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cherryjuiceblues · 8 months

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𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 | 𝟑

➯ Y/N STARTS TO LEARN HOW HARRY LIKES TO PLAY AND THINGS TAKE A TURN WHEN SHE VISITS HIM AT WORK. ✰ dom!harry brief unwanted male attention. sexual content. dominant and submissive dynamics. spanking as a lighthearted punishment. inspection kink if you squint. slight daddy kink. tummy bulge. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 15k ッ mutually beneficial masterlist

Y/N wakes up whilst the rest of the world is still asleep.

Granted, much later than she usually does, but she wakes up nonetheless. With a somewhat surprising lack of body heat pressing against her. She doesn’t register it at first because, well, Y/N is very much used to waking up on her own—without the weight, or heat, or comfort of another person—but then the memory of Harry asking her if she likes to cuddle resurfaces. Followed by the one in which he holds her tightly to his front and sends her to sleep quicker than she can ever remember doing so before.

So she doesn’t need to be any sort of sneaky as she makes her way down the lavish staircase and into Harry’s kitchen—the tiles cold on her bare feet. Somewhere deep down, Y/N registers that it’s probably a little weird and inappropriate to treat Harry’s kitchen as her own when they’re not really an item, but that hesitancy is quickly replaced by the idea of presenting him with breakfast as he wakes up. To treat him with the same care he has shown her. It erases all residual sleep from Y/N’s head.

She doesn’t even ponder as to why Harry was not next to her when she awoke—brushing past the questions in favour of searching his cupboards. Jars of sauce, tins of all sorts of healthy beans and soups Y/N wouldn’t dream of eating—stocked full and regularly consumed. His fridge is glorious; if not because of its contents then because it has a built-in ice dispenser. (Serious luxury that Y/N is confounded by.) And she immediately hones in on the punnet of blueberries that are practically beckoning her to pick them up—glowing and chanting her name—it would be rude to ignore such a demanding presence.

Immediately, Y/N knows what she wants to make, and starts going through unexplored drawers and cupboards with pointed scouring. “Come on, come on,” she whispers to herself, waiting for the long, thin box to jump out at her. It’s all she needs—everything else Harry is bound to have, but this? It’s the key.

Back in the fridge, is where Y/N finds it. Completely missed in her haste to search elsewhere; Y/N will admit it bypassed her that it needed to be stored in there at all (and maybe deny that she just wanted to snoop). Ready made puff pastry. Perfect for a blueberry pie.

Y/N is giddy at the thought—cheeks squishing with an excited smile as her top teeth dig into her bottom lip—of waking Harry up with the fresh smell of home baking and watching him as he swallows each bite. It’s exhilarating to her. Pleasurable, some may say. (Well, Y/N wouldn’t dare, but it certainly gets her heart racing.)

She’ll come to realise that doing something so elating, in the midst of night when she cannot sleep, is not the correct way of tiring herself out. Her cheeks practically ache from the smile she’s wearing as she tosses blueberries in a bowl with sugar, cornstarch and generous sprinklings of cinnamon and allspice. When she starts working on creating the lattice for the top of the pie, the concentration needed does admittedly cease some of her excitement. But it is only replaced by the stress of trying to make it look perfect. Which, additionally, only awakens her further. Everything but the idea of sleep is floating around in Y/N’s head.

But it’s going well! And Y/N stares down at her creation with a proud grin, ready to refrigerate in order to sneak back down in a few hours and cook it. She’s starting to clean up as quietly as she can when her lack of presence in bed is discovered.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Y/N spins around from where she’s washing up in the sink, heart lurching and utensils clattering against the porcelain, a shriek forcing its way out of her mouth. She relaxes when she sees Harry. And then panics again at his stern expression and the way his eyes drop to the hem of his shirt that brushes her thighs and the slight peek of his boxers that he’d graciously offered. “Um…”

“Ummm?” he parrots. “You’re just um-ing in my kitchen, are you?”

“No,” Y/N huffs, but she’s aware this is not her house, or her kitchen, or her food. “No, I’m… I was baking you something. I’m sorry.”

Harry nods, biting back the urge to ridicule with a ‘I can see that’. Instead, he asks, “What did I say not even twelve hours ago, love?”

“Uh…” her lack of articulation puts a smirk on Harry’s already smug face.

“Can’t remember? Were you not listening to me?”

Y/N flusters, scurrying around the counter to get closer to Harry’s leaning figure. “I was! But then you…” she trails off, looking towards the floor at his socked feet.

“I…” Harry coaxes. “I what?”

She looks up slowly, taking in the soft of his sweats and the tempting bareness of his chest. “You… y’know. It was hard to concentrate.”

“And why’s that, darling?”

“Harry,” Y/N whines, eyes rounding out at his expression—one of a winner—one of a person with the upperhand.

He becomes serious. “I told you I expected you to go to bed when I said.”

“I did!” she tries, “You didn’t say I couldn’t get up.”

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“You weren’t there when I woke up.”

Harry removes his weight from the doorframe. “I know.”

“Where did you go?”

“The garden.” The massive garden. “You see, I find some fresh air does wonders to tucker me out. Instead of spending hours baking a cake—”

“—It’s a pie.”

He laughs. “A pie. Forgive me. It couldn’t wait ‘til the morning? Hm?”

“I jus’ wanted to surprise you,” Y/N frowns. “Wanted to wake you up with it as a thank you.”

“A thank you? A thank you for what?”

She hesitates, “For this,” gesturing with her arms.

“You have nothing to thank me for, darlin’. I don’t want you to keep believing that.” He steps forward. “You’re very sweet. Incredibly sweet… I don’t need a pie, lovely. Especially not at three a.m.”

“But—”

Harry lifts the knuckle of his index finger to brush across her cheek, shaking his head softly.

“Finish cleaning in the morning. Come to bed.”

“I wanted to—”

“Y/N. Listen to me.” He moves closer. Y/N has to crane her neck to look at him. “Come to bed with me. I’ll get you back to sleep in no time. And in the morning, I will let you feed me pie until I bloody turn into one, okay?”

She hesitates—just for a second. Her eyes do feel heavy, and she really is tired. Harry’s eyes dance over her face so delicately, it feels as though they’re casting some sort of spell. And the longer she looks at him, the sleepier she becomes. So she nods her head. “Okay.”

ㅤㅤ

Harry’s bedroom is much like the rest of his house. White. And vast.

His bed—super king size, of course—lies temptingly in the middle of the room, sheets tastefully dishevelled, and the soft green of leaves printed on cotton contrasts against the drab lacking of the walls.

Harry trails Y/N back to his bed, soothing in the way his palm ghosts across her back as he coaxes her under the covers. He lies down next to her, lifting an arm to allow her to rest on his chest. She’s shy, feather light in the way she puts her head upon him, but they both relax the moment they’re weighed down by one another.

“Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth f’me… nice and slow.”

She listens, encouraged by the dance of his fingers across her skin. Swooping curls and waves along the soft lines of her shoulder, down her arm and back up again. Brushing tendrils away from sensitive extremities and smoothing them in a nurturing caress against her head. It’s cathartic—the silence that overtakes Y/N’s mind. Or hushed whisperings as opposed to the usual blaring exclamations; as though Harry has crossed the threshold of a library with Y/N’s hand in his and hidden her away from the domination of her thoughts.

So it takes very little for sleep to crowd her senses, unconsciousness barrelling towards her when Harry starts painting whispering images behind her eyelids—the deep, vibrating timbre of his voice soaking into her skin and carrying her away.

“You’ll love the garden…”

“...enough flowers to bathe you in…”

“It needs a little care but I think you’ll breathe life into the soil just by standing on it.”

“...plant thousands of yellow tulips just for you…”

And Y/N can only just hear the way his tongue moulds around the syllables to form words, as the tender hands of sleep pull her deeper into the fog, and if she were more alert her heart would soar… but her lips pull upwards and her nose presses into the soft of Harry’s throat as he waxes lyrical about his garden.

She falls asleep with a mirage of colours forming kaleidoscopes in her mind—petals, and leaves, and tendrils of grass harbouring a certain figure bathing in the glistening sunlight.

ㅤㅤ

Wet.

Sensitive.

Those are the only two feelings Y/N can process as she’s torn from the comforting embrace of slumber.

Harry’s hair is soft and smells far too familiar for a man she has known for a handful of weeks. But it smells good, and Y/N nearly pushes her nose into it before she realises the culprit of her waking emotions.

His tongue flat against her neck… followed by the blunt nipping of his teeth around her delicate skin. It’s not something Y/N is well equipped to react to—especially not as she is waking and the world is still blurry around the edges. A shaky breath is what alerts Harry to her consciousness and Y/N feels him smile into her throat, ministrations doubling as he rumbles a rogue growl and opens his mouth wide in the pretence of a chomp around her jugular.

She squeals, hands coming up to the solidness of his chest of their own accord, palms flattening against him. The weight of his body against the side of hers bears no struggle against her pathetic attempt—he only leans in further, licking and nibbling to his heart’s desire. His encompassing hand swallows one of her own on his body, pulling it away and pushing it into the pillow as he stimulates every nerve on her neck—coaxing the blood to the surface of her skin and leaving behind the aching reminder of his presence.

“I surrender…” Y/N whispers into the air, words trailing off into a sigh.

Harry hums, “Too bad.”

She could fall asleep again so easily. Believe this is all a dream and let Harry gently abuse her flesh until her breathing evens out. But then his hand settles on her stomach, large, and warm, and weighted—only soothing her further—until it starts to trail lower. Under the covers, under the boxers he’d let her wear, and over her pubic bone.

Y/N’s eyes shoot open then, and her back darts up from the mattress in surprise. Harry peels away from her neck, lips succulent and begging to be chewed upon the way he demonstrated against her throat. His eyes are still slightly puffy from sleep and the mess of his hair makes him look charmingly youthful. But he’s far too smug for a regular person’s liking—really embodying that of his teenage self, Y/N is sure—however the assurance he displays on his face only has the warmth of his hand searing her further as they look at one another.

“Good morning.” His vocal cords rub together like gravel and his fingers dip down with fluid contrast.

Y/N gasps, letting her back press into the mattress once more as Harry strokes along her lips almost playfully, like they are his own to toy with. His eyes smile teasingly at the girl and her little breathy inhales. She opens her mouth to speak but words fail to form when Harry touches her clit with a circle so light it may not have ever been there.

“Sleep well?” A finger ghosts around her entrance, arousal coating his digit as he brings it back up and presses with intention.

A shaky inhale. “Y-yes…” she pauses, clings onto coherence, “Sir.”

Harry smiles. “Oh? Maybe you were listening t’me… that’s a shame. I still have to demonstrate my utmost disappointment in you, pretty girl.”

“You don’t ha-have to,” Y/N gasps, eyes catching the movement of Harry’s hand to the top of her head—gentle caressing never suggesting he could be doing anything else under the sheets.

“Oh, but I do, darling. But just to make sure we’re on the same page…” he pushes his middle finger inside her to the hilt. Y/N’s back arches. “Why am I disappointed in you?”

The question stirs something murky inside of her. Completely different to the feeling of his finger curling upwards and pulling a moan from her mouth.

Why am I disappointed in you?

It feels so… wrong, so ugly parting from his lips. Y/N never intended to disappoint him—it’s not part of her nature to upset anyone on purpose. Her brows furrow slightly, self consciousness brewing in her heart. Was she always doing things wrong? Frustrating people? Letting them down?

“I— um…” she swallows, “I got up after you told me to go to bed.”

Harry continues to display apathy. “Mhm… and you—”

Y/N covers her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Her breathing is shallow, mind screaming at her for messing this all up so soon. She thought she was being nice, she thought Harry would be pleased, she thought—

“Hey,” Harry pulls her hands away. “You know you’re such a good girl, don’t you? It’s all words, lovely, I would communicate with you if I was really affected by something you had done.”

She exhales some—relief flooding her eyes. “Oh…” palms pushing into her sockets to soak up the tears. She grimaces. “I feel silly.”

“Don’t.” He presses a small kiss to Y/N’s cheek, right under her eyelashes. “You understand the idea of punishment? That I am to reprimand you if you misbehave?”

Y/N nods. It was exciting… she knows that… once the fog has been cleared. Just a fun, little game.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, I— I want you to… to tell me off… I deserve it, Sir.”

“Because you got up, didn’t you? And what else?”

“I… I used your food without permission…”

“What else?” he whispers.

“I don’t… know,” her voice quietens to match his.

“Three a.m., Y/N. There is no need to zombify yourself because you think it will make me happy. It won’t. I’d much prefer a pie baked whilst the sun is still shining.”

Harry moves his finger inside of her, stroking before pulling it out and smearing it over her clit. He brings the wetness to her mouth, rubbing it along her bottom lip and smiling when her jaw unlatches ever so slightly.

“But I recognise the sweetness,” Y/N’s tongue darts out to entice his finger. “You wanted to feed me, wake me up with a hot breakfast—so quick to become my good, little housewife, aren’t you?” His words send shivers through her chest, down her stomach, and between her legs. That’s… God, she doesn’t know but she likes it. “And so… I’ll be nice. Flip over.”

Y/N’s not totally daft… but the question falls out anyway. “Why?”

Harry’s eyes harden, fingers squeezing her cheeks together. “Do it, darling. Now.”

She does. With haste, face pressing into the pillow as she turns it to the side. Harry lifts a leg over the back of her thighs, weight holding her down as his large hands smooth up her back to push her shirt away. “Let me see that pretty, little arse,” he sighs to himself before tugging her borrowed boxers down just enough to expose the soft flesh. Y/N doesn’t expect the kneading that his palms start to soothe her with. His perfect fingers massaging in pushes and pulls. It’s a little humiliating, knowing that he’s observing her—the most vulnerable of states—but with it comes the most trusting freedom and she breathes a deep sigh as her limbs relax into his mattress.

But it’s supposed to be a punishment, isn’t it? And Y/N realises too late, once Harry’s hand has already retracted and sliced through the air to deliver a well-connecting smack to the round of her ass. She gasps, hips twitching—and her leg even threatens to bend up in the air—as heated pinpricks tingle around the shape of Harry’s handprint. It’s admittedly quite nice. Nice enough to probably not be considered a punishment but Y/N would never complain. And she supposes Harry had promised her his niceness.

“Is that okay?” he asks quickly, relieved when Y/N nods just as fast and pushes her bum back into his hand.

The heat spreads, sending electrical currents through Y/N’s veins and making her already wet cunt contract around nothing. “You are a divine little thing,” she hears him through her rushing blood. Another slap to the other cheek, followed by her quivering breaths and muffled whimpers as she turns her head into the pillow. “Even more heavenly with a hot bottom,” Harry hums, stroking the backs of his knuckles over her fiery skin.

Y/N’s already lightheaded, after two measly spanks. She suspects somewhere in the depths of her brain that Harry could knock her about if he so desired and that she really must take efforts to improve her stamina but… when she feels his lips press soft kisses to her bum—everything melts away. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is even and she’s sinking into a fluffy cloud miles and miles above the ground.

And she’s silly. Very silly.

Because Harry spanks her again, and she should’ve expected that two would hardly count as her retribution but they felt so good and her brain was so easily consoled by him.

These ones are harder. And in rapid succession. These ones have Y/N’s head rising from the pillow in a gasp that sounds less dreamy and more like the predecessor to a very loud—

“Shit!”

Which earns her two more smacks to either cheek. “Language, Y/N.”

“Sorry, Sir. Hurts—” The initial heat she was bathed in is now closer to that of a scalding shower than warm sunshine. It’s pulsing, radiating, steaming heat that may as well be smoking off her body in profuse clouds of vapour. Harry’s rough in the treatment of her skin now, kneading to watch the malleable flesh bend at his will instead of caressing to lull Y/N into a peaceful state.

He hums. “I know, bum’s on fire, love. You’re doing very well. Let’s do two more, shall we?”

“O-okay,” Y/N nods face down. Until Harry leans over her back momentarily and positions her head to the side once more, smearing his lips to the corner of her mouth in a possessive reward of a kiss.

“Such a good girl. Just two more f’me.” His voice is soft but his hands stay bruising as they come down twice more. Y/N sighs as soon as the last one resounds around Harry’s room, and the vibrations die down into their residual tingles. It hurts—but in a calming way. Y/N’s body feels not her own; she needn’t move her own limbs or think thoughts with her own brain. There’s no need—she has nothing to contemplate anyway.

On another day, she might have cried at this realisation—at the complete and utter profuse emptiness that allows for the first serenity she has ever known. No anxieties, no needs or responsibilities. Just Harry and his bed. And her hot skin. But right now, as Harry leans over her again, gracing her with the sight of his handsome face… Y/N can only smile.

“I think someone enjoyed that a little too much,” Harry murmurs, bracing himself above her, hair curling over his forehead whilst he tugs her boxers back up.

“Sorry, Sir,” Y/N whispers, tongue heavy. “I’m good? I won’t get up in the night, I promise.”

“You’re good. Took your first spanking so well…” He pauses to stroke down the bridge of her nose and relish in the fluttering of her lashes as her eyes fall shut. “Shall we fill up on some pie now, yeah?”

Y/N snaps out of it a little then, and is suddenly hit by the waves of her throbbing pussy, as she pushes up slightly on her elbows. “B-but…”

Harry leans back, confusion passing over his features. He was sure she’d be more excited. “What’s wrong, love?”

She whispers it, like it’s some sort of secret. “You… I’m still…” her eyes clench shut in embarrassment.

He clocks the cause of her whinging immediately. “Mm, I know you are. Probably made a mess of my boxers, haven’t you? Should we check?” Y/N squeals and rolls out of Harry’s reach… or she tries to but fails to make any sort of meaningful distance. “You wanna come? Is that it? Your greedy cunt wants to come.” Harry watches as she nods her head pitifully, eyes wide and lip protruding like she has no idea what she’s doing. Minx. “What have you done to deserve that?” His hands clasp her hips deliciously as he takes his place above her, securing her in his prison of arms. “Not much of a punishment if I give you an orgasm, is it, darlin’?”

She doesn’t speak. Only looks up at him like he built the very house they lie in. Harry leans down to kiss her awaiting mouth. A sweet smack as they part and the widening of Y/N’s already melted eyes... and then he’s taking her by force, manoeuvring her back onto her stomach and hitting right in the centre of her bum, before pushing up from the mattress to look down at her with a mischievous grin and an offering hand. In a dizzyingly fast sequence of actions.

Y/N squawks, unexpecting of his cruel attack. “Ow!” She cries, kneeling up to protect her sensitive skin from his barrage. (Not that Harry couldn’t put her in any position he liked.)

“Come on, up y’get. S’breakfast time. Colazione!”

And Y/N is left to watch Harry’s broad, bare back disappear from view as she kneels on his mattress with a scorching ass and sodden underwear.

ㅤㅤ

She doesn’t mean to be ungrateful. It’s a lack of filter combined with a slight grumpiness which is understandable after the way Harry left her.

So it’s with instant regret that Y/N enters the kitchen, slides onto a stool and asks, “What’s this?” in reference to the bowl placed before her.

Harry scoffs in amusement. “It’s fruit, darlin’, you eat it all the time.” And fruit it was. An eclectic pile of all sorts of yummy stuff—strawberries, bananas, mangos, kiwis to name a few—no blueberries because Y/N had used them, of course.

She can’t help herself. “But not for breakfast!”

“What’s wrong? Not good enough for you?”

And she realises then, how unthankful she had sounded. “No! I didn’t—” she clamps shut her open mouth, eyes widening and then narrowing when Harry’s lips start to curl.

He sits himself on the stool next to Y/N, knees turned to the side so he can look at her. “Tell me,” he pokes her thigh with his index finger, just as she places a chunk of mango into her mouth.

She reaches over to poke him in return. “Tell you what?”

“What do you eat for breakfast?”

“Oh… no,” she shakes her head, mango sitting in her cheek for a second as she speaks.

“No? It’s bad then… Let me guess…” He hums, fingers tapping his chin in faux contemplation. And somehow, in true Harry fashion, he gets it right first try. A horrified look overtakes his features. “Don’t tell me… you eat those chocolate filled pillow things, do you?”

Y/N tries to school her shock to no avail, but she says nothing, eyes darting between his in rapid motions. She shoves a strawberry in her mouth.

