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#what subpar content
sistertinysips · 6 months
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It truly pains me to say this. But it's looking more and more like Warrior nun was never saved. Not the Warrior nun that Simon and the cast and the writing/producing team lovingly created.
Rather seems the end goal for Dean English was always his original plan. A movie adaptation of the source material. Which is to say the comics. The alleged new producing company is owned by dean English. And he has been apparently working closely with Ben Dunn. They have no claim over Netflix's warrior nun, that includes Ava, Beatrice and whichever original character they introduced. I'm so sorry for all the hard work that the fandom pulled off to gain traction and attention to the show. What I don't know and can't even speculate on is why the hell did Simon Barry announced that Warrior nun was saved only to now wash his hands clean of whatever is going on. Not cool of him, really not cool
I really wanted to get our beloved characters back, but it don't think it will happen. And to me personally the bottom line is that as long as capitalism is allowed to keep bleeding the entertainment business dry, good shows will keep getting cancelled after barely 1-2 seasons, we'll keep getting shows with no more than 10-8 episodes per season (which causes rich complex deep character and plot development to suffer from being shortened). The impact and almost sure success of the WAG strike is definitely a first step in the right direction. But until us consumers find a way to fuck up their cannibalistic market model this will keep happening, specially to LGBTQIA+ shows, specially to shows with lesbian/WLW leading characters.
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dykefinley · 1 month
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okay if you don’t like Billie Eilish or shitty low effort phone backgrounds just ignore my next posts
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What shows are you going to Crystal?
I have tickets for LA. 😊 I'd have loved to do multiple dates like I did last year but I'd have to travel out of state (how they went from 4 CA shows in 3 different counties on the last tour to one single show this time is bizarre to me but I digress) and neither my health nor my finances are currently up for that. 🥹 If they add another Forum date (which I feel is possible!), I might try to work that out but for now, the priority is getting myself feeling well enough for the show on September 14!
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vulpinesaint · 11 months
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do professors offer a "got stuck with a stupid partner" condolence grade
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Elvin Fashion Pt. I
Yes, yes, I know. We do have solid knowledge about Elvin fashion due to Unlocked. I don't have a copy on-hand, so I'm just analyzing portraits.
(also, let's face it - I'm looking at fancy-wear)
(quick warning - this is probably the longest text post I've ever written, and it is long)
(also - part two will be analyzing silhouettes)
First off - high society's idea of fancy dress with the Vackers.
The Vackers' family portrait shows a number of important, considerable things.
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So, let's start with jewelry. Men don't tend to wear jewelry, for what we can see, but both Biana and Della do. Della's headpiece - probably a comb - and Biana's headband both feature nature, as do the embroidery on the menswear. Additionally, by Biana's double-necklace thing, we can tell that elves, in formal settings, probably wear one or two necklaces, maybe three if they're stretching it. Della's earrings and bracelet also tell us that elves have ear-piercing as a thing, unless they're elaborate clip-ons.
Based on the Vackers as a whole, we can tell that the dress is quite similar to Western wear, and the men seem to have a less revealing outfit as a whole, with none of the menswear showing shoulders, while Della's - and maybe Biana's, I can't tell - dress has shoulders exposed. Low collars seem to be the pattern for the women and high collars might be in for men.
Next up, the Songs. I was going to do the Sencens next, but apparently there's no Sencen family portrait.
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There's a lot of things that culturally bother me about Songs, including the vague Asian-ness that's actually just racism in disguise, or at least something racist-adjacent.
Anyway.
So the Songs follow the expectation of womenswear being more revealing and menswear covering up more, although the womenswear is more modest. Besides registry pendants, literally no jewelry is observable, and Mai's drapery over her arm tells me that this is a thing. Also, with Quan and Linh, you can see the return of nature-based patterns.
From the family portrait, it's already obvious the Songs are not as well of as the Vackers, not even close.
Either that or it's the vague racism-adjacent thought.
(also, they're supposed to be Vietnamese. why are they so pale???)
There's not much else to be analyzed, so I'll leave it at that.
Next, the Ruewens.
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The Ruewens are known to be drawn-back, and used to be really, really rich.
However, they're more laid-back, and we can see them wearing some nice things. However, it does still follow the modesty convention of the elves that we've seen so far, but Edaline and Sophie both wear something between the modesty of the Vackers' and the Songs'. This is, in my opinion, the most low-key out of all three families I've observed so far. And pattern-wise, Edaline sports flowers on her dress.
Now, our favourite tragic, rebuilding family, the Endals.
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Personally, I think the Endals might be around the Dizznee's levels of money and society. Just look at the way they dress - low-key, not much jewelry, etc.
Now, Wylie and Prentice basically follow the general look of the menswear so far, although it's significantly less elaborate then the Vackers (although I think the Vackers are the exception and not the rule).
Cyrah returns with a hairpiece (and nature motifs), with her somewhat decorated headband, but what I think is the most interesting is her clothing. Interestingly, this makes me think that Cyrah might have gender problems - after all, she's wearing something that, at a first glance, I would've pegged as menswear. Transmasc Cyrah, anyone?
(Livvy also wears that kind of style, but we all know Livvy is nonbinary. Clarette, in the Council picture, also is depicted wearing the same style, but it's completely possible that Clarette's also not really a woman)
Anyway, there's nothing too special with the Endals going on.
So now I'm going over generalizations on portraits.
A lot of the main girls' portraits contradict what I thought I knew about womenswear in Elvin fashion - but there has to be a reason. So I propose that, since no one seems to recognize the portraits in-canon (correct me if necessary), that the portraits weren't actually taken in-canon. Therefore, I can assume that women only wear more revealing outfits in more formal settings, or significantly less formal occasions. Basically, it's a spectrum - and both ends are less revealing. For the womenswear, at least. Shout out to Maruca, Marella, and Stina for the somewhat more revealing outfits.
(revealing is a weird word for me to use in this case)
Now, boys. There's nothing interesting about the boys' outfits. Literally nothing.
Please, more fashion.
Anyway, blah blah blah capes. Why do family crests exist without a need for capes by non-nobility? I have no idea. Why can children wear capes if nobility is defined as a someone who works in government? I also have no idea.
Also, Vespera looks amazing. Regency-style dress and amazing headpiece? I'd wear that any day. Although, with the cool undertones of Vespera's skin, I think blue or purple with silver would've been better.
In conclusion, womenswear is way more interesting the menswear-
I mean, in conclusion, menswear is less revealing and more high-collared, while womenswear has a wider range of styles and also jewelry is usually exclusive to women, and to further that, exclusive to high class women, particularly those of as high class as the Vackers, which is pretty much nobody. Jewelry is mostly exclusive to the high class women too, which means that, fashion-wise, high class women are the best dressed.
Also, elves like nature patterns!
(side note - none of the councilors look like Vackers, which I think is interesting. I'd expect one or two to be a Vacker)
Yes, I know about Laura Hollingsworth's issues, and no, I do not support her, but for the purpose of analyzing clothing, her drawings are great, so I'm using them.
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hiriaeth · 2 years
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I truly think people need to really connect with actual real people and not have meltdowns because posts are circulating that criticize a celeb that you think you know. You're adults, aren't you embarrassed or care about your own life at all?
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getvalentined · 9 months
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An open letter to @staff
I already submitted this to Support under "Feedback," but I'm sharing it here too as I don't expect it to get a response, and I feel like putting in out in public may be more effective than sending it off into the void.
The recent post on the Staff blog about changing tumblr to an algorithmic feed features a large amount of misinformation that I feel staff needs to address, openly and honestly, with information on where this data was sourced at the very least.
Claim 1: Algorithms help small creators.
This is false, as algorithms are designed to push content that gets engagement in order to get it more engagement, thereby assuring that the popular remain popular and the small remain small except in instances of extreme luck.
This can already be seen on the tumblr radar, which is a combination of staff picks (usually the same half-dozen fandoms or niche special interests like Lego photography) which already have a ton of engagement, or posts that are getting enough engagement to hit the radar organically. Tumblr has an algorithm that runs like every other socmed algorithm on the planet, and it will decimate the reach of small creators just like every other platform before it.
Claim 2: Only a small portion of users utilize the chronological feed.
You can find a poll by user @darkwood-sleddog here that at the time of writing this, sits at over 40 THOUSAND responses showing that over 96 percent of them use the chronological feed*. Claiming otherwise isn't just a misstatement, it's a lie. You are lying to your core userbase and expecting them to accept it as fact. It's not just unethical, it's insulting to people who have been supporting your platform for over a decade.
Claim 3: Tumblr is not easy to use.
This is also 100% false and you ABSOLUTELY know it. Tumblr is EXTREMELY easy to use, the issue is that the documentation, the explanations of features, and often even the stability of the service is subpar. All of this would be very easy for staff to fix, if they would invest in the creation of walkthroughs and clear explanations of how various site features work, as well as finally fixing the search function. Your inability to explain how your service works should not result in completely ignoring the needs and wants of your core long-term userbase. The fact that you're more willing to invest in the very systems that have made every other form of social media so horrifically toxic than in trying to make it easier for people to use the service AS IT WORKS NOW and fixing the parts that don't work as well speaks volumes toward what tumblr staff actually cares about.
You will not get a paycheck if your platform becomes defunct, and the thing that makes it special right now is that it is the ONLY large-scale socmed platform on THE ENTIRE INTERNET with a true chronological feed and no aggressive algorithmic content serving. The recent post from staff indicates that you are going to kill that, and are insisting that it's what we want. It is not. I'd hazard to guess that most of the dev team knows it isn't what we want, but I assume the money people don't care. The user base isn't relevant, just how much money they can bring in.
The CEO stated he wanted this to remain as sort of the last bastion of the Old Internet, and yet here we are, watching you declare you intend to burn it to the ground.
You can do so much better than this.
Response to the Update
Under the cut for readability, because everything said above still applies.
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I already said this in a reblog on the post itself, but I'm adding it to this one for easy access: people read it that way because that's what you said.
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Staff considers the main feed as it exists to be "outdated," to the point that you literally used that word to describe it, and the main goals expressed in this announcement is to figure out what makes "high-quality content" and serve that to users moving forward.
People read it that way because that is what you said.
*The final results of the poll, after 24 hours:
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136,635 votes breaks down thusly:
An algorithm based feed where I get "the best of tumblr." @ 1.3% (roughly 1,776 votes)
Chronological feed that only features blogs I follow. @ 95.2% (roughly 130,077 votes)
This doesn't affect me personally. @ 3.5% (roughly 4,782 votes)
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yae-35 · 7 months
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The ch0ices fandom is trending for the first time in like what years? and one of the first things I see is bootlicker discourse yuck
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peachesofteal · 4 months
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pls let Simon hold that baby 🥺
Light on - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader 18+ mdni / mild suggestive content, mention of spanking - could be considered mildly dark and twisty
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"Oh, you came!"
What? Yes, he came. You invited him, didn't you? Wasn't that... did he get this wrong? "Er, yeah... I thought you said-"
"I did, I did. Come in." You step to the side, allowing him entry into the hallway where the smell of something incredible lingers, pulling at the pockets of his cheeks. You can cook. Judging by the scent of roast chicken and herbs that fill the room, he knows immediately that you're better than the 'subpar' dinner you mentioned yesterday. "You just ah, seemed unsure. I didn't want to assume." His hand pats his pocket instinctively, seeking the mask, trying to fight the urge to pull it over his face, pleasantly surprised you don't seem off put by his face, or the fact that it's the first time you've seen him without it.
"I had some things going on today, wasn't sure about my schedule until a few hours ago." Lie. It's a lie, a bold faced one. He knew he'd be here from the moment you had rushed out the invite, offering to cook him dinner as he dwarfed you inside your cozy apartment, dead smoke detector batteries in his hand.
"Well, thank you for coming. And thanks for all your help yesterday. I couldn't figure that stupid thing out to save my life." You laugh, teeth exposed, easy and carefree. A shiver ricochets down his spine. Why you let him inside your flat the first time, he'll never understand. Maybe one day, he'll reprimand you for it. Chide you for letting a stranger inside your home, remind you to be more cautious. He would explain why you need to more careful, more observant of your surroundings, as his thumb rubbed away the fat tears falling over your cheeks, the result of him taking his palm to your ass a dozen times for the slip up. Can't be makin' mistakes like that, love. Not with it just being you and the baby when I'm not here- he'd tell you, make you promise not to do it again, soothing your tears with cool cream against your skin and gentle, but firm, reassurance.
You just need someone to take care of you, that's all. Teach you.
Emmaline makes a noise, a half babble, half cry, and it breaks him from his reckless daydream, bringing him back to reality in a matter of seconds. What is he thinking? You're his neighbor. He doesn't even know you.
"Thanks for inviting me." You're bent at the waist, hands pulling a roasting rack from the oven, perfectly cooked bird sitting on a bed of potatoes and carrots, and his stomach rumbles almost loud enough for you to hear.
"I owe you. That beeping would've kept little miss here up for hours." You jerk your head in Emmaline's direction, where she's fixated on you, mouth hanging half open. "Needs a few more minutes." You mumble to yourself, and then turn around again. "Do you want a drink? I've got some lagers, and a bottle of wine somewhere." Your fingers knot together, words on the tip of your tongue hopeful, almost... nervous, and you give him another smile, albeit this one is less confident.
"A lager would be good." He tries to settle you by being agreeable, and you produce two from the fridge, your fingers brushing against his when you hand one to him, skin warm and so, so soft, the kind of soft he's rarely felt, the kind that feels like silk against sandpaper. Yours against his.
"So, you said you travel for-" Your question is interrupted by a shriek, a demanding cry from Emmaline, her little fists waving in the air at you, like she's indignant about the redirection of your attention. You pick her up, yellow jumper bright against your red apron, and you shoot him an apologetic grimace. "I'm sorry, I was hoping she'd be down by now but, she's just been so fussy lately." You bounce her back and forth, cries quieting until she's just blinking at you with wet eyes, and the timer on the oven goes off. "Shit. Ah..." You look at her, and then look at the oven. "Can you, would you mind?" You extend your arms, Emma inside them, and he puts every piece of his training to use trying to control his reaction.
His heart soars.
His brain panics.
"Yeah, okay." He says, and you dip forward, pushing her into his arms. He knows how to hold a baby, held Joseph plenty, and she seems to agree, settling in against his chest, hands grabbing at his sweatshirt, tugging and trying to eat the fabric. She's light, lighter than he expected, but still sturdy, and when her lips shift into a gummy smile as she makes eye contact with him, he feels everything logical inside him shutting down.
Beautiful baby girl, and her perfect, sweet, angel of a mum.
He'll be keeping you.
He'll be keeping you both.
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sytoran · 1 month
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⋆⭒˚。★ ❝MILE HIGH CLUB❞ ★ n.romanoff !
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pairing ★ sub!natasha romanoff x fem!avenger!reader
synopsis ★ on a plane ride to dubai for a romantic getaway, natasha takes matters into her own hands, and your cock into her own mouth. (oops?)
warnings ★ explicit content (minors dni), pwp, semi-public sex, jealous natasha is scarily hot, you are not the lord's strongest soldier, you have a cock, you almost get caught (kind of)
word count ★ 2.6k (IM BACKKK!!!! ...for now)
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With Thor, Valkyrie and Carol back on Earth for about two weeks or so, you and Natasha were relieved of your Avenger duties. And what better way to spend the restful break than going on a romantic getaway to Dubai with the love of your life?
On the eighth of the eleven-hour flight, you were perfectly content to lounge in the luxuries of first-class, courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D. But it seems that for the Avenger who was constantly on her feet, Natasha didn't deal well with ennui.
“I’m bored, Y/N.”
Unbeknownst to your girlfriend’s hidden agenda, you paid little mind to Natasha’s statement, continuing to watch the subpar rom-com playing on the aeroplane screen in blissful ignorance.
“Sorry, baby, I know it’s a long flight. You wanna watch this movie with me?”
Natasha lets out an aggravated huff. Because of course you didn’t know the effect you had on her. As much as the whole Avenger getup was as bold as it was impressive, this laid-back version of you really showcased the underlying details that marked her attraction to you.
Thin-rimmed reading glasses sat atop your nose, stray hairs framing the delicacy of your sharp cheekbones and marble-cutting jawline. With a tight-fitting black turtleneck that strained under the bulkiness of your sinful biceps, cut from the finest vibranium, and loosely-hung grey sweatpants that finished off the whole look — Natasha was just about ready to start sucking you off.
That passing thought had just been one of amusement, rhetorical and hyperbolic, seemingly impossible but altogether funny. But then Natasha takes a few steps back, figuratively, and considers it again — and a smile likened to a scheming devil crawls upon her face.
Well, Widows always got what they wanted, didn’t they?
“Y/N,” Natasha purrs, intently pressing into your side.
“Mhm?” you hum, reaching out a hand to entwine it with hers. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You still bored?”
Your reaction was simply so innocent and angelic that Natasha almost felt bad for the devil-spawned arbitrary ploy she was about to enact.
Suddenly surging forward, Natasha lifts up the armrest that separates your seats, closing the distance between her and a trip down to hell, and lets a hand cup the mouth-watering bulge in your grey sweatpants.
“I said I’m bored, Daddy,” she whispers into your ear. “Mommy wants to play.”
The loud half-splutter, half-cough that resounds around the enclosed space around the two of you within the aeroplane is immaculate.
You choke on inhaled air, looking around at the other passengers with disbelief and anxiety, as if you had been scandalised.
And maybe you had been. Shifting in your seat uncomfortably, you desperately try to look away from the tantalising cleavage shoved in front of your sinning eyes.
Natasha’s low-cut top had you fighting every calvary in your mental war, and you struggle to regain a semblance of composure.
“But, uhm, Daddy wants to remind Mommy that we’re surrounded by complete strangers,” You whisper urgently, a handsome flush overtaking your features. “And that we are very well-known Avengers across the globe, so if we were to get caught we would end up on every news headline for the next month. And if it reaches Fury, well, we’d be in shit ton of trouble.”
Your state of arousal is unhelpfully heightened further when you notice that Natasha is eyeing your growing erection like a hawk, front teeth sinking into her ruby-red lip, ready to take strike and devour its prey.
“Oh darling, you know I’m a whore for attention,” Natasha replies loftily, and the silky-smooth way that the word ‘whore’ rolls off her tongue triggers a jolt of arousal straight to the tent in your sweatpants.
When Natasha begins caressing the hefty bulge in between your legs, a low groan emits from the depths of your throat and it melts in Natasha’s lower belly in the form of molten arousal.
“Natasha, as much as I want to rail you senseless in this very second—”
“What’s stopping you?”
“I don’t think that this is a good idea—”
“Stop thinking, then,” Natasha responds as if it’s the most simple answer in all of the galaxy, and before you can come up with another futile reason to deter her girlfriend’s libido, Natasha launches into action.
In a fraction of a second that could have rivalled Spiderman’s speed, Natasha unbuckles her seatbelt and sinks to her knees in front of your seat. Another upside of first-class was the spacious legroom which Natasha fully utilised. Ducking under your blanket, she drapes it over her hunched figure and tucks herself neatly between your legs.
“Fuck,” you breathe out, fumbling to unbuckle your own seatbelt and letting Natasha slide down your sweatpants. Social decency be damned, for when Natasha Romanoff presented herself to you, ripe for the taking, no one simply denied themself of that glorious heaven.
Deft fingers tug down black Calvin Klein boxers, and a huge, hardened cock springs out of its confinement. You exhale shakily as a hand wraps around the base, and a feather-light finger trails over its girthy length.
“I’m not surviving this, am I?” You mutter underneath your breath, leaning back into the seat. In response, Natasha gives kitten licks to the pre-cum emerging at your heady tip, so saintly and sinful all the same.
Guiding the head of your cock to a hot mouth, Natasha leisurely wraps her lips around the shaft. Your iron-hard grip on the armrest was almost completely useless in the face of regaining normalcy, not when the feeling of velvet lips set alight every nerve on her body.
“Fuck,” you curse breathlessly, your face contorting into one of pleasure. Darkened eyes fixate unto the blanket Natasha was hidden under, and your wandering mind fuels an image of your girlfriend’s hollowed cheeks and pliant mouth, to which you almost fall apart there and then.
Dirty, scandalous and filthy was being able to feel Natasha’s tongue swirl around your cock without seeing it happen. Your lack of sight heightened the sensitivity of your other senses by tenfold, and you had to physically restrain herself from bucking your hips forward.
Without warning, Natasha tilts her head up, ruffling the blankets, and then engulfs your cock in the threshold of her throat.
“Oh, Thanos' head on a fucking stick—”
“Excuse me ma’am, what can I get for you today?”
Your eyes fly open in a nanosecond, head jerking to the source of distraction. There in the aisle stood an air stewardess with a push-cart and a smile just a little too wide.
“Uh, uhm, just a water would be fine,” you choke out, attempting to exhale steadily as if you hadn’t been about to combust in your girlfriend's mouth just a few seconds ago.
“Right away, ma’am,” The stewardess answers. “You getting hot and bothered from the show?” She asks harmlessly, a smirk tugging up on her face.
You take a moment to understand the jest. Before you the shitty rom-com is still playing, except now there's a badly orchestrated sex scene playing, where the male actor is trying too hard to act as if he’s doing any good. It doesn’t do you any good that your face is flushed and evidently flustered, but for different yet similar reasons.
A false laugh escapes your lips, in hopes of driving the woman away. “What! No, no way. I’m all good here.”
You swear you can smell the jealousy radiating off from Natasha in leaps and bounds, and you decide it is best to end the conversation before Natasha fuses and convulses simultaneously.
God forbid Natasha decides to start deepthroating your cock at that exact moment.
You let out a ragged groan in front of the stewardess, as a hot mouth engulfs your cock in quick succession, sucking back and forth with an esteemed fervour.
“You alright there, sweetheart?” The lady asks, leaning closer, reaching out a hand to pat the side of your face.
You lean back, rapidly attempting to steady your breathing, and failing miserably. Natasha’s bobbing her head up and down with energised vigour, determined in her mission.
“Y-yeah, it’s really alright. Th-thanks, again.”
Just as you thought all was done and dusted, the air stewardess looks around cautiously. She leans closer to you with batted eyelashes and a supposedly seductive wink.
Then, in a low and sultry voice that seals your fate, the woman says, “Let me know if you need anything special, handsome.” You choke back a moan as Natasha twists her head, her talented tongue doing wonders to her cock.
The lady can’t get out of your sight any slower.
The moment the air stewardess disappears into the confines of the next cabin, footsteps fading away, Natasha's head whips out of the blanket, furrowed brows and an aggravated expression taking you by storm.
“‘Let me know if you need anything special, handsome!?’ Who does that whore think she is? Baby, do note that it’s taking me very large amounts of self-restraint not to get up right now and slap her silly. I can’t believe that an air stewardess would hit on anyone so openly like that, much less you! God, Y/N, I—”
Natasha’s stream of enjambments decrescendos into a meek silence at the look on your face.
Evanescent was the abrupt change in your demeanour, as if a switch had been flicked, as if the rest of the world had faded away, and it was just the two of them left.
Natasha’s cheeks flush so prettily, so quickly, because that look on your face only meant one thing.
A set jaw, glinting in the light — cut marble sculpted from the finest hands. Eyes that descend into such deep hues that Natasha feels like she’s drowning like the Titanic, downwards towards the depths of hell.
“Less talking, baby, more sucking.”
A rough hand finds Natasha’s head under the blanket and her hair is tugged on forcefully, jerking it forward to engulf the entirety of your cock. Natasha is more than happy to comply.
Natasha’s pretty gag is lost in the sound of the ongoing turbulence, and you grunt and drag those velvet walls down the length of your cock again. If Natasha decided to act like a brat, you could sure as hell treat her like one.
Up and down, up and down, and the way you manhandle Natasha to deepthroat a solid eight inches should be considered an Avengers-level threat. If you close your eyes, you can almost see the tears welling up in Natasha’s eyes, her pretty lips wrapped around your cock, strands of hair clinging to beads of sweat that adorn her face.
You're not too sure if the wet and squelching noises you hear are from Natasha's slick throat or a figment of your ever-rampant imagination. Either way, the contracting waves of Natasha’s throat around your cock is downright sinful, pretty and easy and oh so pliant.
From base to tip and tip to base, a preordained promise of paradise hangs in the atmosphere, and with each passing stroke, you barrel towards that high. You thrust hard into Natasha's throat, stretching it out, filling it up.
You lose yourself in the wet heat of Natasha’s mouth, your cock being stimulated in such heavenly eloquence of Natasha’s tongue. As an Avenger, you've fought a thousand battles, but none of them have ever quite left you as breathless as this one.
You're awfully close.
In the haze of being used like a mindless fucktoy, Natasha’s hand slips up the expanse of your clenched thigh muscle, and proceeds to toy with the heavy sack of balls. You groan, gripping Natasha’s hair tighter, tugging her downwards.
You're really, really close.
Your ears prick up as a sound emits from under the blanket, and your keen hearing picks up a whiny moan that sounds an awful lot like “Daddy, please”.
Oh, fuck.
Natasha’s helpless plea is what causes you to tumble over the edge of precipice, waves crashing and planets colliding as your vision becomes pure, unadulterated, white heat. “Fuck,” you grunt, a dragged-out groan from your chest, a ringing emblem of castle walls that crumble down.
Streaks and streaks of milky, white fluid are released into the depths of Natasha’s throat, coating her velvet walls, thick and creamy as it splatters against pink walls. Contented moans resound from Natasha, as she continues to suck on your extensive cock like it’s her last lifeline, like she might as well perish without it.
For a brief moment, you question your existence in the universe, and how remarkably infinitesimal you feel, hanging kilometres above the wide open sea and nothing else.
Be it land or sea or stars, though, you think you've found your muse, your reason for staying.
“Natasha,” you breathe out, like a sacred prayer, like a haunted blessing, as pleasure overrides your system.
You don’t recall quite how long you stay in that exact position, a hand cupping the back of Natasha’s head, rocking gently thorugh the aftershocks, Natasha’s palm resting on the side of your thigh.
Sentience gradually floats back into your capability, and you slowly blink as you arise from your out-of-body experience. “Well, shit,” you mumble, the aeroplane filtering into view, the snores from sleeping passengers around you becoming audible again.
Once the coast was deemed clear, you lift up the blanket covering your lap, but it turns out to be a dreadful decision as the sight of Natasha almost causes you to roll back into another orgasm.
Natasha’s previously neat hair was now a complete mess, sticking to her mouth and the sides of her face in the heat of sweat and slick. What used to be perfect, unblemished eyeshadow was now a runny mess due to Natasha’s tears, and a nude shade of bottle-red lipstick was smeared across her mouth and your semi-erect cock.
Lowered lashes shielded a smokey gaze, nearly all black, and you can feel herself hardening again, like you hadn’t just received a filthy blowjob that would make the heavens blush.
Immediately, that image of Natasha Romanoff was imprinted into her mind for an eternity to come, saved for future purposes.
By some saintly miracle, none of the passengers surrounding had awoken, and Natasha successfully crawls back into her seat with an all-too-smug smile.
“How was it?” She asks innocently, batting those lashes with a seductive head-tilt.
“I don’t know, maybe you should’ve moaned ‘Please, Daddy,’ just a little louder,” you retort quickly, no bite behind your words, delighting in the pink flush that adorns your girlfriend’s cheeks.
On about the ninth hour of the flight, approximately one hour after Natasha drew out an earth-shattering orgasm from your megalithic shaft, you effectively draws closer to Natasha, with crossed arms that unhelpfully accentuate the bulge of your biceps.
“Let me rail you in the toilet?”
“Y/N L/N, I am not sitting my bare ass on that filthy bathroom counter. I don't wish to end up with an STI."
“Who says I need to a counter to fuck you, hm?”
──── ☆ ⋅ ★ ⋅ ☆ ────
After three splendid orgasms, more abundant wails of ‘Daddy, please’ emitting from the toilet, and that same, very embarrassed flight stewardess politely requesting for them to get the fuck out, you and Natasha land in Dubai, officially kickstarting your romantic getaway with a bang.
Literally, quite a bang.
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haven't written something new in forever, hopefully this is enough to satiate you gremlins' desires... (but forreal tho, thanks for sticking around) reblog or i'll hunt you down and NOT post for 12493482 years
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frantic-fiction · 2 months
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Unexpected
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Pic: @cheekylittlepupp (I love her posts)
Astarion x gn!Tav, Astarion x gn!reader
Summary: A night of seduction takes an unexpected turn, leaving Astarion to realize just how deep his feelings for Tav have developed.
Warnings: Astarion not knowing how to handle affection. Mild disassociation. Astarion has a lot of confusing feels.
Word count: 2.8k
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Astarion sprawls across the blanket, his spine cracking against the stretch. A reflexive groan escapes him. His arms are crossed to cushion his head while the sun's heat seeps into his bones. The last time he felt this warm and relaxed was when his heart still beat in his chest. He feels like he could trance, in just a moment.
It still baffles him, the luck of it all. Being ripped right out of that bastard's chains, only to be dropped in the middle of nowhere with a tadpole in his head and a bunch of problematic weirdos for company. And Tav. Tav, who Astarion has yet to fully figure out. 
At first, he thought the naive little hero thing was all an act, but no, that was just Tav. And a sweet, naive person was exactly who he needed to keep his place in this group. He had already seduced them; now, he just needed to keep them on his side.
Astarion is pulled from his thoughts. He's not sure why until his ears twitch at the sound of boots scuffing on dirt. Pushing up on his elbows, Astarion looks up towards the tree line. 
Tav, slightly obscured by clouds of disturbed dust, is trudging up the west trail. Their body seems to have deflated, shoulders slumped, both hands gripping their pack straps as if the moment they let go, the heavy bag would pull them to the ground.
Tav looks exhausted, not the kind brought on by a poor night's rest or a long day's travel. But one that builds up slowly, from continuous tasks and responsibilities, with constant eyes looking for guidance in a time none could imagine experiencing. The suffocating feeling that claws its way under the skin, burying deep behind fake smiles and pleasantries.
Sitting up further, he watches Tav start to make their rounds. First to Gale, they pull a necklace out of their pocket before placing it in his palm. The wizard makes what's sure to be a subpar joke, and Tav's delicate laugh rings out—Astarion glares in annoyance. 
Tav says goodbye and moves over to Wyll. They unsheaths a polished rapier- a replacement for the one Wyll managed to break when they fought against a pack of minotaurs. It's ridiculous if you ask Astarion, but Tav tells him to keep his comments to himself and, as they say, "don't bite the hand that feeds." 
After a quick hello to Lae'zel, Tav's eyes find Astarion. They perk up a bit, a timid smile stretching their plump lips. Astarion is now fully on his feet, returning their smile with a smirk of his own.
