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cherryjuiceblues · 7 months

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𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 | 𝟒

➯ HARRY SPECIFIES A FEW THINGS ABOUT THEIR RELATIONSHIP, Y/N ENTERS A NEW HEADSPACE, AND A FEW TEARS START TO FALL. ✰ dom!harry accidental plate smash. a few emotional breakdowns. sexual content. dominant and submissive dynamics. bondage. cum play. subspace. daddy kink. tickling kink. lots of praise. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 16.6k ッ mutually beneficial masterlist

Harry hasn’t had someone visit him at work in a very long time.

In fact, Harry can’t even recall the last occasion in which he’d been granted that luxury at all.

So to have Mitch step inside his office (whilst Harry was on the phone and proceed to speak over the man on the other line) to let him know Miss L/N is downstairs, nearly had Harry struggling to remember how to behave. He’d felt special, thought about, cared for—to know Y/N had disregarded her fears and visited him anyway. He’d felt proud of her.

Until the distasteful conversation of his least favoured employees had seeped through his walls and the quieter, less pointed replies of his darling girl made his eyebrows furrow. Knowing that she was being subjected to their entitled prying was enough to squash his initial excitement, but all elation just withered away when Harry heard Y/N minimise their relationship to that of friends.

He can’t say he was expecting to hear that. Not from her pretty mouth. He couldn’t even attempt to school his reaction as he stepped outside of his office, his feet clicking on the ground at exactly the same time the rancid word left Y/N’s lips. I’m his friend. Harry wondered what kind of friends she’d had in her lifetime to warrant that sort of response.

The feeling is new—being irritated and having Y/N be somewhat at the root of his displeasure. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like himself for even letting his brain linger in such a murky area. She’d done nothing wrong. What else was she to say? Oh, he’s actually my dominant. I’m his submissive. We practise BDSM ideals. Factually correct but perhaps inappropriate for casual conversation. And Harry isn’t unaware that they’ve never referred to themselves as dating. Despite feeling in every way Y/N’s boyfriend, her partner, her lover (if he was talking to someone he felt more than comfortable with), he knew she was not the type to assume even the smallest of things. Calling Harry her boyfriend without his ‘permission’ would weigh on Y/N’s mind for days—no matter how unbothered he would be by it.

And yet, he’s still infuriated. Couldn’t she see they were far more than friends? Didn’t she want to tell people that? He’s never been an insecure man but suddenly it sits on his chest like a brick. Maybe she doesn’t want the commitment of a label. Maybe this was just a fun fling; something to look back on in her senior years as an exciting rendezvous. Telling tales to her grandchildren—Your grandma used to get up to all sorts of escapades, you know. Harry didn’t want to be some offhanded story; he didn’t want to be just a memory of hers.

So he behaves inappropriately. He behaves like that of a jealous, unassured brute of a man that has no regard for the communication Harry insists is so important all the time. He becomes a hypocrite. He becomes a man who punishes unworthy actions and plays into power dynamics to make himself feel better.

“Sweet girl,” he traces her upper lip with the pad of his thumb, sliding past to brush the round of her cheek. His voice lacks his usual soft inflection and his face stays hard. “Came to bring me my lunch like a good friend.” She frowns, pulling her head back with sad eyes. Harry’s presence looms over her as she perches on his desk. What is usually a comforting and safe crowding of space now feels distressing to Y/N. She doesn’t want him so near if he’s upset with her. If he’s upset with her she wants to run away—move countries in fact.

He closes his eyes, brows relaxing, and then he leans forward to rest his forehead against hers in a short window of reprieve. “It’s okay. Let me be spiteful. Let me, love.” It’s confusing—of course it is. What he’s asking of her is completely unreasonable! But she’s… she’s perfect, she’s a wonder; an angel reincarnated. Because she nods slowly, unsure and hesitant, and then he kisses her gently. An only slightly lingering enmeshment of lips. Then he steps back.

“Lock my door,” Y/N lags a little but she listens. Harry hadn’t even taken note of her dress; pretty in silky pink—a portrait from a wedding. But he likes that she kept it on to come here, no matter the formality in which she suggests. He can’t deny he admires too, the speed in which the fabric can be loosened from her shoulders. Two dainty straps to push aside and pool the silk at her middle. “Good girl, sit back down.”

“I’m very busy today, Y/N,” he spans his hands over her knees, “I don’t have the time to be dealing with you professing our friendship all over my workplace. Because now—” Harry steps impossibly closer and edges the hem of her dress a few centimetres up her thighs, “now, I need to alter your definition of the word.”

Y/N doesn’t quite know how much Harry is playing. If a part of him is upset but he’s channelling it into sexual energy, if he’s punishing her for coming to see him—clearly something about the way she’d described their relationship has riled him up—Y/N’s not that oblivious. But she’s not a mind reader… and Harry has never been stern with her like this.

It feels fitting to use his preferred honorific. “Sir…” she whispers, unsure of what exactly to say to him. “Have I done something wrong?” It’s a reasonable question.

Harry drags his blunt nails across the tops of her knees. “No,” flattening his palms to slip under the silk until his fingertips tease the satiny skin above the hem of her panties. Y/N grips the edge of the desk with clammy hands. She’s not convinced… but she’s also not inclined to ask anymore questions—she finds that she trusts him regardless—a new discovery considering they’ve never had a conversation so tense before. But it relaxes Y/N a little to realise she still feels safe.

But she isn’t so wrong to wonder if this is a punishment.

With his soft fingertips trailing underneath her dress, his thighs pressing into her knees and his face looking down at her, shadowed by the harsh line of his brows, Y/N feels small. She feels as though he could squeeze into her skin and shrink her down into the palm of his hand, push her back with his strong legs and pin her to his desk, and burn her with the stoniness of his glower.

Those things do happen, in minimised ways, but in order for Harry to reach her neck—as he heavily leans forward for—it’s sort of unavoidable that Y/N’s body makes room. That her head tilts back, and her thighs widen, and her lips part in a silent gasp when he kisses underneath her ear. It’s deceivingly sweet—the sound his mouth makes when it parts from her skin. A quiet smacking and gentle breaths hitting her neck. Y/N’s eyes flutter shut and she just feels as Harry kisses her. Parted lips paying attention to the spot that he knows makes her melt and hands—that manage to balance being soft and rough at the same time—scratching against the tops of her thighs.

Y/N moans quietly into the air, knuckles tightening against the desk when she feels Harry’s teeth tease the underneath of her jaw. Then he takes her skin between them and nibbles—rolling, teasing, harassing the sensitive flesh in a way that makes Y/N squirm. She can almost feel her blood rushing to the surface, hooting and hollering to make an appearance on her neck. Look at us! We’re desired! She hopes and prays her red blood cells choose to calm down. Because Harry certainly isn’t going to… and Y/N finds that she doesn’t want him to either.

His hands push upwards underneath her dress to the bottom of her stomach, and then back to her thighs, and then to her hips. Almost frustrated in the restriction of his movement. And then he lifts her just slightly, enough to pull her dress from underneath her bum and pool on top of her thighs. The cool wood makes Y/N jump a little, straight into Harry as he crowds even closer to her mollifying body. Now much more satisfied with the easier access to the state of her undress, he squeezes her waist with bruising fingertips and tugs her quickly wettening front to his own hardening one.

“Do you do this with your friends, Y/N?” He bites down particularly hard and she gasps.

“No,” her voice barely carries as she tries to shake her head. She doesn’t find it necessary to specify that Niall is her only friend.

“No?” Harry pulls back, lips wet and pupils large, feigning shock, “So, are we not friends?”

“We are!” She pleads, trembling fingers tangling in the front of his shirt.

But Harry disagrees. “No. I am not your friend.”

Y/N’s head scrambles, the high of his lips on her neck providing it difficult to maintain conversation. “Wh—I don’t—” She didn’t want to ask ‘what are we?’. It felt so juvenile.

Harry takes her earlobe into his mouth before trailing back down, across her jaw and all the way to her chin. Down the column of her throat and back up to the underneath of her ear. He kisses, and licks, and sucks. And marks. Then he loosens his tie and removes her hands from his shirt. “Hold your wrists together,” he demands, voice deep and commanding. Y/N’s heart beats like it’s warning her—unable to identify that she’s as safe as she can be—and her mouth dries out completely when she realises what he’s about to do. His tie around her wrists, looping through and underneath her hands to incarcerate them entirely. “Is that okay?” Harry’s eyes meet hers, softening around the edges in a genuine ask of approval; a break of character.

“Yes, Sir,” Y/N nods, twisting her wrists a little to test Harry’s tying ability. It’s perfected. She’s completely and utterly at his disposal—and it’s oddly calming. He smiles, encouraging her tied wrists to rest in her lap as he cradles her cheek with a palm, nurturing thumb painting goosebumps across the rounded flesh.

Then he kisses her. And it’s not gentle, despite the soft lingering of his hand on her face. His mouth captures hers, breaths shared as Y/N is consumed by him, and he takes whatever he pleases. They kiss and they kiss, as though they have all the time in the world. As though they’re floating down a river covered in cherry blossoms and not in the middle of his office during work hours.

But Harry keeps her safe. It’s what he does. Whether they were treading water deep enough for Y/N to drown in, or she was perched upon a desk that was teetering over the side of a volcano—Harry wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

He doesn’t let anything happen to her when Mitch’s telling knock sounds at the door. Y/N tenses up and her eyes widen. She knows she locked it but… Oh God. She’s tied up… on Harry’s desk… with her dress up around her middle.

“Not now, Mitch!” Harry leans back, projecting his voice away from Y/N’s ears.

That’s seemingly all that needs to be said, despite the way Y/N worries about the sure fact that Mitch must understand something unsavoury is happening on the other side of the door. But he doesn’t knock again and Harry secures Y/N with a hand around the back of her neck. If he were feeling more playful, he might take her incarceration as an opportunity to torture her with tickles—to squeeze, and prod, and wiggle as much as he pleased until she was begging with tears in her eyes for him to stop. To want to force eustress laughs and squirms out of her… it makes him feel sadistic. But he can’t stop thinking about it. He’s certain Y/N would bask in the powerlessness it grants her.

Harry pushes the desire down for now. Later… he would, he’d do it. “You told me I could keep you, yeah?” He says millimetres from her mouth. Y/N had told him that. And she’d meant it. She still does. She yearns to be kept—to be cherished, desired, and looked after. Their noses brush when she nods. “You’re mine and I’m yours. Okay?”

That was more than okay. They were each other’s; something Y/N could easily understand. “Okay,” her breath mingles with Harry’s, nudging forwards ever so slightly to press her lips against his in a soft puckering. The sound it makes is equally as delicate—almost enough to make Harry want to pull back and start all over again; untie her hands and materialise the softest of beds to lay her down upon.

But he needs to exercise this control just as much as Y/N needs it demonstrated to her. “Okay,” he repeats, kissing her once, twice, three times. “Let’s make sure it really sinks in then,” and Y/N is reassured enough now to allow a slight smile to upturn her nurtured lips and the excitement to buzz through her veins once more.

It still feels like punishment though. When Harry nudges her tied wrists up enough from her lap that he can smooth his thumb over the front of her underwear. Over the wetness. It makes Y/N shudder, the light weight of his digit brushing over her pulsing bundle of nerves. And when he lifts her feet up to rest on the wood, plucks the sodden material aside and spits down directly onto her cunt… it’s disgusting. Disgusting and disgraceful to be doing this on his desk, for Christ’s sake. But it makes her pussy flutter… pulsate and clench and send swarms of butterflies to her tummy.

He rubs it over with his now shining thumb, dips down to her hole and back up again, in motions too delicate to take Y/N far enough… but just seeing him tower over her—wearing the power of his suit so well—and claim her with his saliva is enough to ignite every nerve in her body.

That’s when she’s sure he’s being mean. When he stops touching her and unzips his slacks to pull himself out. Doesn’t even pop the button. It’s cruel enough that she can’t touch him. That she can’t thumb over his pearling precome and slick it down his thick shaft. But what is infinitely the nastiest thing Harry has ever done, is swipe the flushed tip through her lips—sure to spread her wetness around thoroughly—and start fisting his cock in filthy motions. It’s too fast to be deemed as foreplay, or working himself up enough to fuck her. It’s with purpose as he slides his hand up and down, spitting once again—a hypnotic string falling to his cock—as Y/N is forced to watch Harry build himself up to the brink.

Y/N’s feelings coalesce—sadness and arousal confusing her infinitely. As if the two combine to create something even more overwhelming. To watch such an erotic sight, the sexiest man (who she can now confidently call hers) as he loses himself in pleasure is enough to make her heart beat erratically… and yet it pushes her brows to the centre and makes her restrained wrists itch with the knowledge that she is unable to get him there herself.

Her throat is dry. “But—why are you punishing me if I didn’t— if I didn’t know?” She daren’t say the F word. If I didn’t know not to call us friends.

Harry’s eyes flick up from the spots between their legs to meet Y/N’s conflicted expression. He says, through shallow breaths, “Who said anything about punishment? I’m not punishing you, darlin’, I’m—teaching you, yeah? Helping you learn,” he pauses when he gives himself a particularly good squeeze, swallowing around a groan. “What have I taught you today?”

Y/N fights the urge to stare at his dripping cock, hovering above the perfect hole. He’d feel much better inside her, why won’t he just— She exhales, “We’re not just friends. You’re… you’re keeping me. I’m yours.”

He hums, deep within his throat, fist still moving in dizzying tugs. “Such a fast learner, my clever girl.”

The low cadence of his voice makes her squirm, hips lifting to get just that bit closer to him. She’s balancing uncomfortably on the tips of her elbows, thighs aching with the width in which they are spread. But in this moment it all fades into the background of her thoughts—especially when Harry starts letting out grunts that have arousal immediately pooling at her entrance.

“Oh, fuck,” he leans over, planting his hand next to her folding waist as their bodies dare to meet. Harry keeps them separated though, cruelly; his eyes trained to the distance between her cunt and his cock. He won’t give it to her, she knows that. Understands in the back of her mind that this is supposed to be quick, and somewhat agonising for her, no matter what he’d said about helping her learn. That Harry is in Boss mode and it’s only making her wetter and she can’t do anything about it.

He spits again, lifting himself out of the way so it falls down and onto her pussy. Y/N’s entire body shivers, chest heaving as his saliva drips from her clit to mix with her arousal. And he doesn’t even touch it—doesn’t swirl his fingers or mix their fluids. He just watches as he speeds up the flicks of his wrist and then tears his eyes away to admire the devastation on Y/N’s face.

“I’m g’na—fuck—g’na come all over this pretty pussy,” a squeeze and a groan, “and then tug your panties back over to keep it all nice and safe. And then you’re g’na go home and stay wet for me, aren’t you, darlin’?” She can’t do anything but whimper, face scrunched up as her core throbs and she nods pitifully. “Wish I could come inside of it instead. Stuff just the tip in and tug myself off until I drip out.”

“Oh,” Y/N whines, the noise pitiful and weak. She wishes that too. She wishes he’d come deep inside her and stay there forever.

“But we can build up to that, yeah?” He’s groaning at the very thought.

“Mhm,” her head goes up and down without any contemplation at all.

“Oh, I’m gonna fucking come, baby,” Harry moans and Y/N’s face urges towards his, wide eyes looking up at his glowing skin and dilated pupils. Their noses knock, and then their lips meet in a frenzied clash as they smother one another’s sounds. His fist slicks up and down, up and down—wet, heady skin thumping at the base with each pass of his hand. Precome and dribble coats his fingers, his knuckles, and Y/N is half inclined to open her mouth expectantly until he has no choice other than to stuff it full.

Harry pulls away from her mouth, spit following him as he holds the weight of his head on heavy shoulders. His hand has migrated to the small of Y/N’s back, pulling her as close as possible without letting their middles meet and his hair tickles her face. He’s conservative with the volume of his groans but liberal with the way they topple past his lips—hushed, panted expletives.

“Fuck, y’little pussy’s dripping. Is this what gets you off? Silly little girl likes being treated like a silly little object.”

She nods fervently, “Yes, please, Sir.” Y/N’s pelvis aches, her back is unsupported, and her elbows are digging into hard wood. But it doesn’t matter because she’s Harry’s. His girl, his object—whatever he desires. And the thought of leaving the evidence of their rendezvous in her underwear for the rest of the day, unable to relieve the throbbing between her thighs; it excites her in the most masochistic way.

And when Harry comes, the warmth of his release drips onto Y/N’s neglected pussy and sears through her skin and down to her bones. His quiet moans—reserved but still erotic—fizzle along the surface of her skin and embed themselves in her mind to be replayed over, and over. White dribbles decorate his large hand and paint Y/N’s spread centre, coalescing with the thick, glassy slick of her own arousal—and she only just catches his hypnotised whispers.

Mumbles of a half-conscious man, “That’s it, fuck. So pretty.”

But then he suggests complete clarity—the ability to stay cruel, as he fixes the gusset of Y/N’s underwear back over her sticky, come-painted pussy and smacks down with four fingers over the swollen sensitivity. She gasps and bucks, head throwing back before snapping forward to catch his gaze. Then he does it again, hard enough to jolt her entire body but not enough to hurt. It tingles, and warms, and spreads through her entire being.

And Y/N thinks that’s it. Harry has come and she’s going to keep it in her underwear just like he’d told her to. But then he expertly takes his forefinger and traces a circle around where he knows her clit lies underneath. He teases the nerves and utters something… something he’s said before.

“Let Daddy’s come soak in, that's a good girl.”

The blood rushes through her ears deafeningly.

Let Daddy’s come soak in. It bounces around inside her skull. Let. Daddy. She shivers. He gives her another hard pat and her legs collapse from their propped up position, thighs landing heavily against his desk. Harry’s smile is one of a blissful man. Blissful yet perhaps sadistic. He tucks himself back into his trousers before starting to gently untie Y/N’s wrists. They fall like dead weights into her lap but Harry picks them both up to dot soft kisses around the tender of their pulses. Then he grants her a moment of stillness as his encapsulating palms glide along exposed skin. Up her thighs and to her middle where he adjusts her dress to fall over her lap. From palm to shoulder, blunt nails leaving trails of goosebumps as they scratch soothingly. Along her neck and up to her face, thumbs applying salve as they fix unruly eyebrows and trace imaginary lines.

She’s still undoubtedly buzzing, but Harry’s touch tells her it’s okay. He’s proud of her. She’s good. She’s his and she’s good.

“Thank you, love.” Y/N opens her heavy eyelids. “For letting me be a bit mean. I needed it.”

“It’s okay,” she smiles, “...liked it.”

Harry exhales a laugh, “I know y’did. But regardless,” he rests his hands on her waist and squeezes gently, “we’ll have a chat when I get home. About this, about specification and making sure we’re on the same page. And about certain types of… play. Yeah?”

Y/N sighs, something dreamy that trails off into something whiny. The centre of her legs is begging. She nods.

He knows. “I’ll take care of you, promise. But you’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Lovely girl,” he kisses her—soft and saccharine. The type of kiss a husband gives to his wife.

Harry thinks he needn’t have asked. He certainly needn’t have ordered. Y/N would’ve waited for him no matter what. If not because she can’t make herself feel the way he does then because she just knows. Purposely or not, she just gets it. And he thinks he loves her for it.

Y/N might as well be on another planet.

She is uncomfortable to her own detriment—her thoughts are helpful to no one and she thinks if she were to hold her hands out in front of her they would shake. Her underwear is surely the consistency of paper mache and just placing one foot in front of the other has her feeling akin to a penguin; the waddle, in which she is paranoid she’s exhibiting, enough to make her rush home in a hypnotised funk.

But aside from the stickiness between her thighs and the distracting pulsating calling her like a siren, Y/N feels good. Much better than a few hours prior when she’d worried she’d been the cause of greatly upsetting Harry. That she’d ruined their relationship before it had even really begun.

Her mind can focus on only one thing… Daddy. It felt wrong to like the way it sounded coming from Harry’s mouth—the implications of playing with such a word—but Y/N couldn’t deny the way it made sense for her. His capability, his dominance, his ability to have Y/N’s overworking brain suddenly be granted tunnel vision for him and him only. His control, his power; it all clicks into place.

For a handful of absent minutes, Y/N sits and stares at the wall. Processing. But it’s hard—almost like her brain has been cloaked in a thick covering of fog—which Y/N is familiar with in other contexts. Of anxiety, and low mood, and exhaustion. Never has this fog been so direct in its assailing of her senses—she feels light and heavy, at the same time—is half inclined to just sit and wait at the door for Harry to come home like a dog. Her thoughts can only surround him; the way he spoke, the way he touched her, the way he controlled her. All of it replays over, and over, and over—keeping the torturous throbbing in between her legs alive and well. Until she sees the time and realises the thirty minutes she’s convinced herself have passed, has actually only been five.

So she does the only thing she can think of. She cleans.

Y/N finds cleaning therapeutic; the motion of washing away grime, of making things shiny and smell nice. It feels like renewal and it makes her feel competent. It’s something she struggles to do in her own home—finding the motivation can appear impossible at times. But for her to do it for Harry… it feels like something that will make him happy, something that will make her good, something that will make up, even the tiniest bit, for just how much he’s done for her.

It’s exciting.

Her body whisks her around the house, almost as if on autopilot, as she hoovers, and dusts, and disinfects, and washes. Time moves so much faster now that she’s busy, that when Harry walks through the front door she’s sure he’s left work early. She hardly sees him until she’s right in front of his tall body. Then her heart melts.

“Harry,” her tone is soft, somewhat unshackled by the hesitancy she regularly possesses. Her lips curl into an easy smile and her muscles relax.

“What have you been up to, my fair maiden?” He teases, glancing at the pink rubber gloves decorating her fingers, delicate feathers tickling her forearms, and then to the little bucket hanging off her arm, filled with sprays and cans—cloths and wipes.

“Made it all clean for you…” She feels as though something is missing when she speaks… like it would be appropriate to call him Sir right now.

“What’s ‘it’, lovely? The house? You cleaned the whole house?”

Y/N’s grin widens and her head bobs up and down in an excitable nod. Harry’s chest tightens. Never has he come home to something like this before. A cooked meal, yes. A kiss and a promise of more later, yes. A girl bubbling with giddiness at the anticipation of his reaction to his home that she’s made spotless… never. It overwhelms him a little—the encapsulating desperation to smother her all of a sudden. To just hold her until their bodies fuse together.

Harry steps forward, taking her supplies and setting them down before gently unrolling the gloves from her hands. Then he’s snaking his arms around her waist and hoisting her up with ease, relishing in the squeal he gets from Y/N when he gives them both a little spin. He buries his face into her neck, pretending to bite her like he loves to do so often (it’s hardly pretending when he does actually do it). Her laughter bounces around them and blooms in his chest, echoing like the perfect birdsong.

“What made you do all this?” He asks, pulling his face back to look into her eyes.

She goes shy, eyes avoiding his face as her lip catches between her teeth. “I missed you… wanted to do something nice. For… for…”

“For…” Harry prompts, capable hands stroking along her back.

Her eyes squeeze shut and her forehead falls forward, knocking against his own gently. It’s on the tip of her tongue and yet it feels impossible to get out. “For… Daddy,” she finally whispers. And it’s embarrassing. Heat spreads throughout her body—the humiliating kind but… but it feels good too. It feels submissive. Harry’s fingers dig into her back for a moment. Almost as though he can’t believe she actually said it. But she did, and she’s less nervous than usual, so she’s surely slipping through space.

“Well, he’s certainly very pleased with you, baby. Thank you.” He kisses her forehead. And he really concludes she’s feeling floaty when he tries to place her down, only to be met with grappling fingers knotting into the back of his shirt and strained whines of complaint.

