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naeverse · 5 months

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The Black Rose

🖤 staring: Tattoo Artist Miguel O’Hara x female reader

◽preview:

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

🖤 summary:

At The Bloody Inks, the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, you meet the skilled, stone-cold and attractive tattoo artist, Miguel O’Hara. Seeking a tantalizing tattoo for your rear end, Miguel isn’t hesitant to get what he wants, especially if it’s a doll like you.

◽tw/cw: Butt Tattoo, Cunninglingus, Dirty Talk, Face-Sitting, Lip piercings Miguel, Needles mentioned, Oral sex, Semi-public, Tattooed Miguel, etc…

🖤 Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Muñeca (Doll), Bebé (Baby)

◽Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

🖤 Word Count: Around 9.6K

(I do not own any of the fanart or photos used! All credit goes to the original artist!)

You were used to getting tattoos, so what made this time any different?

You found yourself pondering that very question repeatedly, as you approached the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, 'Bloody Inks.'

Since the age of 18, you've adorned your body with small pieces of inked art, from your ankles to your shoulders. Despite your familiarity with tattoos, today marked a departure from the norm as you contemplated getting a substantial artwork for the first time.

But that wasn't what made you nervous…

It was where you were getting it.

You had a little bet with your friends about your next tattoo, and to your dismay, the idea of a butt tattoo became the central topic.

Secretly desiring one, you were always hesitant due to fears of pain and discomfort on such elastic tissue, the thought of undressing completely from the waist down only added to the nerves.

Yet, here you were, opening the door to the notorious shop…

A bell rang at your arrival along with the crackle of a searing guitar and thunderous drumbeats playing from a speaker. The music’s furious tempo of punk music overwhelmed your senses as you were hit with the smell of ink and antiseptic, and a hint of sandalwood. You stepped inside, your black tennis shoes, on wooden scuffed floors as your eyes roamed the dimly lit lobby before you.

A black leather sofa sat in one corner, a front desk before you, and a few sculptures and decorations covered the worn wooden floors. Despite everything inside, your attention was instantly captured by the gallery of designs that covered the black-brick walls of the tattoo parlor.

There were many sketches and finished pieces that were put on display, an assortment of vibrant colors and intricate details bringing life to the lobby. Mythical creatures, mandalas, floral designs, phrases, and abstract patterns decorated the walls, each one telling a different story and waiting to be chosen and etched onto willing skin.

The counter was empty when you arrived, a soft, dim glow of light hanging from chains on the ceiling cast an amber hue throughout the lobby. You stood patiently at the black desk, fiddling nervously with the bottom of your white t-shirt and pondering if you should go through with this tattoo…

“Oy! We have a customer!”

The loud outburst from a male with a British accent cut through the rather quiet lobby, making you jump. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest whilst you overheard the small conversation between the British male and who sounded like a female coming from further in the tattoo parlor.

“Gwendy, love, I’ve been dealing with the past few customers for a while now. Why not deal with this one, hmm?” The girl responded with a scoff.

“Hobie, you know you haven’t done shit.”

“Ah…you got me there love.” The British guy said with a chuckle. “Well, stop playing around and help the customer.” The girl laughed as you soon heard the sound of heavy footfalls becoming louder and louder. It wasn’t long before the identity of the British male was revealed to you.

The black curtains that separated the lobby from the back of the tattoo parlor opened to unveil an ebony guy with thick black hair and piercings. His hair was styled chaotically on his head, but you had a feeling it was purposeful with the way he carried himself. He had unmistakable confidence and not a care in the world for anyone. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his black jeans, a black t-shirt covering his lean body as his combat boots thudded against the wooden floors.

He came behind the counter, turning his dark brown eyes upon you, instantly making you a little intimidated. “Aye, name’s Hobie, and welcome to the Bloody Inks. Are you here for a piercing or a tattoo, love?” He asked, his slender fingers locating a pen and notepad from his side of the desk.

You chewed your inner cheek, drumming your thumb against the handle of your small bag.

This was your last chance to back out…

To decide to go on with life without the tattoo on your rear or to face your fears and get the beautiful inking.

It wasn’t long before you already had your answer, giving the male before you a small smile. “I’m here for a tattoo.” You said bringing a smile to Hobie’s pierced lips. He glanced down at the notepad, his pen gliding across the page. “Can I see some ID?”

You were used to this question and already had your ID in hand, placing it into the ebony male’s palm. He barely glanced at it before returning it to you. “Nice, have you been to Bloody Ink’s before?” He asked, causing you to bite your lip nervously.

“No, this is my first time.” He looked up at you, his pierced lips pulled back into a smirk. “Ah, great! I’ll make sure the big boss does your tattoo then.” He said with a smile, but you couldn’t help becoming a little more anxious. The boss was going to be the one giving you your tattoo.

The tattoo on your bottom…

You gulped, hoping the male wasn’t scary-looking or a perv.

“O-kay!” Hobie exclaimed, pulling you from your thoughts as he finished writing. “Now, I’ll give you a book to look over the designs whilst the boss finishes up in the back,” Hobie said, pulling a black, hardcover album from under the desk, placing it into your hand, then motioning for you to take a seat on the sofa.

You followed along to his instructions, taking the black book in your hands and moving over to the leather couch where you sat down. Hobie then left, going behind the black curtains and drawing them close once more.

To pass the time and decide upon your tattoo, you look over the many designs inside the book. Each was skillfully sketched by hand and each held their own, unique form of beauty. Your eyes glazed over blazing skulls, graceful elephants, motivating quotes, to lastly land upon a beautiful flower.

You gasped, instinctively reaching out to trace a finger along the intricate lines of the sketch. You could already imagine the rose’s petals on your bottom, sprouting out in full bloom across your right, no… left cheek.

The circular pistil was visible and drawn so full of detail that it felt like it was jumping out at you. A few leaves could be seen peeking out the top of the rose as you felt like this design was for you.

Like it was drawing you in…

…

“Have you decided?”

A deep, husky voice asked inside of the quiet lobby. You jumped in your seat, eyes snapping up to see someone was occupying the counter…

But it wasn’t Hobie…

A tanned male with a muscular, large build was now present. Standing tall and broad, his physique showed proof of his dedication to the wellbeing of his body due to his swell and bulging muscles. His chiseled features were framed by a strong, defined jawline, a sharp nose, and dark smoldering eyes.

His bronze skin held tattoos that were intricately etched on his skin, each design holding a mysterious story across the backs of his hands, on his arms, and even along his chest and neck. They accentuated the contours of his muscles and added even more allure to his already magnetic presence. He placed his hands on the desk, his eyes still trained on you, his taut body dressed in a mere black t-shirt, jeans, and boots, but he made such simple clothes look like it was woven by the gods.

You didn’t know how long you’d been gawking at him in utter shock and disbelief at the magnificence before you. It wasn't until he moved once more, beckoning to you with two inked fingers that you snapped out of your trance.

You gulped, gathered up your bag and the black album, and made your way to the counter.

The closer you got, the more attractive and intimidating he became. His bushy eyebrows were drawn low over his amber eyes and his mouth, holding two ringed piercings on the opposite ends of his lower lip, were pulled into a scowl.

He looked stern, but you pondered if that was just his usual look.

“So have you decided on what piece you wanted?” He asked again, but you were still baffled by how drop-dead gorgeous he was that you almost misheard him once more. “Y-yes.” You stammered, gulping thickly, your finger still holding the page of your desired sketch. He hummed, holding his large hand out to you, motioning to the black book. You complied, placing it open into his palm, the hardcover open to the page of your tattoo choice.

It felt relieving to not have his stern eyes on you anymore, his amber orbs looking at the sketch you’ve chosen in the book. You bit your lip nervously, eyes trained on him whilst he looked over the design before he turned his gaze back up at you. “You know that’s an ass tat, right?” He bluntly asked which made heat rise in the back of your neck.

“Y-Yes, I know.” You replied, causing his eyebrows to rise for a brief second in surprise. “Well…Okay then.” He said, closing the book and holding the page with his thumb. “I’m Miguel, I’ll be your tattoo artist for today.”

Your heart dropped at his words.

You didn’t know to feel excited or nervous as hell, knowing he’d be the one touching you so intimately. “I-It’s nice to meet you.” You replied, giving him a small smile. His eyes lingered on you for a moment too long as he gave you a curt nod, a gesture that hopefully meant, 'You too.'

He motioned with his head to the back of the tattoo parlor, the entrance that was covered in black curtains. “Follow me.” He commanded in a gravelly tone. You gulped, following behind him through the black drapes to venture further into the tattoo parlor.

Instantly when you entered, the smell of ink and antiseptic became more potent, the sounds of the buzzing of the tattoo guns filled your ears along with the playful banter between the two artists from before.

“So Gwendy, you still believe just because you're in your twenties now that you can order me around?” Hobie asked the girl from across the room. She chuckled, looking away from her male client who was getting a skull tattooed onto his leg to over at Hobie. The girl had blonde, wavy hair and black piercings that covered her face. Two studs styled her eyebrow and a hooped one could be seen on her nose.

She smirked at the ebony male. “I didn’t say anything of the sort and stop calling me that. You know my name.” She laughed, eliciting a snort from Hobie. “Aye, but I like Gwendy better than Gwen.”

Miguel groaned in annoyance, looking between the two young artists. “Stop this nonsense and get to work.” He barked at Gwen and Hobie which surprised you, every muscle in his backside tensing up after his outburst. The conversation ceased to be replaced with just Miguel and your footsteps and the buzzing of the tattoo needles, but Miguel’s previous words didn’t seem to affect the two artists’ since after you both left, their conversation started up again.

Miguel grumbled under his breath, his grip on the black album tightening. You walked behind him down the hallway, his tall and broad being completely blocking your view around him. Every time you looked up, you came face to face with his muscular backside that was covered in his black T-shirt that looked to be straining against his musculature.

You clutched your purse while walking down the hallway to watch him enter a room. When you looked over, you saw a name tag on the door that read 'Miguel O'Hara.'

‘This must be his own personal tattoo room.’

You thought, your stomach clenching on cue as you followed him into the room. Your eyes instantly took in the attractive strangers’ workspace, the room you would also be spending the next hour or so in.

The tattoo room seemed to be more grand, more important than the one the two artists’ Gwen and Hobie were in. The walls were decorated, once more, with black and gray masterpieces of artwork, but these were more sci-fi and futuristic than the ones displayed in the lobby.

Spotlights hung from the ceiling carefully positioned to cast a focused radiance upon the vintage leather chair in the center of the room. The space smelled strongly of ink, antiseptic, men's cologne, and…

Smoke.

But not the typical smoke from a fire, more like from tobacco.

You couldn't help but wonder if the fine male smoked. You didn't want to assume or stereotype, but he looked like he would…

Your eyes soon graced over the main attraction of the room, the tattoo chair and station beside it. The seat had a black leather cushion that looked soft and very comfortable. It appeared, overall, brand new as if no one had hardly sat in it. A steel workstation was positioned beside the hot seat, the surface covered in an assortment of tools like a painter’s palette. The main one catching your eye was the needles and the gun.

You gulped, stepping more into the room as Miguel was rummaging through a nearby closet, the sound of metal and items clattering inside. He glanced momentarily over at the flower sketch inside of the black album before returning to get the items he needed.

You’ve learned, so far, that your tattoo artist was a rather quiet man. He barely spoke, and merely did things without providing a reason or explanation. He rummaged through the closet, next to the cabinets of a few counters and then a small chest in the room, trying to find all of the items he needed to, what you can infer, tattoo your desired choice onto your skin.

Your eyes never left him, watching his massive build transverse around the room, moving things, picking things up, putting them to the side all whilst holding an aura of unshakable coldness that dripped from his very being.

It was intimidating, yet alluring, nonetheless.

Once Miguel found the items he needed, he placed them onto the steel workstation.

With the way he was going about things, you would have thought he'd forgotten about your presence; as he was completely engrossed in what he was doing, placing a piece of stencil paper that held the floral design you wanted onto the workstation, along with black ink tubes, napkins, bottles of creams and other things.

However, you couldn’t focus…

You were highly nervous.

You stood nearby, clutching your purse whilst Miguel covered the tattoo chair with a few gray towels, before returning to organizing his workstation, and handling his tattoo gun. His thick, inked gingers deftly glided across the metal tools and inks when he finally looked up at you. You noticed his dark brown eyes roam your figure, meeting your eyes once more as he fiddled with the needles and tattoo gun.

“Which side?” He asked suddenly, placing the gun down on the workstation. You were baffled, confused about what he meant. “W-what?” You stammered, watching him take a seat on a black rolling stool. “You want your tattoo on your bottom, correct?” He asked, causing you to nod at his question. “Then which side?” He inquired once more.

You gulped, biting your lip. You pondered, remembering the artwork of the black rose from the album book and how beautiful it was, briefly deciding with yourself on which side. “O-On the left.” You replied after considering.

He hummed, nodding whilst placing a pair of black latex gloves onto his table.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to undress from the waist down and lay on your stomach.” He directed, pressing a button under the chair with his foot, causing the backing to lean back.

Your heart quickened and your stomach clenched. This was what you were worried about…

The undressing part.

It wasn’t that you had an unattractive body or weren’t familiar with the acts of intimacy, it was the thought of him, a handsome stranger having his stern gaze on your sensitive area.

How he’ll have to be studying your flesh, taking in every curve and dot whilst he worked in etching the beautiful tattoo onto your rear that made you a little reluctant.

You hesitated, clutching your purse once more. Your nervousness started to become palpable as you noticed Miguel looking up at you. He took in your tentativeness, his stern face softening at the sight. He sighed heavily, clenching his jaw as his lip piercings caught in the ceiling light.

“Are you sure about this?” His deep and rough voice filled the quiet room, his movements coming to a halt. You chewed your inner cheek, pondering his question. “Yes…I’m sure.” You replied, causing him to click his tongue. “Then what are all these nerves coming from?” He asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The movement seems to make his pecs more defined against the black fabric.

“I’ve seen you aren’t new to tattoos.” He said, his amber orbs probably taking in the small, tattooed quotes and patterns covering your body in minor spots before meeting your eyes once again. “So what’s the problem?”

You sighed, meeting his eyes.

Strangely, you felt like pouring your heart out to him.

Despite his coldness, you had a feeling whatever you told him would stay in this room…

“I’ve never got a huge piece done before.” You told him, which was partly the truth. Miguel hummed, his gaze on you intense. “That’s it?” You bit your lip anxiously once more, fiddling with the zipper of your purse. “N-No…I guess I’m nervous about…

Undressing.”

You uttered, biting your lip. However, Miguel seemed unfazed, only nodding in understanding.

“What’s your name?” He asked suddenly which made your eyebrows furrow. “Y-Y/N.” You hesitantly replied, bringing a tight-lipped smile to Miguel’s lips. “As you can see. Y/N, for the tattoo you’ve chosen, it’s required that you undress from the waist down.” He said, his amber eyes searching the room before landing on a decoration that sat on a counter.

He stood up, picking up the small porcelain sculpture of a gray woman’s naked body. The piece looked rather small in his massive hands.

“You see here.” He turned the female around, pointing to the left side of the gray sculpture’s plump rear end. “This entire side will need to be revealed for me to work.” He explained, lowering his finger to point underneath the left cheek. “And the tattoo would end underneath the left buttock.” He said, setting the sculpture to the side, and turning his eyes back onto you.

“For other tattoos, I wouldn’t have asked for such things and simply allowed you to keep your undergarments on and work from there.” His tone was gravelly and rough as he spoke to you. “But I'd like to be cautious, so I ask you to remove everything.” He informed you, which made you feel better about the process, but still wary.

Miguel, looked you up and down, tapping his finger against his thick thigh, noticing that you were still hesitant. “How about this,” He began, his words instantly piquing your interest. “I can turn around and allow you to undress and get into a comfortable position on the chair.” He said. “I’ll even give you a towel to cover yourself with.” He proposed with a straight face. “How does that sound?” His demeanor and gravelly tone contrasted greatly with his kind and understanding words.

You thought it over for a while before nodding at his suggestion. He rose from his seat, retrieving a black towel from the closet, and placing it onto the tattoo chair that was already covered in gray towels. He then returned to his rolling stool and turned around to face the wall. “Let me know when you are done.” He said, his voice, husky and deep.

“O-Okay.” You told him, the uncertainty, evident in your voice. Your eyes took in his muscular backside that was straining against his black t-shirt. Every bulging muscle was visible through the fabric.

You bit your lip, feeling rather odd but proceeding on.

You closed the door of his tattoo room and set your purse down on the floor. You exhaled deeply, calming yourself down before looping your fingers into the waistband of your black shorts, slowly drawing them down, your eyes trained on him.

Miguel was completely solid and unmoving. His arms crossed over his chest and his back still facing you. He was so quiet, that you could almost forget he was there.

Well, almost…

When the black fabric of your shorts was nothing but a puddle around your ankles, you stepped out of them, tossing them to the side. You gulped, standing in just your white shirt, black tennis shoes, and panties. You heaved a quiet sigh, chewing your inner cheek.

This was the hard part…

You were about to undress completely…

You exhaled deeply, reluctantly slipping your thumbs into the elastic band of your black panties, pulling them down, and exposing your sex to the tattoo room. You hissed, feeling the cool air against your core. Hastily, you removed them from your being, tossing them to the side along with your shorts.

It felt so weird standing in a foreign place with your rear completely unveiled.

You wanted nothing more than to cover up…

Your eyes shifted over to Miguels’ broad backside, still in its same position.

“Everything alright?”

You jumped at his sudden question, his voice was thunderous compared to the total quietness that had once filled the room. “Y-y-yes.” You squeaked, swiftly moving to climb onto the tattoo chair, laying on your stomach, and placing the black towel over your bare rear to conceal yourself.

After Miguel’s abrupt question, he didn’t say anything else, and neither did you, despite being ready. It took a while for you to tell the sexy, and rather intimidating tattoo artist that you were all set. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest every time you thought you were prepared to do so.

You rested your chin upon the backs of your hands, laying flat on your stomach. You heaved a sigh, feeling rather ridiculous at how scared you were.

You chose to come here, just like you chose to get this tattoo.

‘No reason to back out now.’ You thought, wetting your lips before getting the artist’s attention. “I-I’m ready.” You muttered, causing an instant creak from Miguel’s stool to be heard.

“Good.” He uttered, the sound of the wheels from his seat gliding across the black marble flooring filling the room. You soon felt his presence to your right, seeing him in your peripherals, sitting tall and large on his stool next to you on the tattoo chair. His dark brown eyes continuously glanced over at you before roaming your body, his facial features unreadable. You couldn’t tell if he was checking you out, or was merely looking at you to see if you hadn’t fainted on his chair.

“You seem…tense.” He commented in his usual dead tone. You looked over your shoulder at him to see his large hands attaching a black ink tube to his tattoo gun. His black tattoo arm sleeve was visible under the projecting light of the ceiling as his amber eyes were trained more on what he was doing rather than you.

“Y-yes. I’m still a little nervous.” You confessed, feeling your hands begin to tremble slightly. Miguel looked up at you, the light bouncing off his two lip piercings on his lower lip. “If I start and your body is not relaxed it’s going to hurt like a bitch.” He said bluntly, setting his tattoo gun onto his workstation. His words didn’t help, only causing your heart to quicken in pace and freak you out even more.

Because how could you possibly calm down?

It felt utterly impossible…

You weren’t nervous about the needle, or getting tattooed to begin with. You were experienced when it came to the inking process. What was working the nerves was the thought of his stern gaze and calloused hands feeling up your bare bottom. His gloved thumbs pressed into your rear, his amber eyes trained on every piece of you from the waist down which was making you nervous as hell.

Miguel eyed you, taking in your troubled expression as you lay upon his tattoo chair. Your bare bottom, covered in a black towel and your chin resting on your hands.

“Let me relax you.”

He abruptly said in almost a commanding voice rather than as a proposition. His suggestion made your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t help the naughty thoughts that came to your mind at the thought of him ‘relaxing’ you.

"And h-how would you do that?" You asked, watching him rise from his stool, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you.

"I'm going to give you a massage."

He declared. Your eyebrows furrowed at the unexpected proposal, your entire body suddenly heating up. "I've never heard of a tattoo parlor doing something like that." You admitted, feeling him adjust the chair's height to match his towering 7-foot frame, bringing the seat up to his waist.

"That's because you've never been to the Bloody Inks before," he said, a hint of amusement found in a usual cold voice. "There's a reason we're notorious in Nueva York, Y/N " he explained. "If we did what every other parlor did, we'd be just like any other tattoo shop…

Isn’t that right?”

He whispered, his voice sending shivers down your back. “I-I guess so.” You replied as without warning you began to feel his thick fingers on your shoulders, caressing small patterns into your blades. You gasped, the feeling instantly making you melt into the chair.

“You okay?” He asked, every touch of his thick fingers against your tensed muscles making you shudder. “Mhm.” The hum being pulled from your very being and coming out more forceful than you attended whilst Miguel continued his massage.

Miguel’s tattooed hands were large and strong, tracing the contours of your muscles and pressing gently into them. Suddenly, you winced slightly, the tension resisting his skilled touch. “Relax,” He uttered, his voice a low rumble that reverberated from the depth of his broad chest. You shakingly nodded, eyes fluttering closed at the wonderful sensations. “O-Okay. I’ll try.” You replied, trying to calm yourself.

You shakingly exhaled, feeling Miguel’s hands move down your back, his soothing caresses focusing on the crease that began the arch of your ass.

“Damn, there's a lot of tension here.” He commented, adding more pressure into his fingers and kneading the soft tissue in that area. You let out a contented sigh, his large hands enclosing around the sides of your waist. His thumbs pressed into your skin through the fabric of your white t-shirt, rubbing small patterns into your lower back. You groaned softly, the sensations he was bringing to you felt so good.

His touch, mysteriousness, voice, coldness, everything about him was so hot.

His fingers soothing places in your back that you didn’t even know existed, bringing you closer to tranquility.

“How do you feel?” He asked, pressing and running his palm along the center of your back, making you shiver. You exhaled deeply, your limbs feeling heavy and relaxed. “Mmm, good. It feels good.” You replied with closed eyes.

“That’s good to hear.” He said, his hands leaving your body.

“But I can’t help but notice you are still tense.”

Miguel said, making your eyebrows furrow as a sense of emptiness filled your being without his touch.

“W-what do you mean?” You inquired, entirely puzzled. You didn’t feel a single bit of tension in your backside. A feeling of pure relaxation filled your being, leaving you confused about what he meant by such things.

But it wasn’t like you were skilled as a masseuse yourself, so you could be mistaken.

“Yes, you are still tensed.” He uttered, running his fingers along the center of your backside, over the curve of your ass to rest a hand on your rear that was covered in the black towel.

“Here, it needs my attention.”

You were shocked and in disbelief, instantly becoming speechless; but despite your bewilderment, Miguel continued talking. “It’ll only make sense to massage where I'll be working. It’ll help loosen the muscles of your rear, making tattooing it less painful.” He explained, but it still didn’t stop the huge blush that spread across your face. You didn’t know how to respond, stuck between your own uncertainties and desires.