"Hello, my sweet," Astarion says, moving behind Tav. "Let me," he pulls the straps off Tav's shoulders, letting the heavy pack fall into his arms. "Hells, my dear, you carried this all the way from town."
"It's not that heavy," they mumble, reaching for the bag.
Astarion swiftly pulls the pack from Tav's reach. "What did you get?" He quirks his brow and unlatches the pack to begin sifting through its contents.
Tav huffs something under their breath and crosses their arms, but makes no further attempt to reach for the bag. 
The pack is brimming with food, potions, arrows, daggers, and scrolls, all basic supplies. "Boring," Astarion says, tossing the bag to the side carelessly.
"If anything broke, it's coming from your gold pouch."
"Yes, yes, of course," Astarion says, waving his hand casually before turning up the charm. They look up at him with lidded eyes and a glaze over look . "Are you alright?" Astarion asks, his voice laced with played-up concern.
"Hmm... O-Oh, yeah, yes, I'm fine." Their eyes dart away, seeming to look for the next lie. "You know me; I'm always doing good."
Astarion glances around the camp, looking at the others. None seemed to be paying attention to the two of them. He steps forward and brushes a strand of hair behind Tav's ear, trailing his fingers down their neck.
"I've begun to know you very well, my sweet, and I can tell you are exhausted."
"I'll be fine," Tav catches his hand and starts to play with his fingers.
Astarion freezes, brow furrowing in confusion. They're just pulling slightly at his hand. An odd feeling settles in Astarion's stomach.
Why are they doing that?
They let go a moment later, and Astarion pulls his hand back quickly.
"I've got to talk with Shadowheart; if you'd like, you can feed on me tonight." Tav hesitates before quickly pecking his cheek and skipping off.
Astarion is left staring after them with this dreadful fluttering in his stomach. A hand absentmindedly touches his cheek. His mouth feels dry, and he swallows hard. 
Astarion has an idea brewing that would please Tav, and maybe he would even get another of those soft kisses.
Why would he care for another damn kiss? Gods, what is happening to him? Is it the damn tadpole?
It's nightfall when Astarion finds Tav again. They are sat on the ground, suffocated between a growing owlbear cub and a slobbery dog. Scratch's tail wags and the subtle movement of Tav's hands petting each animal's fur are the only movements. Tav's eyes are closed, and their face is relaxed.
"Should I grab the cleric?"
"No, I think the rogue will do just fine." 
Tav's eyes open, their face breaking into a bright smile. They sit up, displacing the animals who no longer consider Tav a suitable bed. 
"Time for dinner?" Tav wiggles their fingers at them, beckoning for assistance.
Astarion scoffs but grabs their wrists and pulls Tav to their feet. Tav stumbles forward a step and presses into him. He gets the urge to kiss them for no reason other than he wants to and almost leans down to do just that when Tav speaks.
"So… my tent or yours?"
Astarion blinks out of his thoughts. "Right, I think my tent tonight,” he offers his arm, which Tav takes. "This way, my dear."
Tav allows Astarion to escort them to his tent, where upon entrance, on a small table sits a platter containing a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese he nipped from Gale's pack, alongside a fresh vine of grapes he may or may not have gone all the way to the bloody town for. Tav mentioned it was their favorite fruit, and hearing the shocked gasp made that obnoxious trip at least worth it.
"What's all this for?"
"I was feeling a bit peckish tonight, so I decided to have a nice meal. I merely wanted to rub it in your face."
Tav rolls their eyes and punches him in the arm dropping to the ground. They pluck a grape from the vine, pop it in their mouth, and pierce the skin with their teeth. 
"Where did you even get all this?"
"If I told you the lengths I went," Astarion says, pulling out a bottle of wine and popping the cork. "I would have to kill you, Darling. I've got an image to keep."  He pours out a glass and passes it over.
Tav chuckles and thanks him and takes a sip. Astarion sits on a cushion beside Tav with his own glass, watching them slice the bread. It quiets long enough for Tav to finish the slice of bread with some cheese along with a couple of grapes. 
Astarion couldn't help but think how cute they looked, cheeks puffing slightly from too big of a bite. They swallow it with a mouth full of wine, a droplet falling down their chin. He wants to catch it with his thumb.
"But seriously, isn't this time reserved for your midnight snack?"
"Typically, but you looked so tired, my dear." Astarion places his goblet to the side and scoots closer to Tav. "I wanted to help you relax, help you sleep. You are always doing so much for everyone."
He plucks a grape and leans in, guiding it to their wine-stained lips. Lowering his voice, he whispers deep and low, "Let me help you."
Tav instinctually opens their mouth, letting the fruit fall in between their lips; their tongue catches Astarion's thumb briefly before his hand retreats. He cups their jaw, and traces over Tav's cheekbone.
 Every time he gets a chance to look, really look at Tav. Astarion can't help being captivated by their beauty. The shine of their hair, the softness of their face alway so warm and inviting, their nose scrunching up anytime he teases. So gorgeous. 
Tav's doe eyes flick down from his eyes to his mouth. Their tongue peaks out gently swiping across their bottom lip. 
Who kisses who is irrelevant. Only the feeling of their smooth lips gliding against his, the shaky exhale of breath, Tav's warm hands curling around his neck, fingers carding into his hair. 
Tav pulls away to breathe, running their nose against his. Astarion can't remember the last time a kiss left him wanting more. And having Tav rush back into the kiss as desperate as he feels sent unfamiliar shivers down his spine.
Astarion's hand presses against the small of their back, pulling Tav close to his chest. The other falls on their thigh, gripping gently like a lifeline. Astarion sighs low in his chest and runs his tongue against the seam of Tav's lips. They tentatively part, and Astarion chases the taste of grapes and bread.
Hells, he wishes to stay in the moment- in the softness of this kiss, the closeness of their bodies. His chest felt light, and the warmth of Tav's body under his hands is something he never wants to stop feeling. It feels as if nothing more needs to happen if either party deems it so.
But that wasn't how this worked. No one ever wanted a simple kiss. Astarion was never the innocent kiss that had you blushing the whole walk home. He was the sinful whisper and dirty looks. The pleasure before the end. Never this.
So Astarion begins the routine he's done a thousand times before.
His mouth leaves Tav's lips, trailing hot, wet kisses down the column of their throat. Tav releases the softest whimper when he bites at the flesh of their shoulder. Their fingers tighten in his hair. He grunts.
Astarion no longer feels quite present; it is more like he is simply observing the scene as a third party. Just finish the task. 
His agile fingers snake up their waist, pulling their shirt from their pants and caressing the smooth skin underneath. Astarion begins to unbutton their top when Tav grabs his hand.
"Wait." They say out of breath.
Astarion focuses back in, eyes taking in the look of Tav's flushed face and kiss swollen lips. They look flustered, and he's suddenly confused about why they stopped him.
"Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, everything's fine. I was…" They trail off, looking away then back again. "Could… we not do this tonight?"
That wasn't what he thought they’d say and it has Astarion momentarily at a loss for words. What does he do now? Tav's looking at him, and he's still frozen. No one has asked him not to have sex before.
"Yes, of course. Would you like me to pack this food and escort you back to your tent?" He sounds robotic to his ears and cringes. 
"No."
Astarion's brow furrows. Do they want his tent? Okay, he can work with this. Let them have his tent for the night; he'll be fine. And it's a nice thing to do since they don't want sex. He can still win favor. Right?
"That will not be a problem, my dear. I was going to be out late hunting anyway- probably until morning. You're welcome to sleep here. Rest well."
Astarion moves to leave- flee more like when Tav grabs his wrist.
"Wait," Their voice is so tiny.
Astarion turns back to Tav. They won't meet his eyes and are playing with his fingers again. Is this something people do? Or just Tav?
"Would you hold me?" A subtle blush began to bloom across their cheeks.
"I can't sleep; I keep having nightmares. I keep waking up trapped in my body." Tav released his hand to hug themselves. "I just don't want to sleep alone again."
Tav. Fearless, reckless, heroic Tav. Who killed more goblins and helped more people than any hero he could think of. To see them look so small, so vulnerable. And ask him. Him. To hold them, protect them from the monsters that torment their sleep. 
His mind is ricocheting around. Who was this person before him? So kind, so beautiful, so trusting of him, who deserves none of it.
Astarion has been quiet for too long. He knows this when he sees hope drain from Tav's wide eyes. They are looking for a way to leave.
"Okay," Astarion croaks, nodding before clearing his throat and repeating the word more confidently.
Tav beams at him. "Okay."
They stay rooted in place, awkwardly staring at each other. Tav bites their lip, tugging it between their teeth. Astarion feels like he's been plunged into the deep end. Every physical encounter he's partaken in was sexual and one he quickly left feeling used and disgusted.
This was new territory; did Tav want him to initiate? How did he initiate this without sex?
Astarion looks down when he feels a tug at his arm. "Um, would it be okay if we laid down?"
Astarion nods rigidly, his tongue cemented in his mouth. He moves to his bedroll and lays back. Astarion's body felt like a wood plank, he couldn't seem to relax. Tav sees this of course, because they seem to alway notice him. 
Everything Astarion wished to keep buried, all his dirty secrets, he kept behind the facade he perfected over the centuries. Tav seemed to see through everything. Read him in a way no other had.
"Astarion," he looks up, Tav's kneeling beside him, eyes full of concern. "If you're uncomfortable, I can-"
Astarion snaps back to himself. He shakes his head and props himself up on his elbow. A flirtatious smirk automatically stretches his lips.
"Me? Uncomfortable? Pfft, Darling, to have you pressed against me all night," Astarion reaches out to pull Tav's arm hard enough to have them stumble onto his chest with a small yelp. 
His voice drops to a husky whisper. "I don't think there's anything I'd like more."
Astarion chuckles at how reactive Tav always is to him. Their hands are splayed against his chest, face inches from his. 
They open their mouths to speak, but Astarion cuts them off with a kiss long enough to leave Tav chasing him for another.
"Though I will admit, having you so close, it's going to be very difficult to keep my hands to myself."
"I don't want you to keep your hands to yourself. I want you to hold me." Tav speaks plainly as they adjust til they are pressed against his side.
Their head is in the space between his collar and jaw. Astarion takes a deep breath. The smell of pine, rosewater, and something distinctly Tav hits his nose. The scent alone acts like a cool drink of water during a searing summer day, calming his anxiety. 
Tav grips the front of his shirt loosely and tangles their legs with his. Astarion was initially unsure what to do with his hands, hovering them slightly over the contours of Tav's body. But he adjusts quickly enough, and pulls them tighter against his chest, chasing the addictive warmth of their body.
This was strange, unfamiliar, but…nice. Tav's nose brushed against his neck, and the heat of their mumbled words fans over his skin. Astarion hums in question.
"Thank you," Tav repeats, yawning, their words slightly slurs from exhaustion. "You make me feel safe."
Tav was trying to break the record for how many times they could shock Astarion in one day. But before he could come up with a charming retort, their breath had already evened out. Tav fell into the world of dreams, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Astarion didn't trance that night, just staring up at the roof of his tent, listening to the soft breaths and steady heartbeat, rubbing absentminded patterns to the planes of Tav's back. 
Why couldn't he have found them when he was still so hopeful? Less broken. Because he think he might have been able to make it through just about anything with Tav by his side.
Tav, whose eyes find him first. Who makes sure he's fed and comfortable and okay with the plan even though he could give two shits about the poor fools that need saving. 
Who asks to be held at night when the dreams are too dark to handle alone, and they trust Astarion of all people to keep them safe? Where was Tav when he needed and pleaded for someone to care for and protect him from the cruelty of this realm?
Gods, he thinks he loves Tav. The thought turns his stomach to lead, but he stops and takes a deep breath. That is something he will have to think about tomorrow. 
All Astarion wanted to think about right then was the person in his arms. He kisses the top of Tav's head and closes his eyes. Astarion doesn't believe he's ever felt more at ease.
I really enjoyed writing this, so please let know what you thought. Astarion discovering his feelings for Tav past his survival instinct is a personal favorite type of fic for me, so I want to write one of my own.
Taglist: @heartfully10 @ayselluna @marina-and-the-memes @anixson @canonicalchaoticneutral @toadsbitch @meulinkitten-blog @ambr4armr @lotusandcrystals @venussakura @synapticjive
Want to be added? DM me please!
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rip-quizilla · 13 days
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You Could Kill Me (and You Should)
Pairing: Vampire!Eddie Munson X Slayer!Reader
Word Count: 16k
Tags: SMUT🔥🔥🔥, dubious consent, memory alteration, reader's pronouns aren't specified, reader has a vagina, oral sex, p in v sex, blood drinking, blood kink, unprotected sex, squirting, dom/sub undertones, vampire sex, references to Buffy the Vampire Slayer (but you don't have to be familiar to understand this story)
A/N: please read the tags! This work contains depictions of blood and VERY adult content. Minors, do not interact!
Bat divider made by @saradika ❤️
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Hunting on game nights was never ideal. 
There were too many people around… the double-edged sword of vampire hunting. The great throngs of people made it easy for a poor soul to get lost in the fray, so it brought the baddies out into the open. On the flip side of that coin, what made an ideal hunting ground for vamps created a field of landmines for a Slayer. Throngs of people meant infinite chances to get caught in the open with a wooden stake in your hand, and that brought too many questions. 
Still, you could deal with humans; you had been your whole life. Hawkins, Indiana was just like any other town- people would believe what they wanted to believe, and you knew exactly how to spin a story into something they’d find acceptable. 
However, if you got caught out in the moonlight with the specific vamp you were hunting, you knew you’d attract the wrong kind of attention. You wanted to fly under the radar here; it was the only way you’d be able to live here long enough to stave off the influx of demons that liked to slip in time to time from the Upside Down- the hell that waited on the other side of this reality. Not every town was as connected to it as Hawkins was, but then again, not every town sat on top of a Hellmouth. 
A sound from behind you perked up the hairs at the back of your neck. You turned, making sure the brick wall of Hawkins High protected your back as you surveyed the empty courtyard before you. Everyone within a mile radius who still had a beating heart was in the gym, cheering on the Hawkins Tigers in hopes that the subpar basketball team might actually take home a win tonight. 
Well… everyone except for you, whose heart was beating alarmingly fast for someone who had slain so many bloodsuckers that you’d lost count. Why were you this nervous? Aw, who were you kidding, you knew why.
You weren’t hunting just any vampire this time. You were hunting Eddie Munson. 
You steadied your turncoat heart with a slow, deep breath. “Stop kidding around, Munson,” you said, keeping your voice low and eerily calm. “You know why I’m out here and I know you’ll only hurt me if you have to, so let’s just cut the formalities and have a little chat.”
A rumbling chuckle sounded from above, and when your eyes flicked up to the sky they were met with the sight of the most elusive and cunning vamp you’d ever had the displeasure of hunting. 
Eddie Munson. Or, as he was known amongst the town’s community of bloodsuckers, Kas the Bloody Handed. 
“Little chat, huh?” Eddie’s smiling voice echoed from where he sat on the edge of the rooftop above you. “Put away the stake and we’ll talk, Slayer.”
You kept your eyes on him, narrowing your gaze but complying nonetheless. You pocketed the stake, shifting your brown leather jacket to the side and sliding the wooden spike into your waistband. 
Were you dealing with any other vamp, you would have laughed in their face at the demand that you disarm yourself when vampires had nearly every advantage against you. You had Slayer strength, sure- but that was it. These demons had speed, strength, teeth, claws- the fact that sunlight would incinerate them was really their only weakness besides their need for blood. 
Correction- sunlight should incinerate them. Sunlight didn’t affect Eddie Munson. That wasn’t the only thing that didn’t seem to affect him- bloodlust was apparently not an issue either, seeing how he was a student. At a high school. A building just teaming with sweaty, hormonal teens who were just itching to do something stupid- one would assume that a vampire in a place like that would be draining cheerleaders left and right, but not Eddie. In fact, you’d been watching him for months now since you moved to Hawkins, and you’d never even seen him hurt a fly. Hell, you’d seen kids try and beat him up and yet he hadn’t so much as made a fist since the first time you laid eyes on him. 
That was why you’d sought him out tonight- this vampire wasn’t killing people, and it was making you suspicious. 
Once your weapon had been safely tucked away, Eddie hopped down from his insane height at the top of the school building and landed swiftly and quietly on his feet in front of you. He smiled at you lazily, his eyes twinkling with the curiosity and glee that came with sharing a secret.
“Excuse my forwardness, but I’ve gotta know-” Eddie began, hands in his pockets as he slowly sauntered toward you. “-how long did I have you going before you figured me out?” 
You pushed off the wall, casually placing your hands behind your back as you matched his stride in the opposite direction. You were circling each other, two predators locked in a deadly dance. 
“You’re a pretty good actor, Munson.” you replied, voice lighter than air but balanced out by the unwavering rock-solid gaze that remained locked on him. “I might not have figured it out at all if your friend at the hospital hadn’t spilled the beans.”
That got his attention. “Annie ratted me out?” His eyebrows were practically synonymous with his hairline. “Impossible.”
You shrugged. “Apparently HIPAA laws don’t apply to secret bloodbag dealers and their demon customers. In her defense, she was pretty tight-lipped until I had convinced her I wasn’t trying to kill you.”
That stopped Eddie in his tracks. He peered at you through his curtain of moonlit curls, his gaze suspicious and unsure. “You’re not?” 
You stood squarely before him at ease. “Nope.” you replied brightly. “And I don’t think you’re trying to kill anyone either… are you, Kas?”
His suspicion gave way to a blinding smile. “Well someone’s been doing their research!” You blinked and he was inches away, his enhanced speed catching you off guard; you instinctively took a step back before instantly regretting it. Eddie caught your momentary lapse in stature and his grin crept upwards in one corner. “Tell you what, killer, how ‘bout we put a pin in all your fun little Kas facts and cut to the chase, hm?” 
In a flash his hand held your chin firmly. Your grip flew to the back of your waistband, fingertips already caressing the smooth wood of your stake. You mirrored each other, the two of you standing in a twin stance with one foot placed in front of the other a shoulder’s width apart, his hand at your jaw and yours ready to stake the bastard at the first sign of a threat. 
“You’re here to protect people,” Eddie continued, “and I don’t plan on hurting anyone. We can coexist here, it isn’t that complicated.”
“I’m here to slay vampires.” You corrected, but Eddie only grinned and shook his head. 
“See, that’s not true- you would have killed me already.” He leaned in, a smug smile only taking up more space on his countenance. “Ain’t that right, Slayer?”
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You’d expected that the decision to let Eddie live would come back to bite you in the ass, but surprisingly enough, nothing changed. 
You went to school. You hunted. You did normal teenager things. Not once did you witness Eddie Munson do a single thing out of the ordinary. 
Well…out of his ordinary. For a bloodsucking demon hiding among human teenagers, he liked attention far more than you’d expected. The more you thought about it, however, the more you saw his reputation for being the town freak as a genius cover. He was hiding in plain sight; any weird behavior would simply be written off as a cry for attention from Hawkins’ resident eccentric. If he wanted to, Eddie could be getting away with a lot more than stolen blood bags. 
So why wasn’t he?
You wanted answers, and surprisingly enough you had a feeling that it wouldn’t take too much for him to give them to you. You just needed to find a private place to ask him. Word travels like wildfire after a drought in Hawkins, and even if Eddie didn’t mind the attention, you on the other hand did. You couldn’t afford for people to start associating you with him, so you’d passed Eddie a note at lunch to meet you out in the woods at the old picnic table.
“Did you know I used to do drug deals in this exact place?” 
His voice sounded wistful as his body weight caused the weakened wooden bench to creak when he sat down with you later that afternoon. “Those were the days, man.”
You snorted. “You mean the days when you were human? Or are you a bloodsucker and a pill pusher? That’s an intersectionality I can’t say I’ve encountered before-”
“Back when I was human, smartass.” He cut you off, rolling his eyes. “Now, why did Hawkins’ shiny new vampire slayer invite me to meet in the middle of the woods? All alone?” he pretended to think it over for a second, feigning epiphany when his eyes widened and his brows shot up his forehead. His voice quivered, apparently auditioning to play the role of the victim in a slasher film. “Are you g-g-gonna k-k-kill me?” He braced his hands against the edge of the picnic table, scrambling to the ground as he amped up the drama while you watched, forcing a smile at bay. 
“P-p-please, don’t s-s-slay me, almighty S-Slayer!”
You snorted, shaking your head, unable to completely stop the ghost of a grin from sliding across your lips. “Having fun?” you snarked.
It took only a millisecond- in a blur of supernatural vampire speed, he was back up on his feet and sitting on the surface of the table. “Lots!” His smile was overwhelming- it was easygoing, unguarded, and above all things it was so human. It was disconcerting.
“The reason I asked you out here,” you said, getting down to business. “Is because I have some questions for you.”
The vampire’s eyes narrowed, that smile staying firmly planted on his lips. “I’m sure you do.”
“How can you be out in the sunlight without bursting into flames?” Every vampire you’d ever encountered would be reduced to ashes if they dared to step out the door in broad daylight, yet here was Eddie Munson- 100% bloodsucker, 100% sitting on a picnic bench and soaking up the rays that filtered in through the cover of tree branches. 
“I know a witch.” Eddie replied, eyes following you as you paced around the picnic table. “She did a spell. Next question?”
You raised an eyebrow, “Who’s the witch?”
“Not telling.” 
“I figured.” you lamented. “Do the blood bags satisfy you as much as fresh blood?” 
Eddie was quiet for a moment, then replied with a curt “They’re enough.”
“Enough to stave off the urge to- I don’t know- murder?”
His head whipped sharply in your direction, expression souring. “Have you seen me kill anyone? In all the time you’ve been here, have you ever seen me so much as harm someone?”
You paused. “No.”
Jutting out his chin triumphantly, he straightened his posture a bit. “Then stick to relevant questions, alright killer?”
You narrowed your eyes on him. “Your bloodlust isn’t relevant?”
He scoffed, tightening his grip on the edge of the tabletop he still sat on, and you could have sworn you heard the wood creaking beneath his white knuckles. “You may not be from Hawkins, but with that self-righteous, bigoted attitude you could’ve fooled me.” His head was hanging down, Eddie’s dark eyes trained on his Reebocks which dangled from where he sat.
When he looked up at you through his long, chestnut curls, the gaze he gave you was so disappointed, so intense, that you actually felt a pang of guilt even though you hadn’t done anything wrong. You’d accused a vampire of having bloodlust. What was there to feel guilty for?
“You’re a vampire, Munson. A demon.” you stated, matter of factly. “You need blood to survive, and you’re a killer by nature-”
“You’ve done more killing in this town than I have,” he laughed humorlessly, his voice tinged with exasperation. “-and I’ve lived here my entire life!” Eddie hopped off the tabletop, shaking his head. “I thought you wanted to have an actual conversation with me, but if you’re here to point out splinters and ignore the stakes, then I’m gone. Go interrogate some other vampire.” 
You stood your ground, watching Eddie walk back towards Hawkins High as you felt that guilt crawl into your chest and start to burrow there. 
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You found it ironic that the Hideout was known for both being the bar in town that never carded, and being the bar that vampires frequented the most. It resulted in a clientele that was either immortal or too young to be there. 
Your presence in town had slowed down vampire activity quite a bit, but apparently that hadn’t been enough of a deterrent to rid the dive bar of their undead customers for the night. After a few years of slaying, you’d learned how to distinguish between prey and predator- there weren’t too many people in the bar since it was a Tuesday night, but that only made it easier to single them out. 
You knew what to look for: eyes that swept the room to sort out the hierarchy of those present. Skin that lacked the plumpness and healthy complexion that came with blood running freely through the veins beneath. Behaviors that reflected an intention to single out the weak and alone before isolating them, going in for the kill. 
Unfortunately, they weren’t who you were here for. Tonight, your attendance wasn’t attributed to any run-of-the-mill vampires. 
Funny enough, you were here to see the band. 
You sipped on your glass of cranberry juice, watching warily as tonight’s headliner situated themselves on the small almost-stage in the corner of the tiny bar. Long dark curls shadowed eyes that followed you with equal wariness, unsure of why you were here but intrigued nonetheless. 
Sitting stationary at the bar with your glass sweating in your hand, you took in the spectacle before you- four boys who looked fairly human, setting the crowd ablaze with songs about nonconformity, rebellion, and hellish imagery. Funnily enough, humans and vampires alike were all watching them, heads bobbing to the thrum of the baseline, all of them united in their quest to distract themselves from life- or afterlife- for the night.
You’d always loved how music did that- it brought together folks of all shapes and sizes, political ideals, religions, backgrounds… and it gave them something to agree on. Music made people feel something. Whether you were alive or undead didn’t seem to matter; people loved to feel things.
To your chagrin, you found yourself tapping out the melodies along with the crowd, bouncing your knee in time with Eddie’s band’s music. They were- surprisingly- not bad. The place was small enough that even though you were seated at the bar, you were able to get a good look at each of the band members over the course of their set. You recognized some of them from school- Grant was a nice guy, you had some classes with him. Gareth was… shy? Standoffish? Either way, he kept to himself and away from everyone who wasn’t Eddie- typical behavior for a vampire. Now, seeing the pallor of his skin compared to the lively flush of his bandmates, you were all but sure he was a vampire; one of Eddie’s underlings, no doubt.
You’d figured out as much information about Eddie Munson’s standing in Hawkins’ vampire community as you thought you’d be likely to get, being a vampire slayer in a town fraught with vampires. He was the first to become a vampire the Hawkins way, and that afforded him a certain level of respect among vampires here. Other than that, you were flying blind. 
Vampires existed in many forms across the world- name a continent, and you could rattle off some fun facts about that region’s particular breed of bloodsucker. Some born, some made, some immortal, some not- and they all had their own particular set of characteristics that set them apart and made slaying even more complicated. Eddie Munson had been the first of a new breed of vampire, and that’s why your watcher had sent you here; not only to slay, but to collect data. 
The audience’s applause for Corroded Coffin’s final song faded into a dull chatter and the clinking of bar glasses, and your attention snagged on Eddie as you watched him amble off the stage in your direction. The other band members stayed where they were, shifting around as they began packing up their instruments. Gareth’s eyes stayed on Eddie, narrowing when they crossed over his shoulder and landed on you.
“Didn’t take you for a metal fan, Slayer.” Eddie murmured just loud enough for you to hear him over the din of noisy patrons. 
You shrugged, sipping from your glass. “I listen to a little bit of everything. You guys aren’t bad.” Eddie hopped up onto the stool beside you, nodding to the bartender in a silent exchange. A half second later, Eddie had a freshly opened can of PBR sweating in his hand. 
“Thanks.” He was eyeing you warily, sipping slowly from his can. “So what are you doing here?”
He didn’t bullshit around when there was an elephant in the room… you guessed you appreciated that. “I wanted to see you in your element.”
He snorted into his silver can. “In my element, huh? Wouldn’t that be -I don’t know- catching me in the act of ripping someone’s throat out? Draining the blood from a litter of kittens or something?”
A pang of guilt threatened to nudge its way through to your eyes, but you didn’t let it get that far. “No,” You replied, “you said it yourself, I’ve never actually seen you hurt anyone. Or even try, actually.”
His gaze was measured, eyeing you up and down as if scanning you for some indication that you were planning on staking him right here and now. You waited for him to speak but surprisingly he didn’t, so you continued.
“I’d like to propose a truce.” 
Eddie smirked slightly, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards enough to call into action the dimple hidden in his cheek. “Didn’t know we were fighting, I sure as hell haven’t been getting in your way, have I?”
You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you’re getting at? You want an apology?” As Eddie’s smirk grew wider, your mouth moved in the opposite direction, lips forming a hard, tense line as you glared at the smug bloodsucking bastard before you. 
“I’m a Slayer. I’ve traveled all over the world with the sole purpose of killing vampires just like you-”
“There are no vampires like me, sweetheart.”
You snorted. “Yeah yeah, you’re so unique, we’re all aware.” You downed the last swig of your drink. “Can I finish now?”
He nodded, that grin still growing along his lips. 
“Every vampire I’ve ever met has wanted to kill people. Forgive me for having my defenses up when I came across one that didn’t.” Eddie’s eyes softened, as did the corners of his mouth. His smug grin now seemed a little more understanding, and maybe a little sympathetic. That last bit made you bristle.
“I’m not saying this for your sympathy, I just want you to know where I was coming from when I made assumptions about your…”
“I believe the term you used was ‘bloodlust’?” Eddie supplied, his tone accusatory but not altogether unfriendly. 
You sighed heavily. “I made assumptions. I’m sorry about that.” 
Eddie tilted his head to the side, digesting your apology. Finally, “Buy a round for me and my band and I’ll forgive you.” 
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The stipulations of your truce were laid out the next day at lunch. You were able to convince Eddie to leave his cronies’ lunch table in the cafeteria in favor of a more private place to discuss your terms- the picnic table out in the woods. 
As per your side of the deal, Eddie would provide you a list of names of vampires that he knew followed the same lifestyle as him- purchase blood from his supplier at the hospital, go about their normal lives, and never harm a living soul. You would refrain from hunting any of them.
Eddie’s side of the deal: he promised not to interfere with the slaying of any vampires in town who didn’t subscribe to his way of life; in other words, if they tried to hurt a human or drink from any living animals in town, they were fair game for slaying. In addition, Eddie would provide you any information you needed about Hawkins Vampires, and you would relay that data to the Watchers’ Council for them to enter into their database. 
Unsurprisingly, Gareth Emerson’s name was at the top of Eddie’s list of vampires under his protection. When you saw it, you chuckled.
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Surprised?” 
“Not in the slightest.” you laughed. “The guy clings to your side like a guard dog and barely talks to anyone else. And he always looks like he’s on the verge of ripping someone’s throat out.”
Eddie couldn’t help but laugh along with you. “Well, in my defense, he was like that back in his human days too, I didn’t do that to him.” 
You peered over the list at the leather-clad vamp as he lit a cigarette. “But you did do the ‘vamparism’ thing to him?”
“Trust me, it wasn’t a premeditated decision.” Eddie may have sounded aloof, but you could tell that the words were strained. “I had only been…turned…for a couple of weeks at that point. I thought I could handle more human interaction than I really could.”
Your eyebrows jumped a fraction of an inch, but you tried to appear unphased. You hadn’t known too many vampires who could bite a human and manage to stop themselves before killing their victims at that phase of their afterlife. A vampire’s thirst could be nearly impossible to resist for the first few years after their transition, never mind the first matter of days. The fact that Eddie was able to bite Gareth without killing him was… impressive, to say the least. 