He does what she needs him to do. “Go and sit down in the living room. I’ll be in.” Y/N looks at him for a second, eyes darting back and forth between green. And when the sincerity of his gaze shines through, she relaxes and turns away, doing as Harry says.

He doesn’t need to make her wait. It’s not necessary. So he’s quick to hang his jacket up and loosen his tie, before retrieving a glass of water from the kitchen and taking it to Y/N.

When she sees him again, the creases in her mind smooth themselves out. The sound of his dress shoes tapping along the hard floor is cushioned by the rug, and then he stands before her, silenting ordering she have a drink. There is no hesitation to comply.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks, crouching down in front of where she sits. His trousers tighten around his thighs.

“Good,” she nods her head.

“Yeah?” He reaches for her legs, smoothing his palms up her knees to splay on top of her thighs. Warm. Secure. “Is your brain nice and quiet?” She nods again. “How long have you felt like this, darling?”

Y/N’s smaller hands rest atop Harry’s, fingers curling around his own for stability. “Since I left your office.”

He hums like he knows… which he does. Of course he knows. It couldn’t be more obvious that the centre of her thighs is sticky and hot. With his come, with her arousal. Harry’s blood pumps faster at the thought of the image—one he’s already seen but not for long enough. So he asks with complete understanding, “What did you like the most about that?”

Y/N’s eyes drop to the collar of Harry’s shirt. “Your tie… and your control… and you—you said… y’know...”

He tries not to laugh. “You’ve already said it once, sweetheart, surely it’s not so hard. Did you like it when Daddy came in your pretty panties? And all over your pretty pussy? Did you like it when he slapped your little cunt? I could feel it throbbing, baby. So desperate to come but Daddy didn’t let you, did he?”

Y/N mewls, head shaking and knees starting to bob up and down nervously. Harry keeps them still.

“You’re slipping into a subspace, my love.” Harry grips her face gently, forcing eye contact. “I need you to really listen to me right now. What are your safewords? Tell me.”

“Red and Yellow.”

“Good girl. Never forget them, okay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He smiles, pulling her towards him to sponge a soft kiss to her lips. “I want you to start using Green, as well. Green means you’re good, you’re enjoying yourself and you don’t want to stop. I’m going to ask you for your colour more than usual today, darlin’. You understand?”

“Yes, Sir. Green is good.”

“Lean into how you’re feeling. I’m more than capable of taking care of you, okay? I want you to feel safe. But if you want to stop, you’ll tell me. You’ll say that tiny, little word. Just one Red, or one Yellow, and I’ll stop everything immediately.”

“Okay. Okay, Sir. I understand.” Her fists reach out, landing on his chest in soft frustration. She’s waited long enough. She understands—she understands very well, in fact. And whilst her head might be free from the usual weight of anxiety, it’s since been replaced with the deafening resounding of Harry’s name, Harry’s voice, Harry.

“Do you want me to take care of you, Y/N?” He asks it but it’s a command for her. To look him in the eye and communicate.

“Yes,” she nods. “Please, Harry, I—need you.”

It settles thick and buzzing in his stomach. I need you. He needs her just as much, he’s certain.

“Darling, tell me your colour.”

Green. So fucking green. Bright, luminescent green—Great Gatsby light-at-the-end-of-the-dock green.

Y/N had done so well to ask to be tied up again. Pulling her hands up above her and to the headboard; so much more intense, so much more vulnerable. Harry had made her ask, mind you, (goaded and teased until she was fervent with need) but he is still so proud. Her body is stretched out for him, ankles too shackled in soft ribbons and tied to either side of the end of his bed frame.

This was different territory, and that’s why Harry has to keep asking. He leans over her, looking for her gaze. “Darlin’,” Y/N blinks up at him with a coy smile, “colour.”

“Green.” She pouts her lips expectantly, head lifting up from the pillows to reach him. His mouth is right there… right there. He drops slightly and kisses her chastely. Unsatisfyingly for Y/N who wants more—who wants everything—but Harry pulls away, content that she’s happy.

“Good.” He stands back up at the foot of the bed, admiring the naked girl below him. Completely nude except for her underwear, where underneath she is still very much unsatiated and painted in Harry. It’s impossible to resist smoothing his fingers over her mound; fabric long from being dry. Just the pressure of his digits makes her skin scatter with goosebumps. “Pretty thing. Is this what you were thinking about all afternoon? Waiting for me to come home and spread you out... and take care of your little ache?”

Y/N feels drunk. Her body is hot and cold, light and heavy. She’s embarrassed to be so open for him but it feels squashed somehow—like shame and shyness couldn’t stand a chance in getting in her way. It’s why she feels confident enough to push her hips up into his hand, and stare directly into his eyes without giving a verbal answer.

But Harry knows, so perfectly, how to respond to her. Harry knows what Y/N wants before she does. “Have we forgotten how to speak?” He looks down to her jutted hips pointedly, pushing them firmly back to the mattress and taking his hand away. A minor punishment for demanding his touch.

“No, Sir.”

This is new. She’s… cheeky. She’s begging for help—she’s swimming through waves of fog and clarity, desperation and discipline.

Harry has to bite back a smile; refusing to give her a small victory. It seems the descent into subspace has given her confidence—an unconscious urge to push his buttons. He could push her deeper with ease, mould her into the malleable state he knows well… or he could see what else she has to say for herself.

“No. Sir.” Harry repeats her words slowly, bluntly, almost as though he’s feeling them out. “I thought…” his fingertips dance up her left calf. “I thought…” up to the inside of her thigh where the skin is oh, so sensitive—silky and delicate—“that we established an affinity for the other word, hm?” He takes the backs of his nails and drags them down her right leg, provokingly slowly, and watching as it twitches into his touch.

Whether it’s the excitement of finding out what Harry will do next if she doesn’t comply, or the genuine mortification of saying it—Y/N can’t do it. She can’t force the word out of her mouth; it swims around in her brain but refuses to meet her tongue. “Ha—Harry.”

“Oh,” he laughs humourlessly, “Harry, she says. Harry. Okay, love, and what about the other one?”

Her face breaks a little, scrunching up as she shakes her head. “Can’t.”

Harry smacks his fingers on her right breast, pulling downward as he assaults her peaking skin. It’s not so hard, but the sound and the shock of the sudden strike has Y/N gasping out, her back arching. “Yes. You can. Managed just fine earlier.”

“No,” she whines, sounds getting caught in the back of her throat as she pulls against the headboard slightly.

Harry demands in earnest, “Colour.”

Y/N huffs, “Green,” her tone petulant and sulky. It was really hard to admit liking something when she was fighting it at the same time.

“Oh dear,” Harry frowns, “she’s having a little strop.” Y/N only pulls harder, unable to hide her face in any way with her limbs so restricted. She tries her legs too, knees able to bend ever so slightly before Harry flattens them to the bed. “That’s okay, I can wait.” Then he pulls his hand back, watching for Y/N’s body to tense up as he feigns bringing his harsh fingers down again. Instead, when her back arches as he holds his hand in the air, he puts it to her left breast in a hard squeeze. The air is forced out of Y/N’s lungs; surprise, relief, disappointment all coalescing. “I can wait or I can force it out of you. One word—it’s all I want. Admit you like it.”

She looks at him—embarrassment, pleasure, vulnerability all clear as day on her face. He can see the thoughts as they pass behind her eyes. She yearns to obey but she’s still clinging onto the mortification. Saying that word once had felt like climbing a mountain and—she’s doubting herself—it hadn’t sounded right from her lips. She’d been too coy, too ashamed. It’s too much, she’s panicking, she wants Harry to push her deeper.

“Hm? What’s the word, baby, are you g’na tell me?” Harry’s hands flatten against her sternum, dragging down to rest on her stomach. He’s got one knee propped up against the outside of her thigh, like he’s preparing to join her on the bed.

Y/N frowns and shakes her head like she’s sad to admit it. Like she’s apologising for not being able to, remorseful to let him down. Her eyes are glassy, and her face is warm. She’s so close to letting go; to sinking deep into the mattress like it’s made of marshmallow. She assumed she was already there whilst she was pottering about, waiting for Harry to get home, but her thoughts were still very much buzzing at the forefront of her mind—no matter how thick or concentrated they may have been. She wants to think nothing. She just wants to feel.

“No. Okay,” Harry sighs. He sounds frustrated but he’s not really. He’s excited. But his stoic demeanour remains. “That’s okay, I’ll take care of it. I’ll get you so dumb that that pretty mouth responds no matter what I ask of it.”

Y/N nods. Yes, yes, that’s exactly what she wants. “Please.” Her hips push up again instinctively. Harry finally climbs up to hover over her, thighs bracketing one of her own. His knee threatens to push into her centre.

A hum sounds from the back of his throat as he leans down to kiss Y/N’s cheek with soft lips. “Still Green?”

She exhales dreamily, head tilting a fraction to encourage his mouth to meet hers. “Yes.”

Harry gives her what she silently asks for. His lips over hers, his hands smoothing across the sides of her face and into her hair, shared breaths, and gentle strokes of tongue. Palms trail down her body, landing on her waist. They squeeze enough to make Y/N jolt and Harry smile against her mouth. Then he hoists her body up so she’s bearing her weight on her upper back and the hot middle of her legs meets Harry’s thigh.

Her breath catches. Thick, warm muscle cloaked in tight black material pressing against damp, slick underwear. She feels full without actually being so—the presence of him there making her clit throb and her panties rub tantalisingly over her arousal. Harry controls her movements with the fingers digging into her waist—his thumbs brush featherlight over her stomach and it makes Y/N shiver; the softness.

But, rather contrastingly, the softness between her own thighs and the hardness that presses into her core is far from chaste. He moves her up and down over his meaty flesh, “Still… Green?” he asks, knowing damn well Y/N is silent with pleasure and nothing else. Her mouth is agape—the first sign of finally appeasing the lasting thrumming shocking her into speechlessness.

The inside of her panties is cold against her… and feels full, and sticky, and nasty. She’s sure were Harry to peel them away that they’d stick, and take strands with them as they went. Y/N finds she’s dreading that moment significantly… or is it precisely the opposite? Is she despairingly desperate for him to see her all messy? Is she hoping he’ll have no other choice than to mock and ridicule her? She whines loudly and the sound drags on as she points her chin to the ceiling and pushes her cunt further onto Harry’s thigh.

Her breast stings, and Y/N looks up to find one of Harry’s hands squeezing it tightly. He’d smacked her again but she can’t possibly think why. Until he says, “I asked you a question, silly girl. Still Green?”

It takes her a few seconds to process his words—warmth spreading underneath his hand and the feel of her nipple grazing his palm adequately slowing her brain function—but when she does, her head moves up and down fervently. Harry can’t help but slip his hand up from her tit to slink around her throat, squeezing the sides and deliciously restricting her blood flow. “I don’t understand dopey nodding, baby. Tell me,” which is cruel because there’s a rather large, compressing element against her voicebox.

“Gr—een,” Y/N exhales.

“Good girl,” he releases the pressure of his fingers, hand still holding as Y/N’s throat contracts underneath. “Does that feel nice? Against Daddy’s thigh, hm?” Harry pulls her onto him harder, flexing his muscle as he starts grinding her hips for her. Y/N mewls and moans, nodding despite Harry’s previous aversion to it. Her wetness is starting to seep through to his slacks, warm and sticky. “I know you love it, Y/N. Why won’t you just say it?” His hands move down to clutch onto her hips, speeding up the way her centre rubs against his thigh. “Just one… tiny… word. That’s all I want.”

Y/N’s abdomen tightens. Her orgasm has been dormant all day, and even the most pathetic of touching is awakening it. She shakes her head before she realises she’s even doing it; too focused on the feeling between her thighs to appropriately respond.

And that’s when Harry really starts to fray around the edges. There’s a certain thing that’s been floating around in his head. For weeks, and weeks, and weeks. Ever since he met Y/N. The idea of tickling her at her most vulnerable, as a pleasurable torture device. Her hands and ankles are tied—there’s no getting away from it, no escaping Harry’s cruel, slender fingers as they start to wiggle and dig into Y/N’s sides. Harry watches her squirm and relishes in her immediate shriek. Her back arches as she tries fruitlessly to get out of his grasp and her bound limbs tug and twist against the silky ribbons. He could do this forever; literally and figuratively. She’s at his complete and utter disposal. He pulls her against his thigh again, and in a frenzied motion, tugs her panties aside hard enough to hear rips and see elastic snap.

Her pussy is swollen—unsurprisingly so but Harry still groans. Copious amounts of slick, turned creamy with drops of his come still nestled between her, immediately staining his trousers. She cries out, sucking in desperate breaths when Harry stops tickling her for a moment. Too transfixed to multitask. He runs a thumb through her and near shivers at the sound of her gasp, putting his shiny digit to her lips to paint them salaciously. He hums, “Dirty girl, leaving this filth in your panties all day.”

And Y/N can’t even respond. Not because she’s at a loss for words (although that remains true) but because Harry starts to speed up. Everything. He attacks her in motions so fast that Y/N cannot process them—she can only take it.

Harry spits down onto her—so much like the way he did in his office—watching it land on her clit before rubbing it in with his thumb. It’s so unnecessary; to make her wetter. Y/N has literally never been this wet in her entire life, but she supposes it’s addictive—to make things all messy. He circles her quickly with such perfect pressure that Y/N could come if he just kept going. But he doesn’t. He stops to grab her waist again, forcing her hips to roll over, and over, and over until Y/N is right on the edge—back arching and cute, erotic sounds flowing from her lips—and then he digs his fingers into her flesh, cruel and calculated.

Y/N stutters, and the desperation to escape only has her cunt pushing harder into Harry’s thigh. He’s relishing in her squirms, evil to his core. “Please!” She begs but it’s not clear.

Harry coos, “Oh, I don’t know what you want. You’ll have to tell Daddy, sweetheart.”

“Please, please, please,” Y/N cries, jolting body bending all out of shape as Harry burrows into the sensitive skin of her waist.

“You wanna come? Is that it?”

“Yes!” No. Not right now. Right now she wants Harry to stop. fucking. tickling. her. “Harry…” she drags the sound of the ‘Y’ out, whingy and pathetic. But then he does stop. He stops and he pulls his thigh away and Y/N panics. “No! Please, Sir.” She wants to reach for him but her wrists remain.

“Dumb, whiny girl. You don’t know what you want, either.” Harry leans over her sensitive body, lips trailing up the centre of her chest and up to her ear. “I’m half inclined to just stick my dick in you and go to sleep. I’ve had a long day, you know? I’d quite like some rest… with a warm, tight cunt to soothe me.” Y/N clenches around nothing. She can feel a thick trail of arousal dripping down to her bum. It makes her wriggle. “I know what I want,” he says, breath delicate against the shell of Y/N’s ear. “I want you to admit you like calling me Daddy. It’s not a hard ask, sweetheart. Just say it.”

Harry kisses down her neck, sucking her skin into his mouth; pressing his lips to every available inch of flesh. Y/N’s heart pounds, heavy and loud beneath her ribs. Harry might even be able to feel it as he passes over with his mouth. “If you say it…” his face is hovering over her tummy—down, further, until his soft exhalations are hitting Y/N’s clit, “I’ll let you come. If you don’t… well… I happen to be very content staying right here.” And then he flattens his tongue against her, finally cleaning her up.

Harry moans just to watch Y/N’s mouth fall open—nose nudging her clit tantalisingly. He licks her so slowly but so intensely, sighing happily as his stubble saturates. Y/N can feel her orgasm building already. He knows, of course—doesn’t let her tip over the edge. Especially not when she doesn’t even try to beg. His palm comes down against the inside of her thigh, stealing a cry from her as she writhes around.

Big hands snake underneath to hold Y/N’s ass, pulling her into his face. She doesn’t take long to get there again, noises increasing in both frequency and volume. “Har… Oh, please. Please.” Her clit is so sensitive. It was before it had even really been touched but now it’s just bullied. Harry pushes his face in deeper as his response, tongue stroking her walls and nose bumping her with each curl.

But then he pulls away again, inhaling deeply and dropping Y/N’s hips to the mattress. “We taste good together, y’know,” straddling her waist with his thighs—one still considerably stained by her slick—and capturing her lips in a proper kiss. A kiss that makes Y/N whimper into his mouth, a kiss that makes her head clear, a kiss that tells her she’s hopelessly in love. He holds her face, lips parting just enough for him to mutter, “What’s your colour, darling?”

“Green. But—Please, can I come?”

He pulls back to look at her. “I don’t know, sweetheart, have you called me Daddy yet?”

Y/N pauses… and then she nods, “When you got home.”

Harry’s fingers quickly reach down and squeeze her waist, smiling when she yelps. He laughs, “That doesn’t count.”

“Please?”

“You’re being so coy. We both know you want to say it.”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“You’ve already done it once!”

“That was different, Sir.”

Harry strokes his palms along her ribs and over her breasts. “Why’s that?”

“I was… I don’t know.” She inhales. “I do like it, I really like it, Harry please.” Y/N tries to twitch her hips; impossible underneath the vast weight of Harry’s sturdy body.

He hums, pleased to hear her admit something. “What are you missing?” He thumbs over her nipples. Her breath catches.

She could do it. She wanted to do it. “D—Daddy.”

Harry kisses her again—surges forward bruisingly to sponge their lips together. “Good girl,” he whispers into her mouth. “Good girl, say it again.”

She huffs, frustrated, aroused, and desperate simultaneously. “Please, Daddy.”

“Fuck, there you go,” he grunts, shuffling his thighs down her body to bracket her knees. He wastes no time smearing four digits over her clit in rapid swipes. Y/N throws her head back, mewling and gasping. “Does my pretty girl w’na come? All over Daddy’s fingers? Yeah?”

“Yuh-huh, yeah, yeah, please, oh—” Harry presses his hand into her abdomen, refusing to let her hips undulate, as he finally lets Y/N come, sending her over the edge with a swat to her cunt. Her moans crescendo—cute, uh’s and other choked sounds—wrists pulling at the headboard as soon as the overstimulation kicks in. “Oh—oh, God, yes,” she breathes as she comes down, Harry’s thumb now swiping gently through the thick arousal that has pooled out of her.

He brings it to his mouth, “Mm, well done, baby.” Overwhelmed tears pool in her eyes, the pleasure buzzing through her veins. Now, she’s floating. Harry frowns, smoothing a palm over her head. “Col—”

“Green!” Y/N exclaims quickly. Her bottom lip wobbles. “Felt really, really good.”

Harry reaches behind him, blindly but gently, untying her ankles from the bedposts. Y/N doesn’t move them. “Would you still be Green if I fucked you, darlin’?”

She nods instantly, “Yes, yes, Green,” pushing her hips up.

He rubs his thumbs over her ankles—a soft moment—before he’s flipping her body over. Her bound wrists cross and her face pushes into the pillow. It smells like Harry; Y/N breathes in deeply.

Harry looks over the woman lying face down on his bed. Her pretty bum, her soft miles of skin begging to hold the indentations of his fingers, the ribbon adorning her wrists—he breathes out. Then he loosens his tie and starts to unbutton his shirt. He kicks his shoes off and unzips his slacks. Y/N turns her head to the side, seeing Harry’s clothes fall to the floor out of the corner of her eye. She wriggles in excitement and Harry gives her ass an affectionate tap.

“Hips up,” he says, reaching over her to grab a pillow and stuff it underneath her body. Harry is sure he’s never seen a more beautiful view. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he kisses the bottom of her spine. Y/N exhales a shaky breath, feeling as though she’s drifting peacefully in a vast ocean—as Harry caresses her skin slowly, surely, taking her all in.

She could so easily profess something silly in this moment.

“Harry,” she says instead.

“Yes, darling?”

“Will you untie me, please?”

He reaches up for her hands immediately, pulling the ends of the ribbon and letting it fall up her arms and flutter to the sheets. “Are y’hurting?”

Y/N shakes her head, letting her limbs fall heavy beside her head, “Want you to hold them,” she whispers.

Harry kisses her cheek, “Let me get a condom. What do you say if you want me to stop?”

“Yellow or Red,” she replies, eyes closing delicately. She could probably fall asleep and dream of that everlasting ocean. But then the mattress shifts, and safe, warm hands glide up her back.

“You’re so lovely,” he murmurs. Y/N hears the ripping of a wrapper, and the silence of Harry rolling on the condom. She feels his hands adjusting her hips, pulling at her bum. “Such pretty holes,” he mutters to himself. Y/N whines and buries her head into the pillow, humiliated and overwhelmed with anticipation. But then Harry runs a thumb over her untouched entrance and her head comes shooting back up. “Shh, shh, I’m just feeling you. I can’t wait to play with you here.”

“Harry,” Y/N complains, butterflies going rampant in her tummy. She can’t wait either, it seems.

His hands drop to the backs of her thighs, thumbs brushing the outside of her lips. Then they leave her skin and a familiar thickness swipes through her, tapping against her clit momentarily. Instinctively, Y/N wants to push up on her knees, but Harry keeps her flat with a palm to the bottom of her spine. “You g’na take Daddy like a good girl?”

A shiver runs through her, “Yes—yes, yes.” She takes a deep breath.

“That’s it,” his voice is tight as he watches himself get swallowed around her. He wants to be cruel—wants to keep just the head snug inside of her, pull out, push back in, pull out, nudge it around her clit… He thinks about it—he does. But he just can’t bear the thought. She’s so warm and squeezes him with every breath; pulling out would be sacrilege. “This little pussy loves me, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir,” Y/N whines, every inch forcing the breath from her lungs.

Harry smacks her ass, holding firmly onto her hip when she jolts, “Yes, who?” pushing in deeper as she struggles to process his question. His palm comes down on the other side. “Yes, who?”

Y/N wants to push her body back, feel the weight of Harry’s balls snug against her clit, prod the space inside of her that he is so familiar with. But she takes too long to answer. She must do—because Harry starts to pull out and Y/N’s heart plummets. No, no, no.

“Daddy! Yes, Daddy.” Her face burns. “Please—please don’t leave me.”

His hips stutter. He knows what she means. Literally—she doesn’t want him to leave her, literally. To pull out entirely. But the way it sounds… It sounds like…

Harry pushes back in. All the way. He leans his immense body over Y/N’s pretty back and entwines his fingers with hers that lie beside her head—just as she’d asked. His big palms holding and protecting. She all but disintegrates into the bed, a relieved sob leaving her lips as Harry’s weight presses her down and he kisses her cheek. Her eyes struggle to stay open; the overwhelming fullness inside of her and the compression of Harry’s body, it’s peace incarnated.

“Does that feel good, baby? Daddy’s thick cock filling you up.”

“Mhm. S—so, so…” She weakly squeezes Harry’s fingers, blissful sigh falling from her lips. But when Harry starts to pull his hips back—having let Y/N adjust—her grip tightens. “Please. Stay.”

Harry is only surprised for a moment, and then he says, “Stay? How am I supposed to fuck you if I don’t move, darlin’?” Y/N pushes her bum back into him, silently begging. “You jus’ want me nice and deep in you, yeah? Is that right?”

“Yes, please.”

“Does this make you happy?” His voice softens and he unlinks one of their hands so he can trace Y/N’s hairline, behind her ear, across her cheek, down the bridge of her nose. He’s never seen her so content. He’d thought he had before, when she was with him, specifically. But this moment, right here—this is the most tranquil he’s ever seen anyone. “Yeah? Are you happy, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy, ‘m so happy—thank you.”

Harry nudges her chin and captures her lips. It’s awkward from the position she’s in, neck stretching to reach him, but it’s perfect. It’s intimate, and trusting, and says so much with no words. They look like the perfect depiction of raw, human connection.

They kiss and Harry stays atop Y/N in mind-numbing serenity. He’ll shift his hips inside of her and her mouth will stop responding to his, slack against his lips as he licks into and against her tongue. Everything is slow. And maybe Harry hadn’t necessarily planned this pace but he likes it—it makes sense.