“T-this will be… beneficial?” You asked shakingly, trying to push past the naughty and erotic things that were filling your head. Miguel hummed. “Yes, I’ll be tattooing your left buttock, so it’ll help make the tattoo process smoother…

For you, I mean.”

You bit your lip. The butterflies, going rampant in your stomach. You didn’t know what to do or what to say, but then the realization that he was going to have to see and touch your bottom anyway when the actual inking process began led you to put your worries to the side and agree.

“No. I don’t mind.” You said, thankful that Miguel couldn’t see how red you were due to your face being away from him. Miguel hummed, his previous touch seeming to linger upon your skin.

“I’ll have to remove the towel. You okay with that?” He asked, which made your heart skip a beat. You shakingly exhaled, nodding. “Yes.”

You felt him lift the black towel from your bottom, the cool air rushing over your bare rear. You sucked in a breath as before, Miguel didn’t warn you, his warm hands groping your cheeks and instantly beginning to knead the fat of your ass.

This time, the sensations were different.

On your backside, the massage was more relaxing and tranquil, but on your rear, it felt more personal, more…

Intimate.

His touch made you feel pleasure beyond anything…

You bit your bottom lip harshly, trying to muffle the erotic cries that wished to escape whilst Miguel’s calloused hands worked wonders on your rear. His fingers pressed firmly into your left cheek, squeezing the fat before moving along the sides. It was a process that you pondered if it was professional or not, but it wasn’t like you cared.

His fingers knead into your soft flesh, like dough, making you see stars every single time. You were slowly becoming wet, your arousal spilling from your exposed sex to gradually coat your thighs and drench the gray towels underneath you.

The massage was good.

Dangerously too good…

A sudden moan broke free, filling the tattoo room when he roughly groped both of your cheeks in his large hands, spreading them apart. You instantly blushed horribly, embarrassed beyond anything.

“O-Oh my gosh, I-I’m so sorry.” You briskly replied, wanting nothing more than to hide. You didn’t know how the hell Miguel would react.

Would he cease his wonderful massage?

Tell you to leave?

Would things get hella awkward now?

You felt like a complete idiot, mentally facepalming yourself for giving into the pleasure of a total stranger.

But to your surprise, Miguel did something you weren’t expecting.

He chuckled.

For the first time since you met the menacing and large Latino artist, he showed an emotion that didn’t make you feel so freaking intimidated. The sound of the small, deep laughter that passed his lips was honestly breathtaking, and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

“No need to apologize.” He replied, drawing your attention back to him and his wonderful massage. His touch on your rear became more soft and gentle like he was taking his time with you.

“It just shows I’m providing you what your body needs.” He replied, moving his hands onto your thighs, caressing them with his thumbs before running his hands up to fully cup your asscheeks into his hands. You moaned softly, your body instinctively arching up into his waiting palms. Miguel snickered, giving your ass another squeeze when everything stopped.

His movement on your rear ceased, his small laughs, movement, everything!

You lay there, waiting for anything to happen when you suddenly felt his pierced lips against your ear.

“Let’s drop the act, Cariño.”

He whispered, his breath warm on your face and his piercings, cold against your skin. Your heart dropped, and your body instantly became hot.

You tried to speak, to deny what he was saying, but your quivering lips wouldn’t form the words.

He snickered at your speechlessness and how flustered you were, the sound sending tingles throughout your entire being and going straight to your throbbing core.

“Let me relax you how we both desire, Y/N.”

He hummed, resuming his touch on your rear, but this time it was different. It was purposefully more erotic. He gave your bottom a sensual squeeze with one hand, his other moving up to stroke your hair.

You couldn’t believe this was happening.

It felt surreal.

Something you'll fantasize about your sexy tattooist…

But Miguel’s fingers running through your hair, massaging your scalp whilst continuing to tease and knead your right asscheek with his fingers made you think otherwise.

You were speechless yet again. You didn’t know how to respond, but your body was doing the speaking for you.

Your juices dripping down your thighs and soaking the gray towels under you, spoke volumes on its own. You shakingly exhaled, trying to calm your excitement.

Miguel chuckled, his fingers continuing their tantalizing play on your rear, tempting and taunting you to give in to the sexy artist.

You bit your lip harshly, eyes fluttering as he, teasingly, brushed his thumb across your slick folds. You gasped at his attempt to entice you more.

“Mmm, you are soaking, Muneca.” He growled against your ear, his lip rings brushing your lobe and making you shudder. He sucked in a breath, running his fingers up and down your slick folds, coating his digits in your never-ending arousal. He groaned at your wetness, cupping your mound, to circle his two fingers around your sensitive bud. You moaned helplessly, trembling with pleasure.

“Muneca, you want this, just as much as I do.” He uttered, pressing his fingers more against your throbbing bud, eliciting a cry to escape your lips and making you wetter.

“Let me relax you.” He whispered, his deep voice filled with desire as he removed his hands to place them on your hips, caressing gentle circles against your sides.

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

He proposed once again. His words alone made your stomach clench in want. The gray towels underneath you completely soak with your arousal.

You couldn't stop yourself. The desire blinded you as your head slowly nods at his erotic proposition.

“P-Please.” You practically begged; voice tainted with desperation for more of him. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk against your ear.

“Good girl, Y/N.” He praised, nipping softly at your ear before pulling away. His touch left you cold and empty.

“On your knees. Ass up.”

He commanded, his coldness resurfacing right before your eyes. His sternness was even more attractive and made your core throb in anticipation.

You bit your lip, lust blinding your every action, thought, and word as you rose on the tattoo chair. As he instructed, you stood up on your knees and forearms with your ass thrust up into the air.

The cool air continuously brushed along your heated core, making your breathing hitch every time. The position gave him a full display of your wet folds and the gradual drip of your arousal down your thighs. The sight alone revealed your evident desire for him which made you excited, but also ashamed.

This sexy stranger was intimidating, scary, and someone you would, normally, never align yourself with.

So what was different about him that had you practically soaking his chair?

In your peripherals, you saw Miguel move. The mere motion snapped you out of your thoughts as his massive being disappeared from view. Instantly, you became anxious, oblivious to his next actions.

A sexy groan escaped his lips, feeling his amber eyes trained on your exposed sensitive area. “That's a pretty pussy you got that.” He purred, making you blush horribly. You buried your face into your inner elbow, embarrassed for liking the compliment from someone as sexy as him.

Miguel chuckled. “Does someone like my praises? You are a naughty one, Cariño.”

He snickered. Your face, reddening even more. His fingers continued their dance along the skin of your ass, your breathing becoming more shaky and your body burning hot.

His words and touch alone were enough to make you lose control. Beads of your essence running down your thighs.

“Cariño, I've only known you for about 30 minutes, yet, there is something about you that fascinates me. Something that I love so very fucking much….

Want to know what that is?”

He asked, his voice deep and husky, yet sending a shiver down your spine; his fingers ghosting along your skin. “Y-Yes.” You shakingly inquired, curious about his answer, but also anxious for him to cease his teasing and touch you.

He chuckled at your cluelessness, running his nails along your bare rear making you shiver.

“I love that despite your obvious hesitance and, dare I say, fear, you give into your wants, Muñeca

Your desires.”

He uttered, the pads of his fingers barely touching you, but forming goosebumps, everywhere along your skin.

“I-I don't understand.” You breathlessly and honestly replied, trying your hardest to look over your shoulder at the large male but failing every time.

“You don't understand, bebé?” He purred, his fingers leaving your bottom. “Then let me turn those gears in that sexy head of yours.” He whispered, his heavy footfalls slowly walking to stand in front of you. You gulped, glancing up to see him right before you, the growing bulge in his black jeans being the main attraction.

“You come into my shop for an ass tat, yet you were nervous as hell to get it.” He acknowledged. “But despite your nerves, here you are on my chair with that sexy ass all ready for me." He said with a smirk. His hand moved to run through your hair, massaging your scalp with the pads of his fingers once more.

Your eyes fluttered, sinking more into the soft leather, your rear rising. “And even now, I intimidate you, don't I, Cariño?” He asked, his male cologne and the faint scent of cigarette smoke filling your nose, increasing your desire for him.

Regardless of your lust, Miguel did intimidate you. His massive body, bulging muscles, stern-drawn face, tattoos, lip rings, and cold aura made you nervous around him.

That you couldn't lie about...

“Y-yes. You do.” You confessed, eliciting a deep hum from Miguel. “Yet, you are giving yourself to me.” He whispered, moving his hand from your hair to take your chin into his calloused fingers. He turned you to look up at him, your eyes darting to take in his chiseled cheeks, massive neck tattoo, enticing rings on his plush lips, smoldering amber eyes, and dark brown hair that loomed over his eyes.

He smirked, his canines peeking out from his lips. “You are delivering yourself to me on a silver platter, Y/N.” He rasped, caressing your chin and holding your stunned gaze before pulling away. You were left breathless, gasping for air, you didn't know you were holding.

You tried to track him, his huge, menacing form returning behind you and out of your sight. “So love, despite your worries, reluctance, and inner thoughts telling you to stop and turn back.

If you desire something, you go through with it...”

Your eyebrows furrowed. You wondered if Miguel's observation of you was correct.

Were you the type to follow your desires, even though everything in you was telling you otherwise?

You pondered, if the sexy stranger was right, despite only knowing you for a short time.

But that thought soon became nothing but mush in your brain when his sudden grip on your asscheeks made your entire mind go blank. As if dipped in warmth, your body instantly melted like chocolate under his fingertips, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Miguel hummed, his breath brushing along your heated core, only making you wetter.

“And I love a woman that knows what she wants,” He uttered, pressing a kiss to your left ass cheek, making you gasp,

“What she needs…” He whispered, pressing another kiss to your other eliciting another soft moan from you.

“I can tell you are going to be tasty…”

He rasped before finally giving you what you desired and swiping his tongue along your folds.

You cried out, slumping against the tattoo chair whilst Miguel licked at your rear. He groaned, squeezing your ass and pressing his face more into your bottom, licking, sucking and completely devouring you.

You moaned uncontrollably, gripping the leather seat tightly. “O-Oh gosh.” You whimpered as Miguel continued his pleasurable assault, running his skillful hands up and down your spine, brushing your shirt up to feel more of your skin. You were becoming hot and increasingly wet, your love juices spilling from your entrance to be swallowed by Miguel’s eager mouth.

With every suction of his lips and the swipe of his tongue, it made your mind complete mush, time and space becoming non-existent. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He groaned, sloppily ravaging your core, and fucking you with his tongue.

The tattoo room was filled with your whines and whimpers, Miguel’s low groans, and the squelching of your wet pussy. Your entire body was clenching and squirming the closer you got to that sweet end.

Like his hands, Miguel’s mouth worked wonders on you. His tongue moved rapidly across your pussy, seeming to be everywhere at once. Swirling your throbbing bud, thrusting into your entrance, and lapping your delicate pussy lips. a

When it came too much to bear, Miguel held you close, preventing you from moving away from him. It only made you tremble, the pleasure consuming your entire being.

“M-Miguel, I-I’m close.” You cried out, pressing your face into the tattoo chair. He hummed, the vibrations rumbling through you and making your stomach tighten even more. “You want to cum, pretty girl?” He chuckled, moving from your desired spot to kiss along the skin of your bottom. His hooped, lip rings brushed along the skin of your ass and made you even more wetter.

You moaned softly, frantically nodding. “Yes, yes. Please, Miguel.” You whined, wanting him to bring you to your release. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk. He pressed a kiss to your right cheek before returning his skilled mouth to your puffy pussy lips once more.

You gasped loudly, his tongue darting erratically along your dripping folds. The feeling was more extreme than ever before as he continued, tugging and lapping at your sweet pussy.

You were so wet, your thighs dripping with your arousal like a relentless rain, its non-stop downpour completely soaking your legs and the gray towels underneath you. You gritted your teeth, the burning in the pit of your stomach becoming too much to bear, begging for a release.

Everything felt so good, you wanted to hold on, to feel more of Miguel’s tongue and hands that roamed your body, caressing you in ways that increased the pleasure by 10-fold;

But you just couldn’t…

With a loud cry, you climaxed hard onto his waiting mouth. Your vision saw white, eyes rolling as your sticky juices covered his pierced lips and ran down your legs. Miguel groaned in pleasure, gripping your cheeks harshly, widening you and licking you clean, whispering, 'So good. Such a good girl for me,’ over and over again.

It was like music to your ears.

Your eyes fluttered as he finished; tugging away from your pussy lips with a wet plop. You were dazed, falling flat against the tattoo chair, and trying to calm your breathing and come down from your epic high.

Faintly, you could hear Miguel’s boots against the black marble flooring, moving around to stand beside you, coming into view once more.

With glazed eyes, you looked over at him, breathing heavily. His chin and pierced lips were completely covered in your arousal. Like a king who had just feasted on a buffet fit for royalty, he used his fingers to wipe it off in satisfaction. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He praised again with a smirk. Your entire body and face flushed at his erotic compliment. You were speechless, not at all knowing how to respond.

For a moment you just stared up at him, still trying to figure out if what just happened, happened.

His amber eyes roamed over your form once more, lingering on your bare rear longer than anything else. He growled, stepping closer once more. “But don’t think we’re done here, Muñeca.”

“I want more.

Just one more taste”

He uttered, the words surprising you, but not as surprising as what he did next…

Everything was a blur, his large being moved so quickly it was hard to follow, especially in your dazed state.

You soon found him underneath you on the tattoo chair, his massive body laying under you and your puffy pussy lips right over his waiting mouth. His large hands roughly groping your rear, and holding you tightly in place.

Certainly, you wouldn't be able to get out of his hold, even if you tried.

You gulped, staring down at him between your thighs in shock. Your mind, not keeping up fast enough. “M-Miguel, w-what-”

“Let me relax you, chica.”

He cut you off, gripping your ass in his large, inked hands and pushing you down onto his mouth once more. You cried out, his mouth even more intense than ever.

Your eyes fluttered and rolled as his tongue circled your clit, teasingly applying more pressure and making you whine. Your fingers, instinctively, found his dark brown hair, gripping and tugging at the chocolate strands and making Miguel groan.

He caressed your bottom with his large, calloused hands, sucking at your sensitive bud with his hot, wet mouth, expertly flicking it. You moaned helplessly. “M-Miguel, g-gosh. It feels so good.” You cried out, instinctively, grinding your hips against his mouth, chasing another steady rising climax. Miguel's eyes fluttered close, savoring your taste on his tongue as he lapped and sucked at your sticky folds.

Your breathing quickened, his piercings grazing against your sensitive skin with every lap of his tongue against your entrance. You were slowly losing it, feeling him gradually ease his tongue inside of you before thrusting you repeatedly with the wet muscle.

You moaned loudly, rutting your hips and continuously brushing his nose into your clit, his tongue continuing its torment. A strangled moan erupted from your throat, the pleasure becoming too much. You shook uncontrollably, gripping his hair tightly and squirming on his mouth.

“A-Ahh, Miguel, I-I can’t-” You tried moving off, but Miguel firmly held you down on his mouth, his tongue, darting in and out of your entrance, fucking you with his warm, wet muscle.

The familiar feeling of scorching heat began to rise in your stomach. You gritted your teeth, his metal ringed, lip piercings brushing against your pussy lips with each suckle. He reached around, parting your lips and sticking his tongue deeply into your opening, messily lapping and sucking you.

Your love juices soaked his lips and chin to be sloppily devoured by Miguel. The room was filled with the erotic sounds of your pussy’s squelches. Silent moans passed your lips, as your head limply fell back to be caught by Miguel’s large hand.

He took your chin in his tattooed finger, pulling you back down towards him. He moved his mouth from your heated core as his intense dark eyes met yours. “I want your eyes on me.” He said, his breathing rather stable, despite almost drowning in your pussy for what felt like an hour. His tattooed hand caressed your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I want to see you cum, Muñeca .” He whispered, pressing kisses along your inner thighs and nipping softly. You bit your lip, a soft moan passing your lips at his pecks. You weakly nodded, almost completely dazed.

He smirked, pressing a long searing kiss to your thigh. “Hmm, good girl.” He uttered parting your pussy lips with two thick fingers and attacking your swollen clit once more. It took everything in you to keep his intense gaze. His dark brown eyes stared intently back at you whilst his tongue and lips moved in a frenzy along your pussy.

Your body trembled horribly, fingers gripping his hair tightly to stabilize yourself.

“M-Miguel.” You whined his name over and over again. The desire to tell him of your reached peak was on the tip of your tongue, but the pleasure was too overwhelming; leaving you unable to say such a thing as your release unexpectedly slammed into you.

With a loud strangled moan, you orgasmed for the second time.

Your body shook uncontrollably as your thighs squeezed around Miguel tightly. Your juices gushed out onto his eager mouth whilst a sensation of pure bliss sprouted throughout your being.

Your eyes rolled as silent and breathy moans busted from the depth of your chest. Miguel didn’t cease his torment, continuing to suckle on your puffy pussy lips, swallowing all of your sweet nectar. His lips and chin were completely drenched in a mixture of saliva and your love juices, but it didn’t seem as if the massive tattooist cared.

Until he was satisfied, Miguel continued to slurp messily at you. You were highly sensitive, squirming on his mouth and whimpering uncontrollably as he held you down with a firm grip on your thighs. When his thirst was satiated, you were relieved to hear a deep hum of delight escape his glistening lips and soon feel him effortlessly lift you from his mouth to rest your bare bottom on his clothed chest.

You were breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath. When you finally came down from your high, you glanced up to see his dark eyes peering back at you. His gaze was intense and stern as always, but your attention instantly went down to his mouth and the mess you’ve made upon it.

His tanned lips and piercings glistened with your arousal. Your essence dripping down to coat the entirety of his chin. Your entire face burned up at the sight.

“Oh my gosh, I’m s-so sorry.” You hastily apologized, still a little jittery from your explosive orgasm. You reached over to grab the black towel that was left discarded on his stool to try to clean him up.

“Don’t.”

He simply stated, capturing your wrist in his large hand to halt your movement. Your eyebrows furrowed, watching him take the towel from you and toss it to the side.

You were confused, your eyes taking in his mouth and chin that was still covered in your juices. His pierced lips pulled into a smirk, his hands moving to caress your bare ass.

“I want to taste all of it, Muñeca. I'm not letting none of you go to waste…”

For the next hour or so, the room was filled with the buzzing of a tattoo gun and Miguel’s deep voice occasionally trying to soothe you.

“Beautiful Muñeca. You are doing well.”

“I promise you, this rose will look good on you when I’m done.”

“Just a little longer, I’m almost finished.”

He whispered, his gloved fingers pressing into your flesh as he applied the last finishing strokes of black ink onto the rose on your rear. You bit your lip harshly, gripping the leather cushion when finally, the buzzing of the tattoo gun ceased. The needle, no longer, harshly pricking of your sensitive skin.

“I’m finished, Muñeca.” He said, placing the gun to the side and soothingly, caressing your waist. You exhaled a sigh of relief, your eyes a little teary.

“You did well, Cariño.” He praised once more, proceeding to clean the tattoo, applying an antiseptic ointment and covering it, all whilst speaking to you.

“Although, you’ve surprised me.” He said with a chuckle. “I thought you’d become a crying little mess on my chair.” He teased, making the two of you laugh. “I won’t lie, I thought so too.” You confessed, feeling him finish up putting a protective sterile bandage over your freshly inked tattoo.

“I wouldn’t have let that happen on my watch.” He said with a smirk, motioning to you with a finger for you to stand up. “Carefully.” He sternly said, giving you a pointed look. His voice had its usual coldness but also held a hint of affection in his tone.

That maybe the sexy tattooist might actually care about you.

You gave him a small smile, watching him begin to pack up his tattoo items and place them back into his closet. You followed Miguel’s words, cautiously rising up and off of the chair. You winced softly, your left cheek a little sore.

You walked over to the body mirror in Miguel’s tattoo room, turning around to admire the fresh inking on your rear through its sterile bandage.

It was beautiful…

Just like you thought.

The black rose was wonderfully sketched and etched onto your rear end. Its petals, pistils, and leaves, were all defined perfectly and coated the entirety of your left cheek.

You couldn’t stop looking at it, finding something else about it that you loved.

Large hands settled on your waist, snapping your attention from your tattooed bottom to up at the hot male through the mirror. He smirked, meeting your gaze through the glass. “It’s sexy, isn’t it?” He asked, caressing your sides as you smiled, nodding.

“You did really well, Miguel.” You complimented, both of your eyes, taking in the intricate linings of the rose on your rear. “I’m happy you like it.” He said, cupping your chin in his fingers to turn you to look up at him.

“But make sure you properly treat it every day. I’ll send you a list of aftercare instructions.” He said, his amber eyes taking in your face whilst he spoke. You bit your lip, nodding. “I will.” You replied. He smirked, glancing down at your lips before meeting your eyes once more.

“Good, now kiss me.” He said in his cold tone, but his amber eyes held a look of fondness in them. You smiled, cupping his face in your hands and leaning in to press your lips against his.

You moaned softly upon the impact, his metal lip rings, smooth and cold, only making the kiss even hotter. You passionately kissed his lips, savoring the feeling of his lip rings and the taste of his plush lips against your own.

When the two of you pulled away, breathing heavily from the heated exchange, he smirked, squeezing your waist before stepping back. “I hate to tell you this, but I have a client in the next 10 minutes.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll see you next time, Muñeca, for your check-up.” He smirked, handing you a business card with his contacts and the address of the Bloody Inks on it.

You smiled, taking the card from him, your hands touching during the small interaction that sent a spark straight through your being.

You couldn’t help but wonder if Miguel felt it too…

There was an unmistakable pull that was drawing you towards him. You didn’t want to leave him, despite only meeting him that day.

The desire to snuggle up in his muscular arms, to feel his touch on you once more was overwhelming, but he was right.

It was time for you to depart…

So after carefully getting dressed back into your panties and black shorts, you pressed one final kiss upon the sexy tattooist’s pierced lips. The kiss oddly felt unending, but not long enough when you finally pulled away from each other, leaving you, even more, hungrier for him than before.

You exited out of his room, walking through the tattoo space of the shared artists of Gwen and Hobie who thanked you for coming, to then leave the tattoo parlor altogether.

You walked down the sidewalk, feeling like a completely different person. You twirled the business card that Miguel gave you in between your fingers. A feeling of bursting adoration for the beautiful inking that adorned your left cheek, knowing it was created by the sexy tattooist.

To you, the stunning piece of art wasn’t just a tattoo.

No…

It was the marking of a memory of a day when a serious, cold, sexy, and dedicated artist came into your life, revealing a different side of yourself- a daring, more confident side that would forever be engraved in your mind.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel excited to see the sexy tattooist again, anxious for all the fun you and Miguel would get up to on your next visit to the Bloody Inks…

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed 'The Black Rose.' Make sure to like, comment, follow, and reblog!! Love you guys!

