#i tap my finger on objects a lot when I’m bored
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okay so how do they all have a conversation about them all sharing her? like how did that happen?
luke’s arms were safe. and no matter what came out of the conversation they were about to have, as long as she was there, she was okay.
she had asked the boys to meet them at the end dock when they got back from their round of golf, adding extra emphasis on not bringing anyone back with them. we need to talk, she had said (typed), it’s important.
“they’re late,” she fidgets against her boyfriend. she watches as a frog leaps from the land and splashes into the water. she swore that her heart was about to beat out of her chest, “what if they aren’t coming?”
“they’re coming,” luke reassures her, chuckling softly as he presses a kiss to the top of her head, “you know how long golf can take. they could be hours-”
“they have been hours, lu,” she sighs, “i’m going to be sick. i shouldn’t have said anything-“
as soon as the words leave her lips, she hears the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, then the sound of two car doors slamming and the familiar shout of, “luke? y/n?”
“we’re down here!” luke’s voice is a lot more clear than hers would have been at that point. she tilts her head and watches as the boys round the house, shoving each other as they make their way down to the two of them. “if you changed your mind, you don’t have to do this. we can make something up.”
“i want to,” she plays with his fingers, “you’re sure that you’re okay with it?”
“sharing you with my brothers? kinda hot,” he makes a face and she squeezes his arm in warning. jack’s heavy footsteps make their way up the dock, causing the wood to creak under the weight. luke reaches a hand up, doing their little handshake over the top of her head, “who won?”
“quinner,” jack is annoyed as he takes a seat across from the two. he stretches out his legs and he’s so close, but so far.
“if you wouldn’t have tried to cheat, you probably would have,” quinn rolls his eyes as he takes up the space beside his middle brother. he leans his weight back on his hands, staring at the two youngest of the bunch with an obvious curiosity, “so, what’s so important?”
“i-”
“are you pregnant?” jack interrupts, eyes boring into hers.
“dude, shut up,” luke scoffs and she straightens up against his chest. his arms loosen around her body and she crosses her legs in front of her, “we need to talk to you both about something and we want you to listen, hear us out before you open your mouths. deal?”
the last part was directed to one person in particular, but they both agreed. she swallowed the lump in her throat, looking between quinn and jack before taking a deep breath, “i’m with luke.”
quinn raises an eyebrow, “we’ve heard.”
luke sends a sharp quick to his brother’s leg, “what did i say?”
“it’s fine, luke,” she nods, now avoiding the questioning expressions of both the boys across from her, “i’m with luke and i love him, but i also want to be with you.”
a beat of silence passes before jack clears his throat, “who?”
she looks towards luke for assistance in conveying her message and he hums, “the both of you.”
“wait,” quinn blinks slowly, “so you want to be with luke,” she nods, “and jack,” she nod again, “and me?”
a final nod.
quinn turns his attention to luke, “how do you feel about this?”
“i see the way that you both look at her. the way she looks at you. she would be loved and i trust the two of you,” luke gently taps his fingers on her thigh, “i wouldn’t do this with anyone else. it would make her happy, so it makes me happy.”
“is it, like, just sex or,” jack trails off, “can i take you on dates and the stuff that he gets to do?”
“it’s not just sex. i’m not an object that you would get to pass around whenever you wanted. i have the same feelings for you that i feel for luke and those are so much more than just fucking. you don’t have to say yes,” she’s sure that she’s going to be sick, “i don’t know the details, how we would make it work. obviously it wouldn’t be easy considering that everyone knows luke and i are already together, but we can figure all of that out. all of us. if you’re up for it.”
the wind pushes past them, shaking the wind chime she had hung from one of the trees close to the dock a few weeks before. she watches as the butterflies float back and forth in the breeze, bumping against the bells that hang beside them.
“i want to be with y/n,” jack announced, breaking the silence that had settled between the four of them, “but i’m not with either of you. like, if you try to cuddle with me, i’m going to hurt you.”
“obviously.”
“same.”
the other two hughes brothers chime in and she darts her eyes across all of them, a look of hope, a feeling of want spreading through her chest. she squeezes at luke’s hand before leaning forward just slightly, “so does this mean…”
“that you’re ours?” jack finishes the sentence with a small smirk on his lips. his hand reaches out and squeezes her ankle comfortingly.
her eyes settle on quinn who had been the most quiet during the proposal and she watches as he tilts his head back, letting the warm rays of the setting sun bean down onto his skin. he’s not looking at her when he says, “you’re sure that this is what you want, y/n?”
“she’s the one who brought it up to me,” luke chuckles from behind and her cheeks burn at his admission.
“alright,” the oldest hughes hums and tilts his head forward. unlike his brother, he has a soft smile on his lips as he patted his thigh. she’s not the least bit embarrassed by how easily she goes to him, though a little shocked at how quickly luke lets her be stolen by his brother. she’s easily situated in between quinn’s thighs and she spares a glance towards luke who’s watching with eyes that hold so much interest and so many questions. she lightly kicks at his ankle before quinn clears his throat, “looks like we have some details that we need to work out.”
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Ducks on Plaster- B. Barnes
pairings: bucky barnes x reader
warnings: injuries, reader does not have artistic abilities, i haven’t written bucky in so long, i am so so sorry if this is awful
about: request! (PF34) person a has a cast, and person b is doodling on it to cheer them up + (PK9) kissing scars, bruises, scratches, etc
notes: projecting. i can indeed only draw ducks and they come out damn well
“Okay. You know I’m not a very good artist,” you say forewarningly, glancing up at him for emphasis, “so I do ask that you lower your expectations starting now.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow at you, chin lifting to assess the damage, but you place your hand over your work; fat, wobbly lines peeking out from under your fingers like dark, plastically foreboding veins.
“I’m not done yet,” you protest.
“People usually warn how shaky the board is just before they tell you to walk the plank.”
You wrinkle your nose, going back to your drawing. Your lines are haloed with sharpie bleed, the tip of your marker dented with little plaster crumbs. You persevere, twirling it between your thumb and forefinger to make one wonky eye. “That’s not an expression I’ve heard before.”
“Doesn’t it get the point across, though?”
You contemplate it, trying to concentrate on ellipsing the circles. “I guess, yeah.”
“Because my analogies work.”
“Again, I guess,” you shrug. Carefully, because you’re overly focused on your loops.
“That’s what I told Sam. But he says they have to be relatable.” Bucky shakes his head and smacks his lips. “You don’t have to have searched for a needle in a haystack to know that it’s fuckin’ hard to find.”
You frown at your creation, lifting your sharpie off the plaster as if insulted and then dipping to the opposite end of the cast to draw a curvy flower with petals fat at their ends leading to a small source. The ink is fading and scratchy, but it’s objectively better than your first attempt at another edge, its start inky and confident, petals losing their roundness and symmetry until they gave away to a lousy lump trailing off.
Renewed, you finish your first masterpiece.
“That one looks good,” Bucky offers, referring to the flower. It’s groovy-style, practice showed. “No artist, my ass.”
“You’re not supposed to look yet,” you chide quietly, not looking up.
“It’s right in front of me,” he reasons, but he looks away and flops down onto the bed, lifting his head to observe the focus lining your features, the tip of your tongue peeking out at the corner of your lips.
“It’ll be worth it,” you insist passively.
“Sure.” Bucky knows this very well. Likewise, you know very well how impatient Bucky is. “But I want to see.”
You roll your eyes, a canine pinning your lip from curving into a smile. You pull back with satisfied drama, making a show of pushing the cap back on the marker. You twirl it between your fingers, missing the second twist and making it fly to your side. “Done.” You dip down and press a kiss right above your little cartoon. “You can look.”
Bucky sits up, leaning over his arm to get a good look. An eyebrow goes up, its sharpness rounded by the blue that meets your eyes. “It’s a duck.”
He’s correct. A huge beak erupts from a bowling pin, prickly stalks shooting out from the bottom. “It's a duck,” you repeat, a lot more enthused about it. Your index taps rapidly against it. “Isn’t it cute? It’s the only thing I can draw.” You trace the petaled headband it flaunts. “It has a flower hat,” you say excitedly, nose wrinkling with pride. You glance at it once more. “A flower hat. I didn’t have any colors, but I figure, it’s fun. You can fill it in when you’re bored.”
Bucky nods. “I like it.”
“Of course you like it,” you say axiomatically. “It’s a duck with a flower hat. Look, he’s so happy.”
Bucky complies, amused lines at the pinches of his eyes visible from your angle. There are no delighted wrinkles that indicate it, but somehow he can see you’re right. The duck is happy. “It’s great,” he says, chiseled with a happy authenticity unlike him. Somehow, you pull all sorts of things he doesn’t expect from him.
“I can do a variety of costumes,” you continue, your voice an echo of a saleswoman’s, but you’re tendered with dulcet excitement, the twitch of your pen at his cast proof of how gladly gratuitous your service is. “Bunny ears, complete with the cotton-ball-tail, maid, with the little cap and feather duster, I can even do you!”
“How about we do that another time?” he requests, sitting up to hold your shoulders. His eyes are twinkling when you meet them, mind hazy with the sparkly trail his fingers leave as they drop down to your waist. “‘Cus you’ve been down there for so long and I only took time off to have you…” He pulls you toward him, and you go like a rag doll over his chest, not expecting his strength, never expecting his strength no matter how many times he shows it to you. “A little closer.”
You’re delighted, nuzzling your face into his shoulder the moment you land on his chest. You’re careful to not touch his injured leg as he settles you beside him. Like instinct, your chin gravitates to the nearest part of him, tilting a little to kiss the underside of his jaw. A bite of purple catches your attention, a grape-sized oval already haloed green.
“You have a bruise under your chin,” you tell him after a moment, a gentle thumb raising to graze it. The contact should hurt no matter how tenderly you do it, but it doesn’t. Nothing hurts with you. “How’d that happen?”
“Who can keep track?”
“Well, I’d like to,” you muse. He feels your nail hovering just above his adam’s apple when you lean up and press your kiss to his injury. It blooms everything but pain.
“Well, if that’s the way you’re doin’ it…”
You chuckle, another kiss laid at the corner of his lips. He’s sure you can taste the metal from a fresh cut, but if you do, you don’t mind, punctuating your point with another kiss now fully on his lips, your index turning his face toward you. He’s thrilled to oblige.
He refuses to let you pull away completely when you finally do, trailing after you to press another, softer kiss against you. It’s only to taste you one last time; as if he’d been too caught up in its nectar to prepare himself to say goodbye.
“Aren’t days off nice?” you beot.
“Can’t say no right now.”
You wrinkle your nose at him, bumping your nose against his cheekbone in retaliation. “Right now?”
He drags a thumb along a naked stretch of skin he finds under your sweater, grinning boyishly. “Especially right now,” he corrects.
You lean in closer, air pregnant with your implicit secrecy from the walls. He can feel your heart thrum from your proximity. “It was my duck, right?”
He can’t help but laugh, nodding earnestly into the crook of your neck. “I love you,” he tells you like he needs to. Totally unrelated but so sewn into everything that it’s a requirement to put into the world before he can do anything else. He nudges your nose with his, humoring you. ”Mhm. What else could it be?”
You crack through your theatrics, face breaking into a smile as you kiss him, thumbing a light crescent moon right beneath his right eye. He can already feel it heal with your glittering touch.
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes imagine#james bucky barnes#bucky barnes ff#bucky barnes x reader fluff#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes fanfic fluff#bucky barnes fanfiction fluff#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fic fluffy#bucky barnes fic fluff
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Aquamarine Heart
Pairing: Sam Sweetly/Zoey Chambers (Sweetbers)
Words: 4,334
Ao3
The first time Sam saw Zoey, she was onstage at the Starlight Theater. He’s still not sure how the Hatchetfield Community Players raised the money to rent the Starlight for their production of Wizard of Oz. He saw Zoey on that stage, wearing that blue and white gingham pinafore with her dark hair braided into plaits hanging over her shoulders, and was immediately captivated. By the end of Somewhere Over the Rainbow, he was completely gone. Like a sailor gone overboard at the sound of a siren’s song.
After the show, as the actors came into the lobby to meet and chat with the spectators, Sam found himself searching for dark hair. He glanced at the program again, trying to commit her name to memory. Zoey Chambers. She’s the last one to emerge and, as she does, the entire lobby bursts into rapturous applause. Sam’s hands ached from how hard he clapped. Zoey carried herself like a star, smiling coyly as she waved to everyone. Her kaleidoscopic eyes, bright green that seemed to turn blue at the edge of her irises and are flecked with gold, scanned the room before landing on Sam.
He could have sworn her smile stole the air straight from his lungs.
Oddly enough, no one approaches her, despite her status as the lead. Sam glances around curiously before walking up to her. “Zoey, right?”
“Yeah.” Her smile drops as her expression shifts to neutral, almost bored.
He wants to bring that smile back. “You were amazing,” he tells her, voice sincere. “Probably the best I’ve ever seen on that stage.”
The corners of her mouth twitch, but she doesn’t smile. “Thanks, I guess. You should probably go though, before your girlfriend comes over and attacks me for ‘trying to steal you’.” She makes air quotes with her fingers as she rolls her eyes.
“Oh, no, I’m alone. Here, at least,” he clarifies, “My wife isn’t a fan of stage productions. I’ve never missed a musical at the Starlight though so…” he shrugs. “I came by myself.”
“That’s a shame.” Ever so slightly, the corners of her mouth curl up. “Theater is about making a connection to your audience.” As if to illustrate her point, she reaches a hand out and rests it flat against Sam’s chest. “If someone is afraid of that kind of connection, well… I feel sorry for them.” Then it happens: a genuine smile. “What’s your name?”
He could happily drown in that smile. “Sam. Sam Sweetly.”
“I think I’ll be seeing a lot more of you, Sam.” She draws her hand back before walking over to one of the other cast members.
Sam watches her go, trying to ignore the emptiness that seems to spread from the spot where her hand rested.
- - -
The next time their paths cross isn’t at the theater, or even at the rec center where the Hatchetfield Community Players usually hold their shows. Instead, it’s at Beanies, objectively the worst coffee shop in town. However, it is also the closest to the precinct. Sam walks in one day in uniform and joins the line, foot tapping impatiently. When he reaches the counter, he finds himself facing those enchanting eyes that have featured in so many of his dreams as of late.
“Welcome to Beanies,” Zoey greets flatly. Her nails tap against the counter. “May I help you?”
Sam pulls off his aviators as he smiles at her. “A large caramel macchiato, please, Dorothy,” he requests.
She rolls her eyes. “My na-” she cuts off, blinking slightly. She stares at Sam’s face for a moment before her eyes dart to his last name on his badge. “Oh, you were at the show.” The annoyance seems to seep out of her body as she rings him up. “Sss… I know it starts with an S,” she laughs slightly, “That’ll be 4.95.”
“Sam,” he informs her again as he pulls out his wallet. He hands her a five and slips a twenty in the tip jar. Her eyes track the bill as it’s dropped into the jar.
“Alright, Sam, I’ll have that up for you shortly.” She smiles.
Warmth blossoms in his chest and he debates telling her to scratch the coffee.
A few minutes later, Zoey’s handing him a nondescript white paper cup with a cardboard ring holder around the middle. “Have a good day, Sam.”
“You too, Zoey.” Their fingers brush as he takes the cup. He turns to head to the door, adjusting the cup in his hand. A flash of color catches his attention. He stops, rotating the cup until he finds the cause: a berry colored kiss mark that’s a stark contrast to the white of the cup. Written beside it is a phone number. His breath catches as he turns to look back at Zoey.
After a few seconds, she looks up from the register. Catching his eye, she smiles again as she winks before her lips, painted the color of the mark on his cup, mouth the words “text me.”
Sam doesn’t remember going back to the precinct. Sitting in his chair at his desk, he stares at the number. He probably has it memorized at this point. He picks up the cup and takes a sip of the coffee. It’s still hot, but not as hot as when he first got it. Setting the cup down, his fingers twitch. He starts to reach for his phone in his pocket before stopping.
What is he doing? Why is he even thinking about this? He’s married. He thinks about Charlotte, thinks about how distant she’s been lately, about the used condoms he’s found in the bathroom trash can that she swears have just been used on her toys, despite the obvious signs that someone else had been wearing them.
His phone feels heavy in his hand as he types Zoey’s number into a contact slot on his phone. Hesitating, he types Officer Gale into the name field.
---
Sam waits down at the beach close to sunset. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets as he wonders if he’s making the right choice. The sound of footsteps makes him look up. A soft gasp escapes him as all of his anxieties melt away.
The breeze coming off the water makes the knee-length skirt of Zoey’s dress ripple. The deep blue of the fabric reminds him of the waves of the lake. A gold circlet, decorated with delicate filigree leaves, rests atop her dark hair. The bell sleeves of her dress slip down to her elbow as she reaches an arm up to wave at him.
“Hey Zoey,” he greets, sounding breathless. God, when was the last time he felt like this?
She might as well be walking on air as she approaches him. “Hey Sam.” She smiles as she reaches out to take his hand. Easily, she laced her fingers through his before guiding him to start walking down the beach with her.
He follows her. What else can he do? They leave footprints in the sand as they walk down the shore, the only sound coming from the crashing of the waves.
Finally, Zoey stops walking. “I think you’re interesting, Sams,” she tells him. He could get lost in her eyes. It feels like he’s blinked and suddenly her sandals are off. Her phone sits atop one of them. She tilts her head almost expectantly as she releases his hand.
He slips off his shoes as well. Leaning down, he rolls up his jeans halfway up his shins before straightening up. His phone is left atop one of his shoes as well. He glances around to make sure there’s no sketchy figures lurking nearby.
Zoey’s smiles radiantly as she takes his hand again, leading him out to where the water kisses the sand. She giggles musically before stepping into the water, pulling Sam along with her. He indulges her, hissing when his feet hit the cold water. That just makes her laugh louder.
A few steps into the water, Zoey slips on something, sending her colliding into Sam. He catches her, taking a step back to steady himself. Instead, his foot slides across something smooth, sending him crashing back into the water. In his panic, he brings Zoey down on top of him.
“Fuck!” He shivers as water soaks through his clothes. He looks up to see Zoey giggling gleefully. He tries to smile, though it feels more like a grimace.
She folds her arms across his chest and grins down at him. His face flushes, warmth spreading through his body as he realizes the positions they’re in. His hands come up to her waist, but he doesn’t try moving her.
“I definitely want to see you again,” she decides. With another entrancing smile, she leans down to catch his lips in a kiss.
---
A month later, he and Zoey are sitting side-by-side in the Starlight Theater, getting ready to see the touring production of Wicked. Sam’s wearing a thin green sweater and black pants, the closest he’s ever gotten to dressing up thematically for a show. Zoey is on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, in a shimmery white top and a pink cardigan, paired with light-wash jeans and pink heels. Her eyelids sparkle in the dim lighting of the theater as she turns to look at him. “You excited?” she asks in a breathy whisper.
“Yeah,” he responds just as quietly. It’s hard to keep from grinning. “I think it’s the first time I haven’t come to see a show alone.”
Her expression shifts slightly at that. To what exactly, Sam can’t tell, especially as the lights get dimmer until they’re in darkness. He feels Zoey’s hand on his cheek as she guides him into a passionate kiss as the opening strains of No One Mourns the Wicked float from the pit.
After the show, they end up at Oakley Park, sitting in the swings, bathed in the glow of a lamp post. Zoey’s barefoot, her heels left on the floorboard of Sam’s car. They swing lazily as they sing through Popular together. Sam’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
Zoey trails off on the line she was singing on as she catches Sam’s eye. With a soft hum, she transitions into As Long as You’re Mine as she stands. The light from the lampposts cast her in an almost ethereal glow as she stands in front of him, like an angel. Once again, he feels like a sailor, standing on the bow of the ship, ready to take the dive, to follow this siren’s song all the way down.
The song seems to carry him to his feet as he begins singing. Zoey’s smile is radiant as he approaches her. He doesn’t understand why he’s so drawn to her, completely lost in the magic of her. He stops in front of her, hands coming up to cradle her waist as she joins back into the song. The lyrics pose a question as Sam sings, one that works both for the show and this situation. Zoey’s eyes glimmer as she sings the response. As usual, Sam can’t place the emotion.
After the final notes, Sam, following the script, asks, “What is it?”
A soft laugh escapes Zoey as she looks away coyly. “It’s just… for the first time…” She looks at him again. Her eyes smolder as she reaches up to cup his cheek. Sam leans into the touch. “I feel…” She pulls him into a kiss. Too soon, she breaks the kiss to finish the line, “...wicked.”
Sam doesn’t hesitate to kiss her again, some desperation behind it. One of his hands comes up to stroke her cheek, his wedding ring glinting slightly.
“Wanna go back to my place?” Zoey asks with a small grin, like she already knows the answer. Of course she does.
Sam nods, feeling dazed. As he turns to begin walking back to the car, he feels Zoey’s hands on his shoulders. She pulls herself up with a small jump and his arms immediately shift to catch her thighs, easily carrying her on his back. Her musical laugh echoes as she drapes her arms over his shoulders, her hands clasping over his heart. She leans down to kiss his cheek, leaving a pretty pink kiss mark.
---
A few months later, Sam’s lounging on the couch in Zoey’s apartment. Her roommates are, thankfully, gone for the weekend, giving them free reign of the shared living spaces. The TV is on, but muted, showing some generic action movie. Sam’s not looking at it though. Instead, he watches Zoey in the kitchen, her hair pulled back and clipped up, showing off her pretty face.
“Take a picture, Sams, it’ll last longer,” she teases as she ties her apron. It’s black and white checkered with a red lace trim and it makes her look so domestic.
He grins, choosing to move from the couch to sit on one of the barstools in front of the counter so he can watch her as she bakes. “No can do,” he chuckles as she begins gathering the ingredients for whatever it is she’s going to bake today. Secretly, he hopes it’s muffins. “ ‘The best part of beauty is that which no picture can express.’ ”
Freezing, Zoey blinks slowly before looking over at him. “... did you just quote Francis Bacon at me?” she asks, lips curling up into a smile of disbelief.
“Maybe.” He shrugs before smiling. “Yes. I like reading about philosophy sometimes, is that so surprising?”
“Being you’re a cop in a small town? Yes it is.” Zoey smirks before she goes back to measuring out ingredients.
Sam deflates slightly at that. “Yeah? Well, this isn’t exactly where I wanted to end up in life, y’know.”
She doesn’t ask and he doesn’t try to fish for her interest. Instead, he just watches her measure and mix until she’s pouring the prepared batter into muffin tins. His fingers drum against the counter. “Any quotes or sayings you’re fond of?” he finally asks.
Zoey slides the loaded tins into the oven before looking back at Sam. “There’s a Caitlyn Siehl thing I like,” she replies, her tone almost dismissive. “You’ll have to look it up yourself though.”
Before he can protest that that’s not nearly enough information to go off of, Zoey’s sliding the bowl that held the batter in front of him. She leans over the counter, smirking at him as she licks the batter off the spoon. Shaking his head, he swipes a finger through the remnants on the inside of the bowl.
“Wanna watch something?” Zoey finally asks. “Hailey stays logged into her Disney Plus on the TV. I’d be down for some Hercules or Little Mermaid.”
“Mulan out of the question?” Sam asks before pushing the bowl away.
“It’s not if it’s the animated one.” Zoey moves the bowl to the sink. She runs some hot water into it and drops the spoon in as well.
Soon, they’re on the couch, Sam listening to Zoey sing along to Part of Your World. He kisses her temple.
---
Sam follows Charlotte as they walk out of their counselor’s office. Another pointless session. Another meeting of pretending he can’t see the flirty looks the counselor and Charlotte keep shooting back and forth when they think he’s not looking. His entire body feels heavy. He doesn’t feel like this with Zoey. He feels lighter than air with her.
Silently, he slides into the passenger seat of Charlotte’s yellow Beetle. Soon, they’re driving down Main. Sam stares out of the passenger window. There’s no music playing. “Do you want to get dinner?” Charlotte suggests, her voice timid. He hates that, hates knowing she does it to make him feel guilty, even when he’s done nothing wrong.
“Sure,” he agrees with a shrug. “You pick where.”
That’s how he finds himself in a booth at Red Robin, fiddling with a straw wrapper. In between them sits a half eaten basket of fried pickles. They’re not looking at each other. Why would they be?
He glances up at Charlotte. She’s looking away. He follows her gaze, frowning when he sees where it’s aimed. He sees Ted Spankoffski’s stupid face with a couple of the other guys Charlotte works with. He clenches his jaw slightly. “You wanna go say hi?”
“Oh!” Charlotte flushes, shifting awkwardly in her seat. “Well, I mean, it would be rude not to, wouldn’t it?” She gives Sam a tiny smile before sliding out of the booth. She scurries across the restaurant. Sam watches Ted’s expression when he sees Charlotte walk up.
He tears his eyes away as he pulls out his wallet. Fishing out the cash to pay for the appetizer, their drinks, and to cover tip, he tosses the bills on the table. As he walks out of the restaurant, he shoots Charlotte a text: Don’t feel good. Heading home. Have fun.
It’s not a terribly long walk home, maybe twenty minutes. He stretches it out longer, stopping to grab an ice cream cone. By the time he gets home, it’s been half an hour. Not wanting to check his phone yet, he takes a shower.
When he finally summons the courage to check his phone, it’s been 45 minutes since he left the restaurant.
No new message from Charlotte. There’s one from Zoey though.
He opens the text, reading it eagerly. He grins. He can practically feel the dejection leaving his body. As fast as he can, he gets dressed again. He checks his pockets to make sure he has everything before snatching his car keys from the bowl by the door.
He sends Charlotte another text: Got called into work. Be home in the morning.
By the time he makes it to Zoey’s apartment, Charlotte still hasn’t responded to either of his texts.
---
“So your Mima was the first woman to swim the Nantucket Channel?” Sam asks as he looks at the display. It’s almost closing time at the Hatchetfield Historical Society’s small museum, which means there’s almost no one around. Which means it’s a perfect place for him and Zoey to be out and about together.
It’s been almost half a year since they met. Sam doesn’t quite know how to explain it, but it makes him feel new, in an odd sort of way. He feels happier, all around.
“Huh?” Zoey glances up from her phone before slipping it into her pocket. “Yeah. Not really a big deal though, we have boats and shit now.”
He chuckles before pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “You ready to get out of here?” he asks knowingly. His arm wraps around her waist. She leans into him. “The drive-in is showing Phantom of the Opera.”
Her eyes shimmer as if they hold galaxies’ worth of stars. “You got tickets already?” she asks as she begins to steer them towards the door.
“Got ‘em as soon as they went on sale, babe,” Sam informs her happily. He kisses her temple again, unable to help himself.
Soon, they’re cuddled in the backseat of Sam’s car, a bucket of popcorn perched on Zoey’s lap. “So romantic of you to bring out your actual car and not the cruiser,” Zoey teases as she playfully tosses a piece of popcorn at him.
He catches it easily, grinning broadly. The music from the previews float through the car’s speakers as they wait for the actual movie to start. “Only the best for you, babe,” he promises. He watches her dreamily as she takes a sip from her drink.
“...why are you looking at me like that?” Zoey asks when she finally notices him.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re in love with me or some shit.” She sets down her drink and makes herself comfortable leaning against his chest.
His smile softens. “What if I am?”
“Then you’re stupid.” She looks up at him before pressing a kiss to his throat. “Why would you love me?’
“Why wouldn’t I?” Sam says. “You-”
Just as he goes to speak, the opening strains of the movie begin drifting through speakers. Zoey shushes him with a kiss before focusing on the screen through the windshield. Sam kisses the top of her head.
---
Nearly a year after they first met, Zoey and Sam are back on the beach, walking along the water. Except this time, a shimmering golden dress adorns Zoey’s figure. She looks like a star. She is a star.
Sam squeezes her hand as they walk. In his other hand, he carries a picnic basket. He keeps looking at her, completely captivated by her beauty. She glows in the setting sun, the fine glitter on her dress only adding to the angelic vision.
“I love you,” Sam tells her, not for the first time.
A knowing smile crosses her lips. “I know. Thank you.”
She doesn’t say it back. He doesn’t blame her. Why would she? He’s still married, has made no promises of leaving his wife. Why should she believe he really loves her?
“This looks like a good spot,” she comments as she gently pulls her hand away from his.
Together, they lay out a blanket on the sand. From there, they lay out the food and drinks they brought with them, including a bottle of wine. Sam carefully opens the bottle before pouring them both a cup. They drink, laugh, and snack. As the sun gets lower in the sky, Sam lights a few candles he brought with them.
Zoey looks even more ethereal by candlelight.
“-and I said…” Zoey trails off as she reaches into the picnic basket. Confusion overtakes her features as she pulls out a small gift bag. “Sams, what is this?”
“Why don’t you open it and find out?” He suggests, hiding his smile by taking a sip of wine.
Looking even more confused, Zoey gingerly reaches into the bag and pulls out a thin, rectangular white box. She flips it open, her jaw dropping slightly. “Sam!”
“Do you like it?” He asks, resting a hand comfortingly on her leg.
“I love it, but why…” She lifts the necklace from its inlay. The small aquamarine heart gleams in the lowlight. “Why this stone?”
Sam chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s my birthstone,” he admits quietly.
Zoey stares at him for a long moment, her expression indiscernible. She reaches out, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. She pulls him in for a kiss. “Why did you get it for me?” she asks, her hand still clenched in the fabric of his top.
“Just wanted you to have a reminder I love you. No matter what.” Carefully, he takes the necklace from her. Diligently, he places the necklace on her, fastening it at the base of her neck.
---
Sam has the next day off work. He takes his time getting dressed for the day, basking in the events of last night. Charlotte has work and he has all day to spend with Zoey, as soon as she gets off work. He sends her a good morning text. Before he can even set his phone down, he gets a response: This number is no longer in service.
Weird. Maybe she wasn’t able to pay her phone bill. She’ll usually ask for help before it actually gets turned off though. He shrugs as he stands, sliding his phone into his pocket. He’ll ask her about it when he sees her.
He makes it to Beanie’s, yet there’s no flirty smile or brilliant eyes to greet him. He falters in the doorway. Maybe he got her schedule mixed up. Maybe she’s actually off today too. He turns around and heads back to his car.
His hand shakes as he pulls open the driver’s door.
A quick drive later, he’s parking on the street outside Zoey’s building. He manages not to sprint to her door before knocking loudly.
It takes a few moments but the door finally swings open to reveal Hailey. “Oh, hey Sam.” She gives a perplexed frown. “Give me a second.”
Sam relaxes though his brow furrows when the door closes. He takes a deep breath then a second one.
The door opens again and Hailey holds out an envelope. “Zoey left this for you.”
“What do you mean she left it for me?” He asks. Trembling, he takes the envelope. That’s Zoey’s handwriting for sure.
“Oh, you don’t-” Hailey’s eyes widened. “She, uh, left early this morning. To move to New York.” She grimaces slightly before quickly closing the door again. Sam hears the lock and deadbolt turn.
Sam isn’t sure how he makes it back down to his car. Dazed, he sits in the driver’s seat and puts on a random playlist before opening the envelope. Swallowing thickly, he unfolds the letter.
Hey Sams,
“Do not fall in love with people like me. I will take you to museums and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth. I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. And when I leave you will finally understand why storms are named after people.” -Caitlyn Siehl
That’s the quote I was talking about months ago. I doubt you ever looked it up, since you kept things going with me.
It was fun, but nothing lasts forever. I sure as hell wasn’t about to stay in Hatchetfield. Maybe you’ll see me on the big stage someday. At least I still have your heart to remember you by.
XOXO,
Zoey
Next to her signature, there’s a berry colored kiss mark.
Sam feels the tears running down his face. A solitary tear rolls off the tip of his nose, landing squarely on one of the Xs.
The song playing fades out. A haunting, familiar melody takes its place. Sam recognizes it. Of course he does. He and Zoey sang it together.
As Long As You’re Mine.
#sam sweetly#zoey chambers#sweetbers#hatchetfield universe#tgwdlm#black friday#nightmare time#fanfic#angst
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(Small thing about Anakin: I’m playing him as Autistic and ADHD because I’m me and I can, plus he clearly is. I’m just building that out more for my portrayal. He fidgets. A lot. And if he can’t fidget with his hands, he’s fidgeting with the Force(I.e. levitating small objects like wrenches and spanners and spinning them around like fidget spinners, pushing and pulling small things, etc.) This usually happens either when he’s bored and being forced to sit still, or when he’s working through a problem that frustrates him. If he’s stimming while nervous, that usually involves foot tapping, crossing his arms, fidgeting with the hems of his sleeves, avoiding eye contact, and/or tapping fingers. He hates gritty, grainy, rough textures (like sand), and cannot stand bland and/or mushy food. It has to be hella spicy, salty, or savory. He’ll tolerate sweet stuff as long as it isn’t just pure sugar, hates sweet-sour with a burning passion, and loves salty-sour/briney (like pickles). He would probably be addicted to caf (coffee) if he could find away to cut out the bitterness without making it incredibly sweet. There’s probably more, but this is all I can think of right now.)
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Long Time Coming
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader
Word Count: 6,664
Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch, Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, Reader has a few one night stands, Semi-public sex, Unprotected sex, Blow jobs/Face fucking, Hairpulling, Fingering, Praise and degradation, Dirty talk, Accidental reveal of feelings, TW blood/cut
Summary: You have been in lust (and love) with Aaron for a while, but his new look sends you off the deep end, and it's enough to make you do some pretty crazy things. *Inspired by @ssamorganhotchner and these three pics.
Link to A03 or read below!
You are fresh off yet another unsuccessful first date when Aaron wears the new suit. You, Emily, JJ, and Penelope are standing by the coffee maker, complaining about the pitfalls of online dating and how people are never they way they seem when you actually meet in person; you have the carafe in your hand, filling your mug, and when he walks in, face in a case file, his pants so tight you can make out his hips and thighs as clearly as if he were naked… You kind of lose your shit. And your grip.
The carafe shatters when it hits the tile floor, spraying shards of glass and hot coffee everywhere; Emily gasps, Penelope jumps back to avoid the splatter, JJ runs for a broom, and you just stand there, staring at Aaron—at his tight slacks, at his belt, at his shirt, tucked neatly inside, then at his dangling tie, and finally, his worried face.
“Are you alright?” he asks, because you have literally not moved a muscle since he arrived; your boots are covered in coffee—you are thankful you dressed casually today and aren’t wearing heels, or you’d be in a lot of pain—and your heart is racing, but otherwise you feel frozen, unable to move or look away.
You’ve wanted Aaron for a long time, and everyone knows it but him. It’s part of the reason you’re smothering yourself with online hookups and blind dates and one night stands: because he is off limits, and you’re desperately horny for him, and you need to have him fucked out of your mind one way or another.
The new suit further complicates things.
“Fine,” you say after a few more seconds, and JJ comes back with the broom and dustpan, so you bend down to help her clean up your mess. It wasn’t your brightest idea, because you are now at eye level with the tight crotch of his pants, and all you can think of is working the zipper open, pulling him carefully past the fly, sucking him off until those big hands slip into your hair and tug roughly when he comes.
God. You’re going to have to go on another bad date. Or ten.
“New suit?” Penelope asks conversationally, as if you aren’t having a sexual crisis about it three feet away. “Looks good, boss.” Aaron runs his hand down his body self-consciously, but all you see are thick fingers and stomach and hnnngg…
JJ pinches the back of your arm hard, makes a face that screams get it together!!, and you take a deep breath.
“I took some of my old ones in for alterations and the salesman convinced me they were severely outdated. Do you like this style better?”
For some reason, it feels like he’s looking right at you, and you nod, dreamy-eyed, sweep your tongue over your lips.
“Better,” you rasp, and Emily and Penelope agree, probably to take the emphasis off of your slack mouth and dopey one-word answers. You try to help JJ clean up, picking up the larger pieces of glass and dropping them into the dustpan despite her protests—because you are very unfocused, shouldn’t be messing with sharp objects—and when you cut your finger on a piece, she just sighs. Such a mom.
You wince, and Aaron frowns, comes toward you, putting you not only at dick height, but a manageable dick distance, if you were so inclined; really, it’s more if he were so inclined, because you are actually fully prepared to swallow his load right here in front of your friends—all he’d have to do would be snap his fingers and point to his crotch, and the FBI would be suing you for mental distress and using the money to pay for therapy for Emily, Penelope, and JJ.
“Let’s get this cleaned up,” he says, snapping you out of your very elaborate fantasy (typically your fantasies don’t involve court costs, but this is Aaron, so anything is possible.) He wraps his hand around your injured finger and pulls you up to standing with the other, and you just follow along as he leads you over to the sink, turns on the tap to let the water run over your cut. The way you’re looking up at him like he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen has to be painfully obvious, but he just reaches over for the first aid kit, takes out a bandage, and wraps it carefully around the tip of your finger. You sigh.
It may have started out as lust, but you’re pretty sure you’re also in love.
You have got to find a way to get him to notice you as more than just an agent, a teammate, a friend, and so: Operation ‘Get Hotch Out Of His Tight Pants’ begins.
You fill the girls in on your master plan, and they fill in Derek and Spencer just so there are more people to laugh at you when you crash and burn, probably. But you’ve got a plan, will be pulling out all the stops, so you might not fail horribly after all. Hopefully.
God, you absolutely cannot fail. You can’t go out with another software engineer with the personality of a peanut or another investment banker who thinks buying you an appetizer means you owe him a blow job in the front seat of his Tesla. You will go fucking insane.
Today’s plan is T for tits, because yours are pretty awesome and almost no one who is attracted to women can resist them. You wear your usual white button down top, but you leave the top two buttons undone, and you add a red, lacy bra for a little additional temptation.
“Here are those consults you asked for,” you say after knocking lightly on the doorframe; Aaron waves you inside. You set them down on his desk, then glance over the open folder in front of him, make a curious noise. “What are you working on up here?”
You walk around his desk, so you’re standing next to him, and lean forward to look over the case file with one hand on the back of his chair and the other pressed against the desk. If he would look over, he would see right down your top, your breasts high and smushed together thanks to the lacy push up… but he looks straight down at the file, taps his pen against it.
“Murders in Detroit. I don’t think we’ll go—they look like mob hits to me, so I’m going to refer the case to Organized Crime.” You hum, turn the file toward you and lean in a little closer, letting your hair spill over your shoulder, the neck of your blouse fall open. Boobs and perfume are usually a one-two punch that is capable of bringing any man to his knees, and while he does turn to look at you, it feels entirely too respectful for your liking. You sigh softly, give up for today, and turn the file back.
