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remlionheart · 1 month

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Can you do a Chuuya x fem reader where her bra can be shown from her white shirt?

pov: you request a simple spicy lil fic from me, but my manic brain is physically incapable of not giving it an entire backstory and plot and making it at least 4k+ words (thank you so much for this idea tho, it was super fun to write! ღ)

* ˚ ✦ MDNI ✦˚ *

Sex, Money, Feelings, Die

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ My first attempt at Chuuya smut (and goddamn, do I love that angry lil man ★~(◡‿◡✿). New to the city, you're coerced into working for the PM after a drunken night out. Scared and now in the heart of one of Japan's most notorious criminal organization's headquarters, you decide to reclaim some of your power by ~*teasing the absolute fuck out of Chuuya Nakahara~*. 4.8k words. Porn with a plot. I can't even lie, this shit had me giggling and kicking my feet while writing, lemme know whatcha think. luv u ღ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When you'd first moved to Yokohama 2 months ago, you had promised your parents that you'd be safe. That you'd find yourself a decent office job to afford you a lofty apartment and that you'd be settled in relatively quickly. You'd pictured yourself walking amongst tall buildings on your days off. Exploring the city with your coworkers on the weekends. Living instead of just existing in your small hometown.

You thought you had your future all mapped out and maybe you did, but those dreams of normalcy were all but destroyed the night you crossed paths with Koyo Ozaki.

She had noticed you from across the bar, quietly observing the way you'd been drinking by yourself all night. It was odd to see a girl with your beauty and lack of abilities so confidently roaming downtown alone. She wasn't sure if you were brave or naive, but the moment you took a seat next to her to thank her for the whiskey and coke she had ordered you, she realized you were the perfect blend of both.

She'd spent the next hour chatting you up, effortlessly coaxing information out of you without you realizing it. She'd offered you an administrative assistant role for the group she worked for, describing it as a "lucrative" and "underground" organization. You were in no position to say no, especially after spending the last month relentlessly applying to jobs with little to no luck.

You woke up the next day musing about silly things like fate and serendipity as you raided your closet for the perfect first day outfit. You felt like this was your big break. The first stop on the roadmap of adulthood that you'd created for yourself. You ironed a pair all black slacks, pairing it with a white-button up quarter-sleeve shirt, and your favorite suede Mary-Janes. Optimism swirled through your head as you eyed yourself in your bedroom mirror that night. You were determined to be so good at this job.

You showed up freshly showered and prepared when you arrived at the sleek, high-rise building. Ozaki waited for you out front with a rather intimidating dark-haired man who introduced himself as Mori, head of the fucking Port Mafia.

Your anxiety rose with each step you took behind them, quickly realizing that this was not the run-of-the-mill clerical job you had envisioned while hazily chatting with Ozaki over whiskey-neats. This was an underground criminal organization full of some of the strongest ability users in the world. You had absolutely no idea why you were here. Why you'd been selected, let alone trusted, to work alongside these people.

You were given your own small office, equipped with a bare desk and landline phone. Mori told you to stay put, explaining that you were to stay out of sight until further notice. You were essentially there as a cover-up.

Apparently, they'd been scouting for girls like you. New to town and completely clueless. They wanted to bring in a handful of these 'administrative assistants' to help keep up the illusion that this was just another ordinary building in the business district of Yokohama and nothing more.

Mori left you with a curt warning about the temperament of the other Mafia members and a haunting, "Welcome to the team." as he closed the door to your office and disappeared down the long corridor. Your heart was slamming into your chest, your anxiety growing the longer you sat. You were angry. Disappointed in yourself for being such an easy target.

You sat for at least an hour staring at the wall in existential dread, wondering what you'd done to end up here. Wondering what you were going to have to do to get out now that you were here. Even if it wasn't necessarily a "job", it still didn't seem like something you could just casually walk away from.

You were in the middle of the Port Mafia's headquarters and you were rightfully, terrified.

The sound of two muffled voices pulled you away from your thoughts while you froze in your chair, realizing that they were right outside your door.

"You're fuckin' with me, right?"

"No, that's really where they're keeping her. She's going to be a fulltime member."

"A member?" it was the first man again, his voice full of shameless snark and volume as he laughed at the idea. "A Mafia member with no ability? C'mon, Akutagawa. Even Mori isn't that stupid."

"There's going to be more, she's just the first to show up."

Tension crept along your spine when both voices came to a curious stop, one quietly scolding the other before the heavy wooden door began to creak open.

A pair of azure eyes stared back at you, disheveled shoulder-length red hair draping off of one shoulder as he mumbled, "Holy shit."

The taller of the two, draped in a long black coat, tried to pry him away, but he shrugged him off with an irritated. "Chill out, I just wanna introduce myself to her."

The dark-haired man scoffed and continued down the hallway while his ginger companion closed the door behind him, leaving just the two of you looking back at each other skeptically.

Despite his height, he had a powerful demeanor. A blend of apathy and cockiness that exuded off of him as he carefully made his way towards you. "So, you're the new girl, huh?"

Your eyebrows furrowed when you looked back at him, your words suddenly stuck in your throat as his foot made contact with your desk.

You managed a nod, remembering the way Mori had advised you not to engage with the other Mafia members, but what were you supposed to do when you were suddenly locked in a room with one?

"God, we really can't just have one normal day around here, can we?" He sighed, almost seeming embarrassed as his shoulders dropped and he leaned against your desk in the spot next to you. "Stealin' girls out of bars? Tch, the hell are they thinkin'?"

His opposition to his boss' plan made you relax a bit. It was the first time all day that you thought you might make it out of here okay.

He picked up on your apprehension rather quickly, taking his hat off and setting it down before extending a gloved hand out to you. "Chuuya." He said simply.

You stared at him for another moment or two before introducing yourself, trying but failing to mimic his nonchalant tone.

"Hey," He said, lightly nudging your foot with his, "You're gonna be alright. I'm sure this gig will only last for a couple of weeks until they move on to their next big, idiotic idea."

"You think so?" It was the first time all day that you felt like you could breathe.

"Trust me, Mori's plans are always changing. He'll probably cut you a fat check for hush money and then send you on your way sooner than later. Just lay low in the meantime, yeah?"

Your eyes were still locked as you nodded at him again, giving him a feeble, "Okay... Yeah, I can do that."

"Good." He smirked, pulling himself away from your desk.

You watched him pause just before exiting the room. He turned around to face you again, his gaze landing a bit lower than your eyes this time.

"And maybe uh -" If you didn't know any better, you'd swear that you saw a flash of red flare across his cheeks. "Maybe don't wear that bra with a white shirt next time."

Out of all of the anxiety and fear that you'd been drowning in over the last few hours, your choice of outfit had been the very last thing you'd considered worrying about until just now.

You looked down, noticing what he meant as you saw the dark, lacy fabric of your Victoria's not-so-secret peeking through the white of your blouse. Your tits were pushed perfectly together, nearly on full display through the sheerness of your shirt.

He flashed you another faint smirk before clicking the door shut, once again leaving you to your own crippling thoughts as your head dropped into your hands.

What an absolutely mortifying first day.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The next few shifts were a blur.

You'd clock in. Sit for what felt like an eternity in your bleak little office. Leave mid-day to grab lunch at a cafe across the street. And then head home 9 hours later despite the fact that you’d hardly done anything.

You'd learned to bring in books and cross-stich patterns to keep yourself busy throughout the day instead of rotting away at your desk. It wasn't an ideal situation, but if Chuuya was right and there really was a big check waiting for you around the corner, you'd decided that it was worth it to see this through. Because no matter how nervous you got each morning, the painful truth was that you couldn’t afford to turn down easy money.

By the end of the week, you found yourself doing more than just sneaking in romance mangas to make the job more bearable though. You were doing everything you could to gain back even a semblance of power.

If you had to be here, you had decided that you were going to make it everyone's problem.

With the ginger's words still fresh in your mind, you made it a point to wear darker bras. Tighter blouses. Shorter skirts that barely covered your ass. It had almost become an inside joke with yourself at what a distraction you'd become to the Port Mafia. Maybe couldn’t make these men fear you, but you could certainly make them trip all over themselves any time you entered the building.

You'd hardly been able to keep a straight face yesterday afternoon when Akutagawa's coffee fell from his hands and cascaded around him after he saw you walking down the hall in black knee-high stockings. You'd finally managed to make everyone here as uncomfortable as they'd made you and it felt good.

You were half-way through the iced matcha you'd picked up on lunch, sitting with your feet propped up on your desk as you continued to embroider the word "fuck" in pretty, cursive letters next to a pink and yellow flower when a knock arrived at your door.

You quickly stashed the circular cross-stitch pad in one of the desk drawers and straightened your back as Tachihara poked his head into your office. "Yo, new girl. Nakahara wants to see you."

Your brows knitted together as you looked back at him in quiet confusion.

No one had ever requested to see you in the time that you'd been here. Even in your attempts to disrupt their daily tasks, they'd still not bothered to learn your name. But now... you were expected to go see Chuuya... in his office?

"Why?" It was the only question you could think to ask.

"Dunno," Tachihara shrugged. "but I wouldn't keep him waiting. He's kind of an asshole." And with that, you were once again left alone and anxious.

You took a breath, standing up to smooth down the fabric of your skirt before venturing down the hallway.

You did your best to push Tachihara's warning out of your head, reminding yourself of the kindness Chuuya had shown you on your first day while your heels clicked across the marbled floor.

Maybe he wanted to tell you that he'd talked to Mori and that your time with Port Mafia was finally up. Maybe he wanted to hand deliver the check you'd so desperately been waiting for. Maybe he just wanted to see how you were doing. Whatever it was, you were holding onto hope that there wouldn't be any more bad news.

You let out a sharp exhale as you rounded the corner and found yourself standing in front of his office. You gave the door a light tap, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve when he finally appeared.

His eyes traced over you slowly, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth as he counted not one, not two, but three undone buttons along your blouse that revealed the deep-purple push-up bra decorating your chest.

"Get in here."

His tone was clipped, dripping with what felt like vexation as he closed the door behind you.

His office was much bigger than yours, adorned with high-rise windows that overlooked the city and pristine black marble flooring that matched his leather furniture. The room was dark, just barely lit by a lamp on his desk. You wondered how it was possible for him to get any paperwork done in here but then promptly realized that with his ranking, paperwork was probably far beneath his paygrade.

Still not entirely sure how to approach the situation, you hesitantly took a seat on the over-sized armchair across from his desk.

"Quick question," he said, standing in front of you with his arms folded over his chest, his voice still riddled with irritation. "What does the phrase 'lay low' mean to you? Because I can tell you right now, this ain't fuckin' it."

Your pupils widened, his words hanging heavily in the space between you.

Your mouth opened and then closed again, too focused on the way he was staring at you to form a proper response.

"Is it -" you wavered, mustering up all the courage you had to try and play this off as innocent confusion rather than what it actually was: sarcasm. "Is it my outfit?"

If looks could kill, you would've been 6 feet under.

Chuuya's eyes darkened, a flustered hand rubbing feverishly over his face as he struggled to keep his composure. He wasn't sure if you were trying to piss him off or if you were just genuinely the dumbest girl he'd ever come in contact with.

"Yes," He said with all the restraint he could possibly manage, his teeth nearly grinding together with each syllable. “The outfits are getting out of hand. You've gotta stop."

You were playing a dangerous game, but you were slowly starting to realize that you were... winning.

"What's wrong with them?" you asked, pretending to cover your chest in embarrassment.

You wanted to hear him explain it. Hear him tell you in his own words that you couldn't wear short skirts anymore because it was causing too many unexpected erections around headquarters.

"I -" The poor redhead looked as though he was going to have an aneurysm if you kept this up much longer.

He snapped his eyes shut and let out a frustrated exhale, his hand now bawled into a fist at his side. "Listen, a lot of the guys around here have... noticed you, okay? And I can't take one more day of hearin' those fuckin' assholes talk about how they caught a glimpse of your ass in the break room. Got it? I'll buy you some new clothes if I have to. Just please, no more shirts like this, alright?"

He was actually bargaining with you. Entering the third stage of grief as he tried so hard to keep his cool. To keep his eyes locked with yours and nowhere else. To explain all of this in the nicest way he could.

It was in that moment that you realized where the real source of his trepidation was coming from.

Hearing his coworkers ogle over you was probably annoying for sure, but the more damning, infuriating fact of the matter was that he was ogling over you too. And he was fucking tired of not being able to get any work done when he knew that you were right down the hall. He was pissed that he had to come into his office every morning and lock the door just so he could jerk himself off to the idea of you.

He was in so many words begging you to stop because he wasn't sure how much longer he could take seeing so much of your body without being able bend you over his desk like he did in his mid-morning daydreams.

He was losing - both his resolve and this game at an alarming rate.

"Hmm," you hummed, toying with a pen you'd found wedged between the cushion of his chair. "Well, I'm sorry. I just like feeling pretty before I come in. I didn't know it was creating such a problem for everyone."

The wheels in Chuuya's head were spinning.

Emotions weren't his strong suit and doing these mental gymnastics with you was making him need a cigarette.

"It's -" he sighed, groaning as he forced himself to backpedal. "It's not your fault. I mean, you do look pretty, y'know. It's just... distracting, is all."

It was hard to hide your smirk.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't think he was a bit distracting himself, but he didn't need to know that. Not yet anyway.

"Okay, well," you conceded as you began to stand up. "I’ll wear a turtleneck or something tomorrow then.” You shot him a small smile as you got to your feet, "Promise."

He looked marginally relieved by your understanding. "Sounds good." He huffed, rubbing at the back of his neck while following behind you as you made your way out of his office.

But just before you reached the door, you accidentally dropped the pen you'd been fidgeting with. Bending over without warning so that your ass was right in front of him, peaking out of your skirt as he walked straight into you, his hips suddenly meeting yours.

You thought he might actually kill you this time with the guttural noise of frustration that escaped him.

He grabbed you by your shoulders the second you were upright again, spinning you around so that you were forced to face him.

“Okay, seriously." He said between gritted teeth. "Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath hitching in your throat as you watched the unfettered anger flicker through his blue eyes.

It was a stupid move, you knew that before you did it, but you didn't expect it to draw this much of reaction out of him. His restraint was lost. Composure long gone while he waited for you to say something with his face mere inches away from yours.

"Sorry," You lied, "It slipped out of my hand so I -"

"Bullshit." He snarled. "Enough with this innocent act. What do you want out of this, huh? For every guy in Port Mafia to want to fuck you? Is that what you're gettin' at here?"

"No." Your head shook before you even had time to think about what you were about to say. "Not everyone..." Your eyes were still glued to his. "Just you."

You didn't know what you were doing anymore or where all of this recent shamelessness had come from, but there was something about being here that made you feel like you could do anything. Be anyone. You weren't sure if it was the power or the crime or the ungodly amount of money that Port Mafia was raking in, but the collective feeling of chaos that these walls housed was finally latching onto you too.

You didn't even flinch when you said it, instead continued to stare at him unapologetically, noting the way his grip had tightened around your shoulder the longer he looked back at you.

"What?"

If the wheels in his head had been spinning before, they were now fully off the ground, exploding into the air as his gaze drifted along your face. Searching intently to make sure you were actually being serious this time before he went any further.

"You really want me to fuck you that bad?" he asked, the warmth of his mouth now ghosting yours.

The question went straight to your center, wetness seeping between your legs as you nodded back at him.

Truth be told, your midmorning fantasies while cross-stitching the last few days hadn't been much different than his.

The gravity manipulator's fingers were suddenly tangled into your hair, his body forcing your back against the door while his lips collided with yours.

"Y'know you could've just asked instead of doin' all this bratty shit, right?"

His mouth was warm, his movements somehow urgent and careful at the same time as his hands wandered along your curves.

You smiled against his lips, letting out a breathy, "I'm sorry." as his palm began to graze the inside of your thigh.

"No, you're not." He smirked, sucking your bottom lip in between his teeth before biting down with just the right amount of pressure. "But you will be."

You let out a small whimper as he placed his free hand under your chin, moving your head to the side so that he could continue his descendent down your neck.

His leg wedged itself between yours, brushing against your clit while his mouth worked along your collarbone.

You were too lost in the feeling of it all to realize that he'd been leaving a trail of meticulously placed bites down the nape of your neck. Bruises in the shape of his mouth that he knew everyone would see.

"Chuuya -" you tried to protest, but it was more of a moan than an objection. "You - fuck, you can't -" You grinded helplessly against the firmness of his leg. Hips rocking back and forth, desperately trying to gain friction while he kept on nipping away at you.

"What's wrong, babe?" he purred against your sensitive skin. "You're wearin' a turtleneck tomorrow anyway, remember?" his breath fanned across your chest as he ripped the remaining buttons off of your shirt. A gloved hand palming at your chest, sliding your bra down so that your tits were fully exposed for him before you felt his tongue glide across your nipple.

Tachihara was right, he was kind of an asshole. But for some terrible reason, you were living for it. Almost embarrassed by how bad you wanted him. Wriggling against him and riding his leg. Whining while you let him leave visible marks on you and destroy the only clothing you had.

"C'mere." He pulled his head away from your chest, swiftly grabbing you by the arm and leading you back to his desk. He picked you up with ease, shoving a binder aside to sit you down in front of him.

"Spread your legs for me." His voice was heady, eyes glossed over with lust as you complied with his demands.

He held his hand up to his mouth, removing his black glove with his teeth before pushing your skirt up and sliding your underwear to the side. He bent over slightly, running two rough fingers along your clit as he watched your nails dig into the edge of his desk.

"Fuck," he groaned, still not taking his eyes off of you. He'd barely done anything and you were already soaked, your pussy practically throbbing for him. “You really do want me that bad, huh?"

“T - told you.” You whimpered, your head tilting back as he drew slow, blissful circles around you.

He kept up the same pace, basking in the way you were so easily falling apart for him.

“Chuuya, please.”

A smirk tugged viciously at the corner of his mouth, slipping a finger into you this time as your walls swallowed him. "Please what, baby?"

You may have had him in the first half, but you were now on the losing end of this game. Forgetting how to speak altogether as you watched him part your legs even further, bending all the way down to rest his head between your thighs.

You moaned at the feeling of his tongue pressing against you. The heavenly lines he was drawing uppp and downnn your center with his middle finger still sliding in and out of you. He was generous in the way he handled you, making sure he didn't miss a single spot. Lapping and slurping up every bit of cum he could as he added in another finger. Groaning against you the louder you got for him.

The only word you seemed to be able to remember was his name, repeating it over and over while your nails lodged deeper into his mahogany desk and your body shamelessly grinded against the warmth of his mouth.

You were in a delirious daze, losing yourself completely to the way he was devouring you.

He could feel you getting close too, noting the frantic rhythm of your hips. The gorgeous, fucked-out noises you were making for him. The death grip your walls suddenly had on him. He knew you were right there, right where he wanted you.

"Chuuya, 'm - I -"

Your legs were locking around his head, shaking uncontrollably as your hand ran through his hair.

He'd never admit it, but he almost could've came at the sounds you were making alone. The pouty way that you called out his name each time his fingers plunged into you was almost enough to drive him over the edge. You were so pathetic and adorable and he was determined to make everyone in Port Mafia hear just how needy you were for him.

As much as he wanted to edge you for what you'd done to him, as much as he wanted to make you beg and plead for him to let you cum, he couldn't fucking pull himself away from you. He was just as lost as you were, drowning in your cunt and not at all wanting to be saved.

His tongue didn’t leave you until he was absolutely sure that you'd ridden out every last wave of your orgasm, still pumping his digits in and out of you until you couldn’t take it anymore.

He came up for air with an exhausted smile, wordlessly coaxing your lips apart with his thumb before bringing the two fingers he had fucked you with into your mouth. Letting you clean off the blend of slick and salvia the two of you had created together.

"See how fucking good you taste?" he panted. "I think this is gonna be a real problem for both of us."

An enamored shade of pink brushed across your cheeks as he dropped down onto the chair across from you, running a tired hand through his hair.

"At least I won't be here much longer, right?" You said, playfully kicking his leg with your foot.

"Oh yeah," he smirked. "That actually reminds me..." Your eyes widened as he shifted around to dig an envelope out of his pocket. "Mori wanted me to give this to you."

Your hands trembled, opening it as delicately as you could to make sure you didn't rip anything when a check for 1,490,200 yen fell into your lap.

"Think that'll be enough to buy yourself a shirt that fits?"

Your eyes snapped towards him in disbelief, your pulse ringing through your ears as you tried to process that you'd somehow made this amount of money in a little over a week.

"Is this -" You stammered, thinking back to what he had told you when you first met. "Is this like a severance check then? ...Hush money or whatever?"

"Tragically, no. Mori wants you to stay."

Your hand instinctively flew up to your neck, covering the love-bites that the redhead had left you with, horrified at the realization that everyone was going to see them. Even more horrified at the fact that they had probably heard how you’d gotten them.

"What?"

"Yeah, he said somethin' about you how you've been 'boosting the morale' around here."

Your head felt like it was going to explode.

You had not only been marked by Chuuya Nakahara, but you were now being asked to stay in Port Mafia.

You couldn't decide which was worse.

"So... that means..."

"Yep. We'll be seein' a lot more of each other." He confirmed while checking his watch. "But hey, you better get outta here, Rando and I have a meeting in 10 minutes."

You looked down at your lack of clothing, the spit and cum that was still stuck to your skirt, the obscenely noticeable bruises that he'd so proudly gifted you with.

"Give me your shirt." you demanded.

"Nah."

The grin he shot you was so cocky, so vile, so... hot.

"Chuuya." You whisper-shouted, biting back your own stupid smile. "Be so fucking for real right now, I can’t go out there like this.”

“Shoulda thought about that before you put on that skimpy-ass outfit I guess.” He shrugged.

You hopped off his desk, straddling him in his chair as you forcefully began to undo the buttons along his collar.

The room filled with suppressed laughter, neither one of you able to contain it anymore as he finally conceded, wrestling you off of him. "Alright, alright, chill. I have extras in here, hang on."

You both stood up, your eyes locked on him while he walked over to an expensive looking armoire in the corner of the room.

He pulled a white shirt that resembled the one you were wearing earlier off of a hanger and brought it over to you, guiding your arms up so that he could put it on.

His movements were calculated, almost thoughtful as he dressed you, adjusting it so that it covered up most of the damage he'd done.

"There." He said, double-checking his work. "Now get out of here before I decide to rip that one off of you too.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Part 2! ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

#chuuya smut #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara #bsd x reader #bsd smut #soukoku #bsd x you #bsd chuuya #remwrites #skk #someone please take my laptop away #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya nakahara bsd #nakahara chuuya #bsd x female reader

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dilfl0v3rss · 11 months

Text

mini me

summary: dad!ony and his mini me

cw: suggestive towards the end

word count: 1.1k

part 2

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

your son was only eight years old, but because of his father he acted way older. whether it be how he talked or how he would handle different situations it was easy to tell that he was “ony’s kid”.

it was a satuday morning. you had just finished up breakfast, making finishing touches on your son omari’s plate before you saw him and his father walk in. you had to cover your mouth to contain your laughter when you got a look at what they were wearing. ony had on his dark grey durag, black tank top fitting snug on his broad chest with his black and white plaid pajama pants hanging low on his hips. white dry fit socks covering his feet in his resin yeezy slides. over the years he’s bulked up, converting most of the weight he’s gained from your cooking into muscle.

omari had on the same exact thing, but since he was so small everything looked so baggy. his tank top fit loosely on his little chest while you can tell he rolled his pajama pants at least twice for them to fit his small waist. the only things that fit right were his socks and slides since they were both things that you gifted him. the cutest thing was their durags though. the suede fabric looked nice on their heads with a small “o” on the strings so when they tie them up it can show. “g’morning beautiful” ony said as he sat down in front of his plate.

his morning voice always sounded so good. of course your son mirrored his actions, sitting down in front of his plate as well before greeting you. “g’morning momma. you look pretty” you can tell he was lowering his voice, puberty not yet hitting him to give him the same gravely tone as his father. you chuckled, walking over to them to fill their cups with orange juice. “good morning boys. what y’all getting into today.” ony began cutting into his french toasts, pouring syrup on them before moving his knife to cut omari’s up as well. “finna take man man to the park to shoot some hoops wit me.” omari nodded in agreement. “finna show all the girls my skills and they gon be chasing after me. right dad?” ony nearly choked on his spit, grabbing his cup to sip on his orange juice to wash it down.

you didn’t miss his arm nudging your son’s, signaling him to keep quiet. “excuse me? what girls?” omari opened his mouth to speak but was quickly cut off by his father. “it’s nun mama he just talking. right peanut?” ony and omari looked at each other, silently communicating about what to say next. “uhh y-yea. m’just talking momma.” you rolled your eyes at this. they were basically the same person in two different bodies. “whatever boy just stay outta trouble.” you said, pointing your finger at them before walking off into your room. you took your silk robe off before slipping into bed, matching silk nightgown fitting nicely on your body as you scrolled through different shopping sites for some new clothes.

it wasn’t even twenty minutes later when you seen the two troublemakers back in your line of vision, just itching to bother you. you looked up at them from your phone. “what y’all want now?” the both of them instantly putting their hands up in defense. “what i dooo?” they say in unison. you sighed as you gave them a bored expression. they drop their hands and walked closer to you, standing at the side of your bed. “we want you t’come to the park wit us. right little man?” ony looked down at his twin, nodding towards you for him to add on. “mhmm. dad likes- uh i mean i love when you come to the park with us.” you smirk up at your husband. he had his eyes on the ceiling as he tapped his foot on the ground, waiting for you to reply.

“is this something you want or is this something your dad wants?” you knew what ony was trying to do. you absolutely hated going to the park. the gnats and the blazing sun always seeming to bother you when you were trying to relax, but you also couldn’t say no to your baby. he was always so polite and he never asked for much. your husband used that to his advantage, which you highly disliked. you had a plan though. everything comes with a price with you. “because if this is something daddy wants i need him to ask me himself. or else i can’t go because i’d hate to be a burden to one of you.” now omari was also looking up at ony, waiting for him to reply to you. “gon head and get dressed peanut. me and mommy gotta talk.” he said, shifting his eyes from the white ceiling to your brown ones.

“make sure you say ‘please’ dad. be polite.” omari whispered before doing what he was told and going to his room to get ready. after you heard your door close, you watch as ony began to lean down towards you, one arm grabbing on to the headboard while his other one rested on your pillow, right by your head. “what i gotta do for you t’say ‘yes’ mama.” he said, deep voice rumbling in his chest. you pulled out your phone, unlocking it before showing him the screen. it was a purple lingerie set in your cart with a bunch of other different things as well, ranging from toys and handcuffs to different pieces of clothing. “i want you the clear my cart today. since mari’s going to his grandparents next saturday.”

the corner of ony’s mouth raised as he scrolled through your cart, stopping at the pair of black fuzzy handcuffs. you peeked over your screen to see what he was looking at before explaining the use of the item. “you broke the last pair.” your husband nodded his head in realization before standing upright. “tryna give me another kid, huh mama?” you shrugged your shoulders. “hmm maybe.” ony made his way to his nightstand, pulling out his card before tossing it to you on the bed. “gon head and get whatever you want. sexy ass.” he mumbled before walking towards your shared closet to pull out his sneakers. as he looked through the closet you heard three knocks on your door, letting you know your son has arrived from his room.

“come innn” you sing before he made his way in, instantly walking up to his father. he had on his little black tech suit with his slides on his feet and his basketball sneakers in his hand. “what’d she say? did you say please?” he whispered. ony looked at you, smirking as he began to think about the fun the two of you will be having next weekend. “yea little man…she said yea.”

