#either way you will be spending twenty minutes in the bathroom in so much pain you're on the brink of crying

[milo-is-rambling]

Endometriosis you are my greatest enemy

#i have been in so much pain all fucking day bc my period was like a week late and now my body is repaying me by making me hate being alive #and it keeps doing that thing to my guts where it's like oop do you have to go to the bathroom or is it just cramps so bad you wanna throwup #either way you will be spending twenty minutes in the bathroom in so much pain you're on the brink of crying #but like 🤪 gives me time to rewatch Hannibal scenes and plan out the next canvas I'm doing #i am in so much pain

[lord-of-the-harvest]

Pleasure, Pain, and Power Chapter 11

Jasmine’s Reward

Chapter 11 Jasmine’s Reward

Summary: Cont. of Chapters 8, 9, 10. Jasmine finally gets her reward for being a good girl, and Ren gets a day off after his business trip.

Contains: Oral sex, face sitting, exhibitionism, spoiling, drinking, mentions of self harm

NSFW

MDNI

“Ren c’mon, it’s time to get uuuup.” Jasmine had spent the last twenty minutes trying to get Ren out of bed, but to no avail. He tugged her arm back down and curled into her chest. “Why is it that whenever I need to go to work, you insist on me staying in bed, but now that we’re having a ‘you’ day you want me up? Is your affection for me that conditional, Pet?” He looked up and gave her puppy dog eyes, feigning being hurt. “That’s because you leave me all alone, and today we’re actually spending time together. Forgive me if I want to spend time with my beloved.” The night before, Ren had showered her with love and attention. He, of course, made up an excuse for ordering her to cut herself. Something about missing her, and wanting her to be good for him, but Jasmine didn’t care. She figured he’d lie about it, and was much more concerned with him bringing up their talk. However, it didn’t seem like he remembered it at all. Even in the past when he had caught her in a white lie, he acted like he knew something. Now, he was bubbly and happy to be with her. She figured Kangaroo was right, and he had just enough to drink that night to not remember. It could also be that the whole thing was some drunken joke that didn't land. Maybe he thought it would be funny to freak her out, but forgot about it after he woke up. That was the possibility Jasmine was more inclined to believe. Either way, she had been through Hell the past few days, and was now eager for her reward.

“So what do you have planned anyways?” She asked, climbing on top of him, straddling his waist. If he wasn’t going to get out of bed, she might as well have fun with it. Ren looked up at her, hands on either side of her hips and smiling. “Aw, wouldn’t you like to know? Well, I can’t tell you.” Jasmine tilted her head, wondering what he could be planning. “I’ll tell you…when we get there.” Her eyes widened, Ren is finally taking her out of the apartment. She bent down and hugged him tight, letting out a stream of “thank you”s. “Now you really need to get up so we can get ready!” Ren succumbed to her eagerness and got up, tying his robe around his waist and following her to the bathroom. They got ready together, but Jasmine had something she needed to attend to. She sat on the edge of the tub with a few bandages and started unwrapping her leg. Ren turned around just in time and knelt down to help her. “I see Kangaroo did a good job of cleaning you up. Hmmm, let me see what else I have for this.” He opened a few cabinets and searched around till he found what he needed. The package read “Waterproof Bandages” on the front. “Why do they need to be waterproof? I thought the ones I had on were just fine.” Ren gently took her thigh and kissed her scars. “Darling I’m so proud of you, you make me so so happy.” He kept caressing her and kissing her thigh till he hit a particular sweet spot. Jasmine gasped and her eyes fluttered shut. She looked down and saw Ren staring up at her with a satisfied, yet mischievous smile on his face. He knew all of her sweet spots by now, and knew just how to toy with her. He kissed her again, and again, and gave her a gentle nip. He moved closer to her panties, all the while her breathing was getting heavier. He kissed her clit while throwing her thigh over his shoulder. Jasmine placed a hand on his head and lightly tugged at his hair. He slowly licked at her, taking in her scent and listening closely to her moans. Not wanting to break himself away from her, he opted to tear her panties off with his teeth, causing Jasmine to yelp out in surprise. “I’ll buy you another pair later today, darling.” That was always his way of making it up to her. He would cut and claw off all the clothing he had gotten her, only to replace it within the week. She didn’t care, it was his money and she thought it was hot anyways. Although, it did frighten her at times. The ease and speed he was able to tear clothing to shreds with just his claws and teeth made her think of what he could do to skin if he wasn’t careful. Or if he was angry.

Her surprise was cut short with his hot tongue licking at her sensitive clit. She let out a moan and gripped his hair tighter, making him grunt in return. He kept licking and sucking, his grip getting tighter on her thighs. Eventually he had enough, and brought himself up to kiss her. He wrapped her legs around his waist, lifted her up, and carried her to the bed. He dropped her down and climbed on and laid down too. Jasmine climbed on top of him, placing a thigh on either side of his head, with her ass hovering above his face. She didn’t want to sit down just yet, and decided to make Ren beg for it. “What are you waiting for? Sit down, darling~” Jasmine considered his request for a second, comically placing a finger to her lip and looking up. “Hmm no. It’s my day, and this is your punishment for keeping a secret from me.” She swayed her hips above his face, teasing her poor toy. Ren’s ears pinned back and his brows narrowed at her. He placed his hands on her hips and leaned up, only for Jasmine to grab his hair and pull him back down. “Be a good boy, and tell me what we’re doing. Then, you’ll get your treat.” Ren smiled at her cute dom work. “Where’s the fun in that? I thought you liked a surprise.” “Oh I do, just not when it’s my day. Where are we going?” Ren rolled his eyes, his cock was aching for attention and Jasmine’s scent was driving him even more wild. “Fine, we’re going shopping and out to dinner. I already have the places decided on and reservations made. After that, it’s a surprise, but I’m sure you’ll figure out what it is while we shop.” Jasmine lit up, now even more excited for their day out. “I guess that’ll do, I’m fine with one surprise. Good boy, here’s your tread.” She put her full weight down on Ren’s face and he brought his arms up to hold onto her thighs. “This is what you wanted, Ren, you can breathe when I say so.” While still suffocating Ren, she bent over and pulled his cock out of his pajama bottoms. His tip was already leaking precum, and she decided to tease him a bit more. She swirled her tongue around his head and wrapped her hand around his knot. She could feel him groan under her. I guess he can breathe, good. Slowly, she wrapped her lips around his tip and lowered herself down onto his shaft. She heard another moan and she ground herself further into his face. She hummed while bobbing her head up and down, she knew that would drive him wild. It did, and he showed it by thrusting up into her mouth. Jasmine lightly slapped his hip, a way of telling him No, bad boy. He stopped, struggling to not thrust up again when her lips passed over his knot. She came back up, swirled her tongue around his head, and plunged her head back down. Ren screamed, and knowing how close he was, decided to slip a finger into his love above. Jasmine moaned at the contact, she could feel herself getting close too. They kept going, reducing each other to one tangled, moaning mess. Ren shot hot cum right down her throat, and Jasmine ground herself onto his tongue one more time. She sat up, panting, admiring her toy’s growing knot. Ren tapped her thigh, asking for air, and she rolled off of him. “See, sweetie? It wasn’t too hard to tell me the truth, now was it?”

They ate and got dressed together, Ren wore his usual suite and picked out a cute sundress for Jasmine. It was dark purple with an incredibly short skirt and short sleeves. She gave him a spin after putting on the strappy heels he also gave her. “You look absolutely stunning, as always, darling. I could eat you all over again, but you’re missing one finishing touch.” He bit his lip and picked up a shock collar off the nightstand. This one was different, it had a satin ribbon covering the band and a plain black box. No camera, red button, or fox emblem. Jasmine bent over, allowing Ren to strap it to her neck. “I know you don’t love it, darling, but I promise it’s for your own good.” He kissed her on the cheek as it clicked into place. Her face fell slightly. Until now, their morning together was so light hearted and happy. She usually didn’t mind the collar, but now it serves as a reminder of her place in his life. A pet, someone to come home to and be entertained by, but never one to truly speak to or respect. He took her hand and led her to a nearby mirror, placing an arm around her waist and holding her close. Jasmine looked at Ren, something about him was off, but she couldn’t put her… “Wait, what’s wrong with your face?” She turned to him and held his jaw, turning his head up. “Where are your red marks? Aww are you wearing makeup?” She smiled and pinched his cheek, while Ren slapped her hand away. “Yes, Pet, I am. It’s easier for me if I cover them, my tail and ears included.” He looked back at the mirror and sighed. Even though he wears a mask on stream, it’s still no hard feat to recognize Fox, one of the few beastkins in the area, in a public space. Their town didn’t have many others, none of which he associated with, anyways. “Well that’s a shame, I liked them.” His face perked up and he turned to her. Sure, she’d call him cute and sexy on a daily basis, but it was rare for him to hear an actual compliment about something so specific. “Y-you do?” “Yeah, of course I do. Haven’t you noticed they’re the first thing I go to when I kiss your cheek?” Just like that, Jasmine bent down and kissed him over his hidden marks. A light blush crept on his cheeks and he hugged her even tighter.

They were about to cross the threshold to the front door when Jasmine stopped. It took a little convincing, but Ren was able to get her to trust him when he said her new collar wouldn’t go off when she crossed. He explained on the elevator ride down that she has a few collars. One for the home, one that’s waterproof, and one to go out in. The one she was wearing would go off if she got too far away from Ren, or if she said any key words or phrases. The elevator took them all the way down to the garage, where they were met by Kangaroo leaning back on a black limo. “Hi Kangaroo! I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon!” He stepped aside and held the car door open for her. “Hello Fox’s Pet, I’ll be your driver today, it’s good to see you too.” He had that same smile on as he greeted her. They all got into the car and drove off, Jasmine had her face glued to the window while they drove by the apartment building. She had only seen the place once in the dark, and even then she had eyes for Ren. It was huge, with beautiful landscaping and flowers littering the place. They drove till they hit the first store on Ren’s list, a high end piercing shop. Jasmine’s jaw dropped, she had always dreamed of going there, but knew she could never justify the price. Before her first date with Ren, she had multiple piercings she took out. She would usually take them out before streams, it made her much more of a blank slate for her viewers to project onto. Most of them were on her ears, but she had a traditional labret piercing she got when she first started college. They walked in, and were greeted by the receptionist, who showed them rows and rows of jewelry. She immediately gravitated to a simple titanium ring for her labret, and black and purple Czech glass for her ears. Ren placed his arm around her and whispered in her ear, “You know you don’t have a budget, right? Get what you really want, darling~” She looked at him, then back at the receptionist, and smiled.

She left the store with new amethyst and onyx jewelry in. To her surprise, her piercings didn’t close up much, and with the help of some saline, they felt just fine. Of course, Ren insisted on paying for her to get new piercings as well, but Jasmine declined. She wanted to map them out better, and come in prepared. They settled on just getting her enough jewelry to allow her a new set for each day of the week. She now had a wide collection of rings and studs, most encrusted in gemstones or czech glass. Ren even snuck in some black sapphire studs she insisted she didn’t need. The next place they went to was going to be Ren’s favorite, a small lingerie shop he had frequented in the past. “This is where I’ve gotten most of your pieces so far, I’m great friends with the man who owns it.” Lingerie shops owned by men never sat right with her, but Jasmine wasn’t in a position to complain. They came in, and almost as if on queue, a man in a three piece suit entered from behind a curtain to greet them. “Fox, welcome back, I-oh, is this her?” He took her hand, bowing and kissing it. “Madam, I’ve heard so much about you, please, come in and look around.” He had a kind smile, and Jasmine thanked him. “Pet, look around and pick out some things you’d like, I’ll meet you at the fitting room.” Ren stayed back, talking to the store owner, and allowed Jasmine to look on her own. A woman approached her, offering to take her measurements. As she had the tape around her waist, Jasmine looked over at Ren and thought to herself. I could…this could be my chance. I could ask this lady for help and…wait. She remembered the collar’s key phrase feature, and the fact he knows the owner. Of course he’d pick places and people he already knows, he’s not stupid. Surely, that was the only reason why she didn’t ask for help. She was snapped out of her thoughts by the woman bringing her to a rack of bras in her size. She looked through, all of them were beautiful and incredibly expensive. He said I don’t have a budget, but this is still a little extreme. She got a few bras and the matching underwear and went over to the fitting room. Sure enough, Ren was waiting on her with the owner by his side. They were talking and laughing till they noticed Jasmine. “Darling, that’s all you have?” As soon as he said that, the employee from before brought her a few similar pieces she thought Jasmine would like. She entered the fitting room and Ren followed, apparently one of the perks of knowing the owner was being able to go in with your partner. She had gotten changed in front of Ren too many times to count, but doing so in a public space almost had an heir of exhibitionism. She nervously started to strip, and Ren was all too happy to sit back and watch the show. The first set she tried on was a plain bra and thong panties with a few pieces of lace. “Cute, Pet, but you have a set like that at home. Let’s go for something a little more fun~” He held up a strappy red bra with matching crotchless panties. She, again, stripped and tried on the new set. “Hmmm, I like it, we’ll get two of those. One for you to keep, and one for me to play with~” Blush spread across Jasmine’s cheeks and she felt butterflies in her stomach. Men had bought her pieces before, but it was never a hugely personal event like this. Having him stare at her and dictate what she should try on and what she’ll get with absolutely no limits was exhilarating. Her butterflies flew a little lower.

After a particularly steamy makeout session in the fitting room, Jasmine tried on the rest of her pieces and they checked out. The owner thanked them again for coming, and slipped in a few pairs of thigh highs as a token of his appreciation. Kangaroo was waiting for them outside, and as soon as they got into the car Jasmine kissed Ren all over again. “You’re so” *kiss* “sweet” *kiss* “to me” *kiss* “honey!” *kiss* “Thank you” *kiss* “so much!” He was, of course, drinking in her affection, and returned it with light gropes and kisses of his own. The next shop was a shoe store, where they were served champagne and Jasmine got to try on dozens of pairs of shoes. They were all so beautiful, mostly heels by Ren’s request. She tried on a particularly tall pair of platform heels that made her almost six feet tall. She walked over to Ren, who had the biggest grin on his face, and towered over him. Holding his head in her hands, she whispered, “I love looking down at you, baby” and kissed his forehead. She’s known since the day they met in person he has a bit of a thing for those who are taller than him. It was obvious by the way he’d affectionately comment on her height, and insist she wore heels. It wasn’t just height, though, just one of her thighs was about the size of his waist. The occasional “crush my head” comments would also slip out in the heat of eating her out.

It took some help from Kangaroo, but they were able to fit all the shoe boxes they got into the limo. Jasmine swapped out her shoes in favor of another strappy pair of black heels. These were patent leather sandals, with a long sexy stiletto heel. Ren looked at her, admiring her beauty and happy face. He got off knowing he was the one to dress her like this. From her new labret, to her shiny shoes, he was satisfied knowing he could infect every part of her. The next shop confused Jasmine, to the point of questioning if they went to the wrong place. In the windows stood mannequins wearing bathing suits and sun hats. Ren assured her they were at the right place, and it finally clicked for her what the final surprise would be. She excitedly rushed him into the store and looked around. Unlike the other lingerie place, he didn’t know the owner, and thus couldn’t accompany her in the fitting room. To combat this, she would get changed, and come out to greet him, almost like a fashion show. She was exclusively given bikinis, with varying levels of coverage. One by one she would come out to put on a show for Ren, which only made him smile more. Jasmine saved the best for last, a dark red bikini with almost no coverage. It was more akin to dental floss, and she debated even stepping out in it. When she did, Ren dropped his phone, wide eyed and mouth agape. Jasmine smiled and stepped back into the fitting room, knowing this would be the one she wore later that night.

By the time they were finished, it was time for their dinner reservations. Ren had made Jasmine change into an evening dress at the last shop they visited to save time. She emerged wearing a long black dress covered in dark sequins. They met Kangaroo, yet again, and climbed into the limo. Jasmine swung her legs over Ren’s lap, and he took his hat off, letting out his ears. “I’m fine hiding them, but after a while it just gets tiring.” Picking up on her queue, Jasmine took his ears in her hands and started to rub. “Poor Ren, you do so much. So much for me to have a good time, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” She whispered to him, and kissed his temple. She had successfully avoided his cheeks, so as to not leave lipstick stains on his makeup. They kissed deeply and passionately while she still played with his ears. Pulling away, Jasmine looked down and giggled at her still close eyed fox covered in her lipstick. “Darling, I think I have a makeup wipe, let’s get you cleaned up before we eat.”

Feeling nostalgic about their first date, Ren chose another sushi restaurant for their dinner. Jasmine commented about the Summer/beachy theme to their day out, while he pretended to not notice, still not acknowledging what he had planned for them after dinner. They were walked to a small booth facing a dimly lit stage. After they sat down, Jasmine asked about it, only for Ren to smile back at her. Another surprise, fun. They had a nice view of it, and the way the booth was shaped made them feel secluded, almost as if the show was theirs, and theirs alone. Ren ordered them cocktails and appetizers, promising Jasmine would love what he picked. Sure enough, the waitress came back with an orange drink for Ren, and a pink smoothie for Jasmine. It was a strawberry daiquiri, and tasted divine. She sipped Ren’s mai tai as well, which was also delicious. Their appetizers had just arrived when a woman in a glittery blue dress came to the stage. She thanked everyone for coming, and started to sing. In between verses she would take a garment off. It started with her gloves, then her headpiece, then eventually the dress. Underneath, she had on matching lingerie and a corset. She took those off too, eventually leaving a thong and pasties. “Oh my God, she was amazing!” Jasmine said, applauding her once her show was done. “Her outfit was gorgeous, and her voice was beautiful. Will there be more performers like her?” Ren laughed, assuring her the show wasn’t over. Shortly after, two dancers came out in matching outfits. They wore orange corsets, feathered hats, and glittery thigh highs. Next, a woman and man in similar green outfits did the sexiest dance yet, ending in the woman giving him a lap dance. Jasmine could barely take her attention off the show to eat her food, and Ren could barely take his attention off of her to watch the show. She lit up seeing them, their shining outfits were only outshone by their unique talents. Again, Ren was satisfied with himself. He knew all of this was for him and his own amusement more than Jasmine’s. With each piece of magic he showed her, the more she’d fall for him, and the more she would submit. He thought fondly of the future events he would be able to bring her to, and show her off to his friends. However, something weighed on him. She was acting fine, happy with her situation, but he couldn’t shake the feeling something was off. The look on her face the day before when he spooked her looked more of horror rather than surprise. He even wondered if Kangaroo had done something while he was away. Maybe I should watch through the tapes from when I was gone. He looked up at Jasmine again, who had her hands clasped together and was smiling at the stage. Ren smiled to himself, I can do that later, this is nice.

Full of booze and food, Jasmine held onto Ren’s arm while they left. She was always more of a lightweight than she would like to admit, and of course Ren got nearly drunk off just a few drinks himself. They were giggling at each other, and met Kangaroo for the final time that night. “Fun night, guys?” “A spleeendid night, Kangaroo. Absolutely divine!” Ren drunkenly responded. He helped them into the car and drove back to the apartment. As they drove, the alcohol started to wear off, and they were content with silently holding each other. Kangaroo helped them up, then went back to the car to get the rest of Jasmine’s bags. By this point, Ren had sobered up enough to gain his bearings and remember their next plan. Jasmine had practically fallen into his arms, kissing him all over. “Darling, let’s get you changed and go downstairs, alright?” Jasmine pulled back, tilting her head. “Downstairs? What’s downstairs?” After a night of pure bliss and spoiling, she had forgotten her surprise, in favor of hurrying to the bedroom. “You’ll see when we get there, come on into the bathroom.” She followed him and he sat her down on the edge of the tub. Ren knelt down and took off her shoes, followed by her evening dress. He went to the sink and pulled out a makeup wipe, taking off hers before his own. Helping her step into her new bikini, Jasmine remembered her surprise and hugged him. Ren donned his own black swim trunks and threw a t-shirt over his bare chest. He tied a cover up around her and even took off her collar. He figured she’s intoxicated and content enough to not make a great escape.

Ren held Jasmine’s hand as she stepped into the hot tub, then proceeded to get in himself. His apartment building had a hot tub and pool in the back, which was rarely ever used. He would often go for a late night swim before Jasmine came along, and was happy to finally share it with her. Since no one was around, he felt comfortable letting his ears and tail out as well, which Jasmine took notice of. She pet his head and trailed her fingers across his chest. “Thank you for a great day, Ren, I mean it.” In a moment of touching sobriety, he held her close and pressed his forehead to hers. “I-um, I wanted to make this day special. I felt bad about leaving so quickly, and your leg, so I wanted to make it up to you. You’ve helped me more than you know, and you’ve been so good for me. I don’t know how you put up with me sometimes, I know it can be a lot.” He laughed to himself, and shook his head while still holding hers. Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was the moment of what felt like genuine connection, or maybe it was the burning questions at the back of her skull. Whatever it was, Jasmine was compelled to finally confess her sins to him. “Ren I…I know.” He pulled away, confused as to what she meant. “Um, I’m sorry I didn’t bring it up, but your last night away, you did call me. You didn’t tell me much, but you sort of told me…what it is you do.”

Notes: Yeahhh, nevermind, one more part after this, sorry for the cliffhanger guys! I wanted to do a filler chapter in between, but I like where this -d r a m a- is going. Also, to whoever requested a RenXfeminine male reader with corset piercings, I hope this works! I liked the ask, and I would like to explore it more in the future. I’d say I’ll get to it when I run out of ideas for PPP, but I already have at least four more arcs in mind, all of which I'm incredibly excited for. Don’t worry though, I’ll have more fluffy/smutty filler in between the heavy stuff :)

Now, I can’t resist a good hint. The next arc involves something I’ve posted about already on my Tumblr ;)

#the price of flesh #boyfriend to death #ren hana #tpof ren hana #tpof fox #tpof announcer #tpof fanfic #pleasure pain and power

[the-iceni-bitch]

Paralian

Pairing: soft!Winter Soldier x fem!Reader

Words: ~3.6k

Summary: You find the Winter Soldier washed up on the beach in front of your small cabin and debate what you should do with him.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (titty worship, soft sex, unprotected vaginal sex) minor angst, SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!!!!

A/N: My official entry for @bonkywobble ‘s halfway to 1k challenge! I chose the prompts paralian (one who lives by the sea) and stranded so here we are!! Congratulations Georgie!!!!

It was your third year being stationed on Rankki, and fuck you were starting to get so bored.

You cursed yourself every day for taking this shit assignment. Sure, an isolated life on an idyllic Finnish island sounded great! All you had to do was monitor the radar for any Soviet subs and the radio for any communications that were worrisome, and other than that, you could enjoy the nice quiet life by the sea you’d always wanted.

Fuck all that shit.

Nothing ever happened, the last blip on the radar you’d received was just a pod of whales, and as sure as SHIELD was that they were tapped into the appropriate Soviet channels, you had never heard anything exciting or important.

You were damp all the time, the wind and sea spray soaking you to the bone and leaving you with a never ending chill. You had a fireplace but there was no wood anywhere on the tiny island. You knew, you’d walked all over the damn thing a thousand times. You had to arrange for shipments of wood from Helsinki every few months.