Regardless of how impressive it was, however, Eddie’s facial expression spoke volumes to you about how unimpressed he was by his choices at this particular moment in his history. You decided to air on the side of casual empathy. “Could have been a lot worse.” you said, voice soft but matter of fact. “Plus he has you to protect him.”
Eddie looked at you, eyes guarded and yet bursting at the seams with unshed secrets. You could tell there was so much more he wanted to say, but he settled for a simple, solid “Yeah.”
You didn’t pry. If you needed to know more, you’d find it out in due time, but for now you would settle for ‘yeah’. 
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The two of you fell into a strange dynamic as your truce was put into effect. For one thing, he made an effort to seek you out in the hallways more; it was troubling, to say the least. You didn’t want people in this town paying attention to you. If they started taking notice of your unusual habits- never getting involved at school, lurking in graveyards and dive bars late into the night, keeping to yourself instead of falling into a friend group like normal teenagers were supposed to- they might start keeping a closer eye on you. A closer eye on you meant a closer eye on the vampires in this town, and the Watcher’s Council would have your head if you became the proverbial Pandora to open the vampire box in Hawkins.
The point was, Eddie was an attention magnet, and his incessant need to interact with you in front of an audience made it difficult to fly under the radar in a town where gossip traveled faster than the average speed limit.
“Slayer!”
His calling you that in the middle of the hallway just after the final bell didn’t help things in the slightest. He was half-jogging through the throng of teens, dodging and weaving between bodies as he made his way to where you stood at your locker with wide eyes trained on the most obnoxious vampire you’d ever had the pleasure of knowing.
“Can you not call me that in the middle of a crowded hallway?” you hissed at him once he’d reached your side. In reality, you knew the chances were slim that anyone within earshot knew what a Slayer was, but you weren’t about to test that theory. 
“Sorry, killer.” Eddie quipped, shit-eating grin loud and proud on his beaming face. “Just wanted to catch you before you left without me.” 
You quirked an eyebrow. “Without you? What, are we carpooling now?”
“Yeah, unless you want to get drenched in the tempest going on out there, sweetheart.” 
Your mouth was open, poised to argue before Eddie wordlessly scooped up your backpack with effortless strength, shouldered it, and began marching down the crowded hallway. He didn’t even wait for you to close your locker, so you had to make quick work of grabbing your books and locking it shut before bumbling after him.
“Excuse me,” you huffed, power walking in an effort to keep up with his quick pace. “Is there something about me that screams ‘I need to carpool with Eddie Munson’? Because if there is, I will happily correct the issue.”
Eddie hop-skipped through the front doors of the school, threw a chuckling look over his shoulder at you, then took off running through the pouring rain in a straight shot to where his van was parked. 
You had no choice but to run in the same direction; he had your backpack. 
In a mad dash through the sky’s heavy onslaught, you shielded your head best you could until you made it to Eddie’s passenger door. The rolling percussion of raindrops on pavement was cut starkly short at the shut of your door, and you breathed a sigh of relief before swinging your head around to look at Eddie Smug-Faced Munson, scowling for all you were worth. 
“There are quite a few ways I can answer your question, Slayer, all of which could get me staked…” He twisted slightly to toss your backpack into the backseat, where it landed on a discarded t-shirt and a mess of paper and spiraled wire that must have been a notebook at some point. When Eddie turned back to you, your faces were mere inches from each other, both of you trusting the center console with your weight. Eddie’s movements stilled, his eyes flitting ever so quickly down at your barely-parted lips. 
You were close enough to hear his soft intake of breath. “Could be worth it, though.” 
Your cheeks heated, and you briefly wondered if vampires felt the stolen blood in their cold bodies rush to places in times of tension. Breaking eye contact, you crossed your arms over your chest, brushing your biceps and shoulders with your hands in an effort to warm your rain-drenched skin.
 “Just drive, Munson. I have a stake in my pocket with your name on it if you try anything.” 
Eddie shook his head, smirking widely. “And here I thought you were just happy to see me.” Shifting the car into drive, he expertly navigated his way out of the parking lot and onto the main road that would take you to the small apartment you currently lived in, courtesy of the Watchers’ Council. 
“You’re hunting tonight, right?” Eddie’s voice cut through the rain-spattered silence in the van, jerking your attention from the hypnotic sight of his struggling windshield wipers. 
“Yes?” Unintentionally, the answer sounded like a question.
“Take me with you.”
You snorted. “You, a vampire, want to go vampire hunting?” 
Eddie shrugged, keeping his umber eyes on the glassy road ahead. “Now that I know there won’t be any innocents on your hit list- yeah, sounds fun.”
You arched an eyebrow. “If I end up staking anyone tonight, you won’t stop me?” 
“Good vampire, remember?” he reminded you, placing a hand over his heart before flashing you a reassuring grin. “If somebody’s out there hurting people, I want them off the streets as much as you do.” 
And that was how you wound up with an undead hunting partner for your nightly patrol of Hawkins for malicious undead. 
Despite being the unlikely duo that you two were, you actually looked like a pair of vampire slayers on a usual patrol- the two of you both wearing combat boots and leather jackets to match. The only tell that this wasn’t your normal routine was the stark silence occupying the space between you. You ended up being the one to finally break it after the first few minutes of patrolling as the two of you strolled through the Hawkins’ cemetery.
“So if we run into some unsavory vampires tonight… how are you gonna kill them?”
“What do you mean, ‘how’?”
“I’m not letting you use my stakes.”
Eddie angled his head toward you, a grin dancing on his lips. “Aw, scared I’ll stake myself on accident, sweetheart?”
“Oh I would consider that a happy accident.” you matched his grin in stride, teasing the tip of your tongue through your teeth. 
“Aw, don’t say that! You know you’d miss me, baby.”
Baby?
You sped up your pace a fraction- just enough for him to leave your periphery. “I am not your baby.” You tried to laugh through your response, but it got caught in your throat, tangling with the words and straining them in a way that sounded less lighthearted than you’d intended.
“Well look at that, I found something that makes you nervous.” You could practically feel his smugness from your two steps ahead. 
“Nothing makes me nervous.”
“I do.” 
You scoffed, speeding up your pace. “You do not-”
In half a second he was in front of you, vampiric speed landing him directly in your way, forcing you to stop short. He was eyeing you down, arms crossed and lids squinted in concentration. “Why’s your heart rate getting faster, then?”
You huffed a breath into the cold air, sending wisps of heat to curl and dissipate as they hit Eddie’s solid form. “Annoyance. Rage. Could be a number of things along those lines.” You sidestepped him, marching forward purposefully. Eddie followed suit beside you.
“Along those lines, you say.” He mused. “Y’know, those lines in particular can get pretty blurry.”
Eddie paused, waiting for you to take the bait. He waited a long time before giving up on that, because under no circumstances did you plan on doing so. 
“The lines,” he continued, “between rage and other feelings of… equal passion.” 
“You saying you want me to more passionately say you annoy me, Munson?” You quipped, refusing to meet his eyes that were practically begging you to look his way. “I will, don’t tempt me.”
“I’m quite sure you’ll find I can be very good at tempting you, baby.”
You huffed, chin whipping to the side to give him a full view of your serious face. “Stop calling me baby.” You regretted looking his way immediately, because those dark eyes were staring you down with an intensity that caused the air to leave your lungs and your voice to falter.
“Yeah… y’know-” Eddie’s grin was shining in full force now, watching you like you were a puzzle he’d just made a breakthrough in solving. “I don’t think I’m going to do that. This is the first time I’ve seen you flustered.”
“Shut. Up.” You muttered, eyes focused on a newer-looking grave about ten feet from the two of you. 
“Hm, sounds like something a flustered person would say-”
“Eddie,” you hissed, already reaching for the stake in your back pocket. “Shut. Up.” 
It took him a second, but he followed your gaze and saw what had you shifting gears- the low, wet sound of something sucking, accompanied by the pat pat of excess blood as it dripped to the cold earth. Slightly obscured by the headstone you’d spotted, a vampire had found some unsuspecting soul to snack on. 
You held your wooden stake aloft, ready to strike. “Ready to watch the master at work?” you whispered under your breath.
Eddie matched your volume, whispering back an encouraging “Hell yeah, go get ‘em, baby.”
You rolled your eyes and sighed, carefully advancing “Just shut up and watch my back, Munson.”
“Oh I will gladly do that.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’m adorable.”
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You arrived home around dawn, just as the sun had begun to peek over the horizon and paint the morning in blushing shades of pinks and purples. Your apartment was a little efficiency located above a pawn shop downtown. The entrance was behind the building, which meant that there weren’t any snooping neighbors to watch you entering your home in the wee hours of the night. In a town like Hawkins, this kind of privacy was a valuable commodity.
Eddie had insisted on walking you home since it was so late- or early- which tickled you to no end since he’d just watched you take down a vampire pretty much single-handedly. He climbed the squeaking fire escape two steps behind you, stopping at the final landing as you began to unlock your door. 
“You can go now.” You told him curtly. 
“You’re not going to invite me in?” You almost laughed; he actually sounded hurt. He was a good actor.
“You act like I haven’t studied vampires every day since I became the Slayer.” You placed your hands on your hips, “As If I’m about to give you an all-access pass to my apartment.”
Eddie laughed, his chuckle a dark and musical thing. “Baby, if I was going to kill you, don’t you think I would have tried already?” His hand was resting on your doorway, blocking the light from the time-yellowed lamp that lit the left side of your doorway and caging you in with his shadow.  
“For all I know, this is you trying.” You stood your ground, arms crossed solidly across your chest, refusing to cower even though he was looking at you like he wanted to wrap his teeth around you.
He leaned forward ever so slightly, eyes heavy and hungry. “Do you think that’s what I’m trying to do?” His gaze flicked to your closed door and back to you in half a second. “You think if you walk through that door and invite me inside, I’m going to try to kill you?”
You studied him for a moment. “No.” You hadn’t meant for the word to come out in a whisper, but that’s what happened anyway.
Eddie’s gaze remained unmoved. “So you’ll invite me in?”
“No.”
A chuckle escaped through the crooked smile that invaded his lips. “So fucking stubborn. You know I can smell you, right?”
You raised an eyebrow, confused. Smell what? Did you work up a sweat fighting that vampire? There’s no way you smelled that bad-
“I can smell you, baby.” His lips were moving against your ear, brushing the little silver rings that decorated your cartilage. “You’re right, you shouldn’t let me inside. But I can smell how curious you are about what might happen if you do.”
You were suddenly very aware of how wet you were- you felt a rush of heat as a fresh wave of slick rushed through you, undoubtedly moistening your panties. He could smell that? You were frozen, at a loss for words that could adequately respond to his insinuation.
Before you could react, Eddie’s hand was on your face, gripping your jaw just tight enough to slightly purse your lips. You felt the cold bite of his silver rings on your skin, sending goosebumps trickling down your spine. He looked you in the eyes, his gaze growing deeper and darker, and you began to relax into his grip as you realized that he truly did not intend to hurt you. 
“You should invite me in.”
His eyes were so beautiful… how had you never noticed them before? They practically glowed… no, they actually glowed. They were like a neon fucking sign, bright and crimson and shining such a beautiful rose-hued glow that they looked more like rubies than irises.
Your lips moved to echo him. “I should invite you in.” Of course you should. He wasn’t going to hurt you- with every second you spent with his skin on yours and his eyes boring into your own, you became even more sure of that. He just wanted to make you feel good- so, so good…
“And are you going to?” Eddie’s voice was so beautiful- how had you never realized how gorgeous his voice was?
“Yes.”
“Good. That’s a good Slayer, unlock the door, baby.”
And you did. It was the easiest decision you’d ever made. You stepped inside, immediately shedding your coat and hanging it on the coat rack by the door. “Come inside, Eddie,” You smiled at him, letting down your defenses. You were so tired of putting them up around him. “It’s cold out there.”
He matched your smile, looking at you like you’d hung the moon. “Well aren’t you just the sweetest thing.” He crossed the threshold easily, following your lead and shrugging off his leather jacket and hanging it beside your own. He glanced around the little apartment, an appraising look in his gaze. It was just one room, a small studio with a modest kitchen and living space. Your modest bed frame sat nestled in the corner beneath a skylight, along with a small armchair and a closet with the few belongings you’d taken with you to Hawkins. 
“Bed looks cozy.” Eddie mused. 
“It is.” 
He nodded towards it. “Go sit on the edge.”
And of course you did. You sat up straight, keeping your eyes on him and waiting for that beautiful voice to say something else. You so wanted him to keep talking; each word was like a warm shower after hours in the cold, relaxing you into a happy little puddle. Eddie watched as you perched yourself on the edge of the bed, slowly stalking across the room until your knees were almost touching his. 
He stared at you, his gorgeous dark eyes glowing deep red. “Open your legs.” You did. Without breaking eye contact, Eddie commanded you again. “Tell me how wet you are for me.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but he raised a hand gesturing stop. “I’m sorry baby, I misspoke.” Placing both hands on either side of your hips, Eddie leaned forward until he was close enough for you to feel his cold breath on your face. “Stick your hand down your panties and feel how wet you are for me. Then tell me out loud.”
You nodded, happy to comply. Your hands were cold, but you didn’t care. You eagerly snaked your hand under the waistband of your pants, shivering as your icy fingers traced a line down your pelvis until they reached the heat beneath your panties. The moment they dipped over the hood of your clit, you were mildly surprised at just how soaked you were.
“Talk to me, baby,” Eddie’s voice washed over you, and you felt a fresh gush of heat pulse through your core. 
“I’m soaked, Eddie.” It was the truth; you couldn’t imagine lying to him when he was so curious. Besides, you wanted him to know that he was reducing you to a deluge in his honor.
Slowly, Eddie sunk down to his knees on your floor. His head was level with your open knees, hands dragging down the skin of your outer thighs as he inhaled the air between your legs.
“Take your fingers out of your pussy, I want to taste them.”
You did as he asked, wide eyes rapt with attention as you watched him grab your wrist and shove your drenched fingers in his waiting mouth. His tongue made you want to melt; it lapped along the skin of your fingers and savored the tart, heady flavor of you. You whined when his lips popped off your hand, but eagerly changed your attitude when his fingers began tracing your waistband.
“Tell me you want me to taste that pretty pussy baby, I can smell how bad you want me already, you smell so fucking good.” 
You did. You wanted him to taste your pussy very badly… you wanted it more than you could remember ever wanting anything before now. “I want you, Eddie.” you panted. “I want you to taste me, I’m so wet for you.”
Eddie’s eyes shone up at you, like light through a glass of dark red wine. “I know, baby, I know. Don’t worry, I’ll have my tongue on you again in a second.” He slid his hands into your pockets, gently yanking on the material and jolting your hips forward. “Take these off for me.”
Your hands flew to the button of your pants, making quick work of them as well as your panties while Eddie helped you remove your shirt. You wanted to bare yourself to him completely, let him devour you whole, even. When you looked into those beautiful eyes, letting him have you just made sense.
You now sat completely naked at the edge of your bed, Eddie kneeling before you taking in the sight and smell of you. His gaze was hungry, his hands tracing possessive lines into your outer thighs. “You’re going to lie back for me,” he said, voice low and commanding, “and I’m going to taste this pussy that’s been leaking for me since I first called you baby in the graveyard.” Your eyes were wide, desperate- stuck on his like a moth to a flame. He pressed his hands to your knees, opening you up as wide as you could go, and you felt his breath on your wet lips.
“Go ahead, Slayer.”
You laid back, staring up at the morning’s gradient of cerulean and lavender through your skylight as your heart began to race from the anticipation. When Eddie’s tongue licked a broad, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit, a reedy, wanting moan pulled from your chest, singing into the stillness of your apartment. 
“That’s it, give me every noise you have, baby. I’ll know if you’re holding any back, and believe me when I say I’ll make you moan one way or another.”
And make you moan he did. Eddie’s tongue was masterful in its movements, licking and flicking in the perfect places as you listened to the symphony of noises that were coming from between your thighs. Between the sound of his wet tongue squelching in the juices that you eagerly supplied and the humming little moans that Eddie made as he feasted on all you had to give him, it was all you could do not to start sobbing from how badly you wanted to cum for him. You knew he’d get you there, but let’s be honest- you were not a patient person. 
“More, Eddie- hngh- please, I need… aah!” Your pleas were cut short as you felt a sharp suck at your swollen clit. You moaned, high and pathetic under the careful ministrations of Eddie Munson. His two middle fingers plunged into you, not bothering to give you time to adjust because he knew you were already wet enough to take him. His fingers curled slightly, sharply jerking his hand up and in, over and over in a way that filled you like a water balloon. You were whining, loudly arching your back into your bed as you squeezed your eyes shut, sensing your climax was fast approaching-
“No,” Eddie lunged forward, his right hand never ceasing its assault as his left grabbed you by the neck, wrenching you forward into a crunch position. “Look me in the eyes while you cum, don’t you fucking close those fucking eyes, baby.”
Your mouth hung open, eyebrows drawn together desperate and needy as you felt yourself getting impossibly wet and impossibly tight. His hand kept going, ruthlessly pounding into you as you screamed his name. Curses tumbled from his lips as he watched you soak his hand, and all the while his other hand stayed curled possessively around your neck. Wetness sprayed from you, and his eyes were downright feral as you squirted all over his face. You watched his smile grow, stretching across his face in triumph and baring his fangs in all their unholy glory before turning his head to the side and opening even wider.
Then he sunk his teeth into your femoral artery, and sucked. 
You moaned- loudly- and then you woke up. 
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Being a vampire slayer who’s had a sex dream about a vampire was pretty embarrassing. 
Being a vampire slayer who’s had a sex dream about Eddie Munson was… inconvenient.
When you’d first woken up from… the dream… you’d spent your first waking moments frantically trying to figure out how much- if any- of it had even happened. Had Eddie even walked you to your door, or had you parted ways at the cemetery? Had he actually called you baby? Did he admit he could smell how much it affected you when he’d called you that? Most importantly, had you actually invited him into your apartment? 
It took a few minutes, but eventually you sorted out reality from whatever your traitorous brain had concocted. You and Eddie had hunted last night. He did indeed call you baby at one point and teased you about how defensive you got about it. You’d slayed a vampire while Eddie assessed the victim, and afterward the two of you had taken her to Annie at the hospital and updated her on the situation. With Hawkins’ vampire population growing by the day, this wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with a newborn; she knew what to do. 
After that, you’d gone your separate ways. As far as you knew, Eddie still didn’t know where you lived- though, you knew if he wanted to find out then it wouldn’t be difficult for him to follow you home undetected. The good news was that he still hadn’t been invited into your home, so you were probably safe as long as you were inside your apartment. Of course, the rules for Hawkins Vamps were still mostly unknown to you, so there was a possibility that he might be immune to the invitations-only rule that bound most types of vampires- but you weren’t about to take him home and test that theory.
Then there was the compulsion- the ability to control the minds of humans and turn them into subservient prey at the mercy of their vampiric predator. You had heard of some vampires having this ability, but had never actually come across it in your time as the Slayer. You hoped that this dream had just been the product of loneliness and sexual frustration taking over a sleep-deprived mind, but how could you be sure? Maybe everything in your dream had actually happened, and Eddie had simply compelled you to think it was all a dream. Maybe he had some sort of psychic powers specific to Hawkins Vampires, and he had planted the dream in your brain just to fuck with you. 
You didn’t know what was real. On top of that, Eddie kept trying to get your attention at school the next day and it was getting more and more difficult to ignore him without being obvious about it. You successfully avoided him for the duration of the school day, but he finally caught up to you as you were walking home. Driving his van at a steady crawl, he rolled down his window next to where you walked on the grassy shoulder. 
“You wanna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me all day?”
You sighed, too chicken to meet his eyes. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”
“Yes you have.” 
You sped up your pace, which was stupid because Eddie was literally driving a motor vehicle. 
“No, I haven’t.”
You were still refusing to look at him, but you could hear the eye roll in his sigh. “Quit being difficult, Slayer,” he said, still keeping equal speed with your barely increased pace. “Get in the van.”
“No.” 
“Uugghhh.” Eddie groaned. “Please? I don’t know what I did wrong but I’ll make it up to you.”
You shook your head but still faced forward as you trudged along on the side of the road. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” You didn’t think he had, anyway. “I’m just… I’m in a weird funk today, don’t read too much into it.”
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Okay, then get in the van.”
You felt your cheeks heat at the thought of being so close to him… just the idea was enough to get you wet. You felt the familiar gush of arousal as you walked even faster. “No.”
An echo from last night’s dream reverberated in your skull. So fucking stubborn. You know I can smell you, right?
You picked up your pace. 
Eddie sighed, jerking the gear shift into park. In a moment, he was inches in front of you, his hand planted firmly on your shoulder. 
“Stop,” he said, his tone much more all-business than before. You did what he said, begrudgingly, but you were glad you didn’t feel any real need to be obedient. No compulsion, then… you thought, at least not right now. 
You slowly looked up at him, hoping he couldn’t smell the effect that his sudden touch had on you. “Eddie, it’s fine. Seriously.” you tried to smile at him reassuringly, but you could feel on your face that it came out looking more like a cringe. 
Eddie was silent, looking you over with an unreadable expression. Finally, he spoke, “Please get in the van. I’ll take you out for food, whatever you want, my treat. If you aren’t going to tell me what I did to make you so mad at me, at least let me make it up to you somehow.” 
You thought it over for a moment, eventually conceding and nodding your head. Eddie exhaled a sigh of relief before turning on his heel to open the door for you. When you were both seated in the car, Eddie looked over to you cautiously, questioningly.
“Milkshakes?”
You nodded, eyes still facing forward. “Milkshakes.”
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Benny’s had everything. 
They had the best burgers in town. They had the best fries, the best chicken fried steak, the best pancakes in the morning. But the milkshakes? They were the best you’d ever had- which was saying something, since you’d lived in twelve different small towns just like this one since your Slayer powers awakened four years ago.
You sipped your vanilla milkshake through a red-striped straw and let the sweet, dependable flavor ground you. It was like releasing a breath you’d been holding since you’d woken up that morning. Eddie’s powers of observation didn’t need to be above average for him to notice the relief washing over you.
He sipped his chocolate shake, raising an eyebrow as your shoulders relaxed into your first suck of the straw. “You don’t have to talk about it, sweetheart,” he murmured against the plastic held between his lips, “but if there’s something on your mind, you can talk to me.”
Yeah, but you are the thing on my mind, you thought, and therein lies the problem.
“I appreciate the concern, Munson, but I’m fine.” You shrugged. “Like I said, it’s just a weird funk. Normal. It happens.” 
Eddie didn’t seem convinced, sipping from his straw as he studied you intently- it was making you uncomfortable. 
“Stop staring at me.”
“Stop lying and saying you’re fine, I can tell something’s up.” Eddie reached up with one hand and tapped on one of his dormant fangs with a fingernail. “Vampire senses, remember?”
Your heart rate picked up at the thought of what his vampire senses might be sensing, and you could instantly tell that Eddie had heard it from the subtle tick of his eyebrow. 
“Speaking of vampire senses,” you started, eagerly trying to turn the conversation away from your current state, “I have some questions about your, um… powers. Specifically, about Hawkins vamps in general.”
Eddie seemed surprised by the new line of questioning, but nodded cooperatively. Leaning back in his squeaky booth seat, he let go of his glass to stick his hands nonchalantly in his pockets. “What do you want to know, Slayer? I’m an open book.”
Pulling your legs up to rest on the seat of the booth, you made yourself comfortable, leaning against your backpack that sat between you and the wall. “Are you able to enter someone else’s place of residence without an invitation?”
“Yes.” 
Your eyebrows jumped. “Really?”
Eddie was already nodding. “I already knew my fair share of vampire lore before my stint in the Upside Down… I tested the more popular vampire theories pretty quick after I figured out what I was.” 
You smiled, your curiosity eclipsing the nagging worry in your chest regarding his answer to your first question. “Which theories?”
Eddie chuckled at himself, making a show of counting them out on his fingers. “Well, the first was running really fast- really, really fast, I mean you’ve seen me-” Your scoff and eye roll earned you a cheeky wink from the vampire. “-tested out how good my hunting skills were in the forest by hunting down some squirrels, and let me tell you, super speed and super hearing can only get you so far, because those motherfuckers are always on alert. Learned how quiet I can be now, which is weird because staying still and silent has never been my strong suit.”
“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” you snorted. “And you told me the sunlight thing doesn’t bother you because of your witch friend- what was her name, again?”
“Nice try, but I’m still not telling you.”
You smiled, throwing your hands up in mock surrender. “Worth a shot, I’ll find out eventually anyway.” Taking a sip of your milkshake, you kept your voice even as you asked your next question, which was arguably the most important to you at the moment. “So, uh, are there any other powers that you’ve noticed? Powers that don’t fit into the ‘popular vampire theories’ umbrella?”
He raised an eyebrow, “Such as?”
Ugh. “Well,” you began, focusing on a spot on the table where the vinyl coating had begun to peel off and using your fingernail to help it along. “In some regions, there are vampires who can read minds or compel humans to do whatever they say. Some can even bite humans without turning them.”
“Damn,” Eddie whistled, “lucky bastards.”
“So you’re saying you can’t do those things?” you prompted, to which Eddie shook his head and sighed. 
“Nope. First and last time I bit someone, I turned my best friend into a monster. Didn’t feel like testing that theory anymore after that. Can’t read or control minds either, but honestly I’m fine with that. That kind of power doesn’t tend to end well for people.”
You nodded, sipping the final bit of milkshake down. “Wise words.” 
Eddie did the same, fishing out his wallet and slapping a ten dollar bill on the table before standing. “They’re the words of someone who’s flown close enough to the sun to know himself pretty well by now.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded towards the door. “You ready?”
“Yeah,” you stood and followed him, catching the door as he opened it for you. “Thanks for the milkshake.”
“Don’t worry about it, consider it an apology.”
“I told you, you didn’t do anything! I’m just in a funk-” but if Eddie could hear you, he didn’t show it as he jumped into his van and closed the door. 
The drive to your apartment wasn’t long, only about five minutes. Approaching your front door with Eddie in tow gave you the strangest sense of deja vu even though the only time this had happened before was in your dream. You stood with him in the doorway, the warm light of your single-bulb lamp casting harsh shadows across his face as he watched you with eyes tinged with something imperceptible. 
“Gonna invite me in?” Eddie asked, his voice husky and eerily quiet in the cold air. 
You smirked, feeling slightly apprehensive knowing that he didn’t need an invitation, but was asking for one anyway. “Why, you trying to snoop through my things, Munson?” 
Eddie snorted, “We both know that I could if I wanted to, sweetheart, and I wouldn’t need your permission.” He shrugged, leaning a shoulder against the chipping paint on your doorframe. “I’m just trying to be a gentleman.”
“Since when has that been your priority?” you bit back, but there was no venom in it. You were already jiggling your key into the brass lock and turning the knob. You weren’t sure why Eddie wanted to come in, but he was right- if he had malicious intent, he could barge into your home whether you wanted it or not. You made a mental note to request some demon-repellent poultices from a witch friend of yours to remedy that…
The door creaked open, and you tried to shake off that wild feeling of deja vu that kept washing over you with every similarity to your dream that kept occurring. Eddie’s boots thumped against the floorboards, heavy souls claiming the aging wood with every step they took. He surveyed your apartment, assessing what he saw with nods of his head and crossing of arms. 
“Well I can tell you don’t plan on staying long.” he mused.
You raised an eyebrow, closing the door and locking it behind you. “What makes you say that?”
“The walls are empty. Nothing in here looks like you picked it out. I didn’t know better, I’d think I was in a hotel room. ”
You raised your eyebrows, nodding. “Perceptive. You’re not wrong, you know. I don’t usually stay in one place very long.”
“What’s the longest your wardens have let you stay in one place?” Eddie had hopped up on your tiny kitchen counter, his arms straining against the fabric of his leather jacket as he braced his hands on the ledge. You hoped he hadn’t noticed the way your eyes lingered on the way your dim lighting glinted off his bicep. 
“Watchers. Not wardens.” you corrected, shedding your own leather and dropping the coffee-colored jacket over the edge of your bed. “And it’s never been more than a year. If you want to get technical, I think I was in Las Vegas for around 11 months.”
He quirked a curious smile. “Vegas, huh? Lot of vampires there?”
You shrugged. “Tons of tourists to munch on and nothing but nightlife. Believe me when I say that city is run by vampires.” 
Eddie chuckled, “Guess that makes sense.” He looked down, as if he were debating whether or not to say whatever he was thinking at the moment. Then- “Any idea if… well, have they told you if you’ll be here long?”
You smiled; it was a small, tentative thing, but you allowed it to grace your lips. “I’ll probably just stay until the council is happy with the knowledge I’ve accumulated about Hawkins vamps. Once they feel I’m needed more elsewhere, I’ll be packed up and moved within days.” You averted your eyes from his, suddenly finding it difficult to voice the reality that any day, you might have to leave Hawkins. Leave the friendship you’d started to get the slightest bit attached to. 
You heard Eddie scoff- it wasn’t bitter or laced with venom, but it was hollow. An empty, breathy laugh that didn’t do much to cover the vulnerability he had shown by simply bringing up the subject of how long you’d be staying. “Well, you know what they say- hate to see you go, love to watch you leave.” 
It was an attempt at glossing over the mournful mood that’d begun lingering in the air. You looked up at him, brows pulling together in a hopeful, sweeping arch. “You really hate to see me go?”
The smile he’d plastered on was devious and smart-mouthed, but it softened at your question. “Yeah…” he said, his voice lower and rounded as he stroked his fingers along his jawline. “...I think I hate it.” His head stayed down while his slitted eyes looked up at you beneath bushy brown brows. “I was just getting you to like me.”
Now it was your turn to scoff. “Who said I liked you?”
“Your heart rate.”
Well, if it wasn’t true before, it was now. You felt all the blood in your body suddenly rushing through your veins with purpose. The room was feeling surprisingly hot, and you absently pondered whether you had left the heater on when you had left that morning. 
Your voice matched his quiet timbre, “And what’s my heart rate saying?”
He slowly stepped down from his perch on the countertop, stalking toward you with care, as if he were approaching a wild animal. 
Ironic.
“Well,” he started, “something in your brain obviously must have told your heart that you might have to run soon, because your blood’s been racing since I walked through that door.” He took a step closer, and now all you had to do was look up and your faces would be parallel, his eyes boring into yours. “Your body still knows I’m a predator, that’s good.” 
He was right. Your blood was racing under his gaze, and he could undoubtedly feel the heat that was radiating off of you- but that didn’t mean you were ready to openly let that show. “What about you? Big and scary ‘Kas the Bloody Handed’?” you asked. “How does your body react around a vampire slayer?”