#aot onyankopon #onyankopon x black reader #onyankopon x reader #aot #aot x black reader

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maikirumoo · 7 months

Text

after hours

after hours : a live action buggy x fem!reader fanfiction

for some odd reason, you have no idea who he is. and he fucking loved that.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

chapter one chapter two chapter three

chapter four | suede. stalking. silly.

his pov;

"Your wanted poster."

Those three words settled in my mind as I stared at the distraught girl in front of me, watching as she fumbled with her hands, a nervous exterior brushing over her. She seemed to be so horrified with the fact that I was once a pirate sought after by thousands- wanted dead or alive, though much preferred dead. Many still wanted me dead but due to my brilliant idea of hiding out here, the chance of anyone getting my bounty was thin. I, however, didn't see it being as much of a big deal as she deemed it so. The real issue I found was tucked away in one of the books within the nightstand which I was so fucking thankful she didn't find. I'd rather her not have been looking around but if she were to find one of the two? I was glad she found the poster.

I tossed another slice of apple into my mouth then set the knife down on the cutting board. I approached Y/N but instantly halted when I noticed how nervous and uneasy she was. "What's wrong?"

"H-How many people did you kill?" She asked, her voice shaking.

"Does that really matter?" I asked, waving my hands up in the air to hopefully exaggerate my point. "It was almost a year ago."

"That doesn't change the fact that it happened!"

"I know, I know." Despite her discomfort, I took a seat next to her anyway. She tightened her arms around herself, almost to make sure there was as much distance between us without her actually moving. Clenching my jaw, I patted my hands upon my thighs. "I know it's a terrible thing, and there's nothing I can do to change that. It's in the past and if I could go back and alter things, I would. Being a pirate was all I knew. My old friend was one, too. Then we separated onto different things and-"

"Did he kill people?"

"Lots of pirates kill people. It's part of the hype, ya know? It's very unlikely to raid another ship without there being any casualties. But I stopped because I got tired of it. I wanted something more."

"It's a pretty big bounty. I mean- come on, fifteen million berries?"

"Don't think about turning me in now," I chuckled, wanting to add a bit of lightheartedness to this unfortunate predicament.

"I'm not like that. I know I'm in need of money but-"

"I didn't mean it like that, Y/N, come on. Give me some slack."

"Well, why exactly did you stop? Did you lose the thrill of stealing from others? O-Or did you get bored of killing innocent people?"

I rolled my eyes, scoffing. "We've all done some shit we're ashamed of. We're humans. I did a lot of fucked up shit," I said as I pointed at myself. "But I changed that. I moved and let all that go. I left my crew, made someone else the captain, and abandoned ship. I left all of that shit behind and came here."

"But why?"

"If I say this, I'll probably make things worse but I don't want to lie anymore," I said as I laid back, folding my hands over my chest. I stared up at the ceiling. "You've obviously heard of the One Piece, right?"

"Of course."

"Well, I was one of those pirates absolutely obsessed with finding it. Fuck, I even dreamt about it. It was the only thing I truly desired in life. It was the only thing I thought about. Not riches, women, alcohol- just the One Piece. I was making somewhat decent progress but then I heard that a group of Straw Hats-" I grimaced at the thought. "-made off with the map which they stole from one of the Marine bases. I happened to track them down and I managed to steal the map from some kid named Monkey D. Luffy. But all good things must come to an end and I lost it. I was back to square one. And then I discovered his bounty was thirty million berries." I frowned then sat up, turning to face Y/N. "Can you believe that? Some newby pirate-wannabe received a bounty double my own! Seeing that brought me back to reality. So I dropped everything then came here."

"All because of him?"

I nodded my head. Just the thought of that kid irked me. There was no one, other than Shanks, who I despised more than my own self.

"So, yeah, I know what I did was fucked up. But there's a reason I'm here now. There's a reason I've given you so much. It's because I want to be a better person, maybe redeem myself for what I've done. And I can do that by helping you, by making your life a little less miserable."

"Do you pity me?" The girl asked, finally meeting my gaze.

"What?" I laughed, almost obnoxiously. "Of course not. If anything, I envy you."

"Me?" Y/N pointed at herself. "You envy me?"

"You have no bad conscience. You've done nothing wrong, you have nothing to make up for. You have a clean slate."

She shrugged, a small smile creeping onto her lips. "Thank you."

"So, uh, do you hate me now?" I asked, forcing a frown to mimic a pouting child. She giggled at this and shook her head. I sighed in relief, wiping 'sweat' from my forehead. "Thank god. I don't know what I'd do with myself if you hated me."

"I knew you were a pirate but it's still shocking to learn about your past. It'll take me a bit to get used to it but I don't hate you."

"So, we're good?" I extended my hand.

"We're good." She shook it.

I felt as if a huge relief was lifted off my shoulders. And as long as she stayed out of the nightstand, there would be no more issues. But if I hid the book, then I would be even more safe. I pondered the possibilities before I watched as she rose from the confines of the bed and approached the counter. My eyes trailed down. The backs of her thighs were exposed and the shorts clung to her ass so divinely. I bit my lip and crossed my leg over my lap.

"I appreciate everything you've done for me," She mumbled as she started to chew on an apple, then began to cut into an orange. "I do have a question for you, though."

"Go ahead, shoot." As soon as she turned around, my eyes met hers and I smiled.

"Are devil fruits real? Or is that just an old tale? I've never seen one up close and I heard they cost a fortune, even for just one alone."

"They're real," I said with a small laugh. "I would know, I've eaten one."

Y/N nearly jumped before she darted over toward me, her hands grabbing at my shoulders. She still had a slice of half-chewed apple in her mouth which made her struggle to properly speak. "WHAT? You- NO! You didn't?!" She let go of my arms and instead planted her hands on my chest, shoving me back. I collapsed back against the bed, laughing. "You ate one?!"

"Years ago, when I was fifteen."

"You're lying!"

"I'm not. It was a mistake actually."

"What happened?"

I chuckled and pushed myself back up. "Give me an orange and I'll tell you."

If my reflexes weren't so quick, the fruit would've hit me in the face with how quick she threw it. But I caught it and began to pick apart the peel. "Easy, next time," I smirked and took a bite from it. "Well, when I was younger and was a pirate-in-training, the crew I was in raided this ginormous ship and hit the motherload. Not only gold and jewels and anything you could think of, but there was also a devil fruit. I found out how much they were worth and tried to steal it but I was caught in a predicament and I tried to hide it in my mouth."

"And?"

"I swallowed it whole."

She gasped, "And you're alive?"

"It doesn't kill you. It just takes your ability to swim when you're in the ocean, in salt water. It's like the sea turned its back on you."

"Did you get a power from it?"

I shrugged and winked at her, taking another bite. I licked the juices from my hand. "Guess."

"You can fly?"

"Ha! Nope."

"Read minds?"

"It's body-altering."

"Wait," The lovely maiden smirked, taking a seat on the bed. "Did it give you that red nose?" She snickered.

"Guess again," I said flatly, my expression turning cold as I stared at her. She gulped, clenching her jaw. I laughed and looked down at my lap, now using one hand to hold the orange. I continued to chew on it. But while she was distracted with her numerous attempts to guess what kind of body-altering power I had, I detached my left hand at the wrist. It floated behind the both of us and tapped on her right shoulder. Y/N jumped up, her head shooting to look at her side. Her eyes widened and her eyebrows furrowed together before she spotted my floating hand waving at her. She gasped and slapped it away. I broke out into a fit of laughter, my hand reconnecting to my wrist. "Impressive, huh?"

"You- what?" She was still flabbergasted.

"I ate the chop-chop fruit. It allows me to pretty much chop any part of my body. Like I can-" To avoid grossing her out, I chopped my left leg from my thigh instead of my head from my neck. She watched in amazement. I smiled at this. "I can disconnect anything from my body from my toes to my ears to my-"

"Even... ya know?"

I winked. "Oh, yeah. That, too."

"That's so cool. How come you haven't done it before around me?"

"I don't know. I just never found a reason to." Shrugging my shoulders, I allowed my leg to snap back. I continued to chew on the orange before finishing it and tossing the peel into a small bin to the left of the bedside table. Y/N finished hers as well. She wiped her hands down on her shirt.

"So, uh," I chewed on my bottom lip. "Do you think you and your mother will be okay?"

"Yeah. We fight all the time. Her drinking doesn't help."

I cringed. "Really?"

"Yeah, she's one of the reasons I hate it so much."

I pursed my lips and nodded my head. I knew I needed to cut back on it but it was something I've done for well over more than half my life. Though, I was destined to do it. Not only for myself, but for her, too. I'd do anything for Y/N. "So," I began, "what do you want to do today?"

"I need to go make up with my mother. That's a big to-do. I can't stand her ever being upset with me." The girl said as she stood up, slipping her shoes back onto her feet. "We can have dinner tonight if you want. Maybe you could meet her."

"Meet your mom?"

"Yeah, why not? She was wondering where all that money came from. She thought I stole it."

"Hell, I don't know. I'm not good with meeting new people."

"Will you, at least, consider it?"

"Sure," I smirked.

"Thank you." Y/N reached for the doorknob, giving it a strong and firm tug before it yanked open. A gush of cold wind washed over her, almost knocking her back. I tossed her my coat to which she whispered another 'thank you' then slipped it on. "I'll see you, Buggy."

"Bye," I murmured with a smile.

As soon as the door shut, I jumped down from the bed and pulled the drawer out from the nightstand, dropping it on the stone floor. I sorted through the numerous books and grabbed the novel I was so fucking thankful she didn't look through. As I opened the cover, the hollowed book had contents that almost spilled out. Papers among papers, among sketches fell out, wafting along the floor. Several notes about Y/N puddled on the floor. One, which was my favorite, was a letter I wrote to her- well, I refused to send it. If I sent it, any last fiber of my confidence would be crushed like a scrambled egg. My fingers lined the rigid edges as I unfolded it.

Messy paragraphs lined both the front and back of the page.

I smiled. How long ago did I write this? I haven't looked at it in so long. I usually added a sentence to it each time I saw Y/N, which is why it was so long. But I stopped pouring my thoughts and desires into it when I actually had the pleasure of speaking to her.

If she saw this, I would kill myself.

I'd purposely jump into the ocean with two anchors attached to my feet.

I looked over the first paragraph,

'I've never wanted something so badly in my life. To say I yearned for her would be a complete understatement. I longed for her, I yearned, I desired- In simple terms, I wanted her. I mean, how could I not? She was an angel. She was a siren. I would purposely listen to her enchanting song, allowing my boat to crash, just if it meant I could be graced by her presence, by her beauty. I was obsessed with her. If she found out my thoughts, my desires, she would never let herself be seen with me. I wouldn't blame her, though. I was obsessive. It was unhealthy, I knew that. But I didn't care. I wouldn't say I loved her because I didn't know what that felt like. I've never experienced it. But perhaps I did love her. I didn't know, I couldn't tell. All I knew was that she was the only treasure I wanted. Not the One Piece, no. Not even that could match up to her alluring person. If I had to travel every sea in order to find her, battle every sea snake in order to touch her, I would. I would in a heartbeat.'

I grimaced, cringing at what I was reading. Thank god, she didn't see this. I didn't even want to see this.

I tucked the papers back into the hollowed-out book, closing it. I slipped the other novels into the drawer then slid it into the nightstand. With the book of secrets, I needed to hide it somewhere she could never find it- where even I struggled to find it. I didn't want to throw it out for I would be completely discarding all of those moments we had together, although she couldn't reconcile them with me because at that time, I was nonexistent to her.

Maybe I could follow my own idea and form my own message in a bottle. I never mentioned her name, nor my own. To an outsider's perspective, it was anonymous.

I shook my head and slipped the book back into the bedside table. She wouldn't be back anytime soon so I had enough time to properly execute a fool-proof plan.

But right now?

I needed to go get another coat.

-=-

her pov;

My mother and I resolved things, just like always. And when she caught wind of a pirate suddenly becoming very fond of me, she begged me to invite him over for dinner. I didn’t think that was the best of ideas. Going out to dinner? Sure! But to have him over? At our house? I cringed at the idea.

She fell ill months ago. Nothing too major, but ever since she’s gotten better, she despises leaving the house and even made me bring her bed downstairs so she could sleep next to the kitchen just in case she had a hankering for something to eat. It was ridiculous, I knew that. But I couldn’t just tell her no. She was my own mother. While I was old enough, I definitely wasn't going to willingly disobey her.

She persisted that I go and grab Buggy so we could have him over for dinner, while I insisted we all go out to eat. She hated the idea and told me that it was her house, her rules.

I grimaced at the thought.

Now, I was just outside Buggy's home, knocking on the stone door. I hoped he was home, though there was no possibility of me being able to ask him prior to my arrival. I knew he was busy. He was a very busy man. I was surprised he made time for me.

With another knock, another silence fell. I groaned and backed up.

My eyes trailing down, I stared at the doorknob and chewed on my bottom lip. He wouldn't care if I waited inside, right? We trusted each other. He knew where I lived and I knew where he lived. As far as I knew, he never crossed any of my boundaries and I definitely didn't cross any of his- well, except for maybe 'snooping' through his nightstand.

Without thinking too much more about it, I grabbed the rusted doorknob, gave it a firm twist, then shoved it open. I almost fell through the doorway.

I caught my balance and stepped inside, closing the door behind me. Without the lantern being lit, it was rather dark, but the bright blue sky helped to illuminate the small room. He must've not been home since I left.

I looked around, admiring everything.

As I took a seat on the edge of the bed, I noticed a piece of paper laying on the floor. It wasn't there before.

I raised an eyebrow and reached to grab it but before I could, the door flung open, a certain blue-haired pirate standing in the entrance. When he noticed me, he smirked. I gulped.

"So, we're breaking and entering, are we?" The man grinned as he took a few paces forward.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, scratching the back of my neck. "I came over to ask you about dinner but you weren't here so I figured I would wait."

"No worries, I'm only teasing."

"So?" I folded my arms, leaning forwards.

"So what?" Buggy questioned as he slipped his coat off. Since when did he get a new coat? And why? I was only borrowing the one he lent me. I didn't plan on keeping it. But I guess now it was okay if I did.

"Dinner? Are you available?"

"Hmm, it depends. What time?"

"I don't know, sometime tonight? Only for two hours or so. My mother wanted to meet you. I told her about you."

"What did you tell her?"

"That you've been a friend of mine for a few weeks now and you've been fortunate enough to treat me and help me out," I said with a smile. "She thought you were my boyfriend." I chuckled.

"Heh, that's rich," Buggy said as he turned around to close the door.

"So? Can you?"

"I guess so. Just don't leave me alone with her. I really don't want to be bombarded with questions." The man said as he folded the jacket over his arm then slung it on the countertop. "Did you tell her about my nose?"

I laughed, confused. "No? Why would I?"

"It's my defining feature. It's hard not to notice it when you see me."

"I didn't tell her. I didn't think it was important. I even forget it's there."

The clown burst out in laughter, his eyes closing as he clutched his stomach and nearly fell back with his fit of giggles. I pursed my lips. "What's so funny?" I asked as I crossed my arms.

"It's cute how you're trying to be nice to me. With a nose like mine, how can you forget it's there?" He replied while wiping a tear from his eye.

I felt flustered with the first part of his monologue but I ignored it and shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know, I just do. It's not all I see whenever I look at you, ya know. It's not my main focus point when we speak. I look at your eyes, not your nose."

"And yet again, you prove to me that you're different than others."

I smiled. "Hope that's a good thing."

Buggy smirked, winking his left eye. "Of course it is."

The pirated approached me before he knelt down and picked up the piece of paper. He examined it for a moment then laughed to himself. "Grocery list," He explained as he shoved the paper into his pocket.

I paid no attention to the paper. It wasn't any of my business. "Speaking of groceries, want to go help me get food for dinner?"

"What's on the menu?"

"No idea, but let's just grab something so she won't be bitching later."

"Guess I'll be needing this again," The blue-haired man said as he reached to grab his jacket. He slipped his arms through and adjusted the collar. "We match now."

"Mine's more vintage than yours." I winked.

"Oh, so it's yours now?"

"No?" I gulped.

Buggy giggled. "It is. I got my own now so no worries about giving it back. Unless you'd like to trade from time to time."

"No, I like this one."

The man looked at me, an eyebrow cocked upward.

I paid his look no attention and instead looked down at the tattered suede coat I wore. I inhaled softly. It smelled like him.

A soft odor mixed with whiskey, coconut, and cinnamon. And while I hated the stench of alcohol, it worked for him.

I couldn't imagine him without it.

#buggy the clown #buggy the genius jester #buggy x reader #captain buggy #one piece live action #buggy smut #buggy one piece #op buggy #buggy #x reader #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #one piece buggy #buggy opla

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futureman · 9 months

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one more cup of coffee

pairing: joel miller x reader

word count: 850

a/n: pure, falling in love fluff based on the 8bitfiction quote "your color is everywhere"

You never noticed it before today, but now it’s everywhere. It’s in the coffee he drinks in the mornings, sewn into his fall jacket and winter coat, and stained onto his guitars and wood carvings. You can even see its richness in his hair and eyes.

The color brown is everywhere. It’s his color. You’re constantly surrounded by him whether he’s with you or not, and the thought is so comforting.

Joel doesn’t have a favorite color—you’ve asked him before and the answer is always the same—but if he did, you think it would be brown. It has the potential to be so many things: warm and deep, yet dark, and so full of life. Just like him.

They say when you fall in love, it’s something you just know in your heart is true, but they never say when you know. If it’s sudden or something that builds over time until you can’t ignore it anymore.

Maybe it’s different for everyone, but you’re discovering that it’s possible to wake up on an unassuming Monday and realize how much you love the color brown. And the man it reminds you of.

You always thought it would be some big revelation that changes everything, but here you are sitting at the kitchen table, sipping your coffee out of Joel’s favorite owl mug, feeling exactly the same. It’s how every morning goes and how they’ve gone every day for years. It’s your routine.

You hear floorboards creaking above you, and then there he is: right on cue. Walking down your brown, carpeted stairs in his brown suede coat, looking at you sleepily with the fondest look in his brown eyes. You watch him over the rim of his mug and he chuckles, shaking his head as he makes his way into the kitchen.

“There’s about a dozen mugs in this house and that’s the one ya chose, huh?” he says, voice still thick with sleep, as if that’s anything new. Your next sip is an extra loud slurp, and you let out a satisfied haah for good measure.

“I dunno what to tell you. Coffee just tastes better out of this one,” you shrug, and he rolls his eyes good-naturedly, opening the cabinet to find something else to drink out of. “You drink yours too fast, anyway. It’d be wasted on you.”

Scoffing, he picks one with the phases of the moon printed on it that you’re pretty sure he found in a museum nearby. It’s Ellie’s favorite, but you both know she never eats breakfast and hates coffee, so he can get away with using it.

“Not my fault I got places to be,” he looks at you pointedly. The moka pot on the stove starts to boil, and he waits for it to fill up before pouring himself a cup and sitting at the table across from you. “Still don’t know why ya got up so damn early when your shift doesn’t start for another two hours.”

“Maybe I just like seeing you off in the morning. Ever thought of that?” He eyes you skeptically. You lean forward in your chair, resting your arms on the table with a grin. “Or maybe I just wanted the mug.”

Obviously, it’s not just the mug and Joel’s well aware of that. You can tell by the way he’s looking at you right now with adoration and a hint of wonder in his eyes. It must be mirrored in your own, and now you’re wondering if he notices anything different about you today. If he realizes what you suddenly woke up knowing with absolute clarity.

“Well, you’re gettin’ both this mornin’. Lucky you,” he says, giving you a small smile. And he’s right, you are so, so lucky.

“Yeah, lucky me,” you nod, disappointment blooming in your chest as he takes the final sip of his coffee and gets up to put his cup in the sink. He returns to where you’re sitting to press a soft kiss against your forehead.

“Gotta go, sweetheart. I’ll see ya for dinner,” he murmurs into your hair before turning to leave. You reach out to grab the sleeve of his coat before he can get too far.

“Hey,” you start, heart beating a little faster in your chest, and he looks down at you curiously. You know you’ll see him again later, but you need him to hear it before he goes. It’s not that you’re expecting him to say it back or suddenly feel the same way you do, but you just…you want him to know.

“You know I love you, right?”

His gaze softens and, this time, he leans down to kiss your lips. You close your eyes and sigh into him, tasting coffee and toothpaste as his tongue brushes fleetingly against yours, and when you open them, all you can see is brown.

He pulls away just enough to rest his forehead on yours, those warm brown eyes looking at you as if for the first time and, yet, the same way they always have.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller fluff

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the-californicationist · 2 months

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Good Fences (Fluffuary #06)

FEB06: Acts of Devotion

You awoke the next morning to a loud banging outside your window. It was early enough that your alarm still hadn’t gone off. At first, you were scared, but when you glanced outside and saw the broad, strong back of your handsome neighbor, you were pleasantly surprised.

John was wearing suede working gloves with no shirt, wielding a hammer, and building something against the shared wall of your apartments. You slid the door ajar and wrapped your blanket around your shoulders to preserve what little modesty you had left for this man.

“John?”

“Oh, sorry, love. Didn’t mean to wake you,” he smiled and began to affix another piece of wood to his creation.

“What is this?”

“You were talkin’ about your tomatoes,” he said, not pausing his work, “Needin’ a trellis, innit that right?”

“Wow,” you took another look at his work and put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. You needed him to hear your gratitude, “John, this is so kind of you. Thank you.”

He towered over you on the porch, and you realized how close you had been standing to him. John was looking down into your face, taking in your words, wrapping them up in his mind and saving them for later.

He took a gloved hand and tilted your chin up just a bit, as if he might kiss you. You spent ages there, locked in his gaze, breathing the same air, feeling the wind on your cheek and his strong finger on your jaw. But, at the last moment, he turned away, going back to his work.

You spent the better part of the day working. There were two students who really needed support, and you wanted to do your best for them. You were worn out, and as the afternoon faded away to the evening time, you’d forgotten that you had promised you’d make dinner tonight for John. It was a Wednesday, and those were always your days for dinner.

When he showed up with a whiskey and a wine, you nearly burst into tears. You held it together, but barely.

“John, today was an absolute shit show. I haven’t even had time to breathe, much less do dinner. And after you built my trellis for me; I feel terrible for letting you down. Can you please forgive me?”

“Don’t worry, love. I saw you workin’ while I was cleanin’ up outside, and I called Antonio’s an hour ago. Check the bag.”

He set all of his gifts down on your counter for you to inspect. You peered inside and saw what he had done.

“Oh, my God,” you opened the bag he’d brought and there were two warm pasta carbonara dishes waiting for you. Breadsticks included. “John, you didn’t.”

“You’re busy savin’ the world, love. Feels good to be able to do somethin’ nice for you, if you’ll let me. I know I’m your neighbor, and I know that makes things complicated… but, I like you. And I like spending my time on you. Is that alright?”

You stepped into his space, just as you’d been standing on the porch, and you felt his heavy hands wrap around your waist, cradling you in his strong arms. Then, he cupped your cheek with a warm palm, holding your face up to his. His voice was a ragged whisper,

“If it’s not alright, you’ve gotta tell me now. ‘Cause I can’t stop thinkin’ about you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, crashing your lips against his. You felt him react almost immediately, smiling against your mouth, kissing you back. You felt his tongue slide against yours, opening you up to him, tasting you and holding you tightly.

He only pulled away when you did. Smiling with you, and laughing a bit to himself,

“Bloody hell, I’ve been waiting for that, love.”

“Me, too,” you confessed.

You were determined to show John how you truly felt about him, so the next day, you knocked on his door, packed and ready to take him on a whole slew of adventures just for him. You’d bought tickets to the local soccer match, and you’d booked an evening at a cigar bar downtown. You’d even planned a small picnic for lunch, but when he opened the door, you felt a lump in your throat. Something wasn’t right.

He was on the phone, and he held a finger to his lips, asking you for silence as you came into his apartment. You shut the door behind you as quietly as you could and sat with him on his couch. He was answering questions in yes and no statements, and you could tell he wanted to fill you in, so you waited patiently.

Then, he hung up, and he threw his phone down on the coffee table with a loud thud.

“Bad news, love.”

“What is it? Are you alright?”

He took your hands in his and sighed,

“I’ll be overseas for… work. But, I’ll be back here the moment it’s done.”

“Overseas? For how long?” You put your hands on his cheeks, studying his blue eyes for some answers.

He smiled, but it was a sad one,

“A while.”

When he kissed you this time, it felt like goodbye, and you prayed that it wasn’t.

Check out the schedule here.

AO3 Link

#the californicationist does fluff #fluffuary 2024 #fluffuary #john price fluff #john price #captain john price #captain price #john price x reader #john price x you #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #cod #cod fanfiction #call of duty #call of duty fanfiction #cod mw2 #cod mwii

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chrollohearttags · 6 months

Text

kinktoberfest • reiner braun

show: attack on titan

kink: foot play

word count: 2.0K

content + themes: foot job, toe sucking, perv reiner, football player rei, tit fucking, mutual masturbation, cumshot

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─── ── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.

if he had seen one, he’d seen them all…tall, short, dark and bright, cute and ugly…suede and leather? Some would assume that he was referring to the types of women he had come across in his lifetime but that was the furthest thing from. Especially at the moment..as he sat in the shared master bedroom of the two story mansion you called home. Releasing heavy sighs whilst watching you toss out this pair of Manolos and that pair of Louboutins behind you from the massive walk in closet. To say he was growing weary would be an understatement. He had been there for what felt like hours, watching you try on a plethora of shoes and dresses. It was rather daunting but for his beloved wife? He’d do practically anything!

“Rei!” “Yes, sugar? What is it?” “What do you think of these?”

Reiner Braun: five time Heisman winner, all star quarterback and world famous football star..dwindled down to glorified styling assistant as his wife, (y/n) tried on what had to be the fiftieth pair you’d come across. The occasion? An upcoming charity banquet hosted by a bunch of celebrities and Reiner happened to be one of the guests. In truth, he couldn’t wait for it to be over so all of this could cease. “They look good, poundcake. I like them.” However, there was a bit of a positive to this whole ordeal..you looked stunning in those shoes. Something about watching you strut about in those stilettos was..rather sexy. He’d never admit it, out of fear of sounding like an absolute freak but he’d love nothing more than to have you pressing that heel to the center of his chest or have it dangling over his shoulders right now. Just then, you’d take a seat in front of him, plopping down in the chair. Keeling over in frustration..

“What’s the matter? They all look great. No need to be upset, sugar.”