He starts to grind his hips into her bum and Y/N tightens up. “Relax, sweet girl, know it feels good but relax.” Harry thinks if his dick wasn’t screaming at him to chase pleasure, that he’d be happy to stay like this forever. In the most intimate and warm of embraces. He retracts ever so slightly, not enough for Y/N to complain about, and then sinks back in. Flush against her body. She squeezes around him and Harry can feel how wet her walls are. A part of him wants to fuck her hard enough to hear it too.

They fall into a rhythm. A slow, intense rhythm. One that builds up to the type of orgasm that overwhelms a person so much, they can never forget it. Almost a core memory. One they think about; the way it consumed their entire being—for vivid minutes—and left their body weak and pliant. Y/N’s muscles give in completely, allowing Harry to nudge all the right places with every single twitch of his hips.

She’s mewling—a constant stream of pathetic noises—and Harry’s finding it hard not to do the same. He can feel the increase of the pulsating around him. “You’re close, baby.” He doesn’t need to inquire—he knows. “Hold it. Can you do that f’me?” Y/N moans, the side of her face smushed against the pillow. She hasn’t had one coherent thought for the last ten minutes, so she surely can’t start now. She can’t hold it, not really; she’s never had to before. But Harry doesn’t need her to, as such. He’s sure his orgasm is just as close as hers. “Darlin’, tell Daddy you’ll hold it.” It’s still fun though.

“I—I’ll ho—hold it, Daddy,” she slurs, crushing Harry’s fingers. His chest is flush to her back and his hips to her bum. He unlinks one of their hands to curl a bulging bicep around her throat, dewy face pressing into her cheek as he whispers expletives to her. Murmurs of how good she is for him, his good fucking girl. Daddy’s so proud and he loves you so much—

Except—No. He can’t say that. It lingers on the tip of his tongue but he pushes it back down and swallows uncomfortably around it. Daddy’s so proud and he wants you to come for him. Yeah. That’s right.

Y/N nestles her mouth around the skin of his arm—the inside of his elbow—attempting to burrow her nose into his flesh and muscle as she whimpers and whines. Her tummy is swirling and her heart is racing and it feels so good her eyes are watering. “Pleathe,” she muffles around his skin. And Harry can feel it too, the way it builds for them both. A fusion of throbbing, and ecstasy, and something so monumental they feel as though they’re the only two people alive. Because how could there be other people living when Y/N and Harry felt so good?

“Come on, baby. I can feel it, give it t’me.”

Y/N clenches around him as he nudges so deep and then releases Harry’s arm to beg, “Inside, inside, please.”

It nearly ruins everything, the sudden disappointment that washes over him at remembering his inability to do so. But he plays along—after all, Harry loves to play. “Yeah? Y’want Daddy to fill you up? Want his warm come dripping out of you, baby? You’re so dirty.”

She nearly comes then, just from his words alone. But then he reaches his other hand down, roughly shoves it underneath her body and finds her clit easily. Y/N might as well have exploded. She withers, she disintegrates, she is dismantled to nothing but a shaking mess as she orgasms. Her body trembles and her throat releases high pitched cries, trailing off into tired moans as a few tears escape over her waterline. All while Harry bites down on her shoulder, holding off as long as he can for no good reason. To stay coherent enough to witness Y/N at her most beautiful, perhaps. But her cunt quivers around him, squeezing and releasing so quickly that he can’t help but finally let himself come.

“Oh, yeah— f—fuckin’ shit.” He buries his face in the back of Y/N’s hair, holding as much of her as he possibly can with the arm around her front. His fingers cease on her clit shakily, thumping down next to their bodies as he tries to support his weight. It’s fruitless, and he lets his chest mould to Y/N’s back as the last of his release fills the condom. He came a lot and he’s almost upset that he can’t fall asleep right now. But Y/N is still trembling and his instincts kick in once again.

“Good girl, baby. My best girl. You did so well,” he whispers, adjusting his hands so they’re holding himself above her. He dots kisses wherever on her face he can reach. A tear falls down the bridge of her nose and he sponges his lips to it. “Can you talk to me? Are these happy tears?” Y/N nods clumsily, stiffly trying to turn onto her back. Harry pauses her. “Let me pull out, sweetheart. Breath in f’me. There you go, darlin’, let’s see your pretty face proper.”

He doesn’t get much of a chance, however, as Y/N launches her heavy arms around his shoulders and urges him to lay on top of her again. Harry laughs gently, wrapping his arms around her back. She exhales contentedly. “You made me stop thinking,” her throat tightens. “I didn’t have to think.”

Harry squeezes her, “You don’t have to start again yet. You don’t ever have to think when you’re with me.”

Silence overtakes them for a while. Harry has rolled over so that Y/N is lying on top of him. Then he says, “I’m sorry, baby.”

Y/N frowns and props her chin on his chest. “What for?”

“If I had known you were floating away earlier, I wouldn’t have made you come home.”

She shakes her head. “It’s okay… I think—I think I’ve been like that before. Not sexually but… when I’m having a bad day I can go a bit… weird.”

“It’s not weird. You just get into a headspace. That’s what I’m here for. It doesn’t have to be sexual all of the time.”

They talk. They talk, and talk, and talk.

About her subspace, and the office, and the… friends thing.

“I didn’t know you liked to be so… so mean.” She treads carefully. She doesn't want him to think she doesn’t like it.

“I like control… which you give me plenty of already but—sometimes I need to be rough, sometimes I need to be angry.”

“You were angry? Earlier?”

“Not angry… frustrated. I was frustrated and I was a hypocrite, actually, and I shouldn’t have turned it into a sex thing.”

“I didn’t mind.”

He laughs, “I know but…I don’t want to get into that habit, love.”

“But…” she pauses. Harry looks at her and raises an eyebrow. “You said we’d talk about… about certain types of play.”

He hums, “I did. You like being tied, yeah? Like being restrained?”

Y/N nods, her chin moving against his chest. She’s more honest in this state. “I think… doing what you tell me to do… is the thing.”

“Mhm. I do too. You’re not gagging for silk, you’re gagging to be given orders and to have me do as I please to you.”

“Maybe,” she admits coyly, flattening her forehead to his sternum. Harry sinks his hand into her hair and tugs lightly in response. Then she purposely speaks so that it is near impossible for him to hear.

Harry still picks up certain, important words. “I can’t come in you, baby. Not unless we discuss it first.”

“Let’s discuss it now!” Y/N lifts her head up again, a hopeful glint in her eye.

Harry pinches her arse. “No. Later, I promise.”

Silence befalls once again, and they really ought to get up, pee, clean up, eat dinner. But Harry asks one more thing of Y/N. “What have I taught you today?” He echoes his words from when the pair were hidden away in his office.

She answers with no hesitation. “I’m yours.”

Y/N wouldn’t say she had purposefully littered her personality around Harry’s home, but when you spend more time somewhere than you do your own house, it tends to happen.

She buys some fridge magnets one day. A pack of letters—one of each in the alphabet—and the numbers zero to nine. Which, even as she is buying them she thinks, how ridiculous—that you can only spell words that don’t require more than one of the same letter. And yet she pays for them anyway.

She thinks about what she’ll spell out on her own fridge—but she’s too impatient to ponder for longer than a couple of minutes, sure that they’ll just be displayed in alphabetical order and reveal a true lack of imagination.

Somehow, they end up on Harry’s fridge, and Y/N finds that she’s much happier with that. Now she could leave him swear words and other insignificant things alike. Peas, Crow, Nip, Oink. Once she spelt out C-U-N-T but felt it too inappropriate for kitchen decor and quickly changed the C for a P.

Whatever word Y/N chooses to leave for the day has always been altered by the end of it; the silent game between Harry and her soon becoming a reason to peek at the fridge unnecessarily just to see if their letters have been rearranged. If he is up before Y/N, the morning light makes his head especially saccharine and the magnets are always spelling sweet names. Love, Pet, Angel, Darling. But by the evening, he’s a little less soppy. Stinky, Mush, Gremlin, Bean.

Y/N once spelled out I Love You (using the zero as the second O) just to see what it would look like but felt like she was doing something naughty and quickly disorganised them in a far from natural manner.

Then Harry buys her some little strawberry magnets and places them on her fridge without telling her. When she sees them, it makes her heart skip a beat. Along with the dozens of clothes he continues to purchase for her, his wardrobe has been considerably disturbed and he figures he ought to leave his mark somewhere in her home too. If not her wardrobe then her fridge would do just fine. But there's really no competition, because if you were to take a peek inside of his dresser, Harry’s clothes would be generously making room there too for Y/N’s—something she always feels guilty about but Harry denies her any opportunity to move anything to her own home.

He wants to tell her to do the opposite. To take everything from her house and put it in his. But he doesn’t. And he won’t.

He’ll just keep relishing over seeing her shoes by the front door, her shampoo in his shower, and her charger plugged in next to his bed.

The stomach has an interesting relationship with the brain. And the brain has an interesting relationship with the heart.

Because Y/N’s heart tells her (and has been for longer than she wants to admit) that she’s fallen in love with Harry… but her brain refuses to take love—as an option entirely—into consideration. And at the same time, on a particularly bleak weekday evening, her stomach says that it’s threatening violence if she doesn’t eat something and her brain translates that to a complete dismantlement of her capability.

It’s funny (only in retrospect) that being hungry can result in such a drastic change in one’s behaviour. That an empty tummy can make even the gentlest of souls behave erratically—so suddenly full of anger that even the smallest of things can make them explode.

Y/N has had a bad day… and… well… Every day is a bad day for Y/N. When you hate your job—hate working, even—every single day ends in dread for the next. And sometimes, every so often for Y/N, things start to build up. It’s slow and steady, and can take weeks if not months to lead to a breakdown. But she does break down… and it happens far too often for the average person to deem healthy.

Today she’s reaching her limit.

It’s just something she can feel brewing, from the moment she wakes up. And there’s no denying that her life has improved drastically in recent times. That waking up now fills her with the excitement of being able to see Harry again, instead of what was once a solemn reminder that she was still living the same old, uneventful, depressing life. She didn’t even class it as a life. Y/N was just existing.

But Harry isn’t a drug. He can’t calm the buzzing in Y/N’s head, all the time. He can distract, sure. But he can’t cure.

So when Y/N woke up with the knowledge that she was going to Harry’s house after work and it didn’t get her through the day with ease, she knew her balloon of stress was about to pop.

Her body feels heavy as she unlocks the grand door to the home she’s spent more time in than her own, recently. Except there’s no Harry to kiss her hello, to take her bag and to sweep her off her feet. No. Because he’s still working. Because that’s what he does. The same as always, and yet today it breaks her heart.

Classically and disastrously, a telling sign that Y/N’s period is due makes itself known as a cramp sears through her abdomen. Which only upsets her further. Because, really, where is the necessity of pain before the bleeding has even begun. Where is the respite? And not so long ago, Y/N would have walked past the kitchen and fallen face first onto her bed. But knowing she has someone now that will care very deeply if she doesn’t eat dinner has her feet heading for shining tiles. Y/N doesn’t know if she could take a punishment today. Not a punishment fuelled by genuine disappointment, anyway. Maybe if Harry swatted her hard enough it would rewire her brain.

But now that she’s acknowledged the existence of food, Y/N is suddenly aware of the intense hunger beating in her stomach. And she’s too tired. Too weak to try and make anything, or do anything. She just wants to lie down. The island becomes a surface intended for rest as Y/N transfers her weight to her forearms and lets her head turn into a dead weight on her shoulders as it hangs down. Just for a moment. Just for a moment that feels impossible to physically shift from. She could sleep standing; it’s not impossible.

Her empty insides howl. Gurgle, and moan, and fuss. Y/N groans pitifully into the counter.

Sluggish movements carry her to the fridge—pulling the door open with the strength similar to that of a baby bird. Leftovers greet her like awkward friends in an uncomfortable situation. Desperately attempting to lighten the mood and only twisting the knife further. Because Y/N doesn’t want lasagne. And it nags at her, the voice of her mother exclaiming, “If you were really hungry, you’d eat it.” Which holds logic, it does. Y/N is hungry and she should want anything to quell that need but her brain doesn’t accept that. Her brain sees leftover lasagne and decides that it would rather starve—despite normally enjoying the meal.

Tears brim over Y/N’s waterline, frustration and exhaustion threatening to drip down her cheeks. Why was something so simple causing this much trouble? How could she be letting the concept of dinner make her cry?

But then she hears Harry, soft encouragement echoing in her skull. He’d tell her that he understood. That he knows she doesn’t want to eat but she will do to make him happy. To go to bed with a nice full stomach and take good care of herself.

And that outweighs everything.

She reaches out for the ceramic dish, cold numbing her hands and tugs it to the counter. Even looking at it makes her frown. But Y/N finds a plate, and a serving spoon, and a knife, and a fork. She lays them all out in preparation, so orderly and neat. So much so that she doesn’t know how it happens. It shouldn’t happen—and it wouldn’t if she were another person or herself on another day—but today is a bad day, as previously mentioned.

Perhaps she tugs the lasagne too quickly, or surprises herself with the amount of strength she uses. But the plate gets shoved too close to the edge. Close but not over. Not until Y/N panics to keep it on the counter and instead of guiding her hand underneath, she manages to knock it downwards and watch—in what feels like—three times speed as it crashes to the floor.

It’s far too loud. It’s piercing to Y/N’s tired ears. And it’s the icing on the cake of her poorly concealed feelings. The tears start to stream without constraint as the picture of shattered porcelain starts to blur.

The sound of the smash masks the opening of the front door. But whilst Y/N doesn’t hear Harry, Harry hears her, and he comes rushing into the kitchen with purpose. Her back is to him when he asks, “Have you hurt yourself?”

Y/N jumps, a wet gasp tearing from her throat. She spins around reflexively, unable to wipe away the tears on her saturated skin first.

Harry’s face falls. “Oh, my love. Did you cut yourself?”

Y/N wipes at her face frantically, head shaking. The broken plate taunts her from the floor, its jagged pieces begging her to get closer—to slice her skin on the sharp edges. Perhaps that would carve some sense into her. “No,” she forces out, her voice thick.

“What’s the matter?” He steps around the mess, comforting palms smoothing over shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, refusing to meet his eye.

“It’s just a plate,” Harry brushes it off. “What’s upset you, sweetheart?”

Y/N can only cry harder—her mind suddenly insistent on the reminder that she’s falling hopelessly in love as Harry’s soft, gentle voice caresses her soul. And love doesn’t help. Not right now. It makes her sob louder. Usually, Y/N is a woman of few words. Often nervous words, in a less than manic manner. But once she starts, it’s difficult to stop for long enough to claw back composure.

“I’m… hungry,” she blubs, eyes squeezing shut as she tries to inhale. “And tired—and my period is about to start. And I hurt. And I hate my job….I don’t—want to do it anymore. ‘m not ha—happy. And I want to go to bed,” she trails off in quivers, wet fingertips digging into fragile features.

Harry breathes for her, a slow, deep inhale as he processes all of her emotions. “Okay,” he whispers, large hand scratching the back of her head in hypnotic motions. Y/N’s face falls against his chest. Strong and steady, unmoving against her wracking body. He murmurs into the top of her head, “You’re as safe as you could possibly be right now. I’ve got you.”

And that’s exactly what she’s worried about.

The thick grogginess that comes with intense, painful crying is starting to fog up Y/N’s head. She’s never stepped away from Harry’s embrace before but that’s precisely what she finds herself doing. Harry doesn’t question it with the same ferocity that is plaguing Y/N’s thoughts; she’s not in a good place, after all. “One thing at a time, let’s get some food in you, yeah?”

What is realistically a simple request that Y/N would never refuse otherwise, has her head shaking from side to side once more. She doesn’t want to eat. She wants to sleep.

“No?” Harry cocks his head, palms outstretched in front of him in a silent expectancy that she’ll slip back into his hold. “I don’t know that I was asking you, darling. I believe I’m telling you. You know you need to eat.”

It feels foreign to disobey. But Y/N needs to protect herself, she needs to protect Harry, she needs to push these feelings down. “I don’t want to eat.” Her voice hardens. It’s jarring and more tears spill.

“I want you to eat. And you will. Because I know what’s best for you.” He stays gentle, somehow. His words are statements—orders—and yet his cadence stays wonderfully light. Y/N agrees with him; that he knows best, but it doesn’t translate to her mouth.

Or her head as she shakes it fervently, struggling to maintain eye contact as she looks up at Harry’s impressively calm face. His previously styled hair now falling over his forehead in delicious swirls. The dreamy slope of his nose that points towards his stubble dusted cupid’s bow and raspberry tinted lips. His beautiful face stays blank—not implying of any emotion.

“I’m not going to punish you. Or shout at you, or scold you, or do whatever it is you think you deserve. I can see it, darlin’. I know you’re tired, I know your head hurts you. I wish I could take it all away.” Y/N’s lip quivers and she sniffles loudly. Her eyes pinch shut, refusing to cry anymore, but it’s fruitless. Especially when Harry hoists her up by her waist and encourages her thighs to wrap around his body. The immediate relief from holding her own weight has Y/N lugging her arms over his shoulders and burying her wet face into his neck. He holds her tight, strong arms wrapped around with no intention of letting go as Y/N cries.

She thinks she starts to fall asleep, uncaring of Harry’s silent movements around the kitchen as she stays latched on. Half-consciously does she recognise the sounds of the microwave and the gentle nudging of broken porcelain with his foot into a pile he’ll clean up later. She hears him taking the lasagne out and her stomach certainly takes note of the smell, despite how fervently she refused to want it.

He hoists them both up on the counter, Y/N’s knees knocking a little against the hard surface. “G’na eat now, okay?” Harry says softly into the side of her head. The tears have ceased, but her face is very much melded to his neck with cold, salty trails.

Y/N shakes her head, “Tired.”

“I know, sweetheart. Let me see you.”

It’s embarrassing—to peel her face away. To show herself at her lowest, mentally and physically. And she knows the least relevant thing right now is how attractive she looks, but in the lap of a man that she’s sure has never been less than stunning, it’s intimidating and Y/N can’t help but have it on her mind. Along with everything else.

But she listens and Harry praises her for it.

“Hi, baby. You look so pretty,” dancing his fingertips around her hairline to bury behind her ears.

Y/N can’t help but snort—the sight relieving to Harry. “I’m crying.”

“I know. Call me a sadist, then, but you’re still pretty.” He doesn’t elaborate on how the wet clumping of her eyelashes makes her look something akin to a mermaid that guards the key to his heart at the bottom of an enchanted lake or that the shining of her cheeks begs to be kissed and soothed by his lips.

Although it seems she can hear his thoughts when she says, “You’re silly.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Stop!” Her hands meet his chest in a light thump and he smiles.

“Let me feed you?”

And that… that does sound quite nice. But there was something about this height of emotion that was making Y/N stubborn. So she doesn’t respond. Verbally or non. She looks at Harry, at his soft sea-glass green and stays silent. He brushes her wet cheeks with his thumbs, leaning forward to press the soft pillow of his lips to the tense space between her eyes.

Then he drops his voice to a tender brush of air against her forehead, “Do this f’me. Do this for Daddy,” and Y/N leans back with glistening eyes open wide to see as much of him as possible. It clears the fog a little, that one, small word. The dissolvement of responsibility—her weight supported by Harry, her face framed in his hands and her mouth the only thing she’d need to worry about when she inevitably gives in. When she nods slightly and curls her fingers into the back of his shirt. In return, Harry sinks his hand into the back of her hair, close to her scalp, and tugs a little. Not hard—just enough to feel tight and secure. “Good girl.”

For a moment, Y/N can’t even remember what she was crying about. And when she does recall, it doesn’t feel like such a big deal anymore.

Harry scoots further onto the island to allow room between them to hold Y/N’s dinner. Her knees are starting to ache against the surface but she doesn’t say anything. Not when she’s finally on the precipice of feeling peaceful. Not when Harry holds a mouthful up to his lips and blows gently to make sure the steaming pasta doesn’t burn her. Not when he hums quietly as Y/N accepts the food and her eyes flutter shut in contentment.

One thing at a time, as Harry had said. Maybe he couldn’t quell her overworked brain but he could relish in her relaxed brows as he fed her. And then he could carry her to his bed (now just as much hers as it was his own—especially with the sprinkling of products and clothes alike decorating his furniture) and help her fall into a much needed slumber.

When it comes to it (going to bed), Y/N plucks up the courage to put on her comfiest nightie that she’d stowed away in Harry’s dresser for a bad day. It’s not inherently embarrassing to wear a nightie but… what’s on it makes Y/N feel a little silly. Cartoon Ariel and Flounder underneath a banner that reads ‘100% Mermaid’… She’d had it a little while. And it’s not that she worries that Harry will make her feel stupid but it does make her look a little childish—it’s hardly lingerie.

But she needn’t have worried when Harry takes her tired brain and cradles it in his hands—spews some filth like he can’t help it—and calms the bothersome thoughts. “Why would you think, when I can see your nipples hardening through the material, and you’ve got your pretty legs all bare, and when I hold you tonight as your little nightie rucks higher and higher up and over your ass for such easy access, that I would give a shit about what’s printed on it? Would you rather me say that my dick goes limp at the sight, darling?”

It’s safe to say she learns to love the way it looks.

Harry notices a change in Y/N’s behaviour.

It’s subtle to begin with—something he doesn’t question straight away—because he wants to figure out what’s going on without making her aware.

Little things like forcing Harry to ask her more than once to do something—Come here, sit down, stand up. They might sound disrespectful from an outside perspective but that’s how the pair operate. Y/N likes being told. But recently she has been hesitating, literally and figuratively. She’ll abide only after Harry has asked two or three times, and on multiple occasions she will say something he deems bratty (“Make me,” tends to be her favourite) and trail off with big eyes—as though she’s waiting for him to punish her for it.

He never bites. He thinks he can tell that she wants him to; he never does. It never feels natural, never comfortable in his heart.

And then there’s the breaking of rules. Which he takes far more seriously. Not even to protect his ego but because Y/N’s rules are set in place to keep her healthy—and Harry cares about nothing more than her health.

When Harry first served Y/N fruit for breakfast, along with her magnificent blueberry pie he begrudgingly loved, it was obvious that Y/N wasn’t entirely impressed. She still ate it all, and grabbed a slice of toast as well (very much encouraged by Harry) but it wasn’t her deliciously disgusting cereal that she so often tucked into. So, being the kind, caring man that he is, Harry decided to find a way to increase her enjoyment of a healthy breakfast.

He did so with cookie cutters. Because Y/N appreciates cute, thoughtful gestures that don’t necessarily change one’s life but look nice on the eye and make things feel pretty. So he buys stars, and hearts, and flowers, and spends his time pushing fruit through them and presenting them nicely in a bowl. Just for Y/N.

And she loves it. Her eyes go all big, just the way Harry admires, her hands clasp and come up to her chest, and she responds as though he’s made some sort of grand gesture. He thinks she’s adorable, and watches her eat with a satisfied smile when she makes no complaint and bobs from side to side with such a sweet expression on her face.

That’s how he first gathers that something is off, because he knows she loves her breakfast now, so why is she suddenly refusing it? Why is she suddenly so insistent that she needs to have pain au chocolat or a fry up or something else just as equally soaked in oil or butter? Harry doesn’t give in, he doesn’t get angry. He tries to compromise with her in as calm a voice as ever, which he’ll admit he’s not used to having to do—because Y/N is never usually so argumentative.