“Well you know best, boss. Any time I don’t have to go to Detroit is alright by me.” You flash him a smile, and he reciprocates, and you head back downstairs for a cup of coffee and maybe a stale shame pastry.
The team looks up at you when you approach, and you shake your head.
“No luck,” you mutter, and Derek laughs, crosses his arms over his chest.
“Maybe you’re not very good at flirting. What did you do?” You roll your eyes—your flirting is not the problem, it’s Aaron’s morals and manners or whatever—and walk over to Spencer’s desk, demonstrate with him what you did to Aaron; you put your hand on the back of his chair, toss your hair over your shoulder, lean in, and Spencer swallows hard, licks his lips, and looks abruptly down at his hands. That reaction, you would have gladly taken.
Derek clears his throat, and so does Emily. Hmm.
“I’m good at flirting,” you say, straightening up; Spencer is blushing, and it’s super cute, so you pat him lightly on the head. “Maybe he’s an ass man. I’ll wear a skirt tomorrow and we’ll see if that gets the job done.”
“Good idea,” Derek says, and when you walk past him, he gives you a once over that makes you feel pretty damn good. “In the meantime, why don’t you come and demonstrate on me?”
There’s no denying he is one of the finest men you’ve ever seen in your life, and earlier on in your career you might have taken him up on it—it would have to be better than Marty McTesla, that’s a given—but you know he’s mostly teasing, even if there is a thin layer of actual desire beneath it all. You just fluff your hair and take your seat and mentally flip through your closet to try to come up with an outfit Aaron can’t refuse.
You decide on a pencil skirt, because that’s got to be every boss's fantasy, right? You have one you never wear to the office because it’s a little sexy, tight on your hips and ass, with a zipper up the back that you can open a little and use to your advantage. When you walk into the bullpen that morning, JJ whistles, and you grin, do a little twirl.
“Thank you, thank you. This has to work, right?” You turn to face Emily, then turn away from Emily, butt right in her face. “Emily? This will work, right?”
“That’s... definitely going to work,” she murmurs, tapping the cap of her pen against her teeth, and you have to admit you have a good feeling about this one. For as great as breasts are, your ass is your best asset, and if the open top and red bra didn’t work, this has to be your ticket to some sweet, dirty loving, it just has to.
You all head up for the morning meeting, filing into the briefing room, and you give Aaron a soft greeting and a smile just like every day, and then offer to help him pass out whatever stack of papers he’s holding in his hands—fire drills and emergency protocol, or something boring like that. He accepts the help, and you take the fliers, but instead of walking around and handing them to each member of the team like he would, you bend over the table, reach across, and drop the pages in front of everyone.
JJ is the furthest away, and you practically have to climb onto the table to reach her; you grin and wink when she takes the papers out of your hand, and she shakes her head like you’re too much, but when you stand back up to hand Aaron the extras, he doesn’t seem the slightest bit interested.
He thanks you for your help, and you take your seat and listen to him go on about emergency exits and fire extinguishers and seriously start to contemplate moving to Europe to start a new life, or something else equally dramatic.
Because you don’t give up easily, you orchestrate one more attempt to get him to show some interest in you. You know he usually goes downstairs to the cafeteria for lunch, and that the elevator is a jam-packed nightmare because the main stairwell is currently under construction (which is probably why you needed to go over safety protocol, now that you think about it; shutting down the stairwell seems very unsafe.) You usually pack your lunch, but you can go buy an overpriced salad for the sake of your sex drive, so you wait for the elevator when he does, making small talk about your mornings until it dings and arrives on your floor.
He tries to let you in first, gentleman that he is, but that won’t work with your plan, so you insist, earning eye rolls from the other passengers on the elevator. You give Amy from Forensic Accounting a dirty look and then step in after him, lean back against him because there’s really no fucking room to even take a breath.
He’s taller than you, but with heels on your ass still fits pretty nicely against his thighs; a little too nicely, you think, as you get wet just from standing near him in the elevator, the heat of his body through your skirt. You really are a mess.
There are two more floors to go before the cafeteria, and no one gets off, but more people manage to cram into the elevator, which means you press more tightly against him to make room. Someone bumps into you roughly, which makes you unsteady on your feet; Aaron puts his hands low on your hips to keep you from wobbling, and your eyes literally roll back in your head, but he just leans in to mutter, “sorry” into your ear. You say nothing, because you’d probably moan if you opened your mouth, but you shake your head so he knows it’s not a problem.
When everyone gets off downstairs, you hurry to the restroom and don’t look back, turn on the faucet and splash some cold water against your overheated neck and chest. So much for that plan. All you managed to do was work yourself up into a fury.
While you’re in line to pay for your overpriced salad, you open up your dating app and secure yourself drinks with a hot lawyer for tonight. Seduction is clearly not working with Aaron, he’s clearly not interested, and you have to find a way to move on before you have a spontaneous workplace orgasm and get fired from the job you love—all of his tight new suits have been dark so far, but if he shows up in gray, you’re not going to have the will to survive anymore. You have to plan for the worst.
The lawyer is nice enough, but he’s too short, too thin; it’s hard to imagine Aaron’s body weight on top of you when he’s fucking you, but you’re nothing if not resourceful, so you move your hands to his head of thick, dark hair and focus on that—that, and his hot breath against your throat when he comes a little too soon and mutters “sorry” into your ear.
“It’s okay,” you pant, reaching between you to rub your clit. You close your eyes, tip your head back, clench around him; you imagine it’s Aaron inside you instead, and bury your face in his shoulder when you come.
He’s willing to stay, but you explain why it’s better if he leaves, and then you fall back into bed, fumble for your vibrator, and get off again so you’re not too distracted by reality to really enjoy your fantasy.
It’s a little twisted, but it is what it is.
You’re standing in the breakroom a few days later, swiping through the dating app and bullshitting with Derek and Penelope, when this guy pops up on your screen. He’s not your usual type, younger and blonder than you prefer these days, a pilot, but something about his profile makes you pause; when it hits you, you blow out a breath and look up at your friends.
“So you guys know Operation ‘Get Hotch Out Of His Tight Pants’ is officially dead in the water,” you begin, and they nod, “and now I’m focusing my energy on trying to get over him. I went on a date with a guy that kind of looked like him, and that didn’t really help, but what if…” You turn your screen to face them; Derek nods like it might be crazy enough to work, but Penelope grimaces.
“No, I don’t think that’s going to work. It might actually be crossing a line,” she says with a frown, and you look to Derek for his input.
“It’s more of a coincidence than anything, right? It’s not like he’s unattractive and this is the only reason you’re going out with him. He’s a good looking guy,” he admits, and you’re really grateful he’s willing to help you rationalize this probably terrible idea into a potentially decent idea.
You send the pilot a message, and he wants to meet up; he suggests a bar near the both of you, and you know it’s risky, but you tell him you happen to make a great gin and tonic and that you have everything you need at home, if he’d like to meet you there instead.
He does, and you don’t even make him that drink, just take off his clothes, get him into your bed.
“That’s right, babe—wanna hear you lose it for me. Say my name, gorgeous,” he groans, fingers digging into your hips as he fucks you from behind, and you close your eyes, fist your hands in the sheets, and give him what he wants.
“Oh, fuck, Aaron. Fuck me harder.” His thrusts are already rough and punishing, but this is the best you’ve felt in a really long time, so you’re eager, desperate for more. “Yeah, Aaron, just like that.”
“Tell me my big cock feels so good in your pussy.” He slaps your ass, and you moan involuntarily, press back against him, panting.
“Your big cock feels so good, Aaron, so good in my pussy. Fuck me, Aaron, destroy me.” He grunts, tenses, and moves his hands to your shoulders, slamming your body tight against his as he comes. “Yes, don’t stop, Aaron, don’t stop,” you plead, hips working together, and when he smacks your ass again you come gasping his name, collapsing against the bed with a breathless sigh.
You feel a lot dirtier than you expected you would, even though it was kind of awesome, and ultimately Penelope was right; it was fun while it lasted, but it didn’t do a damn thing to help you forget about the only Aaron you actually want in your bed.
Monday morning, Aaron comes into the office wearing a tight navy suit with a striped white shirt and a navy tie, and you follow him with your eyes from the glass double doors all the way up to his office, mouth open a little. Your eyes get heavy and your breathing picks up, which is the dumbest biological reaction to a man’s ass you’ve ever had—but god, it’s a perfect ass—and JJ has to actually lightly slap your cheek to get you to snap the fuck out of it.
“Are you horny right now?” she asks, a little grossed out. “I can’t handle you.”
“I know you guys all call him a tightass, but I mean, if the pants fit… and god, do they fit.” You pick up a case file and fan yourself with it. “He’s so fucking hot. What am I supposed to do? Getting railed by fake Aaron didn’t do shit; I think I might actually have to transfer.”
“You’re not transferring. You just have to get over it.”
“Are you kidding? She’s like a cat in heat when he’s around,” Derek says with a smirk. “I think I’m getting horny just because she’s horny.”
“Okay, so why can’t I have that effect on him?” you ask with your arms open. “Do you think it’s the pheromones? Maybe they’re incompatible. Smell me—does it turn you on?” you ask Spencer, presenting your neck, and he looks like a deer in the headlights, then leans in to sniff you.
“Uh… you smell nice?” he says with a shrug and a half smile. “I think it’s just your perfume, though.”
“Put your face near her boobs,” Derek says, and Spencer starts to lean in again. “I think the pheromones are stronger there.” He pauses about halfway to your chest.
“Actually, they’re stronger near the genitals, but I don’t think that’s appropriate.”
“What’s going on down there?” You freeze and then turn to look up at Aaron’s office, where he leans against the doorframe; Spencer stands up comically fast, and you take a step back, clearing your throat. Aaron’s scowling—it’s really sexy and it’s making your heart beat in your stupid, traitor pussy—and then he sighs visibly. “We have a case, come on.”
The case is only a half hour away, so you drive, which is horrible, because you are with Aaron and Derek, and Derek lets you sit in the front just to watch you squirm.
It gets bad before you even pull out of the parking garage, because Aaron puts his hand on the back of your headrest to look behind him and reverse the SUV, and you look over at his body—his stomach, his lap, his thighs—and then quickly face forward when he puts the car into drive. You’re flushed, breathing heavily, and when he looks you over quizzically, asks if you’re alright, you just clear your throat and nod.
“Allergies,” Derek supplies from the back, and you mentally thank him for the save, but you kind of also want to smack him for putting you in this position in the first place.
You’re practically turned on the entire ride, even as you go over the details of the case, because his legs are spread and your eyes keep moving to his crotch; at one point, you think you notice his already unfairly tight pants getting a little tighter, but it’s just a trick of light.
By the time you arrive at the precinct, you are more than ready for fresh air, to put some distance between yourself and Aaron. You’re out of the car almost as soon as he turns off the engine, which probably looks weird as hell, but for your sanity you can’t give it too much thought.
The head detective and a junior detective give you a run down on the case while the other half of your team meets with officers at the crime scene. The head detective, a tall, handsome man in his forties, is looking at you like you’re a juicy steak and he hasn’t eaten in months; Derek notices, turns to you with a raised eyebrow and mouths ‘pheromones,’ Aaron is clearly unhappy about the detective’s lack of professionalism, and you couldn’t really care less about the attention. You just want to do your job and go home and touch yourself to thoughts of your boss… as one does.
The local police already have a board made up, so the three of you travel to speak with some witnesses, head back to the precinct, work the tip lines. Aaron seems to be looking at you more than usual, and when you get up to stretch your legs, he’s right behind you, following you out into the hall.
“Are you sure you're alright today?” he asks with a serious expression, hands on his hips. Your mouth waters. “You’ve been acting a little strange.”
“Stranger than normal?” You try to smile, to lighten the mood, but as oblivious as he’s been about everything else, he’s always been able to tell when you try to hide your emotions with humor.
“The last couple weeks? Yes.” He moves a little closer, and you try your best not to let it affect you—or at least not to let it show when it does. “You know by now that you can come to me anytime, for anything.” He doesn’t present it as a question, but it’s clear on his face that he’s looking for an answer.
“I know. I’m going through something… stupid,” you say with a shrug. “Something I should be able to handle, but it’s harder than I imagined.” He frowns, flicks his eyes over your face.
“Let me help you.”
“You can’t; trust me, you can’t,” you say, pleading with your voice, begging him to drop it. “I’ll get through it.” You shut your eyes briefly, exhale, and he reaches down to take one of your hands in his.
“Are you in trouble?” This is the most intimately he’s ever touched you, and it’s not just your body that sings; you know you’re in love with him, have been for a while, but focusing on the horny feelings is easier. It makes it feel like you have less to lose.
“No, it’s nothing like that. I just need some time. Thank you.” You squeeze his hand, and then Derek pokes his head into the hall behind him.
“We got a tip about the unsub barricading a house downtown; the detective is mobilizing SWAT,” he says; when he glances down at your hands, you pull yours softly out of Aaron’s grasp.
“What do you want us to do, boss?” you ask, effectively ending your conversation, and he tells you to get suited up with comms and Kevlar so the three of you can head to the new scene.
Aaron is, unsurprisingly, a complete badass, storming the house along with SWAT, you at his side; it’s his way of reminding you that he trusts you, that it can and should go both ways—he is so perfectly predictable, reassuring with gestures over words even in a situation like this one. It does nothing to help you stop wanting him.
He’s a little rough with the unsub (and that doesn’t help either,) looks ruffled and kind of pissed when you climb in the SUV to head back to the precinct. Spencer, JJ, and Emily meet you there, and you take the opportunity to vent about how indescribably good Aaron has looked all day—Spencer bows out of the conversation early, but JJ and Emily are kind enough to listen to your insane, horny ramblings.
“He’s just so hot—he always has been, but the new suits? They’re so tight, and his shirts show off his tummy, and his pants show off his thighs… You guys will never understand the things I want to do to him.”
“Okay, he’s handsome enough, but you’re nasty about it—I can’t handle you,” JJ says, not for the first time. You groan in response.
“How can you say that? Have you fucking seen him? I’m not supposed to think nasty thoughts when he walks around looking like that?”
You feel yourself getting a little out of hand, and Emily and JJ look like they’re trying to shut you up, but you can’t stop yourself. It’s like the floodgates have opened.
“He’s never going to know what I want to do to him… what I want him to do to me. I tried so hard, and he didn’t even look at me. All I wanted to do was get on my knees for him and grab his ass so he could fuck my throat as hard as fucking possible—is that so much to ask for?” You pause, but neither of them say anything, just look scandalized. “I guess I’m going to have to name my vibrator Hotch now, since that’s clearly the closest I’ll ever get to him giving me an orgasm.”
“Do you really mean that?”
You jump a fucking foot, spin around, almost knocking Emily and JJ over in the process; Aaron is in front of you, his brow furrowed, arms crossed over his vest (he hasn’t taken that thing off yet? You threw yours on the table like the minute you got back), and your mouth opens and your eyes close at the same time.
Oh fucking fuck.
“We’re gonna… go,” Emily says awkwardly, and you open your eyes abruptly when Aaron speaks again.
“No, we’re going to go; come with me,” he tells you, and he turns and heads down the hall; you look back at Emily and JJ, swallow hard, and follow him, your heart beating fast.
He steps into a small room with a copy machine, table, shelves of paper and envelopes and other supplies, and closes the door behind you, engages the lock. You are torn between being very worried he’s going to fire you and super turned on, because this is definitely a fantasy you’ve had before.
“Aaron,” you begin, running a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry. I think it was the adrenaline; it makes me run my mouth and I can’t stop it, you know that.” He’s facing away from you, his hands on his hips again, and you can see the way his body moves when he sighs.
“Did you mean it, though?” When he turns to look at you, he doesn’t look angry, he looks… nervous. “Do you want me?” His reaction is unexpected—not great, but not necessarily bad—and you bite your lip, nod.
“Yeah. So fucking bad. And I’m sorry—” That’s as far into your apology as you get before his mouth is on yours, his hands on your face, lips pressing against you for a rough, eager kiss. Your hands move to his waist, pulling him closer by the vest, and he lifts you up onto the table, tugs down the v-neck of your t-shirt, mouths at your throat.
“You think I didn’t look at you?” he says when he pulls away for a breath, tipping your chin down so you’ll look into his eyes. “You think I didn’t see that lacy red bra, your perfect ass bent over in the tight skirt? You think I didn’t feel it pressed against me in the elevator, that I didn’t want to push that skirt up and sink inside you and take you there in front of everyone?”
You moan, chest heaving, twist your fingers in his hair and pull him in for another kiss, dripping and trembling at his admission.
“I would have let you,” you murmur against his lips, and there’s no doubt in your mind that you would have, if that’s what he’d wanted. “I would let you do anything: not just let you, but I’d want it, beg for it. I meant what I said—I’d get on my knees for you, anytime, anywhere, do whatever you want me to do. I want to be yours.”
He catches your mouth in another rough kiss, then puts his hands on your waist, guides you off the table, and flips open his belt, the fly of his pants.
“Oh god. What are you doing?” you ask, and he slides down his zipper, pulls you with him until his back hits the door.
“I’m giving you what you asked for,” he rasps, staring into your eyes, his gaze smoldering. It’s so fucking hot your pussy clenches.
You lick your lips, drop to your knees on the tile floor so hard it hurts, tug his pants open and pull out his thick, hard, veiny cock.
Your dreams and fantasies did not do it justice.
“Fuck. Thank you,” you mumble, looking up at him, and he wraps his hands in your hair, pulls tightly. You moan just from that and the heft of him in your hand. “Thank you.”
“Shh.” He scrapes his fingers over your scalp, hums as you start stroking him, licking the head. “Don’t thank me—I should be thanking you, beautiful, perfect girl. In what world do I get this?” There are lots of things you want to say to that, but you’ve waited long enough, will have to say them later.
You lick your lips, collect lots of saliva, and take him into your mouth, get your hands on his ass and dig your nails in. Aaron groans, tightens his fingers in your hair, and when you look up at him it feels like a fever dream, like it’s not real but a delicious figment of your imagination.
For a minute or two, you stroke him with a tight, wet mouth, and it’s got you aching between your legs, but he’s supposed to be fucking your throat, technically, if he’s giving you what you asked for. You pull off, tell him that, and he tugs your head back roughly, guides you back onto his cock and starts thrusting into your mouth, earning vibrating moans around it.
“God, you’re so perfect. How long have you been thinking about this? How long have you touched yourself to the thought of me fucking your pretty face?” He picks up the pace, pushes deeper when he sees you can handle it, and you squeeze his ass, feel your eyelids flutter as he uses your mouth, pulls your hair. “Are you a whore for me?” he grinds out, and the moan that rips from your throat is inhuman, embarrassing, and absolutely accurate. “Yes you are, baby, yes you are. My pretty whore, on your knees, mouth stretched wide and filled with cock.”
You’ve never been so turned on from a blow job, but this is Aaron, hot and dirty and forceful, everything you imagined and more. You squeeze him tighter, encourage rougher treatment, and he presses his hands against the back for your head, slams his dick in so deep it aches; you don’t gag, but it’s a near thing, and when he pulls you off you gasp for breath and whimper at the loss at the same time.
“Enough of that, baby. You were perfect, so good for me, almost choking on my cock, but I bet your pussy is wet and aching. Do you want me inside it?”
“Holy—yes, fuck, please. Please,” you breathe, and he helps you to your feet and then pushes you against the door, gets your pants down. His rough treatment has you whining, gripping the hair on the back of his head, and you kick off your boots and socks so you can step out of your pants completely. “Keep all this on,” you tell him, pants and shirt and tie and Kevlar vest and all, and he nods, kisses you deeply, presses two fingers inside you.
“Fuck,” he groans when you receive him easily, soft and wet and open, and he uses his free hand to sweep down your top, slipping the buttons loose so he can get a better view of your tits and black lace bra that’s holding them. “So beautiful, and finally mine,” he mutters against your throat, and you whine, let your head fall back against the door, and give in to the pleasure of his thick fingers moving inside you.
“Finally mine,” you murmur, tugging his hair, slamming down against his hand, and when you come it’s like a miracle; you cry out, clamp down, and wrap your free hand around his bicep and squeeze until you’re lightheaded, dazed, desperate for another.
You kiss, deep and passionate and filthy, and Aaron slides his fingers into your mouth, pumps them a few times, then kisses you again.
“Good girl. Are you ready for my cock now?” You pant, gasp, and nod your head, and he pushes your shirt off your shoulders, lifts your legs so you’ll wrap them around his waist, and pushes inside you. You both moan, kiss, moan again, and then you wrap your arms around his broad back, hook your fingers in his vest, and hold on while he pounds your body roughly against the door.
“Oh, Aaron, fuck. Yeah. Want you to slam your body against mine; want to feel it, want to feel all of you.” He looks into your eyes, breathing hard, fucks up into you, hands on your ass, his hips and torso pinning you in place.
“Sweet, pretty, slutty girl,” he pants, spreading you open and shoving himself inside your pussy. “You tried tempting me, and oh, did it work. I might not have shown it…” He ducks in to kiss the base of your throat and you cling tighter, rock against his hips. “But it worked. You dressed like a whore just for me, just so I’d notice you; do you I know went home and stroked my cock and came with your name on my lips?”
“Holy shit. That’s so hot.” You move a hand to his hair again, can’t not thread your fingers there now that it’s allowed. “Could have fucked me like this then. Could have come in my pussy, not your hand.”
“We’ll make up for lost time,” he promises, and he thrusts up with his whole body, so you can feel it pressed against yours—shoulders, chest, stomach, all the very best parts of him. “I’m not too much for you? Can you take it?”
“Perfect for me,” you gasp, holding tightly to his vest at his shoulder and his shirt at his hip, bouncing into his thrusts. “So perfect, want you. I can take it. I can take it, Aaron.” Your mouths meet for a messy, hot kiss, lots of tongue, and you groan. “Give it to me, give it all to me.”
He bends his knees a little more, fucks you so rough and hard your mouth falls open and all you can do is whimper, clutch him, gracelessly kiss back when he presses his lips to yours.
He comes first, holds tightly to your hip and pumps inside you, fills you and then some, so it drips out while he’s still inside. It feels sinful, even after everything, and with a few rough drags of his palm over your lace covered nipple, you tighten and grip him and gasp out his name.
You both slow, and then he turns you, leans back against the door for a little relief after holding you up for so long. He nuzzles into your hair, and you bury your face in his neck, and you kiss soft and sweet until you’re feeling stable enough to hop out of his arms and put your clothes back on. He rights his as well, and when you’re both put together he wraps you up in a hug, kisses you, holds you with soft hands on your cheeks.
“I really have waited so long for this.” He brushes his lips over yours, and you sigh. “You never indicated… I was trying to be professional. Then out of nowhere you were leaning over my desk and bending over the table, and I was a little blown away.” You nod, can see that, pull him down for a kiss.
“It’s the goddamn suits,” you say with a half smile, and he gives you a curious look. “Your new, better fitting suits? They fit you so fucking well it’s almost illegal; I’m thinking of pursuing charges against your tailor for reckless endangerment on behalf of my libido, and the coffee carafe, and my poor, worn out vibrator.” He chuckles, hugs you closer, squeezes you so tightly against his body you almost pass out from all the good things you feel.
“Maybe we can strike a deal,” he murmurs, pushing your hair back behind your ear, and you bite your lip, nod.
“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll think of something you can do to make it worth my while.”
After a little more hugging and kissing, the two of you figure it’s time to emerge from the supply closet; you don’t see your team anywhere, which surprises you, but when you get to your phone and pull up your texts, it all makes sense.
Derek: Congrats on the sex. The four of us headed home because no one wants to ride with the two of you and your pheromones.
Emily: Yay, you did it!! Drinks on me next time we go out!
JJ: You guys are loud; don’t make a habit of that.
Penelope: I hear congrats are in order! And by hear, I don’t mean hear. There’s NOT an audio clip or anything, so don’t worry about that!!
Spencer: Emily took an audio clip. Is it normal for girls to enjoy being called a whore? You don’t have to answer that.
You take a very deep breath, give him the gist of the messages—you’re on your own, they heard at least part of it, there is some potentially damning evidence that needs to be destroyed—and you leave the precinct to head home in a better mood than you’ve been in in a very long time.
Aaron takes you out for a late dinner, and he spends the night at your place, falls asleep warm and solid and very naked in the middle of your bed.
Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fanfic#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x female reader#hotch x female reader#hotch x reader#prompt
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Nice Things…
Hello All! Coming back with little writings here and there as my inspiration comes along. A little episode inside of the Something to do with Jackson sphere (1, 2)
Let me know what you think! @negrowhat you know I gotta tag you in everything lol
Jackson decides you both are in need of a little rest and relaxation. Nothing is better then a nice beach house complete with a gigantic bath tub.
About 4k words; Warnings: Very light smut like its super light, but I’m obligated to say it includes fingering a praise kink and a bathtub.
Laundry shouldn’t be difficult. Well in retrospect it wasn’t difficult at your old apartment. The laundry room there was stocked with 5 very old very worn washing and drying machines. They were faithful and predictable. They only had about 3 options and 2 dials. Simplicity at its best. You missed them every time you had a load to wash and dry.
You had been living in Jackson’s apartment for months and you still couldn’t figure out his machines. For one thing they were sleek and black, very modern, apparently super efficient. They worked via a touch screen and the breath of options that appeared every time you fired them up made you nervous. Twice you had shrunk a favorite article of clothing. You had also ruined your running shoes, the washing machine seemed incredibly aggressive to you. But today was going to be different. This was your only task. You could do this.
The touch screen lit up, you took a breath, the beeping started and an array of options appeared. Water temperatures, agitation speeds, your finger hovered over the first option-
“BABY, THIS IS WHERE YOU WERE!?” Jackson’s voice boomed in the laundry room. You turned, frantic that all his noise would upset whatever fragile understanding you had.
“Jackson!” You hissed, “shush!”
His hands snapped to cover his mouth. He looked around his brows knitted, “what’s going on?” He whispered.
“I’ just,” you turned back to the machine but you didn’t feel the same confidence, “I’m trying to figure out your stupid space aged washing machine.” You confessed, “everytime I put something in here I ruin it.”
“Maybe you’re thinking about it too hard.” He walked up behind you and looked down at the same screen.
“Baby?” He began slowly, he touched the screen flicking left twice until he got to a place that said ‘presets’. “Why don’t you just use these instead of trying to pick through all those other settings? This is what I use.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You muttered softly. There were easy to understand presets displayed proudly.
“You didn’t know about these?” He asked, “I could have sworn I showed you the last time you shrunk your sweater?”
You rubbed your face in continued disbelief. All this time.
“The dryer has presets too, did I show you those?” He kept talking because of course to him this wasn’t a big deal. You had made it one, once again, something tiny had become huge to you.
“You want me to help you with your laundry? Since I’m home today I wanna spend it with you ok?”
When you took your hands away from your face he was beaming like the sun at you. You wondered how he could look so worry free. His job was so stressful, he barely got time for himself or you yet he was always beaming. You wanted to be a bit more like him. Just enough so that inanimate objects stopped irritating you for no reason.
“If you want to help sure, but this stuff is kinda boring. You sure you don’t want to nap? Or I could make you something to eat?” You offered.
“We can do that after, this won’t take long.” He pointed out. He wasn’t wrong. You selected the ‘delicates’ option since you wanted to wash your undies and bras first.
“Ok, delicates first then.” You looked in his direction expectantly. The two baskets of laundry were already separated.
“Just pass me the stuff in the blue basket.” You instructed, “I’ll do them first.”
He dutifully began to hand you clothes. Some things he stopped to look at.
“When did you get this bra?” He asked holding up a flowery bra that you had bought a few weeks ago.
“Like two weeks ago?” You guessed, maybe three. Your hand was outstretched waiting for it.
“Oh,” was all he said before he handed it over, “I haven’t see you wear it.” He said softer.
“Well, it’s a bra Jackson…” You tried. He handed you a few pairs of underwear which you put in. He was a touch less cheerful as you finished loading. He helped with the detergent and softner before he got the machine started.
“I feel so dumb,” when you turned to him he frowned. “I really wish I had remembered about the presets. I’ve been having a battle with this machine since I got here.” You confessed.
“Baby...I really don’t think it’s a big deal.” He leaned down and pecked you. “You can ask me questions you know? Before you make a mountain out of a molehill.”
“But I’m so good at that.” You pointed out. He kissed you again. His hands trailing down your arms. When you pulled away he pouted.
“Let me at least finish the chores, I have a few things more I wanna clean.” You complained. He accepted this and let you go, “I’m gonna have two weeks off...do you have a lot of work?” He asked. It took you a moment to think about what you had to do, some things could wait and really only one required you to finish immediately.
“I just have to finish one job then I think I can take some time off.” You stretched and looked at him with curiosity.
“What did you want to do?”
He pushed some of your hair behind your ear, “can we go on vacation?”
“Where did you want to go?” You spoke as you tied your hair up. “Someplace warm?” You asked. He nodded, “an island!” It seemed like a solid idea. You thought it over, Jackson in his usual fashion grew impatient. He tapped his feet and poked out his lip, “we can have a private beach house…” He edged closer.
“That sounds...isn’t that a little extravagant?” You often wondered when you would be able to accept Jackson’s penchant for spending on you. There was something that always made you cringe. “I don’t want you to spend too much-”
He frowned and you snapped your mouth closed, “you deserve…” He began. You sighed, “nice things.”
He accepted you finishing his sentence quietly before he went back to trying to convince you.
“It’ll be private...no cameras...just you and me.” He had basically backed you against the machine. He leaned forward and set his hands on it, caging you in. You couldn’t look away.
“We live together but I always miss you,” he kissed you and it was mostly soft. “I’m gone a lot and I feel horrible about it,” he kissed you again nibbling on your bottom lip. “Do you miss me when I’m not here?”
“Like crazy.” You whispered. His eyes were on yours, pupils wide. His breathing picked up as you snaked your arms around his neck.
“So let me take you to the beach, let’s spend a week....please.” His kiss was less soft more insistent. He pushed until your back was pressed to the machine, the hum seemed to burn through your blood. You kissed him back, hands gripping the hair on the nap of his neck. The time apart always made the time together feel like a single point in the universe. There wasn’t a whole apartment, a whole city, there was just you and Jackson. Starved for each other, hungry to touch and feel. He was so good at making you melt, so good at making you desperate for him. You tasted him and whimpered. The beach was suddenly a fantastic idea, more time alone for more of this. He ground against you and his moan made your knees weak.
“Ok,” you managed to say against his lips. He pulled away and beamed at you. The unmistakable look of getting his way.
“So we’ll go the day after tomorrow...I actually may have set it up already.”
“Jackson.”
You had never been swept away before. In past relationships you had lacked the time and your partners seemed to lack the motivation. It hadn’t bothered you truly because how can you miss something you didn’t have to begin with? You thought about it as you packed and he buzzed around the room with excitement.
“Don’t forget bathing suites!” He warned, “and sunscreen!”
“I have both.” You answered slowly, “and something nice for dinner...right?” When you looked up he was zipping his bag up.
“Yes, and then...not much else…” He raised his eyebrows quickly suggestively and you giggled. He stopped to touch his hand to your leg, “I love you in anything.”
“If it was up to you, I’d just walk around naked all the time.” You said slowly. He considered this then said, “only if you want.” Then he was moving again, his energy nervous all throughout the room.
“Are you almost done?” He asked. “The car will be here soon.”
You just needed to decide on your one nice outfit. It had been a while since you had really gone out. He had seen you in just about everything you owned...except.... At the back of your closet you had hung a tropical print skirt and top set. It was out of your comfort zone but the print would really work.
“Hurry hurry baby.” He chided. You had just enough time to grab it from the closet and stuff it into your bag. He took your hand and led you. The smile on his face relaxed yet you could feel the excitement bubbling out of him. He kissed you in the elevator before the doors opened, then led you to the long black car idling at the apartment building’s entrance. He opened the door for you and waited till you were settled before he put the bags in the trunk and got in next to you. Then his hand was back in yours like it belonged there.
“Do you think you’ll get recognized at the airport?” You tried your best not to sound nervous but the thought of screaming fans made your stomach heavy.
“I don’t think so, we’ll be in then out.” He brought your linked hands up for a kiss. “Don’t be nervous, it’ll be fine.”
You settled into the seat and tried your best not to worry. The media in a way wasn’t very interested in you and Jackson’s story anymore. When they did happen to catch photos of you two together it wasn’t big news but most of the comments were still pretty awful. It was better for your mental health to not read them but every so often you saw yourself online and couldn’t stop yourself from looking. The general take was that you were literally a weight dragging him down. It never seemed like a good idea to comment back, better to just read it all in silence, and really it wasn’t all bad. There was a spattering of people who liked you. Who said nice things and said they were cheering on the relationship. People who pointed out that Jackson was happier with you in his life. You weren’t sure if you would give yourself that much credit but you hoped that he felt how you did.
He leaned over, “what are you thinking about so hard?” He planted a kiss on your cheek startling you out of your own head. He had a way of knowing when you were thinking yourself down a rabbit hole. He redirected you gently and patiently. His hand squeezed yours again.
“Nothing, just the work I left...hopefully I did enough.” You said. He knew it wasn’t that, but he didn’t push.. He kissed you on the cheek again, “don’t worry about it, just try your best to relax.” He whispered. It took you a moment of second guessing, but there was no real use in fighting with Jackson. Especially since you actually did need a relaxing vacation. There would be no worries on the beach, that’s all you had to tell yourself over and over and over again.
There weren’t any cameras, no reporters, no mobs of fans. He had his mask pulled up and dark sunglasses on. You were wearing one of his caps and your own mask pulled up. The two of you looked like any couple on their way to a romantic trip. He only let go of you to pass through security. Once his hand was out of yours there were new worries. An airplane. The last time you had flown you were forced between a grumpy office worker and a woman who seemed to have bathed in perfume. You remember distinctly how the office worker had complained about her perfume and how she called him lonely and sad. It had been for the most part very unpleasant. Suddenly all you could think about were all your worse flights. You fumbled through security, including the awkward second search. Taking his hand on the other side calmed you down a little bit.
“You’re making a mountain again.” He said into your ear.
“I can’t remember ever having a good flight,” you squeezed his hand and almost missed a step.
“Every flight that lands safely is a good flight baby.” He chimed happily and just like that you relaxed a bit. He was right of course. Bad seatmates didn’t make a bad flight. Small things didn’t have to be big. Once again you tried to calm yourself, to convince yourself that you were on vacation. You were being swept away and it would be great if all your extra thoughts could be swept away too.
“This is the house?”
After a flight you slept through, and an ok trip through the airport that involved a car rental associate who was star struck, here the two of you were. The house was directly on the beach. From the outside it didn’t look like much which made you feel a bit better. If he had rented a beach mansion or something along those lines you would have worried the whole trip about how much all of it had cost and...and if you were really worth all the trouble. But this,...this was so quaint and so cozy.
“This is it.” He pulled into the driveway and then put the car into park. You got out admiring the house’s slightly cracked white paint, the green ivy underneath the two small windows on either side of the weathered wooden door. The waves sounded incredibly close and you guessed the beach was literally right in your backyard.
Jackson was behind you with your bags.
“Here,” when you turned he was holding the key towards you all smiles, “open her up.” He instructed. The key got stuck for a moment in the lock. You panicked per usual but it gave when you pushed your shoulder against the heavy wood.
“Be careful,” he clucked his tongue at you but you ignored him. You were stuck looking at the inside. Everything was so bright. You sucked in a breath because of all the light. There were huge skylights all throughout. The entryway was neat, a small blue weathered table held a bowl where Jackson dropped the car keys. He pressed his hand to the small of your back and your feet automatically started to shuffle step forward. The entryway opened into a small kitchen with white tile and teal cabinets. The appliances didn’t look new aged or terrifying like Jackson’s. The big white well loved looking stove was comforting. Through the kitchen There was an open airy dinning room and living room. The living room ended in two gigantic glass doors that opened onto a hedge enclosed patio. The bricks were weathered but still a good red. There was a round picnic table with a few shelves, a rack with two surfboards, and what looked like a hot tub. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your cheek, “let’s look at the bedroom.”
It was through a doorway off the kitchen, past a half bathroom. The bedroom suite seemed to be all windows. There were three huge windows with breezy white curtains. The bed was gigantic four poster deal, piled high with pillows at the head. The comforter was white like everything else.
“There’s one of those clawfoot tubs,” He led you a little further in, towards the doorway of the bathroom. The tub was huge. There was a shower head on the wall above it. Another two windows, more light.
“This place is beautiful.” You finally got out. He squeezed your hand, “I know you like simple things and I thought this place would be nice. The beach is right down a back path and-”
You tipped your chin up lips pursed asking for him to dip and kiss you.
“Thank you so much for bringing me,” you spoke against his lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist.
“You’re welcome.” His smile was triumphant. He only let you go to help unpack but beamed the entire time like a happy child.
You knew this look, his eyes were centered on yours. He licked his lips before he kissed you.
“I picked this house because it’s cozy and…” He trailed off to kiss you again.
“And?”
“And you never wanna have fun in my bathtub so I made sure that this house had one that was so big you couldn’t argue with me about soaking together.” He explained.
“Jackson.”
He beamed again his face back to innocence, “don’t you want to soak with me?” He asked.
“You don’t just want to soak,” you pointed out. He shrugged, “humor me.” In truth he had begged to soak with you plenty of times but the tub in his apartment made you nervous. You had this vision of the two of you settling in and getting stuck or getting in and overflowing the tub in an embarrassing splash. Well maybe it wouldn’t be embarrassing to him but in your mind it was motifying. You bit your bottom lip and considered the big claw foot tub in the house again.
“I guess there’s no harm in a nice soak.” You said softly. He could barely contain his excitement, he moved deliberately trailing his hands down your waist then squeezing. He searched your face before he broke out into a grin that made you laugh.
“Jackson,” it was hard not to laugh at him. “Jackson right now? You don’t want to eat first?”
He cocked his head, “I do, but let’s do that later, my back hurts from the flight.”
You made a ‘sure’ face but didn’t argue. It was better to humor him, he gave your bottom another not so gentle squeeze before kissing the top of your head.
“So a nice bath, then I’ll make you food,...” he trailed off and took your hand.
