.” “I didn’t know you had a brother,” I tilted my head. “That’s amazing, though. Glad you put those skills to good use.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

I hummed, “Yeah I have two brothers. I’m the baby of the family.”

“Am I going to have to win their trust one day?” 

My laugh echoed through the spacious dining room, “No, they’re pretty cool. Vince, my oldest brother, is married, has two kids who are in college. My other brother, Caleb, is the one you’ve gotta watch out for. He’s my twin and very vocal about the men in my life, especially when he doesn’t think they’re good enough for me.”

“I see,” Harvey gave me a look I knew all too well. 

“Yeah, he can be a pain in my ass sometimes. But I love him, he always stood up for me when I was too afraid. Whether someone was picking on me in school or tried to get one up on me at a bar, he was always there. He’s just protective of me, they both are, but Caleb… he’s always had my back.” “It’s good to have those types of people on your side,” Harvey’s smile was so bright. 

For about an hour we ate and had dessert. I don’t know how, he probably asked Donna, but he had my absolute favorite chocolate cake. Coated in a thick butter cream, it practically melted in my mouth. I wasn’t shy about telling him how delicious it was. 

“I could marry this cake,” I knew I was being dramatic, but I didn’t care. “If I could take this cake, and mold it in the shape of a man, I would.”

Harvey grinned, looking from the cake on his plate, back up to me as I spooned another mouthful. He dipped his finger in the frosting and swiped it across his cheek. I blushed, so hard, and he just laughed and laughed. 

“You think you’re funny, huh?” I had to put my face in my hands. 

“I do, actually. Why don’t you come over here and clean it off for me,” Harvey spoke dangerous words. I raised my eyebrow in question, but he merely scooted his chair back in response, palms turned upward. 

Now or never, I thought. 

I stood, my bare feet padding quietly to Harvey. This is where I had confidence. Could use his own game against him. Because up until this point, all Harvey knows about me is that I am a nervous wreck in front of him. 

The cards have no longer been dealt in his favor. 

I swung my leg over his, perching on his thigh. I took my thumb and ran it across his face, collecting the decorative icing off his cheek, licking my thumb clean. His eyes tracked my movements, especially when I stuck out my tongue and showed him the mess.

His throat bobbed, and his eyes darkened. 

“Where did that shy, blushing Claudia go?” Harvey’s voice sent a chill down my spine. 

“Away, for now,” I smirked. “There are plenty of versions of Claudia you haven’t met before.”

“And who exactly is this version?” He asked.

“That depends,” I huffed. “Are you going to let me have what I want or are you going to make me earn it?”

Harvey’s hands crept up my thighs, cupping my ass gently. “You’re gonna let me choose?”

“You better choose carefully.”

“And why is that?”

“Because,” I said. “You can either let me take what I want, or try to take what you want. But I’ll let it be known, that isn’t possible. You won’t be able to resist me long enough to uphold that promise.”

“Oh, you think I’m that easy?” Harvey countered, tightening his hold on my body. I let out a whine, enticing him into my game further. 

“I don’t know, Harvey.” I ran my hand down his chest, grinding back and forth on his thigh. I leaned close to his ear, “I can be your every fantasy or your worst nightmare.”

I pulled away from his body, taking a few steps back and towards another hallway. I assumed that’s where his bedroom was, and judging by the screeching of the chair against the floor, I was heading in the right direction. 

The first door I pushed open was, thankfully, the right room. His clothes were hung up neatly in the closet on the opposite side of the room, the city below shining onto the walls. Harvey shut the door quickly, turning on a lamp beside his bed. 

Harvey grinned like the devil and crushed his mouth to mine. I didn’t waste any time letting his tongue tangle with mine. Harvey kissed like the god he was, like a true emperor. He tasted like pure sin, like the cake we were just sharing.

My hands went to the buttons on his shirt, fitting them through the tiny holes and pushing it off his shoulders. 

“Mmm wait, sweetheart,” Harvey broke our lips apart. “I don’t wanna do it this way tonight. Let me take care of you. Please.”

Well, when he sounded like that, who was I to resist him? I let him lay me down, his body between my legs as he placed the most tender kiss on my lips. He moved down my chest, slowly lifting my shirt and placing his mark on my stomach. Up my chest, and my neck. 

“You are so beautiful, Claudia. And I can’t believe I get to have all of you to myself. I can’t wait to make you feel so good.”

I sighed out, letting my eyes close as he explored my body. He was forward with his choices, but he wasn’t ever harsh. He was so soft. So loving and so caring. No one had ever made me feel equally nervous or excited as Harvey did. But now… I wasn’t afraid of him. I don’t think I could ever again. 