Never so argumentative and never so absent whilst he was speaking to her. Like she’s trying to tune him out, or her thoughts are overpowering the sound of his voice. That frustrates Harry—feeling ignored, feeling unworthy of her attention—and he nearly snaps at her a few times for it. Somehow he maintains the patience and restraint not to, and is able to bring her back with a stroke of his knuckles over her skin. It feels wrong though, like they’re taking a step backwards, or like she is. Like she’s hiding herself away again. And he hates it.

But they still haven’t even had their first argument yet, though Harry feels it might be on the horizon.

It’s a cold, rainy day when that fact of their relationship changes.

The couple are at Y/N’s house for a change, huddled together on the sofa in a sweet exchange of kisses. Soft patterings against glass create the most wonderful ambience, like little fairies dancing on the keys of a piano, as the quiet smacking of lips fills in the gaps.

Harry’s arm, cloaked cosily in a thick, knitted jumper, rests around Y/N’s shoulder. Their heads are turned to the side in a way that suggests it was only meant to be one kiss—that inevitably turned into ten minutes of nothing else. Y/N’s fingers curl into the thigh of Harry’s joggers and his into the back of her hair as they sigh into each other’s mouths. Sweet balm is transferred to and fro, unable to identify who first applied the product.

When Y/N’s neck gets tired, she falls back to rest against the sofa; Harry follows in smooth motions, free hand coming to prop himself up on the other side of her body. He pulls away slightly, registering their reclining position and feeling his heart hammer at the sight of Y/N’s spit-slicked lips, plump from his own. She reaches behind his back to push him down onto her again, desperate pawing still remaining lethargic and unhurried.

He nestles her top lip in between his own two, nose squishing into the soft of her cheek. It comes out so blissfully, a harmless comment that turns sour—what he assumes is a hopeless display of how happy he is in this moment. Of how much he wishes he could stay like this for the rest of his life, as he whispers into her skin, “Y’should quit y’job.” Y/N doesn’t register it straightaway, too caught up in the heaven of Harry’s kiss—but when she does, her body stiffens.

He stops too, confused and suddenly worried he’s said something else. But she looks up at him with a nervous expression, like she has so much she wants to say but can’t possibly imagine articulating any of it. Despite having been somewhat out of it, Y/N remembers when he’d first asked her. In the shower, after changing her life on his sun lounger. She’d been able to play it off then, fuelled by dopamine and sleepy courage. But now… now it scares her. Now she doesn’t know what to say or how to say it.

Harry leans back further, eyes darting around her face as if to check for physical damage. “What’s wrong?” Almost as if controlled by a person, the rain hardens and thunder booms in the distance.

She jumps and shakes her head instinctively, despite her brain drowning in worry. “Nothing,” she whispers, hesitant hand scrunching into the front of his jumper to encourage him back.

“Don’t do that.” He’s gentle, grasping her fingers and entwining them with his, but his rejection sears deep. “You clammed up, baby. Talk to me.”

Y/N’s skin itches. “I— When you—,” she exhales, “Do you mean that?”

“That you should quit your job?” She nods. “I do. I do mean it. Do you not like that idea?”

She wants to more than anything. “I—I can’t.”

Harry’s patient. “And why not, darling?”

Y/N thinks that would be her dream come true. After all, the first night she’d met Harry she inadvertently spewed how happy she’d be not to work, and Niall had so obviously proclaimed her displeasure. But how could she actually, genuinely stop working and not feel completely using of Harry? They aren’t living together, they aren’t in love—at least not from his perspective, surely—they aren’t even conventionally matched. Because certainly, someone like Harry; someone so important and beloved, deserved a person on his arm that was confident, and flashy, and impressive in their own right. Y/N can hear him telling her how ridiculous of a notion that is, as she thinks it. But anxiety isn’t always rational.

What falls from her mouth hardly hits the tip of the iceberg. “I— It’s— I’d feel bad.”

“You’d feel bad?” Harry asks. He’s trying to think about this from her perspective. Understands, maybe, the initial hesitancy. It’s a big thing, to stop working, to rely on someone else but… what they have feels secure, it feels good. He thought she’d love the idea. “I need you to explain it to me, Y/N.”

She panics just trying to order the words into some sort of acceptable speech. “No,” she shakes her head, “no, it’s fine. I’m sorry,” her heart drops when Harry sits back completely, removing all of his touch. “Please, I— I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We have to talk about this, darlin’. It’s not good to push stuff down.” Y/N doesn’t say anything. She sits there, gaze averted from Harry’s intense jade. When the silence tips over the edge of definitive, and Harry feels his grasp of the situation loosening, he sighs, “Okay,” and stands up. He leaves her alone on the sofa and takes himself stoically to her kitchen to stare out of the window at the bleak downpour soundtracking this moment.

“Harry?” He hears her call, confused and nervous. He thinks if she won’t talk to him then he’ll just remove himself altogether. What purpose does he serve being there if she can’t even look at him? “Harry?” Another call followed by quiet shuffling along floorboards. “Why are you ignoring me?” Her voice sounds sad—it makes his chest tight to know he’s the cause.

Harry takes a deep breath and turns around to take in her dejected appearance. She looks so much smaller when she’s upset. “I’m not going to have this lack of a conversation with you anymore. If you can’t talk to me then I will go home. You need time to think.” His tone of voice is hard—lacking in delicacy. It sounds meaner than he intends it to.

Y/N’s brain immediately goes haywire—she can almost feel her neural pathways shrivelling up, imploding, disappearing completely. He’s upset with her. Finally. It’s happened. She’s actually done it—he’s going to go home and never see her again. He’s going to block her number and return all her stupid clothes and disgusting shampoo in a box on her doorstep. What had first felt like an attempt to protect her heart in a sabotaging but worthwhile way (and save Harry from the stress in the process) doesn’t feel relieving in the slightest. It feels despicable.

“I’m sorry,” her lip quivers, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Her lungs feel pea-sized, and her head feels thick. Tears blur her vision as she stands there in front of Harry like a little girl, crying over nothing. It’s made worse when he crouches down in front of her and encourages her knees to collapse around his body. He rubs her back soothingly, the warmth of his palms seeping through her cardigan, saying nothing but shushing gently into her hair.

After a while of Harry breathing deeply and slowly, and Y/N silently matching him, he speaks up. “I’m going to talk now. You don’t have to say anything, just listen t’me, okay?” She nods into his neck. The longer she can stay here, the longer she can avoid the humiliation of looking him in the eye after bursting into tears. “I think you should quit your job. I’ve known you loathed it since I met you—I encouraged you, in fact—that your want to stay at home isn’t silly. And not even a whole week ago you were telling me you hated it. You do so much for me, my love. Whilst still working. You bake wonderful treats, you clean everything despite me imploring that you do not have to. You breathe life into every room. You give me someone to come home to. And above all, you make me so, incomparably happy. Every single day.

“What about me wanting to share my wealth with you makes you so uncomfortable? I just want to provide for you the way you provide for me. And quite frankly, I haven’t been strict enough. I shouldn’t encourage you to work all day and still try to take care of me, especially when you don’t take well enough care of yourself. But that’s my job, yeah? Why won’t you let me do my job?”

Y/N’s breath quivers, “Y-you still want to?” peeking out from Harry’s freshly soaked neck.

“Of course I d—” He pauses and his expression turns to sadness. “Oh, darlin’. You didn’t think… Just because of a little argument? This is the tamest argument I’ve ever had in my entire life, baby.” Her face burns. “It is so normal for couples to fight. I’m not going to do anything drastic, don’t be so silly.” He pushes his lips to her hairline, feigning calm despite his heart weighing heavily in his chest. “Now come on,” his thumbs swipe underneath her eyes, “talk to me, please.”

“It’s just—” her fingers pick at the skin around her nails. “I feel so guilty. Because I’m so needy a-and you do so much for me already. And money is… money is a big thing. I don’t want to be a—” she whispers it, “—a gold-digger.” Harry opens his mouth but Y/N continues, staring at her hands, “We don’t li—live together, we’ve known each for months, it—it feels too good to be true. I don’t know.”

“You’re worrying about societal standards, lovely. You’re not a gold-digger and time doesn’t have to mean a thing.” He kisses the space between her eyes. “Look, we’ve discussed it now. I’m so proud of you. We don’t have to do a single thing else, just think about it, okay?”

Y/N looks up at the man who she loves more than anything in the entire world and feels her lips twitch ever so slightly into a small smile. It’s not the most authentic of smiles she’s ever displayed. But she still means it. And suddenly she wishes to tell him—she wishes to but she won’t. Not today. She feels proud of herself because Harry does, decides she’s been vulnerable enough as she nods and squeezes her arms underneath his armpits.

But this feeling of invincibility, the relief of having a cry and having someone there to soothe her—the adrenaline won’t last long—and maybe she should have confessed her feelings before the doubts returned.

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

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alessiasfreckles · 2 months

Text

amnesia - part 5 (ona batlle x reader, alexia putellas x reader, ona batlle x alexia putellas)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4

warnings: none

a/n: this is my favourite chapter so far!! twice as long as the other parts, hope y'all enjoy (also thank you to @codiemarin for plot help!!)

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You steeled yourself, leaning on your crutches, and rang the doorbell. Ona had suggested that she come to your place, so that you wouldn’t have to move too much, but you felt cooped up and restless, so you asked if you could meet at hers. Besides, you figured it probably made sense to go somewhere that you seemed to have spent a lot of time before the accident - even if you were apprehensive about seeing Ona.

When she opened the door, you were immediately struck by how exhausted she looked. As beautiful as ever, of course, but there were dark bags under her eyes, and they looked puffy, like she’d been crying.

“Hi!” she said, trying to keep her voice upbeat. “Was your journey okay?”

“Yeah, it was fine. Ale drove me,” you gestured to the car, where Alexia had been waiting to make sure you got inside okay. You knew that if you asked, she would have come inside with you, but you felt like this should be between you and Ona.

“Oh, good,” Ona waved to Alexia, who waved back before driving off. “You want to come inside?”

Nodding, you followed her through the door of her apartment building. The ride in the elevator was quiet, but as the bell dinged and you reached Ona’s floor, a memory appeared in your mind, of you and Ona. You were furiously making out in the elevator, hands desperately trying to touch anywhere they could on each other’s bodies, only breaking apart when the doors opened so that the brunette could take your hand and drag you into her apartment.

The mental image made you blush, and you felt that same urge to kiss Ona that you had in your apartment, just a couple days ago. You pushed it down, trying your best to ignore it, curious to see what her place looked like.

“Oh,” you said, walking into her apartment.

So, this was what home felt like. There was no other way to describe it. It was like every atom in your body heaved a deep sigh of relief, and you felt instantly as peace.

“Hm?” she gave you a questioning look, one eyebrow raised.

“Nothing, it- it just feels like home,” you explained.

As you followed Ona into her living room, your knees almost buckled underneath you as you were hit by waves and waves of memories. Countless nights spent cuddled up on the sofa, watching TV, playing games. Your arms wrapped around Ona’s waist as she cooked, placing soft kisses against the nape of her neck. Dancing to music in the kitchen, loudly singing along, bursting into giggles.

Your first kiss happened here. On the sofa, you’d been talking, flirting, drinking a little, when you leant over and kissed her.

“Are you okay? Here, sit down,” Ona asked, a concerned look on her face. She guided you to the sofa, one hand on your arm and the other on the small of your back, and you sat down with a soft thump. “Let me get you some water.”

Placing the glass on the table, she carefully sat down next to you. She watched your eyes rake over every inch of the apartment, waiting to see any signs of recognition.

“Do you remember anything new?”

“Yeah, I remember- so much,” you said, your voice thick. The onslaught of memories was making you choke up, your emotions soaking them up like a sponge. “I remember our first kiss, I remember dancing with you, I remember telling you I love you, I remember you trying to teach me how to cook your grandma’s recipe, I remember so many things.”

Ona’s eyes were wide and brimming with tears. She hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up, she had tried to prepare herself for you not to remember anything new, for you not to remember any of your relationship. She had been so focused on not letting herself even imagine the possibility of you remembering anything. And yet, here you were.

“You- you do?” she asked, her voice trembling.

You nodded, and wordlessly, Ona hugged you tightly, her arms wrapped around your shoulders. You could feel her body shaking, and when you wrapped your own arms around her, pulling her closer against you, it was like a wall in your mind was broken down. Feelings of love, comfort, and relief flooded through your body, and as she felt you pulling her closer, Ona’s body sagged against yours.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and even though you couldn’t see her face, you knew she was crying. “I’m so, so sorry. I never should have lied to you. I’m so sorry, I was so scared, but I shouldn’t have lied.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured, rubbing her back with one hand. “It’s okay.”

And it was. You were still upset about the lying, but you understood why she did it. More importantly, you knew that she loved you, and that you loved her. You had never been more sure of anything in your life - even without your memories, even if you still didn’t fully know who you were, you knew that you loved Ona, and nothing would change that.

“No more lying, I promise. No more secrets,” Ona said as she pulled back from the hug, wiping her damp eyes.

“That sounds good to me,” you smiled. Except… “There’s something I should tell you. Ale said, um, that she likes me. Romantically, I mean. She didn’t want to lie to me. But we said that everything will stay the same. I just thought you should know, since we’re being honest, and all.”

“Oh,” the brunette frowned. Her stomach was in knots, but she wasn’t sure why. She could recognise the feeling of jealousy, a voice in the back of her mind screaming ‘Mine!’, and surely it was you the voice meant. That would make sense. She was jealous that Alexia liked you, because you were hers, not Alexia’s. Right?

“Is that okay?” you asked gently, smoothing out the line between her eyebrows with your thumb. You weren’t sure why, it just felt like the right thing to do.

She smiled at you, leaning into your touch. “Yes. You always used to do that, you know? When I was worried, or upset. I wouldn’t even know I was frowning sometimes until you did that.”

“Really?”

“Mh-hm. You’re a very touchy person - you always want to have your hands on me, or be touching,” Ona said, nodding down to where your leg was pressed flush against hers, your other hand on her knee.

“Oh, sorry,” you quickly moved your hand, cheeks burning, but she caught it and put it back.

“No, I like it.”

You spent the next few hours talking about everything and anything, your relationship, your friendship, training. When your phone rang it made you jump, pulling you out of the conversation with a jolt.

“Oh, it’s Ale,” you said, looking down at your phone. “I told her I would message her when we were down so she could pick me up. I didn’t realise so much time had gone by!”

Ona’s face hardened slightly at the mention of the blonde, just for a second, before relaxing again. She watched you talk on the phone, telling Alexia you’d be right down before hanging up.

“I’ll walk you down,” she said, helping you up off the sofa. As the two of you walked, her hand was comfortably on your waist, like it belonged there. In the elevator, you thought about what you’d remembered on the way up, and blushed again.

“Will you kiss me?” you asked. “It’s okay if you don’t want to yet, I just-”

“No, I want to!” Ona quickly interrupted you. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, and she smiled with relief before leaning in. Her lips were soft against yours, and the kiss was over before it had even started, Ona worried about pushing you too far. You couldn’t help but smile as she pulled away, your body finally feeling somewhat at peace.

As the two of you walked to the front door, you could see Alexia waiting in her car outside. She waved to you, and as you started to leave, Ona grabbed your arm.

“Wait,” she said, and pulled you into another kiss. This one was harsher than the first one, more desperate, but over just as soon. “Okay, now you can go.”

“I take it the two of you made up?” Alexia asked dryly as she helped you into the car.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you blushed, realising she’d seen the whole thing. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” she said, a wry smile on her face. “I dealt with it before and I can deal with it now. I’m a big girl, it is okay.”

You nodded, but still felt bad. Something about your guilty conscience was off, though. It didn’t seem like it was just because Alexia had seen you and Ona, it felt like there was more to it than that.

When Ona arrived at training the next day, she was riled up. She had spent the night tossing and turning, thinking about what you’d told her about Alexia’s feelings, and had decided she was going to confront the captain. Admittedly, she wasn’t sure what she was confronting her about - it wasn’t like she could ban Alexia from having feelings for you, but she figured that she could decide exactly what to say once she was there.

The door to the changing room flung open, and Alexia looked up in surprise. She was always at the training grounds early, and it would be at least another 30 minutes before her teammates started to arrive. Ona stormed into the room, the door closing with a loud bang behind her.

“We need to talk,” she said, folding her arms and looking down at the captain, who was sat on the bench.

“Okay,” Alexia said. “Go ahead.”

“You have feelings for Y/N?”

Alexia nodded calmly. She thought it might be about that. “She told you?”

“Si,” Ona nodded curtly. “Why did you never tell me? How long have you had feelings?”

The blonde shrugged. “Why would I tell you? I didn’t want to get in the way. It started after she came here, I suppose.”

“Why? Why her?”

“What do you mean, why her? For the same reasons you love her, most likely.”

“No, but,” Ona huffed impatiently. “I just-”

“What is this really about?” Alexia asked, standing up. Ona suddenly felt very small as the captain stood, looking down at her.

“This is about your feelings!” Ona said, trying to stand her ground.

“But my feelings should not be a problem for you?” the blonde countered, one eyebrow raised.

“Well, they are, okay? They’re a problem because it’s making things confusing!”

“Oh? What things are my feelings making confusing?”

“Well, I- You-,” Ona stammered.

“Maybe it’s you whose feelings are confused,” Alexia said, her tone light, almost teasing, and Ona blushed.

“What? No, my feelings aren’t confused. Or, well, maybe they are, but it’s your fault, and-”

“Why are your feelings confused? Why is it my fault?”

Ona bristled, getting riled up again at the casual tone the captain was using. “It’s your fault because… because…”

“Because?”

“Because you used to feel that way about me! You used to look at me the way you look at her now, you used to look after me and take care of me and want to spend time with me!”

Ona’s mouth was open as she realised what she’d said, her eyes wide.

“Oni, I-” Alexia started to talk when the younger player interrupted her, realising that if she’d said all that she might as well keep going.

“It’s not fair! I want you to feel that way about me again!”

Alexia sighed, her heart hurting for Ona. “Oni, I do still feel that way about you. I care about you both, so, so deeply.”

“You do?” the brunette’s voice was small, her brows furrowed.

“Yes, I-”

Alexia was cut off by Ona reaching up and pulling her into a bruising kiss. She couldn’t help but wrap an arm around Ona’s waist, her other hand gently cradling her cheek. She had wanted to do this for so long.

A door opened somewhere with a bang, the sound echoing through the mostly empty training facility, and the two broke apart with a jump.

“Fuck,” Ona whispered. “What are we going to tell Y/N?”

#hannah writes fics #ona batlle #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle fanfic #ona batlle imagine #alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas fanfic #ona batlle x alexia putellas #alexia putellas x ona batlle #woso fanfic #woso #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine

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theveryworstthing · 3 months

Text

I'm Alive

I posted this on patreon so I might as well post it again here. Hopefully current and past patrons see this as well as people who have just been generally curious about where I've been.

I'm very sorry for not being around and I'm very grateful to those who stuck around. To those who didn't, I get it and I truly appreciate you passing through.

Last year and the beginning of this year have been pretty bad. Some of you might have heard about my grandma's death and sadly, she was just the first of the family losses in the time I've been gone. There was also a friend's death discovery, my parents' health tanking, my friends Going Through It, and my own physical/mental problems. I didn't want to talk to the internet about these things because they were/are very overwhelming and private and tbh I used all my energy to help with the household and make sure work got turned in on time. When I had spare time after dealing with the near constant disasters, I didn't really feel like interacting with the internet at all beyond using it as a way to talk to far away friends (mostly to give them the thumbs up that i was alive) or watch/read things when my brain was less scrambled. Social media was an absolute no go and I didn't have any non-work art to post so I just kind of mentally crawled under the porch to die lol.

I only drew work related things for months due to extreme burnout and it took me almost a month off after my last job to remember how to create again. I couldn't draw or write, it was kinda like art block except it was more like nothing was there at all? It's hard to explain.

Things are still happening but I need to get back in the saddle eventually so here I am.

I'm going to post the little art I did in June and all the sketches I did in January when I re-learned how to draw for myself. Again, I'm so sorry for being away without saying anything and I'm grateful to whoever threw me a buck, or even just casually enjoyed my art. Leaving like I did was really irresponsible and there's no excuse for not at least making a post about all of this sooner. Every month I got a patreon payment was another wave of guilt because I literally couldn't give y'all anything but at the same time that money was letting me book flights to funerals and keeping my mom comfortable while she recovered from surgery right after I spent a lot of my savings in 2022 trying to fight my late cat's cancer. And then not posting about what was going on made me more anxious as time went on because there was more guilt every month so I felt like I needed to come back with a bunch of art and energy and good reasons and it was just. A Mess.

But anyway.

I'm alive, I'm back. The Horrors persist, but so do I.

Thank you for your patience.

#talkin

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startwelve · 3 months

Text

💌romantic scene

Eddie Munson x shyfem!reader

Synopsis: You and Eddie are having a movie night and without knowing it, you chose an adult romance movie.

Warning: Only mention of moaning and suggestion of what the protagonists of the movie you and Eddie watch are doing.

Eddie was waiting for you outside his trailer, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. You were taking longer than expected for your movie night. Then you showed up, walking tiredly and somewhat breathless.

"Hey, why did you take so long?" Eddie asked.

"I'm sorry," you apologized quickly.

"I'm sorry won't cut it this time, princess. I was really worried, what if you had an accident? What if some psycho stalker was looking for you?" he said semi-jokingly, crossing his arms with a raised eyebrow.

"My lip balm ran out, so I had to go to the pharmacy to buy another one," you confessed.

Your confession puzzled him; he couldn't believe you had been delayed because of lip balm. And he wouldn't understand why you needed to have that lip balm with you.

"An emergency with lip balm? Are you kidding, princess?" he asked, obviously not believing a word.

"I'm sorry…"

"I've been waiting for hours, and you were late because of your stupid lip balm?" he said, rolling his eyes before stepping aside and opening the door to let you in. "Anyway, come on, it's movie night."

"It's not a stupid lip balm, it's what helps me stay alive every day," you commented as you entered his trailer.

Eddie rolled his eyes and sat on the couch next to you. He remembered your little obsession with lip balms. He chuckled with a smile.

"Alright, maybe your lipstick helps you feel pretty, but saying it gives you life is a bit dramatic."

You frowned, remembering that he loved something as much as you loved your lip balms.

"What would happen to you if your guitar broke right now?"

Eddie raised his eyebrows, and his smile faded slightly. He crossed his arms and looked away. His guitar was very important to him.

"Don't joke about my guitar. It's not the same at all."

"If you say so…"

"It's not the same at all. You can live without your precious lip balm."

Now you crossed your arms.

"No! Because if I don't use my lip balm anymore, my lips will end up as dry and ugly as my grandma's."

Eddie couldn't believe you were arguing over lip balm.

"Anyway, let's watch the movie. What do you want to watch? Horror, action, or romance?"

"Romance…"

Eddie preferred a horror movie. Romance movies made him sick, especially the ones you chose. Eddie's eyebrow raised, and a smile appeared on his lips. He knew what you were doing.

"You want to watch romance? A silly chick flick?"

"Yes, I brought one," you said eagerly and searched your bag for the cassette; the movie was very sugary and sweet.

Eddie groaned.

"Can we watch horror or action? I don't want to watch a cheesy romantic movie."

"You didn't want to watch a horror movie last time; you couldn't sleep well for two weeks," you reminded him. "Fine, fine. We'll watch your little cheesy romantic movie. Are you happy?" he said in an exaggerated tone and raised his hands in a gesture of submission.

"Yes," you replied triumphantly.

Eddie groaned.

"Whatever you say, princess," he said and shook his head. "So, what kind of romantic movie are we watching?" It was the typical cliché of a love triangle between a good girl, a popular guy, and a lonely, marginalized guy. "Oh, so a typical romantic story?"

"I think so."