You were standing on the rocky shore outside your tin sided house as you sipped a mug of tea with a thick wool blanket wrapped around you. There were vicious looking black and purple clouds rolling in from the east, and you sighed to yourself before heading back inside to prepare for the upcoming storm. At least that would be a break from the monotony you were stuck with.

Within twenty minutes you heard the roll of thunder and then the wind hit your house with a howl, shaking the siding as rain pounded on your roof. You just stoked the fire with a sigh, secure in the knowledge that the construction of your house was sound.

You sat back in your armchair and curled up under your blankets to look out the window as lightning streaked across the sky. You could see see massive waves rolling far out in the gulf when suddenly your radio crackled and a distress call broke the silence in your living room.

The caller was speaking in frantic Russian as you scrambled to pick up the microphone. You tried to get a location or any information from the caller but they were babbling frantically and you didn’t think they heard you. The only words you were able to make out were Sverdlov, Karpov, and Soldat.

You sucked in a sharp breath at the last word. That was supposed to be a fucking rumor. Maybe evidence of the Winter Soldier would finally get you off this god forsaken strip of land. You tried to remain calm as you called back over the radio, but all you got in response was dead air.

You cursed before trying to raise the SHIELD base over comms, but there was no luck, the storm was causing too much interference. No matter which frequency you tried, you couldn’t get anything but static.

“Goddamn it.” You muttered, chewing on your lips as you gazed out the window again. You’d try again once the skies had cleared, maybe you’d get lucky and the ship would make it through, and you’d be able to hail them again.

The storm ended in a little over an hour, stopping as suddenly as it had started. You stood up and stretched, folding your blanket and tossing over the back of your armchair as you headed to your radio. You flipped through each channel slowly, desperately trying to find a signal, but all that greeted you was dead air.

A sigh escaped from deep in your chest as you shook your head resignedly, deciding to head out to walk over the island for the million and first time.

You cursed when you walked outside. The beach was littered with driftwood and other debris, including what you were quite certain were the pieces of the vessel you had received the distress call from.

You muttered angrily to yourself as you picked your way over the rocky beach, dreading the task of clearing up all this shit. At least it would be something to occupy your time over the next few days.

You caught a hint of movement out of the corner of your eye and felt your body tense as you went to investigate, suddenly regretting your decision to leave your gun inside.

You came up on what you initially thought was a dead body until you saw it roll over and jumped back warily. A set of blue eyes gazed up at you questioningly and you caught a glimpse of metal below the man’s sleeve.

“Who are you?” He rasped in surprisingly good English, struggling to stand up. “Where am I?”

“You’re on the island of Rankki in Finland.” You answered, searching for something you could use as a weapon gas you kept one eye on the stranger. “What do you remember?”

“I don’t know.” He muttered, drawing slowly to his feet as you sucked in a breath at the sheer power of his build, not missing the glint of metal on his left hand.

“Fuck.” You muttered as you realized you were now stuck on a tiny ass island with the Winter Soldier and no outside communications. “What’s your name?” You asked, looking around desperately for something you could use as a weapon if you had to fight him.

“I... I don’t know.” He mumbled, shaking his head and staggering as he tried to walk towards you.

You took a step back and chewed on your lip, trying to decide what to do. If he really couldn’t remember anything, he was going to be useless to you, though SHIELD would probably love to take apart that arm and study it. If he was faking it, he would most likely kill you in your sleep.

The look he gave you was full of pain and confusion, though, and you cursed yourself in your head for being so soft and gullible.

“Ok, let’s get you inside before the sun sets. I’ll make you some tea and get you into some dry clothes, ok?”

He nodded and followed you inside, looking around warily once he stepped into your tiny cabin. You chewed your lip as you closed the door behind him, still trying to figure out exactly what you should do about this new complication.

“The bathroom’s through here.” You said as you ushered him towards the back of your house. “Maybe take a hot shower and I’ll try to find you some clothes?”

He just grunted as he closed the door in your face, and you let out a deep sigh. You moved to put the kettle on the stove and reheat some lentil stew before heading to your radio. You flipped through all the channels, cursing under your breath as you still failed at raising the SHIELD base on the mainland. You worked at stashing all of your weapons as you listened to the shower running, knowing that if he really wanted to hurt you, he wouldn’t need a weapon.

You heard the shower shut off and grabbed an oversized sweater and some thermal leggings you hoped would have enough give to fit over his thick thighs. He stepped out of the bathroom and you swallowed a moan once you saw him with nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. It had been three years with nothing but your fingers to keep you satisfied and the presence of the massive soldier was reminding you just how hard up you were. You took a deep breath as you handed him the clothes and turned back to the kitchen, pouring two mugs of tea and serving up the leftover stew.

“Eat up.” You said when he returned from getting dressed in your bedroom. “Sorry, there’s not a lot of food options here.”

“S’fine.” He mumbled around a mouthful of stew as he sank onto your couch, and you did your best not to ogle the outline of his cock in your too tight leggings.

You gulped down your tea quickly as you tried to school your thoughts. This was very bad. You were stuck with one of the most dangerous Soviet agents alive and all you could think about was crawling into his lap and fucking yourself on his cock. Even if he did have amnesia, this was a very, very bad idea.

“The stew was good.” He mumbled as he finished his bowl, turning to you as you worked on your own helping. “Thank you.”

“Mmhm.” You mumbled, still trying to think about anything else except letting him bend you over and fuck you against the counter.

He stood up and moved to rinse off his dishes in the sink, brushing past you and making you clench. You tried to move out of his way but your kitchen was so cramped that all you ended up doing was tangling your feet with his until you almost fell over.

You gasped when he caught you by your elbow and yanked you into his chest to keep you from going down. His chest rumbled with a low growl as you steadied yourself, and you could’ve sworn you felt him sniff your hair.

“You ok?” He murmured before releasing his grip on your arm and letting you step back.

“Yeah, just clumsy.” You whispered, squeezing your thighs together to try to do something to relieve the ache in your core.

“Good.” He said with a deep sigh, running his hand through his hair. “Where am I sleeping?”

You cursed in your head as you thought about that question, looking around your tiny house as you tried to think about where you could stash him. The couch was too small for either of you to comfortably rest on, and you only had the one bed.

“Shit, I guess we’re doubling up.” You muttered, chewing your lip again as you dreaded spending the night in your kind of small bed with the gorgeous, massive stranger that was staring at you with puppy dog eyes. “There’s not even room on the floor anywhere.”

“Ok.” He grunted, avoiding making eye contact with you as you slid past him to wash up for bed.

You locked the bathroom door behind you and started splashing cold water on your face as you tried to calm down. Bad, bad, so bad this was bad. You couldn’t even try to reach SHIELD now and you weren’t sure when you’d have the chance to try again. You brushed your teeth furiously as you did your best to school your thoughts.

You threw on your pajamas once you were finished and stormed into the bedroom, determined to not let your libido get the better of you. He was sitting on the bed in just your leggings, and you swore under your breath as you moved past him to your side of the bed.

“Back to back?” He said with a cocked eyebrow as you slid under the covers and he turned off his lamp.

“Yeah.” You muttered, shutting your own light off and pulling the blankets up your body as you curled around yourself and squeezed your eyes shut.

You heard him let out a deep sigh as you tried to fall asleep, your brain refusing to focus on anything except the warmth of his back against yours.

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, but you did, until you woke up under the suffocating weight of his body draped over yours, his face buried in your hair as he whimpered in your ear.

He wrapped his arms around you and snarled, and you were surprised to feel tears soaking your hair.

“Um, hey.” You muttered as you tried to turn towards him. “Wake up.”

You squeezed his shoulder and gave it a small shake to try to rouse him and his eyes flew open. You yelped as he flipped you over and pinned you to the bed with his hand around your throat.

His eyes were murderous as he gazed at you, his pupils blown wide while you feebly clawed at his metal forearm, struggling to breathe. He finally came out of his post-sleep haze and released you with a hiss, scrambling back on the bed until he was huddled in the corner as you sat up and spluttered to catch your breath.

“Fuck, I don’t know what happened.” He muttered as he buried his head in his hands.

“It’s ok, I think you just had a nightmare.” You said as you rubbed your hand over your neck. “Are you ok?”

He turned his gaze back to you and you sucked in a breath as you saw tears glistening in his cheeks. Your instincts took over and you crawled towards him, curling your body around his and murmuring softly as his chest shook with sobs.

You ran your hands through his hair as he tucked his face into your shoulder, trying to figure out what exactly you should do to help him calm down.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He choked out, his tears soaking through your shirt as you tried your best to comfort him.

“It’s gonna be ok.” You cooed, running a hand over his back softly as he moved his face up to your neck and inhaled deeply, moaning as he took in your scent.

His breathing had finally slowed down, and you could feel his chest moving in deep breaths against yours as he sighed into your hair. You moaned when he suddenly brushed his lips against the hollow beneath your ear as he wrapped his arms around you tightly.

“You smell so good.” He murmured as he ran his mouth over your throat, his soft lips on your skin making you whine. “Like pine and wind and home.”

“Uh-huh.” You muttered, trying your best to get control of yourself as he ran his hands over your sides until they came to rest on your hips.

His teeth brushed over your jaw and you whined as you felt your core clench around nothing as you throbbed with need. Your breath hitched when he moved his lips to yours and barely brushed against them as you rested your forehead against his and screwed your eyes closed.

“I need you so bad. Open your eyes.” He ordered, bringing his metal hand up to cup your cheek. You did as he asked, losing yourself in his darkened gaze as you breathed deeply. “But we can stop if you want.”

You but your lip as you considered that for a second before smashing your mouth against his in a desperate clash of teeth and tongues as you moaned against his lips.

He wrenched your shirt off and pressed his palms against your tits, gripping them harshly and groaning before bending forward to rub his face over your nipples. You felt a rush of arousal seep out of you as he laved his tongue over one of them and pinched the other, gazing up at you through his lashes as you arched into his face. He brushed his lips over the soft slopes of your breasts as you devolved into a whimpering mess.

You started grinding against his thigh as he worshipped your breasts, tracing their curves with his tongue and lips as you felt the sensation echo in your core. It was too much for you in your touch starved state and you felt a shiver travel up your spine as he brought you closer. He brushed his teeth over your nipple and you came apart with a wordless cry, your pleasure rolling over you in a wave as your pussy fluttered wildly over his thigh, your release soaking your leggings.

He moved his mouth back up to yours and nipped at your lips as he started to turn your bodies to pin you underneath him. His mouth devoured yours as he pulled your leggings off you before shoving his own down his legs as he slotted himself between your thighs.

You bit your lip as you felt him run his steely length through your puffy lips, coating himself in your slick before lining himself up. He rested his forehead against yours and gazed into your eyes as you just blinked at him and pressed your knees against his sides. Your eyes rolled back in your head and you dug your fingers into his biceps as he slid into you slowly, letting out a low moan as you stretched around his girth.

“You still good?” He asked, his eyes still focused on yours as he felt you relax around him.

“Very, very good.” You mumbled as he started to move his hips in long, slow strokes, hitting every spot inside you that had been neglected for the past three years as you melted into the mattress.

“You feel so good.” He murmured, moving to bury his face in your neck as he continued pushing his hips into you. “So tight and warm and... fuck you’re just perfect.”

You couldn’t say anything, you were so consumed with the feeling of him inside of you, your pussy clenching around his cock in waves from base to tip and tip to base as he edged you closer and closer to your release. He sucked your ear lobe between his teeth as you locked your ankles together at the small of his back and did your best to draw him even further inside you.

He kept moving his hips in smooth thrusts, his lips moving over your throat softly as he took you apart with slow, deliberate movements. A final twist of his hips had you screaming, every muscle in your body tightening and releasing like a bowstring as you spasmed uncontrollably around his cock. His eyes moved back to watch you closely as your face contorted with pure bliss and you sobbed underneath him.

You panted as you came down, smiling back at him and unwrapping your legs from around him as he slowly slid out of you. He moved his lips over your shoulders as his hands slid to your waist, starting to turn you over slowly as your breathing finally returned to normal.

He brushed your hair aside and pressed his lips to the back of your neck once he had you on your stomach, his chest pressed against your back as he nudged your thighs apart with his knees. You bit the pillow as he teased his tip against your entrance before pushing into you again, making you whine.

His hips started moving again as he wrapped his fingers through yours and pinned your hands above your head while he fucked you in swift thrusts, his hips slapping against your ass as he smothered you with his body.

“You close, honey?” He murmured against the shell of your ear as you arched your back to meet his thrusts.

“Yeah, I’m so close.” You moaned, your cunt clamping around him as he dragged his cock over your g-spot with each push. “Need more.”

“Yeah? I can do that.” He grinned before sinking his teeth into your shoulder and slamming his hips forward.

You shrieked as he fucked you, your body sinking into the mattress as he pressed against you. It only took a few thrusts before you shattered around him, stars exploding behind your eyes as you vibrated underneath him. His hips started stuttering and then he roared in your ear, his cock throbbing and swelling inside you until he was flooding you with his spend, warming you from inside as he fucked his cum into you with quick, rhythm less jerks.

He collapsed on top of you when he was finished, his breath coming in deep sighs as you panted into the pillow. You felt exhaustion starting to drag you under, your lids growing heavy as you felt him soften inside you.

“Can we just stay like this?” He muttered, his lips brushing over your neck gently. “I just want to hold you.”

“Yeah, ok.” You hummed, surrendering to the pull of sleep as he pulled the covers back over the two of you before he sank on top of you with a deep sigh.

You woke up with him still on top of you, his limbs tangled with yours as he snored softly. You moved gingerly as you worked to extract yourself from him, desperately needing to use the bathroom.

He gave a soft huff when you rolled him over, but quickly relaxed as he nuzzled himself into your pillows. You closed the blinds to block out the early morning light and tiptoed out of the bedroom. You took care of your business quickly and we’re heading back to bed when you heard the faint sound of your radio crackling to life.

You rushed into your comm room and turned the radio down before really listening to what you were hearing.

“Agent Y/L/N? Come in!” Someone from the base was calling over the link.

“This is Y/L/N.” You answered.

“We got reports of a wrecked Soviet ship in your area. Intel says they had some sort of asset on board. Has anything turned up?”

You chewed your lip as you thought things over. If you turned the Winter Soldier over, you could probably finally get off this island and land a cushy desk job back in the States. It was all you’d been thinking about for years.

But then you thought about waking up to those small fearful sounds, and the look in his eyes before he started sobbing into your chest. And there was no way you could turn that broken creature over to the cold scientists at SHIELD.

“Just some debris.” You called back over the radio. “Nothing important.”

“Alright, well keep us updated.”

You hung up the receiver and started to move back to the bedroom, smiling sadly as you heard the soldier wondering where you were.

——————————————————————————

A/N: 🥺🥺🥺

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[missblissy]

PLS alastor x chubbyish reader who only wears baggy clothes like MENS 4XL AND HUGE/LONG SHORTS and then finally puts on something tight like a dress -like his reaction SORRY FOR IT BEING SO LONG AND SPECIFIC

(( Of course my friend!! And no worries. IM SOrRY FOr The WAIt---...... I am but a simple lad. The drafts man.... I don't get along with them and they don't get along with me. AGAIN SORRY FOR THE WAIT WEEPS. I also hope you don't mind I did a modern!au...? QwQ I just-.... I just saw such a cute idea in my head.... ANYWAYS. I hope u enjoy!))

You chewed at your bottom lip as you thought it over again. Was this a good idea? You saw yourself in the mirror and slowly turned to the side a little. I don't know... Is this a good look for me? You picked up the hem of the dress and pulled it up a little. For a second to long you saw your theighs and looked away quickly. The dress was much different than the typical outfit you enjoyed. Baggy clothes no more, a dress found a snug but almost perfect fit. Something about it felt to tight, making certain parts of your skin to appear more pressed and chubby. It did show that you had some curves but nothing to gloat about.

It was red. Your idea. Well... the dress and everything was your idea too. You wanted to look nice, or nicer than you normally dressed. You were a comfort over pain person. Sweat pants were a must-have, large shirts, oversized hoodies? Constantly. It was just far more comfortable that way. Why would anyone want to spend all day in a pair of tight jeans riding up in places nothing should ever go? It didn't make sense, and honestly, it also just made you feel a little better to hide behind such baggy clothes sometimes.

You leaned over the sink and fixed your hair. You felt far more nervous than you should be. Maybe it was because he was waiting outside the bathroom, in your bedroom. Alastor took his time enjoying a book though, he wasn't in that much of a hurry. A lazy smile rested on his face as he looked at the clock on the dresser in front of him. He sat on the edge of your shared bed and took in a slow breath, "It's almost seven, dear, we'll have to leave soon." He casually said as he flipped a page of his book.

From within the bathroom, you took yet another look at yourself, "Okay!" You said quickly. The dress wasn't over the top or anything. It kind of looked like a simple high waist, shirt dress. Tight on the top with a button-down and a little fit bow tucked within the collar, similar to a vintage dress from the 50s. You enjoyed the skirt wasn't as tight as the shirt, but it was still fitted even if it fanned out.

You had to turn away from the mirror or you'd get stuck there again for another twenty minutes. You put your hand on the doorknob then paused. You had only been dating Alastor for about two months. So far he found your casual choice of clothes cute. He didn't seem to care what you wore at the end of the day. And honestly, he didn't know what to expect when you came out of the bathroom. He only wore what he typically wore... But that's also because he was a "public figure" who ran a "respectable" podcast. So he didn't have to change much. Still, the same button-down shirt, tucked into his dark dress pants. There was no sweater vest or bowtie, but instead just a regular black tie. However, up until now, Alastor had never seen you in a dress before.

Alastor never asked you to dinner at a restaurant that had a dress code either. Normally the dates were left to late-night fast food runs because you got out of work late. Not this time though. You also couldn't imagine the embarrassment of being caught at a classy restaurant in a hoodie and shorts... Yeah. No thanks. You'd rather not.

After staring at the door for five minutes you snapped out of your trance-like thoughts and twisted the doorknob. You quickly stepped out of the bathroom and stood halfway between the bed and the door. At first, Alastor didn't even look up from his book. He gave you a glance for a second then quickly took a second look and stared at you.

He slapped the book closed with one hand and set it down beside him, "Well, look at that," He smiled at you. You felt your cheeks burn under his gaze, "Go on, do a spin," He twirled a finger quickly.

You felt a smile climb onto your lips as you did a stupid little giggle and lifted your arms with a spin. The little clap he did only made you chuckle more, "Stop it," You rolled your eyes, only teasing him.

Alastor pushed himself off the bed and just as you spun back to face him, he snacked an arm around your waist and used his free hand to grab your own. And suddenly the two of you were dancing. He side-stepped with a quick waltz, making it easy for you to follow him. He hummed a pretty tune and whisked you away.

Little did he pay mind to your big doe eyes and blushing face. He had his eyes closed as if this was just second nature and he didn't even have to think about doing it. Pressed against his chest you could smell the sweet scent of roses mixed with a warm piney cologne. Alastor stopped short and gave you a little spin. The skirt of your dress waved slightly as you left the closeness of Alastor. You held onto his hand as he looked you over.

Alastor quickly pulled you back to him, "You look very lovely, dear," He was only a few inches away from your face. The warmth of his smile bleed into his brown eyes as he brushed his nose against yours, "Utterly stunning, quite literally the most beautiful creature I've ever seen." Oh well, now he was just being over the top. You let out a little hiccup a giggle but it was stifled by the swift kiss that Alastor stole from your lips.

When he pulled away you were left slightly dazed and sad that the kiss was over so soon. But Alastor kept you in his arms as he said, "Maybe we should just stay home," He grinned at you, "I don't know if I care to share you with anyone else-"

You rolled your eyes and pushed him away with a cheeky smirk of your own. Sometimes he was so full of himself, at least he did it in a way that could make you laugh, "Come on," You gave him a light pat on the chest, "We're gonna be late," You walked past him and grabbed your coat off the dress. Alastor remained there with his grin growing larger. His eyes roamed over your body as you walked past. He took in every angle he could get before following after you and closing the door behind him.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #reader insert #ask #answered #cute #human!alastor #human!reader #modern!au #f!reader #drabble #fluffy

[peakyscillian]

Scars to your beautiful | Cillian x fem!reader |

Summary: Cillian and Y/N attend a film premiere, Y/N is feeling all kinds of insecure. Warnings: Angst, language, arguing. scar reference but nothing graphic or new. Request: @being-worthy A/N: I hope this is ok!

Scars to your beautiful

Lights flashing, people shouting, Cillian had his hand linked tightly with yours, the dress you had been sent was drawing unwanted attention to your body and you could see all the actresses and wives of actors up ahead, posing for the cameras. Cillian was being called left and right for the press, you stood off to the side letting him have his moment in front of the cameras, then his publicist was next to you, leaning close to your ear "Go have a few pictures with him y/n" he smiled, you shook your head shyly. "You look fantasic should show it off" he added after your refusal, you gave him the smallest smile but refused again. Cillian was back by your side, his hand back in yours as you made your way up the carpet to the cinema "wish you would of had a few pictures with me" he commented, you felt your heart sink. "I was just letting you have your moment Cill" you smiled, as he held the door for you, dropping a kiss to your cheek .

The film had been amazing, you were thankful for the dimly lit cinema, you and Cillian had been at the after party for around twenty minutes, he'd gone to the bar leaving you at a table, you could see him laughing and joking with a beautiful co-star, her hand on his arm. You didn't blame either of them Cillian was the most handsome man in the room and she was just stunning, you were surely the most out of place person here, always unsure why Cillian wanted to be with you. Cillian caught your eyes, waving you over, his co-star turned as well a welcoming smile on her face, you shook your head, holding up a finger to signal you'd be back, heading for the toilets. No way could you stand there near her and not feel like you wanted the room to swallow you whole. Standing next to her would only make Cillian realise what a mistake he had made, bringing you, hell even being with you in the first place. *** Cillian excused himself from talking to a few of his co-stars, you had headed to the bathroom a while ago and he was worried you'd been so quiet all evening, fidgetting with the beautiful dress that suited you so well. He knew how insecure you could be, how you were sure he had made a mistake asking you to marry him. He knew it wasn't your fault that you felt this way, he had seen so many negative things destroy the confidence of his sisters he wasn't immune to it. He had seen the scars on your thighs, the marks of your past pain and he just wanted to take everything away, but nights like tonight you pushed and pushed until he was so far away from you, you couldn't hear him. He waited outside the ladies bathrooms, pulling his phone out to send you a message, his patience wearing thinner by the minute, he wasn't one to argue especially not with you, but right now he was getting frustrated, he just wanted you to see how beautiful you were to him and nearly everyone you met. You finally appeared he could see the red puffiness of your eyes, the stained make up on your cheeks, he downed his beer placing the glass on the window ledge behind him. "Hey, hey whats wrong?" concern flooded his body as he held you by your elbows. "I jus-just want to go home Cill" you hiccuped, he bit at his lip, he wanted you here, he had finally persauded you to come along to a premiere and now the night was just getting started and you wanted to leave. He took in a sharp breath "I can call Clive to come get you?" he asked, you nodded "Are you coming?" you questioned, he shook his head. "Y/N it's a big premiere night everyone is here, Enda has asked me to make a speech, he's my closest friend I can't just disappear" he was trying his hardest to keep his cool. You stood on tiptoes to kiss him quickly "It's fine Cillian, enjoy your night I'll see you at home" you went to walk away to wait out by the entrance for his driver. "No, dont you dare make me feel guilty, I was so damn excited to have you here with me tonight, so happy that you agreed to come, then we get here and you dont want pictures, you dont want to talk to my castmates, you hide in the toilets, what more can I do?" he was frustrated you knew that but you couldn't help it.