Now you looked up. He was glaring down at you, pensive and predatory as a cheshire grin slowly crept across his features. “That depends on how much blood I’ve got in me, sweetheart.” You were leaning against the edge of your tiny excuse for a kitchen island, but now that his hands were planted on both sides of your torso and braced along the tiled edge of the countertop, you felt caged in with nowhere to go and nothing to look at except his eyes as they glowered down at you. “If it’s been a while since I've fed… well, to be honest I get a little hungry.”
Breathe.
“And if you’ve had your fill?”
He chuckled. “Oh, baby, if a vampire ever tells you they’ve had their fill, they’re lying. There is always room for more.” You felt a chill, and the blood in your veins was screaming at you now to grab a fucking stake!! However, you couldn’t seem to tear yourself from this conversation. The way he made you feel- hot, ironically enough- was gluing you to the spot. 
“But if I’ve got some blood in my system,” he continued, “I have to confess, Slayer, just seeing the way you look at me is enough to make all of that blood rush to all sorts of places.”
You were both silent, but the air was pregnant with the question he knew you wanted to ask. A few short breaths were all it took to make you give in. “And… how do I look at you?”
His thumbs ventured to brush over your hips through the material of your jeans, and you jumped at how much the contact affected you. You took in a sharp breath in surprise, and the strained sigh that rumbled through his chest in response nearly made you shudder. 
“Like… a fox that knows it’s being hunted. Wants to be hunted…knows it could outsmart the hunter, but wants the chance to run simply for the thrill of it.”
Fucking. Breathe.
“Is this your way of saying you’re hunting me?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, like the tension between the two of you was so fragile that it could be shattered if you spoke loud enough.
Eddie’s lips were inches from yours, and you could feel his cold breath on your cheeks. ��This is my way of saying that I don’t need to.” He nodded sharply in your direction, “Fox.” He squeezed your hips, tugging you gently closer to him, “Trap.”
You squirmed under his gaze but refused to look away from his smoldering eyes. “Bold of you to assume I’m the fox in that scenario.”
“Yeah, yeah…” his husky whisper rasped into your ear when the soft brush of his fingers along your hips became a firm grasp as he effortlessly lifted you up to sit on the counter behind you. He did it so swiftly, so easily… it wasn’t hard to forget about his vampire strength when he barely showed it. He gazed into your wide eyes with a grin that was playful but hungry. “Big bad Slayer is a hunter, not hunted. We’re all aware, sweetheart.” 
His hands splayed atop your thighs, and you couldn’t remember a time before now that you had felt anything as acutely- or with as much anticipation- as you were feeling every inch of him touching you right now. Your inner calves touching the outer sides of his thighs. The knobby contact of his hip bones where they wedged between your knees. The way his fingertips pressed into the meat of your thighs ever so slightly, like he feared how hard he could squeeze before he hurt you. 
You watched his hands, breathless as you studied the light that glinted off his silver rings. There were splotches of faded black shining on a few of his fingernails. It wasn’t nail polish; you’d seen how he colored on his nails with black Sharpie when he got bored in class. Those black nails shone reddish-purple when the light hit them just so, and you shivered as they traveled further up your thighs until he reached the part of your hips that had the most flesh for him to squeeze. A low growl danced in his throat when he heard the noise that escaped you at the sensation his hands were supplying.
He squeezed tighter, tentatively testing how much of his strength you could handle. Luckily for him, slayers are not delicate creatures. 
Wordlessly, you lifted your hands to his shoulders, letting your fingers twist into his dark curls. They were beautifully brown, frozen in the perfect shade of chocolate until the end of time. Your nails gently met his scalp, raking through the roots until both of your hands were nested deep in his hair. 
You made two fists and pulled. 
It wasn’t a sharp tug, wasn’t meant to yank him away from you; it was a slow pull, meant to tease and tell him that you weren’t afraid of a little pain, given or received. He was testing the waters, and you were giving him the all-clear. 
His eyes screwed shut when you pulled his hair, and it wasn’t from any sort of pain but simply from the fact that you were doing it in the first place. Eddie took a deep, shuddering breath as he opened his eyes once again to glare up at you with enough impassioned heat to give his bloodless body a temperature. He clenched his jaw until it ticked, then mumbled “alrighty then” so quickly and quietly that you didn’t even know if you were meant to hear it.
And then he was slamming you against the wall. 
Your thighs straddled his waist, ass seated in Eddie’s stone-strong hands as you felt your back hit the drywall. His eyes were pitch black, hungry for so many things but settling for your lips as he captured them in his own. You kissed him back fervently, desperate now that you knew his touch and the sensations that came with it. 
“God you smell so fucking good,” Eddie growled, pressing into you at the waist and pinning you to the wall where he held you tightly. His lips were insatiable, kissing you like your lips were dipped in sugar and he was a starving man. He panted against your mouth, breathless. “Always smell so fucking good… might be obsessed, I want…want…”
“Want what, Eddie?” you panted with him, eyes fluttering open, wanting to see the way he looked at you when he said things like I might be obsessed as he kissed you… who wouldn’t want to see that? You weren’t disappointed with the sight.
Framed by the backlit baby hairs that formed an evening halo around his head, you might have thought at first glance that Eddie looked angelic. Oh, how wrong that would be. His eyes held far too much gluttony for that.
He leaned in to scent the crook of your neck, causing you to shiver as the tip of his nose traced the base of your skull before whispering into your ear-
“Want to taste you- in every way-” You shivered. “-I want to feel you on my tongue, running down my throat, soaking my hands, falling apart…” Eddie’s lips traveled down your neck, mouthing over the veins that pumped your life force at top speed under sweet, pliant skin. “I want to break you just to know what you look like broken by me.” 
The two of you were waltzing on the line of your collective self-control, and you knew all it took would be one little bite- one tiny prick of his fangs- and his venom would pour into your bloodstream. Then it would be goodbye, humanity.
Mustering up the slightest amount of dignity (with surprising difficulty), you took one hand out of his hair and braced it on his shoulder while the other stayed fisted in his curls. With a sharp tug, you used your Slayer strength to remind him he was evenly matched here, yanking him from your neck and bringing his bloodlust-glazed eyes parallel to yours. 
“Fucking try it then.” you hissed, “See if you can break me.”
Eddie’s familiar roguish grin triumphantly returned then, and you barely registered his nasal scoff and a rush of wind before you were suddenly being flung onto your bed across the apartment. Eddie climbed on top of you, caging you in with solid arms and a scarlet guitar pick that dangled from his neck to dance on the skin of your collarbone. 
He stared down at you expectantly, all-business. “Take your shirt off.”
“You take yours off.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Are you really in a position to be giving the orders, Slayer?”
In a split second, you grabbed his wrists and hooked a leg over his hip, rolling over in the blink of an eye. Now, you were seated firmly on his hips, back arched to splay over his torso and pin his wrists to the mattress. Eddie’s eyes widened, caught off guard by the sudden display of strength and dexterity that he had apparently forgotten you had. 
You grinned, cocky. “I am now.” 
Eddie glared, thrusting upward in hopes that he might throw you off balance, but to no avail. Rotating his hands in your grip, Eddie dexterously took hold of your wrists and gently pressed his nails into your skin. You winced; his nails were sharper than you’d thought they would be. Almost like…
Claws. Eddie’s nails had grown into catlike points, and now they were applying a little too much pressure. Any more than this and he would surely draw-
“-Blood.” 
You whispered to yourself as you watched the bright bead pooling where Eddie’s thumb had pressed hard enough to puncture skin. Before you had time to react, Eddie was pulling your bleeding wrist to his face, inspecting his handiwork up close. He caught a whiff of your scent, inhaling deeply before exhaling so heavily that it rumbled low in his chest. Bringing your wrist to hover above his mouth, you felt your survival instincts kicking in as Eddie’s grip on your arm tightened, squeezing more of your blood to pool into the drop that now hung precariously from the cut in your skin. 
Eddie’s finger on the top of your wrist raised, then firmly tapped down hard enough to shake the drop free and send it falling into his waiting mouth below. 
You watched, transfixed as Eddie moaned at the taste of you on his tongue. He licked his lips, spreading your blood across them and letting your essence settle into the cracks in his skin. You wondered how long his lips would taste like you after tonight. Would it only take moments for the flavor of you to leave his skin? Or would he still taste you in the morning?
Eddie’s eyes rolled back in his head, his composure slipping under the influence of your blood in his mouth. He pulled your wrist to his mouth and licked greedily at the tiny puncture wound, gently sucking but still staying careful enough to keep his fangs far away from the opening. You were trusting him to be responsible here, as stupid as that was, but so far he seemed to be completely aware of where the line was, and he was careful not to cross it. Test it, maybe… but he wouldn’t cross it. At least you were hoping he wouldn’t.
His gaze settled on yours, and you found yourself at a loss for words. He smiled proudly, slowly sitting up until his face was even with yours. You’d long since let go of your grip on his other hand, and now that your bones were suddenly jelly, it was easy for Eddie to lift both hands to your neck and slot both of them so that his thumbs and pointers rested on either side of your ears. He pulled your lips to his, kissing you passionately and sharing the taste of your own blood from where it still lingered in his mouth. 
“Tastes like fuckin’ honey.” He murmured against your lips, tongue snaking out to lick into you, and you couldn’t tell if he was referring to the taste of your lips or the taste of your blood. You recognized it in his kiss- the metallic flavor rolling over your taste buds and awakening something primal in you. Your hips bucked into his, and you felt the solid length that ached for you through his jeans.
Eddie chuckled darkly, rolling his hips into yours in response. “Careful, baby.” You felt his lips lowering, placing gentle wet kisses along your throat. Your heart raced to a bounding pulse as it dawned on you that were he to bite you here, he could kill you quite quickly. “Mmmmmm,” you shivered as his voice reverberated through your neck. “I can feel your blood rushing faster. That just for me?” 
You forced yourself to breathe as you confirmed his suspicions with a small nod. Eddie sighed, hot breath pluming from his nostrils and across your skin. “Just for me… all for me…” His tongue emerged once again and licked a fat, wet stripe along the center of your neck, and you couldn’t stop the desperate moan he pulled from you at the sensation. His hand slid down for his thumb to make slippery caresses over the trail of spit he’d left behind. 
“I’ve never tasted blood this good, sweetheart. It’s… I don’t know how to describe it, it’s like the way you smell, but better.” His thumb pressed ever so gently into your throat, and you felt the tip of his sharpened nail rake a promise against your skin. Eddie kept it there, pausing for a moment, and you realized with a pang of emotion that he was trying to stop himself from asking for more. 
You allowed the slightest bit of tenderness to break through to your exterior, smiling gently at him as you leaned into his touch. “It’s okay,” you whispered, “I can trust you not to take too much, right?” 
The lights were dim, but you could see enough of Eddie’s face to make out the glowing smile your trust had elicited. His hands curved gently along the back of your neck, cradling the base of your skull as he pulled your forehead to rest against his own. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
So much warmth flooded your chest at Eddie’s praise that it almost scared you. You knew this wasn’t compulsion- you felt complete control of your body and mind, and felt aware of your ability to tell him no. In fact, you knew in your heart that if you told him that you wanted to stop everything now, he would obey without a second thought, bid you goodnight, and walk right out that door. 
But you definitely did not want that to happen.
That much was made clear by the pornographic moan that tumbled from your lips as Eddie’s claw drew a single, shallow gash down the center of your neck. His hand slotted under your jaw, applying enough pressure to hold off the blood flow above your neck for the fewest of seconds. Blood pooled in the cut, and Eddie admired his handiwork with hungry fascination. 
“Gorgeous…” he muttered, leaning closer. Your heart was racing, undoubtedly causing the blood to rush even faster to your neck, and when you heard Eddie fucking inhale the scent of your blood like it was a perfectly aged Bordeaux? It started beating out a marathon. 
The moment your scent hit his nostrils, you shivered as a guttural, primal rumbling rolled from Eddie’s chest. The growl grew into a moaning sigh as you felt his warmed wet lips envelop the base of the cut on your neck, and lick into the life that pooled there. 
He sucked, pulling more into his mouth and you whimpered slightly from the sensation. As if to comfort you, his hands slid a little further down so that they cupped the vertebrae at the back of your neck, and it was strange how you could almost feel his touch getting warmer the more blood he took from you. He pulled your neck closer, hungry for all you had to give him.
For a moment you started to worry, fearing that you may have overestimated Eddie’s control over his bloodlust, but your worries were put to rest when he detached himself from his latch and licked up the minimal mess that he had made. 
“Let’s get this off of you, Slayer.” 
Eddie’s hands snuck underneath the hem of your shirt, causing you to shiver at the sensation of cold fingers on heated flesh. Before long, You were both stripped down to nothing and panting with need, a tangle of hands and lips and pulses as you melted into each other in the moonlight. He pushed you gently onto your back, climbing over you slowly and with purpose. You felt the hard length of his naked cock bounce against your thigh as he did, and the anticipation you began to feel between your legs was hot and wet, dripping from your lips as if it were salivating for him. You bucked up involuntarily, eliciting an amused chuckle from the vampire on top of you. 
“Easy, baby,” Eddie cooed, “starting to think you only invited me in for one thing.”
“Oh blow it out your ass.” you rolled your eyes at him, “Don’t pretend you weren’t hoping for that one thing exactly.” 
Eddie smiled, a twinkle in his eye launching your heartbeat into overdrive as he planted a quick peck to the cut on your neck and began to lower himself further south. “I may have had a hunch, yeah.” You watched with rapt attention as his face drew closer and closer to where you wanted him most, the echo of your dream still potent in your memory. What similar talents might the Eddie from your imagination have shared with the Eddie that currently studied your glistening pussy as if it were a delicacy to devour?
In your heart of hearts, you knew that every move you’d made tonight since Eddie walked through that door was absolutely insane. Masochistic, even. But your own idiocy was no match for the ecstasy that hit you when Eddie’s dextrous tongue dove into your folds, twisting and lapping up the essence that he craved in ways that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your arching form. 
You moaned, writhing under his touch as his tongue glided over the dripping lips of your core, savoring the flavors of your arousal and the way they paired with the taste of your blood that still lingered in his senses. 
“Taste so fucking good, sweetheart, goddamn.” Eddie’s voice was muffled, wet and hot in the way he spoke it into you and moved his lips along your pussy to speak the words. The sensation coupled with the commentary all but broke you, and you mewled a bewildered thank you as he continued his ministrations. 
A sharp sting jolted you, ripping your eyelids open- you didn’t even remember closing your eyes- and it took a second to realize that Eddie had used his sharpened nails to create another gash at your inner thigh. It stung, but only slightly, so you assumed the cut must not be too deep. 
“Sorry, sweetheart, did that hurt?” Eddie’s voice was soft and sympathetic as his fingers toyed with the small wound, gently pinching and pressing to undoubtedly coax more blood for him to enjoy. 
“Little bit,” you whispered, and the voice that came out of your mouth was so high-pitched and airy that you hardly recognized it. “-but it’s not bad. It’s not too deep, right?”
“Nah, barely even a scratch.” Eddie assured you. “Besides, I’ll close it in a second anyway.” 
Your head popped off the pillow. “You can do that?”
“Check your neck, sweetheart.” 
You brought a hand to the place where Eddie’s cut had been, but were amazed to find that the cut was completely gone. You felt nothing but smooth, unscathed skin in its wake. Bemused, you checked the cut at your wrist and found it had healed as well.
 “How did you do that?”
Eddie shrugged, the pads of his fingers beginning to draw idle shapes over your clit, mixing your blood with the wetness of your cunt. “Apparently, all I have to do is lick a scratch and it heals itself within minutes.” You jolted when you felt his lips close around your clit and suck, whining at the suction as he drew the mixture of your flavors into his mouth and hummed in satisfaction. 
“Now if you don’t mind,” he murmured, “I was in the middle of something down here.”
You barely had time to nod before he was diving back between your legs, lapping up your essence with an urgency that lay somewhere between passionate purpose and reckless abandon. He alternated, going back and forth between the bloodied gash on your thigh and the shimmering lips of your dripping cunt. 
“Oh my god,” you whimpered, arching into the mattress as he moaned into you at the intensity of your taste. “More, please… I need… inside-” 
In a blur of movement, Eddie’s face was level with yours, and you were staring directly into his lust-blown eyes as his cock nudged its head between your folds. Eddie shuddered at the feeling, closing his eyes as ecstasy overtook him and he slowly sheathed himself completely into you. 
“Hoooooly shit, sweetheart-” Eddie gritted out through clenched teeth. His arm reached behind your shoulders, pulling you flush against him and bringing his mouth to hover mere inches from your ear. “Fucking made for me, so fucking tight.”
When Eddie began to move, your hips bucked to meet him instinctively. In your current position, Eddie had you caged in and wrapped in his arms, held in place as he thrusted into you and grunted sweet, filthy nothings into your ear.
“Feel so good squeezing my cock, baby.”
“Wrap your legs around me, don’t let me leave.”
“God, you smell so fucking good, can still taste you on my lips.”
“Such a good little vampire slayer. Take it all, sweet thing.”
You were getting closer with every word; each whispered praise in your ear made you tighten more and more, but you weren’t quite there yet. As if he could read your mind, Eddie’s hand snaked down between your naked bodies until his middle finger came to rest on your throbbing clit. Careful to keep his claws from scratching the sensitive area, the soft pad of his finger slipped small circles over the wanting bud. 
You mewled, eyes rolling back at the combined sensations. The stimulation was overtaking every sense, numbing you to everything but the climb of your orgasm that awaited you on the other side of the peak you were climbing. 
“You know what’s crazy, Slayer?” 
Eddie’s voice was husky in your ear, and you’d barely registered what he’d said before he continued. 
“I didn’t even need the power to control your mind. Didn’t need to make you want me like this, you did that all yourself.”
You struggled to comprehend what he was getting at, but a particularly forceful thrust caused a sharp moan to leap from your lips. Eddie laughed, and it was somehow both musical and malicious all at once.
“Dreams are funny things… I showed up just to see what would happen, thinking ‘hey, there’s no way in hell she’d have me, right? But maybe in my dreams’...” Eddie chuckled ruefully, shifting slightly to angle his cock further into you and moaning at the way you gripped him tighter when your leg was tilted just so. 
Your eyebrows knit together, confused. What did he mean he showed up? As in, showed up in your dream? Your mind was reeling, spinning in the midst of the jumbled logic of his words and the mounting pleasure his cock was driving into you.
“But it wasn’t even in my dreams that you wanted me, it was yours… in your dream you gave in to me so easily, practically begged me to tell you what to do…”
What? What was he… was Eddie saying what you thought he was saying? You squirmed, trying to lift him so you could look him in the eyes, but he held you in place- immobile and at his mercy. Your eyes widened as you stared up at the skylight in your ceiling. The moon was full tonight, and it stared down at you unwaveringly as Eddie continued to thrust into you and hit that spongy spot within your cunt over and over and over.
“The compulsion was a great touch, I hadn’t even thought of that until your delicious little brain took a turn for the kinky.” You could hear the smile on his panted words. “One dream told me all I needed to know… you wanted me just as bad, Slayer. Wanted- needed- permission to just let go and admit you wanted the bloodsucker’s cock, didn’t you?”
“Y-you….ah! Oh, fuck!” 
You tried to respond, tried to tell him you needed a second to process what he was telling you, but before you could get more than a word out his finger began to work your clit at a pace so rapid, only a demon like him was capable. If you didn’t know better, you would think he’d pulled out a vibrator. That was how fast he was able to rip your orgasm from its precipice and make you spasm out of control around his cock.
“Shit!” You clenched at the sinful sound of Eddie’s voice in your ear as he unraveled inside of you. “Holy- I’m cumming, baby, fuck-” He continued to thrust into you as he rode out his orgasm, murmuring into your neck, “...mine. Fucking mine…”
Your eyes stared unblinking at the moon as you clenched around Eddie’s throbbing dick, mind beginning to flood with post-sex clarity as soon as your orgasm began to calm. Your chest felt like it was clawing at your heart, trying desperately to rip out the offending organ for overtaking the control that your brain was supposed to have had this entire time. Your instincts had tried- god, they’d fucking tried- to tell you not to trust the demon inside you, and yet here you were. Pinned to your own bed with his seed dripping from the most intimate parts of you, and you’d fucking invited him in. 
How much of your attraction to him had been you, and how much had been him? You’d asked him so many questions this very night about his powers, what he was capable of- and he’d glossed over a very important piece of information by omitting the fact that he could make appearances in your fucking dreams. 
Before you could even voice even one of the questions that swirled around in your head, Eddie’s eyes were hovering over yours, the moonlight dancing in a ghostly halo along his silhouette. 
“Listen to me, Slayer.”
His eyes were pitch black, and you found yourself missing the brilliant ruby red they’d shone in your dream. Maybe that’s all tonight was? Just a horrible dream, and the one person you’d considered a friend in this godforsaken town was still someone you could trust. 
“I’m going to get you cleaned up, you’re going to get under these covers, and then you’re going to go to sleep.” You heard him take a breath; felt his shaking exhale on your face. “When you wake up in the morning, you’ll forget everything that happened since I walked through that door.”
You blinked, listening intently. Obediently.
“I walked you home, said goodnight at the door, and left. Then you went inside, locked your door, and went to bed. Repeat it back to me.”
“You walked me home, said goodnight at the door, and left.” Your lips moved seamlessly of their own accord, parroting his own story back to him as you stared into those bottomless black eyes. “Then I went inside, locked the door, and went to bed.”
Eddie stared at you a moment, and there was something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite read. It suddenly dawned on you that his eyes weren’t normally black or red. They were brown. You missed how pretty those brown eyes were. They were sweet; honest. Trustworthy eyes.
Finally moving after a few seconds of watching you intently, searching your face for something he evidently couldn’t find, he leaned forward and tenderly kissed your forehead.
“Good.” he whispered, low and tired. “That’s good, sweetheart.”
The night played out exactly as Eddie said it would. He cleaned you up, taking the time to make sure he’d kissed every nick he’d made in your skin until there wasn’t a wound in sight. He watched silently as you cleaned your face, donned a soft shirt so large it reached mid-thigh, and slid under your covers. Eddie kissed you softly before wordlessly locking your doorknob from the inside and exited your apartment. You heard him double check the lock and leave once he was satisfied with your safety. 
Then you fell asleep.
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Eddie had only dreamwalked a few times before he’d realized that his newfound vampirism gave him the power to manipulate the dreams that he’d recently gained the ability to stumble into.
It had started when he’d heard Wayne sleeping restlessly in the living room of their trailer, tossing and turning on the couch with his forehead pinched with worry. Eddie had wanted so badly to ease his pain, and before he knew it he was watching his uncle’s nightmare playing out around him like he’d stepped onto the set of a film. He’d seen his own gravestone, seen Wayne tearing at the dirt until his fingers bled, and wanted nothing more than to alleviate his uncle’s pain- that yearning on his part had evidently been enough to cause the scene to shift in his favor. The grave had sunken into the ground, the sky changed from stormy gray to sunny blue, and the bed of dirt had become a gingham blanket, upon which sat a significantly happier Wayne and a sticky-fingered Eddie at age four holding a PB&J that was oozing out the sides.
It was at this moment that Eddie had started thinking that maybe these powers he’d gained might not be all bad.
He hadn’t realized he had the ability to manipulate memories until the first time Gareth had lost control and killed that girl from U.S. History.
She’d asked Gareth to meet her behind the bleachers after school, and Eddie had told him not to go, told him not to risk it, but Gareth was so fucking stubborn. The girl was cute, and the idiot had thought he could handle it. By the time Eddie had realized Gareth had ignored his warnings, it was too late.
Eddie had been so close to cleaning everything up seamlessly, and then some cheerleader had to go and stumble upon Gareth, Eddie, and the bloodless corpse of that poor girl. Eddie’s instincts had taken over, and before he knew it he’d grabbed the cheerleader by the shoulders and used every ounce of willpower he could muster to convince her that she hadn’t seen them at all, and in fact what she had actually seen was U.S. History girl walking into the woods behind the school. 
It had been a desperate, kneejerk reaction, and Eddie had had next to no confidence it would work, but the next day he’d been amazed to hear that exact story being repeated through the rumor mill word for word. It gave Eddie and Gareth the cover they’d needed to take the girl’s body to the Upside Down and hide it where no one would think to look. 
His abilities were handy tricks to have, sure… but it scared him. Eddie didn’t like that every new power he discovered within himself gave him a new way to get away with something awful. Eddie didn’t trust himself enough for that knowledge to sit well with him. 
Now, he sat in the cafeteria at his usual table with Gareth, eyes sweeping the room for your face. He hadn’t seen you in the halls yet today, and even though he had every reason to be confident that you wouldn’t remember last night, he’d never tried to erase memories from a Slayer before. Maybe you had some sort of mental defenses against him? Maybe you were already waiting at his trailer, stake in hand? The unknown of it all was stressing Eddie out. 
That’s what he was feeling- stress. Not guilt. Eddie had hardened his undead heart enough that he didn’t feel guilty for things like this anymore. If he had been completely honest about his powers at Benny’s, there’s no way you would have trusted him after that. After being an active player in your wet dream without your consent?  He didn't know many people who wouldn’t hate his guts after that- hell, he hated his own guts after that. He was a horny creep who’d violated you in more ways than one, and there was no way anyone could forgive him for that. Why should you?
He could have been honest about his memory manipulating abilities, but the idea of giving that secret away had simply scared him too much. It was easier to keep that in his back pocket, and wasn’t that what you always had against him, after all? A wooden stake, always ready and waiting as a last resort. A failsafe. 
No. Eddie didn’t feel guilty. For the sake of his own self-preservation, he couldn’t. 
As if on cue, Eddie perked up when he saw you enter the cafeteria. Act casual, he reminded himself. He couldn’t act like anything was out of the ordinary, but at the same time he needed to be sure you remembered nothing. Then he could move on, not feel as… stressed. 
He watched you discreetly, looking up from his crumpled bag of pretzels every twenty seconds or so to check if you were looking at him. You sat at your normal table on the opposite side of the room, pulling a sandwich from your bag and quietly began to eat your lunch. You didn’t seem to be the least bit concerned with where Eddie was, much less whether or not he was looking at you. 
Suddenly, as if you could feel his gaze on you, your eyes flicked up and locked with his. For a split second, Eddie’s confidence in his powers faltered- maybe his powers were useless against you; maybe you remembered last night in all its shameful glory. The jig is up, he thought, I’m caught. Let justice be served.
But all you did was smile at him and give a little wave before turning back to your sandwich. 
Eddie felt a nudge at his elbow from Gareth. “You good, man?” the floppy haired boy glanced in your direction, raising an eyebrow in question. 
You didn’t remember. Eddie should be relieved… he’d successfully befriended, seduced, and fooled The Slayer. This was a good thing. 
“Yeah,” he huffed, reassuring Gareth with a curt nod. “I’m good.”
Good. Such a relative term. So many definitions for the word good, and yet not a single one would make ‘I’m good’ anything but a lie when it came from Eddie’s mouth. 
He ran his tongue over one of his sharpened canines, pressing it into the tip hard enough to break skin. The taste of your blood that still lingered in his veins flooded his mouth for a split second before the puncture healed itself, and he closed his eyes to savor you for a moment. 
No; Eddie Munson wasn’t good. He hadn’t been good for a very long time. 
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Taglist (just some people I think will be interested, as well as those who I've spoken to about this story during the MONTHS it took to finally finish): @the-unforgivenn, @vintagehellfire, @munson-blurbs, @littlesubbyflower, @msgexymunson, @hellfire--cult, @word-wytch, @carolmunson, @bettyfrommars
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kentopedia · 7 months
Text
nightly rituals
ft. dazai, chuuya, sigma, ranpo, fyodor
summary — little things you do together before going to sleep
contents — very sweet, domestic moments !! sfw.
notes — another subpar short piece from me while i finish up some wips. i wrote this kind of quickly so pls forgive any errors !! :(
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₊˚⊹♡ DAZAI + reading
“osamu.” you glanced up at him from under his book, drawing his name out as you rested your head on his lap.
until that point, you’d been scrolling through your phone, hoping he'd be annoyed by the lack of your attention. instead, dazai picked up the book you'd been reading together, and started from where you left off.
your ridiculous ploy for his affection had turned on you, and now, you were the one that was desperate to hear his voice.
dazai looked down at you, his eyes playful as he smiled. “what?”
you stared back at him, disgruntled by the fact that he’d so quickly figured out your silly little game and made it his own. "nothing."
dazai twisted a piece of your hair on his finger, patient, and shrugged, returning to the novel, looking far too interested in the pages.
you groaned, poking him in the stomach. “you’re just going to read ahead without me?”
“you didn’t seem to mind when you were on your phone instead.” he frowned, though most of his disappointment was feigned, and amusement lingered at the edges of his expression.
“you were in the shower!" you scoffed.
dazai laughed, and shifted the book to his other hand, and leaned over to kiss you softly. “i'm not anymore.”
though you usually indulged him in his antics, you were tired, and just wanted to close out the night with another chapter of the story you'd been so invested in. it was much better when it came straight from his lips.
“i can see that.” you rolled your eyes, frowning. “are you going to read to me now, osamu?”
dazai brightened, proud of himself for finally getting you to admit what you wanted. "well, you could've asked a little nicer, but since i love you..."
he flipped to the previous page, the one you'd both been at the night before, and you realized he hadn't even been reading at all.
you huffed out a laugh, burying your head further into his thighs, but dazai didn't start reading. he remained staring at you with a pointed expression.
"what's the matter now?"
"you didn't say it back." dazai's lips drew down theatrically.
you sighed, and pulled at the collar of his shirt, stretching your waist to kiss him, lazily, missing his lips by a mile. "you already know i love you too, osamu. that's the only reason you get away with annoying me all the time."
dazai, finally satisfied, let you fall back against him, and began reading the next chapter to you.
though you'd wanted to stay awake for a while longer, the minute he began, you were already dozing off, so warm in his arms.
“your voice is so nice,” you said sleepily, closing your eyes as he read. “like a lullaby.”
dazai laughed quietly, but he softened, smiling as he read. he held the book in one hand, and massaged your scalp with the other, delicate fingers threading through your hair until you fell asleep.
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₊˚⊹♡ CHUUYA + skincare
“let me do it this time, chuuya," you said, staring him down with the sweet eyes of yours that you knew he could never resist.
chuuya could have easily stolen the tub of moisturizer away from you, but he let you hold it far out of his reach, his smile soft. “but i like doing it.”
“yeah, well, you do it every night. i want a turn.”
chuuya said nothing for a moment, his gaze sharp. then, he relented and sighed. “fine.” he leaned against the counter, resting his weight on it. “think you can ask me for whatever you want, and i'll just give it you, huh?”
you laughed, smiling as you unscrewed the lid. “i think we both know the answer to that.”
though you were only teasing him, chuuya softened, kissing your forehead. he placed his hands on your hips, drawing you closer and closer.