“Is it okay if I take these off?” “I wasn’t sure you knew how to ask for permission,” I giggled. He just scowled, but I nodded. “Of course, Harvey. Do whatever you want.” “Don’t-” he swallowed. “Don’t say things like that when I am trying to be sweet and nice to you.”

“I think you’re forgetting that I like it when you manhandle me,” I smiled up to the ceiling before looking at him between my legs. “Sorry, carry on.”

He laid a not so gentle tap to the inside of my thigh before removing my skirt. The chill of the air spread goosebumps across my skin, even more when he placed kisses from my ankle to my hips bone. 

“God I could spend all day between your legs. They’re so perfect,” he praised, spreading them wide so he could fit his torso between them. “You’re so fucking hot, Claudia.” I flushed, beet red, and turned away from him. But his fingers brought me right back. 

“You don’t get to be shy now, sweetheart. Not tonight, let me see all of you.”

“I’m all yours Harvey.” Our eyes locked, and the sparks flew. His lips were on mine, hurried, but not starving. It was intense and passionate and everything I could’ve asked it to be. He lifted my shirt over my head and slipped off my bra from behind. Thankfully his chest was warm against mine.

From one second to the next, Harvey swooped me on top of him and rolled, tugging the sheet with him. When they were freed, he laid me back down and put them over his body. 

“Oh, guess I should get these off,” he grinned, pushing his jeans down his thighs, his briefs going with them. Man… what a sight to behold. Harvey wasn’t shredded, but it was clear his boxing habits kept him in good shape. 

There was something about him that just made me want to crumble and fold. 

Harvey’s lips were hot as they moved all over me, nipping and biting and leaving tiny marks here and there. Before he could lose all his resolve, he reached over to his bedside table and plucked a foil packet from a little jar. Classy. 

“Doing okay, sweetheart?” He smoothed down my hair. 

“Yes, Harvey. I’d be better if…” I locked my legs around his middle, pulling him to me. “You just got on with it.” “Such an impatient little thing,” his grin gave away his facade. 

“Oh please, don’t act like you’re not craving this as much as I am.” “You’re right,” he smirked, lining up and pushing all the way in. a low groan escaped his flushed lips. “But I know you can’t get enough of this.”

I breathed heavily, clinging to him. His hips stirred, slowly pulling back, and sinking all the way in. Harvey rested his head on my shoulder, tongue making patterns on my ignited skin. I tugged at his hair, lips working on their own to find all his sweet spots. 

I raked my nails up his back, not missing when his hips slowed and he moaned. So I did it again. His thumb found its way between my legs and circled around where I wanted it most. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to take care of me. 

Harvey took his time, making sure that I was feeling good and got what I wanted. This was so different from the feverish moments we’ve had in the office. But it was somehow way better. Well, it could use one thing.

As he laced our fingers together, I moved our hands up. He stopped kissing me for a moment to give me a puzzled look. But I slipped his grip from mine and placed his hand on my throat. 

“I don’t need you to go all ‘sir’ on me tonight, but just give me this. Please.” I did the best I could with my eyes to lure him in, and it worked. It tightened, but it was never tight. It was just there, a reminder of the part of him I was going to get to see whenever I wanted. 

He started to let his control slip, and I knew it was hard for him to be so gentle. But I appreciated it so much. I let some of my control slip as well, just because I wanted to rile him up. His breath quickened, and so did his hips. His thumb was relentless between my legs and I could feel my high approaching.

“Come on, sweetheart, let go. Make yourself feel so good for me.” There it was, the Harvey that kept me up at night. That has plagued my dreams for the past few days. 

I met his hips with mine, and my release crashed over me when I wasn’t expecting it. I shook in his arms as he continued to move, chasing his own time. 

“Fuck, Harvey,” I gasped. “Let go for me, you did such a good job making me feel good.”

He cursed, tucking his head down momentarily before crushing his mouth to mine, not shy about how I was making him feel. His body went rigid, and the praise streamed out of his mouth.

“Fuck fuck Claudia… god you feel so good. You are so perfect for me. So soft and warm.”

My lips would surely be bruised tomorrow morning, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was being here with Harvey. About carrying him through the aftershocks of his release. I rubbed at his back, kissed his neck and cheeks. When he lifted his head, he had this dreamy look on his face. 

“You look so hot,” he ran his thumb across my cheek, bringing me in for another kiss. “Thank you for giving me a second chance.”

“I’m glad I decided to do it. I can’t decide which Harvey I like more. This one or the one who calls me sweetheart.”

“Did I not call you sweetheart tonight?” “You did, but not the way you do when I call you ‘sir’.”