The fragrance from the bubble bath he found was making your head feel dreamy and relaxed. His back was against one side of the tub and yours was on the other. He insisted on massaging your feet and there really wasn’t any huge point to arguing. He rubbed away while you sighed slowly to yourself.
“You have the cutest little feet.” He murmured.
“They’re so gross.” Your response was automatic, years of having being told they were flawed in some way meant that you were use to parroting back the words when you were complimented.
“They’re perfect on you.” He dug deep into the sole of your foot and you couldn’t help but groan. “Always say nice things about yourself.” He murmured.
“Yeah I know.” You sunk lower into the water and he took the invitation to work his hands up your leg. It was hard for you to say nice things about yourself all the time. You were use to your self deprecating jokes. But he was quick to redirect them, he always told you to make it nice instead. His hands were steady on your body focusing your mind back into the moment. It was never gonna be just a soak, but you didn’t do anything to stop him. He felt the back of your knee and a shiver ran up your body. His eyes were focused on your skin, “you’ll let me do this at home now right?”
He pulled himself a little closer so his hands could go further up, “a nice hot bath, foot massages.”
“You’re very good at them,” your voice was barely above a whisper. His eyes seemed to darken. He leaned farther forward, upsetting the water and bubbles so he could kiss your forehead. Under the water his hand had made it all the way up which meant his fingers were in a prime position to rub you where you were most sensitive. He kept the pressure light, teasing you. A whine broke past your lips. He ducked his head and kissed you.
“I want you to relax,” he said softly against your lips, he dipped his fingers inside of you. It was so hard not to squirm, he pulled them back and forth slowly before he stopped. You gripped the sides of the the tub and tried to urge him to move. His eyes were mischievous.
“Jackson,” You tried to roll your hips to get him to do anything but tease you. He cocked his head, “say something nice about yourself.”
The command confused you. Your brow furrowed and for a moment you were confused, “what?”
He pulled his hand completely away and touched your face instead.
“I read that it’s nice to hear compliments from others but reinforcing it with words you say to yourself is even better.” His voice was earnest his hand dipped into the water again and found your breast.
“Something nice…” He played with your nipple and you whimpered. Your mind was reaching for something, any sort of compliment that would make sense.
“I like my thighs.”
He beamed, triumphant, then pinched your nipple lightly, “what else baby? You’re so beautiful there’s a million things to compliment.”
You were so use to his praise that it was hard to give yourself the same attention. He switched to your other nipple and kissed your forehead again.
“One more.” He encouraged. You swallowed, his hands sending pleasure and want all throughout your body. You willed your brain and your mouth to talk, to say something so he would give you what you needed.
“I have nice skin...the cream you gave me makes it so soft.” You admitted. He liked that,
he kissed you harder. He had both hands involved now, tickling the sides of your tummy. The giggle that escaped your mouth made his smile even wider.
“The most perfect skin.” He spent the rest of the bath praising you. Cooing all his favorite compliments while he played with your body. It didn’t take long before your hands gripped the side of the tub and you called his name. Your body locked and then the pleasure ripped through your limbs in what felt like a blaze. Dimly you knew you had splashed water and maybe that would have embarrassed you, but there were more important things. Like the way you still shook while he kissed you everywhere he could reach. If you felt dreamy before your mind was downright foggy now.
“You liked that baby?” He asked, finally pulling away to look at you. Your bones felt like jelly, thank god the tub wasn’t too deep. There was no doubt in your mind you would have melted further into the water. It took you what felt like hours to barely nod your head and indicate that yes you had indeed liked it.
“It’s so cute when you say my name like that.” he went back to sitting across the tub from you, a smug smile on his face. You didn’t know what face you were making but hopefully it was satisfied.
“Let’s just spend the rest of the time here.” You finally got out. He didn’t argue with you, just rested his head on the rim of the tub, “as long as you’re happy that’s all I care about.”
You sat up a little, “I’m the happiest I’ve been in forever.”
“Perfect.” He spoke softly and maybe it was more to himself than you but he was right. The feeling was perfect.
#jackson wang#team wang#got7 jackson wang#jackson wang smut#jackson wang fanfic#jackson takes you on vacay#and it was magical times#tub time#who doesnt love a good soak#kpop fanfic#something to do with jackson universe#say nice things to yourself
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Sticky, Saccharine & Sinful
Summary: Professor Jaeger asks his assistant to come over and grade some papers.
Pairing: Zeke Jaeger x Fem!Reader (modern AU)
Warnings & Content: language, protected sex, fingering, oral sex (female & male receiving), spanking, daddy kink, bossy Zeke, bratty Reader, tying up, bit of an age gap but no underage shit (we don’t do that here)
Word Count: 2.5 k
A/N: Huehuehue guess who finally wrote a daddy kink smut? Also I have looped Cherry Cola by Kuwada the entire time i wrote, proofread and formatted this bitch, I think it works with the atmosphere
"Y/N, I'm gonna need you to help me grade some papers later today." Professor Jaeger pushed his glasses with his index finger as he looked up from his book.
"You got it, boss!" You nodded as you entered the staff lounge room at Stohess Uni, two cups in your hands.
"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Zeke?" The man sighed. “Or at least call me professor.”
"But I'm your assistant, you're my superior, that makes you my boss, boss." Sarcasm dripping down your tongue as you placed his coffee down the table. "All black, two cubes of sugar."
"Thank you. And yes, technically I am your boss, but you're, what, six years younger than me?"
"Seven and a half." You pouted.
You've been working at Stohess University for a little over a year now as Zeke Jaeger's assistant. He was the best philosophy teacher, as well as head of the department, and you nailed your internship interview, aspiring to be like him one day. He even taught you Ethics during your masters, and currently you were doing your PhD research under his coordination. The man was a genius in his field, and you didn't dare disappoint him, but your personalities always clashed. He was calm and collected, you were bubbly and all over the place. He was nice and polite, you were sarcastic and rude. Zeke knew you'd make a horrible teacher for children, but undergraduate students would adore you.
"How can you drink hot coffee in this heat wave?" You asked him as you fanned someone's epistemology essay to cool yourself off.
"It's actually been proven that warm drinks hydrate better than cold ones during summertime." He inhaled the scent of freshly brewed coffee before taking the essay out of your hand.
"Whatever you say, boss." You shrugged and gulped on your iced tea, a few glistening amber drops dripping from the corners of your mouth, down your chin and your neck. "Ah, shit." You wiped the tea with the back of your hand, not catching Zeke watching you curiously. "Why did the AC have to break down today of all days?"
"Dunno." He shrugged and immersed himself back into his book. "Oh, I hope you don't mind coming to my place to grade the papers? I don't think you'll be able to focus in this heat. Besides, I want to take a look at your latest PhD chapter." Jaeger told you absentmindedly, eyes glued to the pages in front of him.
"Sure thing–"
"Don't say it."
"Boss."
"Jesus Christ..."
You adored pissing your ex-professor off, but deep down, Zeke couldn't deny the fact that he loved the authority he had over you. You were a very alluring woman, after all, and any sane man would kill to be as close to you as he was, let alone boss you around like he did. And he had the strong feeling you acted like a brat around him on purpose. You took your leave after downing the rest of your beverage, going to the library to borrow some books for your own research.
•°☆°•☆•°☆°•
You rang the intercom and waited for Zeke to let you inside the building, dragging your feet down the hallway, tired from carrying so much shit with you – laptop, books, essays, papers, pens and highlighters – you were a walking, talking stationery shop and one could only wonder how someone with such a petite frame was so strong. Zeke waited in the doorway and took some of your things, relieving the weight as you sighed.
"Coffee?" He guided you to his kitchen.
"Water, please." You plopped on a chair and unbuttoned the first three heart-shaped buttons of your lilac shirt, tiny beads of sweat bundled up at your collarbone.
"You sure? I'll be keeping you up all night." Jaeger laughed. He was obviously talking about the papers, but to you, the sentence had a different innuendo — not that you minded, you had your fair share of sinful fantasies with the older man. Come to think of it, you were wondering why he was single. Zeke was undoubtedly an attractive man, he could have any woman he wanted. Yet you’ve never seen him on a date, never seen a picture of a woman when you accidentally glanced at his phone, never heard him talk about a significant other.
"Hey, mind if I smoke?" You asked, noticing the ashtray on his table.
"Not at all, I'll join you." He sat opposite you, mug of coffee in his hand. You pulled out a pack of pink cigarettes from your backpack and placed one between your lips, pocketing your jeans for a lighter. His hand extended over the table, lighter in his hand, and you slightly bent your head forward, eyes glued to his. You inhaled the smoke, not breaking eye contact, and exhaled with a sigh. Something about Zeke lighting up your cigarette made your little cunt tingle.
"Thanks, boss." The corners of your lips turned into a barely visible smirk. You really, really liked to tick him off.
"Don't mention it." He told you before lighting his own cigarette. What, no comeback? No objection? "How's your paper going?"
"It's... going." You shrugged.
"You haven't written anything in your last chapter, have you?"
"No, I have," you half-whined, "it's just that I can't find my words. I think I encountered writer's block."
"'S alright, we'll figure something out." Zeke pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase and dropped it on the table.
"Wow, no shit you need help, that's a lot of papers." You twirled the cigarette between your fingers before taking one final puff and crushing it in the glass ashtray.
"Told you." He picked his resting cigarette back from the ashtray. "You can do the first years."
"I'd rather do something else." You whispered to yourself, eyes almost rolling at the back of your head.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, boss. First years, got it." Your manicured fingers pulled the stack of papers closer to you. The exams were already annotated according to subject and year and you took everything you needed before shoving them back to Zeke.
•°☆°•☆•°☆°•
You were bored out of your mind, fiddling with the red pen in your hand and tapping your fingers on the table with no particular rhythm. It was already dark outside and you barely finished a quarter of your stack while Zeke was halfway through his.
"Could you please stop that?" He asked you without even bothering to look at you.
"Why?"
"It's annoying."
With a groan you rolled your eyes and stopped tapping your fingers, instead opting to fidget your leg, bouncing it up and down under the table. The wooden furniture shook at the movement and Zeke sighed, putting the pen down.
"I understand you're bored, but if you want to be a professor, this is part of the job description."
"I know, I know, but, like, can we take a break? Please? We've been at it for two and a half hours now and I'm just so bored." You looked at him with puppy eyes and a pout on your plump lips.
"Ugh, fine. What do you want to do?"
"I dunno. Got any board games?"
"Only a pack of playing cards." Zeke shrugged.
"Perfect! Literally anything is better than this. I mean look at what this kid wrote: the ship of Theseus ARE a thought experiment. Can you believe it? How can a nineteen-year-old not know proper grammar?"
"Careful, Y/N," he chuckled, "you made a pretty embarrassing error during your masters, too."
"Nooo, don't bring that up!" You got up and walked to the freezer, scanning the contents.
"Why not? It's funny."
"Yeah, for you." You rolled your eyes. "But I still proved my worth." You triumphantly told him, tongue playfully poking out of your mouth from behind the freezer door. Ugh, you were so cute, made to be ravaged. Your eyes settled on the single raspberry popsicle and you picked it up, closing back the door. "Can I have this?" Oh, he knew exactly what you were doing.
"Of course."
With Zeke's approval, you unwrapped the plastic, revealing the rose-tinted dessert, swirling your tongue around its tip. You were a sight for sore eyes, (not so) innocently licking at the popsicle, your gaze on him and his growing bulge. He didn't even bother hiding it, instead relaxing in the chair and drinking you in. It was no mistake that Zeke invited you over, and you weren't stupid enough to believe it was a mistake.
"Do you... want some?" You trailed off as the once cold dessert began melting from your hot lips.
"If you'd be so kind." He patted his lap and you accepted the invitation. His bulge was comfortably uncomfortable against your ass, and you put the popsicle onto his lips, one arm draped around his shoulder. Zeke's tongue moved languidly around the sweet snack and you leaned in, your own tongue licking both the dessert and his lips. It was sticky and saccharine and sinful, and your poor pussy couldn't take it anymore.
"Do you wanna fuck me, daddy?" You naively asked him. He wasn't surprised in the slightest by the name, already suspecting you had daddy issues, in fact counting on it.
"I very much do." His hands were already roaming your body. The popsicle was almost gone, and you deepthroated the last bit, taking the little stick out of your mouth with a pop. Finally, he crushed his lips onto yours and you could tell he had experience. You dropped the stick on the tiled floor, twisting your body to better straddle him. Zeke unbuttoned your shirt as you slowly began grinding your hips against his bulge, earning a groan from him. "Ugh, you bad girl." He threw his head back as you loosened the tie around his neck.
"Are you going to punish me?" You slowly, too slowly unbuttoned his shirt.
"What’s the point of a punishment if you’re going to enjoy it?" He mused, unclasping your bra. You had goosebumps all over your skin and Zeke took one of your nipples in his hot mouth, a hand pinching your other one. You whimpered at the slight stinging sensation
"Does it m-matter if I enjoy it?" His touch became rougher, almost animalistic.
"Of course," he stopped sucking your swollen, oversensitive nipple, "otherwise you won't learn your lesson." You got up and turned around, your back against him, taking your jeans and underwear off, bending down and exposing your cunt to him. "You're going to be the death of me, Y/N." Zeke shook his head, removing his own trousers.
"Allow me." You tucked your fingers behind the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down as you kneeled in front of him. His throbbing cock tapped your face after finally being unleashed from its textile cage.
"I suspected you were big, but this? This is too good." You sneered at his member, mesmerised by its size.
"Just shut up and suck it." Zeke pretty much commanded you and you wet your lips, pressing your tongue against the velvety tip. You worked your way around his shaft, enjoying this more than you should've. You pulled back, a string of saliva and precum attached to your lips as you looked up at him.
"Am I doing good, daddy?"
"So good." He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed your head back. You eagerly sucked and slurped until he got bored of your mouth around his cock. Zeke pulled you up, spun you around and bent you over the table. He brought your wrists together and tied them up behind your back with his tie before taking a step back and admiring the view. Ass up, face down, just like he loved it. His foot pushed yours to the side, spreading your legs for him before he gave you a good slap over your ass cheeks. You shot up with a moan but his hand forced you back down against the table.
"I think I know exactly how to punish you." Zeke announced, two fingers spreading your folds as his tongue dove inside of you, lapping at your wet cunt.
"Oh, God!" You groaned in pleasure. No man has ever eaten you out like he did. Most guys did it as a chore. Zeke? He was enjoying every single bit of it, passionately fingering you, his tongue moving in ways you didn't think were possible. "Ah, fuck– so good! Daddy, please! I'm coming!"
The way he venomously laughed told you that no, you were not going to come any time soon. Just as you were about to let loose, Zeke stopped, removing his fingers, another slap on your ass. Tears pooled at your Y/E/C eyes, frustration written all over your face. "No, no, no!"
"I told you, Y/N, you're a bad, bad girl." He bent over and whispered in your ear, his cock pressing against your entrance, his hand in your hair.
"Oh, pleaseee, I need to come! Will you let me come?"
"Hm, it depends." Jaeger straightened his back, hands resting on your hips. "Did you learn your lesson?"
"Yes, yes, daddy, I did! I promise I'll be good!" You tried to turn around to look at him, oblivious to what he was doing behind your back, cheeks crimson, droplets of sweat on your forehead.
"Convincing enough." He shrugged and you heard the condom snap against his cock. Unexpectedly and without any warning, the man thrusted into your wet cunt and you, again, shot up, but he pinned you back. "Stay fucking put, you little whore." Zeke demanded and you tried, you really tried, but your body had a mind of its own. "I see you refuse to learn."
"No, no, please!" You slammed your face onto the table, squishing your cheek in the process, desperate and helpless.
"That's better." He concluded, sarcasm dripping down his tongue as he rammed his cock deeper into you. The silken walls clenched around his hard member, and he grunted, no other woman pleasing him like your tight pussy did. "You like it when I take you from behind, you filthy slut?"
"Yes– oh my God, YES!" You bucked your hips against his for more pressure and pain.
"What would my students think if they saw you getting fucked like this on their papers?"
"Ah– I don't c-care!"
"What would the headmaster say if she knew you fuck your superior and- ugh- coordinator?" Jaeger thrusted harder and faster.
"Please, Zeke-"
His hand found its way to your neck, tightly squeezing it.
"Wrong name, Y/N."
"Shit, daddy!"
"That's right, I'm your fucking daddy and hell will freeze before someone else fucking touches you!"
"Fuc-k, fuuuck!" You both howled and panted as you climaxed, your entire bodies quivering. Zeke pulled out of you, carefully removing the rubber from his cock and giving you another slap on your perky ass cheeks. You stood up, arms still tied around your back, turned on your heels and pecked him on his cheek, giggling like a schoolgirl, marvelled by the fact that he chose you over anyone else.
"You know what, Y/N? Now that I've found you, I'm never going to let you go." He promised.
"I'm all yours, boss."
#zeke jaeger#zeke jaeger x reader#zeke x reader#zeke smut#aot#aot smut#aot x reader#aot fanfic#snk#snk smut#snk x reader#snk fanfic#attack on titan#shingeki no kyoujin#zekeythefreaky
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Sweet Talkin’. Yan Dabi x Reader [COMM]
There’s been an abnormal amount of sirens tonight.
It should be unnerving -- and to an extent it is -- but this isn’t what keeps you awake. Not that, or even the dogs barking outside accompanied with an occasional derogatory yell. With a heavy heart, you can say that you’ve gotten used to all of that noise. No, it’s something different that steals you from the welcoming comfort of a deep slumber.
The thing that truly keeps you up is the anticipation of what is to come. Or more precisely, who.
The bright glow of your phone strains your tired eyes, but it’s your best shot at finding entertainment. Squinting at the blinding light, exhaustion seeps into your being despite your best efforts to ward it off. No matter how much caffeine you drink later on in the day, it’s not enough to to thwart your natural inclinations to sleep.
For most, nighttime is a relaxing time of day that’s coveted. It brings a time of solitude, to reflect and rest up for the next day. While you wish you could return to the days where you felt like that, it’s long behind you now. Instead, you evade sleep, in fear of what could occur when you’re in the defenseless state.
An illusion of control is better than none at all.
“You’re gonna get dark circles under those pretty eyes if you keep staying up this late.”
A deep voice rumbles from the entrance to your shared room, one that you instantly recognize. Even in your groggy state, your emotions heighten in his presence. Turning off your phone and placing it down, you stretch your arms out, a yawn leaving your lips in the process.
So he’s back.
“Yeah, yeah…” you grumble back, caring little for the teasing comment. After feeling around your nightstand, a click resonates, light illuminating your room. Once your eyes adjust, you spot your unwelcome visitor, who makes himself at home. Dabi walks towards you, your bed creaking under his added weight as he sits down. Untying his shoes, he throws them carelessly in the corner.
Sensing your staring, he looks over his shoulder and grins at you. “Awe, you miss me or somethin’? How cute.”
A groan leaves your lips, and you reach to throw a pillow at him. He easily deflects it with a snicker, working on taking his shirt off next. At least now that he’s back you feel more inclined to sleep, knowing that he can’t sneak up on you. Splatters of dark vermilion catch your attention, mouth curling downwards into a frown.
If there’s anything you’ve learned in your time with Dabi, it’s that you shouldn’t ask where the blood stains come from. Ignorance is bliss, right? It’s still an unnerving sight, especially since you know it isn’t his.
The relationship you two share is nothing if not unconventional. His occupation -- if you can even call it that -- has him coming and going at unholy times at night. Sleep is difficult to come by, not knowing when he might make an appearance. It’s what leads you to stay up some nights, a preferable experience to tossing and turning with anxious thoughts plaguing you.
As long as you stay in your designated place, Dabi holds true to his promise of doing you no harm. Thinly veiled threats under the pretense of being your “roommate” lead you to the current day, an awkward routine settling in. For all it’s worth, it could be worse. You’re acutely aware of what Dabi is capable of, having seen the ashes of corpses blurred out in the news.
Why he’s taken a liken to you is beyond you. It still beats dying, only by a sliver.
“There are some leftovers in the fridge,” you tap your phone, reading the time. Three in the morning. Great, and you have work tomorrow too. “I think I’ll give sleeping a shot now that you’re back.”
Dabi raises an eyebrow at this, a fresh shirt without blood stains now on. “You always sleep when I get back. It hurts my feelings. What, am I not good enough company?”
‘If I’m being honest, not really.’
He grins at how you shiver, lazily crawling over to be by your side. His sudden presence fills your nose with unknown scents, ranging from smoke to burnt leather. Underneath is hints of his cologne, all mixing together to disorient you further. Dabi loves riling you up, testing the limits of what you can handle.
You take a deep breath, hugging your knees to your chest. As long as you don’t let it get to you, it’ll be fine. He always gets bored eventually, leaving you to do as you please. That’s what you’ll aim for.
“It’s not that. I just have stuff to do tomorrow, and I don’t like being exhausted. It’s my long shift.”
His trademark grin melts away, furrowing eyebrows and a grimace taking its place. Mentioning your life outside of him is a tricky battle, and you can’t help but regret mentioning it. Being in a sleep deprived state is a major disadvantage in your interactions with him.
“This again? I thought I told you to quit. Rent or whatever won’t be an issue, I’ll handle it.” Dabi scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your bare shoulder. His skin feels rough against yours, coarse hands rubbing circles into you. You bite your lip at the sensation, hair on the back of your neck standing.
“I... I like my job. Sure, it can be irritating at times, but it gives me something to do during the day. I’d go stir crazy without something concrete to focus on.” The words are heartfelt, unfiltered. When he responds in silence you worry you’ve made a mistake, upsetting him with your defiance.
He huffs against your neck, lifting his head and shooting you a displeased look. His voice is a low murmur, one that reverberates into the core of your very being. “Always making trouble for me..."
Dabi’s grip around you tightens, and you gulp thickly. With how casual he speaks to you, it can be easy to forget the major power imbalance. Instead of greeting you with insults, or worse, he lightly flicks your forehead.
You blink, baffled.
“Don’t most people hate their jobs? I figured you’d be jumping at the idea of having more free time, or whatever. So you can focus on other things.”
It’s not a confession you were expecting, your cheeks flushing at the considerate nature of his words. While it’s true quitting your job is an appealing thought, it creates a semblance of balance within your now chaotic life. Helping you stick to a schedule, in the same way school used to.
Now feeling confident in expressing yourself, your taut muscles relax into his touch. “I’m too tired to think about it properly, if I’m being honest. I don’t know how you can stay up this late all the time without losing it.”
Deflecting from the previous topic makes you feel better. If Dabi notices your intentions he doesn’t point them out, allowing you to take control of the conversation without complaint. He must prefer it over when you’d just shake and cry in his presence.
“You get used to it, sweetheart,” he drums his fingers against you, smirking. “I’ll make a night owl outta you yet.”
Any implications in his words go straight over your head.
“As tempting an offer as that is, I think I’ll pass. ”
He shrugs at your indifference, removing his arms from your frame. The lack of enveloping warmth causes you to shiver, Dabi searching through his bag. You peak over his shoulder out of curiosity, his scarred hands settling on an object which he pulls out.
It’s a copy of Animal Crossing, in all of its beautiful glory. You wipe your eyes, unsure if what you’re seeing is reality.
“W-what?” you guffaw before your brain has the chance to stop you, jaw agape and head tilted. Dabi places it on your lap, and returns to his previous position of holding you. There’s clear amusement in his eyes at your stunned state, relishing in your every reaction.
“Did I get the wrong thing? This is that game you wanted, isn’t it?”
It had to have been a week or so ago. You lamented to him about not being able to afford this, not even realizing he was giving it any attention. To think he remembered, and acted on it for your sake... is a touching sensation. Maybe he is capable of selflessness after all.
The cute box art puts a smile on your face, one that Dabi stares at.
“I have to say, I’m surprised,” you pick it up, looking at the back with wide eyes. “Did the cashier give you a funny look when you picked this out?”
‘I really need to start thinking before I speak.’
He shakes his head at your blunt comment, not taking any offense. “I didn’t get it that way.”
‘Oh, well... better not ask more than necessary. There’s no blood on it so at least that’s a good sign.’
Wiggling free from his grip, you rotate your legs over the side of the bed, intent on getting your switch. An opportunity like this must be taken advantage of, and you’ve wanted to play this game for some time now. Dabi must’ve read your mind, and pulls you back to him with little effort before you get the chance.
“If I remember correctly, you said you were tired just a few minutes ago.”
He plucks the game from your fingers, and places it on the side furthest from you. What a cruel world this is, to have paradise so close and yet so far. You can’t help the pout that forms at his actions.
“The situation changed, I’m wide awake now.” you explain to an unmoved Dabi, launching over his lap to get your coveted game back. He picks it up, lifting it over your head with a chuckle. So that’s how it’s going to be.
Defeat settling in, you retreat for now. A sigh leaves your lips, arms crossing over your chest. You should’ve known better, Dabi has made it clear to you that he wants your attention. Looks like you’ll have to wait until after work to get a taste of Animal Crossing.
There’s a glint of mischievous in his azure eyes, one that you’ve seen more often than you wish. Dabi sighs in mock hurt, placing a hand over his heart. “Not even so much as a thank you for my efforts. That’s cold, babe. Real cold.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right. Thank you, it means a lot.”
He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “That’s not what I was looking for. Try again, sweetheart.”
A flurry of thoughts fly through your mind, all competing with one another to offer a solution. Does he want money for it? He should know that you’re not capable of producing that amount, or you would’ve bought the game for yourself. Dabi gives you a moment to think, before offering the answer to you.
He puts his pointer finger on your lip, maintaining eye contact while doing so.
“Oh, t-that.”
“So glad to see that you’re finally catching on.”
It could be the summer heat winning over your AC, the room suddenly feeling warmer than it did a few moments prior. You look down at your blankets, focusing on anything other than the person in front of you. This level of teasing is nothing new with Dabi, he always manages to fluster you.
He sits, relaxed, waiting for you to make a move. There aren’t any other options that you can think of, so you give into what he wants. Moving closer to his face, you feel his warm breath fanning against your skin. Your hand twitches, pressing against his chest to offer balance.
Squeezing your eyes closed, you tilt your head, soft lips brushing over his own. All of your movements are hesitant, your entire body feeling like it’s on fire. Heart pounding violently against your chest, you move to pull back. Only to discover his hand on the back of your head is stopping you from doing so.
Dabi slants his lips back over your own, nibbling your bottom lip. You freeze, the unexpected affection leaving you incapable of reacting. It’s when you squeak that he finally loosens his grip, opening his eyes to take in your embarrassed countenance.
All things considered, it wasn’t an unpleasant experience.
You cover your burning face with your shaking hands, feeling the warmth emanating off of you. He makes it even worse by chuckling, the low rumble filling you with indignation. There never is hope of catching a break with Dabi.
“You might be the one with a fire quirk after all,” he leans forward, placing a hand against your hot forehead. “Mm... that look you’re giving me is too much. You have to be doing it on purpose at this point.”
Fed up with his relentless teasing, you smack his hand away and purse your lips. He props his arms behind his head, letting you glare at him to your heart’s content. From his lack of reaction, you get the feeling he isn’t too intimidated by you.
“Whatever, I’m going to bed,” you huff, returning to your side and pulling up the blankets. He doesn’t make a move to stop you, and you take the opportunity to lay down on your side. Refusing to look at him, you focus on the wall.
Dabi pokes your cheek, which you ignore.
He lets out a long sigh at your antics, joining you underneath the covers. You hear shuffling behind you, and can’t help but wonder what it is that he’s up to. Maybe he’s succumbing to his own exhaustion, and will let you sleep in peace? What a perfect world it’d be if that’s the case.
The thought is entertained for three seconds before you’re pulled against his firm chest from behind, toned arms snaking around your torso and staying there. His body is always so warm. It doesn’t help that you’re already embarrassed from before. Dabi grumbles something incoherent, placing his head in the crook of your neck.
Accepting the situation for what it is, you stop moving. He reaches over you to turn off the light, and darkness surrounds you once more. All you can hear are your own labored breaths, and rapidly pounding heart. It might be impossible to sleep like this.
You’ll call out of work for tomorrow.
“... Dabi?” you whisper, voice soft and barely audible. He grunts in response, nuzzling further into your neck. For the past few months, there’s been a thought that haunts you at every turn. One that you can never find an answer to, and have been too frightened to investigate beyond your own musings.
It’d be easy to play this off as sexual attraction alone, yet a voice in the back of your head says otherwise. That what Dabi feels for you goes beyond that, into a sinister territory that you want desperately to avoid. Why is it he’s patient -- borderline kind -- with you, yet cruel to everyone else? None of it makes logical sense, his actions erratic and seemingly without reason.
Maybe you shouldn’t know. Still, you ask, against your better judgement.
“Why do you like me so much?”
You feel how he smiles against the skin of your neck, the sensation stirring up unknown emotions within. He squeezes you against him once, letting out a low hum as he considers your words. While waiting for him to speak, you hold in a breath.
“Dunno. Just do,” Dabi offers a noncommittal response, one that leaves you greatly unsatisfied. It seems he’s not even aware of it himself, the effect you have on him unlike anything he’s ever experienced. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
“... Alright, I won’t.”
“Good. Now get some sleep, before I ask you to kiss me again.”
#dabi my hero academia#Dabi#dabi x reader#dabi imagine#dabi headcanons#yandere dabi imagines#yandere dabi#yandere dabi imagine#yandere dabi x reader#bnha#bnha imagines#bnha imagine#bnha x reader#yandere bnha#yandere#my hero academia#my hero academia imagine#yandere my hero academia#commissions
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Getting Possessive
➪ pairings: bokuto x reader, kuroo x reader, oikawa x reader
➪ request: a scenario where Bokuto, Kuroo n Tooru (or anyone else) get,,possessive bc their s/o was partnered up w another guy for a project
➪ genre: fluff
Bokuto Kōtarō
“Now for your biggest project this year, which I mentioned was going to be by partner since it’ll probably take a while to complete, I’ll be announcing your pair today.”
Bokuto excitedly looks at you with an infectious grin, something about how your teacher said ‘announcing your pair,’ made it feel romantic, so it has to be you and him. You love getting partnered up with Bo since he’s so inspired and motivated when he works with you.
“Y/n, should we start it this weekend at my place?” He whispers not-so-discreetly to you which earns the two of you a disapproving glance from your teacher. “Sure, it’s going to be fun,” you grin back at him, showing him a thumbs-up which only makes him more excited.
“What snacks should I prepare?” That was the last straw for your ever so patient sensei. The both of you were supposed to be partners even when he picked randomly, but what good would that do? He thinks you two are probably going to goof around, using the project as an excuse to meet up.
“Next, l/n y/n, and uh,” he glances around to whoever wasn’t called yet and unfortunately it lands on the pretty boy behind you, “uh Takumi Usui,” he finishes, Bokuto rising up his chair at an instant. There was a lot of his pleading before he got scolded, your teacher never gave in and now he’s miserable.
“Hey, Kō I’m bummed you’re not my partner too but your partner has much greater brains than me! It should be fine,” you pat at his back while he slouches from beside you on his chair and plants his face on your lap. He only whines in misery in response and you can’t help but chuckle as you run your fingers through his hair.
“Could you even breathe down there?” You’re lowkey embarrassed to be in that position with him in the middle of the classroom.
Feeling a light tap on your shoulder, you look behind you to see your partner smile at you. “Uh, hey, it’s cool we got to be partners y/n-chan, when should we meet up?”
Okay first of all, Y/N-CHAN?? He automatically turns to observe your face, his cheek now against your thighs. “Well, I’m free this weekend,” you smile back at him.
He should’ve been the one who’s going to meet you that weekend. “Can I come along?” He sits up and smiles at the both of you, you’re horrified and lowkey embarrassed while your partner’s surprised.
You face him and offer him a small smile, “Kō, you have your own partner to work with,” you gently tell him, touching his knee. He doesn’t respond but instead his hair droops along with his mood.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” you smile at Usui and Bokuto just short-circuits and panics as he watches you divert your attention to your partner once more. “It’s alright, so this weekend at my place, maybe?”
Bokuto grits his teeth, looking at the both of you in disbelief. “She’s mine! She’s mine, okay?” He blurts out, yanking your chair closest to him as possible and possessively wrapping his arms around your shoulders.
You, along with the rest of the class stare up at him and he’s fidgeting a little once he sees you bury your face in your hands, “I mean she’s not an object I could claim mine, but- uh- she’s your partner academically! While I- I am her pair in a romantic kind of way!”
You sigh before you untangle yourself from his arms, and he looks at you sorrily, afraid he’s made you mad but you offer your hand to him instead. After second-glancing you, he puts his big hand in yours and lets you guide him out of the room and in the quiet hallway.
“What was that about Kō?” You look up at him expectantly, crossing your arms against your chest. He doesn’t meet your eyes and looks down to his fingers instead, “are you mad at me?”
When you don’t respond, he continues, “sensei said he was announcing our pair, and it sounds so romantic and soulmate-like, I can’t believe I’m not your pair y/n, I’m not your soulmate,” his tone just gets sadder and sadder and you can’t help but chuckle, wrapping your arms around his waist and bringing him to a shock.
“Don’t be silly Kō, just like you said, no matter what, I’m yours,” you look up at him and he pouts, and it might just be your imagination but you think you saw his bottom lip quiver.
“Really?” He draws up his hand to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.
“Really.”
Kuroo Tetsurō
“Oya oya?” Like a pest he pops up out of nowhere while you sit side by side with your partner in the library; and you glare daggers at your boyfriend before he grins at the two of you. “Are you even doing that right?”
“None of your business, Tetsurō,” you swat away his hand from your shoulder, “get lost.” He only pouts at you before pulling up a chair, moving yours aside and sitting between the two of you. “Uh, excuse me, we have a project to finish.” Your partner sighs.
He knew Kuroo was displeased when your teacher announced you were partners because maybe he sat a little bit too close to you in class, but Kuroo constantly showing up unannounced was getting on his nerves.
“Excuse you, I’m not letting you drag down chibi-chan’s grades down the gutter along with yours,” he smirks at him, his cockiness short-lived as he’s met with your elbow to his ribs. “Get. Lost. Now,” you stare him down, his brows raising at you.
“You obviously need help, I mean, doesn’t your back hurt from carrying your entire project?” He jokes but he’s only met with your disapproving eyes, “okay, okay, backing off now, tell me if you need help.”
He unwillingly gets up from his chair, feigning a genuine smile your way as he drags his chair out of the way so you could sit closer to your partner. “Sorry about that dork,” you sigh. “Must be a pain, huh?”
The moment your eyes are off him, his smile falls, instantly replaced by a menacing sharp glare sending chills down your partner’s spine. “I’m one call away, kitten, I could sub in for your partner anytime,” he reminds you again, standing behind the both of you.
“My partner’s completely fine Tetsurō, you’re not needed,” you mindlessly say, scribbling something on your paper before glancing back at your partner to ask him something. He scoffs in disbelief; how could you be so cruel to him?
Deciding it was best to just leave his girlfriend who apparently doesn’t need him alone, he kicks the back of your partner’s chair before making his way to the door with a frown. Kenma wasn’t even listening to his rants, but from the gist of it he could tell his best friend was being possessive while you’re simply clueless.
“Y’know, I think your boyfriend’s acting kinda possessive.”
“No, he’s probably just bored or something so he bugs me and all that,” you shrug. Honey, that’s definitely not it.
By the time his volleyball practice ends, he races to the library. Oh, look at that little prick sitting so unnecessarily close to you, he exhales a breath in annoyance, hands in his hips as he observes you two from outside. Kai had advised him to not bother you, so he’ll just wait out.
He couldn’t just stand still though when you shiver and rub your hands together so now he’s come in the library again, making his way to the two of you. “Oh, great, he’s here again,” your partner huffs and you look up at Kuroo, wondering why he’s got a frown on his face.
“Shut up, you really don’t wanna try me right now,” he grits his teeth, silently putting on his jacket over your frame. “You don’t have to finish it all up in one go, kitten, I could take you home to rest now,” he mutters, putting his hands on your shoulders and massaging them.
“We’re almost finished, we’re wrapping it up,” you smile up at him and he sighs. “Fine.” You’re stunned when he slams his palm on the table, his arm between the both of you. “But some distance, maybe?” He turns to face your partner who immediately moves his chair a foot away.
“Oh, and could you pass me that book over there,” Kuroo nods to your partner’s book.
“What for?” He scoffs.
“I’m obviously not going to hit you with it if that’s what you’re worried about,” he muses before grabbing the book himself. “Tetsu, what are you even doing?”
He looks at you with a playful smile before leaning in and tilting his head to the side, your lips a mere inch apart, “I’m motivating you to finish.” He locks lips with you. Your partner was stiff, but he couldn’t see at all as Kuroo blocks your pressed lips with the very book he had snatched.
“I’ll wait outside, I’ve only come in to kiss my girl, oh, and here’s your book,” he tosses it to him, eyes directly on his as he wipes the corner of his lips just to make his point before walking out, sending a wink your way.
“Yup, he’s definitely possessive,” you watch him as he walks out.
Oikawa Tōru
The moment your teacher announces your partner was someone else who gave him the very foreign feeling of being possessive and wanting to prove you’re his, it seemed like the world was ending.
“Hey, Iwa-chan, do you still see our sensei over there?” He whispers, and Iwaizumi looks at him like he’s gone insane. “What?”
“Because all I see is the devil, how dare he,” he bites the inside of his cheek, eyes darting to the back of your head while you discuss something with your insanely attractive partner who he admits is generously half as pretty as him. “Are you still on about how y/n should be your partner?” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes.
“It’s only common sense, they don’t look great together at all.”
“This is not some matchmaking crap shittykawa, this is a school project.” The bell finally rings, class was officially over for the day.
“You just don’t understand Iwa-chan,” he clicks his tongue before slinging his bag to his shoulder and making his way over to you.
“Y/n-chan!” You’re flustered when you feel a hand on your stomach as you’re pulled to Tōru’s chest. “Who’s this?” He smiles at your partner who stood across the two of you. “What do you mean ‘who’s this,’ he’s our classmate, he’s my partner too.”
Okay, something along the lines of ‘my partner’ had his eye twitching. He listens in to your conversation as you make plans about when you should meet, his chin resting above your head the whole time while he hugs you from behind.
You know Tōru’s not really one for caring who sees him displaying affection so his behavior now would pass up as normal but you get the feeling he’s purposely trying to show off right now.
“So we could start today then, at my place?” You partner asks, but before you could respond, Tōru beats you to it. “Absolutely not, Usui-kun,” he scowls as if Usui had said something so controversial. You also notice how he had unconsciously held you to him tighter.