“you’re right,” he said, his eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks as you slathered the moisturizer over his smooth skin. “i can’t say no to you, baby.”
you shook your head, amused, and massaged his cheeks lightly. chuuya relaxed into your touch, the tightness in his jaw alleviating.
"don't fall asleep," you teased, running your thumb over his full bottom lip.
"'m not," he said, letting out a small breath. but his eyes were glazed when he opened them again, far too tender for such a powerful man. "your hands just feel so soft."
"i can't carry you to bed," you warned. "you'll have to sleep on the cold counter."
"you wouldn't let me stay here all night long." he slid his hands over your hips, down your back, grinning. "you hate sleeping in that bed without me."
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₊˚⊹♡ SIGMA + making tea
“do you want honey in it, love?”
you hummed a yes, squeezing your arms around his waist, hugging him tighter from behind. his hair was soft against your cheek as you rested your head on his back.
sigma poured the water, letting the tea steep.
you leaned your weight on him, yawning. “how was your day?”
he craned his neck to see you, but didn’t move otherwise, letting you get comfortable as you waited for the tea to finish. “it was alright.” he laced his free hand with yours, shifting. “a little stressful. better, now that i get to see you.”
you smiled, kissing a notch in his spine, too lazy to move any further. “why'd you leave before i could say goodbye this morning?”
though you didn't really mind, sigma seemed genuinely apologetic, and squeezed your hand. “sorry. i had to be in early today. did you see my note?”
you smiled, and nodded, listening to the rhythmic beat of his blood pumping, the very sign that he was just as human as the rest of you.
"i did. it was sweet." with a sigh, you straightened your back to look at him completely. for the first time since you’d gotten home, you realized how tired he was, how drained he’d been this entire week. you ran your fingers through his hair gently, your voice like a purr. “you need to get some rest. i've barely seen you this week.”
“i have work to do.” he frowned. “they need me there.”
“i know." you watched as sigma took out the tea bags, throwing them into the trash. “i need you too, though.”
sigma paused, momentarily, as he stirred the honey in, before shaking his thoughts and blinking back at you. “i didn’t realize—”
you stopped him before he could spiral into another apology, the tension in his brow obvious. "i'm not upset." when the small tangles had been brushed out, you began braiding a small section of his hair, the strands silky in your palm. “just promise me you’ll take care of yourself too.”
sigma stared from over his shoulder for a moment more before acquiescing. he handed a steaming mug to you, turning around to surprise you with a gentle kiss. "okay," he said against your lips, the touch so tender. "i promise."
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₊˚⊹♡ RANPO + video games
“you’re so bad at this.” ranpo threw another handful of candy into his mouth, watching your avatar on the screen as you continued to fail.
frowning, you pressed another button vigorously, not quite sure if it was the right one to achieve your goal.
of course, nothing seemed to happen, and instead, you’re barraged by the enemy, your health going down to a level that seemed almost irrecoverable.
you leaned back into ranpo’s chest, pinching your eyebrows together. “i don’t play this as much as you do.” you said from where sat between his thighs, still trying to figure out how to win his favorite game. “cut me some slack.”
ranpo laughed, his breath tickling the lobe of your ear as he leaned forward. he slid your thumb to a different button, brushing your skin lightly. “try that, sweets.”
it seemed to be the obvious solution, and you made a face at him, momentarily distracted. "your genius never fails to amaze me."
though, when you glanced back at the screen, you’ were back to where you started, all your progress lost. “ranpo,” you said, his name coming out on the edge of a whine. “what happened?”
he took the controller from you, not even giving you a moment to try again. quickly, he moved towards the next checkpoint, knowing exactly where to go, a seasoned professional. “you got killed. too busy staring at me.”
you sighed, reaching for the controller, but he held it out of your reach, grinning at you mockingly.
“let me try again, ranpo!”
“i’ll get you to the next part. you’ve tried this three times already.”
it wasn’t as fun watching as it was playing, but you sighed, and let him take over. as he went through the remaining quests, you rested your head back onto his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
ranpo made it through the rest of that level in mere minutes.
“here, it should be easier now.” though when he went to hand the game over to you, you’d fallen asleep in his lap, your breathing even and light.
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₊˚⊹♡ FYODOR + playing the cello
“you play so beautifully.”
fyodor opened his eyes, watching you from under dark lashes. though his hands didn’t stop moving, the beginnings of a smile formed on his lips.
“i wish i could play an instrument,” you continued mindlessly, stretched over the couch. your head rested on the throw pillows, side aching from how long you'd been laying there, listening to the cello.
fyodor was across the room, relaxed completely in the chair he always played in. beside him, he was surrounded by evidence of his hobby. sheet music, scribbled and messy, rested on the table, stained with coffee rings. candle light flickered through the room.
he hesitated, the bow softly coming to a stop across the strings. “i can teach you.” fyodor's pause was brief, and he began playing once more, slower this time, like a serenade. a piece of hair fell over his face, between his eyebrows, distracting you.
you shivered, mind filled with thoughts of him standing behind you, directing your hands towards the right movements, whispering instructions in your ears.
but you shook your head, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. “maybe,” you said, your smile wistful. “but i won’t be as good as you. i’d rather listen.”
“alright.” he let out a short laugh, blinking his eyes shut again to return his attention to the piece. he came to the last few measures, approaching the conclusion. “is there any piece you’d like to hear?” fyodor said, his voice softer than usual, almost like he didn’t want to disturb his own playing.
you thought back on everything you’d heard him play before. he’d told you the names, but it was hard to remember. so many of them sounded the same, titled by numbers and words you didn't understand.
it didn't matter, though. you thought everything he played sounded beautiful. often, he was even better than any recordings you’d ever heard.
“something that makes you think of me,” you said in a hushed whisper, placing your chin on your arms to see him better. "if that's alright."
fyodor, then, smiled more fully, his eyes full of an affection that eclipsed his otherwise gloomy features. “there are many things that make me think of you,” he said, slowing once more to transition into a richer, smoother melody. one that would, inevitably, put you into a deep, peaceful sleep. “but, perhaps this one fits the moment best.”
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i haven't written for fyodor, sigma or ranpo before, so i hope this is okay !! im trying to get over my fear of making sure every single action & dialogue is perfectly in character :,)
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cherryjuiceblues · 8 months
Text
𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 | 𝟐
➯ HARRY IS A LITTLE OBSESSED WITH Y/N AND Y/N JUST WANTS TO KNOW WHEN HE’LL HAVE SEX WITH HER AGAIN. ✰ dom!harry sexual content. dominant and submissive dynamics. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 14k ッ mutually beneficial masterlist
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Harry doesn’t love his job.
He doesn’t hate it either. But he certainly doesn’t love what he does.
It’s not the hardest of occupations; since becoming CEO (and after getting over the guilt of surpassing his colleagues in status), having the option of assigning others to complete otherwise arduous tasks for him has eased some of his tension.
However—inevitably—those smoothed over stress bumps are quickly replaced by bigger, more stubborn protrusions that take more than a gentle palm to flatten out.
But Harry is comfortable—he’s financially secure, surrounded by a loving family and loyal friends, and treated with respect, revered even, by some. So despite being true, what Harry had told Y/N—that You think I was wishing to own a finance company when I was a little boy? indicating that it has hardly been a dream come true—he is grateful for his position in life. Aware of his privilege but also immensely proud of how much his hard work had paid off.
However right now, as he sits behind his desk with his phone burning a hole in his pocket, Harry hates his job.
Hates the schedule that’s pulled up on his monitor, hates the squeak of his chair as he rolls over to the filing cabinet, hates the way the clock is ticking louder than he’s ever heard it before. And the seconds are taking twice as long as they should.
With each passing minute, the presence of his phone in his trouser pocket becomes heavier and heavier; its lack of buzzing and dinging feeling abnormally disheartening. And everytime his work phone—that’s lying face up on his desk—lights up with an email or a phone call and creates its shrill cacophony that pushes the line of Harry’s brow deeper and deeper into his already default frown, he becomes less and less of the easy-going boss he presents to everyone.
It’s enough to drive anyone mad; this torturous waiting. Harry feels as though he’s being dangled over the edge of a cliff but never dropped, never given the sweet release of death which he would gladly take over the pain of not knowing when he was going to fall.
One week. It had been one week since Harry first met Y/N. One week since they’d had maybe the best first experience he’d ever had with someone, and one week since he’d heard a single thing from her. And the memory of that night is enough to have Harry distracted. Enough to have him on the edge of his seat.
ㅤㅤ
“Please.” She whines—to Harry’s teasingly obvious question.
“More what?” He wants to ask. Wants to make her spell it out for him. 
But he doesn’t. He’s nice. 
Nice as he stretches her open with his fingers—intrusion more than easy with the copious amount of slick between her thighs—whilst his tongue plays with her masterfully. She pants and whines, bucks and wiggles. Loses the ability to say coherent words without stuttering over them.
He takes his time—relishing in the fierce, squeezing heat around his fingers—in the way her excitement makes his palm shine the longer he goes at it.
And he’s thorough in the treatment he gives her. Behaves as if he’s a professional that’s been paid to change her life. He imagines Niall as his agent who had come to him earlier in the day with a ‘great opportunity’ and demanded Harry give his absolute best. 
Pretends that his entire career rides on Y/N’s enjoyment of this night.
Harry thinks, really, that Y/N’s lack of experience means he could do a subpar job in actuality—but the thought just makes him go harder. Makes every flick of his tongue and curl of his fingers feel like the best thing she’s ever known.
She’s soaking into his skin and it’s filthy; the way Harry’s throat rumbles out a groan at the thought of his stubble bathing in her—the resentment he’ll have in washing his face later.
Little does he know that Y/N is thinking the same thing—or rather, imagining the irritation of her thighs his facial hair will leave behind. The soreness that can only come from pure satiation, that she’s sure she’ll admire with great joy. Her first marks, her first memory-jolting piece of evidence of the night she was finally touched. The day she’s been waiting for—for far too long, in her opinion.
Especially now, as it’s happening, and Y/N doesn't know if she’ll ever be able to stop chasing this feeling. Her limbs fight between stretching out in tight, desperate attempts to grasp for her orgasm—and melting into the mattress in a mangled mess of flesh and bone. Harry’s mouth struggles to compete with the smile that overtakes his expression, watching Y/N’s body writhe in response to his ministrations.
This is his favourite thing to do.
She tightens, and squeaks, and drips—Harry’s fingers working her just right and tongue curling in fast, pointed flitters—as she propels further towards the edge. Close, so close; lips moulding around a string of garbled sounds and hips pushing up into the large span of his hand. She’s trying to beg but she doesn’t get the chance because Harry is feeling her spasm in contracting waves and she’s slicking down his fingers, crying out—
ㅤㅤ
Harry’s debauched daydream fizzles away when his work phone chimes insolently. The screen lights up, forcing his eyes towards it.
A reminder.
Team meeting | in 15m
“Fuck’s sake,” Harry runs his hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair as the leather stretches. His trousers are tighter than he would consider comfortable, but he’s safe—no recognisable evidence of unprofessional thoughts in his professional environment.
Harry considers himself to be a focused man—often finds solace in working to provide distraction—but this constant replay that has been leading his mind astray whenever he even attempts to shift his concentration is proving to be a hurdle too high for Harry to jump over. He thinks if he makes himself come then the unavoidable meeting that’s starting in thirteen minutes might be less torturous to sit through.
But just as he smooths a palm over his thigh, there’s a telltale knock on his door. The rapping a pattern that only his assistant uses.
Harry clears his throat, shifting himself higher to appear more orthodox in his chair.
“Come in, Mr Rowland.”
The door makes way as it’s opened, rattling the blinds that preserve Harry’s modesty—matching that of the ones on the full-length windows that look out into the building.
The man moves to stand stiffly in front of his boss’ desk, suit free of creases and long hair tied back to maintain formality. Harry used to have long hair once.
Mitch Rowland is a quiet man; stoic, but not unfeeling. Harry believes him to be the thoughtful type, and he chips away more and more of his exterior everyday, he’s sure. Cracking a joke that makes Mitch laugh feels like a reward—an acknowledgment of all the hard work he puts in to becoming closer to his reserved assistant.
“Time for a briefing, Mr Styles?”
Harry nods, gesturing to one of the armchairs facing his desk. “Yes, go ahead.”
He’s respectful enough to look intently at the man sitting across from him. As he speaks, Harry doesn’t drift off into his fantasy land full of strawberry embroidered dresses and passion fruit martinis—no, he converses with Mitch like the approachable boss he takes care to be, discussing the best way to go about conducting the team meeting and how to amicably pull up the areas that his employees are lacking in.
Truth be told, it’s life changing having someone like Mitch as his assistant. He demonstrates capability—enough so that Harry can often sit back and let him take the reins—it’s satisfying when their brains match up like they're connected via bluetooth. It’s an easy relationship to maintain, and Harry often ponders about how grateful he is.
But never has Harry been more grateful for Mitch as he is right now. (Which is cruel really, for a situation that would probably lose in a battle of importance if voted on by a large audience.)
The meeting is going fine, most likely—Harry wouldn’t know because his mind is elsewhere once again.
ㅤㅤ
“That’s it, take a deep breath for me, darlin’.” He’s good at maintaining composure, but God if Y/N isn’t testing Harry right now. She’s still fluttering—more than ready to let him start pushing into her—as her arousal coats copious miles of skin. He leans over her, pressing a soft kiss to the dip above her chin as he rolls a condom over his neglected cock. The throbbing gets harder to ignore now that she’s laid out for him; all stretched and wet.
“Are you sure it’s gonna… fit?” Y/N looks down, pupils expanding at the sight. Long, and thick, and hard.
“I’m sure,” Harry drags his nose against her throat, lifting back up to catch her blown-out eyes. He smiles.
“I… I want you to feel good too, Harry. Please?”
His heart thumps and his eyebrows pinch. She’s special. He wants to take such good care of her.
“I feel so good, love. I promise.” Harry drops his hips to prove it, sliding through her folds and nudging her sensitive clit as Y/N’s breath shudders. “Are you ready?”
“Can I—can I hold your hand?”
She’s a doll. (Maybe in more ways than one permitting she’d like to be pliable for him, but right now Harry knows she’s cuter than even the sweetest of puppies). He wants to coo right in her face, obnoxious and embarrassing, before his voice takes on a squeaky pitch and he expresses Of course, you can hold my hand—you’re just adorable, aren’t you?
Instead, he wordlessly transfers his weight to the now singular arm holding him up as he reaches for the girl’s empty palm and tugs it up beside her head. Their fingers entwine as the mattress creates a mould of their knuckles—and Y/N’s eyes clear themselves of the fear of rejection, gazing up at Harry with such appreciation that he doesn’t even receive from his employees. Not that he’d expect them to but the way Y/N is looking at him makes Harry feel as though he’s done something far more significant than hold her hand or coax a few orgasms out of her.
It’s almost sad.
“Ready now,” she whispers, and Harry’s forgotten everything else.
He reaches down to stroke over her hip bone in soothing circles. “Keep looking at me, okay?” She nods, eyes never wavering even as Harry guides himself into her drippy hole.
The first feel of intrusion is new—different to his fingers—exciting and tight as the mushroom tip of Harry’s cock presses in gently. Y/N gasps but it doesn’t hurt; it’s a filling sensation, one that makes her question why she’s not always been doing this. It feels right, like it’s meant to be.
And when she breaks eye contact to look down, she sees that he’s hardly an inch in and exhales heavily into Harry’s face. He squeezes her hand, green surveying her expression. It takes all of his composure to ignore how tight she is around him. It’s euphoria.
“H-Harry,” Y/N whines, shiny mouth falling further with each centimetre discovered inside of her.
“So good, baby, you’re so good. Keep looking at me…there you go.” His voice is taut, even Y/N can tell, and she blinks at him because it’s all she can do—hoping she is communicating well enough with her eyes.
As he gets deeper, she suddenly expels a great breath, jumbled words tumbling out. “Thank you, oh—that’s so—oh my god.”
And Harry is bottoming out, balls resting against her bum, as he lets out some air of his own. “Look at that, darlin’,” he smiles, “took all of me, first try.”
Y/N’s face suddenly splits into a grin. She chances a lift of her leg, to open herself up more as she stretches it to the side, bent knee pressing into the sheets.
“I didn’t know I had that much space in there.”
Harry laughs (it’s quite literally forced out of his lungs) and Y/N starts to let out endless strings of giggles—delirious with overwhelming happiness—as her stomach starts to contract. She can’t stop laughing. And every one has her core tightening around Harry’s cock in pulsing flutters.
If he wasn’t searching deep in his mind for the stability not to build up too quickly, then Harry’s heart would be bounding at the sweet sound of Y/N’s giggles. Pure elation in the form of prancing lilts. Bouncing off the walls and racing past their ears; slicing through any of the nerves she had left.
To see her face bunched up in laughter is to witness beauty in its rawest form, Harry is certain. All whilst she lays bare with himself inside of her—connected as far as he can possibly reach—this feeling doesn’t compel him very often. If ever at all.
ㅤㅤ
Sitting at the head of the table with absent eyes, Harry’s nodding his head in faux-interest whilst his mind is full of filth. Not many eyes are on him anyhow, as Mitch talks through the monthly rates but—understandably—when his personal phone starts ringing disturbingly loudly, the heads of everyone turn to watch their boss answer it alarmingly quickly. The same boss who most employees have never seen handle a personal phone in their entire career at his company; might have believed he lived permanently in his office, in fact.
It’s a shock when he holds the phone up to his ear, shoots his assistant a glance and says, “You’ve got this, haven’t y’Mitch?” before exiting the room with a curt nod and a rushed shuffle to squeeze around the chairs.
Harry knows it’s unprofessional of him, but he’s been waiting for his phone to ring all week. So he’ll be damned if he misses an important call just to maintain formality. He can’t fire himself.
The voice on the other end of the line doesn’t quite contain the lilt he was hoping for, however.
“Heyyy, Harry.” He can’t help but sigh as he closes his office door and slouches unceremoniously into his chair. “You’re at work, aren’t you? Surprised you answered.”
“The luxury of being your own boss, Niall,” Harry watches the seconds hand spin around the clock on his wall. Each tick is echoed by nails tapping wood. “You okay?”
“Oh yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I was ringing to ask about you, actually.”
“Yeah?”
“You heard from Y/N at all?”
Harry looks away from his clock. “I haven’t. Is she alright?”
“Oh, she’s more than alright. She had a great time with you.”
He smiles a little, “That’s nice. She’s very sweet, Niall.”
“Mhm she is… I think you should see her again.”
Harry thinks so too. “I’d like that. But I haven’t heard from her, which is fine—I didn’t want to overwhelm her.”
“That’s the thing though—she’s so nervous, even though she’s been proper gushing about ya. She’d love to see you again, I’m sure. But she’s too scared to call you.”
Harry rolls his eyes at his friend’s dramatics. “Alright… what are you saying, Niall?”
ㅤㅤ
Y/N is shy. 
Chronically shy.
She always has been and that certainly isn’t going to change overnight. Especially not if she were to meet the most attractive man she’s ever seen, have him take her home and then alter the very definition of pleasure itself. Especially not then.
But she so very wishes that was the case.
The post-it note hasn’t moved from the position Harry left it in when he penned his number. He’d been so sweet when asking if he could give it to her—like making her come multiple times wasn’t enough of an indication that she might want to see him again.
And she really does. God, she wants it more than anything.
But she’s an overthinker. She’s a worrywart, a nervous Nellie, a wet blanket—whatever. In every version of the phone call they have in her mind, she says the wrong thing, or Harry lets her down gently, or someone else picks up the phone. And if she texts him, her responses are awkward, or he leaves her messages on delivered—or worse read—or even worse he asks to see her again and then Y/N has to panic over fifty completely different hypothetical scenarios.
She decides that it’s just not meant for her—relationships, or human interaction, happiness—she’s not sure what specifically, but she knows it’s too much to handle. Harry would only be disappointed in the long run anyway; Y/N is simply saving his time—doing him a favour.
Niall isn’t inclined to agree—because of course the topic came up in conversation. Her friend had never been so eager to talk about anything in his entire life, and he loves talking.
The morning after Y/N met Harry, she was greeted by a dozen text messages, followed by multiple missed calls. (If Niall was ever in danger, Y/N thinks she’d be inclined to ignore him—never phased by the multitudes of spam she receives on a daily basis.) And at the first opportunity he had, Niall was knocking—no, pounding—on her door, sing-songing her name from outside her flat.
There was a reluctance in letting him in. This was all new territory for Y/N and Niall knew that. However in fairness to her—rather oversized golden retriever of a—friend, he attempted with all his heart to pretend he wasn’t bursting at the seams for as long as he could. Grinning in a somewhat subdued manner as she opened the door—elated beam withstanding his journey to her sofa—until he sat down and just couldn’t help himself, springing back up.
“You didn’t fuck on the couch, did you?” Half teasing, half deadly serious as his eyes widen and he shuffles away in an attempt to evacuate quicker if Y/N were to confirm his fear.
Y/N cowered behind her hands, cheeks burning, “No! Don’t say it like that, Niall.”
“Oh right, I’m sorry, hang on,” he cleared his throat obnoxiously, “You didn’t make sweet, sweet love on the couch, did you?”
She squawked and Niall cackled, holding his arms in front of his face when Y/N started to batter him with a sofa cushion.
“Okay! Okay, I’ll stop, I’ll be nice.”
He was nice. A relief to have someone to talk to, and never before has Niall been happier about anything, Y/N is convinced. She didn’t realise the status of her sex life was something to be so thrilled about, but his smile threatened to blind her.
And once the initial embarrassment had somewhat passed, Y/N was honest.
“He was so lovely, Niall. Far too good for me, I mean—God,” she smiled but it’s a little sad.
“Hey,” Niall’s eyebrows pinched, “don’t go there with me, young lady.” He flicked her arm. “Harry wouldn’t have initiated a thing if he didn’t want to. And he left his number, come on.”
And that’s how they’d ended up in a tizzy over calling him. Y/N just couldn’t make herself do it. No matter how sweet, and pretty, and kind he’d been to her. Niall had even offered to do it for her but that had sent humiliating shivers down her spine, imagining it play out. My friend has a crush on you—absolutely not.
The days pass and Y/N works. She eats poorly, often asleep standing by the time she arrives home—and if it is proper food she’s ingesting, it’s something she’s woken up at two a.m. to bake because she’d had a sudden itch to do it. The rest of her time at home is spent cleaning the mess she made whilst baking—which turns into moping with a feather duster in hand. Moping about the best night of her life and how she’ll never get a part two.
Nighttime comes and her fingers don’t feel the same. It feels fruitless to even try. She’s hardly got hands big enough and none of the curling does her any good. It only makes her angry, and that’s the one thing she was always told not to be when going to bed.
She asked Niall not to bring Harry up in conversation again; that it would only make her sad and she’ll just have to get over it. Over him—or over whatever he could’ve become.
So the last person Y/N assumes is at her door when she hears knocking, is the very man she’s trying to pretend doesn’t exist. She’s exhausted—been home for no longer than an hour after a long day of answering the phone to far more people than usual, trying to maintain equanimity as she booked meetings in the rapidly filling calendar. Her lunch break had been undeniably cut short—some may argue it was cut out completely—when the computer she was entering sensitive data into decided to crash (without saving) and Y/N had to compose herself in the toilet so she didn’t stain inky droplets all over her desk.
She was hungry, and tired, and sad, and—above all else—overwhelmed. Y/N’s not sure the last time in her life when she wasn’t, and it really builds up in a person. It’s near impressive that she’s even still running. If Y/N were a computer, much like the one at work, she would have crashed years ago. And point blank refused to turn back on again.
It’s unsettling, to say the least, when she hears that knocking. Because who could possibly be at her door right now? It’s too late for it to be the postman, Niall is still working—and that is literally all the people she knows.
In a panicked rush, Y/N scrambles to answer it, too startled to check her appearance or wipe the panda circles from around her eyes. It feels like everything happens in slow motion, from the door opening to reveal the man standing behind it—to the unveiling of his gentle smile and kind eyes. Y/N is half-inclined to slam it shut in his face with an affronted squeal.
She doesn’t quite squeal, but a noise is certainly made. One of terror, Harry might believe, as her eyes widen and flit around his face in a frenzy. The flowers in his hand are only just noticed, and she pauses on them for a moment, an expression of disbelief passing over her features before they become chaotic once again.
“Harry! I—” Y/N pastes a hand to her cheek in bewilderment, heart sinking at the sight of the man’s eyebrows kinking, migrating towards the centre. Then she trails further down, sees him still clad in his suit—crisp navy pressed to perfection. It’s jarring the way her brain switches from awkward to lewd for a split second, until she looks away with shame.
“Darlin’, are you alright?” He steps forward, hand reaching out. “You’re not going to faint, are you?” His voice is light and Y/N wants to laugh because what a ridiculous suggestion, of course she’s not going to faint! but she’s not so sure she believes it.
“No, no, I’m okay,” she lies.
“Let’s sit you down. Can I come in?”
Y/N swallows, exhaling as she looks up at him, before nodding slightly and stepping to the side to allow him room. Harry barely stops to assess his surroundings—only guides her to where he’s been before—her sofa feeling like the softest of clouds in this moment, while her heart is racing and her skin is tingling. He stays remarkably calm and light on his feet, whisking himself away to do God knows what but Y/N is hardly concerned. All she can think about is the fact that he’s here, and she’s a catastrophe, and she has not prepared for this. She has NOT prepared for this.
Harry finds the kitchen, near tripping over his feet to turn down the boiling pot of water that’s about to overflow. He throws some pasta in the saucepan—something quick he can fill her tummy with—and digs around for another that he fills with a jar of sauce. Then he’s rifling through cabinets to find a vase for the bouquet in his hand—which is something she apparently does not own, so a jug will do—before filling both that and a glass with water to take back to Y/N.
She looks timid and small—hands fiddling with themselves in her lap as she disassociates whilst staring at her coffee table. Harry places the jug down right where she’s looking and she blinks some. Her lips upturn just a little at the sight of the buttery petals.
“Drink.” Y/N accepts the glass easily, swallowing multitudes. Her face is dewy, a slight sheen of anxiety, and her knees bounce. “Better?” Harry softens his gaze, aware of the tension between his eyes—he knows he can sometimes appear cross without realising.
Y/N nods, rubbing at her nose like a little rabbit, he thinks.
“I’m sorry,” her voice is small, “you’ve been at work, and now you’re here and I’m… I’m a mess,” she tries to laugh but it falls flat.
“Don’t be silly. I’m a big boy, Y/N, you don’t need to apologise.” He’s encouraging as he smiles, rubbing over her knee soothingly. She’s still in her pencil skirt and white shirt—but she looks less like a sexy secretary and more like a sweaty schoolgirl. It’s hardly self-respecting.
Y/N grips the glass like it’s an anchor, altering her train of thought. “Uh… no one has ever… bought me flowers before.”
The smile he gives her is compassionate. A small curve of his lips and the widening of his eyes as if to implore his feelings to display correctly on his face. The way he disagrees with the fact of it—why could that be true? It shouldn’t be true. Everyone deserves flowers.
“There’s sunshine in your smile… yellow tulips, that’s what they mean.” He offers the information with zero insecurity.
Y/N’s face starts to burn, heart fighting to burst through her ribcage. She opens her mouth, and then she closes it. Harry’s watching her so, very intently, eyes crinkling when her hands press into her cheeks as if to will the heat away.
“I don’t know what your favourites are, but I thought you might like those.”
“No…” Y/N shakes her head, “yellow tulips are my favourite flower… definitely.” She chews on her lip to detain the smile threatening to break free.
“Yeah?” His eyes are shining, light reflecting off the sea glass of his irises and unlocking the depths of his spirit. “You gonna let me see your sunshine smile, darlin’?”
She laughs, a bright, bubbly giggle as her palms smother her face. “No!”
“What?” Harry grins. “What’s so funny?”
“Stop talking like that… it’s— I’m… flustered.”
“‘M just talkin’!” He insists, hands holding themself in a surrender.
“You’re being… a lot.”
“Too much?”
“No. It’s just— people don’t talk to me like you do. It’s nice… but I don’t know how to react.”
“Just show me your pretty smile, I think that’s a good place to start.”
She giggles again, eyes full of mirth—trying so desperately to embrace the fire in her cheeks. “Thank you for the flowers, Harry.”
They hold each other’s gaze.
“You’re welcome, Y/N,” his voice is soft.
“Can I— Can I make you dinner?” She starts, desperate to repay him in any way that she can. And then her eyes widen and she springs from the sofa. “Oh shit—”
“It’s okay, I did it, love.”
“What?” 
“I turned the water down and put some pasta in. I’ve got it all sorted.” He touches her elbow, conveying his wish for her to sit back down.
She doesn’t.
“You— Really?”
Harry nods.
“I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t be doing that! I can’t even boil a pan of water properly.”
“Listen to me, Y/N.” His voice hardens a little. Not enough to be scary, or rude, or suggest he has ill intentions. His voice hardens and suddenly Y/N wants to listen to him, just like he said. It’s relieving, almost, the way his words cut through the thick fog inside her skull.
“Sit down, okay?”
She does, eyes wide and nervous.
“You remember what we spoke about last week?”
The look on his face prompts Y/N to answer—to brush past the sex despite it being the first thing she thinks of. “About you being a— a dominant? Or… uh… taking care of… people?”
“Mhm. How would you feel about letting me take care of you?”
And Y/N is shy—it’s been discussed—but she knows she really has to be honest right now. Even if that means embarrassing herself.
“Guilty,” she murmurs.
Harry straightens up some. “Guilty? Now why would you feel like that?”
“Because! You’ve turned up today with—with flowers and you’ve put dinner on and I already want to pay you back. I don’t deserve it, I’ve done nothing to warrant all of this.”
“All of this?” Harry parrots. His eyebrows furrow but he maintains a gentle tone, shifting closer to Y/N and holding his hand out, palm facing up. She places her own on top with the hesitance of a newborn lamb, eyes meeting his. “Darling, I don’t mean to be blunt but… this is not a lot. Flowers are really the bare minimum, and putting pasta in a pot is hardly a back-breaking task. Lovely… relationships, friendships—they’re not transactional, okay?” His thumb drags across the back of her hand.
She’s going to cry.
“You don’t need to pay me back for anything. I’m here because I want to be. And I want to show you that you deserve to be taken care of. Because you do, Y/N. You do deserve it.”
A tear brims over her rapidly filling waterline. “I’m sorry,” she laughs wetly. “I’m just tired.”