“I know and that’s the problem. I’m never going to be able to find the perfect pair.”

folding your arms and releasing a heavy winded sigh, (y/n) tossed your head back and glared up at the ceiling. You were so incredibly frustrated but in his eyes? You were making a fuss about nothing! What was the big deal anyways? You’d be wearing a long gown that was certain to have all eyes on you regardless so why would they matter? “For God sakes, babe. It’s just a pair of shoes. What could be so important?” However, if only he knew..he would’ve kept his damn mouth shut and not asked that! Rising straight back up, Reiner was met with a rather cross glare. See, being the star..he never had to worry about those sorts of things. All eyes would be on him regardless and everyone would love him either way. It was the wife who’d be nitpicked apart for every little detail. It didn’t help the fact that you didn’t exactly look like the rest of the stereotypical trophy spouses either so they’d be grasping at straws by now. “Are you kidding? I wear something out of style or the wrong color and they’ll grill my ass. One wrong outfit and I’ll be labeled as the girl who can’t dress.”

honestly, he thought it was hilarious! Making all of this fuss about this when your entire closet costs more than most people’s rent. Besides, you had impeccable taste. Even so, he’d never be able to convince you otherwise. So rather than listening to you bellyache and gripe about absolutely nothing of importance, Reiner simply dredged your legs up to his laps and placed your feet in the center of it. In one fell swoop, he’d drag the plush chair towards him and bridge the gap between you. “You wanna know what I think? I think that you need a break..” “b-but!—“ “But nothing, sugar. We still have four days. I’m sure you can find something then. If not, go buy a new one. Hell, go buy fifty if it’ll make you happy. But stop worrying that pretty little head of yours, okay?” It was so like him..so typical of this man to talk you off of the deep end when you were freaking out. Whilst you were in the middle of your rant, he was discreetly removing that current pair and massaging your rather sore soles instead. Trying on twenty plus pairs consecutively would make anyone’s feet hurt. Although, that wasn’t his entire reason. There was a bit of underlying selfishness to it as well..

“You’re right, papa. I’m sorry..it’s not that serious.” Chuckling to himself, Reiner continued kneading his fingers into your flesh, trying to relax those tendons. As he did so, he’d also bring your ankle and instep to his lips and place soft pecks on both. “That’s my girl..” but he didn’t stop there..he couldn’t even if he wanted to. And you didn’t exactly want him to either. On top of those long legs being accessorized with those cute shoes, you were sporting nothing more than a tiny lace teddy and to his surprise…with no panties on either; catching faint glimpses of that unsheathed little slit. Just then, a light grunt would arise from his throat as your legs parted slightly once again. Especially when he heard a whimper leave your throat as well.. “..that actually feels really good.” You most certainly needed it with the way they had been feeling. He’d press his fingertips into the curvature of your foot, wrinkle your toes and even rub up to your calves. The two of you sat there with the bridge between your bodies growing much smaller. His stubble grazing your skin and that gold anklet with his name engraved on it. By now, he had practically spread you open without you so much as even realizing and to your shock..

“..I can tell.” It was so blatantly obvious by the coat of slick on your mound and protruding clit. He would like to think you chose this particular attire on purpose but either way, he wasn’t mad..not in the slightest. The funniest part was that you didn’t try to deny it. Maybe you were equally as perverse as he was but you didn’t go get those expensive pedicures every other week and get those cute little toenails doused in white just for show…you got them done so your husband could have them in his mouth while he deep stroked you later that night! With deviant glares shrouding both of your faces, Reiner continued his onslaught of tender kissing of your ankles and toes, even flicking his tongue across them whilst looking directly into your eyes. He was intent, focused and determined to get you loosened up, which seemed to be working by the looks of it. Just that quick, you had managed to get him equally aroused; spotting an unmistakable bulge in his gray sweatpants. His shirtless torso showing off those impeccable abs. Cradling your foot with one hand, akin to the way he’d done those footballs previously, he began lacing them with sloppy pecks before placing them in his mouth and suckling. The glare in those beautiful brown eyes of yours told it all:

“…shit..Rei.” Causing you to squirm in your seat, attempting to feign off those pangs of pleasure but all you’d end up doing was rutting yourself against the cushion..furthering your desire. But just as you did so, you’d feel that imprint underneath your opposite foot grow larger, practically swelling. When he had a woman this beautiful, it took next to nothing for his dick to get hard. Especially when you were into the same taboo quirks he was.. “..play with yourself.” Muttering in that grovely tone. Only repeating it as he glided his tongue up the side of your instep and nibbled at your ankle once more. “Play with that pussy f’r me. And don’t take that foot off of me either. Keep it right there.” Absolute in what he said, you’d follow his command; slowly removing your breasts from the top of that ensemble and lifting the bottom portion to expose your heat to the cool air. Those nipples were super erect and that cunt was dripping. Kneading your fingers into those round, juicy tits..(y/n) brought them up to your mouth and began suckling those stuff buds whilst rubbing on your clit. He could hear that slick being drummed up and it sent your husband into a tailspin. He was so horny right now, it made no sense. It was taking all of his restraint to not put you on this floor, pin you down and drill your shit right here. But alas, this was a little more fun. The constant teasing, the subtle foreplay and mutual freakiness between you two. Who else would be into something like this? Massaging those fingertips over your parted plumpness, you’d toss your head back; titties swaying as you impaled yourself on those digits..bouncing up and down on them, hoping to have them replaced with his thick cock soon. For now, you’d allow him to continue savoring your toes and enjoying his rather peculiar and taboo fetish; pedaling the opposite foot against his hard on. Grunting and moaning, Reiner promptly shuffled that elastic waistband down until his entire erect sprang forth. It was swollen..all eight and a half inches standing at attention and seeping with precum; apparent by the formed stain on his pants. That mushroom tip beaming red and ready to use something to relieve that pressure. He’d immediately wrap that palm around his shaft and begin stroking. Softly shuffling it up and down from the base to the tip; smacking those full balls in the process. He shouldn’t have been this aroused by your feet of all things but his infatuation with you ran throughout the entire body. That was the effect you had on him. You’d continue bringing yourselves to the edge. “Fuck..got me so hard right now, sugar. I don’t know what to do..look what you did to me.” That mischievous chuckle and grin returned as he watched you grinding on those digits, wishing they were the real thing. The power you held over him was insurmountable. Still working yourself over, you’d giggle as well, whining so helplessly.

“Fuck..get on your knees, baby. Get on your fucking knees..”

hissing through gritted teeth as he ushered you to the ground. Reluctantly removing your toes from his mouth. With those breasts still unclothed, Reiner positioned you before him; resembling an obedient little slut, he’d impatiently grope your tits..maneuvering until his cock was nestled between them and he’d make haste in fucking them. Bucking his hips forward, Reiner growled whilst using your flesh to his satisfaction. Pumping himself through the tight confines of those squeezed breasts. Utilizing his own precum as lubricant to make it easier to push through the tightly formed orifice. To say your husband was losing his mind may have been a gross understatement. After working himself over, you’d notice that his breath was beginning to falter and his strokes became uneven..a sure fire signal that he was growing closer. It wouldn’t be long before he began to twitch. You’d press your hands to the sides of your chest, closing the gap and making it more compact..thus prompting him to come..

“Nut on them, baby. Go ahead, let it out.” Even extending your tongue and closing your eyes to prepare for it. Only seconds later did you feel him come to a halt and hear a loud grunt leave his throat. It was then that you’d feel the damp warmth splattering all over your tongue, face and tits; painting you with every droplet of his cum. Grasping your chin, Reiner then placed a gentle kiss atop your forehead, amid the laughter that followed from the two of you.

“That was fun.”

“Yes it was..thank you sugar.” Swiping the remnants from your eyes. It hadn’t even dawned on either of you that you had just gotten off in the most strange of ways. But it could be your dirty little secret..no one had to know.

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seaslugfanclub · 5 months

Note

Hello!! I love your Disney holo!villains, your writing style is just absolutely lovely!

Could I please request the reader fixing a meet-n-greet gone wrong with some of the less popular villains of your choice?? Can't imagine they take very well to being disregarded or unacknowledged...

No pressure and have a lovely day! 😁

It makes my day when one of my favorite Disney villain blogs asks for a request 😭 I hope I delivered!

Meet-N-Greet gone wrong

————————————————————————

It’s Meet-n-greet day at Disney! A perfect day for the resident narcissists to get their daily praise in!

(Y/N), who was assigned to supervise the event wasn’t concerned about the panel. Usually all the Villains acted on their best behavior, happy to receive any compliments from annoying millennials in $50 mouse ears.

This Meet-n-greet was a special event, where all villains including lesser known members where present. And even though they were to prideful to admit it, villains like Alameda, Medusa, Rourke, and Sykes where looking forwards to the event.

Before the panel, (Y/N) walked by their dressing rooms and noticed the extra care they took into getting ready.

Alameda pulling on a new pair of suede chaps, Medusa perming her hair as she did her nails, Rourke spritzed some of his favorite cologne, and Sykes made sure to choose some of his finest cufflinks. All minor details, but (Y/N) could tell how excited they where to receive some attention.

Unfortunately the meet-n-greet went like any other, with guests only being interested in the big bads. Cooing over their favorites, asking for autographs and photos. The whole works. All the while the other villains where cast to the sidelines, getting increasingly frustrated as the event went on.

(Y/N), taking notice of this, tried to bring a group of park goers over to the others, both as a way to keep the mainline villains from getting overwhelmed and to get some attention on the lesser known characters.

Unfortunately the guests where not interested..

“And this here is Alameda Slim! A master cow wrangler and genius yodeler from the 2004 film ‘Home on the Range’! He also tried to burn down a local Texas road house!” (Y/N) motioned up at the cowboy, who tilted his hat in pride.

“…what? Yodeling? That’s one of the worst sounds known to man, can we go back to the others, I wanna meet Jafar!” Some person in the group spoke up, with the others murmuring in agreement.

“Wuh- worst sounds!? I’LL SHOW YA WORST SOUNDS YOU LITTLE-”

The meet-n-greet dissolved into chaos as Alameda tried to lunge at the rude guest, who by some miracle didn’t get choked out as (Y/N) held him back with the combined effort of Rourke and Sykes.

Needless to say the panel ended early, with the excuse of the heat getting to the villains. Villains like Cruella and Gaston where pissed the praise ended so soon, while others like Hook and Hades were glad finally to be left alone.

Later that night, Alameda was brought out of his brooding when a quick knock came from his door, which revealed a smiling (Y/N).

(Y/N) dragged him downstairs into the employee break room, where he was met with his fellow villains, all sharing the same confused expression.

“Listen, I know that today was a shit show. And I’m sorry that it seems like no one acknowledges you. But I wanted to show you all something…”

(Y/N) proceeded to pull out their laptop from their work bag, opening it up as they motioned the villains to gather round.

“I wanted to show you all that there are people who love you guys, they’re entire blogs dedicated to you all from people across the world. I’m actually apart of some.”

Alameda and the others where shocked as (Y/N) shared with them all the fanart, ramblings, and imagines about them. Medusa jumped up and down in place pressing close to (Y/N) to get a better look at the screen. Rourke, who was never a fan of the internet grumbled to himself, but had an amused grin on his face.

Alameda felt the frustration of the day fade into obscurity as he guffawed at the things people where writing about him. At one point Sykes began to gag at some of the more.. suggestive content, which only led to more laughter from the group

The entire night was spent scrolling through the countless blogs, laughing and cringing until the laptop ran out of battery

————————————————————————

This was a little love letter to our community, you all are such talented creators and I’m so lucky to be apart of this small corner of the internet!

I feel like we would both traumatize and flatter Disney Villains if they saw what we write about them 🤣 Frollo would probably turn to dust

#disney villains #self insert #disney imagine #disney x reader #alameda slim #atlantis the lost empire #home on the range #oliver and company #the rescuers #disney hades

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vellichorbindery · 5 months

Text

Made this beautiful story into a bind for @tracingpatternswrites and it’s finally on the way, so I figured I could post 🙊

Big, big fan of the Wolfstar dynamic in this fic & absolutely adored the Jegulus background with Leo & Harry 😭😭

The suede cover was a bit hard to photograph, but I love how it turned out. Dust jacket art is from the lovely @alexsays-no (thank you again for letting me use this piece 🫶🏼) as soon as I saw this piece, I knew it would be SO perfect for this fic—just brings me so much comfort. 🥹

#bookbinding #fanfic bookbinding #wolfstar #jegulus #wilder than mountain thyme #authors copy bind #fanfic binding #mauraders #wolfstar fanfiction

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fleuraimer · 1 month

Note

…. perhaps a harry x reader blurb to spare 🤲 i will take anything u want to give me. fluff or smut or both or neither ❤️❤️❤️❤️ u rock and my name is also evelyn so i feel bonded to u

u've absolutely made my day with this evelyn :((( i hope you like what i've concocted bestie, she's kinda all over the fucking place, but nonetheless, i hope you enjoy <33

wc: 2k

cw: not much, super fluffy, mildly (perhaps majorly) suggestive. not suitable for ramadan!! not proofread. lmk if i missed anything pls!!

Spring is here.

Fucking finally.

All the seasons were lovely to Y/N, each offered something the others didn’t—couldn’t. But spring was different. Special.

Like him.

Like Harry.

Perhaps that’s why her love for it blossomed like the tulips lining her bedroom window; there was something about seeing her usually soft boyfriend get ten times softer as leaves started to sprinkle branches, blades of grass flashed a vibrant green once more, and the sun kissed the earth that got to her tender heart.

It was especially difficult to not melt when he’d planned a small outing for them, centered around the perfectly warm weather. Instead of waiting until nightfall and driving to some stuffy restaurant (although their dinner dates were never anything less than exquisite), they walked hand-in-hand down the boulevard in broad daylight, gentle wisps of wind the only thing surrounding them, as well as the quiet conversation of other passersby.

They didn’t talk. They didn’t have to. They were perfectly content to relish in the mere presence of one another—soak in the rays of sun, and warmth. Love.

Thumbs gave mindless, delicate strokes against the back of palms, rucking up rings, kissing knuckles in apology, and putting them back in place, just to repeat it all over again. The knitted fabric of Harry’s cardigan is soft when it brushes against Y/N’s bare arm (she decided that it was absolutely perfect weather to slip on her favorite flowy sundress, cinched at the waist and flared at the hips, printed with obnoxiously serene-looking flowers and hummingbirds, with a square neckline that farmed the intricate necklace Harry bought her for their second anniversary quite stunningly), but his hand in hers was softer. Better.

Said hand tugs on hers, urging her away from the beaten path and into the ravine of tall, never-ending trees—willows and oaks; sycamores, birches, and maples, too. She resists, no less. Looks down at the cobblestone beneath her soles, and the cute kitten heels that (in her humble opinion) tie her whole spring-era look together.

She pouts.

And then a head of chocolate obscures her view of the pristine, white triangle toes. A hand placed both respectfully and salaciously on her ankle, coaxing her foot to slip from its confines, makes her breath catch in her suddenly dry throat.

Her kind eyes glaze over, ever so slightly.

“Y’don’t have’t—”

“I want to, Bellissima.”

Her shoe slips from her foot with a soft clatter on the ground when he manages to pry her sole from the earth, but it barely registers in her brain. In fact, everything else seems to fade away into the lovely spring that encompasses them when Harry guides his hand further up, along her fleshy calf, and leans in to place a chaste, staggering kiss to the bridge of her foot.

She wobbles, but they both know it’s not because she’s been left to balance on one foot.

Harry smiles, faint—the crater in his stubbled cheek is nearly invisible—and nudges his nose along the smooth skin of her leg.

He works diligently (as diligently as one can when removing a shoe) to rid Y/N of her footwear, relieving her of any worry or pain.

He looks pleasantly boyish when he looks up at her, smiles all cheeky, and winks for good measure. Kneeling on cobblestone in a worn pair of jeans, suede, dirty Adidas, and a vintage band tee that smells of stale coffee, Chanel No. 5 (one of many preferred perfumes of Y/N), and sex no matter how many times they run it through the wash; the green of his seafoam eyes twinkling in the sunlight, sunnies pushing his hair back, and yet one rogue curl still bends and twirls with the wind, falling in a perfectly aesthetic spiral when it settles…

Soft. Boyfriend. Hers.

Her Harry.

He stands to his full height, and they’re much closer than she’d thought they would be, but she’s certainly not complaining. Where before she stood at (about) Harry’s collarbone, now her head barely reaches the underside of his pecs. Her neck strains to keep eye contact as he slips his free hand back into her awaiting palm, the latter of which occupied with their stuffed picnic basket, and now her precious kitten heels.

“Need me to carry you?” He asks, ready to suffer at least a week’s worth of back pain if it meant he’d keep that love-struck, glowy, adorable (subby, stupid, filthy) look on his girl’s face.

Y/N’s eyes widen subtly, though enough for Harry to notice, and he can’t help but have to stifle a chuckle at her bashful demeanor.

“No, thank you,” she squeaks, and now she’s the one tugging his hand, urging them into the abyss of greenery, away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

The grass feels soft, ticklish, between her powder pink painted toes; she feels her lips stretch into a small grin because of it. They walk idly until they find a soft patch of vividly green grass directly under a tree, kissed fleetingly by the rays of sunlight peaking through the gaps of branches and leaves.

Harry lets his hand fall from Y/N’s (and can’t help but feel slightly colder because of it) to unpack their picnic basket. He grabs the signature red gingham picnic blanket from its place in the basket, releasing its folded form with a flourish. The material floats gracefully through the air until settling on the grass, near gingerly with the way it stops at just the very tips of the blades.

He kicks his chin toward the blanket in invitation as he settles on top of it himself, beginning to remove the contents inside their basket. Sandwiches, fruits, veggies; assorted cheeses and meats, cake, and, arguable most important, wine. He wastes no time in popping the cork from the rouge, pouring a generous amount into each of the pinot noir glasses he’d carefully tucked in the picnic basket.

Y/N kneels onto the blanket, walking on her knees until Harry is within reach, and his incessantly grabby hands are (surprise, surprise!!) grabbing her. He hands her her wine glass and sets his off to the side for the time being, sliding his bear palms up the full of her thighs, the swell of her bum, small of her back…

She shivers as they pet down again, nails biting at her hips to grip and pull her into his lap.

“Too far,” he grumbles, nuzzling in the space where her neck and collarbone meet. He peppers soft kisses along the strong bone, inhaling the natural, overwhelming scent of her. His girl.

Y/N goes easily, sipping slowly at her red wine while her free hand comes up to his hair, fingers threading through the fluffy tendrils. She snatches his sunnies away when they block her half-hearted scalp massage, muttering delicate apologies when the bend of them gets stuck in his hair and he hisses at the sting.

“Sorry, Baby,” she winces herself, chucking the damned glasses onto the blanket when she’s gotten them loose, kissing along the crown of his head to soothe any ache.

She sips more, tart grape hitting her tongue, sugary plum sliding down her throat, strawberry slicking her lips. She’s borderline greedy with the way she downs it, but they’ve got nowhere to be. Only here. Just here. Now.

She twists in Harry’s laps to grab one of the homemade BLTs, offering the half she won’t stuff her fat gob with to Harry, which he politely accepts. They munch quietly, sharing soft smiles and love-sick kisses in between bites. Conversation is sparse, but not bad. Never bad. If anything, the weight of their words is heavier because they’re so few and far between.

They both like it that way, anyhow.

When their feast has dwindled down to nothing but a few fruits and cakes, Harry fishes his phone from his pocket, and reaches in the picnic basket to grab his trusty pair of wired headphones. Hooking them up to his phone, he looks expectantly to Y/N. She raises her brow, never one to move unprompted.

Harry smirks, “Come, Bellissima.”

Her heart flitters, her stomach flutters, and her eyes round out (Harry tries not to think about how fucking easy—). She crawls back to him, in a way that is unnecessarily intimate and innocent, and simultaneously astoundingly nasty, but he tucks the image into the deep, deep, dark recess of his mind so he doesn’t get arrested for public indecency. Saves it for later (call it his spankbank).

He tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear before handing her and earbud, and lying down on his side. She follows, the two inserting the device into their ears at the same time. Her head instantly floods with staggered strings and piano, static, and then bass. Saxophone and acoustic guitar being delicately plucked, followed by a heady, gentle voice, similar to Bowie (but never as iconic).

“About You,” she whispers to him, her lips quirking.

Harry nods. Smiles, “The 1975.”

As the music progresses—the subtle vibrato of Matty Healy’s croon, the crescendo of each instrument and sound blending together to create one beautiful, extravagant, mind-bending symphony—Y/N swears she can see all five oceans in his eyes. The clear, breathtaking reefs, the lines that separates it from the rest of the water, dividing the calm from the chaos, the serene from the danger. She sees the deep, the unknown she wishes the dive further into, explore and discover, treasure for nothing but her own heart. And the seafoam that crashes up against the shore, the way it bubbles with joy and glistens in the light of the sun at the horizon, ever so fleeting as it washes back down the grains of sand.

She sees it all.

“S’pretty,” she mumbles, scooting closer as much as she can.

Harry wraps the arm not tucked under his head around her waist, pulling her closer. His eyes flit dazedly between her two.

She may see the ocean, but he sees the sky. The constellations, laid out for him beautifully, his for the taking. His.

He nods, “S’pretty.” Bumps his nose childishly against hers, smiles softly, triumphantly, when it scrunches up. His eyebrows pull together in the center, and he huffs a breath through his nose, “S’fucking gorgeous, Stellina.”

His mouth is on her before she can ask for a translation (there’s only some many Italian pet names a girl can recall) tongue prodding at the seem of her lips until they give way and he can slide the wet muscle against her own. She tastes of their shared wine and vanilla buttercream, and he tastes of fresh peaches, mozzarella, and tangy balsamic vinegar. And yet, somehow, it mixes together to create something new, something better, arguably. He fits her bottom lip between his two, nipping and sucking at the plump flesh, pulling breathy whimpers and faint moans from his lover. His grunts and groans in response are no less self-deprecating (they were both, admittedly, getting extremely hot over a couple of third date level kisses).

Neither paid it much mind, however. Especially not when Harry flips around so he’s lying on his back and she’s pressed firmly against his torso, belly’s melding, chests grazing. Y/N can’t stifle her soft gasp at the heavy weight of Harry against her inner thigh, but she can’t reprimand him, for she is no better—there’s a puddle in the gusset of her panties.

“Harry,” she whines, lashes fluttering when his hands find the swell of her bum and squeeze through the flimsy fabric of her sundress.

“G'na take y'home now, Bellissima,” he husks against her open mouth, tongue flicking at the swollen mess. “Fuck you the way y'deserve for being such a good girl today—” She bristles, rocking into him and crying out softly because of it. “—and if y'keep it up, we’ll go to tha’ cute little flee market y'keep tellin’ me about, yeah?”

She’s being bribed with his (impeccable; divine; otherworldly) cock and her love for all things vintage.

“Can we go to the botanical garden, too?”

Harry snorts, issues a teasing spank to her bum that makes her squeal, but smiles, nevertheless. “Sure, Baby, whatever y'want.”

(Impeccable; divine; otherworldly) Cock, a flee market, and a botanical garden?

She’s in heaven. In happiness. In full bloom.

She fucking adores spring.

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squeakadeeks · 1 year

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fit check: dying of sepsis in siberia during the paleolithic era

Fushi/nameless boy from To Your Eternity is done! this project was incredibly fun and satisfying, I loved working on it and am absolutely delighted with how it turned out.

I have a hard time getting into new anime but last year my incredibly good friend Chris pitched to your eternity to me as “ok so theres this orb-” to which i replied with “you son of a bitch, I’m in”. Although i was sold on O r b right from the get-go, I liked it way more than i anticipated, and thought Fushi/nameless boy would be fun as hell to make.

The costume itself is almost entirely suede, pleather, and faux fur, with the exception being the modified olive green jeans. Fushi used a lot of techniques in fur working, weathering and shoe making that ended up making this project so engaging to work on.

#my cosplay #cosplay #to your eternity #to your eternity fushi #im so sad you cant see the little ponytail very well #but ok so a smidge more on Fush'#HE IS SO COMFORTABLE HOLY MOLY #i was also super nervous about overheating being an issue but i swear i was able to thermoregulate better in him #than most of my other costumes #not sure why

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moonchildstyles · 2 years

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spare aster going bare for the first time miss moon?🥸

Hey I absolutely LOVE your work! Can you please please please write aster first time without a condom! Thank you!!!!

Okay but what about aster y/n allowing Harry to cum in her for the first time?

wordcount: 23k+

—————

"We've gotta leave soon, baby. Are y'almost ready?"

(Y/N) flicked her gaze from the adjustments she was making to her hair to where Harry was lent against the threshold of the hotel bathroom, brows raised in question. He was already dressed and ready to go as far as she could tell; the black satin of his shirt glinted in the vanity light, barely buttoned to the mid of his torso to allow the majority of his tattoos to be on display (she had asked him if it was really appropriate to show up to a wedding basically shirtless, and he had only shrugged saying that no one would be looking at him anyway as soon as the ceremony started). A pair of black fitted trousers covered his legs, stretching around his thighs and making his legs seem all that much longer, matching the black coat he had over his shoulders. The only pops of color came in the form of the baby pink nail polish on his fingers and the suede boots in a matching pastel shade, coordinating with the dress that covered (Y/N)'s own figure. Rings glinted on his fingers with glimmering jewels and brassy bands as he ran them through his hair, the length curling towards his collarbones.

If not for the nerves bubbling in her tummy, she was almost sure she could have melted at the sight of him alone. But, there was only so much space in her head for him to occupy when she was busy trying to steady her shaky hands.

"Mhm," she squeaked, wiring a smile onto her face as she plucked at her hair. If this one baby hair would just lay down—

"Y'alright, lovebug?" Harry asked, stepping into the bathroom with the click of his shoes echoing over the tile.

It was a familiar question she'd heard wrapped up in his voice over a hundred times at this point. The sound was enough to make the smile on her lips turn genuine. He knew her, sometimes a little too well.

"I'm okay, yeah," she said, finding some minuscule error in her makeup to distract herself.

Even without the sound of his boots approaching behind her, (Y/N) wouldn't have been able to ignore the static of his presence. Casting her gaze from the makeup bag on the counter, (Y/N) found him peering over her shoulder with his lips pursed and brows furrowed before Harry slipped an arm around her waist.

"Jus' okay?" he hummed, watching as she plucked up a spare brush and swept it over her eyelids, "Are y'nervous?"

A humorless smile stretched over (Y/N)'s lips. She was sure it wasn't a huge surprise for him to have sussed out that she wasn't feeling the most secure, but it still made her feel more embarrassed than anything.

"Maybe," she settled on, her voice quiet just between the two of them.

His arm around her waist tightened, fingers denting her skin through the fabric of her dress. She could already imagine the tint of concern that was no doubt taking over his irises as he spoke, "What's making y'nervous, hm?"

The noncommittal answer of "Everything," slipped from between her lips as she resumed her fussing of her hair.

"Baby," he cooed to her, pressing a kiss to her temple, the sliver of his lip ring pinging against her skin, "I thought y'liked weddings."

The mention of the day's plans didn't help much to settle (Y/N), her attention drifting to the strap of her dress—another thing to fuss with.

It wasn't that (Y/N) wasn't excited to go to the wedding—she loved weddings actually! She'd only been to a few growing up, but as soon as she realized what they were all about, her hopelessly romantic heart was gone for them—, she was just nervous. (Surprise, surprise!). Meeting Harry's extended family was going to be a big step, and she didn't want to intrude on such a joyous occasion for his family. As far as she knew, Harry hadn't seen this particular stretch of family in a couple of years, but had been eager to RSVP as soon as he received the invitation in the mail. She didn't want to take away from that moment by clinging to him all night.

"I do like weddings," she argued, voice soft, "It's just... I don't know. I've only met your mom, and I talked to your sister once over FaceTime. Now, I'm meeting your whole family and going to a wedding I wasn't exactly invited to."

The pinch in Harry's brows deepened at her words. "Of course y'were invited, love. The invitation included a plus one, and I know mum made sure to mention to Serena that I was bringing m'girlfriend."

As silly as it was, just hearing Harry refer to her as his girlfriend made her heart flutter. It never got old.

"But, they don't know me, and I'm going to one of the most important days of their lives. I don't want to mess anything up or take away from it all."