<3 Taglist:

@oscarissac2099 @powerful-niya @szapizzapanda @mcmiracles @mreowmoreww @thedevax @jadeloverxd @lazyotakuofficial @migueloharacumslut @nattywattyy @homewreckingwreck @kinkybandages

#miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse #the blue panther #miguel ohara #miguel #miguel smut #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x fem!reader #miguel o hara #atsv miguel #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #spiderman 2099 #astv miguel #miguel x you #miguel x reader smut

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daenysthedreamersblog · 3 months

Text

STRANGERS III - 'THANK YOU MR. PRESIDENT, SIR'

I’m happier here cause he told me i should be

You’re so handsome when i’m all over your mouth

part one & two here

summary: you hate president snow, hate him and his stupid ugly roses, but he might be the only one who can save you from the man buying your virtue.

pairing: president!snow x district6!reader

warnings: MDNI!! swearing, slapping, choking, manipulation/coercion, power imbalance, slight dubcon, smut, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex, fingering, BLOOD!, slight somophilia, breeding kink, let me know if i forgot anything!

notes: alexa play 'stockholm syndrome' by one direction. (jk strangers by ethel cain)

He didn't come at night, nor the rest of the week. He left you alone in the large guest room to sit frightened in a queen size bed. After a few days you walked the grounds, the gardens and greenhouse once more, no sign you had ever been in there. You walked around his large empty home, no children, no wife. So quiet. Except for the servants flittering through occasionally.

You assumed he had finally forgotten about you, time had moved on and so had he.

Until the stylist came.

You were crying before they even started working on you knowing what this meant. Knowing what was awaiting you downstairs.

"It will be over quickly my dear," They hushed you trying to put the makeup on. "Just hush no-!"

"Just get her a damn drink!" The other snapped.

Soon enough a small glass appeared in front of you with brown liquid filling half the cup. You drained it peering up at them with blurry eyes and burning lungs, "Will it hurt?” You knew it would, you were stalling.

She smiled, it was fake. "No." A lie. You only held out your glass for them to fill finally letting them prepare you for slaughter. They allowed you one more drink before getting you ready

It was another white floor length gown. Thin straps covered your shoulders, the skirt was covered in a sheer tulle material littered with white roses. They had done your hair up stray pieces falling prettily across your face. A neutral shade on your lids, a pretty pink gloss on your lips. They sprayed a heavy scented perfume across your body, spread some sort of glitter onto parts of you skin.

No underwear. They had refused to let you put them on per the president's orders.

"Tigris." You pleaded. "Where is she? May I see her before you take me?" She wanted to help you before, maybe not enough, but she had tried to talk to him.

They shared a look, the middle one speaking, "She's not allowed to work on you anymore." Your heart sank.

Then they were walking you out of the room.

You wondered who would be punished if you fought back, if the peacekeepers would gun you down as you sprinted across his lawn. You dug your nails into your palms as they walked you to the dinning room basically pushing you through the door. You stumbled slightly inside catching yourself on the large door before glancing up. He was slightly upset, but his eyes softened just a little when they took you in. His picture of innocence and beauty, his perfect white rose in a thorny garden.

He looked handsome, beautiful even in a deep red suit, white rose pinned to the front. His perfect blond hair sat styled atop his head, no stray piece in sight, piercing blue eyes gazing down to your morrow. He sat straight, commanding the room simply by existing in it. Your heart thumped roughly as if you were staring at a saving grace and you longed to be near him if only to stay away from the other man in the room.

Your buyer was smiling at you once you took your seat. The room was larger than the other, a long table stretched out filled with empty plate settings and various floral arrangements (mostly hideous white roses that filled the room with their stench). A large chandelier and various wall lights illuminated the room in a warm glow. "You look exquisite." The man held up his glass.

You smiled gently raising your own glass and downing it. You expected to be reprimanded, but maybe they thought it best if you were wasted and willing. Did Snow tell him? No that would ruin the image he was trying to present to his bidders. You held out your glass for a refill.

Dinner was four courses and once again no body spoke to you thankfully. They let you drown in you cups as they spoke about politics, the games, the animals in the districts. Music was playing softly in the background and you drowned them out while pushing food around your plate.

"Eat." Snow's voice cut through your dissociating. It was the third course and you were already borderline stuffed opting to fill yourself with wine instead of substance and you were consuming more than normal not feeling the effects of it just yet. You opened your mouth to explain, but he narrowed his eyes at you.

So, you ate. The man chuckled, "You've got that one trained well Snow."

Snow chuckled as well, "I can't take all the credit, she came that way." Like you had arrived in a crate just for him.

He glanced across at you, “How did you learn those manners out in 6?”

You looked at Snow, then back to the man, setting your utensils down to let your hands fall in your lap. “My parents.” He furrowed his brows at you. You forget sometimes, how lowly they viewed people from the districts, how confusing it must be to learn they aren’t all savages…for the most part. “My grandfather ran a tight ship, so did my father.” It was the simplest form of the story.

“Hmm.” He chewed on his food, swallowed, and spoke again. “And your father? What does he do?”

You fought the quivering sigh, “He's a mechanic of sorts, helps put together anything that comes back broken or malfunctioning.”

The man chuckled, “And he likes what he does?”

“I think so,” Your face burned feeling as if he was mocking you somehow, looking down at you.

He only smirked swirling around his drink as his attention turned to President Snow, “I heard they have a huge morphling problem out in 6.” You knew that, had seen it when you turned down a wrong street. You stopped listening as the conversation turned away from you. You missed your father, missed the smell of oil on him when he came home, missed how he used to put you on his shoulder when you were little to see the hovercrafts take off. You were forgetting that smell, smoke and oil that coated the air sometimes, now the air sat thick with the scent of roses.

That life was gone now, killed in the arena.

You drank more, you forced yourself to eat to avoid them talking to you anymore and when the man had thrown his napkin down letting you know the dinner was finished you wanted to puke everything up again.

You had your hands folded in my lap picking at your cuticles until pain pricked, blood blossoming up like a rose. You brought it to your mouth hearing Snow's chair screech backwards, "If I may?" He held out his hand for you which you took greedily, “How does a nightcap sound.” He wasn’t talking to you.

“Always Snow.” So informal. “What’s mine is yours.” He joked standing up to follow as Snow led the three of you wherever he wanted to go.

You glanced up at him, and he met you half-way with a sidelong stare. You wanted to beg him, plead with him to not go through with this. You hoped he could see the worry in your eyes, but he looked away. He stopped at a door down the hall pushing it open and pulling you inside. It seemed to be an office or study. A large dark wooden desk, books lining shelves against one wall, a small hearth, two armchairs and small table between them with a love-seat across it, and a makeshift bar with various colored liquor in glass decanters.

He sat you on the elegant love seat and went to the bar. You sat up straight, sucking the blood off your finger again before it got on your dress as you watched the man take up one of the armchair seats. He handed the man a drink, one in his hand, and sat down next to you. He didn’t give an explanation to why you didn’t get one, probably thought it best after drinking so much through dinner despite the fact you felt completely sober. You blamed all the food he forced you to eat.

“She’s not going to kill me once we’re alone right?” The man lowered his voice as if you weren't in the room.

“No,” Snow chuckled. “She’s completely docile.” He reached over to grab your hand. “Would you like me to be in the room just in case?” You involuntarily squeezed his hand feeling his thumb caress your knuckles in response.

The man shook his head unaware of the movement. “That’s alright. Will there be ways to…subdue her if it comes to it?”

“Yes of course,” Snow smiled. You body went cold. “I’ve prepared a room for the two of you…with supplies, and we’ll have guards close by.” You glanced at the man watching you, finding solace in Snow's warmth radiating onto you.

He seemed suspicious of you, “Are you sure she’s a virgin?”

“Yes.” You wanted cry out that you weren’t just to make him leave. But then he may find someone worse, someone perhaps crueler than this man could be. Snow had promised to pick out someone you would like, but you weren’t sure what the criteria had truly been. You didn’t realize you were crying until water landed on your wrist.

"Please don't let him do this to me." You whispered.

Snow’s blue eyes met yours satisfied with your emotions, and then he reached out to stroke a palm down your cheek. You nearly leaned into the touch if it meant you could get away from another, “She’s a good girl.” He looked at the man, “She’ll behave.” Blood ran down your finger from the small cut and he brought it up to his mouth sucking it slightly, “Isn’t that right?”

The man set down his glass loudly. “Well, thank you for the lovely meal President Snow.” He was standing up, and you were gripping Snow’s hand even tighter.

He shook it off, patted your thigh, and stood up as well. “A toast first, for a wonderful evening, and another successful game.” He walked passed the man, who was looking at you, while you stared after Snow. Your heart was thumping loudly in your throat, bile rising with each short breath.

His back went straighter as he glanced over his shoulder at you, his eyes narrowed in on your face, at the water welled in your eyes, at the blood still slowly dripping from the tip of your finger. Then he turned back to pour the drinks. He handed one to the man, "To victory." He clinked their glasses watching with dark eyes over the rim of his glass as they drank.

The man took a deep breath as he finished and handed his glass back offering Snow a polite smile, "I think we will retire for the rest of the night.”

“Of course,” Snow nodded. He motioned to the door, “Your room is right down the hall.”

The man’s hand wrapped around your bicep. "Please." You begged. "Please Mr. President!" He only watched you with cold eyes. "I'll be good! I'll be good for you!” Your buyer gripped you harder, dragging you away a litter rougher this time. You stumbled over your shoes, the dress, feeling him grapple with you to keep moving.

“Behave,” He hissed. “Like he told you.”

You wrangled within his grip. What had Tigris called him that day, what did she say; you squeezed your eyes trying to remember, losing your footing completely and letting the man drag you through the door.

He's possessive.

Your eyes snapped open meeting his, "Coriolanus." The room stopped moving, nobody breathed as your eyes widened with the plea, as your other hand outstretched for him. "I'm your good girl, don't let him take me from you."

The door closed in your face as he dragged you down the hall. It was quiet now all you could hear were your ragged breaths, his grunts as he dragged your fighting body to the room. He pushed open the door and you realized they truly had set it up so nicely for him. There were candles and atrocious red rose petals, a white silk nightgown to put you in if he wished. “Put it on.” His voice was cold and distant. You stared at him watching him glance up and down at you, and then he sighed. “I paid a lot of money for you. Don’t make me hurt you.”

You shook your head.

He shoved you onto the bed. “You’re so fucking sweet to him.” He began to unbuckle his belt. “Probably lap him up like he's sweet fucking cream.” This was it, you thought for a second staring at the ceiling. Then you fought back. You clawed at him feeling his skin breaking, you bit and kicked as he rustled with the skirt of your dress until you slashed him across the face with sharp painted nails. “Ugh!" He groaned gripping his bleeding face. “Do I have to fucking go get him so you stop fighting me!” You stilled, giving yourself away completely, and he straightened on top of you. “He’s a fucking liar.” His eyes grew vicious. “And you’re a fucking whore! I knew it, I thought I saw something strange going on. He’s fucking you isn’t he? Isn’t he!” He slapped you across the face, your head snapping to the side, cheek stinging with the blow. “You probably want him to come in, save you, con me out of my money.” He pinned down your hands as he pushed up your dress. “Tell him I want it back. I paid for a virgin, not his slut.”

One moment he was planting himself between your legs, the next, blood dripped onto your face. One drop, then a splatter as his nose leaked red liquid. He reached up to touch it, confused, and then he collapsed on top of you. He wasn't breathing, he wasn't moving, dead weight atop of you. Your hands were up, too shocked to scream out for someone, too confused at the dead man lying on top of you.

Weight was soon lifted off of you and a loud thud hit the floor, but you couldn't look, couldn't look as you heard them dragging his body out of the room. You couldn't look at anything but the space above you until he was hovering over you a sly smirk on his lips, "You are full of surprises bluebell.” He scooped you in his arms and carried you away from the room. You knew you were shaking, you knew you should be scared as he walked with you away, alone. He walked you up a set of stairs and down a long hallway finally opening up a door to set you on your feet.

He closed the door, locked you in with him.

"Did you mean it?" He whispered, his voice husky. "That you'll be good for me." Your mouth dried, but what did you expect when he came rushing into that room. It wasn't because he cared; it was because someone was touching his property. "That you don't want anyone to take you away from me.” Your eyes went wild, that wasn’t exactly what you had said. “You wanted me to save you, I saw it in your eyes. You wanted me, not him. You squeezed my hand. You begged me, and I saved you.”

You slowly looked up at him. “Did you kill him.”

He came closer, "You think I would really let him take what's mine.” His hand came around you, fingers pulling down the zipper of your dress. "You cried out for me that night. Screamed my name as I made you come over, and over, and over, and over again. Your pussy adores me, needs me, sucks me in like its starving, to be filled, be claimed." He smiled down at you, "It's mine, you're mine. You belong to me…and deep down you like that.”

You couldn’t look away from his face, "I didn't know your name."

But you did. Tigris had shot it through the room like a stray bullet when he forced himself on you. It ingrained into your subconscious and when he was fucking you with his tongue it had fell off your lips like sweet honey. Then you had called it out tonight…

Your body seemed to warm at the memory as you tumbled right into his awaiting palm. “Kiss me.” He whispered. He pushed the sleeves of the dress off your shoulders, not letting it move further. You did. It fell to the floor in a heap leaving you bare in front of him. His hand trailed down your naked body lightly tracing the curve of your spine to the top of your ass his hand splaying to grip the whole thing. “Kiss me.” His mouth lingered over yours a slight smile to it, "I know you want to, you like when I kiss you, you get so wet when we kiss." Your brows furrowed because no that wasn't true; unless that was what was sliding down your naked thigh. He grabbed your face opening you up for him to consume. His tongue fought yours, easily winning as one hand came up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple; you shivered, leaning into the touch. "You will listen, you will obey." He said walking you backwards to the bed. ”You will let me fuck you.” He lowered you onto the bed. He hovered over you sliding his mouth along yours, licking into your mouth, kneading your breast, biting down on your lip.

He stared down at you patiently awaiting your answer, as if he even cared what it was…maybe he did. But your shocked body ached for him to consume it, and was there really ever a version out there where you got to tell him no?

"Okay.”

He trailed across your face nipping at your jaw harshly, you winced. "I didn't let them serve you tonight." He sat up tugging off his suit jacket, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. "I had them switch it out for sparkling grace juice. I wanted you sober for this.” He pulled his shirt off revealing a toned muscled chest glistening with sweat.

You couldn’t help but stare at him for a moment, stare at his perfect naked skin. “You planned it all.”

“Of course I did.” He scoffed. "I told you I would choose someone you liked." And he believed that to be himself. He bent back down sinking his teeth into your collarbone tongue lolling against your skin. His mouth slid along your breast, sucking in your nipple, rolling his tongue along it. “And you are so wet by it.” You had ignored the slickness forming between your thighs all night, ignored how you had been rubbing them together under the table the more he looked at you. He reached his hand back, running his fingers between your folds, gathering the wetness up in his own hand and bringing it back to his face, "My dirty little white rose." He rammed his hand into your face smearing your own arousal around the tangy taste seeping into your mouth. Then he was dipping back into you, stretching you open with two fingers as he straddled your stomach. "You take it so well. You just let me do whatever I want to you hmm?" He curled his fingers and your face burned as you chewed on your lip. "You like it too, you fucking love when I make you cum." You squeezed your eyes as he stroked the sweetest spot inside of you, fighting down the agreement boiling in your lungs.

But your body remembered, and it was slowly tilting your hips to meet each brutal thrust of his hand. You tried to focus on anything other than how good his fingers felt inside of you, how the pressure was tightening in your stomach, how your skin was blazing in the wake of his touch. It didn't matter how hard you clenched your jaw, the second his thumb pressed down on your clit you let out the softest moan. You felt his hips grind against you at the noise his hard cock digging into your stomach, his fingers pinching your nipple then running it between them. It was cruel, truly, for him to make you feel such decadent things. To have this power over you, but then again, he always had. You were reaching for him, or trying to push him out, you weren't sure anymore but your nails were clutching his arm for dear life as the pleasure washed over you. You clamped down on his hand cumming for him like the savior he was with the tiniest whimper. He kept going, moving his hand harder, moving backwards to dive down and wrapping his mouth around your clit. It was too much, your vision blurred. You were shoving at him harder, "It's too much."

He pressed you into the mattress tongue swirling around you clit, and you couldn't move, couldn't see anything but stars and feel his mouth suck you clit in. Your stomach curled in on itself the second orgasm building too fast feet digging into his sides as tongue deftly moved along your over sensitive bud. You cried out that time as you came hand tangled in his blond hair unknowingly. "That's my girl." He smiled down at you, chin shinning with your pleasure. "That's how I know you like it."

You clamped your legs closed once he moved. He tried to pry them apart as your hands came slashing down at him, pushing at him to get off of you, to stop before he did something you knew you couldn’t come back from. "Open your legs." He growled fingers digging into your thighs so hard you felt skin busting apart. He was on top of you shoving his knee between your legs grabbing both your hands to hold them above your head. “You're mine.” He spoke so gently, so matter-of-factly, you were starting to believe him as a tear slid down your cheek. “You wanted me, remember?” Your teeth tugged at your lip. “It will feel good." You knew that. It was exactly why you wanted to stop him. “Kiss me.” He was leaning down, pressing his lips to yours sliding his tongue along your bottom lip, breaking your resolve. He was undoing his pants, and you let him slowly open your legs, let him slid between them. “That’s my good girl.” He smiled into your mouth and pushed into you.

The pain was blinding no matter how wet he had made you. He split you in two as he pushed inside of you inch by excruciating inch. You screamed so loud as every fabric of muscle broke open between your legs. You felt warmth rush between your thighs, the breath you tried to take cracking open your chest. He moved so slow, trying to move further inside your tight walls as they clamped around him. He was still for a moment enjoying the feeling of you wrapped around him, or maybe it was a shred of kindness preventing any more pain. All you knew is his eyes were squeezed shut, broken pants expelling from his mouth, his hand resting on your shoulder digging in so hard it almost distracted you from the throbbing agony where your bodies were connected.

You almost took a second to admire him, between the intensity, but then he bottomed out inside of you.

"Oh." A breathless word.

Your pussy fluttered around him and he shuddered, "Fuck."

Then he pulled back slightly, pulled back until you almost felt relief that he was out, only to slam back into you. You grunted as your vision went away, white the only thing you could see as he did it again, and again, and again. His hand fell off your wrist needing to grip your waist as he pressed his forehead to yours, lips capturing every small force of air he shoved out of your mouth. "You're so fucking tight." He groaned his other hand on your shoulder pushing himself deeper. You felt him in your guts abusing your cervix with quickened thrust. You weren’t sure what you were feeling, broken sobs leaving your throat, there was pain, but there was something else too, something that was turning the sobs into moans. "I can feel your pussy clenching around me, can feel you getting wetter by the second." He bared his teeth against yours letting you gasp out into his mouth. "Be my good little whore and enjoy what I'm giving you.” He leaned up and back slowing slightly, and it gave you a moment to glance up at him. Sweat coated his forehead a blond curl across it as he watched where his cock disappeared inside of you, fascinated as you sucked him in greedily. His hips slapped against yours, lewd noises resonating around his bedroom each time he rammed in and out of your drenched cunt. His tongue swiped across his parted lips as the pain ebbed away completely replaced by horrible pleasure.

You ground your teeth, you fisted the sheets, you did everything but let him know what you were beginning to feel.

His hand slithered down between your legs and he danced delicate motions against your clit. You shook with a whimper the fire shooting down your body, your toes curling with it. "Cum around my cock." He whispered his thrust slow and deep letting you feel every thick inch of him. Your back was arching, the feeling tightening in your stomach, and a throaty groan slipped out. "It feels good doesn't it? You like that I fucked you, wanted me to fuck you all through that stupid dinner, you were so wet knowing it was always going to be me at the end of the night.” He began to move faster again, his hand working your clit harder and you squeezed your eyes tight. “This pussy has always belonged to me; it will always be mine.” He slapped you across the face head snapping to the side fucking into you, pressing against your clit. “Look at me.” He growled, forcing your face towards him as your eyes shot open, "Look at me when you cum.”

You gripped him hard body shaking with the orgasm that rocked through, your vision blurry with blue eyes. Your body clamped down around him, gushed around him as it crashed over you and pulled you under. He was hovering over you tucking his arm under your shoulder his mouth at your ear his grunts seeming to drive your legs further apart for him, wetness sucking him in more. You were whimpering his name against his moist throat, open mouthed kisses planted after each breath as you squeezed around him. His body tightened and he spilled inside of you, you should have stopped him, told him not to cum inside, but he would have done it anyways. He lay there for a moment only thrusting a little to push his seed deeper.

He pulled back slightly as you blinked up at him. You stared at each other for a while as his cock twitched one last time. Then he pulled out of you and climbed off the bed. "Don't move." He left you there, closing the door behind him. You felt dizzy with confusing feelings, legs shaking, his cum oozing out of you. You fought the sickening urge to push it back inside you to not feel so empty.

But you laid there, waiting for him to come back to you. He did. He sat you up and pulled the white satin nightgown over your head only to lay you back down. Thank him, even when you're not thankful. "Thank you Mr. President sir."

He laid down beside you, wrapped his arms around your body, and pulled you in tight so you couldn't let go. "Mhm," He purred in you ear. "So good to me, my darling bluebell."

You cried yourself to sleep in his arms.

You were moving, pushed and pulled like a soft tide, knew pleasure floated through your bones ebbing, flowing out of you. You rolled your head, feeling your leg lifted, feeling pressure between them. Your eyelids were so heavy, sleep trying to tug you back under but it was so warm, it felt so good.

You heard the whine leave your mouth as warmth surrounded you, as it moved between your legs. Your eyes shot open wildly staring out into the darkness truly unsure of reality. You glance down, not being able to see all that well, but its him. You know its him by how your body arches for him, as hands find his hair. His tongue rolls over your clit, flicking at it as you whimper out for him pulling your legs up and out so he can take more of you.

A dream then, you figured, as his tongue dipped inside you. You open your mouth to try to warn him of his own cum leaking out of you, but he doesn't care as he feast on you, lapping it up along with your arousal, his tongue so deep inside you, you sigh out while he fucks you with his tongue yanking your legs tighter around his shoulders. He's licking up the center sucking gently on your clit, his tongue tracing it as a faster pace and your head falls back. You barely even make a sound as you cum, as you gush against his face pussy clenching around nothing.

He's moving, the bed shifts as he moves closer rolling your body to the side forcing into you, sliding in to the hilt as your body demands him to fill you. He's somehow all around, engulfing you, his thick cock pushing in deeply as his teeth dig into your skin. You mumbled his name trying to turn. He had your body twisted so he could shove inside you, his face moving to lavish your breast.