“Oh, the terror! How could you?” Harry gasps, helping himself to a slice of toast from the rack on the middle of the island counter. He starts to spread raspberry conserve on it, head shaking the entire time—fighting the urge to start spewing fabricated statistics in order to frighten her. “Who am I kidding? Of course you eat that filth… I don’t know if I can have relations with someone who starts their day with a bowlful of pure sugar.”

Y/N giggles, fruit bulging in her cheeks as she covers her mouth with her hand. “Have—” she swallows, “—relations with? Were you born in 1954?”

Harry smiles, “That’s very specific, love.”

“Well I like to specify, so…” she supplies midchew, face looking ever so matter of fact.

He watches her as they eat, eyes trained to her fingers as they pick up lumps of fruit and bring them to her wet lips, her tongue as it pokes out to catch whatever she offers, her throat as it contracts around a swallow. It’s peaceful, and quiet as the two share the silence with one another. And when Y/N has finished her last mouthful and Harry has long since eaten his toast, he makes his way to the oven to retrieve the most beautiful blueberry pie he has ever seen. Golden lattice, bubbling purple spilling, and the divine smell of home baked confection.

Y/N’s eyes light up as though it’s Christmas morning, hands clapping under her chin and eyes crinkling in the most beautiful sight. “Oh! It looks good, Harry!” She sounds surprised, relievingly so—like it had been weighing on her unnecessarily.

“It looks delicious, Y/N, thank you. Want some?” She nods eagerly. Harry can’t help but smile, gaze directed to the floor as he shakes his head and represses the urge to coo. She’s so cute. “See, since you made it for me, I should really make you beg for even a taste.”

“Wh—” Y/N huffs, “what? That’s not fair,” she pouts.

Harry sits back down with a steaming slice on a plate. Fork in hand, he cuts a sizable segment and purses his lips to blow cool air before presenting it to Y/N. “Be careful, s’hot.” She pretends not to notice his stare concentrating on the appearance of her tongue as she opens her mouth for him to guide the pie into. It is hot. But Y/N is a master of deception… or so she tries to be. Decides the twitch of her eye and the sharp inhale of breath is unnoticeable to Harry. “You burned your tongue?”

Never mind.

Through a mouthful, Y/N goes, “No…” and chews the result of her hard work until she can swallow. “It’s nice,” she hums.

“Mm,” he agrees around his own bite. “Sweet little baker, you are.” Y/N buzzes from his praise. “Let me see.”

“Hm?”

“Your tongue, let me see.”

Y/N nearly laughs, but the look in his eyes stops her. A smugness that she’s used to by now. So she displays it for him, wet against her bottom lip. Harry inhales, a dismayed whistle sounding from his mouth. His thumb swipes along the side. “Very red. Told you t’be careful.”

She wants to grumble at him, complain about the unfairness of his statement. You fed it to me! It’s on the tip of her tongue. Her very red tongue, apparently. But she bites it back—because quite frankly, the middle of her thighs are still sending turbulent waves through her body and Harry’s patronising inspection of the inside of her mouth has pulled her back to the edge she’s tried so hard to scramble away from. The edge in which Harry only needs to look at her funny for her to topple over it.

“Poor thing,” he frowns. “I’ll have to kiss it better later.”

Y/N stares at him as he eats, opening her mouth obediently whenever he offers her another bite. His words, however teasing or condescending that they may be, float around in her skull like a DVD logo as she makes every effort not to slip into the palm of his hand.

ㅤㅤ

When Harry announces he’s off to shower and beckons Y/N to follow, she knows it can’t be good—whatever he is about to subject her to. He plays it off like it’s nothing, like it’s casual to leave the bathroom door open whilst he steps under the hot spray, completely naked. And maybe it is… to people that aren’t Y/N, but she knows Harry is trying to embed his way under her skin. That’s why he tells her to wait for him on his bed.

She doesn’t snoop, although she wants to, but it would be a violation of his privacy and who was Y/N if she wasn’t good? She doesn’t look into the bathroom either, despite not being able to see a thing through the gap (closer to a chasm) he’d left open. Was he trying to tempt her? To corrupt the last shred of virtue in her body? Did he want her to go in there… strip down and join him? Or was he looking for an excuse to play rough with her skin again? Waiting for her to walk in so he could look down at her with conniving eyes and shake his head in disappointment. You filthy girl. Are you a pervert, Y/N? Who gave you permission to come in here and sneak a glance? You’re so naughty, darlin’.

Clammy fingers press into her cheeks, trying to will away the shame. She felt perverted just thinking those things. Which perhaps is a little silly of her, seeing as they’ve been as connected as two people can be on two separate occasions now but… maybe there’s an inkling of something there that Y/N doesn’t want to accept. That the coalescence of the humiliation and arousal means for an intense curling in her abdomen. That the longer she pictures Harry belittling her for being so dirty to peek at him at his most vulnerable, that the hotter her face gets and the further her thoughts stray from sanity.

Maybe she’s just wound up from this morning… or maybe Y/N likes it best when she’s treated like she’s just a stupid little girl. Her thighs squeeze. Stupid for hypothetically walking into the bathroom, stupid for baking a pie at three a.m., stupid for burning her tongue after Harry told her to be careful. She’s stupid—and she needs Harry to do everything for her. Maybe that’s it.

The water turns off. And Y/N can hear the swishing of a towel as Harry pulls it off the rack, the way it rubs over the droplets running rivulets down his shining skin, and then nothing. She hears nothing… but it hardly matters for very long because when Harry steps into his bedroom undeniably naked, Y/N is far from thinking about identifying sounds.

Her first urge is to look away—to provide some sort of privacy for the man in his own bedroom. But she forces herself to look into his eyes. This is the man who cherished her first time, who cared to speak in soft caresses and made the effort to take her on dates and cook her food. She didn’t need to look away, she was allowed to stare by this point. But it was still… heartstopping. Nudity was still novel to Y/N—she was, even now, fairly uncomfortable by her own, let alone someone else's, but God if Harry wasn’t the best example to study.

“Pervert,” Harry murmurs. Y/N blanches; she opens her mouth but nothing comes out. And now her eyes are fixed on his—any attempts at subtly trailing them down his body are strictly thwarted—and Harry is loving it. His perfectly square teeth digging into his pink bottom lip whilst he strolls his way over to his wardrobe. Y/N looks down for the moment she thinks he cannot see, only to realise there are mirrors inside of the doors and he can watch every movement of her eyeline. He turns. “You’re a little peeping Tom,” walking towards where Y/N sits at the end of the bed.

She has to look up at him (avoiding the sight of his cock that she is sure must be the only pretty one in existence) and he stares down at her. She hardly recognises the irony—that he’s the one parading around in the nude and it was hardly fair to call her out for simply observing that. Because then he’s moving forward again, and Y/N is shuffling backwards on the bed—inadvertently giving Harry enough room to climb on and pin her down. He glides his eyes over her still clothed body as though she’s as exposed as he is, and yet Y/N still doesn’t let her gaze drop. No matter how hard it is.

It isn’t hard. Yet. But she gasps at the feeling of Harry against her thigh—soft, and lingering, and most of all… promising.

“How would you like it if I scrutinised you?” His hands tease her waist. “You’d be squirming all over the place. Perhaps you’d enjoy that.” His fingers dig into her flesh and Y/N lets out somewhat of a scream. The unexpected prodding has her body twisting under his, desperate to escape his digits and proving his point in the process. Her hands push against his chest and her thighs wiggle between his; she’s surely not imagining the hardening of his dick against her. The arousal he’s receiving from watching her struggle… it makes her move even more. And maybe it’s simply an accident when her hand slips down his body and wraps around his half-hard cock. And maybe it’s just reflexive when Y/N giggles, a happy, surprised noise, at the stuttering of Harry’s tickling and the little rut of his hips. But then her arms are pinned down beside her head and his breath is ghosting across her mouth. “Who told you it was okay to touch? I thought you were an obedient little thing… not a brat.”

And Y/N nearly feels offended. A brat? Never. “Sorry,” she whispers, eyes shimmering with light.

“Are you?” Harry hums, dropping enough to draw his nose across the line of her jaw.

“Yes,” her eyes flutter closed. She needs to be touched, more than ever before. She can feel the increasing weight of Harry growing against her stomach, and the heat of his breath kissing her neck, and the wet tendrils of his hair dripping down her temple. “Not a brat.” He’s won already, if the breathiness of her voice is anything to go by.

He sits up, leaving cold air in his absence. Y/N blinks with confusion. Why’d he stop?

“Okay, little miss ‘Not a Brat’, up y’get.” She sits, frown on her pretty lips. “Your turn, off y’go.” Harry points to the bathroom. “There’s a clean towel in there for you,” Y/N could cry, “and I’ll lay your clothes out when you’re done.”

She doesn’t argue. She wants to, but her eyes only round out, silent begging getting her nowhere as Harry smiles and leans down to kiss her brow. So saccharine and gentle after being so cruel. It drives her round the bend. But as she makes her way over to the door and makes sure to shut and lock it—her own little victory—Y/N starts looking forward to lathering herself in Harry’s smell… and maybe memorising which shower gel he uses so she can buy some herself…

It’s with false confidence that Y/N exits the bathroom, towel gripped tightly around her but not tight enough to suggest shyness. Even though Harry can see right through her. He’d said he’d lay her clothes out but all she sees is a dress hanging up on the door of his wardrobe, and Harry sitting back against his pillows—dressed in his corduroy shorts and a blue t-shirt with a big yellow smiley face in the centre—nursing a cup of tea.

“Uh— is that…” she starts, eyes struggling to look away from the delicate fabric.

“Mhm,” Harry hums.

“How did you… how did you know my size?”

“I’m observant, sweetheart.”

“I… Thank you, Harry. It’s so pretty.” And it is. Dark green with an intricate décolletage and no back, thin straps and two lines of fabric hanging down behind ready to be tied into a bow that rests just under the ribs. It looks as though it’ll hang mid thigh and swish against her skin airily. It’s exactly something Y/N would have picked out herself.

He’s looking at her when he hums once more in agreement. “Isn’t it just…” He takes a long gulp. “Pop it on then, love.” Y/N reaches out to grab the hanger, eyes roaming along the lines of the dress and then floating up to smile at Harry. Hesitant, worried she doesn’t deserve it and elated at the same time. “G’na drop your towel?” He grins.

And sure, maybe Y/N was more than happy to admire a naked Harry but that doesn’t mean he’d be lucky enough to see her in the same position. Shameless eyes roving across her curves and searing her skin in the process. So she shakes her head with flaming cheeks and quickly bolts back into the bathroom to the sound of Harry’s disbelieving chuckle.

It’s snug to her body, and something about knowing that Harry had browsed through clothes with her in mind, had seen this very one and decided it was perfect, makes it all the prettier on Y/N’s body. She giggles to herself, admiring the dress against her skin, and angling her body in the mirror to get a better look.

She was pretty and she believed it. It felt nice.

Save for the glaringly obvious breeze in between her thighs.

“Harry…” she calls as she opens the door. “Can you tie me up?”

He smiles, choosing to ignore the versatility of her question in favour of drinking in the sight before him. A Goddess, he’s sure. “You’re just lovely, aren’t you?” Y/N’s face blossoms, shy smile fighting to stay and claim its place. Her eyes crinkle and her irises brighten and the laugh that echoes around the room makes Harry’s chest hurt. “Turn around.”

He wishes bows were notoriously difficult to tie—so that he would be able to spend much longer brushing his fingers against the exposed skin of her back and tracing his gaze over the hair that rises on her arms from his touch alone. His hands close around her hips once he’s finished, as he bends down to press a kiss to her shoulder, stubble scratching her in a way that’s all too familiar.

She exhales, “You ripped my underwear,” and feels him smile into her skin.

“Such a shame, isn’t it?” Warm palms squeeze, bunching the material around his fingers. “At any moment… a breeze could just…” he flips the hem of her dress up and over her ass, “expose...” Y/N squeals, trying to step forward but Harry’s heavy grip has her thumping into his front with a loud exhalation of breath and smaller hands falling on top of his. The material of his shorts is rough against her flesh, but she wants to grind back against it despite the fact. Harry’s hard chest pressing into her back and his deep breaths fluttering over her shoulder has any attempts at escaping evaporating into the air before them. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” He whispers, face turning into her cheek as he pushes into her behind gently.

“N-no,” Y/N shakes her head as it lolls back slightly to rest against him.

“Well… let’s hope the wind doesn’t pick up,” and he’s stepping away from her, grinning at her little stumble when the sturdiness of him is gone.

“What?”

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? I was thinking we’d go for a little walk.” Y/N turns, fingers coming down to pull her dress tight against her thighs. Harry looks at her with no remorse—like her flustered expression and the clear want in her eyes means nothing to him. His tongue darts out to lick his lips; weapons as far as Y/N is concerned. “Grab your shoes,” he nods and Y/N follows his gaze to the top of the wardrobe… conveniently out of her reach. And not where she had left them the day before.

“You—” she narrows her eyes. He’s the pervert. “I can’t!”

“Try.” A cunning smile.

Y/N crosses her arms over her chest—which only serves to push her adorned breasts up—so she drops them with a huff and stomps over to make a fool out of herself, she’s sure. She stands on her toes, ignoring the cool air on the tops of her thighs. Whether Harry may or may not be watching the hem tease the underside of her bum is none of her concern, quite frankly. That sounds like a him problem. Her fingers stretch out as far as they can go and she’s a fraction of a hair’s length away. Maybe she could reach them if she jumped but there’s no way her modesty would stay hidden and Y/N refuses to let him win.

“Can’t reach,” she pouts, somewhat satisfied that Harry didn’t get the full eyeful he was clearly looking for. But it seems that Harry finds a way to win even when he’s losing, because he steps up to her, smooths a big palm over the top of her head and says as though it's the most casual thing in the world…

“That’s okay, let Daddy get it,” as he plucks her shoes down without the slightest hint of a stretch.

Y/N’s mouth falls open and her brain goes silent for a split second. Let Daddy get it. Surely she didn’t like that… did she? But he doesn’t even let her question it, because he’s telling her to put her shoes on and meet him downstairs, before walking out of his room and leaving an astounded Y/N on her own.

ㅤㅤ

Flowers are fucking pointless, right? What purpose do they serve, other than looking pretty? Y/N thinks she might just pick the next petals she sees right off their stems.

Sure. Maybe they're crucial to the welfare of bees, and maybe they’re very important in the cheering up of a person after a long, hard day—or even just as a silent way of apologising to your nan for your lack of visits… but Y/N doesn’t care. She does not care. Fuck walks, fuck flowers, and fuck Harry’s fingers twining with hers. Even though they feel really, really nice. Y/N can’t take it anymore.

The wind, thankfully, stays at a very enjoyable speed. Light and breezy; nothing that may cause frantic hands to fly to her dress to hold it down after a shocking gust. And whilst Harry may have alluded to the fact that her indecent exposure was some source of amusement for him, he too is relieved that he’s not had to do any emergency fixes.

Quite surprisingly, actually, Harry has turned off all allure. Literally. As though he has a switch on the back of his head that flicks from sultry to sweet. The moment the pair had reached a road, he’d been alert—insistent on Y/N switching with him to be furthest away from the onslaught of cars. It was… thoughtful. Unexpected, somewhat, when the whole Daddy thing was still going round… and round… and round inside of her head. She hadn’t really been paying much attention to his soft murmurs, asking her to change sides with him as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. Perhaps she was further gone than she realised, when all she could do was nod with a sort of lag, and only meet his eyes for a second before she caught the look of an incoming pram—weighed down by the peaceful sight of a sleeping baby.

If Harry notices then he doesn’t say anything—perhaps his hand tightens around hers and he walks a little closer than necessary—but he doesn’t mention her mood or his.

He buys her ice cream and walks them to a public park in which he prompts her to sit on the verdant grass and props his sunglasses on her nose. He pulls her calves across his lap and watches goosebumps follow in the wake of his soft fingertips and the bumps of his knuckles as he caresses her skin. He kisses her chin where a melty drop paints her, licking his lips with a smile that scrunches his eyes. He behaves appropriately and yet… Y/N suddenly wants to have very public sex. He calls her a messy girl in the most innocent of lilts but the insinuation, the different sort of mess that she starts picturing—the very same colour of the frozen treat she is licking.

Y/N’s eyes are absent, the pair are hardly talking to one another, and her legs buzz with every touch of Harry’s hands against them. Her answers are reduced to halfhearted hums and gradual nods all while he watches her with a fond regard.

She can’t be blamed—when the closing of his front door prompts the last of her composure to disintegrate; to fall apart at the seams and land in a frail mess on the floor. Y/N wants to join it more than anything. “Please…” a whisper falls from her bitten lips, too quiet to make out the word but the noise is carried. Harry’s hand meets the small of her back and then brushes up to smooth over her shoulder as he lifts her chin up with his index finger.

“What is it?” His brows pull together. Y/N can’t speak. Her focus dances from left to right—rapid movements—unspoken urgency. “You need to tell me… with your words, no matter how pretty your eyes look.” Smaller, nervous palms push into his stomach. Knees bend and meet hard floor. Harry’s fingers tangle into her hair, gripping but not tugging—holding her head at an angle. “This isn’t talking, darling. What are you trying to do down there?”

Y/N cups the backs of his knees, hardly registering the sarcasm that drips from his tongue. “Harry…”

“Is it?” A little yank against her scalp.

“Sir,” she tries again around a swallow. “Please can I…” her hand flattens to the front of his thigh, fingertips brushing the locked teeth of his zipper. “Can I?”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to,” he hums, warm voice forcing her deeper into the plunge pool filled with honeyed tones and twining brunette tendrils. “I thought you liked to specify.”

She shuffles closer on her knees, hardly possible to do without nosing his shorts. “Can I suck your cock, Sir?”

Harry breaks out into a smile—his teeth appear in straight, pearly lines—stuttering Y/N’s train of thought; her exhale hitting his skin. And then the hand in her hair tightens, and his jaw clenches as his words harden. “May I.”

Y/N gasps at the sensation, blink overcoming her as her head is jolted from the weight of his hand. “May I?” She urges. “May I suck your cock, Sir?”

“Hm, better,” his grip loosens, other hand lifting to thumb over her brow. “Not perfect. What are you missing?”

“Please?” When Harry nods, Y/N’s hand digs into his thigh. “Please may I suck your cock, sir?”

“That’s nice,” he smiles. “How much do you want it, hm?”

Y/N’s brows twitch, lips forming a sad curve. She wants it so much. Too much to be able to coherently express it. So she leans forward, nose finally meeting his thigh—pressing up on her knees to reach where a slight bump is forming and letting her face push into his covered skin. His thickening bulge.

Harry sighs; his lungs forcibly deflating as Y/N’s warm air saturates through the corduroy. Her nose nudges around as she nestles into his crotch, delicate hands scratching the backs of his thighs. A muffled please reaches his ears, quiet but desperate. He’s a patient man—he really is—but his tolerance is being tested.

The fingers in her hair untangle, moving to hold the back of her head and push her further into him. His hips move of their own accord, suffocating Y/N with his hardening cock. She deserves it; she deserves everything. He knows that—but it had been too fun to tease… to watch her silently struggle all afternoon. To know that the spanking he’d delivered earlier this morning had stayed with her all day. He already knew they could hardly count as a punishment… not when she mollified into his mattress after the first smack. But he’d been cruel today. And now Y/N was desperate.

“Go ahead ‘n’ unzip me, love.” The eyes that greet him make Harry want to get down on his knees himself. Wide, glistening, one step away from filling with tears. Her face relaxes with an almost-smile as she tugs his zipper down, looking back up to him with a hopeful expression. “Oh, you’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” He slides his hand into the hair behind her ear, firm grip grounding Y/N, and takes himself out for her.

Y/N unfolds her tongue for Harry like it’s a red carpet—like it’s been awaiting his cock all day. His fingers wrap around himself in firm strokes, eyes stuck to hers. They’re slow motions, hips jutting forward to smear across her tongue and then pulling back to rub her spit into his head. Groans settle in his chest but all that comes out are quiet breaths. Too quiet, if you were to ask Y/N. But the harder he gets, the louder too, and those breaths become pants when Harry slaps his cock on her open mouth.