Harry nods, “I know,” wiping her cheek. “You just need a little help. And that’s okay.”
“You wanna do all this… and you barely know me… why?” He’s cloudy in front of her eyes, tears obstructing his handsome face.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you all week. You know that?”
“Okay, sure.” Y/N rubs at her lashes, smearing more mascara around. But she’s smiling a little, at the absurdity of Harry’s words.
He replaces her hands, the soft pads of his thumbs doing an adequate job of preserving her dignity whilst he wipes the smudges away. 
“Mean it. Been distracted at work remembering it all.”
She’s not laughing anymore. No, her skin is tingling now. And her throat squeezes around a swallow.
“But it’s not just about sex. I like you, Y/N. And I want to like you more—get to know you, spend time with you. Is that convincing enough?”
Y/N shakes her head. But Harry sees the glint in her eye. He narrows his own at her.
“No? Are you playing with me? I thought you were a sweet, good girl.”
The skin of her cheeks has never been subjected to so much heat in such little time. It spreads out to her chest, and down her arms. She must be praying to some sort of God to ensure her hands haven’t become sodden yet.
“That’s not fair,” she squirms. “I just… like hearing you talk.”
“Hm, you like hearing me say that I like you, is that it?”
“Maybe,” she looks down. “Never really heard it before.”
“Well, get used to it, love. I want you to become sick of those three words.”
“You don’t even know me.”
Harry just smiles. “Will you let me?”
ㅤㅤ
Y/N is confused. 
Or rather, she is tentative. Anxious, uncertain, disbelieving—waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Harry sits across from her in the café they’ve frequented quite a few times in the last two weeks. His eyes are closed, taking in the first gulp of his coffee as it slinks down his throat and warms his chest, leaving a pleasant trail of heat in its place.
She admires him; something she wishes she could do more without his beady eyes on her and making her feel all embarrassed. He’s pretty—she likes to look at him. Especially when he’s not in his usual suit and slack attire. (Not that her brain doesn’t start to malfunction when he’s embraced by the flattering lines of fabric clutching to the muscles Y/N has had the pleasure of being crowded by but…) The contrast of seeing him comfortable and unfiltered is enough to make her relax too.
Or attempt to relax.
The first time Y/N and Harry came to The Little Snail Café, the former of the two had been nervous. (That is hardly information anyone would pay for.) It was a date as far she had been aware; Harry had explicitly labelled it so. And Y/N hadn’t been on a date since she was with her ex… but their time out was hardly ever impressive enough to warrant any kind of excitement.
Even remembering that she’d had a boyfriend renders every moment spent with him as less and less meaningful. As time spent wasted. He’d never told her her smile was that of sunshine. He’d barely ever told her he liked her.
But Y/N wasn’t thinking about him. Not on that day.
Harry had forced her to let him serve her dinner that evening he’d brought her flowers. Had implored that she change into something comfortable and sternly ordered glue your pretty arse to that sofa, little miss. That had been hard to argue with. Then he’d proceeded to plate up perhaps her first proper meal she’d consumed in a week and ask her about her day.
Y/N had been a little hesitant to admit the extent of her misery but Harry cottoned onto her pause quicker than most would. He was earnest in his sympathy, eyes void of ridicule as she detailed all her misfortunes.
“No wonder you nearly stacked it when I turned up,” he’d joked. “I’m sorry you had a rough day, love.”
It had been nice to have company. A pleasant silence whilst the two filled their stomachs. Y/N had missed it irrevocably—someone to breathe the same air with. 
That had been when Harry asked about taking her somewhere the following day during her lunch break. A quaint place I think you’ll like. It wasn’t far and he’d have her back at work just in time. Y/N found that she trusted his word.
And although she had been worrying about it, as soon as Harry walked through the front doors and into the reception—wearing a chestnut suit that once again clung to him, like thick globules of honey, with his slicked hair that begged to curl onto his forehead in ringlets like that of a piglet’s tail—she had tunnel vision.
Her boss could have come in and fired her on the spot and Y/N wouldn’t have heard a thing. Only the rush of blood in her ears as her pupils expanded to the size of ten pence pieces and her stomach became the home to a dozen butterflies.
Harry had watched her reaction as she’d read the sign above the café—smiled at her bright eyes when she’d told him how cute it was. Had smiled even larger when he took her inside and let her discover the tiny snails etched into the edges of the tables.
“No one else has ever shared my passion for these little guys,” he’d emphasised as they sat down in the corner, sunlight flooding in through the windows and brightening up their irises, making Y/N giggle easily. Harry could tell she wasn’t laughing to make him feel better—or just to flirt—and that only made him try even harder to elicit those sounds from her pretty mouth.
He’d insisted he wanted to get to know her better. So that’s what he did.
Harry learned that Y/N eats far too much sugar, doesn’t sleep enough, and wishes she could have a pet cow. Or that is how he heard the words that exited her mouth. Y/N had only said she usually baked goodies in the dead of night and that videos of little fluffy calves make her cry.
The two never glanced away from one another. It was the kind of chemistry that drew eyes. Subtle glimpses from other customers sipping their warm drinks and cherishing that collective sense of human connection just from witnessing two people so innately into each other. Old couples nudging the other to reminisce on their younger days—workers wiping down tables and feeling a sense of respite during their long day at the unmistakable widening of the woman’s eyes in an attempt to see all of the man before her—to hang onto his every last word.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“What’s your favourite colour?”
“Pink.”
“Dogs or cats?”
“Dogs.”
Y/N had asked him lots of those questions. And had seemed very content with every answer he gave her. Perhaps apart from that last one. Y/N might have preferred cats but it wasn’t a dealbreaker.
It didn’t last long enough, in her opinion; their date. She had to return to work far too soon for her liking. But Harry paid for her toastie and hot chocolate, much to Y/N’s disarray, and dropped her off with a stroke of his thumb to the back of her hand and a kiss to her cheek.
She’d smiled so much she’d had to bite her lip to tone it down. Receptionists were never that happy.
ㅤㅤ
Their second date had been impromptu. And not really a date. Harry had knocked on her door once again—however this time, Y/N hadn’t jumped out of her skin. In fact, she’d just finished decorating a cake she’d hoped to surprise him with and the shock of his presence was replaced with elation at the coincidence.
The door opened, and before Harry stood a smiling girl with youthful glee painted all over her face. A pleasant difference from the last time. She giggled to herself and instructed he close his eyes as she guided him to her kitchen where the sweet smells were surely giving away any element of surprise. Still, Harry played up to it—feigning shock—(it’s not that he’s a cruel man but Harry remembered things about people and Y/N wasn’t so hard to read).
“Oh! It’s beautiful, darlin’… you made this f’me?”
Y/N nodded, grinning. A proper smile, unabashed and without premeditation. Harry felt its warmth; lucky to receive such a display from someone he’d previously seen so reserved.
The cake was cute; rusticly smothered in vanilla buttercream and decorated with halved strawberries circling the edges (Y/N was not so hard to read) and it tasted heavenly. Harry never believed he was much of a cake person—he’d always much preferred ice cream—but devouring a slice with the knowledge it had been made with care, especially for him, had his taste buds in a sugarcoated frenzy.
Y/N had been so elated to watch Harry enjoy her baking that she’d failed to realise that he had come to her home for a reason. And so had Harry, apparently—a look of epiphany crossing his face as he was placing his plate in the dishwasher. (Y/N had tried to do it for him but Harry had smoothed a large palm over the top of her head and all thoughts just melted away.)
“I wanted to ask you something.”
“Mhm?”
“Weather’s supposed to be nice this weekend. Picnic?”
And Y/N still got flustered, sure, but…
“You came all the way here to ask me that? You have… you have my number, don’t you?”
Harry couldn’t help his smile, tongue stuffing his cheek to attempt to control it. “Yeah, I do. I do. Just wanted to see you. Good job I did too.” He nodded to the cake.
But Y/N was all twinkles. In her eyes, over her face, all the way to her toes. She had half the mind to believe Harry visited her just to garner this reaction; to inflate his ego.
“I won’t be able to take you for lunch tomorrow though, ‘m sorry.”
“Oh… that’s okay,” she smiled. It wasn’t okay. It was world-ending news. What was she supposed to look forward to now?
“Been offloading a lot onto m’assisstant lately—should really give him a break.”
Y/N frowned, “I’m sorry.”
Harry barely let her finish the word. “No. No, I don’t want to hear that.” He moved forward, nudging the back of his index finger under her chin. “Not your fault, is it?” His eyes bored into Y/N’s, stern but imploring her to not worry herself like that. To take the blame for something that was not her fault.
“I’m— I…” Words failed to form, eyelashes brushing her cheeks in repeated blinks.
Harry swept it under the rug. It’s not something he wanted her to get het up about. Another time—he’d thought—another time he’d make sure she understood never to apologise unnecessarily. To feel guilty about him causing an inconvenience just to see her; because God forbid she accepted that she was good enough to be treated with such consideration. Another time. “I’ll come see you the day after though, yeah? I still want you to try the beetroot soup.”
“Idon’tlikebeetroot,” the girl mumbled, lips downturning with the admission.
“What was that, love?”
“I don’t think I like beetroot, Harry.” Her eyes lifted…and there was that guilt once again. Fear that disliking something may cause offence or trouble.
“Have you ever tried it?”
Y/N’s silence was deafening. She smiled shyly up at him, skin tingling with the beginnings of heat—whilst Harry simply shook his head with a playful eye roll before stroking his thumb over her chin. The plush pad met with a soft indentation.
“Have an early night tonight, okay? Get some rest.” The syllables rolled off his tongue like a gentle caress; told her she looked tired in quite possibly the kindest way.
Y/N nodded, focusing all her energy on the feeling of his thumb on her skin.
And when Harry had gone, leaving her heart an overexerted mess of muscle and blood turned flower petals and bubbles, she’d simply looked to the ceiling with a shit-eating grin as she tried to swallow a giggle. There was nothing inside her that was not touched by Harry—and everything transformed from rickety and paint-chipped to sturdy and ornate—embellished down to the finest details.
ㅤㅤ
It had been a joy to wake up on Sunday.
Y/N felt the rays of sun through her curtains warming her sleepy face as her alarm blared—an alarm worth setting despite it being the weekend—and as her consciousness came rushing back to her, the memory of Harry promising to pick her up at eleven had her residual tiredness dancing away like it was performing the quickstep.
Dress weather made Y/N happy. Made her feel pretty and confident and giddy; something quite contradicting considering her skittish personality. And that’s exactly how she felt when she admired her sundress in the mirror of her wardrobe—square neck framing her chest, white fabric bunching around her shoulders in sheer puffs and cinching at her waist to flow into a floaty skirt. She looked sweet; the picturesque vision of a girl about to perch on a blanket under the sun and consume saccharine confections. Y/N pulled the hem between her finger and thumb, exposing the skin of her upper thigh, deep in thought at the fantasy of Harry taking her all in. His own confection.
And he did of course.
Though it didn’t unfold in perhaps the way Y/N had hoped. Which is why they’re called fantasies, she supposed. Because she was still her—despite feeling like a whole new person, she certainly wasn’t.
Harry had knocked on her door at two minutes to eleven, which may have been a problem had Y/N not been ready over an hour earlier than she needed to be. (With another bunch of flowers—white gardenias—“They mean I have a crush on you,” Harry leaned over and whispered as though it was some big secret. Y/N took them with a stifled titter and scurried off to place them in water, dress swishing around her thighs.) His gaze had dripped down her, as respectfully as he could manage when all he wanted was to glide his palms all over. The sight of soft skin contrasted by the sanctity of white cotton—her silky hands carrying a wicker basket (the true vision of a picnic) which Harry had plucked out of her grasp with little hesitation.
As a true gentleman would, he offered Y/N his arm to place her hand; the crook of his elbow providing a safe seat to rest from the weary necessity of holding the weight of her own limbs.
Y/N, however, would only be so lucky to mirror Harry’s formalities—to uphold the stereotype of womanly elegance—as her toe catches on a step down towards his car. Emulating their first night outside of her house, only this time it felt worse. It’s far more embarrassing, Y/N decided, to fall when holding onto the person you’re so enamoured by.
It was hardly a fall—moreso a drag of the foot, a buckle of the knee. But it was still enough to have her gasping and untangling herself from Harry. Harry who had kept her secure without any chuckling or patronising. Had his brows furrowed in concern and his hand to her elbow to steady her. Y/N still ripped herself away, turning so he couldn’t see her.
“Oh my god! Don’t look at me.” She was mortified; as the pair stood halfway down the steps, suspended in a moment.
“Darlin’—” Admittedly, Harry did have to try his hardest not to laugh. Not at her trip but her reaction; the drama! “Darling,” he tried again, “you’re alright.” His hand ghosted over Y/N’s shoulder blades, where fabric met flesh.
“That was—I’m mortified—that was so unattractive!” She barely meant it; was just humiliated as she’d said, but Harry shook his head behind her.
“You’re still very pretty, Y/N. Just a little clumsy. But that’s okay,” he turned her around, “you’ll just have to hold on tighter.” Harry admired the kinks in her brows, expressive in her shame, as he guided her hand back to his arm. “Very pretty.” He’d almost whispered it—not out of a wish that she had not heard but as an attempt to reseal their bubble—their intimate world.
The sun stayed magnificently bright for them.
As though it was watching its light bounce between their eyes; wanted the moment to last as long as it could maintain the warmth; the incandescence.
Harry followed the motions of her hands, fingernails painted in alternating shades of soft green and pastel pink, as Y/N devoured a punnet of strawberries. (She’d brought two.) She was a head-bobber, munching away with the occasional hum as her eyes transfixed onto his knees. 
He was wearing corduroy shorts and a big floaty shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a white top poking out from underneath. Y/N admired his golden skin, the delicate tattoos bracketing his kneecaps, and the dusting of hair covering his lean limbs. It was still a joy to see him so underdressed, the true image of a boy she would take home to her parents.
The two looked symbiotic—two sides of the same coin, or heart, or strawberry—as Y/N offered one to Harry, who took it graciously with a smile and a scrunch of his nose. (Mild hayfever, he’d described it as.) From an outside perspective, they looked established. A relationship that surely began as highschool sweethearts. Enough so to have strangers whispering I’ll bet you a tenner he’s about to propose to her.
But neither registered any sort of outside perspective, they were the only two people that mattered, after all.
“You ought to be careful, love, you’ll get a bad tummy if you eat so much fruit,” Harry prodded, as Y/N opened up the second punnet of strawberries.
“Oh,” she frowned down at them. “My stomach sorta always hurts anyway.” He perturbed her none, eyelashes fluttering as she bit into a picture perfect fruit. Harry hardened his gaze—registering her unbothered tone with concern.
“That’s not… ideal, Y/N.” He was slow, cautious. “Y’shouldn’t be hurting all the time.”
Her eyes rounded out as she looked at him, lips plush as she took another bite. But she just shrugged her shoulders, tastebuds too preoccupied by the blossoming on her tongue. The wind picked up a little, blowing her hair across her face in soft streaks—as though the Earth was wielding a paintbrush, and using her strands as the medium. She whined a little, trying to avoid getting hair in her mouth as she finished the rest of the strawberry. Harry watched with starry eyes—zoned in on her shining skin—as a drop seeped out of the edge of her lips and dribbled down the side of her chin.
He reached over without hesitation, thumb swiping the liquid away, and Harry basked in the subtle widening of Y/N’s eyes as he brought that very thumb to his mouth to coat his tongue. Her fingers scrambled at her face messily, brushing all hair out of her eyes. It felt incredibly humid all of a sudden.
“Hey,” she pouted, refusing to be swept away under Harry’s ruse, “that was my juice.”
And Harry couldn’t help himself. Not when she was setting the scene just perfectly. “Mm, sorry,” he hummed, “d’you want it back?”
Y/N nodded, tongue darting out to wetten her lips.
“Hm?” He prompted.
“Yeah—yes, I do, please.” She swallowed; Harry’s eyes followed the contraction of her throat.
“Come here then,” he tempted. He was already in a very alluring position, elbows bracing his weight as he sprawled across the blanket, knee propped up and easily manoeuvrable. Y/N shuffled on her knees, the short space towards him, setting herself down with her hands placed on her thighs as though he’d instructed her to.
Harry pushed up, hand ghosting along the side of Y/N’s cheek. “What am I going to do with you?” Their breaths mingled, swirling across one another’s face and sinking into their skin. Y/N’s eyelids dropped closed, patiently asking, waiting. He took his time to admire her anticipating face, leaning closer to drape a sigh over her bottom lip.
“Kiss—kiss me,” she exhaled, eyelids twitching—wanting to open. But they didn’t. They stayed shut, stayed waiting, stayed hiding her from the world around them.
Harry smiled and Y/N swore she could feel it. Feel as he leant forward and brushed the tip of his nose down the front of hers. His hand stroked through the hair behind her ear, large digits coaxing her to melt and mollify into his hands, which she did so easily. She parted her lips wider, blindly tilting to try to meet his. Harry let them touch for a second—a press of flesh—before he leant back, nose nudging hers once again.
Y/N expelled a shaky breath, a little whine falling out of her neglected mouth. Her eyebrows kinked and her pretty nails dug into her thighs.
She chose to stay in the dark—from fear that it would be over if she opened her eyes. But that was something she needn’t have worried about. Harry leant back, enough to see out of the corner of his eye and reach for a strawberry.
He resisted the urge to indulge himself, mouth watering at the thought, and instead brought the pointed tip towards Y/N’s eagerly awaiting lips. Harry grazed his nose along her cheekbone, words finding her sensitive ears as he pushed the fruit to touch.
“Bite,” he whispered.
A noise of complaint lodged itself in Y/N’s throat, but she complied regardless, teeth sinking into the strawberry. Its juice coated her tongue and lacquered over her lips, the gooey pulp going down smoothly as she dared to open her mouth for another offering.
But as she did, suddenly the air around her face shifted, and the heat of Harry’s breath ghosted across her once more. Pointed and heavy exhales from his nostrils as she felt his tongue dart out to swipe across her bottom lip. It felt exploratory, leisurely—like he had all the time in the world to get to know her mouth. And it’s not like they hadn’t done this before—kissed—but it felt new, all the same. It had her breath hitching and her body leaning unconsciously into his touch.
Once her bottom lip stopped being enough, Harry pulled it down with the pad of his thumb and unlatched Y/N’s jaw in the process. He opened her up, and she let him completely, sat still on her knees as he played with her. She didn’t feel toyed with really—was still processing being touched in such a way and wondering if it would ever stop feeling so intoxicating. Harry took one final moment to bask in her blind trust; to watch the stillness of her face and feel the gentle (but rapid) breaths fan against his mouth.
And then he kissed her.
He really kissed her.
Y/N’s hmph quickly turned into a muffled mewl, open mouth accepting Harry’s tongue rubbing over hers as though it was her resuscitative medication. The only thing to stabilise her bloodstream, to soothe her fighting heart. He tasted like strawberries. And so did she. Sweet, and wet, and promising. It felt filthy but it felt clean at the same time—renewing and resetting, like running across soft sands to plunge into bracing sea water—Y/N would let him drip juice anywhere he liked, she’d let him feed fruit from his own mouth into hers. She’d let Harry spread her out and do with her as he pleased. Right there. Right then.
And it caught up to her all too quickly, the overwhelming heat of her thoughts. They were in public. But yet she couldn’t possibly entertain pulling away—not when Harry’s mouth engulfed her entirely. It wasn’t a cute kiss, a sweet reminder of affection or endearment. It was a kiss you shielded your child’s eyes away from, or grimaced at from nearby. It was sloppy, and sticky, and mind-numbingly dizzying.
Harry’s lips left syrupy residue wherever they landed—her top lip, her bottom lip, her tongue, her cupid’s bow. Y/N felt poisoned. Drip fed for weeks until Harry deemed the time right as he went in for the kill. She wasn’t sure she was even doing much of the kissing; perhaps she was simply being kissed. She tried to keep up, returned his tongue with her own and let her mouth encase his bottom lip in a frenzied attempt at reciprocation.
But his hands were holding her face, and then they were sliding into her hair, and all Y/N could do was feel.
Feel, and be felt, and—and—
ㅤㅤ
And Y/N is still confused!
She’s drifted away from their cosy table at The Little Snail Café—well physically, she’s right there but mentally… Her eyes are glossed over and she’s still very much contemplating the state of their relationship. Because… that kiss had been nearly a week ago and… well, Y/N doesn’t want to be thought of as some sex pest (she loses her virginity and now she’s clawing at the walls for orgasms) but she always thought—completely aware of her ignorance and unrealistic education—that the role of a dominant was to… fuck the living shit out of someone on the regular.
And even as she’s thinking that, with Harry right in front of her, she feels crude and disrespectful. But he hasn’t so much as hinted that he was going to have sex with her again, and that moment with the strawberries has been going round, and round, and round inside her head for days and nights and it’s driving her insane. Because, as previously established, nothing she can do matches what Harry made her feel, so any attempt at quelling the ache leaves her worse off than before.
“Don’t much like hearing how I feel about squirting, huh?”
Y/N blinks, and physically shakes her head as if to wake herself up. “Sorry?”
Harry sips from his mug, smiling. “Joke, love.”
“How uh—” she clears her throat, “How do you feel?”
“Hm… messy, but hot.”
She nods—perhaps a confusing reaction to such a sentence. Most people would probably quip back something flirtatious or coy. But Y/N just nods.
“What’re you thinking about in there?”
“Um… I was just wondering when— when you were gonna kiss me… again…”
“Y’are, are you? How uncouth.”
“Well— I just… When you said you were,” she leans forward, volume dropping considerably, “a dominant… I just thought… something different would be happening.” And then she starts to spiral. “Not in a— not because this is… this is great. I mean—”
“Settle down, darlin’, it’s okay.” Harry sighs, scratching the top of his head with a thoughtful expression on his lovely face. “‘s my fault, really. I haven’t explained much to you. And I have no doubt you are basing all of your facts on poor media portrayal.” Y/N scrunches her nose in a silent show of guilt. “It’s not just about sex,” he starts. “It is for some people, but for you I don’t think it is. And I’ve been slow, and cautious in fear of overwhelming you, and it’s resulted in probably a couple confusing weeks for you. So, I’m sorry.
“The whole point is for you not to worry, and you’re still doing that because I’m not doing my job properly, but I was worried you might change your mind so I held off. You can still change your mind, by the way.” Y/N shakes her head. Harry continues. “I’ll take you home now, if you like, give you the whoooole run through. Does that sound good?” Y/N nods. “And you’ll tell me if it’s too much, won’t you?”
“Yes, Harry. I will.”
“Can I take you to my home? Cook you dinner?” He asks, staring at the way Y/N’s head lays heavy against the headrest and her limbs are leaden, as she relaxes into his car.
She nods, lips quirking upwards with intrigue. At the blanks in her mind that will be filled. What to imagine when he’s in bed, when he’s watching TV, or eating… or… showering. “Can I help?”
Harry pretends to consider it. “We’ll see.”
ㅤㅤ
Harry’s house is… not what Y/N expects it to be.
Well, it is in some ways.
It’s large, and it’s expensive, and it’s astronomically grand. But it’s… it’s characterless. It lacks personality—and Harry Styles does not lack personality. Harry Styles is charming, and intelligent, and beautiful. But his house is stark white. There is no indication that his house is not a show home. It’s untouched, unlived in, unloved. And Y/N wasn’t expecting that.
“It’s too big, I know,” Harry gestures to the air around them as he watches Y/N take it all in.
“Not at all! No… it’s so beautiful, Harry.” And it is, it really is. She’s not lying. How can she lie when she’s staring at such a grand staircase? When the windows are so large, and bright that the space is nearly sparkling. And the garden she sees through the other side is blooming trees and unkempt flowers and just begging to be loved.
But as beautiful as it is, it’s still just… white.
He guides her through to the kitchen which…
“Woah,” Y/N admires, “you could make so many cakes in here.” She laughs and Harry grins just at the sight.
It’s true, there’s enough counter space to house at least ten separate mixing bowls. Impressively clean considering the observed shades of white. But there are signs of life in here—photos on the fridge, (one that catches her eye of two women that absolutely have to share his genes) post-it notes huddled around a pot of pens, a basket of cleaning products, a vase of flowers in the middle of the island. A comforting sight to see a little bit of the inside of Harry’s brain.
“They’re very pretty,” Y/N points at the photo on his fridge with a hesitancy that suggests she’s expecting him to berate her for being nosy.
“Mum’ll love that,” he laughs. “That’s her,” Harry points to the woman on the left, adorning sunglasses and a bright smile, and then to the right, “and m’sister, Gemma.”
“You look like each other.”
“Yeah? Y’think so?”
Harry shines when he speaks about his loved ones. Is so happy to talk about the photo of his father, his step-dad, his mum’s cat, the younger Harry surrounded by other young boys (“My mate Jonny, he was stoned as fuck in this picture. Had no idea.” His eyes crinkle around the edges and Y/N can only think about how beautiful those lines look).
Then he moves over to the island and tugs out a stool. “Come sit,” he pats.
He doesn’t let her help him cook—insists that she stay right where she is and carry on looking at him like that.
“Like what?” Y/N pretends she’s not shy about being caught.
“With those gooey eyes.”
“Gooey?”
“Mhm. You look one moment away from melting into the counter.”
“I do not,” she scoffs.
“It’s okay, I like it.”
ㅤㅤ
Harry owns the fluffiest rug in the history of the universe, Y/N is sure.
Obnoxiously cream in comparison to the rest of the colour palette. And in defence of Harry, the walls of his living room are painted a warm beige and his vast, velvet sofa is a deep forest green. The main attraction remains the rug, however. Long and shaggy and absolutely imperative to lie upon.
Y/N withholds the urge, but she stares pointedly and longingly towards it for too long to be considered a passing gaze.
“You can touch it if you want.”
“Hm?” 
“The rug… that you’re eyefucking.”
“I—” she blanches, “It looks so soft.”
Harry makes the first move, blue jeans creasing at the knees as he crouches down. He pushes his palms into the strands and watches as they’re swallowed up into the depths of the faux-fur. Y/N hesitates, looking down at him on his hands and knees and wondering if it would be inappropriate to join him. But when he leans back, hands bracing himself behind him so he can lounge—mirroring the position of the day they had their picnic far too much—Y/N caves and drops to her own knees.
It’s sensory heaven—quite frankly—and Y/N knows immediately that she could get lost stroking this sole rug for hours. Harry watches her with an informed smile as she drags her fingers back and forth through the threads, already lost in a little world of her own.
“G’na have a mature and adult conversion now, alright, love?”
Y/N nods.
“Are you going to be able to listen and finger my rug at the same time?”
She narrows her eyes at him, adjusting from kneeling to crossing her legs. “I’m not finger—” she swallows. “Yes, I believe so.”
ㅤㅤ
“—I would encourage you to eat, go to bed at a certain time, turn your phone off. And I would want you to listen to me—not to argue, to trust that I know best.” That sounds easy, Y/N thinks. “I would want you to raise concerns in a polite manner—I don’t think it’s ever necessary to shout. And it would be important to me that you are always honest about the way you are feeling. No trying to make me feel better or pushing it down, okay?”
Y/N had feared it may be complicated, from the way Harry had suggested—had put off having this conversation for so long. But his commanding voice, and intense eyes make her feel so safe, and incredibly mellow. New feelings for Y/N. She nods.
“And when it comes to sex… trust is the most important thing. I don’t want to be doing anything we haven’t discussed, and I certainly don’t want you to make yourself uncomfortable in an attempt to please me. Now I know you may not be experienced with a lot of the things that are involved in these kinds of relationships but would you be interested in learning… with me? What you like and dislike?”
“Yes.”
“How are you feeling now? Good?” When Y/N nods once more, Harry gets to his feet. His voice slicks down her spine when he drawls, “Come here then. And kneel.”
Whilst Harry had been speaking, Y/N can’t deny the fact that her insides had started stirring around in anticipation. But now, as he commands her to station herself so far below him in stature, the silly little brain inside her skull begins to melt into mush. She crawls the short distance towards him until her eyes are level with the tops of his knees, and she just waits, sneaking a glance up to see Harry towering above her with a subtle quirk of his lip.
He brings a hand up slowly, warm palm ghosting the heat of her cheek and smoothing over her head in a comforting stroke. “I want you to call me Sir. T’help you slip quicker. You wanna be all nice ‘n’ mellow? Forget about all your stress?”
“Yes… Sir.” It comes out as little more than a squeak.
Harry chuckles, “You’re so good.” Y/N quite nearly beams up at him, insides swarming. “You like that? You like when I praise you?”
“Mhm,” she nods.
“Well it’s just so easy for me, darlin’. Because you’re so lovely.”
She closes her eyes, bottom lip nibbled to hide the giddy smile that overtakes her. Harry’s hand in her hair, scratching and smoothing, is already doing enough to make her eyelids heavy. But she supposes sleep is not the end goal.
“Your first time,” Harry starts. “Did you enjoy it?”
What? “Yes—yes Sir, of course.”
“What would you change about it?”
“N-nothing! It was perfect.”
He hums, nails dragging soothing lines into her scalp. “Which part?” Y/N opens her mouth but Harry keeps speaking. “When I fucked you open with my fingers? Got you nice and stretched for me—had your little pussy just quivering and begging me to fill her up?” He fists a more substantial amount of her hair. “Or maybe when I finally got my cock inside of you, and you were so happy. Squirming underneath me like a wet dream.”
Y/N can’t help but grab for his thighs, nails trying to dig in.
“Hands in your lap, darlin’.”
She pulls away regretfully.
“Was it when I fucked up into you, hard enough to force all those pretty sounds out? Or when I stretched over you and held your hands above your head? Had your body arching for me.”
Y/N is on fire. She must be. Her body is aflame and her insides have melted.
“I think…” Harry bends over some, trying to catch the eyes of the girl who is fighting every feeling. Her eyelids are shut, concealing the windows to her soul, and her brows are knitted together so tightly that she might induce a migraine. He smooths them out with a thumb before stroking over the delicate skin of her lids. “I think—look at me, darling—I think… it was when I had your stomach pressed into the mattress and a hand around your throat,” thick fingers squeeze her cheeks together with care, “and all you could do was lie there and take it. As I fucked you for the first time, just like you deserve. 
“And after you came around me for the third time, I flipped you over so I could see your pretty face, and I came between your soft thighs, didn’t I, love? Did you want it inside of you? Warm, and sticky, and all because of you? Is that what you’d change?”
Y/N doesn’t actually think he would have come inside of her—he’d worn a condom, after all—but if the thought doesn’t have her thighs squeezing… “Wouldn't change,” she shakes her head. “Liked having you— liked it on…”
“Mm, I think you’d say that about everything. What do you know, after all?”