"I feel like shit ok? I saw you with that women, in the red dress looking like a fucking model, I'll leave you too it yeah?" you pulled your hand from his grasp. "She's my co-star, she was asking to meet you because I never shut up talking about you and you were so rude, now I've got to go back in there and explain you've left because you're jealous?" he was baffled, he didn't know what else he could do "I'm not jealous Cillian, you can fucking have her for all I care" you took off, heels clicking across the marble floor, not looking back at him.

*** You were under the duvet, having got home stripped from the dress leaving it in a pile on the floor of the walk-in wardrobe, heels discarded down stairs, you'd took the make-up off and bundled your hair into a bun before crawling under the covers. You felt so awful leaving Cillian the way you had, but you needed to get out of the party, you didn't belong in his perfect life. You had made your decision, you needed to leave you needed to let Cillian be happy with someone who deserved him.

There was always a bag packed at the back of your side of the wardrobe, waiting for the moment you would need it, you got out from the covers, padding across to the wardrobe, stepping over the dress heading for the bag.

***

You were making your way down the stairs when you heard the front door close, you froze heart pounding. Cillian appeared at the bottom of the staircase, brows knitted together. "What..where are you going?" his eyes fell to the bag in your hand. "I don't deserve you, I shouldn't be with you" you were biting at your lip. Cillian shrugged off his coat, dropping his keys into the dish, taking the steps two at a time to reach you. "I'm sorry okay? I didn't mean to get mad, I just wish you would see how beautiful you are to me, how much I adore you, you're beautiful y/n, so beautiful and I'll spend everyday telling you that, please, please stay" he was pleading, down on his knee's on the step below you. You allowed him to take the bag from your hands, to lead you up the stairs, help you undress and redress into your lounge clothes, tucking you into the bed, promising to be right back after locking up the downstairs, you hadn't said a word. You were overwhelmed, by this man and his love for you, you were still certain you didn't deserve him.

***

Taglist @being-worthy @missymurphy1985 @janelongxox @queenshelby @noctvrnalmoth @magicalpieex @datewithgianni @elenavampire21 @cloudofdisney @uchihacumdump

#Cillian Murphy #Cillian x fem!reader #Cillian x y/n #angst #angst imagine #one shot #request #request completed #being-worthy #taglist #requests open

[drmmyrs]

Remember Me (Becca x MC) Part 2

Hiii I’m back. Sorry again for the delay 😬I had such a hard time writing the ending so thank you so much @samanthadalton for all your help 😘Also, a big thanks to M anon for their suggestions and song request which I used some of.

tag list: @samanthadalton @crazzyplays @uselesslesbianfr @baexpoppy @alexroyard @alexlabhont @veenast @noixngn @sillyandcutewizardstuffs @doey-eyes8 @itszdavenport (If you wanna be added or removed or just prefer a certain ship just let me know ❤️)

Read Part 1

Pairing: Becca x MC (Emily)

Warnings: some swearing

Word Count: 2289

It's been an hour since Emily last came into my room to remind me of my doctor's appointment. And it's been about thirty minutes since I've been ready to go, physically at least. Naturally, I tried to get Chris to come with me instead because he's my boyfriend, right? Ughh fine, ex-boyfriend. But can you blame me, though? How am I suppose to move on when I literally have no memory of some sort of breakup or closure? I stare at the dull beige-colored ceiling, a view which has me panicking in the mornings right after I wake up, before I remember that I don't live at the sorority house anymore. I then close my eyes and get comfort in the memories I have left, my only anchor on the reality I knew, away from this freakish place with the people I don't even give a shit about.

After a couple more minutes, I begrudgingly get up with a groan and trudge downstairs, finding Emily waiting on the couch. She smiles upon seeing me, but I don't return the gesture, being genuinely annoyed at the prospect of having to spend an incessant amount of time with her. So instead, I walk past her towards the door, my heels clattering on the wooden surface. Emily then follows behind me from a distance, careful not to invade my space. Once outside, I walk straight towards the passenger door of Emily's junk of a car, grabbing the handle as I glare at Emily impatiently, waiting for her to unlock it. As soon as unlocked, I sink into the seat, slamming the door close harder than I intended. Emily, though, takes a second before going in, eyeing the seat suspiciously as if it might shatter anytime. Once seated, she places her hand on the gear stick, slightly trembling. And then it dawns on me, I may have forgotten about the accident, but it's probably still fresh from her memory, terrorizing her at every reminder. All this time, I've been complaining about how unfair everything is for me, not once considering how it may have affected her.

"Who was driving?" I ask. It may not be the best thing to talk about right now, but I have to know.

I see Emily flinch at the question, and before she even opens her mouth, I know. She looks out the windshield, her voice cracking when she replies, "I was."

I nod. My mom told me it was a drunk driver running a red light that hit us, so I don't blame her at all, not anymore.

"Is it–" The words come out sharp, so I stop and soften my voice. "Is it the first time you drove since?"

Emily doesn't reply immediately; instead, she shifts the gear and steps on the gas pedal as we begin to make our way towards the hospital. She grips the steering wheel tightly, anxiously looking at the road, her eyes obsessively sweeping for any oncoming traffic at every intersection.

"No. No it's not but..." Emily trails off, her knuckles turning white as her grip on the steering wheel tightens.

But it's her first time to drive with me in the car. I turn my head to look out the window, knowing full well I can't ease her fears. How can I when I'm the living reminder of everything she lost?

---------

I immediately regret my outfit choice as soon as we get into the waiting room, the frigid temperature biting at my skin, sending sharp pains like that of a needle across my exposed skin. I try to play it cool, but a shiver escapes my body, desperate for any source of heat. A few seconds later, a jacket appears in front of me, held by Emily who is wearing an annoyingly cute little smile on her face. I mumble thanks and take the jacket, placing it over my shoulders, smelling the scent of lavender as I bask in the comfort of heat.

I take out my phone and browse my socials, catching up on all the events I missed–or forgotten–while ignoring the get well soon messages from both people I know and don't know that have been piling up ever since the accident. A few minutes later, the doctor calls my name, and as I stand up, Emily does as well but then sits back down almost immediately, clearly unsure if her company is welcome.

I roll my eyes. "Come on."

---------

After a useless consultation–apparently, they can't do much to help me regain my memories–Emily suggests we stop by an ice cream parlor not far from here. I assent, but only because I need the comfort of a sugary snack right now, and it's been ages since I had one, or at least I think so.

We reach a store I don't recognize, replacing an office space that, while I never paid attention to before, was a pleasant fixture in my reality, not this... eyesore. I shake my head; I can't keep living in the past. I follow Emily into the store, reminding myself that this is my reality now.

Inside, the floor is patterned with alternating pink and black tiles, and the walls are coated with somewhat fresh pink paint adorned with decors that scream ice cream as if one might stumble into the shop looking for lunch or something.

"Welcome t–ah Emily and Becca! I haven't seen you girls in a while."

I turn around to see a guy, probably in his mid-twenties– smiling at us like...  I shoot Emily a side-eye. She, of course, fails to mention that the guy working here is buddy-buddy with me. So, is this the kind of couple we were? Those who frequent an ice cream parlor enough to be on a first-name basis with the ice cream guy? I internally groan in disgust at the thought.

"–Becca." I'm pulled out of my thoughts when I hear my name. Emily and the ice cream guy are looking at me expectantly.

"Sorry I didn't hear," I mumble.

"You'll be having strawberry, your usual, correct?" says the guy with a wide smile.

I do want strawberry, but I shake my head and say, "Vanilla," just to spite him, annoyed how some stranger knows my favorite ice cream flavor.

"Ooh, trying something new today, are we? One rocky road and vanilla coming right up," he announces in an annoyingly high pitch voice. I struggle not to roll my eyes.

"Where's the bathroom?" I ask, which is met by a look of confusion followed by a laugh.

"You know wh–" 

Emily quickly interjects, "The bathroom's there, Becca," pointing at a door at the back of the store.

I excuse myself and go to the bathroom, heading straight towards the mirror. I stare at my reflection, nitpicking every tiny detail that has changed throughout the years, changes I don't recognize at all. A tear rolls down my cheek, but I quickly wipe it away. I'm Rebecca fucking Davenport; I don't cry. I grip the sink tightly, overcome with a new resolution. I know who I am; they don't, convincing myself more than anyone else.

Once finishing up in the bathroom, I head back outside, noticing a different aura in the room. Emily is holding our orders with an apologetic look while the ice cream guy regards me with pity, something I've grown used to in the past few weeks. I take my ice cream from Emily, not meeting her gaze, and walk out of the store, striding ahead of her towards the car, not once looking back.

--------

On the ride home, silence weighs heavily between us as Emily bites at her lower lip, either contemplating what to say or waiting for me to go off on her. After an awkward amount of time, Emily finally breaks the silence.

"I'm sorry I–"

"Forget about it," I cut her off, too exhausted to engage with her. I think about the previous encounter, wondering if that would be my norm. Unfamiliar people coming up to me, sharing inside jokes and anecdotes while I stare blankly at them, wondering if I should explain my situation or just ignore them, being the bitch I know I am. I stare out the window, seeing all the changes in the city, musing about the memories I may have had alongside them, memories that I may or may not recover. It's as if an impostor had been living my life for the past two years, and now I'm forced to follow in their footsteps. It's obvious I had changed a lot during those years, my previous enemies becoming my closest friends, my greatest rival supposedly becoming the love of my life. Was she the love of my life? Was I happy with Emily?

It's already dark outside when we arrive home. I notice a few cars parked down the road, something unusual considering this is the only house for at least a couple of blocks. What do I know, though, it's not like I remember much about this place. I turn my attention back to the house; the lights inside are turned off, leaving a lone street lamp and the car's headlights as the primary sources of light, accentuating the jagged grey bricks of the house, almost giving an appearance of something sinister. This is ridiculous; I chide myself for being scared of a stupid house. 

Emily walks ahead towards the door while I follow a few steps behind. As soon as I walk inside, the light turns on, and I'm greeted by a chorus of surprise echoing throughout the house, coming from people whom I only recognize half of. I stare at them blankly, unimpressed but just mostly confused. My mother walks over to me and gives me a big hug.

"Happy birthday, sweetie."

Birthday? I inconspicuously look at my phone. Huh. I could've sworn I've seen the date today at least a few times. A few moments later, Emily steps forward with a cake in her hands.

"Happy birthday babe," she says, immediately followed by a look of horror. "Becca. Sorry."

Of course Emily had planned this. It doesn't really matter if I wanted to have a stupid party. She had to go ahead and decide for me.

"Go ahead and blow out the candles," my mom urges.

I blow out the candles, faking a smile for my mom. As much as I want to storm into my room, I'm not about to break my mom's heart by causing some unnecessary drama.

--------

Just a few moments into the party, and I'm already exhausted–people lining up to greet me, asking how I've been doing since the accident. I realize that most people here don't know about my condition, which means I have had to engage in quite a few conversations about the things I've supposedly been doing for the past few years, things I have no recollection of, to which I gave vague answers to avoid having to explain everything. 

I down my fourth glass of virgin cuba libre, eyeing the display of alcohol with contempt, resentful that I can’t drink because of the medicine I took earlier, when Zack drags me across the room to play some truth or dare with a bunch of people, some of whom I don't recognize. Thankfully, if there was one thing the sorority has taught me, it's that you don't have to know someone to ask the right questions or expertly avoid the common ones. That is of course until someone asks you the most unexpected question.

"Do you have a date for the wedding yet?"

I stare at them blankly, fumbling for words. Wedding? 

"I–I–"

But before I can make up an answer, Kaitlyn arrives with Emily in tow, and that's when I notice it, the ring on Emily's finger. I gasp for breath, feeling like the air is taken out of my lungs. And I almost don't notice it when Kaitlyn takes out her guitar and starts singing, joined by the others.

When all the tears are rolling down your face And it feels like yours was the only heart to break When you come back home and all the lights are out And you're getting used to no one else being around

Oh, oh, I'll be there

I look at the unfamiliar faces, singing their hearts out, gazing at me fondly. I then turn my gaze to Emily's ring finger, and sitting on it is a small but glistening diamond and part of me chastises myself for not noticing earlier. I feel the entire room’s eyes on me and suddenly, it becomes too much for me to withstand. I stand up, scrabbling to go to my room, footsteps following behind me. Once I got on the stairs, Emily shouts my name from behind, and I stop at the sound of her voice, turning around.

"We were engaged? Why didn't you tell me?" My voice comes out harsher than expected and it seems to take Emily by surprise too because she just stands there motionless, speechless. “Marriage is a big thing Emily, that’s not something you can just conveniently not tell me.” I let out a frustrated groan, momentarily letting the anger wash all over me before I’m left with a bitter feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I’m sick of having random people tell me things about my life which I can’t even remember when my own fianc–” I stop, not even being able to say the word, shaking my head as the agony brought by my predicament proves to be too much. “I can’t do this. I'm sorry," I croak before running towards my room, slamming the door behind me. I then curl myself in bed as the tears fall freely.

#becca #becca davenport #becca x mc #the freshman series #playchoices #my work #my writing #my fanfics #request

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

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

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

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

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

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

word count: 24.2k

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

///

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

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

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

Harry still hates clubs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that so?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not going.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lock the door on your way out!” 

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first thing he notices is the dress. 

Fuck, the dress. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Far from it, love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like your dress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been thinking about you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It felt really nice.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

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

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

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

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

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7. 

I’ll see you there, then. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

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

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

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

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

Sounds good to me, Sherlock. 

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

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

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

“Shut up.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hands off.” 

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

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

“Ask for permission.” 

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

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need interior design advice. 

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

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

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

Genuinely? 

Yup!

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

Alright, shoot. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Immature? 

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

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks. 

Alright, go head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touché.

Exactly. 

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

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

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

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

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

Maybe.

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

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You read my mind.

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

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

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

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

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

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

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

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

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m going to call you.

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

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

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

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

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #smut #harry styles series #vampire!harry #harry styles #1d fanfiction #1d fic #one direction fanfiction #one direction smut #one direction fic #1d smut #ysijwa #harry styles one shot #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry x y/n #harry x reader #harry styles au #vampire au

[tennessoui]

KUWSK is killing me with cuteness like I literally feel my heart clench with every one shot. I was wondering if you could maybe do a lil one shit on the aftermath of the aftermath of the router incident 😭 after obi-wan clarifies he does in fact love the kids and doesn’t want them to leave…I just need anakin to tell obi-wan he wants to stay… love this sm

oh bless, i'm happy to hear you like them!!! this is a bit sappy and also um definitely unedited so 🙈🙈but i think this includes the most obikin content of them all so far which is wild seeing as how my google doc for KUWSK is literally 15k at this point.

(here is the aftermath of the Router Incident, for context)

(1.6k)

Comforting and calming the children, that’s the easy part. Children forget grievances like water rolls off a duck’s back. Adults are trickier.

Adults don’t just forget and forgive.

Obi-Wan finishes the book he’s been reading to the kids. Last night, they had been on Chapter Two. Tonight, the kids are asleep by Chapter Four, but he keeps reading, all the way through the denouement at the end of the book. He knows he’ll have to go back to Chapter Four tomorrow night, knows that he may have bought himself some time but not enough time to make a difference.

But if Anakin really wanted to leave, there was nothing on God’s green earth that could stop him.

He places the book on the nightstand between the two beds and quietly stands, adjusting his glasses.

Finding and signing a lease can happen very, very quickly. He suddenly wants to wake the kids up, just to read another chapter. There are so many books left to finish, but finding and signing a lease can happen...can happen very, very quickly.

How many more chapters do they have left?

The entire time he spends walking down the stairs, he’s hoping that Anakin will have already gone to bed. But the light in the living room is still on, which means Anakin doesn’t want to keep ignoring the elephant in the room, which means in turn that either Obi-Wan can continue down the hall at the bottom of the staircase to his own room and just pretend that he doesn’t know Anakin’s waiting up for him, or he can confront the situation and perhaps even act his age.

He goes to the living room. If he only has a certain block of time left with Anakin in his presence, he’s not going to waste any of it hiding in his room.

Anakin is standing with his arms crossed, looking at the mantle of the fireplace and the photos lined up there. His face is hidden from view, but his posture is stiff.

“The children are asleep,” Obi-Wan says, mostly to announce himself. Which he knows is stupid, seeing as how Anakin most definitely heard him come down the stairs. But suddenly he wants Anakin’s eyes on him quite desperately. He will, in fact, do most anything to have the man look at him. His eyes are so expressive. His eyes are so beautiful.

Obi-Wan shakes the thought from his head and reminds himself of what’s very quickly become his mantra over the past few months. You will not make your housemate into your rebound.

It had sounded so logical when Quinlan had suggested it. So easy to agree to.

“Thanks,” Anakin says, turning to face him. It’s awkward. Anakin hasn’t thanked him for putting the children to bed for months.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan replies, coming into the room completely. “I--”

“I--” Anakin starts, but cuts himself off when Obi-Wan speaks. “You go.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan stutters. “Well. I. I meant to say. That I...I understand. Obviously. If you were to. Want to leave. You must have had time by now to...have found a place that could. Better fit your needs.”

Anakin clears his throat. “I guess,” he says. “Yeah. I’ve. I’ve looked.”

“You have?” he asks, much too quickly and with much too much painful interest dripping off the words. “And have you? Found a place?”

Anakin hesitates and looks askance at the frames on the fireplace. “No,” he admits. “Not a place that’s. That’s anything like here.”

Obi-Wan’s smile feels so forced on his face that it actually hurts to hold. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, Anakin.”

Anakin looks at him as if he’s lost touch with reality. “Obi-Wan, come on, you have to know.”

Obi-Wan stays quiet. He doesn’t know anything. Just a day ago he had wondered absentmindedly how they were going to deal with a teenaged Luke and Leia both wanting the singular second floor bathroom in the mornings before school.

And now--well.

“You have to know,” Anakin insists in the face of Obi-Wan’s silence. “I would stay here. If it were up to just me.”

“If not you then who is it up to, Anakin?” he begs and then tries to pretend that he isn’t begging by rubbing a hand over his beard and turning away. He’s faced immediately with a picture of the twins on Christmas morning, passed out in the foreground as Obi-Wan is in the background trying to put together one of their new toys.

It had been one of the most frustrating mornings of his life. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Do you...do you really think...that I don’t--that I hate the twins? Anakin, you have to know I love them--”

“No, I’m sorry,” Anakin quickly says. “I never said that, Luke was just--he--”

“He made his own conclusions,” Obi-Wan finishes.

The other man nods gratefully. “Obi-Wan, I know you love the kids, I know you do. It’s not. It’s not the kids.”

“So if it’s not you, and it’s not the children, it must be me,” Obi-Wan concludes dully. Of course. Of course it’s him.

Anakin doesn’t immediately say no, and that pause is enough of an admittance that Obi-Wan has to pause to take several deep breaths to regain his composure.

“You’ll get tired of it,” Anakin finally says quietly. “You never signed up for us, for this for this long. I don’t want to impose. I--” he turns away to stare at the mantle, where a picture of the four of them after one of the twins’ school plays sits proudly in the middle. “I don’t want to see you growing to resent m--us. You shouldn’t have to tell us to leave. It’s your house.”

“Anakin, if you think it’s just my house still, after all these months, then I don’t know what to tell you,” Obi-Wan scoffs. “Other than to look around. “There’s stains on the ceiling I didn’t put there, we never managed to get Leia’s crayon drawings fully off the walls in the hallway, and I can’t walk twenty paces without tripping over some sort of mechanical part I have no idea what to do with if I try to pick it up off the floor. I haven’t thought of this as my house in months.”

Anakin ducks his head, as if he’s being scolded. “I’m sorry,” he says, barely louder than a whisper.

“I’m not,” Obi-Wan wants to yell, but he’s mindful of the children asleep just a floor away. He walks closer to Anakin instead, and speaks with a quiet sort of intensity. “I’m not, Anakin. And if you leave, it will still not be my house. It will just be--”

He purses his lips and sets his jaw.

“What?” Anakin asks, coming forward to meet him in the middle of the room. His hand twitches as if he wants to reach out and touch Obi-Wan, but he doesn’t.

Obi-Wan shakes his head and swallows, but he figures he’s already committed to this sort of confession. There’s nowhere else to go from here. “A house I live in,” he admits quietly. “A big, quiet place that I’ll dread coming home to.”

Anakin looks speechless, and Obi-Wan tries to smile. He can’t--he shouldn’t pressure Anakin. He’s said his position. If Anakin truly had only been afraid of overstaying his welcome, surely Obi-Wan has assuaged those fears.

But the fact that he hasn’t said anything must certainly mean that Anakin harbors other reservations. Ones he doesn’t want to share with Obi-Wan.

Very well.

“I will not...pressure you,” he tells the man. “I understand. I do. I--”

Anakin cuts him off and grabs his shoulder. “Obi-Wan, I want to. The children want to. I don’t want to leave. I’ve never had…”

Obi-Wan waits on tenterhooks for the end of the sentence, as Anakin searches for the words.

“...a home that feels like this,” Anakin finishes quietly, his hand slipping off Obi-wan’s shirt. Obi-Wan misses the muted heat of the touch immediately.

“Then don’t leave,” he pleads, crowding forward into Anakin’s space. “Anakin, stop looking. Would it help...would it help to quiet your fears if we were to draw up some sort of lease?”

“A lease?” Anakin asks, sounding strange as he looks down at Obi-Wan.

“Just something that says we’ll talk about this every year. To check in and make sure we both still want to live here?” Obi-Wan knows his answer won’t change. Probably won’t ever change. But if it’ll help calm Anakin, he’ll sign whatever.

Anakin seems to think about this for a minute, mouth pursed and eyes downcast. Obi-Wan wants to thumb at the moue of his lips, wants to press against his wrinkled brow until the skin smooths out.

No.

No.

“Alright,” Anakin finally agrees. “We can draw up...a lease tomorrow then. But it won’t be legally binding, alright? As soon as you want us out, tell me and I’ll start looking. Please, Obi-Wan. That’s my only condition.”

Anakin’s only condition to stay is that Obi-Wan will tell him as soon as he wants him to leave?

Does the other man know the extent that Obi-Wan would have tried to go to convince Anakin to stay?

“Alright,” he says, instead of anything else he’s thinking. “Of course. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Anakin repeats. “Okay. Um,” he backs up. “Goodnight then, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan reaches out and grasps his wrist as soon as he turns to leave. He doesn’t know why. He just. He wants. He doesn’t want to see Anakin go yet. The idea of being alone right now terrifies him in a sort of undefinable way.

“Sit with me?” He says, instead of what he really wants to say, which is thank you, thank you, thank you.

Anakin gives him a sort of half-smile that’s impossible to read. “Sure,” he replies. “I’d like to hear about your day.”