“Look at that, you’re so sweet—so eager to please.” He can tell she wants to close her mouth around him. She gets another thud against her tongue instead. And then a smear as Harry guides the tip of his cock along the plush of her lips. “So please me, baby.”

Y/N lags a little, like she’s just become shy again, and then she slips forward just enough to take the head. Her slick lips wrap around him like a dream, pulling back just to run her tongue around the mushroom tip. Her blueberry-pie-burnt-tongue. Slender fingers massage the side of her scalp, thumb stretching to stroke her cheekbone.

Harry grips himself, “Hands behind your back, f’me, there you go.” She suckles the tip, anticipating eyes saying more than words could even try to articulate. Y/N’s posture slouches some, arms pressing into her back serving to be much too heavy in her state. “Sit up straight.” Because it’s not ladylike to slouch but it is to suck cock. She listens, taking Harry deeper into her mouth in the process. But he pulls back to push into the side of her cheek. “Pretty,” he swipes his thumb back and forth over the bump.

Y/N’s face twists into a frown, pulling against the resistance of his big hand and off his cock. “I thought…” she breathes in a deep breath, “Please let me. Let me…”

“Why do you want to suck my cock so bad, huh?”

He has an idea. He’s not dim—he knows there are probably floods of thoughts swimming against the tide in her little head. That’s just the way Y/N exists; constantly battling her own mind. And Harry had somewhat decided, earlier that day, that he would go searching for all her buttons. That he would learn her tells as soon as possible in order to keep things smooth sailing.

Of course, learning where someone’s buttons are also means they must be pressed… all at once… and not switched off. Harry isn’t punishing her, per say—he regards it as more of a necessary evil. A process that cannot be ignored.

Y/N certainly isn’t ignoring it. Or she isn’t now. He was impressed with her, in ways. Those sweet attempts at concealing all feeling; at pretending she wasn’t pulsating between the centre of her thighs. Perhaps in order to keep him happy, or to win the silent war they were waging—he’s unsure as of yet. But he’ll find out.

However (and this is precisely why Harry felt the need to do all this) he’s somewhat perturbed by Y/N’s lack of vocalisation of her emotions. Communication, Harry feels, is the most important thing in any sort of relationship. He’s urged her, although perhaps not enough, to tell him how she feels—no matter if he is the one causing those feelings. In fact, that means for even more of a reason to let him know. So that he can make it better. There’s no doubt in Harry’s mind that if Y/N had asked at breakfast to make the ache go away, he would’ve sunk to his knees. And then rewarded her even further just for telling him.

But now they’re here. And Y/N is crumbling, and desperate, and beautiful. Harry squeezes himself, once, twice, around the base of his cock before jutting his hips out just enough to rest the length of him atop of her cheek—and then some. He’s long, and thick, and the pretty girl on the floor for him barely competes for size.

“Hm?” He nudges.

“I wanna make you feel good,” she insists—and Harry doesn’t think she’s lying on purpose… But by omission, maybe. “Sir.” She tacks it on in haste, like the two seconds in which she hadn’t uttered the honourific would result in cruel and unusual punishment.

“Y’want to make me feel good? I see. Even after all my teasing today? You still want to put those pretty lips around me.” The contrast between his cock on her face and the light, scratching strokes he’s giving her head is mind boggling. When she nods, his tip threatens to poke her in the eye. “I’m going to give you… one chance to tell me what you’re actually thinking. Or else I’ll put m’self away and carry on ignoring you.” He doesn’t know if he hallucinates the increasing warmth of her face underneath him.

“Thought if I made you happy… you’d… you’d be pleased with me,” her eyes struggle to maintain contact with his. “And… and make me… y’know...”

“Hm, make you a nice dinner? Make you laugh all bright and bubbly? Make you—”

“Make me come!”

“Ohhh,” he smiles, “how silly of me.” He’s incorrigible. “Well let’s see then, shall we? If you can be a good girl and make me happy.”

She moves her head, mouth open and awaiting. Harry doesn’t tease her anymore—he gathers her hair in both hands, pulls it all away from her face whilst maintaining a controlling grip, and lets her do as she pleases. It’s perfectly imperfect, the way she delicately kisses up his shaft like it’s just been cruelly treated. Her hands stay unusable behind her back and her sultry mouth struggles to know what to do first. He can see the way she wishes she could do everything at once. Kiss him, tongue him, suck him. Harry thinks she could simply breathe on him and he’d feel good.

Y/N falls into a rhythm, soft eyelids closing in contentment as her mouth works around him. Head moving back and forth, slowly but attentively. She rubs her tongue on the underneath of his cock as she takes him, each retreat of her lips sucking tantalisingly. And when she manages to look up at him for just a second, Harry can’t help the quirk of his lips and the twitch of his dick as he mutters praise through quickly thickening fog. She buzzes with it, pushing herself further onto him until she stills in an attempt to adapt to the constricting weight nudging at her throat. When her breaths start to hit Harry harshly, he curls his fingers in her hair and urges her off of him.

“I’m plenty happy enough, my darlin’,” he shakes his head, “don’t choke yourself. We’ll do that another time.” And his words are breathy, sure evidence that he is happy, but Y/N doesn’t feel satisfied. She wants to see his tummy quivering underneath his t-shirt, wants to hear him pant, and groan, and lose all semblance of himself. She moans around him, at the promise of him filling her throat, at the sight of his glowing face and dishevelled hair. And then she speeds up. She feels the saliva collecting in her mouth and she lets it cover him—she moves her head in urgent bobs and digs her nails into her palm when Harry grunts.

“Oh, fuck,” he looks down at the shine she’s leaving behind around him. “Sweet little thing’s got a filthy mouth.” Spit drips down her chin and he thumbs it away, wiping it on his shorts. It makes her go even faster. “Good girl—shit. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” Y/N whines around him, eyebrows dipping in delight from his words alone. Her core is numbing, sure she must’ve dripped onto the floor and yet she doesn’t have it in her to be embarrassed. Not when all she can think about is making Harry come.

But he’s mean. He says, “You’ll get up then, won’t you?” voice lilting.

What? “Mm-mm,” she shakes her head, disgruntled that he’d even suggest it, and pushing further down his cock in retaliation.

“No? But I thought you were a good girl. Good girls listen. So listen to me… and get up.” He drags her off by the hands in her hair, feeling smug when she gasps down multitudes of air. She’s annoyed—swollen, slick lips pouting—no aversions to showing how she truly feels now. “Don’t look so sad,” he mimics her pout, fingers squeezing her cheeks together as she stands on wobbly legs. Then he kisses her rumpled lips, tastes himself and her saliva and rubs his tongue on hers. Bless her heart, she keeps her arms behind her, melting into Harry’s grasp and forgetting all about her own limbs. His grip finds her waist, tugging her up his body and coaxing her thighs to wrap around him. He hums against her lips, content to feel her pressing into him… then her dress rides up and… oh—

“You poor thing,” Harry gasps, when his prick nudges very soft, very wet skin. “Just dripping and you didn’t say a word. Is that very sweet or very selfish?” Y/N can only whimper as their flesh meets. “You’re not selfish, are you, baby?”

“No.” She shakes her head vehemently, hands finally moving of their own accord and sitting on Harry’s shoulders.

He exhales a humoured breath through his nose. “Ah well, you see, I consider myself to be rather selfish. I want things. Do you… want things, Y/N?”

“Yes,” fingers sliding into curls, “want you. Please, Sir, want you.”

He can feel the heat of her pussy. All he’d need to do is nudge his hips forward… “Why didn’t you ask me earlier, hm? See how easy that was? S’all you needed to do was ask.” Y/N nods, apology on the tip of her tongue, but Harry kisses her again before she can talk. And then he’s moving—taking her somewhere—she’s unsure where. It doesn’t matter. She hears the rubber soles of his shoes against the floor, a door sliding open, the chirps of a bird from nearby. And then she feels the soft cushion of a chair as she is placed down upon it.

Y/N opens her eyes, reluctantly, as she hears Harry zipping himself back up. She curves her lips downwards as she leans back, expecting to feel a support, but she falls. Not far. The chair seems to be of the reclining sort, and Y/N’s back moulds into the soft fabric. Harry smiles… and then he’s digging his fingers into the supple flesh of her thighs, pulling her down towards him, and flipping her over. Y/N squeals, palms pressing down to push herself up.

“Hips up,” he swats her thigh, “back arched, good girl. Relax your arms, put ‘em out in front of you.” She focuses on the sight of a pool out of the peripheral of her vision, crystal clear water, pretty bushes, a coffee table under an awning—trying to keep her heart steady as Harry flips her dress up. There’s no hiding now. She’s completely bare and he can see everything. Y/N hides her face in her arms at the feeling of the breeze against her. That breeze becomes warmer, and more pointed, and suddenly it meets her directly—the swipe of a tongue through strings of slick. She jolts forward but Harry tugs her right back, kneeling at the end of the recliner with his face mere centimetres away from her swollen sex. “Don’t move. Don’t try and run away from me unless you want to play like this morning.” Y/N makes a little noise—it’s forced from her lungs, really, at the reminder of the heat his hands left behind. So she tries something, just a little something… she moves. She twitches her hips forward so slightly, he shouldn’t have noticed. But it’s Harry. And he knows that she wants to play like this morning very much.

So he smacks her. Hard. Right in the middle of her left cheek. Something akin to a choked squawk leaves her mouth and she jumps forward once again. So he hits her other cheek, “Stop,” again, “moving,” and again.

“Harry!” Y/N gasps—half moan, half cry. It burns deliciously.

“Keep still for me. I want to eat this pretty cunt,” he breaths over her, taking her in. “You remember your Yellow and Red, yes?” He looks up the expanse of her back.

“Yes—Sir,” Y/N forces out, lungs going at a rapid rate. Every word is a struggle.

“Good girl.”

And then he devours her.

Y/N is grateful he put something soft beneath her, because she struggles not to flatten out immediately. Despite the possessive grip Harry displays over her waist and on her thigh. She’s at the halfway point—of still feeling scrutinised and losing all inhibitions. Embarrassment being a turn on surely makes that line a little silly to place herself upon. But she forgets her thought process entirely with Harry’s tongue flicking between her legs. He’d gone straight in, initially, mouth meeting her centre with no motive other than to taste and to feel her on his lips. He kisses her—as much as one can there—open mouthed and impassioned, trailing from left to right over her thighs… then up to her ass that to Y/N’s curious horror he spreads, coming close but never right where she wanted him.

Did she though? Want him there? The thought has never crossed her mind before but the closer he gets the more her hips shift. But Harry only kisses the skin of her round flesh, moving back down to spread her lips and take a good look at her. The moment of waiting feels like years to Y/N. Years of being pulled apart and stared at like she is tied to a pedestal. Then he hums, deep from within his chest, and sucks her clit into his mouth. She lets out a long, pitiful moan, face dropping to the cushion with a thud. Her body must be moving—shaking or twitching—but she can’t tell. Not when Harry is holding her thighs with his thumbs still spreading her open, and switching between pulling her into his mouth and smoothing his tongue over her. In languid motions that start to unravel Y/N incredibly quickly.

He stays slow—which is something she envies, really—the ability to heighten an orgasm by dragging it out. Y/N always finds, and she’s not the best at masturbating anyway, that in the midst of the pleasure she speeds up her hands with the incoming sense of her climax. And it never feels completely satiating. But Harry… of course he knows what he’s doing better than her. But God, does he prove it. It builds so steadily; the pleasure elongated and intensified as Y/N grapples with her hands to find any sort of grounding. She pushes up, and then falls back down. She stretches her arms out, and then pulls them back to her chest. It’s a restless kind of pleasure—it’s disabling and wonderful and shattering and—

Harry pulls away. The sensation is so jarring that Y/N forgets all semblance of the concept of composure. She cries out and turns herself over. Her brows furrow so hard she’ll surely induce a headache and her wet mouth is open in the most betrayed of gapes.

“Please,” she reaches forward. For Harry who stays kneeling. He cocks an eyebrow at her.

“Were you about to come?”

Y/N could roll her eyes. “Yes! Please, please make me come.” Her hand falls down against the cushion fruitlessly.

Harry pushes up higher on his knees, caressing palms smoothing up her calves until they reach her thighs and sling them over each of his shoulders. Y/N’s head falls back with relief. But he reaches up and grabs her face, angling her head upright so that he can slide two fingers into her mouth. She whimpers in surprise, heat rushing all around her body. His index and little finger rest on either side of her face as he strokes her tongue in depraved motions, sliding over the expanse of the wet muscle.

“What do we say when we want something?”

“Pleathe,” Y/N begs… except she doesn’t really because the word comes out garbled and unintelligible. But Harry smiles.

“Hm?”

“Pleathe!”

Then he slaps her thigh and Y/N yelps around his fingers. “Please what?”

“Thir.” Her eyes clear a little as she tries to inhale. “Pleathe make me come, thir.”

No matter that it’s near impossible to identify her words, Harry is pleased. He pulls his hand away to let her take a few deep breaths, and then he’s coaxing them back in with a little grin. Y/N seems eager for them, tongue laying down for his fingers. “That’s better.” And then she bites them. Not hard, but her teeth press into the skin enough to indent as Harry’s mouth meets her slick centre once again. He keeps his eyes focused on hers and his tongue on her clit—flattening out to collect her arousal from her messy entrance before smearing it over her sensitive button and building her back up agonisingly slowly. She climbs higher and he pulls back, teeth sinking into the inside of her thigh and lips trailing her wetness everywhere, stubble scratching her in a lusciously painful way. His palm stays flattened to her hip, holding her firmly to his face. Until he leans back just enough to purse his lips and drip saliva down onto her shiny pussy. Y/N gasps around his fingers and Harry smirks into her skin as he presses his face back into her, eyes never wavering from hers.

It builds up much quicker now, regardless of the excruciating pace that Harry sets. She tightens up, body desperate as her pelvis lifts up into his mouth. “Pleathe!” Y/N’s eyes clench shut. “Pleathe let me come, thir.” Harry smiles at her incoherent speech and doesn’t stop. He hums instead, long and deep, vibrations tingling through his face and her cunt. Y/N’s harsh breaths hit his knuckles, shallow from her nose. Her hands find his wrist, clinging on as Harry nods into her—not pulling away for a second.

“Ah!—ah—ah,” tiny noises are all she can muster as her eyes beg Harry not to stop and her orgasm dangles her over the edge. Just a bit more… a bit more… don’t stop. Her thighs tighten around his head and Harry moans, grateful to be crushed by such beauty. And if Y/N could speak she’d be more than grateful—she’d be at his feet, she’d pledge to make him happy forever. As long as she came.

And all it takes is one more long hum, fizzling through her clit. Her nails dig into his wrist and her hips surely lift up enough to suffocate him as her orgasm rips through her. It’s blinding…and stilling; Y/N can neither see nor move for five paralysing seconds. Then the sounds seep past Harry’s fingers and her pelvis starts to shake, and the lack of satiating inhalation proves to make her lightheaded. She tugs at his hand to pull it out of her mouth, drowning her lungs in oxygen when Harry complies. But she’s high, head throwing back against the cushion and eyes falling shut as her chest heaves and her body tingles. Y/N misses the way Harry moves his spit-slicked hand down to her puffy core, lips pulled away to give some semblance of respite… until he pushes his two middle fingers into her and curls.

“Oh!” She jolts upright. “No, Harry, I—” her words fall away. The pressure is consuming as his digits press into her, forcing this unprecedented, extended pleasure out of her. And it’s good but… Y/N’s certain she’ll pass out if he takes anymore from her, “—need—a moment,” her back arches and her hands finally search for him. To push away or pull him closer, she is unsure.

Harry retracts his fingers, leaving a kiss to Y/N’s stomach as he gently places her feet flat on the lounger. “Yeah? That’s okay.” The skirt of her dress sits under her ribs and Harry traces the line of skin underneath with the pad of his thumb. “Was that a lot?”

“Mhm,” she nods, struggling to peel her eyelids open for long enough to look down at him. Who slowly stands and lifts her calves to rest across his lap as he seats himself at the foot of the recliner.

“G’na let me fuck you or do you want to stop?” He asks it so casually, as though they’re in the line at the supermarket and he’s offering to let her go before him. The centre of her legs is buzzing—she’s messy and can feel sweat gathering underneath her arms—but she wants more. She wants his pleasure now.

Y/N nods. “Your turn.”

He smiles, “My turn to be eaten out? I wouldn’t say no.” She giggles but it’s to mask a gasp as her eyes widen and her stomach fills with heat. “Let me go grab a condom,” his delicate touches form goosebumps along her arms whilst she nods dumbly.

The urge to cover her face with her hands and laugh is strong. She doesn’t. She presses her lips together instead, hard enough to feel her teeth indenting from the inside, as she watches the wind create ripples in the swimming pool before her. Y/N pulls her dress over her thighs; to tease Harry or herself, she’s not certain but it feels mischievous to do either way. To force him to rediscover the treasure between her legs. To make herself desirable once more.

Not that she doesn’t feel desirable. In the afterglow of her orgasm, Y/N’s sure she’s never felt as pretty—practically glowing and all pliant on Harry’s sun lounger. But if hiding the place Harry wants to see most, makes him lose a little composure? She smiles harder at the thought.

ㅤㅤ

His shirt is missing when he comes back, revealing the hard plains of skin and muscle that Y/N would spend hours tracing if she could. The broad of his shoulders, dusted in delicate freckles—contrasted by the full of his pecs and the stone ridges of his abs that soften into plush hips that beg to withhold the indentations of fingertips. It’s all radiant to Y/N. The sunlight paints the shadows of leaves onto his front as he makes his way back to her. His shorts are considerably tight, tenting obviously. She struggles not to stare. Especially because she knows what's underneath… and wants nothing more than to consume him again.

He looks cheeky, hands behind his back (Y/N truly hasn’t noticed because his arms bulge with the strain and any observation skills she may have possessed become completely redundant at the sight of his thick biceps) whilst he smiles at her reclining body. He stops to the side of her. “I’ve got something for you.”

Y/N looks up at him, eyes curious. “Oh. What is it?”

Harry drops a velvet baggy into her lap, watching with an attentive gaze as she loosens the drawstrings hesitantly. “It’s small and unassuming, yeah?”

A bullet vibrator. “I’ve never used one before,” she admits, cheeks hot and heartbeat racing.

“That’s not on, is it, love? You g’na hold this right here f’me?” He takes it from her and sneaks under her dress, tapping once where it's sensitive. She jolts. “Right over your pretty clit whilst I fuck you?”

She nods, mewl lodged in her throat. “Thank—thank you… Sir.”

A deep hum and a kiss to her head before he says, “Go on then, show me,” kneeling onto the end of the recliner, palms smoothing up her thighs to push the encroaching fabric out of the way. Y/N lets him put the vibrator in her hand, his eyes kind despite the excitement coursing through his veins. She thinks for a second—difficult under normal circumstances but even harder now—and brings the small cylinder to her mouth, pushing the rounded tip past her lips and forcing her stare not to wander from Harry’s. He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, all gentle smiles and easy eyes dripping into molten liquid. His pupils blossom and his fingers stop their trailing across her skin as Y/N slicks the vibrator up with her tongue.

It’s overwhelming; the tremors that hit her oversensitive bundle of nerves. She pulls it away as soon as she turns it on, a loud gasp sounding out around them. “Can’t,” Y/N shakes her head.

“Yes, you can, baby. For me.” It’s likely she would do anything as long as Harry asked she do it for him. He unzips his shorts, pushing them down his thighs along with his briefs, thick hardness begging for attention. He’s a harsh blushing colour, and veins stand out against the taut skin, pearls of precome shining from the slit and coating the head deliciously. Y/N feels herself clench around nothing, the weight of the calm vibrator suddenly a very welcome sensation. Harry pulls a condom out of the pocket of his shorts and rolls it on. “Turn it on,” he demands, rubbing the thick mushroom tip of his cock around her entrance, smearing arousal.

She takes a deep breath, eyes cast downwards to the sight of Harry pushing himself in just past the opening and pulling out. In and out. In and out. Teasing. Torturing. Y/N switches the vibrator on, immediately writhing under the overstimulation, just as Harry rocks in to the hilt—hips meeting and breaths mingling when he bends over her body. Strong hands grip the underside of her knees, folding them to her chest and granting the most stimulating of angles.