Harry stopped her busy fingers then, taking his tattooed hands and lacing his fingers through hers to halt her fidgeting. His eyes were clear and unwavering as he looked at her through the mirror. "You're not going to mess anything up, okay? You're not going to take away from the day, or make it any less important. When mum told Serena, she told me that Serena was so excited, that everyone's heard so much about y'since y'came home with me and they can't wait to meet you, and see why mum hasn't stopped talking about you. They want y'there, baby—not as much as I want y'to be there, but close enough."

A smile crept onto the edges of his lips as he spoke, his reassuring words turning affectionate as he watched her through the reflection. (Y/N) couldn't help her own smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. Bits and pieces of the icy nerves that had flaked down like snow in her stomach melted away as he spoke. Mounds of those nerves still remained in banks in her system, but he melted them away slowly and sweetly, knowing just what to say to her even if it took time for her to come to the same conclusion.

"You mean that?" she murmured, voice quiet between them.

"Of course I mean that, my love," he mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head, "You're only going to make today that much better for everyone. Especially me. I promise."

(Y/N) pulsed her hand in Harry's, fingers tightening between his as she soaked in his sentiment. "Thank you, H."

His smile could be felt against her temple, soothing (Y/N) even further. She liked making him happy.

"Feeling any better, love?" Harry's smile only spread wider when (Y/N) nodded her head, her hair fluttering around his face. "Good," he cooed against her skin, "Was worried y'weren't gonna let me take y'out and show y'off while you're looking so pretty. If it wasn't for the bride, I'd think all the attention would be on you."

"Stop it," she smiled, shaking her head before turning in his arms and tucking herself against his chest, "You're not supposed to say that. Today's about your cousin."

"Not for me, it isn't," Harry countered, his arms slipping around her form and cuddling her close to his frame, "As far as 'm concerned, everyday's about you, lovebug."

(Y/N) didn't know what else to say but a small, "I love you," that fell from her lips.

With her ear pressed to his chest, the flutter of Harry's heart echoed in her head.

It only took a moment for Harry to press a settling kiss to the top of her head before he spoke into her hair, "I love you too, (Y/N)."

As she pressed herself closer to his chest, (Y/N) swore she heard his heart beat in time with the words that fell from his mouth.

—————

(Y/N) tried her best to feign confidence as they strode into the wedding venue, trying her best to keep her eyes forward and from falling to her feet where she itched to draw her attention. Harry's hand was held tight in her own, just the way it had been since he opened the car door for her with a smile and a small question of "Ready?" being murmured to her. Beside her, Harry walked with his head high, the sunlight reflecting off the black shades covering his eyes as he led her towards the quaint winery both the ceremony and reception were taking place in.

Luckily, they seemed to have arrived at the perfect moment to calm (Y/N)'s nerves, none of Harry's family members pulling in and joining them in the parking lot, leaving only the click of her heels on the pavement to echo through the space. Up ahead, the aged wooden doors of the winery were splayed open, giving a peek at the interior swathed in the creamy pastels and deep accents that had been used on the wedding invitation they received eight weeks earlier.

"That's a pretty color, don't y'think?" Harry murmured to her as they scaled the short set of stairs leading to the winery, "That peach color."

The smile that plucked at the corners of her lips felt tight as (Y/N) nodded her head. "Yeah, it is pretty. I like how it looks with the green."

Harry hummed at her words, a light smile playing at his own lips that was worlds more genuine than (Y/N)'s. His hand never left hers as he tugged her to the guest book, signing his own name before allowing (Y/N) to add hers right beside his. As they walked through the winery, following the directions given by one of the venue's staff to the private room for the ceremony, (Y/N) noticed each of the details. Flowers were dotted all over the space, sticking with the colors of peach and green with grey swathes of ribbon tying it all together. Bits and pieces of Serena and her soon-to-be husband's love story were framed on the walls, their smiling and love struck faces maturing as (Y/N) watched their love grow through each frame until the final photograph came in the form of the wedding proposal before the hallway opened up to the private room.

Rows of chairs were stationed in the center of the room, right in front of the trellised alter, more flowers braided through the white picketing. An olive green runway was laid out in the middle of the chairs, soon to be dotted with peach colored petals just before the bride made her descent down the aisle. The space was beautiful, (Y/N) feeling her own heart softening as she allowed her imagination to runaway as she imagined the kind of love story that would warrant such a breathtaking celebration.

But, her heart could only soften so much when she took note of the amount of strangers in the room. Those on the groom's side of the ceremony were complete strangers, not a single recognizable face or familiar feature, but that wasn't what was causing her heart to speed up in the most unpleasant of ways. That side of the wedding still made her nervous of course (complete strangers were not the most comforting thing in the world to her), but they had nothing on the bride's half.

That side of the room was where she found familiar features on unfamiliar faces, a family resemblance stringing along each of these people that reminded her in glimmers of the man beside her. This was Harry's family, distant relatives as well as close family members that helped make him into the person he was today. And she was to meet all of them today, and hopefully give both a good and lasting first impression.

If all went well, these people could be at her wedding one day, so she wanted to gain the same support they were showing to Serena today.

That was a lot of pressure.

Sticking close to Harry's side, (Y/N) wanted nothing more than to find their seats before the ceremony began, hoping that they had timed everything perfectly leaving little room for any kind of small talk before the bride was to walk down the aisle. But, she could never be so lucky, (Y/N) decided when she saw an older man's face light up when he caught sight of Harry.

She watched as the man nudged the woman next to him, her own lips tugging into a bright smile when she was directed in Harry's direction before they excused themselves from their seats and made way to where Harry was still leading her to one of the rows on Serena's side of the room.

"Harry!" the man called, voice traveling through the room, "Look at you! I haven't seen you in ages!"

The curls at Harry's shoulders fluttered around his face as he whipped his head in the direction of his relative, recognition already lighting up his eyes at the sound of the familiar voice. "Uncle Mark," Harry greeted, dimples on display as he rerouted (Y/N) with a tug of his hand.

Though it made the gesture more complicated, Harry kept his hand clasped around (Y/N)'s as he reached his free arm around Uncle Mark's shoulders, a half hug in greeting.

"Your mum said you'd grown out your hair even longer, but I hadn't believed her," Uncle Mark laughed, eyes following the curls that stopped at the line of Harry's collarbones, "I was worried you had let it grow down to your ass, and we were all going to have to pretend not to notice so Serena didn't get her feelings hurt when we weren't paying attention to her."

Harry shook his head, an easy laugh falling from his lips as the hoop pierced his lip wobbled at the motion. "No, no. I think this is the longest I can handle it," Harry started before nudging (Y/N) with his shoulder, his smile turning teasing, "Besides, I've already got enough of a problem with the shower drain where she's involved, I don't need to add to it."

(Y/N) felt the apples of her cheeks heat at his words, more at the implication that she spent enough time at his house—in his shower—to be causing problems like that, than the fact he had said her hair clogged his shower drain (which was still rude to tell, even if she was distracted with other facets of this conversation). Before she could sputter out any counter argument, the woman who had followed after Uncle Mark waved her hand dismissively at the talking men.

"Don't listen to them, dear," she said with a roll of her eyes, the kind of teasing tone only a mother and wife could pull off tinting her words, "I haven't seen Mark actually fix the shower drain—or anything in the bathroom—in at least a decade, so I don't know why he's laughing. And, Harry, you should be nice and at least introduce her before you make those kinds of jokes."

The gentle scolding was enough for Harry's grin to shudder to a lopsided smile before he looked down at (Y/N), something like pride leaking into his gaze. "I know, you're right, Aunt Sara. This is (Y/N). She's m'girlfriend."

The heart shaped bubble that bobbled in her stomach was enough to quell her worries in that moment. She really liked being introduced like this, pride in Harry's voice along with the title of being his girlfriend.

Swallowing through her dry mouth, (Y/N) held her free hand out with a practiced smile on her face. "Nice to meet you both," she greeted, her voice leveled and reminiscent of the days where her parents had taught her 'proper manners'.

Uncle Mark's subsequent smile held something familiar, a crook in the curve that was reminiscent of Harry's mom's smile. "Its nice to meet you, (Y/N). My sister hasn't stopped talking about the week you came out to visit for months, so I'm happy I finally have more than a single picture to place to a name. Thank you for coming to my daughter's big day."

Before (Y/N) had a chance to respond, Aunt Sara beat her out with a fawning gush of praise, "You're just as pretty as Anne said! You and Harry make the perfect little couple, all of that opposites attract thing. Thank you for coming, dear."

It was Aunt Sara that tugged her in for a soft hug, an arm falling around (Y/N)'s shoulders as she was pulled into the woman's embrace. (Y/N)'s hands stammered, her grip on Harry's hand hesitantly falling before she reciprocated the cuddle.

"Th-Thank you for having me," (Y/N) stuttered when released from the hug, looking between both Mark and Sara with a stilted smile, "The space is so beautiful already; Serena and Aaron are very lucky."

Just as Uncle Mark made a move to grumble about how the venue better be pretty, because the price of all these flowers, Aunt Sara made the kind of pouted face one made when seeing an adorably sweet puppy. "You are too sweet, (Y/N), thank you. We're so happy you and Harry are here, I ca—"

Before she could say much more, a girl who had to be one of the bridesmaids if her peach colored dress was anything to go by, rushed through the ceremony space with a tight smile on her face. She approached the group of them with a careful smile, a hand landing on Sara's shoulder to steal her attention.

"Can you come to the bridal room with me? Serena is having a... bride moment and won't talk to anyone that isn't you or her dad," the girl shared, her tone hushed though it was hard to hide much when all attention was on her.

Aunt Sara heaved a sigh and nodded, telling the bridesmaid she'd be back there in a moment. Turning her attention to the pair of them, Sara gave an apologetic smile. "We have to go, but please, if we're not back before the ceremony, we'd love to see you both again at the reception. Thank you for coming, and it was wonderful to meet you, (Y/N)."

Watching Harry's aunt and uncle make their exit, a pressure was lifted from (Y/N)'s chest. While it wasn't much, she had two less first impressions to make today, and she'd like to think those went fairly well even if her well-mannered facade cracked in some spots. With their path cleared, Harry resumed their trek to a pair of tulle draped seats for the ceremony.

Although (Y/N) had been preparing herself for every and any worst case scenario tied to this wedding, she hadn't really anticipated the kind of world she had stepped into when crossing into the venue. She knew her own family was worlds away from being considered 'normal', something she learned through the facial expressions given by Harry and Sarah any time she mentioned something from her childhood or an odd (re: self-stifling) quirk she learned from her parents, but seeing the way Harry acted with his relatives was something of a culture shock. Of course, she'd seen the familiarity and casualness he'd exhibited around his mother, but even the short interaction they'd had with his aunt and uncle was different than anything she could ever see herself having with her own relatives.

His Uncle Mark casually used a swear word in conversation with his nephew and beside his wife, and didn't at all seem phased when Harry implied how often his unwed girlfriend stayed at his place. The mention of such intimate domesticity in front of others hadn't even perturbed Aunt Sara or kept her from joining in on the teasing. And the hug. Aunt Sara had hugged her before she'd even truly met her. The walls (Y/N) was so used to separating herself from her own family with hadn't been there as she stood in front of his relatives, an odd shift she hadn't anticipated at all. And they seemed to like her—really like her. Even when she wasn't at the top of her manners and had stuttered her way through her thanks, they hadn't offered a sharp glance to Harry or scoffed under their breath.

It was... easy talking to them.

As much as (Y/N) wanted to hang onto that revelation, take it as a victory, the cautionary anxiety that had wrapped her up the second they had driven out here the day before to check into their hotel for the weekend wouldn't let her do as much. This might have been easy, but she couldn't base the rest of the day on that interaction.

It was Harry's hand squeezing hers as he pulled her down a row of chairs that pulled her from the trellis she was braiding in her head. She found him turning to look at her once he found a pair that didn't seem to be reserved by any purses or jackets, tugging her to sit on the aisle seat, away from any strangers.

"Look at you, baby," he murmured as he sat down next to her, "Y'survived. 'M proud of you."

"Barely," she countered, the word floating under her breath.

Harry shook his head with a laugh, slinging his arm around the back of her chair with his fingers dangling over her shoulder. "Aunt Sara's already obsessed with you, I promise. If not for the wedding starting in twenty minutes, 'm sure she would have grabbed y'to be a bridesmaid."

"I don't know about that," she said, struggling to keep the smile from her lips as she dropped her gaze to her lap.

"Well, I do," Harry countered, dipping his head close to her ear as the words washed over her skin, the affection in his tone seeping into her system. "Gonna have the whole family in love with y'by the end of the night. 'M worried 'm gonna have to prove m'worth to keep m'spot as your boyfriend."

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, turning her head to meet his gaze so he could glimpse at what his teasing was doing to her smile. "Just tell everyone about how I apparently clog your shower drain all the time with my hair. I'm sure that'll keep them away."

A loud laugh escaped Harry's lips, his arm around her shoulders squeezing as he tugged her to his side. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to her with a pink hue rising to the apples of his cheeks, "I was only teasing, m'love—'s not all the time, more like once every couple of months, at this point."

"You're so mean to me, H," (Y/N) whispered, the insult losing all of its grit as it traveled through her smile.

"Am I? Am I really, angel?" he murmured, dipping his head closer to hers as dimples popped into his cheeks.

For a split second, with Harry's attention focused squarely on her in all of his eyelined glory, (Y/N) almost didn't care about the countless relatives and strangers filling the room. She wanted to kiss him and tell him she loved him and that there was no where else she'd rather be than with him.

And, she was pretty sure she would have done just that if they hadn't been interrupted by the sound of a voice she'd only ever heard through FaceTime.

"Harry! You finally bring your girlfriend around and the first person you go to isn't me? Your sister who you haven't seen in almost a year?"

Looking up from the faux-privacy they had curated in the middle of the winery, (Y/N) found the newly-unpixelated face of Gemma Styles.

From the corner of her eye, the shape of Harry's lips curved upward before he tugged her to stand up with him. A short glance was shot her way, but (Y/N) knew what he was asking her. Ready? she could hear echoed in his voice.

Looking to the woman that had the same green eyes as her Harry, with a single dimple denting into the apple of her cheek that was more than familiar, (Y/N) knew she wasn't entirely ready, but she was going to be no matter what.

Harry squeezed her hand, tugging her to his side before speaking, "Gems, I was jus' about to go and find you..."

She could do this.

—————

(Y/N) found it hard to draw her gaze away from the newly wed couple as they pranced down the aisle with bright smiles on their faces and a sheen of tears covering their eyes. Applause followed after the couple along with the wedding party, chatter beginning to rise among the guests.

The ceremony had been beautiful, the couple having written their own vows to share with one another. (Y/N) had known she was going to get emotional during the exchange no matter what, but she hadn't anticipated tearing up as soon as she saw the groom's reaction to Serena, clad in a sleek white gown as she descended the aisle. It was the way his face had immediately turned a shade of red and his eyes filled with tears as his best man clapped a hand on his shoulder in support, seemingly breath-taken at the sight of his bride. That was what had done it for (Y/N).

From then on, she was consistently trying to keep her own tears from spilling over the edge of her waterline and disrupting the makeup she had fussed over that morning. As soon as Harry noticed, he was more than happy to become her comfort for the duration of the ceremony, his arm around her shoulder tightening and his once free hand came to settle on her thigh in a comforting grip. His hold was a reassuring one, something he'd done for her no less than a hundred times when cuddling during a movie or wrapped up in the sheets of his bed after a long day. He was her rock.

But, it wasn't until the ceremony had come to an end that he spoke to her, his voice quiet under all the chatter, "Y'alright, lovebug?"

Using her fingertips to gently cater to her tears, (Y/N) nodded her head, voice matching the hushed volume of her Harry's. "Yeah, it was all just really pretty. You can tell they really love each other."

A tender smile tugged at Harry's lips, affection seeping into his features. "Yeah. Y'can."

Harry's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he tugged her from her seat, his arm around her shoulder falling to grab at her hand. They had about an hour and a half of wait time while the space was renovated to now hold the reception, some guests moving to the patio area out in the back of the winery while others headed towards the front exit to do whatever else. Harry pulled her to join him in the group moving towards the patio, his eyes scanning for his mom who he hadn't had a chance to talk to before the ceremony started.

Spotting an empty cocktail table, he towed (Y/N) behind him, opting to text his mom as he hadn't found her out in the patio space. Fitting herself against his side, (Y/N) looked out at the guests that followed them out to the back of the winery, grateful that she'd met at least a few of the previously unfamiliar faces. Sitting through the ceremony had allowed her attention to sway from the nerves in her stomach, giving her time to settle and enjoy the fact Harry had brought her to a wedding as his date; this was something she wanted to be excited about, feel butterflies over the fact he invited her to something like this at all, and she'd barely given herself a moment to feel even a shred of giddiness over it.

"Mum's staying back and helping them clean up, but she said she'll be back to see us before the reception," Harry told her, tucking his phone away before leaning with his elbows on the tabletop to curl his body around hers, a gentle smile on his face, "And she wanted me to tell y'that she loves your dress and y'look really pretty."

A heat flustered behind (Y/N)'s cheeks, keening under his attention. It was one thing to receive those kinds of compliments from Harry, someone who she knew loved her and would always go out of his way to make her feel good, but it was something different to have someone like his mom reiterate those sentiments. She felt a different kind of confidence hearing those words from her. "Really?"

His grin went lopsided as he gazed at her, a single dimple in his cheek as the lilypad-green of his eyes pursued the bashful expression on her face. "Really, baby,"

Dropping her eyes to where her hands were tracing over the wrought iron designs of the patio table they were stationed at, she felt her smile stretch even wider, "I'll have to tell her thank you then when I see her."

Harry hummed in response, scooting that much closer to her with the curtain of his hair creating faux privacy in the middle of the courtyard. "She's right, anyway. Y'look so pretty, you're breaking m'heart."

(Y/N) didn't know what to say, feeling her skin prickle and cheeks heat at his compliments. The butterflies in her tummy were a breed all of their own, the kind that only popped up when Harry was so sweet on her at a wedding. He was making it way too easy for those butterflies in her tummy to flood to her head and make her believe this could someday play out again at a different wedding—one where she planned everything and was the one in the white dress.

"Harry," she breathed out, the call of his name a whisper that worked its way through her smile.

An all too smug smile kinked at the corners of his lopsided grin, making him look way too satisfied to have received her shy reaction. "You're so sweet, baby," he said, bumping his hip against her side, "What did y'think about Serena's dress?"

She was grateful for the change in topic, needing a moment to get the fluttering in her chest under control so she didn't look like a vibrating chihuahua by the time Harry's mom came around. "It was really pretty; I liked the train," she settled, nodding her head as she remembered the long, lace train that followed after Serena as she walked down the aisle.

Another hum worked its way out of Harry's throat, like he was contemplating her words.

"Is that the kind of dress y'like? With the long train and everything?" he asked, his eyes clear and intense against the black kohl on his waterline.

(Y/N) was caught off guard at the line of question he opened up. Before the butterflies in her tummy could rile themselves up again, she wanted to double check what exactly he was asking.

"Like, as a wedding dress?"

"Mhm."

"Oh," she sounded, rolling her lips between her teeth as if she were afraid of the kind of smile that was threatening to split her lips and make her cheeks ache. "Um, I don't know. Maybe? I like the idea of having a train, but I think it would be a lot to keep track of. And,"—she swallowed, dropping her gaze to Harry's tattooed wrist from where he lent over the table with his chin in his palm, "I-I've always kind of pictured myself in something bigger; a big skirt with lots of tulle, or satin, or whatever I end up liking."

This wasn't the first time they'd talked about weddings, or even getting married (nothing quite as blunt as the night she overheard him talking to his mom about when he wanted to propose), but he'd never asked for details like this. The prospect of that kind of future was always spoken about in the abstract, with offhand comments about a someday, or a one day. But this, the blunt mention of the rest of their lives made her feel like her heart was about to jump out of her throat and there was too much energy in her body to be contained. If she could jump around and scream without anyone giving her odd looks, she would have.

Harry's face molded into a soft smile though his eyes turned a bit dreamy. "Yeah, I can see that. Like one of those princess kind of dresses, right?"

This time, (Y/N) hadn't bothered to bite back her smile. "Yeah, something like that."

His dimple sunk deeper into his cheek as his eyes fell from her own and traced down the length of her body. "I've always pictured y'in a pink color, too. Those blush dresses, or whatever they're called."

While he was right in his assumption ((Y/N) loved seeing those pink dresses on those wedding dress television shows, the blush shades always being her favorite), she couldn't get over the first half of his thought: he had pictured what she would look like on her wedding day.

And, the way he said it made it sound like it was more than once. That he'd thought about what she would look like going down the aisle, and had 'always' seen her in a blush colored gown.

Shifting her gaze to land on the script tattoo on his hand, the words spelling out 'love me please?'taking her attention as she fought to keep her head on straight. "Yeah, actually," she murmured, "I really like those dresses."

"That would be really pretty, baby," he said, keeping his own voice low between the two of them, "I don't know what y'had in mind, but I've always seen us getting married outside, in a garden or something. I think the pink would be really pretty in a place like that."

In that moment, (Y/N) became conscious of her breathing, making an effort to take in each breath and ease out the exhales. If not for that awareness, she was halfway sure that she would have passed out. Or burst into tears—but there was no ruling out that outcome, yet.

"I-I like that idea, yeah," she squeaked, keeping her eyes trained on the tattoo on his hand in hopes of focusing her rattling brain, "What else have you pictured for o-our wedding?"

Our wedding.

"Mmm," Harry hummed, (Y/N) not even needing to see his face to know he was pursing his lips and hooding his eyes in thought, "Don't have everything figured out, but I have a few ideas. I think it'd be small, yeah? Something just for us and a few people who are important to us, but mostly private. 'M not sure about the colors, but I figured we'd do something soft for you. Lots of flowers, too; some in your hair, if y'liked something like that. I don't know everything, but I know we'd be really happy."

(Y/N) knew it was a wise choice not to rule out tears when she felt the backs of her eyes begin to burn and a lump form in her throat. She couldn't look at him if she wanted to keep a hold on her control, keep herself from embarrassing herself in front of Harry's family, but she couldn't help herself. She wanted to know what he looked like when he spoke like that, telling her that the one thing he knew for sure was that they would be happy. On their wedding day.

She found him gazing at her with something that could only be described as tender affection in his eyes, a soft-lipped grin on his face. He was admiring her, that was the only name she could put to a look like that.

The second he saw the tears that had gathered in her eyes, Harry shifted on his stance. He crowded around her, orbiting around her to place himself in front of her, shielding her from the rest of the wedding guests as he tucked her into his chest.

"Lovebug," he cooed, his smile dampening into a pout.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," she rushed, shaking her head before settling her hands on his chest, "I promise, I'm okay. I-I just really like your ideas. Our wedding sounds really nice."

Bringing a gentle hand to her cheek, Harry brushed his thumb over the height of her cheekbone. Though she could still see all of his concern swimming in his eyes, he made an effort to fit a lopsided smile on his lips. "I like hearing y'say that. Talking about our wedding, and everything."

(Y/N) nodded her head, aware of the tendrils of hair that floated around her face at the motion. "I do, too."

A beat passed, Harry's gaze trained on her while (Y/N) fought to keep her tears at bay. (She barely had any mascara left on her lower lashes, and she needed to preserve it for the reception if she wanted to look nice meeting the rest of his family). The cradle of his hand on her cheek soldified then, stabilizing her as he lent down and pressed a tentative kiss to the corner of her lips.

"I love you, baby. So much." The sentiment was whispered across her skin, sinking into her system and quelling the buzz that tickled her veins.

A smile cracked her lips, rounding her cheek out into the palm of his hand. His hold was warm, careful, and tender. Safe. All the words she would use to describe the love of her life.

"I love you too, H."

The pure elation that filled his gaze was enough to make (Y/N) want to spend the rest of the day telling him those words over and over again. And she would have, if a neatly manicured hand hadn't curled around Harry's shoulder from behind.

"There you two are! I've been looking everywhere!" It was Anne, the voice familiar and enough to knock (Y/N) out of her stupor and for Harry to reluctantly draw his gaze from her.

"Mum," he sighed, a small smile filling his face when he caught sight of his mom, "I was wondering when y'would show up."

Anne waved off his words, "I told you I would come find you before the reception. I didn't interrupt anything, though, did I?"

Her familiar green eyes swooped between the two of them, Harry having shifted to a much more acceptable hold on (Y/N) with only their hands linked and sides pressed together. Though, (Y/N) was sure she still held remnants of their embrace in the glisten of her eyes and the soft set of each of her muscles that called for her to lean all over Harry.

"No," Harry started, chancing a quiet look in (Y/N)'s direction, "We were jus' talking about the wedding."

(Y/N) didn't bother to hide her smile at his words.

He meant their wedding.

—————

(Y/N) startled when she felt someone bump into her shoulder. The hand she had around her flute of sparkling apple juice (they passed it around during speeches for anyone underage and Harry made a point to grab one for her when he saw her eyeing the tray) tightened as she jumped. Gemma had just left for the bathroom, and Harry was supposed to be out on the dance floor with his mom.

Before she had a chance to peep at who now filled the seat beside her, her new companion murmured, "What's a girl like you doing sitting here all alone?"

At the sound of the voice, (Y/N)'s muscles relaxed on instinct. She knew that voice—loved that voice.

Unwilling to fight off the smile tugging at her lips, she twisted in her seat to face Harry who looked every bit the part of flirty bachelor he was trying to portray. With his chin in his palm, lopsided, smug smile on his mouth and his tongue playing with he hoop pierced through his lip, the only thing that gave him away was the affection seeping into his gaze, the kind that only simmered when unconditional love was involved.

"I'm just waiting for my boyfriend," she said, playing along with his game.

Harry hummed, his eyes tracing over her features and dropping down the curve of her neck before traveling back to match her own. "I see. I can't believe he'd leave y'here, though. Looking too pretty to not have all his attention."

Shaking her head, (Y/N) felt her cheeks heat at his words. "He gives me a lot of attention," she murmured, "He just got busy for a second."

"Yeah? He treats y'right?" The grin on Harry's lips sunk deeper as he raised a brow at her.

"He does, yeah. He takes really good care of me," she started, thinking of the way he fussed over her before the reception, helping her fix her hair and makeup from her moment in the courtyard, "He's my best friend." A beat passed. "He's really cute, too."

The dimples denting the apples of Harry's cheeks grew deeper as she spoke, his foot nudging hers under the table. "He sounds pretty special to you," he said, his lip ring bobbing with a flick of his tongue, "That probably means y'won't give me a kiss, huh? Love him too much?"

"I don't know," (Y/N) smiled, wrapping her own ankle around his as she scooted that much closer to him, "I think he might let me kiss you. You're pretty sweet."

The smugness that molded his features fell at her words, leaving behind only the genuine curl of his lips and rounded edges of his features as he gazed at her tenderly. "C'mere, baby."

"Oh, are we done playing?" (Y/N) asked, listening to his direction and inching close enough that her thigh pressed against his.

"Mhm," he hummed, stretched his free arm to lay along the back of (Y/N)'s chair, crowding around her, "Jus' us now."

Harry didn't offer a moment for her to respond before he ducked his head, and pressed a sweet kiss to the soft of her cheek, just barely grazing the corner of her mouth. Aware of the fact his family made up the crowd all around them, (Y/N) placed her hand on his chest, a quiet reminder to please be careful. His smile could be felt against her skin as he lingered, her message conveyed.

The tip of Harry's nose skimmed the height of her cheekbone as he ghosted over the planes of her face, bringing his lips to her ear before whispering, "You're m'best friend, too, (Y/N)."