“Someone’s a possessive boyfriend,” your partner grins.
“Me?” He scoffs, “I know I’m crazy for y/n and it shows, but I’m not that crazy.”
“Fine, then we’re going to my house.”
“The answer remains no, you’re not worthy enough to bring my y/n-chan inside your house.” You’re awkwardly just standing there, feeling more suffocated as Oikawa holds you closer to him the more their argument drags on.
“What are you, her dad?” Usui scoffs, but is now caught off guard upon meeting Oikawa’s cold eyes and taunting smirk.
“You’d be surprised as to what y/n calls me inside the walls of my bedroom,” he says it like it’s no big deal, and you break free from his hold, about to slap his chest but Iwaizumi smacks his head before you could lay a hand on him.
“Ow! Iwa-chan, my brain hurts!”
“I doubt you even have one shittykawa! Don’t go blurting out stuff like that,” he scolds.
“Thanks Iwa,” you genuinely smile at him before glaring at Oikawa. “Uh, so where then?” Your partner interrupts. “We could go to my place, my mom wouldn’t mind, might as well go now while it’s still early,” you walk towards him, Oikawa’s jaw dropping at how you so quickly left his side.
“Hey, wait a minute y/n-chan, I don’t approve of this,” he whines, yanking your wrist. “You really don’t have a say in this Tōru, we have a project to work on, byebye,” you hastily kiss his cheek before leaving with your partner.
He was hot on his heels about to follow you out but he’s yanked by the collar and dragged to practice by the impatient Iwaizumi. “Hey Usui-kun, my mom wouldn’t like you!” He shouts, struggling to not get his arm ripped off as he tries to resist Iwaizumi dragging him to the opposite direction of the both of you.
“We don’t have the same mom, Tōru!”
The instant practice ends, he has made it to his way inside your home, bearing chocolates and flowers for your mother. “Tōru, why are you here? And what’s all this?” Your mom asks him and he only chuckles while scratching the back of his neck, “I just haven’t dropped by in a while, where’s y/n though?”
Please not your bedroom.
“She’s in her bedroom with Usu-
“What? You can’t be on first-name basis with him already! Uh- I mean, I’m sorry, can I go up to her room?”
Your mother knowingly smiles as Oikawa dashes up the stairs. Looking at the chocolates he brought, it was as if he wanted to bribe your mom into liking him more. It was just like when you first brought him home.
“WHY IS THE DOOR EVEN CLOSED?” You yelp in shock when the door swings open, revealing a screaming Tōru fresh from his practice. “Geez, relax, it was windy.” You sigh, getting up from the floor to give him a hug but he has marched his way past you.
“Then at least close your window, not the door,” he grumbles as he shuts your windows so the wind couldn’t get in. He turns to look at the both of you wearing the same expression of ‘what the hell are you even doing here.’
“You.” He points down at Usui who was still sat on the floor, “what are you still doing here? Get up, I’m kicking you out.”
“Tōru I am this close to kicking you out, we have a project to finish,” you hiss at him, pushing him away from your area of scattered papers and plopping him down on your bed. “Stay there, don’t make noise, and let us work in peace.”
He frowns, turning to lay on his stomach and prodding his elbows against the mattress as he rests his chin on his hands. He observes the two of you work, his frown never leaving his face as you kept on ignoring him.
“Hey, y/n-chan, can I have a kiss?” He asks, looking at your partner to see his reaction.
“No, Toru, you cannot,” you deadpan, making Usui chuckle.
His smile only returns to his face upon bidding your partner goodbye, his teeth showing at how happy he was as he faces both you and your mom. “Now, I declare this lovely household cleansed!”
You only roll your eyes, guiding him up your room so you could cuddle while your mom starts to prepare dinner.
General Taglist [Open]: @noyasbitchh @dinablossom @haru-the-secret @strayczennies @lalisbitch @tinymidgetsstuff @animebs @astrealia @kittykitkatstrawberry @hajimesbbygrl @kellesvt @24hr7dysdizzy @arnxldss @elianetsantana @vicassa @floraraine @beanst0ck @leinnah @kageyamasgirl @deafeningart @minibobabottle @franko-pop @moonlightaangel @throughtheinterstices @micasaessakusa @dixonsbugaboo
#haikyuu x reader#oikawa x reader#kuroo x reader#bokuto x reader#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu!! x reader#haikyuu!! scenarios#haikyuu headcanons#haikyuu!! headcanons#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu!! imagines#haikyuu kuroo#haikyuu oikawa#haikyuu bokuto
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Please please some Harry being edged!!!
17 Minutes
Harry/OC!Erica
Words: 2.1k
Warnings: Sub!Harry, Edging, Dom!Erica
Summary: "Please, I want to watch," Harry shifted on the bed and bit his lip, looking up at her adoringly. "I know you do but I don't want you see what I'm going to do to you. I just want you to feel,"
Erica loved the headboard over the bed in their master bedroom. It was sleek. Black painted metal in a geometric design. It was modern but not boring. She might be slightly biased since she had designed it herself and had had it custom-made. She’d been asked quite a few times what had inspired the design. She gave a different answer every time.
It was hardly appropriate telling the truth... That she wanted a solid headboard that had several options for how she could cuff or tie Harry to it.
Making sure Harry’s leather cuffs were secured properly around his wrists, she lifted them up before locking them to the headboard.
Looking down at Harry, Erica smiled as she watched him tug on the cuffs lightly as he squirmed on the bed, his hard cock resting against his stomach. “The cuffs good?” She asked, stroking his cheek.
Harry leaned into her touch. “Mmm, perfect,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her hand. Erica leaned down and gave him a kiss. “You just need one more thing before we can start,”
Standing up, she walked over to their dresser and pulled out a blindfold.
“Please, I want to watch,” Harry shifted on the bed and bit his lip, looking up at her adorably.
“I know you do but I don’t want you to see what I’m going to do to you. I just want you to feel,” Erica came back over to him. She could see Harry wanted to object more. He was still clinging to some notion that he was in control. That he had a choice.
Putting the blindfold over his eyes, Erica hummed as she secured the buckle on the side of Harry’s head. Admiring the sight in front of her, she tested the function of the blindfold by slapping Harry across the cheek.
“Fuck!” Harry gasped, his cheek going bright red and his cock did a little jump in excitement.
“I think we’re ready to start,” Erica grinned as she got on the bed, sitting between Harry’s spread legs. This was one of her favorite games to play with Harry. Have him at her complete mercy as she could do whatever she wanted to him. The thrill from being in control was almost too much sometimes… but just almost.
She could see that he was listening carefully for any hints. A minute or so had passed since she’d sat down, and she still had yet to touch him. Moving around a bit on the bed to keep Harry guessing, she leaned forward and pinched one of his nipples hard, making him yelp.
Grabbing the bottle of lube she had by her side she poured some into her hand before letting some drip down on Harry’s cock head. Harry was doing his best to lie still, his legs and stomach twitching every now and then as he wanted to do something. Anything.
Wrapping her fingers tightly around Harry’s cock, Erica moved her hand up and down slowly. The room filling with the sound of the slick of the lube and Harry’s long, low moan. “So good,” Harry’s mouth hung slightly open after he spoke.
“It’s been a while..” Erica said while stroking Harry’s shaft, focusing on just his cock head now. “I wonder what your time is going to be” she mused. Running her fingertips down his cock, Erica grabbed his balls loosely and rolled them carefully in her hand. “What was your record again?” She asked while reaching for Harry’s cock ring. They had a few but the adjustable rope ones and the silicon rings were their favorites.
“44 minutes,” Harry told her shakily. “Please, I’m going to cum,” he pushed his heels into the mattress and thrust into her hand.
Pulling her hand away, Erica listened to Harry’s whines as he thrust his hips into the air. “Lie still,” she ordered as she pushed his hips back to the bed. Doing one last check on the cock ring rope, she started putting it on.
“Miss, no,” Harry protested and tried to squirm away. “I want to cum, please,” he begged.
“Harry, I thought you wanted to show me how good of a boy you are? Lie still. Now,” Erica said sternly, giving Harry’s balls a little slap to encourage him to listen even more.
“M’sorry, sorry! I’m a good boy, promise,” he sniffled and did calm himself down, lying completely still on the bed.
Making sure the cock ring rope was on properly, Erica got some more lube onto her hand before holding his cock with one hand and teasing her fingers tips over his cock head.
“Fuck, fuck, miss, please,” Harry gasped, tugging on his cuffs, his fingers trying to grasp onto anything at all.
Watching him closely, Erica kept teasing his cock head. Only backing off when she thought he might cum.
“Turn over, up on your knees,” Erica said while giving Harry’s cock a little tug.
“Yes, miss,” Harry mumbled before licking his lips and managing to gather his shaky legs. Rolling over he moaned as his cock rubbed against the sheets. Knowing Erica was watching him, he hoisted himself up on his knees and lifted his bum into the air.
“Good boy,” Erica praised him, stroking his bum tenderly. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen your lovely bum bright red and bruised. Felt how warm it gets after a nice beating,” she mused, grinning as Harry pushed back against her hand with a little moan.
“I know, I know, you’d love that, baby boy but we’re not doing that right now,” Erica let out a little laugh at Harry’s disappointed whine. Giving him a few hard slaps on his bum cheeks, she smirked while grabbing the bottle of lube.
Making sure her fingers were properly coated with lube, she shuffled closer and got up on her knees. Circling her finger around Harry’s hole, Erica held a hand on Harry’s hip while slowly easing in her index finger.
“S’not fair,” Harry keened, shuddering in pleasure as he pushed his ass back. “You know how much I love being fingered, m’not gonna last,”
Laughing quietly while easing a second finger in, Erica moved them slowly in and out to prep him. “Hardly my fault you’re a little slut is it? You would love to be filled all the time if you could,” she pointed out.
Harry let out a long whine. “Not nice,” he mumbled with a big pout on his face.
Letting out a laugh, Erica reached between his legs and stroked his cock while fucking him with her fingers. “But it’s all true,” she told him while bringing him close to the edge. Pulling her fingers out of him, Erica grabbed the buttplug and lubed it up.
“Hold still,” She said while she started to slowly ease the buttplug in.
Harry let out a long guttural moan as he arched his bum up, his hole easily swallowing the plug as it was pushed in.
“That better? All filled up,” Erica teased as she moved the buttplug slowly inside of him.
“Mmmm,”
Grinning, she pushed it all the way in before giving it a little tap and grasping his hard, weeping cock. She’d closed her fingers in a loose fist so she was barely making any friction as she stroked him slowly.
“Please, please let me cum,” Harry begged, his back muscles tightening as he thrust into Erica’s hand. “I can’t,” he whimpered as he pressed his forehead down into the mattress and took several shaky breaths.
“Sweet boy, we’ve only just started. We’ve got a bit to go yet,” Erica smirked as she poured some more lube onto her hand before wrapping her fingers around Harry’s cock once more, jerking him off quickly this time.
Harry moaned loudly. “Been too long, I can’t, please, been too long since last time, have to cum, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he rambled.
Erica stilled her hand but kept it on Harry.
“Please, please, I can’t do it, I need to!” Harry cried as he thrust into her hand, trying to rub off on the mattress.
“Hey!” Erica said sharply and spanked his bum twice. “On your back now,” She told him, helping him roll over the right way so his cuffs wouldn’t tangle up. “You’re going to be a good boy, do as I say and let me have fun with you. If you’re good, you’ll get to cum,”
Harry nodded quickly as he whimpered. “Sorry, sorry, gonna be good,”
Grabbing the vibrator wand, Erica gave Harry’s cock a few quick strokes before cupping the cock head and turning on the vibrator, holding it against the tip of his cock.
“Oh my god,” Harry moaned, twisting and squirming as he planted his heels into the mattress and pushed up, trying to get more pressure. She could see that his thighs were trembling and hear the little groans he kept letting out.
She’d have to train him a lot more to come close to his record. She knew that once Harry went back to work, she would have to insist on training when they were apart, even if it wasn’t Harry’s favorite thing in the world. They were just shy of ten minutes and he was already close to the edge.
Turning off the vibrator, Erica stroked one finger softly up and down Harry’s shaft while he let out a string of whimpers and mewls. She kept up the teasing as she grabbed the base of the butt plug, moving it equally slow in and out of him.
“Please, more, harder, please,” Harry begged as he rolled his hips.
“You want more?” Erica asked sweetly, pulling the buttplug out all the way before thrusting it back in.
“Please! Yes, more,” Harry cried out.
Erica smirked as she pulled her hands away and enjoyed the cry of despair coming from Harry. “I can give you more, sweet boy,” she told him as she poured some more lube onto her hand. Wrapping her fingers around his cock, she swiped her thumb over his cock head a few times before she started jerking him off fast.
She grabbed hold of the vibrator again and held it to the cock head for a few seconds at a time as she let it vibrate at the highest setting.
Harry was a moaning mess now, and it was such a beautiful sight.
Erica moved the vibrator down, giving him the tiniest little break before torturing him some more.
As Erica held the vibrator wand against the spot between his cock and balls, Harry arched up. She kept the pressure steady with the wand while stroking him fast.
“Gonna cum, gonna cum, please, gonna,” Harry babbled on before holding his breath as he started shooting his cum all over his chest. Letting out a choked moan, he dropped down on the bed completely drained of energy to hold himself up.
Shutting off the vibrator, Erica put it down on the bed. Harry was heaving for his breath as he tried to calm down.
Carefully opening the cock ring rope, she ignored the whimper coming from Harry as she was touching his overly sensitive cock. Reaching for a towel she had at the end of the bed, she wiped off most of the spilled lube and the cum on his chest with gentle little dabs.
“You were so good, baby. Such a good boy for me,” Erica praised Harry as she got up and opened the cuffs, helping Harry bring his hands down, they always got so heavy and spent after being restrained.
“I’ll be right with you,” Erica whispered as Harry reached for her. Quickly grabbing the items on the bed, she put them and the dirty towel on the floor to clean later. Throwing a blanket over Harry, she lied down next to him and held him tight. Harry snuggling close and grabbing on tightly as he pressed his face against her chest.
“Sweet boy,” she murmured while stroking his back. Reaching up, she undid the buckle on the blindfold and eased out from between her and Harry. “Lights are still on, might be a bit bright,” Erica commented as Harry tried looking up at her but quickly ducked his head back down.
“I love you, my favorite little good boy,” Erica whispered as she pressed a kiss to Harry’s head, smiling slightly as she felt Harry shiver and hold on tighter. He didn’t reply but he did nuzzle closer and press a kiss against her chest.
She’d let him rest and recover for an hour or so then they’d see what happened. He still had his buttplug in him after all.
Next part in the series
Masterlist
#harry styles#sub!harry#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles smut#oc!erica#harry styles imagines#harry styles fics#anon#anon request#harry styles kink
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you’re someone i just want around: VI
“I think I’m catching feelings
And I don’t know if this is empathy I feel
Just hold on
Remember when you said this was the last time?”
Sex, Eden
A/N: okay this chapter has probably been my favourite to write so far because we are finally. finally!!!!!! getting to a lil smidgen of softness!!!!! and the softness will only continue like originally I had a different lyric in mind for this chapter (a hozier lyric to stay on brand) and decided that it was too soft so I stocked it away to use in the future when things get even sweeter and harry gets even dumber 😌 we really hope you guys enjoy this chapter!!! and please remember that feedback is truly, madly, deeply™ appreciated!!!! not just by us but by all content creators!!!!! and if you enjoy it, please reblog it!!!! spreading content keeps creators motivated!!!!! and so do messages about what you liked!!!! it lets us know what sort of vibe to add in later!!!! okay now that that’s out of the way!!!! let’s dive in 😼
ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist
word count: 29.1k
content/warnings: a good healthy dose of denial and justification to deny feelings, the defamation of gherkin pickles, pet names (literally), a strong independent woman who don’t need no man, a (not quite) man who definitely needs a strong independent woman, brunch served with a side of emotional trauma, breaking promises, nsfw social distancing, and Harry once again ignoring the phrase “bros before hoes”
///
Harry knows he’s good at a lot of things.
He’s good at picking up on fashion trends and turning them into timeless styles, molding each piece to fit his own persona with ease. He’s good at identifying the locational origins of wines within five seconds of the sweet liquid crossing over his tongue. He’s good at mixing his own drinks as well, always managing to craft the perfect concoction that suits each drinker’s needs. He’s good at creating gallery walls in his apartment, at charming anyone into giving him what he wants with a slip of his mouth, and at pissing off his friends until they’re threatening to stake him just to get a little peace and quiet. Harry is good at chess, at reciting poetry from memory, and at painting his non-dominant hand’s fingernails without smudging any nail polish onto his icy skin. Harry is fucking excellent at coaxing orgasms out from his lovers. He knows that he’s good at a lot of things.
The issue, he realizes the day after he asks Y/N out on a real date, is that planning a real date is not one of those things.
This, Harry rationalizes to himself, is not his fault. After all, the last time he’d been on a real date was during the Victorian era, and Harry is fairly certain that taking a chaperoned stroll around his beloved’s estate garden isn’t in fashion anymore. And when the way all of those dates ended is taken into account, Harry doesn’t think his past experiences should be the marker for a good date, anyways.
It’s this frustrating lack of knowledge that leads Harry to do what he always does when he doesn’t know the answer to something: he Googles it.
With the top of the line Macbook Harry had purchased a few months back with the money from a CEO of some candle company perched on his lap, Harry relaxes back onto his leather couch, kicking his brown boots up onto the matching footrest as he does so. Once the search engine is open and the cursor is blinking in front of his face, however, the vampire pauses, his manicured fingernails perched over the keys. What question could he possibly Google for his situation?
Harry twists his lion head ring around his cool finger as he thinks, his tongue tucked between his lips in concentration while potential queries run through his head. Ideas for a first date with a girl you’ve been fucking for a month. Things to do in L.A. with a mortal when you’re a two hundred year old vampire. Places to take someone after drinking their blood. A snort echoes from Harry’s throat as the last idea pops into his head. Somehow, Harry isn’t confident in what results those questions will show him.
Tapping his black lacquered nails against the keys, Harry purses his lips as he loses himself in thought. How had he even gotten himself into this position? The reason he hasn’t planned a date in centuries is because he doesn’t date, and for good reason. What use does a soulless vampire have for dating? Mortals use romantic outings to open their hearts to one another, and Harry, in contrast, can’t open what he doesn’t have.
Despite his wondering, however, he knows exactly how he got himself into this situation: he let himself get jealous of a fake-tanned, shaggy-haired idiot named Jacob, a name that Harry despises on principle alone. It had been a perfectly fine name until that awful Meyer woman decided to make it one of the banes of Harry’s existence. And while Harry doesn’t have a particularly forgiving nature, he had just finally begun to get over the association, but thanks to that hallway confrontation at the end of Y/N’s date with the obtusely orange fool, Harry is now reminded that he will forever hate the name with a burning passion. And shaggy hair. And fake tans. And while the irony of him, a vampire—with a middle name of Edward, for Christ’s sake—hating an insignificant mortal named Jacob, simply because he dared to make a pass at the object of Harry’s fascination, is not lost on him, all of that was pushed aside the moment Harry smelled the perfume his fascination wore for the mortal boy.
Y/N never wears perfume for him. And though she had assured him that her dressing up had been for him, he can’t shake the fact that Jacob had gotten to experience it first.
It’s not that Y/N needs to wear perfume for him. In fact, if Harry’s being honest with himself, he likes that she doesn’t spritz artificial scents all over her body before letting him into her home and between her legs. She has one of the sweetest natural scents Harry’s ever had the pleasure of inhaling, all lavender and honey and utterly intoxicating. Of course, as all mortals are, Y/N is unaware of the mouth watering fragrance that drips from her skin, while Harry is all too aware of it at all times, but her obliviousness to her natural scent doesn’t change the fact that Harry would bathe in it if he could. If it were possible, Harry would pump an entire room full of her personal cloud of lavender and honey, lay back on the floor, turn down the lights, spark a joint, and let himself get lost in the very thought of her. That would be Harry’s personal definition of Nirvana.
But Y/N isn’t aware of her natural, skin sweetening aroma like Harry is, which means two things. Firstly, that Y/N doesn’t feel the need to smear anything unnatural on her body to attract Harry; she knows she doesn’t need to go through all that trouble. And that was fine with Harry, until he realized the second thing, which is that there potentially could be someone that Y/N would go to all that trouble for if he doesn’t keep her entertained and occupied. She had told him her date with Jacob hadn’t been on her terms, and that she’d done it just to be courteous towards a co-worker, but that doesn’t sedate the truth: There will always be a maddening possibility that occasions could come into play in which Y/N will spray a choking cloud of gardenia and freesia over herself, all in the hopes of appealing a suitor. The issue is that in those hypothetical cases, the suitor Y/N would be trying to impress wouldn’t be Harry.
Actually, that’s only the first issue. The second issue is that it could be another fraternity moron with an equally stupid name.
After the vampire had come upon Y/N ending her date in front of her door, just minutes before their own rendezvous was scheduled, Harry had felt an initial burst of blind rage, and everything after is a blur. He vaguely remembers trying to make Jacob uncomfortable and delighting in how he succeeded, until he saw the anger on Y/N’s sweet face. He remembers a brief discussion about limits and honesty, and about how she was only interested in him, and that he shouldn’t waste his time stressing about her supposedly dormant dating life. And, most importantly, he remembers asking Y/N to accompany him on a real date, one that would blow her date with the VeggieTales carrot out of the water.
Now, of course, he’s beginning to regret his impulsive decision, purely for the fact that he now has to figure out how to woo a mortal girl just enough to keep her away from creeps with horribly coiffed hair.
And yet, despite this regret…there’s something new curling inside his belly as he types the phrase date ideas for L.A. into the search bar, the blinking cursor reflecting in his eyes before he presses the enter key and millions of results pop up. Ah, the joys of the internet, he thinks as he scours the results with inhuman speed. It’ll take Harry a few different clicks to find the perfect activity for himself and Y/N, and his hyperfocus on the topic will stop him from over analyzing that new feeling twisting inside him.
It’s a win-win situation, if he can say so himself.
Harry’s halfway through the first disappointing article (somehow, he doesn’t think taking Y/N on a hike is very romantic) when the door to his condo opens and reveals Mitch in the frame, dressed in his usual casual attire, this time of blue jeans and a plaid shirt. Harry has spent the last century trying to refine the older vampire’s taste in clothing, even going so far as to once donate the entirety of Mitch’s closet to a homeless shelter, but all his efforts have been in vain, as his friend still insists on wearing the standard (and boring) style for every decade they’ve lived through together.
“Hey,” Mitch greets from the end of the corridor with a nonchalant nod, shutting the door behind himself before sauntering further into the living room. “Thought we were meeting at the bar at eight?”
It takes Harry a moment to remember the agreement Mitch refers to, his brow creasing as his eyes flicker to the corner of his computer screen. By the time he registers the numbers 8:41 shining back at him, the memory of agreeing to get drinks with Mitch after his evening gig has resurfaced. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”
“I thought so.” Mitch moves the decorative pillow next to Harry on the couch, taking a seat in his usual spot. His voice is slightly sarcastic as he gives Harry a knowing look. “That’s been happening a lot lately. Lapses in your memory and such.”
“It's old age, I suppose.” Harry’s lips quirk up in amusement, although he knows that Mitch’s comment is pointed towards a subject they’re both acquainted with, courtesy of Harry’s absence on their annual Vegas trip about a week prior. “It’s finally getting to me.”
The long-haired immortal makes a vague sound of humorous acknowledgement, but offers no other response as he turns his gaze to the younger vampire.
Harry watches as his friend’s expert eyes appraise his appearance, examining how the older vampire takes note of the messy state of Harry’s hair that indicates he’s been tugging on it in frustration, the redness of his lips, the way he’s curled over his open laptop. Although he makes no further comment on Harry’s newfound tendencies, his brows furrow in confusion. “What are you doing?”
“I, uh—” The amusement is replaced by an unfamiliar feeling of nervousness that sweeps through Harry’s entire body. “I’m doing research.”
When he’s given no other explanation, Mitch prompts his younger friend. “On?”
“I...asked that girl from the club out on a date— Y/N. Like, I invited her on a proper one.” Harry elaborates, twisting his lionhead ring around his finger as he speaks. “But I don’t really know, like, what to do with her. I’m a little out of touch with what a typical twenty-something woman wants to do on a real date.”
And this is another thing Harry is usually good at— being confident and sure of himself. Normally, he speaks with ease and a nonchalant cadence to his words, lacking any worry about how he’ll be perceived. Harry knows what he wants, and knows how to articulate it. Right now, however, he feels the complete opposite. There’s a tension aching its way through his muscles and settling into the pit of his stomach, curling around those organs that haven’t been truly needed in years, and the utterly bemused expression weaving its way onto Mitch’s face doesn’t help.
The quiet vampire cocks his head to the side upon receiving this news, propping one foot up onto Harry’s coffee table and addressing him with a mocking air. “Why are you taking her on an actual date? From what you’ve told me— which isn’t much, and that strains our best friend reputation, if I’m being honest— I thought you two had an...understanding?”
“We did. We do.” Harry stumbles over his words as he half shuts the laptop, setting it down on the coffee table and giving Mitch’s foot a quick playful shove off the lacquered surface as he repositions himself. “But she went on a date with someone else, so I have to—”
“Are you jealous?” His friend cuts over him with an incredulous tone, and the disbelief sends a flare of something akin to shame through Harry’s body. “Because she had a date?”
“I’m not jealous.” With a firm voice, Harry manages to scoff at the very notion. “I may be a monster, but my eyes are red, not green. It’s just—”
“Well, technically, they are.”
The immortal ignores the shit-eating correction. “—occurred to me that our arrangement will end if Y/N starts seeing some mortal bloke. So, if she wants a relationship, then I can fabricate one for her.”
Although the excuse slips off his tongue easily enough, Harry refuses to meet Mitch’s eyes as he picks up his laptop and opens it again, clicking his way onto another article in the search results. The older vampire’s stare feels as if it’s scorching his icy skin, and Harry can’t exactly say he enjoys the sensation, but it’s better than the alternative of admitting to Mitch—and to himself—that he may harbour the smallest trace of feelings for the human girl.
However, Mitch seems to buy the rushed explanation. “Fabricate a relationship?” He repeats, scratching the base of his chin slowly. “Doesn’t that seem a little...cruel?”
“It’s not. It’s only for a bit, and once I’m done with her, I’ll probably just…” The words lodge in his throat for some unknown reason, but he forces them out. “I’ll probably just wipe myself from her mind, and she…” Harry’s sharp teeth tug on his plump bottom lip. “She won’t remember me. It’ll be fine.”
Yes, Harry repeats to himself as he scrolls through all the results Google has to offer. It’ll be fine. It has to be fine, really, because what’s the alternative? Harry’s kind aren’t exactly built for a long term commitment to anyone that’s less than immortal. The kindest thing for him to do would be to let Y/N go now, without having to use compulsion at all. It would be so simple, he thinks. One small text, a few words along the lines of “it’s not working out, and we probably shouldn’t see each other again, I’m sorry. H.” would probably suffice. And surely she’d be a little upset, but she’s mortal, and a mortal’s feelings never stay the same for long. It would take her a few weeks, or maybe a month at most to get over the creature she’d begun a casual sexual relationship with. Within a year, Harry and their short-lived friendship would be nothing but a small blip in her memory, and she’d be moved on to someone else.
Harry can see her future so clearly that he almost believes it’s shining through his laptop screen like an old film. Y/N, going back out for the first time after Harry breaks things off. Y/N, bumping into a handsome stranger with a bright smile and dull eyes. Y/N, slumped over her kitchen table and fighting a hangover as the stranger hands her a cup of coffee. Y/N and the stranger going for dinner. Walking hand in hand. Kissing goodnight at the door.
Harry’s mind spins through scenarios faster and faster, racing through every possible future for Y/N before he can even take another breath. Although some scenarios have different paths, different breakups, different faces, they always end at the very same place: Y/N in a white dress, walking down a flower strewn aisle, and taking the warm hand of someone who is not Harry.
If Harry needed to breathe, the wind would’ve been knocked out of him the moment he pictured those warm hands with blood pulsing beneath the skin lifting Y/N’s veil, cupping her flushed cheek, and sealing their lips to hers. It’s a perfectly normal image. A human pledging themselves to another human. It’s natural, by human standards, as they seem to value monogamy over everything else. The path Harry is seeing is the path Y/N was always meant to take. So why does it make his icy blood curdle?
Mitch, who seems to be completely unaware of the wild road map his friend’s mind has just drawn, speaks out his concerns in a quiet but careful voice. “Are you sure you’re not getting too attached?” He asks, gauging Harry’s reaction to his question as if it’s a catastrophic statement. “You’ve been spending more and more time with her, you blew off the Vegas trip for the first time…” The older vampire gives a soft shrug of his shoulders. “If it were just for sex and blood, that would be one thing, but it’s almost like you’re getting…addicted to her.”
Although the statement first brings a laugh to Harry's strawberry lips, the initial chuckle quickly fades away as the gravity of Mitch’s statement hits its recipient. Certainly, he feels an indescribable draw to Y/N, but he knows, deep down, that any addiction he has to her is more so to her blood than anything else. After all, what else could he possibly indulge? The last time Harry let himself be addicted to a person, he ended up with a broken neck and newfound bloodlust. He’s learned since then. He’s not so naïve, or so foolish, as to let his emotions wander like that again. He knows better.
“There’s no addiction—I just like her blood more than others, that’s all.” Harry assures his friend, tapping his thumb against the band of his mother’s opal ring. “I know I’ve been a bit of a flake lately, but it’s just while I have her around. I’ll get tired of her eventually; I always do.” He deliberately flashes his crimson eyes at his friend with a knowing smirk. “And then all it’ll take is a few choice words to take care of whatever lingering marks—metaphorical or otherwise— I’ve left on her, and it’ll all be done, and in the past. You know me, mate. Sometimes I like playing with my food.”
That last sentence makes his mouth go sour, almost as if his body is punishing him for uttering something so indifferently ruthless. Especially because deep down, there’s the smallest seed of doubt in his speech— the tiniest hint of uncertainty, telling him that the detachment he is playing up is not true.
Harry forces it to be true. It has to be. Both for his sake, and Y/N’s.
Mitch spends a long few minutes gazing into the blood red irises marching his stare, determined to find a crack in their façade. However, Harry’s good at hiding his feelings, given that he’s had decades of practice on how to keep a thick curtain draped over his innermost thoughts. He won’t let anyone see his weaknesses anymore, no matter how microscopic they might be.
When the older monster’s search turns up empty, he repents with a long sigh, waving his hands free of the whole affair. “Whatever, Harry. You seem to know what you’re doing. Just be careful, alright?”
“I do know what I’m doing, thank you.” Harry elects to ignore the last statement Mitch tacked on, and instead flips his laptop around to show his friend his findings with a triumphant—albeit, forced—grin. “I’m doing brunch. Google says girls Y/N’s age like brunch, and that the Persimmon Pantry in downtown L.A. has authentic crepes that are to die for.”
“Too bad you’re already dead.” The older vampire deadpans, pushing the laptop closed and raising himself from the couch into a standing position, tucking his hands into his jean pockets. “If you’re going to be dating a mortal, do we get to meet her? Because I think Niall may need a bit of a heads up after the accidental run in that happened last time—”
“Do you usually meet my meals?” Harry counters easily as he sets his laptop aside, standing to escort Mitch to the door. “Don’t be sentimental, Mitch. I’m certainly not.”
When Mitch’s eyes meet his own once again, there’s a degree of clarity running through them that nearly stops Harry in his tracks. “Aren’t you?” Mitch asks, voice neutral by careful control.
Harry sucks in a quick breath out of habit, pasting a bright expression over his face in lieu of actually revealing his swirling insides. “Not since I learned my lesson.” He says easily, tapping two fingers over his dormant carotid artery with a sly smile.
The casual act does the trick, and Mitch’s eyes roll in a familiar jesting fashion as he steps towards the door. “Right. You’ve got it under control, then.”
“All under control.” The words slip off Harry’s dry tongue like honey, his sweet cadence filling the space between them. “Not to worry.”
///
Y/N thinks this may be the most out of control she’s ever felt her entire life.
A few weeks ago, she would’ve said that taking Harry home from the club was the most out of control she’s ever been. And three months ago, dropping her whole life and moving to L.A. might have been the answer to that question. And another three months from now, Y/N might get herself into the middle of a new entirely stupid act— which is completely probable, given her track record— and that’ll become the new marker for the most out of control thing she’s done. But right now, at this moment, the most out of control thing she’s done is say yes to Harry asking her out to brunch.
When compared to everything else she’s done with Harry—and let Harry do to her—brunch may seem entirely harmless, but it’s the connotation behind it that scares her. Harry is taking her on a date. A real date. A date to a brunch restaurant, at 11 A.M. on a Sunday, when it’ll be completely bright outside, and people will see them together. A date with both of them in presentable situations, rather than being coated in sweat and completely dressed. A date where Harry refrains from whispering the filthiest fucking shit Y/N has ever heard into her ear, although she wouldn’t put it past him trying to do that over a plate of avocado toast.
Harry is taking her on a date. And last time Y/N checked, she wasn’t exactly good at those.
Her ex hadn’t really been the romantic type, to say the least. Their dates typically revolved around their high school’s dance and athletic schedules. Bradley took her to homecoming and to prom, and football games on Friday nights, where all her friends would meet them at a diner after their school— more often than not— lost. He would take her on long drives where they got nowhere fast, with the two of them sitting in silence, and his music playing through the speakers. She went over to his house once a week for dinner. He’d take her to a movie every second Saturday. And while it was all fine, none of it was very romantic. ‘Robotic’ is a more appropriate term.
And even with the fear of actual romance aside, Y/N has no idea what to discuss on a first date with someone. She had already known a lot about her ex when they began going out, so there wasn’t a period of “getting to know you” that needed to happen. The few first dates she’d had after him hadn’t been stellar, or even noteworthy. If anything, they had been guides for what not to do on a first date. And the funniest thing is that, while she’s fairly sure her last first date had been the catalyst for Harry asking her out, the actual date itself had been awful. But if she’s right, and that was the factor that set Harry off, then maybe she should be grateful for all those awful dates from her past, because Harry, in contrast to all those horrible dates, is different in every conceivable way.
Harry is just different. When she speaks, he listens. When he looks at her, he really looks at her, and he sees her in a way she’s not sure she’s ever been seen before. And, honestly, he has seen her in ways she’s never been seen before, and that’s exactly what Y/N is worried about. How do you sip a mimosa with someone at the Persimmon Pantry after they’ve throat fucked you on your couch, or bent you over the kitchen counter, or handcuffed you to their bed? How do you ask someone about their favourite movie when they’ve coaxed multiple orgasms from you over the phone as Sinister played from the TV screen? How do you listen as someone tells you about their childhood dog when the last dog you were concerned about was the position they bent you into as they spread your—
Y/N clears her throat and shakes her head of the thought, reevaluating her heated complexion in the mirror that hangs on the back of her bedroom door. “Stop it.” She mutters to herself, attempting to give her reflection a stern look. “You’re not going to be able to make it through this if you’ve thrown the towel in before Harry’s even picked you up.”
And that’s another thing, Y/N thinks, as she opens her bedroom closet and begins searching through it for something acceptable to wear. Harry insisted on picking her up, even though the restaurant he chose was a fifteen minute walk from her apartment. She’d brought this up to him when he asked her to brunch over the phone (which is a whole other thing in and of itself— he only called her when he had his hand wrapped around his cock and needed her voice to finish himself off; wouldn’t a text have been sufficient?), but Harry had blown off her concern without a second thought.
“Part of taking you on a date is picking you up, Y/N.”
“Yeah, but the Persimmon Pantry is between our apartments. Wouldn’t it make more sense to meet there? Then you wouldn’t waste your time driving past it to get me.”
“I don’t consider anything involving you to be a waste of time.” Harry had answered immediately, his voice stern, but still allowing a vein of tenderness to run underneath it. “Is that your only concern, then? Me picking you up?”
No, Y/N had thought. It’s not my only concern, but how the fuck do I explain everything else?
“Yeah.” Y/N had answered tightly, her voice weak. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Well, it’s not a concern of mine, so don’t worry. I’ll pick you up at 10:45 Sunday morning.” And then there had been a pause, full of baited breath and nerves, before Harry’s thick accent rang through her phone again. “I can’t wait to see you.”
Those parting words had sat in her stomach since, warm and cozy and inviting, keeping a soft, constant glow filtering in her veins until the end of the week came.
Y/N glances at the blinking clock beside her bed. It’s 10:17 now, a couple days after that conversation, which means she has less than half an hour to pick something to wear, style her hair that’s currently dripping wet from her shower, and throw on enough makeup to cover up the bags under her eyes that have been developing over the last few nights. After becoming so used to sleeping with Harry next to her every weekend, Y/N is now finding that not having him in her bed, smoothing her hair and rubbing her cheek as she cuddles into his cool chest is prohibiting her from getting a good night’s sleep.
Another concern, certainly, but not one she can deal with at this moment. The best she can do is smear on some concealer and hope for the best, and with that in mind, Y/N turns her full attention to her evaluation of her closet.
“Brunch,” She murmurs to herself, slowly pushing her clothing apart to examine each article. “We’re going to brunch. What do you wear to brunch?”
Brunch, she decides after a moment of consideration, is casual, but not sloppy casual, so jeans and a t-shirt are off the table. It’s Sunday casual, like the outfits her mother would pick out for her to wear to Sunday afternoon teas with the other church women once she turned 15 and had to “start acting like a lady.” Sunday casual, Y/N thinks, but maybe not those outfits. The raised necklines and starched collars had made her neck itch the entire time, and she had picked at the hemlines of her dresses under tables until the seams began to unravel. Sunday casual, but more of her actual style. Sunday casual, but sluttier, maybe? Could one describe Sunday casual as slutty?
Y/N groans as she takes a step back from her closet, clutching her towel to her chest with a tense hand. Maybe she’s going about this the wrong way. Maybe she should try to match Harry…?
A sharp snort falls from Y/N’s mouth. Yeah, like she could ever match Harry. Harry, who is so obsessed with labels that even his handcuffs are embossed with the Gucci logo. Harry, who is so attractive that it’s almost otherworldly. Harry, who can make her tiny apartment look like a New York Fashion Week runway by simply walking down the corridor of her entrance. Matching Harry is almost impossible. She could show up in a full length gown, and Harry would still outshine her in a graphic t-shirt and flared jeans.