“Ahh, I see,” he smirked. “As much as I would like to think that I could flip a switch right now, I don’t want to spoil this moment with you.”

“If you don’t want to spoil it, then you should take us into the shower.”

And then I was in the shower. Hot water streaming between us from the rain shower head. His hands were soft as he kneaded my body; they particularly felt nice on my ass, especially when he added his lips to the mix. 

“You are so amazing, Claudia. I cannot stress that enough.” “You’re doing an amazing job,” I smiled, kissing him. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I know,” he grinned, smacking my ass before lathering up his hands and running them through my hair. It was hard to not fall asleep standing up. “Sweetheart, if you keep making those noises it is going to be very very hard to not take you right here.”

My eyes flew open, his very apparent arousal pressing into my backside. Well, alright then. Go Claudia, you sexy son of a bitch!

“And who’s to say that I wouldn’t want that?” “I am trying to hold back, you know. I wanted tonight to be different, to be special. I didn’t want it to be heated and rough and-”

“Harvey,” I turned, pressing a hand to his chest. “I know.” “I wanted to ‘make love’ or whatever they call it in those cheesy romance books you read.”

I laughed out loud, picturing Harvey curled up on the couch with a book in his hand, a fire in the fireplace. “Nobody says ‘making love’ any more, babe.” “Babe?” “Yeah, babe. I figured you wouldn’t like sugar, or honey bun, or baby for that matter.”

“Don’t make me sound older than I am, please. For fucks sake I passed the Bar when you were in highschool.”

“It doesn’t bother me all that much anymore,” I admitted, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I thought it would, but it doesn’t really make a difference to me.”

“Good, I’m glad it doesn’t freak you out,” he smiled. “And, for the record, I hope it doesn’t freak your folks out.”

“It won’t.”

He lifted up a brow, “How could you know?” “Because I already told them about you.” I felt him go tight. “Relax. They knew who you were already and they couldn’t have been more excited that I found a caring, respectful, well respected man.”

He let out a sigh, “and your brothers?” “They don’t know yet, but don’t worry about them, either. It will be okay.”

“When did you become the consoling one? It’s weird.” “I know, right?” I giggled. When I looked into his eyes, there was a fondness to his gaze. He was looking at my body, but not in a way he had before. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Harvey shrugged, “I just love you so much, Claudia. And I am so proud of how far you’ve come in just these first couple of months.”

My heart hitched in my chest, then beat so wildly I wasn’t entirely sure it didn’t burst through my skin and land in his hands. I froze. Mike had been right. Harvey wasn’t just some cock, high strung New York attorney that couldn’t decipher his own feelings. He seemed incredibly in tune with his emotions and that couldn’t be more attractive. 

I just kissed him. I didn’t know what else to do other than kiss him. He had to take a step back to support our combined weight. Harvey’s arms were strong around my waist, his lips reassuring and just as firm as his grip. 

“I love you too, Harvey. So fucking much.”

____

The comforters pulled tight, Harvey's body pressed behind mine… I couldn’t think of a more relaxing way to end the night. Especially after I slipped to my knees in the shower and showed him just how much I loved him. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming about having you in my arms one night. All night long.”

I hummed, scooting back so his chest met my back, his legs molding with mine. “I may have fantasized about it once or twice as well.” “Have you now?” “Again, there are several versions of Claudia you haven’t met before.” “And I look forward to coaxing every single one of them out with my mouth… my tongue… my hands… my-”

“Tomorrow,” I whispered, letting my eyes lull shut. “We can do it all again tomorrow. On the table, on the counter, on the couch-” “You’re not helping the situation here, you know,” he tugged at my half-dried hair. “Don’t get me started, sweetheart. I just might not let you get any sleep tonight.”

I clenched my thighs together. This was going to be such a sweet, tortuous game to play. And I got to play it every day. Every night, if I wanted. He wouldn’t be able to resist me. I had a secret weapon.

“Whatever you say, sir.”

His hand was wrapped around my throat, forcing my head to turn back to look at him. He clicked his tongue, eyes more awake than they had been a few minutes ago. “Oh sweet, innocent little Claudia. I guess you haven’t learned your lesson yet. It’s okay, I’d be happy to give you more instruction. I think I recall saying that eventually I would break you down over and over again until all you could remember was my name and how to breathe. Well, sweetheart. What do you think? Because I think you can still form coherent thoughts. I think it’s time we change that, don’t you?” I nodded, “Yes.”

His grip tightened and tightened and tightened. “Yes what?”

I smirked, climbing into his lap and taking him into my hand. “Yes, sir.”