If not for the audience around the room, (Y/N) would have melted into his chest, curling into his hold and falling into the daydream he was pulling her into with words alone. As much fun as she was having spending time with his mom and sister, and having fun at the first wedding she'd been to in years, this moment made her wonder how much longer they'd be here until she could be alone with him again. How much longer until she could be wrapped up in his arms and kiss him the way she wanted without prying eyes.

After pressing a single kiss to the space before her ear, a small smile on his lips, Harry slipped out of his seat. (Y/N) watched him with her mouth in a small gape, already missing his presence and the feel of his warm enveloping her.

Harry only cracked a small smile before he held his hand out, black polished nails gleaming in the romantic lighting filling the winery's banquet hall. "Why don't y'come dance with me?"

(Y/N) practically popped out of her seat like a bunny, eagerly grabbing his offered hand. Usually, it was her that was trying to convince him to dance—most of the time while she was a little tipsy after a few glasses of wine—, so this was new for her. Harry let out a breathy laugh as she nodded her head, entirely too excited to be about to dance at a family wedding. As she followed along behind him, (Y/N) tuned into the music selected by the DJ for the first time since the couple's first dance together, noticing it was another slow song, one she didn't recognize but sounded vaguely familiar. Probably from one of the many playlists Harry crafted in her dedication.

And, he wanted to dance with her to this.

Out on the floor, (Y/N) spotted Anne dancing with her brother, a beaming smile on her face as they no doubt talked about how wonderful the ceremony was and all of the details that went into the makeup of the venue. Gemma apparently had been corralled by her boyfriend after her bathroom trip, an adoring smile on his face as he gazed down at her as she spoke. The couple of the day was sequestered to the smallest corner of the floor, Serena's forehead pressing into the curve of her new husband's throat, having only left the dance floor once for food before wrapping themselves around each other and swaying to songs only they heard.

It was when Harry wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her close with a flexing of his forearms and his fingers making soft dents into her form, that she realized she would get to join that scene—that scene filled with love and adoration.

"Hold me, angel," Harry murmured to her through his smile, making her realize in her lovestruck daze, she hadn't moved to reciprocate his hold.

"Oh, sorry," she peeped, linking her arms around his neck, the length of his curls tangled through her fingers and tickling her skin.

"'S okay, don't be sorry," he told her, ducking his head down to her ear, "But, I do want to know what y'were thinking about that got y'so distracted."

With his grip on her waist, Harry started swaying them in time with the music, the fluff of her skirt fluttering around them. (Y/N) took advantage of her looped arms to inch herself closer to him, cocooning herself in his presence as much as she could without completely clinging to him.

"Nothing," she whispered, "Just you and all. Thank you for bringing me."

"Of course, baby," he said, pressing his cheek to hers in place of planting a kiss to the skin, "No one else I'd rather have here with me. Besides, Mitch wouldn't cuddle with me tonight like I know y'will."

(Y/N) reared back, a small smile on her face as she caught his eye. "Is that what we're doing tonight at the hotel?"

Harry's mouth turned lopsided in a self-satisfied grin. His eyes traced over her features, perusing the planes of her face with tender affection. "Maybe after a few other things, but we'll see."

She should've known he would respond with something like that when she opened that avenue of conversation, but she still felt her cheeks fill with warmth as if she had no idea. Of course he would imply something like that.

But, if (Y/N) was being one hundred percent honest, she couldn't lie and say the same thing hadn't been on her mind since he joined her in the bathroom to finish getting ready this morning. With his chest full of tattoos on display and long curls sweeping over his collarbones, he was a dirty daydream—her dirty dream. The idea of disappearing back at the hotel with him, hiding under the fluffy white duvet on their bed with only him to hold her attention, made her tummy turn with the most pleasurable of butterflies.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Harry's grin widened, amusement tinting the curl. He raised his brows at her for a moment, as if she would offer some kind of explanation for a reaction he knew too well. He spared her the conversation when he pulsed his arms around her, disregarding the fact the song was changing to something uptempo, using the edge of the dance floor they had huddled into to their advantage as he kept her swaying softly.

"You're having a good time, though, baby?" he asked her, his features rounding out in genuine curiosity as he gazed at her.

(Y/N) eagerly nodded her head, a bubbly smile on her face. "Your sister is so much fun, she's been so nice talking to me all night."

"Yeah?" he smiled, his fingers on her hips pulsing in attention, "Watched you two talk for a minute before I came to bother you. Gem only gets that happy when she tells embarrassing stories about me, jus' to remind me that 'm, apparently, not as cool as I think I am."

"I still think you're cool," (Y/N) countered, though there was more than a little amusement laced through her tone. Gemma had said the exact same thing to her just before she shared a story about a primary school aged Harry that cried when he saw his sister had gotten her ears pierced and was scared she'd never be able to go swimming with him again because she'd get too filled up with water and wouldn't float now with the extra holes in her skin. Gemma teared up from how hard she was laughing recalling the way their mom had to sit Harry down and cuddle him until he understood that wasn't physically possible.

"And look at him now," she had said, waving her hand towards the dance floor where Harry was swaying with their mother, "I like to think my ear piercing adventure inspired him. Even if he can't pull it off as well as I do."

Harry knew her too well, it seemed—and his sister—when he canted his head to the side, feigning exasperation as he shook his head. "She told y'about the ear piercing story, didn't she?That one and the drug dealer one is her favorite, but she usually likes to break the ice and tell everyone how I used to be a crybaby first."

Though her interest was piqued at the mention of the 'drug dealer' story, (Y/N) allowed a small smile to curl her lips, inching just the smallest bit closer to Harry as his arms folded around her waist with his forearms cradling the small of her back. "There's nothing wrong with being a crybaby, though, right? Otherwise, this is gonna get really awkward when you realize how often it is that I cry."

(Y/N)'s joke was told through a smiling mouth though her cheeks were going warm in something closer to embarrassment than the butterflies she felt before. She knew he was joking a little, but she'd really hope he wasn't annoyed with how worked up she became over small things at times, knowing she was still the crybaby her parents scolded her for being when she was young.

Harry's features went soft and round as he gazed down at her, the sweep of his gaze taking in the planes of her face with tender care. It took him only a moment to lead her away from the rest of the guests, mimicking the bride and groom by stealing away to a shaded corner of the venue where wine crates were stacked high and decorated with the wedding's flowers, leaving a small space with less prying eyes to catch them.

"You're not a crybaby, angel, you know that. You're jus' a sensitive girl and there's nothing wrong with that, you're right." As he spoke, he gave her the full intensity of the soft moss coloring of his eyes, his gaze flicking back and forth between her eyes to ensure she knew he meant what he was saying. It was when he ducked his head, breaking that eye contact, that his voice lowered and his words wrapped around the shell of her ear and stamped over her skin like a kiss that (Y/N) almost melted if not for the support of his hold. "Nothing wrong with it, especially when 'm here to take care of you, right?"

There was something about hearing him express how willing he was to take care of her; how even if she was a sensitive girl, a little messy around the house when she spent the night (she had an awful habit of leaving cabinet doors open after picking out what she needed from inside), and prone to falling asleep in the middle of movies with him after vowing to watch until the end, that he was going to be there to cradle her and take care of her no matter her problem. She was no stranger to becoming a bit clingy and dreamy when he spoke like that, but there was something especially heart-breaking about hearing the sentiment right then, stolen away at a wedding that hadn't stopped making her heart bloat from how romantic the occasion had been since they set foot in the venue, that made it that much more urgent for her to be with him.

Though she was still aware of the guests around them, not too far from the dance floor to be completely unseen, (Y/N) couldn't help herself before she stretched onto her tiptoes using the leverage of her arms around his neck, and draped herself over Harry's from. The length of her body was pressed against every inch of his, the steady beat of his heart and movement of his chest as he breathed made (Y/N) all that much more emotional as she buried her face in his neck. Hearing the most basic of human functions—the pattering of his pulse, the gentle exhale of his breathing, the feel of his muscles contracting as he held her—made her so aware of the fact that he was a real person who had his own thoughts, feelings, and daily adventures that she might never know about, but he had chosen to love her in the midst of it all. He had chosen to tuck her into his chest and sweep his lips up the column of her throat and hold her because there was nothing else he'd rather do.

"You'll always be here, right?" (Y/N) murmured, her voice a secret whispered into his ear.

Harry's arms around her waist pulsed, bringing her middle flush against his own as if he still wasn't as close to her as he yearned to be. She knew that feeling well.

"Of course 'm going to be there, angel—always going to be wherever y'are, as long as y'want me." His words felt like a kiss though she barely felt the full of his lips brushing against the curve of her neck, his lip ring giving nothing more than a chilly graze against her skin that urged her to seek out more of his warmth.

"I'll always want you, Harry," she cemented, hoping he understood just how deeply she meant that. She would always, always, always want him; not a single day went by where she didn't crave to at least hear from him, and she couldn't see her future going any other way. "I can take care of you, too, right?"

The ghost of his smile could be felt against her neck, his hold on her tightening almost enough to lift her feet from the ground even with the heels strapped around her ankles. There was something earnest in his tone as he spoke, like he couldn't settle on exactly how to speak this without his heart bursting, "Y'take care of me everyday, angel, and y'don't even know it."

Behind the wine crates with the sound of wedding guests chattering on only feet away, (Y/N) indulged herself in Harry's hold a moment longer. Even with just barely enough breathing room between them, the feel of his body pressed into hers and his face buried in the crook of her neck, it wasn't enough.

She wished she was someone else who wouldn't feel guilty about leaving the reception before the newlyweds, so she could convince Harry to take her back to the hotel and let her be closer to him. Though she physically felt warm—hot, even—in his hold, something was lacking enough to cause a dot of chill to inch its way up the base of her spine, the kind that she knew would be cured under the sheets of their borrowed bed with the brunt of Harry's body pressing into her and sinking her into the mattress.

"Y'alright, love?" Harry mumbled, pulling away just enough to match his eyes to hers.

"Mhm," she hummed, a half-truth, as she bit at the full of her bottom lip, "Do you know when you'll be ready to leave?"

A lopsided smile fixed itself to Harry's features. He knew.

"Soon, baby. Really soon."

—————

A tattooed arm slipped around (Y/N)'s waist from behind in record time as she stumbled over the threshold to their hotel room. The toe of her heel had caught on the lip of the doorframe, pitching her forward with a gasp before Harry came to the rescue.

"Careful, baby," Harry laughed, his amusement felt against the back of her neck as he closed and locked the door behind them, "There's no need to rush."

But, there was.

The rest of the reception had gone by in excruciating detail, from (Y/N)'s perspective. It had been another hour since they had cuddled behind those wine crates before the happy couple had been sent off with well wishes for their honeymoon and the rest of their lives they were setting off on, before Harry had asked her if she was ready to go. As much fun as she had during the cake cutting and talking to his mom and sister some more in between meeting other relatives, (Y/N) had been itching to get back to the hotel room with Harry in tow.

"Sorry," she murmured, making a conscious effort to slow her hurried steps and settle her restless limbs.

A soft kiss was pressed to the curve of her throat before the curl of his smile could be felt against her skin. His hand moved to settle on the small of her back, urging her into the suite. "Don't need to be sorry, love. Jus' be careful, yeah?"

Giving only a soft nod, (Y/N) made paced steps towards their bed, peeping over her shoulder only once to see if Harry was following. When he caught her looking, a heat filled her cheeks as she almost tripped over herself to get to their bags propped at the end of the bed, the luggage taking her attention as she heard a breathy laugh from behind her.

"Going to the bathroom?" Harry asked, coming to sit on the edge of the white fluffed bed. He rested his ankle on his knee as he began unlacing his shoes though his eyes remained on her.

Looking down in her hands at the pajama set she had absently dug out of the luggage, (Y/N) gave him a stilted nod. Apparently, she was going to go get changed in the bathroom.

After pulling out a bag of toiletries, (Y/N) toed off her heels before disappearing in the bathroom. With the door shut behind her, the air felt still now that she was alone. Seeing her things splayed out on the counter—oversized pajamas, her new birth control she started herself on two weeks ago, and clean makeup wipes—, she knew she didn't want to go to bed. Her mind had been whirling a little too fast for a little too long to go to sleep now, especially when she had been struggling to get some alone time with Harry since their moment between the wine crates. She couldn't waste it by sleeping.

Thinking about that moment at the reception, made (Y/N)'s stomach turn in the way it only did when she craved a good cuddle from Harry. That need to be close to him returned at full force, fueled by the knowledge that they were finally alone and had nothing to stop her from filling that void that needed him.

Reaching to her back, she unzipped her dress before pushing the straps from the slopes of her shoulders, the pink chiffon creating a puddle at her bare feet. Looking in the mirror, she was left in her full face of makeup and the white cotton thong and matching bralette she'd worn under her dress, the clean hue complimented by tiny pink rosettes stitched to the very middle of the garments. As she reached for the packet of makeup wipes on the counter, (Y/N)'s eyes grazed over the baby blue case that held her birth control.

This was still a very new development for her, finally having the guts to request something like this from her doctor. While she knew, especially for women her age, that this medication wasn't anything out of the norm, she swore her cheeks almost melted off her face when she had looked Dr. Claire in the eyes and requested the contraception. Just two days later, her first three months were delivered to her apartment and she'd been adjusting since.

As far as anyone knew, she opted to start on it to help regulate her periods and especially the cramps that came along with them, but she knew in the flustered corner of her mind, that she really requested it with Harry in mind.

They were always, always, always careful—even in the heat of the moment, morning quickies or flights of passion in the middle of the night, Harry always slipped a rubber on before slipping inside her—, so that was not her concern. What had really inspired the idea of possibly starting the medication, was an overheard conversation in class where one of her classmates had shared a story with her friend about her boyfriend's weekend visit and the dormroom antics they got up to. Just hearing that story had made her skin heat, embarrassed to be eavesdropping, but once the idea was in her head of "going bare" with Harry, it wasn't something that was easily evicted.

Tonight especially, that thought hadn't left her mind for very long.

Standing in the bathroom, with only the soft of her undergarments decorating her form and the blue birth control packet laid on the counter, she acknowledged the pit in her stomach that had taken root over an hour earlier when they had been tucked away in the corner of the winery. That need to be close to him hadn't quelled even a fraction in the time she had resorted to holding only his hand through the remainder of the reception.

And, how much closer could you get than having him inside her without even the thinnest layer of rubber separating them?

Even just the idea of feeling every part of Harry against her—inside her—made her muscles relax just the smallest bit. She trusted him with her whole heart and loved him in the same measure, so why couldn't they take that barrier away? Even if only just for tonight?

It was with that, that (Y/N) double checked the time on her phone before taking the pill labeled for Saturday in her current row. Her skincare routine followed in a daze, the washing of her face being the last detail she truly recalled before muscle memory took over and she was left to analyze how she'd bring up her idea for the night to Harry.

With her skin clean and moisturized, (Y/N) scooped up the puddle of her dress from the floor, balling the fabric in front of her tummy before taking a deep breath. She slipped back into the hotel suite on quiet feet, finding Harry still sat on the edge of the mattress with his shoes kicked off to the side and his suit jacket laid over the shell top of the luggage. Looking up from his phone, his brows raised over his kohl-lined eyes when he caught sight of her dressed in the bare minimum, toes curling into the plush carpet underneath.

"Those don't look like the pajamas y'packed," Harry teased, discarding his phone to sit on the nightstand before reclining back on the bed, hands buried in the bedding as they propped him up. His eyes appraised her form with careful accuracy as she felt them trace over the curves of her hips and dip of her waist. He looked much too smug when his gaze stopped on the rosette stitched on the tiny centimeter of banding that connected the cups of her bralette.

She hesitated to drop the bundle of her dress from her hands, appreciating the distraction it offered as she twisted the fabric between her fingers. She felt her eyes round out, features softening as she chanced a look down to his barely covered chest, the full of his butterfly tattoo on display through the billows of fabric. With a dry mouth, she shrugged only a single shoulder. "You said we might cuddle and do other stuff tonight, though, right?"

"I did say that, didn't I?" He spoke lazily, his smile matching with his lip ring bobbing in the low light of the lamp. "That what y'wanted to do tonight? Cuddle?"

(Y/N) knew what he was doing, knew what he was trying to pull from her, as he looked at her with a tick in his brow and a teasing flicker in his pupils. She swallowed, matching his intense gaze with her own shy version as she tried to pick out the green of his iris in the low light, "And maybe some of the other stuff. If you still wanted, anyway."

A grin broke out on his face as her words. Sitting up straight from his reclined position, Harry opened his arms up to her, tattooed fingers stretching out towards her. "Of course, I want you, angel. Now, come here. Can't cuddle with y'so far away, can we?"

The dress she had agonized over for weeks was now forgotten as (Y/N) dropped it to the floor, eager to curl into Harry's chest and feel him all over her again. The first touch she felt when she drew close enough was the brush of his fingertips over her waist, goosebumps layering over her skin at the feel before his palm wrapped around the dip of her curves, his heavy rings pressing into her skin. He helped her climb onto his lap, her chest pressed against his as he wrapped his arms around her middle with his forearms sliding around the small of her back in a cradle. Her thighs straddled his hips as she settled on his lap, just barely at eye level with him.

Only a quiet beckon of C'mere, lovebug, floated between them before Harry ducked his head and pressed his lips to hers. Tipping her head just right, (Y/N) allowed him to slot their lips together, the bud of her bottom lip between his two. The tip of his nose grazed over the side of hers as he anchored one of his hands on the back of her head, fingers slipping through the strands in soothing grazes. (Y/N)'s own hands laid flat on the broad of Harry's shoulders, her fingers making careful dents in the muscles as she clung to him.

A sigh of her name was exhaled over her lips before Harry snuck his tongue out, running along the plush of her lips. Her heart stuttered behind her ribcage at the feel of his affection, feeling herself melt into him, eager to give him all of herself. Using the grip on his shoulders, she shuffled over his lap, bringing herself close enough that her front was flush with his, each block of muscle exposed by the barely buttoned status of his shirt. He was warm against her bare skin, but she still felt a shiver go down her spine when she felt the lump settled between his thighs, just under her core.

"H-Harry," she murmured, drawing away from his lips just far enough to breathe the call over his skin.

The slight curl of his lips was felt against her own as he smeared his mouth against hers in a sealing kiss. "Yeah, baby? Feel that?"

Her eyelids felt welded shut as he used his arm around her waist to drag her heavily over his cock, unable to handle seeing him when she felt so much in the moment. Overwhelmed already, she tucked her face into his shoulder, his hair curtaining around her face as she inhaled the scent clinging to his skin. She wasn't even aware of what she was saying before she whimpered into his neck, "I-I want it."

Harry dropped his head into her shoulder at her words, mimicking the way she cuddled into him as a choked moan rumbled through his chest. The plush of his lips was smeared in honey-sweet sticky kisses against her skin. "I know y'do, baby. Wanna show me how much y'want it? Gotta earn it before I can let y'have it."

Whenever he requested things like this, it made her skin heat and her heart beat hard enough to hear the rushing through the shell of her ears.

Her less than steady hands that were anchored on his shoulders slid along his form, dipping into the length of his hair. Her fingers wrapped through his curls as she drew away from the home she made against his shoulder, hoping he would follow suit and she could see his face again. Her breathing hitched when she got her wish, and the green eyes she had been expecting were replaced with dilated pupils with a flush coloring his cheeks and lips shining with the spit-slicked kissed he had dragged over her skin. In the dark of the hotel room, his eyeliner seemed especially shadowy around his eyes, his tattoos seemed freshly inked onto his skin, his curls a shade darker than the gentle brown she was accustom to.

Feeling the bar of his arm stretched around her back and the press of his chest against her own as he pulled in a deep breath, (Y/N)'s heart jumped at the reminder of the parts of him she couldn't see right then. It wasn't until Harry raised a dark brow at her that she realized just how long she must been staring at him,

"Gonna show me, angel? Or are y'gonna keep staring at daddy with those hearts in your eyes?"

Her breathing stopped for a beat at the sound of his title falling from his raspberry lips. She'd never get over the sound of his voice—especially when it was deep and rumbling like this—wrapping around the word, urging her to fall deeper into her role for him.

"Will you help me, daddy?" she pleaded, breathless.

An affection-soaked smile stretched over Harry's lips at her request, a pair of dimples bracketing the curve. Dipping his head down, he nuzzled his nose against hers in a puppy's kiss. "Yeah, I can help you, angel."

She all but melted into his hold at the feel of his crooned words fanning over her skin. A quiet thank you, daddy, was murmured into his neck as (Y/N) did her part and shuffled on his lap as close to his chest as she could get. She braced her knees on either side of Harry's hips, readying herself when she felt the first push of his arm around the small of her back, dragging her over the tent that had formed between his legs.

A breathless moan fell from her lips as she keened into the touch, a delicate shiver running up her spine. The bulge of his cock pressed deeply against the growing wet spot on the front of her panties. She followed the template of his pulling, moving her body to match the pacing he had set. Her breathing came in pants, her chest heaving as her back arched. Each drag of her hips brought her close to his chest, where her breasts were pushed against him, her peaking nipples straining against her cotton bralette as they grazed his skin. Her fingers untangled from his curls, only to drop behind his neck where her fingers laced together, giving her a better drip to rock her hips over his cock. As much as she wanted to keep watching him, she couldn't help herself before her face dropped to the warmth of his shoulder and her eyes fluttered closed. It was too much for her—the scratch of his clothing against her bare skin, the push of his cock against her clit, the strength of his arm braced around her back, even his smell, was overwhelming—but not enough at the same time. She needed more from him. She wanted to sink on his cock for real, she just needed to earn it first, like he said.

(Y/N) tried her best to keep track of her surroundings as she rocked her hips over his, but the shifting of his hold on her came as a surprise. Harry's palms wrapped around the curve of her waist as she lost herself in the movements of her hips, the heft of his rings making dents in the soft give of her skin. The chill of the pieces was enough to add a bite of clarity to the moment, reminding her what exactly she had planned for the night. Just the thought of having him bare inside her—finishing inside her—elicited a loud moan to fall from her lips.

"'M right here, baby, 's okay," he crooned to her, responding to the title she had called out to, "Doing so good, not even helping y'anymore. Doing so good all by yourself."

In the muddled mess that was her brain, (Y/N) hadn't even noticed that Harry had adjusted his grip in the first place because he was no longer aiding in the grinding and dragging of her hips, (Y/N) doing it all on her own with an erratic rhythm that really only seemed to please herself. Slowing down, she pulled away from the burrowed home she made against Harry's shoulder and dropped her gaze to their laps.

Her underwear had gone askew, the rocking of her hips having stretched the material tightly against her core. The flimsy barrier of her panties did nothing to protect his pants as she spotted a damp patch on the material that was unmistakably from her.

A beat passed before Harry pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling her face up to match his gaze. A self-satisfied smile curled his lips, the lopsided curve being something of his signature. "Like seeing your mess, angel? Y'did that all by yourself."

A heat bubbled behind her cheeks at his words. "I didn't mean to make a mess, I-I'm sor—"

Before she could get the rest of her sentence out, Harry took advantage of the hold he had on her chin and smeared his lips against hers in a silencing kiss. (Y/N) forgot about her flustered embarrassment in a second as soon as he kissed her, which she was sure was his intention.

"Don't say you're sorry, love, don't need to be. I like the little mess y'left on me," he crooned against her lips, the full of his own brushing against her pout.

(Y/N) couldn't even catch her breath before he was kissing her again, parting her mouth with his own and slipping his tongue inside. Harry swallowed the moan that fell from her mouth, his tongue sweeping through and tasting every bit of the sweetened sparkling juice she sipped at the reception and the honeyed lust that was building inside her. The hand he had stationed on her chin slid across her cheek and through the baby hairs bordering her hairline, until his fingers threaded through the strands. He cradled the back of her head as he tilted his own, deepening the kiss. The hand on the back of her head anchored her to the moment as she fought to find her breath through the haze of HarryHarryHarry in her head and the distraction of his kiss. It wasn't until he drew away from her mouth, dragging his lips across her cheek and down to the line of her jaw, that she even attempted to bring in a balancing breath.

Nonetheless, her breathing came in pants as she fixed her hands through his hair, the curls tangling through her fingers as she keened into him. Harry kissed down her neck, not even lifting his mouth from her skin before planting another kiss on the curve of her throat. She couldn't help herself before dragging her hips and grinding down on his cock again as he gave a clarifying nip of his teeth over her pulse, soothing the bite with a sweep of his tongue.

"D-Daddy, I—," she whined, her voice sounding as breathless as she felt.

His smile could be felt against her skin as he kissed down her chest, a drag of his tongue over the shelf of her collarbone before stopping just along the swell of her breast. "I can feel your heart, baby," he murmured against her skin, the curve of his lips pressing int the soft skin, "What's got it beating so fast, hm?"

In her right mind, (Y/N) knew she would feel at least a tint of bashfulness at his teasing, but in that moment, it seemed to only spur her on. The slight mocking tilt to his tone made her thighs clench around his hips and her tummy jump despite the warmth being pressed into her from all sides.

"Y-You," she whined, "You're making me—"

(Y/N) cut herself off when her train off thought went off it's tracks, leaving her to sink into Harry further as he bit into the curve of her breast and began nudging the delicate strap off her shoulder. How was she supposed to think, let alone talk when he did things like that?

"'M making y'what, angel?" he teased, his tone deep and dipped in gravel as it rumbled through his chest, "Am I making y'wet? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

With the strap of her bralette halfway down her shoulder, (Y/N) felt Harry nudge the flimsy cup out of the way with the tip of his nose as he skimmed it over her skin, his warm breath fanning over the newly exposed skin. The stubble that prickled his chin grazed (Y/N)'s breast as he laid kisses down her chest until he took her nipple between his lips. A lick of his tongue was delivered to the bud, making (Y/N)'s breathing tight as she imagined that same feeling between her legs.

"I—I need you," she choked out, the tightness in her lungs making it hard for anything more to come out.

The hand he had planted on her waist shifted over her side as he drew away from her chest, his palm coming to a stop at her ribs with his thumb driving up underneath the band of her bra and tracing over the curve of her breast. His lips were slick as she finally got a good look at him since they started kissing, pupils dark and wide across his iris. Even his cheeks held a ruddy flush as he traced his gaze over her features and allowed his kiss-swollen lips to stretch into a smug smile.

"So, you're m'needy girl tonight? Is that what you're telling me?"

(Y/N) couldn't do anything more than nod at him with her mouth set in a small gape.

His smile turned lopsided but didn't lose any bit of the self-assuredness he had coloring the curve. Even the dimple denting his cheek seemed more smug that sweet in that moment. He gave her one more kiss through his smile before he dropped his hands to her waist and gripped at the curve of her body.

Drawing her away from his body, Harry deposited her onto the mattress behind him, laying her along the bed with her head cushioned by the fluffed hotel pillows. "Wait right here for me, angel. Daddy needs to get ready for you," he croons to her, affection seeping into the lustful gaze he had plastered over her form.

With her eyes stuck to Harry's form, (Y/N) sunk into the white duvet stretched over the mattress. The broad of his shoulders stole her attention as she absently readjusted her bralette, covering herself against the chill in the hotel room, though she could argue she might as well have been running a fever as she watched him.

Harry stood with his back to her, only glimpses of his hands visible as he tugged off his rings and laid them out on the bedside table, the metal and gems glinting in the lamplight. Her thighs clenched at the implications of his now bare fingers, now knowing that he planned on spending a good amount of time with his hand between her thighs for the night. She watched as she continued undressing, shedding his silken button down with the material dropping to the floor. The full of his back was left on display, tattoos decorating the tanned skin with designs that only someone like Harry could have imagined and dreamt up. Only his black trousers were left on his body, the fabric stretched across his thighs.