“Hey.” Y/N chastises herself lightly, catching her judgemental eye in her mirror once again. “Stop it. Don’t be mean to yourself, just...just pick something to wear. It shouldn’t be this hard.”
After returning to her closet search and trying on a few different combinations, Y/N finally settles on an outfit consisting of a pale yellow sundress with a sweetheart neckline and tea length skirt, but dresses it down with a denim jacket and a pair of cotton candy coloured vans. It’s bright and fun, but still casual enough that it looks like she just threw it on.
“Oh, this old thing?” Y/N raises her eyebrows in mock surprise as she moves to her bathroom to begin to tackle her hair. She keeps practicing the imaginary conversation in the mirror with herself, and while she knows she sounds insane, it oddly keeps her nerves in check. “Oh, I just pulled it out of my closet a few minutes before you got here. Haven’t worn it in years. Do you like it?” The mortal pauses as she reaches for her makeup, deciding to keep herself to a more natural look for the day. “Thank you, Harry, that’s so sweet. You look nice, as well.”
She lightly fills her brows before sweeping some neutral eyeshadow over her lids, pausing her muttering to herself to concentrate on drawing her eyeliner as neatly as she likes. Once she’s satisfied with that, she moves to mascara, adding a thin coat to her lashes and blotting off the makeup she smudges underneath her eye by mistake. When that’s finished, the young woman takes a step back from the mirror, appraising her appearance.
It’s not awful, honestly. She could do worse. In fact, if it weren’t for the ball of anxiety currently twisting its way through Y/N’s stomach, she might even praise herself for the cute and casual look she’s managed to pull off.
“You look good.” She murmurs to her reflection as she reaches for her small silver hoops, slipping them through her lobes with a quick and practiced motion. “Good job.” With her eyes locked on her reflection, Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “Today is going to be fine. Better than fine, actually. And it would probably go better if you stopped talking to yourself, so maybe let’s get that in check before Harry gets here—?”
As if on cue, a now familiar knock on her front door causes the mortal’s mouth to snap shut, clamping off the rest of her third person monologue. When she makes a quick pause to straighten her jacket and fetch her over-the-shoulder woven bag, Y/N impulsively decides to grab her favourite perfume bottle, giving her body a quick spritz before making her way to the door and opening it with breathless anticipation.
Harry, of course, looks fucking incredible. Although his casual outfit consists of a black short sleeved button up shirt tucked into white slacks, Harry manages to work the whole number like a model. His usual cross necklace, unique rings, and stately single cross earring adorn his body, drawing Y/N’s eyes to the glint of the metals as a pair of black sunglasses sit atop the man’s defined nose. He meets Y/N’s eyes behind them, a grin beginning to paint itself over his cherry lips as his jeweled hand pushes the sunglasses from his face and into his chestnut locks, revealing his bright jade gaze full of genuine kindness.
“Well, look at you. Proper model now, aren’t you, Miss Urban Outfitters?” Harry’s voice takes on a casual tone, but the flirty phrase sends a shiver of pleasure down Y/N’s spine. “You look so fucking good in yellow, love. Why have I never seen you in yellow before?”
The shiver of pleasure reverberates throughout Y/N’s entire body. “Maybe because I’m usually naked when I’m around you?” She retorts quickly, reaching to the little hook next to her door to grab her keys.
“Hm. That’s true.” The pleased cadence in Harry’s voice catches Y/N’s ear over the click of the door lock. “Guess you go for the Victoria’s Secret look more often, hm? Though I’m not complaining. You look just as good in lace.”
“Thanks. But not today, I guess.” Y/N says quietly as she pushes down the heat boiling her face, unable to bite her tongue before the words slip out. “We’re on a real date today.”
“Right you are, Watson.” Harry grins cheekily as he motions for the girl to walk past him, following closely with a guiding hand on the small of her back. “We’re on a real date. It’s probably a little overdue, but you know what they say...better late than never, right?”
The moment she takes a step past him, it hits Harry. Although her delectable signature scent of lavender and honey is still there, it’s faintly hidden behind the nearly overpowering scent of gardenia and freesia he smelled last time he was in her hallway, when that oafish buffoon had the audacity to try and seduce her. And despite the fact that Harry prefers Y/N’s natural fragrance to any other scent on the planet, knowing that she took the time to spritz herself with perfume before greeting him brings a dimpled smile to his face. Harry considers making a comment about it, but bites it back at the last moment. The last thing he needs is to have to explain why he pays such particular attention to Y/N’s scent.
When the pair exit the apartment building, Harry takes the lead in front of Y/N, unlocking his flashy car with a click of the remote and opening the passenger door with ease. He extends a hand, grasping the mortal girl’s hand in his own with care as he helps her into the car. The click of the car door shutting comes a moment later than expected as Harry pauses to fix the hem of Y/N’s dress, making sure it’s free of the doorway before closing the door without clamping the light fabric.
Harry doesn’t even think twice before readjusting Y/N’s skirt, with the move coming as naturally to him as breathing once did, and merely notes the stuttering of Y/N’s heartbeat with a half hidden smug smile. It’s not until he’s in the driver’s seat and stopped at a red light that he realizes what that stuttering rhythm is indicating.
Y/N is tense. Even without his supernatural abilities that allow him to hear her heart, register her strained breathing, and feel the energy radiating from her body, Harry would be able to tell that some part of her feels...uncomfortable. Nervous, even. But for what? What about Harry—aside from the obvious that the human is unaware of—could make her nervous? After the countless hours in bed together, the lazy Saturday afternoons, the kitchen singalongs, Harry would think that Y/N would be as comfortable with him as he is with her. After all she’d shown him when they have sex—
Huh. Maybe that’s it, Harry thinks, giving the mortal a quick look from the corner of his eye. The light ahead of them turns green, and Harry continues to ponder his realization as he presses on the gas. If sex has become the norm for them, then maybe a date is outside of her comfort zone. Or maybe, now that her brain isn’t fogged by the endorphins that roll through her veins whenever Harry coaxes an orgasm from her trembling body, Y/N is realizing how unnatural it feels to be around Harry.
As much as Harry likes to pretend otherwise, humans aren’t dumb. If they get too close to someone of Harry’s kind, some sharp-sighted mortals begin to sense that there’s something different about them. Aside from the easy targets and quick decisions, part of the reason that picking up meals in clubs works so well for Harry and his friends is that a mortal’s senses are dulled in the flashing lights and inebriated atmosphere of a club. If Y/N is beginning to sense that there’s something different about Harry, or if she’s beginning to feel uneasy about being around him, then she must be wondering why. In Harry’s experience, mortals will relate their uncomfortable feelings about the supernatural into something they have more experience with to make sense of it all, and if that’s what Y/N is doing, then she’s probably attributing her newfound discomfort towards Harry trying to take advantage of her. If he could read her mind, he might see a horrific scene playing out like an old movie: Harry buying her a meal, soaking her rational thinking in mimosas and other drinks spiked with God knows what, and then helping her back to his car, where he drives her back to his apartment, practically carrying her inebriated body through the door towards his bedroom…
The car takes a sharp right turn into the restaurant parking lot, and Harry guides it to a spot with his hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. The idea of Y/N thinking him capable of that, capable of hurting her like that...it takes Harry a moment to extract his clenched hands from the wheel. If that was really what Y/N was thinking, then he could fix it. All it would take to set her at ease would be a quick request, a repeated statement, and the girl’s breathing would even out, and everything could continue like he had planned.
“Y/N?” He begins, keeping his voice as smooth as silk as he sets the car into park and turns it off. “Look at me, please.”
And then she does. And Harry forgets his plan within a moment.
There’s nervousness apparent in her eyes, yes, but no fear. Although her lips are chewed red, they don’t tremble when she answers him with a quiet “yes?” Despite their close proximity, she keeps leaning closer to him, and whether she’s aware of the action or not, the constant inch of her hand closer to Harry’s softens the immortal more than he thought possible. He can’t compel her to let down her guard when she already trusts him.
“I know that this is different for us. Doing something like this.” Harry begins, keeping his eyes as sincere as possible without compelling the young woman in front of him, who is keeping her eyes on his emerald irises with steadfast attention. “But I want this to be a proper date, like...like what I should’ve probably taken you on a month ago.”
Warmth rises to Y/N’s cheeks at the confession. “So do I. I like being around you, Harry. A lot. I’m just a little...nervous, I guess.”
Harry bites back a smile at how she sounds like she’s confessing something, as if her body language hasn’t been telling him that from the moment she got into his car. “I know. So I think it would be best, just to prove that this is a real date, if we don’t have sex after we finish brunch.”
A choked sound falls from Y/N’s mouth, and Harry delights in watching her scramble for words before she manages to form a half indignant reply. “I didn’t say I was going to sleep with you!”
“You don’t have to say it, pet, because we both know you can’t keep your hands off me. Exhibit A,” Harry nods at her hand, which is mere millimeters away from his thigh. “Being how you kept trying to grab onto me through the entire drive.”
Another gasp of indignation fills the car, and the emphasized outrage sets Harry at ease. He’d rather Y/N be equal parts annoyed and—if the soft look hidden behind her eyes is any clue—endeared than have her equal parts nervous and anxious. He’d take any anger directed at his expense if it meant she was at ease.
“I wasn’t trying to grab you.” The mortal mutters under her breath, her eyes falling from his as the increase of her heart pricks Harry’s ears. “That’s just where my hand fell naturally.”
“Right.” Harry answers in a disbelieving voice, his smirk growing as Y/N rolls her eyes in response. “Well, either way…” He extends a jeweled hand and grips her chin between his thumb and forefinger, enjoying how her breath stutters as he turns her head to look at him. “What do you say? No sex after our date? Think we can behave ourselves?”
“I can.” Y/N answers, irritation laced through her voice to hide the desire settling between her words. “You, on the other hand...I doubt you’ll be able to keep it in your pants.”
A wry smile works it’s way over Harry’s lips, and the vampire wets them with his tongue as he uses his gentle grip on Y/N’s jaw to tilt her head forward. “I have wonderful self-control, darling.” He breathes the words, letting the scent of mint roll over Y/N’s face, and delights in the way it intoxicates her with every syllable. Harry ghosts his lips over the curve of her jaw, smudging his kisses down her neck until he can feel her pulse thumping unevenly beneath his lips. His mouth opens just slightly as he leaves a lingering kiss on the area, his tongue gliding carefully over her sweet-scented skin.
Despite every instinct in his body telling him to sink his teeth into the beating pulse he feels and quench the thirst that burns in the back of his throat like a roaring fire, Harry manages to pull away. “See?” He murmurs softly, his cool breath still clouding Y/N’s every inhale. “Self control.”
While Harry is a master at withholding his desires, the effect his actions have on Y/N is apparent in her reply. “Good.” The mortal swallows thickly, her pulse fluttering again as Harry releases her chin and drags his fingers down her neck. “That’s good to know. So no sex, then.”
“Right.” Harry grins triumphantly as Y/N attempts to collect herself. The smug expression on Harry’s face lets her know that he’s completely aware of the impact he has on her, and it drives her insane to no end. Although her conscience is urging her to play his game, and do her best to fluster him as he flusters her, the more rational part of her stops that thought in its tracks. This is what she wanted, wasn’t it? To open herself up again, to open herself up to Harry in a way she hasn’t before? To prove that she can let someone know her without burrowing themselves between her thighs?
The latch of her car door brings her from her thoughts, and her head jerks to the right to see Harry with one hand on the door handle as he extends the other to her to help her from the car. Y/N, still fumbling with her seatbelt, takes a moment to grasp his hand in return, too swept up in the fact that Harry remembers to open her door to ponder how he always reaches her side of the car so quickly.
However, there are some new developments that don’t slip from her attention, like how Harry keeps her hand grasped firmly in his icy grip even after she’s out of the car, pausing only to click the lock on his keyring before walking with her towards the door. Or how, despite his long legs, he never falls out of step with Y/N, making sure to keep his strides measured and even so as not to yank on her hand. Or how, even though her hand is already half extended out of habit, Harry reaches the door of the restaurant first, opening it smoothly and stepping back, gently laying his hand on the small of Y/N’s back to guide her inside the restaurant.
“Uh, thanks.” The young woman murmurs to him, a tone of perplexity running beneath her words. She’s not quite sure why all of this surprises her; hadn’t Harry already proved that, despite his harsh and suggestive exterior, there’s an undercurrent of manners instilled into him?
Maybe, she thinks as she watches Harry step forward to the restaurant host, the surprise and confusion is due to the lack of manners she received from her ex. Despite the “small town charm,” as her mother had called it, Bradley had lacked the ability to successfully perform any gallantry, and any attempts he made to do so had only annoyed Y/N. Whenever he tried to do something that may fall into that category, like insisting on driving everywhere they went, or choosing where they’d go for dinner, Y/N never felt that the actions came from a place of protection or chivalry; on the contrary, Y/N felt like each action was taken on the basis that she herself was incapable of doing the same things Bradley did. On the one occasion she’d brought it up to him, he had scoffed, and argued that he was just trying to be a nice guy, and why would she have a problem with him trying to help her, and if she was going to complain, then he wouldn’t—
An icy touch to the dip of her back jerks Y/N from her thoughts, both metaphorically and literally as her body spasms away from the touch. Upon hearing the alarmed gasp that falls from her lips, Harry turns his head to the side, a look of concern painted over his face.
“Everything alright, darling?” He asks in a quiet voice, his hand retracting from her back with uncertainty.
“Yeah, sorry, just—caught up in thought, I guess.” Y/N covers quickly, giving him an apologetic smile. “You just took me by surprise, that’s all.”
If the way the mortal shivers is any suggestion, Harry can guess what exactly about his touch took her by surprise. “I’m sorry.” He says sincerely, his fingers hovering a few millimeters above the fabric of her dress. “The, uh, the table I reserved is just on the patio around the corner.” Although he lays his hand on Y/N once again to guide her, Harry is careful to place his palm further up her spine, where the sensitive skin of her back is covered by her jean jacket in addition to the thin yellow sundress. As much as he usually adores making her shiver, there’s something different about the action when he knows it’s because of his inhumanly cold touch, instead of his inhuman ability to pleasure her.
The pair move in a line, following the hostess in a beeline through the busy restaurant and out onto the sunlit patio, where there are fewer occupied tables. Stopping in front of a table partly shaded under an umbrella that’s away from the other diners, the hostess turns to the two of them, her eyes flickering over Harry once again.
“Is this table to your liking, Mr. Styles?” She asks, her voice sweet as sugar. The stickiness of it grates against Y/N’s skin, but Harry gives no indication of finding it irritating. In fact, he seems to give hardly any notice to the hostess at all, only half glancing at her before nodding his head.
“Yes, it is, thank you.” He steps out to the side, grasping the back of the chair facing away from the sun and pulling it out. It takes Y/N a moment and a half step already taken towards the opposite chair for her to realize that he’s pulling it out for her.
“Oh—” Face flushing with realization, Y/N steps back around Harry, settling down into the offered seat as he carefully pushes it in. “Uh, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Harry replies, pausing to be sure she’s comfortable before taking his own seat across from her. The hostess, who had been watching his actions with a keen eye, gives another smile to the vampire.
“Alright, Paige will be your server today, but before I leave,” The hostess spares a short glimpse at Y/N before turning her full attention back to Harry. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
The creature is aware of the effect he has on mortals, and has been since he was first turned. While he normally plays that to his advantage (and while that was, to be frank, part of the reason he was able to take Y/N home from the club the night he met her), the attention is beginning to grind against his nerves. It’s easy enough for him to ignore a human, especially one he has no interest in whatsoever, but he can see the way Y/N notices the hostess’ preference for addressing Harry. More specifically, Harry can see the way it bothers her, and it would be amusing if his jealousy over Y/N going on a date with someone else hadn’t been the catalyst to their date today.
“No, that’s alright.” Harry finally responds to the waitress, glancing at her just enough so as not to be rude. “Thank you.”
The hostess smiles at him again before nodding to Y/N and turning on her heel, marching back towards the kitchen, and it takes just a soft snort falling from Y/N’s lips to pull Harry’s attention completely back to her.
“What?” He quirks an eyebrow up at the noise, reaching for the menu in front of him and flipping it open slowly. “Something funny?”
Y/N gives a small shake of her head as she mimics Harry’s action, casting her eyes downwards towards the now revealed menu. “No, not at all.”
“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” The vampire reaches across the table to touch his date’s hand, flipping her arm carefully so he can lay two ringed fingers against the thin skin of her wrist, the fragile hummingbird flutter of her heart thumping beneath it. “And I’m too excellent at reading people to let it go.”
“Too stubborn, you mean?” Y/N corrects him as she raises her own brow, but much to Harry’s delight, she doesn’t pull back from his icy touch as she did earlier.
Harry shrugs lightly, an unconcerned air tinting his attitude. “If that’s what you’d like to call it. Either way, I’d like to know why you’re laughing at me.”
The mortal chews on the inside of her cheek, the action of her weighing her next words clearly written all over her face. “You seriously can’t tell me you don’t notice it.”
Cocking his head to the side, Harry gently yet consistently continues to stroke two fingers over Y/N’s velvety skin, the heat of her veins burning beneath his touch. “Notice what?”
Although she opens her mouth, Y/N’s reply is cut off by the clicking of high heels approaching their secluded corner, and it’s only a moment before a waitress (whom she assumes is Paige) is standing in front of their table. Like her coworker before her, Paige gives a brief hello to Y/N before turning all of her attention to Harry, smiling brightly at him as she gives her opening spiel.
“Hi! My name is Paige, and I’ll be your server today. Can I get some drinks started for you?” She asks, her hands clasped tightly in front of her (Y/N always hates when servers don’t write down orders; she knows it looks impressive, but the attention it takes to remember exact specifications gives her secondhand anxiety) as she addresses Harry.
The order is right at the tip of Harry’s tongue. “We’ll have two mimosas, please. And two ice waters, as well.” He replies, smiling briefly at her as his fingers continue to glide over Y/N’s wrist. The girl catches the way Paige’s eyes flicker to the movement, her (just barely) professional smile shifting for a fraction of a second before fixing itself, and while Y/N knows that it’s irrational, a small part of her can’t help but be pleased.
“Sounds good. I’ll be right back with those.” She chimes giddily, her heels clicking against the ground once more as she walks away.
The moment she’s left, Harry has his full attention turned back to Y/N. “You didn’t answer my question.” He murmurs, his emerald eyes alight with curiosity. “Notice what?”
An exasperated sigh sounds from Y/N as she makes a face. “The way they stare at you.” She answers, jerking her head over her shoulder towards the restaurant door. “The hostess, the server—they were both practically undressing you with their eyes. Are you telling me you didn’t notice that?”
Harry’s curious expression drops as he begins to shift in his seat, the stroking of his fingers over her wrist pausing for just one moment. Ah, Y/N thinks. Here it is. A confession that, yes, Harry did notice it, and Harry (and his ego) loved the attention, and he—
“I noticed it, yeah.” He begins, a reluctant look painting itself onto his statuesque features as a finger on his free hand rubs over his lion head ring.
A glum feeling of satisfaction settles into Y/N’s stomach, and she pulls her hand back a few inches, completely removing it from Harry’s grasp. “I thought so—”
“But I didn’t see the point in mentioning it.” Harry continues, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m here with you. Why would a spare look from a hostess or a server be anything but inconsequential to me?”
Huh.
“I…” For once, Y/N is stunned into silence. “Well, I just thought—”
“Y/N.” Her name sounds like a melody when it falls from Harry’s mouth, and the sincerity layered in his voice makes her snap her eyes to his. “Do you truly think I would flirt with a waitress on a date I asked you on? Does that sound like me?”
“Well, honestly…” Harry’s stare bores into hers, prickling Y/N’s skin with the new and nearly uncomfortable sensation of being seen. “I don’t want to think so, but considering how we met…”
“Ah.” Harry’s lips turn down into a small grimace, but quickly right themselves as he once again grasps her hand in his two large palms. “I won’t pretend that I’m not a bit of a—”
“Whore?”
Harry’s lip twitches in amusement again at the blatant tone of the girl’s voice. “Didn’t we just have a conversation about you slut-shaming me?”
The flush that overtakes Y/N’s face indicates that she remembers. “Yes, we did. But I seem to recall you agreeing. After you teased me for it, of course.”
“Of course. We both know how much you love teasing.” Harry digs his nails ever so slightly into her wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to pull a small gasp from her mouth as his grip begins to mimic the handcuffs that she had begged him to use on her. “But all that aside...I couldn’t give less of a fuck about what they think of me. I’m here with you. Despite most of my flaws, my mother raised me right. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
The thunderous thumping of Y/N’s heart rings through Harry’s ears, a constant reminder of why he’s here. Beneath her soft skin, beneath every telltale mark and scar, beneath her glittering eyes and silky lips, there’s the thing that keeps Harry alive. Rushing through this girl’s arteries is the sustenance that Harry needs to survive, the sweetest liquid he’s ever consumed, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it at his beck and call. If being the gentleman of Y/N’s dreams is what will keep her available for him, then that’s what he’ll do. The pounding of her heart is the beat that keeps him in time with the tune of his life. It’s nothing more and nothing less.
Still, Harry chooses his next words attentively, to bring back a joking manner to the conversation. “Someone must have done a number on you, huh? Was everything not so charming in Smalltown, USA? Did your parents split when you were a kid?”
And although Harry asks the questions with a smirk on his face, laughter in his voice, and mirth in his eyes, he doesn’t miss the way Y/N’s breath hitches in her chest, how her hand tenses beneath his, and how her eyes drop for a fraction of a second. He’s touched a nerve, one that is obviously frayed and hurting, and the regret that instantly washes over him is tinged with the confusion of how he’s capable of feeling such an emotion so intensely.
“Um—” While Y/N knew that she had to tell Harry about her disastrous dating history sooner or later, she had really hoped it would be later rather than sooner. Is a discussion about one’s scumbag ex appropriate first date talk? Can she bring it up now, or should she wait until they’ve finished their appetizers?
“Alright, so I have two mimosas and two waters for you…” Paige’s return distracts Y/N from her dilemma for just a moment as the server sets down the four glasses in front of the respective recipients. With her attention turned back to Harry, she takes a step back from the table. “Are you ready to order?”
Y/N’s eyes snap to the open menu in front of her, which had become the least of her concerns over the last few minutes. “Oh, I haven’t—”
“We’ll get two orders of the chorizo and goat cheese crepes, please.” Harry closes his menu before reaching for Y/N’s and repeating the motion, handing them back to Paige with a charming yet neutral smile. “And a side of hashbrowns, please, to share.”
Brow furrowing as the server scurries away without giving her a second glance, Y/N gapes at Harry, her voice wrought with confusion. “Why did you order for me?”
Harry raises his mimosa to his lips and takes a long sip, setting the condensation-covered glass back down on the table before replying. “You didn’t know what you wanted, and the crepes are delicious. Did you want something else?” With a lick of his red lips, he glances over his shoulder. “I can call her back if—”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Y/N wraps her hand around the alcoholic drink, swirling her finger over the cold glass. “I can order for myself. I’m a grown woman. Do you think I’m not capable or something?”
Harry cocks his head to the side, appraising how the mortal’s expression is closing off with every passing moment. This bothers her, he realizes. The idea of him not thinking she’s capable of something bothers her, enough that she’s clenching her glass, and her normally clear eyes are swirling with anger more and more with every passing moment.
“I know you’re capable, Y/N. I just thought that…” Shifting in his seat, Harry clears his throat as he gathers his words in his mind. Wasn’t he supposed to be the one asking the questions? “It’s supposed to be polite.”
“In what century?” She replies, her mouth falling agape in surprise as her eyes widen. “Men used to order for women because women weren’t allowed to, right? Because men made the decisions? Holding open a door is one thing, but choosing for me—”
“Okay, maybe choosing for you was impolite. I thought you were unsure on what to order, but I should’ve asked first. I’m sorry.” Harry half mumbles the apology as an uncomfortable feeling of shame begins to buzz in his stomach. “But the ordering thing, that— men did that as a sign of respect, so women wouldn’t have to talk to someone they didn’t know. I really didn’t mean anything by it, I swear. My mum just taught me that it was polite, so I...it’s a habit. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
He watches as Y/N chews her bottom lip, seemingly contemplating the authenticness of his apology. Everything he had said was true, of course. His mother did teach him that it was polite to order something for a date so she wouldn’t have to speak to someone she doesn’t know. Of course, it was also true that the practice had died out a century ago, and most women now preferred to speak for themselves. Harry can’t begrudge Y/N if she dislikes what he did; she’s proved time and time again that she can be rather independent. However, Harry’s surprised at the disappointment he feels about her reaction. If this is going to be a proper date, he’d like to hold it up to his standards of proper.
“Alright.” The mortal says after a moment, releasing her lip from her teeth and finally raising her mimosa to her mouth. “You’re forgiven. But I think I’ve earned the right to compensation for your assumptions.”
“Compensation could be arranged, I suppose.” Harry leans forward with a sly grin, his fingers finding the delicate skin of Y/N’s wrist once more. “I feel like I’ve been fairly firm on the no sex thing, but I could pencil you in for some compensation tomorrow evening, if that works for you.”
Y/N swirls the liquid in her glass as she bites back a smirk. “I was thinking of something a little different than an orgasm, actually.”
“What could possibly be better than an orgasm given by me?” Harry questions, his free hand fingering the cross around his neck. “Didn’t you once compare them to a gift from God?”
“I don’t recall ever saying that, actually.” The mortal girl replies in a dry voice, setting her glass down with a decisive thunk. “I don’t want an orgasm—”
“Oh, that’s a bloody lie—”
“I want information.” Tapping her fingers against the table, Y/N stares Harry down with firm eyes. “Like where did you grow up that your mother taught you it was appropriate to speak for a woman? Or why have you avoided any personal questions I’ve tried to ask over the last month?”
Harry retracts his hand from Y/N’s wrist as she voices her inquisition, settling his fingers on the rim of his mimosa to begin tracing the smooth glass. “To be fair, pet, you haven’t asked many personal questions. You’ve been too busy bouncing on my cock, haven’t you?”
“Maybe, but I won’t be today, as per our agreement.” Y/N steeps her fingers together as she leans towards him, the comical sight of her posture forcing Harry to repress a snort. “And you brought up personal questions first, Holmes. So you kind of screwed yourself, didn’t you?”
“I suppose I did. I’ve gotten so used to you doing the screwing, Watson. Guess I’m getting sloppy— although you seem to like that.” Harry can’t help but get in one last dig before conceding, taking a long gulp of his beverage before smacking his lips. “I’ll tell you what.” He says, pointing a jeweled finger at his date with his glass still wrapped tightly in his hand. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
Pursing her lips, Y/N quirks up an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“Let’s play a little question game.” Harry sets down his glass as he elaborates, his signature smirk growing over his cherry lips. “We alternate questions back and forth, asking whatever we’ve wanted to know. And the other person has to answer it honestly.”
Or as honestly as possible, Harry amends in his head. For obvious reasons, he’ll have to fabricate the majority of his answers, but that’s nothing new to him. Over the years, he’s had to create multiple spiels about his childhood, taking tiny pieces of truths and weaving them together with updated lies. Spitting out a few standard stories about where he grew up and why he left London is small change compared to his burning desire to know more about Y/N’s past.
The mortal chews on the inside of her cheek again, weighing her options in her head as she holds Harry’s questioning stare. As much as she hates to discuss her life story, and as much as she’d been hoping to hide it from Harry, she knows that she has to be honest with him if she wants him to be honest with her. As awkward as it may be, she’ll have to tell the stories sometime.
“Alright.” She relents after a moment, blowing out a harsh breath and lifting her mimosa to her lips. “But I get to ask the first question. Ladies first, and all that.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Harry flashes a cheeky grin at her, his left eye dropping into a quick wink. “Start your inquisition, Watson.”
Harry’s been in this position millions of times, so he knows the types of questions that are about to tumble from Y/N’s pretty lips. She’ll start off by asking where he grew up, and where he went to school, and how many siblings he has, before moving to things like why he moved to L.A., and how he made friends, and—
“What else did your mother teach you, besides manners?” Y/N asks suddenly, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth to catch a stray drop of liquid on her bottom lip as she lowers her glass. “And what was the most important thing?”
The nature of the question catches Harry so off guard that he doesn’t remember to quell the throb in his chest where his heart used to beat at the mention of his mother, and the old half healed wound flares with pain. What had his mother taught him? Harry ponders the question as Y/N’s curious eyes ponder him. What hadn’t she taught him?
“My mother taught me…many things. Many good things. She was a wonderful woman.” Harry begins honestly, albeit carefully, speaking in a measured voice as his eyes fall to her opal ring that sits upon his pinky. “She taught me how to read as a child, before I began school. She taught me...she taught me how to cook a bit. I’m not nearly as good as she was, but I’m passable. And yes, she did teach me how to behave around women, how to be respectful. But the most important thing…”
Y/N watches as Harry’s eyes bore into the ring on his finger, as if he’s staring into a crystal ball of the past to search for an answer. Perhaps, in a way, he is.
“The most important thing,” Harry repeats again, his eyes finally snapping away from the entrapment of the ring. “Was how to let someone know you appreciate them. It’s easy, I think, to go about your day without telling someone you care for them.” Stroking his thumb over the band of the ring, Harry thinks back to the countless ways his mother had wordlessly shown Harry and his sister how much she adored them. “Little touches, or little favours, things like that— those go a long way. They help someone feel less alone. They can be the difference between a good day and a bad day. She used to, um,” A lump suddenly develops in his throat, and Harry struggles to swallow it down as he voices a memory he hasn’t spoken aloud in over a century. “She used to comb her fingers through my hair when I was a little boy, whenever I was upset. I’d come home from—“ Harry cuts himself off before he mentions his father’s blacksmith forge, where he was an apprentice. “—from school, and she would take one look at me and be able to see I was frustrated. She always sat in this big chair in front of the fireplace, and she’d pat her lap, and I’d sit in front of her knees and lay my head on her leg, and she’d card her fingers through my hair as I told her every bad thing that happened that day.” Unconsciously, Harry raises his own hand to his chestnut curls, raking his fingers through them. The motion doesn’t bring nearly as much comfort as it once did. “She always listened. She never made me feel like my problems were silly. She just listened. It made me feel better. Made me feel…” The vampire’s hand drifts from his hair to his lips, rubbing over them pensively. “Loved.”
The mortal girl’s eyes soften as she listens to the memories of the man in front of her, who begins to look younger and younger with every word that falls from his lips. Although she’s surprised by the candor of his answer, it pleases her; she thought pulling truths from Harry would be like pulling teeth. One note of his story, however, catches her attention with an ache.
“You said...you said she was a wonderful woman.” Y/N murmurs, carefully gauging Harry’s reaction to the question. “Is she...not anymore?”
“I’m sure she would be, but she passed away a…a while ago.” Harry’s eyes shift to the ring again, the dainty band with its opal stone standing out from the rest of his chunky jewelry. Y/N wonders if that’s because it once belonged to someone else. “She got sick, and couldn’t get better.”
With a careful but tender motion, Y/N slides her hand across the table and settles it on top of Harry’s, cupping his larger hand in her smaller grasp. “I’m so sorry.” The sincerity in her voice snags Harry’s attention, and the vampire looks up to find the mortal staring at him with understanding eyes. “I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you. You must miss her very much.”
It takes Harry a moment to clear the lump from his throat enough that he can choke out a response. “I-I do, yeah. Every day.” He’s not sure if it’s his icy skin or the burn of Y/N’s touch, but he slowly pulls his hand from beneath her grasp, reaching for his glass of ice water instead. He gulps down half the liquid, setting the cup down with a decisive thunk before pasting a strained smile onto his face. “But that’s enough of my sob story, don’t you think? It’s my turn to ask a question.”
A small frown works its way over Y/N’s face as Harry pulls away, and she clasps her now empty hands together around the stem of her mimosa glass. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“The answer to my previous inquiry.” Harry’s emerald irises sweep over her figure, his tongue poking between his teeth as his simper becomes more genuine. “Someone must’ve really done a number on you if opening a door for you is a shock. What’s the story there?”
Although she knew that this would be Harry’s first question, Y/N still bides her time by knocking back the rest of her mimosa in one swift gulp, wrinkling her nose at the lingering taste that catches in the back of her throat. “His name was Bradley.” She begins, tapping a fingernail against the delicate glass. “And he—”
“So sorry to cut you off, darling, but,” Harry raises a finger to pause her speech, his rings glinting in the L.A. sun. “Bradley? You fucked someone named Bradley?”
“It was a small town! It’s not like I had many options!” Y/N argues hotly, her eyes rolling harder than they ever have before. “Now are you going to be quiet and listen politely, or are you going to keep interrupting me before I can even begin?”
Harry laughs once, shaking his head with an amused air. “Sorry. Continue.” Despite the teasing smirk still tugging at his lips, Harry raises a hand to the corner of his mouth, pretending to lock it shut with an imaginary key. He even takes care to slide the invisible key into his shirt pocket, patting it with satisfaction once the deed is done.
Y/N takes one more moment to glare at him, but Harry’s newfound silence continues, and so she does, as well. “His name was Bradley. I met him through a mutual friend in our freshman year of high school. I’d seen him around before, but we’d never talked, really. And after he asked me to Homecoming, he just kind of…stuck.” The girl shrugs in a way of explanation. “Like, he started coming around more to my house, taking me out to movies. And it was nice. The attention, I mean. There was no one else I was really interested in at school, and Bradley was cute, and he was friendly, and our families really liked each other. It made sense.”
As she speaks, a crease works its way between Harry’s perfectly sculpted brows. Most mortal romances, he’s come to find, are rather dull, but this one seems more boring than others, and he can’t stop himself from raising his jeweled hand in the air as if he were in one of the classes Y/N mentioned, waiting for the teacher to call on him for an answer.
When Y/N notices the hand, an exasperated sigh falls from her mouth, but she leans across the table and retrieves the imaginary key from Harry’s shirt pocket, her warm fingers leaving pinpricks of fire across his chest. A small smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips as those warm fingers touch the lifted spot, mimicking an unlocking motion before she sits back in her seat. “Yes?”
Harry rests a bent elbow on the table, propping his chin up on his fist as he leans forward. “I have a question.” He begins innocently, watching as Y/N narrows her eyes at his sudden polite intrigue.
“Yes?” She repeats again, wariness written into her tone as she evaluated the suspicious air of Harry’s behaviour.
“I was just wondering how big Bradley’s dick is.” Harry’s grin grows to wicked proportions as Y/N’s mouth falls open in shock. “Because, honestly, he doesn’t seem to have that much going for him, and I’ve been wracking my brain to figure out why you dated him, and the only answer I can come up with is—“
“That his dick must be huge?”
“That he’s well endowed, yes.” Harry finishes smugly, tapping a finger against his chin. “I’m curious. Are we talking about a carrot? A cucumber? A zucchini?” Lip twitching again, Harry stifles a laugh as Y/N’s face hardens with exasperation. “A stalk of celery? I suppose the length could be a selling point, but if there’s not enough girth to fill you—”
“His dick wasn’t the reason I dated him.” Y/N replies flatly, a deadpan stare meeting Harry’s mirth filled eyes. “Although, since you’re curious…it was the size of a cucumber, but not an English cucumber. More of a garden variety. Not incredibly girthy, but good for a beginner.”
“A beginner?” Intrigue sparks at the pit of Harry’s belly (along with what he thinks is jealousy, but he’ll wait to dissect that at a later date) as the vampire leans forward more. “This bloke was your first?”
“We were together for years, so—” Y/N cuts herself off with a shake of her head, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger nervously. “No, wait, that’s another question! You don’t get another question if I didn’t!”
“But you haven’t finished answering my first question—”
“I would if you’d stop interrupting!” Silencing Harry with a stern look, Y/N holds up her left hand, pinching two of her fingers together. “Do I need to pretend to lock your mouth again like I would a seven year old, or can you sit and listen like an adult for five minutes? What happened to that old fashioned chivalry from earlier?”
Harry lets out a defeated sigh, sitting back in his chair with proper posture. He takes a moment to adjust himself, straightening his back, fixing the fall of his shirt, adjusting his cross, planting his feet on the ground of the patio, and finishing off the show by rolling out his shoulders before squaring them. “Alright, I’m sorry. I’m ready to listen. Please continue.”
The young woman inhales deeply, testing Harry’s rapt attention as she takes her time sipping her ice water. When she sets the glass down and finds that Harry has stayed perfectly still, his irises glued to her, she continues.
“So Bradley and I got together our freshman year, and stayed together for the rest of high school. It was comfortable. His mom liked me, and my parents liked him. He came to church with us—” Y/N notes that Harry’s eyebrow lifts a quarter of an inch, but only for a moment before dropping back down into its neutral state. “—and he and I went out once or twice a week. He was…nice. But he didn’t do the stuff that you do, the…etiquette stuff.” She taps an index finger against the table, thinking back to all the movie and diner dates that have blurred together in her mind. “Well, he’d try, I suppose, but not in the way you do. Whenever he did something that was supposed to be chivalrous or gallant, it felt like he was doing it because he thought I was incapable. And when I brought it up, he got mad.” Y/N lifts one shoulder in a shy shrug as she smiles apologetically at Harry. “That’s why I didn’t understand you ordering for me. I know you didn’t mean it in the way he did, I can tell that, but it just kind of…reminded me of him. It left a bad taste in my mouth; he left a bad taste in my mouth, I guess.”
A beat of silence falls between them, and the intense way that Harry is looking at her is prickling the hair on the back of Y/N’s neck.
“I get that.” The brunette speaks after a moment, voice low and accent thick. “Being haunted by someone. Even after they’re gone, even after time passes…something can remind you of them, and it can be enough to bring you to your knees.”
Although Harry’s eyes are locked on hers, Y/N has the distinct feeling that he’s seeing someone else in her place. Before she can ask what he means, however, he’s blinked himself out of the self-imposed trance.
“So what was the final straw?” Harry clears his throat quietly as his mind comes back to the present. “Between you and Cucumber Dick?”
A tiny giggle escapes Y/N’s mouth despite her far from humorous answer. “Well—”
The telltale clicking of heels interrupts the unspoken thought, and within a moment, Paige is standing next to their table once again, a tray balanced on her hand with precision as she offers another one of her smiles to Harry. “Here you go—two orders of the chorizo and goat cheese crepes, and a side of hash browns.” The server sets the first plate down in front of Harry, but he quickly lifts it again and sets it down carefully in front of Y/N before accepting the second dish. He repeats the motions with the hash browns, sliding them to the middle of the table and within Y/N’s reach.