Eddie rolled his eyes and walked to the TV. He grabbed the remote and turned it on before turning to you.

"So, who do you think she'll choose in the end?"

"Mmm, she always chooses the one who treats her best…"

The movie started, and you watched it. The movie was absolutely sweet, and Eddie was getting bored watching it, almost falling asleep. But you were fascinated by the movie. Until you were horrified when, in the middle of the movie, the popular guy took the protagonist to his dressing room to kiss her, and Eddie started laughing at your expression. He sat down and watched, his lips curving into a smile.

"That's it! We've reached the kissing scene. I bet the loner will swoop in and give her the best kiss, and she'll realize who the real man for her is."

Eddie covered his mouth to suppress a laugh.

"But, Eddie, there's more going on than…" you couldn't finish speaking because of a moan from the protagonist.

Your eyes widened when you heard the sound of the moan; it was unexpected. He looked at you and saw that you were as surprised as he was.

"Well, that's surprising, a scene of true love in a romantic movie? I never would have imagined it."

You grabbed the cassette cover to read it better; you had bought it because you found the cover romantic, and the guy at the counter had told you it was a very good movie. Now you understood why… Down on the left in small letters, it said "+18".

Eddie was laughing out loud at this point. This is quite amusing. No wonder he had no idea a romantic movie could be so explicit. Eddie couldn't stop laughing. He looked at her and noticed how uncomfortable she was.

"Wow, it's even affecting me. I can't believe they put this scene in a romantic movie. Are you okay, princess?"

"Take out the movie, Eddie, I don't want to watch it anymore."

Eddie smiled and got up.

"Okay, princess. I guess the movie was too hot for you to handle."

He walked to the VCR and took out the cassette.

"Why do you say that?"

Eddie laughed again.

"Well, it was pretty obvious that you felt uncomfortable with the love scene. I guess you've never seen anything like it before."

"Never," you confessed with embarrassment.

He raised an eyebrow. It was good to know she was a little inexperienced. It made her even more adorable and cute.

"Really? The way you blushed made me think you had quite a rude awakening with that scene."

"I, umm, yeah," you lied.

Eddie laughed.

"Your cheeks are still a bit red. It's

very cute…"

He still couldn't believe you blushed so much because of a scene like that. "What a protected princess," Eddie thought.

"You?," you asked in a timid whisper.

Eddie arched an eyebrow and gave you a mischievous smile.

"What about me?"

"For you, for you, for you, I mean, umm, did the scene affect you?"

He laughed, finding you adorable.

"Well, I was a bit surprised too. I didn't expect a romantic movie to be so, let's say, realistic. But I didn't blush or anything."

"No?"

Eddie laughed again.

"No."

Of course, your reaction was more adorable than he could ever be. Especially when you're so nervous. He likes this side of you. The innocent side. It's more fitting. He thought it would be fun to start teasing you more for being a protected princess.

"Oh, really?"

Eddie smiled. You were even more flushed now. This was starting to seem more like flirting than just a joke.

"Yes, I didn't blush like you."

You looked at your hands, which were nervously playing with your skirt, then at the TV, and then at Eddie, searching for the words to ask him a question.

"You, you, you know, not, umm…"

"Do I know what?" Eddie asked, with a slightly raised eyebrow.

He found it cute how you kept looking down or away every time you asked something.

You took a deep breath and asked quickly.

"Have you ever done it?"

Eddie froze for a second. "Did she just ask what I think she asked? Why is she blushing even more?" Eddie thought.

"Done what?"

"What they did in the movie," you whispered.

Eddie laughed again and shook his head.

"Oh, do you mean something like this?" His lips quickly approached your face, causing his breath to caress your small, soft lips. You jumped in surprise, and a small scream escaped your lips. Eddie immediately jumped back, startled by your reaction.

"Are you okay? I didn't mean to scare you."

You covered your mouth with your hand in surprise; you just didn't expect him to do that.

"I didn't expect it."

"Oh, I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable. You're being so cute right now," Eddie said with a mischievous smile.

You had only been kissed once in high school, by a guy in the courtyard. You didn't like it. His breath smelled like fish, he used too much saliva, and his tongue almost choked you. And when you confessed to Eddie that you had only been kissed once, he couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe you were so inexperienced and hadn't kissed someone more than once. So he decided to keep teasing you.

"Only once? Well, then I guess I should show you the real deal. Would you like that, princess?"

Your cheeks flushed; you wanted to.

Eddie laughed. The teasing was working. Eddie got up and knelt beside you. He extended a hand and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. He got very close to your face. Your breath caught in your throat, and you opened your eyes in surprise. Eddie's lips were only inches away from yours, and you could feel his warm breath brushing against your lips. The scent of his cologne filled your nose; it was a perfect blend of citrus and lavender. He brushed your cheek with his other hand. It sent a shiver down your spine.

"Are you okay there, princess?" he joked. "Is it okay if I continue? Or do you prefer we wait?"

You couldn't speak; the words wouldn't come out. "Oh, this is adorable. I think I should do it," Eddie thought to himself. His hand still tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. His thumb gently stroked your cheek. His lips were so close that you could feel his breath against your lips. With one hand, he cradled your face. You sighed nervously.

"I like that you're so quiet, princess. It makes me want to kiss you more than before." He leaned in slowly, moving his lips very slowly towards yours.

Eddie's lips brushed gently against yours, and you felt his breath filling your lungs. It was soft and warm. He pulled away and looked into your eyes. He had just given you your first real kiss. Eddie's hand was under your chin as he held your face, looking into your eyes, waiting for your response.

"You kissed me," you whispered.

Eddie smiled.

"Yes, I kissed you."

You didn't know what to say; you just wanted him to kiss you again. Eddie leaned in a little more, and then his lips met yours again. This time it was more intense, with more passion than before. You didn't want to break the kiss and waited for you to pull away first. Eddie noticed that you had no idea what you were doing with your lips, so he took the lead. He moved his hands to the back of your head and pulled you a little closer to the kiss. His tongue gently met yours, and his lips moved in sync with yours. Eddie's thumb stroked your cheek, and he felt excited thinking to himself. He continued kissing you intensely. His lips pressed harder against yours, and you could feel his breath in your throat. His tongue explored your mouth, making it a more intimate and passionate moment. Slowly, you pulled away from him, feeling overwhelmed by the kiss.

Eddie let go of your face and sat back down. He hoped you weren't too upset now that he had stopped. Eddie watched you breathe and saw that your face was flushed. You were acting very shy now. And he wondered how you felt about how he kissed you.

"So, princess, did you like my kiss?"

"Yes," you whispered.

"So, is that a yes for me to kiss you again?" He leaned in very slowly, moving his lips closer to yours.

You nodded your head. Eddie leaned in again, this time seeking a less intense kiss. It was softer than a passionate kiss. His hands held you by the cheeks. His tongue touched yours gently. He continued to smile to himself as he kissed her.

#fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x shyfem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #cute #cute read #shygirl #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #stranger things

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roboticchibitan · 1 year

Text

I remember when same sex marriage was legized in my state (3 years before obergefel vs Hodges which legalized it nationwide). It won by a very narrow margin.

People who had taken care of me when I was young, people who were like second parents to me, (along with half the other people I knew) were saying it was the end times because I could now get married. And I couldn't help but wonder... would those people have protected me, cared for me, let me play with their children, if they had known I would grow up to be queer?

I came out in 2011. I was lucky. My parents were accepting. My mom was clearly uncomfortable at first but she made it clear she loved me no matter what.

Except.

My dad didn't care if I was queer and assured me that didn't mean there was anything wrong with me (in a speech I didn't need to hear but I think he needed to say). But he still said "that's gay" and "that's faggy" anytime my little brother showed vulnerability.

And I was a lucky one. My father used homophobic slurs around me regularly. He turned the word gay into a slur with his homophobic mouth. And I was a lucky one.

When I came out publicly, my grandmother stopped speaking to me for a while. I'm lucky that she changed her mind. I'm lucky that my grandparents let me bring my girlfriend with me when I went to visit them in October. October of 2022 and I still consider myself lucky that my grandparents let my queer partner into their house. My other grandma likewise visited with us, and was polite and friendly, but she still refused to call my gf anything other than "your friend." Still lucky. Incredibly lucky.

People don't understand just how bad things were as much as ten years ago. When I came out at school, I was lucky. No one bullied me. No one shoved me into lockers or called me slurs. They all just stopped talking to me. I became invisible. I went to a small school. I was the only person who was out. Exactly one person talked to me the rest of the year. And I was a lucky one.

When I was in middle and highschool, the go to insult was "that's gay." I heard it constantly. Every day. Sometimes people said it to me to insult me, long before I even knew I was queer.

I was lucky because the worst that happened to me was social isolation and people using slurs around me or turning my identity into a slur. No one called ME faggy. No one beat me up behind the school bleachers. I was incredibly lucky.

I have experienced the word "gay" used as a slur far more than I ever heard the word "queer" used as a slur. Young "queer is a slur and only a slur" people need to know the world you live in is not the world the rest of us live in. Why is "queer" a slur but "gay" isn't? My homophobic father thought the word "gay" conveyed just as much offense and disgust as the word "faggot." So why is queer the horrible word that can never be reclaimed but people say "that's gay" as a compliment now? The loneliest I have ever felt was in a room full of teenagers who thought my identity was the height of insults. So why is gay fine but queer isn't?

I am a fat butch queer and I do not hide that. My shoes have a pride flag on them. I have a masculine haircut and wear men's clothes. I look queer.

And I am afraid. I dress like this anyway, because I want other queer folks to know I am a safe person. I dress how I do partially because I like it but also partially so any queer person in the room, no matter now closeted, can see me and feel a little bit safer. Because I will protect other queer people with my life if need be.

Because I am openly and visibly queer and live in a world where being queer can get you killed. Because it can. Gay bashings still happen. The alt right are getting bolder in their violence, and that includes homophobic/transphobic violence. There are organizations in the US that are actively pushing to make homosexuality punishable by death in Africa. They know they could never accomplish that here. But they would if they could. People want us dead.

Young people need to understand that. And they need to understand that the people who did the most work to free us from criminalization were queer. They identified as queer. And they weren't the perfect law abiding queers toeing the line of what's acceptible. Because being queer itself was illegal. You could end up on the sex offender registry for being gay. In fact, there are queer people who are STILL registered as sex offenders just because they were queer in 2001. Pride wasn't a permitted parade with wells Fargo floats. It was angry queers illegally marching down the streets, screaming "We're here. We're queer. Get used to it."

Being openly queer is a radical act. It is still a radical act.

I did not live through Windsor vs the united states, the referendum 74 debate, my father punishing my brother for being human with homophobic slurs, and the pearl clutching fearmongering about "the gay agenda" (that was a go to phrase for 2012 homophobes) for some LGBT kid to come at me with TERF bullshit they got off tiktok about how my identity is a slur and I'm a horrible person for using it.

I was a lucky one and I'm still saying "no, absolutely not" to this bullshit.

Queer is more inclusive. Queer accounts for any possible fluidity because people change. Identities change. Queer is there for people who know they're Something Different but are not sure of the details yet. Queer is intentionally vague. When you're young you want everyone to know exactly who you are but as you get older you realize actually my identity is none of your business. In fact, sometimes when you tell someone your identity, you're handing them a bludgeon for them to hurt you with.

If you have trans classmates, you do not understand the world the rest of us grew up in. Trans people were not a public topic. They were not even acknowledged as existing by most people. I didn't know what being trans was until I was like 17. I'm nonbinary now and consider myself trans 10 years later.

And I didn't even have it that bad. But you know what? It still sucked and it was still hard and I can't imagine what it was like to grow up a decade before I did. I had it easy compared to most people.

If you can jokingly say "that's gay" when someone expresses queer love, then you can fucking handle people using the word queer as their identity.

The infighting and policing each other has to stop. You're oppressing queer people with this bullshit. It does not matter what words queer people use to describe themselves when there are people actively killing us. What are you doing? For fucks sake look at the bigger picture. Direct all that rage at our oppressors and the people who mean us harm. Queer people and he/him lesbians and bi lesbians and people who use neo pronouns and whoever else is the discourse of the day do not deserve this kind of treatment. Punch a homophobe and maybe you'll feel better.

#tw homophobia #had to go on a rant because I was thinking about how trapped and afraid I felt during the referendum 74 debate #nothing was safe #no one was safe #we are still not safe #discourse

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ghostieyanyan · 2 months

Text

♡~Yandere Valentine in Twisted Wonderland~♡

Yan!Twisted wonderland x mc (separated)

sorry this is a bit late but here's some of my short takes on valentines day in twisted wonderland!

Warnings: yandere, lack of proof reading (sorry), collars, pet-play, drugs, manipulation, hinting nsfw, beating someone up, dead animal, wedding, hidden camera, (if theres anything missing please do tell me)

~~~~~

Riddle

Riddle has been planning something for you before February even started, probably before new year too. He understand that he doesn't really have a nurturing touch, thanks to his mom, like the others do. But that wouldn't stop him from trying his best to make you feel special.

He'll ask you to have tea with him and if you happen to be distracted by "other matters." he doesn't mind using his unique spell and pull you around by the collar, like a dog.

"its very rude to not pay attention to the person that invited you out.."

~~~~~

Trey

As a vice house warden, he understands that you'll be busy. not just Crowley giving you either impossible or pointless work, or the fact that every boy from each and every dorm are falling to their feet just for you on valentines day, hoping you'll notice them.

Trey knows he's not like some flash students here but he knows what he's good at and doesn't need to try too hard like some other desperate students.

"Hey, perfect! i made you something, your favorite, with a little personal Trey touch~ you should probably eat it all now. Before Grim does."

~~~~~

Cater

Cater is pretty good at getting your attentions. Magicless other worlder, he just has to invite you to something outside of NRC and then watch as your eyes sparkles. Kind of reminds him of a little kid that just need extra attention which he's happy to do.

He'll show you cool different places, shops and cafes. All these cool places are picture perfect and he just loves dressing up with you. from an outside eye, it almost looks like you 2 are dating~

"Perfect! Look at this! we should totally take a picture here with our treats! Say "Happy Valentines Day~!"

~~~~~

Ace

You were very confused on why Ace has been grumpy all day. you tried everything to make him feel better but nothing. You bought him food, drinks, candy from Sam's. nothing.

After the day was over, you made it back to the dorm and Ace decided to follow you back? you tried to ask him what's wrong buy he swiftly grabbed you and rush to your room!

"All day has been a pain.. everyone gawking at you. All the meaningless gifts. All of it! Tonight, you're gonna make it up to me by letting me sleep with you!"

~~~~~

Deuce

Deuce wants to turn a new leaf and doesn't want to look back at his delinquent side every again. he's a new deuce now, a student that's just trying to get good grades and trying to be well respected. but old habits die hard.

Any and every time some one even looks in your way, he's sending daggers at them. and if they don't get the hide, he'll tell you that he needs to use the restroom and for you to stay where you are until he's back. he'll be quick...

"sorry it took me a while, there was.. a long line... wanna get lunch now?"

~~~~~

Leona

Leona, normally, doesn't care for this holiday. his brother always ask him if he's "stolen any hearts" this year? its always the same answer. but this year was different.

For once, he gotten some valentines gift. he remembered, not because he was eavesdropping, he just sleeping and you and your friends were talking about valentines gifts. how you had too many and how you might have to do several trips to bring them back to your dorm...

when you looked at your pile of valentines, instead of valentines, you saw sand.. and a plush lion with a card, flowers, and chocolate..

~~~~~

Ruggie

Ruggie cant really communicate with his grandma that much, cause they're not in a position to have phones but he does send letters now and then.

Each letter has there, 'how are you?'s to their 'are you taking care of yourself?'s. Now his letters to his grandma had this mysterious person, and how 'he's feels his heart flutter whenever they're near.' there also might be some 'I'm worried that I'm not good enough' he was very happy to get this letter back

"don't worry, sweetheart~ you should bring them over and ill give them a good talking to."

~~~~~

Jack

Jack tried everything to stay away from you all day. You're smell was just too intoxicating for him. Jack didn't want to risk spending time with you and his instinct...

he could tell, the other beastmen felt the same way. So all day, he kept his distance while also putting other beastmen in their place when they get a little too handy with you. luckily you didn't notice a thing.

But when you approached him, he couldn't just push you away. you mean too much to him. he doesn't want you to see him like.. a monster.

"Hi, prefect. how's you're day..?"

~~~~~

Azul

Azul tried to just charm you with his charisma alone, no shady actions, no "read the fine print." it seem like he was on his best behavior all day. it made you feel uncomfortable for a hot while.. but after a few hours you gotten use to it.

It was all in Azul's plan. instead of flatly telling you or tricking you to form a contact with him. he was gonna show you that you could rely on him, to trust him. so when you do sign a contact with him, you're guard will be so low, you wouldn't ever dare look at the fine print

"Prefect? Would you like to stop by Mosta lounge for lunch? there's a special i know you'll love. oh! its on the house."

~~~~~

Jade

before valentines day, Jade asked you to go out with him on a hilling trip. you'll find great mushrooms and if you find any 'shiny treasure' you could keep it as payment. you felt bored at the time and went with it. it was pretty fun. Jade taught you about wildlife and camping and you just enjoyed being out and about, anywhere than Grim's messes was a fresh air.

But on one of the day's out, Jade fell and hurt himself! it'll take a while for you guys to head back so you both decided to just wait until it heals, or when jade is "strong enough" to head back.

"aww.. prefect, you're too sweet for taking care of me~"

~~~~~

Floyd

Floyd has been a pin to your side all day. every time you were just talking to your friends or in line for lunch or whatever, Floyd comes out of nowhere, picks you up and runs away from your friends. it doesn't help that his long legs gives him a big advantage. the fact you cant struggle that much and the fact that you're friends cant keep up with Floyd...

When he finally gets alone time with you he just wants to play or just stare at you... its a mix really. sometimes he'll tell you he wants to show you a trick he learned from the basketball club. sometimes he just wants to walk around with you on his shoulders. but one things for sure, everyone is staying far away from both of you...

"Shrimpy! look at this! it kind of reminds me of you.. cause you're smol~"

~~~~~

Kalim

Lets admit it, when Kalim falls in love, he falls HARD. Like he would spoil his love rotten if he could. But he knows that you wouldn't allow him to do so, cause you're just too sweet.

Kalim loves to watch you work sometimes, you're so hard working even though you're in a situation that he couldn't imagine. Far from home with no contacted to your families, that's terrible. but he'll show you that he could help solve all your problems. But he doesn't want to overwhelm you so he'll start small.

"HEY PREFECT!!! Look what i got you! Golden bangles! they have our initials on them too! Come on, try them on! I'll help."

~~~~~

Jamil

Jamil could easily used his unique spell on you but with it being Valentines day plus every student's having their eyes on you, he cant do it without getting caught. So, he'll have have to charm you with the next best thing, food.

He understand the for some people, food is their love language. He wasn't sure if that's you but he does know that you love his food. so a win is a win.

He'll make you not only your favorite foods but his own too. As a "get to know me" dish. Watching you enjoy his hard work, was like breathing fresh air. he loves your presence.

"here prefect, you can have more. i made it for you after all. hmm..? oh repayment? just repay me by spending the day with me.. just me."

~~~~~

Vil

Without warning, on a weekend, Vil grabs you and tells you get to dress. he's taking you out. You couldn't really say no to him so off you went.

He took you to store to store to store. Each store had either something he liked or something he didn't. did you have a say in anything? no.

It felt weird a bit but overtime that feeling went away and you were left with giving Vil a mini show fashion show... with just you and him...

~~~~~

Rook

Saying Rook loved you was an understatement. he loved your hair, your eyes, your walk, your demeaner, everything. On one of his strolls by your dorm, he noticed that you were taking care of a stray animal in your backyard.

You left food for it, you made a spot it could rest, you had a whole set up. even though you don't have a lot of money, you're golden heart shined through. He felt like cupid just struck him through the heart. He would like to do the same to you...

so on Valentines day, you found a box at your door step. inside the box... was your stray friend's lifeless body...

~~~~~

Epel

Epel's family loves to send him letters, he at least gets one every week. they're all mostly asking if he needs anything or family updates, etc. But now talks about you his letter. last time he visited his family, they kept asking about you.

Epel feeling the pressure of his family, told them that you and him were together and how you had "other things to take care of" and that's why you're not with him. they seem to calm down and jumped to another family topic. Now Epel has to convince you to "pretend" hopefully don't for long, that he was your boyfriend for his family.

"umm... hey prefect? i have a favor to ask you..?"

~~~~~

Idia

Idia normally doesn't care of any holidays, in general. he mainly does them for his brother or whenever a game was having a seasonal event. but he couldn't say he had someone special to "sit by the fireplace with him with hot chocolate" or "having a picnic out in spring" or even "being or having a valentine"... He didn't mind it...

which what he'll normally say, until he saw you with your pile of valentines day gifts! augh.. why do you have to be so popular?!

With a lot of pushing from ortho, he finally gave you your gift. it was a blue teddy that looked like hades. You didn't have to know about the hidden camera and mic in it. you could just thank him by sleeping with it~

~~~~~

Malleus

Malleus couldn't really celebrate valentine's day.. he's a prince of Briar Valley, after all. Having him give a valentines day gift can be interpreted as a marriage proposal. that will look every bad for Briar Valley. But the heart wants what it cant have~

His heart belonged to you and he would gladly throw away his position as a prince for you. or... he could just ask you to marry him?

He didn't want anything to come to harm you because of him, so in secret, he made you a wedding dress/suit. Until his graduation, he'll ask you to marry him and then he'll pick you up and off to Briar Valley, ruling together~

~~~~~

Lilia

Lilia loves a good trip. So many places to see, so many things to do. He wants to take you to see it all. why stay at NRC and just reading about other places when you could go out with him. he may be older but he could still protect you with all he has and he'll still be able to show you a fun time. Oh maybe he should show you how to fight?

He's had his eyes on you since you came to the school, you were so strange but you are never boring. something always happened with you around but you all ways find a way out of it. you're, well..... perfect.

"Prefect! guess who got 2 tickets to Shaftland! why just two? for me and you silly. come on, get your things. I'm gonna show you so much more of this twisted wonderland"

~~~~~

Silver

You understand that Silver is just a tried guy. so you do everything in your power to make sure he's okay and not gonna get hurt. After a while of this, you've noticed that Silver's holds on you, when ever you go and move him to a safer place, is more forceful than normal? You just told yourself that it was just sleepy silver but it doesn't seem like silver noticed and you didn't mind.

Whenever Silver was awake, you noticed that he's always just a call away. he wasn't over your shoulder or anything but you did see him more often than you usual did... were you thinking too much on this..?

"hey prefect? i got you some treats from Sam's... happy valentines day~"

~~~~~

Sebek

Sebek is loud. that is not an understatement. bet Sebek probably knows that too. he often uses it to tell other to "respected Malleus." but today he was oddly quiet? you tried to ask him if everything was okay, he said he's fine. Also whenever the other first years asked, he'll snap but not at his normal loud tone?

Without you realizing, Sebek was actually fighting an inner demon of his. Humans, like yourself, were so small and weak. yes, Silver is human too but he's a trained human, you weren't.

He sometimes wonders... how easy would it be to over-power yo-

~❦~❦~❦~

Che'nya

When Che'nya first appear in front of you with just his head, you, ace, and deuce all screamed. he loved it~ but your little squeak whenever you get scared, gets his blood pumping. like the rush you get when you catch you first mouse~

He started to visit more often then before, but not just to say hi to trey and riddle. but to spook their little perfect. a pick to the side here. a blowing into your ear there.

He just cant keep his hands off you! the best part, he doesn't have plans on even telling you it was him.