"Go back to sleep," He muttered kissing your side, his cock sliding within you at a gentle pace, like he had all the time in the world, like he had hours. He lazily licked at your nipple, swirling his tongue around it, sucking it softly, grazing it with his teeth. A quiet whine floated into the air your head falling back against the pillow. You were too drowsy, too spent to feel anything other than what he was giving you, so your mind gave up fighting your body. Letting him open you up more, feel him envelope you as he rolled his hips against you like you were the whore he had called you earlier. "That's my girl," He muttered onto your skin, teeth ghosting over your flesh. His cock was rubbing against a sweet spot inside of you as you turned towards him your lips parting against his face, back arching to take him deeper. It was slow, purposeful, each thrust lighting a low burning fire in your veins. You let him kiss your neck, let him suck on your flesh, his presence intoxicating you, soon finding your hand tangled in his hair.

And then he looked down at you, noses touching in the dark, and maybe it was the proximity, but you could see his eyes. You brushed your lips against his, "Yours." It slipped out between the heated exchanged and sealed in your fate.

His eyes blew out and he leaned down to kiss you. You can smell yourself on his breath, smell his cum mixed in it all and you want it in your mouth, the taste of him too delicious. You finally kissed him back, running your tongue along his mouth tasting him, tasting the whiskey he had drank earlier, your arousal and his cum, the sweat on his top lip. His hand slithered down your body, languidly rubbing your clit the pleasure tingling down your legs. You moaned in his mouth, moaned his name into the air as he fucked you deeper, fucked you harder, claimed whatever pieces of you he wanted. "Mine." He grunted out back down your throat. "Mine. Mine. Mine."

You came hard, whimpering against him, fisting his hair, feeling him cum deep inside not long after. You didn't care this time, didn't mind the heavy warmth that coated your walls. Not as it filled some void he had carved out earlier.

You fall back asleep with him still inside you, like you had never woken up in the first place.

You woke up alone, body sore and spread out across his king sized bed sheets, blankets rumpled and draped over you. Everything ached, your hips and thighs, your neck and shoulders, your breast...your...your...You squeezed your eyes remembering, remembering how his cock had broke through you, how he hadn't stopped after the first time, but took you time and time again during the night until you were more full of him than yourself. He was never satiated, an inherent hunger prowling under his skin demanding to consume every piece of you.

And you had kissed him. You had whined out for him, held him closer, sighed his name like a prayer. You forced yourself up running hands over your face trying to erase the memory, trying to erase how well your body took him. You threw the sheets off shakily climbing off the bed the nightgown falling on your tacky middle thigh, and then you turned to glance at the bed.

You threw up onto the floor.

The bed, white sheets and all were covered in blood. You looked down. Your legs were covered in blood, and dried cum, and other fluids. You had rolled every time he took you, as he changed the positions he wanted you in, smearing all that blood across the bed, across your body.

He had plucked it from you, seed after seed, and left you in his bed like a half-eaten pomegranate waiting for him to resume feasting. He had been born hungry, he will always be hungry.

You left his room. You padded away from it bare, sticky feet slapping against the hardwood floor as you kept walking. Your brain felt empty thoughts not making sense. His bedroom looked like a crime scene; you lying in, the sacrificial lamb at a slaughter.

You hated him.

He was awful, he had forced you into those games to kill, to die, to punish the districts. He had planned to sell you.

He didn't. He hadn't. And now blood ran from your maidenhead, a fountain for his youth, and all you could remember was how good it had felt, how he had fit inside you so perfectly it had never really hurt in the first place. Or maybe history had rewritten itself across the cosmos.

Fresh air hit you as you flung open the doors, sun blinding your face so you simply kept your eyes close letting whatever force commanding you to lead you, until the scent of roses floated into your nostrils.

The garden. The enormous ugly place filled to the brim with ugly white roses. It felt too pure, too clean to be here, like you had invaded Eden and the snake slithered between your thighs. You just stood there staring at a row of blooming flowers letting the horrid smell engulf you.

You couldn't help but think of him, his hair falling out of place, bouncing off his forehead as he thrust into you. You thought of the sweat dripping off his face, plopping onto your parted lips, you despised how good it tasted when it trickled onto your tongue. You thought of the heat in your cheeks when he whispered sweet, vulgar nothings into your ear, how it made you curl your toes.

You thought of how despite your hatred and disgust at him you moaned for him nonetheless.

The flowers didn't smell so awful anymore.

Time passed, you let it, standing there in a thin bloody nightgown and bare feet.

The door creaked open finally and shut behind him. You knew it was him from the shiver that danced down your spine, to the nauseating flip of your stomach as if your subconscious was glad he was there, as if it desired his presence.

A large hand brushed down your arm, "You should stay in bed." You focused on the light splitting through the windows golden and beautiful as he moved your matted hair off your shoulder to press a kiss to bare skin. You winced, the bruises and bites too tender. "Come now, bluebell." He smiled against your neck, "Let me take you back to bed."

"You were gone." It shouldn't have sounded so desperate, so whiny, like you genuinely wanted him there.

He chuckled, "I'm the President sweet girl. I can't be expected to lie in bed fucking you all day."

You were next to your father a large smile on your face as you watched them announced young President Snow. You had gathered in the square to watch it with the rest of your community. They spoke about how the districts were going to do so much better under his authority, how both the districts and Capitol would profit significantly with him taking over. You remember your father being hopeful, maybe a young man like him would bring good change.

"Is that what you wanted?" He planted the kiss under your ear goosebumps erupting over cool flesh. "To wake up again with my cock buried inside of you." He nipped at the shell of your ear, "Or feasting on your cunt." His hardness was pressing into the thin fabric of your nightgown as your body went taut in his arms.

You turned to face him. His eyes were so bright as the sun reflected off of them, and you held back the automatic yes on your tongue. Your gaze flickered around his face trying to read him, understand him even, but it was impossible. He was the President, and you were a victor, and those worlds should have never collided. Yet here you both were creating a black hole in the universe at your entwining.

He moved for you slowly.

You felt frozen feeling him wrap his arm around your body to begin walking back towards the house, numb as servants open the doors for the two of you so he could lead you back to your cage. It wasn't for concern or safety, he would tie you to his bed simply to know you would always be there.

The room had been cleaned by time you reached it, no evidence in sight, besides the blood and cum caked onto your thighs. He tugged at you walking you to the bathing room connected to his, "You scared the servants." He chuckled as he went to the tub and turned it on.

"I'm sorry." It slipped out, a trained response and your eyes fluttered close.

He filled the water with sweet smelling salts and came back towards you tugging your nightgown off your body. You glanced in the mirror at the red hand prints stained into the flesh of your breasts, your neck. You were more wounds than skin, littered with teeth indents, scratches, hickies. "Come here." You did, as steam began to replace the image. You let him help you into the warm water and sank down into it, biting back the sound of pleasure as it soothed every piece of you that was broken and sore. He leaned your head back dipping your tangled hair into the water. "Mhm," He mused sliding his hands along your wet body claiming he was wanting to wash you.

"It feels nice." You whispered his forehead pressed to your shoulder as his hands traveled along your stomach. It shouldn't feel nice, but it did, his gentle hands swimming across your sensitive body.

He didn't respond, but he let go and stood, the sounds of his clothing dropping echoing in the room. You jumped at the sound hoping he wouldn't take you in this tub, praying to whatever god you believed in, and you thought it sounded too close to his name. You knew your body was too sore to handle it, knew you would melt into his palms if he did. He climbed in behind you, his legs sliding along yours, his chest pressed to your back wet hair plastered between bodies. "You enjoyed last night." His hands floated over your legs removing the last remaining evidence of the encounter. You weren't sure if he was asking or telling. His lips ghosted over your shoulders.

"Why me?" You blinked out a tear.

His smile scorched your skin. "You were so pretty when you cried at the reaping." Another tear as you took a sharp breath, all of this because of your pain. It didn't seem like a good enough response for you, there had to me more of a reason why he took it this far. His mouth parted, "I starved him out, sent all his gifts to you, so when I did send something in, something to weaken him, he would eat it." It shouldn't have been so easy to take him down, you always knew that, chalked it up to luck or the element of surprise. The only thing he had managed to do was slice your leg open the scar still plagued on your skin. He did look sickly before his own blood coated his face. Maybe he had been begging to end his life, maybe whatever they gave him was hurting.

Please.

Your vision was blurry, eyes darting back and forth. "You helped me win."

"I saved you, bluebell." He caressed a hand down the center of your chest, where you had plunged that knife, and another tear slipped out. "You should be glad." A thumb stroke, "You should be grateful."

"He's possessive. His obsession can drive him mad sometimes."

It all made sense now in your head. He felt like he was owed something. He went through all of that hard-work to make you win, all that trouble to ensure you walked out alive so he could get his prize...you. You belonged to him, owed him a life debt, and the only way to repay his generosity was handing over every piece he wanted.

You could only stare at the faucet ahead of you as water dripped off into the tub.

Plop, plop.

His hand stilled, "Aren't you going to thank me?" You racked your brain for the answer unsure of what you were supposed to respond with.

Plop, plop.

"Thank you Mr. President, sir." Was the safest option out of your lips, but his body was tense behind you.

Plop, plop.

"For?"

You closed your eyes a slight shake of your head wondering what he possible wanted from you. Your eyes slid back open. He wanted the validation, he wanted gratitude. "For saving me, for making me feel good."

Snow relaxed, a kiss pressed to your shoulder. He was running his hands through tendrils of wet hair his hand slinking between your legs. You stiffened, hand shooting to his wrist to stop him, "What's the matter bluebell?" He whispered in your ear shaking your hand off like it was nothing. "Isn't this what you wanted?" He brushed down your folds as you whimpered for him, "Why you made me leave work early to bring you back to bed?" You felt his pouting lips against your back making a mockery of you, "Why you were so sad I was gone this morning?"

His fingers found your clit rubbing small, slow circles, "It hurts." It didn't, but you were worried if he went further it would, or perhaps it wouldn't and you would wind up screaming his name against the ceramic tub. Both were terrifying.

"I know." He pressed a little harder listening to the whine ricocheting against the walls of the room. "You can take it." You spread your legs for him joints aching at the stretch as your fingers dug into his thighs feeling him rub circles on that sensitive bundle of nerves. "That's my girl." He cooed teeth grazing a tender bruise, and instead of a wince, a moan came out of your mouth. You were leaning into the pain he offered as the fire burned in your core. You closed your eyes fighting the pleasure and desire rippling through every part of you, you wished your body wouldn't burn for him, yet here you were, mouth agape, a mewling mess for him.

Then you did something completely insane and reached between you to run your hand along his hard cock. At first, it was a soft hand down his cock and then you were pumping his length, hearing him release a groan into your skin and you only worked him harder, swirling your hand around him, lightly grazing his balls each time you slid to the base.

"Do you want to fuck me?" He rasped moving his hips with your hand as he brought you closer to your peak.

"Yes." No hesitation. You blamed the rot in your soul.

His hand pressed down harder and you cried out black forming behind your eyes, "Say it." He gritted out.

"I want...to fuck you." A light pinch to your clit making you yelp. "Mr. President sir!"

His hands left your body as he lifted them up allowing free reign to move if you chose to. You sat there for a moment contemplating the decision, then slowly turned to face him. You weren't sure if it was bath water or sweat but his face was misted eyes glazed over, hair disheveled, curling slightly at the ends. He looked younger, he looked like that man you had seen sworn in on stage years ago. You were on your knees between his legs climbing over him, letting his hands find your waist as you shook against him.

There was no going back from this.

You lined him up and sank down. You went slowly this time, letting him stretch you open, letting the sweet thickness of him take you. At some point he had pressed you to his chest, or maybe you had moved, but your teeth were in his shoulder, biting as pain and pleasure melded. "You're so fucking tight." His hands were wrapped around you, gripping you tightly, as you sank down to the hilt moaning out at the delicious feeling of fullness. You clenched around him hearing him hiss fingers digging into your back as they tried to move back down to your hips. You were afraid to move, afraid to take him like this, but you needed more.

So, you rolled your hips against him. He took a sharp intake of breath, fingers pressing in your hips beginning to help your movements, help you grind your pussy onto his cock. You began to pull back, away from him, but he sat up more, gripping the edge of the tub to keep your pace, while his other hand went to your neck forcing your lips on his. It was an open mouth kiss as you whimpered onto his tongue feeling him everywhere. You let him nip at your lip as you licked the roof of his mouth, along his top teeth hands tangling through his hair as you slid up and down on his cock. You clit was grinding against him as your body sucked him in deep pressing in that sweet spot and you knew you were close.

You let your head fall back blind pleasure taking over as you rode him. "Feels good right?" He asked mouth traveling down to sweep across your heavy breast, taking your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue along it. "I make you feel so good hmm?" He mused sucking gently on it. "Treat you so nice." He grabbed the back of your neck forcing your forward once more until your forehead was pressed against his, "So good to you?"

"Yes." You sighed the fire in your core rippling through you ready to explode as water sloshed out of the tub. He began to fuck up into you the new speed sending you over the edge as your body shook in his arms. His hips stuttered and he was spilling inside you with a rough groan. You stayed like that for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each others air.

He smirked at you, "Greedy, greedy girl." He forced you down on his chest as his cock twitch one last time inside you. "Can't get enough can you?"

You couldn't find the words to respond, too dazed to comprehend anything. The ache began to return between your legs, but you were too afraid to move until he let you. He did after a while, and then he cleaned you again, got you out of the tub to dry off and put a new nightgown on.

Soon enough you found yourself sprawled out on his lap as he combed your hair. You glanced up at him, at the concentration in his face, at the stray curls hanging onto his forehead. You brushed them away with your fingers his eyes meeting yours.

He had told you to be more grateful, so you were.

"Thank you Mr. President, sir."

A week had passed and you were sure you were going insane.

He fucked you the moment you opened your eyes, then he would leave for work, only to come back and fuck you through the night. He dressed you in the morning (usually something that allowed him easy access), he had your meals brought up to his room, cleaned you up every evening, and sometimes even permitted you to walk down the hall to the small study he had, to allow you some entertainment of reading.

You couldn't speak to anyone (not that they could respond), you couldn't watch the news, you had no idea what was going on out in the world. Were your parents worried? Did they think you were coming home soon? Were you ever going home?

You picked at your dinner.

Something had changed within you.

Your stomach panged close to the times food was set to be delivered. You began to chew at the skin around your nails with anxiety until someone came through the door, mostly waiting for him. And when he came in, still in his Presidential clothing, you felt wetness seep between your legs. You weren't sure why it was happening or when it had started, but your subconscious had taken over, your body responding in ways you could never control. He had trained it somehow to follow his schedule, to respond to him, and it was working.

You took him greedily each time; ravenous for him, for his mouth on you, his cock inside you. You would wrap your legs around him so tight to pull him closer, mouth on his jaw, breathing the air he gave you, sweat glistening off feverish skin, savoring the warmth of his cum inside you.

You hated him, but you hated yourself more for how much you were beginning to not hate him. He had saved your life, prevented that man from assaulting you, he fed you and washed you, kept you safe and provided for.

But you were locked in a cage; his cage, and you never could see beyond the bars of your inclosure. You stared longingly out the window, pressed your ears to the floorboards just to see, to hear something.

You needed to leave, you needed your sanity back.

He came through the door at his normal time wetness pooling between your thighs. He shrugged off his jacket setting it on the back of the chair and sat down across from you. "How was work?" You asked. So ordinary.

"Dull." He sighed his body sprawled out, his hands across his stomach as he stared at you. "Come here." You were on your feet padding over to him to sit on his lap his cool hand snaking around your waist, "Kiss me." You leaned down and pressed your lips to his feeling the quick sweep of his tongue and you opened your mouth for him. He straightened up pulling you down with a hand on your chin his tongue gently melding with yours. You whimpered into his mouth as his hand came off your face and between your legs. He smirked in your mouth, "Wet for me already?" He nipped at your lip, "I'll never tire of coming home to your soaked pussy."

You body tightened, "Mr. President, sir." You pulled back slightly just as his hands brushed along your folds. You squeezed your eyes trying to remember what you needed to say.

His eyes were studying you intensely. "What is it?"

Don't stutter. "Are you truly going to keep me here forever?"

He stared at you for a second his hand resting on your backside, the other still between your legs. "Isn't that what you wanted?" He began to laugh. "I thought you'd be happier here."

Ice rippled through your skin; he was never planning to let you go. You cleared your throat trying to remain calm. Your eyes flickered around his face. "You're the President, surly you need a Capitol woman for a wife, and it would be bad news if this situation ever got out."

"It won't get out." His hand gripped you a little harder like you would fly away.

"Please," your bottom lip wobbled. "Please let me go. You will tire of me soon enough." Part of you ached at the idea of it, of leaving, but you shoved that lunacy down.

His blue eyes were dark. "No I won't. You belong here, in that bed, drenched the minute I step in the door. You belong to me." His hand squeezed your cheeks moisture spilling across your jaw. "You are mine."

You sighed water welling in your eyes, "You're right." You nodded leaning forward to capture his lips. "I'm sorry." You kissed him again hand reaching behind you. "I'll stay." You lied as your hand wrapped around the plastic fork.

Because why would the give a victor real utensils.

Then you sank it into his hand resting on your ass. You heard him yelp as plastic snapped off, but your didn't stay to see if it drew blood as you ran out of the bedroom. He roared your name. You were sprinting down the hall almost to the stairs when you heard him stomping after you. Guards were rushing up so you turned heading to the upper level of the mansion. You felt like you were in the games all over again, running from them, lungs burning as you took two stairs at a time.

If all else fails you would fling your body out of the window hoping the ground would kill you before he did. You weren't even really sure if he would kill you, or just tie you to the bed like you knew he really wanted. Your freedom had always been an illusion.

You hit the end of the hall when you heard him breathing heavy from the other end. You dared a glance at him blood dripping off of the back of his hand, calm fury on his face. You went to the nearest door fighting with the locked handle to let you in as you heard him come closer. You were sobbing as you tried another door realizing you were trapped in this hall with him, like he had always prepared for something like this to happen.

His hands wrapped around your body, "Nowhere to go now bluebell."

"Stop calling me that!" You cried out thrashing against him.

He gritted his teeth, "Now I'm going to take you back to my room, and you are going to stay there."

You bucked against him. "No! Let me go!"

He flipped you around, hand on your throat, and slammed you into the wall. "What is so wrong with that? Why do you want to leave me so badly after everything I've done for you?" He snarled, eyes wild, "Haven't I been good to you!" You clawed at his arm your feet rising off the ground as he choked you. You stared wide eyed at him, gaping for air that was never coming. You figured it would be okay to die here, knew it was always coming the closer you had gotten to him, and somewhere deep down it made you sad.

"I...loved you." You choked out feeling his hand suddenly pull from you like it had branded him. You held your hand at your throat as he stared down at you, as you tried to catch your breath. "I watched you sworn in as President, and everyone was so hopeful, and I loved you for it. I worshipped you, adored you for that hope, that you might bring change."

You glanced up at him breathing heavily like he had been the one with a hand crushing his esophagus. "When did it stop?"

"When my name got called at the reaping."

He slapped you across the face the skin on your lip breaking as you fell sideways knocking a flower vase to the ground with you. It shattered into pieces, white roses sprawling across the floor with you. "Is that why you take me so well." He spoke from above you. His foot slammed down on your back face banging off the hard wood, "Did you imagine me when you used to touch yourself back in your hovel?" You only glared back at him behind a curtain of hair, blood spilling from your nose. He laughed, "You did." His smile fell, "I've given you everything you ever wanted. I saved you. I spoiled you, and this is how you repay me. So ungrateful."

"I hate you." You spat at him.

The corners of his mouth quirked up. "Hate burns hotter than love."

You screamed as your hand wrapped around a shard of glass and you swiped at him blood dripping from how hard you gripped it. He jumped back but it slashed his perfect cheek. You swiped at him again this time drawing blood from his hand as he held it up to protect himself. That boy's face from 2 flashed in your mind, his poor sick face and you pounced on him straddling his body pressing the jagged edge to his throat.

"Sir?" You knew guns were pointing at you, heard the tap of his fingers on the trigger with each thump of your heart beat. You stopped caring.

He held up a hand, eyes never leaving your face, "It's alright."

You watched your own blood trickle onto his face. Your lip curled back as you pressed harder into his pale soft fresh, but he wasn't scared. He just stared at you.

He knew you wouldn't do it.

So you yanked back and held it to your own throat warm blood leaking down your chest. He rubbed his hands up your legs splaying his fingers across skin. His eyes, gods his eyes, were so calm, so dark and full of desire like he enjoyed the chase, enjoyed watching you bleed and claw for him. The glass clattered to the floor in limp arms feeling his cock straining beneath you, and you...you were aching for it.

Your eyes wobbled as tears fell, "What did you do to me?" Because something had fundamentally changed you, he had fundamentally changed you to crave him this way, rewired you to need him this way. There was no other explanation to describe what coursed through you.

He only stared up at you the slow smirk spreading across his lips. "What did you do to me!" You roared at him needing the answer, needing to know why you could hate him so much, despise him, and need him so desperately.

"I showed you who you are." His hands traveled to rest across your backside. Yours. You remember his nose pressed to yours as you brushed the word against his mouth. You wanted to feel regret at the intimate word you let slip out the first night he took you.

You hated that you had whispered it, hated that you knew it was true simply by the way your hips rolled against his. You ached for him, you wanted him to fill you again, empty at the lack of his commanding presence inside of you. You hated that he had turned you into a whimpering mess starving for his pleasure.

His inherent hunger was contagious and he had made you starving.

He sat up pulling you flush against his body. "I see you." He was so close. "You never needed to plunge that knife into his heart three times. The first had hit home, and he was dying anyways." Hot breath fanned onto your blood streaked face. "I've always seen you for who you are."

Your parted bruised lips brushed his, teeth grazing, tongue darting out in an upward motion to lick into his mouth. Heat pooled in your core as you felt his cock twitch beneath you.

"The victor."

Your hands were rooted in his hair as you crushed your mouths together, it was messy and intoxicating as you consumed him. A battle of teeth and tongue, spit spilling between you both as you refused to come up for air. You pushed him to the ground, tongue down his throat, and a hand down his pants breaking the buttons open to free his cock. He was leaking from the tip and you smeared it down his cock pumping him with your hand as you lined him up with your soaking entrance.

Moaning into his mouth, you sank down onto him until nothing separated your bodies. Your open mouth rested against his parted lips breathing the same air and then you were moving, moving your hips, moving your mouth to taste his jawline, digging your teeth into his neck feeling the metallic taste of his blood rush into your mouth. You rode him harder, foot planted on the ground to move against him better, took back all the blood he had stolen from you. You wanted to rip his throat out, taste his pain, lap him up like nectar until the two of you were nothing but naked muscle. He scratched at your body, shredding open the blood stained pretty white dress he had put you in. You returned the favor, tearing open his shirt, buttons flying across the hall.

It was animalistic, it was primal starvation.

You wanted to feast on him, consume him like he had consumed you. He had carved out a home for himself inside of you and now you wanted to bury yourself in his flesh.