She knew she had been caught staring, thighs crossed over one another, when she noticed the smirk on Harry's lips as he looked over his shoulder. He didn't waste any time before he was climbing onto the bed, prowling towards her.

"You're like a dream lying here for me, angel, you know that? Perfect, little, wet dream," he murmured, his eyes never straying from hers as he crawled over the overpassed hotel mattress.

"Y-You're my dream, too," she countered, voice breathless and nowhere near as confident as his, but still definitely sharing the truth.

He hummed at her words, sounding all too smug from the rumbling sound alone. The lopsided tilt of his smile could have been felt against her heated skin from the way it made her heart skip a beat as he spoke, "And what am I like in your little dreams, angel?"

(Y/N)'s eyes fluttered shut as he closed the distance between them finally, the echo of his rumbled voice sounding through her ears just as he pressed his forehead to her temple when he settled into the mattress beside her. Next to her, he was on his side as he sunk into the bedding, bare chest pressed against her arm with his elbow propping him up under him. Instinctively, she pulled her arm out from between them, allowing his heat to radiate directly into her side as she reached her hand up to play with the ends of his curls. His free hand settled on the soft skin of her tummy, warm fingers petting at the gentle curve of her body. With his touch on her middle and his heat warming her side, (Y/N) could barely concentrate enough to even remember his question, let alone answer it.

"Hm, angel? Ignoring me now?" he teased, dropping a kiss to her cheek through his smile.

"No, no, never," she stuttered, carefully shaking her head, "I"—she swallowed around her suddenly clumsy tongue—"W-What was the question?"

The exhaled laugh Harry let out through his nose fanned over her flushed skin, the tip of his nose skimming her cheekbone as his hand on her tummy moved lower down her body, squeezing her hip. "You're so cute, angel. S'fucking cute," he laughed, the full of his lips brushing her skin, "I asked what I do in the dreams y'supposedly have about me."

"Oh," she breathed, trying her best to stay focused despite the fingers toying with the waist her cotton panties, "In-In my dreams, you always t-take care of me."

"How?" he demanded, barely a second passing after her answer.

The gentle scrape of his thumbnail was dragged over her hipbone as Harry tucked it underneath the fabric of her underwear, her tummy jumping at the faint line he was drawing as he grazed his hand across the expanse.

"You kiss me," she started, stopping herself when she felt Harry crane his neck and press his lips to the corner of her mouth, his nose nudging hers when she didn't continue.

"Keep going. 'M listening, baby."

"You—um—You touch me where I like," she whispered, breathless.

With his thumb still tucked into her panties and the rest of his hand resting on the low of her stomach, Harry firmed his grazing and made a point to circle his thumb at the top of her core.

"Y'like this?"

The nod of her head came in frantic jerks, the mess of her hair growing wilder against pillow cushioning her head. "I do, I do."

"Where else do y'like to be touched, angel? Where else do I take care of you?"

(Y/N) turned her head with the intention of matching her lips to his as she reached for the tattooed arm that was stretched over her body. "You know where, daddy," she whined, her eyes still shuttered closed as she tilted her head to press her lips to his.

When she didn't make contact with his mouth, (Y/N) couldn't help the pout that molded over her features. She blinked her eyes open only to find Harry looking at her with a raised brow, fighting off an all-too-satisfied smile from curling his lips.

"Does daddy know, baby?" he teased her, tipping his head to ensure his mouth would be just out of reach if she tried to kiss him again, "Y'sure y'don't want to tell him? Because, I'll give it to you as soon as y'do. 'S that easy, love."

She knew what he was trying to do: get her flustered and hopefully pull a vulgarity to fall from her lips. And he was definitely achieving the former.

"Daddy," she mouthed, her voice low enough it was barely a whispered coo, "Please."

He stopped trying to fight off the lopsided curve that threaten to soften his features. "Y'don't want to tell me, lovebug?"

Catching her bottom lip between the blunt of her teeth, (Y/N) felt her eyes round out as she gazed up at him. "Its hard," she peeped.

That was enough to cause his lopsided smile to turn into a full-sized grin. "Is it?" he prodded, canting his head, affection swimming in his gaze thought condescension reigned in his tone as he flexed his fingers against the soft of her tummy, "You're just the sweetest little thing, aren't you?"

Suddenly, with his soft words, she felt bashful under his gaze. It was a bit silly, she knew that, with the way he'd been talking to her the second she came out of the bathroom in her underwear not even causing her to bat an eyelash. It wasn't until he told her something tender with honesty in his eyes that made her feel a different set of butterflies in her stomach and her head to fill with cotton-candy sweet clouds.

"Oh, baby," he murmured, finally ducking his head and indulging her in the kiss she'd been searching for. Despite their half-naked states, the kiss was nothing but innocent, kiss-swollen lips matching together in a gentle press. "Why don't y'show me instead, if y'can't tell me, hm?" he offered, close enough that the full of his lips brushed against hers.

(Y/N) nodded at this new route, nose subsequently nudging into his in a puppy's kiss. The smile that bloomed on his features was almost reward enough if she hadn't already known the other option he was offering.

"Then, show me, baby."

Uncurling her free hand from the comforter she had wrapped between her fingers while the other still indulged in the sweeping ringlets of his hair, she tentatively grabbed for the arm he had across her middle, palms still halfway down her panties. Her fingers looped around his tattooed wrist, both of their gazes following along, before she pushed his hand further down. More and more of the ink embedded in his skin disappeared as she felt his fingers slip over her core. The length of his fingers grazed over the top of her slit, pushing her soaked underwear out of the way in favor of clinging to her himself.

A shiver ran up her spine at the first brush, back just barely arching off the mattress. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry's jaw tick around the smile he was biting back as he watched his hand sink under her panties.

"That where y'wanted me, love? I take care of your little pussy in your dreams?" His voice was like honey spiced with rum as it poured over her: intoxicating and heavenly sweet.

"Mhm," she keened, nodding her head without much thought going into the motion, "You make me feel so good, daddy."

Harry didn't need her pushing anymore, moving on his own accord as her own grip seemed to be for nothing other than her own comfort of holding him. Stuffing his hand down her panties, his fingers curled over her core. His palm was cupped over her clit with just enough pressure to make her thighs clench, the tips of his fingers extending over her slit before curling and splitting her slick lips open.

"I can tell," he mused, something bordering on cockiness tinting his tone, "You're so wet, baby."

She struggled to thread together any kind of response; her mouth was too dry, head too high in the clouds, and tongue too clumsy to make anything make sense. The only word that she could compute was what left her lips: "Y-You."

"Me?" he teased, his hand moving in tandem with his words, his palm smearing over her clit in the first true form of pleasure she'd been granted since leaving his lap. "Are y'saying this is because of me?"

"Uh-huh," she moaned, fingertips denting the tattooed skin of his forearm.

Barely a beat passed, (Y/N) having enough time to catch her breath, before Harry pulled her in for another kiss. He drew her mouth open with his own, deepening the contact as he dipped his tongue between her lips. The tip of his nose skimmed over her cheek as he tipped his head, tongue brushing over hers in a slick pass while his fingers emulated the movement between her legs.

"M'baby," he murmured almost too quiet for her to hear over her ragged breath, "M'angel. All for me."

The waist of her panties was tight over her hips as the cotton stretched to accommodate his hand, seemingly another possessive act to match the words he spoke into her kiss. He kept his palm firm over her clit, this skin calloused from years of tattooing now covered in her slick, while his fingertips circled her entrance in teasing runs. If she had any bit of her mind clear enough to comprehend, she might have noticed the shapes he was tracing with his fingers—letters spelling out his name on her pussy.

Her hand abandoned station in his hair in favor of cradling his cheek, fingers dipping into the baby curls that bordered his hairline. "Kiss?" she asked, voice small as she tried to clear her mind enough to speak.

Harry didn't waste a moment before he was giving into her, sealing his lips to hers in the kisses she craved. The teasing of his fingers over her entrance made (Y/N) feel dizzy thinking about what she was going to ask him to do once she worked up the courage, with his kiss being the only thing to anchor her in the moment.

"Where else do you need me, baby?" he asked, the words fanning over her skin like warm honey, "Or do y'want me to stop here?"

Flexing his hand, he showed her what he meant. His palm was heavy over her clit, gentle passes getting her worked up while he kept her warm, with his fingers just a breath away from pushing into her pussy. She bucked her hips into the contact, her body giving away her answer before she could put one together with her mouth.

"Do-Don't stop, no," she rushed, pulling her thighs shut as if trying to trap his hand between them.

Hooking his ankle around her own, Harry worked to pry her thighs open again until he had her leg pinned down under his. Though her eyes were still closed, she could only imagine the amusement decorating his face as her desperate actions. He always loved when she got a little carried away like that.

"I need y'to do something for me then, baby," he mumbled, drawing away after smearing his lips over the corner of her mouth in a gentle kiss.

(Y/N) fluttered her eyes open only when she felt his hand retreating from between her legs, suddenly feeling cold without him there. "H—Why—"

Harry shushed her as she tried to squeak out her protests, shaking his head as he dragged his slick hand over the soft of her tummy. "Told you I wanted y'to do something for me if y'wanted me to keep going, right?"

She nodded.

"This is what I need y'to do," he started, the weight of his hand now transforming into his fingertips tracing between her breasts, the rosette on her bralette being jostled. He settled his hand on her cheek, thumb resting on her chin before creeping up to the full of her bottom lip, "Is this okay?"

Again, she nodded. She wasn't quite sure what this was, but she couldn't imagine herself saying no to Harry when he looked at like her that.

The ink of his pupils dropped to the thumb on her lip as he crept it towards the middle of the pillow, wiggling the tip between the two. He stopped there, just the very tip of his black varnished thumb resting in the heat of her mouth, gaze drawing back up to match hers. A beat passed, (Y/N) feeling as if he was cataloguing her reaction, before he pressed further, his thumb dipping deeper into her mouth.

(Y/N) tentatively peeked out her tongue, touching at his finger for only a moment before he shifted gears and began pressing downward, opening her jaw. Following the pattern, he flitted his gaze back up to match hers, watching her for any shifts in demeanor as he parted her mouth.

"Still alright?" he prodded once she was opened to his liking, her tongue on display with her kiss-swollen lips in a gape. He was granted a nod in response, eyes never strayed form darting between his own. "Tell me if y'want me to stop, yeah? And if y'can't say it, jus' tap m'arm a few times and I'll let go, baby. Understand?"

His hand on her cheek moved with her as she nodded her head, feeling transfixed as he alluded to whatever it what he was planning on doing with her tonight. Seemingly satisfied with her response, Harry dragged his hand over her cheek, fingertips tracing to the corner of her mouth. The two fingers she had felt prodding at her opening paired up and came to rest on her bottom lip just as his thumb had done only moments before. (Y/N) felt her eyes round out and her breathing hitch when she realized what he was doing.

Cautiously, waiting for a sign of protest (Y/N) knew wasn't coming, Harry slipped his fingers into her mouth. From the way the look in his eyes shifted, (Y/N) almost wished she could see the way his tattooed fingers disappeared in her mouth, but the second they touched her tongue, she realized she was in the much better position. The pads of his fingers pressed into the flat of her tongue, sweeping across the same way his own tongue had done as he kissed her all night.

Instinctively, (Y/N) closed her lips around his fingers, gently beginning to suck on the digits the same way she would when he had her on her knees for him. The faintest taste of what was soaking her panties was spread over her tastebuds as she laved her tongue over his fingers. While the idea of tasting herself had never quite appealed to her, there was something about the way it was being fed to her on Harry's fingers that made her thighs clench and her tummy jump. Her hand that had been clinging to his wrist since he dipped between her thighs tightened, keeping him just where he was as she found herself sinking into the motions of sucking his fingers between her lips and tilting and tipping her head as she went.

Through hooded eyes, (Y/N) caught Harry gazing at her with the same intensity roasting behind the green of his irises that he held when it was his cock in her mouth instead. His eyeliner was barely hanging on, his lower lash line now being smudged with the kohl under the heat of the moment. She liked it when he looked at her like that.

Fluttering her eyes closed, (Y/N) took advantage of the grip she had on his arm and tugged his wrist. The short motion pulled his fingers deeper into her mouth, just barely reaching towards the back of her throat before she regulated herself and took him down as far as she could, bobbing her head in short strokes. Her breath was coming out heavy through her nose, her thighs tensing and untensing though she couldn't bring them together as Harry still had his own leg thrown over hers to keep her spread.

"Y'like this, baby?" Harry crooned, his tone tinted with pride though she knew there would still be a bit of wonder in his gaze if she opened her eyes. With her mouth full, she could only nod to him. "I should've known, baby," he continued, dipping his head down and smearing his lips over her suctioned cheek, "Y'love sucking m'cock so much, of course you'd love m'fingers in your pretty mouth."

She whined around his fingers, humming a confirmation as best she could with her muffled voice. She sucked harder, traced her tongue over his fingers longer, did more to show that he was right: she did love this. She loved doing this for him, the feeling of him in her mouth in any way she could have him being as much for her as it was a service to him.

"You're an angel, baby, you know that?" he praised her, "Such a sweet girl taking care of her daddy like this." Shifting on the bed beside her, the ridge of his cock brushed against her hip, showing her just how well she was taking care of him. "Y'like this even more than I thought, don't you? Can feel y'trying to press your pussy into m'leg."

Though the rumbling of his voice was typically enough to float her higher into the clouds, a pick of clarity pinged in her head at the words that fell from his mouth. It was then she realized just how restless the rest of her body had become despite the sedated state of her mind as she sucked on his fingers, hips bucking and grinding as close to the heavy leg on her thigh as she could.

Another mouth-stuffed whine was all she could manage in response.

A soft breath of laughter was smushed into her cheek from Harry at her answer. "C'mere then, baby. Face me, I've got an idea."

At the first command, she was already shifting her positioning, doing her best to keep her grip on his wrist and his fingers on her tongue. She finished as she laid on her side to face him, his thigh now tucked between her two and Harry relieving the elbow he had been crutched on since getting into bed with her. His now free arm was turned into a cushion for her head, bicep her pillow with the back of her head fit into the crook of his elbow. His chest was warm and solid pressed into hers, the soft of her breasts flush against the muscles hidden under tattoos.

As she distractedly sucked at his fingers, Harry brushed his thigh upwards to her pussy. The thick of the muscle pressed into her clit and gave a shock to run up her spine. Her mouth fell open as a moan filtered around his fingers, her body sinking into the mattress.

Shifting his arm under her head, Harry splayed his hand over her back pads of his fingers denting the soft skin as he pushed. "C'mon, angel, keep going like y'were. Got y'what y'wanted, can't stop now."

Taking advantage of the help he was offering with the steadying hand on her back, she rocked into him, dragging her hips long and slow over his thigh. (Y/N) moaned around his fingers as she did so, finally indulging the ache between her thighs.

"There we go, angel," Harry encouraged in a soft coo, his palm spanning between her shoulder blades starting a sweeping motion along her spine, comforting her through, "Doing s'good, all by yourself. Taking care of me and that little pussy, huh?"

It was then that Harry took control as she absently sucked on his fingers. Her head was somewhere else—too filled with how it felt to grind on thigh than to concentrate—, leaving Harry enough room to begin petting his fingers over her tongue and meeting the strokes of her mouth, going deep enough to graze the back of her throat. Her breath hitched as he took over, her core squeezing as he thrusted his fingers in and out of her mouth in gentle passes as if it were his cock stuffed between her lips. The soft insides of her thighs grew wetter as the feel of him fucking into her face with his fingers, the fabric of his trousers undoubtedly drenched along with her.

"Should've been doing this a long time ago, don't y'think?" Harry mused, pressing his lips into a kiss on her forehead, "Could've had m'cock in your pussy and fingers in your mouth, taking it all for me. Would y'have liked that, angel?"

Harry barely finished speaking before a loud moan sounded from her, a nod of her head against his bicep following the whine. (Y/N) almost had it in her to be embarrassed at the way she was reacting to his words, but the second she felt his fingertips touch at the back of her throat before slipping away and his knee press into her clit before she was dragged over his thigh, she decided there were bigger things to worry about.

Especially the hardened ridge she felt against her thigh with every drag of her hips towards him.

Using what remained of her grip on his wrist, (Y/N) reluctantly pulled Harry's fingers from her mouth. They were spit slicked as they fell over her bottom lip and down her chin before (Y/N) bundled his hand against her chest and sweetly cuddled into him despite the less-than-innocent thoughts tainting her head.

"H-Harry, I—" she swallowed, the motion of her hips settling into a short roll over his leg every other beat, "I need you, daddy."

"Y'have me, love," he crooned, dipping his head to plant another tender kiss to her forehead, "What do y'need from me?"

"I want you here." She was breathless as she tried to explain, rolling her hips in a slow stroke over his thigh to show exactly where here was.

"Need me in your pussy, baby?" he murmured, voice falling deeper as it mixed in with the messy strands of hair crowning her head.

"Please, daddy."

He moaned into her hair, the sound low and deep. "Want m'fingers again, or are y'ready for more?"

(Y/N) didn't waste a second thinking over her options before she was answering, "More, more, please."

The hand he had splayed on her back flexed one more time before he began dragging himself away from her form. "Wait right here for me, yeah? Need to grab our stuff."

(Y/N) absently nodded as she watched Harry swing his legs over the side of the bed and begin working on the fastenings of his trousers. He let the fly hang open as he approached their suitcase, rifling through one of the compartments before reemerging with a golden foil packet she was all too familiar with and had no want to see tonight. Harry had no clue as he tossed the foil to the bedside table and resumed his undressing, his pants becoming nothing more than a black puddle on the hotel room floor. She couldn't drop her eyes from his hands as the black painted nails and tattooed fingers dipped underneath the waistband of his white boxers, dragging it down his ink smattered hips.

Seeing his cock never got old as (Y/N) felt her tummy jump at the same moment she saw his prick bob against his stomach. She knew that if she dared to peek up at Harry's face, she would see that lopsided smile on his face that she loved, still there was no way she was able to pull her eyes from the ruddy head that. It wasn't until Harry kneed onto the mattress, the muscles in his thighs she was now well acquainted with flexing under the multitude of ink needled into the skin, that she finally traced her gaze over his form. Crawling over the fluff of the duvet, he looked every bit of the dream she had described to him—her favorite dream.

He worked slowly, nudging her legs apart as he approached her, asking her to spread them so he could get a chance to lay between, cradled by the soft of her thighs he always fawned over. (Y/N) did so with ease, leaving the wet of her panties on full display. Harry took full advantage of the view as he vined around her, a smug smile curling his lisp as he saw the sheen that covered the inside of her thighs and the dampness that darkened her panties. Peering up at her, Harry's curls becoming a curtain around his face as the ends dragged over the bare skin of her thighs, he paused. He sat back on his heels between her thighs only to reach towards the waist of her panties and drag them down the length of her legs until the fabric joined his pants on the floor. Once she was bare, Harry dropped down and gave single kiss to the top her core, mumbling something that sounded like "so pretty" but was too muffled for (Y/N) to hear before he was back on his ascent of her body.

(Y/N) felt him everywhere as he worked himself between her thighs, his hips fitting against hers as he stretched himself over her body. Once he was close enough, he planted his hands on either side of her head, the mattress sinking under the weight as he hovered above to keep from smushing her underneath him. (Y/N) wrapped her arms around his neck as soon as she could reach him, pulling him down that inch he hovered over her to press her chest against his and make her heart feel more at home next to it's lover.

Gazing up at him, his hair becoming a curtain between them and the world outside their hotel room, (Y/N) felt her heart beat hard against her ribs. She felt her features soften, eyes rounding out with her pupils undoubtedly shaping into hearts. "I love you," she whispered, keening into him with an arch to her back, pressing her chest and heart against his.

Dropping his head to her neck, Harry reacted as if that was the filthiest thing thing she'd ever told him between the sheets, rutting his hips into hers and pressing a smeared kiss over her skin. "I love you, too, angel," he murmured, "So fucking much. Wanna show you how much. Can I?"

Her thighs squeezed around his hips, ankles hooking around the backs of his calves in an effort to pull him in. "Please, please, daddy."

He hushed her in gentle tones, trailing his lips from her neck to the corner of her mouth before speaking into her skin, "'S okay, angel, 'm here. Daddy'll show you, don't worry." One more short kiss was planted on the corner of her mouth before Harry drew away, reaching for the nightstand. The foil packet crinkled in his grip as he grabbed the condom (Y/N) had forgotten about.

Trapping her bottom lip between her teeth, (Y/N) hesitated with her arms around Harry's neck before she grabbed at his wrist, stopping him. "No, wa—"

Harry's attention was on her in a second, his gaze flicking back towards her, eyes wide. The packet was dropped on the table, his hand sinking into the mattress beside her head. "Are y'okay, love? Change your mind?"

"No, no, it's not that," she rushed, shaking her head, "I still want you, I just..." She hesitated around her words, unsure of how to phrase this in a way that made her feel comfortable while getting her point across. Turning to look towards the nightstand, she shook her head again before looking back to Harry hovering above her. "I just don't want to use one of those right now."

A pinch in his brows appeared at her words. "Lovebug," he started, gaze searching over her features, "I don't think I know what y'mean. 'S jus' a condom."

"I know, I know," she said, "I-I don't want to use one tonight."

(Y/N) could see the moment he realized what she was saying, his mouth dropping into a gape. His eyes were clear as they glazed over her features, taking stock of every highlight and contour that made up her. His breathing changed as his gaze dropped further down, following the curve of her throat and to the valley between her breasts.

His response lagged as he tried to string together anything to say to her, not meeting her eyes until she swore there was a kind of spark swimming in his irises she'd never seen before.

"Y'want me to go bare tonight?"

She nodded.

"Oh, fuck."

(Y/N) felt her skin prickle and rush through with warmth when she felt the twitch of his cock against her thigh. He returned to the home he made in her neck, this time his breath coming in pants that fanned over her skin. His lips moved against her skin, saying something that was too muffled and quiet for her to catch. He leaned into her, the stretch of his body covering the curves of her own as he processed the information.

"Are y'sure?" was the first coherent thing she heard when he made the reluctant journey to pull away from her.

"Sure about not using one?" she clarified, wide eyes examining her boyfriend's reaction. He only swallowed thickly and nodded his head once, jaw ticked. (Y/N) mimicked his motion, nodding her head and peeping in quiet voice: "Y-Yeah. But, I mean, I'm on birth control now. We'd still be safe, right?"

At the mention of her medication, his jaw jumped, arms tensing on either side of her head. "Y'took it tonight, already?"

"Mhm. When I was getting ready for bed."

That was when he tore his gaze from hers, distracting himself by tracing her hairline and counting the smile creases that touched her features.

"Y'trust me to go bare with you?"

(Y/N) swallowed, giving another nod of her head (she already dreaded the mess she was going to have to brush out later). "Some girls in one of my classes," she started, moving her hand still wrapped around his wrist to lace their fingers together, "they were talking about how they've done this with their boyfriends, and it just made me start thinking. I-I want to try it with you—I trust you, H."

Harry practically melted at her words, leaning into her body and sinking them deeper into the tufts of bedding messed around them. He touched his forehead to hers, nose nudging hers in gentle caresses. His eyes were closed, lashes tangled together as they squeezed shut. He took in a deep, steadying breath that pushed his chest against hers.

"God, baby, I love you." His voice was dredged in honey, deep and sticky sweet as it seeped into her pores and sunk into her veins.

A soft smile stretched over her lips, hand in his tightening. "I love you, too, H, with all my heart," she promised, tipping her chin and pressing her smiling mouth to his in an innocent kiss. "You're okay with that? G-Going bare with me, I mean?"

The verbiage she borrowed from him felt foreign on her tongue, but it was well worth the smile and breathy laugh that molded his features and softened the edges of his jaw. (And the brush of his cock against her thigh, but she could argue both his smile and the touch made her heart race).

"'M sure I'll manage," he teased, sealing his mouth over hers in a real kiss.

(Y/N)'s tummy turned with butterflies at his agreement. Their kiss turned eager as she realized how close she was to being as physically devoted to him as they could get. Not a single scrap of anything was going to be between their bodies, and that knowledge was enough to make her insides squeeze and her thighs tense.

"Now? Can we try n-now?" she stuttered against his kiss, her own smile growing when she felt his against her mouth.

The laugh that Harry let out when he pulled away was full and sweetened with the taste of their kiss. "Eager, little thing," he teased, shaking his head as he adjusted his position above her to reach a hand between their bodies.

His fingers skimmed over the soft of her stomach while he grabbed his prick, head ruddy and leaking as he gave a cursory tug to his shaft. His breathing hitched, coming out harshly through his nose, at the first touch of the night. He moved cautiously, just as he had with their first new venture of the night, waiting for any sign of protest from her—something that would never come.

The head of his cock grazed over her slit, nudging her clit with a shudder racing down his back. (Y/N) kept her grip on his hand tight, her own nerve-endings sitting on a livewire knowing that everything she felt from here on out was one hundred percent Harry. She hooked her thigh high over his hip, urging him down as he continued to take his time with her.

"Patience, love," he told her, "Wanna take m'time with you. Never had y'like this, and I have a feeling 'm not going to last very long after 'm inside."

"But, daddy," she whined, rolling her hips up towards him, "I want you."

His eyes squeezed shut as he nudged the head of his cock against her weeping hole, his tip shining with her wetness. "You're making this so hard for me, you know that?"

"Let me help you, then," she pleaded, her desperation taking charge of her mouth and each of the pleas that were falling out of it. "Please."

He shook his head at her, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. His focus was tacked between her legs, his prick covered in her slick with the help of his stroking hand and the collection of her wetness on his tip from her hole he was just barely breaching.

"Ready, darling?"

"Please."

That was the last bit of encouragement Harry needed before he thrust his hips forward. His bare head popped into her wetness, a strangled groan rumbling from his chest immediately following. His hand in hers tightened into a grip she was sure would leave her hand sore if he kept it up, as his uncovered cock sunk deeper and deeper in her pussy.

(Y/N)'s breathing broke at the feel, every detail of his prick being absorbed by the pulsing of her walls. Her tummy tightened at the feel of him nudging through the tightness of her core. Arching into him, she held her breath, unable to concentrate on much else besides the vein she felt snaking against her walls, one she knew vined around Harry's cock but had never felt like this.

"Oh, fuck," Harry breathed, the curse dropping from between his lips as if against his own volition. He couldn't keep his eyes away from where he was fucking into her, not until he bottomed out, hips flush against his angel's.

He sat there for a moment, soaking in the feel of her pussy around him, lacking the barrier they were so used to. Another mumbled curse fell from his lips before rearing his hips back and sinking into her again. Harry's features were creased in pleasure from the limited view (Y/N) was granted through hooded eyes, his mouth dropped open with breaths coming out in stilted pants. The noise of his cock sinking into her soaked pussy sounded through the empty hotel room as he started up a rhythm, only interrupted by the tenor of their disjointed breathing.

"Ha-Harry," she whined, thighs tight around his thrusting form, "O-Oh my gosh, I—"

"Yeah, angel?" he murmured, finally ripping his gaze away from where he sunk inside her over and over, meeting her own enchanted one, "Feels good?"

She nodded her head with frantic jerks, "Uh-huh, uh-huh. I f-feel everything."

"Shit, baby," he cursed, ducking his head and matching his lips to hers, "Y'feel everything? All of me?"

"Y-You're so," she swallowed, puckering her lips against his in a distracting kiss, "You're everywhere."