Her grip on the bullet is weak, unable to maintain placement as it slips down to press into Harry’s shaft as he thrusts into her slow and hard. He groans from the sensation before gripping her wrist and tugging up—back directly on her clit. Y/N moans, head shaking and hips squirming, but Harry only digs his fingers into her thighs and pushes them further into her chest.

“You’re so—fuck—so wet, darlin’. Can’t fuck you or I’ll slip out,” he grunts, pulling out to the tip painfully slowly before skin slaps as he fills her back up heavily. It expels all the air out of Y/N’s lungs, his every thrust jolting her entire body. “Clench f’me. Hold me in, baby.”

Y/N mewls, tightening her pelvic floor and making Harry groan out as he smears his mouth over hers. She doesn’t know what to focus on. His lips scattering tingles all over her face, the harsh buzzing of the vibrator on her clit, the vast span of his fingers indenting her skin, or the heavy thrusts of his cock into her tightness. Over, and over, and over again. She moans into his mouth, crying out as he speeds up. His palm slips over the bottom of her stomach and presses down in search of something.

He pounds into her harder when he feels it. “In your tummy. So fucking deep inside you, pretty girl.” Y/N can’t speak, she can’t do anything but whine out helplessly as Harry pushes his palm into the bulge he’s swelling. Her orgasm starts to build—the convulsing sensitivity of her clit has surpassed to a near numbness—she knows she won’t be able to come again after this. But as she looks down and Harry moves his hand for her to see each thrust, Y/N throws her head back.

“Come all over my cock, baby. Squeeze me so hard I see stars.”

And she’s convulsing, vibrator falling away from the immense sensation of it all—chest heaving, fingers reaching out to dig into Harry’s biceps as she shatters around him. “Harry! Thank you—thank you—th— thank you.” Tears slip out of her tightly shut eyes, wet lips hanging open as her arms grow numb and they fall atop her ribs.

He’s grunting, low and gravelly, curls falling over his forehead like cascading waterfalls of chocolate. His hips don’t falter as he gathers her into his bulging arms. Y/N’s still twitching from the aftershocks when he stands up, fingers splaying on her ass and encouraging her legs to wrap around him. The vibrator stays buzzing on the sun lounger, falling on deaf ears as Y/N clings on and Harry fucks up into her. If she hadn’t just come she’s sure his display of strength would have her drooling.

And she’s close to drooling now. Involuntarily from the pace in which he sets, forcing her to grip onto his shoulders. She smooths the backs of her arms over them, shaking fingers weaving into the hair on the back of his head.

Harry is relentless. “Good girl. Such a good girl. You take it so well. I’m so proud of you.” She keens into his throat, tired smile stretching against his neck. The words warm her.

I’m so proud of you.

She’s elated, she’ll never ask for anything ever again… But she wants one more thing.

“Come in my mouth, Sir.” Her voice tickles against his ear. So shy, so unsure. Harry’s knees nearly buckle.

“Is that a demand, little one?” Fuck, he’d give it to her even if it was.

“Please?” His hips snap up harder, their skin is slapping and sticking, and their bodies are going numb.

“You want me coating your tongue, yeah? You w’na swallow me?”

“Yes, Sir,” she nods desperately.

Harry pulls her off him, setting her down onto the hard floor as gently as his sex-muddled brain can offer. He tugs the condom off, shoving it into a pocket of the shorts he never managed to take off. Y/N opens her mouth obediently, her tired eyes fighting to stay open and watch Harry’s frantic strokes. His head thrown back, jaw sharp and veins in his neck jumping—she’d be a fool not to look.

“God, want you here forever. On your knees f’me,” he looks down at her glowing, sweating skin. “Want to keep you,” his voice trails off into a moan, shuffling forward so the leaking head rests on her tongue as he tugs his length. “Will you let me keep you, Y/N?” She nods, tongue moving on the underside of him. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

It’s her eyes that get him. Big and pleading. Like the only thing she’s ever wanted in her entire existence is for him to come for her. In her mouth. Her eyes… and maybe her tits too. When she pulls the pretty décolletage of her dress down to free them and holds the underside as if to display them for Harry. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he whimpers, leaning forward to spurt thick streaks onto the back of her tongue and watch it drip down. His other hand shoots out to hold the top of her head, strokes slowing and becoming little ruts of his hips when it all becomes too sensitive.

Y/N kneels there for him, mouth open, come painting her tongue. It’s only when he thumps his softening cock against the mess he’s left that she pulls back, making a show of swallowing it all. He’s spent but the sight is one to behold. She smiles shyly up at him, so clearly overjoyed. “Thank you, Sir.”

ㅤㅤ

During their shower, he asks her an important question.

“Was there anything I did to you that you didn’t like?”

Y/N is nearly a deadweight in his arms—so exhausted, so sweet—as she blinks up at him. “Hm?”

Harry smiles. “Did I push your boundaries at all today?”

She nuzzles into his chest, shaking her head, as they stand under the hot stream. “No, Sir.”

“You liked the vibrator?” Harry drags his soapy nails across her back, scratching wonderfully.

“Sore now. Too much, I think,” Y/N admits, as she tightens her arms around his waist. She’s fighting the fog and failing. Harry doesn’t mind.

He hums. “Abused her a little, didn’t I? We can work on that, if you like.”

“Mhm. Anything, Sir.” Then suddenly she pulls back, looking up with harsh brows. “Didn’t like how much you ignored me… down there. Wanted to come all day.”

Harry laughs, “That,” he emphasises, “is something you’ll have to put up with, darling. S’fun to play with you—watch you silently suffer. Promise it won’t be all the time. If only you’d just asked for what you wanted.” Y/N grumbles to herself, basking in the serenity of their touching skin and the clean smell of shower gel as the hot water cleanses them.

The next thing Harry says is unwise. In Y/N’s floaty state, and generally as a rule of healthy relationships, it’s unwise—but he says it anyway.

“You should quit your job.”

She doesn’t register his words immediately, but even when she does, Harry doesn’t receive the expected reaction. She laughs, “Yeah,” sighing. “Can stay in your house all day. Make you happy, whatever you want, all the time.” It feels like she’s joking—like she believes he’s joking and is just playing along—and Harry knew better than to suggest it to her in this moment. He knew better, especially because they were hardly any time at all into knowing one another. It was a rash thing to say… and Harry can’t quite believe he’s thinking it. But he is. He’s thinking it very much. And it feels right. It seems easy.

But he won’t mention it again. Not yet. Not until the girl in his arms is a little less incoherent.

He’s a patient man, is what he tells himself. There’s no rush; Harry certainly isn’t desperate to rush out of the shower, or rush Y/N home, or rush to work the next day. He can wait.

He can wait.

ㅤㅤ

Working with people takes a particular set of skills. Sociability, quick thinking, a strong backbone... Y/N wouldn’t say she particularly possessed any of these qualities—which would largely explain why she hates her job so much.

But she gets up and does it. Every day. And she returns home feeling as though it can’t get any worse, and then the next day proves her wrong.

Despite this, you’d think—after all the practice she has—that entering Harry’s work shouldn’t be so intimidating. That having to ask for him at reception whilst holding a lunch box and a cake tin needn’t stir up the incessant swirls of nerves in her stomach. And even though the woman who tends to her has a soothing smile and a lilting tone of voice, Y/N still stands there feeling obvious. Obvious and unaware at the same time.

Would Harry even want her here? Was showing her face in his workspace breaching a rule? Did he leave his lunch behind on purpose? Would he want the cake she’d brought with her?

The receptionist talks to someone on the phone, announcing Y/N’s presence and her request to see the CEO. She’d thought, perhaps, that she would be immediately denied. Mr. Styles is a very busy man and he doesn’t take surprise visits. Good day. But the lady had smiled almost knowingly at Y/N, as though she’d been expecting her—which seemed even vastly more silly than the prospect that Harry might turn her away himself.

Which hadn’t crossed her mind until now. What if he scolded her? In front of all his employees? Y/N would die.

A man suddenly appears in her peripheral vision. Hair tied back, suit pressed of all wrinkles, and a harsh line of a mouth that curls so minimally that it could be passed off as a twitch when he meets Y/N’s eyes. “Follow me, Miss L/N.”

He takes her up stairs, through halls and to a small sitting area that she assumes is outside Harry’s office. One sofa and one armchair, adjacent to a water cooler and a vending machine in which two other men in pressed suits loiter, trading inconsequential small talk no doubt. And really, it is too small to be considered an area of any sort, and their looming presence does nothing to quell Y/N’s worry.

“He’s just finishing up a phone call, please sit.”

Y/N smiles at the man and rushes out a small thank you before he disappears down the hallway. The soft cushioning of the sofa cradles Y/N’s heart none, despite the silent appraisal her legs give when they’re granted respite. No, her heart is still beating rapidly, and the mumblings of the two men are pecking away at her ears as she tries to block them out without success. She sees one nudge the other out of the corner of her eye, and she hopes—no, begs—that neither talk to her. But it seems there’s no one there to listen to her pleading.

“Excuse me.” One of the men says. Typically those words come attached with a questioning swing but he doesn’t ask her anything. He demands her. “What have you got in there?”

Y/N slides her palms around the spherical tin, the cold metal granting momentary bliss for her clammy skin. On top of the tin is Harry’s lunch. In the box he’d forgotten to take with him on his way out.

Y/N had a day off—calling her boss to fake sickness had been scarier than it should have been (Harry rewarded her for her bravery in ways she can still feel if she clenches her thighs together)—and Harry had ordered she lay about his house all day doing, and she quotes, absolutely nothing.

He’d silently managed to pick up on her preference for a little time alone when talking and coexisting got to be too much (after observing the way she’d spend just that little extra in the toilet after a long day, or insist she’d be with him in a minute that turned into three), and had asserted she finally explore the depths of his garden whilst he was at work. Y/N had thought about asking him to stay home—after all, she only took the day off because of him… and now he was leaving?—but the idea did appeal to her. And he’d kissed her so fervently goodbye that the shape of his lips existed in tingles against hers for an hour after he’d gone.

She’d felt whimsical, like she was existing in a dream, as she slipped on a new dress Harry had bought for her—made of pink silk—and floated around his house like she owned it. She ate fruit whilst perched on his kitchen counter, and sunk her toes into his fluffy rug, and wandered the garden that surely Harry had stolen from another era.

From the patio that leads out to the pool (and those sun loungers that Y/N can’t look at the same), nothing about the vast stretch of grass and towering trees suggested that there were any hidden passageways or undiscovered alcoves. But as Y/N walked down the lawn, she spotted an archway twined with ivy and vines that nestled in between consuming bushes and thick trunks.

Once she walked under it, it seemed as though she’d entered another time period—one that rejected the modernity of white interior decor and lavish patios with swimming pools. A nook—was what Y/N first described it as in her head. A walkway through foliage that led to an opening that homed stone, and trellising flowers, and complete and utter silence. It was circular, a donut shaped stone bench in the centre with bushes and flowers galore surrounding it. Y/N was stunned. And she hadn’t even discovered all of it.

“It’s Harry’s lunch,” she says, focusing on maintaining steady breaths.

The men look at each other with curling lips. “It’s Harry’s lunch,” the other one parrots, nodding once to his friend like her answer was obvious… which it was, she supposes. What else would it be? “Did he forget it at your house?”

“No…” Y/N doesn’t understand what the pair are trying to do. But she recognises the cruelty of their voices. The mocking—immensely unlike the way Harry speaks to her.

“Did you bake him a cake too?”

“Has Styles got himself a little housewife?”

Her skin heats and her chest aches, as their words crawl inside her head, with the intensity at which she is trying to school her lungs. They want to inhale as though she’s been underwater for twenty minutes. They want to heave and splutter desperately and loudly. But she only allows tiny, little teases of oxygen. She doesn’t know what to say.

Her mouth opens and closes again.

“Fancy coming round to my house and baking me a cake?” They both laugh. “I could do with a little lady like you. Always forgetting shit.”

She fidgets uncomfortably on the sofa. It is now made of unrelenting stone. Even the bench in Harry’s garden would grant more comfort than this. A quick glance to the door handle to see if she is capable of summoning him only encourages the men further.

“I didn’t know he had time for a woman.”

“I know,” the other scoffs, “probably very neglectful of his nice housewife…” He pauses, “Are you? His housewife, sugar?”

It had sounded so much nicer from Harry’s lips. Now she just feels dirty.

“No— I’m… We’re…” What were they exactly?

Harry’s door handle turns.

“I’m his—” Submissive. She couldn’t possibly…

His door opens.

“—friend.”

Harry steps out. Y/N doesn’t know how much of the conversation he heard but… from the look on his face, he’s stern. The two men have straightened their backs and are pretending to be involved in unrealistically riveting small talk once again. But Harry glares at them.

His voice is hard, clearly indicating that he had in fact heard their unpleasant probing. “Mr. Acosta and Mr. Havers, as pleasurable as it has been to have you working here,” his tone drips with sarcasm, “resign or be fired. Immediately. Your choice.”

And then he’s glancing down at Y/N, gaze hardly lingering as he nods towards his office with a clear expectancy that she follows, before he turns his back and leaves the water cooler creeps spluttering in their spots. Y/N rushes behind him, not looking back for a second.

“You forgot your lunch,” she exhales once his door clicks shut. Her breathing deepens now that she’s out of the prying stare of those men. Harry stands with his back to her, hands in his pockets as he looks out the window.

“Yes, I see that.” He seems… short-tempered... Angry. He’s never seemed angry before. “Thank you, darling. And a lovely baked treat to go with it, no doubt.”

And maybe his voice lacks his usual authenticity but Y/N smiles a little, though he can’t see her, as she creeps forward slightly to place the tin and his lunch on his desk. She looks up as she stands beside him, observing the harsh line of his jaw and the furrow of his brows. But he walks around his desk and prods a finger into the hardwood, rolling his chair out of the way.

“Take a seat,” he orders. Y/N always obeys Harry but his tone carries a sharpness she’s not used to—lacking the soft feathered curves for when he speaks to her—and she lifts herself onto the edge with a haste that surpasses that of her general avidity. Perhaps, in this moment, a part of her is pretending he’s her boss—and he is in a way, she supposes. Then Harry crowds her senses, thighs brushing her knees as he steps forward and utters something that makes Y/N’s stomach drop. In a bad way. In a definitely bad way.

“I want to have a little chat with… my friend.”

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles one shots #harry styles x reader #mutually beneficial #writing #domrry #dom!harry #harry styles imagines #harry styles blurbs #fanfiction

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bxtchycaprisun · 6 months

Text

let it be me | a. anderson ONE-SHOT

summary: you’d been avoiding your best friend for weeks, and she was determined to figure out what was wrong. she never would have guessed your absence was due to your repressed romantic feelings, which she also happened to share.

notes: fem!reader, bsf!abby, softdom!abby, porn w/ a plot, mutual pining, friends to lovers, angst but in a fluffy way, SMUT, fingering (both receiving), pussy eating (r!receiving), thigh riding, dirty talk, lots of pet names, i think that’s it?

a/n: i know this isn’t obstinate, but it’s wlw season and i’m WOMANLESS, so i needed to write some smut.

MDNI!!! sexual content. comment if you want to be added to my tag list

(named after the ray lamontagne song)

you and abby never fought.

attached at the hip from the start of elementary school, the two of you were never seen without each other. and as new friend groups came and left, you and abby always stayed inseparable.

you were so close that she’d even followed you out of state to your dream university after you’d graduated high school.

despite the feelings that emerged in your early teen years when abby had grown taller, and the impact of her various high school sports was clear on her toned arms, you never dared to express your changing perspective of her.

other than some consistent cuddling most friends would consider crossing a boundary, the lines of your friendship never thought to cross between platonic and romantic. you figured that if she were to ever return your feelings, she would have by now.

and even though you two were only friends, in a way, she was yours, and you were hers.

or at least, that’s how you saw it.

that was until you saw her out with angela, her chem partner who you’d heard her complain about dozens of times, a girl you thought she hated. and they were drinking coffee and eating pastries at the east campus cafe, you and abby’s cafe.

and though you knew your perception of your relationship was nothing but a fantasy, it almost felt like a betrayal to see her like that with someone else. but of course, you couldn’t actually be mad at her for it, nor would you explain what was making you so upset.

so you did the one thing you thought was logical, you avoided her.

knowing that she would see right through you from the beginning, and demand that you tell her what was wrong, you tried to be strategic about it.

but you couldn’t a thing past your best friend, the girl who knew you like the back to your hand.

and you had no idea what you were in for if you continued your fit.

…

it had been two weeks since you sent abby the text, and now, as she laid belly down on her crammed dorm bed, she was rereading it.

y/n: oh my god abs, i’ve got the worst week coming up everrr. hannah scheduled me like double the hours i’ve asked for and i’ve got two exams! fmlllll

abby: damn, i’m sorry bun. still room for me in that schedule of yours?

y/n: you know it abby. text you later, off to work

the conversation didn’t worry abby much initially. but looking back on it, she saw it in a different light.

you didn’t make time for her. and she was determined to know why.

abby sat up in her bed, furrowing her brows as she remembered the date. it was a wednesday.

she opened back up her texts, quickly typing out her message.

abby: what time you coming over tonight? it’s october, so we can officially make our movie nights halloween dedicated :)

she pursed her lips worriedly as she awaited your response. she had been shot down daily over the last couple of weeks, always given the same excuse. work, exams, stomach flu, etc.

abby knew something was up, she just needed one final confirmation.

y/n: shit, i totally forgot! i promised i’d take my coworkers closing shift since she opened for me. next wednesday i promise!

abby felt her heart sink, the situation becoming all too real and unavoidable. you were angry at her, and she didn’t have a clue why.

she scrambled out a message, quickly pressing send and biting the inside of her cheek as she watched the unchanging screen.

abby: are you mad at me? please tell me what i did, and i’ll fix it

she watches with a tight chest as the bubble of your response appears and disappears. and as ten minutes pass with no text back, she throws her phone down on the bed, groaning into her hands.

if it had been anyone else, she’d assume you were just busy at work. but this was you.

abby sprung up from the bed, throwing on a jacket and slipping her feet swiftly into her beat up sneakers. the sneakers you’d bought her for her 16th birthday.

she swung open the door, grabbing her things and moving swiftly down the stairs and out her dorm hall. she tucked her hands under her arms, pulling her hoodie over her head as she walked through the breezy fall air.

she rounded the familiar block and pushed into the entrance of your dorms.

and before she could think twice, she brought her fist up to your door, banging loudly with her other hand stuffed in her pocket.

“open the door!” she says sternly, already hearing your movement in the dorm.

you pull the door open with a displeased grunt, but as you recognize the rosy cheeked girl in front of you, your eyes widen.

“a-abby?” you stutter, staring up at her with a guilty expression.

she stares at you, taking in your loose sweats and braless tank. you weren’t at work, and you certainly weren’t getting ready.

after a long pause, the reality of the situation setting in, abby speaks up.

“you lied.” she murmurs, her voice low.

you cast your gaze down, stepping back to let her in silently. you knew you weren’t gonna get out of this one.

she shoves her way into your room, shutting the door loudly and pulling her hood off to look down at you disapprovingly.

“so,” she huffs, throwing her arms up and crossing them against her chest. “are you gonna tell me what’s going on with you?”

you sigh, pinching your temples. “nothings… nothings going on i just-” you begin before being cut off abruptly.

“nothings going on?” she repeats desperately, “y/n, you’ve avoided me for weeks!”

“i- i haven’t avoided you,” you reply breathlessly, stepping forward. “i’ve been really busy.”

“oh right, busy,” she scoffs, “just like how you’re so busy right now?”

you bow your head silently, avoiding her burning gaze. “i- i can explain..” you say slowly, although you sure as hell didn’t want to.

“great!” she snaps, “good, let’s hear it.” she shifts her weight back and forth on her legs, her figure now trembling with anger and desperation.

you look up at her with pleading eyes, trying to find away to avoid this conversation if you had any hope of keeping your friendship the same.

you were so disappointed with yourself you felt like you could cry. for years you’d stuffed your feelings down, terrified not just of rejection but of your own selfishness.

abby was the perfect friend, she was everything you could ask for and more, and yet your inconsiderate mind desired more. and when she didn’t give that to you, you pushed her away.

abby watched your expressions alter, staring at you with her mouth agape. “well?” she asks in a final, breathless plea.

when she doesn’t get a response, her mind jumps to the only conclusion she could think of.