You leaned up his blood running down your chin as you glided your pussy against his cock, clit rubbing along his body. "There she is." He hooked his hand into your mouth and you wrapped your hand around his wrist to suck in his fingers, tasting your mess along them. You would never be full of him. He ripped them away from you smearing the trail of blood down your naked chest. "Go on, make yourself cum on my cock like the little whore you are." You squeezed your eyes feeling that overwhelming feeling creeping up your spine raking your nails down his chest. It feels too good, his cock hitting every right spot, his blood in your teeth, his hand pinching at your nipples. His nails are digging into your hips as he thrust his hips up to meet yours, to fuck you deeper. Your body shakes with the orgasm when it ripples through you, pussy clenching around him moaning out into the open air for him.

And then he's pushing you back, flipping you onto the ground broken glass splintering into your chest. You don't care. You'd bleed for him ten times over, you'd kill that boy every chance you got if it meant Coriolanus Snow would live inside you. He's pulling your hips up until your on all fours and then he slams into you. You cry out, grasping for nothing the force of him shoving your body forward. He yanks you back only to continue fucking you at a brutal pace, rutting into you like a ruthless animal. "You like when I fuck you like the bitch you are hmm?" His hips snap against yours as fingers dig into the flesh of your ass. "You want me to breed you too hmm? My prized little rose," Your nails scratch against wood splintering off as his dick hits your g-spot. "Want to give me little heirs don't you?" He tangles a fist in your hair arching you up, letting your pussy suck him in deeper, "Say it! Say you want my cum you greedy girl."

"Yes." You whimpered. "I want it. Please Coriolanus. I need it."

He wraps a hand around your throat pulling your back up against his chest to thrust up into you, "You're mine, do you understand that. You're never leaving me." He abuses your cervix hand gently squeezing your carotid. "You belong to me." He nips at your ear, "To do whatever I want, whenever I want. Forever."

And that doesn't sound so bad after all.

Your vision goes fuzzy as his hand slides off your neck and in-between your legs rubbing furiously into your clit. "Yours." You whine, hands reaching behind you to grip his hair. He's kissing your neck, sucking and biting at the wound you gave yourself. You're so foolish for running, for wanting to leave this, it was too good to ever leave. He was right; he had spoiled you rotten. He's grunting hot and heavy in your ear, lights dance behind your eyes as you feel his pace pick up, his fingers swirling your bundle of nerves rhythmically.

You're screaming his name to the heavens as your body goes over its peak.

You hate him, gods you hate him. You don't think you could ever stop hating him. But when his cum spills into you as you clamp down around his cock, you think you might worship him.

He drops your shaking, messy body to the hardwood floor as he thrust slowly into you, pushing his cum deeper and deeper, keeping every drop inside. His hand is still rubbing your clit, fucking you into overstimulation and you whine in protest, but he holds you still.

"Shh," He whispered gently, petting your head and you stop fighting him. "Such a good girl." You push your hips back, arching for him more. "My pretty girl." Your arousal drips down your leg, onto the floor as he leans down and kisses your spine. "Come on give me one more." You couldn't stop it if you tried as he pressed a little harder, softening cock twitching against a sensitive spot, his cum still warm inside you. His thumb rolled over your nipple, tugging and playing with the bud and when it was taut and throbbing he moved to the other one. It was overwhelming, feeling him everywhere like he was stuck under your skin. Your thighs were shaking, but he's holding you up as nails scratch against wood until they chipped.

The pressure dragged you under and you threw your head back your climax exploding around you as you came one more time. You could barely move, barely see straight, only slightly feeling him take his hand off your clit, only slightly feeling his cock start to harden again inside you.

He flips you over onto your back as you gaze up at him in a daze. His mouth is on your breast lazily running his tongue along your sensitive nipple. You mewl for him.

"Are you going to run away again?" He asked. You shake your head. His nose began to drag up your neck until it was pressing into yours. "Are you going to be ungrateful again?" You shake your head. His mouth lingered at your ear, "Are you happier here?"

He straightened up to stare down at you, stare down to where his cock slowly begins to thrust in and out of you again, stare down as you open for him more, stare down as maroon stains your chin, your chest, as your mouth parts his blood coating your teeth.

"Yes Mr. President, sir."

He smiled down at you.

He told you he was getting married with his tongue between your thighs, gave you all the reasons he couldn't marry you. You were district after all, and he was the President. You didn't really listen as you orgasmed against his face.

He married Livia Cardew a few months later.

You weren't allowed at the wedding.

"You understand don't you bluebell?" He stroked your cheek as he got himself dressed taking in the sight of you lying naked on his bed cum leaking from your cunt.

She didn't know about you, you had figured that out on their wedding night when she had barged into his room, demanding to know why he wasn't spending it with her, screaming at the sight of him pile driving into you on his bed.

He made her sit and watch. He forced her into a chair as he took you over and over again, as you screamed her husband's name as he made you cum, as he spilled inside of you making her stare horrified when he took his fingers and shoved every spilled drop back inside you.

She tried to leave then, realizing the situation at hand, but he threatened to cut out her tongue before she left or he could string her corpse above his mansion door...whatever she chose.

She stayed.

You knew sometimes she would listen, listen to how he would fuck you into the long hours of the night, how you cried his name as you rode him. How you begged him to fuck you again once he had finished. You knew she hated seeing you next to him at the dinner table knowing her husband's cum was leaking between your thighs, that your teeth were the ones marking his skin.

He implanted you with birth control, you figured it would happen. You knew he couldn't have children with you, couldn't have district blood tainting the presidency line despite his want to breed your obedience into his children. Only on some occasions when he fucked you, he had to finish into a cup to bring to the doctor to artificially get Livia pregnant. He brought you beautiful roses every time he had to do it.

And once a year, he got to parade you on his arm for the annual hunger games. He loved watching you tuck into him to get away from lusting men, loved fucking you in the bathroom when the speeches were done. You didn't care if anyone could hear you, if Mags was disgusted by you.

You didn't care anymore. Not about Livia, not about how much you didn't hate him anymore, not about the games, not about your sad garden wilting away in District 6.

Coriolanus let you tend to his pretty, sweet smelling white roses.

You were a victor, his victor.

So, when you glanced over at him in the middle of the night, sleeping, moonlight spilling onto his peaceful features and you thought about slitting his throat, you decided to climb on top of him. You reached under the blankets, pumped his cock until it was hard and sank down onto him, fucking him awake.

"Such a good girl." He would kiss your cheek as his cum coated your walls.

"Thank you Mr. President, sir."

THE END

endnotes: ((this was supposed to be so much darker but god said 'no girl dont do that' lmao)) OMG IM SO SAD THIS IS OVER!! thank u so much for sticking with me and reading and all the kind words!!

divider credit: @rookthornesartistry

tags: @wearemadeofstardust0 , @astarborntowrite , @genderfluid-anime-goth , @merlieve , @darktrashsoulbear , @euphemiaamillais , @dousyskid , @bunny24sstuff , @bloobewy , @tmblrsexyw0man , @italiekim , @anthgoldenhrry , @becauseseaotters bold is tumblr wouldn't let me tag

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus smut #coryo x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #dark fanfic #dark fanfiction #fanfic #hunger games #president snow #president snow x reader #coryo smut #coryo snow

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sillyfairygarden · 11 months

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in a rose garden

(closeups under the cut :])

piece is a redraw of ‘in a rose garden’ by lawrence alma-tadema! i love the whimsy of the original piece, and wanted to draw something floral and beautiful after all the moody art ive been doing :p

#hermitcraft fanart #zombiecleo #zombiecleo fanart #geminitay #geminitay fanart #hermitcraft #mcyt #mcyt fanart #artists on tumblr #digital illustration #art #thellos art corner #time for the ramble: i have a tendency to over-render and overproduce my rendered paintings #to the point where they become textureless smooth uncanny-valley works #mostly borne of a lack of confidence in my painting skills. so this was an attempt to avoid that nitpicky behaviour!#its… experimental. the demons won on gems face but i think i retained a more painterly style elsewhere #mmmmm i can see the base sketch in some places mmmm im choosing to ignore that. its intentional guys. i swear its intentional #this was soo self indulgent. the zenith of thello core if you will

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wifeofasith · 5 months

Text

Warnings — Birthday sex, dom!Anakin, praise, oral sex (Fem receiving), fingering, clit play, nipple play, slight daddy kink, pet names, missionary sex, hinted overstimulation. Ani's a worshipper in this one <3

Word count — 2.5k

Notes — Requested by a celebrating reader, happy birthday, pretty! 🤍🍪

Princess treatment wasn't something you weren't used to while being in a relationship with Anakin — the man goes above and beyond to satisfy your every need and desire, even the ones you're not aware of yourself. Your birthdays weren't an exception.

The morning sun shining through your Coruscant's apartment windows wasn't the thing that woke you from your slumber like every other day; this time it was Anakin's hands grabbing your thighs open and diving his head deep between your folds. "My sweet flower, I'm going to devour you all morning..." He had spent at least an hour all the way down, lapping on your wetness like a starved man while muttering endless praises and happy birthday wishes. And the best part is that he did not deny you any of the orgasms that shattered through your sleepy body. "Come, my love, let me taste you again and again..." The day was just too special; you deserved to feel as much pleasure as you desired.

After he's done with birthday breakfast, you are to spend a day wasting money in your favorite cafes and stores while gossiping with your best friends. Of course, that is after he steals your purse and sneaks in a credit stick with enough currency to swarm all of your favorite places around the Coruscant. By the time evening comes, Padmé literally has to drag you back home because you're having so much fun! But after she promises you another surprise at home, you bend.

You're welcomed with your place decorated with the prettiest flowers and colorful balloons. Once you enter, Anakin wastes no time to grab you and spin you around in the air, as if he's been missing you for months. He kisses your cheeks and lips with no shame, muttering how beautiful his birthday girl is. "My pretty princess, never seen an angel this beautiful." As you bathe in his affection, your friends are singing happy birthday to you, with Obi-Wan struggling to carry a two-story birthday cake without it falling in the background.

When unwrapping presents, you save Anakin's for last, just to toy with his anticipation to see the expression on your face when you see something you love. The second your eyes sparkle, it makes him absolutely melt; thus, he loved to spoil you with gifts just because of that little twinkle in your beautiful gaze. He's already given you a bouquet of your favorite flowers, but you surely were as eager to unwrap the neatly wrapped rose pink box with a matching bow on the top and a card that said, "To the love of my life." Unfortunately, he advised you to wait before everybody leaves. So the second you locked the door after the last guest, you rushed to your bedroom, where the secret box was hidden from the peering eyes.

"How I missed you all for myself." Anakin's needy arms wrapped around your waist once he followed you, nuzzling his nose into your neck. He wasn't able to resist the scent of you. He wasn't done pampering you. "Open it, sweetheart." He encourages you with a peck below your jaw.

You open the wrapping paper, careful not to rip the pretty pink apart. Satin ribbon slips off easily, and you're quickly welcomed with a lidded box with silver lettering of a brand name you've never seen before. Anakin admires the movement of your delicate hands exploring the presents, so gentle to treat each and every thing he gives you. The smile on his face, the soft caresses on your hip s— you could already sense he'd be glued to you for the rest of the night.

You lift the lid up to discover a floral lace lingerie set in a shade of lilac. It was a custom-ordered piece in which Anakin made sure to hide little pieces of you. The transparent cups were embroidered with your favorite flowers in silver threads, and between them — a zodiac charm pendant decorated with a tiny silk bow. Thin double straps would adorn your shoulders, and a matching pair of high-cut panties would sit perfectly on your body, leaving little to the imagination due to the transparent material lined with lace. And the last detail, a print of words in Anakin's handwriting on the inside of the waistband: "My beautiful starshine." The intimate nickname that only Anakin ever called you.

"Ani..." You look at him with awe in your eyes, thoughtful gift making your heart swell with joy. "That's— Thank you..." You cup his cheeks, leaning for a kiss. "I love it. I love it so much..." You whisper as his lips caress yours with an obvious eagerness he's trying to conceal.

"My starshine, my beautiful starshine." He pushes you down on the bed, climbing on top of you, while he explores your clothed body with his hands, kneading the skin and kissing your neck. "Happy Birthday, my angel..." He whispers with a shaky voice, trying to take his time, but you can already feel the hardness in his pants rubbing against your stomach.

"Ani— wait," You giggle, slightly pushing on his shoulders. "Let me try it on— Baby, p-please—AH!" His hand slips past your waistband and instantly finds its way onto your clit, rubbing it gently.

"No...No, sweetheart." He keeps touching you, enjoying every second of your beautiful whimpers and pleads. "If you'll try it..." He sighs shakily, pulling away his face from the crook of your neck to look into your eyes. "I'll tear it off your perfect body."

You could feel yourself stiffen at his dirty words; the tingle in your lower stomach increased with every sentence he whispered and with every hungry stare his eyes gave you. You knew he meant every word. Anakin was satisfied when your blushing face and a soft smile greeted him.

"You'll try it later, angel..." You weren't sure if he was commanding or reassuring you, but you weren't going to deny that. Not when his digits were already knuckles deep inside of you, gently bruising your wals with slow but first strokes.

"A-Ani!—" You squirm underneath him, back arching ever so slightly when he teases a certain soft spot inside of you.

Anakin smiles proudly, knowing only his hands can turn you into a whimpering mess. He slides his hand from your pants, kneeling back between your thighs to admire your flushed expression. The soft bite on your plum lip and the heavy rising of your chest told him everything he needed to know.

"What does my precious birthday girl desire?" He grins, looking down at you, while his tongue twirls around his dripping middle and index fingers.

At first, you just moan at the sight. He knows damn well what you need; you need him. You need to feel him; you've been craving it since the very morning — to have his naked body on top of you. He knows, and he wants you to say it.

"Please— Anakin, just..." You groan in desperation; he's so unfair; it's your birthday; you deserve to get your way without having to beg for it.

"Two words, sweetheart, all I ask." He caresses your cheek with the back of his hand, wiping the pout off your mouth. "Say it."

"A-Ani, please— " You buck your hips up slightly, feeling the wetness soaking through your panties. "—Fuck me."

Anakin knows he's been pulling on your strings with his little teasing game, so the second you express your wishes, he discards your pants and tosses them across the room.

"There we go. Wasn't so hard now, was it?" He kisses your stomach while lifting your blouse up, which soon slides over your head.

The wet kissing doesn't stop tracing your burning skin; he moves his lips up to your chest, peeling the bra off your breasts and latching his mouth on an already hardened nipple. His tongue toys with a sensitive bud, pulling on it gently, making you shiver with pleasure.

He's quick to remove his own clothing before laying on top of you and giving you a passionate kiss on your lips. He looks at you like you're a star fallen from the sky into his arms; he holds you and touches you like he's burning with desire and love. His hands are all over your body, touching you, feeling you, you're the air he breathes — the source of his life.

"Can I, baby? Can I have you, please?" He whispers into your ear, nudging his aching cock against your panties, the dampness making him twitch.

You nod frantically. Yes. Yes. You need him to have you. You pull him closer, wanting to feel as much of his hot skin on yours as soon as possible. The chosen one is still a mere mortal, too weak to resist the desire for his goddess.

Anakin grabs the hem of your panties, unwrapping you like you are the present. No matter how many times he does it, it's never enough. Your whole body is just so beautiful; your juices so sweet, insides so warm and welcoming. He wants to be one with you and never be parted from you.

He positions your hips above his and lets himself slide gently into you, so you can feel each and every vein that's molding your walls to the shape of him.

"Ahhnii!—" Your moans mix with his name; you want more. You try to move your hips and have him fuck you, but his strong grip won't allow you to squirm.

"Shhhhh..." He whispers, eyes rolling back to his skull while he slowly sinks inside. "Be good."

Once the blissful torture ends and he's settled deep in your body, he leans all the way forward, snaking his arms under yours, all the way to the back of your head to make you look at him.

"My love," He holds your face in his hands, still balls deep in your cunt and not moving an inch. "Thank you for blessing me with you." He looks into your eyes with lust and a deep sense of admiration all together.

Your fingers wrap into his hair. "I‐"

"I love you." He interrupts you, and you feel your walls pulse around him at his desperate voice. He doesn't let you answer when his hips set a slow pace, thrusting back and forward into you. "Look at me; keep looking at me." He moans, still holding your head, so you have no choice but to attempt to keep your eyes open as he makes sweet love to you. "I can't get enough of you."

Every thrust seems to be penetrating impossibly deeper than later; he's panting heavily, forehead pressed against yours, to easily kiss you when he's not looking into your eyes. His hands keeping you still and hips pressing onto yours hold enough strength to keep you from squirming and have you take it all.

"So good, Ani, yes..." You chant his name, which only speeds his movements, making your body quiver violently in his embrace.

"Just like that, you love it, don't you?" He encourages your whimpers with his raspy voice and a rare, more forceful thrust, which bruises against your spongy spot.

"Yeaaah, fuck— Yeah, don't s-stop...!" You hold onto his back, digging your nails into the muscle, which only arouses him further.

"No, not tonight. Tonight, I won't stop." He reassures you with a gentle nod and a sentence with two meanings — both of them correct.

You shake helplessly under him, wanting to continue, wanting to come, wanting more of him and more pleasure, and Anakin is aware of that. He reaches down to grab your thigh and bring it over his shoulder so he can reach deeper into you and abuse your g-spot as much as you both wish.

Every clench of your cunt makes him grunt just a little bit louder, and every grunt he makes forces you to spasm more, creating an endless loop of overwhelming pleasure. Anakin rocks your body into the mattress, your limbs limp in his arms while the headboard crashes into the wall repeatedly, and he's is too pussy drunk to make a mental note to adjust the bed position later.

"Look at me when you cum. Look at me, or I'm fucking you through more orgasms than your perfect tight cunt can handle." He orders you. It was your birthday, but he was still the one on top of you at the end of the day, and there was no point in fighting or arguing. Even if the suggestion sounded a bit tempting for a second, so with the last strength you have, you brace yourself.

His forehead presses against yours again in an attempt to keep you from turning away, creating a sharp stretch in your left hamstring from your leg still resting on his shoulder. He keeps thrusting into you repeatedly, angling his cock to brush over your favorite places. You stare into his eyes, tearing up from how absolutely delightfully he's fucking you.

"C'mon, birthday girl, come for daddy, yeah?" He supports you when your pretty eyes stare at him so intensely. "Cum all over daddy's cock." He moans, unable to speak clearly himself.

So close. So so close. Stare at him, look, look, don't close your eyes. He told you to look. That's it. His eyes, so pretty, staring back at you, telling you how much of a treasure you are while he thrusts deeper and faster into you. Keep looking. His sweaty forehead pressed against yours, his hand reaching down to rub on your clit. You close your eyes in bliss, he thrusts rougher, and you open them back up. He holds you close, his whole body not losing strength, just so you can keep feeling the pleasure. One more stroke has your body trembling and clinging to his.

"A-nakin!" You spasm repeatedly as your orgasm sends your body into paradise; your back arches into his chest when your eyes involuntary close.

He slowly eases the thrusts, still hard inside of you. Anakin kisses all the way up your neck, and you're hopeful he didn't notice your little accidental disobedience. His lips find your cheek, then your temple, while his hand frees your thigh off his shoulder, letting it fall softly into the sheets. You can't help but pant heavily while your insides still twitch in the afterglow of your pleasure.

"Oh baby..." Anakin sighs, kissing your delicate skin. "I've told you—" He sighs and looks deeply into your eyes. "Told you to keep looking..." He caresses your cheek, a mock pity present on his face.

Before you can say another word, he pulls out of you and, with a tight hold of your hips, flips you to lay on your tummy, manhandling you into a position where he's taking whatever he wants from your body.

"Birthday's over, baby girl." You sense his grin right before he slams his whole length all the way back, knocking the air out of your body.

With your eyes blurry from a forceful thrust, you manage to make sense of a bedside clock that shows only a few minutes past 12a.m. The birthday's over, and now you'll play by Daddy's rules again.

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novelistrry · 1 year

Text

Her mouth gawked open at how casually he said it was like it was completely okay for her eyes to be ogling him like he was a piece of meat. Every single time he wore that shirt, she felt guilty for the ways her eyes could have burnt holes through his chest. Now, she was thinking he wore that shirt so often on purpose— to make her squirm. She tucked her face into the neck of her arm to hide from him.

“Stop hiding from me. Want to see your bashful face,” he pulled her face from the neck of her arm and placed his fingers below the underside of her chin once more so she wouldn’t pull away. “Y’know if you were one of the seven dwarfs, you would most definitely be Bashful.”

With an eye roll and a defeated puff from her lips, she finally gave him the answer he was hoping for, “I’ll go with you.”

As much as he wanted to be delighted by her response, he wanted to confirm that she was positive she actually wanted to go. He didn’t want to force her into doing anything she was unsure of, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Y/N stood from the chair and stretched out to rid the aches in her joints from sitting in one position for too long. “Do you think we could watch a movie?”

Harry is a young professor and Y/N has never felt this kind of attraction before.

Disclaimer: There is only light editing and it is smutty in this part!

Word Count: 14k+

Part One

The Spring breeze brushed Y/N’s cheeks.

Sprawling out on a plaid picnic blanket with her and Niall’s favorite lunch items was her favorite way to spend Sundays, especially when the park was filled with laughter, butterflies, and blooming flowers. Sunshine covered the entirety of the park, seeping warmth that trickled deep into her skin and bones, and she was soaking up every ounce she could get. Sunshine made her feel happy, and optimistic even.

Niall sat there with a book in hand, reading something for pleasure, taking a pause from all the educational content he had consumed over the past few months. It was some book that he begged Y/N to read, telling her that she would absolutely fall in love with the characters, but Y/N was too preoccupied with the tension brewing in her own life, not leaving much room for her to brew over fictional characters.

With a few snaps and a couple grunts, Niall managed to pull her from her reverie looking disgruntled as his book lay askew in his lap. “Sheesh, what do I have to do to get your attention nowadays. Dye my hair brown and curl it?”

That familiar heat that normally crept up her skin, penetrating her cheeks and the top of her ears rose once more, and her sheepish smile remained as she swatted in his direction, not actually able to nudge at him because he was a little too far. Y/N and Niall hadn’t talked about the bar a few weeks ago. He didn’t know where she snuck off to after school or why she was coming home late at night. It’s not that she didn’t want to tell him, Niall just hadn’t asked. “Oh, stop that!”

A teasing smile played upon his lips, curling just slightly and his eyes gleaming enough to know that a snide remark was going to be hurled at her soon. “So what, you spend all your time with him now and he occupies your thoughts when I’m with ya?”

Pink lips curved up, matching the same teasing smile Niall had displayed across his face. A shimmer in her eye had him realizing he wasn’t that far off the mark with his assumption, though she wasn’t keen on confirming that with him. A floral-scented breeze blew through her hair as she inhaled sharply, filling her lungs with the clean Spring air, resetting her breath and her thoughts. “How would you know if I spent all my time with him?”

In a fraction of a second, Niall was sitting a little closer to her, the book he was once enthralled with falling off of his lap and closing on itself, losing the page he had carefully left it open on. His arm extended to nudge her slightly, pushing her in the direction of that floral-scented breeze she just couldn’t get enough of. Dandelions were growing in the grass, rose petals were falling from the bushes that paved the park sidewalks, and blue skies hung over them. It was an omen of goodness, she thought.