Harry groaned at her admission, nodding his head as he kept kissing her, the one thing grounding (Y/N) to the moment and keeping her from floating off without him. "I wasn't lying, love," he murmured over the sound of his hips slapping against hers, "I don't think 'm going to last very long at all—not when y'feel like this."

He emphasized his words with a slow grind of his hips, the base of his cock brushing her clit and sending a rush up her spine and clouding her head. "I-I wanna feel it, please, H."

His pace increased at the sound of her plea, only her arm around his neck keeping (Y/N) steady as he thrusted into her. "Y'wanna feel me cum for you? Cum in you?"

Cum in her, he had said. (Y/N)'s own breath was stolen and turned into a moan, eyes fluttering closed. There was no way to be closer than that, right? And that was all she wanted: to be close to her Harry.

A smug smile turned Harry's features. "Y'want that, love? Want me to cum in you?"

"Uh-huh," she whined, a nod of her head accompanying the breathless mess she was becoming.

"Fuck, okay," he cursed, his teeth gritting together as he pounded his hips into hers at an unforgiving pace, strong and lingering inside her. "I can do that for you, angel, jus' need y'to cum first, alright? Cum for me and give me what I want, then I can give you m'cum."

"I will, I will," she promised, peeking her eyes open to catch a glimpse of her love.

His hair, though the baby strands were stuck to the side of his face and glinted with sweat, still curtained them in curling furls. His cheeks were flushed a glowing red, lips an even deeper shade from all the kissing and the biting that they couldn't keep themselves from doing. Most of all, she couldn't get over the glazed over gaze he looked at her with. It was as if he was seeing a dream in real life as he looked at her, tracing her body and cataloguing the movement of her form as he fucked into her. He watched as her chest heaved, her bralette askew to bare her breasts around the forgotten cups, heart pounding against her ribcage in what she swore could be visible beats.

When he looked at her like that, she could believe him when he said that she was his dream girl. Because she knew that was how she looked at him.

Using their joined hands, leaving Harry to prop himself up with his free arm beside her head, (Y/N) brought his hand between their bodies. In the shifting space at their hips, she nudged him towards her clit, asking him for the one thing she knew would have her done in seconds, especially with the help of the strokes of his cock inside her.

"Need m'help?" Harry asked, unfurling his fingers from around hers and planting his palm across the small of her tummy, "Need me to touch you a little, too?"

"Ple-Please, Harry."

Harry shook his head, gently thumbing over her clit, "Don't whine, baby. 'M right here, I'll help you, don't worry."

Overwhelmed from every bit of attention Harry was doling out, (Y/N) couldn't stop herself from speaking the sentiment that warped through her head: "I love you, I love you, I love you, Harry."

Her affection only seemed to spur him on as the rhythm of his hips increased. The sound of her pussy sucking him in and their skin slapping together almost rivaled the thundering of her heart as he worked her closer and closer to the edge.

"I love you, too, angel," he crooned to her, breathing broken in-between the sentiment, "Cum for me, yeah? Show me how much y'love me."

His thumb on her clit ran circles over the pearl, her legs shaking with every rotation. She wanted to please him, wanted to cum for him just like he asked—show him how much she loved him with how hard her body came around him. Her hand on the back of his neck tightened, pulling her to him as she ached to kiss him.

"'S okay, jus' let go for me," he crooned against her mouth before tucking her bottom lip between two.

That seemed to be all the encouragement she needed as she came with his kiss on her lips. Her thighs became a vice around his hips, hand on the back of his neck winding through his hair in an effort to catch more of him in the moment. Her back arched, breasts pressed tightly against his tattooed chest.

"There we go, angel, doing s-so good," he praised her, coaxing her through her orgasm as best he could while keeping a hold on his control.

"Harry," she cried into his mouth, the sound desperate and breathless as she shook under him though he never relented.

Harry's hips never slowed as he worked her through her spiral, thumb on her clit slowing to languid circles if only to save her from the kind of overstimulation he knew she wasn't ready for yet. Toes curling against his calves, she slowly came down with her lungs fighting for air and eyes squeezed shut.

(Y/N) felt boneless under him as he slowed to rolls of his hips and pulled his hand from her clit. Aftershock wrecked havoc on her ravaged system with every bump of his cock against her clenching walls.

"Y'alright, lovebug?" he crooned, voice sounding a little more tight than normal.

She nodded her head, eyes bleary, "Uh-huh. B-But, its your turn now—I still want you."

"'M not far behind, darling, trust me," he laughed, though he didn't sound particularly comfortable with the strain in his throat and tense of his muscles.

"Keep going," she urged, wrapping her watery legs around his waist and drawing him deeper into her sensitive pussy again.

The curses he seemed to be fond of for the night fell from his mouth again before he resumed his shaky rhythm. Now that her head was clear, she noticed the way he lingered as he sunk inside her, savoring the feel of her bare walls around him, before he nudged as far inside her as he could manage without splitting her open. With her hand in his hair, she plucked the strands out of his face as he rocked into her over and over, hips and pace growing shaky the longer he went on.

"'M there, b-baby," he moaned, peeking at her through the lashes framing his kohl-lined eyes, "Ready for me?"

"I want it, H," she keened, telling him exactly what she knew he wanted to hear, "Please."

That was all it took before she felt a throb between her legs and a warmth she'd never experienced before flooding inside her. "'M cumming, fuck, 'm cumming, (Y/N). 'M cumming inside yo-you."

(Y/N) felt every rope of cum that pulsed out of him coating her walls, the heat something she'd never experience before in such depth. It was as if everything was heightened, even the sound of Harry's moans of her name lingering in her ear and the tensing of his muscles while he fought to keep a shred of balance before he toppled over and laid her out under his weight. The erratic thrusts that he delivered as he came down were especially sloppy, the sound of his cum mixing with her wetness echoing through the room.

Harry came down slowly, his breathing heavy as he hesitated to pull out. Instead, he gently settled himself down against her, the full of his body stretching over her form. He buried his face in her neck, pressing tired kisses over her skin, nose skimming after him.

"I love you," he cooed to her, planting a kiss to the space in front of her ear, "I love you, angel. Thank you."

Unlacing her fingers from between his, she brought it to rest behind his neck along with her other hand, pinning him to her with the help of her legs wrapped around his waist. Her breathing still came in pants as she reciprocated his sentiment, affection dripping from her tone and stamping into his tattooed skin.

"How do y'feel?" Harry asked her, pulling back and looking at her with clear eyes that'd been missing since he pushed into her bare, "Y'alright?"

She nodded her head, a tender smile working its way on her mouth. "I feel really good right now, yeah. W-Was it alright for you?"

Rolling her lips between her teeth, she watched as Harry swept his gaze over her face and shook his head, the curls curtaining their bubble sweeping over her collarbones. "Y'are incredible, you know that? Jus' saw me cum harder than I ever have before, and you're wondering if it was alright for me? Incredible, little angel."

Despite his vulgarity, (Y/N) felt a patch of butterflies crop up in her tummy and reach towards her lungs. It could only be Harry that could make her feel bashful while naked with his cock and cum soaking in her pussy.

"I just wanted to make sure," she peeped, fluttering her lashes in shyness.

Harry shook his head again, a lopsided smile on his mouth. "I think y'jus' like to be reminded how good y'are for me. Y'like hearing me say you're the best I've ever had."

While she'd never tell him, that was one of her most favorite things he told her, even if it was silly. It was nice to know.

When he didn't get a response further than her shy smile and fluttered gaze, Harry dropped his head and gave her a gentle kiss on the full of her heated cheek. "Cutie," he murmured into her skin, soft enough (Y/N) wasn't sure if she was supposed to hear. Pulling back Harry shifted his position and brushed a hand through her hair, pulling baby hairs and stray strands away from her face with loving fingers. "We've gotta get y'cleaned up, angel, okay? Then, I want to cuddle with you before y'sleep. Sound good?"

At the mention of sleep, (Y/N) took stock of the way her muscles relaxed into the mattress, the day's events and night's excitement catching up to her. "Sounds good, H, thank you," she mumbled, fighting back a yawn.

Another innocent peck was granted to her cheek before Harry began unwinding himself from her body, careful hands dislodging her own from around his neck and her now trembling thighs from around his hips. He hesitated to draw away, his softened cock still inside her as Harry cast one more glance between their bodies.

He sucked in a deep breathe before taking the plunge and rearing his hips back and working himself to sit between her thighs. (Y/N) gasped when the head of his cock popped out only to be followed by the feel of wetness leaking from her hole, feeling herself clench around nothing.

"Fuck," she heard from Harry as he sat between her thighs, gaze zeroed in between her legs. A flush began to work its way up his chest, coloring in the rosebushes tattooed on his skin, the muscles tensed as he took in the mess of his love.

"W-What?"

Harry shook his head, eyes never leaving where she felt the wetness spreading between her thighs, "Nothing, angel, jus'... Fuck, I can't look at you, or we're gonna have to go again."

"Oh," she sounded, her own chest and neck heating at the sound of his words. At least she knew he liked what he saw.

Using every bit of the control (Y/N) knew he was lacking in that moment, he shut her thighs closed, telling her to wait there for him before he disappeared to the bathroom, tripping into his boxers as he went. For that moment she was left alone, only the sound of the water running in the hotel bathroom, (Y/N) felt a smile spread over her cheeks.

She'd done it. She got to be as close to Harry as physically possible and the evidence of it—as messy, and sticky, and cold as it was becoming—was leaking from between her thighs. Maybe he was right, she couldn't keep thinking about this unless she was ready to go again with him.

Soon enough, Harry returned with a damp washcloth in his hand, white boxers askew on his hips in his rush to get something on. He crawled atop the bed, a steadying breath filling his lungs before he pushed her thighs open once more.

With the stick covering the soft inside, (Y/N) felt cold now that she was exposed to the frigid air of the hotelroom. A layer of goosebumps erupted on her skin as Harry swiped the cloth over her skin, wiping away the evidence of their night together.

"Are y'cold, love?" Harry murmured, a layer of gravel to his voice she knew he was fighting off.

"A little, yeah," she confessed, readjusting her bralette to cover her chest before crossing her arms over her middle, her head sinking into the feathered pillows.

A soft kiss was planted onto her knee before his free hand smoothed itself over her shin, willing away the goosebumps. "Jus' a little longer, then I'll get y'dressed and snuggled up with me, 'kay?"

"'Kay," she nodded before she remembered the mess of her hair. Gosh, she still had to brush out that mess, too.

Harry dutifully cleaned her for a minute longer before he shifted between her legs, his freehand coming to rest on the sensitive inside of her thigh, butterflying her out. "Love, I need y'to do something for me really quick. 'S gonna feel a bit weird, but 's gonna help us get y'clean."

(Y/N) hesitated a moment before offering a cautious, "Okay."

She heard him heave a deep breath, the exhale of which fanned over her knee before she felt his lips return and press another kiss to the skin, before he spoke lowly, "There's still a little bit of me left inside, so I need y'to try to squeeze me out, yeah?"

Brows furrowed, (Y/N) slowly nodded her head, unsure of what exactly Harry was asking of her, but she did know it was really important to make sure she was cleaned up well since they didn't use protection. She'd done some research, and would rather not deal with the consequences of being lazy and shy about Harry's instructions. She did as asked, thighs trembling from oversensitivity as she tried to squeeze out the last bit of warmth Harry left with her.

"Good girl, angel," he praised her through a strained voice, the damp washcloth immediately collecting whatever was left over before she settled back into the mattress, muscles too tired to keep going. Unexpectedly, (Y/N) felt stray curls brush the inside of her thighs before Harry dropped a kiss to the top of her core. She gasped in surprise to which she heard a breathy laugh sound from between her legs. "Go use the bathroom, and I'll get your pajamas ready, yeah?"

"Okay," she peeped, craning her neck to find him already looking at her with a short smile on his lips, the idea of him dimples barely denting into his cheeks. "Thank you, H."

Harry shook his head, brushing off her thanks before urging her to the edge of their bed with a pat to the soft of her thigh. She hurried off, feeling Harry's eyes on her back and bottom before she shut the door behind her. In the silence of the bathroom, she allowed herself a moment to decompress, doing her business before the chill of the tile on her bare feet made her shiver. It wasn't until she was in front of the sink, washing her hands afterwards, that she got a good look at herself.

Despite the fact she kept to a strict skincare routine, none of her creams or serums could do anything to emulate the glow that radiated from her skin. She felt warm all over, comfortable in her skin; as much was evident in the lightness that brightened her gaze and rounded her features. As exhausted as could be seen in the way her eyelids drooped and her muscles were a little too willing to sag and bow under the weight of her body, she'd never seen herself look more awake. She'd never seen herself look so completed, at peace, and happy. She looked more in love than she could ever remember recalling.

Then, she took note of her hair.

As expected, a nest had accrued through the strands and she was going to have to work her hairbrush though it if she wanted to wake up to something semi-workable in the morning. Her shoulders dropped at the idea of brushing her hair when her body already felt too boneless to keep herself upright.

Combing her damp hands through her hair, (Y/N) exited the bathroom still bottomless to find Harry now with a pair of sweats on his legs and a distinct lack of boxers covering the v-cut of his hips. He was sat on the edge of the mattress, the mess of the bed now made into something less of a nest and more of a bed for her to crawl into when she was ready, corner folded back and everything. His eyes were clean of the eyeliner that had shadowed his waterline, a familiar blue pack of makeup wipes sitting on their nightstand with a used wipe sitting on the top of the trashcan. A stack of petal-pink clothing was settled beside him—garments she's sure he stole from where she left them in the bathroom—, only lacking a neon sign that declared it was hers.

"Better?" he asked, his attention tacked on her face as she padded across the room.

"Mhm," she hummed, trying her best not to feel vulnerable under his gaze considering what they'd just done, but it was hard when she felt distinctly half-naked compared to him, "Still cold."

"C'mere, then." He spread his legs and carved a spot out for her as he grabbed for the oversized, pink crewneck of his that she'd taken to wearing to bed.

(Y/N) smiled at him when she took her spot between his legs, feeling just at home. This was their ritual, how he always took care of her after a night between the sheets. He made sure she was clean and warm before settling into bed and whispering the sweetest things to her as she tucked her head into his chest, ensuring she was asleep before he allowed himself to drift off. (Y/N) knew exactly what he was going to ask of her once he unfolded the article of clothing that acted as her sleepwear, so she beat him to the punch by lifting her arms up before he had a chance to say anything.

A breathy laugh sounded in the quiet of the hotel room, Harry shaking his head before tugging the crewneck over her body. He fixed the hem to sit on the mid of her thighs, covering everything important before he flipped her hair out from the neckline of the top. Next up was the pair of tiny pink panties he helped her step into, his shoulders being used to steady her as he tugged the fabric up her thighs.

"Thank you, H," she whispered, bending down and giving him a soft kiss once he was upright.

"Of course, angel. 'S m'job to take care of you, right?" he murmured against her kiss before drawing her in for another sweet peck. He settled his hands on her waist as he looked up at her, exhaustion layering in his gaze though there was no shortage of devotion floating alongside it. "Ready for bed, lovebug?"

The idea of crawling into bed and into him was tempting enough it could have made her cry, but (Y/N) knew she couldn't settle until she brushed her hair out. So, she shook her head despite it all. "No, I've got to brush my hair still. I really made a mess of it tonight."

"Oh, love," he crooned, his hands on her waist tightening, "I can do that for you if y'want? I'll be gentle."

While a part of her didn't want to take advantage of Harry and the kindness he offered her everyday without fail, she didn't have it in her to care. "You'd do that for me?"

A laugh was exhaled through his nose, tender smile molding his features. "Go get your brush for me, yeah?"

"Thank you, thank you, H," she bubbled, ducking down and giving him one more kiss before padding off towards their luggage in search of her hairbrush.

Returning with the pink paddle brush in her hand, (Y/N) climbed into the bed, positioning herself to be sitting in front of him once he followed her suit. True to his word, Harry was unbelievably cautious and gentle as he brushed out her hair, working the knots and snags out as carefully as possible. Each time he felt he tugged too hard, or worked out a tough knot, he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder in apology.

"Angel?" he said after a moment, working the last of the snags out before poising her hair into sections to braid it.

"Hm?" she hummed, exhaustion and the feel of the gentle runs of his fingers through her hair tugging her closer and closer to the edge of sleep despite the fact she was sitting upright.

"Thank you for trusting me tonight."

A soft smile made its way onto her features. "H, you're just fixing my hair, its not—"

"No, no, not this, darling," he cut her off, amusement floating in his tone, "I meant about earlier. I know you're on the pill and everything, but 's still a big deal to me that you'd let me do that and take care of you."

Her chest deflated at his admission, the air sucked out of her at his sincerity. "Oh," she sounded, her fingers coming together in a fumble in her lap, "H, I—... Of course, I trust you. Y-You're my best friend and favorite person in the world, I knew you were going to take care of me tonight, no matter what we did. I don't know what to say except that I love you."

With her hair tangle free and her new braid secured with the hair tie he carried on his wrist, Harry pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. "That's more than good enough for me. You're the love of m'life."

This wasn't enough, (Y/N) decided then. She couldn't hear him say all these wonderful things about her and to her without getting to see his face and kiss his cheeks and hold him. She made quick work of abandoning her station climbing onto Harry's lap. He only laughed as he wrapped her in his arms, hairbrush abandoned on the nightstand, and fell back against the pillows lining the headboard.

"You're the love of my life, too, you know," she mumbled into his neck, the words smushed and muffled as she pinned herself to him with the help of her arms around his middle.

She felt his breathing hitch against her own chest, Harry's legs tangling with her own as he splayed out underneath her. "Y'don't know how much I love hearing y'say that, (Y/N)," he whispered, the tip of his nose brushing her hairline before he pressed a kiss to her temple.

"I mean it," she declared, snuggling closer to him as she felt him reach over her for the folded edge of the duvet he pulled back for them.

"I know y'do, baby," he said, maneuvering them under the covers and placing (Y/N) at his side as he turned on to lay on his own to face her, a hand braced on the back of her head to keep her tucked away safely. "That's why it makes m'heart hurt so much. Makes me so happy hearing the y'love me like I love you."

(Y/N) was grateful for her hiding place in his neck as she felt a burning behind her eyes as she listened to him. What was she supposed to say to something like that?

"H, I-I don't know what to say," she mumbled, voice watery.

She felt his laugh before she heard it, his chest rumbling against hers with his breath fanning through her hair. "Don't have to say anything, baby. Jus' sleep, okay? I'll be right here."

Nodding her head into his neck, (Y/N) cuddled as close to him as she could, legs tangled and ankles hooked with her arms looped around his bare chest. "I love you," she reiterated.

"I love you too, angel. Now go to sleep, I'll be here when y'wake up."

It was promises like that, that made it easy for her to trust him. As if her heart had any other choice.

—————

ive had ideas for this for sosososo long and im so happy to finally have this out and ready for you guys!! thank u to everyone who has requested this and been so patient w me while I got it ready! and thank u to everyone who read this and sorry for any mistakes ! if you have any ideas or requests of your own please send them in:))

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joannasteez · 4 months

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with me, the world is yours

pairing: roman reigns x black reader authors note: i wrote all of this late summer/early fall and after breaking away from it for so long, i've kind of lost the drive to finish the story in the original way i'd intended to write it, BUT, i am willing to add to it in small ways with little drabbles and such. so whoever reads this, please consider it as background/exposition and or a prologue to whatever gets added to it. if anyone wants to see something added to this specific story please drop me scenarios in my inbox!! word count: 8k

he liked to walk the floor

carpet smooth beneath the expensive drop of his heel and toe. hubris a limitless force, the broad width of his chest swelling. pride, unsullied, raw and ever simple in its existence. it was a deep elegant staining streak along his being that refused to leave him, unless of course he willed it so. and the casino floor of The Summer Isle Hotel, his hotel, filled with this great thundering of rage and joy and desperation. tiny drops of poker chips like small striking claps. the flipping of cards giving that easy slipping swoop against padded black jack tables. the hum of the room was loud, because the room itself seemed, to his eye, to never end. a tenacious buzzing that simmered his blood quick, excited.

the night was young. restless. ruby red suede heels moving, clever and seductive. the color of champagne at every corner his eyes took him, bubbling rich in flutes and set in the sweet form of silk dresses. pearls sitting tempting over cleavages and diamonds dressing the sturdiness of fingers that roamed the figures of excitable women. emeralds, jades and sapphires, taking every shape against the skin that would have it.

earrings, anklets, rings, bracelets......

whiskey and brandy swishing in glasses......

dry champagne hitting the tongue just right......

bodies hugging, lips kissing, eyes glazed over and just so damn greedy......

this...this ceaseless atmosphere. the un-quelled need to have. to take hold. to win.

roman loved to walk the casino floor of his hotel.

but he hated, absolutely hated cheaters. fucking thieves, cunning-less and eager. their tact lacking just as much as their ambition. roman figured, if their schemes were anymore complex, then he'd feel somehow better about their stealing. he'd at least respect their finesse before using their heads to shove them out the entryway doors of the establishment. and what a fine establishment it was, built off the sweat of his brow, his, others, blood and many tears. owning a hotel on the vegas strip was no easy feat and he'd be damned if someone disrespected it. disrespected his work. his vision.

...so then why?...

your eyes flit over to a table just some feet away.

...why did he let you play your games?...

a man in muted clothes gives you a signal. many silent signals, ones roman was once oblivious to, but now overly familiar with, as if he created them himself.

...four seconds of a stare. one mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, four. four meaning spade, given they were following the alphabetical order of the suits.

the man, face more punchable by the minute, touches his nose. meaning, the spade is a face card.

and the fucking dealer is young, flips up his card too easily, exposing just before he deals.

roman wants to do many things. to the man, the dealer, and the other pairs around the other blackjack tables following the same system. his fingers curl, ball inward till his palm pains him but his eyes remain as they always did. fiercely void, teetering delicate on some fine line of violence, until you move. speak.

"blackjack", you call. with just enough disinterest that prides the flow of his blood. makes him smirk.

"they've all been at it for days", paul bristles.

"end it", roman calls, walking away.

---

you despised most men, despised their presence, looking at them, unnecessarily speaking to them, breathing the same air as them. they'd bred more trouble than they were ever worth and always, without fail, served up to you, on some disgusting dish, half baked and ill formed, the least discreet of charms, to win even slivers of your attention. it was the usual lousy song and dance, artless and heavy handed. you despised most of them, because they led you to places like these with promises too alluring to ignore. all you wanted, want still, is the money. its all you need.

and they'd all but manhandled you from the casino floor to a room. two men, one barely distinguishable from the other, but then again...they donned shades that matched their disapproving looks. lips turned in scrutiny. but what the fuck did they know anyway?... fuck them and this...this room. a holding of some sort. walls white, chairs black, a purposeful minimalistic touch crafted to intimidate. and it was working...even if just slightly.

your chair creaks, wooden and anxious. you hated this, always would. this forceful feel of surrendering.

and you don't speak first, but because of that neither does he.

grey's scattered about his beard, scarce but still there. slight face lines...stress maybe?...and tawny specks living as freckles. he's groomed to perfection but still there's something about him, a flare in his eye that lends itself to a buried ruggedness. a meticulous sort of brutality.

and he's just sitting there...

...close to you but not too close. enough to open you with his eyes, but not enough to leave you breathless...

he's practiced in this. patient.

...he can't do this all day... you think, till his body sits more comfortable than before. he will if he has to, and he will. to prove a point. to win.

the room is cold. sterile. you shiver some, the first to say anything.

"i didn't do anything wrong".

"then why so defensive?"

you felt some ways away from lethal and the reasons for such a feeling mounting more every second. forming knots in your belly, heat and pressure. guilt and a sickly intrigue. his voice was rich and deep. smooth and commanding. if in another place, at some other time, you could see yourself falling for that voice, lulled and taken by it. you hate it, the hot twinge it drives into your skin. you grow sharp, words throwing like daggers.

"if you were me, sitting where i am, you'd be defensive too".

"i could have you brought up on charges", he presses. toying really. flip and flopping between seriousness and sarcasm. the heels of his shoes click the floors, and you fall slow into the creak of the chair, pulling away from the size of him as he approaches. he bends, levels with you, but even this feels like a looking down upon. "cheating and swindling. maybe even restitution".

"what?" you start. you cant help your self. "not nice enough for a little jail time".

you see his jaw shift. "smart mouth".

you move in with a sudden spell of boldness. "fuck you". your lips twist to spit against the floor. "and fuck your casino".

it's quick. harsh. his fingers long and curling at your jaw. he's warm, grip steady despite the push of your hands. he feels the fight in you, regardless of how soft you are to the touch. skin tender, like untouched feathers.

but still... that damn mouth of yours.

"you tried remember", mirthless but not.

"don't fucking touch me", you rant. hitting at him harder. attempting without end to pry away his fingers, until finally he lets go.

and it's rather shortsighted but brave nonetheless, the way your feet carry you to go at him. to do what exactly? you're not to entirely sure. but it doesn't matter much anyways, not when he's this mountain of a man. herculean and spiting. resolute in fucking with you a little for whatever enjoyment he can get out of the situation, and you know this to be true when your momentum to him is soured, a scream bleeding coarse through the walls.

the dense walls block most of the action, but the scream of pain is undeniable. the faint crush of bone breaking through to where you are, fixing you to the floor where you stand in some sickly mixture of fear and surprise.

"the money or their fingers i asked them". his stare is heavy. daunting. "some of them chose money, but of course they get to keep neither". he walks to the single entry-exit door. body taking up most of the frame. "paul, escort the young lady back to her room".

you scoff on instinct. hating the condescension his tone takes. you shift by them both in a way that knocks your shoulders into their arms. paul's chalky, round face as amused as his boss.

"i can escort myself".

---

amongst the other's lining the vegas strip, The Summer Isle Hotel is the second largest. and where the floors lack that bold blood red carpeting, there is laid instead a fine marbling, in the endless halls and walkways, polished enough to see even the faintest of facial details. the ceilings venture high, littered with crystal chandeliers and in the walls and on ceilings are engraved these renaissance inspired paintings. there is this rhythm to the place, something archaic and forever far away, that is meant to always be desired. as people sip champagne, drunk and more verbose by the second, bleeding their pockets dry to their hearts content, the artistry of the hotel leaves them wondered and greedy. that even as they eat the finest food and drink the oldest wines, there is more to indulge in. more to have, to reach that unreachable place of pure luxury.

it was extravagant and all consuming, and pieces of you wondered what it all felt like. to never want or lack for it, because it was just simply there, at the edge of your fingertips.

the hotel was big enough to get lost in, big enough to lose others in, so when paul sits himself at your table for two, security detailing not too far, just at the edges of the bar, you grow weary and annoyed. he'd been looking for you.

you swirl your drink with a cocktail straw. feeling the pressure of his stare. "im being babysat now?"

his hands fold with an instinctive diplomacy.

"just call it reassurance".

reassurance...that was bullshit. you didn't need to be told things more than once, especially when the talk was as loud and showy as it was earlier. "he made it pretty clear what can happen. i'm a cheater, not stupid".

"there isn't always much of a difference between the two".

you hum, sipping what's left of your drink. "if you're gonna chat me up, buy me another drink then". his brow raises, as if in waiting. you sigh, annoyed at having to perform niceties. "please".

its expert and concise, a look and just under a handful of gestures to the bartender, but his awareness never wavers from the already empty cocktail glasses where vodka-cran once filled. three to be exact. this fourth, he hopes, would be your last, as it was now that the glazing over of your eyes was coming underway. and he'd originally been an advocate for roman's earlier display of brutish prowess, and still is in all honesty, but seeing you, it did unsettle him in very few but poignant ways. he knew enough to know that you were attempting a drowning of frenzied nerve. sitting here, he hopes you understand, like everything else on the strip... its just business.

paul shifts. bringing his chair slightly closer. "the system you use on the blackjack tables, how long did it take to come up with it?"