He’s right, and she hates the way his condescension has her wilting even further into the palm of his hand. 
Y/N leans her face into Harry’s hand as he begins tracing over her features with a curious thumb, dedicating every line and mark to his memory. Then he’s crouching down with a little exhale and securing his hands under her armpits to pull her up with miniscule preamble. Y/N gasps, and her hands shoot out instinctively whilst Harry is lifting her up to his height. She grabs his shoulders and wraps her legs around his waist using muscle memory she didn’t realise she had.
Her knees sink into the rich green of his sofa as Harry sits down, gently encouraging her hands down from his shoulders and behind her back. A buzz zips through her chest from the feel of his warm body underneath her. Warm, and strong, and solid.
“Wanna hold these here, okay?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Harry’s tongue darts out to wet his rose-tinted lips. “Gonna be a little rough with you. If you want to stop, you say Red. If you want to slow down—take a break—you say Yellow. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good,” he says, eyes trailing down her neck, deciding what to do, “good,” repeated solely to himself.
Y/N feels the frustration of choosing to put on jeans this morning, mind spiralling at the thought of being on top of Harry with just a skirt to hide her modesty. Just a skirt that would so easily be slipped underneath by his hands, and then her underwear…
But Harry seems less concerned. His gaze is transfixed to her chest; to the intricate lace of her camisole, that—in contrast to her jeans—provides very easy access. Y/N’s breathing picks up at the very thought, ribs expanding and only drawing his eyes further. She’s tugged forward by a hand on her hip, searing through the fabric, and the other holding her hands. Tugged until Harry is resting his forehead on her sternum and inhaling deeply.
Her lungs are working at an extreme rate, and more of his nose presses into her with every breath. Y/N is so close to his hair in this position—just has to bend her face down a little and his musky scent fills her nostrils. It seems they both have similar ideas—breathing one another in—but Harry seems far more relaxed than the near shaking girl on top of him.
It only gets worse for her when he pushes his lips against the valley of her breasts—small, tender kisses that have Y/N’s breath hitching. The straps of her camisole want to fall down her shoulders in angelic swoops but her cardigan prohibits all movement. Suddenly it’s the heaviest and warmest piece of clothing she’s ever worn.
“Har—Sir,” she breathes, head tilting back on her shoulders. The caress of his breath on her body is immobilising, and he seems content in moving at a snail’s pace for his own enjoyment. Whether he gets the message or not is unclear, but regardless, Harry lets go of her hands just long enough to shuck the chunky cardigan down her arms and discard it beside them.
As soon as he tightens his grip around her wrists once again, the strain of her arms has her camisole straps slipping down the curves of her shoulders, like a waterfall of silk. The fabric is so light and thin that it pools underneath her breasts—the crooks of her elbows the only things keeping the straps suspended. And Harry’s immediate response suggests he’s somewhat of a starved individual, teeth digging into the top of the left cup of her bra and tugging it down with haste.
He takes her nipple into his mouth and Y/N is all gasps and bucks. The sensitivity of her skin and the rough suction of his lips, the flicking of his tongue and the grazing of his teeth. It’s deafening; the blood rushing in Y/N’s head, it’s near predisposing. The spit, and the hot exhales from his nose against her chest, the indentations his teeth leave behind when he pulls away to admire the wetness of her breast. But he goes back in—bites at her flesh—chews, and laves, and consumes her entirely.
Y/N’s cunt is pulsating. She is wet, and fervently hot, and the subtle rocking of her hips is ceased by a large palm over hip, which has her whining into the air.
“Stay still f’me,” he slurs into her skin, desperate fingers pulling her bra down further and watching to make sure it stays, before he starts on the other side of her chest. Her wrists are encircled behind her back, and Harry pushes her forward—into his mouth, as if he’s not already practically eating her. And maybe she can try her hardest not to squirm but all that energy has to go somewhere, and she’s panting now—whimpering all these sounds that she’s never heard herself make before—and Harry can surely feel the vigorous inflation and deflation of her lungs.
“Oh—oh, H—Sir, please.”
Please what? Stop? No. Keep torturing her breasts? Also no.
Harry hums against her, long and unwilling as his mouth leaves her with a wet smack. He admires her skin, eyes flitting up to see the dazed girl atop him.
“Don’t like it?” He puffs, inhaling deeply, beginning to dance a hand around her ribs.
“I do, I do,” Y/N breathes, eyes still closed. “Too h-hot.”
Harry frowns though she can’t see, before he’s unclasping her bra and pulling her camisole over her head—standing her up on jelly legs and pulling her jeans down. Sat on his lap once again, he tightens his grip around her wrists and curls his fingers around her throat.
“Can feel your heat, baby,” he looks down to where her clothed cunt rests just before his bulge. His still very clothed bulge. “Give me a kiss.” And she still feels exceptionally inexperienced in the whole department but her body surges forward, urged by the pressure against her pulse, as her lips meet his shiny ones. 
This time, when Y/N’s hips start moving on their own accord, Harry doesn’t stop her—tugs her closer in fact. Right on top of where he’s warm, and hard. Their mouths part a centimetre, just enough to pant into one another at the feeling. Of his hand squeezing her throat, and pushing her arms into her back. Y/N doesn’t even notice when he lets go of her wrists—never daring to move them—as his palm comes down in an experimental slap to her arse. 
It’s light; enough to not hurt but suggest his intentions. And when Y/N gasps and twitches on top of him, he gets the idea. “Is that nice?”
“Yes.”
“You like that?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Sir, yes Sir,” she whimpers into his mouth, lips pasting to his cupid’s bow and falling away when he does it again. Hard enough to leave a tingle that spreads out to her centre and up her stomach.
“Unzip my trousers.” 
There’s no hesitation, both his palms are holding her ass now, desperate to spread them apart but damned by the confines of her underwear. Y/N shakes a little but does what he says, exposing the hot pink of his boxers underneath—and the thick outline of his cock.
“Take me out, go on.” She meets his eyes—blown out and transfixed, mirroring her very own. “Take me out, Y/N,” he whispers, leaning closer to lick a stripe up the column of her throat, and then an open-mouthed kiss to her chin, and her mouth.
He’s heavy in her hand, and intimidatingly big. How did she ever fit this inside of her? But she feels the instinct to make him feel good. This was the one area she had experience in, afterall. The skin is so soft and all she has to do is spit down and watch as it drips from his head along his shaft. But Harry takes her hand instead and laves his tongue along her palm before guiding her down to wrap around him.
His breath hitches; their eyes don’t stray from one another’s. He holds her hand over him and starts to drag it up and down, his blinking lagging a little from the feel of her delicate fingers wriggling underneath his palm. It’s intense, and paralysingly slow—every second spent watching his face feels like sixty—and when she looks down, she feels herself clench around nothing at the sight of her smaller hand wrapped in his, and the way his cock looks between them. Red, and thick, and wet.
It must show on her face because Harry’s unwrapping her hand and reaching forward to press his fingers into the front of her underwear. “Put me in.”
“What? B-but I’m not… and you’re so…”
He nods, “I know. You can do it,” as he awkwardly fumbles for his wallet from his back pocket. Y/N’s heart jumps when he rips the condom open with his teeth—a true teenage fantasy—and slides it on with a swallowed grunt.
He tugs her gusset to the side, breaking strings of arousal and basking in the twitch of Y/N’s hips. She clumsily hovers over him, embarrassed as she holds onto his base. As she lowers down, Harry’s thumb finds her clit—swollen and hypersensitive—and she squeezes him reflexively. He groans, low and vibrating, content to roll her under his digit cruelly—distracting her from the attempt at swallowing him with composure.
Y/N whines as the thick head squeezes inside her tight hole, mouth ajar and eyes half-focused on the man who brings his shining thumb to his mouth and makes a show of relishing in the taste of her arousal.
“F-fuck,” the words force their way out of her shining mouth.
Harry rears a hand back and slaps her ass, harder than the other times, fingers staying on the skin to dig in and pull. “Don’t swear.” And Y/N doesn’t think he’s usually adverse to it but she’ll do whatever he asks of her right now.
“S-sorry, Sir,” she moans out as Harry sinks deeper and deeper inside. Maybe he should’ve stretched her out first but God if it isn’t the most blissful discomfort. That initial entrance—knowing what her body is accommodating for and how far he reaches inside of her most private place.
As soon as she’s seated on him, completely and utterly full, Harry confines her wrists once again as he sits up and encourages Y/N to lean into him. Her breasts squish into his shirt. His shirt. That he is still wearing. “Come on, baby. Tire yourself out.”
Exhaustion is already seeping into her bones but Harry’s voice croons into her ears so tenderly—it coats her skin in a sheen of glitter and pumps sparkling wine through her veins. She makes every effort in lifting up and sinking back down—in, albeit, slow and wobbly movements—but the concentration on her face is like a drug to Harry. It has him thumbing over her nipple and taking it into his mouth again, which only has Y/N stuttering and inevitably stopping. She pants, and wiggles, and whines, enough so to have Harry placing both palms underneath the seam of her underwear and gripping her bum like he’d wanted.
He squeezes and stretches to his heart’s desire, mouth still firmly attached to her breast, but his strong hold aiding Y/N in moving once more. She’s lifted up and down, and up and down—slow enough to feel every ridge of him opening her walls.
“M-my legs hurt. Sir.” Y/N wishes she were a gym fiend as she admits it.
“Do they, love?” He pulls back from her chest, discontent to stop nibbling her skin raw but her voice is oh, so fragile. He’ll take care of her like he promises all the time. “Lean your head on my shoulder—keep your arms where they are.”
When she doesn’t immediately listen, and looks up to his eyes with a silently begging expression, he cocks his eyebrow. “Can I f-feel you? Your skin, please, Sir.” He’d left his clothes on, somewhat intentionally, but he doesn’t feel so mean in this moment. A nod is all the encouragement she needs, as Y/N unbuttons his shirt with clumsy fingers, and pushes it off his shoulder to rest her cheek upon. Her arms go back behind her and her nose moves forward to press into his neck deliciously. He smells of allure.
Harry can’t help himself when he tears her underwear from her body. She’s too soft, and warm, and wet to simply entertain the idea of pulling out of her. And from the noise she makes—a surprised squeak but no beratement—and the clench around his cock, he can only assume she likes it. Likes the desperation, or the display of strength, or his pure animal brain—it doesn’t matter. Because Harry’s kneading her ass in heavy handfuls, and moving her faster and faster, and Y/N is flooding his neck in her warm, tight pants—sweet whines falling out of her mouth.
“Beg me to come,” he grunts, granting Y/N no kind of warning before his fingers dig in harder and his hips slam into her at a speed that has her lungs forcing out high-pitched squeals. The sounds are nasty, unmistakable and unexplainable. The slap of skin, the wetness between her thighs, the noises that leave both their lips. It’s raw, and scaldingly hot, and— and… she needs to rub her clit.
“I— Sir, I can’t—”
“No?” His thrusts don’t falter, not even once. She’s on her back in a second, and her wrists are trapped underneath her. He makes no move to readjust them, only stretches her knee to the side so it pushes into the back of the sofa before grabbing a throw pillow and stuffing it under her hips. “Come on, beg me, little doll,” his hand spans across her mound, thumb meeting her clit in a back-arching press. This, has her cunt tightening—pulsating, contracting, strangling his cock. And with the pillow angling her just right, Harry can feel himself underneath his palm; it drives him batty.
He fucks her into the sofa, hard and unrelenting, leaning over her to chew on her tits once more. It’s sweaty, and messy, and that only makes it hotter. “Beg, Y/N.” His thumb rubs faster, expelling the choked up cry from her throat. She’s so close, is writhing underneath him—fighting the rolling of her eyes into the back of her skull.
“Please! S-sir, I—”
“That’s it. Good girl letting me fuck you—your sopping cunt, baby. Beg better than that, come on.”
His words send her spiralling, orgasm racing up on her and she panics that she won’t be given permission before it happens. “Oh my god! Oh, pleasepleaseplease, Harry!— Sir, please l-let me, please.” It’s adorable, Harry finds, her minimisation of the English dictionary when she’s so bent out of shape. Her pleading is less begging and more repetition, but he’ll let it slide.
He’ll let it slide as he presses his thumb harder and leans back to watch as he murmurs something akin to the value of diamond. “Come. Fucking come f’me, darlin’. Look at you.”
Y/N can’t hear anything. Not now. All she needed was that first word of permission and she’s seeing stars. Spasming around him so tight that Harry’s own moans started flowing out, pace increasing as he rolls her clit under his thumb. “Fuuuck, there you are. Keep squeezing like that, there’s a good girl.”
It takes her a while to come down from, no surprise considering Harry is still pounding into her, and her whimpers echo his moans—desperate and unabashed, his lips red and brows tight. He looks so handsome. So beautiful above her with his flushed skin and his flexing muscles, unbuttoned shirt floating around him. Y/N’s not sure she’s ever felt so peaceful, in a dreamlike state in all her vulnerability. And she keeps contracting around him, like he asks—because when he groans like that, she’d have to be a sadist not to—and as his moans build up in pitch, and his eyes meet hers in frenzied pleasure, she’s sure she wants him to come more than she’s ever wanted her own orgasm in her life.
Harry surges forward, smearing his lips all over Y/N’s mouth. It’s messy, and uncoordinated, and his tongue is slicking her skin. But it’s the hottest kiss she’s ever had. And it feels so good when his groans hit a crescendo, and his hips stutter, and Y/N can feel the warmth of his spurts inside the condom. She whimpers against his open mouth, arms losing all feeling behind her back, but she doesn’t care because his eyelashes are brushing against her cheek and it’s the most intimate thing she’s ever felt.
They’re lethargic, Harry’s movements, and he’d like to be much more alert but his body is tingling and Y/N is looking up at him so trustingly—he wonders if she’s fallen into a stupor.
“Th-thank you, Sir.”
He strokes her hip bones, pulling out with a soft hiss. Y/N whines a little at the sensitivity.
“You can call me Harry again now, if you like, darlin’.” He leans down to kiss her forehead, consuming palms holding her cheeks.
She’s not really listening. “Mm, feels… feel kinda drunk.” She smiles, nose turning into his thumb. Harry gives her another kiss and pulls away, to knot the condom and collect her clothes. Minus the pair of panties that are no longer wearable. He doesn’t feel even an ounce of guilt.
He’ll make her some food, watch as she eats it with her eyes begging to close, and then let her sleep in his bed—hoping she’ll want him to stay.
Little does he know that Y/N will wake up in the middle of the night to raid his kitchen in a matter of ways that Harry will reprimand her for. 
But for right now, he’ll keep her as happy as he possibly can.
2K notes · View notes
radicalbilly · 2 years
Text
Friends Support Friends
pairing: Billy Hargrove x reader
summary: Now Billy may not have many friends but he’s never going to let his best friend suffer from a subpar experience.
word count: 3,060
a/n: NSFW CONTENT also dirty words i have never used before on this account also my second attempt at real smut. apparently i had many thoughts and i’m hoping this knocks me out of my rut. + Best Friends Too
warnings: 18+ nsfw content, oral f!receiving, fingering f!receiving, 18+ language, smut seriously i will fight any minor who looks at this
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If anyone were to ask, the answer would be “no, Billy Hargrove was not nosy”.
He was simply curious and maybe a bit hungry. And that was why he was digging through his best friend’s dresser drawers, no other reason.
He knew you hid candy around your room, well, he guessed that you still did because as far as he knew what girl didn’t have a stash of candy? And he also remembered you saying something about it one time when the two of you had hung out.
Billy flicked through a few pairs of your underwear, humming lightly in approval when he saw anything that was skimpy or had lace, even a few of the cotton options were piquing his interest.
He honestly was surprised that these were what you were hiding under your t-shirts and jeans, and, maybe, he was a curious to see what they looked like when you were wearing them.
Billy began to pocket a black pair, the intricate floral design in the lace catching his attention.
“What in the hell are you doing, Hargrove?” He didn’t even bother looking shameful, even when you stalked over and pulled your panties from his front pocket, tossing them back into your drawer.
“Nice pajamas you’ve got there, you big tease.” He laughed after rolling his eyes, he knew exactly where to find those panties when he wanted them again. He took hold of the fabric you were wearing and rubbed it between his fingers, he liked the softness of the silk. He let it fall when you pulled away.
“Okay, then,” he changed the subject, “where are your snacks?”
“My beside drawer, if there’s any left, you jackass,” you replied replied with a chuckle. You splayed out across the end of your bed and flipped through the channels on your television, “Why would I hide snacks in my underwear drawer anyway?”
Billy stopped before opening your nightstand, his fingers dancing over the handle, “That’s where I hide my stuff. My cigarettes, money, condoms-“
The word condoms immediately sent you on high alert, remembering what you else you hid in your bedside drawer.
“Oh, shit! Billy, wait!”
You were too late, Billy’s eyes immediately zeroed in and the most devilish grin you’d ever seen on him began to settle on his pretty face. You were mortified, face heating all the way to your ears as you watched him pull the light purple vibrator out of the drawer.
“Now, what’s this?” Billy hummed in delight, eyebrows raising suggestively. He flopped onto the bed, pulling himself to sit cross-legged and hover over you. With the vibrator dangling right in front of your face, a smirk graced his face in response to your scowl.
You snatched the offending item from his hand and shoved his shoulder. Billy was caught off guard, succumbing easily when you moved to straddle his waist. You leaned over to put the vibrator back into the drawer and pulled out a bag of Charleston Chews, shoving them against Billy’s chest. You moved from your spot, choosing to lay on your back in front of him.
He lowly cleared his throat and placed the bag top of the nightstand before turning towards you, “I don’t know if I’m hungry for candy anymore.”
It came out as a purr, something akin to how he got girls’ attention at parties. His fingers pulling your chin towards him and then lowering to toy with the hem of your shirt, “maybe I want something a little sweeter.”
“Don’t say that, Billy,” you huffed, turning your head back. He knew you too well to assume that you weren’t mulling it over, especially with the way your teeth were beginning to chew at your bottom lip. “I mean, it’d be awkward cause you’re my best friend.”
Billy could sense a deeper reasoning, a consequence of knowing you for so long. He cocked an eyebrow, urging you to go on.
“Also, I know you, and we agreed that I’m not a conquest thing.”
He had to admit that it was a bit of a sharp jab, but he didn’t keep you around for being a liar. The cockiness dropped a bit, “Don’t you trust me?” he hummed.
His thumb grazed over the apple of your cheek before he decided to grant some sincerity, “It won’t be awkward if all I’m doing is helping you out, right? And you mean more to me than that.”
It was soft and sweet for Billy to say that, but you knew if you dug further into his emotions that he would start to deflect, so you playfully rolled your eyes, “How many girls have you told that one to?”
Fortunately, he caught the joking tone.
“About four,” he answered in mock hurt, before pulling you up and maneuvering you back into his lap, “-doesn’t mean I haven’t meant it almost every time.”
A loud laugh escaped you lips and you swatted lightly at his chest, “Fuck off.”
Billy leaned in, mumbling “C’mon it’s a really good offer,” then the nipping at your throat started. Though your friendship had always had a plethora of sexual jokes and more physical contact than most, he knew that he was teetering on a thin line.
You sighed deeply, tilting your neck to give him more room. You tucked a hand into his hair, “Why are you offering anyway?”
“I think it’d be fun,” Billy admitted. His hand slipped under your shirt and he let his fingertips graze the bottom your ribcage, “I think it’s also a bit more convenient than what you’re doing now.”
“How so?” You chuckled, “I barely have to do any work.”
“Because,” he lowered his hand, his thumb lightly pressing right below your navel as he purred in your ear, “no toy is gonna tell you how pretty you look when you’re fucked dumb on a cock.”
He couldn’t help his groan at your breath hitching and the involuntary buck of your hips when his pinky slipped just under the waistline of your matching pajama shorts.
“Well jeez, Billy. Who’s being a tease now?” It came out as a low gasp. Under any other circumstance, you probably would’ve scolded yourself for how needy it sounded.
“Gimme permission, then,” Billy chided in retaliation, his hands fell to your waist and he gave testing squeezes. He softly rocked his pelvis against you and you could feel how much this situation was affecting him.
Heat rose to your cheeks again and you tugged his head back by his hair, grabbing his attention. Your expression was stern, “You’re serious about this, huh?”, maybe it was a bit late to ask that, given the position you were in but something continued to nag you in the back of your mind.
His expression softened for a split second, before grinning, “Sure I am, you’re always spouting that “friends supporting friends” bullshit,” he stuck his tongue out to lick a strip over your exposed cleavage, “let me support you.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’ll take that as a yes then?”
With one short nod of your head, Billy had begun pulling up the hem of your shirt, gaze burning into your skin as it became visible to him. He surprised you though, using his wet lips to graze your pulse point instead of the freshly exposed skin, “Are you going to let me kiss you?”
“Kiss me-“
If it was a question, Billy didn’t wait for the finish, he wanted it. Too damn cocky to beg his pretty best friend to let him kiss her like he’s thought about nearly a thousand times.
Your brain went fuzzy with the mix off his hands groping at the fabric of your bra and his lips pressed against yours. He continued to test his waters by pulling your lower lip between his teeth and quickly releasing it, he looked all over your face, making sure to take a mental picture of the furrowed brows and pout that you were making.
“Can I fuck you?”
You lazily nodded at him in reply.
“Say it,” it was stern despite how blushed his cheeks looked and how he said it after panting, “I’m not doing anything until you say that I can.”
“Fuck,” you grumbled in attempt to find your words again, “Fuck me. Please.”
Billy caved, pulling your lips back to his. He moved his hands to cup your thighs below your ass and you squeaked when tugged you to fall onto your back. He nestled his hips into the space between your spread thighs, thumbs digging into the pillowy skin to hold you open while he ground himself against you.
“You want me fuck you, huh? Want me to fuck that pretty cunt?” His questions had your head spinning, not knowing whether to pay attention to his foul mouth and words or the delicious burn of his denim jeans against your thighs and the feel of him pressed to where you knew you needed him.
You took ahold of Billy’s hand, desperation taking precedent over your nerves when you pulled it to your mouth and began to suckle at the tips of his fingers. You mumbled out something along the lines of ‘support me’ before his brain began to short circuit.
The second you released his fingers, Billy began to tug your shorts down. His lips pressing against the inside of your ankle before dropping the cloth to your bedroom floor. He looked down at you and gulped thickly when he realized that you were laid out nearly bare for him.
“No panties?” he questioned with a chuckle that sounded more strained than he intended.
You pulled yourself to lean back on your elbows, before furrowing your brows at him, “Uh no.”
“Well what in the hell do you mean with just “uh no”?” He asked again, your ankle still held up in his grasp.
“Billy, I usually never sleep in panties.”
“Oh,” he floundered, “okay then.” It was a stupid thing to say, he knew it, especially after all of the foul things he’d said before but now he could feel himself painfully throbbing in his jeans at the thought of all of the nights he’d laid in your bed with you not wearing anything but little shorts. He’d really have to take them off soon or he’d fucking bust in the denim like some kind of chump over you.
Billy tried to regain his composure by kissing up your calf, he was too enamored with the softness of it to not suck at the skin. You fell back and he let out forceful puffs of air whenever you made noises for him. But the sharp gasp at him biting the inside of your thigh had him standing to his feet.
He didn’t have much of a chance to undo his belt before you moved towards him, your fingers swatted his away and took over the ministrations. He let out a deep groan when your fingers danced over the zip to free him from its confinement.
When your fingers went to explore him further, he tutted at you, pulling back and haphazardly kicking off his shoes and his tugging his jeans down to throw backwards towards your closet. His shirt was off quickly after that and you openly ogled the trail of hair that disappeared below the band of his boxers.
He looked back at you, a devil’s grin etched onto his face, “Like what you see?”
“I’m sure I can work with it,” you sassed in order to amuse him, before pausing to look over him once more before adding, “I’m still waiting for you to prove that you’re better than my toy.”
“Oh really?” he hummed, stalking towards the edge of the bed. He tapped your knee, urging you to scoot back to allow him room.
You gave him a confused look when he dropped to kneel at the edge of your bed, both of his hands on your thighs. “Billy, what are you doing?”
“I’m going to prove it,” he answered you dumbly, pulling your thighs apart and attempting to hook them over his shoulders, “lean back.”
You huffed, neglecting to follow his request.“I thought you were going to fuck me.”
He let out a low hum before roughly pulling you towards him, closer towards his awaiting smirk. “Believe me,” he sighed, “I am going to fuck you. I’m going to fuck this pretty cunt with my tongue until you can’t stand to even look at that girly vibrating piece of shit.”
He didn’t wait for a reply before touching you, he wanted to stop whatever smart ass comment was brewing right in its tracks. “Hey there, pretty girl,” he cooed in awe, his thumb moving to drag over your folds and if he wasn’t so taken with the view he might’ve teased you for the loud hiss that you let out.
You looked down at him, his mesmerized eyes following the path of his soaked finger, and you had to admit that he looked so gorgeous, almost enough to convince you to let him have his way about proving you wrong. His blushed cheeks and his fingers that dug into your thigh and his ruffled hair were sending you into overdrive, it was overwhelming you in such a good way.
Billy could feel your frustration growing as you squirmed in your spot under his grip, he lost his resolve when you groaned out his name. He swore he’d never heard such an addicting sound, he had to grant you reprieve so he replaced his fingers with his tongue, following the same path that he’d traced before.
You had a white-knuckled grip on your blankets and you were praying that no one could hear the vulgar noises that were emitting from where Billy’s lips were now suckling at your cunt. You nearly sobbed when he prodded at your entrance with his middle finger, he groaned into you when he was met with little resistance.
He pulled back for only a moment to admire his handiwork, “Look at how badly you needed me, Baby. You’re taking me so well.”
You keened for his praise, whining at his words and for the pet name that had fallen with surprising affection from his lips.
Billy’s eyes rolled back and he moaned into you when he pulled your clit between his teeth and you replaced your grip from the blankets to his hair. With each harsh tug, he could feel you grinding yourself against his face and he used the motion to rut against the side of your bed for some relief.
You could feel a familiar heat in your belly and you didn’t have time to tell Billy before he tapped your outer thigh. A frustrated groan began to leave your lips, but was immediately taken over by a sharp gasp and your tensing at Billy sliding another finger into you.
He slowly pumped the two digits in and out, and found it very hard to not imagine that it was his cock disappearing into you, filling you up and making you twice as breathless as you were now.
As Billy gained speed and rhythm, you could feel the build again, the slow lapping ripples of your pleasure churning into tidal waves that you could drown in.
Your vision went white when Billy curled those two fingers and hit a spot that had your legs tensing around his head. He grinned pridefully at that, shouldering your thighs apart again and focusing solely on hitting that spot with the same depth and speed.
He knew you were reaching your peak, and if not from how you were fluttering around his fingers then it was definitely because you’d removed one hand from his hair to clasp over your mouth and quell the some the moans that were egging him on.
Your body tensed, thighs attempting to squeeze Billy’s broad shoulders as he worked you through your orgasm and licked the mess he made from your sensitive cunt.
He held them apart until you whimpered and his grip loosened, his mouth reluctantly pulling back from you and he looked like he had to convince himself to not just stare at the place where he’d just been. He stood, rubbing down your thigh before turning to your closet to find one of his other abandoned shirts and returning to wipe you clean of his spit and your cum.
You whined at the over stimulation and he apologized, tossing the shirt into your hamper when he finished. You could complain to him about that tomorrow but for now, you were sated and you could feel yourself getting drowsy.
“Don’t knock out on me yet, Hot-stuff,” Billy said, tugging the shirt he was wearing earlier over your head. When it was fully on you, he held your chin between his fingers, pulling you to look into his eyes, “I’ll be right back, turn on a channel that isn’t boring.”
You nodded lazily, watching him intently as he strode out of your room to what you assumed would be the bathroom. He’d somehow managed to slip into sweats while tending to you post earth shattering orgasm, but you decided not to linger too long on thoughts of Billy’s half naked body and flip through the channels on the television.
When Billy returned, his face was flushed and he had the same hazy look in your eyes that you did. You playfully swatted at his chest when he laid down beside you after turning out your lights.
“What the fuck was that for?” he questioned, eyes wide at the harmless attack.
“Did you just fucking jerk off in my bathroom?” you replied, slightly whisper-yelling at him.
“Um, fucking duh, (Y/N). What else was I supposed to do? I was hard as hell, that shit hurt.”
His genuine incredulous look had you snorting at him in bemusement and smirking with a snicker, “Aren’t we friends, Billy?”
Billy’s eyebrows furrowed and he cautiously settled beside you again and wrapping an arm around you to grab a candy from the nightstand. He popped it in his mouth and dropped his arm to lay at your waist before replying with his cheek full, “Best friends apparently.”
You hummed in agreement, turning your head just enough for you to catch his gaze and to plant a soft kiss you his jawline. “We always could’ve tried more of that “friends supporting friends” bullshit.”
Read Best Friends Too for more!
9K notes · View notes
ghostkennedy · 5 months
Text
Workplace Romance
~ID! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~
Word count: 7213
Content warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non-con, dub-con, serial killers, murder, leon's a major asshole and mean to reader, lots of arguing, confrontation, drugging, kidnapping, use of shock collar, degrading, pet names, serious bodily harm, forced self-harm, crawling, descriptions of blood/pain/body mutation, forced blowjob, cum swallowing, piss, reader pisses self, removal of an appendage/body part, capital punishment, death row, lethal injection, masturbation, very little comfort, no happy ending
the content warnings are a mess, but i think i included everything.
!!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!
Agent Leon Kennedy. A name you weren’t familiar with until a few weeks ago. Now, he’s the leading cause of all your headaches.
He’s a renowned FBI agent. Not only is he an excellent detective, but an expert in serial killer psychology.
He’s successfully led in the investigations and captures of eight serial killers and helped in the convictions of upwards of a hundred murderers.
He’s spent years studying the minds of serial killers. He can find the smallest bit of information and utilize it to get inside a killer's head. He’s the FBI’s serial killer specialist and if there’s ever a suspected serial killing, the case files land right on his desk.
And that’s what’s brought the two of you together.
You had just made detective at the Raccoon City Police Department, but the training was subpar. Any case that goes through this department is almost guaranteed to go unsolved. It’s not the station's fault, but the lack of funding and resources that has led to its downfall.
You’re up to your neck in cold case files. And crime that needs any sort of investigation is immediately your obligation. You’re a one person department and absolutely set up to fail.
When the FBI finally shows interest in the series of murders taking place throughout the city, you’re honestly relieved. Anything to ease your heavy workload. But it all changes when you meet him.
Agent Leon fucking Kennedy.
He’s a cocky bastard who undermines your department, which is solely you, constantly. He is unimpressed with the investigative work done on the case and won’t hesitate to insult your abilities as a detective.