“You think I don’t realize how late you sneak through the door? I can hear ya!” He wasn’t speaking to her in an accusatory tone like she was sneaking behind his back because she wasn’t. He spoke to her in a tone that says I’m your best friend, I just wanna know what’s going on in your life, so she decided that she would give him a glimpse at how her afternoons are spent.

“He’s been tutoring me, that’s all. He found out I was failing abnormal psych and told me he can help me. It’s completely innocent, but he helps me after school…” She trailed off, leaving out the details that he drives her to his apartment where they lay her books out on the kitchen table and he goes through each concept with her, or that sometimes when they’re feeling a little tired, they lay her books out on the coffee table and sit together on the couch, elbows and knees brushing. She leaves out the fact that she stares at the way his mouth moves when he speaks, and sometimes he gives her a stern look, indicating that he knows where she’s looking and she needs to focus on the subject at hand. Besides the subtle and gentle brushes of bare skin, and the fact that she sometimes stares when she shouldn’t, it was a completely innocent thing.

“But you don’t want it to be innocent, is that it?” Niall asked, the judgment-free from his tone. Curiosity was interwoven between the syllables, but there was no indication that he was judging her for her…. Er… Feelings?

Hummingbirds flew past them as she thought of an answer. A couple thoughts were swimming through her brain, but none that she wanted to share with him. No, she wanted to keep some of them private, just for her. She didn’t want to tell him about the kiss they shared, or the way her fingers would graze her lips the following week after their lips had touched ever-so-gently. She didn’t want to tell him that when she breathes in the citrus scents in the produce aisle at the grocery store she thinks of his minty citrus cologne, or how sometimes when he would lean in while she studied, her heart would thump a little harder and her skin would warm with a feeling she couldn’t quite place just yet.

“I don’t think so,” was all she said, not giving any other information. That is all Niall wanted to hear, that she knew she was feeling something more than a bond between two colleagues. If he was being honest with himself, he was a little worried for her. A professor and TA isn’t the worst combination, eventually, when the semester ended, she would no longer be his TA, but she had never expressed a crush even throughout undergrad. Hell, Niall didn’t think she had very much experience with guys, but that would never be an appropriate question to ask her.

“As long as you’re being safe, I’m happy that you feel so happy,” the response was honest. He was happy, though a tad nervous like mentioned before, but happy to see her so consumed with the sunshine, the flowers, and the hummingbirds that swirled around them. He thinks maybe, just maybe, her sweetened mood might be the force that brought Spring on so suddenly.

“Thank you, Niall,” she said slowly, “I am happy.”

____

“Are you understanding this?” Harry pointed to words in bolded letters that read mood disorders. His tongue flicked out across his bottom lip as he lowered himself from the couch to the floor, criss crossing his legs so that he was adjacent to the book Professor Smith required in his class (it happened to be the same one Harry required, so he knew the book like the back of his hand and it made the lessons with Y/N so much simpler).

A puff blew from Y/N’s lips as she eyed him, the words he was speaking weren’t registering in her ears. It seemed that with each passing day, she became more flustered with the proximity of him and more restless each time their skin brushed or she watched his tongue wet his lips— something she had never quite experienced. To her own embarrassment, she had googled the symptoms and Google had told her she was experiencing a kind of attraction she had probably never experienced before. Y/N thought back to the few people she had a crush on years ago and realized that they just made something bubble in her tummy, but never made her feel the way she felt when she looked at Harry. She felt so jumpy and jittery around him, she was beginning to think something was wrong with her. Quickly, she clicked out the tab and then cleared her search history, although she knew that no one was going to be able to look through it beside her. She just didn’t want to be reminded of the fact that she had googled something that made her feel so virginal.

It was true, she had only ever kissed one person other than Harry. She didn’t have half the experience Harry had, and she probably couldn’t even convincingly say she had a quarter of his experience either. The boy was named Kitt, and she met him at a summer camp they both attended in high school. At the end of the camp, right before she was shipped back home, Kitt planted one on her. She didn’t feel for Harry the same way she felt for Kitt, her relationship with Kitt felt childish in comparison. She wanted to feel Harry, really truly feel his mouth against hers. Not the way he kissed her in the office to cheer her up, make her feel better, and soothe the horrid thoughts that were rifling through her brain. She wanted a kiss where she was attentive, where she could explore every inch of his mouth, and where she could—

“Are you even listening to me?” He asked her, pushing his face into his hands. At first, she thought maybe he was losing patience with her, but when he nudged her with his elbow and sent an angelic smile (the kind of smile that would make a person drop to their knees), she knew he was only teasing her.

Embarrassment flooded through her as she was caught, once again, not paying attention to the concepts he was trying to teach her and rather drifting off into daydreams about him. The sun was setting, the natural light in the living room slowly dimmed as they shifted from day to night, and she knew that their time together for the night would be coming to an end soon. She should have really been listening to him, taking in each sound of his voice, the way his deep voice wrapped around the consonants and vowels, but she just couldn’t help it. Ugh, she just couldn’t focus.

“I’m sorry,” she answered him genuinely. She was sorry for not listening. He was taking so much of his free time to help her learn and she repaid him by not listening. How could she tell him that the way his eyes locked with hers, sultry and tempting sent her spiraling into daydreams she didn’t want to pick herself out of? How could she tell him that when she watched his tongue flick over his lips, she thought of the way his lips felt against hers and how she wanted to feel that again? She wouldn’t tell him that, so she settled on the next best thing and put her face in her hands to hide from his concerned stare, “I’m just having trouble focusing.”

With caution, he shifted his body and brought himself back onto the couch so that he was sitting next to her once more. Harry had been noticing the way she was in and out of their conversations, sometimes completely immersed and other times floating away so high that he thought he would have to bring her back down with a butterfly net. Usually, he tried not to make her feel too bad about it, he didn’t want her to think that she was upsetting him, because she wasn’t. But, this was the second week of her floating to space as he talked. Sometimes he would catch her right before she slipped into the reveries it was hard to bring her out of, but today she was long gone and he was beginning to feel anxious over her lack of focus.

“I know you are,” he reached over and hooked his fingers on the inside of her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face so that she would look at him. He didn’t want to treat her like a damsel in distress of any sort or like he was some hero trying to save her from her own thoughts— that’s not what was going on at all. He just wanted to understand her better, to figure out where her brain was running off to. “Won’t you tell me why?”

There it was again, that soft voice that makes her admit things she otherwise would have been so unwilling to do. Fingers caressed her cheek lightly; his fingers. Without much thought, she tilted her head into his fingers, begging for his touch without actually saying anything. It was dangerous, he knew it was. The last time he crossed a boundary with her, he told her it couldn’t happen again, and though she occupied most of his thoughts, it had been a month since the kiss, since he pushed her up against the wall of the bar and she licked his finger, and he wasn’t willing to cross that boundary again even though he wanted to.

“‘Can’t stop thinking about you,” she mumbled, her eyes fluttering close as his fingers brushed against her cheek in soft strokes. With so much delicacy, with so much precision, he gave her one last stroke of the cheek before tucking his hands in his lap. Y/N’s eyes which were peacefully shut as she soaked in the brief skin-on-skin contact abruptly opened at the lack of physical touch.

“I see,” his tone shifted to one that was more guarded, one that was less like the cheerful, sweet Harry she had gotten so used to over the past month. “You just really need to understand this stuff.”

Harry was trying to reason with her, he really was and she knew it too. She wanted to cross her arms, turn her lips down into a gruff point, and tell him that she wanted to talk to him outside of all the studying. Maybe it was wrong, but she wanted to get to know him for who he was outside of a college professor. There were so many things in his home that made her think that he was quite possibly the most interesting being to ever walk the planet. Vinyls crammed into a bookshelf that was absolutely not made for vinyl but must have run out of room for his records on the measly shelves you can buy at the record store. The furniture wasn’t your typical ikea branded nightstands and sofas. It was much more intricate like he had spent his days going to vintage furniture stores, trying to find the coziest couch that matched his bubbly spirit. Y/N had never been so interested in the ins and outs of someone’s life, how they formed their taste, or how they decided their career path. The closest thing she could think of was how she hammered Niall with twenty questions when they first met. It was purely platonic, never any mutual attraction between the two. Obviously, Y/N knew he was a little pretty, but she was much more interested in being his friend than anything else.

“I know,” she huffed out, furrowing her brows in frustration. A feeling of smallness washed over her, realizing that she admitted she thinks about him. A lot. Too much. And he responded by telling her she needed to understand the course contents. Of course, she knew that. “I’m trying.”

His lips twitched and though he knew he shouldn’t indulge her further, he liked to see her bashful gaze and the way she sucked in her bottom lip between her teeth and furrowed her eyebrows, attempting to give him the most thoughtful answer she could possibly think of. Honestly, Y/N was the type of girl that people could say was put through a time machine. She chose her words carefully, she picked her actions cautiously, and she was too mindful for her own good. But when it came to Harry, she felt so out of control of herself. It was massively infuriating.

Against his own better judgment he asked her the question he knew he shouldn’t have, “What do you think of when you think of me?”

She pondered momentarily, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, furrowing her eyebrows, and searching the crevices of her brain for a way to respond to him. She just spent the better half of the lesson with him, thinking about his lips and how they felt, but she didn’t let her thoughts go further than that. No, she barely tried to think about the way her tongue licked from the base of his finger and then swirled against the tip because she could barely handle where the thoughts might lead to. She didn’t want to admit it, not when he was so firm about the boundary they set in his office a month ago right after the kiss they shared. “I wonder what you’re like outside of school and tutoring. I look around your apartment and see all these intricate things and beautiful paintings, and it makes me wonder how you spend your free time.”

“That’s all?” He looked at her incredulously, wondering why she was so shy about daydreaming about how he spends his free time. Actually, he would have even gone as far as to say that he was disappointed. All she had to do was ask him, and he would cross that boundary with her once more.

“Yes,” she hummed out, slumping her shoulders forward and resting her elbows on her knees, “That’s it.”

“Well,” he responded, closing the textbook but not before dog-earring the book to mark their spot (one of Y/N’s biggest pet peeves was dog-earring a book instead of using a bookmark, but she guesses she doesn’t mind so much when it’s Harry who does it). “Can I make a deal with you?”

“That depends on the deal,” she quirked one of her eyebrows.

“If I tell you that we can spend some time together outside of studying, do you promise to try and pay attention a little more?” He asked, giving her the best deal she could have possibly thought of.

“Of course!” Excitement nearly burst from the pores of her skin, and she didn’t have it in herself to be mortified by the way she responded with such enthusiasm.

“It’s a deal, Darling,” he reached out his hand and grasped hers, shaking gently.

That’s how it began. That is how Y/N and Harry began spending so much time together, going on picnics, seeing movies, getting coffees at the shop on the corner of where his flat was located, visiting flower shops, feeding the ducks bread at the pond (though Y/N googled it and found out that oats are much better for ducks because if you throw the bread in the pond, it can rot and collect algae causing harm to the wildlife in the surrounding area). That is how Harry ended up keeping a 42-ounce container of oats in his car just in case she wanted to feed the ducks.

____

Bright lights shone in the sterile atmosphere, and Y/N knew she should have been paying attention after being called out by Professor Smith just last month, but it was only partner work with Mallory and Mallory didn’t mind that she was dazing off back into that far away land. Actually, Y/N noticed that Mallory was too, except when she peered over at Mallory, her eyes were narrowed, her fingers were gripping the desk tightly, and it was like she could physically see the color drain from her face.

“Mallory?” Y/N questioned her friend, pulling Mallory from her thoughts. With care, Mallory set the pen on the table, then rubbed her eyes in a couple brisk moments. When she finally looked back at Y/N, she still didn’t have that signature warm look in her eyes. The kind of look that tells people “You’re safe with me.” It was gone, buried under deep gray clouds and Y/N could nearly see that the storm was brewing behind those eyes.

“I’m sorry, I have a lot on my mind,” she explained, her eyes still not meeting Y/N’s. The blank gaze was becoming alarming with each passing minute, and usually, Y/N didn’t like to push because she knew how it felt, and it was not a very good feeling, but she decided that she and Mallory had made good enough friends that it was slightly acceptable.

“Do you want to talk about it?” A question that was open, and couldn’t be classified as pushing because it was a close-ended yes or no type of question. If she said no, they would move on immediately and Mallory would never hear another peep out of Y/N regarding the subject. Prying just felt too invasive.

“I think Josh is cheating on me.” It turns out Mallory didn’t need any other pushing, because the words slipped from her lips so easily but with careful caution as she looked around the room, eager to see if anyone was eavesdropping on the pair (no one was, Y/N thinks Mallory just didn’t want the whole class to know her business, which was fair. She didn’t want anyone knowing her business either, but Professor Smith had other plans).

“Why do you think that?” The question Y/N asked was genuine, and filled with care. Y/N couldn’t imagine, what a horrible thing to think and how it must be weighing on Mallory heavily. Y/N thinks if she was kissing Harry all the time, and then found out he had been with other girls, it would feel like a knife right in her chest. But it was much different for Mallory. Mallory was in love with Josh, and from what Y/N gathered, Josh loved Mallory too. So how could he do something like that?

“I found underwear in the backseat of his car when I was looking for one of my earbuds that I dropped…” Mallory began gathering her thoughts, “they were tucked in between the seat and the floor, right next to where my earbud went.”

Y/N nodded in understanding, “I see, and you don’t understand why your underwear would be in the car.”

“Well, no,” Mallory explained, trying to get Y/N on the same wavelength as her. “It wouldn’t matter if I found my underwear in the car. Sometimes we just need each other so bad. The issue is that it wasn’t my underwear. I have never owned a laced pair of red underwear with pink hearts embroidered. Never.”

It suddenly clicked in Y/N’s brain. That wouldn’t make a lot of sense for Mallory to find a pair of underwear she has never owned in her life in Josh’s car. Y/N tried to think of ways it could be a misunderstanding, to reassure Mallory that maybe it wasn’t as it seemed. There was no way Y/N could spin it in her head that made Josh look less guilty than he actually was. He seemed very guilty. “Have you said anything to him yet?”

Mallory shook her head and pressed her cheek against the coolness of the wooden desk, “Tonight I will. I think I just wanna be in my thoughts right now.”

Y/N whispered something small, telling her that she understood and did not fault Mallory for not wanting to talk about it anymore. Maybe Y/N was a little relieved at that because she didn’t know the first thing that would make someone feel better about that. She couldn’t tap into prior experience, she couldn’t pull from when she was cheated on because Y/N was never in a situation like that. Actually, Y/N couldn’t stop replaying that sentence Mallory had said that awakened a realization deep in the pit of her gut, it was fizzling like a volcano was ready to explode. Sometimes we just need each other so bad, was what Mallory had said. Those simple string of words laced together helped Y/N describe the way she had been feeling for Harry; restless, tense, and she felt like she just needed him so badly every time she saw him. It was a realization that what she was experiencing was an attraction like no other, but how was she supposed to tell him?

____

Harry hated it.

If there was one thing he couldn’t stand it was miscommunication; plain and simple. Or in this case, lack of communication.

He couldn’t even tell you how many nights they sat down, side by side at his kitchen table going over the textbook (at this point he wanted to throw it through the window, he was so sick of it) and ignored the tension that was growing between them. With each longing glance, the tension was nourished. They were watering it, he thought. They were causing it to grow bigger and bigger until one day it couldn’t be confined to the four walls and they were just going to explode.

Sometimes the tension grew when they weren’t studying too. Actually, that’s where it seemed to get worse. When they were out and about, she would do subtle things that would work him up. Make him wanna grip her hips and pin her against the wall again, just like the bar. God, the bar. He pushed the thought down, but a similar thought began to rise.

“No, Harry,” she shook her head and tutted her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Carefully, she wrapped her fingers around his and encased his hand in hers. She was trying to show him the best way to feed the ducks. “This is how you do it.”

“So now you’re the professor?” He asked her, watching the bashful gaze flutter upon her features as she tucked her cheek against his shoulder. She began shaking his hand, letting the oats fall out from in between his fingers. He did understand it, though, the technique she was teaching him was a lot better than the technique he was using which clumped all the oats together. Now the ducks could pick the oats off the ground with space instead of cramming against one another.

“I think you can learn a few things from me,” She retorted, finally dropping his hand from hers. It was a strange feeling he had. The feeling that he didn’t want her to let go, he didn’t want her touch to fade.

“I think I can too,” he replied, tilting his head to the side, admiring her compassion and thoughtfulness. He thinks that if he weren’t there with her, Y/N would have the ducks eating from the palm of her hand.

But, finally, the lack of communication had reached its breaking point. He couldn’t handle it anymore, he needed to hear her thoughts. He just needed her to talk to him. So, he slammed the textbook shut a little too aggressively, causing her to jump and glare at him with frustration.

“I was in the middle of reading that!” Y/N’s glare persisted, but now her eyebrows were furrowed and her lips were flipped downward in a pout that told him she wasn’t happy with him shutting the book so abruptly and not giving a warning.

“Let’s talk,” he ignored the pout on her lips and the way her eyebrows furrowed in frustration. What he didn’t ignore was the way her fingernails nervously scratched at the table. Gently, he took her hands into his and shifted his body so they were facing each other. Her hands, still tucked tightly in his, were placed in his lap. It didn’t take long for him to note the way the pout wiped from her face as soon as she felt his skin against hers as if it was soothing for her hands to be in his.

“But you always scold me for talking when I’m trying to study!” She argued, trying to get to the bottom of why he wanted to talk. Y/N went through a mental checklist in her head of things he might want to talk about, but there was nothing so pressing that he needed to slam her book closed mid-sentence. She was finally passing Professor Smith’s class, she was keeping up with all her TA work in his class, and she wasn’t slipping into daydreams since her conversation with Mallory happened.

It took him a couple moments to respond. Instead, he admired her for just a second. She deserves admiration from time to time. Hell, she deserves admiration all the time. She was so cute he didn’t think it was humanly possible. If someone came knocking down his door and telling him that he was seduced by an alien and needed to report to NASA headquarters immediately, he wouldn’t have second-guessed it. He looked at her like she hung the moon, the sun, the galaxy, and everything in between.

“Will you quit staring,” she grumbled shyly.

“I just want to know how you feel, that’s all.” He was trying to be as straightforward as possible.

____

He wanted to know how she felt? Since her conversation with Mallory, she tried to find the words she would tell him. Y/N knew it wasn’t healthy to keep it bottled up and locked away. In fact, with each passing day, she felt like she was going to burst. Eventually, they were going to have this talk and she knew it was coming. No matter how much she thought about it, she didn’t think she would ever fully prepare for it. Obviously, after she and Harry shared the kiss, they talked about it and how it couldn’t ever happen again, but besides that, they both chose to ignore that it ever happened.

She popped her mouth open ready for the words to come out, but when they didn’t, she closed her mouth once more. Y/N did this a few more times, noting how patient Harry was with her. She thinks she might be the luckiest girl to be able to talk to someone so patient and kind.

“I was talking with Mallory,” Harry stiffened at the sound of Mallory’s name so she quickly revised the thoughts that poured from her brain and straight out the fountain that was her mouth, “Not about us! About her and her boyfriend. She thinks he’s cheating on her, but she hasn’t gotten to talk to him yet…” Y/N’s words faded out as she tried to figure out how to phrase this without sounding needy.

Y/N decided the best way was to start from the beginning, so she continued with her story, “Mallory said she dropped an earbud, so she was looking in the backseat of her boyfriend's car for it and found a pair of underwear that didn’t belong to her. Well, at first I thought it was because why would there be underwear in his car, but then she explained it wouldn’t have been that weird to find her underwear in his car because I guess sometimes they sleep together in the car. She told me they only did that when they felt like they needed each other badly,” she paused momentarily, once again trying to locate the words. “I think that’s how I feel about you. A strong desire.”

A strong desire? What was she thinking? She replayed the words, feeling so stupid for even saying them out loud. Y/N had admitted that she desired him but didn’t think he would return that same desire. How could he? The look on his face was unreadable, and she was suddenly hyper-aware of the room around them. She could feel the lights penetrating through the top layer of skin warming her up, she could hear the sound of the fireplace under his television crackling, and she could see the way his eyes flickered between her mouth and then back to her pupils. She may have messed up something go—

As if he was plucking a delicate flower from the grass, he pulled her body closer to him. She was off the chair and back in his lap in mere seconds, the same way she was back in his office when they shared the first kiss. Completely straddling him on the dining room chair, she was all too aware of how exposed she was in his position. She was reminded of the feel of his thighs between her legs once more. This time the kiss wasn’t gentle and filled with tears, it was more longing and wet. He pinched the sides of her hips with a such delicate precision that her mouth dropped open, just slightly to let him in.

Her prior kisses played on a loop in her mind. They had never felt like this before. This was pure desire, no doubt about it. His tongue caressed the inside of her mouth, and he tasted like the juice he was drinking as they studied. A soft and subtle notion of cranberry filled her mouth, and when she took a deep breath through her nose, she smelled his minty citrus signature scent.

Tongues colliding, she felt as if she could transcend from her body. And for a second, she thought she may have left her body and watched the two of them go at it from an outside perspective. It was sensual the way they moved together as if the two of them were one and the same. A piece of art carved from the same stone.

When his tongue retreated back to his own mouth, allowing her to feel the inside of his, she let a small moan escape, the vibration snaking its way up her throat and into his mouth. He could have melted then and there. The sound embarrassed her just a little bit. The moan—or whimper, really— was filled with such desperation and corrupt desire she couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of shame in the pit of her gut.

She pulled away, her face burying into his chest so that she couldn’t see the look on his face. “Sorry.”

He stroked his fingers up and down her sides, slipping beneath her shirt to feel her skin and she let out a small gasp at the feel of his fingers brushing against her sides. “What are you sorry for, baby?”

“You said we couldn’t do it again, remember?” She tacked on the end of her sentence to jog his memory. As if he had forgotten what he told her in his office a month ago about how they needed to place a boundary. Clearly, it wasn’t going to work so why deny them the pleasure of each other’s company even further?

“Is this what you want?” He pulled her face from his chest, using one of his fingers to support the underside of her chin. At this moment, he wanted eye contact with her, he wanted to make sure she was telling him what she wanted. He didn’t want to guess or have to read between the lines; he had to know. Did she want him?

“I want this,” she puffed out a breath, sleepily fluttering her eyes. “Really, I want this.”

“I think,” he breathes slowly, bringing his finger to her lips and wiping off the residue of his mouth. He had half a mind to leave it there for him to admire under the dim kitchen light, “I want to do this with you too. We just have to be careful.”

“Right,” her sleepy eyes settled upon his brown curls. “No one can find out.”

“It’s not that,” he shook his head and grasped her hands once more, bringing their hands enclosed together to his chest. She could feel the thump of his heart against her chest, “I want to protect you here.” And she knew he meant her heart.