“you’re… you’re seeing someone?” she whispers, her face falling.

your expression twists in confusion and frustration at her accusation, shaking your head fervently. “what? what are you talking about?”

“you are, aren’t you?” she presses on, taking a step forward.

you roll your eyes at the irony of her words. “no okay, i’m not seeing anyone,” you huff, the attitude clear in your voice. “you’re the one that’s seeing someone,” you murmur, back turned to your best friend. your eyes widen at your own words, cursing yourself for letting that slip.

you hear abby’s breath falter behind you. “what?” she asks, voice somewhat amused which annoyed the hell out of you. “did you say i’m seeing someone?”

despite knowing how childish you were being, you narrow your eyes, continuing on with your antics.

“well you are, aren’t you?” you say with a pout, tilting you chin up at her.

at this, abby laughs at you. “y/n… are you talking about angela?” she says with a smirk. “i’ve been trying to tell you about that, so much happened!” she exclaims and you nearly feel like breaking down then and there.

your expression drops, lips curling into a proper frown as you turn away from her once again. she stutters as she sees your change in demeanor.

“yeah right, i’d just love to hear all about angela,” you mutter, unable to meet her piercing blue eyes.

“no no.. it was bad, okay, it was really bad,” she chuckles, rushing over to grab your arms and turn you to face her. but as she takes in your distressed expression, abby’s mouth hangs open, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place in her mind.

“hey, hey, what is it?” she cooes, her voice softened as she brings her hand to cup the side of your face, stroking your cheek.

when you don’t respond once again, her back straightens, and she drops her hands from your skin, staring down at you in contemplation.

“you’re… you’re jealous,” she says quietly, her words laced with certainty.

you shake your head, stepping back from her with worry as she figured it out. “no, why the hell would i be jealous?” you heave, but abby doesn’t let you get away.

“because you like me,” she asserts once again, hands going for your wrists as she reaches out to you.

“hey, look at me, hey..” she brings her face close to yours, lowering to your height. your arms go limp in defeat as she holds you still, grabbing your chin gently to make you look at her.

as she studies your face, the way your eyes crease with uncertainty, she knows.

“you do..” she whispers.

the only thing you can do is drop your head in shame, praying silently that she would agree to just forget this conversation completely and return to your blissful friendship.

your murmur is nearly inaudible as a small “i’m sorry,” passes through your lips.

abby inhales sharply, taking your cheeks into your hands and lifting your head to face hers in a quick motion.

“oh sweet girl… don’t be sorry..” she breathes, brushing her thumb over your bottom lip.

she stares at you for a moment, chest heaving with her uneven breathes, contemplating the same action she’d been dreaming of for years. the action she never thought she’d get the opportunity of doing.

and just as your eyes meet hers, they flutter shut to the feeling of her lips pressing against yours.

you sigh against her, the tension easing from your muscles as she guides you gently against the door, running her hands desperately, yet hesitantly over your arms and shoulders.

the touch, the way her lips gently parted yours, her tongue rolling into your mouth with a soft hum, it was foreign, yet so painfully familiar.

this was abby. your abby. the girl who had been attached to your hip for a decade. the girl you had convinced yourself never to kiss and never confess to out of fear of ruining your perfect friendship.

and you couldn’t be happier as she did it for you.

you bring your arms around her broad shoulders, pulling her against you as your noses clashed together in a desperate kiss, her hands getting rougher and more curious, and so do yours. you tug her hoodie up over her head, touching her chilled skin from the cool fall air outside.

you feel her calloused palm reach below your shirt, grazing the soft skin on your belly, inching upward to your unclothed breast. you feel her hand suddenly stop, her mouth pulling away from yours.

“abby-” you call out her name in a slight moan, digging your fingers into her hair and tugging on her braid. you knew what she was thinking. you knew she thought she was rushing things, but you didn’t care. you’d waited so long.

“i know.. i know..” she nods, eyes nearly shut as she peers down at you, leaning in again to kiss you, slowing her rhythm and taking her time with you.

you whine into her mouth, brows furrowing as you grabbed her hand, trying to pull it towards your chest once again, and she chuckles against your lips.

“so needy,” she smiles, but with how shaky her voice is, she sounds almost hypocritical.

“neglected you for so long, huh?” she grins, kissing the corner of your mouth gently.

even though abby hadn’t had many relationships or sexual partners, mostly thanks to her hopeless pining towards you, she was undeniably more experienced than you.

you could feel the hesitance in her fingertips, the uncertainty in her eyes. knowing she didn’t want to rush you, you grab her cheek, pulling her lips away to speak.

“then don’t make me wait any longer,” you whisper, eyes looking up at her pleadingly as your thighs squeezed together, desperately trying to relieve the ache between your legs.

abby smiles, not missing a beat to crash her lips to yours once again, and this time her hand travels up your chest without hesitation. you whine as you feel her thumb brush over your nipple, and arch your back against the wall.

she dips her head down to your neck, peppering kisses along your throat, and sucking soft marks onto your skin. she groans as she hears your quiet moans, feeling like she could cum on the spot. she’d envisioned how you would sound so many times, but to actually hear it was so much better.

“you’re so fucking pretty, you know that?” she hums, large palms needing your tits as she pushes your legs apart with her knee, and slots her thigh in between them. “sound so fucking pretty”

your face is red and hot as you let out a quiet whimper in response, grabbing on to her toned stomach to pull her closer. as you feel the friction of her muscular thigh against your clothed cunt, you absentmindedly grind yourself against her.

“there you go, sweetheart,” abby praises you, hands leaving your tits to hold onto your hips. she gently guides you against her propped leg, and leaves small love bites below your ear as she whispers to you. “tell me if we’re going too fast, okay? you tell me.”

you shake your head, hips picking up their rhythm as you try to chase that sensation that slowly builds in your cunt. “not too fast, abs. i want more, please?”

normally, you would care about sounding too desperate, but since this was abby, you couldn’t hold back. even in this unfamiliar situation, you were comfortable with her. and even more importantly, you needed her so bad.

“you want more, huh baby?” she cooes, smiling ear to ear as she helps you keep up your pace. suddenly, her hands push your hips back off of her, and you whine in disappointment. before you can protest the loss of contact, she brings her hands to the hem of your tank top, pulling it off your chest in a swift motion.

her palms return to your waist, guiding you quickly against your small bed, her lips instantly connected with yours once again. she pushes you gently down, situating herself between your legs, and hooking a finger at the hem of your sweatpants.

the fabric is tugged down to your ankles in seconds, and she tosses the pants across the room with a shit eating grin. you can’t help but look up and giggle at her as she crawls on the bed to meet you, kissing up your stomach and on the fat of your chest.

“whatcha laughing about, pretty girl?” abby smirks as she sucks hickeys onto your skin. she tried her best to sound stern, but she couldn’t help but melt as she heard your laugh.

“nothing, this is just weird,” you can’t help but admit with blushed cheeks. “i just… never imagined we would be doing this..”

“oh?” abby says with faux surprise, “so you’re telling me… you didn’t imagine me doing this?” she asks mischievously as she takes on of your nipples into her mouth, sucking gently.

you’re breathing falters and you let out a small gasp, handing falling the the back of her head as she runs her tongue over your hardening nipple. “n-no i mean… i imagined it… just didn’t think we actually ever would.”

abby smiles against your skin, kissing her way down your stomach and settling between your thighs. “what would you imagine, bun?” she asks teasingly as she kisses just above your underwear. “would you picture me doing this to you? dream about my mouth on your cunt?”

with that statement, abby drops in between your legs, pressing her face against your panties and inhaling dirtily. she shakes her nose against your clothed pussy, nudging your clit deliciously. you cry out into your hand, instantly squirming from her touch.

you felt her start to kitten lick your clint through the fabric, causing you to let out an deep whine. you lift your head with hazy eyes, listening to her soft growls against you, which only made your stomach whir.

“abby pl-ease,” you say brokenly, desperately bucking your hips upward to chase the friction you needed, “stop teasing me…”

“m’not teasing…” she mumbles, her voice low as she runs her tongue flat against your underwear, applying pressure to your folds.

“a-ah, please!” you moan, feeling your cunt gush with more arousal.

“you are teasing me, you are-” you begin your protest when she suddenly yanks your panties down from your hips, and before you can process it, her hot mouth is licking a stripe from your hole to your clit.

you release a borderline pornographic moan at the sensation, eyes rolling to the back of your head. she doesn’t waist any time to start sucking at your clit with vigor, and alternating to lap up your juices.

you’re nearly shaking at this point, your chest heaving with every breath and hips twitching from every touch she gives you.

“fuck- i love the way you taste bun…” abby moans into your pussy, her hands keeping a bruising grip on your waist. “knew you’d taste good.. so fucking good…”

she already sounds pussy drunk as she flattens her tongue against your clit, helping you grind your hips against her mouth however you wanted. you continuously tried to close your legs around her head, completely overwhelmed by how good she was fucking you, but each time her palm would catch your leg, only pulling you further apart.

“gotta stop squirming, baby,” abby would growl as your thighs continued to tremble and your arms would thrash around aimlessly. you respond with an apologetic whine, already too cloudy minded to form words.

when you continue to move in her grip, she finally pushes your knees against your chest, keeping you firmly pinned with your cunt fully exposed for her.

“look at that…” abby cooes as she gives your pussy a small slap before dipping her mouth back down to your hole, lapping you up quickly.

“how many fingers you want, sweet girl?” she breaks away from your cunt to ask you breathlessly, before returning to suck at your clit.

you whimper from the added pressure of the position, head falling weakly against the pillow as you tried to clear your thoughts.

“ngh.. don’t know… o-one..?” you manage to muster, but you can’t already feel yourself tipping over the edge. anything abby gave you, you would take.

“hmm…” abby smiles against your pussy, keeping your legs pushed up with one hand while bringing the other down to slide through your folds.

you groan as you feel the tips of her fingers prodding at your hole, unconsciously pushing yourself against them. “we can do two…” she whisper as she slowly inserts her middle and ring finger into your pussy, hissing through her teeth as she feels you clench around her.

“relax baby… it’s only me,” she comforts you as she curls her fingers experimentally inside of you. you let out a soft cry, back arching against your mattress as she explores your insides.

abby watches your expression carefully, her tongue giving your clit small, stimulating licks as she searched for the spot that made you scream.

when she felt the spongy area deep in your core, and watched as you jolted against her fingers, panting out a moan, she knew she found it. she gave you one last lick, collecting the juices that leaked around her fingers on her tongue, she crawled up to your face with her fingers still deep inside of you.

her strokes were slow and gentle at first, teasing that spot with an almost unbearable pace. her eyes met yours and she positioned herself above you, but her pupils were darkened.

“i want to go harder,” she whispers, her voice low and full of lust. “can i do that, bun, can i go harder?”

you nod and quickly, grabbing onto her neck and pulling her lips against yours, moaning at the taste of yourself on her tongue. “please… so close..”

she didn’t need to hear another word before her pace turned from gentle to hammering. the air is punched out of you as she drills her fingers into your pussy, curling upward and hitting that spot with every thrust.

you were crying and moaning out her name, grabbing onto anything you could as she continued her rough assault on your hole. obscene squelches from your pussy fill the room, and your face blooms from embarrassment.

abby kisses you sweetly, in sharp contrast to the brutal pace of her fingers. you wrap your arms around her, hoping for a bit of her comfort to ground you in this moment. she immediately recognizes your need, bringing her forehead against yours as she fingered you.

“that feel good baby? yeah?” she whispers, her voice sultry as her palm rubs perfectly against your clit.

“m’gonna cum.. abby.. oh my god,” you cry out, fingernails digging into her back without even realizing. she clenched her teeth, the stinging pain only enhancing her desperation.

“that’s it sweet girl..” she mumbles, her pace unbreaking. “cum on my fucking fingers- let it out.”

without missing a beat, you feel your hearing practically go out, white hot pleasure coursing through your body as your orgasm crashes down on you. you shake, mouth open in a silent moan as you ride out your high, abby’s fingers never ceasing. your final sound comes out in a shattered moan, your eyes rolled back as you grind your hips into her fingers, feeling the best high of your life.

“good girl…” abby praises, her fingers slowing down even so slightly as she watches your expression.

“good. fucking. girl.” she finishes, her pace coming to a stop as she feels you tense up from the overstimulation.

you fall against the mattress, your face completely red from your post-orgasm, and your chest heaving with every breath. abby takes her fingers out of you, shoving them into her mouth and licking them clean.

you watch her in amazement as she lowers down to your face, pressing her lips against yours gingerly. you smile against her, pulling her closer by your shoulders until she practically falling on top of you.

“y/n,” abby giggles, trying to remain propped up from her elbows. “i’m gonna crush you!”

“don’t care,” you shake your head with a wide grin.

she smiles, kissing you again, but this time with a little bit more desperation. her tongue slips past your lips, massaging the inside of your mouth.

you tug on the waist band of her sweats, looking up at her with a pout. “take ‘em off,” you whine.

abby smirks at your plea, shaking her head. “so bossy,” she mumbles, pulling down her pants and tossing them aside. you instantly spring up on your knees, smashing your lips against hers.

abby flinches a bit, startled by how quickly your fingers find their way to the waistband of her boxers. you yank them down her muscular thighs, diving your much smaller fingers between her folds as you kiss her sweetly.

“woah- baby,” abby breathes, her voice almost failing her as she grabs onto your wrist. “what’re you doing?”

“returning the favor, silly,” you grumble against her lips, smiling as you feel just how wet she is. “i think i got you a little excited,” you giggle.

“no.” abby shakes her head firmly, “you’re not the one that gets to tease me.” she tries to sound stern, but the shake in her voice didn’t go unnoticed.

it wasn’t often that abby was on the receiving side. but staring down at you, with your eyes blown wide staring at her dripping cunt, she couldn’t help but grow just as desperate. she needed this too.

you palm her aching pussy, watching in awe as she bucked her hips against you, bringing her hands up to clutch the headboard. you hold your breath to surpress your own moans at the sight, wanting to only hear her soft sighs and the dirty sounds of her wetness.

“fuck… yeah like that,” abby groans, head falling back, and her knees trembling as she stays upright for you, not even realizing how she’s furthering spreading her thighs, and grinding into your palm.

she felt herself getting red the moment she realized she was already about to cum. but the pleasure was too consuming, and she was too pent up to feel any embarrassment.

the second you slipped your middle finger into her folds, your thumb instantly finding her clit, she toppled over the edge. she released a strained moan, instantly falling against you. she props herself up on the headboard to keep up her weight, and lets her head fall into your neck. she brings one hand down to cover yours, keeping your palm in place as she practically humps your fingers. she rides out her orgasm in shuddering breathes.

you watch her in shock and awe, remaining silent as she started to come down. she pulls your hand away, burying her face further into your neck with a deep sigh.

“did you just..” you begin, and she could practically hear your smile.

“yes..” she groans, rolling her face towards yours and pressing her lips at the base of your throat.

your grin widens as you stare up at the ceiling, stroking her back carefully. abby lifts her head, and secures her arms around your waist.

in a quick movement, you are rolled on top of her, your legs intertwined. she holds you tight to her chest, kissing the top of your head affectionately. you blush as you feel the stickiness between both your legs.

“we’re a mess,” you say softly, smiling up at her.

“leave it for now,” she whispers, fingers tracing shapes on your bare back. “wanna stay like this for a minute.”

you lay there in silence, listening to each others slowing breaths. and in that moment, you knew this was what it was supposed to be all along.

abby’s words come out in a content hum, her fingers affectionately pinching at the soft fat below your ass.

“sorry for making you wait so long, sweet girl.”

“you’re forgiven.”

#abby anderson x you #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby anderson fic #abby anderson one shot

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bradshawssugarbaby · 6 months

Text

Timeless - Bob Floyd x Reader

A/N: Literally my first attempt at a fic in forever so bare with me, but I had this idea and I couldn't not do it. Also definitely inspired by Timeless by Taylor Swift in a way so don't mind me.

pairing: Lt. Robert Floyd x reader

warnings/content: no warnings, extra cute Bob. mutual pining. lots of fluff. mild angst if you squint.

word count: 2.6k

The cool, crisp November air tickled the back of your neck as you walked down the street, orange, red and yellow leaves peppering the sidewalks, the smells of autumn air filling your nose. You frowned as you zipped your jacket up further to cover you better, the breeze sending a shiver down you. The streets were buzzing with people out and about to finish their preparations for Thanksgiving. It was still a week or so away, but, no one leaves anything to the last minute around here, especially not when it comes to homemade pies and cornbread dressing. The smell of fresh brewing coffee swirled around you as you made your way closer to your favourite local bake shop, enveloping your senses as you walked. You stopped as something - someone caught your eye. You froze in your steps as you peered in the window of the bakery, and you almost gasped in surprise at who you saw standing in line to order. A tall man, with neatly styled dark blonde hair, wire framed glasses, and the most stunning blue eyes you’d ever seen - it had to be him.

Suddenly, he turned and saw you, a large smile on his face as he waved, as if he’d just seen his long lost best friend. In a way, he had.

Robert Floyd had been your neighbour growing up, his house was two doors down from your parents - a pretty Victorian-Queen Anne style home that sat on the corner of the street. His mother had always kept her garden looking immaculate, like something out of a home and garden magazine. He was the youngest of three kids, with an older brother and older sister who were both outgoing and popular in school - Robert had always been shy and more reserved than his siblings.

You moved in when you were 6, just getting ready to start the school year in a new town, terrified of your own shadow. The first thing you noticed when you’d moved in, was the Floyd house and its picturesque landscape. That, and the adorable boy around your own age who’d been playing out front, and waved shyly when he saw you through the back window of your parents’ car as you drove past. For the next 12 years, you and Robert Floyd, or Bobby as you’d always called him, had been best friends - practically inseparable friends, in fact. You did everything together possible. From bike rides to church on Sundays to trick-or-treating to sports teams, everything you could do together, you did. It was as though you couldn’t function as a child without Bobby by your side, and vice versa.

That all changed when Bobby decided to enter the Navy when he turned 18. It was the first time you wouldn’t be going to school together, and the first time since you’d met that he couldn’t be by your side if you needed him. He was leaving you, and you couldn’t help but feel some resentment towards him for it. You’d wanted to tell him the day you graduated high school that you loved him, you’d wanted to beg him to stay or take you with him wherever he was heading, but for whatever reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Something inside you had told you that it was futile - he’d always wanted to join the military, since the day you met him, and when you were 10 and he’d joined a Navy League Cadet Corps group, it was like fate had decided what he was going to do in life right then and there. You knew that no amount of love in the world shared between you two would have stopped him, and you also knew that he’d never let you give up on your own aspirations to follow him wherever he went.

As you walked into the coffee shop, you were captivated by the smell of freshly baked pastries and roasted coffee beans, but everything around you seemed to freeze when you saw him in person - as if the whole world came to a complete standstill at that moment. God, you missed him. You didn’t even realize just how much you’d missed him over the last decade or so it’d been since you’d graduated. He rarely came back to South Carolina for visits, and you hadn’t exactly spent a ton of time in your hometown since college either, but in this moment, it was as if fate had decided again - you needed one another.

“Kristen? Kristen Taylor, is that you?” His voice sounded the exact same, as if nothing had changed about him in the last 10 or so years. In fact, he even looked the same as he had when you’d graduated high school, even the frames of his glasses had remained the same.

“Bobby? Wow, it’s been years! It’s so nice to see you,” You smiled fondly as he gently placed one of his large, firm hands on your arm, as if he wasn’t sure a hug was appropriate after so long.

“It’s been too long. Do you have a moment? We could sit and catch up for a few minutes, if you want to? I feel like we lost touch for some reason when I shipped out to training, and I feel like I missed a lot.” He nods sheepishly, almost as if he’s making an admission of guilt.

“I think I can spare a few minutes,” You nod slowly, smiling as you met his deep blue eyes, “I’m home visiting from New York and just wanted to take it all in, you know? I don’t really have an agenda for today.”

“Perfect,” Robert nods his head as he points to an empty booth by the window, “I’ll wait here for you while you order.”

A few moments later, coffee in hand, you’re sitting opposite him just like you’d done so many times in this very coffee shop when you were teenagers, sipping sweet teas together while sharing a freshly baked cookie or two. He smiled as he set his coffee down and laughed softly, shaking his head as he spoke.