“Thank you.” Harry speaks with a kind tone, but offers no other comment to the girl, who’s allowed her eyes to slide to the dark ink that decorates Harry’s arms.
“Of course.” Paige stutters, giving no pretense of paying attention to Y/N. “Could I get you anything else?”
Harry glances at Y/N’s empty mimosa glass, raising an eyebrow in question. “Would you like another drink?” He asks her slowly, his voice unsure. Normally, he’d just order a second one for her without a thought, but now that he knows how she feels about him ordering for her, he’ll have to work on beating back that particular bit of Victorian etiquette.
“I would, yes.” Y/N replies with a smile as she touches the stem of her empty glass. “Thank you.”
A strained smile flickers over Paige’s lips. “No problem. I’ll be right back.”
Harry nods in satisfaction as he watches the server retreat. “There. We have a few more minutes. Keep talking.”
“Ah ah ah.” Y/N picks up her fork and sticks it into the hash browns, pulling away a crispy bite for herself. “I think I get to ask a question now, especially since you’ve crammed a few different inquiries into your last turn.”
“And here I was, thinking you loved when I crammed things into—”
“Harry.”
A teasing smile breaks across the vampire’s face, more genuine than Harry thought possible. “Fine.” He relents, cutting the corner off his crepes and popping the savory bite into his mouth. “What else would you like to know?”
Where to begin? Y/N considers his question pensively as she takes a bite of her own crepe, her expression raising in surprise when she finds that she enjoys Harry’s entrée choice. The smokiness and spice of the chorizo is undercut by the tangy saltiness of the cheese, all wrapped together with a few garnishes in the perfectly cooked crepe. Savoring the bite as she chews, Y/N begins to run through the list of questions in her head.
She could ask more about his family, but if the aching sadness that had radiated off of him at the mention of his mother was any hint, any answers Harry could give on that topic may be off tone for a first date. And while inquiring about what he said before, about being haunted by someone seems promising, it may also be a bit too much. As much as she dislikes talking about her personal life, she gets the feeling that Harry absolutely abhors it, and while she was surprised about him asking her on a date, she’s been even more surprised to find herself enjoying it. The last thing she needs is to fuck that all up by interrogating him about an ex.
With those two possibilities pushed aside, only one burning question is left on the tip of Y/N’s tongue, and she hurriedly swallows her mouthful of crepe before letting it fall. “Alright, I’ve got it.” Cocking her head to the side, Y/N points her fork at the man in an accusatory manner. “Did you ask me out on this date just because you were jealous I was out with Jacob? Was that the only reason? Because you saw me with him, and you didn’t like it?”
Harry wraps his ringed hand around his water glass, the metal of his jewelry clinking against the surface as he pulls a face. Even if he wanted to be honest with Y/N about this, Harry isn’t quite sure what the honest answer would be.
“I’ll admit, I was a little…bothered by it.” Reluctance is threaded through every word that Harry manages to spit out. “Moreso by your taste in men than anything else— Jacob wasn’t exactly up to par.”
“It wasn’t like I chose him myself.” Y/N retorts, pulling a grape from the bunch of side fruit on her plate and popping it into her mouth. “Was that really all that bothered you? That he wasn’t up to par?”
Tapping his fingers against the wooden table, Harry takes a moment to ponder the question. “No.” He says finally, deciding to continue his honesty streak. “No, that wasn’t all that bothered me. You’re right, I didn’t like seeing you with him, but it wasn’t because of him. Not entirely, anyways. I can’t imagine I would’ve liked seeing you with anyone.”
A light flush works its way over the mortal’s cheeks, and Harry can hear the stuttered thumping of her heart. “Why?” She asks in a half whisper, her teeth worrying her bottom lip unconsciously. “Why is that?”
Harry muses the various answers he could give as Paige brings them refills on their mimosas. It’s not like he can tell her that he wants to keep her available for snacking whenever he gets a little thirsty. Well, he could, but then he’d have to wipe her mind, and he’s not particularly inclined to do that at the moment. And, if he’s being honest with himself…he’s not entirely sure that’s the truth anymore. Is sheer convenience the reason behind his terrible reaction to Y/N seeing someone else? Or is that reaction linked to the way he felt when she opened her door to him that morning, and the sight of her all dolled up for him hit him like a truck?
Either way, none of those answers are suitable to confess in the moment, so Harry merely gives a dimpled grin. “That’s another question, darling. We’re not very good at limiting ourselves, are we?”
“I suppose not, no.” Y/N smiles sheepishly as she takes a sip of her fresh mimosa, her eyes watching Harry over the rim of the glass. “Your turn, then. What else do you want to know?”
What else would he like to know? Harry thinks, taking another bite of chorizo as he mulls over the question. Now that the floodgates have opened, now that he has the opportunity, now that he has the ability to ask, Harry wants to know everything. He wants to know what makes Y/N tick, what her pet peeves are, and if she prefers mornings or nights. He wants to know what her favourite school subject was, if she was ever in her school’s plays, or on any of the sports teams. He wants to know her favourite flavour of ice cream, what TV shows she binge watches when she wants to distract herself, and if she’s really read all those books that line the floor to ceiling shelf in her room. He wants to know her, he realizes. She’s more fascinating than he ever thought possible, and her blood is more addicting than he knew. He wants to know every aspect that molded her into the person sitting before him. And one of those aspects is—
“Why did things end between you and Bradley?” He finally asks, his voice low and cautious. “Was it mutual, or...?”
Despite the time Harry took to think of his question, Y/N knew exactly what it was going to be, and she has her answer ready to go the moment the words roll from Harry’s pillowy lips. “He was cheating on me.” She admits with a sigh, her eyes glued to her mimosa glass as she swirls the orange liquid within it. “He went away for university, and I stayed home. I guess he met someone at school.” Allowing her eyes to flick up to Harry for a moment, Y/N finds the man staring at her blankly with a harsh crease between his brows. “I kind of thought it was going to end, honestly. He began to get more and more distant...we’d talk less over Skype or the phone...but I didn’t think he’d…” She trails off for a moment, thinking back to the day she found out. “Well. He did. I found out from his roommate, and the next day, he and I were through. And almost five years of memories, time together, shared moments...all of that was just gone.”
Although it’s been years since things ended, and Y/N has moved on in tenfold, she can’t help the way her voice aches at the end of her explanation, which acts as proof of how the raw wound had healed in a way that wasn’t quite right. No matter how much time passes, no matter how many people she’s been with, no matter how little she cares for Bradley now...nothing will change the fact that he hurt her. Nothing will mend the jagged scar he created. Sure, it may fade with time, but it’ll never disappear completely. And as much as Y/N hates that Bradley still has an effect on her after all this time, she can’t change it. She’s tried.
“That…” Harry’s cool hand wrapping around her own drags her back to the present, and she lifts her eyes to find the man staring at her with the most tender expression she’s ever seen his sculpted face wear. “That’s awful, Y/N. I’m so sorry you went through that.”
“It’s—it’s fine. Really.” Y/N half mumbles the words, distracted by the small circles Harry’s thumb is rubbing against the bone of her wrist.
Chestnut curls swaying, Harry adamantly shakes his head, the crease between his brows deepening with each passing moment. “Don’t. It’s not fine. You don’t have to make excuses for someone who hurt you.”
“I’m not making an excuse, I just—”
“Did he hurt you?” Harry’s jade irises fixate on her own with determination. “Yes or no?”
Once Y/N locks her eyes with Harry, she can’t look away. His gaze nears hypnotic the more she looks. “Yes. He hurt me.”
“Then he doesn’t deserve you making excuses for him.” The vampire squeezes her hand to emphasize his answer. Although he’s not compelling her to understand him, Harry looks at her with an unfamiliar sincerity that he hopes makes the depth of his words resonate within her. “You may be fine now, or you may not be, but the situation itself wasn’t fine. Don’t use your healing as an excuse for his behaviour. You shouldn’t have had to heal yourself in the first place.”
The gravity of his words rings in Y/N’s ears, and the girl gapes at him for a moment, her mouth half open in shock, before the realization of what he’s saying hits her. The way he’s staring at her…it’s nearly uncomfortable, the way he sees her. She almost can’t bear it. How does he know to say exactly what she needs to hear, even if she doesn’t know she needs to hear it? Since the first night they slept together, when he reassured her that she could relax and let loose, Harry has been honest and reassuring. And although Y/N has greatly appreciated that trait in the bedroom, when she’s been at her most vulnerable in a physical aspect…her eyes lock with Harry’s once more, finding them still as steadfast as ever. This may be the most vulnerable she’s been emotionally in a long time. And the idea of that, for once, doesn’t completely terrify her.
The questions get more and more personal from there. Although there’s a few lighthearted inquiries sprinkled in to ease the tension (“What was the name of your first pet?” “It was a cat named Mr. Snuffleupagus. I named him after the Sesame Street character. What’s your earliest childhood memory?” “My sister nearly drowning me in a lake. She thought I would float.”), the majority of questions asked are things that neither person ever thought they would admit to someone else.
Those questions range from vaguely prying (“How old were you when you lost your virginity?” “Seventeen. It was with—” “Bradley and his beginner penis, right.” “Alright, smart ass, who did you lose yours to?” “My first girlfriend.”) to diving deep into memories, stories, and opinions that neither have so much as breathed to themselves in the dark of the night, let alone someone else.
Despite the plan having been to leave after brunch, the pair find themselves engrossed in their conversation, drinking mimosa after mimosa as the late morning bleeds into early afternoon, and they continue to discover each other.
As Y/N takes a sip of her fourth beverage, Harry regards her with curious eyes, which are focused on picking apart every moment of her body to dissect and devour in his head when he’s alone that night. “So you said pretty much everyone from your hometown marries their high school sweetheart.” He asks slowly, rubbing a jeweled finger over his ice-swollen lips. “But you didn’t, obviously.”
“No, I did not.” Y/N says in agreement, a tipsy snort sounding from the back of her throat as she raises her fluted glass in a toast. “Thank fuck, honestly. Could you imagine me as a wife right now? And a mother? With children?”
Finger tapping against his lip, a cheeky grin tugs at the very corner of his mouth. “No, I couldn’t, frankly.” Harry’s dimples wink at her as he answers. “But what I’d like to know is…do you believe in it? Marriage, I mean? Because you said your parents had rough patches, and you thought they mostly stayed together just to stay together, and you and Gherkin Pickle didn’t last—”
“I’m sorry, Gherkin Pickle—?”
“So what I want to know is…” With his thumb and knuckle still grazing his chin, Harry points his finger at the girl across the table. “Marriage. Do you think there’s value in it? Do you think someone can be monogamous for their entire life? Do you want to get married someday?”
The alcohol is beginning to soak into Y/N’s brain, making her bolder with every thump of her heart in her chest. She leans across the table to ghost her fingers over Harry’s knuckles, continuing to glide them over his cool skin until she reaches his statement rings. “Why?” She asks, a smirk twinkling its way onto her face. “Are you asking?”
“Not quite yet, no.” Harry can feel the alcohol beginning to buzz through his stagnant veins, and he’ll later blame his flirtatious response on the pleasant feeling. “Although you in that dress has me half considering it.”
“Only half considering it?” Y/N clicks her tongue in feigned disappointment, swirling the tip of her index finger over the opal ring that sits upon Harry’s pinkie. “That’s a bit disheartening. I’ll have to up my game, huh?”
The sight of Y/N’s lithe finger tracing his mother’s ring sends a shock through Harry’s buzzing body. He can’t quite tell if it’s the witty banter that she matches perfectly and with ease, the lighthearted smile that lifts her soft lips, the gentle pulse he can feel reverberating through her fingertip, or the cleavage that’s just barely slipping out of her dress as she leans over, but Harry can’t tear his eyes away from the mortal girl, not for one second. He doesn’t want to miss a single moment of her like this. How it’s all for him.
“You know, I’m starting to regret my earlier proposal.” He murmurs quietly, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue as he watches the mortal take a long sip of her mimosa. “How much begging would it take to convince you to follow me to the bathroom right now for a little fun?”
Despite the warmth pooling between her thighs at the offer, Y/N shakes her head. “Too much begging.” She replies, setting her glass back down on the table with a soft clink. She can already tell there’s a good chance that she’ll go back on the agreement they made, but she wants to make him sweat first. As much as it tortures her, she knows it tortures him more. And he’s certainly done his fair share of torturing. Now it’s her turn. “But speaking of proposals…”
To his credit, Harry doesn’t push the subject of bathroom quickies again. “Right.” He pauses with his glass half raised to his lips. “Marriage. Thoughts?”
Harry’s attention is rapt as his eyes drift to the mortal’s lips, which pucker slightly as her lightly inebriated mind thinks through the question. Not for the first time, he wishes he had the ability to take a look inside her head and see how her thoughts form before she voices them.
“I think…” She fixes her fork against her plate with a clink, her voice light but thoughtful as she forms her response. “I do think there’s value in marriage, but not inherently. It’s not valuable just because it exists; I think it becomes valuable based on the work you put into it. My parents, for example…” Her finger begins to circle Harry’s icy knuckle absentmindedly. “My parents didn’t put much work in, so I don’t think their marriage has that much value in comparison to what it could have if they tried. But if two people put effort in, and strive to be the best partner they can be…I think there’s tremendous value in that.”
Harry responds with a low hum in the back of his throat. “That stands to reason.” He wishes he could take her hand in his own, but the sensation of her warm fingers tracing his skin is too wonderful to pull away. “What about monogamy? Do you think it’s realistic?”
“I suppose my answer is the same.” Y/N shrugs lightly as her soft skin catches on the corner of Harry’s H ring. “It’s different for everyone, but I do think it can be realistic. What’s not realistic is the idea that it’s easy. People change over time, right? Sometimes someone can change into someone completely different. You have to expect that, and be flexible with it.”
For the first time since the beginning of their date, an uncomfortably negative feeling buzzes in the pit of Harry’s belly. Of course Y/N thinks people change—she’s mortal. But Harry, on the other hand… Harry is forever frozen at twenty-six. Harry is static. Harry is stagnant. However Y/N will change, Harry cannot match it. Ever.
That realization helps him identify the uncomfortable feeling as his eyes fall on the girl’s finger tracing his rings. It’s longing, he discovers, unable to look away from the way her fingernail scratches his immortal skin without so much as leaving a pinkening mark. Harry will never change again, while Y/N has a whole life of it ahead of her. Millions of possibilities that lead to millions of more possibilities, always shifting, never staying the same from one moment to the next.
“As for your last question…” Y/N’s familiar cadence pulls Harry from his thoughts. “I’m not sure. I wouldn’t completely rule out marriage, but it’s not an active goal of mine. It all depends on finding someone I think I could grow with and still love at the end of every day. And despite how simple that sounds,” The short laugh that leaves her mouth is wistful, but hides a tinge of bitterness. “It’s surprisingly hard to find.”
“It is, yeah.” Harry agrees, finishing the remnants of his mimosa with one fell swoop. “Incredibly hard.” His gaze sweeps to Y/N’s glass, which has about one more gulp of liquid left in it. With the hand not within her grasp, he reaches across the table, picking up the glass and lifting it to her lips. “May I, pet?”
He can hear the way her heartbeat stutters in her chest, and feel the heat radiating off her cheeks as she nods slowly. Harry places the glass between her lips, carefully tilting it back until the drink runs out of the crystal and into her awaiting mouth. A small droplet streaks from the corner of Y/N’s mouth, and Harry is sure to catch it on his finger after setting the glass down.
Y/N knows that Harry is doing his best to fluster her, and while it’s working, she knows that she can play the game just as well as he can. Keeping her eyes on his like a challenge, she grasps the hand touching the corner of her mouth, guiding his finger beyond her lips with a firm grip. The sweetness of the orange juice and champagne concoction swells across her tongue, but that’s nothing compared to the sweetness of watching Harry’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly.
Pulling his finger from her mouth with a quiet pop, Y/N sets his hand back down on the table, squeezing it once before releasing both of his hands and resting her elbows on the table. She steeples her fingers together, setting her chin on the makeshift rest as she regards Harry’s darkening eyes.
“Thanks.” She murmurs, tilting her head to the side lazily as Harry shifts in his chair. “Didn’t realize I missed a drop. That was a sharp catch, Holmes.”
Harry can’t help but flex his finger as his gaze drops to the digit, catching how a light sheen of saliva covers his skin. Heat floods between his thighs, making him regret his choice of fashionable linen pants over standard jeans. “Thank you, Watson.” He matches her banter, albeit with a slightly strained voice. “Shall we order another drink, now that we’ve both finished?”
The question hangs in the air between them like an invitation, open ended and carefully calculated. Y/N leans forward again, unlocking one of her hands to run a finger over the dark ink staining Harry’s exposed forearm. “I think we should grab the check, actually.” She wets her lips with a swipe of her tongue as she feels Harry’s muscle tense under her touch. “I think I’ve had enough to drink. Have you?”
All the moisture in Harry’s mouth disappears, his throat burning as the mortal girl’s scent envelops him with every move. His eyes flicker to her neck, where the thumping of her heart is practically visible underneath her fragile skin. With his inhuman eyes, he can just make out the ghost of a bruise he sucked into her neck a few nights before.
Has he had enough to drink? No. He’ll never get enough. But that’s not what Y/N means by the innocuous question.
“I’ve had my fill, yeah.” Jerking his head in agreement, Harry motions towards the window, where he knows Paige has been analyzing every move between them. Her displeasure at the close interactions between Harry and Y/N is nearly palpable as she makes her way back to their table, and Harry wonders if Y/N can also sense it, as she seems to be more perceptive than the average human. When he turns his attention back to her, however, his brow creases in confusion.
“What are you doing?” He asks, watching as Y/N shifts through her woven bag and extracts her wallet.
“Grabbing my wallet?” Her expression is just as confused as his own when she replies. “To pay?”
“To—? No. Put that away.” Harry says sternly, using the same dominant tone he adopts in the bedroom (only half on purpose). “This is a date. I’m paying.”
“This isn’t the 18th century, H. We can split the bill.” Y/N begins to roll her eyes as she opens her wallet, reaching for the debit card stamped neatly with her name.
“I’m well aware it’s not the 18th century, love.” Lip twitching from the wry irony, Harry gently places his hand on her own and closes her wallet. “But it’s a date— our first one, at that— and I’d like to pay for you. It’s just manners.”
Although he can feel the grip on her wallet loosening, there’s still a degree of hesitancy apparent in Y/N’s eyes. “Harry—”
“And I don’t mean that in a chauvinistic way, and I don’t mean to imply that you’re incapable of paying.” He swipes his thumb over her knuckle once, letting his physical touch reinforce his words. “I asked you out, yeah? So I think it’s only fair that I pay.”
Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s pillowy lips as she worries them between her teeth, her resolve getting weaker and weaker with every passing moment. It only takes three more beats of her heart for her to give a small nod, and Harry, satisfied that she’s agreed, reaches for his wallet to pay the bill.
Despite the temptation to short change Paige on the tip for her disregard for his date, Harry still leaves a sizable tip, saying goodbye to the server with a polite— and only polite— smile. Once she has her back turned, however, Harry flashes his most genuine grin at Y/N as he scoots his chair away from the table to stand.
Y/N’s hands grip the sides of her chair to match Harry’s motion, but she freezes once she sees the man step towards her. Within a moment, his jeweled hands are wrapped around the back of her chair, carefully pulling it out before offering her a hand to help her stand.
“Is this going to be a thing now?” Y/N asks, nodding to their clasped hands as she pulls her bag over her shoulder. “Pulling out chairs, opening doors—”
Placing his hand on the small of her back once again, Harry scoffs. “It’s always been a thing,” He argues, guiding her to the patio door and through the restaurant. “You’ve just been dating pricks, apparently.”
Despite his answer, however, even Harry can’t deny that the urge to resurrect his Victorian etiquette is as strange as it is sudden. And, truth be told, there is something deeply pleasing in the light flush of blood he can hear work its way over Y/N’s cheeks when he opens the door of the restaurant for her, opens the car door, takes her hand to help her in, and shuts the door carefully before making his way to the driver’s side.
It’s easy to spend the short drive back to her building with his hand entwined with hers, their fingers woven together as Harry’s thumb moves over her knuckles. Y/N’s skin, like usual, is so warm, almost as if she’s made from sunshine herself. At this point, Harry wouldn’t be surprised to learn that; her blood could certainly pass for being made from stardust.
It’s all too soon that Harry is pulling into a parking spot in front of Y/N’s building and turning the key in the ignition, his favourite car smoothly powering down in one fell swoop. Once the sound of the engine dies down, his eyes refocus on the girl next to him.
Y/N, in comparison, is just as focused on Harry as Harry is on her. She knows that it’s time to let go of his hand, time to climb out of the car, time to return to her apartment alone. Time to fall out of the fantasy that has been this afternoon. Despite knowing all of this, however, she stays glued to the seat, her eyes locked with Harry’s emerald irises in a soft battle.
Harry is well aware of the predicament he’s found himself in. While he was the one to establish the no sex rule in an attempt to keep Y/N comfortable, it’s becoming harder and harder to stick to it with every passing moment. If he was smart, he’d bid the girl goodbye here, allow her to walk herself into her building, thereby erasing any possibility of him charming her into allowing him inside her apartment. Then, once he was safely back home, he could draw himself a hot bath, scent it with lavender epsom salts, close his eyes to picture the way Y/N looks with laughter in her eyes, the sun spilling across her cheeks, her dress’ neckline falling dangerously low, and tug himself to a tension-relieving climax.
However, Harry has never been known for his intelligence. Not as much as he’s been known for his recklessness.
Before he can second guess his most likely terrible decisions, Harry is out of the car and opening Y/N’s door. He’s helping her out. He’s guiding her into her building, and climbing up the stairs of her fifth floor walk up with her hand locked in his. And now he’s standing in front of her apartment door, with Y/N shyly looking at him as she bites her fucking lip, completely unaware of the rampage raging inside the vampire before her.
And the most infuriating, frustrating thing about the entire situation is the way Y/N is looking at him, like she can barely hold his gaze, but can’t force herself to look away. Harry can feel the waves of need and uncertainty radiating from her, hear the thumping of her heart in her chest. The last time she looked at him like this, like she’s unsure of where they stand, was the first night they met. Harry remembers how she fumbled with her keys, nervously invited him in, and then let him use her in a way that literally drove him to his most primal state. He remembers the euphoria of sinking his teeth into her neck, tasting her ridiculously sweet blood for the first time as his orgasm rolled over him, wave after wave of intense pleasure blurring together as his eyes burned crimson, the lewd sounds of their bodies moving together, the desperate whines that echoed from her throat...
“Thank you for lunch.” Y/N’s sweet voice interrupts his walk down memory lane, and with good timing— five more seconds, and Harry would have been pushing her against her front door to rut her dress up and slip inside her. “And the drinks. I had a really nice time.”
Clearing his throat, Harry pushes the indecent thoughts from his head as best he can. He can take care of this later, he tells himself. He just has to be a gentleman for a few more minutes, and then he can go home, and be as depraved as he needs to be. “I did, as well.” The vampire squeezes her hand in preparation of letting go of it. “A really lovely time, actually. I’d like to do it again.”
The way Y/N’s eyes widen ever so slightly as her breath just barely hitches, both of which would be imperceivable to human senses, makes Harry bite back a laugh. “I would too.” A more reassured smile rolls over her face as she leads his hand to her waist, setting it just over her hip and squeezing his fingers around her love handles.
Even after everything Harry has done to her, all the ways he’s seen her, felt her, made her feel— even after all that— his hand on her hip over her dress still sends a shiver down her spine. “I don’t want you to go…” She confesses in a quiet voice, rubbing her thumb over his icy knuckles. “It feels strange, not having you come inside…”
“I know.” A sigh escapes Harry’s lips as he leans down, brushing his forehead over hers as he murmurs his response, his voice dangerously low. “But if I come inside, I know what I’ll do. And I promised that I would behave myself today.”
“I don’t mind breaking promises.” Y/N wisps, closing her eyes as Harry’s breath, tinged with orange from the mimosa and mint from the candy the restaurant gave them with the bill, rolls over her in a delicious wave.
Nudging his nose against her own, Harry shakes his head with the smallest of motions, his fingertips digging further into Y/N’s love handles. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” His lips ghost over hers, barely even brushing before he pulls away again. “One of us needs to have some self control.”
Y/N wedges her free hand between their bodies, resting it over Harry’s chest with her fingers curled along the unbuttoned edge of his shirt. “If you insist.” Her fingernails dig just the slightest bit into Harry’s sturdy chest, savouring the way she feels his body tense beneath her. “If you want to be boring, then that’s fine.”
Harry laughs quietly at the small attempt to tease his ego, and although his instinct tells him to prove her wrong, he just nods his head. “Am I too boring to receive a goodbye kiss?” He brushes a loose hair back from her forehead before cradling her warm cheek, guiding his thumb over her cheekbone in a repeated action. “Haven’t kissed you in hours. Feels wrong.”
Butterflies burst into flight in Y/N’s stomach at the innocent request coupled with the sweet explanation. They’ve done everything in the wrong order, she thinks, as she allows Harry to smudge small pecks along her chin and cheeks. The very first night they met, she allowed him to use her in any way he wanted, and he allowed her the same luxury. They’ve spent the last month exploring each other’s bodies, getting to know every nook and cranny, every preference. They’ve grown accustomed to how the other moves in their sleep, how they wake up in the morning, if they shower at sunrise or sunset. And now, after all that, they’ve finally had what has probably been the best first date in the history of first dates, and this man, who has already coaxed countless orgasms from her shivering body, who has learned all of her likes and dislikes, is asking for a goodbye kiss like a nervous teenager walking his crush home from biology class.
How could she refuse him?
The answer is simple: she can’t. In fact, she’s not sure she could refuse Harry anything he asked of her. And maybe that would be worrisome— it probably should be worrisome— if the idea of giving Harry whatever he wanted didn’t bring a wave of warmth to Y/N’s belly that travels from her center to the very tips of her fingers.
“No,” She wraps the loose fabric of his shirt around her fingers, clutching him as close as she possibly can. “You’re not too boring, H. You’re never boring.” Y/N sucks in a breath as she feels Harry’s teeth graze over her jaw, marking her ever so slightly as her lover makes his way back to her lips fervently.
He smudges a kiss at the corner of her lips, pulling a strained whimper from her as she waits for him to kiss her properly.
“Ask me.” He whispers, grazing his fingers over her cheekbone again and again. “Ask me to kiss you. I want to hear you say it, sweetheart.”
The request is so innocent compared to everything else Harry has ever asked her to do, and his voice lacks the dominant command it usually carries over her, but Y/N feels just as weak as she would if he ordered her to get on her knees. “Harry…” Her voice floats through the miniscule space between them, so quiet that it’s barely audible over their laboured breathing, but Harry still thinks it sounds like a song. “Please kiss me. Kiss me goodbye.”
A groan reverberates in the back of Harry’s throat, and the tiny molecule of composure that he has left in him slips away as he glides his lips over her own silky pair, his fingers threading into her hair on instinct. Although he does his best to restrain himself, it becomes more difficult with every passing moment, and becomes damn near impossible when he hears the way Y/N whines at the sensation of their lips brushing together with more and more force.
Despite his best efforts, Harry soon finds his hands moving of their own accord as his palm travels from Y/N’s hip towards her ass, ruffling her dress as he grips her and thrusts a leg between her own. He backs the mortal up into her door, her back hitting the wood with a delicate thud, and the groan she releases worries him for a split second before he feels her grind against his thigh situated between her legs.
Harry knows that the pretense of this just being a goodbye kiss went out the window the moment he touched her, and although she’s responding in kind, he has to live up to his word. He has to. He swore that he wouldn’t fuck her today, and as much as he wants to, as much as it seems that she wants to— and if the red hot heat burning his thigh is any hint, she very much wants to— he has to regain some self control. Despite all his shortcomings, or how his thirst for her blood outweighs any other desire he has for her, he has to remain a gentleman. Even if it means peeling himself away from the beautiful girl who is scratching at his chest, moaning into his mouth, grinding against his thigh, and speaking between ragged gasps—
“Fuck the promise.” She groans into his ear, her teeth grazing over his lobe with more pressure than Harry thought her capable. “Please, H. I know what we said, but I need you.”
Harry curses under his breath at the sensation, his eyes rolling back into his head for a split second, and he knows that if he doesn’t distance himself, he’ll succumb to her begging. “I can’t, darling. I can’t.” He chokes out the words between pants, bumping his forehead against Y/N’s as he struggles to catch a breath that he’s forgotten he doesn’t need. It’s funny, he manages to think, how he teased Y/N for not keeping her hands off him earlier, when he’s the one who can’t bear to be away from her touch now. “I want to— Christ, I want to— but I’m trying to behave.”
“Behaving is stupid.” Y/N mutters, smudging her lips across Harry’s stubbled jaw and down his neck, leaving small marks in her wake. “What happened to giving into desires?”
Good fucking question.
Harry squeezes his eyes shut tightly, a choked laugh escaping his heaving chest. “That was when we were just fucking. Now we’re…”
Y/N regards the man with hooded eyes, a flutter of hope shining through the desire that’s settled in her chest. What exactly are they? They’re not dating, she knows that for certain. But they’re not exactly just fuck buddies anymore. “We’re what?” She prompts after Harry trails off.
“We’re…” Harry struggles to form a coherent thought, too entranced by the feeling of Y/N in his arms to think straight. Sucking in a deep breath, the fragrant scent of the girl’s arousal burning his throat, Harry forces himself to take the smallest step back from her, although his hands stay locked around her hip and her cheek. “We’re saying goodbye.”
A defeated sigh falls from Y/N’s swollen lips, but she nods gently at the man before her, brushing her thumb over his exposed collar bones with great care. “Alright.” She mumbles, disappointment laced through her voice. “Goodbye.”
The glum tone brings a small smile to Harry’s cherry lips. “It’s just for a little while, love. Not forever.” Harry teases her as he swipes his thumb over her flushed cheek. “Couldn’t stay away from you that long.”
The breathless flush turns into a pleased warmth as Y/N struggles to hide the smile threatening to break across her expression. Taking the change in mood as a hint, Harry ducks his head, pressing his lips against hers with an earnest softness for just a moment before stepping back and releasing the mortal girl from his grasp.
“Goodbye.” He murmurs again, his belly aching at the thought of leaving Y/N alone for the rest of the day. It really does feel unnatural, he’s surprised to find. Has he really gotten that used to being around her?
It’s a strange process, leaving Harry at the door. After she finally says goodbye again, shuts the door, locks it tightly, and slips on the chain, Y/N finds herself touching the wood, her palm pressed flat against the surface as if she can feel Harry on the other side. It takes her a moment to walk away from it, the buzz of the mimosas and their first date streaming through her veins.
Checking her phone for the first time, Y/N is surprised to find that it’s nearly 4pm— had they really been in the restaurant for almost five hours? No wonder the server had been giving her a dirty look; they’d spent so long just talking and sipping drinks, ordering no other food, and not giving up their table. She’d probably be glaring too.
Admittedly, there is a slight rumble in Y/N’s stomach, as they ate over four hours ago, but she ignores it as she takes a seat on the couch to untie her pink vans, tossing them into the corner before slipping off her jean jacket. She tosses that over the couch too, running her hands through her mussed hair. She’s not quite sure what she’ll do with the rest of her day now that she’s alone. She could indulge some reading, or answer some messages from relatives, or maybe even—
A pounding on the door disrupts her thoughts, jerking her eyes from the book on her coffee table to her front door. With her brow furrowed in confusion, Y/N rises from the couch and walks to the door, gliding the chain free and turning the lock before swinging the door open.
Braced in the doorway with shining eyes, ruddy cheeks, and a heaving chest as if he’s run all the way back up to her apartment, is Harry. He takes a moment to compose himself, swiping his tongue over his lips as she takes in her more relaxed appearance.
“I couldn’t go.” He confesses, answering the question on the tip of Y/N’s tongue before she even has the chance to speak it. “I made it down to my car, and then—”
Y/N grabs him by the front of his shirt and yanks him into her apartment, slamming the door behind them before reaching for Harry again. His hands are already outstretched to receive her, having grown used to their intimacy routine, and she’s pleased when he automatically rests his palms on her lower back and her neck as she wedges her lips between his once again.
“I don’t want you to go.” Y/N gasps the words against his mouth, barely peeling herself back from him to utter the sentence. “I need you so fucking bad, H, please—”
With great difficulty, Harry attempts to think straight, but it gets harder when Y/N bucks her hips and— well, it gets harder. “I meant what I said, Y/N. I did, I—I made a promise, and I have to—”
“What do I have to do?” Y/N demands, tangling her fingers in Harry’s chestnut curls and forcing him to look her in the eye. “I fucking need something, Harry, and you’re the only one who can fix it.”
Christ. Harry’s had his suspicions, but now he’s convinced that this girl has some direct line to all his weaknesses, because she knows exactly how to stroke his ego like no one else has before. She presses every one of his buttons every time. She’s allowed him to handcuff her, take her in every position, manhandle her, slap her around, and she still begs him for more. Is there anything that she hasn’t done better than anyone else?
And that’s when it hits him. The perfect loophole.
Harry is so excited at the possibility of relief that he nearly whimpers, just barely managing to bite back the sound at the last second as he smooths his fingers over his lover’s wild hair. “What about when I’m not here, pet?” He goads her softly, a glint shining in the corner of his darkening eyes. “What do you do then?”
“I…” Although confusion is present in Y/N’s voice, she answers him promptly— she’s gotten used to obeying his sexual requests over the course of the month. “I call you. And you...you tell me what to do, usually.”
“Tell you what?” Harry hungrily prompts her again, tugging on her hair with the lightest of touches. Like before, he wants to hear her say it. “What do I tell you to do?”
“You tell me how to—how to touch myself.” The mortal girl stammers, shyness creeping into her tone despite having begged for Harry mere moments earlier. “And then I do.”
“You do. You behave so well for me.” Keeping his voice as smooth and sensual as possible— which isn’t hard for him, if he’s honest— Harry twirls a lock of Y/N’s hair around his finger, wrapping it around the length as his fingertip brushes over her lip. “I tell you what to do, and you do it. And you moan for me, and send me the prettiest pictures.” He presses harder against her lip, dragging her mouth open as a whimper escapes. “And I always think: what would it be like to see that in person?”
Although the effect of the mimosas has faded by now, Y/N’s head is swimming in a cloud of Harry’s cologne and her own lust, and she struggles to understand the double meaning in his words. “What—what do you mean? You’ve seen me in bed—”
The innocent confusion in her voice tantalizes Harry in the best way. “When I’m touching you. But that’s not what I want.” He murmurs, grinding his hips back into her own. “I know how to get around my promise.”
He watches as the realization dawns on Y/N’s face, her heart stuttering as warmth floods through her body. “Y-you mean—? You want to see me…?”
“I want to see you touch yourself.” Harry finishes her thought as his eyes darken, and he licks his lips at the image of Y/N laid out on her bed, legs spread wide, showing off just for him. Only for him. “Will you let me?”
And there it is. That wave of warmth and desire spreads through Y/N’s tummy, begging her to say yes to any request that falls from Harry’s mouth. The urge is so strong that she nearly begins to strip, her fingers edging to the hem of her dress, before she manages to form a clear thought of pause. “Are you sure you want to see me…?” She dances around the word for a second time. “Like, I—I don’t know if it’s very sexy, or—”
“Is that a fucking joke?” Harry laughs incredulously, his thumb swiping over the edge of Y/N’s jaw. He could leave so many pretty marks… “Of course it’ll be sexy. Christ, love, it’s fucking you.”
The statement that Harry makes is so sure, so confident, that it nearly sends Y/N reeling. The human’s eyelids flutter as he begins to pepper kisses along her cheekbones and down her jaw, his tongue swiping over her sensitive skin every few moments.
“Anything you do is sexy.” He whispers the words against her skin, his voice low and accent thick enough that it seems to fill the entire hallway. “Literally anything… How you lick your lips after taking a drink, how you get in and out of my car so delicately… It’s all so fucking erotic.” Y/N shivers when a breath of cool air hits the damp skin of her neck as Harry laughs lightly. “I’ve got a bloody hard-on nearly every moment of the day.”
Hearing the confession that tumbled from Harry’s cool lips, Y/N thinks, is the verbal equivalent of doing three shots of tequila and chasing with a vodka soda. The words wash over her as easily as Harry’s cologne does whenever she gets close to him, and her fingers tug on his brunette locks with need. “Really? Even today?”
“Are you kidding? Especially today. Look at what you’re wearing…” His icy fingers skim down her neck before tracing over the cleavage that the neckline of her yellow dress leaves exposed. “Every time you leaned over to take a bite of food, I nearly came in my trousers.”
Despite the desire curling itself around Y/N’s core, she can’t help but giggle at the mental image. “That would’ve been a sight.” She scratches her nails lightly against Harry’s scalp, the motion surprisingly tender for their topic of conversation. “Would’ve had to ask Paige for another napkin.”
“It would’ve been properly humiliating, yeah.” Harry agrees easily, unconcerned with the thought as his lips follow the path led by his fingers. “But it would’ve been worth it.”
While the pair’s position is rather incriminating— Y/N’s hands in Harry’s hair, Harry clutching her as close as possible, his lips travelling over any exposed skin he can find— there’s an air of careful consideration floating around them. As much as Harry wants to see the girl in his arms pleasure herself, he wants it to be her decision. Anything less wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying.
“Y’don’t have to do it just for me, Y/N.” The vampire takes the slightest step back to give her some room to breathe without his close proximity to cloud her judgement. “But if it’s my reaction you’re worried about…” Harry untangles one of her hands from his hair, ghosting it down his body before cautiously laying it over his white linen trousers, where his bulge is growing more prominent by the second. “You have nothing to be worried about.”
A desperate whine nearly escapes Y/N’s mouth, but she manages to bite it back at the last moment. She wants him. As nervous as she is to have him watch her touch herself, she’s more turned on than anything. When she sends Harry explicit texts and photos that are most certainly not safe for work, part of the thrill is the reaction she gets from him. A dirty photo is only as sexy as the other person’s reception of it. To see Harry’s reactions in person… it would be a lie to say she’s not into the idea.