~~~~~

Neige

but to Vil's dismay, Neige kept bugging him about you! the mysterious manager~ Vil got so tired on it that he just pointed him to your dorm. Which Neige was happy to run to see you.

When he saw you place, he's heart broke a little. how could someone so lovely as you, live in a dump like this? He found you out in the back yard cleaning. it kind of reminded him of himself, run down building taking care of others. you were perfect for him!

"Heya! perfect, right? i was wondering, would you like to go on a date with me?"

~~~~~

Rollo

Rollo will not caught walking into THAT school. but that wont stop him from appreciating you. Whether it takes a few days to a few years, Rollo swears to himself that he will save you from the hell hole your in.

but in the mean time he'll send you some flowers and a gift basket filled with Fleur City treats and fun toys that you liked when you last visit. if only you were in that school and you were in his, he'll show you so much and treat you much better than those.. "monsters."

"If though I'm not there, i hope you enjoy my gift. maybe next time you could visit again and I'll give you a personal tour."

~❦~❦~❦~

you can see this as platonic or romantic

~~~~~

Crowley

Crowley is a very strange bird man? says he cares for you then runs away with his feather tail in between his legs. Or when he just hands you work when he could easily do them himself. He's a very strange man so when he was insisting on you to stay by his side all day? it confused you.

like he'll have you in his office and when you tell him you needed to go. he'll "get sad" and say "awww.. i guess ill just power through all this paper work"

you thought he just wanted you to do the paper work (that you could do) so you did. you didn't figure out that maybe he just wanted you by his side so no one could see/ give you anything for valentines day.

~~~~~

Crewel

Crewel is a very classic man. so when he asked you to help him with some of his designs, you were quite confused. why not ask Vil or anyone from pomefiore? nonetheless, you helped as best as you can. giving your input on designs, telling him what you thought looked nice, getting materials for him, etc.

After you helped him make a set, he asked you to model them for him. he "wanted it on an actual person than a motionless mannequin."

You didnt know that he was doing this so you wouldnt be laying down with dogs with fleas today. Crewel thinks all the boys in this school are just crazy the fact its valentines day. so having you help him was just killing 2 bird with one stone.

~~~~~

Trein

Trein's cat, Lucius, seemed fine to you. but you couldn't say much when Trein asked you to help him look after his beloved pet. plus a cat that doesn't call you Hedgeman felt nice. a cat that was just a normal cat, that can understand you and talk but you don't understand it...

On Valentines Day, Trein tells you about his wife and what they do together on this day. It was really sweet to hear an old man talk about his love, plus his life too.

It felt nice and you enjoyed the time you spend together. you still couldnt tell if Lucius was actually sick or if he was just winning about food...

~~~~~

Vargas

You had no idea what came over Vargas. But when it was gym time and there was any partner exercises, it seems like he'll give the poor guys, that asked you to be partners, more hard exercises.

it could be in your head but after you're done, you see the poor student crying for squats or something? Will he be okay?

"oh, don't worry about him. he's been slacking off recently so its just catching up with him. HAHA!"

~~~~~

Sam

Sam is quite busy on Valentines day. a lot of students ask for valentines day cards, bears, to flowers. some even get the custom order. with those custom orders, he realized a lot of them were for you... he might not be able to do anything.. but his friends might help.

when same gives the students the valentines day gifts, he has a shadow follow them and when they're not looking. the shadow destroys the gift and runs away.