Obi-Wan winces, thinking about how much of his day was spent fretting in Quinlan Vos’ office. “Oh, I’m not entirely sure about that, dear one,” he laughs self-deprecatingly, and Anakin’s smile grows, and Obi-Wan knows that everything is going to be okay.

#u know what #i've noticed in my writing #that i'm just too southern to always pull of obi-wan #the other snippet said something about butter not melting in his mouth #and this one says god's green earth #but i was like 'i Do Not Know How Else To Phrase This' #asks #KUWSK #they finally talk a bit #i think the struggle with them is that both of them think they have the most to lose #which means neither of them wants to risk saying anything #in case they lose something #which is just what i love the most about mutual pining and idiots in love #so im glad it's the dynamic in KUWSK

[starkerscoop]

A Blessing in Disguise

I am very excited to announce that this fic now has a Russian translation! I posted this in October on my old blog, and in honor of having a translation recently written for it, I’ve decided to repost it onto this one!

ao3  

Russian translation   

content warnings: discussion of abortion, issues with body image and self-esteem, pregnancy, non-graphic birth

-

Two red lines stared back at him, the image burning itself into his brain. A sudden wave of dizziness washed over him and he stumbled to the ground, too dazed to catch himself. He couldn’t believe that this was happening.

He was pregnant.

He was pregnant, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it, too disoriented at the moment to really tell. He was in his mid-twenties; in his prime and at the perfect age to start making pups, according to society.

But Peter didn’t think he was ready. Of course, the Omega in him had yearned quietly for pups ever since he started going through puberty, but Peter’s priority had always been to make a name for himself in science. He wanted to get his PhD and go on to make revolutionary discoveries; to pave the way for all Omegas and prove that his secondary gender couldn’t hold him back. For years, he’d been competing with Alphas, constantly trying to prove his worth. He couldn’t let all of that go down the drain for a pup.

There was Tony to think about, too. Peter had no idea if he would want to be a father, and he was too terrified to imagine his reaction to the news. He toyed briefly with the idea of not telling him, but that thought was quickly pushed out of his brain.

Tony deserved to know, and Peter had to tell him soon; soon enough that he could still get an abortion, if that was what he wanted.

A knock on the bathroom door brought him out of his thoughts.

“Baby?” Tony mumbled tiredly, voice laced with the thickness of sleep. “Are you going to bed soon? You’ve been in there for a while.”

Peter stashed the cluster of pregnancy tests in the back of the cabinets below the sink. He would have to remember to get rid of those the next day, before Tony could find them. Another knock had him rushing to stand up and wash his face, clearing it of his silver tear tracks.

“Pete?” Tony called, louder now and with more concern, still waiting for a response. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Peter answered, unlocking the door and stepping out of the bathroom.

Tony hadn’t finished scanning him for signs of harm when his nose picked up on the distress radiating from Peter’s body. It was a bitter scent; one that itched at Tony’s instincts, making him want to replace it with something more cheerful at once.

“What’s wrong?” Tony pulled him into his warm embrace, rubbing his back in small circles that bunched up his shirt.

Peter was tired of living in fear. Even if he’d only known about his pregnancy for all of ten minutes, he didn’t want to keep it from Tony for any longer. They didn’t keep secrets. They worked hard to keep their relationship honest, and Peter wasn’t going to be the one to ruin that.

“I’m pregnant,” Peter blurted out.

Tony’s hands faltered but remained on his back, which Peter took as a good sign. He didn’t dare to look up at his face, keeping his own hidden in the crook of Tony's neck. After a few minutes of mutual silence, the older man’s hands resumed their movements.

“You’re pregnant,” Tony repeated. “Sweetheart, that’s - that’s amazing.”

“You want to keep it?” Peter questioned, voice void of any judgement.

Tony recoiled away from him. “Do you not want to keep it? It’s your choice, of course, I’ll pay for the expenses either way.”

“I don’t know what I want to do,” Peter admitted smally. “I don’t want to give up everything I’ve worked for to stay home and take care of a pup. I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove that Omegas are more than pup-making machines. And now I’m pregnant.”

“You don’t have to give anything up,” Tony said firmly. “You can keep studying for your PhD, and get a job after that. I’ll stay home with the pup.”

Peter finally looked up at him. “You’d be willing to do that? I know it’s not - traditional, for the Alpha to be the one at home.”

“Fuck traditional,” Tony declared. “That’s our whole motto, honey. We don’t have to be traditional. And frankly, being there for my pup is a lot more important to me than what others will think of it.”

Peter beamed and threw himself onto Tony, who caught him and stumbled back a few steps from the force.

They quickly learned that pregnancy was not fun. At all. Peter spent most of the days of his first trimester alternating between clutching a trash can and a toilet seat, heaving up the contents of his stomach. Tony was always by his side, smoothing his hair away from his sweaty forehead and making him meals he could tolerate.

The second trimester was a lot more enjoyable. Peter’s stomach had settled down, for the most part, and started forming into a baby bump. He and Tony had completely opposite reactions to that.

“I’m so fat now,” Peter wailed into his pillow. “My body is ruined. I’m going to look distorted forever.”

Tony was patient with him, though, hiding his own glee until Peter was in a better mood. He thought that pregnancy looked amazing on Peter; he was practically glowing with it.

“You’ll be back in shape in no time, honey,” Tony assured him. “You’re still gorgeous as ever.”

Even more exciting than watching the baby bump grow was finding out the sex of their pup. Peter held Tony’s hand as they waited, shivering at the cool gel slathered on his abdomen. Slower than the couple would’ve liked, the doctor turned the screen to them.

They were having a boy.

Both Tony and Peter cried that day. They invited their friends over to the penthouse and threw a small party, accepting all of the gifts their friends brought with big smiles.

The third trimester, and thus the birth of their pup, arrived a lot faster than they expected. Tony had been at a meeting when Peter’s water broke, the latter of whom was in too much pain to drive himself to the hospital, and hobbled over to the bathtub instead.

“Boss,” FRIDAY interrupted the shareholder speaking unapologetically, “Peter’s water broke and he is now in labor.”

Tony’s face paled in less than two seconds, and he was out of the meeting room in less than one. He instructed FRIDAY to call the doctor and raced into the elevator, urging his AI to take him up to the penthouse faster than was allowed.

He found Peter curled up in the tub with a pained expression, whimpering in between each contraction as it came and went. He crouched next to him and offered him his hand, grimacing at the strength with which he gripped it.

The doctor joined them twenty minutes later with a nurse at her heels, ushering Tony to the side to crouch in between Peter’s open legs.

Tony knew that Peter would pull through. His mate was strong, with a will that matched his own. That didn’t stop him from wincing at every cry that tumbled out of Peter’s lips, or wishing privately that he’d never gotten him pregnant, because that way he wouldn’t be in pain.

Six hours after Peter went into labor, his groans were silenced by the loud cry of his newborn, who had finally come out. He was dirty, looking more like an organ than a human being, but Tony didn’t get to look at him for very long. The nurse whisked the child away while the doctor finished up with Peter.

Tony stayed with Peter, running his fingers gently through his damp curls. “You did it, baby. I’m so proud of you. You did it.”

The nurse returned soon after, the baby now clean and looking considerably more like a human. The baby was handed to Peter, who held him with shaky arms and watched him breathe through bleary eyes.

“Skin on skin contact is important,” the nurse told them, draping a blanket over Peter’s naked chest and the baby.

They moved Peter to the master bedroom, which was where he would spend his recovery. The baby would be there, too, resting in an incubator once he was taken away from Peter.

“What do you want to name him?” Tony wondered, laying on the bed with Peter. He’d insisted on having the incubator placed on his side of the room, so that he could watch over both of the people that owned his heart. Peter hadn’t minded, had just smiled at Tony fondly and nodded.

Tony was glad. If he looked to the left, he saw the love of his life, relaxing after giving birth to the baby boy on Tony’s right. He wanted to keep them close forever.

“Benjamin Anthony Stark,” Peter told him. “After the most important men in my life.”

Tony swallowed harshly. He’d never imagined naming his child after himself, or having someone else want to do so. He didn’t think there was much to live up to. Peter clearly didn’t agree with that, and there was his proof.

“Ben,” Tony whispered to himself, gazing at their little boy.

It sounded perfect.

#starker #ironspider #starkerscoopwrites #a blessing in disguise fic

[hockeyboysiguess]

four calling bird -> four broken sticks | a. matthews

a/n: it’s me, again, hoping you aren’t yet sick of christmas fics from me. if you aren’t, here’s a link to the rest of this 12 days of christmas series!

word count: 4,161

warnings: two curse words and some angst. 

“How many broken sticks is that today, Matts?”

Auston didn’t know the answer and he didn’t care about the answer either. He just cared that his stick was broken and he couldn’t practice his slapshot with a broken stick. And he needed to take a slapshot right now, and another one, and another one. He needed to send a puck through the netting, through the glass behind it, and bury it deep in the wall behind that. Maybe his feelings for you would get buried with it if he could just hit the puck hard enough.

“I think he’s at two,” Willy supplied as Auston grabbed a fresh stick from the rack that unfortunately wasn’t pre-taped. He’d broken all of those already. 

“You missed one,” Mitch corrected. “That’s the third one he’s broken.”

Auston started a fresh roll of tape, starting with the heel of his new stick like always.

“I’m right here,” Auston reminded his teammates who were talking about him like suddenly he was invisible as he taped his stick lazily. One of his worst tape jobs in awhile, but he didn’t really care. “I’m not breaking any more. Just in case you were wondering.” 

That promise worked for another twenty minutes. Until Mitch dared to ask the question everyone had been avoiding. 

“So, did you tell your mom you broke up and that she’s not coming with you for Christmas yet? If not, you kind of need to tell her. You can’t just show up without her.”

And there came the fourth broken stick as the final whistle of practice came, with Auston thinking about the inevitable phone call with his mother and really having to say it out loud that he lost you after everyone told him ad nauseum not to lose you because you were so much better than him. You were so much better than him and Auston couldn’t pretend he was even half of the person you were. He couldn’t even think about watching you shove your things in a box as you raced out of his place, or the drawer that your things had inhabited now sitting empty, or the fact that his mom loved you and he hadn’t told her you weren’t coming to Arizona. He really couldn’t think about losing you a week before Christmas, the time of the year that was supposed to be magical and pure and good and joyful. Instead, Auston was pretty sure he hated Christmas now. 

Auston knew for a fact he hated Christmas as he pressed his mom’s contact on his phone while climbing into his car. He loved his mother and loved talking to her. He loved that he was going to get to go home for a few days and spend the holidays with her. But you were supposed to be there too and telling his mom was the last barrier that made the breakup real. A large part of Auston still thought he’d open his eyes in the morning and your hair would be in his face and your bobby pins would be all over his bathroom counter and your clothes would be haphazardly stuffed in your drawer and overflowing into two of his that technically weren’t yours but might as well have been. 

But then his mom answered the phone and he knew that wasn’t going to happen. This wasn’t a nightmare. Well, it might still have been a nightmare before Christmas, but it wasn’t all in his head like he desperately hoped it was. 

“Hi, mijo!” She greeted him with a warmth that always made him feel like he was back in Arizona, but today it also made Auston feel sick to his stomach because he was about to break her heart, never mind the fact that his was already broken too. “How are you? How was practice? We’re all so excited to see you both tomorrow!”

Auston let out a long breath, the kind that let his mom know there was something heavy and unspoken that was going to disrupt the Christmas cheer she’d been building since the Leafs schedule came out and she realized Auston was actually going to be able to make it home for Christmas this year. 

“Actually, um, about tomorrow…”

He trailed off, mostly because his bottom lip started to shake and his eyes started to get cloudy, but also because he wasn’t sure exactly how to admit that the girl his mom adored, who she fully and honestly wanted him to marry, wasn’t coming with him for Christmas this year or next year or any of the years after that. She was gone. He lost her and it was all his fault.

“Mijo, what’s wrong?” 

Auston bit his lower lip hard, hoping that would stop the shake and make his eyes gloss over from a pain that wasn’t in his chest. The words were so timid coming out of his mouth, syllables broken, shattered as they left his lips, “She broke up with me, ma. She’s not coming for Christmas.” 

Ema Matthews didn’t mean to; she wanted to be supportive of her son, but what came out was, “What did you do, mijo?” even though she should’ve just asked him what happened.

“I guess I just didn’t love her enough to overcome how shitty it is to date me,” Auston mumbled, replaying the night over in his head as he spoke. “Sorry for swearing, mama.” 

Auston remembered your sweater from a few nights ago when you showed up at his place, your snowflake one, subtle office appropriate Christmas, is what you’d called it in the moment. Auston had laughed, until he saw an empty box in your hands. He was confused when you set it down on the counter and didn’t take your shoes off. You didn’t bend down to pet Felix like you always did. Your shoes got kicked off haphazardly by his front door and then you pet Felix and then you came over and gave him a kiss. It was your routine when you came over, but this time your shoes stayed on, you barely acknowledged Felix, and there was an empty box sat on a counter in place of kissing him. 

“Auston,” you had sighed and he knew the second he heard the way you said his name that you were breaking up with him. He had been so scared of ever hearing it that he’d imagined every single way it would sound if you were going to do it. Finding you, and you somehow being willing to date him, had been the biggest blessing Auston had ever received. He had always thought that some day you would wake up and realize you could do so much better than him, so he’d imagined what it would sound like when he couldn’t sleep at night on the road without you. He thought if he familiarized himself with every possible permutation of it that when it eventually happened, he wouldn’t cry in front of you, that maybe he wouldn’t beg for you to stay even though you shouldn’t want people who don’t want you. 

It didn’t work. The way you said his name made him cry.

“Please,” Auston had said softly. “Please don’t do this now. Please. It’s Christmas. I know that stupid, but please don’t break up with me at Christmas.” 

You had hung your head and sighed again, “I’m sorry, Aus. I just, I can’t take it anymore. I’ve tried. I’ve tried for so long to just tune it out, just focus on you and us but lately everything has been just so loud that I can barely hear myself think. My friends and family are getting harassed. It’s not just me anymore. It’s too loud. It’s too much. And I don’t want to spend Christmas with your family knowing I just want to end it. That’s not fair to you or your mom or anyone.” 

“How is showing up at my place with a box to dump me for stuff I can’t control without even having a discussion fair either?” 

Auston had tried to fight back. He had tried to have a conversation, to communicate, something he had been absolutely awful at when you started dating. You had been so patient, so kind, and so steadfast with him as he figured out how to be a partner, how to meet you halfway. Here you were, after he worked so hard on himself because he thought if he worked hard enough maybe he could be worth a small part of you, acting like it wasn’t enough, that everything he couldn’t control mattered more than him. Unfortunately, sometimes, people can try as hard as they can, with all of their might, and still lose. He was so good to you, so good with you, but in the effort of fixing himself, of learning to be a better partner with as much of his energy as he had to give, he’d slipped a little in one area. Auston didn’t protect you enough from the noise and you were damaged because of his lack of ability to shield you from the press, from the fans, from every hungry person who fed on other people’s drama and suffering, from people who didn’t want you and Auston to be happy. Auston lost because he didn’t have more to give than he was already giving you. He lost you because what he had to give just wasn’t enough like a rejected Christmas present, rejected not because the gift inside wasn’t beautiful, but because it came with a toxic addition that Auston had tried not to wrap up with him, but failed. 

Driving down the street, all the Christmas decorations seemed to be mocking him. This was supposed to be his best one in a long time, getting to be back in Arizona with his family, plus getting to spend it with you. If Auston had drawn up his perfect Christmas at the start of the year, what he had planned was what he would’ve drawn up. But even the best laid plans, even the most carefully selected gifts, didn’t always pan out. 

“I’m sorry, mijo,” his mother told him softly, any earlier traces of disappointment over losing you from the family gone. She’d have to work through that herself later. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Auston felt like he was supposed to want to talk about it, about what it felt like to lose you and what he was feeling like now that he was being forced to become settled in it even though that was the last thing he wanted. Auston didn’t want to talk about the breakup though because he just tried so hard with you and he came up short anyway. Talking about shortcomings that couldn’t be fixed, because he could never fully shelter you from the noise of everyone else, wasn’t healthy. He could do everything in his power, use all of his energy, to protect you from it all, put zero effort into your actual relationship, and he still couldn’t do it. Talking about something Auston would always fail at and how it had cost him you wasn’t something he was all that interested in with the wreaths on the light posts and the Christmas carols on the radio station that you had insisted he play in his car mocking him. 

“Not really, ma,” Auston admitted softly. “Kind of just need to be alone tonight.” 

“Of course, sweetheart,” she mumbled as assuringly as she could. “Do whatever you need to do.” 

What Auston needed to do to feel better was drive over to your place and beg for another chance, a chance to do it better. He couldn’t even fully protect you, but maybe he could find more to give somewhere in him and do it better, while not being a worse boyfriend for it all. Except Auston knew you didn’t want him to try. You hadn’t asked for him to try. You had just broken up with him, just like that. Now, he was spending Christmas where the only gift he had received so far was his own heart shattered, given to him in an unwrapped box. 

“Yeah, I think I just need some time,” Auston sighed, running a hand through his hair before returning it to the steering wheel. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“If you change your mind and want to talk, you know you can call anytime,” Ema tried to assure her son softly. 

Auston just hummed softly in agreement, before telling his mother Merry Christmas and that he'd see her tomorrow. He tossed his phone careless into the cup holder, one of the side buttons hitting the side of the cup holder and greeting him with a picture of you kissing his cheek, arms wrapped around him, love obvious in your closeness. He hadn’t been able to change it yet, but your face squished against his cheek in that photo made his eyes tear up whenever he saw it. Luckily, the only lucky part of the last few days, he just pulled into his garage, so he could let the tears roll down his cheeks without worrying about not being able to see the road. Like every night since you’d left, Auston slept on the couch that night, the Christmas tree you had insisted on getting, mocking him in the corner. His sheets smelled too much like you to sleep in that bed, so he picked the mocking Christmas tree instead. 

Auston was on autopilot as he grabbed his bag, the one he’d left space in for your extra things that you wanted to pack that lived at his place. He didn’t fill the space he’d left for you because it was still your space. Like yesterday, the Christmas decorations and the Christmas music and the fake gingerbread smell coming from every shop in the airport mocked him as he waited for his flight. He just wanted to be home where he thought being around his family would feel enough like Christmas that he’d feel at least marginally better. He felt better when his mother wrapped her arms around him as he stepped off the plane, and when the warm Arizona sun hit his skin on the wall to the car. But it was all as temporary and out of place as the snowy decorations littering his parents’ home. Snow didn’t fall in Arizona and he didn’t have you anymore. 

His mom tried. His dad tried. His sisters tried. They all tried to cheer him up, shoving an ugly sweater over his head and a Santa hat on top of it. But he couldn’t engage in it. His mind was on you, on how you were supposed to be here, how he wanted to ask you to move in as part of your Christmas gift. He had a key made for you. He was so ready for you, for you and him for as long as he could see into the future, and now he just hated your favorite holiday. His bed felt too big that night, but at least the sheets in Arizona didn’t smell like you even though the space next to him was clearly meant for you. 

Auston woke up the next morning feeling hungover even though he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol. He rubbed his eyes slowly and reached out to the space you were supposed to occupy, finding nothing but cold sheets and an emptiness that felt so much more vast than half of a king size bed. His phone reminded him that it was December twenty-fourth, Christmas Eve, but it had never felt less like Christmas for Auston. Christmas was supposed to be sickeningly sweet, like all the candy his mother would stuff in his stocking later tonight. It was supposed to be happy, and maybe that was the worst part of it all, that Auston felt like he was supposed to be happy but just couldn’t be. Hhe lost you and he felt like he was letting everyone down by not being happy, by not being filled with Christmas cheer that was just making him feel so sick he couldn’t even eat his reindeer shaped pancakes his mother made, like she did every Christmas Eve morning. 

“You want to help me with the cookies?” his older sister asked him, trying to will Auston away from where he’d settled on the couch after being unable to eat his breakfast.

“I’m fine,” he replied with his eyes still trained on his phone. 

He was flipping through photos of you, something he knew would only hurt worse, but he couldn’t stop. He was trying to find out when something had changed, when you stopped looking at him with all the love in the world, the look that people had made fun of you for ever having about him of all people. Now that Auston was looking back on it, maybe they were right to do so. Maybe he was inevitably going to ruin what he had with you and everyone else had seen it from the start, noticed the inevitable unmarked intersection where you would crash into each other. When you crashed last week, it seemed only Auston walked away with any damage, shattered like an ornament that fell from the top of the tree, only to have the fragments of him carelessly tossed in the trash, no attempt made to repair him. 

Auston didn’t leave the couch except to move to the outdoor couch at his mother’s insistence and then back to the indoor one after the sun had set, time passing as it always did but affecting him less. He felt the same from moment to moment, an out of tune, incongruent symphony of thoughts of you, good, bad, and all the gray area in between, like the poor excuse for a symphony the carolers probably behind the knock on his front door would make that interrupted his private thoughts. His family was in the kitchen and he was closest to the front door. He didn’t want to answer and be faced with the prospect of ruining the Christmas spirit for a van-load of local children, but he didn’t have much of a choice when his mom called out for him to answer the door. 

Auston didn’t bother to look out to see who it was, choosing instead to get the shooting of children’s Christmas caroling dreams out of the way as quickly as possible. 

“Hey, guys, I appreciate you coming by, but we’re not really-”

Auston’s words caught on the tip of his tongue when he fully opened the door to see not the group of Christmas carolers he thought he would, but to see you standing there. You had nothing but a broken smile and a small duffle bag, the kind of small that indicated you didn’t know if you were about to be getting right back on a plane or if you were going to be allowed to come in. It was a kind of honest small, one that didn’t want to hope for the best, just expected the worst. You were wearing a Christmas sweater, one of your ugly ones. It was too warm for Arizona, sweat on your temples and the sleeves pushed up to your elbows as evidence of this, but Auston knew you wouldn’t take it off. He knew so much about you. He knew your favorite color, he knew that you always slept at an angle in the bed with the comforter bunched in your arms, he knew you loved Christmas with a passion that rivaled Santa Claus himself, he knew why you had broken up with him, but he didn’t know why you were here. 

“Hi,” was all you offered and it didn’t serve as an explanation. 

“What are you doing here?” Auston managed to put together the question from all the others crashing together in his mind, questions and statements and incoherent thoughts clashing and making it hard to come up with anything specific to say. “What? How? Why?”

You ran a hand through your hair and let out a long breath, before taking your bottom lip nervously between your teeth. You had a thousand reasons, really more than that as to why you’d bought a ridiculously expensive one-way ticket from Toronto to Arizona on Christmas Eve, why you’d squished yourself between a grandmother with a purse of overflowing powdery mints and a crying infant to show up at his door. None of your reasons were clear now though, all of them jumbling together, tangling up into an indistinguishable mess in your mind that only led to one statement that you weren’t sure if it even properly captured everything you needed to say to him. 

“I never want to spend Christmas without you, Auston.” 