But it would also be a lie to say that she doesn’t want something in return.
“Alright. You can watch me.” Y/N relents with a sigh, and she takes a moment to enjoy the triumphant look in Harry’s eyes before tacking on her addendum. “On one condition.”
“Anything.”
Y/N squeezes her hand over his bulge, making the slightest stroking motion upwards towards his belly as a low groan rolls from Harry’s mouth. “I get to watch you touch yourself, too.”
There’s not even a moment of hesitation. “Done.” Harry seals his lips over hers firmly the moment the word exits his mouth, grinding against her hand as he backs her into the wall. Her back hits the panel with a quiet thud, but Y/N is too busy twisting her fingers around the button of Harry’s pants to notice.
“Ah ah ah.” Harry tuts as his jeweled hand grabs her wrist, pulling it away from his hardening cock while making sure not to use too much strength on her fragile joint. “You don’t get to do that, pet. You’ll only be undressing yourself tonight. It’s only fair.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve to talk about fair.” Y/N huffs her reply, but doesn’t pull her wrist from her lover’s grip. “You’re the one who made the stupid rule in the first place!”
Clicking his tongue, Harry takes another step back from the young woman while keeping his other hand floating over her hip. “And you agreed.” He reminds her as the corner of his lip tugs up. “So I think it’s best you behave, don’t you?”
Although the statement turns her legs to jelly, Y/N doesn’t let it show, and instead steels her resolve as best she can. “I’m behaving.” She mutters, crossing her free hand underneath the arm in Harry’s grip.
“That’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it?” Harry swipes his thumb over the delicate bones of her wrist, feeling her pulse stutter beneath his touch. The vampire swallows the venom that spills into his mouth at the thumping rhythm. He’ll have time for that later.
Chest heaving, Y/N wets her dry lips as best she can despite the lack of moisture in her mouth. “So where are we…?” She trails off as she glances down the hallway of her apartment. “The living room is probably best, position wise…one of us can be on the couch, and the other on a chair.”
“That’s true…” Harry nods his head, but a frown settles over his pillowy lips. “But it’s not very comfortable for you. You usually lie down when you get off, don’t you?” Like every other technically intimate question Harry has ever asked her, it’s spoken with a tone of efficiency and casual observance, simply to find the best approach for any situation.
And, like every other technically intimate question Harry has ever asked her, it sends a shock of warmth into her panties.
“I-I do, yeah.” Y/N stutters her response, clearing her throat before adding onto the short statement. “I’m usually in bed.”
Harry nods expectantly, like her reply is just a confirmation for him. “We’ll go to your bedroom, then.” He says decisively, his grip on her wrist loosening. “You can lie down, get comfortable. I’ll stand.”
Leading the mortal to her bedroom, Harry slides open the door, guiding her inside before shutting it with a firm click. When he turns back around to look at her, she’s looking at him expectantly, her fingers twisting around each other as she stares at him with wide eyes. She trusts him, he realizes, not for the first time. She really does trust him.
Although the anticipation is written clearly across her pretty features, Harry knows she needs a small prompt to begin. “How are you usually dressed when you do this alone?” He asks quietly, his own fingers working over the buttons on his shirt smoothly. “Completely bare? Fully clothed? Underwear only?” One of his dimples makes an appearance as he smiles with half his mouth. “Wearing only that sweater of mine that you’ve pretty much stolen?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, that sweater’s too warm.” Y/N replies with an eye roll, tugging off the jean jacket covering her smooth shoulders. “I, um…it depends. If it’s just quick, then usually I’m clothed, but if I’m taking my time, then I’ll just, um, I’ll be in my underwear. Sometimes just my bra.”
Harry’s fingers finish with his last button, and he leaves his open shirt draped over his tall frame. “We’ll be taking our time, angel. So just get as comfortable as you usually would.”
Y/N nods her head in a jerking manner, sucking in a deep breath through her parted lips in an attempt to calm the heave that threatens her chest. The erotic tension in the air could be cut with a knife as she tosses her jacket to the side and works her fingers over the zipper of her dress, which catches for a moment and puts up a struggle as she fights to undo it. Once she wins the battle, she tugs the yellow dress down her shoulders, letting it pool around her ankles before stepping out of it and tossing it to the side. Her bra and panties aren’t matching, with the former being a delicate baby pink lace, while the latter are lavender cotton, but she doesn’t let herself focus on that detail. Instead, her fingers hover for a moment at the waist of her panties, hooking in the elastic before she changes her mind at the last minute and decides to keep them on. For now, at least.
Harry watches the entire ritual with starved eyes. He wants Y/N to start before he does, so she can get into a natural rhythm herself, but he can’t resist palming himself over his trousers like she did a moment ago, despite his icy touch not being nearly as satisfying as hers.
Y/N, however, has different plans, regarding him with heavy lashes as she takes a step back towards her bed. “Your turn.” She murmurs, sitting on the edge of the bed and curling her fingers around her ruffled comforter.
“All in due time.” Harry assures her with a wry smile, ghosting his fingers along his inked abdomen. “Get comfortable, baby. Pretend I’m not here.”
“Like that’s possible.” The mortal girl mutters under her breath, unaware that Harry’s supernatural hearing can pick it up as if she were shouting in his ear. Nevertheless, she does as he says, scooting back on the bed until her shoulders reach her pillows. She lays back on the soft cushions, shifting around until the padding feels comfortable beneath her back. She lays there for a moment, her arms folded neatly over her bare stomach as she licks her lips expectantly. “Now?”
“Now…” Harry flicks open the button of his trousers. “Do whatever you like to do. Whatever feels good.”
It takes Y/N another moment to work up the courage to actually do something. The trick, she realizes, is closing her eyes. If she so much as catches a glimpse of Harry watching her, her entire body tenses, and she can’t even manage to move a finger over her stomach. With her eyes closed, however, she can imagine that Harry isn’t there, and she’s just in her room, with his only influence being in her mind as she touches herself. It may not make much sense, when she could just use the real image of him to fuel her thoughts, but Harry’s presence is so dominating that pretending he’s not there seems to be the only solution.
And so, when her eyes are shut tightly enough that she can’t see the man, but loose enough that she’s comfortable, Y/N begins to touch herself lightly, her fingers tracing over the dips of her stomach with the smallest amount of contact she can manage.
Her touch moves over her skin like a flutter, its only purpose to warm herself up and ease herself into being watched, and while the small brushes against her own skin would normally have no effect on her, in this moment, with Harry standing by her bed, the action feels more erotic than she ever would’ve thought possible. She slowly glides her hands up to the pink lace of her bra, tracing her finger along the edge of the cup before sliding over the lace to the hardening peaks of her nipples. She’s more sensitive than she thought, and Y/N’s breath hitches for a moment as she brushes against one nub, tweaking it once more with her finger before repeating the motion on her other breast. When a quiet but harsh exhale sounds from Harry’s direction, the human girl amuses the idea of removing her bra to give more visual stimulus, but quickly decides against it. Harry said he wanted to see what she does to herself, she thinks, keeping her eyes closed as she massages her breasts once more. He didn’t ask her to perform a strip tease for him.
And, in truth, a strip tease is the farthest thing that Harry wants in this moment. Any girl can take off her clothes and touch herself to put on a show for a voyeur. If Harry really wanted to watch that, he could easily find countless porn videos depicting the real thing. But the sight of Y/N gliding her fingers over the soft lace of her bra, tracing unseen roadmaps over the mountains and valleys of her chest and abdomen, parting her lips just slightly as she twists her nipple once more… that’s what Harry wants. Despite the countless erotic activities Harry has engaged with Y/N, this may be the most intimate, even without touching her. Maybe that’s why, he muses, only half in the thought as he slowly tugs down the zipper on his trousers, doing his best to make no noise so as not to startle the girl in front of him. She’s letting him see what she does to herself when no one is around, when she just wants to make herself feel good. It’s a selfish act, in the best way. And it’s making Harry’s cock throb like never before.
Y/N’s hands have reached the edge of her panties now, and with her legs spread wide open, Harry can see the dampened spot staining the lavender cotton a shade darker. Her scent wafts over him as she moves, slipping her hand beneath the fabric, and Harry’s own eyelids flutter as she fills every one of his senses. There’s a small part of his more instinctual mind cursing him for thinking of this— for establishing an activity where he can see her, smell her, but not touch her. However, there’s a larger part of his mind thanking him for this. For the opportunity to bask in Y/N’s own sensuality and pleasure.
The dampness that greets Y/N’s fingers as she slides into her panties isn’t a surprise, but still provides relief. For a brief moment, the girl had been worried that she’d be too nervous about the situation to let herself enjoy it, but as she teasingly circles her index finger around her clit, she knows that enjoying it won’t be a problem. Although she misses Harry’s cool touch, the feeling of his rings sliding over her clammy skin, and although it may seem untrue when Harry is in bed with her, no one knows Y/N’s body like she does. No one can instantly know what feels good and what doesn’t, what needs to be touched with more force, what needs to be gently caressed with a feather light pressure. Y/N alone is the keeper of those secrets, and although she’s begun to whisper those unspoken tokens to Harry in the dead of the night as he lays between her thighs, she alone knows the real truths.
She continues to circle her clit for a few moments, gradually applying more and more pressure as her free hand clutches her bare thigh, her fingertips digging into her squishy flesh. It doesn’t take long, however, for Y/N to need more, and she allows her fingers to run over her entrance a few times before dipping her index finger into her hot core.
While the sound that leaves her mouth is quiet and could potentially go unnoticed, it’s the loud groan from Harry that snaps the human’s eyes open, and the sight in front of her that stops her movements in their tracks. With her index finger still half inside her, and her grip on her thigh tightening, Y/N gapes at him unabashedly, because Harry looks like a fucking god.
Her eyes sweep over him methodically, committing every inch of his appearance to memory so as not to ever forget what he looks like when pleasuring himself. His chestnut curls are tinged with sweat, just beginning to plaster to his damp forehead and neck. His jade eyes are darkening by the second, while his strawberry lips are parted and dry, despite him swiping his tongue over them every minute or so. His toned chest is bare, displaying his dark ink for Y/N’s viewing, heaving with every movement of his tattooed arm. And lower… Y/N moans again as she clutches her leg tighter, nearly enough to bruise. Harry hasn’t completely removed his pants, but he’s pushed them down low enough that he’s freed his cock, which stands tall and proud and angrily red at the tip that pokes through the tight fist he has wrapped around the length. Despite the tension in his body, however, Harry flicks his wrist lazily, teasing himself as much as Y/N did earlier, and she wonders if he does it for the same reason she did. To give their lover something to look at.
With her eyes locked with Harry’s, Y/N pushed her middle finger inside herself, whimpering at how the extra digit stretches her out. She curves her fingers as they move in and out of her at a leisurely pace, focused more on reaching deeper than reaching a quick speed. While her hand busies itself inside her panties, she slides the other from her thigh back up to her breast, gripping and massaging it as her lashes flicker.
“Look at you.” Harry utters with a groan, breaking the silence between them as he thumbs over the leaking head of his cock. “Christ, you look so fucking filthy.” His eyes shift from hers for just a moment, glueing themselves to the shadows of motion he can see beneath her underwear. “Does that feel good, angel?”
A high pitched whine falls from Y/N’s mouth as she presses the pads of her fingers against the spongy spot inside her, setting off a wave of bliss inside her belly. “Yeah. Feels—feels really good, Harry.” His name leaves her lips in a breathy mewl as she tweaks her nipple over her bra, throwing her head back against her pillow.
The newly exposed skin of her neck beckons Harry. It’s completely covered with a thin veil of sweat, with the heat radiating from her throbbing pulse seemingly reaching towards him at the end of the bed. He takes a half step forward without realizing it, only catching his action when his knees bump the edge of the mattress. “Fuck—” He closes his reddening eyes to collect himself as his hand quickens its pace around his prick, only opening them again when he’s sure he’s under control. “You don’t know what you do to me.”
“I think I have a bit of an idea.” She mutters in reply, stroking small circles over her clit with her thumb. “It’s not like you can hide it.”
“But you’re hiding.” The vampire replies in a strained voice, tightening his fist around his cock as he nods to the girl’s covered core. “Take those off for me, pet. Please.”
Y/N withdraws her fingers from her dripping center, her skin shining in the light of her bedroom as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of the panties. “Wait—” she says suddenly, pausing her obedient motion. “Wait, I—”
The moment his foggy mind registers the word, Harry’s palm stills over his length, and although he doesn’t let go completely, he forces his body to calm down as he appraises the human. “What?” He questions, concern laced into his thick accent. “What’s wrong?”
Sitting up on her elbows, Y/N raises her head from her pillow as she scoots closer to her bedroom wall, stopping once her heated skin grazes the tapestry. “I want you next to me.” Her eyes are pleading as the words fall from her mouth, quiet and desperate. “I promise I’ll stick to the rule— I won’t touch you. I just want you to be comfortable, too, and… and I like it when you’re close. Please?”
The idea of refusing her doesn’t even enter Harry’s mind. Within seconds, faster than a mortal ever would, Harry has stripped off his trousers, leaving himself in just his dark blue boxers that are still half rugged down. He crawls onto the bed quickly, only letting his knee brush against Y/N’s leg before situating himself six inches away from her. Even with the distance between them, he can still feel an electric energy radiating off of her as her fragrance becomes thicker and all encompassing, making his head swim in the intoxicating honey and lavender perfume.
“M’here.” Harry murmurs the assurance softly, his fingers aching to reach out and touch her. Surely that’s not against the rules? After all, caressing someone’s cheek, and only for a moment, isn’t necessarily sexual. With that rationalization in his mind, his jeweled fingers brush against the young woman’s flushed cheek, grazing upwards to push a loose strand of hair from her eyes. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Y/N whispers back to him, her hands now resting on her tummy as she stares longingly at the figure next to her in bed. She wonders if the comforting touch is allowed, but decides not to question it. Questioning it may make it stop, and that’s the last thing she wants. Instead, Y/N simply places her hand over Harry’s, interlocking their fingers together and bringing his hand to her mouth to smudge a soft kiss over the back of his icy knuckles.
Harry can feel the pulsing of her heart through her lips, and it takes all of his inhuman strength to pull his hand from hers as carefully as he can. “I think you made me a deal, didn’t you?” He asks, disguising the want in his voice behind a teasing tone. “You said that if I got up here next to you, you’d…” Harry clicks his tongue as he nods at her cotton panties. “Hm?”
Despite the small laugh that escapes her, Y/N rolls her eyes. “You’ve got a one track mind, I swear.” She hooks her fingers into the edge of her panties, lifting her bum off the bed to tug them down her legs and toss to the side. “Happy?”
Harry licks his lips as he watches the girl’s hands drift back to her bare thighs, gliding over the silky skin with small strokes. “Very much so, yeah.” He replies, pushing his own hair back from his face before trailing his fingers back down his stomach. He wraps his right hand back around his leaking cock, stroking it once as he glances at Y/N again. “Keep going, dove. Don’t stop on my account.”
It’s like they’re back at the beginning,Y/N thinks, as she dips her index and middle fingers back into her wetness before she circles them around her clit. With Harry next to her, his presence so very there, Y/N has to close her eyes again to compel herself to relax. It takes a few moments of massaging her clit and focusing on keeping her breathing steady before she can open her eyes again and allow her gaze to slide back onto Harry.
The vampire, as expected, looks like an erotic renaissance painting. His hand is moving faster over his cock now, which is bubbling precum with every few strokes. His hips buck into his hand every so often, searching for more and more friction as he chases his high. Like herself, Harry has his eyes closed for much of his movements, but when he does open them, they’re pinned to her form and how she touches herself, like she’s his own personal show. And, in a way, she is. And she likes that.
It’s not long before Y/N needs more stimulation, and she thrusts her two fingers back inside herself as her other hand begins to rub over her clit. The dual sensation sends a hoarse moan falling from her lips, her tummy contracting with the wave of ecstasy that she knows is getting closer, but it’s the feeling of Harry’s lips on her temple that has her breath stuttering.
His slightly chapped lips move over her skin in slow and sensual movements, opening and closing as he speaks against her. “That’s it, darling. You’re so close, I can tell.” He sucks in a long breath while bucking his hips into his fist, a whining moan echoing from his throat and into her ear. “Fuck, you’ve got me wrecked…”
Curling her fingers inside, Y/N prods against her G-spot with fervent desire, leaning her head closer and closer to Harry’s mouth as she does so. “I’m gonna cum, Harry, I—” Her words cut off with a broken whine as her spongy walls clench around her fingers.
“Wish I could touch you.” Harry mutters the dirty confession in her ear, his lips still meeting every inch of skin they can find. “Wish I could make my pretty girl cum…” His brow furrows at the whimper that escapes Y/N at those words. “But at least I know you can—Christ—” He swipes his thumb over his tip again as his other hand moves to his balls, massaging over them with a gentle touch. “—can take care of yourself when I’m not here.”
When Harry’s lips find her neck, suckling at the sensitive spot where it meets her jaw, Y/N moans again, louder than before as she bucks her hips into her hand. “Fuck, Harry—” The way she sobs his name is music to his ears. “Can—can I cum? Please?” The question rolls off her tongue without prompt, sounding as natural as breathing to the girl. Harry’s not even sure she registers that she’s asked, but the question for permission goes straight to his throbbing cock.
“Yeah, baby. Cum for me.” He drags his teeth over her fragile skin, aching to bite down but restraining himself from giving in. Instead, he redirects his reaction to his hand, speeding up his strokes until he feels his balls tighten. “Cum for Daddy.” The way he feels her heart stutter at his words feeds his ego like nothing else, and he brings one hand up from his abdomen to rest on her throat, stretching his fingers to grip her chin and direct her face towards his. “Show Daddy how good you’re making yourself feel.” He demands, his lips ghosting over her own as they both work themselves towards the edge. His voice sounds less himself and more like a growl with every passing moment. “Cum.”
It’s the final harsh demand that pushes Y/N to thrust her fingers into herself faster, matching her motions over her clit to the new speed. It only takes a few more moments for the tight ball of pleasure inside her belly to burst, the waves of her orgasm washing over her repeatedly as her walls pulse around her fingers. “Daddy—” The name falls from her mouth and into Harry’s freely. Her only thoughts are of him as her climax consumes her; only his emerald eyes and cherry lips, only his brunette curls and inked skin, only his calloused hands and thick cock. He’s all she can think about. Has there ever been anyone else? “Please, Daddy…”
Harry watches with hungry eyes as the human’s body spasms through her release, the movements of her hands shuddering as the pleasure becomes too great to move. “That’s it, sweetheart. Good girl.” He grunts the praise through clenched teeth as his own orgasm nears, his hand twisting around his cock more and more. “Prettiest little slut in the world, y’know that?”
Y/N releases a whine of acknowledgement, her chest heaving as she comes down from her high and withdraws her fingers from her core. Resting her hands on her clenching belly, she turns her heavy lidded gaze towards Harry, watching him eagerly as he works himself. “Your turn.” She murmurs, her lips finding the edge of his sharp jaw and giving it a teasing bit. “You’re gonna cum, aren’t you? All over your stomach?”
“If—fuck—if that’s where you want it, baby.” Harry groans loudly as his stomach clenches, the butterfly flexing beneath his strained movements. “You want to watch me cum? Hm?”
“Mhmm.” Y/N hums the agreement against his skin, clasping her hands together to stop herself from reaching for Harry’s cock. “You’re usually inside me when you cum, so I’ve never seen it. I want to see it.”
“God, I—” Harry reaches over with his free hand and grasps Y/N’s warm palm, dragging it up to his hair and tangling her fingers in his dark locks. It’s a poor substitute for the craving he has to feel her touch over his cock, but the sensation of her tugging on his hair and scratching her nails against his scalp manages to provide the contact relief he desires. “Fuck, right there—” Harry’s abdomen contracts once more as he works himself over the edge and begins to shoot thick ropes of cum all over his tattooed tummy.
Y/N continues to work her lips over his jaw, whispering anything and everything into his ear to continue to stimulate him through his orgasm. “Looks so pretty, H.” She utters once his cock has finally stopped spurting and he releases it from his grip. “You’re so pretty…”
A breathless laugh leaves Harry’s mouth as he shifts in the bed, wiping his damp hand against his indigo boxers before pulling them back over his shaking hips and exposed cock. “You’re one to talk.” He murmurs, twisting his head to the side to press a kiss to Y/N’s sweaty forehead. “You don’t happen to have a wash cloth handy, do you?”
“I have tissues in my bedside table.” Y/N points to the object in question, and Harry reaches over and tugs open the drawer to retrieve the box of Kleenex. Pulling a few squares from the box, he makes quick work of the cleanup, doing just enough to save him from the trouble of a sticky stomach.
“I could’ve done that, you know. Cleaned you up.” Y/N watches as the vampire stands to dispose of the used tissues, and reaches for her discarded panties to tug them back over her still shaky legs. “You know I like it.”
“I know, but if you did, then I would’ve broken the no sex rule right then and there.” Harry chuckles lightly as he climbs back onto the bed, wanting to reclaim his close proximity to Y/N as soon as possible. “And we’d already come so far.”
When he opens his arms, Y/N doesn’t hesitate to nuzzle into his cool chest, resting her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder with a sigh. “I suppose that’s true.”
Harry lets his jeweled fingers trace down her back, drawing random shapes on the damp skin as her breathing begins to even out. “Did you like it?” He asks curiously, a seed of worry planted within the words. “Having someone watch you?”
“I liked having you watch me.” Y/N clarifies her answer as if it were the most natural and easily explainable thing in the world. “Did you like watching?”
Harry giggles again, almost incredulous as he nods his head at the damp spot on his boxers, a symptom of the copious amounts of precum that had leaked from him. “I think the answer to that is pretty obvious, Watson. I’m surprised someone as distinguished as yourself has to ask.”
“Asking questions is never a bad thing, Holmes. I’m surprised someone as distinguished as yourself doesn’t know that.” The girl counters, delighting in the small laugh that shakes Harry’s shoulders. A laugh falls from her lips as well, followed quickly by a yawn that she unsuccessfully tries to stifle.
“Tired?” Harry murmurs, his fingers still keeping a steady pace against her back. “It’s only the late afternoon— not exactly late enough for bedtime, is it?”
Y/N sighs into his musky skin, relaxing completely against Harry’s body. “Not exactly, no. But I think a little post-orgasm nap may be in order.” She raises her head from the crook of Harry’s neck, looking at him with soft eyes. “Will you stay?”
If Harry’s heart could beat, the tender question would make his rhythm irregular, and the knowledge of that fact dries out the venom that had been flowing freely through Harry’s mouth. “Wow.” He tries to disguise the reaction with a laugh. “Our first date, and you’re already asking me to sleep over? What kind of man do you think I am?”
“Shut up.” The mortal nudges her forehead against his shoulder in a playful manner. “I’m serious. Will you? I sleep a lot better when you’re here.”
The confession falls from her lips as easily as a sigh, but her words lock Harry’s chest in a tight chain, restricting his every breath. And yet… the pressure is comforting, like a hug from someone you haven’t seen in years and you’ve sorely missed.
“Alright, yeah.” He whispers gently, caressing Y/N’s mussed hair without tugging on any tangles. “I’ll stay. We can order some dinner later, if you want.”
Y/N’s voice is already far away when she replies. “That sounds nice.” She whispers, her eyes fluttering closed as her full weight falls against Harry. Within a few minutes, her breathing has leveled completely in time with her steady heart beat, which thunders against Harry’s own silent chest.
The vampire sighs as he shifts on the bed, keeping Y/N locked in place against his body as he does so. How did he end up here, in her bed, staring at that fucking tapestry again? How did he end up agreeing to stay over, to grab dinner with her after she sleeps? How does he know that, if she asks again, he’ll stay over tonight as well, even if it means lying still in bed and counting her heart beats until the sun rises through her curtains?
And why does that sound so appealing?
Carefully, so as not to wake her, Harry shifts Y/N onto her own pillow, removing her from his chest with gentle movements. Once he’s arranged her in a comfortable position and made sure that she’s still asleep, he cages himself over her, brushing her hair back from her face and inhaling deeply. This is why, he thinks. This is why he’s agreed to all of these dates, to holding her as she sleeps, to spending night after night in this tiny human apartment. Her blood.
Harry nudges his nose along the length of her throat, breathing in her fragrance as if it were the bouquet of a fine wine. Her signature honey and lavender scent is as prominent as ever, only amplified by the orgasm-triggered endorphins that are still swimming through her veins. Letting his lips drag over her fragile skin, Harry smudges kisses along the base of her throat with a light touch, searching for the most tender part that he’s come to adore. When he reaches the mark just above her carotid artery, he presses a firmer kiss to the skin, admiring how the mortal’s breath floats from her lips in her sleep. Still, he pauses for a moment to make sure that the sound is just that, a symptom of sleep, and once his suspicions are confirmed, Harry sinks his teeth into Y/N’s satin skin.
As usual, the relief is instantaneous. The warm blood that flows into his mouth quells the dry, burning ache in the back of his throat like nothing else, and Harry clutches the girl closer to him as he drinks more and more. She’s just as sweet as she smells, and there’s that familiar depth of flavour to her that Harry can never quite place a finger on. Perhaps he could if he spent more time analyzing it, but it’s never too long before he loses himself in her taste, and all rational thought goes out the window completely. In the reflection of her mirror, Harry can see that his eyes are blood red and black-veined, and that he looks every bit the monster that he actually is. If Y/N were to wake up right now and see him like this—pale skin, black veins, mouth stained red with her blood—she’d probably scream in horror, and do her best to shove the supernatural creature away. She would be thoroughly repulsed, Harry is sure. And, honestly, he couldn’t blame her. He remembers the first time he saw the red of a vampire’s eyes, and the terror that had seized his entire body like an icy dip in the English Channel. It would only be a natural response.
Harry had come to terms with what he is a very long time ago, and though it took a lot of trial and error, a lot of sleepless nights doused with self-loathing and denial, and a plethora of blurry memories full of strangers’ veins bulging under soft skin and glassy eyes dulled by compulsion, he is in a place in his eternal life where his identity doesn’t phase his peace of mind anymore. He hadn’t become a monster willingly, and he certainly doesn’t enjoy having to do the unspeakable acts required for his survival— not consciously, anyways.
From an instinct-driven perspective, he does enjoy the taste of blood, but it’s only because his supernatural carnal impulses demand it. Ethically, he isn’t proud of his affinity, but it’s not like he has any say in the matter. This isn’t his fault— he was forced to become what he is— and that moral claim is what has kept him tethered to his last few shreds of humanity for the past twenty decades. He’s not doing this to Y/N out of malicious intent, he’s doing it because he has no other choice. Therefore, he assures himself that the traces of guilt tightening his chest at the moment are completely misled and invalid. He hasn’t felt guilt much before— not for years— and he refuses to let it plague him once again. This is just the way things are. This is just the way things have to be.
So why does he feel so fucking shitty right now?
Pushing the discomforting dwellings to the back of his mind, Harry continues to drink from Y/N, using his final remaining strains of functioning thought to monitor the human’s heart beat and breaths. When his thirst is satiated enough, and before either one of those human traits begins to falter, Harry releases his bite on Y/N’s neck, licking over the wound with relish to temporarily seal it. He turns to check his reflection in the mirror again, and finds that, yes, his suspicions are confirmed. Although he’s managed to keep himself halfway presentable, there’s still a trickle of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth, and his lips are stained a dark merlot colour from the sweet substance. Harry swipes his tongue along his mouth, cleaning up any evidence of his late afternoon snack, before bringing his index finger to his mouth and pricking the tip on one of his fangs. Then, while carefully holding the girl’s jaw open with his other hand, Harry slips his finger into her mouth. It’s practically a ritual by now.
It takes only a few seconds for the bite mark on her neck to heal completely, leaving behind only a faint purple bruise in its place. If Y/N were to see it tomorrow, she’d assume it was a half-healed hickey, and wouldn’t bat an eye at it. She’d have no idea that the real cause of it was—
“Harry…” His name falls from her lips with a quiet stutter, her brow furrowing as if troubled by something the vampire can’t see. “Harry…”
“Y/N?” He whispers in reply, his limbs sealing over with ice as he freezes in place as if he were a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Everything alright, love?”
“Harry…” The human utters his name once more as a frown begins to tug at her pillowy lips, and it takes another moment of her shifting in the bed for Harry to realize that she’s still asleep, and the murmuring of his name is merely a symptom of her dreaming of him.
Oh. She’s dreaming of him.
There’s a spark of something in his chest—happiness? Excitement?— but it’s quickly extinguished by the realization that, if Y/N is dreaming of him, her body language is making it clear that the dream isn’t a pleasant one.
Harry releases a frustrated sigh as he sinks back down into the sheets. That’s to be expected, really. After all, he did just feed from her; if she’s having a bad dream about him, it would only be logical.
Still, the sight of her shifting in bed with a distressed look on her face pulls an equally distressed look from the immortal, and he only hesitates for a moment before carefully maneuvering the girl back onto his chest, positioning her so that he can easily rub her warm back with his cool hands.
“You’re alright.” He murmurs softly into her ear, his voice low and melodic despite no one being around to hear it. “You’re fine, sweetheart. I’m here, hm? Go back to sleep.”
It takes a few more minutes of back rubbing, whispering, and a handful of strategically placed forehead kisses, but Y/N’s face finally relaxes as she falls back into a deep, untroubled slumber against Harry’s chest. As her breathing evens out again, Harry breathes a gentle exhale of relief. That was a close call. The next time he feeds, he’ll have to make sure she’s truly unconscious, and has been so for a while. Her bad dream, whatever it was, had probably been caused by him digging into her prematurely. Next time, he’ll wait until the dead of night, when she’s deep in REM sleep. She’ll be more comfortable then.
Which reminds him— he has plans he has to cancel tonight, and the sleeping girl on his chest mixed with his phone being in his trouser pocket on the floor make a difficult combo to surpass.
Despite the testing task, Harry manages to retrieve his phone from his discarded linen pants after a few minutes of awkward stretching, some light grunting, and a few curse words, but he manages to do it without waking Y/N up (she moves a couple of times, but a few soft words and tender hushing Harry’s behalf sends her right back into her dreams). With one hand still wrapped around her back, Harry manages to type out a quick message to Niall.
Won’t be able to make it tonight— something came up with Y/N. Have fun at the bar.
Harry references her by name, knowing that Mitch had probably already blabbed to their entire friend group about the date he’d had, and about how a human girl had recently become the target of his fascination. Juicy gossip is indisputably one of the aspects that keeps eternity from growing stale, and the vampire’s crew believe that to be so more than anyone. There’s not a single doubt in his mind they’d eaten every word up, and that he’d probably get drilled on it later.
He keeps his phone clutched in his hand, waiting for a (sure to be ridiculing) reply from Niall that comes a few minutes later.
The girl from last time? Jesus, again? Weren’t you meeting her for brunch?
A small smirk tugs at the corner of Harry’s lip. I did meet her for brunch. And then I met her back at her apartment, and I’ll probably be meeting her again later after we get some dinner. Don’t wait up.
After that text, Harry drops his phone on the bedside table, expecting Niall to just leave him on read in a fit of annoyance. He’s surprised, however, to hear the quiet vibration of his phone a moment later, and picks it up to skim the message with pressing curiosity.
You’re a fucking incubus, you know that?
The smirk on Harry’s swollen lips suddenly drops.
While it’s not the first time he’s been called an incubus, it is the first time the label has ever bothered him. Why is that? It’s not like it’s untrue; he frequently seduces various people, many of them being women, in order to sleep with them and drink their blood. That’s what an incubus does. The label shouldn’t pester him. In fact, it should boost his ego.
But the title being applied to his relationship with Y/N… that gives him pause. It reminds him of a certain person— a certain disgrace, if he’s being pettily honest— who he had sworn never to think about again, out of respect for his sanity and emotional stability. It reminds him of how when he himself was mortal, he was under similar circumstances to what Y/N is under right now— he was a human blood bag to a vampire who took pleasure in his body.
This is different, Harry tells himself. I’m not going to ruin her life. She’s not going to end up like me. And we have an understanding, which I never got to have. This isn’t the same. I’m...I’m not the same.
In his steadfast opinion, the immortal isn’t an incubus when it comes to Y/N and it’s that simple, point blank. Saying he is… that sets the implication that he could be doing this with anyone, and that’s just not true. Even though he’s keeping Y/N around as a convenient fuck with delicious blood, he wouldn’t go to this much trouble for anyone else; no one else is worth it. No one else has her honey and lavender scent, or contagious laugh, or can match him so easily in banter without flinching or blinking an eye. And though he’s too attached to his own pride— to the inherent coldness and indifference he’d worked so hard to build over the last two centuries— to let her know, he’ll admit that there’s no one else like her. There’s no one who’s company he enjoys quite the same.
Harry doesn’t indulge Niall with a response, simply closing his phone and setting it back on the bedside table. His friend can think what he wants, Harry decides, returning his attention to tracing figures on Y/N’s back. Harry knows what this really is. He knows, and it’s not some evil plan to permanently damage her. It’s just a simple loose relationship between two people who float an inch above the friendzone. That’s all.
Friends, just slightly more.
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go back
On Ao3.
Summary: Would you go back? Would you leave him?
It was quiet, for once. And you were alone.
Sitting in the doorway of the wide barn, you could still feel the slow throbbing of the huge factory beneath through the ground. As if something gigantic was slowly inhaling and exhaling deep below. If you would have focused more, you might have heard the of tapping knocks, crackles, and rhythmic clicks as the plethora of machines did their thing ceaselessly.
The noise of the place has seeped into your very being. You didn’t really think you’d get used to the place so soon
You pulled your black coat closer to yourself while you watched the storm. The rain fed the puddles with fat drops. The drops fell into the water, creating big bubbles on their surface. It will rain for quite some time. At least that's what your parents always said. By now, it seemed like a memory from a different life.
The wind rose and you took a deep breath. The sound of approaching footsteps mixed with the monotonous thumping filtering from the factory and the raindrops on the roof.
"Finally found you." Heisenberg stopped, then sat down next to you without question. "God damn it." This wasn't address to anyone, or more like it was addressed to everyone. A huge sigh escaped him and you two sat like that next to each other for a while.
"How was the family-meeting?" You glanced at the man. Even with his glasses on, you knew he rolled his eyes.
"I told you not to call it that." He pulled out a cigar from the depths of his coat and lit it expertly. "Bunch of freaks gathering so they can worship the mother." He almost spitted the last word.
You watched from the corner of your eyes as he slowly blew out a cloud of smoke, your gaze lingered on his lips for a few moments.
"The Dimitrescu daughters said hi..." Heisenberg grimaced and took a deep breath from the cigar. "They annoyed me until I promised I will relay this to you. So there." He pointed theatrically at himself and then bowed his head a little. "Now, no one can say I don't keep my word. God damn, annoying bugs."
A soft chuckle escaped your lips, and at the same time as a pleasant warmth feeling spread through your chest. So the three of them haven’t forgotten about you, they even think of you time to time. "Thank you, it's very kind of you."
"I know." He grinned slightly. However, his smile didn’t last long when he looked at you. "I still have a hard time believing how long you managed to put up with them." His voice was unusually serious.
"I think they think the same thing about you now."
Heisenberg snorted. "Smartass."
"Thank you." You pushed him softly with your shoulder then you ran your eyes through the landscape behind the pouring rain.
It's been half a year since you got here.
You and Lady Dimitrescu still haven't talked yet, but you thought it was for the best. The Lady could be very convincing, sometimes intimidating and you were afraid you couldn’t have said no if you found yourself facing her again. She could be scary, but the same was true for Lord Heisenberg. You secretly hoped that the difference was that, while Lady Dimitrescu would have been able to hurt you, it would not be true of the man sitting next to you.
As you thought in silence, Heisenberg also found himself sinking in his thoughts. He would never have admitted it, but in a strange way he was able to calm down now. Somehow, everything seemed more peaceful when he was with you, or even just around you. At times like these even his anger subsided. He rolled the pressed cigar slowly between his fingers and tried to lengthen this moment as much as he could. Nevertheless, he was never a patient man.
"You…don't want to go back to them?"
"Hm?" You asked glancing at him.
The man didn't look at you.
"Alcina looked less mad than sad when her kids asked how are you doing. Maybe she would-" he stopped when his gaze met your eyes. He didn't tell the whole truth; he couldn't get himself to do it. How his so called sister stopped him before they returned home.
'You should give them back.' Lady Dimitrescu raised her voice, which almost trembled with emotion.
'Give them back?' He, on the other hand, wouldn't even tried to hide his annoyance. 'What are ya talking about? (Y/N) perfectly fine with me. Besides, if I remember correctly you were the one, who threw them out.'
His sister rolled her eyes. 'Oh, please. Maybe I've made a mistake. But-'
'No,' Heisenberg snarled. 'It was not just a mistake! You have no fucking idea how much you hurt (Y/N), but I'm not going to let you do it again!'
'They are mine!' Her voice became more filled with darkness with every word 'You don't know anything about them!' As always she stepped closer towering over him, trying to intimidate by her size. 'They are mine! You don't know anything about them!'
However, Heisenberg couldn’t care less, and was getting really riled up too.
'Shut your mouth! They chose to leave you; they don't need a giant SELFISH WHORE LIKE YOU! ' He knew he didn't supposed to be this angry. But he heard your muffled crying just one time too many. His fingers tightened around his hammer. There was more than enough metal around him to use, if its needed. He couldn’t really help with easing your pain, but if he could get rid of the source of your pain, maybe, just maybe, it would help.
The woman's eyes burned with anger, and her blades were ready to cut through anything that got in their way. Lady Dimitrescu leaned closer. 'Maybe they chose to leave, but they will choose to come back. They're not yours. They still belong to me and when they realize this, they will come back to me. I was the one who helped them, who took them in. A weak man-thing like you could never make them happy. And if it's needed then I'm going to take them back from you, you miserable wretch!'
'Go ahead and try, you big piece of useless TRASH!' The hammer moved behind him by itself and rose into the air.
'You two, enough of this non-sense!' Mother Miranda had been waiting silently until now. She couldn’t let two of her most important subjects start a pointless fight and get one of them injured. 'Go to your place. Now! '
There was a sharp wind as black branches burst out of the ground separating Lady Dimitrescu and Lord Heisenberg.
"No, I don't want to go back." You leaned back on your hands, not even noticing as Heisenberg's shoulders tightening.
You let the smell of tobacco and rain creep into your thoughts. "I was happy there, most of them time."