"not long, maybe a few minutes", you start. sipping and thinking on whether to indulge him or not. but it seems to you now that the whole trip has gone to complete shit so why not. "it's all about assigning basic signals to cards but it's the memory part that fucks people up. memory and performance anxiety". paul chuckles at the absurdity and you grin, slightly pleased at his interest. "practicing in a warehouse versus being on a casino floor, at a table. it's different. anything can happen".

you push away the drink. satisfied. paul's eyes turn soft, with what you think is relief. why relief?

"and then theres the whole finding a weak dealer situation", you continue. "no offense, you guys have a better looking hotel but the venetian runs tight security".

"noted".

its your turn to shift in your chair. asking the question you've been wanting the answer to since the moment happened. "why didn't he break my fingers?"

"who knows. maybe he's waiting for you to get stupid", paul jokes.

"you either are or you aren't. no in between".

"that means you'll stay put then?"

you scoff. "what, i'm on lockdown?"

"the boss says you're free to do as you please. just no stealing".

you smile coy, standing to leave. "you wouldn't mind covering the tab then? can't seem to find my wallet".

---

thief. cheater. schemer. you've heard many names and resented none of them, because at their root, the truth remained what it was. it was artistry. and if you're clever enough, sharp enough, quick enough, finessing could be masterful. the constant putting together of a challenge, a game. and it was practical to love games, because good players win.

but this? this was not practical. he was not practical.

he seemed to be playing a different game entirely. you figure solely to spite you. a figurative spitting in the face if you will.

every waiter of every bar in every corner of the hotel knew your cocktail order. vodka-cran with lime, extra ice. a splash of club soda.

the security detail seemingly doubled overnight and each of them never failed to greet you. a smile and a head tipping nod.

casino floor personnel, always with a subtle but sudden direction, pointed out to you the slots that paid out the biggest and the most often.

the restaurants you dined in refused to give you the check and when you asked why, flustered and confused, they gave the same answer every time.

"because the boss said so".

complementary goods in your hotel room. aged wines and sweets.

tickets to shows you neither wanted to attend or cared for.

if you were a different woman, who lived a different life, you figure she'd find this every bit as enticing as it was. enchanting even. grand gestures made out of some sickly sweet distant admiration. but you were not her and most men you knew or had known only did things; provided, loved, cared, with condition. so only one questioned remained. why? and after days of guessing games, a stomach turning foreboding shifted swiftly to irritation. he'd upped the ante finally, moving from these fairly small gestures, which to you were not small at all, to something a little bit too much for you to take.

and you wonder now if he knows that he's reached your end, knocking hard at the ceiling of your limits. body simmering hot with this slow to finish unraveling feeling. as if at any moment unknown to you, you'll break in some uncontrolled fit of rage. he was becoming more persistent, silent still but more persistent and the affects of such persistence were all around you. soft wool carpeting where marble floors ended, a detailed fretwork spanning every corner of the ceilings, and french sliding doors connecting you to a wide stretched pool looking over the vegas strip.

"the boss sends his regards", housekeeping said after it was all said and done.

from the 6th floor straight up to the 39th, he'd gotten them to move everything you'd bought with you. your clothes, shoes, purses, from a studio room you could just barely pay for, to the penthouse suite.

all of this, and a tiny note atop the dresser.

enjoy your stay - roman

"roman", you try aloud.

it isn't till the next day that you realize he's quite fond of leaving these little letters. words thin and cursive. messages brief enough to never reveal even a semblance of his thoughts.

friday morning his words scribble a small card stuck to the center of a bouquet of white roses.

white desdemona's. enjoy the roses - roman

you struggle for sometime in the bright silence of the morning. the busyness of the vegas strip bleeding a hum in through the sliding french doors. it wouldn't be hard, indulging him. cling fast and easy to soft petaled gestures, quelling finally that wayward need for a romantic sort of fascination. buried so long ago but clawing upwards tirelessly still, begging for relief. but it would be more sensible to deny yourself, which in the same breath meant denying him. tearing that pristine white card in two and setting the roses out to sit just in front your suite door. to send a message, simple but strong, enough for him to understand.

a sudden knock urges you to settle into a resolution quickly. quicker than you were prepared for. the white card now in your hand tearing into two pieces with a twist of your wrist as you go to open the door.

its house keeping.

you place the torn paper in their hand before stepping out of the suite, furthering more down the hallway to the elevator by the second. the roses themselves were too lovely to get rid of anyways.

"tell your boss i send my regards".

---

would you believe them?

a less than modest woman from the north east, standing above the illustrious wonder of the vegas strip. and from your glass flute a slow, smooth sip, along with some restless awakening of a dream, even if it last only for a moment. an imagining from this high place, that with a deep sure breath like some figure from beyond with a vast primordial power, you gave life to this idle desert, and with sun and sand, birthed from pure will what they call fabulous las vegas. but this must be what he feels, day after day, night after night, standing above the rest, the staunch rush of pride, like something simmered well into the run of his blood. for you it was this endless day dream, the money, the power, the access, but for him, it seemed real. it was real.

and still the question remains... would you believe them? a cunning woman, wrapped strapless in leather fine enough to please even the most marred skin, and heels that extend the vicious form of your legs.

just tuesday you were cursing the good name and fortune of this place with your dna splat just mere inches from his shoes, and now here you are friday, waiting for him.

if they, whoever they are, told you sometime ago that you'd be here, you wouldn't have believed them.

he'd done well to send another card, and with it, another gift.

the rendezvous. 7pm - roman

he'd gotten house keeping to do more of his dirty work, the poor bastards, but even their precision was daunting. the placement of the card, and the gift, and the complementary wine, and a single blooming stargazer. the petals dainty and blushing. it'd left you standing deep in a well of emotion, finding everything he'd left, and your bed taken by a box. the lid pulled off quickly by that gnawing urge to indulge him. and despite his initial brutish behavior and persistence, it was safe to say that the man was not void of taste.

but it would be more sensible to deny yourself, like a chant, it'd echoed, and your fingers ran over the plains of something silky. a dress, cool raven color, strong and subduing, but the fabric was so fine to the touch it'd felt criminal to hold. and with it had lived perfumes, bottle after bottle, as if he feared you'd somehow go without. and... fuck... sitting, waiting really, in a satin pouch... two pairs of goddamned diamond earrings. one pair smaller than the other, but both far more delicate than most things you'd ever owned. and soon the short warm swell of excitement had grown cold and hesitating. why was he doing this? what did he want from you?

they were questions you intended to get answers to and it seemed if they weren't answered now then who knows when, unsure if you'd ever see him again.

"you didn't like the roses"

your heart takes to some quick instinctual beating. a ragged fraying of nerves just off the simple sooth and strength of his voice. before, in that silent white room, you were sharp, aware of him but the power of his aura did nothing to sway your wanting to see him pained by your indifference to him. now though... it was so damn different now it seemed, as you were a small ways away from a purely formed nervousness.

you turn just enough to give him your profile, sipping slow at the flute, steeling one buzz under your skin away with another. "i'd like them more if they were red". you face him finally, staying leant up against the balcony railing of the restaurant. "but it seems i don't have much option or choice here".

"no need to choose when everything is the best".

"that doesn't sound self important at all".

"doesn't make it any less true".

champagne has never tasted so good, you think, sipping and fighting the impulse to look away from him. his eyes softer than before but still lying in them are traces of searching for some unspoken truth. it was a much more subdued attempt compared to before, every pass his eyes made about your own, short flickers to your lips, the way you clutched the glass, your hair, your jewelry, the dress you were wearing, like a gentle pealing back of a layer. less scrutiny out of a short bout of anger and more of a learning. he'd come to the conclusion after watching you leave the white room all those days ago that he wanted to learn you.

here now, watching you sip champagne, he wondered if you'd let him.

"listen", you start. taking a closer step to him, with some new found form of resolution, and its hard to keep this will strong and steeled away when he's this close. scent heady and soothing to your senses. "i don't know what you're thinking, but i do know that you got me a lot of fucked up for just hauling my shit-"

"the suite is yours for as long as you want it"

"i'm not paying for it"

his grin is warm. inviting. long fingers slipping the flute from your hold after its been emptied to set it down at a nearby table. "it's yours anyways".

your confusion is palpable, lives in the way you retreat closer to the banister again, for fresher air void of him. in hopes to think more clearly. "just the other day you practically had me hemmed up and now you're-"

"that was different. it was business".

you scoff. "business my ass, fuck you-"

"and fuck my casino, i know".

it's your go to insult it seems, this time having less of an affect on him, but still there is something there. a small stinging pain bruising the very large stain of ego.

you look to him with searching eyes of your own. "so the wine... and-and the roses and just... everything, i mean thats?..."

"gifts. just gifts. not to be payed back ever".

your face fixes in a fashion similar to the first time you spoke to him. eyes defensive and unsure, brows pulling in for a full measure of scrutiny. "why?"

"have dinner with me".

you press again. "why?"

"because", he starts, with a streak of vulnerability. "all of my attention is taken up by a casino resort on the strip of one of the busiest places in the world but for some reason, for the last 72 hours or so i've only been able to think clearly about you".

your eyes roll off instinct despite the flutter feeling in your gut. "am i supposed to be flattered?"

"its the truth".

roman hadn't been a man who lent himself to believing in chance or possibility for sometime. if he wanted something, or hell even someone, it simply happened, because thats the way it had been, since the first burst of the resorts success till before this very moment. when he spoke, the world of the resort opened and bent, twisted and curved till it formed to his liking, so much until the effects of his wants rippled through the whole of the strip till they echoed miles away, through the rolling of nevada desert dust. but you...

the click of your heels, the soft sway of your hips, the way words twisted from your lips comfortable because you knew yourself well enough to know that regardless of his capabilities you'd do something drastic and a bit ways away from reckless before ever letting him get the best of you.

that bravery, an unflinching flame, new and unpredictable and different and more exciting than anything he'd seen in sometime.

whether you were leaving or staying, he follows you and savors even the cut of your eyes. it's quick and fierce, unsure of its power but stripping the resolve of him all the same. and of course a curt look is all you give him, as he opens the door to the rendezvous and follows you in, not a word to him as waiters and well off patrons pass the both of you by. a leisure walk around pristine white cloth dressed tables and velvet chairs, each of your steps like some small conquering of a widely secured territory. his territory. you move more sure of yourself by the second and it rushes his warm and wanting.

with no real hurry, roman pulls out the chair you've picked to sit in just before you can make to do it yourself, finding himself closer than he needs to be, just some inches from your face. each breath in, sweet and tempting. the perfume he bought you...

you sit without a word, not even a thank you, and he finds himself more drawn in by the second.

it isn't until he sits himself that roman realizes you've chosen a seat at the center of the restaurant. and whether it's purposeful or not, it's damn sure fitting.

a trivial orbit of faces and voices.

"you don't take no for an answer do you?"

"when you're where i am, after a while, you stop asking and getting asked. you never even have to hear no".

its arrogant, eye roll worthy even, but you don't miss the truth in it. the pull of his brows together, lending themselves to a pure honesty. and it's hard, quelling that pull up of envy. to be so well off, so rich, never having to answer to any one. i wish, you thought. i wish

your finger trails along the fine table cloth. "i must have you so out of sorts then, how rude of me".

"it's fun", he grins. a single finger signaling someone. " 'm learning my manners again".

and there was this fidelity to his words ......everything is the best because i am the best...... a quality that spilled over into everything that he touched, spoked to, looked at, and did. it was this undeniable thing, a force, that caused such a natural hesitation in you, but also this impulse to fight. you wanted to struggle against him, war with the easy diligence of him till he folded. cracking under the weight of his hubris till large fragmented pieces ground to dust. but you would not win that battle today, no, not as waiters execute their level of precision, plate after plate set atop the table in such a meticulous manner that it seemed to be planned. a well thought scheme with the intent to impress. dish after dish, revealed, one after the other smelling more divine than the one before it.

the waiter, an adorably eager young man, falls into a spiel about the wine you can't be bothered to care about. his work of a perfect pour all for nothing. it nearly pains you. "i'll take a water please".

the waiter flattens. a curt nod as he hurries away.

"it's vintage", roman says. seemingly unaffected by your disinterest in old aged wine.

" 'm sure it is". eyeing him. the sip his lips take. "seems you've had things all planned out. what if i'd said no?"

"someone else's lucky night then. a free meal on the house".

"do you have a ready made answer to everything?".

"i am who i am. it's impossible not to". the cut of your knives into plated steaks reveals this smooth buttery finish. the meat tender against the blade and more so to the taste. and it takes everything in you not to moan or go cross eyed, not when he's watching your every move. seemingly studying and committing your eyes and lips and words to memory. no, you simply chew. sip at your water and live as quiet in your delight as possible. till of course it hits you, not as hard or sudden as one would expect, but it's more of a washing over. a stilled piecing together that quickens your pulse and frowns out the apathy on your lips.

you stare down at your plate. a short ways away from dumbfounded. "you know how i like my steak". even the way he chews is perfect. measured and steady. a luxurious sort of etiquette steeped into the make of him. but you find that his manners are selective, as he doesn't even bother to meet your eyes. low sitting and accusing. he chews as you did, but with more leisure. the slice of his knife and the clink of his fork fighting against the waiting you do in the silence. even when he works to indulge you, he abides in his own time, lets you wrestle with the trivial chatter of the room the way you did not so long ago with the abundance of his gifts.

he wipes his mouth with a cloth. a feigned unawareness about him.

"the chefs know how you like your steak".

you scoff. maybe your tenth eye roll of the night. " and the bartenders so conveniently know how i like my cocktails too".

he sips his wine easy like he would water. "they have an eye for detail, thats why they work here".

"or maybe", you start. fork an obnoxious clinking at the plate as it drops dramatic from your fingers. "just maybe it's someone else's eyes they're looking through. someone else's words they're following".

"maybe".

...so fucking goddamn frustrating... you think. eyeing the full table of food. and it's less anger and more confusion, that slow to finish fraying of nerves. these things that he does, says, that leave you emotionally inconvenienced.

"you don't know how insane it feels, night after night, trying to pick up a check for dinner and the waiter refuses your money. it feels like stealing".

he chuckles. "something you should be used to then".

"fuck you. i only steal out of necessity".

and this was it, the thing from which his curiosities where born, feverish in his fingers. an ache to flex broad and wide, to do and make till need was just a distant word laying dead at the recesses of your mind. necessities were strange, and if it became flesh and bone with legs and the will to speak it too would be a stranger to him. roman had not wanted for anything in some time, and if he felt in himself that he needed something, the readiness by which it came to him revealed only that he did not need it, but that he wanted it, in that covetous way that a man wants another mans woman. and so it became natural, that others around him would not need for anything either.

the way he's settled into the velvet of the chair becomes less leisure, leaning in slightly with a more focused determination. "what do you need?"

your smile is wry. unconvinced. "like you care".

"if you could have anything, what would it be?"

the list was endless it seemed, a question you'd asked and answered thousands of times and then thousands of times again. cars, houses, shoes, clothes, jewelry, yachts, boats. trivial and obnoxiously expensive things even, if it meant that you could feel the freedom of just being. it was an easy thing to answer, but so hard still when all the answers were far away from you, never even brushing faint at your fingertips.

and he thinks in this moment, your eyes softening, this is the most serious he's ever seen you.

"i wanna be comfortable. enough not to worry about anything".

"and why aren't you there yet?"

"i tried", a finger of yours slipping against the grip of the cutting knife. "but you stopped me".

but how could he question you? was your drive, your diligence to get what you wanted not legitimate because it was not legal? and with this, the question forms clear again, why the fuck were you here?

"a man at the top asking me why i'm all the way down here", your head shaking in this sly build of indignation. he had some nerve. "you don't see how shitty that is?"

roman feels something in him lessen. a deep pulling away that reflects in the flare that takes to your eyes. an edge that leaves the room a bit cooler than before. how could he have been so stupid and blind? judging you for the very thing that had left him in this whirl of curiosity and admiration.

" 'm not tryin to offend you".

"but here i am. offended".

he shifts, reaches the wide stretch of his palm to lay open against the table. an olive branch close enough for you to reach out and take. "let me make it up to you".

you consider him. the outstretch of his palm. fingers strong and waiting. the way his eyes settle into this mild sort of kindness that still lends itself to something not so pleasing. the warm lights amongst the crystals of hanging chandeliers casting along his face in such a way that it shadows his eyes some but still shines against his features. speaking so clearly to the deepened well of his hubris, always revealing and hiding itself in his own time. he is a sure man, wanting only what he wants, but seeks it in such a diligent way that it suffocates the things, the people that he desires. but maybe, just maybe, if you leave him wanting, challenged and needy, he would give you everything.

your finger tips move to tease at his. this faint dancing along his palm. "if you're gonna send me gifts, make sure it's things i like". touch a sly caress at his wrist. "i'm not a wine girl, and i hate seeing flowers die".

he lets your touch play along his skin. revels silent in the rush it sends, a jetting stream into his blood.

"what do you prefer?"

you slip off a ring that shines against his pinky. fitting it onto your middle one. your stare is this rapturous thing. hypnotic and breath taking, and he understands why you've probably gotten away with so much till now.

"i have a sweet tooth".

"i can work with that".

you hum into a sigh, considering still. your hand balling his own to close that reaching opened palm before you settle back into your chair. more eased now than you've been the whole night.

"i hope so for your sake".

and roman does not hesitate often, certainly never out of fear. he doesn't mind the manner of his words much, or their phrasing and the life it breathes into his expression. he doesn't suffer much to care for the thoughts of others and their own words, unless of course it somehow seeks to exist against his money, the resort or the greatness of his name. roman wasn't fearful, no, but being here with you, caution takes him all the same. like those tentative seconds where the lucky struck gambler is suspended in possibility, waiting for the dealers reveal.

his words take to a mindfulness, as if each word is brought out selectively. "has anyone ever offered, to take care of you. buy you things. take you places".

you laugh in that small uncontrollable way, when something, after so much confusion, becomes clear. because of course this is what he wants. of-fucking-course.

"some have. i always told them no".

"why?"

to think of it, even if just slightly, annoyed you. "conditions. restrictions. rules. you can't go there, you can't do this. that's not care".

"control is an acquired taste".

a grin slips into the seam of your lips. curious. "is it yours?"

his tongue peaks, a short run against his teeth, and something deep within, this buried and slow to rise feeling tightens at your core. maybe it wouldn't hurt to have a taste of wine.

his grin matches yours. "not if it ain't yours".

"out of all the woman everywhere, why me?"

"you try to steal from me, you spit on my casino floor, and you ain't missed a chance yet to tell me how you feel".

"we're into degradation i see", you joke. and it gets a laugh you think not many have experienced. it's something sincere, crinkling for some seconds the corners of his eyes. and despite the short bout of fondness that forms at hearing him laugh, he's got to be joking right? pulling your leg hard for an even bigger laugh. "i'm a thief roman".

"a very transparent thief. i don't meet people like that a lot".

it's a losing fight but still, it's hard not to push back.

"you barely know me".

"i could know you, if you let me".

"what's in it for you?"

sex, you think. when he's given you enough of his money and access, he'll ask for sex.

"your company".

---

riverside, california was not the vegas strip, and by all intents and purposes did not claim to be the notorious sin city. the breeze here was something warm and patient. a soft flowing about, satisfied only by its own directionlessness. but in a small whispered taunting way, it was unadulterated. the vegas strip was loud, this harsh numbing sort of droning that buried the more subtle, truthful noises and those skittish undercurrents in the skin that lent to fervent thoughts and ideas. the silence of riverside and the quaint rooftop air of antonella's was this exposing thing. and you'd come west to unashamedly connive your way into some money, but now you were here, unsure of the minutes, hours and even days to come, with him. sipping at coffee, and picking gentle but anxious at his diamond ring, feeling as aimless as the riverside wind.

and then, seemingly from no where, his shoes click against the cobblestone, steps slow and uniformed, a pace all his own. and as he sets down a fine spread atop the table; meats, cheeses, fruits, and small cakes, he can sense rather acutely this refusal to acknowledge him. from you, an amusing fight; one leg crossed over the other, a fidgeting in your fingers and this far away look else where, feigning indifference.

antonella's at noon - roman

he'd written as he liked to do, and yet it was a little passed two in the afternoon. the drive over to riverside lengthy and unknowing.

"you're late"

" 'm sorry?"

roman is amused but taken a back all the same. in the years of his success, lateness was not something to treat with avoidance or fear but just another trivial idea. something purely subjective. or maybe it was because things just ran on his time, started and stopped when his desires had not been met or when they'd exceeded his expectations. it was new to think that something like that was so bothersome for you.

he sits in the empty space of a double seated chair beside you. the wood fine and stripped, carved with intricate designs. his arm falling against the top. your bodies closer now than they've ever been.

"if i'm-", you shift to face him. eyes taken by the tan of his cheeks, sprinkled with freckles. lips full, and beard thick. his eyes softer than normal but still traces of an intensity to them. he's beautiful, even in his arrogance and persistence. "if i'm gonna do this. whatever this is, you have to be on time. i'm not a woman who likes to wait".

his eyes drop to the plump of your lips. existing there this thin tempting line of gloss. "yes ma'am".

and his stare lingers, a gentle taking in of the slight pout forming into the line of your lips and the soft round out of your cheeks. your eyes under the cast of the sun, more ethereal than not, but guarded some still in this impatient game of waiting for something that will quell that burden of unknowing. the small tells of your anxiety live in the way you play aimlessly at that ring you took from him, or rather the ring he let you take. even with your demands that fight against his own desires and your quick wits and your curt looks and your own bouts of teasing, you still hesitate for fear of the feelings that come with great disappointment. he wonders now if his words for you are not enough, and that though it had been enough for mostly everyone, you are not them. you are new and different and he'd have to treat you as such.

roman cuts a piece of cake easy, and on a fork it waits for you to indulge in it.

"taste this", he gives, handing you the fork.

"what is it?"

"panettone". his voice deep and delicate about the shape of the vowels, taking on a slight accent in reverence of the treat. italian?, you wonder.

the cake is buttery and sweet, a taste of fruit with each pass it takes over your tongue and theres something there as you sit with the taste of it that tells you that it's homemade. its a perfect mixture of everything, as if the baker had made it a thousand times, and then a thousand times more.

he reaches to pick off a piece of fruit with a slim pick, sleeves loose and revealing the beginnings of what you think is a full arm of connected tattoos. you wonder how far they travel, and where they possibly might end.

the strength of espresso wafts against the flow of a simple breeze as he takes to refilling the teeny size of your cup and then a splash of his own to taste.

he sighs, satisfied at the warmth of it. "you like it?".

"mhmm", you give. a sincerity lining your lips as you give him a small smile. it's something new, relaxed. an earnestness lacking that natural wary look you wear when you look at him. "you're taking my words to heart. i like a man who listens".

"i aim to please".

you slip the ring back onto your finger, less fidgety with it now. an easy settling of the tensity in your shoulders that allows your body to rest closer to him. facing inward so that the cross of your leg touches his. and it's this innocent, dainty step towards intimacy. where the gentle quiet of the day fills the air with a more tender possibility. guards are fallen away, more than before if anything, and your eyes shimmer warm and a little more accepting. i'll try, you think to your self, to believe him even if only for a moment. i'll indulge him.

"you like that ring?", he asks. staring at the way it shines against your finger.

at the mention of it, you twist the band about your finger.

"my mother thought the best thing a woman could do for herself was have jewelry. it's the only thing that doesn't disappoint". nostalgia a fine thread in your words. remembering the woman that taught you everything. and he sees the soft way your cheeks turn up. feels a need to keep them that way, but even more so when you look at him. "it's a little big, but it goes with my earrings".

my...my earrings. claiming fully the things that he'd gifted you.

his longer, stronger fingers reach for yours, for the ring, seemingly possessed by memory. and his touch is a light caress. featherweight and reverential. a shiver strums your skin there. teeming with the want for a heated relief found only in another pass of his finger, till it folds, along with the others, his over yours, to lock in an embrace.

"i had it made ten years ago", he tells you. "about a month after the resort opened. a gift to myself".

his thumb dances with a sweet brushing along your skin, with nothing particularly amorous, but there is comfort here, in your touch, a stranger. the way skin passes slow and steady to feel the other, lax and patient.

"it's still beautiful", your hand dropping to your lap, locked with his still, and the pull brings him just that much closer. a comfortable leaning in that gives way to him taking in more readily the heady sweetness of your perfume. his eyes and his mouth something like a foot away, but feeling so very close, so much so that it steals breaths. kickstarts that harsh beating in your blood, a drumming pulse in your fingers. you wonder if he feels it.

"it doesn't disappoint".

you smile. interested in him. "how old were you then?"

"28. you?"

you can see him at 28. untainted by the burning pace of vegas. his eyes ever intense but in them more of a smolder. his hair longer, with no flecks of grey. more unsure and less persistent. grasping at things that come to him so easily now.

"24".

and he'd love to meet 24 you. maybe not as quick witted but clever still. fast in your schemes with a maybe not so predictable temper. but still, a covetous touch to the things you wanted. needed.

"causing trouble where?", he chuckles.

"new york".

he looks at the ring. loose on your finger.

"ill have the ring resized to fit".

you shake your head. unsure. "it's something special. i don't wanna take that from you".

"you don't ask and you don't say thank you. if i give it, it's yours. simple".

he is as serious now as the day you first met him, and beyond all of your own doubting, there's this burden to believe him. the quiet fervor of his words and his touch, the warm glow of him amongst the day light and the unwavering hold his eyes take to yours. and his thumb runs a simple caress over where your pulse quickens harsh at the inside of your wrist, from surprise and need. a soft lulling that only seems to stoke the flame of a slow but sure to rise desire. it's yours, words promising and unfazed by the endless unknowns of tomorrow. so much so that he proves it, slips an envelope from his pocket till it finds its way into your hand.

and the envelope is mere trash compared to whats inside. a sleek black card, engraved with his own name.

your fingers slip at it. failing somewhat to hide the growing excitement. but there is disbelief here also, coming alive quick but dying quicker the more you feel the fixed weight of his decision, heavy in his eyes and warm at his touch. his intensity is a power all on its own, working well to lull you in. to subdue. a twinge at your core tells you that you are not immune. "is there a limit?"

"why would there be?"

you chuckle. "you're serious?"

"dead serious".

there's that twinge again, lingering hot and teasing. scares you away from his eyes and the tender hold of his touch, but he doesn't falter, even when your fingers leave the tangle of his. and then, caution breaks against the luxurious sort of excitement teeming quick, tightens into your fingers so that the card feels heavy. too fine to hold in your hands. but still, he remains, sitting with an endless patience, sure that he will win you over fully. if not today then soon.

the moment still seems too good to be true for you.

you sigh. "this all isn't just some round about way of trying to fuck me is it?"

but he doesn't hesitate. amused even.

"that only happens if you want it to sweetheart".

and it takes courage not to imagine it. the details of a daydream where his lips slip against your skin, hands strong and leading as they push and prod to his will, till you're just how he wants you, playing in these fast to leave flashes in your minds eyes. you think though, under his heavy gaze, that it's something to wonder about when he's not this close and determined to commit your every expression to memory. so you steel your face, fingers grabbing his cup to sip at his espresso, the curiosity of your daydreams attempting with a desperate sort of vigor to run away from you. they barely succeed.

with roman, you were in for something interesting.

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