“What have you been up to? You said you’ve been in New York? Like the city? That’s awesome,” He appears completely invested in hearing everything you’ve been up to since he last saw you.

“Well,” you began to unravel your recent past to him, or as much as you felt comfortable disclosing. You weren’t quite ready to share how you’d had failed relationship after failed relationship since you turned 18, unable to find any man who could compare to him or his sweet demeanor. You didn’t want to tell him that your last relationship ended mercifully as you prepared to walk down the aisle with your ex, and how you got cold feet a few months before the plans were finalized, but didn’t know why that was until today. You had told your ex you just weren’t ready - which wasn’t entirely untrue, but until Bob reentered your life a few minutes ago, it hadn’t dawned on you why you weren’t ready. In reality, it was because no one could ever be Bob. No one could ever give you butterflies like he had, or make you blush when he kissed you on the cheek after asking you to dance at homecoming when you were 15, or hold your hand so protectively as you said goodbye to him when he left for California.

Instead, you told him how you’d gone to NYU for journalism, how you’d entered the field and loved it instantly, how writing was your passion and you loved it so, and you told him how you’d landed the ideal position, working for a major news network writing copy and scripts for the on-air hosts to read off of, working your way up the corporate food chain to make yourself a producer. You told Bob how New York winters were biting cold at times, but how the freshly fallen snow was almost romantic, and how the sight of Central Park at Christmas was stunning, no movie could do it justice. You told him how you adored the way New York had become like a second home to you, how you felt like you’d found the perfect place for you to thrive, something you’d always struggled with growing up in a small town in the south.

Robert nodded his head as you spoke, showing deep interest in your every word and thought as you spoke. He never took his gaze away from you and never once appeared bored or as though his mind was elsewhere as you spoke - he was complete invested and hung up on your every word. When you finished, he smiled and sipped his coffee before leaning back slightly in the booth, his eyes widening slightly, the way they often had when you were growing up and he’d been impressed by something he’d read or seen.

“Wow, you’ve done pretty well for yourself then, I’d say.” He laughs softly, “I haven’t been up to nearly as much, just different tours of duty with the navy, I became a Lieutenant, and became a Naval Weapons Systems Officer, graduated from the Top Gun program, where the top like, 1% of all pilots get called up to. I then joined a task force and did a few more missions with them. I’m still on that task force, but I applied for a leave because it’s been so long since I’ve been home and I haven’t taken a leave in probably,” Robert hums for a moment as he thinks, his cheeks turning red as he speaks, “Honestly? Probably four years. My parents and siblings usually either come to me in California, or I go to my brother’s house in Texas. I don’t often need to come here, but this year my mama wanted to host Thanksgiving, so I opted to come home.”

You noticed that, as Robert spoke, he couldn’t help but keep his focus entirely on you. It was like he was studying your every feature, in case he never got to see them again. The look in his eyes suggested that he never wanted to forget anything about you, as if he was scared that if he didn’t analyze every freckle, every hair on your head and every word that escaped your lips, he’d lose you. Like you’d fade away again, into nothing more than a distant memory. His cheeks continued to blush as he realized he’d been staring at you for longer than he had intended. He shook his head and let out another laugh, this one sounding strained, as if he was trying to cover up any awkwardness that may have arisen because of him.

“You know, I really am glad we ran into each other again,” he nodded slowly. “You know, you’re still the only person who calls me Bobby. Nowadays, I’m always Bob or Robert, if you’re my parents,” he smiles fondly as he mentions the nickname you’ve called him since the day you met him. You decided that hot August afternoon that Bobby just suited him better. He agreed, and despite his mother’s protests that his name was Robert - it stuck. He was always Bobby to you, and he always would be.

“Is that so? No other girls have thought to nickname you Bobby as a pet name?” You laughed as you raised an eyebrow before sipping your coffee. You found it hard to believe that he’d never found anyone else. A man as loving and affectionate as Bobby wasn’t something you found every day, you’d learned. In the past decade, you hadn’t managed to do it, despite your best efforts.

You’d never found a man who matched him perfectly - his sweet personality, his soft spoken nature, his deep baritone voice, his laugh, the way he always protected you fiercely, but yet, always encouraged you to do whatever made you happy, and whatever you felt was best. You’d never met someone who’d rather die for you than ever see you upset. You’d yet to meet another man who’d wiped your tears when you were heartbroken or cuddle up and watch your favourite movie with you over and over again until you smiled when you were having a bad day, or meet another man who made your mother comment with, “Kristen, boys like him don’t come around too often.”. Bobby would always and forever be the only man who could meet all those expectations.

You knew it was unfair of you, and until today, you didn’t even know why you were doing it, but no man could ever be Bobby. You’d rather spend the rest of your life alone than with anyone who wasn’t him, you’d come to notice. You just prayed he felt the same way, or that you at least could convince him that he did before he went back to California, whenever that was.

“Nah, come on now, Krissy,” he chuckled as he used his nickname he’d always reserved for you growing up, “You know I’d never meet another girl who I’d let call me that. We could have been apart for 40 years instead of 10, and I still wouldn’t have let anyone else call me Bobby. That’s always been your thing for me. It wouldn’t feel right if someone else called me that, you know?”

“I do. I feel the same about being called Krissy. I don’t think anyone’s called me that since you left,” you nodded slowly as you let out a soft sigh, looking down at the now empty coffee cup on the table in front of you.

“Krissy?” He said softly, his hand reaching across the table to touch yours ever so gently.

“Mhmm?” You hummed, not wanting to meet his gaze out of fear that one look at him right now would make you crumble and burst into hysterical tears.

“You know, I’ve really enjoyed seeing you. Do you think we could see each other again before I go back to base? I leave on Monday, I’m only here for 5 days, unfortunately,” he said quietly, gently holding your hand across the table. You can sense he has more he wants to say, but it’s like he’s struggling to get the words out.

“I think we can make that work, maybe after Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, we could go for a walk? Our folks still live two houses away from one another, so it’s not like we’ll be too far away from each other for the next few days. It’ll be just like old times.” You confirm, nodding your head reassuringly, trying not to seem too eager or excited at the prospect of seeing him every day for the next five days.

“Sounds good,” Robert smiled warmly as he stood up from the booth, looking down at you with an excited happiness about him, “I’ll come knock on your door after dinner tomorrow then, we can go for a walk like we used to as kids, just enjoy being outside and all that.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” you laugh as you shake your head, standing from your seat.

You smiled softly to yourself as you watched Robert head outside, walking down the street past the window of the coffee shop, his navy quarter zip sweater and dark wash denim jeans suiting him perfectly. You bit your lip to hold back a grin as he walked away. You had five days to work up the courage to tell him how you felt. Five short days. You weren’t sure how you were going to do it, but you were certain about one thing - Bob wasn’t leaving South Carolina without you this time.

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theold-ultraviolence · 1 year

Note

hey irma!! for the valentines prompts can i request aemond with you’re driving me crazy and mutual pining? 🖤💋

You Drive Me Crazy • Modern!Aemond Targaryen x reader • 18+

summary: There's no way Aemond Targaryen would ever notice you, a waitress from the dingy little diner...or is there? NSFW Warning: Itty bitty glimpse of public sex (?) they're in an empty dinner, no one sees // Song prompt: (You Drive Me) Crazy by Britney Spears // Vday prompts: #6 mutual pining, #12 secret admirers. • 2023 Vday ficlet fest masterlist

Baby, I'm so into you

“ – AT” Is your only clue. There, in one of the diner tables you were cleaning, someone had left a single red rose, with those initials on a note.

‘AT’ could stand for a number of names, but you can only associate those initials to bright lilac and silver blonde.

What can I do?

He drives you absolutely mad, bonkers, insane – just – fucking crazy.

You’d never have imagined a guy such as Aemond Targaryen, one of the snobby art history students, in a dingy place like the little diner across campus, where you work at. As a starving college student you had to make ends meet, but him?

And yet, he was here almost every night, with a book as his sole companion, always ordering either the soup of the day with some lemonade and tea afterwards, or a cup of coffee with a pastry.

He drives you crazy because he never says a thing. But regardless of his silence, he just has something that intrigues you – attracts you, so damn much. You exchange glances from across the diner, he lingers for a bit while ordering his meals. When other waitresses go up to serve him he always dismisses them politely, waiting until you come by his table. Then there’s the way he flushes when you take him by surprise and ask about the books he reads. The way you catch him staring at your legs in your uniform dress.

You feel like you’re losing it.

Tell me I'm not in the blue,

That I'm not wasting my feelings on you

February knocks on your door, bringing with it the promise of change. The month of pink and red roses and romance in the air. It thrills you, pushes you to take the risk and leave your phone number on one of his receipts one time.

All night, you tossed and turned, waiting, wondering if he was gonna call or text.

But he never did.

Was he ignoring you because he’s not interested? Are you that low on the social sphere for him?

You drive me crazy

I just can't sleep

Dreaded Valentine’s day rushes in with zero prospects except for an evening on your feet and the diner jam-packed with annoying couples who couldn’t be bothered to turn down their ruckus or clean up a little bit after themselves. You could barely catch a break, much less look around for a glimpse of him. He must’ve had plans with someone else already. And you swear, regardless of how busy you were, you definitely would’ve spotted his gorgeous head of silver hair.

There’s no way he had left you that rose, probably someone else had forgotten it.

You trace the soft petals with yearning, all alone, stalling on cleaning the dining floor because your heart beats too loudly within you, renderring you motionless.

The little chime of the doorbell rings – and you’re ready to send the customer out with a huff until you turn and see him.

Your breath escapes you.

Everything around you dims except for his luminous pressence.

“I see you got my note.” His voice is a soft contrast to all the leather he wears, his lips curl ever so carefully one might miss it if you’re not looking closely. But you do, you always have.

You smile, bringing the rose to your chest. “You didn’t get my phone number.” You just had to throw it out there. You had to know.

“I did. I couldn’t tell you how many times I pulled up my messages, ready to text you, but I never knew what to say. I’ve never been good with words.”

You bite your lip as you look at him.

Step by step, he approaches you, with his eye intently fixed on yours.

It’s valentine’s day, after all.

Maybe all that February magic would find you once more, if only you took a little leap of faith. With a rush of adrenaline pumping in your veins, you ask.

“Then what are you good with?” Your voice comes out way more sultry than you’d intended, and the way his pupil dilates has you clutching at your rose or else your hands would be on him in a second.

And they are.

I'm so excited, I'm in too deep

crazy, but it feels alright

They are.

Not just your hands, but your legs, snaking around his waist the moment he sits you on the counter and fits himself all snug against you, grinding on your throbbing core.

“You drive me crazy,” You whine, grasping at the lapels of his leather jacket, urging him to take it off now, though he’s too busy with one hand unzipping your uniform dress and the other hiking up your skirt.

He’s hungry for you, desperate to feel every inch of your skin that's revealed when the top half of your dress slips down your shoulders.

“Just as you do to me,” He rasps as he showers you with kisses – his presence all consuming, it leaves you trembling, struggling to unzip his pants.

You don’t even remember how you managed to do it, or if it had been you who’d done it – all thoughts wipe out of your brain the moment you feel him entering you, splitting you open and embracing you with all his warmth.

You’re thankful the curtains of the dinner are all rolled down so no one would see you clinging to his shoulders; thankful for his intoxicating scent right underneath his jaw where you muffle your moans.

He drives you crazy, he still does. He's never stop.

He doesn't stop until every muscle in your body has been left shaking.

Doesn't stop, even after you’re wiping yourselves down when you’re through, kissing each other delicately, as if each kiss carried all the words that had been meant to be said all this time, but could never make it out of your lips.

At night, you lay awake reminiscing about the feeling of him inside, when a beep from your phone startles you.

Finally.

All the wait had been worth it, the moment you see his text, shining brightly from your phone screen:

Baby, thinking of you keeps me up all night

A/N: BESTIES thank you SO, SO much for participating in my little ficlet fest!! it means a lot and it fills my heart with joy to see that you coincided with the prompts! I'm sending you all a big bouquet of your favorite flowers and all the valentine's goodies!! hope you enjoyed this!! x

#aemond targaryen #modern!aemond #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #reader insert #fanfiction #hotd #house of the dragon #vday ficlet fest #ewan mitchell #my writing

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youre-ackermine · 10 months

Text

It may not be much but for me it means a lot…

When I started this blog a few months ago…

I didn't imagine I would reach this milestone.

I didn't imagine I would get to know so many amazing people, so many talented artists & writers.

I didn't imagine I would find such true friendship with my mutuals.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 300 FOLLOWERS!!!

To celebrate this milestone, I'm hosting a 300 Followers Event.

Event requests open from June 21st to July 2nd

I'll post the replies starting from June 24th

Let me know about your triggers if you have any

I won't write anything that makes me uncomfortable

If you request character x reader, please specify female or gender neutral

You can add any useful detail in your request

I'm a [painfully] slow writer so drabbles will be posted with a delay

Feel free to send several requests but separately

Posts will be tagged #val's 300 followers event

RULES:

SEND ME A REQUEST (AOT ONLY) WITH 1+2+3+4+5

1- A Reference Picture or a Painting or a Link to a Fanart or a Song or a Prompt/Quote/Word (for inspo)

2- Choose an AOT Character or Ship or OT3

3- Choose between: Canonverse or any Alternative Universe (specify which AU)

4- Choose: SFW or NSFW

5- Choose: Headcanon or Drabble or Mood Board

SEND ME A REQUEST FOR A PERSONAL MOOD BOARD

1- Tell me what kind of aesthetic you want, with details (anything useful: favorite colors, likes & dislikes, zodiac sign, favorite flowers or pastries or outfit, hobbies, your name, real pics or anime/manga pics, musical tastes...)

2- Personal mood board slots left: 09/10

❤️❤️❤️ I LOVE YOU ALL ❤️❤️❤️

*****

Event banner @youre-ackermine

Floral divider @firefly-graphics

#val's 300 followers event #event announcement #val's requests 📫#val writes ✍️#val's moodboards 🌺#aot headcanons #aot drabbles #mood boards

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hwaitham · 7 months

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⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ❤︎ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ a night out of the cold and in the grand castle… a table full of delectable pastries and sweet teas… a ballroom decorated with string lights and fake snow… boudoir eyes and messily tied bows and kiss stains on shirt collars…? come dressed in your finest silks for the celebration!

100 frost kisses will be home to two events, secret snowflakes and everwinter ball! you may join one or both of these events ❤︎

SECRET SNOWFLAKES: this is an event to spread joy and love; here, you can blow snowflakes to whomever you'd like to on tumblr! please read admission requirements below to join...

this event is open to all—followers and non-followers alike!

anonymously leave a sweet message for whomever you'd like in coco's inbox, along with their tumblr username

in return, with a sprinkle of stardust, coco will delicately wrap your message in satin ribbon and deliver your message to your loved one! receiving a letter from their secret snowflake will surely make their day, don't you think? ໒꒰ྀི ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ ꒱ྀི১

EVERWINTER BALL: as the name suggests, this is a ball! but you don't get to pick your dates... please read admission requirements below for more details...

this event is strictly invite only—that is, only current followers and mutuals may attend!

pick one fandom you are familiar with, and one you aren’t: bungo stray dogs, free!, fruits basket, genshin impact, haikyuu, honkai star rail, jujutsu kaisen, obey me!, tokyo revengers

specify if you would like a male or female matchup [ if preference isn’t stated coco will assume either is okay! ]

please inform coco of any characters you don't want to be matched up with

send me a picture ﾉ picrew of you [ fret not ! they will be deleted after coco decides your plus one n' two ]

in return, with a swish of her wand, coco will pair you with a face you know well, and another one you don't! a plus one and a plus two! perhaps... they'll end up fighting for your affections at the end of the night? ૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ྀིა

SECRET SNOWFLAKES IS OPEN FROM MONDAY SEPTEMBER 18TH — SUNDAY SEPTEMBER 24TH, EVERWINTER BALL IS OPEN UNTIL ALL SLOTS ARE FILLED! requests for invites sent in after the event close date or after all slots have been filled will be ignored. please do not ask to reserve a slot!

SECRET SNOWFLAKE EVENT STATUS OPEN ✩ SLOTS FOR EVERWINTER BALL REMAINING 0/20

#❤︎ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼 #if dis looks familiar . . erm . . . no it doesnt ><

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strawberrywinter4 · 2 months

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•{𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧}•

Hello, friends! My name is Winter and I’m one of the many writers here on Tumblr. I mostly post on Ao3, but I update a lot on here as well!

A little about myself: I’m an INFJ personality and a Hufflepuff (just so you can get a little more insight about me). My loves are movies and shows, writing, sweet pastries, fuzzy socks, cuddling with my cat (when he wants to), bookstores, reading, history and literature, and spending time with family.

I’m queer and trying to figure out who I am as a person. I’m on a journey of self love and body positivity. All in all, I’m just trying to enjoy life! :)

*•*•*•*•

❤︎︎𝐌𝐲 𝐀𝐨𝟑❤︎︎

*•*•*•*•

❦𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬❦ :

꧁Masterlist꧂

༻ 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩: 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 ༺

𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 - (𝐄) - 𝟑𝟎,𝟗𝟎𝟐 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 - 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐮𝐬 - 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝖫𝗈𝗄𝗂 𝖫𝖺𝗎𝖿𝖾𝗒𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗄 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋． 𝖥𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗒． 𝖧𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋， 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗒 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗎𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄． 𝖠 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅－𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼 𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗒， 𝖬𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗎𝗌． 𝖬． 𝖬𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗎𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖫𝗈𝗄𝗂’𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌． 𝖠𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍， 𝖫𝗈𝗄𝗂 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗇． 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗅𝗒？

⁂ 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐮𝐬, 𝐈𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞, 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲, 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭 ⁂

I will create a Masterlist for this fandom when I write enough works for it. Stay tuned!

*•*•*•*•

✰𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ✰ :

This blog is for my writing and for rants on various topics.

I write fluff, angst, and occasional NSFW. If you're not fond, simply tap or click away.

This is a safe place and my goal is to help people escape from reality through fandoms. Never be afraid to send an ask! Whether it be prompts, to say hi, or chat about anything at all, I don’t mind! I’m always open to having mutuals or writer friends <3

Only rule for this blog is to stay kind and respect opinions. No unnecessary hate please :)

🝮𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲🝮

🝮𝐌𝐲 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭🝮

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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GHOST'S "OPEN BAR" 3K CELEBRATION

as a way to say thank you and show my appreciation for hitting 3k, i decided it's about time for a party around here... don't y'all? and what better way to get a party started than to get a little boozy! (haha get it? BOOzy? because ghost? no? okay i'll stop.)

THE RULES: below the cut will be a fun menu filled to the brim with delicious drinks! send me an ask with your order, and as long as it follows my general rules, i'll whip it right up for you! the idea here is each drink represents a different general trope, and you fill in the blanks with a character of your choosing (see below) as well as general ideas! below will be examples of requests. i will being doing as many of these requests as possible for this week, from april 3rd (today) to april 8th. starting april 9th, i have a different fun week planned for us to keep the party going, and will announce it on sunday <3

WHO I'M WRITING FOR: eddie munson, steve harrington, spencer reid, and joel miller. you must specify the character in your request, or i will not complete it.

EXAMPLES OF REQUESTS: "hi! can i get a filthy martini with eddie munson? maybe some overstimulation involving toys?" or "can i get a flute of champagne with joel miller? maybe what the end of the day looks like in the QZ!" you can get as specific or as vague as you'd like! these are just examples :-)

also, before we dive in, i've also filled this post with easter eggs towards just a few of my favorite fics/authors (and a couple of my own). i have added a link over each reference in case any of them catch your eye. i wouldn't have hit this milestone without all of these wonderful people who inspire and support me, and there was no way i wasn't sending a nod their way during this event. i love y'all endlessly <3

alright, onwards with the party bus, friends!

THE MENU:

🥃 WILLOW'S OLD-FASHIONED: angst

long week? a new job babysitting a rockstar that just cannot and will not behave? has that blonde coworker you just wish you could slap into the next week gotten on your final nerve? look no further! sit back and cry relax with one of our famous old-fashioneds!

🍷 ASH'S SPECIAL: hurt/comfort

whiskey and bitters not your cup of tea? be still your old heart! no worries! relax like the world's ending from your long week with a good book and a glass of our famous Sauvignon Blanc instead!