The man felt his chest grabbed by an icy hand. He took a deep lung full of smoke from his cigarette again.
"Actually I had to, be more cautious there to keep myself safe, but when Lady Dimitrescu took me as her personal maiden. Well." You scratched your head. "Everything was alright for a while." You shuddered, you could still recall the Lady’s touch in your memories and on body vividly to this very day. But it all didn't matter now. "But, you know, after a while I started to think…I was really just a toy that they got bored of, maybe not for the daughters, but for the Lady? Certainly."
You didn’t have the strength to look at Heisenberg. If you had seen some sign of the same thing in his eyes now...If you were just an object, and he maybe started to find you less interesting now…Would he do the same?
"I knew it was going to end like this. It's fine." You lied with a fake smile.
Dense smoke rose from his lips. "So, that's why?" He almost sounded annoyed. "Why are you still here?" So maybe you would go back?
"Hm. Partly…maybe."
"Get to the point, (Y/N)." He muttered under his breath, but he was still listening seriously.
"I love being here, Heisenberg. This place is amazing, I got used to the sounds and the smell and I can do a lot more than in the castle. I don't want to go back because I can be better here, maybe even happier next to you."
Heisenberg felt his heart skip a beat.
"I can be an asshole."
"Yes, you can." Your smile became more earnest.
"So?"
You grabbed his coat with one hand, took the cigarette out of his mouth with the other, then pulled him in a kiss. You could smell the bitter, smoky taste of cigarette on his lips. He snorted in surprise but hugged you closer with one arm. After putting your cigar aside, you caressed his face gently. He kissed you the way she behaved, without holding back or acting nice. Couple of minutes later you had pull away, fully out of breath. Panting and deeply blushing you faced him.
"You are an asshole. But you are also mine." You carefully took off his glasses so you could look into his gray eyes. "Would you hurt me, Heisenberg?"
"No." The lord grinned widely, still, deep in his eyes you could see true warmth hiding there. "Only if you want me to, if you're into this kind of stuff." Pulling you into his lap, he kissed you again."
Around you, the noises of the factory and rain were pushed into the background, and you could only focus on the man's smoky lips and his strong arms, embracing you.
#resident evil#resident evil village#karl heisenberg#resident evil heisenberg#karl heisenberg x reader#heisenberg x reader#lady dimitrescu#alcina dimitrescu#heisenberg imagine#karl heisenberg imagines#copper#reader#resident evil 8#re village
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sallang; taehyung | 01
pairing: singlefather!taehyung x reader
genre: fluff
recommended song: come on get higher by matt nathanson
word count: 2K
warnings/author’s note: this first chapter is slightly suggestive. nothing that i’d consider smut-worthy, but a warning never hurts! i’m also starting this as a mini-series, with short chapters and an overall short story. glad to be back!
summary: handsome, intelligent, fashionably late: taehyung seems to be a total package, and you’re all for it. that is, until his rain-checks and delayed appearances become so frequent that you feel left in the dark. what could he possibly be hiding?
sallang - a word describing the manner of the wind blowing lightly.
lowercase intended
this is a major waste of my time is what you thought as you rhythmically tapped your fingers against the clothed wooden table of a local restaurant, your knee bouncing impatiently against the floor, your free hand holding your head, glancing around in pure boredom. with how much time you’d spent staring at the wall beside you, you’d probably noted every color its paint compiled. it was your first date with a man from tinder who you realized was way out of your league — and you began to fear that he realized it way before you did.
snaking your phone from your back pocket, leg still bouncing, a deep sigh escaping your lips, you opened his profile once again. “kim taehyung, twenty-five, huh?” you filed through his tab once again, mumbling as you read. “likes reading, going to the beach… do you like being late, too?” you hissed, “because, from the looks of it, its like you get off on—”
“excuse me?”
your thoughts of innermost annoyance suddenly subsided at the sound of a deep, masculine voice from above you. your head darted upwards to find none other than kim taehyung standing in black slacks with a complementary white shirt to match, his chest rising and falling, almost like he’d run to your date. “are you (y/n)? i’m taehyung… from tinder?” his eyebrow pricked up as he finished his sentence, an embarrassed smile cracking across his face. you stared at him for a moment, taking in the man standing before you. (y/n)? upset at kim taehyung? never. seeing him in person, you’d almost completely forgotten you were irritated.
“yeah, that’s me. have a seat,” you smiled awkwardly, chuckling softly. you watched as taehyung hooked his casual blazer, previously wrung lazily around his arm, onto his chair. he sat down quietly, moving his seat closer to the table, adjusting his glasses and jet black hair. a moment of silence fell between the two of you, taehyung picking up his menu to appear preoccupied in the dinner menu. you smiled to yourself, catching glimpses of his eyes blinking rapidly as he excitedly scanned the text, a habit that’d already made itself known. you began to notice how he’d glance up at you every so often, chewing his lip, flustered, almost as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words to do it.
“i’m sorry for being so late,” he admit, sighing. “i had something to take care of earlier, and it took a lot longer than i’d hoped,” he set his menu down, toying with its edge with his finger. “i...” he paused, “i apologize. i know it must’ve been inconvenient for you.” you took this moment to eye taehyung's hands, slender and dainty, his fingers long and adequate.
you laughed at his slightly frantic tone. “it’s fine, don’t worry about it. you’re here now, right? let’s focus on that. you wanna tell me a little more about yourself, ot should i go first?” you assured, smiling comfortingly. “your bio only tells me so much.”
“uh, okay!” he nodded, resting his hands on the table. “well, i’m taehyung, i recently received my bachelor’s and i’m aiming for a phd in english, i don’t care for coffee all that much, i love pretty much all animals you can find, and… i’m 5’11".” he introduced himself with detail as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, pulling them up to only reach past his elbows. “how about you?”
“oh, my turn?” you questioned, earning a giggle from the man facing you. “i guess it’s only fair. i’m (y/n), i’m pursuing law as of now, we can lay low on coffee if you’d like — i don’t really mind. i like going on simple dates, i love music recommendations, i love musicians, and i’m significantly shorter without these heels on.” you finished, content that either taehyung had a really bad sense of humor or that your finishing line made a better impression than you’d thought it ever could.
“does this fulfill your requirement of a simple date?” taehyung inquired playfully, lightly patting the table.
“it does,” you replied, tone flirtatious. you noticed taehyung eyebrow raise and jaw tighten at your response as he cracked a smirk, entertained at the shift in energy. that look jumbled your insides, but there was no time for that. you expelled those thoughts from your mind as you cleared your throat, silently scolding yourself. your moment was interrupted by a waitress, the same one who’d pitifully watched you poke at the complimentary sourdough bread slices with an empty seat in front of you. offering to kindly take your menus and your orders, the two of you obliged. as she scurried away from your table, a notepad with messy handwriting scribbled across it dangling from her waist apron, you turned back to taehyung, whose eyes were glued to you, one of his hands caught in his hair as he ran a hand through it. “hey,” he muttered, his voice deep, his eyebrow habitually twitching upwards once more. was he trying to make you unravel in the middle of your date?
“oh my god,” you laughed, trying to shake off how flustered you were. “you can’t just do that and expect me to be okay!” you joked.
“do what?” he chuckled in return. “the deep voice? i can’t control that; it just happens sometimes,” he smiled at his lap, looking back up at you soon after. “you said you were interested in musicians?”
“i mean, it’s not a necessity, but yeah, i find musicians especially interesting.” you explained, reaching for your glass of cold water, ice half melted.
“i don’t want to brag, but when i was in high school, i was in a band.” he grinned as your jaw dropped. your mind raced with thoughts of how flawless he was, from how well he dressed to how every secret of his made him ten times more attractive. “it was just seven of us, seven of my friends. some would rap, some would sing. i was a singer, and i was really invested in the group. after we all graduated, the group kind of fell out, but we’re all still friends. cool, huh? i would play a little bit of everything, from piano to guitar. more piano, though.” he added, tilting his glass of water towards you, his attractive grin infectious.
“that’s crazy,” you gasped, leaning forward in your chair. “ever thought of getting the band back together? you’ve got the looks!”
“the looks?” he repeated, laughing excitedly. “you’re giving me too much credit here, (y/n),”
“i don’t think you’re giving yourself enough,” you replied, raising your eyebrows, challenging his humble temperament.
the two of you dined contentedly, taehyung's charismatic personality and contagious smile catching you every time. the conversation, surprisingly, were never boring, they flowed into one another the way good friends converse after not seeing each other for a long time. his mannerisms and aura struck you as welcoming and comforting, as if he was a bright, warm light you wanted to step into. he was safety embodied, he was a simple, gentle man, with kindness and love pouring out of his soul. to your multiple objections, taehyung covered the bill, still feeling guilty over arriving late. a part of you inexplicably pitied him; you felt as though you should’ve at least pitched in half. it may have just been your morals being challenged, but you almost felt obligated to pay him back.
dusting off his trousers, taehyung arose from his chair, your date coming to a close. a wave of childish frustration fell over you: you didn’t want it to end, not yet! to your surprise, he glided to your side of the table, chivalrously offering his hand to help you up. you smiled and took his hand graciously, his endless good-natured acts perplexing you. who was this guy? other than being late, was there really a flaw?
as you arose from your seat, you decided the answer to the latter question was no. this was absolutely the best date you’d ever been on: he wasn’t obnoxious, he wasn’t boisterous, he didn’t ask you for anything afterwards… you’d been with your fair share of unforgettably horrible men. taehyung was different, though: it wasn’t that he was just more decent than the men you’d previously gone out with, it was his aura, his persona, it was something above physicality that made you fall for him more than you thought you should.
“thank you for the lunch,” you smiled graciously as he accompanied you out of the restaurant, opening the door for you as well. “this was really enjoyable! i hope we can do this again soon.”
“me too! thank you for being so nice to me despite me being late.” he returned your kind grin before grasping for his buzzing phone in his pocket, pulling it out to check an apparent text. “i, uh…” he swallowed, now visibly anxious. “would you like me to walk you to your car?” his tone completely different from his physical state.
“i’m just over there!” you motioned to your car, stammering, confused by his sudden shift in energy. “if you have something important to get to, you go ahead!” he relaxed slightly, thanking you kindly and pulling you into a warm embrace. it felt shocking, but not in a bad way — his very intimidatingly handsome appearance contrasted with how gentle he had been with you. should you have liked him this much on the first date alone?
“i’ll see you soon! i can text you my number on tinder later. thank you again!” he jogged backwards, still making eye contact before he finished his statement, where he then turned completely and began dashing towards his car. you found him charming and funny and it made you smile.
spinning on your heel to walk towards your car, you spun the chain of your car keys on your finger, the thought of taehyung still with you. he’d been perfect: good-hearted, humble, witty… you could go on. you sat quietly in the front seat of your car, thumbing the leather of your steering wheel. part of this felt very suspicious — how could someone be this perfect? how could someone be this enjoyable, this wonderful, this considerate? you didn’t want to feel this way about him as he felt wholly genuine, but you couldn’t ignore the feeling of possibly being lied to. was he messing with you? he absolutely could be. what would you know?
you'd thought yourself into a corner. suddenly, you felt very bad, sitting alone in your car in a silent parking lot. you closed your eyes tightly and sighed loudly, trying to expel as much upset as you could from your body. you’d just had an amazing date! you shouldn’t be feeling this bad afterwards. taking a moment to collect yourself once more, you started your car, dusting yourself off before driving yourself home, the scent of taehyung’s faint cologne lingering in your mind.
i missed u guys :}. enjoy this piece from me!
#kpop#bts#bts masterlist#bts series#bts au#bts oneshot#bts drabble#bts reactions#bts fluff#bts angst#bts smut#bts x reader#kpop icons#kpop masterlist#kim taehyung#taehyung#taehyung smut#taehyung fluff#taehyung angst#taehyung x reader#bts v#taehyung reaction
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I’m so incredibly starved for content. please just anything with Darth Nihilus x reader, gender neutral reader is preferred.
My dear anon, thank you so much for this request! I have been waiting ages for someone to request any Legends Sith Lord character!! Obv this is gonna be a lil ooc given to who he is, but I hope you like it nonetheless! Time to write something for our Star Wars' Michael Myers. Feel free to give some feedback!!
i'm a bit exhausted so this is gonna go somewhere and I apologize if some parts don't make much sense
Affinity (Darth Nihilus - Drabble)
The Ravager was cold as per usual. It's a half destroyed ship wandering through space, it's deemed to be colder than Hoth. You shifted on your bed countless times and yet you couldn't force your body to fall asleep. Your chambers were, perhaps, the only part of the ship that was left partially intact, thank the Force. This was your home and you had nowhere else to go, not that you had a choice or say in the matter. Your naked feet touched the metal tiles on the floor as you put on warmer clothing from the nearby dresser.
Your eyes moved to the door and you wondered. Should you go seek him? You didn't want to bother, no, but gosh were you bored and sleepy, but currently sleeping was off the charts. It's not like there's much to do here anyways. You peeked to the narrow corridor and were meet with nothing but silence. No one in sight. Great. You made your move and tapped through the hallways silent as a mouse droid.
Not sure how, but by your clumsiness and distraction, you faceslammed yourself against something. Groaning, you cursed under your breath before blinking a few times to focus on what you had hit against.
Darkness. Pure darkness.
Oh.
Your eyes met with Nihilus staring down at you, head slightly tilted. From the time you had spent with him, you've grown to realize how stupidly curious the Dark Lord was about you and your behavior. Did he find you funny? Entertaining? Still unknown. You apologized and offered an awkward smile in return. He kept staring at you.
"I was, huh, you see, I went looking for you but-" You nervously chuckled. "I guess you found me first. Hey." You waved at him, yet the Sith remained indifferent and simply moved past you. You thought you had been completely ignored by your, well, whatever relationship you both had, until Nihilus stopped in his tracks as if he was waiting for you to follow him. "Oh, right, right." You immediately tracked behind him. Nihilus moved like a shadow moves through the dark, almost unnatural. Silence befell between you and him. It's not awkward anymore, you're used to this, he never spoke to you before and it would be of no use, it's not like you would understand him either way.
You didn't need words to understand his actions, most of the time, that is. He doesn't involve you in his business and a part of you is glad, but you know what he is and what he does. You have no idea if he knows that you know, but it's better if it's never brought to the table.
Broken from your thoughts, you noticed you were back in your private chambers. What was he even doing here? He doesn't sleep and it's rare when he comes here. You watched him in both curiosity and confusion. "Hey - is there something wrong? Did some-uh." The Sith Lord carried an item on his gloved hands, an object from your planet, and handed it to you. It had been a long time since you left your home planet and you had no idea how he got his hands on something from it. You held it carefully on your hands to further examine it, it was so precious and small. "Thanks. It means a lot to me." You reached to hold his hand and your fingers interwined on his. The Sith Lord didn't flinch or move you away, he remained perfectly still and you could feel his intense gaze on your much smaller figure. You wondered if there was still a man, a body, something alive underneath all those black cloaks and mask.
Your attention changed from his mask to your hand on his. You expected it to feel like holding a feather but your expectations were cut short; it felt heavy, like you were holding the hand of someone who's as normal as you. His hand slowly moved from yours, as if he forced himself against his wishes to drift away from your touch, and the Dark Lord patted your head a few times before leaving the room like he was never here at all. You were left in a worst confusion than before.
Darth Nihilus was a mystery to you and to why he kept you here, safe and unharmed. Surely it wasn't just because he found you funny. You were determined to find out.
#look this was actually pretty interesting to write#do we love an entity who eats planets and has no physical body? yes sir#hope you liked it anon!!#yes this man needs more content#and i'm here to deliver it#star wars#darth nihilus#star wars expanded universe#x reader
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→ happy birthday!
jumin han x fem! reader
desc: after a wonderful birthday spent with your family, you think that was all the night had to offer. that is, until jumin gives you just one more surprise.
genre: smut
warnings: degradation, pet names, squirting, very very small mention of past trauma
word count: 2.8K
“now are you sure i can’t drive you both home? i’d love to say goodnight to my daughter in law that way,” the chairman said, kissing your hand. you didn’t oppose him dropping you guys off at home, but jumin consistently pleaded that he’d call a cab for the both of you and that was it. usually, when jumin had his mind set on something - no one could change it. so why object?
both you, and jumin, stood outside - patiently watching multiple cars pass by on the road. subconsciously, you rubbed the side of your arm, still in awe from the afternoon you spent with your family. it was your birthday, after all, so everyone decided to surprise you by taking you out. jumin originally planned to take you out alone and spend time with you himself, but mr. chairman objected, deciding everyone assumed it would be more respectful to wish you a happy birthday to your face.
who were you to say no?
jumin must’ve cared a lot, because he could really care less about being anywhere with his father and his new girlfriend of the year. or, for the week, he would say when he complained to you. she seemed extremely sweet, though, and was equally just as pretty. her hair was a radiant shade of blonde and her body was curved, dress exposing every corner of her figure. you could see why he’d be attracted to her in the first place. not only that, but she spoke with such elegance. words flowing smoothly anytime she opened her mouth to take a sip of her red wine. maybe you were a bit naïve, but you’d trust her with your life.
jumin didn’t share the same thought process, sneering at her whenever she so much as asked if he wanted the salt and pepper shakers to be passed to him through the air or slid on the table. you couldn’t blame him, especially with the history he bore with his father and his unique taste in women. now, Jumin would never call you an idiot to your face, but when you didn’t have a problem with the women his father courted that particular time, he’d make a few comments under his breath about how you needed a lesson in not being a fool to obvious tricks.
what could you say? seeing the best in people was your forte - for better or worse. that is how your relationship with jumin evolved, isn’t it?
“what’s got you so lost in thought?” he inquired, peeking over at you after a moment of checking his watch. the same one you got him last christmas.it made your heart swell to see him still wearing it.
“oh, nothing,” you smiled back at him, rocking on your heels. “just really grateful you guys took me out. thanks, baby. i could use this.”
he scrunched his eyebrows. “of course. it's your birthday.”
“i know, but still.” you stared at the sidewalk with a small grin plastered on your features. you never actually celebrated your birthday. growing up, your parents were too busy to even remember most days, so you’d spend that special day cooped up in your room with your sister eating whatever you could find in the refrigerator until they arrived at home, crashing in bed as soon as they stepped foot in the house. the cycle always continued, for both you and your sister. jumin knew this. it was the first thing you told him when he tried to have fun with you on your last birthday.
“you’re sweet.” he muttered, feigning a nonchalant attitude - when really, he was ecstatic to spend the day with the love of his life.
“the day isn’t over yet,” he spotted the car pulling up in front of you both and held his hand out for you to take, taking your hand gently. “there’s still one thing i wanted to give you before your day is over. okay?”
heat rose to your face, inciting you to smile wider than before. “a surprise? aw, jumin. you’re so sweet.” you lightly tapped his shoulder to showcase your gratitude, demeanor changing. the man only nodded and opened the door for you, both of you walking in together. it didn’t take long before you arrived home, jumin paying the cab before he took your hand once you both left the vehicle. he reached for his keys, slowly unlocking the door. thin arms pushed the large door open, jumin now smiling over at you once he witnessed your calm demeanor shift into a happier one. one that was more excited and a bit confused.
you walked in slowly, your eyes watching the red lights and roses leading up the staircase. sure, it was a little cliché, but if jumin did this for you, it was special.
“how? h-how did you have time?” you choked on your words, expression lighting up as you viewed the lights - eyes gazing over every crevice covered.
“i paid jaehee,” he stated plainly, observing you for any other movements or hidden emotions.
you blinked at him. you’d really have to take her on a spa trip after this to apologize. hell, if you knew it was his sadly overworked assistant, you’d just prefer to decorate the house yourself.
“go on,” he spoke, motioning up the stairs. with patient breaths, your feet slowly stepped up each stair, different flowers on each shiny step. daisies, roses, chrysanthemums. they were so pretty - your heart swale in awe.
“baby…” you whined, reaching the first room, your bedroom. your shaking hands twisted the handle on the door and pushed it open. now, there were candles here. they illuminated the large room, floor full of roses. heavy hands found themselves clutched over your heart. your grin widened, imagining all of the effort put into this. into pleasing you.
you bit your bottom lip, strutting closer to the large bed you shared with your lover. there, two different toys had been placed on the sheets. you blinked at them and then blinked at Jumin, turning to face the toys again. “i-,” you trailed off, a clear understanding of what the surprise was now. you gulped, face burning in embarrassment now - eyes wider than ever.
the tall man walked closer to you, stopping once his body was pressed against your back. he held onto your waist gently, his fingers tickling your soft skin in the dress you wore.
“you’ve been working so hard, kitten. every single day,” he whispered in your ear. observing your shy, but welcoming reaction, he continued. “let daddy relax you.”
you breathed out. “o-okay,” you whispered back. your body twitched at his lustful words, eyes focusing on the vibrator and purple dildo that stayed still on the sheets again. jumin held on tighter to your hips, pressing soft kisses to the sides and the back of your neck, whispering a compliment with each kiss.
“you’re so pretty,” he whispered, kissing your earlobe.
“and you’re all mine.” his quiet voice tickled the hairs on your skin, a quiet chuckle rumbling from his mouth. he swiped his tongue along your warm neck.
“i want you so much. every day, i promise...”the man with raven hair admitted, voice low as he assaulted your neck, kissing the sides while he left purple bruises to blossom along your skin. a small moan fell from your lips and you leaned your head to the side - allowing him access.
“so glad to have you. i’m so happy this is the fourth birthday i’ve spent with my baby.”
you could feel a rush of blood speed between your legs, pussy gushing with arousal. you rubbed your legs together to abstain some type of friction on your clit, whining when his hands freed themselves from your waist.
“i wanna see something. do you trust me to make you feel good, y/n?” even after four years together, he always made sure you were comfortable with everything taking place and you couldn’t help but respect that. this wasn’t your first time with him, but every time was always so perfect and comfortable. words couldn’t describe the type of man he was to you. you nodded eagerly, crawling on the bed as the mattress croaked.
“wanna watch you play with yourself. would you like that, too?” his sultry tone caused your breathing to hitch, “you want that? you wanna see me stroke myself to you playing with that pussy of yours?” you caught a chill from the vulgarity of his word choice, nodding again. your body burned with lust, face just as hot as the rest of you. you grabbed both toys and positioned yourself on your back. biting your lip, you spread your legs and slid your panties down, kicking them to the floor. your dress was pulled up, exposing the heat between your legs, slick trailing down your thighs.
“you get this wet from me barely touching you? god…”
his words were like serums full of pleasure, causing you to gush more slick from your cavity. you’d never used a toy a day in your life, but it seemed easy. even then, you were an avid porn consumer. your diligent fingers pressed the plus sign and clicked it until the vibrations were as high as you needed them to be. jumin’s breath died in his throat as he viewed your sinful act intensely. you pushed the head of the vibrator to your aching clit, screaming from the pleasurable shock. jumin, palm pressed to his clothed cock, chuckled darkly - as he watched your innocent face contort into pure debauchery. the touch sent electricity into your body, empty hole gaping over nothing. you were quick, prodding the artificial cock against your opening to gather enough slick before pushing it in, the stretch sending you into another shock. your body arched off of the bed, eyes rolled back into your socket as you moved the vibrator around your sensitive nub, twitching with each roll of plastic on your body. after finding a good pace to fuck yourself at, you bit your lip and looked down at jumin.
the man was almost moaning himself, palming his hardening cock, eyes lidded and pooling with lust while he watched you stuff your wet channel, wishing it were him. the overwhelming drag of the plastic against your milky walls caused your eyes to tear up, small, salty tears falling as you cried out, toes curling and uncurling the sheets beneath you. you could feel an overwhelming shock build in your stomach as you forced yourself to stare into the dark eyes of your lover - husband watching you fuck yourself. thrust after thrust, your pussy almost reached its peak - body still lustful and needy. the tears on your cheeks began to dry as the bud in your stomach snapped, walls spasming while you came over the plastic.
jumin groaned, throwing his head back after painfully watching you have your way with your own body. he bit his lip and crawled on the bed, snatching his tie and hauling it across the room - jacket and shirt following after. your breath had died down now, body still wildly twitching, vibrator still assaulting your overused nerves. you whine, drool slipping from the corners of your mouth, stomach bubbling with pleasure again just to witness jumin watching you with such intensity. you could cum again and again just watching him watch you.
he snatched the vibrator from your grasp, turning the toy off as he threw it on the ground. the dildo followed.
“you’re so good, kitten. so, so good. you want daddy’s cock this time? are you ready - you okay with that?”
still buzzed out, the most you could do was moan and nod eagerly, fingers running through your slit to gather slick on your digits, bringing them up to your husbands lips. wet eyelashes blinked up at him, tears drying a bit while newer ones still damped your cheeks. he took them into his mouth, sucking your fingers clean. with his tongue swirling over the thick liquid, jumin groaned, palming at himself from your taste alone.
“please, jumin. hurry, i’m gonna get so wet again, please. please, please, please, i want you so much.” the words fell so easily from your lips with little to no hesitation. in such a state of babbling, you could care less about what you were saying - as long as your husband played into your blissed-out fantasy.
wasting no time, he unbuckled his black pants - slim fingers wrapping around his thick cock. you backed into the bed frame, legs still spread wide, eyes glued to jumin’s cock. he groaned, rubbing his cock up and down your pussy to gather enough lube, wetting his dick enough to painlessly slip in. you gaped over nothing, fingers traveling down to rub your sensitive bud. jumin scooted himself closer to you, lifting your ass up in order to line himself up with your wet pussy, cock slipping in slightly. his head filled you, body heaving while you threw your arms around him. he pulled you into his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist as he replaced your spot against the bed frame. “fuck…”
you could cum on the spot just from feeling him inside of you. just from feeling the head of his cock hit against the hilt of your pussy, walls swallowing his entire cock in an attempt to draw the man in deeper. the shocks of your stretched walls made you convulse, body shaking in pleasure and agony.
“shit, you feel so good. so right. always,” he spoke in fragments, huffing out his breaths with each word he attempted to speak. you buried your nose into his neck, his hips thrusting upward, cock continuing its assault inside of your pussy. loud cries of antagonizing pleasure rang through the home, your nose now buried into his shoulder, grinding yourself on his lap. jumin gripped your ass, thick length working inside of you while your slick dripped to the shaft of his dick.
“jumin - god, so good. you feel so good,” you grunted, slipping your arm between you both to snake a finger down to your sensitive clit, pussy spamming around his hard length. jumin moaned, both of your pants and gasps of neediness bubbling in the air, loud enough for you both to hear each other but not high enough to receive a noise complaint.
“kitten… fuck, your pussy’s - fuck, a mess. did I get you this wet?” he asked through strained moans and quiet grunts.
embarrassed, your mouth instinctively stayed shut, simply rocking your heavy botty along his - meeting each quick thrust.
“answer, good girl. go ahead. shit - know you’re embarrassed,” he pressed his moist lips to your neck, gripping your hair with one hand. you released a small moan, edging him to go on. he gripped the strands, “i know you want this. tell me who got you this way, tell me how much of a slut you are for me.”
“jumin - please, you. you, you, you, you, you. god, fuck - i’m so fucking wet for you. feels so good inside me, gonna cum.”
he thrust his cock into you at a faster place, the tip of his cock hitting against your g-spot. more tears rushed down your eyes and he wiped them away, whispering praises in your ear while he fucked his load into you, the branch in both of your stomachs snapping. for the first time, you’d both cum at the same time.
jumin grunted, his hips stuttering inside of you, making sure no cum would escape.
“gonna push this as deep as i can. make you a mommy.” you moaned at the implications that he would impregnate you, the thought causing your body to begin shaking, his quick-moving cock sparking a different feeling, an overwhelming one. you could feel the heat rush to your pussy, your body sore - but you kept fucking yourself onto him. couldn’t stop even if you tried. a warm feeling bubbled in your stomach, nails raking his pale back, marking him as yours and no one else’s. you clenched your toes, a clear liquid gushing from your pussy and onto the bed, wetting his chest in the process. You instantly fell backwards, head hitting the sheets on the bed with a loud screech.
your pussy twitched, his cock now slowly removing itself from your cavity while you laid exposed on the bed, breathing erratic and sped up.
“squirting all over me. what a bad girl.” sweat rained down your forehead, as well as jumin’s, body paralyzed from the excessive amounts of pleasure rushing through you.
jumin pulled you off of him and was now on his knees, cock soaked in your juices. the over sensitivity made him groan before he tucked himself in. the man with raven hair leaned down into your ear, kissing your earlobes before whispering.
“happy birthday, slut.”
#jumin han#happy birthday jumin#jumin x you#jumin x reader#jumin x mc#jumin x y/n#jumin smut#jumin han smut#mystic messenger#mystic messenger x mc#mysme#mysme jumin#smut#mystic messenger smut#otome game#otome fandom
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Attack of the Multiverse!! (Pink Pearl edition)
“Presenting....a new writing series! Here’s the preview of the entire story! Enjoy and thanks for reading in advance!”
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*que intense chase track
A pink pearl in her latest crystal gem form, was blindly running into the darkened beach, where everything was pitch black. She couldn’t see the water, she couldn't see the sand, heck, she couldn’t even see the giant temple that should be located somewhere in front of her without any light source!
She couldn’t remember how long she ran, but it was more than her physic could take. As she slowed down, she huffed and puffed, almost wheezing from all the running.
But her break was cut short when-
A sound of blast came from somewhere behind her, controlling whatever it touched as the torn objects such as floor boards, trash cans, and giant chunks of earth levitating around the enemy figure.
As Coral raced towards the temple, which was finally visible from the bright aura of the floating gem, another figure appeared, stretching out her ballerina leg and tripped the poor pink gem.
“Ooof-“ she exclaimed as she faceplanted into the sand.
As Coral lifted her head, she saw two figures, no wait…two identical figures!
The closest figure wore the outfit she had before the rebellion, her first ever pearl form, except it's all nastified, torned up and darkened, as if someone drenched her with the colour schemes of an arch villain. Instead of buns for her hair, two shaggy and messy side ponytails wildly danced under the blowing night wind. Under her eyes was a trail of dark ink, making her look more horrifying than she could ever imagine! (She’s abandoned pearl, but let’s go with Crazy)
The other figure looked like the first figure, except she was completely greyscaled. Her entire body radiated absolutely no colour, just the dreadful shades of black and white! Her hair, too, was in a complete mess, but in a mad scientist style, where her hair looked like it was electrocuted, but more neatly and less frizzy. Anger was radiated from her twitching eye and her frozen W pose, the twitching eye was glowing with power, as if it’s holding back the power with what’s happening next!
The two of them both bore a damaged right eye, but resembled no difference to each other, they even look like-
Coral gasped, “No way! You’re…me?” as she pointed to the two Pink pearls, getting more and more confused.
“That’s right!” Crazy Pearl spoke with a raspy voice and some crazy in her eyes. “And now that we finally got you, we’ll take our sweet time to DESTROY YOU!!”
The pearl brought out a wand from her gem, and it immediately extended and sprung into a deadly, pink, glowing rejuvenator. “Once you’re rejuvenated, you can join my little army, and we’ll destroy the worlds together! Mwahhahahhahahahaha!!”
Coral was only able to whimper out, “worlds?” as the crazy gem wasted no time and brought down her pink glowing scythe!
As Coral braced for rejuvenation, a pink ribbon lashed out and gripped on Crazy pearl’s arm. The scythe was frozen in place, but it was flung aside as Crazy was yanked out of her spot! As the ribbon retreated, another figure slowly came out of its hiding.
“You won’t be destroying anything once I’m done with you!” It’s the same voice as Coral herself, but more confident and sure. The figure had Coral’s face, her hair, her gift from Pink diamond. The more obvious significance was the green dress and the placement of the gem on her forehead. The gem in green shouted, “Earl! You take that freak while I take care of crazy here!”
As soon as she ordered, the sound of a gem retrieving their weapon echoed, “SHING!” with the sound of pistol fire not long after!
Bullets were shot, all flying towards freak pearl, but a metal trash can flew out of nowhere and acted as a shield against the attack.
Coral saw the shooter come out with angered expression, as if she was annoyed of the constant blockage of her attacks. The shooter looked almost exactly like freak pearl, the only difference was one of them is a bleached floating freak while the other wore a long sleeved silk shirt with a diamond shaped cut around her gem, bright pink shorts with huge pink splatters and spots all over her body. Her grey hair buns had little strays of hair at the end, with far less cracks on her face. Earl also had the same cracked eye, but she’s looking a lot less freaky than her counterpart.
As the two pearls fought as ballerinas, assassins and shooters simultaneously, the confident pearl grabbed on to Coral and ordered, “Come on! We need to get out of here! That ribbon wont hold her for long!!”
The said ribbon was wrapping up crazy pearl with a neat bow on top, however, she looked like she could break free any moment!
“Hurry!” Coral got up and they both went to help Earl. The confident pearl pointed to the levitating gem and ordered, “Use your lance and take her down!”
“What!?” Coral questioned in surprise, “isn’t that a bit too much?”
“Trust me, it's not!”
Coral summoned and gripped her lance, aimed at the freaky pearl and threw.
The weapon was barely slapped away with the metal trash can, but that little distraction was able to give Earl the chance to finally strike and take her down!
Earl leaped into the air and performed a 10/10 somersault, she gracefully kicked freak pearl as far as she could! “Smack!”
The knocked pearl made no sound, just the sound of her SPLASH landing into the dark ocean.
Coral immediately took the chance and demanded answers from the two, “Can someone explain what is going on!?”
She looked at Earl, who, instead of speaking, did hand gestures that were clearly sign language, but Coral didn’t get the chance to study them unfortunately…
Confident pink pearl translated, “She’s saying we don’t have much time! Come one, this way!” she pointed to the side of the crystal gem temple. “There's a portal there that should lead us straight to her!”
Coral demanded as they ran, “Her who?!?”
“Coral, do you believe in alternate universes?!” Confident pearl asked.
“I do now! Seeing all of you here! Being literally alternate versions of…ME!”
“Well actually, we’re all alternative versions of the OG Pink Pearl, The original! I’m from a diamond swap universe where White Diamond and Pink diamond swapped places, I’m one of original crystal gems, without White diamonds old pearl.” C!Pearl said as Earl nodded at the side.
Earl made more hand gestures to say something, pointing to herself along with more sign language. C!Pearl translated, “That’s Earl, she’s from another timeline where she… you know what, it’s a long story, all you need to know is that we can trust her!”
“But what about the two we just fought?” Coral demanded.
“Those two? I call them freaky and crazy! They’ve been after us ever since we started portal jumping! I’m not sure where they’re from, but I’m pretty sure Crazy is from an AU where SHE was abandoned in Pink diamond’s garden instead of Spinel! As for freak pearl, really not sure here. Maybe she’s an interpretation of how powerful she could get under a diamond’s complete influence and power?”
Coral gave another quick question, “How do we know who the original Pink pearl is if we’re all from different timelines?”
“Simple,” C!Pearl said, “she’s the pinkpearl that followed the Canon timeline, where she got controlled by White Diamond and spent 6000 years as her mindless servant! Us, however, were created to avoid that specific timeline, so she’s the root of all Pink Pearl. The most important thing to do right now is to look for the first Pink Pearl!! She’s the only one that can help us get deal with our...situation right now.”
“How are we gonna get there with these two on our tail!??” Coral said as she notices more rubble floating behind her as well as a maniacal laugh echoing louder and louder!
“All we need is to get through that portal! Those two wont be able to catch up! Come one!”
The portal, swirling in pink and white star dust, finally became visible behind one of the temple palms. Within the right distance, all three pearls leaped into the portal as it closed behind them!
Shooooofwop!
End of part ???
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Multiverse Pink pearl series! Next chapter coming in-
The two rogue pink pearls stopped their tracks when they found...no portal, nor any of the pearls they were fighting.
The two antagonists turned to the camera, made little chuckles and pointed at you, the reader. Crazy teased, “Look what we got here freak pearl, someone that thinks this ISNT an April Fool’s special.”
Freak pearl rotated her floating junk around her until they got to a trash can. She set the trash can on the sand and tapped three times.
Knock
Knock
Knock
There was a moment of silence and snoring, sounds like someone fell asleep.
Crazy summoned a speaker phone from her gem, placed it at the side of the can, and screamed, “HEY PEARLPLUSAU WRITER! ITS YOUR QUE!”
The writer groggily woke up rubbing his eyes, “Yawnnnn….”
He fell off into the sand.
“Heyyy there fellow readers, yes this IS an April fool’s special, a friend of mine was curious if i would write one of these and sure enough, once the idea got developed, i got straight to the writing process.”
“What was surprising is using us AU characters into his little joke writing, where are the credits you punk?!” Crazy asked in a rather annoyed tone.
"Oh that? ” The writer continued," Credits of the characters are below! You can see the images, as well as the title of the AUs. Some of the characters are linked back to the creators tumblr account, while other creators who dont have tumblr accounts are linked to original posts, like from Instagram!! ”
Freak pearl snapped her fingers for the writer’s attention and pointed to herself, asking for her origin.
“Oh freak pearl? I just thought it would be cool if there’s more than one antagonist for this special, so i kinda created you myself. The idea was, how dangerous can pinkpearl be with a diamond’s ability, and there you are! Telekinesis and mega white laser beams! Pretty cool huh?”
Freak pearl did not respond...well.
“Anyways,” the writer proceeded, “writing this was a pretty fun 1.5 hours of the time i have, not including reviewing and editing tho. If theres anyone out there that wishes to continue the story in their own way, be my guest. Just let me know so i can read it myself lol, im very interested in your take of the situation! “
April fools! And thanks for reading!
Characters (even though they’re not drawn)
Coral/Pink pearl from Pearlplusau - Original design by Tripixle!!
Crystal gem Pink pearl from Diamond swap au - Credit to @dreambigstars
Earl from WD steven au - AU character from @ask-whitepearl-and-steven
Crazy pearl (Despair pink pearl), Design from Shrimp.face (Link to their post)
Freak Pearl, no specific au named, nor from any creator. So i guess she’s my AU character?
A/N: Hope you guys had fun reading as much as i had fun writing it!
Also the real new chapter coming in probs two weeks from now.
Slightly unrelated, there might not be as much visuals as there was last chapter. The drawing pen is a bit busted.
Till then! Bye!
#suau#pinkpearl#Coral#WD!steven#Spinelpinkpearlswap#diamondswap#stevenuniverse#ohwait#iforgotsmth#april fools#happyapril1st
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