There was so much unsaid, so many things Auston had been feeling since you walked out with a box of your things, leaving him with nothing of you but his memories, the photos on his phone, the gifts he’d picked out for you but never got to give you, and a dread of the holiday he had come to love with you. There was so much those nine words didn’t cover, so much hurt and agony underneath them. But fuck if they weren’t the prettiest bandage Auston had ever seen in his life. 

“I never want to spend Christmas with you either,” Auston breathed out, words spoken with relief so real and honest you felt like you could touch it.

You adjusted the duffle bag in your hand, shifting it from your left to your right as you looked at Auston. He looked horrible, dark circles under his eyes, a hollowness in his cheeks, but his eyes were so hopeful looking at you now, bright and deep, exactly like he looked the day you fell into him for the first time and decided to stay. His eyes were like Christmas morning, a beautiful promise breaking through the heaviness of a December that carried pain it wasn’t supposed to understand. You took a deep breath and hoped nine words, hope, and a little Christmas miracle were on your side. 

“Baby, can I come home for Christmas?” 

Auston didn’t hesitate. He knew his answer through and through, “Only if you stay for every Christmas forever.” 

You felt the tears sting your eyes as you stepped toward him, head nodding up and down as you accepted his terms. You thought you could handle being without him if it meant all of the negativity you felt from other people was no longer a factor. Except you couldn’t have been more wrong. People were still mean. The world still had a lot of darkness in it. All you had done by leaving him was create more darkness for yourself when his love and the light it brought left with him. Crawling back into his arms, feeling the familiar warmth of his chest, you felt his love wrap around you tightly, and your world became just a little brighter again. 

“I love you and I’m so sorry,” you mumbled into his ugly sweater covered chest. 

“Shh,” he mumbled softly into your hair. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re home for Chrismtas.”

You squeezed him impossibly tighter because if you let go, he might slip through your fingers like smoke, a figment of your imagination evaporating in front of you. You clung to him and he held you just as firmly, fearing the same thing, fearing his Christmas miracle would cease to be real if he wasn’t holding you. Hell, you weren’t a Christmas miracle. You were the best thing he had ever gotten in his entire life, the best gift the universe ever gave him. This year for Christmas, Auston Matthews lost you and got you back. While he could’ve done without the losing you part, he had you back. You were right here, in his arms, where you belonged and Auston Matthews wouldn’t be spending Christmas without you. He never had to spend another Christmas without you, the real Christmas miracle, the fact that his Christmases would forever include you now. 

You were home for Christmas. You were home for forever. Home was Auston and Christmas just isn’t Christmas with thousands of miles between you and your heart. But you were holding him now and you knew that waking up in his arms on Christmas morning was the only way you ever wanted to wake up for every Christmas in the future, starting with the one coming in a few short hours that you knew would make you crave the next one as soon as it finished. 

You loved him. He loved you. Love was inherently complicated, the joining of two people. Christmas uncomplicated it all, boiled everything down to the most simple thing possible; Auston Matthews was your person, and you wanted to share every Christmas with him. So, you walked into the house and started with this one.

#auston matthews #auston matthews fic #auston matthews imagine #auston matthews writing #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl blurbs #nhl imagine #Hockey Fanfiction #hockey writing #hockey imagine

[sodone-withlife]

icarus fell, and blood stained the ground

i'm back!! (but not really—the new school year literally starts in an hour and it will be back to my pathological dependence on academic validation. at least i can say i've technically published another fic before summer break ends)

anyway, here's the fic in response to part 1 of sumayyah's post. i published a companion poem for this some time ago. as per usual, i gave up on proofreading so hopefully any mistakes don't detract from the story. also, i hope the formatting and jumping back and forth between italics makes sense—let me know if it doesn't, though it might be easier to read on ao3 (it should go up on there by 4pm PST because school)

warnings: murder, major character death (may potentially be classified as suicide-by-proxy, depending on your interpretation), guns, canon typical violence, slight gore at the end, mentioned substances

word count: 1.9k words

The damned man thought of everything, Jessica thought as she scowled at the damned folder that sat innocuously on the large mahogany desk.

The desk that would soon be cleared, all traces of the previous owner gone.

She lifted a shaky hand and brushed it through her hair, shuddering at its greasy and unkempt state that hinted at the state she had been in recently. Weary to the bone, she forced herself to sit back up and grab her phone, dialing the number that was written on the sticky note placed on the inside cover of the folder. It didn’t surprise her to hear an unfamiliar female voice answer the phone with a “Ms. Brooks?”

He had thought of everything, after all.

Really, the only thing she was surprised at was the sheer extent of his connections—but thinking back to her phone calls with Haley back when he was still practicing law, the talks about extravagant offers from top corporations and firms, she really wasn’t surprised. Thus, it made sense that her call to the top law firm in the state would be answered within two dial tones and by someone who already knew who she was.

And within minutes of talking with the woman who introduced herself as Ms. Stevens, Jessica became even more aware of just how prepared her brother-in-law had been before he walked to his dea—

Not an in-law anymore—her brother. He had long since earned that designation, that spot in her broken family, no matter how much self-flagellation he put himself through in regards to her sister’s murder and no matter how much abuse her father hurled at him in the years before the man who once viewed him as a son succumbed to dementia.

Hours later, despite having already reached her limit twenty minutes into the call, she finally hung up the phone with only funeral arrangements as an immediate concern. Slowly, she stood up from the chair and mechanically made her way into the tiny bathroom that had once been a familiar sight, when her nephew was still a child—

She forced her mind away from that minefield; she wasn’t willing to spend another sleepless night thinking about what had gone down in the past month, what had happened a week ago in that apartment, what her nephew was doing and thinking in the cell that only seemed to become colder and crueler the more she thought about it.

How many prisons had he visited? How many interrogation rooms, holding cells, general population cells, max security cells, death row cells? Did he ever get used to it? Could he allow himself to get used to it, to forget that these people are also human no matter the crimes they’ve committed?

A careful hand fell onto Jessica’s shoulder, and she shuddered under the warmth that seeped into her body, a warmth that had been lacking from her life for a long time now. She turned to see Morgan staring back at her, concerned.

“You didn’t pick up your phone,” he explained neutrally, flicking his eyes towards her phone—and sure enough, there were ten missed calls, each from a member of the team. She looked back up but avoided his concerned gaze only to latch onto her reflection in the mirror and internally winced at her haggard appearance.

“Did you—“ she coughed, clearing her throat, “have you figured out what happened?” Morgan’s unspoken question about her well-being went unanswered, and she continued to avoid looking at him.

She watched the man shake his head through the mirror, unsurprised and once again cursing her brother for his incessant habit of playing his cards close to his chest, especially when it came to personal issues.

How else is—was—he one of the best at poker in the bureau, often even beating Reid?

“He hasn’t talked, either,” Morgan informed her quietly, saving her the pain of asking the question herself. “Forensics is still struggling to put together a cohesive picture. To be honest, I doubt we’ll ever find out what actually happened in that apartment.” He shook his head, frustrated at the man he considered his brother.

If either of them bothered to ask, they would have found that both were truthfully unsurprised at this outcome, given what they only recently learned about the factors and circumstances that led to it. The few established facts about this case in addition to speculation based on systematically organized notes left in an even more meticulously organized folder painted a clear enough picture of the events preceding the fall.

But it wasn’t really an accidental, flailing fall.

In all truthfulness, he didn’t fight it.

Icarus let himself fall to his death in an attempt to compensate for his hubris, to suffer the consequences of his mistakes, and it was both a cowardly attempt to escape the hellish burns caused by the boiling, melting wax and a selfless attempt to teach posterity to avoid ending up like him.

Jessica remembered the warmth of Morgan’s embrace when he ignored all protocol and took it upon himself to inform her of what had transpired in the past two months, regardless of the still-ongoing investigation. It didn’t do much to soothe the cold that had threatened to swallow her whole as she listened to the details in silent horror.

He had sat her down in her apartment, the one she had taken care of her ailing father in before he finally died and the one she couldn’t bear to move out of for all of the memories that had been formed inside—with her father on his good days, with her brother, with her nephew

“A week ago, we were invited by MPD to consult on a series of killings that happened over the course of a month. We had an eye on the situation since the second murder, and there were two more victims in the span of a week before we were finally called in,” he began quietly.

He had suspicions as to what was happening by the time the team was invited in on the case at the personal request of the MPD chief. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had come across this profile before, but there were simply too many puzzle pieces with matching edges for the connections to be brushed off as a coincidence.

“Based on the rate at which bodies were popping up, we anticipated another one within two days of us being called in, but the killer had gone suspiciously silent. We went through crime scenes, forensic reports, and things weren’t adding up.”

"It’s a local case and we’ve coordinated with MPD multiple times, they know the drill. I’d like to take a personal look as well, the brass has been all up in my business about this case given its proximity to the Hill."

That’s what he said to the team regarding him suddenly taking the initiative to go to the crime scenes despite his responsibilities—it had been a while since he last went out to crime scenes, often taking care of the office politics and coordinating the investigation back at whatever precinct or office the team had taken over.

“There were odd inconsistencies, missing pieces of evidence… There was evidence to show that the killer was an amateur, but ultimately the profile we ended up building was nowhere near as detailed as we hoped it could be—but it ultimately went a long way in helping us figure out what was really happening.”

Old case files going missing from his home office, growing interest in his job, sudden mood swings happening long after the worst of puberty, increased isolation, dropping grades…

Absentee fathers of Georgetown students being stabbed and shot to death as if the killer was unsure about what to do, an innocuous Jack-in-the-Box takeout bag sitting near the last three bodies…

Numerous signs, and yet it was the outwardly irrelevant piece of trash, perhaps a sign of the killer’s gluttony—a sick joke that only he could have recognized—that led him to put all of the horrifying pieces together. It’s been over a decade, and yet the memories of that damned day remained as clear as ever, dogging his every footstep. Nightmares in which the worst happens still often visit him in his sleep, sometimes even combined with the effects of Peter Lewis’s drug concoction, effects lingering even after all these years.

“Somehow, we completely missed the fact that he fit the victimology. Maybe it was because of his efforts to distract us… If we had put it together earlier we might have been able to figure it out much earlier, and maybe everything could have turned out differently.”

Only after intensive counseling and careful editing of his case reports was he allowed to continue in the bureau after Lewis and his targeted attacks, and yet he knew he was still being watched. It was with that thought in mind that he made a decision on how to handle the situation. Either way, his life would be irrevocably changed, and there would be casualties alongside him.

All he had to do was figure out how to minimize them.

“He never came in that morning; Reid was the first to notice the lights off in the office. We were headed towards his apartment complex as soon as we saw a cleared-out office with a retirement letter being the only thing left on the desk. All of the pictures, trinkets, law books, messy stacks of paperwork—gone.”

A retirement letter for formality's sake, one copy emailed directly to the director and one printed on his desk, to simplify some things for the bureau and to ensure that Jessica and his son get his pension should the worst happen. All of his decisions, meticulously recorded and justified, except for this last one to protect the team from the consequences of his choice. All of his notes, all of the claimed evidence, carefully stored in the file box he left next to the retirement letter back in the office. Favors accumulated since law school called in, contacts throughout the local justice system ready to step in and deal with the fallout.

All of this, an attempt to compensate for the mistakes he’s made over the years and his hubris, to protect the remnants of his family and the team.

Morgan couldn’t finish telling Jessica what had happened, voice somehow caught in his throat and refusing to cooperate. He simply shook his head, and she folded in on herself, the weight of the last week too much for her to hold up. Slowly, he pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back but not doing much more to soothe her.

This is a wound that wouldn’t ever heal.

The story ends like this:

Icarus burned, and Aaron Hotchner said nothing as the hand that held the gun against his temple shook with uncertainty. Everything he wanted to say was written—one might call him a coward, but writing had always been so much easier for him—and he knew that he would be the final casualty, that the killings would stop after tonight.

Icarus fell, and Aaron Hotchner was flung sideways, the unyielding bullet from his gun fired by his own son shredding the brain that thought had of everything but the emotional and psychological effects his final decision would have on his family and friends.

Daedalus grieved over his son’s crumpled form, and Jack Hotchner would be found with his father’s dead body in his shaking arms as he stared blankly at sights unseen to the team, who had come hours too late.

Blood stained the ground, seeping into the cracks and crevices of grasping fingers, and nothing would ever be the same.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #bau #jessica brooks #jack hotchner #tw character death #tw guns #tw violence #tw murder #tw death #just to cover my bases #tw substances #tw drugs #tw gore

[ragingpancake]

I Will Try (To Fix You) - Part 2

It’s ten days before Carson deems Rodney “well enough” to return to his quarters. To date, this has been the longest infirmary stay that Rodney’s ever had and truthfully, he should probably stay a bit longer. His kidneys still aren’t functioning as well as they should, which means Carson’s been closely monitoring his water intake and urine output and a whole host of other things that John knows Rodney is embarrassed about. He’s also not entirely steady on his feet, courtesy of the muscle spams that wrack his calves and his thighs, bad enough sometimes to nearly bring him to tears. It’s ten days before John, Carson and Elizabeth have a very real, very difficult conversation about what a prolonged stay in the infirmary will likely do Rodney mentally, left with nothing really to occupy his time except, well, time to think about just how close he’d come to death. Carson is reluctant to release him; they haven’t yet gotten him back to solid foods and of course his kidney function is still a concern, but John knows Rodney, knows that he needs to be anywhere but here and he argues his case: Rodney can come stay in his quarters. His team is grounded for the foreseeable future, courtesy of John who is unwilling to go off-world without his entire team and while he’s offered to temporarily reassign Teyla and Ronon to Lorne, they share his line of thinking. Rodney can come stay with John, but he has his whole team who’ll be watching out for him, who will bring him for twice daily check ins, if needed, who will monitor any time spent in the lab, who just want Rodney to have some semblance of normalcy during his recovery. It must be an impassioned speech, because by the time he’s done, Elizabeth nods her consent and John finds for the first time in ten days, it’s a little easier to breath.

--- Rodney, predictably, complains about the arrangement. He’s not keen on having a babysitter and that hurts John’s stunted feelings more than he’d ever admit out loud. But when Carson makes it clear that the only option is an extended stay in the infirmary, he relents pretty easily and all that’s left is to prepare John’s quarters. Easy peasy. Right? Wrong. It turns out that the room John’s claimed for himself isn’t quite meant for two people. It’s small and while it’s fine for just him, he knows that it’s going to be too cramped, too claustrophobic and so he spends the eleventh day scouting out some of the larger quarters near the East Pier with Teyla, pretending to understand when she makes suggestions based on where the light from the rising sun falls and which room has the best view of the ocean, which she believes will aid in Rodney’s recovery. He’s never been much into new age bullshit that seems to be pretty common across two galaxies, but he’s willing to shove a couple of crystals up his own ass if it means getting Rodney better.

He enlists Ronon, Lorne and a couple of marines to help move their things. John leaves his own quarters to Wallace, Gregory and Barnes despite how uncomfortable the thought of them seeing his own personal effects makes him, and he takes Rodney’s room with Ronon and Lorne. Rodney, for his part, has a lot of stuff. It takes the better part of the afternoon to get everything moved over, including Rodney’s deceptively heavy prescription mattress, his four laptops and the whiteboard that he’d swiped from the labs within the first week of their arrival. John’s stuff, save for his own bed, mostly fits in a couple bags. By the time they’re finished, he’s tired, shoulders and back aching, reminding him just how fucking old he’s getting, but still, he trudges down to the infirmary, plastering a smile on his face for Rodney as he steps in through the paneled doors. “Hey buddy,” he greets. “Got us all set up in some new digs. Wait until you see the tub in this one,” he says, nodding as Carson comes over, Rodney’s chart in hand. “He all good to go, Doc?” “I suppose he’ll have to be, now won’t he?” He asks and there’s a scowl there that John cheerfully ignores. “I expect him back here at 10 and 2, Colonel. A minute late for either appointment and he’s back here, d’you understand?” “10 and 2, just like a steering wheel. Got it, doc. How about the food situation?” “Yeah, what he said,” Rodney frowns and John knows from previous experience just how miserable a clear liquid diet can be. “I’m alright with him startin’ on solids, but take it easy,” Carson warns. “Nothin’ too heavy,” and Rodney waves him off, but despite his lackadaisical nature, John really is taking this seriously, committing everything to memory. “Got it. We good?” Carson pauses for a moment before he sighs. “Aye. But not a moment late, Colonel!” He warns as Marie and Simpson come, pushing a wheelchair that Rodney tries to vehemently refuse. John settles a hand on his shoulder gently. “Hey, hey. C’mon. Easy. It’s a pretty long walk to the pier, alright? Let’s not push it too much on your first day.” “Traitor,” Rodney mutters under his breath and John actually does smile because it feels a little like it used to before those God damned Carneans. John steadies the wheelchair while Marie and Simpson maneuver Rodney into it and after what feels like forever, they’re finally on their way. “You did get my laptops, right?” “Yes, Rodney.” “And what about the Athosian soaps from the bathroom? Those were made specially for me by Gita and, and, and the medicinal properties-- “We got ‘em.” “My mattress?” “Of course.” Rodney harrumphs like maybe he’s expecting John to have forgotten something, as if John would ever. “What about—” “Your favorite red pen that you use to mark up all those damn physics journals? Yep. Got that too. We grabbed everything, buddy. And if there’s somethin’ you need that we don’t have, just say the word and we’ll make it happen.” Rodney falls strangely quiet at that. --- It’s easy to live with Rodney. Lorne had very nearly pissed himself from laughter when John said so after the first few days and honestly, John took a little offense to that on Rodney’s behalf. Sure, he’s messy and he’s loud and the longer he’s out, the more of his biting sarcasm is returning, but John’s all for it, especially when he considers the alternative. (And he does consider it, frequently, usually in the dead of night when he wakes up from nightmares of vomit and grey skin, of an antidote recovered too late). But honestly, save for the fact that John now has to deal with Rodney’s dirty clothes strewn across the room and the stupid whiteboard that takes up the space that John’s surf board should be occupying, not much has changed at all, a testament to just how much time the two of them had spent together even before this. John follows Carson’s instructions to a T, and okay, maybe that’s a little different too because John’s always been the one to avoid the infirmary at all costs when it comes to his own health and

well-being, but he’s not taking a chance with Rodney’s. He takes him to his appointments and at nights, when the muscle spasms seem to be the worst, John sits with him on that stupidly comfortable bed, kneading the tight muscles in his legs as he tries to distract Rodney with shitty 80s movies and random banter about anything and everything that he thinks will goad Rodney into a tirade that’ll take his mind off of the pain. He even lets Rodney have four hours a day in the labs, split into two hour segments with an hour break in between. Normalcy. That’s the goal here and Rodney’s always at his best when he’s in his element, berating scientists and defying all laws of physics. That’s where Rodney is when everything goes to hell. --- It’s been twenty days since the Carneans. Ten days of the two of them cohabitating, ten days of Rodney slowly working his way back to normal. He’s been subsisting entirely of power bars and MREs, which, while not entirely healthy has been cleared by Carson if only for the fact that they provide sustenance without being too taxing on Rodney’s still delicate system and John’s just thinking about whether or not he can try to convince Rodney to try something a little more substantial from the mess later that evening when the call comes in over the radio. “Zelenka to Colonel Sheppard, please respond.” He sounds harried and John closes the latest mission report from Lorne’s team, already on his feet and moving when he taps his comm. “Sheppard here, go ahead Doc.” “I need you in Science Lab 3 please. There is a… situation.” “What do you mean by situation, Radek?” But when Radek keys up his comm again, John can hear the panicked wheezing in the background and he picks it up to a swift jog. “I believe Rodney is having a panic attack,” he says. “I have tried to bring him around but nothing is working and I--.” “I’m on my way. Sheppard out.” He meets Ronon in the corridor and he doesn’t even have to say a word before the Satedan is altering his own course, following after John. They can hear it before they even open the door. Rodney’s on the verge of hyperventilating, the sound of his ragged breaths interspersed with pained moans and Ronon is quick to clear the lab of well meaning scientists who are gaping at the scene while Radek tries to shield Rodney from view as much as possible. “Hey, hey,” John says soothingly, trying to keep his voice calm despite the way his heart is beating against his ribcage. “I’m here, buddy. Rodney, look at me. Hey, hey,” and he reaches out, finger under Rodney’s chin as he tips his head up, wild blue eyes meeting hazel. John wants to take Rodney’s hand, but his arms are wrapped around his middle, clutching his stomach so tightly and John glances over at the toppled plate on the floor, shards of glass now mixed with what looks like not-meatloaf. “Talk to me, Doc,” John calls over his shoulder at Zelenka. “What the hell happened?” “He was out of power bars, but hungry, so Miko thought perhaps he might be enticed to eat by something from the mess, knowing that this,” he gestures, “was Rodney’s favorite. He managed a couple of bites and everything was fine until… until it was not.” “Cramps,” Rodney rasps, reaching out to grip John’s wrist painfully. “Cramps. Poison, I—I can’t--.” “Get Carson down here,” John snarls, voice softening as he turns back to Rodney. “Hey. Listen to me, buddy. Carson told us this could happen, remember? The cramps. That’s why we started light. You’re okay though. I promise, Rodney. You’re okay, I’m right here and I need you to breathe.” It takes a bit of manhandling but John manages to get Rodney up enough that he can slide behind the other, drawing Rodney back against his chest, taking a couple of deep breaths. “C’mon, buddy. Breathe with me. You’re alright. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Rodney.” That’s how Carson finds them a few moments later, Rodney trembling against the other, but thankfully no longer hyperventilating. “He’s alright,” John says, glancing up at Beckett. “Panic attack when

he tried to eat and cramped up.” “I thought—I thought--.” John pets through Rodney’s hair gently. “I know. You thought it happened again, but it didn’t, right? We’re gonna go down to the infirmary with Carson though and let him check you over so you can see for yourself.” “Easy, lad,” Carson says as Ronon comes over to help Rodney to his feet with more care than he’s shown anyone else, guiding him over to the gurney before he tugs John to his feet as well. “John—” Rodney rasps, the name catching his throat as the cramps hit again and he curls on his side, swallowing hard against the panic beginning to rise again. “I’m here,” John reminds him again, moving to take Rodney’s hand. “You’re alright, I promise.” And he is. He will be. John will be sure of that. --- The panic attacks don’t last long. He still cramps painfully when he eats, but the team is always with him at meal time to help him through it, John always, alwayseating a third of his food before switching his tray with Rodney’s for him to finish it, confident that there’s no poison. The effects of what had been done to him still linger, still present often and painfully, and sometimes, John doesn’t think what he’s doing is enough. That he should be doing more, that he should’ve done more back on that fucking planet to have saved Rodney from this entire ordeal. But Rodney’s getting better. John can see that when he goes longer and longer without a muscle spasm, or the first time he pees on his own and calls John in to see how clear it is, proof that his kidneys are finally starting to function normally. “You know,” Rodney says one night after they’ve pushed their beds close enough together that if they each scoot over to the edge, their shoulders are touching, “it probably won’t be too much longer until we can go back to our own quarters.” There’s an uncomfortable knot that twists itself up in John’s stomach at that but he swallows against the lump in his throat and says casually, “oh yeah? That’ll be cool. I guess.” “Yeah,” Rodney says and then he falls silent for a moment, as if waiting for something. Apparently, his impatience has returned full force because he doesn’t even give it a half a second before he’s speaking again. “I mean, unless we just… don’t?” Okay. That’s unexpected. “I just… this has been incredibly difficult, Colonel. Uh, John,” he corrects, “and you’ve… I know that this is probably because of some weird, misplaced guilt you’re harboring, because that’s how you are, Lieutenant Colonel Martyr, but… this has been okay… hasn’t it?” “Rodney, I--.” “I know I’m difficult. I’m messy and I’ll be going back to keeping weird hours soon enough and, and, and I know I can be annoying, but you’ve put up with that remarkably well and so I just thought--.” “I don’t want to go back to being alone,” John blurts out and he can feel the tension leaving Rodney’s body beside him. “Good. Me neither.” They fall into a comfortable silence then for a moment, the only sounds being their quiet breathing and the sound of the ocean waves through the open window. (Teyla was definitely right about picking this room.) “It’s not guilt,” John says after a moment. “I mean, not that I don’t feel guilty, because I should’ve never--.” He clears his throat and stops himself before he goes down that road. “You’re… I dunno. You’re McKay. Rodney. And I… when I found you that day, I thought you were dead,” and he can feel Rodney flinch at that, but he needs to get this out, he thinks. “I thought you’d died and I just… realized that I would’ve gone out of my fucking mind if you had, Rodney. Like, legitimately crazy because you’re… You’re you and I’m--. I’m yours. However you want me. If that means we forget this conversation ever happened and go back to how it was before all of this, I’m okay with that, but I just… I had to tell you because I came really fucking close to never getting another chance to.” Rodney is quiet, doesn’t say anything but after a moment, John can feel the other’s hand brush against his own before he

squeezes two of John’s fingers. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at one time in all the time we’ve known each other.” And John laugh out loud at that, an actual laugh, and as he does, he feels that knot inside of him loosen just a bit. “Which is to say,” Rodney continues, “that I… would very much like to notforget this happened. I… suppose that I’m yours too. Maybe I always have been.” John doesn’t know where they’ll go from here. He’s under no delusions that this will be easy, any of it, but when has it ever been? All that matters though is that they have time now to work through it, to figure it out together. Maybe they’ll fix each other.