🥂 FLUTE OF CHAMPAGNE: fluff

sip on some of our top shelf Dom Perignon and get lost in the bubbles! this classic will have you feeling so good, it's almost as if you've traded bodies with your arch nemesis in a freaky friday ordeal. just don't think too hard about his... mechanics below the belt... or this drink might be a boner killer. let the good times roll!

🍸 FILTHY MARTINI: smut

feeling dirty? look no further. here at ghost's, we've got you covered with one of our dirty, downright filthy martinis. disclaimer: we are not legally responsible for you getting colorfully intimate with your friend's dad or if you end up in a 3-film-box-set porno deal. yeah, our lawyers make us put those disclaimers now. keep it in your pants, folks!

not looking to get tipsy tonight? no worries! check out our extended menu options - we've still got you covered <3

☕ CUP OF SUNSHINE: mutual pining

get it hot! get it iced! get it fresh! as long as you get it before it's gone! wake yourself up with a cup of our coffee brewed in-house. cream and sugar available upon request. (hot and dirty sex in the back room not available upon request.)

🥐 KARMEN'S CROISSANTS: exes to lovers

be sure to grab a snack during your night out! these croissants are absolutely to die for (just don't fall for your reaper, folks!). enjoy this lamented pastry in our favorite armchair by the window while enjoying one of our many books laid out for your pleasure!

easter eggs i'm unable to tag (aka banner):

the "yes" policy

and my own twenty-four hours

also, filthy martini is fully a shout out to the legend behind the man of the hour who has inspired a large majority of these fics as well as my own - mr. joseph quinn himself. may all his martinis be the absolute filthiest.

once again, thank you all. i will never know how to repay the kindness showed to me, so i will do what i do best - write. also, please keep in mind i have no idea how many requests i will receive. my hope is to complete as many as possible without driving myself to absolute madness; please be kind and patient with me <3

#3k celebration #eddie munson #steve harrington #joel miller #spencer reid #aaaaaah what am i getting myself into oh lord #i really do love all of you thank you for being so nice to me haha #i'll be making an official rec list of all my favorite fics soon #this is just a taste

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daydreamingfuel · 1 year

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Freak Like Me

Chapter 3

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

AO3 // previous // next

Y/N has just moved to Hawkins from England with her parents and is starting at the high school in the final term of her senior year. Eddie immediately takes a liking to her and they become fast friends, deciding to take her under his wing and falling to her charms. This is Hawkins however and things are never quite as they seem...

WHOLE FIC TAGS & WARNINGS: gratuitous use of Y/N (I'm not sorry), friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, eventual smut, semi-fix-it-fic, angst, injury, canon dialogue and events used, canon graphic violence, no main character death :)

Chapter Tags & Warnings: a hell of a lot of angst, Chrissy gets vecna'd, hurt some comfort, intense flirting with little payoff, daddy issues get worse??

Chapter Word Count: 7.8k

A/N - I apologise in advance, this hurt me to write too so don't yell at me

The days that passed were much the same, the days quickly turned to weeks, and over the month and weeks that they knew each other and grew closer, they had developed a smooth routine. Eddie picking her up for school; lunch with Hellfire; sneaking off to the table in the woods for a smoke and gratuitous but harmless flirting; studying, D&D prep and dinner at either the Y/L/N house or the trailer. On the days Eddie worked and Y/N had a shift at the bakery she managed to land a part-time job at, she would take a coffee and a pastry to him at the record shop so they could have lunch together, quickly learning he forgets to eat between customers and is grumpy the morning after. But Friday night, Hellfire night, was the best. It wasn’t at first, however. The older boys in the group had their grievances, of course, Y/N walking in on them voicing their distaste to Eddie before her first session with the group.

“C’mon, man! She’s gonna ruin it for the rest of us.” Jeff groaned in annoyance, sinking into his seat at the table and glaring at his Dungeon Master.

Gareth harumphed in agreement and spouted his own disapproval, “She’s never played before, this is gonna be shit! This is supposed to be your big final campaign before finals! Just because you’ve got a stupid crush on her doesn’t mean that we have to-”

Eddie's hands slam down on the table. “Enough!” The boys shrunk back in their seats at his sudden raised voice, before his furious gaze locked onto his best friends, “Unless either of you wants your perfectly crafted characters to suffer a fate worse than death in the most horrific ways I can possibly think of I will not have another bad word said about Y/N joining the party. Am I understood?”

“Understood.” They both said, in slight fear at Eddie's rage.

“Understood,” Y/N echoed from the doorway having overheard the whole thing, sparing the boys a glare of her own before sending Eddie a wink and taking her place at the table.

Y/N, despite having a truly horrible first attempt at playing, fell in love with the game, especially once she was the only one who could save them at the end of their first session and won the boys around. She quickly got into the swing of things, returning home from sessions buzzing with anticipation of the next session. Try as she might to get even a small clue about the progression of the story he was crafting, she couldn’t get a word out of Eddie. Not when she brought him freshly baked cookies and let him ramble for hours on end about future campaign ideas. Or when she would excitedly go over her notes in the van on the way back home after a session, hoping that he would let something slip but he never did.

He saw through her every time, “Sorry darlin’ you ain’t getting shit from me.”

“But Eds…” she would whine and close her notebook in a huff, making him laugh, “just something little, basically insignificant. Please, Eddie?”

She made him weak, but not weak enough, “Nice try sweetheart.”

The man took his role as Dungeon Master seriously, and it definitely paid off. Eddie truly came to life when he was DM’ing, and the sessions allowed for an escape Y/N had never had. Not to mention that it was amazing to watch the intense combination of pure joy Eddie clearly got from the game and the stern concentration on running the campaign. Playing ‘God’ for a few hours brought out a rarely seen confident aura. He was enigmatic, and Y/N could feel herself fall for him more and more with every week that passed.

Relationships blossomed in other areas of her life, outside of Eddie, as well. Chrissy had become a hesitant but fierce friend and confidant, and despite the conflicting emotions that came with it, they loved spending time together away from their respective boys. Mostly their conversations stemmed from their joined interest in classic romantic literature, but over time they started to tell each other anything and everything. It felt good to have a feminine best friend again. Someone to have mini spa sessions and self-care days with. To talk about makeup, and romcoms, and go shopping with. To gush about undying crushes and frustrations. Plus, the friendship came with the bonus that it thoroughly pissed off Jason. Of course, Eddie wasn’t sure at first, either. He didn’t trust that it wouldn’t come back to bite them in the ass if Jason were to ever overhear their conversations, but as soon as he learned that Jason hated that the girls were fast friends, he was all for it. Even going as far as to pick them up from shopping trips in the van after work when he could.

Chrissy brought out a side of Y/N that she thought was abandoned in England with her old life. A strange part of her felt like she was leading a double life, and worse was that she kept getting horrific déjà vu from seemingly innocent moments with Chrissy. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but her own for not being honest about her past. But she had such a good thing going she didn’t want to ruin it. But the walls were starting to crack, for both of them. Chrissy could tell that Y/N was hiding something from her, but she couldn’t quite place what, mentally noting all the times that she would vaguely stare off into space then shake it off with a smile and go on as if nothing happened. And Y/N would notice all the skipped meals and times when Chrissy would disappear for a good few minutes after any meals they did have together and come back smelling strongly of perfume, brushing it off just as easily. All they needed was a little push for the walls to come crashing down around them.

Spring Break, something Y/N had never experienced, was coming up fast. Lucas was taking his basketball duties more seriously; the final session of Eddie’s most complex campaign for Hellfire was approaching and they had no idea how it was going to end; college application deadlines creeping up on them - it was all coming to an abrupt end, all too fast. Y/N never thought she would say it, but she wasn’t ready for school to end just yet. Before she had time to fully process anything happening in her life, which was starting to feel more like the beginning of a romcom than reality, the final week of term rolled around. And it flew by. Waking up on Friday, and donning her custom Hellfire shirt which was slightly tailored and re-hemmed to fit her waist and neck better, her mind was flooded with ideas of all the things that she could do during her time off. Most of them including Eddie, she had a big surprise planned for him and couldn’t wait to tell him that night. And Chrissy, they had so many dates planned Y/N had to start writing them down to keep track. And Dustin and Lucas, who had promised to introduce her to some of their other friends in Y/N’s year whilst Mike went to California to visit the Byers.

But her morning didn’t start the way she had wanted. As she mindlessly wandered into the kitchen, she slammed straight into her dad walking towards her room.

“Oop!” Y/N wobbled and he caught her slightly, “Sorry dad, I didn’t realise you were still here.”

“That’s actually why I was coming to wake you. Why are you awake so early?” The man straightened himself out as he talked.

“Pep rally before classes start.” He nodded sharply at Y/N’s answer before turning on his heel and leading Y/N to the kitchen table where Mrs Y/L/N was already sitting, tissue in hand.

“Mum?” Y/N immediately took a seat as close to her mother as she could and gripped her hand, staring at her father incredulously, “Dad, what’s going on?”

“I’m leaving for a few months. Work trip, completely unavoidable.” His eyes flick to the suitcases piled by the door, “I leave for Nevada at noon.”

“Excuse me?” Y/N blinked at the man in front of her, rage consuming her, her breathing becoming more laboured as she processed what her father had said. “You’re just leaving? With no other warning?”

“I received the call this morning, Y/N, there was no further warning.” Mr Y/L/N tried to explain as calmly as possible, but his frustration was evident. His whole body was tensed, hands flexing by his sides, and veins straining on his neck with every word.

“We knew this might happen dear,” Mrs Y/L/N sniffled from beside her, “if his work needs him-”

“Then that’s his main priority, I know.” Y/N finished, unable to hide the bitterness in her voice, making her father sigh and groan in annoyance.

“You’re not making this any easier, do you really believe I want to just leave you and your mother like this?” Mr Y/L/N finally breaks, storming towards and towering over Y/N.

“Well, I haven’t properly seen you in months anyway. So, what difference does it make?” Y/N sunk into her seat, fiddling with her hands in her lap, avoiding eye contact, voice flat.

Silence fell, the room tense. Only broken when Eddie honked from outside.

“I’ve got to go, don’t want to be late for school. I’ll be back late mum, but I’ll be home I promise.” She kisses her mum on the temple and she pats Y/N’s hands in understanding. “Dad…”

“If you get into any trouble, you call me.” Mr Y/L/N says sternly, but his eyes were red from holding back tears. “Don’t get into trouble.”

“I’ll try,” Y/N forced a small smile onto her face before suddenly she was engulfed by her dads' arms. Her heart ached, and she found herself tightening her fists around the fabric of his shirt. The once-familiar scent of his aftershave flooded her senses and soothed a small part of her soul. As she pulled away, she felt a small kiss land on her hairline and she shuddered, holding back her own tears. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. Not now, not ever.

Of course, Eddie immediately noticed something was wrong and a strange feeling of déjà vu washed over them. Her smile at him was forced and his grip on the steering wheel was tight, the bats flying on his forearm once again. He didn’t want to push, and she didn’t speak, slumped against the window, watching the trees and houses go by. Y/N didn’t realise her knee was bouncing until she felt his warm hand fall onto it and squeeze gently to tell her he was there. After a few more minutes of silence, he swallowed his nerves and finally spoke up.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” His voice was soft and worried, he hadn’t seen her this shut off before and it scared him. He heard her sniffle and clear her throat before sitting up straighter and threading her fingers through his hand on her knee.

“I know, Eds, just not right now.” He nodded and squeezed her hand once more, and she squeezed back composing herself a little as they came up to the school, “I need to go meet Chrissy before the pep rally, so quick detour? Then breakfast?”

He responded by pulling into the school car park at the last second and parking up near the gates. He jumped out of the car and rounded the front to open her door, before finally saying, “Yeah, you go have your little gossip session, I’ll be here waiting for you. Don’t be too long or I’ll go eat without you.”

She chuckled slightly and a smile pulled onto his face at the sound, holding onto it as he shut the door to the van and watched her walk away, shouting over her shoulder, “You wouldn’t dare, Munson. I’ll be quick!”

Chrissy all but ran to catch up with Y/N as they entered the building, her ponytail swaying as she looped her arm through Y/N’s. Her smile was as sweet as ever but Y/N saw straight through it. Late the previous night, Y/N had received a phone call from a panicking Chrissy who had just woken up from a horrible nightmare. Y/N had managed to calm her down enough to go back to sleep but the girl was restless. It was obvious to Y/N that her best friend had barely slept a wink after they hung up the phone. To anyone else, she was as bright and bubbly as normal. They walked the familiar path through the school towards the back of the gym, Chrissy gripping Y/N’s arm. Once they reached the door, the blonde turned towards Y/N and pulled her in for a tight hug.

“I can’t do this,” Chrissy whispered, voice small.

Y/N ran a soothing hand up and down her friend's back, “Yes, you can.”

“It just keeps getting worse, Y/N…but I feel paralysed, I just feel like I’m going insane.” Chrissy rambles into Y/N’s shoulder before pulling away and looking her in the eye. “I can’t keep doing this, I’m going to break.”

“Hey, you know I’m always here for you…you don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to but I have noticed that you’re not well, Chris,” Y/N says gently, not wanting Chrissy to push her away but she just sighs and slumps back against the wall, swallowing a lump in her throat.

“These nightmares…they feel too real…like I’m actually living them again,” Chrissy admits to Y/N, who nods in understanding, being plagued by nightmares herself, and allowing her the space to talk. “They’re mostly of my mother, of the things she tells me about myself…my body.”

Y/N takes a deep breath, connecting the dots. Chrissy’s weird behaviour around food and the frequent bathroom visits all started to make sense, and made Y/N so angry at herself for not picking up the signs earlier. “How long have you been…?”

“A couple months,” Chrissy’s arms wrapped around her body, hiding, “but she started restricting my diet years ago when I first became a cheerleader, it got worse when I became captain…and that’s when I started to…”

“Yeah.” Y/N closed her eyes and flexed her hands a little before reaching out and placing a hand on top of Chrissy’s “I’m so sorry.”

Chrissy opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself when she saw the rest of the cheerleaders walking towards them, “We’ll continue this later, don’t think I haven’t noticed you either, no more secrets.” Chrissy’s eyes were wide, searching Y/N’s for any hesitance or doubt but she only found surrender and concern, “For either of us.”

Y/N nodded in agreement and pulled Chrissy back in for another hug, when a thought popped into her head, whispering the idea to her friend, “Feel free to shoot me down, I know it sounds insane but go meet Eddie by the table in the woods during free period, he might be able to give you something to help relax you enough to get a good night’s sleep.”

“Really? He’d do that?” Chrissy asked with a forced smile, being able to see her squad over Y/N’s shoulder and upon feeling Y/N nod, she thought for a second before replying, “I’ll think about it, I’ve got another session with Ms Kelly later, anyway…it might help.”

When Y/N left Chrissy to her other friends, Y/N headed straight back to the van, Eddie back in the driver’s seat, rocking out by himself to the Iron Maiden song blasting through his speakers. His predictability soothed her. They had planned to blow off the pep rally entirely, and go have breakfast at a little diner not too far away before school, and after Chrissy’s confession, Y/N wanted nothing more than a bit of comfort. Pulling open the door and sliding into the passenger seat, she greeted Eddie - “told you I’d be fast” – before settling into the drive to the familiar diner. Breakfast with Eddie was easy, calming despite his hyperactive nature, exactly what she needed after the hell of a morning she was already having. All they could talk about was the impending final session of the campaign that night, Y/N bugging him for any kind of reprieve. Which only made him laugh. The sound had become one of her favourite things and she made it her personal mission to hear it as much as possible.

The rest of her morning ran smoothly after breakfast. She didn’t bump into Chrissy again but the whole school was buzzing after the pep rally, so she assumed everything went well and she managed to perform without cracking. By the time lunch rolled around, Y/N had mostly managed to force the morning from her mind. And Eddie would only push it further away. He had found a copy of a magazine with a scathing article about his beloved game and was animatedly reading it aloud for the group to hear.

“‘The Devil has come to America.’” His voice was deep and lilting, mimicking that of an infomercial voiceover, right as Dustin and Mike take their seats at the table next to Y/N, “‘Dungeons and Dragons, at first regarded as a harmless game of make-believe, now has both parents and psychologists concerned.’” Y/N rolled her eyes, picking at her food as she listened to Eddie, his voice becoming more and more him with every sentence, “‘Studies have linked violent behaviour to the game, saying it promotes satanic worship, ritual sacrifice, sodomy, suicide, and even” He slams the magazine down onto the table “’…murder.’”

The table chuckled at the ridiculous article, and at Eddie, Y/N scoffing before commenting, “Society has to blame something. We're an easy target.”

“Exactly.” Eddie brushes Y/N’s chin with his thumb, lifting it slightly with his index finger, winking before starting to rant, “We're the freaks because we like to play a fantasy game. But-” he rises from his seat and gets up to stand on the table, walking down the middle, “as long as you're into band or science…” he addresses the cliques as he mentions them, voice getting louder, “…or parties,” he mocks the group dressed like they just got back from a rager, who flipped him off, before he directed his attention to his true targets, “or a game where you toss balls into laundry baskets!”

“Loser!” Someone shouts, but Eddie doesn’t care, as he stares down Jason Carver who is glaring right back.

“You want something, freak?” Jason calls him out, and Eddie being Eddie, only mocks further – placing his fingers to his head like devils’ horns as a feral sound falls from his lips, smirking afterwards at Jason's disgusted face, “Prick” Jason mutters to himself as Eddie turns away.

“It's forced conforming. That's what's…” He jumps off the table and scares an innocent bystander, making a further spectacle of himself “…killing the kids!” The group chuckles at his antics but he bows back and holds out a gentlemanly arm to allow two cheerleaders to pass without incident before settling back into his seat, “That's the real monster.” He finishes his rant, one hand picking at his food, the other falling onto Y/N’s knee, her hand immediately covering it with her own, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle into her skin through her jeans.

“So, uh, speaking of monsters,” Dustin pipes up, he’s grinning his usual adorable smile but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, which are slightly scared, “uh, Lucas has to do his, uh, balls-in-laundry-baskets game. So…he's not gonna be able to make it to Hellfire tonight.” Dustin giggles as he speaks but Eddie just stares blankly back at him, “And I know there's no way we can beat your sadistic campaign without him. So, me and Mike, we were talking, shooting the shit, and we were thinking that maybe we might…” Dustin is stammering, trying to break the question to Eddie gently but Mike, who was growing increasingly more frustrated cuts in.

“Postpone.” Mike finally says, causing the boys at the table to erupt into complaints.

“Postpone? You can't just drop this on us!” Gareth and Jeff are outraged by the mere notion but not as much as Grant who states a firm “Over my dead body.”

Y/N shakes her head at the childish behaviour, sure she loved the game, but wasn’t supporting their friend just as important?

“Shut up!” Eddie finally snaps and silence falls across the table, “You saying Sinclair's been taken in by the dark side?”

“Uh, something like that.” Mike hesitantly agrees but only gets a bit of food thrown at him.

“Something like that?” Eddie echoes, pulling a small ‘Jesus Christ’ from Dustin in response. Eddie just continues, “And rather than find a sub for him, you want…” his eye twitches, “you want to postpone "The Cult of Vecna"?” Eddie finishes incredulously, burning a hole through Mike’s skull with his eyes.

“I…I don't want to postpone it. We don't want to postpone it.” Mike gestures to Dustin who nods emphatically, but Eddie isn’t hearing any of it, standing up from the table, Y/N’s hand gripping his to try and keep him calm, his knuckles turning pink with the force of his grip, “It's just that, you know, most of the subs will be at the championship game.”

“Oh, it's the championship game?” Eddie finally turns back to look at Mike.

Mike seems confused “Yeah?”

“Can I level with you?” He drops Y/N’s hand, and she sighs deeply muttering a small ‘here we go...’ under her breath, knowing that Eddie isn’t going to just let this go and there would be no reasoning with him. “Jeff graduates this year. Gareth's got, what? A year and a half? Me, I am army-crawling my way toward a D in Ms O'Donnell's. If I don't blow her final, and I know I won’t thanks to Y/N,” He smiles at her and she winks back, the tutoring had been working, his grades were up and it looked like was finally going to graduate, “I'm gonna walk that stage next month, I'm gonna look Principal Higgins dead in the eye, I'm gonna flip him the bird, I'm gonna snatch that diploma. I'm gonna run like hell outta here.”