Stars circled around them, enclosing them in their own bubble against the word. It was at this moment she took the time to look at him, really truly see him for what he was. She had done it once before when she first met him, but she tried not to do it again to keep her heart from fluttering at an alarmingly fast rate. But now she felt like she could appreciate his beauty for what it was; she was comfortable with that. Harry’s jaw was sharp and clean-cut like he was cut from stone. The apples of his cheeks were kissed by angels, pink and rosy. His eyes were a clear green, the type of green that flourished in the forest and faeries hid in. He wasn’t just handsome. No, he was more than that. Truly, he was beautiful. A spark twitched in her chest, an appreciation that he wanted her the same way, too.

“Stop looking at me that way,” amusement flickered in his eyes, but longing swam in his bones as her gaze studied the intricacies of his facial features.

Confusion appeared on her face, “What do you mean?”

“Stop lookin’ at me like I hung the moon and the stars, and make the earth spin on its axis.” He was only teasing her, and it was something she was still trying to get used to. Sometimes, Y/N was a very literal person, and couldn’t pick up on teasing or sarcasm on the first go. She had to dissect the conversation a little more before she could be certain teasing and sarcasm were at play.

“I think you did,” she hummed and his chest thumped faster against her hands. Y/N liked that she was making him do that.

Rose-colored blush presented on his cheeks, and with a successful feeling stirring inside her, she pressed a kiss to the tops of each cheek.

“Do you think I could tell Mallory?” If there was one person Y/N wanted to tell, it was Mallory. Well, Niall too, but she knew that she didn’t need to ask Harry about that. It’s not like Niall was one of his TAs too.

“Yes, Sweetheart. I think that would be fine,” without hesitation, his lips collided with hers once more, but the words he murmured when he pulled away caused a breath to catch in her throat, “You’re very pretty.”

____

Tomato sandwiches were currently Y/N’s hyper-fixation meal, and as Mallory talked and Y/N listened (no surprise there), she gnawed on the edge of her sandwich.

The pair had been eating lunch together in the cafeteria. Mallory was fighting a rough breakup, and Josh would not stop texting her. At one point, Mallory handed Y/N her phone and told her to just scroll through. It was a series of apologies, ‘it will never happen again’, and ‘I need you.’ Y/N was proud that Mallory basically told him to swim in the stream of his own tears, then blocked him. After Josh realized Mallory blocked him from texting her, he moved to other forms of communication, but this time he was no longer texting her apologies and they were actually quite alarming messages.

“Do you wanna hear what I think?” Y/N asked before giving unsolicited advice. If Mallory didn’t want to hear what Y/N was thinking, she wouldn’t just spring that information onto her. Through the course of the past couple of weeks, Y/N began collecting her thoughts on the situation. She didn’t want to give advice or put in her two cents prematurely, but as the situation between Mallory and Josh got worse and worse, Y/N was sure her thoughts on him wouldn’t change.

“Of course I do. You’re my friend,” Mallory insisted, waiting for her to give some humbling advice. It wasn’t often Y/N asked Mallory if she could offer her thoughts on the situation. As time went on, Mallory noted that Y/N wasn’t the talkative type. While she always had great things to add to the conversation, if she didn’t want to speak then she wouldn’t. Sometimes Y/N only wanted to listen, and that was okay with Mallory. In truth, Mallory thinks they balanced each other well.

“I think you dodged a bullet,” Y/N said a little loudly over the sound of sports players rushing into the college cafeteria, heavy cleats clicking against the tile sounding louder as they passed by the pair trying to enjoy their lunch in peace. “And you’re my friend, too,” Y/N added at the end there.

“You’re right,” A sorrowful sigh escaped from Mallory’s lips, indicating to Y/N that even though she was right, Mallory was still sad about it. Y/N really, really didn’t want her to be too sad over a guy that was proven to be disgustingly manipulative. Maybe Y/N wasn’t the best judge of character, a little too trusting, but the red flags Josh was displaying toward Mallory were enough for Y/N to know that his intentions were not very good.

“What did you think of my friend Niall?” Y/N asked. After Y/N and Niall got home from their “double date” (she used that term very loosely), Niall wouldn’t stop talking about how funny Mallory was. He kept saying that she was better than the comedian they had all saw before the nightclub came to life, and that next time they should put her on the stage. He also kept saying that she was very pretty, and Y/N noticed the sheepish glances he threw in Mallory’s direction throughout the night.

“He was very fun to be around,” Hesitation was laced in Mallory’s tone, and if Mallory didn’t know any better, she thought Y/N and Niall were finally together. “Are you guys finally together?”

“No! Ugh!” Y/N threw her hands up in exasperation, dropping her tomato sandwich back on the paper napkin she packed in her lunch pale. “I want to set you guys up on a date. I don’t like Niall like that! Actually, I’m seeing someone. He’s not my boyfriend or anything, and he might not even really like me like that, but he likes to kiss me.”

Mallory paused for a moment, scrunching her nose and finally nodding her head in response to Y/N, “I would probably like to go on a date with Niall. If he’s chosen you as a best friend, I know he’s got good taste.”

Y/N’s cheeks warmed, “Well, then, good. Because I know Niall would like to go on a date with you.”

Mallory backtracked for a moment, the words Y/N spoke finally processing fully in her head, “Who are you seeing? And, I think the term you’re looking for is hooking up. If you guys don’t actually like each other like that and it's purely physical.”

Purely physical? Is that what she wanted? Y/N brought her voice to a whisper, glancing around to see if anyone was trying to listen in on their conversation (they weren’t) before murmuring, “Harry.”

Mallory’s face didn’t drop in shock, her face didn’t contort with disgust, but her eyes sparked with delight. “You might be the luckiest girl alive.”

____

“Now when you read this concept from the book—”

“Would you go out with me, Mallory, and Niall on Friday? We’re going to play putt-putt, and I’m trying to set them up,” Y/N interrupted him, surprisingly for the first time during their one-on-one lesson today. It wasn’t that she wasn’t paying attention, but about ten minutes ago, she realized her attempt to set Niall and Mallory up was going to turn into her being the third wheel. Now, there was nothing wrong with that, but she had a feeling once Niall and Mallory got their hands on each other, they wouldn’t take them off. If Harry agreed to come along at least she could use him to escape during the date, and it would be fun to see how he gets along with her friends. Obviously, Harry and Mallory get along well in a work-type setting, but she wanted to see how they could get along as simply friends.

With delicacy, he shut the book. If there was one thing Harry could pick up on, it was when Y/N’s brain was becoming overloaded with information. She couldn’t retain an information dump the way he could, so he adjusted to the way she learned best because all he wanted was for her to be as comfortable as possible. Sometimes he thought about the way, with teary eyes, told him she didn’t want him to think she was stupid. He never wanted her to feel that way again.

“Could we make another deal, Darling?” Harry’s fingers grazed the underside of her chin, pushing it up just a tad so he could get a full view of her face. Viewing her face in full was a must for him, he was constantly imagining that face when she wasn’t around.

“I am open to making a deal,” the words came out slowly, her head nodded with each syllable, and she tended to like the deals he made with her because there was always some sort of benefit for the both of them.

“If I come with you to see your friends, would you come with me to see mine on Saturday?” He didn’t want to pressure her into coming. In fact, he thought about asking her but decided against it because he didn’t want her to feel obligated. When she brought up the question about him tagging along with her, Mallory, and Niall, he thought maybe he was in the clear to ask her a similar question about meeting his friends, but then her face fell in what he thought was… Hesitation?

“What’s the occasion?” The pressure was applied to his fingertips as she glanced down at her hands in her lap, and she began picking at the sides of her fingernails. She wanted to meet Harry’s friends, but she was nervous about being around large groups of new people. At least when she hung out in big groups with Niall, she had him around her at all times, and by now, she was so used to Niall’s friends, it wasn’t uncomfortable to strike up a conversation with his pals.

“It’s a wine night. My friend Mitch is hosting this time. It’s basically a small party. We wear nice clothes, drink wine, listen to music, and catch up. It’s proper fun,” Harry was trying to make the environment as calming and fun as possible, realizing the hesitation on her end was just nerves.

“Nice clothes?” She questioned and had to physically stop herself from picking at her nails by grasping at the edge of the table otherwise she would make her skin go raw.

“Not super nice, just not sweatpants and jumpers since it won’t only be our immediate friend group. Sometimes we do that when it’s purely game night, drinks, and a movie,” he explained, and he knew exactly what to say to get her to agree so he added at the end, “I’ll even wear that satin shirt you like. You know, the one that has my tattoos peeking out. The one you drool over.”

With an eye roll and a defeated puff from her lips, she finally gave him the answer he was hoping for, “I’ll go with you.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Y/N stood from the chair and stretched out to rid the aches in her joints from sitting in one position for too long. “Do you think we could watch a movie?”

“Anything for you,” he spoke softly and honestly, the gentle tone ringing in her ear like music. His voice was a symphony made just for her, “You know that.”

____

The words that tumbled from Y/N’s lips in the middle of the movie really caught Harry off guard. It was her delivery, actually, that had him furrowing his eyebrows and asking her to repeat the statement one more time just in case he heard it wrong. It was unprompted, there was no sign indicating that’s how she was feeling (specifically at that exact moment), and the look on her face was of shock like she hadn’t meant to say it; it just kind of slipped out.

“I said,” She cleared her throat and he felt her cheeks heat beneath his fingertips as she spoke. The pair were uniquely sitting on the couch. Harry was sitting with his legs kicked up on the coffee table, and Y/N was sitting with her head in his lap and her legs taking up the rest of the unused couch space. As they were watching the movie, Harry would stroke her cheeks or run his fingers through her hair just to feel her, “I would like to do more than kiss.”

If Harry was trying to keep a composed face, free of shock or confusion, he was almost positive he was failing. His lips and eyes felt too numb to actually realize how he was looking at her. How could he lie and say he didn’t want to do more than kiss either, he just wasn’t sure how to initiate it given their circumstances— and why would he deny her what she wanted?

“What do you want to do, then?” He spoke the words clearly, that lustful tone leaking past his lips and soaking her with it,

“I’m not,” she began, pausing for thought, “As experienced as you, I think.”

Harry nodded, encouraging Y/N to continue. He could tell there was something on the tip of her tongue, the words she was failing to formulate stuck in the back of her throat, begging to come out.

“Well, I just think...” she picked her head off the warmth that was his lap, “You’re very good at teaching. Would you teach me? I want to be good for you.”

It turns out that Harry was going to make her work for it, he was going to make her say the words out loud. His ego was slightly inflated by her gentle words, calling him a good teacher and asking him to teach her. Harry didn’t like assuming, but from what he was understanding, she wanted to teach him how to feel good and make other people feel good. Though, Harry didn’t think she would need much teaching as half the time he has to go close his eyes and take a few deep breaths to will his stiff cock away.

“Teach you what, Darling?” His fingers were grazing the inside of her thighs, telling her he knew exactly what she wanted from him. He was just slightly devilish, wanting to hear the filthy words fall from her lips.

Sighing, she moved her thigh into his touch. Begging, pleading, wanting... “Please don’t make me say it, Harry.”

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me? Hm?” Harry continued to work his fingers up her thigh until it rested just above the button of her pants where he was waiting to help her out of her pants. At this point, he was no longer assuming, he knew exactly what she wanted; she wanted to hit that sweet spot, she wanted him to get her there, to ride it out on him and hit that euphoric state right in front of him.

With a shuddering breath, she responded, “Yes, yes... I’ll be good. Just please.” Her fingers reached for her button, gently touching Harry’s own fingers, and her pants were off in a matter of seconds. She thinks she heard something about him saying she was so good for begging him for it, but the words didn’t register as he gently pulled her across his lap so that each leg was on either side of her thigh. Her wet center was directly on his thighs, and if she knew any better, she could have come right on the spot.

“Would you look at that?” His fingers strode up her slit covered by the fabric of her white panties, “I can see you straight through your panties, Darling. How long have you been this soaked?”

He prompted her to start rocking against his thigh, so she did as she was told and began moving up and down. The friction was enough to make her let out a noise she had never heard from herself before. As of now, she wasn’t embarrassed, just full of wanting, needing, and lusting. She would be embarrassed by her desire and the sounds she mewled atop his thigh later, but for right now, she just wanted to feel good.

With one quick motion, he was stimulating her clit, making her feel so many things, so many emotions, she could barely handle it. She continued to rock against his thigh, and if she didn’t know any better, he may have shifted his leg upwards so that she was getting the best possible access to his leg. This was going to be her new obsession; she was going to stare at his thigh at school and wonder what it would feel like for him to take her right into his office, she was going to drool over it while they studied and beg him to let her feel good because she can’t focus until he lets her come.

“Those are such pretty noises,” he commented when another moan slipped past her lips and her head threw back as he gripped her hips and brought her closer to his crotch.

She looked down, taking in his cock through his sweatpants. God, he was so pretty. Hard against the fabric of his pants, and the tip was leaking just enough for her to notice through the gray cotton.

He glanced down at what she was staring out, a smirk playing across his lips. She was simply everything. So good, so sweet, so attentive. “You’re gonna come just by looking at my cock through my pants?”

She didn’t have it in her to feel ashamed when she felt this good. All she could think about is how he would feel inside her, how his lips would feel around her neck. Even... how his hands would feel around her neck, claiming her as his own. In response to him, she just moaned and mumbled something— slightly incoherent, it took him a moment to decipher— “Want to feel your cock inside me.”

____

Harry was over the moon with the phrase that tumbled off her lips in her pure, unadulterated need for him. As much as he wanted to give her what she asked for. She was such a good girl, she deserved the whole world. He wasn’t sure how well she would be able to take it now. Y/N was already overstimulated by his thigh and his fingers circling her clit when she let out an unrestrained moan, threw her head back, and her thighs tensed around his, he knew she was going to come. But, he wanted her to hold out, just for a little bit.

He couldn’t help it; she looked so pretty like this. She looked like she was made for him, like a puzzle piece that fit on his thigh so well, there was no possible way the pair weren’t made for each other. Longing glances and looks filled with need had been exchanged by Harry and Y/N for quite some time, sometimes in between classes he’d have to give his cock a proper tug, otherwise, he would have been walking around stiff— and aching— for the rest of the day. He wanted her so much, it was unbelievable. But, Harry wanted her to make the first move, he wanted her to be sure this is what she wanted, and when she finally looked at him with that needy gaze, he knew he had to give her what she asked for.

“You’re not ready for my cock, baby. You’re so needy, hm?” It was slightly condescending, and what did it say about her that tightness in her belly coiled when he called her needy? He was right, she was needy.

“Can I move against your cock the way I am now? With your pants still on? Need it. Really need it,” Her words were jumbled together, separated by moans filled with desire as she moved in up and down motions against his thigh. He knew if he gave her what she wanted, she would come right then and there, as soon as her core touched the hardness of his cock, and maybe he was a little selfish for it, but he wasn’t ready for her to get there.

“That’s not how you ask, Angel. You know your manners. Use them.” The slight reprimand made her toes curl, and when he realized that she liked it; liked being reprimanded and it was definitely getting her off, he stopped her rocking motions by digging his fingers into her hips and giving her a pointed look; the same look he gives her when she’s not paying attention while she’s studying. It sent waves through her, and she felt like she was floating on a cloud.

“How do you ask?” He prompted, encouraging the words he wanted to hear.

“Please, may I?” She tried to rock once more, but his fingers kept her in place. A sensual gaze lingered on her features, looking him up and down like she could swallow him whole, and how could he say no to that?

“Good girl,” he brought her left leg over his other leg so that her pussy was in full contact with his clothed cock. Before she started rutting against him, moaning, and throwing her head back in pure carnal desire, he decided he would give her a little incentive. “If you hold out for me, give me ten more minutes of seeing you look so pretty as you rut this pussy against my cock,” one of his fingers moved from her hip where he was holding her in place to the slit of her pussy and worked it’s way over, slicking his finger with his wetness and popping it in his mouth to see how good she tasted, “I will let you watch while I run my hand over my cock and make myself feel good, hm?”

A jumbled yes came from the back of her throat, and he used his fingers that were against her hips to help her find her rhythm against his cock. He could have come right there at the sight of her, but he was good at holding off, good at edging himself. It was something he wanted to teach her how to do. How to get to that good place, then rip herself away from it. In the end, all of the frustration makes the orgasm worth it.

She tried to last, she tried to make those ten minutes, but she just couldn’t. With a cry, she warned him, “Harry... I can’t. I can’t wait. Please.”

“That’s okay, baby,” Harry comforted, letting her know that it was okay. He would teach her how to stave off soon enough, but right now he was more concerned with her feeling good and comfortable.

That was all it took her to that nice place. As her orgasm filled her body, lingering in her bones and warming her skin, she came against him. Pulling away as her nerves were overstimulated and sensitive, sweat beading at the top of her forehead, and mewling noises coming out of her lips. He thought she looked beautiful.

Quickly, she took herself off of him, not able to handle the overstimulating she was feeling in her core and in her brain. She tried not to look at the wet spot she left on his thigh, and directly on his crotch.

He could tell by the way her eyes averted, and she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear that she was feeling embarrassed, but he didn’t think she should feel so ashamed for feeling good. She should never be ashamed of that. With a gentle finger, he lifted her chin from her downward stare into her lap and whispered softly, “Don’t ever feel embarrassed about that. Do you see how hard you’ve got me?”

Heat flooded her cheeks, warming her skin, and that coil she felt in her lower belly when she first started grinding against the muscles of his thigh stirred in her once more as she eyed his hard cock covered in her wetness. “I don’t get to watch you now because I didn’t wait?”

How could he deny her what she wanted when she was so, so good for him? Listening attentively, asking politely, and being so sweet to him? “I’ll let you watch. We can call it a consolation prize.”

Heart fluttering, she shifted slightly so she could get a full view of this. His eyes darkened as he slid his sweatpants down just enough to pull his cock out of his boxers. It sprang out, the tip a blissful pink color, and she thinks that her mouth has never watered so badly. He was even bigger than she had been able to realize through his sweatpants, and it all made sense. He was sweet, but calculated and there was a rough edge of confidence laced in the way he speaks. The size of his cock matching the confidence of his personality wasn’t anything that should surprise her.

When Y/N let out a soft, sultry, sweet-coated moan at the sight of his right hand clutching the base of his cock and tugging upwards, Harry realized three things about her that he would dissect later.

Y/N had an extreme praise kink, thinking back to how she sucked in sharp breaths when he told her what a good girl she was, and how she moaned at the sight of her reward.

Y/N got off on a slight reprimand from him, seeking guidance and his stern words fulfilling something deep in the pit of her gut.

Y/N might have been crafted just for him, and he, just for her.

Just the look on her face was enough to make him come on the sight, but she had done so well, he wanted to give her a little bit of a show. With each movement calculated, he lifted his shirt just enough for her to see his abdomen then grabbed the base of himself and stroked upwards, using the precum oozing from the tip as a lubricant for his hand.

“Would you do me a favor, sweet girl?” He asked her, his eyes remaining fixed on her as he watched how her body reacted to his words and movements.

Eyebrows furrowed, she responded so sweetly and sincerely if his eyes were closed, he would have sworn there were droplets of honey dripping off her lips. “Yes,” she almost begged, “What can I do?”

Harry guided her head with his hand, gripping his fingers around the back of her head and lowering it so she was adjacent to the head of his cock. Eagerly, she thought he was going to let her wrap her lips around his so she moved her head a little closer, and when he realized what she thought he wanted from her.

“No, baby, not yet. I just want you to spit on it for me, hm? Let me use your spit to work my cock?” He knew the words were filthy, and he knew it sent a shiver down her spine. She opened her mouth, just a little so closely to the tip of his cock that her top lip just swept over it as the wetness from her mouth dripped down him.

“Fuck, baby,” Harry guided her head back so that she was sitting directly in front of him with a perfect view of how his hand brought him to his own tipping point.

He leaned his head back against the couch, eyes fixated on hers as her gaze didn’t stutter from his hand. A little bit of drool leaked from her lip, but she quickly caught it, finally breaking her gaze from his hand and looking to see if he saw that.

“Quite literally drooling over my cock, are you?” It fueled his ego, working his hand harder over himself as he realized what an effect he had on her.

Finally, he was there, eyes locked on her and reaching his pinnacle. His own sweet spot washed over him, ripping a moan from his throat and filling the living room air. Silky whiteness spurted from the tip of his cock and onto his abdomen, and she had to stop herself from leaning down and tasting him. She just wanted to taste him, but how could she voice that? The combination of wanting to taste him, the way his face contorted with pleasure, and the sound of his deep-provocative moan that gathered in the back of his throat and then filled her ears worked her back into that sweet place with no stimulation from Harry or even herself. As he worked himself down from his own orgasm, guilt washed over her face and he couldn’t help but give her a lazy-half smile. “What?” He asked gently.

“I think...” She shoved her face in her hands, the bashful person she was shining through what they had just done together, “I reached that spot again when you let that sound out. I just, I just felt so good.”

Eyes fluttering shut, he took in her words. “Baby, I’m so happy you felt so good. When was the last time you felt like that?”

Y/N just shakes her head, the words caught in her throat. “I don’t know if I’ve ever felt like that with anyone else— even... even myself.”

He just smiled, glad that he was able to get her there, and then hooked his hand under the backside of her knee, pulling her close for a sweet and simple kiss compared to what they have just done. While his lips were still pressed against his, he spoke, “I think we should get cleaned up.”

“I think so too,” Y/N smiled into the kiss, and Harry thought he would give up anything to stay like this with her forever. Talking with their lips pressed together, his hands all over her, and her hands all over him.

“Would you mind taking a shower with me?” It sounded so intimate rolling off his tongue, but that’s what he wanted with her—intimacy.

“I would love that,” his heart leaped at the realization that she wanted the same things as him.

____

“I’m a bit of a sore loser, baby, so please tell me you’re good at putt-putt,” Harry said as his hand grasped the steering wheel of the car. He was driving them to putt-putt golf with Mallory and Niall. Niall had decided he would take Mallory out to lunch before the other two joined them to get some one-on-one time together.

Y/N noticed a shift in their relationship after he had made her orgasm twice without doing much, and after she watched him tug away at his cock. She was more comfortable with him, more open to asking him questions, and Harry absolutely loved it. Just a few days ago, she asked him (without Harry having to work the question out of her) when she could taste him, and he told her, in the most gentle way possible, that he wanted to go slowly. He just wanted to make it special for her.

At first, she was nervous to ask him when she could taste him, not quite sure how she could voice the question, but as a few days passed, she realized that there was never any judgment or harshness in Harry’s tone.

“Well, I’m not very good at putt-putt. And maybe I’d like to see you a little pouty,” she reasoned with him. She always felt like she was the pouty one, maybe it would be a nice change of pace to see him pouting for once.

“Y/N, you know I could never be pouty around you. You make me too happy.” Harry explained, taking one hand off the steering wheel and linking their fingers together, and bringing her hand to his lap.

Y/N decided she was just going to enjoy the drive, and the simplicity that was her, Harry, Niall, and Mallory enjoying their afternoon together.