#mcshep #hurt/comfort #hurt rodney mckay #whumped rodney mcay #john sheppard #rodney mckay #sga #stargate atlantis #fandom: sga #angst #poisoning #panic attack

[ssajj]

Don't Panic

After half a year of dating Spencer, you're surprised to learn that you might be pregnant.

Cisgender female!reader

2.1k - warnings: vomiting, light concussion

You aren't one for baby fever. Really, you aren't. Kids were always more of an abstract idea, a someday rather than something you wanted now. You certainly haven't had the conversation with Spencer, even if seeing him with kids always ignites something warm and foreign in your belly. He's so soft with them, breaking out a smile you never see if a kid isn't present. Henry is obsessed with him, doing grabby hands anytime the two of you go over to JJ and Will's. Spencer complies every time, picking him up and spending most of the night playing with him. 

"He's going to be a wonderful dad," JJ said to you once, a little wine drunk. You had just nodded. 

None of that prepares you for the positive pregnancy test in front of you. 

You'd taken it on a whim. The past couple weeks, you've just felt off. Spencer’s been hovering around you, nervous hands always a second away. He'd only gotten more worried after you’d thrown up at a crime scene. It wasn't particularly graphic and you have a strong stomach. Throwing up at a crime scene wasn't something you did. 

"Oh god," you whisper to yourself, staring at the test in front of you. Some nonsensical part of your brain wonders if you're hallucinating, if an unsub broke into your house specifically to drug and trick you. "Calm down, girl." 

One pregnancy test wasn't definitive proof. False positives were a thing, but you'd been so confident that you weren't pregnant that you only bought one. You hadn’t bothered to tell your boyfriend about this, either. God. You two were always so safe. Unprotected sex was not something you took part in. 

You've been going out with Spencer for less than a year. It wasn't important that you've never been happier, wasn't important that everyone else on the BAU told you over and over again how much happier he is with you. Those things don't change the fact that it's been less than a year. 

And yet. 

As you place your hand on your stomach, there's a flutter of excitement. While you're a firm believer in women making the choices regarding their own bodies, you already know that if you're really pregnant, you're keeping it. 

You just hope you won't have to do it alone. 

…

Luck isn't on your side. You run out and grab another pregnancy test, but before you can take it, your phone starts ringing. 

"No no no no," you groan, picking up the phone. "Do we have a case?"

Penelope is far too chipper on the other end of the phone. "Yep! You guys are going to debrief on the plane, so your cute butt better hurry. Hotch wants everyone seated in twenty minutes."

You close your eyes. "Okay." Before she can say anything else, you hang up. 

The go bag is already in your car, so you can drive straight from the drugstore to work. Your phone buzzes again, but it's just a text from Spencer. 

Saved you a seat. -SR

Like anyone would ever snatch your seat. 

…

It's hard to focus on the case. It's hard to focus on anything that isn't the possible fucking baby in your stomach. You're a pretty good liar, though, so you manage to muscle your way through debriefing without most of the team noticing that you're off. You do get a concerned squint from Spencer, although that can just be a result of him thinking you're sick. 

Four mutilated women. You can feel the tension radiating off of her, so you grab her hand and squeeze it. She gives you a grateful smile. As the youngest female members of the BAU, it feels like you two always look like the victims you avenge. JJ's got the added bonus of being a mother, which means kid cases hit her hard, too. But if you're pregnant, you're about to join her in that club, too. The thought makes your breath catch. 

"You okay?" JJ asks. You feel Spencer's eyes focus on you. 

You nod, plastering a smile on. "Yeah. Just thinking about the case. Are you?"

JJ sighs, looking over at where Morgan and Hotch are quietly discussing the most recent crime scene. "Yeah," she says. "Just, y'know. The case. And Henry's got a cold. I feel bad for leaving him and Will right now."

That's enough for Spencer's attention to shift to JJ, thankfully. You relax into your seat, scrolling through your tablet to review the information Penelope sent over. You miss most of their chatter until they pull you back into the conversation. 

"Do you want to come with me, Y/N?" Spencer's asking, smiling hopefully at you. 

"Oh, I wasn't listening," you admit. 

Spencer's smile somehow only softens more. He knows you have a tendency to zone out, get lost in your head. When you two are alone, he likes playing with your hair to bring your mind back to him. "I'm going over to JJ and Will's house once the case is over to babysit Henry."

Your mind short circuits a little. Saying no is only going to make Spencer suspicious, since you love hanging out with Henry. But saying yes means that you won't be alone after the case and you'd have to watch Spencer be annoyingly perfect with Henry. "Sure," you say, clenching your hands together. 

…

There's already another victim by the time you land, prompting Hotch to send you and Emily to check it out. Your stomach is rolling, the unused pregnancy test haunting you from its place on the jet. 

"There was remorse for the other victims. They were wrapped up. Why is this woman different?" You ask, crouching next to the body. The smell hits you like a wave, but all you can do is deal with it. 

Emily comes to stand beside you. "Good point. Maybe the others were surrogates for her?"

You sigh. "If that's the case-"

"-our unsub would be done killing. Or would completely switch his MO."

Standing up, you brush some of the dirt off your knees. "But let's consider some other possibilities. Maybe she fought back too much for him to feel remorseful. Or maybe she wasn't the right fit, so he just dumped her."

"I'll call Hotch."

You nod. As Emily walks off, you swallow the vomit in the back of your throat. 

"Come on!" She calls a minute later, waving at you. "We're all meeting back at the station."

…

The case ends with you getting a concussion. You'd been the one to find the unsub and while you took him down, he managed to get one good hit in. 

"Spence, I'm fine!" You laugh, pressed up tight against his chest. He's got his head buried in your shoulder, arms wrapped around you. He always worries too much when you're hurt. "The EMT already checked me out."

"He hurt you," he mumbles. He pulls back just enough to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "Stay with me tonight?"

"What about Henry?"

Spencer shakes his head. "I just want to take care of you."

Your heart aches. 

On the jet, you're curled up on the couch with your head in Spencer's lap. You're really tense, and you know he's noticed. He doesn't ask you about it, though. Once you've landed, he just wordlessly follows you home. 

"Are you in more pain than you told the paramedic?" He asks, leading you over to your bed. 

"Just ready to get some sleep," you tell him, kissing the wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. 

…

Once he’s asleep, you sneak into the bathroom and take the other pregnancy test. Your head is pounding and once again, you're nauseous, but you're desperate. Spencer isn't a heavy sleeper, so you have to be quiet and fast. 

Peeing has never felt so high pressure. 

It's not that you're scared by the news, but when another positive symbol pops up, you vomit again. You groan, knowing the noise is going to wake him up. Before he can come in, you grab the test and shove it in your shorts. 

"Y/N?" He calls softly as he knocks on the door. "Are you okay?"

"Peachy!" You reply, laying across the toilet. "Never better. I'm thriving."

He pauses, your answer probably throwing him for a loop. It's only for a second though. He comes into the room, eyes scanning the situation. You know he hates germs. This is going to be nightmare fuel for him. Still, you aren't really expecting him to freak out. 

"We have to go to the hospital."

You squint at him. "Huh?"

He sputters. "You have a concussion! It must be worse than that paramedic thought."

Oh. Right. "Spence-"

Spencer comes closer to you, lightly wrapping his arms around your midsection, aka where the pregnancy test is resting. You flinch. 

"Y/N, what's wrong?" He asks, shifting so that he's looking you in the eye. His face is contorted in concern, making a wave of guilt crash through you. "What hurts?"

You shake your head before resting it on his shoulder. He hoists you up. 

"What hurts?" He repeats. 

Taking a deep breath, you pull back. You feel wobbly, like one breath can knock you back to the ground. "I don't think it's from the concussion."

"I know you've been sick, but I'm not willing to risk-"

"Spencer."

He stops. "What?"

Wordlessly, you unveil the test and hand it to him, then shut the toilet seat so you can sit on top of it. 

You watch him as he processes. His eyes flicker from you to the test to back to you millions of times. "It's the second one I've taken."

His voice is barely above a whisper. "You're pregnant?"

You nod. "I'm pregnant."

Before you can blink, he grabs you and pulls you into a hug. He kisses your forehead. The smile on his face is wide enough to crack his lips. 

"You're happy?"

"Yeah," he says. "And if…" he trails off. You know he's trying to be careful with his word choice. "It's up to you, what you want to do. But if you want to keep it-"

"I do."

He relaxes against you, pressing kisses all over your face. You laugh, gently shoving at him as you laugh. 

"We should still go to the doctor," he says after a minute. 

…

Once you start showing, you tell the rest of the team. 

"Stop crushing her!" Spencer cries, pulling Penelope off of you. She's then replaced by JJ, who isn't trying to crush your ribcage. 

"Congrats!" JJ says. "Oh, this is so exciting. I'll give you all my old pregnancy books. Although I'm sure Spence memorized them. He does know how to deliver a baby."

You look over at your boyfriend, a question on the tip of your tongue. Spencer's grinning, though. It's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, so you forget to ask. 

…

"Do you ever worry?" Emily asks. 

It's girls night. You and Emily are sprawled on her couch, JJ’s drunk on the floor, and Penelope wandered off to find Sergio. 

You tilt your head to the side. "About what?"

She gestures to your stomach, which you've been rubbing without even noticing. "You and Reid haven't been together that long."

Her words leave an unpleasant taste in your mouth. "Well," you start. "I can't say that we'll be together forever. But I do know that no matter what, he's going to be a fantastic father." That seems to be enough to quiet her, although your nerves are still spiked. "Do you not think we're going to last?"

"I'm not saying that," she protests. "Just hard to imagine him in a long-term relationship."

"Get used to it," you snap. 

…

Spencer can tell the next afternoon that you're upset. "Love, just tell me what happened."

"Are you only staying with me because I'm pregnant?"

"What? No!" He comes closer to you, grabbing your hand. "I'm with you because we make each other happy."

You hum. Stupid pregnancy hormones are making your eyes water. 

"Y/N."

"I'm fine," you lie. 

His hand goes from your hand to your waist. "Tell me what I need to do to prove how much I love you. I'm not...I'm not good at this part. But anything you need, you have it. You have me."

He holds you as you cry. 

…

"I love you a lot. You know that, right?" Spencer's wrapped around you, legs tangled together. You're half asleep on his chest, but you still kiss his neck as an answer. 

"Love you too," you mumble. "We're going to be a family."

His hand goes to your stomach. "A family. Our family."

You love the sound of that.

#spencer x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #Spencer Reid fic #criminal minds fic #you x Spencer reid #spencer reid reader insert #dorothywrites #spencer reid

[bloomyn]

red striped carnations

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader

summary: your midlife crisis happens rather quickly, and its not midlife, you’re twenty three with a baby whose daddy just left with your best friend. peachy.

part of: pink peonies

scorching sky x red striped carnations x next

bathroom doors are a joke. they're either too heavy or too light or you have to touch the handle to leave instead of using your elbows. if you wanted too, you could easily compile a list, yeah, it’d be a nice list.

and at the top, “accidently hit miya atsumu in the face before the game.”

“i’m so sorry!” you scramble out the door, cringing at the red imprint of the door on the mans’ face. he’s clutching his nose, pinching the bridge just in case any blood comes leaking through.

“don't worry yer pretty little face over it sweetheart, i can take it.”

the words aren’t exactly comforting but he’s got a cocky smirk on his face and you know you’ll be fine. you couldn’t even imagine the reparations of being sued by a professional volleyball player. especially this one, he just looks like he’d open a case just to be a pain.

“i’m glad you’ve trained to take a door to the face.” you quip lightly. it draws a laugh out of him and before you can take a step back he takes a step forward. 

“ atsumu miya.”

you tentatively shake his outstretched hand.

“[name]”

you can see the smirk on his face before the words even come out of his mouth, “pretty name for a pretty lady.”

you don’t even hide the groan. 

-

“mommy what took you so long?”

your son's words snap you out of the dreamy haze you’d been stuck in. after atsumu’s pathetic pick up line, somehow, somehow, he’d managed to squeeze your number out of you. 

“you’re here for the adlers?” he’d gawked. 

you couldn’t say you were here to get over your not-ex-boyfriend and stare at pretty boys on the jackals. you couldn’t say that your friend had handed you his entire player profile only a few hours ago in an attempt to get you out of bed and it had it worked. 

“my son’s a fan.” you’d added instead, “-- loves kageyama ya know?”

although the last part wasn’t true anymore, you’d just wanted to see what the setter’s reaction would be. and it was exactly what you had expected.

he laughed, crossing his arms over his jersey, “i’m sure i’ll be able to change his mind by the end of match.” he challenged.

“ i don’t know,” you sighed, “he’s really in love with the adlers, has a jersey and everything.”

he scowled, “we’ll see about that.”

-

ushijima’s fingers twitched in rhythm. it was only a practice match but fans had come out to show their support so he needed to perform. there was no game lesser than the other, each game was only training for later tournaments. but with today’s added presence of hinata shoyo, both he and tobio had to be at the top of their game. 

the two of them had decided to pre-game prep together, getting in that unstoppable head space he’d been perfecting for years. 

and it was shattered in a minute. 

he could see you walking down the aisle, making your way toward, misaki and akio? how could he have missed them. his fingers twitched faster, the bright red of akio’s jersey … he was wearing the jersey. 

his heart dropped.

you were smiling down at akio, smoothing out the sleeves of the jersey. how long had it been since he’s seen you at the gym, since he’d seen you at all? were you stepping back toward him, did that mean he could step forward?

 for the first time he almost ached for forgiveness, hoping you’d hand it to him. but you hadn’t even looked toward the court. your eyes avoided the players on the court, instead focused on whatever akio was doing. 

not a glance given toward the players below. he should’ve read the signs better.

“ushijima we’re gonna start spiking practice! get over here!”

-

to her credit, misaki was very observant, almost too observant. omniscient almost. you never had to say anything, she just, knew.

“did something happen in the bathroom.” she whispers over akio’s head, eyes narrowing in your direction. 

there’s no use in lying.

“the msby setter has my number.”

maybe she’s not omniscient.

“what. you, the msby setter has what.”

“my number.”

“i’m gonna strangle you.” she chokes out. when you look over her mouth looks numb, and her eyebrows have fallen, “i’m literally going to choke you out.”

you resist the urge to laugh, “if i die before the game ends will you tell atsumu that technically it’s a draw since i wasn’t there to see what happened.”

“a draw? how much time did you spend in the bathroom? what do you do in bathrooms?”

“ah no, nothing like that .” you say bluntly, “i hit him with the bathroom door.”

“i’m going to hand you over to death.”

“---he told me that he’d be akio’s favorite setter by the time the match was over.”

she gives you an eyebrow, 

“if he did manage to get akio to choose him, he’d take me out for coffee or whatever.  but if akio doesn’t, then i take my number back and he can’t contact me anymore.”

“i hate you.” she spits through her teeth, “ i actually hate you. how does this even happen to you.”

you smile.

“ah, let’s just watch the match for now.”

-

msby’s setter is on fire, in the zone, top of his game, however they describe it these days. it’s not even the second set but ushijima can see the frustration on his teammates face. 

“what the hell is up with miya.” hoshiumi pants behind him. kageyama practically growls --no, he does-- and clenches his fists.

“this is getting annoying.”

on the other side of the net he can see hinata and bokuto talking eagerly to the grinning setter. 

“omiomi! what’d you eat for breakfast today huh? what’s got you so good all of a sudden.”

miya scowls, “i’ve always been good! but i’ve gotta little bet goin on with this girl i met.”

out of the corner of his eye he can see kageyama squinting forward, as if it it’ll help him hear the conversation better.

“told ‘er that if i could become her son’s favorite setter she’d have to let me take ‘er out on a date.”

he doesn’t even recognize the situation, maybe he should’ve realized it faster. maybe it would’ve prepared him better for the next words that came rushing out of his mouth.

“oh i think you can see them up in the stands, the kid’s wearin an adlers jersey.”

-

he didn’t understand heartbreak. he never understood why tendou cried over all those romance movies when the couple didn’t end up together. if someone didn’t want you was it that hard to ignore? to get over? 

in 23 years nothing has ever broken his heart, his iron heart wrapped in layers of gold. merciless, tendou had called him. devoid of feelings. ‘is there anything in that heart of yours?” his grandmother had asked him once.

there must be something, it only took 17 words for it to shatter. 

#ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi fics #ushijima imagines #ushijima angst #pink peonies #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #hq x reader #hq!!

[astralaffairs]

put a ring on it 04 | philip hamilton

title: put a ring on it

pairing: philip hamilton x reader

words: 9k flat

warnings: jealousy, copious amounts of relatives, like half of the family r little shits, a lil bit of angst — forgive me for this being unedited! i’ll come back to edit in a bit, but i promised the post, so here it is :)

desc: You’ve never liked Philip Hamilton, and have always assumed the feeling has been mutual. But when you’re roped into pretending to be his girlfriend for a family reunion, you feel all your truths beginning to melt away, and find them instead taking form in his smile.

tags: @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8 @assbuttstyles777 @superbarriobrothers @tf2germanvillain @ela-ena @abundant-stars @heytheredee-lilah @katierpblogg @thisshitfucks @celyndavies @quixoticallydelusional @sothisishappiness @ems-alexandra @yxseminx @sadhwstudent @aiifandomsunite @loonaynay @valleryhyde @lxncelot @marvelouslyemily @checkurwindow @katierpblogg @alievans007 @nyxie75 @ii-moonlight-ii @sothisishappiness @ems-alexandra @elegantbutedgy  - lmk if you want to be added; sorry if i missed anyone!!

"You almost ready?"

You glanced up to meet Philip's eyes in his bathroom mirror as you struggled to clasp your necklace. He wore a small smile, fiddling with the sleeves of his button-down.

"Yeah, yeah, just gimme another minute." Your lips were pursed when you broke his gaze, leaning in toward your reflection as you twisted the necklace around your neck to get a better look at the ring on one of its ends, but to little avail. Your hands were shaking; the tension in your jaw was steadily increasing. Your mind had been elsewhere all morning.

You let out a grunt of frustration when you just missed the hook — it was too small for you to see it between your fingers. Though your focus was elsewhere, Philip raised his eyebrows when he saw you glaring down at the delicate chain.

"Let me." Your skin jumped when his fingers grazed the back of your neck, and when you met his amused gaze, your eyes were wide.

You let your hands fall away as he covered them with his own, taking ahold of the back of your necklace and brushing your hair over out of his way. "... Thanks."

"No problem, princess." You let out a quiet huff, rolling your eyes at his words, and his soft expression split into a grin. "Seriously? You're still resisting that?"

"Whatever," you mumbled, and though your eyes had drifted to the counter before you, you could still feel his hands go still against your skin. When he caught your eye, he creased his brow.

"You okay?" Your eyebrows shot up; you'd mistaken the tenativity in his expression for skepticism, but his soft tone told you that it was entirely born of concern. "You've been caught up in your head ever since we got out of bed."

You didn't let your surprise at how suddenly perceptive he'd become break your stride for more than a moment; you hoped it wasn't obvious that your gaze had gone soft. "I'm fine, Philip. Just tired," you said.

"Hey, no you're not." He didn't move from where he stood. You could feel his breath against the back of your neck. He still hadn't finished clasping your necklace, but his calloused fingertips rested against your shoulders, atop the straps of your sundress; you could feel the warmth of his body just inches behind you, could smell his faint cologne. You swallowed. "What's on your mind?"

Glancing back at him gave you pause, but when he pressed his lips together, expression inquisitive, you gave him a small smile. "Nothing, really. I'm okay." The silence that stretched on only made you feel more on edge, and you raised your eyebrows, adding, "Now, are you helping me with my necklace or not? C'mon."

"Talk to me first."

"This is blackmail!"

"It's a necklace, Y/N," he said, giving you a pointed look, and you scoffed, turning back toward the mirror. "But seriously, what's got you all stressed?"

A beat passed. "You're really gonna press the point?"

"Come on," he pouted, and you had to purse your lips to keep your smile from widening with amusement. "If it's super personal, I'll let it go, but I'm just concerned about you. What's wrong with that?"

"You don't need to worry," you assured him, but he looked less than convinced. "Really. It's silly."

His scowl was far from genuine as he finally finished putting your necklace on, and you shivered at the feeling of his hands in your hair when he pulled a few pieces of it out from under the thin chain. "If it doesn't matter, why are you being so evasive?"

"You're so nosy!" His hands still rested on your skin when you looked back up at his reflection, and despite your indignation, some part of you couldn't help but savor how much he genuinely seemed to care. You huffed when he gave an uncompromising shrug, still staring back at you expectantly. "God. Alright, fine. I'm... kinda nervous to meet your family."

His surprise was obvious; his eyebrows shot up, and for just a moment, he didn't speak. "Wait, seriously?" However, as you could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks, you didn't waste much time before busying yourself in packing back up your makeup bag. He was quick to take your lack of a response as the clear affirmation it was. "That's adorable."

"I don't wanna hear it," you said, but as his hands fell from your shoulders, they landed on either side of you on the bathroom counter. Though you tried to sidestep his grip, it was your resistance that made him stop you where you stood, effectively caging you in. You turned to him, ready to shove him away by the chest, but your breath caught when his hands met your waist.