it kills two bird with one stone. they cant give the perfect gifts and Sam still gets the money. oohh he loves what he does~

~~~~~

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voyeurmunson · 5 months

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Memory Lane: Steve Harrington One Shot

Summary: (Older Steve x reader) You and your husband Steve decide to go on a hike. When you come across your old make out spot it sends you down memory lane and reminds you of all the good times you had there. And all the filthy things you used to do. ;) ⚠️explicit sexual content. minors DNI⚠️

“I think I’m getting old.” Steve pants as he wipes a bit of sweat from his forehead. You snort and roll your eyes at him as you continue up the incline of the trail, leaves crunching under your feet.

“Okay, grandpa.” you tease, turning around jogging backwards, earning a cheeky smile from him.

“Show off.” he smirks, jogging after you. You feel the cool fall wind on your cheeks as you spin around, sprinting away from him. His laugh echoes behind you as he hurries to catch up.

You squeal as he tackles you to the forest floor, his body landing on top of yours. His cheeks are rosy, his brown locks wildly disheveled, sticking out from beneath his yellow beanie.

You pout up at him. “You’re gonna break my back.” you joke and he smiles, leaning down kissing your lips gently, his scruff tickling your cheeks.

“Okay, grandma.” he laughs lightly, rolling off of you.

You stand up, brushing the leaves from your legs as you spot a familiar landmark to the left. Skull Rock. You smile reaching out to take his hand as you pull him closer. You can remember it so clearly. Meeting him here on those summer nights, being tangled in each other’s arms. It started as a simple make out spot. One that wasn’t exactly new to him. But you never thought the two of you would end up here now. Married with kids. A little house in a cute neighborhood.

You remember the excitement every time you got a call from him. The butterflies that would fill your stomach. And the first time he touched you was here. The first time you ever made him cum was right in this spot. His face forever burned in your memory.

“How long has it been since we’ve been here?” Steve whispers. His eyes meet yours as he leans against the old stone. Is he thinking the same thing? Thinking about all the times we had here.

“Too long.” you smile up at him, pressing your body against his. You kiss him. Softly at first, slowly increasing in intensity. Your arms wrap around his neck as his hands come to rest on your hips. You moan into his mouth as your need for him grows.

“Kiss me like you used to.” you murmur, taking a fistful of his hair as you press your body even closer to his. His tongue greets yours hungrily and you smile as you feel his hands move to your ass. He lifts you suddenly, spinning you around until your back is pressed against the cool rock.

“Baby..” he moans as you both pant into the kiss, your tongues swirl together wildly as he squeezes your ass, your hips grinding against his waist.

You wrap your lips around his tongue, sucking forcefully, pulling a rumble from his chest. His lips move to your neck, sucking fiercely, the pressure of his lips sure to leave a bruise behind. You couldn’t remember the last time he had marked you so publicly.

You tighten your grip on his hair as your head falls back giving him more room to litter your skin with his love bites.

“Steve..” you whimper desperately as his teeth sink into your soft skin. You push him off of you, dropping your feet back to the ground. You grab his jacket pushing him against the rock instead as you drop to your knees.

You can see his hard on through his sweatpants making you throb in between your thighs.

“Right here?” he exhales as you hook your fingers in the hem of his sweats dropping them to his ankles.

“We used to do it all the time, baby. Don’t you remember?” you purr, taking his hard dick in your hand.

“Y-Yes.. oh shit, baby.” he stutters. You spit on his cock, using your saliva to glide your hand up and down quickly.

“Holy shit, honey.” Steve pants as you bring his cock to your lips, focusing on the tip. Little kitten licks making his eyes fall shut. You kiss his thick head, moving your wet lips all around the mushroom tip, tasting his precum on your lips.

“Sweetie, I- mmm.” he struggles to form a sentence as you finally take him in your mouth.

You moan around his cock, sucking sloppily, looking up at his face full of pleasure.

“Yes.. oh my god, yes.” he mumbles as his head falls back against the rock behind him. You bring your nails to his thighs, sinking them into his skin as you swirl your tongue, bobbing up and down.

Praises fall from his kiss swollen lips as you gag and splutter around his thick member.

It had been a while since you’d given him head like this. Where you just couldn’t get enough. Where you craved to have his cum pour down your throat. Life gets busy and becomes routine and sometimes you forget the days where you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. Not anymore.

The noises coming from your husband are ones you haven’t heard in so long. You’re dripping from his raspy moans, his needy little whimpers. His jaw is slack, eyes rolled back into his head as brings his hands to your head.

“Baby.. oh fuck..”

He starts to gently press your head down, guiding his long cock deeper into your throat. Your eyes fill with tears as you do your best to relax your muscles.

You trail your fingers around to his ass, pulling his hips into you. He takes the hint and begins happily fucking your throat. Spit leaks from the corners of your lips as he uses you for his pleasure. He’s rough, slamming into your throat, fingers digging into your cheeks as he thrusts into you.

Tears stream down your face in little rivers as you attempt to hollow your cheeks. Your throat is sore already, you can’t imagine what it will feel like when tomorrow comes but you don’t care. You’ve missed this side of him. Animalistic, feral, slightly arrogant. King Steve.

“Look at you on your knees. You love this cock. L-Love having me pound your fucking throat, don’t you?” he chuckles and you nod through your tears. He sticks his foot between your thighs, his hiking boot landing right beneath your warmth.

“I can only imagine how wet you are, honey. Want you to cum too, angel.” he looks down at you with a cocky grin as he lifts the toe of his boot, pressing against the wet material of your leggings.

Holy shit.

You drop a little lower, slowly beginning to grind on his shoe, the friction making you moan immediately.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Steve moans as you look up at him fluttering your lashes. You speed up your hips, grinding your clit across his shoe, your orgasm building quickly.

“Gonna cum in that pretty mouth, baby. Want you to swallow for me.. j-just like you used to.” he grunts, his cock driving into your throat rapidly. You nod again, pleasure pulsing through you as you rut against the toe of his boot.

Your moans and cries send vibrations all around his dick as you both lose control. Your hips buck against him in short spasms as your pussy flutters around nothing. You force your eyes open to watch his face as he pumps your mouth full of his warm seed.

You swallow around his length as his cum coats your throat, his cock twitching uncontrollably in your mouth. He praises you, mumbling incoherently, wiping your tears away with his thumbs as he gives you every last drop.

You slide your lips off of him and he pulls you back to your feet.

“Oh my fucking god.” you laugh breathlessly, kissing his soft lips, your fingers threading in his brown hair. Steve’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, his breathing heavy as you kiss him.

“Call a sitter, because I’m really gonna break your back when we get home.” Steve burns, his eyes still gleaming.

Fuck yes. You bite your lip, leaning in closer. “Yes sir.”

#steve harrington x fem!reader smut #steve harrington smut #Steve Harrington #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #older steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington x y/n smut #Steve Harrington x fem!reader #Steve Harrington x fem!reader fluff #Steve Harrington fluff

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cheolism · 1 year

Text

First

✧ seungkwan x reader

✧ summary: you and seungkwan were new to relationships, and netiher of you felt rushed to do anything. six months in, and you both still haven't had sex. but then you start looking at his hands and thighs, and find you just can't help yourself.

✧ wc is approx 5.8k

✧ warnings/tags: virgin! reader, virgin! seungkwan; seungkwan is mentioned to be reader's first kiss. pet names, tons of consent; reader has a wild mind. reader is female-coded. awkward and sweet first times, laughter during sex. riding thighs; fingering; cumming in underwear. reader is demi coded. confessions during sex. seungkwan gets called (jokingly) princess except now i'm thinking abt it more. seungkwan is a romantic; mingyu is nosey; seungcheol has bad movie taste (sorry bb)

✧ note: send me a message if you think any more tags/warnings should be added! not edited. google told me i switch between british grammar and american, so if there's extra vowels thrown into places just ignore it :)

Seungkwan never made you feel rushed.

The two of you walked the path of your relationship at your own pace. Mingyu said the two of you were moving slowly, too slowly, but you never felt like you were. Your relationship moved at its own pace, one comfortable to the both of you, and neither of you minded it.

Your first kiss had been in your front hallway as he dropped you off after your first official date. He had bitten his lip, glancing between your mouth and eyes as you talked about how you had enjoyed the night.

Then, you let your smile blossom. You stepped to him, the tip of your shoe brushing against his. “You can kiss me if you want to,” you had muttered, looking at his pretty mouth. “But know you’ll be my first, so I won’t know what to do.”

Seungkwan’s answering smile was brilliant, and he slowly reached up to cup your face. His hands were large, encompassing your cheeks. He lowered his face, nose brushing yours. “Is it bad that makes me happy? Knowing I’ll be your first kiss?”

Your hands made their way into his shirt, curling into the fabric and tugging. You pushed up, letting your lips brush against his in answer.

During a truth and dare session that followed after your first kiss, Mingyu, who made it his business to know your business, asked you when your first kiss was. When you had answered honestly, that it was only a few weeks before and with Seungkwan, Mingyu had gasped, as if it was rare for someone your age to have gone all this time without kissing.

But, remembering how Seungkwan’s lips gently moved against yours, pressing and giving and guiding, you couldn’t be bothered to be offended. Not when you knew how precious your first kiss had been; not when you had shared it with Boo Seungkwan.

Despite Seungkwan’s experience in kissing, which he assured you was hardly any, the relationship between the two of you brought a lot of new experiences for the both of you. Neither of you had really dated before one another, finding a different sort of loneliness in your young adulthood that your friends never seemed to share.

“I’ve never brought someone to meet my grandma,” Seungkwan admitted as you parked outside his grandma’s home.

“I’ve never kissed anyone in a theater before,” Seungkwan confessed as you pulled away from where you had leaned across the seat.

“No one’s ever called me that before,” Seungkwan admitted as you mouthed against his neck one evening, a breathy darling leaving your lips.

“I’ve never spent Valentines with a partner,” He had laughed as the two of you were rejected from the restaurant, which was filled to the brim with couples who had the same idea as you for the Valentines evening.

“I’ve never had sex before,” He had blurted during the evening of your fourth-month anniversary. You blinked from across the kitchen island at him, holding the saucepan in one hand and the wooden spoon in the other as you were preparing his pasta plate. “Just -- just in case you’re wanting . . .”

“Well, I’m not in a rush if you’re not.”

And so it was just another thing the two of you had decided to breach when the moment came. You didn’t want to plan for it; didn’t want to force the moment. It would happen when it did, and the best either of you could do was prepare for when it did happen.

Not that you didn’t want to.

Sometimes you looked at Seungkwan and couldn’t help but feel a need, a desperation, that was entirely foreign. One that had you battling the urge to grab him from where he stood talking to Seokmin, laughing and brushing back his stray bangs that had managed to escape his pushed-back hair, pulling him away from his friend and into the car for some privacy.

One horrifying time it had happened when he was cooing at a baby. He was reaching out, fingers brushing against the infant’s soft cheek, complimenting her on how sweet she was. Seungkwan’s lips were curling, obviously endeared by the baby, eyes soft and gentle and filled with a sort of adoration that reminded you of how he looked at you.

You were absolutely appalled at your urge to whisk him away from the baby and jump him, to press your hands underneath his shirt and feel his stomach flex as you pressed desperate kisses to his neck and collar.

Seungkwan was turning you into some sort of degenerate. Some wanton, promiscuous, shameless, licentious creature that woke up with soaked underwear and the image of Seungkwan’s bare thighs still at the forefront of your mind.

Even now, sitting next to Seungkwan and watching a movie, those salacious thoughts sent wetness gushing from your pussy and had you shifting in your seat, fighting to keep your cool.

It wasn’t as if the two of you were watching anything pornographic. It was some movie Seungcheol had suggested, one with too many fights and villains and not enough plot or good writing. You had attempted to watch it, of course you had. Date night, whether it was sitting on your couch and watching a movie or walking alongside the river, hand in hand, was something that never failed to brighten your day and put a smile on your face.

But after another cliche, misogynistic comment by the red-headed love interest who served as nothing more than a plot device, you rolled your eyes and chanced a look at Seungkwan. Seungkwan didn’t like action movies, had gotten bored watching the Dark Night and would much rather see a good romance (your first “argument” had been over whether Love, Actually, was actually any good and how only two aspects of the movie didn’t salvage the entire thing from being bad).

The romance between the lead and the love interest was enough to keep Seungkwan keyed in on the movie. He watched with wide eyes as the red head pressed a kiss to the lead’s lips before rushing away, ashamed at her bravery.

Your Boo Seungkwan was so fucking cute, you couldn’t help but think. There was a blush on his cheeks and on his ears as he watched the lead run after the red head and sweep her up into a classic Hollywood-style kiss. He watched eagerly, practically drinking the scene up.

Then he licked his lips and it was game over for you.

Seungkwan’s mouth, which you had stared at far too often, was small and pouty and constantly tempting. A day without kissing Seungkwan was a day wasted, in your opinion.

His hair was slightly wavy from the shower he took before coming over, brown bangs brushing against the edges of his eyes, where his lower and upper lids kissed. It had grown longer in the months the two of you had been dating, and you never ever dared complain.

From his hair your gaze went to his ears. There was your favorite place to kiss besides his lips (and neck and collar and shoulder and the spot where his neck and collar met, and his --). Three beauty marks, perfectly spaced, practically begging for the brush of your lips.

Movement brought your eyes from his ears. Seungkwan’s eyes were still trained on the movie, but he had begun pushing up the sleeves of his hoodie. His forearms flexed, veins appearing, and you were transfixed as you watched his hands, his impossibly beautiful and elegant hands, slid up his forearms to push up his sleeves. His fingers were long and smooth, the veins of his hands prominent.

What did it say about you, you wondered, that you had dreams of those hands. That you had dreamt before about his hands running up your thighs, fingers skimming the hem of your shorts; his fingers pressing against the wet spot in your underwear, the tips of his fingers dipping underneath the waistband of your underwear; the pads of his fingers brushing against your clit.

Fuck.

Your heart in your throat, you shifted against the couch. The insides of your thighs brushed against your underwear, the cold wetness that soaked it shocking you.

“This is a good movie,” Seungkwan said, bringing your attention from where his hands had settled on his thighs. “I really like the romance in it.”

You glanced at the screen. The lead was verbally fighting his mentor in a moment that would, surely, lead to a horrific death scene from the mentor where the lead was choking out apologies. “Yeah. I can see why Seungcheol liked it.”

Seungkwan hummed. Your eyes went back to his thighs.

His thighs. Seungkwan opted for wearing shorts more often than not, and everytime you were gifted with the sight of his smooth, tanned skin you wanted to fall to your knees. His thighs were meaty from hours filled with cardio, and you constantly wanted to dig your fingers into the flesh and feel.

You wanted to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to his thighs in worship; suck them, nibble at them, listen to Seungkwan’s breathy whines as you teased him. You wanted to feel them squeeze around your shoulders as you took his cock into your mouth, wanted to feel them beneath your own thighs as you bounced on his cock.

You could feel the wetness that trickled from your pussy, could the slide of it. Your pussy clenched around nothing in desperation. Shame flooded through you, and you took a heavy breath, feeling as though you hadn’t been breathing all this time.

Thighs clenching, you threw one over the other and squeezed in an attempt to quench your thirst.

All it did, however, was get Seungkwan’s attention. Your boyfriend glanced at you, head tilted. “You okay?”

You smiled at him, reaching out and setting your hand on his and squeezing. “Yeah. Just getting hungry is all.”

“We can order something now, if you want,” Seungkwan offered. “I can pause the movie.”

You laughed breathlessly, leaning against him and burrowing your face into his shoulder. Seungkwan smelled good, as he always did. Like laundry softener and lavender, cotton sheets and freshness.

“We can order after.” You said, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “It’s not so bad.”

Seungkwan angled his head to press an awkward kiss to your hair. Then he went back to watching the movie.

The hunger in your stomach was nothing compared to the hunger, lust, you felt for him.

You licked your lips, eyeing the full curve of his cheeks and the hardness of his jaw. Like a parched man offered a cup of water, you desperately drank him in. The stretch of his neck, unmarked; the beauty marks near his ear; the angle of his fingers as he reached up and brushed his bangs away from his eyes, how they softly settled back on his thighs.

Seungkwan’s navy blue shorts had ridden up, revealing the meatiness of his thighs that had you swallowing nothing, pussy clenching around nothing.

You wanted your mouth on those thighs, wanting your hands on them. You wanted to be sat on them, pussy grinding down, clit dragging against his bare skin and riding them.

Slowly, without drawing his attention from the movie, your hand went to his thigh. Seungkwan’s hand went to yours, fingers lacing together instinctively, and you wanted to curse at your boyfriend’s innocence while you were suffering.

You took your time unwinding your hand from his. First you started with your thumb brushing gently against his warm skin. Then you shifted your hands so only your middle three fingers were tangled with his, your pinky laying against his thigh and thumb constantly kissing his skin.

Seungkwan huffed when you fully separated your hands, turning to you with a pout. “Why aren’t you holding my hand, Y/n?”

You chuckled at his whine, peering up at him. Your heart was full of adoration for the boy next to you, and you wondered if your eyes were dripping honey from how sweet he made you feel.

How ironic it was that Seungkwan had your heart feeling as if it would burst out sunshine while also making your pussy constantly gushed wetness.

“What a baby,” you teased, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Why don’t you put your arm around me so we can cuddle, baby?”

Seungkwan huffed, still looking offended. But he did as you suggested, his arm going around your shoulders and hugging you to his side. His warmth melted into you, and the position leaning into him, one of your thighs over the other, allowing you to frantically squeeze in a foolish attempt to ease the throbbing of your pussy.

However, this position allowed you to do something important.

With his hand brushing against your shoulder, it gave you free reign over his thigh. You settled your hand on his thigh, face towards the television in an attempt to make it seem mindless. His thigh flexed against your hand before relaxing, and you squeezed in response.

The two of you sat for a handful of moments, Seungkwan content while your fingers brushed against his thighs. He was deeply immersed in the movie still, watching as the mentor was killed by the villian.

Your hand shifted, sliding up his thigh and stopping where his shorts had ridden up. You tapped your forefinger against his flesh, trying to keep up the relaxed appearance.

You wanted to suffocate between his thighs. Wanting to take them into your mouth and suck and bite, wanting to pinch and listen to his cries as you swallowed around his cock and knead them. Wanted to hold onto them as you dragged your throat down his cock, his length bringing tears to your eyes as you swallowed his cock back down and took it deep.

Your pussy gushed again. You couldn’t salvage your underwear, no way.

Maybe you could take them off and leave them somewhere he could see, you wondered. You imagined him taking notice of your underwear, imagined the red blush that would take over his face. Imagined him bending down, hesitant as he reached to grab them. Imagined him feeling the wet spot left by your pussy; him slowly bringing your underwear up and to his nose, smelling the fragrance of your cunt.

Fuck, fuck.

Your hand moved again, sliding underneath his shorts and towards his inner thigh. You still fought to look at the television.

Seungkwan sucked in a breath from beside you. He snapped his head towards you as you squeezed the fat of his thigh, your name leaving his lips in something crossed between a warning and a sigh.

You glanced at him, brows furrowed in false confusion. “Something wrong, darling?”

He stared at you for a moment more. You waited for him to admonish you, for him to ask you to remove your hand; for him to draw the line. You’d stop, of course, would retract your hand and press a kiss to his cheek in apology.

But he did none of those things. Instead Seungkwan pressed his lips together, narrowed his eyes at you, and then went back to watching the movie.

Grinning and feeling like the cat that got the canary, your hand sunk further into his shorts. Seungkwan took a long, shuddering breath as your fingers brushed against the edge of his underwear. You played with the edge, smoothing your fingers over and under it, nails brushing against his skin.

“How’s the movie, baby?”

Seungkwan tightened his jaw. “Good.”

“It’s good?” You responded, biting at your lip to suppress your grin and doing a bad job of it. Seungkwan nodded.

You shifted, turning on your side and rising. His eyes immediately snapped to you. “Keep watching the movie, baby. You said it was good.”

“What are you --”

“Don’t pay me any attention,” you said. When Seungkwan didn’t look away from you, your free hand went to his jaw. You softly nudged his face with your fingers, turning it from you and to the television. “That’s a good boy.”

The answering inhale from Seungkwan had your pussy clenching once more. You hummed, moving to your knees. You pressed your face into his neck, nose pressing against his warm skin, lips ghosting. Your hand pressed up the fabric of his shorts, bearing his thigh, before it settled over the bulge pressing against his underwear.

Seungkwan let out another shaky breath, his eyebrows furrowing. The arm that was around you moved, clutching at your shirt.

You kissed his neck, keeping your hand still. “You good?”

He hummed, a slightly shrill noise.

“Shall I keep going?”

You could feel his answering nod against your head. “I need words, babe.”

“Please,” he begged, voice breathy and the hand in your shirt repositioning to grab more of it and clench. A blush high onto his cheeks.

You pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to his skin. Slowly, gently, you began moving your hand against his clothed dick. Your hand moved in a constant soothing motion, rubbing. “You might have to tell me what to do, baby.”

“Touch --” Seungkwan cleared his throat. You kissed his neck again, though this was unlike any of the innocent kisses you had been laying. You kissed his neck as if you were kissing his mouth, lips rolling against his skin. “Touch me, please.”

“I am,” you reminded him. You pressed your heel down on his bulge in proof.

Seungkwan moved his face towards you. His face was still flushed, his brows still furrowed and lips still pouting. His dark eyes were wide, pupils large. “Please.”

You pulled away from him in response. He made a protesting noise, moving to reach for you and pull you back. You moved farther away from him, hands meeting his and stopping him. “Take off your hoodie, Seungkwan.”

He compiled, making quick work of his baby blue hoodie and throwing it to the floor. Seungkwan’s shoulders had broadened due to his hard work at the gym, and the muscle on his biceps were impressive.

You drank him in eagerly. His chest wasn’t as tanned as the rest of him, but it still had you practically drooling. Working out had given definition to his chest, had given weight to his pecs. You wondered what they would feel like in your hands, what they would look like decorated with red and purple bruises left by your mouth.

His breathless whine of your name brought you out of your imagination. You stood from the couch, hands going to the waist of your pants. “This okay, Kwannie?”

At his answering nod, you were shoving your pants down to your ankles. You kicked them off, ignoring Seungkwan’s shocked inhale, and then were climbing on top of him.

Your hands went to his shoulders, pushing him back and flush against the couch. You straddled one of his thighs, knees on either side with one brushing against his bulge. His hands went to your shirt, yours smoothing down his biceps and squeezing the muscle. “Tell me if you’re nervous. Okay?”

Seungkwan laughed breathlessly. “Of course I’m nervous. I’m about to lose my virginity to the love of my life.”

Your eyes widened, and his immediately followed suit. Both of you froze against one another, hands still, breaths suspended.

Then your heart swelled, feeling as though someone had filled it with sun. You laughed breathlessly, hands sliding up his biceps and shoulders to cradle his neck. Pressing close, you brought your mouth to his and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

“And the love of my life is a massive dork,” you said, nose pressing against his cheek.

His mouth sought yours in answer, pressing an open-mouthed kiss there. Your hands moved to his hair, fingers sinking into the strands and tugging. His tongue went to the seam of your lips and you opened them easily, tongue sliding against his.

Seungkwan’s hands began wandering, moving from your shirt to the hem. His fingers slipped beneath your shirt, pressing against the base of your spine. Seungkwan broke away from the kiss, his mouth smeared with spit. “This okay?”

“It’s okay,” you returned, taking his lower lip between your lips and sucking. Seungkwan moaned, a deep sound that seemed so at odds with your lovely boy.

His hands went up your back, nails scraping against your skin. Your mouth wandered from his, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his chin and underneath it. One of your hands moved from his hair, ghosting over his chest. You felt his stomach jump underneath your fingers as you pressed your palm there. “Okay?”

Seungkwan nodded. You took pity on him and didn’t ask again. Your mouth skimmed his neck before attaching to the part where it met his shoulder, taking the skin between your teeth and before sucking. His chest moved against yours as he sucked in a deep breath.

Then you settled your hand over his bulge, squeezing through his shorts. Seungkwan let out a loud groan in response, his neck straining as he tossed his head back.

You began marking in earnest in response to his moans and groans, hand smoothing over his dick, rubbing it through the fabric. His nails began to dig into the skin of your back, scraping and pinching.

Soon enough Seungkwan began panting, his breath hot and heavy in your ear. You shifted, sucking another hickey onto his collar, before pulling away. “Hold onto me. Okay, baby?”

Seungkwan’s hands moved from your back to your hips, holding as you asked. You sat back, separating your torso from his and taking a good look at your boyfriend. His blush not only was on his cheeks but spread down his neck, the flush joining the red blossoms left by your mouth in painting a picture of a debauched man.

His thigh flexed beneath you. Taking the opportunity, you grinded down. Your pussy dragged against his thigh, creating a faint spark of friction that sent another gush of fluid.

Seungkwan gasped, mouth dropping open and head tipping. “Fuck,” he hissed, brows meeting. “Fuck. You’re so fucking wet.”

You laughed, grinding down again. His hands gripped at your hips, nails digging in. You took care to ensure your clit dragged down, the movement making your mouth go ajar and hips cock forward once more in an attempt to feel the relief once more.

“Can you,” Seungkwan began, his voice deep and dark and sending another gush of wetness out of your pussy and further soaking your underwear. Seungkwan let out a little moan at feeling the wetness taint your underwear, soaking his bare thighs. “Can you cum? Just from that?”

“I don’t know,” you honestly replied. “I feel like I could.”

Then your hands were back on him, going to his waistband. You used one hand to pry open his shorts and underwear, holding it open for your other hand to slide down his pelvis, feeling the little curls of the hair there brush against your palm.

When your fingers brushed against the base of his dick, you couldn’t help but pause. Your eyes went up to his, unsure. Seungkwan’s hands squeezed your hips. “You don’t have to. We can -- we can stop.”

You shook your head. You moved your hand, skin gliding against his dick. It felt impossibly big and heavy in your hand. Seungkwan shivered, eyes fluttering shut and head going back to rest against the couch.

More curious than anything, you moved your hand over his dick, exploring. You mapped the veins of it, following them down to the head. You pushed your thumb against the head, wetness from it spurting out onto your hand.

Seungkwan let out a weak exhale. “We -- usually I use lube or something. It. It makes it easier.”

You retracted your hand from his pants. You offered it to him, palm out. Seungkwan closed his eyes, inhaling. Then he leaned forward, tongue poking out from his mouth. He began running his tongue over your hand, spreading his spit.

Absent-mindedly you began rocking your hips, grinding your pussy against his thigh once more. His tongue ran over your palm and fingers, coating it in his spit. You thought about his tongue on your wrist, your shoulder; then your breast, dragging down your stomach and to your pussy.

You leaned forward against his thigh, bearing down on him and grinding down aggressively. You lowered your head, hair falling and framing your face. One of Seungkwan’s hands left your hips, moving to grab the wrist of the hand he had been licking -- licking!!!!

Seungkwan tugged. You looked up. “Here. Get off for a moment.”

You did as he asked, stumbling. Seungkwan raised his hips off the couch, pulling down his shorts and letting them drop beside the couch. Then he shimmied away, moving so he was laying down the length of the couch. He looked embarrassed, laying there, nearly entirely bare for your eyes.

“Get on me,” Seungkwan said, though it sounded more like a question than anything. “Straddle my -- my --”

His face was a brilliant shade of red, and he turned away from you to look at the ceiling. Once Seungkwan wasn’t looking at you he was able to speak. “Straddle my dick and grind down on it.”

Never one to object from a good idea, you slowly made your way on top of Seungkwan. Your knees dug into the couch on either side of his hips, and when you positioned yourself so your pussy was directly over his clothed dick, the both of you let out matching moans.

His hands went to your hips again. Seungkwan slowly began guiding you into a gentle rocking motion, letting your pussy guide up and down his bulge, letting you grind down on him and use his length.

You leaned forward, hands bracing on his chest. His loud pants and broken moans filled your ears, clouding your brain. You dragged your pussy down his length and back up it, using it like you would your own hand. Each drag was delicious, had you shoving yourself back down and searching for more friction, for more press.

“Wait,” Seungkwan panted. You looked up at him. He was breathing heavily, bangs beginning to stick to his forehead from his sweat. “I’ll -- I think I’ll come from this.”

“Just from this?” You asked, brow furrowed. You grinded down on him and Seungkwan let out a loud groan in response, eyes fluttering and tipping his head back.

Delighted, you kept on moving on top of Seungkwan, watching him. Your boyfriend was always so expressive. You knew when he was mad, irritated, when he was happy or amused. Watching him now, brows furrowed, face red and mouth parted with sweet moans escaping his lips, you had another face to add to your mental catalogue.

Then his jaw dropped; his grip on your hips tightened and his hips were bucking up, a loud, low moan ripping from his mouth. You watched, amazed, as Seungkwan thrusted up into you twice more before his voice broke off.

He stilled beneath you, going lax. Seungkwan’s chest heaved, and his hands left your hips to hide his face. He let out a high little whine. “I can’t believe I did that.”

You shifted up his body, reaching for his hands and prying them away from his face. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Seungkwan pouted, sticking out his lower lip. “I’m fine. Just have to live with the knowledge that I came in my pants the first time I ever had sex for the rest of my life.”

You laughed, leaning down and kissing his pout. “It’s okay,” you giggled, kissing his mouth twice more before moving to kiss his cheeks. “It’s cute.”

Seungkwan narrowed his eyes at you. His hands returned to your body, and then he was moving you off of him. You went easily, letting Seungkwan guide you to lay against the other end of the couch. “What’s up, babe?”

“Your turn,” Seungkwan announced, determination heavy on his tongue. He grabbed two pillows that had fallen off the couch. Seungkwan settled one beneath your head; his fingers ran down over your shirt before he found your hips, lifting them up to settle the other pillow. “This good?”

You hummed, shaking your hips. “Comfy as can be!”

Seungkwan huffed. Then his fingers -- his long, beautiful fingers that you dreamt of -- were pulling down at your underwear. You lifted your hips off the pillow so he could guide them down your legs. Seungkwan dropped them beside the couch, and you watched, tongue flicking out to run over your lips in anticipation, as his hands went to your ankles.

For a moment he just stared at you. Like you were a piece of art, a Mona Lisa amongst masterpieces, an angel amongst humans. His dark eyes took in your wild hair, the heaving of your chest; where your shirt had ridden up, revealing the soft curve of your stomach, the hair surrounding your pussy.

“Tell me when to stop.” Seungkwan said. His hands ran along your legs as he spread them out, making room to be between them. Goosebumps raised along the trail his fingers left behind.

Your pussy gushed in anticipation. Your heart seemed to stop, and you know for a fact your brain did. His fingers hovered over your thighs, ghosting your skin.

Then his hands were on your pussy. One of his hands held it open, fingers splayed around your lips. His other hand went to your clit, thumb attaching itself to it. Immediately you gasped, hips bearing down in an attempt to seek more.

Seungkwan laughed breathlessly, watching. His thumb pressed down on your clit, offering itself. “God. You really are soaked. I didn’t realize you could get so wet.”

You furrowed your brow. One of your hands gripped at the cushion beneath you, the other moving to grip at the cushion pressed against your side. You continued grinding down on his thumb, feeling the friction mount within your gut.

Seungkwan continued talking all the while, eyes still watching your pussy. As he talked he maneuvered his hand, fingers brushing against your entrance. “I knew pussies --” Another wave of wetness escaped from your pussy after that word, that crude, horrid, delightful word, left his lips. “-- got wet. But fuck. Your underwear was drenched, baby. And your pussy? It’s soaking. If I put my mouth down there I’d fucking drown, I think.”

The image of Seungkwan’s head between your thighs, mouth attaching itself to your pussy and clit, sent a moan from your lips. His fingers continued moving, one of them dipping into your entrance. “It’s like. It’s like your pussy is begging me to put something in.”

“Please,” You whispered, hips bucking into his hold. “Please, Kwannie.”

Then two of his fingers were dipping inside you. If he tried to move slowly, it was to no avail; your pussy greedily sucked him in, squeezing around his digits as if they were his dick instead.

You gasped, feeling as his fingers, which had a better angle than yours ever did, stretched your walls. He didn’t move them much, shifting every few seconds. His thumb continued to work against your clit, however, and you felt something tightening in your gut, as if someone was pulling a string taut.

“Fuck,” Seungkwan breathed, “fuck you’re beautiful.”

And then the string was cut, and your orgasm washed over you in wave after wave. Seungkwan kept pressing his thumb against your clit, his fingers inside you. Your eyes squeezed shut as your body tightened and released, and as it released you felt as if every single worry you ever had about anything left with the tension.

Slowly, as to not harm you, Seungkwan removed his fingers. You let out a soft little whine as he did, eyes opening just enough to watch him. He held his hand up, splaying out his fingers. Your fluids glistened in the light, strings of it connecting his fingers.

You forced your eyes shut. Seungkwan shifted off the couch. For a moment there was quiet.

“Uh. I didn’t bring another pair of underwear.”

You looked at him. He had your discarded pants in one hand, the other hand burrowed into the fabric -- no doubt getting your fluids off of his hand. You looked over his body, taking in the muscles of his thighs and calves and arms. The golden skin, the beauty marks and moles that decorated him.

You wanted to press him to the bed and kiss each and every single mark.

For another time, you decided. Instead you slowly moved into a sitting position, kicking out the pillow from beneath your hips. “I’ll have to throw them into the wash. I think I have something that’ll fit you.”

“It’ll take all night to get clean,” Seungkwan mumbled, pouting.

You grinned, opening your arms. Seungkwan dropped your pants and went to you, sliding his arms around your shoulders and yours going around his middle. You pressed a kiss to his stomach, enjoying the feel of it against your cheek.

“Then you’ll just have to stay the night.”

Seungkwan sighed. “I guess.”

You mocked him, screwing up your face and peering at him. “How horrible of me to offer for my boyfriend, who took my first kiss and my virginity, to spend the night. Should’ve kicked you out as soon as I finished.”

“Please,” Seungkwan said, rolling his eyes. “You were so wowed by my performance you couldn’t even move.”