As it turns out, Y/N was really good at putt-putt, though she had never played before in her life. Niall and Harry got to talking about how they both liked playing real golf and made plans to go out some weekends together. It made Y/N’s heart turn, just a little to see her best friend getting along with Harry so well. They seemed like they were really hitting off (and not to Y/N’s surprise at all, she knew this would happen, Niall and Mallory were very much enjoying the company of one another). By the end of the night, they were sharing drinks and then spent the night tucked into Harry’s chest.

Y/N was happy. Very happy.

____

Y/N was not happy.

Harry’s friends were not as nice as he had explained them to be. Well, maybe it was just one friend that left a sour taste in her mouth and made her stomach fizzle with anger; possibly even jealousy.

The evening started off great. She wore a simple, yet elegant, midnight green dress, and Harry (as promised) wore that cream-colored satin shirt with midnight green slacks to match her accordingly. He ogled over her the minute she stepped out of his room wearing that green dress, looking as lovely as ever.

When Harry was done swooning and gawking over her, he led her out to his car and began driving in the direction of his friend’s house. Y/N noted the beautiful scenery on the way to the house, and when Y/N finally commented on the scenic drive, Harry explained that his friend lived in a winery.

“On a winery?” Y/N questioned, making simple conversation as they drove up a windy road with a narrow pathway, barely able to fit two cars. “Is your friend a vintner?”

Harry nodded in response, throwing over the occasional glance as he drove, though it made Y/N nervous for him to take his eyes off the road ahead of them. She trusted him though and didn’t make any comments about how the drive was making her feel. Part of her didn’t want to say anything because she wasn’t sure if the drive was making her feel a little queasy or if it was the fact that she was going to a party latched onto Harry’s arms. She was about to meet his closest friends, and even though he said they were nice, she knew she would be under a degree of scrutiny. She was coming as his date, of course, they were going to look at her with cautious-watchful eyes, so they could reconvene later in the night and ask one another, what do ya think of Harry’s new girl?

Before Y/N even knew it, they were parked in a round-a-bout driveway, and Harry was helping her out of the car. She must have paled on the drive up, because when he took her hand in his, and lead her up the stairs of the beautiful home, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, pressing his lips against the lobe, “Feeling okay?”

A nod came from her in response, and before she could even respond verbally, the person who was lingering on the other side of the door quickly threw it open. A chill ran down Y/N’s spine as she thought of Harry’s lips against her ear. They hadn’t done anything from when they sat on the couch and Y/N came on his clothed cock. She had brought up how she wanted to taste him, but they haven’t had the chance to yet, and Harry had told her that he wanted to take things a little slow. She understood. How could she argue with that?

“Oh, come on in before you two get cold out there,” the man standing on the opposite side of the door said to them as he noted the chill that racked through Y/N’s body. It wasn’t the cold wind, though the wind was colder than it had been these past couple of Spring days. It was the thought of Harry’s lips against her ear, and when she looked over at Harry and saw the way his lips curved upward in a devilish grin, she knew exactly what his plan was. He did that on purpose, he was trying to work her up.

Like Harry told her, the man lived in a winery and before she even had the chance to learn his name (it was Mitch she found out a few minutes later), he was thrusting a glass of red wine in between her fingers. She took a couple sips, mumbling something about how it was sweet, and without hesitation, Harry leaned and whispered something naughty in her ear, causing heat to flood her face and between her legs, “I bet you taste sweet, baby.”

They mingled, and Y/N who normally felt overwhelmed in situations like these was actually doing alright. It might have been the way the wine was starting to flow through her veins, or how genuinely kind Harry’s friends actually were (not that she doubted him very much, but you never know), but she was actually enjoying her time.

Well, she was enjoying her time until Harry ruined it by whispering the filthiest things she’s ever heard into her ears. In fact, she was beginning to feel flustered, because she wasn’t sure her panties could handle another bout of wetness before it started dripping down her leg. Her dress only hit below her knee, so if it began running down her leg, people were bound to notice and she didn’t think she could handle the shame.

So, she stood there, with her legs crossed, wine glass in her hand, and pouted. He could tell he got her there; to the point of frustration that she would burst at any second. Her responses to him were becoming short and pointed, bratty even. If there was one thing Harry could teach her, it was how not to be a brat. It was how to ask for what you wanted because all she had to do was say the words and he’d take her right into the bathroom and let her have that release.

When they had finally broken free from the conversation they were having with Mitch and… Well, Y/N actually didn’t grab the other person’s name because of the frustration filling her from head to toe, Harry grabbed her upper arm gently and pulled her so close to him that her chest was pressed against his, “Won’t you tell me why you’re acting like a brat?”

Disappointment donned her features. Was she acting like a brat as he said? If so, she really didn’t mean to, she just couldn’t help it. The words fumbled from her mouth quickly as she straightened her back just a little bit so that her body language didn’t look so dejected, “Sorry. I don’t mean to act like a brat.”

“I didn’t ask for an apology,” he stated and the sternness in his voice made her core ache even more than it already was, “I asked for you to tell me why.”

She gave in to his request, hoping that if she told him why she was acting like a brat, he would tell her what a good girl she was for listening. “I’m so wet, Harry.”

His cock throbbed against his slacks, and he murmured softly against her neck, pressing a soft kiss just under her ear, “So instead of acting like a brat, what should you have done?”

“I should have told you what was bothering me,” she guessed, not quite sure what the actual answer was, but it seemed good enough for him because his response was exactly what she was begging for.

“Good girl,” he pulled away from her, resting his fingers just under her chin, and hummed out, “Now should I take care of you?”

She only nodded.

____

The bathroom of the house was big enough to fit them both in there and when Harry sat her on top of the bathroom counter and hiked her dress out, he grumbled out a “Fuck, Y/N.”

She wasn’t being dramatic when she said she was so wet. If he kept her out there for five more minutes, she would have dripped down her leg, and Harry doesn’t know what it says about him the fact that that turns him on so greatly. For his friends to see just how much of a reaction she has to him. How his words can get her mewling and thrashing and moaning.

Quickly, he tugged her panties off and shoved them into his pocket. She was still up on the counter, watching his movements with lust-filled eyes, and leaking onto his wrist that he had pressed against her center. His hand was gripping the counter, the inside of his wrist pressing against her and when he moved, even slightly, she would let out small, sharp gasps. “Can I touch you?”

“Please,” she responded, and that was all he needed before he began working her to that special spot. His fingers, covered in rings, slipped inside her slowly, so slowly it was agonizing. He didn’t need her to lick his fingers, offering that extra lubricant because she was so wet that she was soaking the counter. He flicked his fingers upward, hitting that soft spot inside her, and when he finally found it, her eyes widened, as she had never been stimulated there before. It only took a few motions in and out of her, before her walls began squeezing around his fingers. Right before she was about to come, about to hit the peak of her orgasm, he pulled his fingers out of her.

Eyebrows furrowed, she questioned his actions, “Why did you do that?”

“I’m not ready for you to orgasm just yet,” he said softly, his green eyes glimmering with want and need.

“Please?” She asked, “I-I need it!”

Normally, she would feel embarrassed by her begging, but right now she didn’t have it in her to feel embarrassed. The only thing she had in her was that she wanted that orgasm to encompass her, sending her body to that place she went when she was rutting against her thigh.

She was so beautiful and so lovely that he couldn’t deny her of that, and he knew it, so he slipped his fingers back into her with careful precision and stimulated that soft spot inside her once more. She let out soft moans filled with nothing but desire, and she squeezed around his fingers once more before letting her orgasm rip through her. He worked her down with his fingers, and when she looked up at him with a sleepy gaze, he knew she was feeling much better; the frustration completely obliterated from his body.

Although, when he brought his fingers, covered in her wetness to his lips, licked it off with his tongue, and said, “I was right. You do taste sweet,” she thinks she could have gone again.

Harry helped her get her panties back on, and hop off the counter of the bathroom, promising that when they got home he was going to help her shower the stickiness from in between her thighs and take good care of her. She knew she was safe with him, and it was possibly one of her favorite feelings in the entire world.

“Why don’t you go back out there, love? I’ll clean up here and be right out.” He bargained with her, and she followed his instructions because it probably wouldn’t look too good if the both of them slipped from the bathroom at the same time.

Harry’s plan was to clean up, but he had to relieve himself somehow too.

____

Y/N’s eyes searched the room, and she found the girl she was chatting with earlier— Colette was her name, she finally remembered and blamed the sexual frustration on her jumbled brain and her post-orgasmic state on her clarity over Colette’s name.

Across the room, Colette sat with a few other girls, and Y/N thought that the best thing to do while Harry was cleaning up in the bathroom was to make her way over there and hop in the conversation, so that is exactly what she did.

She sat directly next to Colette, and jumped into their conversation a few times, adding a few things here and there to keep herself present in the conversation. It wasn’t until Harry finally slipped from the bathroom, signaling that he was going to get them a drink that she felt a sense of relief.

One of the girls next to Colette’s eyes followed Y/N’s to Harry and when she saw what Y/N was looking at she interjected with a, “Don’t even bother with him. He’s a nice guy, but he’s not the relationship type. He only fucks, but nothing else. Trust me, I’ve tried. Also, the rumor is that he brought a girl with him this time around, and good luck to her, because she doesn’t know what she’s in for.”

Y/N’s mouth dropped open in pure shock, and Colette’s face whitened as she grasped Y/N’s hand, “Emma!” Colette said in a harsh whisper, “Why would you say that?”

Colette helped Y/N up, and Y/N couldn’t even feel mad at the girl— Emma, she guessed— because it was not like she knew that Y/N was the girl Harry brought along with him tonight. Her stomach dropped, feeling icky and displaced as she walked alongside Colette and toward the kitchen where Harry was striking up a conversation with someone, two cans of some liquid Y/N couldn’t quite pinpoint in the palm of one of his hands— his big, big hands.

“Don’t listen to her, she’s just cross because Harry only wanted to be friends with benefits with her. That is not how he is with every girl, I hope you know that,” Colette whispered, guiding her by the small of her back toward Harry.

Did Y/N know that? She didn’t think she did.

What if that is what Harry wanted from her? What if he felt nothing for her at all? What if she was merely a conquest for him?

Y/N decided not to say anything about what Emma said to her as Y/N and Colette entered the conversation Harry was currently participating in.

Harry rested one of the drinks on the counter and popped open the other with his fingers, handing it to her, then pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. Was that a good sign?

For the first time since she began studying with Harry, Y/N felt stupid again.

____

Harry was completely oblivious to the internal turmoil Y/N was facing, but how could he have known when she slipped on a mask so well?

After he had finished up in the bathroom, he couldn’t stop thinking about how Y/N was the only thing that occupied his mind. He filled her thoughts, her scent infiltrated his apartment, and her smile when she walked into his class was the thing that kept him going on days when he was more tired than he should have been.

He thought he made it so obvious how much he cared for her. There was no way she didn’t know how special she was to him.

Y/N, he thinks, was perfect for him. And he was perfect for her.

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jarofstyles · 8 months

Text

Indigo- Cobalt

Hellooooo.. Here is part 3 to indigo! Hope you enjoy tattoorry.

Warnings- tattoos, mention of needles, blood, brief mention of vomit, anxiety, you're going to want to eat harry

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WC- 2.9k

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Y/N felt dizzy.

It wasn’t the prospect of getting a tattoo that was making her so nervous- it was the fact that Harry’s thigh was pressed right up against hers, his body angled towards her as he sketched on his ipad drawing program. He’d said he prefers pencil and paper but it was easier for this type of session to do it there. Faster. She had no input other than the fact that he smelled really fucking good and his leg was warm against her own.

She had indulged some information to him. First and foremost, she wanted a sunflower. A dainty little sunflower with a bit of shading and a longer stem that would go down a bit and twist near her wrist. Her plans for one day having a floral sleeve with her favorite flowers and the birth month flowers of her family had been shared, but she wanted to start off relatively simple with the first one. See how her body reacted, her healing time, all while leaving room if she liked it and wanted to continue with the sleeve.

Harry had been endeared and slightly impressed. It was rare that he got new clients anymore, as most were fairly covered by the time they got to him. However when he did do new clients back in the start, most didn’t have the extensive research she had done, nor the plan. He was all for going for what felt right, but Y/N had been specific and practical in her planning and it made him feel even more fond. She had taken the time to research not only the safety, but the importance of listening to artists suggestions and double checking the work.

It’d been a while since he had done a floral piece, but he was up for it. Truthfully, Y/N could have told him she wanted a rose skull with an infinity symbol in the eye socket and he would have done it for her, but he was relieved it was something that was relatively easy to perfect.

The man knew that he was a perfectionist when it came to his work. Harry didn’t do sloppy- at least not in his work. He kept clean, crisp lines and smooth shading, he did his best to keep any blowout from happening as much as he could on his own end, and he educated each client on the likelihood of the colors they chose longevity and when they’d probably need it touched up. His tattoos were for the clients, sure, but it was also a representation of his work. He was lucky enough now to have his choice on taking clients- there were plenty he turned away or handed off to other artists he thought could better suit them. His hard work had bled into the success he had wanted, leaving him the ability to be picky.

Normally he wouldn’t want to do a first time client because, well… he really didn’t like doing them. First timers didn’t know what to expect the majority of the time, they didn’t know how to sit still, they would wince and move and complain far too much for Harry to feel at his best. He wasn’t judging them, but now that he had a choice he chose to keep to people who had at least one.

Y/N was the exception to the rule.

He felt honored that she would like his art on her, a bit of that primal satisfaction that it would be his too. No one else would have touched her with the needle, no one else had a shot at marking up her pretty, soft skin. It was a privilege, especially considering their origin.

“What do we think?” He murmured, showing her the second sketch with some of her notes. She hadn’t liked the thickness of the stem originally, and Harry had agreed it had been a bit too leafy so he had taken some off. “S’a bit thinner in the stem and I did a curve at the bottom so it’ll fit with the movement of your arm.”

“Moment of my arm?” She asked curiously, hitting him with a curious gaze. Harry had been extremely patient with her thus far and it made her nervous to ask for corrections, but he had told her that it was going to be on her forever and he needed it to be exactly what she wanted.

“Mhm. Where you’re putting it… The skin moves when you rotate your arm. S’why we don't usually put straight lines there, at least I don’t unless in specific situations. We want it to run smoothly regardless of which way your arm is positioned. So adding a bit of a curve in the stem would make it look straighter when you move it.” He showed the motion on his own arm so she could have an example.

“Oh. I never would have thought of that.” She blinked, watching as his arm moved. He had quite a few tattoos, some she had never been truly able to make out. Now being up so close, she had a front row seat to the anchor on his wrist and the cross on his hand, some of the little doodles that she had been so curious about. He seemed to have different styles of work and she liked that each one seemed to differ just a bit. “How many tattoos do you think you’ve done in your career?”

The question popped into her head out of nowhere but it still remained there. She was increasingly curious as to how he had gotten started, what he did and didn’t like doing. Pure thirst for the knowledge of what went through his head. He’d been a silent shadow most of the time she’d known him, so it was interesting to purely listen to him talk.

“Erm.. I’d say a couple hundred? There are some days I only work on one, some I do none, some days I can do three to four.” He paused, placing his apple pencil down, turning slightly to look at her. Their thighs pressed further together. “When I first started, I did a lot of flash sheets of shit that wasn’t my own. Think of, like, the pinterest stuff. Little hearts and stars, stuff on my mates, myself. They had me practice a ton when I was apprenticing but it made me good.” He brushed the hair out of his face. He really needed to find his hair clip. “Was frustrated at first, because I knew I could draw and stuff, but they were making me do those tiny things for basically no money- but, y’know, It’s harder than you’d think. Especially on someone who’s moving or someone who’s giggling with a bunch of their friends that they brought.”

“Is that why there was that sign out there?” Her face broke into a little grin, remembering the hand lettered sign before you went back to the rooms. ‘No children, No drinking, No plus threes’. “I find it hard to believe that people want to bring three people into the room with them.” That was inconsiderate. One? She could understand. That made sense if you were nervous. But multiple people just made it more crowded and loud. She’d rather be alone and deal with the experience being potentially awkward rather than make herself an inconvenient client.

His scoff took her by surprise, head tipping back in amusement. “Oh, they do. They did. Now it’s limited to one person in the room and you’ve got t’be over 18. Special allowances are made sometimes, but some of the places I worked at before starting my own place had no one enforcing or making those sorts of rules. It’s just unsafe. You’d be surprised how many drunk people come in demanding ink.” It was one of his least favorite clients. Drunk people tended to squirm and vomit, you know, besides getting a permanent image inked into the skin. That’s one thing he would never do again.

“Hm. Well it seems like you’re running a great place. I saw your stuff on instagram.” Her praise made him flush slightly, feeling a tiny bit shy as she continued. “And then the articles and awards you’ve got up front. It’s massively impressive. I’m surprised you’re tattooing me if I’m honest. She said up front I had virgin skin?” A head tilt at the end of her words reminded him of a puppy.

“Well, like I said. Special occasion.” He knocked his knee against hers in a playful attempt. “Just means no ink. Nothing nasty. I usually don’t do people with no ink because they can be twitchy and I can choose the pieces I do now. Usually I do more long and involved ones but, I’m more than happy to be doing yours.” His smile was a reassurance that he was more than happy to do it.

“Are you sure?” Y/N frowned slightly, suddenly feeling a little guilty. She didn’t want him to do a tattoo he didn’t want to do, or even more so do it on her just because he felt bad about the times before. “If you don’t want to do it, I’m happy to go to another artist in your shop-”

“No, I want to do it.” His voice was fast, interrupting hers without meaning to. It had rushed out without his permission, but the ugly twisting inside his gut had started at the mention of someone else doing this. She had wanted him, had planned on him, and if he was being honest? He was a bit selfish. His art was meant to go on people like Y/N. People who appreciated the art, who appreciated the skill. Add in his big fat crush, and it was not something he was going to pass up.

“O-Okay.” Y/N smiled, looking back down at her lap. His jeans were against her leg, and she couldn't stop thinking about how warm he was. How happy she was that he had chosen to sit with her on here instead of the armchair. A giddiness bubbled in her stomach as she felt his eyes on her, a hand coming down into her field of vision and gripping her knee. Her face felt hot, looking down at the fingers that curled over. It felt like she had been shocked at first, but moved into a warm glow.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

If she was any less strong, she would have squeaked. The large hand rested there, giving her leg a squeeze before he continued to speak.

“You ready to get some ink, then?”

—-------------

“You’ve had somethin’ to eat today, right?” Harry’s voice spoke to her as she sat in the red leather seat. His back was turned to her as he opened up a few drawers, grabbing what looked to be some sort of tape, vaseline, ink caps, different wrapped needles maybe? A blue liner sat over the tray, keeping it sanitary as he placed the supplies down. There was no reason to doubt he would be, but it only furthered her comfort.

“Yeah, I had a croissant and a pastry. Coffee too.” She peeped, hoping that would be good enough in his eyes.

With the way he turned in his chair, it wasn’t. “C’mon, babe. You’ve gotta eat better than that… but I can say m’glad you didn’t have a heavy meal a few minutes ago.” That would be a nightmare if she felt the need to spew. “Nothing with protein.. If you feel like you’re getting lightheaded, like you’re going to faint? Tell me immediately. This shouldn’t be too bad, all things considered, but there's no shame in taking a break.” He really didn’t mind it. That was much preferred over someone passing out on him.

“Okay. I’ll tell you.” Her eyes widened slightly but she avoided his eyes again, instead choosing to look at his hair. He’d found his hair clip when they’d walked in, saying something about having been looking for it for ages before gathering hair at the front of his face and clipping it back out of the way. He looked fucking adorable.

Tattoos, piercings and all, he looked adorable. Y/N had always thought he was handsome, hot, even, but his little smiles and concern for her had made her feel a little floaty and giggly and she needed to contain herself.

“Good girl.” His hand squeezed her leg again before turning around on the stool to finish unwrapping supplies.

If he heard her squeak, he didn’t let her know it.

They sat in a comfortable silence, the music hooked to his phone playing at a comfortable level as he did his thing. Y/N looked at his back, admiring the broad nature, his strong shoulders and how it strained slightly against his shirt. At this point, she was nearly positive she was just being extremely thirsty over the man who had always been a faraway object of desire- even if she had thought he hated her.

“Alright.” Harry returned, voice making Y/N jump slightly. “Sorry, sorry. I’ve got the stencil.” Holding it up, he let her take a look and smiled to himself as her eyes rounded and she smiled widely. It did that weird thing to his chest as she squirmed, sitting straighter as he approached with it. “Good? We can put it on in a moment. Just got t’prep you.”

“It’s so beautiful, Harry.” Her wispy voice nearly made him fall off his chair. He wished he wasn’t so weak, wished he wasn’t such a soft heart for her, that he could be a bit more suave, but when she spoke like that, looked at him like that, said his name like that? All he wanted to do was scream.

“M’glad you think so.” He replied gently, taking his seat. “Is it okay if I touch you? I need to adjust your arm.” Touching bare skin was a limit a surprising amount of people had- himself included. He usually preferred his bed partners keeping their hands to themselves, no matter how much they wanted to trace his ink. His actual partners, he enjoyed, but people didn’t have much of a sense of boundary sometimes.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course. You can do whatever you want to me.”

Dangerous fucking words, Harry thought. He couldn’t allow his thoughts to stray at the moment, so he decided to save that sweet tone and double meaning sentence to obsess over at a later time.

It didn’t take him too long, his fingers brushing over the skin as he shaved it to make sure the canvas was clear and prepped her for the stencil. Y/N was quiet, watching his concentration. He got a cute little thing between his brows as he focused on her, making sure the stencil was straight and where she wanted before laying it and pressing down.

When he peeled it away, she audibly gasped. “This is perfect.” Her voice went up in pitch. “It’s better than I imagined, H. Really. I love it.” Speaking like the ink was already in her skin, he flushed again as he placed the paper into the tray.

“You sure? Placement’s good?”

“Perfect. I like it right here.” She nodded, eyes not leaving the blue stain.

“Okay. We’re going to get started then, okay?” He pulled on a pair of fresh gloves, scooting himself and the station a bit closer to her. “We’re starting with the outlining, then we move to shading. It’s gonna be uncomfortable, mostly when I have to go over the lines again but we aren’t going to be too close to bone so It shouldn't be terrible.” He was doing his job now to mentally prepare her. “You can tell me if you need the bathroom or if you need to move at all. Everyone’s pain thresholds are different. Don’t feel embarrassed. I’m sure as hell not going to judge you.” His smile was reassuring as she looked a little nervous, but more so the excited type. It was easy to tell.

“I will tell you. Do you need me to stay quiet when you're tattooing? To keep focus? I don’t want to distract you.” Y/N questioned, big eyes looking at him with curiosity.

Anyone else? Anyone else in the entire world, he would tell them yes. He preferred a quiet environment to work, to get into the zone and truly concentrate. But there was no way in hell he was going to pass up an opportunity to hear her talk and babble. She had been so quiet around him before- rightfully so, considering she thought he would tell her to shut up- but he ached to just get a little bit closer. That yearning of his soft heart was pulsing, wishing to get to know her more. His brain was telling him to relax and be logical, but they both knew who would win out.

“Absolutely not, Sunflower. Chatter away.”

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