"But princess, that's so sweet." He wore a mocking pout, and you rolled your eyes, turning your head away from him. You folded your arms in front of you despite (or because of) the immediate proximity to him in which you found yourself. "Why are you worried? What, do you think they're going to disapprove of our relationship?" he teased.

"I just really like your family so far, alright?" you murmured, determined to ignore your burning skin — whether it was burning due to your embarrassment or the fact that you were but a thin scrap of fabric away from being pulled flush against his chest, you weren't sure. In all honesty, it was probably somewhere between the two. "I don't want them to turn on me because you have some bitter aunt who doesn't vibe with me."

He laughed, and you could feel the sound against your body. "That won't happen. They'll think you're great, okay? Relax."

You scoffed when he reached up to brush a piece of hair from your forehead, smoothing it back until his hand turned back down to softly meet the side of your jaw. "Let's just go," you said, and though your voice was sullen, you'd have had a difficult time hiding your smile from him in the tight proximity.

"Alright," he agreed, and you ignored the laugh laced into his voice, seemingly entertained at how timid you were acting — after all, that was a part of you that was all but entirely novel to him. He took a small step back, arms falling back to his sides, but you didn't yet move away.

"Alright," you finally echoed, voice breathy as you stepped out beside him to leave the bathroom, and he followed closely behind. "What time is everyone getting here?"

"Around noon." You couldn't see it when his lips quirked, his mind not having budged an inch from the conversation you'd just had. "It is kind of precious that you care so much about whether my family likes you, though."

"Shut up, Philip."

                      —           

Your early afternoon was a flurry of names and introductions. Everyone was beyond enthusiastic to meet you — an enthusiasm you returned without farce or falsehoods, what with how sweet they all were, but you couldn't help your lingering guilt as you struggled to keep track of all their names and families, your map of who went with who quickly tangling.

The Hamiltons' backyard was likely as large as the entire block that housed your apartment building back in the city, and not without its utility. Philip's family members covered just about every square foot, from toddlers pulling at one another's hair to their aging grandparents, lounging in the sun and commenting on how they grow up so fast.

It was hectic, but you weren't complaining — not when the crowd meant that twenty-some aunts, uncles, and cousins all seemed to have brought individual cornucopias of their best bakery.

You were hardly in one place for long enough to hold a conversation — it was always only a matter of time until another pseudo-mob of relatives pulled you in a different direction to interrogate you for what must've been the ninetieth time that day. Your cheeks were growing sore from how many middle-aged aunts had squeezed them at one point or another, and your legs were sporadically incapacitated from Philip's little cousins hanging off of them.

Collateral damage aside, the family reunion was far from being the painful ordeal you'd expected. Philip's near-innumerable relatives were certainly keeping you on your toes and a smile on your face. A few hours in, you'd all but forgotten why you resisted coming in the first place.

"Y/N, come here!" Your eyebrows shot up. It was Georges's younger sister Marie who was tugging you toward her by your wrist, pulling you away from where you stood with Philip's arm wrapped around your waist. You were only about three years her senior, but she had such bubbly energy that you couldn't help but think of her as being younger than she was.

"Hey, hang on," Philip protested, and you wore an amused smile when you glanced back at him. "Are you all just going to keep dragging her around? I brought her here; when do I get to spend any time with her?"

"Oh, you get her all the time. Don't be greedy," Marie shot back, and though he rolled his eyes, Philip's grip on your waist loosened.

"Don't keep her too long. She's been questioned enough for one day." Though she managed to pull you out of Philip's grasp, he caught your hand just before she could get you out of his reach. You could hear Marie scoff, but Philip raised a dubious eyebrow at you, and your smile softened when you saw the concern etched into his furrowed brow.

"I'll be fine, Pip." You squeezed his hand reassuringly, and though it was reluctant, he released you with a sigh. "See you in a bit?"

"You'd better."

He hardly saw you grin at the playful wink he sent you before you were yanked away, your head snapping back around in a panic to follow where Marie was pulling you. Though you didn't see it, he chuckled lightly when he took another sip of his drink.

"So, where to?" you asked Marie breathlessly just as you were dragged out of Philip's earshot.

"Just over here..." She trailed off, clearly scanning the area for something, and when you saw her gaze lock on a gaggle of women in one corner of the yard, her eyes lit up. "Ah!"

At that point, you were more than happy just to let whatever happened happen — this pseudo-family was beyond chaotic, and there was really no point in resisting. You didn't question it as she pulled you alongside her to the others, and she flashed you a small smile. "So, have you met everyone yet?"

"Not quite yet, but close to it," you said. "But remembering everyone's name might just be another story."

Her easy laugh made your smile broaden; you'd been surprised, at first, by how warm all the people you'd met had been, but a family like this was certainly something you could get used to.

"I don't blame you; there are definitely a lot of us," she replied, "but that's unimportant. We want to hear about you!"

"You want to hear about me?" you repeated as you reached the group, not bothering to mask the disbelief in your voice. "There's not a whole lot to tell, really."

"We want to hear about you and Philip." It was the woman you recognized as Frances who piped up, drawing your attention into the larger circle of ladies around you, watching you with an enthusiasm that had you more than taken aback. "He's kept you from us for so long that we still know virtually nothing about you!"

"Oh! Um..." You gave a weak, anxious laugh, gaze traveling across the group, the eager faces staring back at you. "Alright, I... What d'you want to know?"

"Is this all weird for you?" Your eyebrows shot up at Frances's question, hoping there was more to the question (or really, that she wasn't just onto you). "I don't mean this weekend, of course. But is it weird to be dating a coworker?"

You had to stop yourself from letting out a dramatic sigh of relief. If we're talking weird, you thought, you don't know the half of it. However, you only replied with, "I mean, not really. We have basically the same job, so there's no icky power dynamic there or anything."

"But how do you keep from getting into petty little fights? My husband and I can hardly work together to plan a day trip, let alone collaborate for a career." Her animated huff made you smile, and she shook her head in mock exasperation. "I guess that's a testament to how strong your relationship is, huh?"

You swallowed your laugh, struggling to force a straight face as you tried to respond. "I don't know about that. We argue plenty."

"Seems like you haven't let it come between you, though." The woman who spoke then was one of Philip's cousins by birth, Kitty, and you shrugged. Though you knew you had to maintain your composure, you couldn't help your amusement at the line of conversation.

"I guess we've made it this far, right?"

"It's pretty impressive, honestly," Marie interjected. "No one else has managed to keep him tied down for more than a couple months. He really seems to like you."

"How long have you been together?" Frances added, and your eyes widened a fraction of an inch. You'd been over this with him, right?

"Oh, about... two years, now?" You were praying you'd gotten the number right, but no one seemed to question it further.

"Oh my God, really? When's your anniversary?" Marie's sister Anastasie asked, her eyes alight and voice excited. Had you not been so worried about figuring out what date to tell them, how thrilled they seemed about your relationship would've been wildly endearing — it was obvious how much they all cared for Philip. "Have you two celebrated yet?"

"Yeah, we went out for it a week or two ago," you responded vaguely, fiddling with the strap of your dress. You were glad no one could feel how much your palms were sweating. "It was, ah..."

Thankfully, you didn't get a chance to finish your hasty explanation, as Marie proceeded to ask, "Really? Where did you go?"

"Oh, just to dinner downtown. He—"

"Did he sweep you off your feet?" You struggled to remember the name of Philip's younger cousin who'd just cut you off.

"I mean, it was definitely—"

"He picked up the check, right?"

"We, um... ended up splitting it. It wasn't—"

"Have you thought at all about taking the next step? He doesn't have to be the one to propose, you know."

"Not really, but maybe at some point—"

"Oh, that'd be so sweet! You'd be a part of the family!"

"I don't know yet whether—"

"We don't mean to rush you into anything, though. It's your prerogative."

"No, of course—"

"Can we hear the story of how you got together?"

"How long were you working together before he finally asked you out?"

"Um—"

The questions were coming at you by then much faster than you could field them. Your eyes were wide; you'd taken multiple unwitting steps back. It had taken you until then to quite understand what Philip meant by how overwhelming his family could be.

"Hey, Y/N!" You stopped trying to answer the last inquiry when a voice came from behind you, instead glancing back over your shoulder to see who else had decided to barrage you with questions. To your relief, it was Angelica, Philip's younger sister, who was walking toward you, and you offered her a small smile. "Can I borrow you for a second?"

Your eyebrows shot up as you looked back to the group before you. "Oh! I, uh..." You trailed off as Angelica finally reached you.

"Don't worry; I won't keep you long," she promised, and you glanced to her hesitantly. "...But if you'd rather stay and chat and come find me in a little while, that's fine too," she added, and you sighed, taking a step back from the circle of women around you.

"No, it's okay," you reassured her, embracing without reluctance your opportunity to escape the hot seat, before turning back to the group to add, "It's been great talking to you all, though. I'll catch up with you a bit later?"

Your words were met with a chorus of goodbyes, some more disappointed than others, but you couldn't pretend not to be eager to go. You turned away alongside Angelica, asking, "So what'd you need me for?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but paused, pulling further away from the group before she responded in a low voice, "Honestly, nothing. You just looked like you needed an excuse to get out of there."

Her words elicited a surprised laugh from you. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

                       —                

"Hey, there you are." Your eyebrows shot up; you turned your head in the direction of the voice, only to see Philip walking toward you with an easy smile. "What are you doing over here all alone?"

You took a sip of your lemonade as you shrugged, if only to hide your small smile (particularly because you were struggling to grasp why his showing up left you unable to suppress it). "Avoiding you, mostly."

Philip let out a soft huff of laughter as he took a seat on the folding chair beside you, rolling his eyes. "Whatever. As though you aren't happy to see me." You quirked a skeptical brow at his (perhaps overly) confident grin. "But seriously, I haven't seen you in a bit. Has my family been putting you through the wringer?"

"Something like that," you snorted. "Your cousins are incessant. It doesn't help that I don't have answers to all their questions about how we fell in love, or when we're finally planning to tie the knot." Your voice was mocking throughout the latter sentence, but Philip didn't seem to be put off by it.

"Well, why don't you just tell them the truth?"

Your eyebrows shot up. "Why, exactly, would you want me to do that?"

"Well, it'd be a lot easier to give them the real story." He shrugged, and his matter-of-fact tone had you wary of his next words. "Y'know, how you've been head-over-heels for me since the moment we met, how you spent so many years in denial of how hard you were falling for me."

"Oh my god, shut up, Philip," you groaned, kicking the side of his knee lightly with the leg you had crossed over your other. He was failing entirely to hide how entertained he was. "Keep this up, and they'll be getting the real story about how you manipulated me into coming here."

"I didn't manipulate you. You chose to be here. Take some ownership, princess." He gave you a pointed look, and you scowled in response. "Anyway, let's not pretend you don't like my family too much to let them down like that."

"Hey, it's not my fault they're so likable!" you said. "They've been treating me like family since the moment they met me. It's so sweet; don't come at me."

"That's kind of adorable." Though you glared at him, there was no heat in it. He continued, "I'm glad you like them, but that definitely doesn't explain why you're hiding a corner."

"I'm just tired, alright?" you said defensively. "We've been here a few hours, now. I needed a break."

"Relax, princess. I'm not here to judge," he reassured you, and despite the skepticism etched in your raised eyebrow, his smile was warm. "But if you really need a breather, I can go for now and catch up with you in a bit."

How considerate the offer was struck you, and he was almost ready to take your surprised silence as having accepted it, before you spoke. "No, no, that's okay. I've probably pulled away from everyone for a little too long for it to be socially acceptable."

"Don't bother to worry about what's 'socially acceptable' here," he said, gaze amused as he glanced back to the party all through his backyard. "My family may be a little exhausting, but that also means they're too caught up in their own gossip to realize when someone's missing."

You let out a surprised laugh, and the sound elicited a self-satisfied grin from him. "You're really just gonna call them all inconsiderate like that?"

He scoffed, gesturing to you with the hand that still held his drink. "Hey, hang on. I did not call them inconsiderate. That was all you."

"I didn't say that they were! I think they're sweet!"

"They are sweet! They just have tunnel vision for whoever's in front of them," he argued, and you eyed him dubiously as you took another sip of your lemonade.

"That’s still mean." You shrugged, and though he rolled his eyes, amusement danced in them.

"What do you know? You haven't even met all of them yet."

"And whose fault is that?" you said, raising your eyebrows expectantly, but he just chuckled.

"Alright, I'll admit defeat on this one. You win," he conceded, but the sarcasm woven into his voice left you skeptical. "Wanna come meet the rest of them now, then? I mean, since you've been so rudely lying low all afternoon."

Despite how teasing his tone was, you let out a bitter scoff. "Don't gimme that! I've met at least thirty people in the past three hours. I earned a break."

"And I didn't mean anything by it!" He held his hands up in defense, but he still looked annoyingly contented.

"I'm sure you didn't," you replied, tone laden with sarcasm. "But... I dunno if I'm up to meeting too many more people just yet." You bit your lip as you paused, hesitant to voice the words sitting on your tongue. He raised an eyebrow. "Any chance you'd be alright with just... hanging here with me for a while? As much as I appreciate the vodka lemonade, it doesn't make for great company."

Your voice was light with your last sentence, but Philip was left surprised by the vulnerability in your gaze. "I'd love to, princess."

The kind smile he offered you left unexplainable heat rising in your cheeks, and though you couldn't see it, having turned away to hide your face, affection was heavy in his gaze as he watched you. "Why are you so insistent on calling me that?" you mumbled, and your words made him laugh.

"What, don't you like it?" The mock pout he plastered on made you scoff, despite how the corners of your lips twitched up.

"We've long since covered this; let's not pretend." You gave him a pointed look, but he shrugged, undeterred.

"I dunno; I don't see the problem." He took a sip of his drink. "We've been together for two years, and you're still not comfortable with a little affection? Maybe you just don't love me as much as I thought you did."

"Oh, shut up," you huffed, and your weak glare made him laugh. "Have I mentioned recently what a pain in the ass you are?"

"That's not much of a pet name, Y/N. I'm gonna need you to step it up," he sighed, and your amusement was obvious though you rolled your eyes. "Do we really have to rehash this conversation?"

Mischief danced in his stare when it met yours, and your eyes were wide. You had a feeling he recalled as vividly as you did how this line of discussion ended when you first started driving up to his parents' house. Your stomach turned, seemingly beyond your control. "Don't you go there again," you said, but your voice was breathless.

"Aw, what's wrong, princess? Were all my suggestions really not good enough?" His grin broadened when he saw you swallow hard. "I really thought there was at least one winner in there."

"Philip," you warned, tone hard, and he laughed.

"Relax. I won't push it," he promised, "I can keep an environment family-friendly."

He sent you a wink, and you scowled at the satisfaction written deep in his smile. By then, the heat rising in your cheeks was growing to a fire. You were struggling to meet his eyes. It'd hardly been 48 hours since he and you began the drive north, and you did not like how much those 48 hours changed the way his words were affecting you, even just recalling the conversation leaving you much more flustered than it had any business leaving you.

"Whatever," you mumbled into your plastic cup before draining what was left of your drink. You didn't realize until you glanced back at him that he was still watching you. You were too stunned in that moment to say anything more, but by some wild stroke of luck, you were saved by the bell.

"Uncle Philip!" Or, really, saved by the six-year-old nephew, but the difference may as well have been semantic.

Philip's heavy stare turned light the moment he heard the voice, and you followed his gaze to its origin. Running toward you were two kids, the girl just slightly taller than the boy, and they looked equally elated to see Philip seated there beside you.

"Woah, hey there," he laughed, eyebrows shooting up as they both immediately started clinging to his legs, trying to push themselves up onto his lap. "This is a pretty warm 'welcome home.'"

"You're back!" the boy exclaimed, as though it was a revelation of its own.

"I know, pretty weird, huh?" Philip replied, and his grin was broader than you'd ever seen it, "Guess I can't stay away from you two for too long."

"We missed you." When she spoke, the girl's voice was much quieter, and she wore a tiny smile.

"Well, I missed you more," Philip said matter-of-factly. The little boy creased his brow.

"Hey, we missed you more more," he argued, and Philip let out a dramatic sigh.

"I guess you win this round." The boy wore a proud smile as he tugged absentmindedly on Philip's pant leg. "Alright, now c'mere, both of you. Don't I get hugs?"

They squealed when he picked each of them up, pulling them into his lap, and though they squirmed in his hands, they both wrapped their arms around his neck only moments later, pulling him into a hug.

"You're too tall for this," the girl protested, finally sitting back onto his leg with a pout. Philip shrugged.

"Maybe you're just too short."

"Hey! I'm growing!" She folded her arms, and as Philip chuckled, it seemed the boy had moved on.

"Are you Y/N?" You were surprised when he turned to you with bright eyes, bouncing on Philip's leg.

"Oh! Uh, yeah. That's me," you said, surprised demeanor easing into entertainment. "And what's your name?"

"I'm Richard, and I'm six, and Uncle Philip's my uncle," he explained, glancing back at Philip with a smile before grinning at you. "I knew it was you 'cause Uncle Philip told us how pretty you are."

Your eyebrows shot up; your smile was wide with amusement. "Oh, really, Uncle Philip?"

"Hey, you've hardly been around for three minutes, and you're already ratting me out?" He looked down at Richard with mock indignance, and though he giggled, he put on a small pout.

"Sorry."

"You're lucky I can't stay mad at you." He yelped when Philip ruffled his hair, frowning as he swatted his hands away and tried to fix it. As he sat back down, folding his arms in his discontent, Philip glanced back down at the girl on his other leg, squeezing her side lightly. "Hey, do you wanna introduce yourself?"

She shook her head furiously, and he chuckled. "Alright. That's okay. Can I introduce you?"

She eyed you timidly for a moment, and when you offered her a small smile, she nodded hesitantly. "Okay. Thank you. Y/N, this is Elizabeth." He finally looked back up at you, and you weren't fully aware of how soft your gaze was, watching him with his niece and nephew. "She's seven, and she's the smartest girl in the family." He nudged her playfully, and though she hid her face in his button-down, she giggled.

"Hey, what about me?" Richard protested, and Philip huffed.

"Well, obviously, that makes you the smartest boy in the family," he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, and Richard beamed up at him.

"Even smarter than you?"

Philip laughed. "Oh, yeah. For sure."

The words made you smile. "It's nice to meet both of you. Your uncle tells me all about you."

Richard's eyes lit up at your words. "Really? What's he say?"

"Good things only. I’ve heard a lot about both your soccer games and your skills in Mario Kart," you told both kids matter-of-factly, “but mostly, I can’t get him to stop going on about how much he loves you both.” The slightest bit of pride swelled in your chest when it earned a tiny smile from Elizabeth.

“Aw, so you do listen when I talk?” Philip plastered on a pout as he glanced back up to you, and you couldn’t even force a scowl.

“Hey, of course, I do!” you said defensively. “Mostly ‘cause I can’t get you to stop talking. I’ve found that actually listening to it staves off the intense boredom of just hearing you drone on and on.”

He rolled his eyes, and your smile was wide. “Oh, real nice, princess.”

“I always am.” You shrugged innocently, and he chuckled, shaking his head. A beat passed; his stare was soft as it held yours.

"He also told us about you," Elizabeth said quietly, and though a certain fraction of your attention was still on the fact that she'd finally decided to talk to you, the rest of it was taken aback.

"Did he, now?" You sounded as though you'd been winded, and your gaze once again met Philip's. His stare faltered; his expression was several steps past timid. "And when was this?"

"Just a couple weeks ago," Richard said eagerly, not seeming to have noticed the shift in either of your demeanors. "He told us that you're pretty, and he likes you so, so much. Technically he was telling Dad. But still."

"Aw, isn't that sweet?" Your smile had begun to turn teasing, and Philip let out a soft huff. Richard seemed prepared to continue full speed ahead, though.

"Mmhmm. And he also said—"

"Okay, that's about enough of that," Philip cut him off, giving him a stern look, and Richard frowned. "Listen, I have a really important mission for you two."

When he lowered his voice, both kids were watching him with wide eyes, giving him their full attention. "So, Y/N and I haven't been able to go hang out with Uncle Georges all day, but we don't want him getting lonely. I need you two to go and keep him company, okay? I would go, but he'd much rather spend time with you rascals." He winked at them, the words conspiratory, and they both nodded decisively. "I'm counting on you; don't let me down."

He set them both back onto the ground, lowering them off of his lap. "Okay, Uncle Philip! It's nice meeting you, Y/N!"

They'd both taken off before you could respond, and you laughed lightly.

"You're so good with them." When you turned to him with a wide smile, Philip only shrugged.

"They're sweet kids. They make it pretty easy on me."

"Yeah, they seem to be," you said, and you couldn't gauge the source of the hesitance in his eyes as you searched his expression. "But still. I can tell how much they like you. Take a little credit, Philip."

Your expectant stare made him chuckle, despite how subdued his entire demeanor seemed. "Thanks, Y/N."

"It's just the truth." You pursed your lips as you watched him. You were hesitant to continue, but you did anyway, not bothering to hide your growing smile. "It's especially impressive how quickly you managed to distract them from telling me how much you absolutely adore me."

Although his unease was obvious in the way he fiddled with the rolled sleeve of his shirt, in the shade of red that you could just barely see creeping into his complexion, he sent you a wink. "Hey, there's a reason I didn't tell my family I was dating Theo or Susan."

To his relief, you laughed. "Good choice.” You paused a moment before you continued, pressing your lips together as you considered whether it was a good idea to go on. “So you think I’m pretty, huh?”

The sound that escaped him was somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “Oh, shut up. You already know you're attractive.”

“Mmh, so are you, but that doesn’t mean I go around telling people about it all the time,” you countered, and he cocked an eyebrow.

“So you think I’m pretty?”

“That’s your only takeaway from that?” You scoffed. “God, you have such selective hearing.”

He shrugged. “Say what you want, but I think the important part of that sentence was that you’re attracted to me, princess.”

“No, hang on,” you corrected him, and despite your combative tone, his conceited smile was deep-set. “I think you’re attractive, but that does not mean I’m attracted to you.”

He grinned. “I just wanted to hear you say again that you think I’m attractive.”

Blood was rushing to your cheeks under his cocky stare, and you pulled together a scowl in an effort to hide how flustered he had you. “Yeah; you’re also insufferable.”

“It’s part of my charm.” When he winked, your scowl deepened.

You couldn’t tear your focus from how your heart pounded a tattoo against your ribcage.

                                          "You finally ready to meet a couple more people?"

You groaned lightly as Philip wrapped an arm around your waist, offering you a playful grin. It'd been about an hour since his niece and nephew split, having come back to find the both of you sporadically as the afternoon went on. You stood right outside the house's back door, having just gone in to recycle your cup, and Philip was admittedly surprised when you didn't immediately swat his hand away after he squeezed your side teasingly.

"I've already met so many," you whined, but he just laughed.

"Hey, I've let you hide out for more than an hour, now. You owe me, princess."

"I don't owe you shit," you grumbled, and when he raised a skeptical eyebrow, you sighed. "But fine, let's go,"

"I appreciate the enthusiasm," he said dryly.