You burrowed your face back into his stomach. “Whatever you say, princess. I’ll throw the clothes into the wash, you order our food? And we can just eat in bed and cuddle?”

Seungkwan hummed, fingers running along your shoulders. His hands settled on either side of your head, moving your face from his stomach. You pouted up at him. “I mean, I guess that’ll be all right. I suppose you want Mexican.”

You nodded, lips parting in a wide smile. Seungkwan laughed, and then he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll have to start the movie over again.”

“What movie?”

Seungkwan paused, pulling away to look down at you. “Uh. The movie Seungcheol recommended?”

“Oh,” you said. “Okay. So. Here’s the thing. That movie fucking sucks.”

Seungkwan’s eyes widened. “But -- the romance! The chemistry between the mains! You can’t tell me that you don’t see it!”

You stood. The wetness between your thighs had begun to stick, and you couldn’t help but wince. “Yeah, no. We’re not watching it.”

“But --” Seungkwan pouted, sticking out his lips and widening his eyes. It was his classic puppy-eyed look, the one that had you handing everything to him on a silver platter. “But baby! If you love me like you said you do, you’ll replay the movie and watch it with me!”

Sighing, you went to him. You cupped his cheeks in your hands, rising to your heels and pressing a kiss to his lips. “I do love you, Boo Seungkwan. So much.

“But I don’t love you that much.”

#!!!#my writing #my fic #seungkwan #seungkwan x reader #seungkwan fic #seungkwan oneshot #seungkwan smut #boo seungkwan #boo seungkwan fic #boo seungkwan oneshot #svt #svt fic #svt smut #svt oneshot #seventeen fic #seventeen smut #seventeen oneshot

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gothgleek · 13 days

Note

Reader confessing her feelings to her childhood friend Samantha carpenter after avoiding her for sometime worried Sam didn’t feel the same

Thank you so much for your request! This is my first ever Scream fic and first wlw x reader fic so I hope you enjoy it! I slightly changed your request so this can take place anytime after or during the movies. However, Sam is single and Billy Loomis being her dad is not general knowledge.

As always, likes and reblogs are appreciated.

Notes: fluff, angst, mentions of food, childhood friends to lovers

Border is by @saradika-graphics

You believed in signs from the universe and there was no bigger sign to you than Sam Carpenter leaving without a single word the same day you planned on telling her how you felt. She made it easy to avoid her though, she never sent a single message after she left Woodsboro. You tried not to take it personally, after all she didn’t tell her family either, but it still stung.

But you froze in the ice cream aisle when you saw her for the first time in five years.

Sam wasn’t paying attention when she bumped into your cart but the look on her face revealed all her shock. You didn’t hear you say your name, focused completely on the way her mouth formed your name. It was one of the things you wrote about in your diary as a kid- the way she took her time to say your name, stressing each syllable, and the way her lips curled around each letter. You didn’t hear her say your name, but seeing her say it was enough to snap you out of your trance.

“Sam! Hi!” You squeaked and wanted to slap yourself.

“Hi,” Sam said, her demeanor relaxing. “What are you doing here?”

“Just shopping for the week.” You held up a box of cereal. “But I’ll ask you the same question. It’s been… years.”

Your eyes followed her hand to her opposite wrist. Sam was playing with a blue friendship bracelet with black and white plastic white star beads in between plastic beads spelling ‘moon’. The string was brand new (she played with it too much to

“It lasted ten years without breaking?” You blinked in shock. You remembered when your matching sun bracelet exploding in your gym class a few weeks after making it. You used a little too much force to hit a ball during four square and the beads scattered around the gym floor. Sam helped you pick up each yellow and white bead, dodging the boys who played four square where the beads fell.

“Ugh, don’t say that,” Sam cringed. “That makes us sound so old.”

“Well, it feels like just yesterday we were fourteen,” You told her.

“You still eat like a fourteen year old,” Sam teased, pulling out your super sugary cereal.

“And you eat like a grandma,” You pulled out her Special K cereal. She playfully shoved you and reached for her cereal, which you held just out of reach for her. Your smile fell and your face heated when you noticed how close her face was when she reached for it. She took that moment to snatch the cereal away from you.

Victorious, she stuck her tongue out and tossed the cereal in her cart. That shook you out of your daze and you rolled your eyes.

“But to answer your question from earlier, no it didn’t last.” Sam told you softly. “I had to keep buying new string to put it back together.”

The confession made your voice hitch- was that something best friends did? Did straight girls do this? Of course because Sam is straight that’s why you never-

“You thought about me?” You asked before you could help yourself. “While you were gone?”

Sam stopped her cart and looked at you. You mirrored her. Sam’s eyes searched your face. For what, you didn’t know. But her search seemed to go on forever so you had to speak up.

“I thought about you.” You did not feel brave but you felt like you had to say something. “Everyday. I went crazy hoping I would get a text or a phone call or something but…” You sighed. “I’m just grateful you didn’t block me on your social media.”

Sam looked like the truth was trying to force itself out of her mouth and she was doing her hardest to keep it closed. She swallowed and took a deep breath.

“I thought about you too. Everyday. And I wanted to call but…” She took another deep breath and played with her bracelet. “I wanted to call but I was selfish and wanted to keep every memory of Woodsboro in Woodsboro.”

As much as rose colored glasses wanted to remember her as perfect, you knew she wasn’t in a good place before she left. Sam would ditch you to hang out with strangers, show up to your house high, and was quick to lash out. You feared it was because you thought she knew how you felt about her. But maybe whatever forced her to leave wasn’t about you.

“I hoped you would forget about me.” She looked ashamed to say the last part out loud and you couldn’t look at her.

“They say that it takes half the time you were with them to fall out of love,” You focused on the colorful cereal box in your cart. “I’ve known you for my entire life. Sam, I wasn’t going to forget you.”

You turned to face her to gauge her reaction. Regret was visible on her face.

“But you seem better now,” You told her sincerely. Despite her eye bags and stained sweat pants, Sam looked a lot better than she did when you last saw her. Her skin looked healthy and her eyes were clear. You took her hand and gave her a gentle squeeze. “More like yourself.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, her eyes meeting yours and she wiped away her forming tears. “I should make it up to you though.”

“Yeah you should,” You told her in a teasing tone that showed her everything would be okay between you two. Despite everything, Sam would always be your friend.

“You can come to my place and I’ll make you dinner,” She told you with a smile.

“Has your cooking improved at all in the last five years?” You asked her skeptically.

“Just a little bit,” she gestured with her fingers as she grabbed a can of tomato sauce off the shelf. “But I will make my specialty. After all, I’ve wanted to take you on a date for years.”

That gave you pause but Sam kept walking down the aisle, a smirk on her face when she glanced back at you.

“Sam, I need you to repeat that one more time.”

Sam parked her cart and faced you with a smile on her face. “I always loved you too.”

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agi-ppangx · 9 months

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💭strangers to lovers (100 followers special)

“i have a delivery for mr. kim!” you exclaimed proudly when a caramel haired boy opened the back door to the coffee shop.

recently you made your dream come true and opened your own little bakery. since you were five and your mom let you help her with baking cookies and pastries on holidays you knew it was something you wanted to pursue as an adult. something about measuring ingredients, mixing them together and waiting for the cake to be done is oddly soothing for you, it taught you patience and accuracy. and now you were beyond happy, being able to have a rewarding job and do the things you enjoy.

a few weeks ago you got a call from a small coffee shop near your bakery; the owner wanted to sign a contract with you so that your bakery would supply his café with pastries. and you agreed, of course you agreed, because nothing made you prouder than more people trying your baked goods.

“oh, yeah. you can place them here, on the table.” he pointed inside and you smiled widely at him. he only nodded and got back to work, you heard the coffee machines and faint music coming from the front of the café. though you didn’t see much of the main room, it seemed to you that it was really cosy and quiet and you made a mental note to come here in your free time. when you unpacked everything from your car you made your way to the boy and gave him a piece of paper. “here, there’s a list of things you ordered for today. could you check if everything’s okay and if so, could you sign this?” you asked shyly, not wanting to interrupt him, since he was clearly preparing his equipment for the day. he mumbled a faint “sure” and did as you told him to. when he was checking the pastries you were able to take a closer look - he must’ve been your age or slightly older and he seemed really peaceful, his face features were soft and really pretty. “everything looks great.” his voice brought you to reality. you observed his hand as he was signing the paper and handed it to you. “thank you for all of this, it looks delicious,” he added and it made you blush a little. “sure thing, i hope people will like it,” you responded softly and then headed to the exit. “see you tomorrow, mr. kim!” you waved goodbye and got in your car to start your day as well.

the next morning looked exactly the same. you arrived with a car full of cookies and cupcakes and placed them on the table. the barista took a look at them and you gave him the piece of paper. “everything sold out yesterday, i think people liked it,” he murmured while signing it. you grinned at that. “really? that’s awesome!” he looked back at you and gave you a shy smile. “okay, i gotta go now, bye mr. kim!” you waved at him, but his voice made you stop in your tracks. “don’t call me mr. kim, it makes me feel old.” you chuckled at his words, realising that in fact it might’ve been quite weird. “just call me seungmin.” “hi seungmin, i’m yn.”

now your every day began with this little interaction with seungmin. even though he was always quiet, not saying much, you didn’t mind and his calm disposition didn't stand in the way of becoming friends. “hey, um, i tried this new recipe and i wondered if it came out good. would you mind tasting it and rating it on a scale from one to ten?” you asked him one day while handing him a little bun with marzipan filling. you’d never tried to bake it before, but you remembered your mum saying one day that her grandma used to bake something like this and since then it hadn’t left your mind. seungmin took the bun from your hand, his fingers slightly brushing it, and you got shivers from that one innocent touch. you observed him as he took a small bite, not sure what to expect, and you exhaled loudly when he grinned. you‘d never seen him smile that widely, but now he was and oh my god what was happening to you? “it’s… it’s really good, a solid ten. i like how soft it is,” he explained, visibly satisfied. you mirrored his smile, really glad that he enjoyed your little experiment. “oh, yn, actually there’s something i was meaning to ask you, uh… it might sound a little weird, but could you maybe teach me how to bake?” you were caught off guard by his question, but actually why not? this way you could get closer to him, maybe get to know him even more. that’s why you agreed and gave him your number so you could work out the details.

seungmin came to your apartment a few days later. “here, i made you some coffee,” he said while handing you the cup. “thank you… um, here, welcome, make yourself at home.” you led him to your kitchen and gave him an apron. he looked at you confused, but you just rushed him with a gesture of your hand. “come on, put in on, unless you want to be covered in the dough.” he obediently took it from your hand and did as you said. he looked really cute in it and you felt the tips of your ears getting warmer. then you proceeded to put on your own apron as well and you got to work.

seungmin was a fast learner, though he needed your constant assistance. you told him what to do step by step and he was quietly following your instructions. there was something so intriguing in the way he was paying attention to the details, trying not to put too much flour in the bowl and not to spill the melted butter from the pot. you watched him stir the ingredients, his arms full on display since he rolled up his sleeves. “what’s next?” his voice brought you back to earth and you slightly shook your head. “uh… now you have to knead the dough with your hand, until it’s all soft and even.” he nodded and started to knead it, but you noticed he was doing it a bit too gently. “wait, let me help you.” you stood behind him, your chest pressed to his back, and you placed your hand on his to knead the dough together. seungmin was glad you didn’t see his face, because it was covered in bright red. “see, like this. you don’t have to be aggressive, but it’s important to mix everything well.” it was such an intimate moment and you thought for a while if you didn’t overstep his boundaries, but he didn’t seem to mind it. “and done!” you took a step back and seungmin turned to face you. you noticed he had some flour on his chin so you leaned over and gently wiped it with your palm. you were met with seungmin’s piercing gaze and it was only then you realised how close to him you were. “can i do something stupid?” he whispered suddenly and you nodded. and that’s when you felt his lips met yours. the kiss was soft, his lips were moving slowly, almost lazily, but you enjoyed every single moment of it. when you backed off a bit, he grinned and you heard him mumble. “you’re sweeter than any pastry in this world”

feedback and reblogs highly appreciated🫶🏽

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bangaveragewhitewine · 9 months

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Pinch Me

After your first date with a familiar face from home, waking up next to Steve feels like something out of a dream.

This is a follow on from Clean Slate but can be read as standalone fic.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings/Content: Both you and Steve are in your late-twenties and were in school together; you met again on a blind date almost ten years later. This is an 18+ fic; oral (reader receiving), penetrative sex. Spoiler but use of ‘good girl’ in a sexy content. Steve Harrington being a smooth mf comes with it's own warning.

I have tried to leave physical descriptions as neutral and inclusive as possible! Some mentions of anxiety and insecurity. Plenty of kissing to make up for that!

Author’s Note: Clean Slate was intended to be a one off fic but here we are! This is my first attempt at smut in a fic, so hopefully it’s not horrendous! Thank you for reading, enjoy!

Thank you to my lovely @specialagentmonkey for beta reading for me💖

Once again, this is an 18+ fic. Please do not do any AI fuckery with my work or repost on other sites.

(divider by me)

Ever since you were little, your bed had been one of your favourite places. Soft sheets, books on the bedside table and a perfectly curated stack of pillows all topped off with the quilt you had made with your grandma before her arthritis got too bad.

In your mom’s photo albums there was more than one snapshot of you as a sleepy toddler with a wild bed head peeking up from your pillow on Christmas morning. Another few of you reading Nancy Drew in a pillow nest with a gap toothed smile.

By now, you had made your own little nest out in the big bad world now; a surprisingly roomy studio with big windows and noisy neighbours on one side. You had bought new sheets and a duvet printed with dusty pink roses on porcelain white cotton, curated a new stack of pillows and added too many decorative cushions on top of the same quilt that had made the move with you to Indianapolis and on to Chicago. There were still books on your bedside, a little dish for your jewellery to sit in while you slept, and an accumulation of lip balms, pillow mist and a candle or two to set the mood.

After long shifts and bad dates, your bed was still your haven. When you were particularly anxious, you could still hear the shrill of your old alarm blaring in your ears; the sound of that clock that had dragged you from sweet dreams in your beloved bed on chilly winter mornings. Some mornings, as you rode the subway to work, you swore you could hear your bed’s own siren song calling you to get off at the next stop, come home to read and nap the day away.

The sanctuary was for you alone, save for an occasional sleepover with your best friend Annie. Your dates were never invited to stay and make themselves comfortable. But this morning, waking up with Steve Harrington in your bed? That was new.

It was safe to say that your blind date went well. Really well.

You had resolutely avoided talking about school, only mentioning people each other might have remembered in the context of a story about your lives outside Hawkins. Steve was still in touch with a lot of people from home. You recognised some of their names; Robin who grew up a street away from you, Eddie Munson who you knew from art class and the occasional house party in your youth, even Nancy Wheeler. The way he lit up with so much fondness for ‘his kids’ who weren’t kids anymore made your face ache from smiling.

And Steve had listened, wanted to hear how you had liked Indianapolis for college (he had spent some time there too before making the move to Chicago with Robin after Eddie had sussed the place out and found an apartment near his own for them that they still shared). He had asked about your job, your life in the city, and took a real interest in you.

His attention had stayed on you, never straying to see who else was around or looking for an escape route. His honeyed gaze had stayed focused, watching how you used your hands when you spoke and dipped occasionally to look at your lips. Steve’s hand had stayed close by when his fingers weren’t outright intertwined with yours. He did this thing with his thumb, stroking it across the bone of your wrist, and a few times he had squeezed your hand while you spoke as if to say ‘go on, I’m listening’ - it was so centering for your often anxious mind.

You had a few more drinks, picked a few songs on the jukebox, kept talking and talking until you were sitting close enough to hear Steve’s stomach growl, making his cheeks flush pink.

“I know a pizza spot close by if you’re hungry?” you suggested.

“DiFontaines?” Steve smiled a little, nodding at your suggestion. “Yeah I love it. Let’s go.”

Neither of you wanted to end the night yet, say goodbye. So you didn’t. Instead you headed hand in hand into the warm night air, nicely buzzed and in search of hot pizza and crispy cold sodas.

The sun had dipped in the sky, taking the worst of the heat with it, but the night stayed humid and sticky. Despite the warmth, Steve held your hand and between stories, as you walked down the next block, he lifted his arm to twirl you when you passed a bar blaring Achy Breaky Heart onto the street; Billy Ray’s crooning was eclipsed by your laughter.

“You’re such a dork,” you giggled, pushing him gently before Steve quickly hugged you against his side again. Never had you felt so comfortable on a first date - but this wasn’t just any blind first date.

“Dork?! You been talkin’ to Robin?” Steve smiled down at you, sparking heat in your belly.

“Guess your reputation precedes you, Harrington.” With a burst of bravery, owing it to your younger self, you bounced up on your toes to peck his cheek before taking off a few steps ahead, turning to grin back at him as he jogged to catch up before you swerved into the pizza place.

You joined the line of late night pizza lovers and Steve had slipped an arm around you, leaned his chin on your head as your heart pounded hard. “So, what’re we getting?” he asked.

The familiarity of it all made you feel fuzzy around the edges, his thumb stroking your shoulder, the heat of him pressed against your side.

“It’s probably sacrilegious but the New York style slice, veggie or… artichoke.” Feeling brave again you cover his hand with yours and squeezed. “You?”

“Okay so we’re both sinners then.” He hummed, considering his options. “You’re vegetarian right?”

“Yeah, I try to be.” You liked how he had remembered a tiny detail from a story told hours ago.

“Okay. Four cheese then.”

“You sure?” Your interest piqued.

“Yeah, ‘course. You might not want a goodnight kiss if I have pepperoni breath.”

You swear your jaw dropped as Steve schooled his smile, watching the group of tipsy tourists ahead of you order their slices before his eyes darted back to you.

Steve was more timid, his voice quieter as he filled the silence between you when you had been too stunned to answer. “It’s also totally fine if you don’t want to kiss me, sweetheart. I know I can lay it on ki-“

Instead you rocked up to close the gap between you, ignoring the pinch of your sandals to lay a kiss onto his lips. Steve was quick to cup your cheek, keeping you there to kiss you back just as sweetly.

His nose has nudged against yours before he let you go, gazing into each other’s eyes until your attention was pulled to ‘order or get out’. His arm had stayed around you as you placed your orders, splitting a third classic deep dish slice between you so you wouldn't be run out of town with torches and pitchforks.

Full of pizza and soda and bravery, you had taken Steve’s hand again and strolled through the sticky Chicago night, steering him toward your apartment with the guise of proving that the same pink scrunchie you wore in high school was in fact on your bedside table. You both knew what you were really suggesting.

Part of you niggled away, expecting him to make a polite excuse to head home instead. But Steve only had eyes for you and sealed the deal with another kiss. You lost yourselves in each other, feeling younger together, and made out with Steve’s back against the shutters of somewhere long closed for the night as he squeezed your hips and you toyed with the ends of his hair. It was with regret that he had to tear himself away from your lips to hail a cab for you both, where you did your best to behave on the way to your apartment.

As you lay in bed that next morning, watching how Steve’s chest rose and fell with breath, how soft he looked in sleep, you felt warm and happy. His golden glow was just as dazzling in the morning light.

Your night together had been unrushed. Steve hadn’t just hit it and quit it with you. No, instead you had kissed and kissed, making out and letting your hands roam like two teenagers except there was no hurry; no seven minute deadline or someone pounding on a guest room door to see if it was occupied. The rumours in school had been true; Steve Harrington was an amazing kisser. You had listened to a friend of a friend rave about his soft lips after a lucky spin the bottle in junior year; now you had tasted him for yourself, you understood why she had brought it up so much. But Steve was in your bed now, not hers, you thought smugly.

On the way from the couch to your bed, he had unzipped your dress and you made sure his powdery blue shirt wouldn’t be too creased in the morning, draping it over the back of a chair instead of leaving it balled up on the ground.

Steve had made sure you knew how beautiful he thought you were, kissed you everywhere before taking his time with you and spent an age between your legs as he worked you open for him. Lying there the next morning, you could feel your face heat up when you remembered how his touch set you on fire. The pleasant all over ache weighed you down into your mattress.

With a messy bed-head, Steve woke a little after you and saw you smiling dreamily to yourself. He reached out to pull you closer, tucking his face into your neck.

“Mornin’.” His voice was gravelly and deep.

“Morning.” You brush his hair back gently and dot a kiss to his forehead before stroking your fingers over his shoulders soothingly, dragging them down his arm.

“S’nice,” he said, lips moving against your neck before he pressed a few kisses there.

Lying face to face on your pillow, your fingers played with the fine gold chain that settled around his throat, dipping lower into the thick hair on his chest.

“I had a really good time last night.” Steve’s fingers walk up your arm, before twirling your hair around one carefully.

When you look up at him, he’s got this little smile on his face. He inches closer, letting his gaze drop to your own smiling mouth before you share a slow morning kiss.

“Me too,” you whisper, settling your hand on the side of his neck before returning his kiss again. Your fingers skate across and behind the lobe of his ear, the underside of his jaw and the shade of stubble there.

With his large soft hands, he drags you closer still, pressing you right up against him. The t-shirt you had pulled on after the sweat on your body had started to cool last night was rucked up over your hip as Steve’s thumb strokes the dip there.

You sigh into his mouth, feeling warm all over despite the chill of your box fan to cool the room down. This morning you're warmed by the heat and glow that radiates from Steve Harrington, hotter than the sun itself.

“You’re really beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips, shifting his weight so you’re on your back again with one of his thighs slotted between yours. Steve brushes your hair back, fanning it out over the pillow before dipping down to kiss you again. He leaves you breathless before his lips trail lower to your jaw and neck.

It’s an intimacy you hadn’t had with anyone in a long time, feeling safe enough with Steve to let yourself be loved on like this. You will yourself to be present with him, bask in his glow as it warms you, but barbs of anxiety have crept in to distract you.

Last night was amazing, slow and syrupy and tender. If that had been the last time you ever saw Steve Harrington you could have probably died happy - happier than before anyway. But instead he stayed, and as he kisses you again (morning breath ignored and forgotten). Steve didn’t care that you had faded into the background of your shared high school halls, he had loved how you had the bravery to break out of Hawkins and be you now.

Steve notices you tensing up and peels himself back, thumbing your cheek again as he says your name. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, concern in his eyes. It makes your heart ache.

You shake your head and cover the hand on your cheek. “No. Never.” You pull him to you again and relish the weight of him on top, your hands over his shoulders. “I’m getting in my head. You’re straight out of a dream, Steve. I feel like asking you to pinch me.”

You feel a little embarrassed about being quite so honest with him like this, but he oozes a magnetism and calmness that makes you want to tell him everything. But you don’t want to scare him away, be left waiting for another call that’s not coming, or hear him say ‘that was fun but I’m not looking for anything serious right now’.

He smiles and leans his weight on one strong arm so he’s not totally crushing you. “I can, if you want. But I promise I’m real. And I’m just some guy.”

You laugh. “Some guy? Nah Steve, I think you might be some sort of apparition. Or like, a Greek god.” You squeeze his bicep for emphasis. “Definitely dreaming.”

Steve rolls his eyes, playful, and pinches your cheek lightly. “See? Silly.” He presses a kiss to where he pinched before going in for another on your smiling mouth. Steve was not shy or stingy with his kisses, you had learned. You liked that a lot.

“I think you’re pretty amazing, y’know. If you’re not sick of me yet, would you wanna go for breakfast with me?” Steve kneels up between your thighs, the sheets pooling around his hips. Your eyes go right to the white Calvin’s pulled tight over the thickness of him. Your eyes rake up over his body until you’re caught staring, ogling, and Steve smiles when you pull a pillow over your face. You certainly hadn’t been so shy last night; he laughs and lifts it away to gaze down at you, hoping you will say yes.

“C’mere. Then you can take me for breakfast.” You coax him back down, hooking one leg over his hip. “Prove to me again that you’re not just in my imagination?”

Steve grins and rolls himself down over you. “You been imagining me like this? Scandalous,” he teases before resuming his kisses from earlier, which you are eager to return. Your bodies move together, hips tilting toward each other seeking out that pressure that makes your tummy sizzle. As Steve’s hands slip under your sized-up sleep shirt again, your own dips down to cup him through his underwear. His breath hitches, eyes fluttering shut.

“Baby…”

Baby.

You smile and repeat the movement firmer this time before beginning to coax him to hardness, breaking your hold on him only to help him remove your tshirt. It’s lost to the floor along with Steve’s briefs. His breath is hot against your mouth as your bodies press together. The feeling of Steve’s hands on your breasts draws out a whine that’s swallowed by another kiss; his hands are so big and they feel like they are everywhere, like Steve is everywhere. His mouth and hands trail lower, spreading you out for him on your dusty rose bedsheets. He cups you there, thumb swiping in a delicious rhythm that has you gasping against his shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, kissing the tops of your breasts. “Let me hear those pretty noises again, baby. Please?”

You whimper as his fingers ease you open, so gentle like the polite ‘please’. Steve had proven he was a talker already last night, his words making you feel hot all over as he had pushed so carefully inside, turning tipsy giggles into needy gasps. You felt the same heat engulf you now as he lay wet kisses to your tummy, your hips, pausing only so that he could lie comfortably between your thighs after shouldering his way between them.

He’s looking up at you, his cheek against the meat of your thigh. Lips curve into a smile when you meet his gaze, and he closes his eyes when you stroke his hair back. One of his hands takes yours and rests together on your belly as he dips to kiss you where you need him, humming against you when you gasp his name.

Your eyes drop closed, fireworks bursting behind them as he makes you feel so good. The once or twice any other man had done this was lacklustre in skill and enthusiasm, which Steve possessed in every cell of his being. When you chance looking at him you spot his hips shifting against the mattress, chasing relief for his own ache which makes you moan louder. His whispered “good girl” sends your eyes rolling back into your skull.

Steve brings you to your peak quicker than anyone ever had before. Mindful that you might be a little tender from the night before as he presses one long and thick finger inside before a second joins it a few moments later, gentle but with a purpose of making you forget your own name. His shoulder presses firm against your thigh, spreading you wider as his fingers pump steadily, keeping the pace and press against the spot inside you that makes you feel fit to explode.

You squeeze his arm while your capacity for coherent speech vanishes, focusing only on the swirl and suck of his mouth and the crook and curl of his fingers. It’s so sudden, and you swear you’ve never made a noise so loud as you moan for him, trembling all over. He whispers his praise against your thigh before bringing his mouth back to where you’re weeping for him and doesn’t stop until your thighs are crushing his ears, muffling your voice.

Chest heaving, you feel him move up to check on you. He brings you close, holding you as you glow with him and presses feathery kisses to your hairline. “You still with me? Not still dreaming about me?”

“Mm, think I died,” you manage, peeking up at him with teary eyes. Another tender kiss to the dopey smile on your lips. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, sweetheart.”

His grin is deservedly cocky, earning himself the warm grasp of your hand around his length. The prettiest frown graces his face as you squeeze and slowly pump your hand, your lips moving to his neck.

Steve’s gaze moves from your face, dragging down your body to where your hand holds him. His size makes your hand look small and you feel the kick of his arousal on your palm. You manage to swing one wobbly leg over him, sitting on the breadth of his thighs with new confidence as he holds you steady.

You lean across him, earning kisses to your chest as you fish for a condom to rip open and roll on to him before lowering yourself down into his lap.

Sinking your teeth into the fat of your lower lip at the stretch of him, Steve huffs out a breathy swear against your chest. His hands settle on your hip and thigh, grounding and never rushing as you breathe into the feeling of him inside you before beginning to move.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, watching you in awe. “So pretty f’me.”

That spurs you on, chasing the tingle deep in your abdomen. Your fingers lace with Steve’s on your thigh, the other hand braced against the wall behind his shoulder.

His head leans back by your hand, turning to kiss your wrist as you move in his lap. You curl your arm around him, bringing each other close as his hips hitch up to meet you.

“So good, baby,” he murmurs, kissing you again as his breath comes quicker now. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Gasping his name, you hold him tight to you as you move together. He can’t take his eyes off of you, “Good girl, so gorgeous.”

Messy kisses broken by gasps and Steve’s praise are traded back and forth. His hands feel huge where they hold you at your waist.

The cord of pleasure deep in your pelvis winds tighter. Steve’s jaw twitches as he holds on to you, and you kiss the tense muscle before whispering, “You make me feel so good.” The sound he makes is almost a whimper and he squeezes the meat of your ass. Your hips continue their rise and roll, you feel like every cell of your body is aflame.

Steve watches you, praising words fanning the fire low in your belly. The burn in your thighs makes you pause and he takes the chance to kiss you stupid again.

“Feel good? Yeah?” When you nod, feeling spaced out, he pecks your swollen lips and whispers, “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.” You wonder if he lets anyone take care of him, return his generosity and affections.

He is so gentle as he holds you to his chest and slouches lower on the bed. You close your eyes at the feeling of being held like this, cheek to his broad shoulder. His feet are flat and firm on the bed and the experimental thrust up into you makes you sigh his name. Steve sweeps your hair to one side so that he can kiss your neck again, checking in with you before continuing.

His name echoes on your bedroom walls as he grazes the elusive spot inside of you; the way you press right against his pelvis gives a rub of friction that makes lightning zing through your limbs. “That’s it. Huh? Right there?” His voice is tight as he drives up into you again, faster now with the new angle.

You can hardly summon the sense to make a sentence, babbling now with how good he’s making you feel, the occasional broken curse or plea. After last night and this morning, the neighbours won’t be happy or forget Steve’s name anytime soon - not that you give a fuck.

You kiss him again, though now you’re both so far gone it’s messy and needy, hot breaths against each other’s cheeks. The lick of his tongue against yours makes you shiver. You feel ready to burst, pleasure building as his hips drive up hard into you

With the feeling of him so deep inside of you, you fall over the edge again. The feeling of your orgasm, clenching and fluttering and soaking, drags him with you, groaning against your neck when his hips slam and stutter still. His arms are tight around you, both heaving deep breaths together.

Steve eases you both down onto your sides, tangled together. You feel dazed and heavy but the stroke of Steve’s fingers on your hip, his hot breath on your collarbone grounds you until the sounds of Chicago on a Saturday morning remind you that this wasn’t a dream.

“You okay? That.. Jesus…” Steve’s voice is breathy, but you hear his smile.

“Yeah. I’m…amazing.”

“Yeah, you are.”

There’s comfortable silence as you both come back to earth.

After a few moments Steve dots kisses to your cheeks, forehead and nose before he eases out of you to bin the full condom. Soon you’re back in bed with him, held safe in his arms. His cheeks are pink and you want to squeeze them.

“You’re so gorgeous, Steve.” Your fingers brush over the moles dotted along his cheekbone, and he catches your hand to kiss your fingers sweetly in distraction. “Hey. Look at me, Harrington.”

“Back to Harrington?” he teases, looking into your eyes with faux intensity to make you giggle. “M’lookin’.”

“Steve. Steven.” You match his teasing with pretend-seriousness.

“Not Steven. Please, baby.” His mouth turns down, exaggerating his unhappiness with you, but the stroke of his fingers on your hip say otherwise.

“Ms O’Donnell called you Steven.”

“Please don’t bring O’Donnell up while my dick is still out.”

You both dissolve into giggles, pressing your face against the chain on his chest. “Shut up, she had that much of an effect on you?! Calling you Steven gets you all worked up? Okay perv, good to know.”

“You’re sick in the head.” His voice is shaky with laughter against your hair. “S’a good thing you’re cute.”

“Mhm. Definitely a sicko. Two cute sickos.” You take his face in your hands again. “You’re a great date Steve Harrington.”

He smiles, but it falls a little - you just about catch it. It makes your heart hurt. Your inability to just say that you don’t want this to be a one time thing makes you want to pull your own hair out.

“I do my best. I had so much fun with you. I’m just kinda… sick of first dates though. Yknow?”

“I do know. But that’s not how last night felt.”

There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes as he nods.

“Definitely helped that we had a bit of a head start on the ‘where are you from?’ shit..” There’s a twinkle of playfulness in his heart wrenching sincerity.

“I hate that part.” You look into his eyes. It makes your chest flutter, how he looks at you.

“I know we didn’t know each other all that well in school..”

“Since kindergarten.” Your shrug is tiny, you smile playfully as he groans.

“Since kindergarten. Shit. What’ve I been doing all this time…” he asks the ceiling.

“Same as me. Getting out of Hawkins. Going on crappy dates...”

“Mm, true. Growing up, I guess.” He’s quiet for a moment, “Last night wasn’t crappy. Best date I’ve been on in a long long time.”

“Me too. I think I’ll let you take me out again, if you want to…” you say, whispering bravely as you act all playful despite your hammering heart.

The smile on Steve’s face makes the butterflies in your stomach swoop again. You weren’t the only one who felt so dimmed by dating around, having your heart broken. There’s a beat of silence, charged electric as Steve looks at your lips and you touch his chain again.

“You like pancakes, or waffles?” Steve’s eyes twinkle.

You squeeze the bulk of his bicep. “French toast.”

His head tips back in laugh, showing off his delicious throat. “Oh she’s fancy?”

“She is.”

He leans in to kiss you in more time. “I can do fancy, baby.”

“You’ve done fancy twice. Fancy is hungry, Steve.”

Your laughter echoes in the golden morning light that fills your room as his fingers skate over your ribs, finding the ticklish spots before he hauls you as close as possible again.

Steve’s nose presses against your cheek, smooching one more kiss there before sitting up to find his pants. As you stargaze at the constellation on his broad back, you think this might just be the start of something really amazing.

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