The group once again laughs at Eddie's dramatics, Y/N unable to stop the grin on her face that he was so excited about graduating. But of course, his friends had to humble him a little.

“Didn't you say that last year?” Commented Gareth, smiling smugly but with affection, Jeff added in the same manner, “And the year before?”

“Yeah, yeah, and I was full of shit.” Eddie agrees but continues, his deep brown eyes were wide and hopeful, “This year's different. This year is my year. I can feel it. '86, baby.” He grins, eyes locking onto Y/N’s, a small blush creeping up onto his cheeks but he brushes it off and continues addressing the freshmen who look up at him with admiration, “You know what that means?” the boys shake their heads “It means you boys are the future of Hellfire.” Eddie rounds the table to crouch behind Dustin and Mike, arms draped across their shoulders “I knew it the moment I saw you. You sat on that table right over there, looking like…looking like two little lost sheep. You were wearing a Weird Al T-shirt, which I thought was brave.”

“Thank you.” Dustin nods but is unable to meet Eddie’s intense eye contact.

“Mike, you were wearing whatever shit your mommy bought you from goddamn Gap.” The table laughs once more but it is cut off when Eddie suddenly stands, pulling the freshmen up with him, “And we showed you that school didn't have to be the worst years of your lives, right?

“No.” Mike and Dustin agree, they had been taken in and appreciated for all their quirks and nerdiness by Eddie, they had a friend and inspiration in their Dungeon Master, despite of how much he scared them sometimes.

So, Eddie continued, “Okay, no, no. Well, I'm here to tell you, that there are other little lost sheepies out there who need help. Who need you. And all you guys gotta do is get your Bo-Peeps on and go and find one.” He pushed them away into the crowd, turning back to the table and taking his seat again as the boys scurried off.

“Don’t you think that was a bit much, Eds?” Y/N questions before taking a bite of her sandwich, shrugging it off when Eddie’s glare focuses on her. He was always ‘a bit much’, and they all knew it. His gaze softened when he saw that she was only teasing him. Her eyes sparkled and a smile tried to force its way onto her face behind the sandwich.

“You too, darlin’? You wound me.” His voice is low and warning, making a chill run down her spine but she ignores it and sighs, head tilting slightly.

“I’m just saying that it’s not completely unreasonable for them to want to support Lucas, he has been their best friend since they were kids.” Y/N gently explains, leaning back in her seat as though to challenge him a little. She wasn’t lying but she knew he wouldn’t budge, this was too important to him, but what was the harm in humbling him a little anyway?

Eddie licks his lips and quirks an eyebrow up at her, trying to figure out how best to respond, shocked at her lack of blind obedience to his word. “Do you want to die the most painful death at the hands of my, what was it that Henderson said…sadistic campaign?”

“I was never going to survive to the end anyway, I’m sure you’ve already made sure of that, Dungeon Master.” Y/N bit back with a smile, mischief glinting in her eyes, Eddie's eyes flaming back at her.

Gareth butt in before Eddie could say another word, “Will you two stop flirting at the table?” both of their heads turned to face him, seeing the older boys gagging at their behaviour made them chuckle, hands linking under the table, “I’m trying to eat and you two make me sick.”

“Too bad.” Eddie threw a crust at Gareth who swatted it away as distracted whilst Eddie leaned in to whisper to Y/N, “Valiant effort darlin’, but if you want me to break you’re going to have to try a little harder.”

He turned back to the other boys and chatted mindlessly as Y/N’s mind fogged up.

He knows.

Of course, he knows, idiot, you don’t exactly make it subtle. He probably thinks you’re pathetic, drooling over him.

Shut up.

Come on, you don’t really think you stand a chance? Have you seen yourself? You’re gonna be left alone again if you keep pushing.

First at your old school, now Daddy’s leaving you…how long before Eddie leaves too?

“I gotta go.” Y/N suddenly stood up from the table, grabbing her things and swallowing thickly to suppress the panic swarming her. Eddie's eyes were frantic, tracing her to find what was wrong. “I need to be alone for a bit but I’ll see you all later”

Y/N started walking away, leaving the boys immensely confused until she heard Eddie stumbling after her, “Hold up! Y/N wait!” Y/N kept walking, eventually coming to an empty corridor. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing I just-”

“Cut the bullshit, Y/N. Talk to me.” Eddie says running a hand through his hair in frustration. Y/N slumped back against the wall and slid down to the floor, where Eddie immediately joined her.

“My dad…he’s leaving for a few months, work thing,” Y/N said quietly, staring at her shoes, and fidgeting with the edges of her sleeves, “And I know we don’t have the best relationship, we haven’t been close in years, but still…”

“Is that why you were so sad this morning?” Eddie asked softly and Y/N nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Y/N’s eyes closed, and her head rested back against the wall, trying to find the right words, “I don’t know…I wanted to, I want to tell you everything, I’m just…I’m scared.”

“Scared of me?” Eddie had never sounded so small, the words hung in the air for a moment and Y/N shook her head, eyes springing open to see him chewing on his lip, hands trembling slightly.

“No. Never scared of you.” She reached out and took his hands into hers, “What I need to tell you isn’t easy, and I don’t want to push you away.”

“Whatever it is, I’m not going anywhere.” Eddie pulled her in for a tight hug right as the bell rang, “Except for class.”

Y/N chuckled lightly and pulled herself off the floor. “Free period. I’m gonna go to the library, meet you there after you’ve done whatever deals you have today?” He nods and picks up his bag, following her down the hall.

He walks her to the library and as she enters, he leans on the door frame and asks “Hey, do you think Dustin and Mike are out ‘Bo-Beeping’?”

As it turned out, Mike and Dustin had gotten their ‘Bo-Peep’ on and managed to recruit a sub for Lucas, none other than Lucas’ own little sister Erica Sinclair. She looked sweet enough, bright blue jumper, hair perfectly coifed, and an American flag wrapped around her shoulders like a cape. but her attitude is what immediately sold Y/N. She had no patience for Eddie, making her stifle a laugh from beside him as he reclined in his throne, interrogating the young girl to no mercy.

Erica stood her ground as Eddie towered over her, stating firmly who she was. “My name is Lady Applejack. And I'm a chaotic good half-elf rogue, level 14. I will sneak behind any monster you throw my way and stab them in the back with my poison-soaked kukri. And I'll smile as I watch them die a slow, agonizing death. So, we gonna do this, or we gonna keep chitchatting like this is your mommy's book club?”

Y/N smiled devilishly, strangely proud of the girl, and it was clear that Eddie liked her too, a wide grin spreading across his face before holding his hand out for her to shake, stating, “Welcome to Hellfire.”

The session was brutal. Everyone was struggling to make any hits with enough damage worth a damn, and they were losing their own health quickly. They were floundering. Eddie truly had been evil in his creation of the campaign, but the worst was yet to come for the party.

“The hooded cultists chant, ‘Hail Lord Vecna.’ ‘Hail Lord Vecna.’ They turn to you, remove their hoods. You recognize most of them from Makbar. But there is one you do not recognize,” The group is listening intently, laser-focused on Eddie as he talks, “his skin shrivelled, desiccated. And something else. He is not only missing his left arm,” he hides his arm behind his back, “but his left eye!”

“No! No!” the group erupted into a frustrated and confused chorus.

Y/N frantically looks back through her notes, “This is bullshit!”

“Vecna's dead,” Jeff states firmly, in disbelief

Mike agrees, “He was killed by Kas.”

“So it was thought, my friends. So, it was thought. But Vecna lives.”

Eddie placed the Vecna miniature back on the battle map and Y/N slumped back in her chair, “Fuck…”

“You are scared. You're tired. You are injured. Do you flee Vecna and his cultists?” Eddie questions, giving the party two paths, “Or stand your ground and fight?” They consider the options, “Come on…”

“I say we fight.” Dustin finally answers, “To the death.”

“To the death.” Mike agrees, immediately reiterated by Erica who looks at Y/N.

“Fuck it, to the death!” Y/N echoes and suddenly the whole party is chanting ‘to the death!’ over and over as Eddie falls back into his throne laughing.

With renewed vigour, they go round upon round of combat, winning some but mostly losing. One by one, miniatures were being taken off the map with curses in their wake. The energy in the room was palpable as they played, the heightened emotion in the small room almost electric as they rolled and rolled their dice, trying everything they could to take down Vecna. Their shouts and cries overlap as Eddie cackles at their misfortune, knocking another figurine off the map. When Y/N’s elf finally succumbed to their wounds and died, Y/N let out a scream of anguish having missed her death-saving roll by only 1 point. Grant, at this point, calls a ‘time-out’ and the group huddles up on the opposite end of the table to Eddie's throne.

“Guys, I hate to say this, but we've got to flee,” Gareth states to the group.

“I concur.” Grant immediately agrees and Jeff nods.

But Erica is having none of it. “Didn't we just agree "to the death"?

“That wasn't literal!” Gareth says in rebuttal.

“Oh really?!” Y/N argues back, having just died.

Gareth scratches the back of his neck, in defeat, before he pats Y/N on the back, in comradery, “You lived up to your namesake, you fought and died valiantly.”

“Thank you,” Y/N says in earnest.

Jeff continues despite this, “Still, Vecna just decimated us. We can't kill him with two players.”

“You too? He only has fifteen hit points left. Don't be pussies.” Dustin exclaims, aggravated.

“Pussies?” Gareth bites back, abhorred by the name calling “Really? 'Cause, we're not delusional?”

Erica argues, louder, “Delusional? How about not cowards?

“Hey!” They all turn to face Eddie, who was perched on the edge of the table behind his DM screen, “If I may interject, gentlemen, sweetheart,” Y/N hums with a fake saccharine sweet smile, “Lady Applejack. Whilst I respect the passion, you'd be wise to take Gareth the Great's concern to heart. There is no shame in running. Don't try to be heroes. Not today, 'kay?” He mimics Y/N’s smile and tilts his head.

Y/N can feel the rage burning back up inside her and it was evident that Dustin could feel it too as he holds up a finger and said, “One sec.” The huddle reforms. “What do you think Mike?”

“How many hit points do you and Applejack have left?” Mike asks, trying to think of the best strategy.

“Twelve.” They reply in unison.

Mike nods, before saying, “It's risky as hell. But you're the ones on the battlefield. So, it's your call.”

All eyes lock on Dustin and Erica, they didn’t need to answer for Y/N to know what they were thinking.

“What do you say, Lady Applejack?” Dustin asks.

“You really gotta ask?”

Dustin thinks hard but ultimately makes his decision.

“Screw it.” Dustin turns back to Eddie, “Let's kill the son of a bitch.”

Jeff refutes “The chances of success are 20-to-1!”

Dustin doesn’t waver, “Never tell me the odds. Gimme the D20.”

Eddie throws it to him with a grin, dimples popping out, clearly, they had made the choice he wanted them to. Dustin cups the di in his hands and shakes, eyes locked on the battle map as he released the di and it rolls across the table. They wait anxiously until it lands, ultimately on ‘11’.

“That’s! A! Miss!” Eddie takes great joy in their suffering, Dustin cursing loudly.

It was all up to Erica. The party circled her as she shook the di in her hands, and time seemed to slow down. It was just a game, but Y/N had never felt so nervous. Erica finally released the di with hopeful shouts of ‘Please!’ and ‘Come on!’ from Dustin and Gareth. It rolls fast across the table, and nobody was able to see what it could land on, so they held their breath in wait for it to stop. Eddie leans over to see the result. ‘20’.

“Crit hit!” Erica shouts with pride and the boys go wild in celebration, Y/N laughing in relief and surprise, jumping in a little circle from the intense burst of serotonin.

“And that’s why we play!” Eddie exclaims and presents the board to Erica who is standing proud, a wide grin on her face.

The party was still celebrating as they tumbled out of the doors of the drama room after collecting their things, practically bouncing off the walls as they went. As always Y/N stayed behind to help Eddie clean up, and she couldn’t stop grinning at him. Her heart still pounding in her chest from the adrenaline rush, Eddie could feel the contagious joy radiating off her.

“What’s with you?” Eddie asks as he folds up his DM screen and puts it in his bag, “You died, I’m surprised you didn’t throw another hissy fit like you did the first time you died.”

Y/N smiles fondly at the memory of their first game together all those weeks ago, collecting all the figurines and stray dice off the table. “Am I not allowed to be happy we won, just because I died?”

“I’m not saying that at all,” He drops his bag onto his throne and rounds the table to where she was perched on the edge and caged her in, hands on the table on either side of her hips, “I’m really happy that you’re so into this.”

Her breath caught in her throat at the proximity, but she didn’t waver, holding his intense eye contact. The high of winning boosted her confidence enough to bite the bullet, “Well,” her hands slid up his chest and circled his neck, hands locking behind his head, “I am, into this…in fact, I think you’ve got me addicted, I’m gonna be chasing this feeling forever.”

He chuckles under his breath and drops his forehead to hers, smirking as his hands slide up from the table to wrap around her waist, pulling her closer, “Then it’s a good thing I’m dealing.”

As her nose brushed his, he suddenly jumps back, and scampered to collect his bag from his throne, “Shit, sorry Y/N, I just remembered I’ve got a deal to do.”

Y/N’s face scrunched up in confusion as she collected her things and followed him out of the room, “I thought you did that in free period?”

“I did,” Eddie says then amends, “Well kinda, I didn’t sell her anything then.”

“So Chrissy actually went to you?” Eddie stops in his tracks.

Never, not even once, had Eddie ever mentioned the names of anyone he sold to. He didn’t want Y/N to be wrapped up in the business, she was, in his opinion, too good for that. The only thing she did know was that his supplier was Reefer Rick, and that was only because he had let it slip one night whilst tired and tipsy. “How the hell do you know it was Chrissy?”

“Because I sent her.” His eyes widened, so she prompted further, “That didn’t occur to you?”

He pauses and thinks it through as they kept walking, Y/N trailing after him. Chrissy, besides himself, was Y/N’s best friend. A little fact that had escaped him upon seeing the cheerleader waiting for him at his bench, shaken up and fidgety. “It slipped my mind…Y/N I told you not to get involved with the dealing!”

They had made it out of the school and as he pulled the large double doors open, he turned to face Y/N. She was wringing her hands out, nose twitching and shoulders tense. “I’m sorry! I just- I was worried about her, thought that you might give her something to-”

“Put her to sleep easy?” Eddie finished the sentence and Y/N nodded.

They wandered in silence up to the van and saw Chrissy waiting by it, before they got close enough for Chrissy to notice them, Y/N stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Look, Eddie, if it makes you more comfortable I’ll wait in the van whilst you finish the deal.”

He shakes his head, “No, no, you’re not staying in the van, you’re coming inside the trailer with us.”

“The trailer?” she was perplexed, he never did deals at home.

“Special occasion, what I’m gonna give her is there, can’t carry it around with me.” Eddie explains, as cryptic as ever but he softens, “Just wait in my room and then we can…finish that conversation we were having earlier?” His hand reaches up to cup her cheek and Y/N leans into it, her eyes fluttering closed briefly.

Y/N could feel her body getting hotter at the thought, mind reeling but answered anyway, “Definitely, there’s some things I need to tell you. Not all bad.”

“Oh?” Eddie’s curiosity was peaked but he doesn’t get an answer as Y/N winks and walks up to the van to greet Chrissy.

The drive from the school to the trailer was surprisingly unawkward, comfortable even, as Chrissy ran them through the championship game highlights – the biggest of which being that Lucas had scored the winning basket. A swell of pride, then regret filled Y/N as she thought about Lucas. It was a huge achievement for the freshman to win the game and he didn’t have his best friends there to support him. She couldn’t help but feel slightly responsible, that she hadn’t fought for the campaign to be postponed so that they could be there. He had made his choice, but they should have respected the boys’ friendships more.

As they pulled up to the trailer, Chrissy jumped out and straightened out her uniform a little as Y/N slid out of the van behind her and slammed the door shut. Eddie led them up to the front door and held it open for them, Y/N immediately made herself comfortable, slinging her bang on the old armchair in the corner and flouncing her way into Eddie's room and flopping down onto the bed. She could hear Eddie rummaging around for something and muffled talking between him and Chrissy.

She wasn’t alone for long though as Eddie waltzed into the room “Sorry I’m late sweetheart,” Y/N sat up and watched as he bypassed her on the bed and headed straight for his cherished guitar, a stunning red B.C Rich Warlock N.J Series. He kissed his fingers and strummed her gently, “You’re beautiful…”

Y/N cleared her throat, “Am I interrupting?”

Eddie snorted, as he rummaged through his messy desk drawers, “I’ll be back for you in a sec, darlin’, I just need to- gotcha.” He pulled out a tin and shut the drawer, standing up straight to go back to Chrissy, “Don’t move.”

As she sat on his bed, alone in his room again, she thought through how she was going to say what she needed to say. How do you tell someone that you like them as way more than a friend without feeling like you’re going to throw up? The mere thought of telling Eddie how she actually felt about him made her heart beat faster and her body tremble a little. Despite part of her knowing, subconsciously, that he might feel the same and she’s just been oblivious to his signs, Y/N wanted to run away, to forget it all and keep going as they have been. Why ruin a good thing right? He was so good to her, took her under his wing, and understood her in a way nobody else ever did. She knew that he took notice of all of her mood swings but didn’t pry, letting her go to him. Until today. But Y/N was terrified of it.

Her thoughts circling her head were suddenly cut off their flight path by the electricity crackling around her. The flickering lights was quickly followed by the sounds of Eddie shouting from the front of the trailer. She had heard him shout countless times that day alone, but not like this. He was terrified.

“Chrissy! Wake up!” His confused and worried shouts echoed through the small space and dragged her to him.

“Eddie, what’s going on?” He didn’t need to answer, “Oh my god...”

Y/N's heart sunk to her stomach at the sight in front of her. Chrissy was trapped in a trance-like state, eyes fully white as though they had rolled back into her head, eyelids fluttering every so often, her body stiff and unmoving in the middle of the room. “Chrissy?”

“She won’t wake up; I don’t know what happened.” Eddie was frantic, his eyes scanning Chrissy for any signs of consciousness. “I just walked in to give her the K and found her like this. C’mon, Chrissy, wake up!”

Tears streamed down Y/N’s face as she shook Chrissy’s shoulders gently, “Chrissy…please wake up…” she shook a little harder, “wake up..” harder, “wake up!”

Without any warning, Chrissy started to lift into the air, knocking Y/N’s hands off Chrissy and sending her stumbling back into Eddie’s chest. His arms wrapped around her protectively and held her close as Chrissy’s body hit the ceiling. A blood-curdling scream tore from Y/N’s throat, echoed by Eddie, as they watched in horror, as Chrissy’s bones started to bend and break inhumanely. Her legs and arms suddenly contorted mid-air, but she still didn’t wake. When her jaw unhinged and her eyes caved in, blood pouring down her face, Y/N had to turn away and bury into Eddie’s chest. The only indication Y/N had that it was over, was the thud of Chrissy’s lifeless body falling to the floor, Eddie’s arms still caging her to him.

“Y/N…we have to go.” His hoarse voice suddenly filled her ears, she shook her head against him, still sobbing. “Can’t stay here.”

“We can’t leave her,” Y/N looked up at him, his eyes wild with terror as he looked from Chrissy’s body on his floor to the girl in his shaking arms. “Eddie…if you run, you look guilty. And we’re not guilty.”

He shakes his head, mind reeling and every fibre of his being telling him to run, “Y/N, I can’t stay here…they already think I’m a freak, now I’m gonna be called a murderer, I can’t stay…” He pulls away from her, pacing, running his hands through his hair.

“Please don’t run.”

“Y/N I can’t-”

“Eddie,” her hands cup his face, and he finally makes eye contact, a shaking breath released from his trembling lips as she looks at him with so much fear it hurt his soul, “please baby, don’t run away.”

His heart stops for a second. Hands itching to hold her. “Sweetheart…”

“Please.” Her thumbs rub his cheeks. He swallows thickly and grabs her wrists, gently pulling her hands off his face.

He whispers so softly it was barely audible, but she caught it before he left her standing in the room alone, “I’m sorry.”

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