You'd assumed by then you'd already met the rest of Georges's family, having been introduced to seven more of them throughout the course of the day, but when Philip lead you across the yard, only for him to ultimately embrace who you were fairly sure was just a taller, wrinkled iteration of Georges, you were proved wrong. Georges's parents were seemingly who he and his sister Anastasie had been carbon copied from. They both embraced you enthusiastically, and by then, you supposed you shouldn't have been surprised by it any longer. No one at his family reunion seemed to have adopted any concept of personal space.

"Philip must know by now 'ow lucky 'e has struck it, non?" Georges's father Gilbert (who, like his wife, insisted on your using his first name) raised an eyebrow, looking to your faux beau with an impish smile.

"Really. You know, you could do better zan 'im, mon chou," his wife Adrienne added, holding you by the forearms and giving you a serious look. You laughed.

"Oh, believe me; I'm well aware," you assured them, and Philip let out a soft gasp, mocking offense. When you looked to him with an eyebrow raised, he plastered on a pout.

"You're so mean to me."

"I'm just kidding, babe." You lightly checked your hips against his, and though he rolled his eyes, he was smiling.

"Alright, whatever," he conceded with a huff. "That's just about enough of you two, though. We're gonna go find Henriette."

"Oh, you should! Ze two of you 'ave not been together in so long," Adrienne lamented as she released your arms, returning to her husband with a soft smile. "I miss seeing you with 'er."

"Who's Henriette?" you asked Philip, a curious eyebrow raised.

"Their oldest daughter. She's about our age."

"And she and Philip used to be awfully close," Adrienne added in a singsong voice, but you were struggling to gauge why she was looking at him so expectantly. He sighed.

"Can we please not do this the weekend I finally bring my girlfriend home?"

Adrienne shrugged, and you weren't sure you liked the smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. "I am only saying, now zat you are both here..."

When she trailed off, Gilbert gave her a warning look. "Please, amour. Philip is 'appy. Be supportive."

"I am always supportive of Philip, no matter what choices 'e makes." How pointed the words were had you on edge, despite her easy smile.

"Alright. We'll see you two at dinner, okay?"

"Of course. I look forward to talking more with you, Y/N. We are truly glad zat Philip 'as you." Gilbert gave you a warm smile, but Philip didn't seem able to drag you out of there quickly enough for his liking.

"It was nice meeting both of you!" you called back to them with a smile, giving a short wave as Philip ushered you away. Once you were out of earshot, you glanced back up and saw how tense he looked, his jaw tight, you raised an eyebrow. "So, what was all that about?"

He sighed. "Don't worry about Adrienne. It's nothing."

"It's clearly something."

"Nothing important." When he met your skeptical gaze, he added, "Henriette and I dated for a while back in high school, and her mom hasn't been able to let it go since. She's fixated on us having actual family relations."

"Oh," was all you said, eyebrows pushing toward your hairline, and he gave you a concerned glance. Though you fixed on a smile, it was uneasy. "So is that why I'm really here, then? To make her jealous enough to take you back?"

Your words were meant to be teasing, and he took them as such, but you were both simply pretending not to hear the rigidity of your voice. He chuckled. "Whatever, princess."

You were not fond of the sinking feeling in your stomach when he didn't contradict you. Another moment passed as he scanned the yard for her, but you couldn't hear the silence over the roar of your spiraling thoughts.

You had no reason to care even if he was using you to make her jealous, right? It didn't matter. In three days, you'd both be back in your office, and everything would go back to normal. You'd be completely ignorant of Philip's dating life; he'd be ignorant of yours (despite it being nonexistent — but that was by choice, of course). He'd go back to pissing you off when he didn't get his share of a project done on time, and you'd go back to chewing him out for it biweekly.

"Hey, Henriette!" His calling across the yard snapped you out of your haze. He raised a hand in greeting, and when you followed his gaze, the unexplainable lump sitting in the back of your throat seemed to grow.

"Philip!" She rushed over with equal enthusiasm, and he released your waist when she pulled him into a hug. "Hey, it's been forever! What sort of trouble have you been getting yourself up to in the big city?"

"'The big city'," he repeated with a short laugh. "As though you don't literally live two blocks outside of downtown."

"And yet you still manage to never come visit me." Her gaze was accusatory as she released him from her embrace, pulling back. Oh, god. Of course, she was gorgeous.

He grinned. "I'll start visiting you when you start visiting me, alright?"

"I might just have to take you up on that, Hamilton." His smile broadened at her wink, and your stomach seemed to have been tying itself into a square knot.

"And who's this?" She raised her eyebrows as she turned to you, none of the brightness draining from her expression.

You forced a smile. "I'm his girlfriend, Y/N."

Her eyes widened. "Wait, you're Y/N?"

"You've heard of me?"

"We all have," she assured you, "but someone failed to mention to me how pretty you are."

The pointed look she gave Philip was playful, and despite how sweet she was, you were still on edge. "You think you're surprised? No one told me when I agreed to come to the family reunion that I'd be meeting the hot ex."

"Oh, you think I'm hot?" The laugh she elicited from you when she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively was genuine.

"Come on; we both know you are," you said, looking at her expectantly. She grinned.

"Well, I'm flattered, Y/N. If Philip doesn't treat you right, you're welcome to give me a call." When Henriette sent you a wink, you couldn't help but feel guilty about your knee-jerk reaction to resent her — especially considering that you couldn't locate the reaction's origin.

"Hey, play your cards right, and maybe I'll be the one visiting you back in the city," you shot back playfully. She squeezed your arm as she laughed.

"Oh my god, of course, you're funny too." The words were almost akin to a scoff, and if not for her next words, you may have taken offense. "I get now why Philip didn't bring you home for so long. I know that if I were dating you, I'd be every bit as worried about my family all fighting for you."

You let out a soft 'aw.' "You're sweet. It's great to meet you, Henriette."

"You too." She started to take a step toward you, but she froze, wearing a hesitant smile. "Can I hug you? Do you do hugs?"

Your smile was apprehensive. "Yeah, bring it in."

She squealed lightly at your words, pulling you into a bone-crushing embrace, which you returned with as much strength as you could find in your body as it was being squashed. Jesus; you were fairly certain you were developing a crush on this girl, and you'd known her for all of four minutes. You could only begin to imagine what Philip thought of her after having known her for his entire life, let alone after dating her.

When she finally let you go, her words were addressed to both of you, but you couldn't help but feel as though she was really talking to Philip. "So, tell me everything. It's been forever; I wanna know hear all about your new friends, all about work, the times you've done something stupid that landed you in the hospital, the times you've been arrested — all of it."

He chuckled, and you let out an internal sigh of relief when his arm found its way back around your waist. "It's been pretty mundane, actually. Nothing like the trouble we used to make for everyone."

She snorted. "Really. We were both a headache and a half. I still haven't stopped hearing about the time we... 'borrowed' Uncle Hercules's motorcycle, and it's been almost ten years."

"To be fair, we were almost charged with destruction of property."

"What's the story there?" you interjected with a brow raised, and Philip just shrugged.

"Small-time motorcycle crash. Not as dramatic as it sounds."

"That's not what you were saying when you spent the next three nights in the hospital being scanned for brain damage," Henriette said matter-of-factly, and Philip laughed.

"It was scarier in the moment," he defended, and you shifted uncomfortably on your feet. As much as Philip's family had made his place feel like home for the weekend, just then, you felt like quite the outsider. "But none of that matters anymore. I learned my lesson. What exciting things have happened to you since I last saw you?"

"Oh, not much, really. Practicing law is still nothing like How to Get Away With Murder, for better or for worse. I still have my two dogs." She shrugged, and you decided you'd imagined it when something hopeful flashed in her gaze. "Still chronically single. Same old, same old."

That made your throat twist. That wasn't something you just casually mentioned to an ex; the words were obviously pointed, and you felt vindicated in your intuition not to trust her. But then again, why should you care? That was none of your business. Henriette was a catch; you were happy for Philip (or, you should've been).

So where was the heavy, sinking feeling in your chest coming from? This wasn't something you were used to, wasn't something you'd felt since... oh, god. You hadn't felt like this since John. But why now? Did that mean that you—?

"C'mon, you know you're only single because you're married to your work," Philip reasoned, breaking into your train of thought at an extremely opportune moment. "You wouldn't have any trouble finding someone."

She shrugged. "Yeah, maybe. I am downsizing on my hours, so I guess we'll have to see where that takes me, huh?"

There was no way she really believed the question in her sly smile, her raised brow, was going over your head, and you were taken aback by her audacity. However, Philip seemed unaffected, either not noticing or not caring about the tone she'd adopted.

"Yeah, I'm sure it'll turn out great," he said brightly. "There's no shortage of eligible bachelors or bachelorettes in NYC."

"No, there really isn't." Her low voice was making you increasingly uneasy. Maybe you were just reading into things. Even if you weren't, you had no right to care. This wasn't your place.

"If you'd like, I could totally set you up with some of my friends," you offered, and her eyebrows shot up. She seemed to have forgotten herself, plastering back on her wildly enthusiastic personality as she remembered you were there. "They're all great people, and there are a couple I'm sure you'd hit it off with."

"Maybe at some point," she said noncommittally, wearing a wide smile. "Right now, I'm just trying to see where life takes me. Build a little more time into my schedule for my personal life."

"Oh, yeah, your dad was telling us you were thinking of getting a cat?" Philip said, raising an inquiring eyebrow, and she nodded eagerly.

"Yeah, I want to adopt."

"Y'know, I have a friend who works at a shelter in the Bronx. It's a super great place," he suggested. "If you want, I can give you the info, and you can go check it out sometime."

"Oh, really? That'd be great," Henriette said. "We should go down there together. So you can give me your contact at the shelter and another opinion on what type of cat I should get."

"That sounds fun." At his words, your shifting uncomfortably in his embrace seemed to be what reminded him that you were there. He raised an eyebrow at you, nudging you with his shoulder. "You in, princess? I'm sure the extra input couldn't hurt."

"No, no, that's alright." You waved off the offer with a strained smile. "You two should catch up. I wouldn't want to intrude."

To his credit, Philip had apparently sensed that something was off with you. "You sure?"

"Yeah, absolutely," you said, giving Henriette the warmest smile you could muster. "It's great that you two are reuniting. I'm sure you don't need me there."

"If you insist," Henriette said with a shrug and a smile, and Philip could feel you tense in his grasp.

"Of course," you said, taking a deep breath as you glanced from her to Philip. "Well, as long as you two have so much to recap over the past couple years, I hope you won't mind me running inside for a moment. I saw Eliza putting out crab cakes a little while ago, and I've gotta get to them before they're gone."

Henriette accepted your playful tone easily, letting out a light laugh, but Philip was hesitant. "Oh, yeah? Want me to come with you?"

"No need. Don't worry about it." You could only hope your smile came off as reassuring as you ghosted your hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder, gently pushing it off of your waist. "I can handle myself."

"I know you can," he said with a smile, reaching up to take your hand in his, and though his expression was relaxed, his gaze was searching. You hoped the rigidity of your smile wasn't too obvious. "Come find me again in a bit, though, okay?"

"Sure, Philip." Your features softened when you saw the worry clouding his stare.

"Okay. I'll miss you, princess." Your eyes were wide when his other hand met your waist, pulling you into him, and you could feel your cheeks flare as he dipped down, lightly kissed the crown of your head. You were stunned at the sudden action, and the skin of your cheek burned when his nose brushed across it. He whispered to you, "Can we talk tonight? You've got me kinda worried."

You nodded, offering him a soft smile when you pulled away. "I'll see you later."

You didn't see his pensive gaze follow you as you made your way across the yard, back toward the house, but Henriette certainly did.

You, however, were otherwise occupied. You didn't like the lump sitting heavy in the back of your throat; you didn't like the sinking feeling in your chest; you did not like how unsettled your stomach was. You'd been enamored with Philip's family since just about the moment you began to meet all of them — surely, they were why it was suddenly becoming so comfortable to be around him, the atmosphere always light, always playful. He was just easier to tolerate when other people you liked were around.

Or, at least, that'd been what you were firmly convinced of when you'd woken up that morning. Even more than you didn't like how you were reacting to his interaction with Henriette, you despised how shaken the entire day had left you feeling. And it was hardly 5 PM.

"Oh, hey, Y/N." It was one of Philip's younger siblings who you almost ran right into after breaching the sliding glass door of their house — you were too scattered to remember his name. "Where are you headed?"

You also weren't particularly fond of having to pull back up your easygoing facade every time you interacted with someone, but you did it nonetheless. "Hey. I'm actually just headed in to use the bathroom. Can you tell me which way it is?"

"Yeah, I gotcha. It's down the hall to the left, and it'll be the last door on your right." He pointed in the direction you were headed, and you thanked him quickly, hurrying past with a light smile. By the time you reached the bathroom, your head was pounding. You locked the door behind you, and you slumped against the sink.

You could see your own distress reflected plainly in the mirror before you; you struggled not to return to your analysis as to why, exactly, you were feeling how you were, but ultimately, you failed. Maybe you'd just been anxious, overwhelmed from meeting a small army of a family all in one afternoon. Or were you just tired? Really, the workweek you'd had before was exhausting, and you never had a chance to catch up on your sleep.

However, neither of your desperate searches for a way out of this adequately explained how crestfallen your — or, really, Philip's — interaction with Henriette had made you, and you were left with the explanation you dreaded even considering. You didn't want to label how you were feeling; you wanted it to just go away, but until it did, you were left with a serious dilemma.

You'd only left work to go to Philip's parents' place two days prior, but over those two days, something had changed, a full movement of tectonic plates that you could not put your finger on. You weren't sure whether it was simply the kindness his family had shown you, but the light in which you viewed Philip was shifting. What you may before have found obnoxious now left you with a reluctant laugh, unable to resent his frequent jabs at you. You couldn't explain it, but there you were.

Philip’s casual affection had somehow become something you didn’t even think twice about, instead savoring the warmth it left in your chest. It’d taken you a while to realize that the two variables were related.

Until just minutes before then, you’d been feeling inexplicably light, carefree, and your weekend had even begun to feel like a genuine vacation. But now, you found yourself alone, locked in the first floor bathroom doing everything in your power not to tear your hair out, coming to uneasy terms with the fact that the feeling that was gnawing at your stomach, curdling your blood, was none other than jealousy.

What was happening to you?

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[passable-talent]

no one requested this one either but I know of at least 2 people ( @haydens-moles @iscariot-rising ) who will be happy it exists

still male reader x sam monroe (life as a house) 

part one here

The house was quiet by the time your sister and mom got home from wherever they were. They’d somehow missed Sam’s truck parked on the street, so didn’t know anything was unusual. Colleen, though, did notice an open beer sitting on the counter, and quickly Alyssa realized she needed to save you from a punishment by making sure you were awake and functioning by the time your mother decided to yell at you. 

So, being your sister, she threw open the door at six am and launched one of the couch pillows at your head. 

You groaned wordlessly, rolling over to look at her in the doorway. Sam, beside you, had a bit more coherent reaction, pushing himself up to his elbows after removing the pillow from his face. 

“What the fuck?” He said, and you saw it happen as Alyssa made eye contact with him, and figured out the implications of him, laying in your bed. With you. Both of you shirtless.

“Oh my god!” She shouted, and you finally had enough mental function to grab the pillow from Sam’s chest and hurl it at her, knocking her from her stupor. She took a step back and, apparently respecting your privacy all the sudden, closed the door. 

“What a nice wake-up call,” Sam said, earning him an amused exhale.

“That means mom’s gonna yell at me about something,” you said, your voice bounced just a bit by the mattress when he dropped from his elbows onto his back. 

“Is it me?” 

“Nah,” you said, a smirk pulling at your lips as you turned your head to look at him. “She’s used to her kids sleeping with you.” He didn’t seem to like that, though, and swiped his pillow out from under his head to smack it into your face. You laughed behind it, pulling it down toward your chest to look at him overtop of it. It was hard to believe that twenty four hours ago, you still couldn’t stand the sight of him. Now, you couldn’t stop staring. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, the words soft, accompanying the way you rolled onto your stomach and brought one hand to his face. He’d fallen asleep with his piercings in. “For trying to hit you.” The contented smile that was already on his face grew just a bit, into fondness, and you tracked as his gaze slipped over you, your collarbones, your lips, your hair.

“It’s okay,” he said, his right hand tracing over your knuckles on his face, and his left snaking under the sheets to find your lower back. “I did sleep with your sister.” With a little laugh, you dropped your forehead to his chest.

“Someday, we’re gonna have to stop talking about that.” You felt his fingers card into your hair, and you were content to stay there for, roughly, the next three years, but a knock at the door ruined your plans. 

“Yeah, I don’t know what kind of gay shit is going on behind this door,” Alyssa said through the wood, “but mom’s seriously going to be pissed with you when she gets up.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you shouted, lifting your head with a roll of your eyes. “I’m coming, relax.” For once, you didn’t throw the sheets open, as that would’ve exposed Sam to the cold air of the rest of the room, but instead slid out from under them. You tried to ignore him watching you while you got dressed, but the slight nervousness that it gave you definitely meant that you didn’t spend time picking out an outfit. 

You opened the door, surprised to find Alyssa right on the other side of it, leaning against the bannister, a smile on her face. 

“Piss off,” you said with a smile, not really meaning the words, closing your door behind you and brushing her off to get into the bathroom. She followed you, though, so it was probably good you didn’t actually have to piss. She watched you brush your teeth for a minute in silence. 

“Got something to say?” you asked around the toothbrush, but you knew why she was there. 

“You better tell me everything.” You rolled your eyes at yourself in the mirror, spitting out the toothpaste, deciding to torture her, just like she had you. 

“I mean, what’s there to tell?” You ran your fingers through your hair, trying to get out the knots. 

“The beer on the counter and two hickies I can see just over the collar of that shirt tell me differently.” Panic coursed through you.

“I never got rid of the beer!” You said, whirling to face her. 

“Yeah, which is why mom is pissed.” 

“Shit,” you said, cursing yourself for being so damn stupid. 

“Well, I don’t think she’s going to be super angry,” Alyssa said, following you down the stairs as you ran your knuckles through your palm, the morning chill in the house freezing your fingers already. “It’s Christmas break, and we’re in college. I don’t think she wants to be mad at us.” 

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one getting yelled at.”

“She might not yell at you while Sam’s here,” Alyssa suggested, and your gaze snapped to hers. 

“He’s not allowed to leave,” you declared, playing up the drama. The two of you were a lethal combination when you decided to fuck around together.

“Well, you’d better get on that,” she said, and you turned tail to bound up the stairs. Somehow, he didn’t hear you coming, and was halfway into pulling up his jeans when you entered, and it shocked him so much that he almost fell. You laughed, closing the door, and plunged the room back into the darkness of a blacked-out window. 

“Ayssa’s a pain in my ass,” you said, spitting out the first thing you could think of. You heard him laugh, god, what a wonderful sound, and as your eyes adjusted to the low light you could barely make out as he walked to you, trapping you against the door, kissing you. A welcome surprise. 

You brought your hands up, feeling first his ribcage, then around to his shoulder blades. He hadn’t yet put on a shirt, so you got to feel his smooth skin again, feel the muscles underneath, run your middle finger down his spine. 

He’d leaned forward to bring his lips to yours, his left hand on the back of your head, the other pressed to your chest, keeping you against the wall like you had to him the night before. 

You’d think, after spending the night with him, you’d be used to it. You’d be adjusted to feeling him touch you, feeling his hands in your hair, his knee nudging yours. You’d think you’d be familiar with the sounds he makes, whether he means to or not. You’d think that you’d be acclimated to feeling his breath move across your skin.

Nope. 

Every time he held you, it was new. Every grip into the fabric of your shirt was something you’d never felt before, every pass of his lips over yours was fresh. You could get lost here- against your door, your freezing fingers soaking up the warmth from his skin.

“Breakfast soon, (Y/N),” Colleen said outside your door, and you broke the kiss to respond, but you didn’t have the breath. Luckily, she just moved on, and you could thump your head back against the door. Now that your eyes had adjusted, you could just look at him, his hair so spikey, eyeliner smudged. You could bet that you’d find it all over your pillow. 

“Hey,” he breathed, and you laughed, pushing forward to give him a quick kiss, and how could you not, when his lips felt like that.

“Hi,” you whispered, a bright smile gracing your face. He leaned down to press his forehead to yours, his fingers just resting on your ribcage, your palms overlapping his shoulder blades. You could only let it rest for thirty more seconds before you nudged him away. 

“Put a shirt on,” you said, “before you come downstairs.” 

You were lucky the cold air kept the blush from your face as you faced your mother. 

It was a cereal type of morning, Colleen hadn’t known she had a guest. It seemed like she was about to lay into you when Sam came down, pulling his sleeve over his thumb to rub sleep-dust from his eye. 

“Oh, Sam!” Colleen said, rushing to get a glass of orange juice for him. “I didn’t know you were here!”

“Yeah, he slept over,” you said, not thinking anything of the explanation.

“Well,” Colleen said, “I’m glad you two are finally getting along again.” Alyssa started to laugh through her spoonful, for which reason she received a sharp kick under the table. 

“So, Sam,” Colleen said, “We didn’t plan on doing much today, but you’re welcome to hang around anyway.” 

“No, I’d better be getting home. I promised my mom I’d take my brothers to the movies today.” 

“Oo, can I come?” Alyssa asked, leaning forward to see him past you. 

“I don’t know, I already told (Y/N) he could come, and it’s gonna start getting cramped in the truck.” You didn’t know anything about being invited to a movie, but, hey. You wouldn’t say no.

“That’s fine,” Alyssa said with a smile, “I can ride in the bed.” 

“No,” Colleen said, but she knew that her daughter was joking. “If it’s that much a problem, Alyssa can drive you all in my car. If that’s alright with Robin.”

“I’ll ask when I get home,” Sam said, a smile on his face.

He left a few minutes later, waiting until your mother wasn’t looking before pulling you into one more kiss. You watched him go, leaning on the door frame, arms crossed over your chest. Once he’d gotten the truck started, you looked over at the house, the house that had changed the whole neighborhood’s lives. Like usual, you felt that niggling guilt between your collarbones that you hadn’t been there for him, when his dad died. 

“Close the door, loverboy, you’re letting in the cold,” Alyssa said, and you rolled your eyes, doing as she asked. She stood from where she’d been at the couch, and you saw it as she prepared to do- something? You could just see her energy rising. 

And she gave you a playful, but still forceful, shove to the shoulder.

“You finally got him!” she said, and you laughed, holding your shoulder as though she’d wounded you. 

“Yeah!” you laughed. She’d known about your crush on him the entire time you’d had it, she’d known about his crush on you that really kicked in over summer break. She’d kept her fingers away from it, but she really wanted to push you two together. That didn’t mean she had to be nice, though. She was your sister, after all. 

“Hey, just remember-” she said, smirking, “I had him first.” You laughed, turning to the stairs, making it to the first landing before turning to her with a bit of drama added to the spin.

“Yeah, but who’s more likely to keep him?” She held up her middle finger, and before you turned, you gave her your signature ‘fuck you, too’, which was a middle finger that you laid over your tongue. She always caught the subtext, whenever you whipped it out.

“Yuck!” 

-🦌 Roe

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