And the man is basically untouchable.
He’s the FBI’s golden boy who can do no wrong. Everyone in the station worships the ground he walks on because he’s here to save the town, like a superhero. He’s the best of the best and everyone is expected to tolerate him. No exceptions.
It doesn’t help that he’s absolutely gorgeous. Always looking so well put together, a calculated appearance that never falters. Men and women alike gawk at the man. Whether they want to be with him or be him, you’d be stupid to not acknowledge it. 
A brown fringe cascading around his face. Pretty blue eyes matched with a prominent nose and jaw line, a dimple centered in his chin. Even the stubble lining his jaw is flawless. His eyebrows are knitted together in a permanent scowl. He looks like he despises the world and it makes him that much more enticing. 
And it pisses you off entirely. If he was just some mediocre, average looking man, it’d make hating him so much easier. But of course the jackass is incredible. It makes you wanna pour acid in your eyes just to give you your peace of mind back. Seeing is believing, right?
Without a single break in the case and no solid leads, you’re happy to take a step back from the case. It doesn’t mean you don’t care, but the crime rate in town has been steadily rising and you know you can help better elsewhere.
You walk into the station on what you thought was a typical Tuesday morning. But you’ve barely made it through the front door when you’re met with chaos.
People are running around, coming in and out of the station. The noise level is atrocious and has you wishing you’d caught the fucking plague because it would be less exhausting than this.
You barely make it five paces into the station when one of the coworkers you actually bother with appears at your side.
“It never stops, does it?” Jill says breathlessly.
You shake your head before replying, “What’s going on now?”
“Wait, you don’t know? Shouldn’t you be the first to know, actually?” She stops dead in her tracks, which in result causes you also to abruptly stop.
“Considering I don’t know what you’re talking about, I have no idea.” You cross your arms over your chest and turn to face her.
She sighs and places her hands on her hips. “They found another body early this morning. Everything matches up with the previous ones, so it’s basically confirmed to be one of his.”
“Another body? This will be his tenth fucking kill.”
“Thank God we got the FBI on it then?” Jill quirks an eyebrow at you, causing you to roll your eyes in response.
Jill is one of the few people seemingly in the world to not care for Leon’s bullshit. She can’t stand the man and isn’t afraid to voice it. She’s your number one defender and isn’t shy about arguing with the dreaded FBI agent.
“Maybe he’ll finally be good for something other than making my life a living Hell.”
Jill reaches out and squeezes your shoulder as she shakes her head. “But at what cost? Let’s hope the sweet, tender boy can magically solve the case and fuck back off to wherever he flew in from.”
Another coworker comes up and pulls Jill away from you. As she marches away behind the man, she turns and waves at you. You hate that you instantly wave back, but it’s Jill. You’ll look like a dork over and over for her sake.
You lower your hand and sigh, but before you can even begin walking again, a presence takes shape beside you.
“What are you doing?” An unmistakable snarky voice calls out to you. Your muscles instantly tense up in his presence, like your body is physically rejecting him and his aura.
You scoff as you begin walking again. “None of your business, Leon.”
You’re annoyed when Leon meets your big strides, keeping up with you pace for pace. You both remain silent as you quickly arrive at your office door.
You go to close the door behind you, but Leon pushes past, welcoming himself into your office. You’re frozen in place for a second in your confusion, but you quickly snap out of it and sink into your desk chair.
“What’s up?” You fold your arms over your chest and lean back in your chair. Being around Leon is exhausting and you can already feel this conversation draining you.
Leon doesn’t take a seat, instead choosing to stand tall above your desk, looking down at you.
“None of your business.” Leon mocks you in a shrill voice. 
“What’s up?” His eyes meet yours, locking in an intense stare.
“You need to address me properly. Agent Kennedy, not Leon.”
You furrow your eyebrows at the sudden authority in his voice. When he doesn’t speak up again, it prompts you to instead.
“Okay. But I would appreciate it if you addressed me properly too, Agent Kennedy.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
You quirk your head to the side, shocked by the pure audacity of this man. The audacity to demand respect when he can’t even give it. It’s infuriating.
“Well, Leon, I don’t appreciate being disrespected in my own-“
“Earn it.”
You shake your head in exasperation at his interruption. Yes. Infuriating is the best word to describe this man.
“What?” You release a heavy sigh, already exhausted from the few words exchanged.
“Respect is earned. Earn respect and you will receive it.”
“You haven’t earned-“
“I’m the FBI’s best asset when it comes to convicting serial killers, not to mention all of the side work I’ve done in homicide prevention and precaution. I’ve earned goddamn respect and I expect it, no exceptions.”
He slams his hands down on your desk, causing you to jump, your chair screeching across the floor as you put more space between you two.
Your voice is shaking as you throw your hands up in the air, “Fuck! Okay! Sorry, Agent Kennedy.”
He gives you a final death glare before backing up and causally stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. It remains silent as you two stare across the room at each other.
“Anyways, I needed to talk to you.” He finally sits in the chair and your shoulders visibly relax. You hate yourself for being so visibly nervous in his presence currently, but it was out of your control.
“What about?”
He clears his throat. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but my bosses have instructed me to take you under my wing. Teach you what I know. And it’s my obligation to follow those orders and I think it’s in your best interest to do so as well. It would be very beneficial to you.”
Your eyes fall closed as you barely manage to hold back a groan. Your head falls back, scalp connecting with the back of your chair.
“You just made detective, correct?”
You sigh and look back up at him, “Yeah. Not even a month ago.”
“Then let me help you. There’s no one here to train you on how to be a good detective, a good investigator. I know a thing or two. You just have to let me help you. Also, it’ll be better on my conscience if I leave here confident in this station's sole detective.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’m being serious. I have a lot to teach and you have a lot to learn. You’d be stupid to not take full advantage of this opportunity.”
You remain silent, lost in your own thoughts. You were confident with your abilities as a detective. Confident with your capability to solve cases, but he has the experience that you don’t. But he’s also Leon Kennedy and that alone is almost enough to make you say fuck no.
“How many people have died at the hands of this killer? That we know of so far.”
“9 I believe.”
“10 after the discovery this morning. And there could be more we don’t know about. You don’t wanna solve this case? Wanna bring this sick fuck to justice?”
“Well, of course-“
“Then work with me. How many more innocent people need to die?”
You release a heavy sigh. “Alright, alright. We have a deal or whatever.”
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Weeks have passed and Leon’s arrogance has only gotten worse.
The belittling, the undermining, just everything he does has you raging. You’ve given up on helping with the investigation because anything you do is scrutinized. You found a solid piece of evidence that could have easily been looked into, but he rejected it and told you to disregard it.
No matter how hard he tries to make you feel like it, you’re not an idiot. You’re a great detective and nothing about this situation is right. His behavior, his attitude, his methods of operation are all suspicious as hell, so how could you not look into him?
You’re not exactly sure what you were looking for. Maybe a sign that he was taking credit for work he didn’t actually do? Or maybe a sign of him planting evidence?
Why couldn’t you have just minded your goddamn business?
You’re the only two left in the station, working late on the case. To say things are tense is a fucking understatement if you’ve ever heard one. 
“Can I ask you a question, (Reader)?” 
Your head shoots up from your computer screen. The way he says your name has chills running down your spine, has you struggling to swallow. 
“Um, yeah. What’s your question?” 
His elbows are on the table, his chin resting on the backs of his clasped hands. “Did you find what you were looking for?” His tone is accusatory and it confuses you.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean?” 
“Don’t play stupid.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why were you looking into me?” He brings his hands down to the table and leans in closer to your side of the table. “Did you find what you were looking for?” 
Your heart is in your throat as you struggle to find the words to explain yourself. “What kind of detective would I be if I didn’t?”
He snickers. “Answering a question with a question. Classic. But I’m not interested in beating around the fucking bush, so how about you just tell me what you were looking for.” 
You take a deep breath before straightening your spine and feigning a confidence you definitely don’t feel. “Okay. You’re suspicious as fuck. And I don’t trust you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“And what did you find?” He snaps at you. You don’t understand why he’s taking such offense to a detective doing detective work? He didn’t anticipate this? 
“Nothing. I didn’t find anything.”
“And do you still have your suspicions about me?”
“Yes.” You answer his questioning immediately. You’re not sure what compels you to do so, but your mouth moves faster than your mind. “I still don’t understand why you act the way you do.”
He looks away from you, pulling a file out of his briefcase and flipping through the papers inside of it. “What were you hoping to find?”
“I-” you’re once again stumbling over your words. No one has ever made you so nervous, no one has ever triggered your flight or fight as much as he does. Alarms are constantly going off in your head about him and you hate it. “I just wanted some answers.”
“Then fucking ask.” He slams the folder shut and tosses it down the table. “Ask me your questions. Don’t be a baby about it, going behind my back to find them. You’re a big girl. If you want answers, come and get them.”
“Why are you such a dick?”
“Because I can be. Next question.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“That’s not a question.”
“Obviously.”
“We’re getting nowhere. Nevermind.”
“Wait!” You yell at him, reaching out and grabbing his wrist as he goes to stand up. “I’m sorry. You just piss me off.”
He pulls his wrist from your grasp with a disgusted look, but he doesn’t get up from his chair. He stares at you silently, which means he wants you to speak up. He’s so fucking entitled, you have to refrain from going off on him for the billionith time. 
“Why do you brush me off constantly? I bring you solid, concrete leads and you treat them like they’re nothing. You’re leaving so many loose ends. We’re not any closer to solving this case. Why?”
He hums at you like your question is invalid. You don’t know what you expected. Of course he was just going to be a prick like he always is. 
“That’s your perspective on it. A false perspective, but one nonetheless.”
“What does that mean?” The offense is obvious in your voice. More belittling, more brushing off your valid concerns. Of course. Of fucking course.
“Because I’ve followed every last lead and every little piece of evidence. It’s not my fault you can’t keep up.”
“Bullshit!” You’re both surprised at your outburst. You can’t hold it back anymore. You can’t stand the lying and fucking diversions anymore. “I’ve been watching you, Leon. I haven’t seen you investigate shit. You pick and choose where you pay attention. This is the FBI’s very best? It’s fucking pathetic.”
He keeps his expression blank and neutral. “Anything else?”
“Yes, actually. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck it is you do that’s so fucking incredible that you’ve solved so many cases. Are you taking credit for other people’s work? Are you planting evidence? That’s the only thing that makes sense. You’re an opportunist. It’s like you’re just silently waiting to find the perfect person to blame. Is that it? You frame people to make yourself look better? What is it?”
Your voice is desperate and it’s genuinely embarrassing. But you are desperate. And you don’t wanna sit by anymore, not with the terrible suspicions constantly plaguing your exhausted mind. 
“You think I’m covering up for serial killers? You realize how crazy that sounds, right?”
“Oh, shut the fuck up. It’s not that fucking farfetched.”
“Why would I do that?”
You let out a noise of frustration, “I don’t know! To make yourself look better? Everyone worships you for the work you’ve done. Maybe it’s for the praise and glory, to stroke your ego.”
He smirks at you and it only enrages you more. 
“You told me to ask you questions!” you yell at him, “Now give me fucking answers!”
“I don’t give a shit what people think. You think I would cover up for serial killers to make myself look better? That’s stupid.”
“Then maybe you have another reason!”
“Like?”
“I don’t fucking know! For all I know, you’re the serial killer and you just frame people to cover your own ass. Your job would be the perfect guise wouldn’t it?” It’s just word vomit pouring from your mouth at this point, but something about what you’ve said has Leon jumping to his feet.
Before you even have time to react, he’s leapt across the table. His hand wraps around your neck, pushing you back in your chair until you go crashing to the floor. You cry out in pain as your skull connects with the ground.
Your vision is fuzzy from the impact, but you slowly blink your eyes until they focus back in on Leon’s body hovering over yours. With the grip he has on your throat, you can’t speak. All you can do is look up at him and the unhinged expression on his face.
Leon shifts and there’s a sudden sharp, burning pain in your neck. Your arms shoot up and your fingers connect with the syringe in your neck. Your eyes widen in fear.
“Good detective work, baby. You’ve figured it out. Congratulations! You found your guy!” His smile is huge and combined with his crazy eyes, has you shaking beneath him.
The muscles in your body quickly start to tingle as you lose control of them, slowly going limp beneath him.
“Goodnight.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you pass out.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
You’re awake, your eyes are open but your brain still isn’t able to process anything. You stare blankly as you try to actually wake up. The room is a blur and you can hear a voice calling out to you, but you can’t make out what it’s saying.
Sudden white hot pain has your consciousness finally catching up with you. You’re gasping for air as you finally take in your surroundings. 
The room is dirty, trash littering the floor around you. The only object in the room is a chair on the other side of the room.
“Good morning. Thought that’d wake you up.”
You push yourself up into a sitting position as Leon appears in front of you. He gently pats your head causing you to cower away from him, but he just laughs at you and walks over to the chair. Every step he takes makes a loud crunching sound as his shoes connect with the debris covering the floor. The only cleared spot is the space surrounding you, just enough for your body to lay in.
You try to speak, but all you can manage to do is cough. Leon sits leisurely in his chair as you struggle through your coughing fit.
The second it passes, while you’re still gasping for air, you call out to him, “Wha-what are you doing? What do you want?”
“Crawl to me.”
You look at him like he’s insane, and in all honesty he is, but he only smirks at the look you’re giving him. He leans back in his chair so casually, legs spread open as his left hand dangles between them. It pisses you off that he looks so good like this. Maybe if he hadn’t just kidnapped you, you would be more willing to appreciate how good the view definitely is.
“I said, crawl to me.” His voice is filled with venom as he points to the ground between his legs. He cannot be fucking serious right now.
You look at the stretch of floor between you two. It’s littered with broken glass and who knows what else. It’s obviously been intentionally spread around. This house may be old and abandoned, but the sharp shards are too clean and perfect to have been sitting here long at all. 
He wants you to crawl through shattered glass on your hands and knees to him. Kidnapping you wasn’t enough. Having complete control isn’t enough, he has to exercise it.
“Leon…” you struggle to find the right words, because what are you supposed to say? It’s obvious that you don’t want to crawl across this fucking floor. “Please don’t make me-”
You gasp as your body goes tense from a sudden, unfamiliar pain. It feels like several wasps just stung your neck, and as quick as it hits, it’s gone. 
Your muscles finally loosen and your hands shoot up to your neck, feeling some sort of rough fabric with a rectangular plastic box at the front of your throat.
“What the fuck is this?” Your voice is strained, still panting as you try to recover from the pain.
He chuckles at you. “You will address me as sir and you will crawl to me.”
Your fingers are still fiddling with the device strapped to your throat, trying to find some way to take it off. But it’s complicated not being able to see what you’re doing. Just when you think you might be able to slip a finger under the tight, firm fabric, the pain comes back.
The stinging pain is more intense this time and longer. You’re about to collapse, unable to keep yourself in a sitting position, when the pain once again subsides. 
You can’t stop the tears pouring down your cheeks, body still shaking and in shock from the intensity of the pain to your neck.
“Now. Stop fucking with your collar and crawl to me.” 
Your head shoots up to him at his choice of words. “Collar?”
He licks his lips while a look of amusement lights up his face. “Yes, dumb little bunny. A shock collar. To help you behave.”
The hand that’s been lazily lying between his legs flips around to reveal the remote in his palm. Your eyes widen as your pain riddled brain slowly catches up to the present. A fucking shock collar. He put a shock collar on you like you’re some fucking dog.
“Crawl. To. Me. Now.” He spits out angrily, his tone sending chills down your spine.
When you don’t make any movement, he makes a big show of fiddling with the remote. Taunting you, warning you. 
You let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, shit okay. I’ll crawl to you.” 
“Crawl to who?”
You push yourself up on your knees and lightly bring your palms to the ground, gently sitting them over top of the shattered glass. “You, sir. I’m going to crawl to you, sir.”
He relaxes in his chair once again at your answer, seemingly pleased with it. “Go on then. What’re you waiting for?” 
You take a few deep breaths, attempting to will yourself to move forward. You know you have to do this, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to make the first move.
“Unless you need some more motivation. We could make good use of that collar.”
Your eyes shoot up and look up at him pleadingly, “Please, no.”
“Then fucking move.”
Leon’s patience is completely gone and you don’t want to see what other lengths he’s willing to go to to punish you. 
You reach out with your right hand and your right knee slowly follows. You hiss out as your skin connects with some of the shards.
“That’s it, being such a good girl right now.”
Your breathing stops for a moment as a blush creeps up your neck at the praise. You’re so mad at yourself for your body’s reaction to his words. This is already fucking humiliating, how much worse can it get?
You move your left hand forward, breathing through the pain as it connects with the floor and your left knee follows. You’re going slow, being careful not to cut yourself up worse by being hasty. 
You move your right hand carefully, blood already spilling from the cuts and onto the glass covered floor. It’s making shards stick to your skin and making everything that much more slippery. 
Your right knee connects with the floor, right as the stinging pain returns to your throat. The sudden shock has you digging your knees, hands, and toes in the floor, heightening the pain you were already in.
The pain in your neck is once again gone and you’re left shaking and sobbing as blood puddles around your hands and knees.
“You know how to crawl. Go faster before you piss me off.”
You don’t know why you’re surprised he wants you to crawl faster, causing worse damage to your body. Of course he does. Why would you ever expect to be granted mercy?
You take a deep breath and squeeze your eyes shut tightly. At least you won’t have to see the glass you’re crawling into.
You’re still crawling fairly slowly, but a lot faster compared to your previous pace. You’re whining and groaning in pain and you feel the glass embedded deeply in your skin connect with even more glass. Your lower legs and toes are dragging glass behind you.
You feel the burning pain throughout your hands and legs, but you focus on moving your body forward. 
“Open your eyes.”
You ignore his demands. You’re doing what he’s asking of you and he has the audacity to ask for even more.
“Look at me when you crawl to me. I will not tell you again. Unless you’d like another… shock of encouragement.”
You raise your chin up from your chest and shakily look up at him, opening your eyes. He smiles at you for listening to him and you wanna rip his fucking face off.
Your heart sinks when you realize you’ve only crawled half way so far. The pain is absolutely nauseating and you’re choking down the bile that keeps rising in your throat. 
You begin crawling once again, vision blurry from the tears that are continuously falling.
All you feel is the agonizing pain as you force yourself to Leon’s blurry figure. You’re on the verge of passing out from the pain when you finally place yourself between his legs.
He runs his fingers through your tangled hair, almost soothingly. And you want so badly to jerk your head away, to run from his movements, but you can’t help but give yourself over to the gentle touch. His comfort somehow pulls you back down to Earth from your pain induced robotic state.
“Show me your hands, bunny.”
You go to push yourself up but red hot pain rages through your hands and knees, causing you to scream out in pain. Your body goes to collapse from the sheer exertion, but Leon is quick to catch you, steadying you and forcing you on your knees with your wrists in his hands.
You’re shaking as the glass embedded into your knees is forced deeper into your skin beneath your newly distributed weight. You take deep breaths as you adjust to the new level of pain. Bile fills your mouth, but you’re able to force it back down, the burning sensation of it only adding to your misery.
Your eyes open again after shutting in response to the pain. Your vision clears and you find Leon studying your destroyed hands.
Blood is still oozing from your countless wounds, shards of glass sticking out of your palms and fingers. Your hands and forearms are covered in blood, you can barely see your skin tone through the mess. Your hands are unrecognizable. 
He tsks as he continues to look over them. “These are useless to me now. Shame.”
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his words, not sure what the implications of his words are. He releases your wrists and you let your hands fall limply into your lap. When his hands move to his belt and he starts unbuckling it, you gasp and try to move away from him but are instantly met with sharp shooting pains in your legs from your injuries.
You’re stuck in place and there’s nothing you can do about it. Anything you could possibly need to do will require Leon’s help. Just how he planned it. 
Rope, duct tape, or any other typical restraints are so boring. Glass being embedded into your skin as you sit in your own blood? Now, that’s new and fascinating. You’re a cute little test subject for his vile thoughts and ideas.
He slides the zipper down his pants and you finally look down at what he’s doing. 
What the fuck? He’s hard, not just hard, but really fucking hard and about to pull his dick out right in your face.
Your throat is raw from your previous wailing so your words come out scratchy. “What, what are you doing?”
“Oh, baby… Look how hard you’ve made my cock. It’s only fair that you let me cream that tight, hot throat in return.”
“What?”
“Oh don’t be such a fucking prude.” He rolls his eyes as he stands before you, sliding his pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to pop out, his tip poking your lips. You attempt to pull your head back, but his hand is quick to grab onto your hair and push your face into his cock. You’re frantically trying to turn your face away from him, but it only has him gripping your hair impossibly tighter.
“Now, now. You don’t need another shock of encouragement do you?”
“N-no. Please.”
“Then start sucking. And don’t try anything smart because I am more than happy to shock your annoying little ass again.”
Before you can even prepare yourself, he’s pressing his fingers into your cheeks and forcing your mouth open, immediately shoving his cock into the back of your throat. You’re instantly gagging. And you’re already so close to throwing up that you’re certain you’re going to puke all over this man's dick.
“See, princess? You don’t want me to do it my way. So fucking behave and don’t stop until I’m creaming that fucking mouth.”
He pulls his dick out and you’re immediately running your tongue up and down his tip. You’re ready to do anything to keep him from choking you like that again. 
“Make me cum in less than two minutes and maybe I’ll consider sparing you.”
You suck his tip into your wet mouth, the taste of his precum flooding your taste buds.
“There ya go. You’re so hot, all dirty and bloody for me. Fuck, I’m gonna cum so fast. Pretty bunny has such a good mouth when she’s not running it.” He chuckles at his own words as you quickly bob your mouth up and down on his dick.
“Just like that. You ready to taste me, baby? Need to cream this throat.”  He speaks quickly as he starts to thrust, meeting every bob of your head. His grip in your hair tightens as his hips still and he holds his tip against the back of your throat.
You resist the urge to gag and cough as you feel his cum fill your throat. You think he’ll never be done when he finally pulls himself from your mouth and stuffs his cock back in his pants. He refastens his belt and turns to walk away, but stops and looks down at you.
“Here.” He grabs your shoulder, causing you to gasp, as he pushes you down to the floor, until you’re laying on your back. “I’ll spare you.”
And then he’s quickly leaving the house, confident that you’re not going anywhere anytime fast. You realize you’re in less pain being off your hands and knees and breathe a sigh of relief. Your weight is distributed better over the glass, so your back and legs only tingle and sting slightly.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
You’re not sure how much time passes as you drift in and out of sleep, but when the front door finally opens, you can’t mask your excitement at Leon finally returning.
“Leon?” You call out in a happy, relieved voice.
“Hi, bunny. How are you doing?” His tone is lighter than you’ve ever heard it before and it fills you with hope.
“I’m gonna piss my pants, can you take me to the bathroom?” The back of your legs are getting badly cut up because you can’t keep your body still as your bladder throbs and aches.
“Sweetheart, you’re so silly.”
His tone is mocking. “What?” You're obviously confused and it has him shaking his head.
“That’s not my problem.”
“I can’t get up.” You whine out, praying he’ll give in and help you.
“I know,” he coos at you, “You’re gonna have to just piss yourself then. But don’t worry, I’ll stay here and watch.”
“What?” 
“It hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. It hurts so much.”
“And you know exactly what will relieve you of that pain don’t you?”
“But I can’t get myself up.”
“That’s too bad.”
You’re so fucking confused. You don’t understand what his game is here. It has to be about control, the humiliation it’ll bring you. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and try your best to pretend this isn’t happening, but the pain is only getting worse and worse.
“Bunny… Just relax. You’ll feel better if you just relax.”
“Fuck no, Leon. No fucking way.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes!” You open your eyes and give him a dirty look. “I’m not going to lay on the floor in my own blood and piss! What’s wrong with you?”
He smiles as he shakes his head, “You don’t have a choice, baby.”
You don’t know what to say to him. What can you say? Beg for his help? Hope he actually cares? It’s all so useless. You find yourself squeezing your eyes shut and clenching every muscle in your body. This is so stupid, so fucking stupid.
“You really want my help?” Leon breaks the silence, pulling you from your thoughts.
You look up at him once again, “Please.”
“Okay, I’ll help you.” You breathe a sigh of relief. He’s going to help you, there’s some sort of hope. If he can find it in himself to help you now, maybe you’ll be okay. Maybe everything will fall into place.
He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a familiar remote. Your eyes widen in shock, realizing what he’s about to do. “Wait, Leon, don’t-”
But you aren’t even able to finish your statement before the shocks are shooting into your body and every muscle tenses up in resistance. A few seconds feel like minutes before the pain stops and your body goes limp on the ground. Every muscle in your body softens.
Before you can even process what’s happening, before your mind even comes back to yourself, you register a warmth growing on your thighs and ass. The warmth spreads further as you come back to yourself.
The second you realize what’s happening, you wish you’d remained oblivious. You try to stop it, but your body is so weakened that you have no more control. 
You lay on the floor in your dried blood mixing with your hot piss. You’re no longer peeing, but the humiliation has tears welling up in your eyes.
The liquid starts to cool quickly in the chilly air and it has you shivering on the floor. It has you wishing you were dead.
Suddenly, Leon’s petting your head and hushing you. “You’re a good girl, you know that? Did such a good job for me.”
Your eyes dart up to his face. “What?”
“So pretty like this. All wet and helpless.” Your thighs clench together at the praise, furthering your humiliation. Leon notices immediately and smirks down at you. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”
You whine as he lifts you in his arms. You’re slack in his arms because of the extensive injuries to your body. You feel your piss soaked body pressed against him and knowing your piss is getting on him makes you wanna vomit.
But that’s not the only thing you feel. This time it’s a lot less surprising, but doesn’t make things make any more sense. His erection pressed against your ass and you don’t have the energy to point it out or try to push yourself away from it.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Thankfully, not a whole lot of glass is embedded in the skin of your back, so you can happily lay in the blankets piled on top of the mattress without causing yourself any more pain.
You lay with your arms against your sides, avoiding making contact with your hands. Every time you look at your hands, your stomach twists and turns at the deformed skin. They’re cut to shit and glass shards stick out haphazardly all throughout the skin.
“Are you comfortable?” Leon asks as he runs a cold, wet washcloth across your forehead.
“As comfortable as I can be.”
“Good, good.” Leon gets up and walks across the room. You let your eyes fall shut, your body crying out for blissful sleep.
You hear Leon’s footsteps approach your bedside, not bothering to open your eyes. You’re not even sure you could open your eyes if you wanted to.
“Baby, keep your eyes shut for me, alright?” You nod as he softly caresses your cheek, pushing your hair from your face. 
“Can you stick your tongue out for me? I got a surprise for you.” You hum in response, too tired to question him. But you couldn’t help the hope growing in your stomach at the thought he might finally give you some water or food.
You lol your tongue out as far as you can and feel him grab it with his thumb and pointer finger. He grips it tightly. You’re not sure why he’s doing it, but once again, you’re too exhausted to question him or resist it.
“This will be quick.” 
You make a “huh” sound as best as you can with your tongue in its current position, and that’s when you hear a disgusting snip sound followed by squelching. 
You start screaming as excruciating pain sets in. Your screams are cut short as you start choking on your own blood, the liquid pouring from the wound and slipping down your throat.
Leon grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you into a sitting position, allowing the blood to pour down your chin rather than your throat. Your body is shaking from the pain, you’re on the verge of passing out, feeling the darkness creeping up on you, awaiting to consume you completely.
“There you go, baby. I got rid of the thing that causes you the most trouble. You’re perfect now.”
Your tears pour down your face, mixing with the blood coming from your mouth. You look down at the bedspread in front of you and the sight of your severed tongue has your vision going foggy. You let out one final cry before passing out from the pain and blood loss.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
It’s been fourteen years, but you still remember it like it was yesterday. You relive those events every fucking day of your miserable existence. It doesn’t help that you have optimal time to think about it in your small prison cell on death row.
Of course he handed you over to the police with some elaborate story on how he found you out and when he confronted you, you went crazy and mutilated yourself. And of course, you can’t properly defend yourself, considering he took your fucking tongue. You could write out your claims of innocence over and over, but how could you possibly convey it with words alone?
Leon framed you for all of the murders. Planted all the evidence at your apartment and in your car, “finding” all the overlooked leads in your office. It was a pretty open and shut case. Took the jury less than an hour to find you guilty and for you to get sentenced to death.
Tomorrow’s the day. You’ll finally get the lethal injection and be free from your own personal purgatory. You’re confined to a prison cell by yourself 24/7 considering if you show your face outside of it, other inmates are instantly on you. You’re America’s most brutal female serial killer, how could they not want to kill you?
It’d be too easy if the prison would just let the other inmates go through with it. Just put you out of your misery and throw your body into the prison’s graveyard. But no. No amount of suffering will ever be enough to pay for “your” crimes.
You hate yourself. You look at your unrecognizable, mutilated hands and all you can do is sigh as you slip one down between your spread thighs to relieve the ache you feel between them.
In your line of work, you were well aware that trauma could cross wires in your brain. You can’t control your trauma responses. But the fact that your pussy is always soaking wet when you think about his dick in your mouth and the praising words he spoke to you is torture in itself.
You try to think of anything else, anything else at all. Even when your fantasies don’t revolve around that man, you can’t get yourself off without thinking of what he did to you. 
As you lay in bed, shirt stuffed between your teeth to silence your sounds, you feel your climax grow closer and closer and his face above you is all you can see. And no matter how many times you go over it with yourself, telling yourself it’s a trauma response, you know the truth. You know that deep down you loved what he did to you and the only thing that makes you so angry is the fact that he put you here.
Here in this cold, lonely cell to waste away for the rest of your days. Leaving you with a heart, soul, and cunt that aches for him. You know what he’s done and you hate it, but you can’t bring yourself to hate him.
And as your wetness runs down your fingers, coating your palm in the proof of exactly what he does to you, all you can think about is that fucking day. You’re going to die tomorrow and here you are touching yourself to the man that put you here.
Your orgasm tears through you, leaving you a shaking and shivering mess in your threadbear sheets on your paper thin cot. It’d be so much easier to hate him, but you have the curse of hating yourself instead. 
Tomorrow you will die and pay for your crimes. And maybe the crimes you’ll be dying for aren’t yours, but you still deserve to pay for being so fucked in the head. So you’re happy, almost giddy to be dying tomorrow. 
Maybe you’ve gone mad, or maybe you were always mad to begin with and it took him coming along to pull it out of you. Either way, not like it fucking matters. You’ll still be dead and he’ll still be a free man. But you caught the killer and for that, you’ll always be a good fucking detective. 
~masterlist~
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